Just Shillin', Food Network Style

Though I find most of the shows on the Food Network these days to be tedious and silly, I still regularly visit their website to look up recipes. I've always found it a much more reliable source than, say, Google to turn up a pretty good version of solid, made-from-scratch cooking. Part of this is because the Food Network once had quite a stable of cooks, including Mario Batali, Bobby Flay, Alton Brown, and--when he wasn't too busy bamming up everything in sight--Emeril Legasse.

So, imagine my surprise when I logged in the other day and found at the top of my search results a "Sponsored Recipe" provided by Kraft. The particular recipe in question was for "Simply Lasagna", and it required the following ingredients:


1 lb. ground beef
2-1/2 cups KRAFT Shredded Low-Moisture Part-Skim Mozzarella Cheese, divided
1 container (15 oz.) POLLY-O Natural Part Skim Ricotta Cheese
1/2 cup KRAFT Grated Parmesan Cheese, divided
1/4 cup chopped fresh parsley
1 egg, beaten
1 jar (26 oz.) spaghetti sauce
1 cup water
12 lasagna noodles, uncooked

This is precisely the kind of industrial food glop that I turned to the Food Network recipe search for in the first place.

Not to fear . . . I did turn up a fine Batali recipe for "Neapolitan Baked Lasagna" that I ended up using. It was from his show back in 2000. I figure it'll get purged from the database before too long to make way for more "sponsored" schlock.

Oh, you poor thing!

It happened again a few days ago when I was eating dinner at one of the nicer restaurants down on East Bay Street. The crowd was a mix of people clearly out for a business function (I was one of those), some well-heeled tourists taking in Charleston cuisine, and a few families and older couples out for a celebration or maybe just a nice evening on the town.

Over at a corner tables, one couple stood out. The young woman was pretty and probably not quite old enough to order a drink. She was wearing a stylish dress (you could almost call it a cocktail dress) and high-heels, and she had clearly taken a lot of time with her hair and make-up. She was sitting at the table on an obvious date with a guy about the same age as her, only he was in ratty blue jeans with a rather rumpled looking t-shirt and apparently hadn't combed his hair in days.

This was hardly the first time I'd witnessed such a mismatched young couple. In fact, in nice Charleston restaurants down on the Peninsula, it seems to be par for the course--and it's always the guy who's in the jeans and sneakers. And I always want to know what the story is.

Maybe there's an innocent explanation, like the guy asked the girl to go out for dinner and he was thinking pizza and she was thinking five-star meal. But that would be more likely if you saw the two in a booth over at Andolini's.

Is this their first date? Is she sitting there checking her watch, mortified at his uncouthness and running through the line she's going to use to drop him like a hot rock at the end of the night? Or maybe this is date number twenty and she's resigned herself that "that's just the way he is" and figuring maybe he'll change someday when he finally grows up. Could it even be possible that she digs his casual style?

It's times like these that I become aware of my rapid advancement into middle age. At one time, even several years after I had gotten married and was thankfully no longer part of the dating scene, I understood the ground-rules: where you would go for a casual date and where you would go when you wanted to drop a bundle and really impress a girl. I understood what one should and should not wear for such occasions, and certain basic principles like never saying, "yikes!" when you first look at the entree prices, and never saying at a Mexican restaurant, "I think I'll just have a taco a la carte" after your date orders the seven-plate combination dinner. (This actually happened to The Wife on a first date in college, which helps explain how even a sloppy, absent-minded barbecue nut like myself seemed a catch when I finally came along.)

Increasingly, I get the sense that the rules are changing, but I'm not exactly sure how. I know we've gotten to be more casual, and rare is the restaurant today that will kick you out if you aren't wearing a coat and tie. But, are jeans and t-shirt acceptable attire for a dinner date these days, or is that guy just a punk?

My instincts say "punk", and I hope his young date soon finds herself a more worthy companion. But I'm not 100% sure anymore.

Before long I'll stop even wondering and just mutter into my Scotch, "Jesus . . . the kids these days!"

