Quickie #1

March 30, 2011

Charlotte, NC

So up until now each post I’ve written has begun with a story or anecdote about myself or my life that is in some way, direct, convoluted or even completely opposite, connected with the food subject at hand. They are typically, in my opinion, funny and/or ironic and make my blog different than the vast majority of the ones that I have read in the past. 

Right now, however, I find myself in the unique position of not having some symbolic past experience or life lesson to tie to my latest food discovery. Of course this might be a good thing as the current topic at had is Fried Chicken Livers - I feel very confident that I have successfully found the best in the world!

Whilst ordering the obligatory, but no less awesome, Buffalo Chicken Sandwich at Wing King Cafe, which is on the corner of S. Tryon St. and Carowinds Blvd in Charlotte, I noticed that they offered Fried Chicken Livers as an appetizer. I have been in search of the greatest chicken liver for many years, having ordered them from scores of hole-in-the-wall down home restaurants, gas stations, high-end “new southern” trend setters, asian establishments and many of the highway stalking general store/eateries that are named after small biscuit storage units from the turn of the last century. There was no way I was not giving these a try. I’m now very thankful that I did. 

With an extremely crispy exterior and only the slightest hint of iron, these were extraordinarily clean and fresh tasting. Served with a side of the King’s house buffalo sauce, which I’d never seen as an accompaniment to these crunchy offal treats but was pleasantly surprised, these easily topped all that I’d tried before. 

Do yourself a favor... if you love chicken livers, hate chicken livers because they were “bloody” or irony tasting when last you had them or have never tried them before but are in any way interested - give these a shot. You will not be disappointed.

Wing King Cafe

13209-B Carowinds Blvd.

Charlotte, NC 29273

Fun & Fellowship

March 24th, 2011

Gaffney, SC

They were loud. Incredibly loud. Obnoxiously loud. My six year hold hands could barely cover my ears enough, while holding a blow up sword in one and a bag of cotton candy in the other, to halt a drum blowout. They were the bane of every parade I attended in the early years of my life. 

Shriners Go Karts. 

Whether made over to look like stock cars, Corvettes, old hillbilly trucks or 57 Chevy’s, you could hear them pop and sputter and whine for what seemed like miles before they entered site. Call me a wuss but I was young, had sensitive ears and hated those things. For all I new those guys’ idea of a fun weekend was tying a few kids to a post and driving circles around them in those backfiring soap boxes. What were these Shriners anyway... old dudes in funny hats with, at the time at least, bad mustaches? 

As has happened with so many things in my life, I grew up to find what I once thought true to be just a bit different. Not only do most Shriners refrain from intentionally scaring kids with their minicars, but they also raise millions of dollars every year to fund their 22 hospitals in North America where children are treated for spinal cord injuries, burns and orthopedic ailments without financial obligation. I have found that they can cook the hell out of some Quail as well.

Established in 1870 as an appendage of the Free Masons on the basis of “fun, fellowship and brotherly love,” the club known for it’s social participation and generosity. Twice every year the Cherokee County Shrine Club hosts a fundraising dinner which focuses on the delectable little fowl that, unless you own a 12 gauge and a few acres of land outside of town, are not typical dinner fare. Tonight I was able to attend my second of these “Quail Dinners” with my dad and younger brother who was visiting from Charleston, SC. Over a thousand of the farm raised little birds were brought in to the “Temple” situated on, appropriately enough, Shrine Club Rd on the southern side of my home town, Gaffney, SC. 

In the spirit of the previously mentioned fellowship, this is great “activity food” as I like to call it. Not unlike a crawfish boil, oyster roast or low country boil(I believe it was only coincidence that those three examples all revolved around seafood, but I am certainly in need of a trip to the beach), eating quail require a large amount of effort on the part of the eater. Many small bones must be navigated, avoided and discarded in order to enjoy the relatively small amount of meat they possess. This is a down and dirty, eat with your hands, 24-paper towel kind meal. Lightly breaded and deep fried in peanut oil, when you tear into a half dozen or so(emphasis on the OR SO)  you feel the satisfaction of having at least put in some effort for your meal. 

The small muscles of the quail take on the consistency of fried frog legs, a good amount of chewiness, but not so much that it diminishes the enjoyment. Though it does make one wonder the difference between the admittedly non-professional kitchen “staff” here at the Shrine Center and the french guys to whom I forked over $20 for my last plate of amphibian. Perfectly seasoned and still warm from the oil, it was very hard to pay attention to the array of sides accompanying the main but I was strong enough to give them their due. 

