It's what's for breakfast

Some time back I asked a coonass friend to get me some andouille for a get-together I was planning. Turned out he couldn’t get here for the boil but he was kind enough to ship the sausage to me in a Styrofoam cooler with dry ice.

There is nothing like the andouille you can get from the small meat markets in Louisiana. They’ve been doing it for so long and the competition between recipes is so fierce that they’ve honed this sausage-making thing to an artform.

Since I used all of what he sent a long time ago, I’ve been waiting for my buddy to get me some more, but he keeps forgetting. Thinking about it keeps me thinking of all the ways I like to use it. Andouille is very versatile sausage. One of my favorite recipes is chicken gumbo with andouille, but there are hundreds of other possibilities, both Cajun and not.

I figured I'd write a simple idea up to fill space here on the blog… sourdough biscuits with andouille sausage gravy. One of the hardiest, most filling, best tasting breakfasts you’ll ever experience.

The biscuits don’t have to be sourdough, but if you have a good start and know how to do it.. shoot the moon. Even those plain biscuits in a can will work if that’s all you have. I have sourdough and prefer it to the alternative. No use in me going on about how to make biscuits. Either you already know or you’ll use store-bought. Pillsbury has frozen biscuits now that aren’t bad either. Better than canned for certain. Nothing to it.

The gravy making is almost as simple, but I’ll tell you how I do it anyway.

When I say gravy I mean good, old-fashioned southern cream gravy. Some call it milk gravy and some just call it white but when a Southerner says gravy this is what he's talking about. Don’t matter what you call it... if you make it right and slather it over the top of a pile of biscuits there won’t nobody walk away hungry.

You’ll need a skillet and quart Mason jar with a good lid. The ingredients are simple… about three quarter pound of andouille, a medium 1015 or other sweet onion, about four tablespoons of bleached flour, three cups of fresh, cold milk, a little black pepper, salt and cayenne.

Mix your flour, milk and spices in the Mason jar and seal the lid on tightly. You’ll have to experiment with the spices to get the right balance. Remember that the sausage is a bit salty by itself so you want to be cautious about extra salt until you know for sure. You can always add more but it is damn hard to take it back out.

Start shaking the piss out of the jar. If milk comes out the lid you don’t have it screwed on tight enough. Get comfortable because you’re going to be shaking that jar for a while… right along with doing everything that follows. You may need three hands or a friend, but if you do a good job shaking you won’t have lumps in your gravy. Only savages would tolerate lumpy gravy.

Peel and chop the onion. You can use as little or as much of it as you like. Hear you skillet over a medium high burner, husk the casing off the sausage and break it up into the hot skillet. I like to use the edge of a spatula to break the sausage up into even smaller chunks, but don’t let it get to fine. It needs to be chunky. While the sausage is cooking toss in as much or as little of the onion as you like. Cook until the sausage is browned and the onions clear to browning. Don’t forget to keep shaking your jar while your doing all this.

Remove the mixture from the skillet but leave as much of the hot fat as you can. Let the mixture drain on paper towels.

Here you’re going to have to test your eyeball measuring ability. You want about four or five tablespoons of the hot drippings left in the pan. If there is too much it will separate from your gravy and look really funky on a plate. If there is too little your gravy won’t make.

Anyway, when you’re satisfied that you have just the right amount of fat, pour in your flour and milk mixture. It will immediately start boiling and you should just as immediately start stirring it briskly with a whisk, making sure to scrape the bottom constantly. If you get behind doing this your gravy is going to scorch. Not sure which is worse… lumps or scorched milk.

As it starts to thicken pay close attention. If it starts to get too thick add a little bit more milk. Careful not to overdo. You can add more if needed but you can’t take it out. If the consistency is too thin just keep it cooking until it thickens. Don’t add more flour unless you want lumps. When the gravy is just the way you like it, add the sausage mixture and cook a little bit more until everything is steaming hot.

Biscuits should be busted open and buttered before ladling on the gravy. The butter will flow out around the edges of the plate just waiting for you to daub a forkful of biscuit into it.

First time you try this you ought to be a mite conservative. Pretty easy to let your eyeballs overload you stomach with biscuits and andouille sausage gravy.

I’d make some for breakfast if I had any andouille.

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Now on to Austin

The little feed went well enough. AD did right smart damage to the brisket and beans, and he seemed not to be allergic to the sweet potatoes either, mindful as he is of that girlish figure. 

Valerie and Bob dined with us. I'm always nervous cooking for Bob, since he is a damn fine cocinero himself, with a much wider repertoire. 

TOTWTYTR and Limey friend Stephen cut a fair swath themselves. Later on the only snoring heard was my own, but there were reports of an occasional barking spider. The musical fruit got off to an early start, I guess.

Stephen was very happy when his lost baggage finally turned up at the house, and I was pretty glad of that too. Stephen arrived bearing gifts. He presented me with six beautiful amber bottles of a lovely lager. About two years ago when he last visited he brought some of this delightful brew, by the name of Old Tom." The British have a few pretty good beers, but this Old Tom is the best I've encountered. Not only is it very tasty, at 8.5% alcohol it is also rather strong. I'll definitely enjoy them.

Los Tres Amigos were last seen in search of Cabellas to find some last bits of hunting gear, including batteries for the LED's on AD's camo cap. I'm wishing them good luck in the Great Hog Hunt of 2010, since my freezer will likely benefit and this winter's chili will be so much tastier.

I was down the driveway at about the same time, hitting the southbound lanes of IH-35W as they were steering north. Austin and another Texas EMS Conference beckon.

Be there or be square!

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The beginnings of a simple meal

A cold front is coming into the area, bringing with it not only cooler temps but some gusty winds. Those winds are stoking the fire in my little pit and producing copious amounts of mesquite smoke. This is a good thing.