Barbecue for the Uneducated

I gave The Wife a GPS for her car as an anniversary gift. (Yes, I know, REAL romantic . . . but it's what she wanted.) Hands down the the best feature is the option to find Points of Interest > Food > Barbecue. I don't think this is why she wanted a GPS, but--for me, at least--anything that has a built in barbecue locator is a gadget worth having. (It's what led me fortuitously to Bono's Pit Bar-B-Q in Jacksonville.)

So, we're playing with the thing the first day, and I see the barbecue option and make her select it, and the nearest barbecue joint to our turns out to be . . .

"Shane's Rib Shack!" The Wife announces. "2.1 miles!"

"Naw," I say, on impulse, "That's not real barbecue."

But everytime I got into the Wife's car and punched Points of Interest > Food > Barbecue into the device (which was a lot), it made me think, and I realized I hadn't really been fair to old Shane's.

For starters, I'd never actually eaten there. I knew it was a franchised chain--part of the Raving Brands stable of single-food oriented "concepts" that include Planet Smoothie (smoothies), Doc Green's (salads), and, at one time, the Moe's burrito chain. (It turns out Raving Brands sold Moe's to Focus Brands last year.)

But is that really enough to turn up my nose and snub Shane's outright? I mean, what if just 2.1 miles down the road from my house is a little storefront selling national-class barbecue and I've just been too pig-headed--or maybe not pig-minded enough--to even find out what I was missing?

So one afternoon, feeling particularly open-minded and hungry, I swung by and picked up a big "Shack Sample" combo dinner to go. When I opened the lid to the styrofoam box, two long orange strips caught my eye, and it was enough to give me pause. Buffalo chicken fingers . . . in a barbecue combo? Nothing barbecue about them--just deep fried chicken tenders coated not in barbecue sauce but in the conventional spicy wing sauce.

I pushed them aside and proceeded to the chopped pork. Nothing particularly bad about it, but nothing good about it, either--really quite bland, without a hint of smoke.

The baby back ribs had a very familiar flavor to them that I couldn't quite put my finger on, but I think it was something in the sauce, since there was nothing smoky about them at all. While they were definitely better than the chopped pork, they struck me more as the kind of thing you might make in your oven and not over a barbecue pit.

The coleslaw, though made with cabbage chopped into fine bits they way I like it, was as bland as the pork. There was flavor enough to the Brunswick Stew, but it wasn't a very good flavor, and the whole thing had that oddly glutinous texture that suggests corn starch or some other thickening agent.

Now, I firmly agree with whoever it was who said that, like sex, even bad barbecue is better than no barbecue at all. I suppose if you were stuck somewhere like Michigan and couldn't get sweet tea and people gave you diced corned beef when you asked for "hash", having a Shane's open up on the corner might be a welcome event. People eat all kinds of things when they're desperate (q.v. The Donner Party).

But, when just a few more miles down the road there's Melvin's, and Momma Brown's, and Ray's BBQ, and Sticky Fingers--well, Shane, who really needs you?

As it turns out, quote a few people actually do need Shane. These are people who have money to spend but don't like barbecue--or, at least, are so benighted that they've never actually tasted proper barbecue before.

Jim Auchmutey profiled Shane Thompson, the founder of Shane's Rib Shack, in the Atlanta Consitution back in 2006, and the interview reveals a man actively at odds with the traditions of barbecue. For starters, while the interior of Shane's outlets have plenty of Hee-Haw-esque country decor, you won't find little pig statuettes or cartoons of cute oinkers dressed in overalls or chef's hats. "That whole pig thing--I don't like it," Thompson told Auchmutey. "You know, a lot of people think pigs are dirty animals."

Cleanliness is a big thing for Shane's Rib Shack, and I doubt you'll ever find one with a "B" health rating. Thompson unapologetically extols the virtues of electric cookers over wood-fired pits and even the gas-wood combo smokers that dominate the restaurant industry today. Shane consciously sought them out so that his barbecue would have less smoke flavor, believing that women not only prefer clean restaurants to smoky old BBQ joints but also like a lighter smoked flavor than men. With their electric cookers, you'll never find a red smoke ring on Shane's barbecue, but that's intentional. "We don't want people thinking the meat isn't done," Thompson said. "A lot of people are uneducated about barbecue."

