Archive | April, 2015

Man, Nacho, Nachoman or Super Nachoman?

18 Apr

Praise Allah, Jah, Yahweh, Nietzsche y todos Los Dios por MLBeisbol esta en el aire. Literally, for me en Chicago aqui. The Wrigley Field extreme makeover be better both seen and heard from the friendly confines of our balcony – at least until urinegate passes. 

 Our apt complex’s western facing facade glows eves awash in the brilliant digital hues of a video screen so grandiose and HD one can count the whiskers on the scoreboard visage of Jon Lester’s chinny chin chin from the friendly confines of our balcony – at least until urinegate passes.  Compounded by a bombastic sound system quite possibly purchased from the old Shea Stadium on e-bay (blown speakers included) filling our living room starting-line up announcements and 7th inning stretches the Cubs and we are one.

Y ahora yo lustily await at least uno otra mas Wrigley makeover assault on mi senses: that of smell. Please St. Harry and St. Ernie let the upgrade to concessions – both stands and menus – include a yet-to-be installed jet engine ventilation system. Not to drown out the cheeky organ asides echoing across Lakeview rooftops. No. So that the unbeatable eau de beisbol wafts down Halsted Street and on into my nasal cavities y mi casita at gametime.

And if you are taking requests Santos y St Santo, charge the dominant scent not with that of the grill but of the nacho cheese pump. 

While to the noses and tongues of millions (and their gastrointestinalalogists) Proustian Wrigley Field remembrances smack of hot dogs, stale beer, chew spit and urinal mints past, the same no hablar o’ moi nariz. No whiff nor sniff not snort of Wrigley passes these nostrils without recalling golden, delicious petroleum nacho cheese and its DIO: Super Nacho Man.

….slow, gauzy, dream sequency dissolve por favor…The Summer of 1989. Cubs vs Mets. Wrigley bleachers. Heat + humidity = that trapped under a wet German Sheppard feeling. Maddux. The Hawk. Andre “Woo”.Grace. Andre “Woo”. Sandberg. Girardi. Andre “Woo”. Gooden. Mookie. Cone. HoJo. The Straw That Stirs Dykstra electrifying the bleachers entire into chanting “grab your balls” each time he storms into the outfield, to which Dykstra responds by vigorously hustling his crotch, spitting, then spinning around to face home plate.  popcorn. peanuts. cracker jacks. Harry Carey. Gallons of warm Cub soda y front row center Super Nacho Man: a 300lb glistening, sweaty, shirtless balding wonder of  tumescence, a drum tight party keg beer gut protrusion upon which precariously rocks a plastic nachos boat. Left hand lowers and raises beer goblet to wash down bites of hot dog delivered to mouth with right hand, pausing en route for a quick dip in the nacho cheese sauce. A soupy yellow trail runs between Super Nacho Man’s hirsute and ample breasts which he erotically mops up with the final bite of his Super Nacho Cheese Dog at the exact moment Dykstra normally racks his balls, only before he can, Nails stops dead in his cleats, beguiled and/or blinded by Super Nacho Man’s omniscience popping the golden nugget dripping with sweat, hair, cheese and spit into his maw then roaring, “C’MON LEONARD, GRAB YOUR BALLS ALREADY!’ launching the nacho boat into the ivy, the game nearly called due to his thunderous tortilla chip, beer foam, jalapeno, and nacho cheese storm.  

With Wrigley v.2 bleachers under construction until at least June, and piss cups de rigueur, yo suggest settling down on your belly homegrown – and IMO vastly superior – super nachos not unlike the platas flying around these parts.   Key ingredients: pinto beans from the stove top not the can; NM green chile; non-petroleum yellow cheese; leftover grilled meats; hot dogs and sweat optional. 

 Extra added bonus innings in your mouthole: Mi Esposa’s contribution: Chile Gringa Nachos. Ground chicken, onions, garlic, chicken broth, white beans, fresh scallions, white beans and Jilipepper from NM. 

  

(Yes, those are the dimmed lights of Wrigley blurry in background.)  

Viva Los Cubs!

Holy Weekend! Worshipful Pastrami Tacos got made (thank you J.Dilla act 5)

4 Apr

 


Rarely do yo concoct a dish whose brilliance transcends the words I typically choke up these blog posts with. In the case of these here pastrami tacos, only the brilliance of J. Dilla’s ‘donuts’ (the LP and 33 1/3 book, not some recipe) which just so happens to also be the source de inspiration, the late, great J. Dilla (Detroit Pastrami/comida y beats pastiche/delicious round foods resembling 45s) who moved to SoCal, home to a pastrami taco (@Astro Burger) even before meat hit hot slillet though this one comes from the Middle Coast. Recipe couldn’t be simpler/flava holier than shit. 

 

(Some assembly required)

1. Skillet fry super-fat thick-sliced pastrami (Detroit-smoked/scored in Skokie) 

  

Tong onto skillet warmed corn taco torts

  

Top what you like:

– Sangre del Kojak salsa caliente

– Trad. chopped onions y cilantro 

– Vinegary cole slaw

– Frijoles negros

– Sin queso y always, but always guacamole y squeeze o lime

 Edit   

Serve, chill.

Painting the Joy of Cooking Brown con AzChiNMexi Mac y Cheese

2 Apr

If there is a more all-encompassing gring@ cookbook I dunno it. The revised version of The Joy of Cooking is that of which I blog, not mine. The pre-PC original – on the otro mano – could at least pass for aboriginal. Recipes for vermin, including skinning instructions – IMO – transcend borders and ethnicity.

DRVDW

Yet like every other cultural icon worth it’s weight in insensitivity – The J o’ C got censored/edited by the PC Orwell wannabes in the PC 80s/90s. (Exception: Speedy Gonzales.) Thank god the copy I inherited escaped a Fahrenheit 451 ending, though the dust jacket lost to a gravy spill and and several fingers of bourbon on the counter of Southeners who may or may not have had slaves in the family were absorbed into its pages and spine.

 

 

So no, this copy’s geneology is anything but PC or artery-friendly. Yet, again, I knew I had to blow the cobwebs off Ye Olde JoC for some non dot.com direction with the culinary kindling left in la casa of late. Being stranded aqui (esposa y dos los ninos viaje en FLA) during Chicago’s final four March Madness Blizzards stirred up a hankering for a casserole as warm and hearty as a sweater mi imagniary abuela might have knitted you, between slurps of beaver tail soup.

 

Fresh out of squirrel and ammo, I deferred to a pollo chi-chis, marinated and grilled, tossed in the obligatory sack ‘o NM chile verde, and got slightly carried away with the Mexican oregano to give an otherwise high gring@ dish some much needed color. The latter resuced the dish when any one of the main ingredients went missing, curiously rounding out each bite should a chicken chunk or green chile slip off the spoon.

 

Mi Imaginary Abeula’s Big Ol’ Feliz Casserole alias

Painting the Joy of Cooking Brown

alias

El Mac y Cheese y NM Green y Pollo Sweater

 

 

 

Follow the instructions from Pre-PC J o C aqui

 


AZ/NM/Mexify con:

Pollo asado chunks (recipe is your call)

NM Chile Verde

Stir into the milk/egg “batter”

1 tsp Mexican oregano y 1 tsp NM red chile powder

Quatro queso Italiano blend + parmesean

Sprinkled topping: NM red chile powder/crunched up Donkey yellow corn tortilla chips.