Because there is a nice piece of beef inside.

Beans and baked sweet taters make up the rest of the menu.

Now this probably isn't all that interesting to most of the folks who might read this blog, but I know two fellow bloggers and a particular Limey who will be interested. They'll be showing up right about dinnertime tomorrow. One of them is a coonass, so I guess I ought to boil a pot of rice too.

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Another recipe

Chile Verde con Puerco (green chile with pork)

Cook time, about 4 hours. Preparation time, maybe half an hour.

INGREDIENTS:

• 4 pounds lean, boneless pork, diced ½ to 1 inch
• 4-6 cups chicken stock
• 2 lbs fresh tomatillos, husked and coarsely chopped
• 10-12 roasted, large green chilis, deveined and chopped (Hatch or Poblano are best, Anaheim will work, add a jalapeno or two if you want some spicy hot)
• 4 garlic cloves, minced
• 2-3 large, sweet onions, finely chopped
• ½ cup chopped, fresh cilantro
• 2 teaspoons oregano
• 2 teaspoons cumin
• 2 teaspoons coarse ground coriander seed (soak in water)
• ½ teaspoon sugar (optional)
• Salt
• Black pepper
• Flour
• About ½ cup bacon fat

PREPARATION:

Season the pork with salt and pepper. Dredge in flour coating on all sides. Heat bacon fat in a cast iron skillet over medium high heat – not quite hot enough to smoke. Brown the meat in small batches ensuring you brown on all sides. Remove, drain and place into a large, deep pot. 

Add chopped onions and peppers to the remaining fat, continuing to simmer over moderate heat, stirring occasionally until onions are translucent and chilis are limp. Add garlic and continue to sauté 1-2 minutes longer.

Combine sautéed onions and peppers, chopped tomatillos, dry spices and cilantro with the pork in the stew pot. Add enough chicken stock to cover the ingredients, increase heat and bring to a boil, the reduce to a low simmer.

Cook uncovered for two hours to reduce, adding more stock if necessary to ensure the ingredients remain covered. Taste and adjust for seasoning by adding salt and pepper as desired. Cover and continue slow simmering for another two hours, stirring often from the bottom to prevent scorching.

The finished product should be a semi-thick stew, chunky with meat but with most of the veggies reduced to a thick liquid.

Serve over rice garnished with a little sprinkle of chopped, fresh cilantro, grated sharp cheddar cheese and chopper sweet onion.

Alternately, mix with either rice or cooked, diced potatoes and roll up in flour tortillas to make burritos. Use a bit more of the chile verde as sauce. Garnish with shredded cheese and chopped sweet onion.

~~

Two chili recipes

Neither of the two following recipes are contest chili. These are for meals at home or to serve at the family reunion. Contest chili is a whole 'nother ball of wax. 

Regardless of contest or home consumption, Texas chili has two rules… one is hard and fast, the other not so much so.

RULE 1 – Beans are beans and chili is chili. Both make a good meal, but the two do not mix in the same pot.

RULE 2 – Tomato plants did not fare well in the desert southwest, so tomatoes don’t really belong in chili. The contest judges don't always agree with this assessment.

Recipe #1 – Easy Texas Chili

WARNING: Easy chili won’t be as good, but folks will still enjoy it. Most are accustomed to the crappy chili served at  restaurants, so this will be nectar to them. Best of all you can build it in an afternoon. Of course, like any chili, it would still be better if after cooking it was refrigerated overnight, reheated and served the next day.

Ingredients:

• 3 lbs. of beef (pork, venison or a mixture if you choose, but Texas chili is beef)
• ½ pound smoked bacon (NOT maple cured!)
• 2 large onions, chopped
• 2 Tb. ground cumin (more or less to taste)
• 1-2 Tb. chili powder (I like Gebhardts)
• 2-4 cloves garlic, minced (more or less to taste)
• Water
• Salt and pepper to taste, but do not salt until AFTER the mixture is cooked

Directions:

Cube the beef into small chunks, set aside. Chop up the bacon into ½” bits. Heat a large cast iron pot over a medium-high burner. Fry bacon until not quite crisp, remove and set aside leaving the fat in the pot. Add the beef to the pot and simmer in the bacon fat until nicely browned. Remove the beef, reduce the heat to medium and add the bacon back into the pot, then add onions and garlic and stir until onions are clear. Continue stirring as you add cumin and chili powder. Return the beef to the pot as you continue stirring, then pour in enough water to cover the mixture with about an inch to spare. Increase heat back to medium-high and bring to a boil. Allow to simmer slowly until the mixture is reduced to a bubbling slurry (about an hour and a half). Salt to taste.

Recipe 2 – Mulebreath’s Hell on the Bravo chili

Good chili isn’t easy. Good chili is time consuming and really clutters up a kitchen. Good chili is built over several steps, not simply cooked. The steps are called “dumps,” because the ingredients for each step are prepared, combined, then “dumped” into the pot at the appropriate time.

You are going to need two pots; one heavy skillet and one deep pot. I prefer cast iron for both, but glass or stainless works.

Ingredients:

Meat:

• ½ pound smoked bacon (NOT maple cured!)
• 3 pounds beef (not high cuts. Cheap meat is just fine for chili)

Veggies:

• 2 large Texas 1015’s (if you don’t know what that is, you’re a savage)
• 4 fat jalapenos (substitute serranos for spicier, or habaneras for hemorrhoid removal)
• 4 cloves garlic, minced (not crushed. Crushing is uncivilized)

Liquid:

• 1 quart beef stock
• 1 six-pack Ambar Dos Equis, Negra Modelo, Indio, Leon, or any good Mexican dark beer
• water

Spices:

• ¼ cup dried, ground chili peppers, preferably ancho or pasilla (NOTE: this is not chili powder)
• 1 Tb ground coriander seed
• 3 Tbs ground cumin seed
• 2 Tbs crushed Mexican oregano
• ½ tbsp white pepper
• Sea salt (not iodized)

Directions:

The night before starting this project open one of the beers. Leave it open and sitting out overnight. It should be warm and flat when you start cooking.