Corn and green beans, staples on any dinner table in our region, they were good but not necessarily noteworthy. The dressing however, wow. Traditional southern cornbread dressing, awesomely seasoned and still incredibly moist, this is one side dish that I admittedly have never made and want so dearly to master. Biscuits - light, fluffy, buttery perfection. Screw a gun, happiness is a warm biscuit. All of these were spread out on the tables to be passed and eaten family style and were highlighted by the pièce de résistance - pitchers filled with brown gravy. PITCHERS FILLED WITH BROWN GRAVY! When any item ran out you raised your hand and they brought you more. What that means is for an entire hour, this evening, I had PITCHERS OF BROWN GRAVY ON CALL! I raised my hand and guess what happened...MORE BROWN GRAVY!

Sorry, I got a little overwhelmed there, ok, Im back. 

So the ol’ Masons were looking for fun, fellowship and brotherly love. I’d say that this night had all of that - great food, a couple of beers, hanging out with my dad, brother and some old friends I had not seen in quite some time, not to mention those pitchers, I would highly recommend making the trek to Gaffney at least once to check out this night of bone throwing. You have 2 chances per year!

 Cherokee Shrine Club
151 Shrine Club Rd.
Gaffney, SC 29340

Don’t F#@% With My Cheeseburger

March 20, 2011

Charlotte, NC

The majority of the senior management at my company, when trying to convey a point, explain a process or just tell a story, use sports analogies. They often relate a coach’s relationship with a player or a team’s triumph over a one-man show. 

These are typically lost on me. Not that I am unable to see the correlation between the anecdote and the issue at hand, but it just doesn’t get my creative juices flowing especially when they are referring to a specific game or player from 30 years ago. I like sports, just not THAT much.

In one instance, however, I was all ears while listening the our President and CEO speak when he used a food analogy. He is a very surefooted and pensive man who is not afraid to make fun of an economic analyst in an 8K or curse, with gusto, in a room full of employees in the middle of the bible belt. He was discussing our company’s plans to begin a new service offering and mentioned his only instruction to the group initiating this new product was that “this new hotdog had better not F#@% with his cheeseburger.” Now we’re talking! 

Interest now peaked and ready to seriously pay attention, I listened as he explained how a cheeseburger shop can make the best burgers in town. Then, in an effort to follow that entrepreneurial American spirit, they decide to add a hotdog to the menu. The hotdog is subpar and, because of their distain for the new venture, customers stop coming altogether - awesome burger or not. Next thing you know the place is out of business. This is what I thought of the first time I walked into Cast Iron Waffles and looked at the menu. 

Aside from their beverages - typical breakfast fare made up of fair trade coffees in all her forms, assorted teas of excellent quality and smoothies along with milks, juices and sodas - they serve waffles. Belgian Liege Waffles to be exact, but more on that in a second. They do not offer hashbrowns. No omelette station, eggs over easy on a griddle or even the fake stuff stirred in a cup and zapped on high for 45 seconds. No pastries, muffins or danish. No toast with jam. And, heaven forbid, NO MEAT PRODUCTS AT ALL! I mean no sausages, country ham or BACON. “How in the hell can a place serving breakfast not offer delectable, crispy, cured pork product to accompany its main lineup and expect to stay in business,” I asked myself on that first visit. 

I thought back to the musings of my almighty Chief Executive because when I originally thought about his analogy for a bit I realized that it was quite singular. Think about it, outside of those hotdog and hamburger temples, who else out there is able to get away with cooking only one thing. Its quite the opposite actually. These days most restaurants, especially those in the middle of the road, national chain, category, make a gut-wrenching game of who can cram the most crap on one menu (read Cheesecake Factory, if I wanted to get fish tacos, asian shrimp and a french dip at the same place I would mosey over to the Food Court and save myself 60%). No, those roadside burger joints and downtown hotdog carts are the only places that can get away with it. To try that with any other kind of fare would be financial suicide. Unless....unless, like those hero’s of grease, you take that one item and prepare it as if your life depended on it - because no doubt your livelihood does. You set out and through trial, error, science, common sense, skill and whimsy create something that is absolutely wonderful. Something truly different and astronomically better than anything of its kind that people have had in the past. What I’m saying is that if the Liege Waffles in Belgium are any better than those at Cast Iron Waffles then I can never have them, as I would die. 

