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Upon further review: Instant Replay = Game Over, World Series Over, Over-easy egg tops re-reviewed green chile fettuccine carbonara alfredo. Over.

3 Nov

What do movie sequels have in common with instant replays? 
The odds against me adding ‘really awesome TV watcher’ to my LinkedIn skill set seem greater than or equal to Hollywood sequels from the previous century dictating the outcome of the 2015 World Series: Cubs Win!?!?
  

The Game Changer Variable

BTTF2 scripted prior to the implementation of MLB’s NFL envy Instant Replay Review rule, or if not football then horse racing’s photo finish – yet another gambling-related boner; yer up DraftKings – on behalf of MLB’s Puritan brain trust.

  


Upon further review: Game Over

 All MLB outcomes – or in the parlance of my fellow Chicagoans: ‘BELCH’ – no longer rest in the hands, arms, legs, eyes, jockstraps, superstitions and mouths turgid with seeds, bubble gum and/or smokeless tobacco blessed by the baseball gods: Nada, Nope, Nein, Nyet. 

Like its head-traumatized Uncle Rico: The NFL – and OTB parlors all across this proud nation- all MLB games now are ultimately decided by one assumes a Vatican of white men with the finest tuned TV watching skills in the universe. Never again shall a call at the plate be made based on sight & sound, guts & nose, skill & experience (unless elaborated upon in LinkedIn profile as ‘really awesome at watching TV’) and so apocryphal anecdotes such as the one to follow will be rendered as meaningless as home run records set while under the influence of steroids or even the Cubs 2015 campaign: 

‘Babe Ruth once took a called strike from Walter Johnson reputedly traveling with such speed that the Babe didn’t even see the ball pass the plate. No sooner did said ball smack into the leather of the catcher’s mitt and the ump yell ‘yer out’ did the Babe beam back at the man in blue asking, ‘Cmon ump. Did you even see that pitch?’ ‘Well, no,’ replied the ump. Ruth: ‘Me neither. But it sounded outside.’ 

So maybe it wasn’t babe Ruth and maybe it was Yogi Berra (RIP) and maybe the pitcher was Nolan Ryan (rookie season). And maybe blue made the right call. Or maybe it never even happened. Without instant replay, the truth shall neither be known or overturned.

Auden can’t love wingtips …so suggests my Google drive spell check because technology is never quite right, just more right than you or me will be ever again…and now that the robots of perception have taken over MLB, instant replay is the most right ever and bigger than all of us (the World Series included; the proof is a recent decision to delay the 2015 Fall Classic to review whether or not to continue with game one or two without instant replay by reviewing the delay of the game’s instant replay; apparently a pair of Harry Carey specs and empty 40 of Falstaff where discovers next to the chewed through broadcast truck cables) 

And now that I’ve ejaculated my truck over the instant replay rule delaying the play of a game – and this blog – MLB fixated on in order to ramp itself up to PS2 speed allow me to produce for you a conciliatory instant replay of my own device, an olive branch of you will or if you prefer, a casserole, only because you can’t eat a slow motion instant replay I remade the dish from my last post and rephotographed it and upon further review the sweet smokey flava came from bacon shoplifted from the butcher by my 16 month old felon of a son. (Both my son’s identity and that of the butcher will remain anonymous in order to protect me from CPS and the security camera monitor’s career prospects should he or she care to apply for upcoming openings with MLB, as instant replay booths eventually become as ubiquitous as really awesome TV watchers.)

  
Instant Replay: Green Chile Alfredo Linguine Carbonara con bacon

   
    
 

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.

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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.

Leftover T-Bird Green Chilenstein Enchiladasserole

6 Dec

Only caught a sense a local radio programme planned to run a piece about some gringo in NM who sent a batch of green chile seeds through the way back machine. His promise: a pre-genetically engineered chile verde = pure, unadulterated, virginal.

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By some reports our contemporary chile verde esta veritable genetic Frankenstein. Y what’s mas, the holocaust has been captured in glorious pixelated color, currently Netflixing. Oh my o my o mi dio.