Start heating the skillet over medium-high heat. While heating, chop or coarse grind the bacon and the beef into ½” or smaller bits. Coarse chop the onion and mince the garlic, keep separate and set aside. Add bacon to the skillet and fry until not quite crisp, remove and set aside leaving the fat in the pan. Add the beef to the bacon fat and simmer until nicely browned. Remove the beef and set aside. Add ½ of your garlic and ½ of the onion to the bacon fat, simmering until the onion is clear. Remove from the fat a set aside.

1st dump: add beef stock to the big pot over medium-high heat. Pour in what is left of your bacon fat, add remaining ½ of your garlic and ½ of the onion, bring to a boil and reduce to simmer for ½ hour. Go to 2nd dump.

2nd dump: Add coriander, cumin, oregano, and white pepper. Simmer 10 minutes, then go to dump 3.

3rd dump: Add ground chilies and simmer another ½ hour, stirring frequently. Go to 4th dump.

4th dump: Add bacon, beef, remaining garlic and onion, along with your flat beer. Split the jalapenos and toss them in. Simmer another 2 hours at medium-low heat, stirring often to prevent scorching. Add salt to taste. and water as needed to maintain consistency. Remove the pot from the fire and allow to cool. Refrigerate overnight, re-warm (add water to adjust consistency if need be) and serve. To pretty it up some, toss in a cupped palm full of fresh, chopped red and green peppers, then serve before they have time to soften too much. Habaneras add a nice orange color too, but those are not for the faint of heart.

5th dump: You may have noticed this process takes somewhere north of three hours, with probably another couple of hours waiting for the pot to cool enough to go in the ice box... and then you have to wait until the next day to eat. 

Bummer.

But there is salvation. Using that same mathematical acuity you used earlier, you may have noticed that one subtracted from six leaves five… and figured out what to do with the remainder of that six-pack.

Cheers!

~~

Chili; the State Food of Texas

The evolution of Texas chili, last of a 4-part series

Chili is a controversial dish even among Texans. As we discussed in the previous segment, the only rule that is hard and fast is that beans do not belong in a Texas chili recipe. Other fillers (e.g. corn meal) are frowned upon as well but won't necessarily get the cook run out of town on a rail. Beans may get you shot, but beyond this all rules seem to be rather polymorphous.

The universal truth is that Texas’ chili aficionados are passionate. (I've said that before, haven't I?) Indeed, we’re so  passionate that we hold regular competitions to determine the King (or Queen) of the Texas chili world. There is a bit of debate as to the date of the first chili competition, a regular on the  competition circuit by the name of Ranger Bob Ritchey may have found the truth.

Ritchey did a little research, finding several archived newspaper articles written about the 1952 Texas State Fair Chili Championship. Although many newspaper, magazine and cyber articles have been written claiming the first Chili Championship to be the 1967 Terlingua cook-off, the articles Ritchie found prove that to be untrue.

Take for instance the October 5, 1952 headline from the now defunct Dallas Daily Times Herald, stating that "Woman Wins But Men Do Well in Chili Event." The story following the headline describes how Mrs. F. G. Ventura of Dallas won the Texas State Fair contest and her recipe was declared the "Official State Fair of Texas Chili Recipe." Mrs. Ventura was crowned the first ever "World Champion Chili Cook," a title she retained for fifteen years.

The State Fair event was organized by ex-newspaper man Joe. E. Cooper as a stunt to promote his newly published book, titled With or Without Beans - An Informal Biography of Chili. The competition had no rules as to ingredients, other than banning beans. The first year bragged 55 contestants, judged by a panel of five.

Speaking of the number of judges, Cooper said, "It’ll take a lot of judges because after the first two or three spoonfuls of good, hot Texas-style chili, the fine edge wears off even an expert chili judge's taste buds... It'll be a hot job but one that no true Texan will shirk."

Cooper didn’t live to see the popularity to which chili cook-offs have risen. He died three months after that first competition.

Possibly the best known and most well documented of the early chili competitions is the 1967 Terlingua cook-off. Terlingua is a ghost town and  former mining community, located in one of the most remote areas of the state. You must want to be there, or else you are very lost, if you find yourself in Terlingua. Getting there requires much effort. The nearest airport of any size (if you don’t include Lajitas International) is 240 miles away in El Paso, or 310 miles to San Antonio.

The 1967 competition pitted two well known, albeit self-proclaimed chili champs. Dallas newspaper reporter, Homer "Wick" Fowler, challenged New York humorist and author, H. Allen Smith to a showdown because of a story written by Smith and published in the August, 1967 issue of Holiday Magazine.

The article, titled Nobody Knows More About Chili Than I Do, made the wild claim that no one in Texas could cook a proper pot of chili. Smith bragged that "no living man, I repeat, can put together a pot of chili as ambrosial, as delicately and zestfully flavorful, as the chili I make." His recipe, which he published with the article, called for beans.

When journalist and author Frank X. Tolbert read Smith’s article, he was righteously offended. Tolbert, author of the definitive tome on Texas chili, A Bowl of Red, began something akin to open journalistic warfare. Tolbert wrote a regular column for the Dallas Morning News, and commenced taking shots at Smith from that pulpit, challenging Texas chili cooks to prove Smith wrong. Wick Fowler stood up for the challenge.