So, it's easy to spot Shane's target market.

Ordinarily, being a rather mild-mannered guy and loath to offend, I would have refrained from even discussing these issues. Shane Thompson, the former medical salesman turned electric pitmaster, sold his restaurant and the formula to Raving Brands back in 2005, remaining on simply as a folksy "goodwill ambassador" in the marketing materials.

A charitable person might hope that this Shane character is just a loose canon spouting off for reporters and that the marketing-meisters at Raving Brands would have more sense than promoting such blatant heresies as the fact that pigs are dirty animals, that women don't like the taste of real barbecue, and that chicken tenders belong on a barbecue combo platter.

But, it didn't take much detective work to turn up the AJC interview: it's right there on the Shane's Rib Shack Corporate website. So, I can only assume the corporate suits buy in part and parcel to the notion that the way to create a successful barbecue empire is to get rid of as many of the characteristics of classic barbecue as you can. Perhaps they're onto something. From 26 units in 2006, Shane's has grown to some 90 restaurants today, with another dozen or so more on their way.

My Garmin Nuvi might say that Shane's is the closest barbecue restaurant to my house, but I'd have to take issue with that.

Pomegranate is the new Grenadine

I'm into tiki drinks and other rum concoctions in a big way these days, and during my explorations I've stumbled across any number of recipes that call for grenadine.



I don't think I've ever owned a bottle of grenadine before this summer. It was always something I remembered from my restaurant days as what we mixed with Sprite to make Shirley Temples. And we used non-alcoholic Blue Curacao syrup to make Smurfs, too, another kid classic. Do restaurants still get orders for those these days? When I was in college, going out for dinner was still a big enough event for families that they would want to order the kids something "special" from the bar. These days, a restaurant meal is more routine than a homecooked meal for many children, and soft drinks far more common than milk . . . and what kid today would even know who the Smurfs were?

But I digress. Back to grenadine.

It's sort of scary stuff--a neon, unnatural red color. If you look closely at the label, you'll notice it's mostly high fructose corn syrup. If you spill even a small bit on to your countertop (which, if you're like me, is an unwise white color)when mixing up a drink (which, if you're like me, is fairly likely, especially on later rounds), it'll leave nasty pink stains that it takes harsh cleanser and a lot of elbow grease to get clean.

Enter pomegranate nectar.

A pleasant purple color. It's much less sweet than grenadine (which is understandable, since Rose's grenadine is probably something like 99.5% corn syrup), but you are left with a tropical drink that feels tropical and doesn't seem like it should have been mixed in a slushy machine.

Like this modified version of the Mai Tai:

1 oz. light rum
1 oz. dark rum
1 oz. Triple sec
1/2 oz. pomegranate nectar (instead of grenadine)
1/2 oz. pineapple juice (instead of orgeat syrup)
1/2 oz. fresh lime juice

Shake with ice, strain into chilled glass (preferably an authentic Tiki mug) over crushed ice, and garnish with a spear of pineapple and cherry, or a nice paper umbrella if you have one.


You can also substitute pomegranate for grenadine in tequila drinks, like this Mexicana:

1 1/2 oz Tequila
1 1/2 oz. Pineapple Juice
1 oz Lime Juice
1/2 oz. Pomegranate nectar (instead of 1 tsp Grenadine)

Shake with ice and strain into a glass with crushed ice.

I know there's a lot of hoo-hah out there right now about pomegranate juice, and it seems a lot of people are drinking it for various antioxidants and other health fixes. Maybe. But at least it's easy to find now, and it makes a great addition to the cocktail mixer lineup.

Election Night at Tristan

If watching the election returns at home is too tame for you, and you're not up for the rubber chicken at the typical local politico shindig, Tristan has something a little more upscale that might fit the bill.

It's their inaugural "Election Party", where you can watch the returns in the lounge and enjoy a special appetizer selection along with a Brandy Sidecar for only $16.

If you get hungry, there'll be a three-course prix fixe meal that includes Washingtonian selections such as Blue Point Oysters, Filet Mignon, and a Hazelnut Soufflet for dessert, all for a mere 55 bucks.