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Am I alone in both my distaste and distrust the food superstition movement? Though I ‘spose it’s much more of a religious movement, how every time I log on to Netflix or NYTimes.com the documentation on why really only eating only Yeti is safe & ethical anymore grows quicker than AquAdvantage salmon.

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Yoo hoo, a-hem, yo, looky here overevolved Homo sapiens, did it possibly occur to you you are playing right into the hands of food? Look, I don’t want to eat ‘roided out chicken anymore than you do but we gotta keep eating up these mutants into extinction por population control RFN + once them chickens figure out how to wield a bat…we’re goners. chicken_slam_large_2

And C.) Back to the beginning, this supposed ghost of chile past. Pre-Colombian green sounds about as appetizing to me as authentic 1800s hard tack huslted up by a Civil War renactor. You know the breed, the Rebs and Union Oppressors who soak their coat buttons in their own urine, getting down to the last detail just right. Read: scary genetic freaks.

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Call this back to the cave cooking retro, call it vintage, call it pure, I call it playing God with horseshit. Fb Update: The entire universe has evolved several million times over since these supposed ancient seeds were unearthed, re-birthed and planted. Sin Machina de Tiempo: pass, me. Unless of course I can have my helping slathered on a loaf of SPAM. This paring  would be the closest and hopefully equally tastiest approximation of 2015’s T-Giving Leftover Casserole. Mi esposa went organic with the bird I went to the factory with a canned green chile, among other tinned ingredients:

Mira:

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Leftover T-Bird Green Chilenstein Enchiladasserole

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COMO:

Mix:

1-2 Cups leftover T-giving turkey: shredded

Above canned ingredients

Sauteed chopped onions and garlic

Salt, pepper, chile powder, oregano

Leftover turkey gravy

Layer in a buttered casserole dish:

Corn tortillas – Above mix – Mexi-cheese

Bake 350 covered in foil 25 min

uncovered 15 min

Under the broiler 5 minutes

Serve topped with sour cream, black olives, leftover canned cranberries

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Crank. It.

How happy am I my parsley has a Facebook page?

12 Nov

Amazing times these.

Diga me dudes and doo-dooettes: as a longstanding member of Facebookaholics Anonymous I’ll never know whether parsley might have ever accepted el amigo request para mi, let alone cilantro’s, rosemary’s or basil’s. One thing, that I do know there’s a lot of ruins in Meso-po-tamia uh uh uh uh uh oh uh….sorry but the great B-52s honoring our veterans go boom in me cans ahora…that parsley and some potatoes make the best of amigos, and on this here concocted western plata, besties for real for all time.

Besty Westerny Homey Fryies

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How: In a hot, small skilled unskinned boiled potato chunks fried atop diced onions seared in butter and olive oil seasoned with Jillipepper/garlic/salt/pepper add to this fresh NM green chile (2015) upon which you fry/steam and egg next to a slice of smoked cheddar by putting a couple drops of water in the lid of which you cover the heap with until said egg is cooked beyond its original slimy state: lowered to no heat. Go boom atop with the fresh, chopped (though I prefer mine scissored) Facebook parsley.

 

Hit it Fred:

Do salsa and a tortilla a Mexican dish make?

10 Oct

Not necesarioly, but it beats hell outta Wonder Bread and Miracle Whip.

You can be the judge and try any of the following fer yerself.

Exhibit 1: The Hello Darlin’ Dixiecan Carne Asada y Queso Grits y Amp & Alternator Burro

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Inhaled this tube ‘o old grits and glory serenaded by Howe Gelb, ergo the AA&A title reference. Tastes nothing like auto shop or hard tack even though the HDDCAyQGyAA&AB guts esta rooted in ancestral midnight moonshine runs & rusty rebel resentment. Mi esposa, a great great great grand daughter of the Confederacy, hustled up the skirt steak and Southern napalm. I added the refrieds and tort. The red stuff aka ‘octane boost’ is yer highly coveted Valentine salsa.

 

 

Exhibit 2: Dixiecan Casserole B-fast Burro

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 Innards:

1. Frozen shredded proper western hash browns fried in butter, onions and b-fast sausage (con grease) layered in a casserole dish with prepackaged shredded cheddar baked at 350 till crispy, bubbly, lethal.