The match was on, and although the competition received a huge amount of publicity, and attendance swelled the little ghost town with over 5,000 spectators, the climax was an anticlimactic tie when Dave Witts, a Dallas lawyer, self-proclaimed mayor of Terlingua, and also the tie-breaker judge, spit his chili on the ground.

Sports Illustrated writer Gary Cartwright described the scene, “[T]he blindfolded judge number three, David Witts, was given a spoonful of chili which he promptly spit out all over the referee's foot. "Then he went into convulsions. He rammed a white handkerchief down his throat as though he were cleaning a rifle barrel, and in an agonizing whisper Witts pronounced himself unable to go on."

Witts declared that his taste buds were "ruint," and said they would have to do the whole thing over again next year. Terlingua has hosted a chili competition every year since. Both Wick Fowler and Frank Tolbert opened chili parlors that have survived the owners. Tolbert’s in Grapevine sells more beer than chili, but his original Texas Red is still at the top of the menu.

The group hosting the Terlingua event for many years was the Texas Chili Appreciation Society, now called the Chili Appreciation Society International. The Society now has some involvement in over 500 competitions worldwide, raising about a million dollars for charities every year. The 2009 Terlingua event hosted over 500 competitors. The 2010 event will be November 3^rd - 6^th.

In 1977, chili lovers and manufacturers in the state of Texas successfully lobbied the Texas legislature to have chili proclaimed the official "state food of Texas, in recognition of the fact that the only real 'bowl of red' is that prepared by Texans."

Amen.

Tomorrow I will offer you a couple of my own recipes for your examination and/or approval. In the mean time, click on the banner below to go to the CASI site. Past winning recipes may be found there.

~~

Will the Real Texas Chili Please Step Forward?

The evolution of Texas chili, Part III of a 4-part series

One of the questions asked is why chili is such a popular dish? Chili is a cultural heritage, much as is chicken fried steak. Both represent a means to create a sustaining meal out of very inexpensive ingredients.

At the time of the First World War, the Chili Queens of San Antonio were providing a steaming bowl of tasty chili, served up with onions and tortillas for only a dime. Chili joints started to appear all over Texas, and within a few years chili parlors had become a familiar sight in most Western and Midwestern states.

By the depression years, there was hardly a town anywhere in the country that didn't have one. Often these joints were no more than a tin roofed shed or a small room with a counter and stools. In those years, the chili joints often were the difference between starvation and staying alive. Chili was cheap and crackers were free. There are historians that have said that chili may have saved more down on their luck people from starvation than the Red Cross.

Regional differences produced many styles of chili, some unique only to its particular geographic area.

The city of Cincinnati produced a particular style of chili that is very different from the stuff that originated in Texas. Created in 1922 by Macedonian immigrant, Tom (Athanas) Kiradjieff, Cincinnati chili is also called spaghetti chili.

Kiradjieff ran a hot dog and Greek food joint called the Empress. Because Greek food was not popular and the business was a dismal failure, Tom and his brother John created what they called spaghetti chili. Made with different combinations of Middle Eastern spices, this “chili” was served a variety of ways. The spices were certainly not Texan, but the spaghetti is the main difference. 
 

The people of Springfield, Illinois make a chili that they take very seriously, even spelling it differently than the rest of the world. Springfield’s "chilli" originated with Dew Brockman , the founder of a joint called the Dew Chilli Parlor. It is said that Dew argued with his sign painter, who wanted to spell it the correct way.

His spelling may have been off, but Dew’s “chilli” was a hit. At one point, somewhat more than a dozen parlors and scores of saloons were serving up the stuff to hungry patrons and in 1993 the Illinois General Assembly unanimously proclaimed Illinois as the "Chilli Capital of the Civilized World."

Chasen's Restaurant in Hollywood, California made arguably the most famous chili. Stories tell of limo chauffeurs, actors and actresses showing up at Chasen's back door to pick up quarts of the secret recipe chili. Fans included the likes of Jack Benny, J. Edgar Hoover, and Eleanor Roosevelt. Chasen's delivered chili to Clark Gable while he was in the hospital. Rumor has it that Chasen's chili was the last thing Gable had to eat before dying.

Chasen’s is gone now. Owner Dave Chasen did all the cooking and kept the recipe a secret even when Eleanor Roosevelt tried to pry it from him. In 1973 it died along with him and the joint soon closed.

Chili parlors from Seattle, Washington to Washington, D.C. have tried to brand their special chili as the true and correct recipe. Tomorrow we will learn why they are mostly wrong, and why Texas chili is still King.

But then we have the bean controversy...

Texans are passionate about this question. Texas chili does not have beans… period. So why then do others use beans? Two possible reasons have been proposed.

First, chili is a meat dish. The meat is intended to provide protein. It is possible that some enterprising cookie somewhere in ages past had an insufficient supply of meat, and desiring to supplement the protein in the dish, dumped in some beans. My guess is that he was promptly tarred and feathered.

The greater likelihood is simply cultural. Beans were a crop requiring cultivation to some degree, and were therefore somewhat on the scarce side in the desert southwest. Over time the diet a people consumes becomes ingrained in the societal fabric. If they didn’t grow up with beans in the chili, they would be disinclined to add them in the future.

So the bean controversy remains speculation, but as you will see in the next installment, Texans are passionate on the subject. I did find a page with a somewhat interesting view of the topic, although I certainly wouldn't recommend the included recipe (bloody mary mix? Give me a break.)

Other than this I can offer no explanation, and neither can I find any reference that is anything less speculative.

