To quote Billy Jack, iconic badass from the 70’s.
When I see a story about a cow actually being arrested and imprisoned for murder, I try and accept that sometimes news stories are about crime, politics, sports, and sometimes it is about arresting and imprisoning animals. Granted, it is in South Sudan, but come on.
I suppose, as ridiculous as it sounds, it is actually way more humane than just putting the animal down, which is a knee-jerk reaction that almost any parent might entertain after watching their child violently ripped apart by a mad animal. I was never even close to an encounter of the bovine variety.
I have only seen the business end of the cow, both as a chef and preparer, and as a consumer.
I try and understand what goes through peoples’ minds when they blindly follow egomaniacal despots.
But I try.
God’s skies were angry tonight, and we were treated to a dazzling array of lightning strikes and an incessant downpouring of rain.
Used to be, I was the guy who would try anything.
Not really gross stuff, but if it was served as food to anyone on the planet (disclaimer—no cannibalism), then I would try it.
I never thought I would like rattlesnake, but despite being a pain-in-the-ass to clean and extricate the meat from the body, it lends itself to different flavors, as evidenced by the very popular pineapple salsa I made to accompany it.
3 cups diced fresh pineapple
1 cup julienne tart green apple
1 minced jalapeno pepper
3 oz. lime juice
3 oz. pineapple juice
1 diced small yellow onion
½ bunch finely-chopped cilantro
½ bunch diced green onions
1 tsp. minced garlic
1 tsp. cracked black pepper
After cleaning the serpent, I would smoke the meat in a Dutch oven, stuff into large baked chile rellenos with queso blanco, bake, and place it on a bed of red and green bell pepper creams.
Twenty dollars or thereabouts. I remember I was amazed that I could get customers in Toledo, Ohio in 1990, to eat pretty much anything I prepared.
And my food wasn’t cheap.
That is major pressure, but one that any stud chef would welcome if he (or she) are worth a damn.
I try and recall the smells of a French kitchen, especially Le Patisserie.
We booked a party of corporate bigwigs for a national moving company, and I had sold my ice cutting tools long ago. But I was feeling a bit cocky, and I thought I could pull off something simple as a centerpiece for the cold seafood bar we set up for them.
I was trying to use makeshift cutting tools using some of my kitchen garnish tools, but it just wasn’t going to happen.
I ended up having one of my sous chefs “accidentally” drop the ice piece on the floor.
When news of the loss spread, the owner asked if I could “piece it together.”
Of course, you know what I said.