Originating in the city of Liege, Belgium, these waffles are typically a more rich, dense and inherently sweet waffle than the traditional Belgian. Basically the volume on all of the great aspects have been turned up to 12. Adapted from brioche bread dough, they incorporate chunks of pearl sugar. At Cast Iron, when the waffles come out of the namesake Press, they are transferred to an inferred broiler where that sugar is caramelized in the outer crust. This creates an awesome crystalline crunch, not unlike that enjoyed in hunks of really good parmesan, which really adds to the decadence of the experience. 

Cast Iron offers their waffles in several forms, Naked - typically dusted with powdered sugar - giving you the ability to simply enjoy it for what it is... pretty damned close to perfection. Extra Sweet are topped with your choice of house whipped cream, an incredible maple butter, melted belgian chocolate or, my wife’s favorite, Nutella. The Deluxe takes the Nutella and whipped cream and ads fresh fruit, typically strawberries, peaches, kiwi, etc. They will top your waffle with a scoop of fat free(which is basically like ordering that Diet Coke with your Quarter Pounder meal) to make it a sundae. They have also started making some specialties such as the berry cobbler and the peanut butter cup, which is what I had this morning and inspired me to write this article. It was a sweet, salty, slightly crunchy square of awesomeness that had that rich mouthfeel of an over-stuffed peanut butter fold-over with a stellar contrast of warm waffle and cold from the fridge whipped cream. 

I have to be honest, the first day that I walked in I said to myself “eat up now because there is no way a place that just serves waffles can stay in business.” But I swear, when they do something this incredibly well, it makes complete sense that now, months later, they are still thriving...and my stomach is very thankful for that. 

Cast Iron Waffles

9604 Longstone Ln

Charlotte, NC  28277

What Comes Around...

February 28^th, 2011

Charlotte, NC

In my elementary school years I was involved in a boys group at church called the RA’s or Royal Ambassadors. Not unlike the cub scouts for that age group, it focused on development of character as well as growth mentally, physically and spiritually. One of our more frequent activities was taking one-night camping trips on some farmland owned by one of our RA leaders. It was on one of these trips that I was introduced to two things that would, ultimately, have a long lasting impact. The first…snipe hunting. I would spend many late, dark nights thereafter initiating others into the adventure of pursuing those elusive little rodents. The second…SPAM.

I was first served SPAM, sliced, sautéed in a skillet over a campfire and served on toast, by a fellow RA when I was 11 and he 12. I can remember watching that rectangular wad of compressed meat and binder splat onto the plate and then seeing it give way to a butter knife far too easily to be an actual meat product. I knew it was a bad idea before taking a bite but hey, I was with a loving and supportive group of boys that were between 10 and 13 years old – had I not tried it I would have been made fun of so badly I would not have been able to go to sleep because of the rapid-bottom-lip-movement. So I grinned, endured the taste texture and smell and then vowed never to eat it again. Simple.

A year or so later I went with my parents and bother on a little family excursion to Universal City in California. We were able to stay on the concierge floor of the Universal Hilton where, everyday, an afternoon snack was served. There would be various little treats and beverages, a pretty cool spread for a kid my age. One day there were these little rolls with rice on the outside and some kind of protein and vegetation inside. From what I’d seen on TV I knew that this stuff was sushi. And since I had recently read that the favorite food of Jason Gedrick, who played my favorite character of all time (Doug Masters), in my favorite movie of all time (Iron Eagle), was sushi, I was then bound and determined to try it and love it. Although it’s a little fuzzy nearly 2 decades later, I am pretty sure that my first foray into the Sushi arena that day in California was, a platter barely gas station worthy California Rolls. I decided very quickly that those “Hollywood” people were crazy to eat such horrible vittles and, again, made a solemn vow – this time to avoid the consumption of sushi, in any of its forms, ever again.

Thankfully, a few years later, I came to my senses, tried sushi again – at a very worthy and unfortunately now defunct temple to sushi called Tokyo in Charlotte, and I was able to find one of my most beloved food platforms. Sushi has opened my eyes to an entire world of flavors, textures and creatures that are rare to experience in most any other foods.

An enjoyment of SPAM, however, was not something that had come full circle. I had had no other reason, opportunity or inclination to venture back into the realm of potted meat. It’s just not a common “go to” in my life. For those who live in Hawaii, though, this is a different story. The love of “The Hawaiian Steak,” as SPAM is referred to often, is so dominant in the islands that it is on the menu at both McDonald’s and Burger King. It would then make sense that, on my first visit to Aloha Hawaiian BBQ & Grill in the White Hall Shopping Center on S. Tryon in Charlotte, I found something very interesting on the menu – SPAM Musubi. Literally an onigiri roll made with rice and sliced, warm SPAM. Do you really think I could say no?