To be continued tomorrow…

~~

Hell on the Bravo

The evolution of Texas chili, Part II of a 4-part series

Euro-American immigrants who were crossing the Red River in the mid-1880’s found Texas chili already well known. They’d heard of the stuff and maybe even sampled it before they ever arrived, and they took it as if their own. The cattle drives needed these men as drovers, and trail cooks won and lost jobs based upon the quality of their chili. The wave of immigrants brought entrepreneurs, and businesses were formed to cook, serve and to export the stuff back east.

Dallas millionaire and chili lover Everrette DeGolyer located records indicating the first commercial Texas chili spice mix was created sometime in the 1850’s. The mix was sold to cowboys as a hard times staple, and to adventurers traveling to the California gold fields. Combined with a little dried meat and some pork fat and tossed into some boiling water, the mix reconstituted into a hot, tasty trail meal.

A little later we find the even more convenient “brick” chili; a compressed cube of dried meat, chile peppers, fat and spices that could be dissolved in boiling water to make a respectable meal for those not talented enough to make their own. DeGolyer called the bricks, "chili a la Americano," wanting the stuff to be uniquely American. It also clarified it from the Mexican word “chili,” which is a generic term referring to any hot pepper.

San Antonio in the early to mid-1880’s found Mexican women, nicknamed "Chili Queens," selling a stew made from ground, dried red chile peppers and beef to passersby at the central Military Plaza Mercado. The chili was cooked at home, loaded along with tortillas and tamales onto gaily painted donkey carts for transport to the Mercado, where it was peddled from open kiosks.

The kiosks and this tradition continued until 1937, when they were closed over health concerns. A couple years later, San Antonio Mayor Maury Maverick tried to revive the trade, but the effort was short lived. Several of the “queens” opened indoor cafes, some of which survive to this day, but the al fresco experience was no more.

In 1881 former Texas Ranger and hotelier William Gerard Tobin contracted with the United States government to sell canned goat meat chili to the army and navy. Tobin died before making his first delivery, causing the venture to fail, but this was just the beginning of the globalization of Texas chili.

In 1893 The State of Texas, as part of their exhibit, set up the San Antonio Chili Stand at the 1893 Columbian Exposition in Chicago.

Not long afterwards, in 1895, Corsicana businessman Lyman Davis made chili that he peddled for a nickel a bowl from the back of a wagon, including all the crackers you could eat. Lyman made enough money that he switched to a Model A delivery truck, later opened a meat market where he began selling chili in brick form under the brand name, “Lyman's Famous Home Made Chili.” It was in 1921 when he first put the stuff in a can and named it after his pet wolf. Wolf Brand Chili still uses the same picture on their label.

Canned chili powder started showing up on store shelves sometime in the late 1800’s. This was as easy to use as the stuff carried by cowboys for generations, but was now marketed to housewives. Toss a couple spoons full of the stuff into a pan of stewing chipped beef, add some chopped onion, and voila… you have chili.

Not long before the turn of the century, a German immigrant to San Antonio by the name of William Gebhardt became the first maker of the spice blend to have his name identified with the stuff. Gebhardt’s blend contained a mix Mexican ancho chile peppers, paprika, cumin, cayenne, garlic, oregano and salt. Gephardt called his first product “Tampico Dust,” but later changed the name to Gephardt’s Eagle Brand Chili Powder,” which remains today as one of the best selling products of its kind.

At just about the same time Gephardt was turning heads in San Antonio, a dude by the name of DeWitt Clinton Pendery arrived in Fort Worth to set up shop. He started blending chili powder, peddling it nationwide, and becoming an apostle for the healing powers of chiles.

Pendery claimed in one of his sales flyers, that "[t]he health giving properties of hot chile peppers have no equal. They give tone to the alimentary canal, regulating the functions, giving a natural appetite, and promoting health by action of the kidneys, skin and lymphatics." Pendery’s products may still be found on store shelves, still a family business and sold today by his descendents.

Other products started appearing on store shelves, increasing in parallel to the successes of these two pioneers and as Texas “Hell on the Bravo” chili gained even greater popularity. Tomorrow we will spend time looking at the modern history of chili, visit with some modern chili purists, and examine some of the controversies and debates that have defined Texas chili.

To be continued tomorrow…

~~

Soup of the Devil

The evolution of Texas chili, first of a 4-part series

Although widely thought to be of Mexican origin, Texans claim chili con carne (or simply chili) to be our state’s “National Dish.” But chili really isn’t Mexican at all, and the origin of the interesting, spicy stew-like concoction is shrouded in myth.

Only because it is expected will one find chili on café menus in Mexico, and los turistas norteños will be the only ones seen eating the stuff. Mexicans don’t particularly care for it.

In fact, Mexicans don’t like it at all. In the 1959 edition of the Diccionario de Mejicanismos, chili is defined as a “detestable food passing itself off as Mexican, sold in the U.S. from Texas to New York.” More recent editions of the dictionary have become more politically correct, omitting the entry altogether.

So, if not from Mexico, from whence did chili come? All that is there to guide us in our quest are myth and legend, so it is difficult to determine its origin. At best we can only suggest that chili is just another of the one-pot meals which have made up the bulk of poor folk fare since before recorded history.

Food historians generally agree that the earliest versions were created for that reason, but there is no agreement as to culture of origin of the chile pepper stew we call chili and Texas claims for its  own.

The earliest Texas-related written entry I can locate comes from a fellow named J. C. Clopper, who in 1828 remarked about a substance he called “San Antonio's chili carne.” Referencing the cooking habits of Mexican/Indian inhabiting the area, Clopper observed, "When they have to pay for their meat in the market, a very little is made to suffice for a family; this is generally into a kind of hash with nearly as many peppers as there are pieces of meat - this is all stewed together."