2. Scrambled eggs
3. Canned refried frijoles

4. Salsa of your choosing. IMO, one can’t do better outside of Mexico than Herdez. The small cans epecially provide – por mi lengua y nariz – notes of first-class Puebla bus estacion diesel fumes and stray Die Hard battery volts forever singing me back to any one of several dozen viajes taken across the line. (Mas on salsa luego.)

 

 

Closing Argument: Faux Rancho Greenplat

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With dozens of superior green chile cheeseburgers for the wolfing up and down and back and forth across New Mexico – blogging from memory aqui – la pregunta para me’s never been one of quality but of quantity. For a decade now I’ve taken to the unofficial state plate like a sow to the truffles, sans merde. Rooting GCCB out of the unlikeliest of confines (gas stations/horse tracks/McDonalds), fue me. Me mentions this by way of introduction to another superior NM plata originel I’ve nearly cloned at home: The Faux Rancho Greenplat.

 

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 Faux Rancho Greenplat Bacchanalian back story:
Twas on a three GCCB bender, heading south to The Owl en San Antonio, btw GCCB #2 y tres, bisecting the interstate was we. Bacchus gripped the wheel of his company SUV. His company: Guiness. (His appetites mas grande than mine. Hence, why his name has been changed, both to protect the innocent and call off any open container charges.) Yo fue dios’s co-pilota.

San Antonio. NM sits a non-God of Drink and GCCBs 90 minute drive South of The ‘Burque. I ‘splain this por que Bacchus measures time by the beer. So, from The Frontier’s breakfast green chile , egg, bacon guacamole, and western hashbrown (con chile verde y queso) burgers, at Bacchus speed, we were looking at an ETA of about 3 Guinness. I cracked open número two, turned down the Drive-by Truckers, eager to learn all about El Rancho Greenplat, a plata Bacchus had been howling about through the months leading to my virginal tour de NM.

‘Now that were alone together and not shoving anything into our pie holes* (*Bacchus hails from Dixie, hence the dialect) I gotta ask why the hell they gotta name a cheeseburger El Rancho Greenplat? Not the most appetizing…..’

‘The what?’

‘El Rancho Greenplat? The burger we’re driving 90 miles – I mean 3 beers for?’

‘The what the fuck?’

‘El. Rancho. Green. Plat.’

‘You. Stupid. Fuck.’

‘The El Rancho Greenplat is a stupid fuck?’

‘Jack ass. The El Rancho Greenplat is from Quarters Bar-b-que……………In Albuquerque.’

‘So it’s not a green chile…’

‘No’

‘Then what the hell are we driving to The Owl for?’

‘Jack. Ass. You said you wanted to blow up your body mass index with green chile cheeseburgers – whatever the fuck that means – so we are going to for the best goddamn green chile burgers you ever had.’

‘Does someone need a hug?’

‘No…a beer.’

(Crack, slurp, silence, acceleration,
Drive-by Truckers.)

‘Can we go get a El Rancho Greenplat after?’

Dos mas beers and The Owl burgers gone and then one more beer and 3 gallons of gas more and Bacchus talks Mrs. Quarters herself into rolling up dos ‘killer’ El Rancho Greenplats for our dining pleasure; an ugly plata with an even uglier name that:

Me: ‘definitely lives up to its billing’.
B: ‘Whatever the fuck that means.’

The ERG TKOed us both. I recall little more than a cracking jolt to the system as maw closed down on the final bite.

Post blackout, the Mrs shuffled me y B across the gravel parking lot to digest down and sober up ‘neath the shade of the Guinessmobile.

While I never set boot back into Quarters, yonder in NYC and again high in Colorado, I tracked down the ingredient which I believe provides El Rancho Greenplat with its essential ‘Fuck yeah!’: fresh smoked turkey breast.

No longer down the road from a Rocky MT smokehouse and/or Jewish deli I settle for the bridesmaid: applegate organic smoked pavo. The remaining ingredients: non-canned pinto beans or canned refrieds, fresh roasted NM Greenchile, prepackaged preshredded cheddar cheese, flour tort. Tasty cold to hot, sober to drunk.