A little extravagant, maybe, but surely your candidate is going to win, and he'll fix this whole economy thing in a jiffy.

Florida Barbecue at Bono's

My recently-acquired high-tech barbecue locating device served me well this week on a trip to Jacksonville, FL. At lunch time it plotted a route directly to Bono's Pit Bar-B-Q. I was a little skeptical as we pulled into the parking lot since it's just off a four lane parkway near a big mall, and the place looks just a little too clean and upscale.

But, as soon as I stepped in the door and was hit with a big snootful of hickory smoke I knew it was going to be just fine.

We had St. Louis cut ribs, pulled pork and--just for the hell of it, since it's fairly unusual item--barbecued turkey. All three were fantastic. The ends of the pulled pork were tinged that beautiful deep red from real wood smoke, and the turkey--big chunks of white breast meat--was far better than I expected, succulent and rich with smoky flavor. The ribs were perhaps the smokiest of all, the meat still tender and--thankfully--served without a lick of sauce on them. They didn't need any..

Bono's "original 1949 sauce" is a quite tasty yellow concoction that would more than, um, cut the mustard in a South Carolina BBQ joint. It's the farthest South that I can remember finding a mustard base--a reflection, perhaps, that what many call the "Midlands South Carolina" style actually scoots across the border into Georgia in the counties around Augusta. Apparently, it may have slipped a little down the coast into Florida at some point, too, though Bono's has Brunswick Stew and not hash as a side item.

I applied a little of the mustard-based sauce to my pulled pork and it went quite nicely. There was also a "hickory red" sauce that struck me as a bit Texan in origin, but there was really no need for it, since the ribs were more than flavorful enough to stand on their own.

Bono's has been around since 1949, when the Lou Bono opened his first location on Beach Boulevard in Jacksonville. There's now a good two dozen locations, mostly in North Florida. They cook their barbecue in big Southern Pride smokers, which are gas-fired but burn wood for smoke flavor. These are pretty common these days (Southern Pride claims that 12 out of the top 14 barbecue chains use their equipment), but Bono's takes an extra step and finishes the meat on a big open pit over Black Jack oak.

The open pit features prominently in the restaurant, positioned right behind the lunch counter, where you can watch the pit boss take the big shoulders and racks of ribs out and hand-slice each portion as orders come in.

I can't saw for sure how much of an effect the open pit has on the flavor, but Bono's barbecue does seem a lot more smoky and flavorful than a lot of other places that use those combo gas/wood smokers. At a minimum, it makes for a great effect, and keeps the delicious aroma of wood smoke in the air.

And, as a sidenote, I have to say that I'm a big fan of serving sweet tea with a slice of lime, like Bono's does, rather than the more standard lemon. It must be a Florida BBQ thing, since they do it the same way at Shorty's down in Miami, another classic Florida BBQ joint.

Some people like to sneer at Florida and claim it isn't really a part of the South. I can see how one might get that idea if they just fly into Orlando for a conference or a visit to Disney. Such folks ought to drop by Bono's for a little pulled pork, though. It might change their outlook.

Scenes from Domestic Life, Episode 4

If you cook like I do, it takes a little while. And that's part of the whole point. "Not now. I'm trying to cook dinner," I tell the Seven Year Old, who wants me to wrestle or play cards or play X-Box with him, since having the first 11 hours of a Sunday utterly devoted to his every whim just hasn't been enough "play time".

The longer I can draw that process out the better. Some men play golf to get themselves out of the house for a good four or five hour stretch. I cook overly complex meals. And hence this little drama:

Scene 1: A kitchen in a house in suburban Mt. Pleasant, SC. A father is preparing a chicken to roast in the oven.

[Enter Seven Year Old, wearing a down vest, plastic space helmet with visor, and plastic raygun]
Seven Year Old: Daddy, send me on a mission!

Father: Okay [thinks for a few seconds]. Trooper, the evil turtle has set a bomb that will go off in three minutes. To defuse it, you need . . . um . . . a pink shoe, a bridge, and . . . um . . . an article of clothing with a "B" on it. [sets kitchen alarm]. You have five minutes. Ready . . . GO!!!