The American Indians likely made a chili-like dish as well. Native American story tellers passed early chili recipes from generation to generation, but it is believed that the first such recipe recorded on paper was penned in the 17th century by a Spanish nun, Sister Mary of Agreda, known to the Indians as "La Dama de Azul," or “the blue lady.” Sister Mary was somewhat of a mystic and has been promoted as a saint in the years since her death in 1665. That she recorded a supposed Native American recipe is more than interesting.

Sister Mary never actually left Spain. She would go into days-long trances in which she never ate or actually slept. When she aroused, she would tell tales of traveling to mysterious, far away lands where she witnessed to savages, imploring them to seek Spanish missionaries. Those very Spanish missionaries, when encountering Indians of the new world and upon hearing legends of "La Dama de Azul," made the leap that Sister Mary of Agreda and the Blue Lady were one and the same.

Upon awakening from one of her trances, Sister Mary is said to have scribed a recipe, which she called “chile,” which contained  venison, onion, tomato, and chile peppers.

Since both tomatoes and chiles are native to the Americas and were relatively rare in 17^th century Europe, this tale poses some difficult questions.

Add to that the belief within the Church at the time that these chiles had aphrodisiac properties and were therefore sinful, one must wonder about the origin of Sister Mary’s recipe. In later years there are records of priests in the American southwest condemning the consumption of what they began calling, “the soup of the devil,” saying it was “as hot as hell’s brimstone.”

Another chili-like Foodstuff is native to Portugal, where as early as the 18^th century, poor Portuguese mountain people made a stew of beans, tomatoes, African spices, and probably chiles as well. When a bit of meat was available, they would toss that into the pot. This concoction is known as feijoada, and the Portuguese exported it to their New World colonies, most notably Brazil.

Similar culinary concepts may be traced to 18^th century Texas, where early Spanish ranchos free-ranged cattle, and the herders found a need for something good to eat. As they drove cattle down established trails, the ganaderos would plant patches of onions, chile peppers, coriander, majoram, and oregano in mesquite thickets for harvest on future drives. Combined with good Texas beef, this would become essential to Texas chili.

To be continued tomorrow…

~~

Nectar of the gods

Places like Kansas City and St. Louis try to claim some kind of ownership to barbecue. I'm sorry... but it started in Texas. The cattle were raised here and delivered there, so it only makes sense that all things beef had their genesis in Texas.

Barbecue as we know it is rather new to this world, with roots barely older than 100 years. There is evidence suggesting that German immigrants to Texas in the late 1800's/early1900's, while trying to find ways of cooking beef brisket to make it more palatable, just might be how closed pit, smoked bar-b-cue came about.

In the late 19th century, around the time that the Texas cattle industry was booming, German immigrants were taking the lead in preparing and cooking beef. The Germans fit in naturally because of strong butchering and sausage-making history. As good butchers will do, these German immigrants sought whatever means possible to make use of every scrap of the beef carcass, including the cheaper, most useless, and most unpalatable cuts. 

Beef brisket fits that description. The cut is as tough as skirt and has a very high fat content to boot.

Thus brisket historically was never been a beloved cut. Cooking a brisket by any of the common means resulted in something only barely edible. Rather than cooking over an open fire, more often it was boiled or pickled into the old-world corned beef. Boiled beef sucks, and corned beef was never a a Texas favorite, so it was often just fed to the dogs.

Well, we don’t feed it to the dogs these days. There is a whole subculture grown up around Texas barbecue, but wannabes from around the county still spin history to make it appear as if their poor excuse is the real thing. 

Sorry folks, but history wins this one. Texas is the home of real barbecue. 

Historically meat was cooked over open fires. Pits in the old days were simply some kind of bowl with a fire built in the bottom, and a spit or grate over them. In the late 19^th and early 20^th century the Texas  German community started cooking this otherwise useless cut of meat slowly on pits with lids, under low heat, and not directly over the fire. The high fat content simmered in the low heat and melted away slowly, keeping the meat from drying out and leaving only tender beef with a wonderful smoky flavor. 

This worked, and the only argument at that time revolved around which tree produced the best smoking wood.

Other than the rubs, nothing much has changed to this day. Closed pit, slow smoking remains the way to achieve a great beef brisket. You don't really need spices, seasonings, or rubs because of the flavor is naturally in the meat, but a good rub will help you win fans and contests.

So, in the public interest, I’d like to offer my recipe for Texas dry rub barbecue brisket.

Smoking a brisket is a slow process, so you should plan to start cooking the evening before. Depending on the size of your smoker you can do more than one brisket at a time. I have a big one capable of doing ten at the same time. The process is slow, and you’re cooking more with smoke than heat, so the more meat the merrier.

My favorite smoking wood is pecan, but mesquite and apple are good too. Hickory, while a favorite of many, fails to meet my expectations. In the end the only real criterion is that the wood be of the hardwood variety. Pine makes sucky BBQ.

Maintenance of the fire is imperative. The brisket will be under heat for up to 18 hours, and under smoke for at least the last six hours, so the heat level must remain constant over the entire time. Your target temperature is 180 degrees, so plan to babysit the fire overnight, having a good supply of charcoal and a fair supply of wood on hand before starting.

You'll actually have two fires. Build your first with charcoal alone. If possible avoid using starter fluid, but if you use that noxious stuff be sure it has burned off before starting the next step.

While the fire is settling down you should prepare your meat. Start with a 7-10 pound untrimmed beef brisket. This time of year is the best time to buy brisket, as many of the grocery stores offer sales on the traditional Independence Day fare. You’ll find the best prices in the Kroger at 99 cents a pound (usually limit two with a minimum purchase). Look for a slab that is nicely fatty on one side and bloody red on the other. Never buy a trimmed brisket.