No surprise aqui, all platas – to me -take no prisoners and even less time to make than they do to eat (quite to opposite to most things ‘worth the wait’) or to read about even. Guaranteed to make all go boom boom boom…down comes the gavel….and I’ll leave the last word on whether or not tu will buy torts y salsa turns all comers into Chorizo to Pat Travers:

If it looks like fish, smells like fish, and tastes like fish…

20 Jul

it must be fishy. Verdad? And if it’s a fish cake, should it be cakey? Served on a hamburger bun, bunny? Yet we’ve  been told bunny is supposed to taste chickeny, just like her cold-blooded anicmal friends froggy, alligatory and rattlesnakey?

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And if this all sounds mildly insaney that’s because waking hours ’round here pass interpreting the caterwauly requests of a 4 week old and/or re-re-re-re-reading books written for the under 4 set to the nearly 2 tortilla model which makes this blogger’s brain jell-o-y.

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So dig this big crux: even with dbl dad duties I managed to corral ingredients for a flippin’ rico patty as salmonly as it is Az-Mexi.

Before heading onto the recipe – and possiblamente the cooking secret of the century – as is my habit, I must clear my head:

Where is the logic in tossing out fishy fish? I mean, if it were gummy or furry or gnawing on your testicles, yeah, fish gotta go.

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Whomsoever won’t eat their meat meaty, fish fishy or elk elky can head on over to the latest vegan blog for a Satany seitan dish (conspiracy theory sidebar: veganism no doubt is the work of Satan. Mira, el diablo figures if he can convert Homo sapiens over to not eating and killing animals, well unless the Internet beats them to it, once the rest of animal kingdom friends up on Facebook, they will surely rise up and destroy us all.)

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But because as I blogged antes, ‘my idea of seafood is a cow standing in a puddle’ one might pensar I’d be the last person on earth – save the few remaining teetoaling vegans foraging for twigs and loam – to delight in a fishy dish concocted from pungent Puget sound canned pink salmon
(actually from Trader Joe’s, Chicago).

Message to ‘The One’ doubter, in the words of the prophet James Brown, ‘Get Up Offa That Thing” and get up on this:

Stinkin’ Salmony Salmon Green Chile Gringo Fishy Fish Cakes

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The Innards:

1 can of canned Pink Salmon (skin, bones and all)

1 quarter bag of roasted, peeled, defrosted (duh) NM green chile (in a pinch roast, peel and seed a fresh jalapeno)

1 egg

1 handful binder (I used saltines, flour and bread crumbs will do)

1/3 cup of roasted cut fresh from the cob corn (0r canned)

chopped handful of fresh cilantro, parsley and scallions

salt, pepper, garlic powder to taste

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Optional toppings: lime, sour cream, crumbly queso blanco, fried egg.

Optional edible delivery vehicles: hamburger bun, english muffin, etc


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The How To:

Mash together the fishy, stinky mess with your bare hands then form patties. Size does not matter. Fridge till firm. Fire up the grill to medium. Grill 3-5 a side. NOTE: Don’t blame me if the cakes lose their firm grip on the grates and jump to their own fiery death.

Orale, ready for that how about that Cooking Secret of The 21st Century? Glad you reminded me – wait for it –

How to prevent a fish cake freefall through the grill grates.

Option A – My Great Idea:
Add binder. Fine and dandy if you prefer your fish to taste, um, ‘bricky’.

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Option B. y mi esposa gets full credit for aqui y ahora: Fry the patties up on a piping hot griddle. No caca, right?

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You, in the back row with your hand up, pinching your nose, you have a question? How do I compensate for the essential and superb deliciousness of ‘grilly’ness?

Uno word mi amigo: butter.

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Anyone who has a beef with ‘buttery’, I say let’s feed ‘that one’ to the salmon.

On ‘The One’ now if you please, JB:

 

Bye-bye Brazil green chile cheeseburger

13 Jul

Same recipe as last post, this time with ipix:

Before:

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Despues:

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Adios:

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