[Seven year old exits stage left, hauling ass.]

[Father mixes a mai tai, listens to a little music on the stereo, enjoys the relative quiet downstairs.]

[Four minutes and fifty three seconds later, the Seven Year enters stage left, hauling ass and sweating in his down vest, which is much too warm for a South Carolina October. He's clutching a pink flip flop, a wooden bridge piece from the Thomas the Tank Engine train set, and a Boston Red Sox cap.]

Father: Great job! You defused the bomb. And with just seven seconds left!

Seven Year Old: Give me another mission!

Father: Okay [thinks a minute]. This time, the bomb is set for SEVEN minutes. And to defuse it you need to find five things that start with the letter 'Q". Ready . . . go!

[Seven year old exits stage left again, still hauling ass.]

Father: Parenthood is easy.


Scene 2: An upstairs family room in a house in suburban Mt. Pleasant, SC. A mother is sitting on the couch, trying to watch her favorite TV show while her two year old crawls all over her, demanding attention. She turns on the closed captioning so she can follow the dialog over the toddler's screeching.

[Enter Seven year old, hauling ass.]

Seven Year Old: MOMMY! I NEED A PINK SHOE! RIGHT NOW!

Mother: What? What are you talking about?

Seven Year Old: A PINK SHOE! A PINK SHOE! A PINK SHOE! RIGHT NOW! PLEEEASSE! IT'S URGENT!

Mother: I'm trying to watch my show! WHAT do you need a PINK shoe for?

Seven Year Old: A MISSION! I NEED A PINK SHOE!

Mother: No, you don't, I'm . . . fine, whatever. There's a pink shoe in my closet. Just leave me alone!

[Seven Year Old exits stage right, hauling ass. Fifteen seconds later's he's back.]

Seven Year Old: MOMMY MOMMMY MOMMY I NEED A BRIDGE RIGHTNOWRIGHTNOWRIGHTNOW!

Mother: I'm TRYING to watch my show! WHAT do you need?

Seven Year Old: A BRIDGE! A BRIDGE! A BRIDGE! RIGHT NOW! I HAVE THIRTY SECONDS LEFT!

Mother: Oh MY GOD!


Scene 3: A bedroom in a house in suburban Mt. Pleasant, SC.

Father: Man, aren't the weekends great!

Mother: [feigns sleep]

Holy Smoke!

My much-awaited copy of John and Dale Reed's Holy Smoke: The Big Book of North Carolina Barbecue arrived this week, and I've been working my way through it eagerly. It's a three-part book, covering "The Lore" (history and evolution of barbecue in the state of NC), "The Food" (a thorough cataloging of all aspects of the NC style--including recipes!--from cornsticks to Brunswick Stew), and finally "The People" (interviews with a dozen heavy-hitters in the world of NC barbecue).

The material is detailed and definitive--the most thorough volume to date on barbecue in the Tarheel State--but the Reeds have a great light-hearted style, and there are hundreds of priceless pictures, making it an all-around fun book.

I haven't been able to finish the thing yet because everytime I sit down with it I can only make it through about forty pages before I have to grab my keys and head out to find a barbecue joint. If I don't get too much sauce on the pages, I'll give a full report in a few days.

Real Apples

I spent the weekend at the beach with my parents, and they brought with them a big bag of fresh-picked mountain apples from North Carolina. While I've bought "mountain apples" a few times at farmer's markets here in Charleston, it was the first time in recent memory that I've had ones fresh off the tree. Man, what a difference. Sweet, tart, and so flavorful they'll knock your socks off.

Plus, the apples travel pretty well. My folks bought them on Saturday, and here it is five days later and I'm enjoying one of the big Granny Smiths I took home with me, pairing them up with a nice manchego cheese and, criminey!, the two flavors just blend together perfectly.

These aren't even heirloom varieties, just fresh picked versions of what you normally buy at the local BiLo. I don't see how I can ever settle for one of those tasteless Washington State models again.

A Barbecue Primer in the Key of G

You can read a ton of books about barbecue and all its regional variations. But here's all you really need to know:



Thanks to Kevin Johnson of Anson for the tip.