Rub the brisket thoroughly with the dry rub (recipe below), wrap in heavy-duty aluminum foil (I like to double wrap to ensure a good seal), fat side up. To add a bit of the familiar, I like to drape several thick slices of bacon over the brisket before wrapping.

Place the wrapped brisket in the pit for about 12 hours. Keeping the moisture in the meat is important, so be certain you have a good wrap. Check your temperature frequently to ensure you maintain 180 degrees.

After 12 hours have passed, peel the foil open and remove the bacon, exposing the meat directly to the heat (you can eat the bacon now, but you need a beer to go with it.)

Start tossing some of the soaked pecan wood onto the coals and watch the smoke start to rise. Close the pit and leave it closed. Every time you open the lid you let smoke escape and the temperature suffers. In about six hours you’re ready to pull the brisket off the rack and enjoy a real, tasty treat.

You've been cooking mostly with smoke for these six hours, so you’ve got to make your wood smoke as much as possible when burning. My way of accomplishing this is to soak the wood in a trough of water prior to placing it in the firebox. Make sure you have a bed of good charcoal, get it burning good and hot, then place the soaked wood on top. To maintain sufficient moisture in the meat I set a pan of water on the edge of the fire. The steam from the water helps keep the meat hydrated.

Like I mentioned earlier, even without a rub the brisket, if prepared in this manner is very tasty. The fat boiling off adds the majority of the flavor and the bacon certainly doesn’t hurt, but a good rub adds your personal signature. Throughout history, barbecue chefs have created signature rubs, and then taken that recipe to the grave. I have no intention of following suit. Here is mine.

Brisket Rub ala Phudpucker - (also useful for pork butt or loin)

RULE #1 – Use fresh ingredients. Stuff in cans, bottles or jars bought off of shelves may be old and losing flavor. Using the freshest and highest quality you can locate will improve the outcome, and keeping a grinder around so you can process your own promotes the highest quality product.

These are the spices I use, and the ratio in which they are added. Make the recipe as large or small as needed, and then toss any leftovers. They don’t keep well.

• Raw, brown sugar – 16 to 1
• Salt – 6 to 1
• Dried garlic – 2 to 1
• Dried onion – 2 to 1
• Dried ancho chilies – 2 to 1
• Cumin seed – 2 to 1
• Annatto seed – 2 to 1
• Fine grind black pepper – 1 to 1
• Cayenne pepper – 1 to 1
• Coriander seed – 1 to 1
• Thyme – 1 to 1

So now go forth, make plenty big smoke (you’d be surprised how this helps get girls), then feed the naked and the unwashed with the nectar of the gods. Enjoy.

~~

Food blogging - - with BACON

There is a traditional Cypriot holiday dish known as pastitsio. This is sort of a Greek version of lasagna normally served alongside a roasted leg of lamb or beef, or sometimes roasted, suckling pig. Much like lasagna, pastitsio is a “pie” layered with pasta, meat, a spiced sauce and cheese. The dish isn’t simple to prepare, requiring distinct stages which are combined into the final pie.

Traditionally the sauce is white and the meat mixture is made with pork or lamb, although sometimes beef is used. While rare, tomato is sometimes added. The traditional cheese is haloumi, although that is pretty regionalized and isn’t one of my personal favorites.

I do like pastitsio and have piddled with variations for several years, twisting and mercilessly tormenting those ancient recipes to create a taste I might like. To a large degree I remained faithful the basics of tradition, but too often the ingredients simply were unavailable, and substitutes had to be tested. In the end, my version of pastitsio became rather Texicanized.

Regardless, this most recent concoction, I think, stands up pretty well. For your pleasure…

Pasta mixture ingredients:

• Pastitsio macaroni, 1 8oz package (may substitute ziti)
• Butter, 1 stick unsalted
• Salt
• 4 egg whites
• Chianti, ½ cup

Pasta mixture preparations:
Heat water in a 4-quart saucepan until you have a rolling boil. Add salt to taste, and then slowly add macaroni. Stir constantly to avoid sticking. Remove from heat while macaroni is still “tough,” drain and mix in melted butter. The egg whites and Chianti will be used later.

Sauce ingredients:

• Olive oil, ¼ cup extra virgin
• Chianti, ¼ cup
• Flour, ½ cup
• 1 pint cream
• 4 egg yolks, beaten
• Nutmeg, ¼ teaspoon
• Fresh mint, ¼ cup chopped
• Fresh curly-leaf parsley, ¼ cup chopped
• 2 cloves garlic, minced

Sauce preparation:
Heat olive oil in a saucepan. Slowly whisk the flour into the oil and maintain over the heat until you have a roux-like paste. Add wine, then slowly pour cream into the roux. Stir constantly to avoid sticking and you have a nice, smooth sauce. Remove from heat once the mixture is nicely thickened, then add egg yolks, garlic, ¼ cup each of mint and parsley, and ¼ teaspoon nutmeg. Your final product should be near the consistency of molasses. If not thick enough, return to heat and keep stirring until it is.

Meat mixture ingredients:

• Pork, ½ LB, smoked or slow cooked and shredded
• Cured bacon (Smoke, not maple), ½ LB
• Garlic breadcrumbs, ¼ cup
• Sweet onion, 1 medium chopped
• Chianti, ½ cup
• Fresh curly-leaf parsley, 2 cups chopped
• Allspice, ground, ½ teaspoon
• Cinnamon, ground, ½ teaspoon
• Salt and black pepper to taste

Meat mixture preparation:
Soft fry the bacon, drain off excess fat and coarsely chop. In a large mixing bowl, combine bacon with shredded pork. Chop the onion and sauté until translucent but still firm, using a small amount of the bacon fat. Reduce heat, add Chianti, parsley, allspice and cinnamon. Salt and pepper to taste. Low simmer for about 10 minutes, then drain. Combine with meat mixture, then add bread crumbs.

Final preparation:
Preheat oven to 375 degrees.

Shred about ½ LB Metsovone (preferred) or Kefalotyri cheese (use fresh, grated Romano or parmesan if the good stuff isn’t available).

Whip raw egg whites with ¼ cup Chianti. In a deep 6” X 9” baking dish, carefully align about ½ of the pasta so that the noodles are all pointing in the same direction. Pour ½ of egg mixture over this bottom layer of pasta, and then sprinkle with about ¼ of the shredded cheese.

Carefully pour in about half of the meat mixture, spreading evenly across first layer of pasta. Top the meat with enough white sauce to cover completely, and then top that with another ¼ of the cheese. Add remaining pasta, add remaining egg mixture, top with remaining meat, cover with sauce, and then top with remaining cheese.

Bake about 45 minutes until the sauce is bubbling up around the edges and the cheese topping turns golden brown. Allow to cool somewhat, then slice into squares and enjoy.
~~

Blog Roll Update

Announcing blog roll updates is not something I've done often, but because this one ought to interest a broad cross section of readers I figured I should give it a mention. The title tells the tale...

THE BACON SHOW - One bacon recipe a day, everyday, forever...

With recipes running the gamut from banal creations like the Bacon Lover's Mashed Potatoes, to more arcane inventions such as Eel, Bacon and Prune Stew; or English Pea Soup with Minted Crème Fraiche, Peekytoe Crab and Julienned Bacon, I have no doubt I'll be expediting the demise of many a poor hog, thanks to THE BACON SHOW.

The author is approaching 1,700 recipes, easily searchable by ingredient via the links in the right sidebar.

Besides astounding me with the wealth of bacon recipes, the author also introduced me to a new cookbook. How I have survived all these years without Jill Conner Browne's Sweet Potato Queens' Big-Ass Cookbook and Financial Planner on my shelf, I don't know.

~~

Guts for Brains

or… How Bar-B-Cue made us Smarter

A couple of million years ago the brains of our ancestor, Homo erectus, suddenly started growing larger, while their guts started shrinking. At about the same time, the structure of their teeth changed from sharp and fanglike, to smaller, duller things more like those of modern Home sapiens.

This is curious. Something prompted the rapid change in organ size, but what? We have an evolutionary quandary with few supportable theories, and inquiring minds want to know.

Enter Bar-B-Cue.

One of the more valid theories involves the discovery of fire and the consumption of charred flesh. Our ancestors discovered the benefit of eating more and better meat, thereby beginning the long process of swapping gut for gray matter.

Cooked meats are easier to chew, meaning we could eat more with less effort. The effect was higher percentages of protein delivered more quickly to the brain; leading to enhanced intellectual growth, language and motor skills development, more leisure time, and the eventual discovery of the pleasures of beer.

So, AD... we’re in good company.

~~

Do you love your kids?

There are a couple of interesting blog posts I’d like to recommend. One actually leads to the other.

Ambulance Driver is a friend of mine from somewhere south of the coonass line. He is a fair smart fellow with a heart bigger than his rather plump ass, and he has a young daughter by the name of KatyBeth who I dearly love. She calls me Uncle Donn and it breaks my crusty old heart. AD, despite his other shortcomings, makes a damn fine daddy for my darling KatyBeth. I’d find someone to help me whip his ass if he wasn’t. Maybe several sombodies.

I read AD’s blog pretty regular, and today I found a few day old post about someone else who loves her children. Archangel and Mrs. Archangel are in the midst of an international battle to regain her children. AD is asking that his readers pay a visit to their blog and look at the story. They are trying to raise money to pay the ever-mounting expenses of fighting the legal battle, but they aren’t standing on a corner with begging. Instead they are offering you value for your buck. These folks are right fair cooks. Maybe not as good as ol’ Mule Breath [blush], but still right fair. And they are offering something I would never offer. Their secret recipes.

Please pay a visit to Archangel’s blog and read the offer. The cookbook will be chuck full of finely crafted recipes sure to please, and the price should be twice what they are offering. I'm so certain that you will enjoy this book that I will offer you a double-your-money-back guarantee.

They need the sales… NOW folks… so please visit the blog, preorder a book and offer some support for good people trying to do the right thing for their children.

Please.
~~

On a Lighter Note

Several days ago a friend pointed me to a recipe on a Bar-B-Cue web site. The name of the site is BBQ Addicts. Now I generally don’t have much use for this kind of site as I don’t think I really need anyone telling me how to smoke meat. I’m pretty good at it. But my friend wanted me to see a special recipe.

He knows I love bacon and that I cook with the stuff pretty regular. This new recipe was titled, The Bacon Explosion. So it fit my MO. Once I got a look at it I figured I’d have to give it a spin. So yesterday I assembled this rather unique bit of culinary sculpture and put it on to smoke. Now my character won’t let me leave well enough alone, so I made a few substitutions and additions.

To begin with, I cook with jalapenos and habaneros right smart too, and onions and garlic never do any damage to a recipe either. So… I coarse chopped three fat jalapenos, two habaneros and one medium 1015 (if you don’t know what that is, you’re a savage), and I minced a few garlic cloves. These I spread out on the sausage layer along with the cooked bacon.

The rest of the recipe was pretty true, and the results were pretty spectacular. I’ve never thought it possible to have too much bacon, but the Bacon Explosion pushes the envelope. You definitely need several sides to go with it and tone it down. I did pinto beans, mac & cheese, cornbread, peach cobbler.