I ordered one immediately and was amazed at what was laid before me. A thick layer or warm sushi rice and a freshly griddled slice if compressed ham, neither too thin nor too thick. Paired with a sweet and sour dipping sauce, it was quite incredible. The soft rice and chewy nori perfectly masked any possible textural unpleasantness created by the SPAM itself. The combination truly seemed to result in some umami characteristics. I will be ordering this again in the future.

The also have some other pretty incredible Hawaiian favorites. Chicken Katsu – pounded thin and breaded then fried to an awesome crispness. BBQ Chicken marinated in Hawaiian sauce – it stays very moist while on the charcoal. Kalbi Short Ribs - sweet and succulent. This little joint really has a lot to offer.

But in the end, there are 2 things that I once said I’d never try again that I have now come to love. Oddly enough they had to be combined for me so be able to say that about the both of them.  In an effort to save my son from a partially similar fate I have, at least, planted the sushi seed – which seems to be growing nicely.

Aloha Hawaiian BBQ & Grill

8107G South Tryon Street

Charlotte, NC 28286

TGIF

February 4th, 2011 (last visit)

Lake Wylie, SC

Merriam-Webster defines Barbeque(cue) as Noun a: a large animal (as a steer) roasted whole or split over an open fire or a fire in a pit. Hmmm, that doesn't exactly do it for me. b: Barbequed food. Seriously? Verb a: to roast or broil on a rack or revolving spit over or before a source of heat (as hot coals). This one is a little warmer but not quite there. b: to cook in a highly seasoned vinegar sauce. I find about 8 things wrong with that one. 

To truly define Southern Barbeque we have to throw out Noun and Verb altogether, we need to be thinking Technically and Regionally. In my opinion, and backed by my complete lack of authority (though I did, just last week, join the South Carolina Barbeque Association and hope to be a Certified Judge by the end of the summer, at which point this will be both Law and Gospel), the Technical definition of Barbeque is a meat cooked slowly over low, dry heat in the presence of large amounts of smoke. 

More specifically from that definition, we drill into what I think the Regional delineation is, a three-part combination of 1) a meat cooked slowly over low, dry heat in the presence of large amounts for smoke, 2) a sauce that is applied to such meat during and/or after cooking and 3) the method in which that meat is broken down for service. 

Moving deeper through the Barbeque genealogy, the specifics can then differ by State, County, City and even Neighborhood. For me, growing up in the Carolina's meant that the Barbeque paradox began with one word - Pork. To explain the nuances from there would take far more time and words than I am right now able to generate and anyone would be interested in reading in a blog (cue the book deal). 

For that reason, by first post on the enormous subject of Barbeque will take me a bit outside of my region and area of expertise. I want to talk about the best Beef Brisket I have ever had. 

I have only been eating beef brisket, and considering it a form of Barbeque, for the past 7 or 8 years. I was not necessarily avoiding it before that, I just don't think that many places in North and South Carolina served it very often. Generally a Midwestern Barbeque product, brisket comes from the lower front end, or breast, of the cow and is a very well worked muscle. This typically increases flavor, but also leads to meat fibers being very tough. However, this cut also contains a large amount of collagen which, when melted by long slow heat, results in very moist beef. If that meat is thinly sliced against the grain, essentially shortening the meat fibers before even taking the first bite, the combination makes the brisket "seem" to be very tender. There you have it - flavor and tenderness. Its like someone spliced a ribeye and a tenderloin - for about a 1/3 of the price. 

There are a few things that really must be present in order to find true brisket happiness - before anything else is added (read sauce).

First, the bark. The crispy layer of goodness surrounding the outer edge that must be present on a well cooked beef brisket. Those who are most successful in achieving this crust know that the origin of really great (meaning flavourful and dark, but in no way carbon-like) bark is a healthy application of Rub. Even better if your Rub is your own tried and true recipe. (I will leave this point at that. If I continue on the subject of Rub I will quickly amass three to four paragraphs.) 

Second, the smoke ring. This is an important factor with all forms of Barbequed meats, but no less important in brisket. A think pinkish-red ring underneath the bark is like a certificate of authenticity. You know you're getting the real deal. See Technical definition, no smoke flavor from real smoke, no barbeque.

Third, as mentioned before, a thin slice. Now I don’t mean shaved, but no more than a 1/4 of an inch, though I prefer closer an 1/8, otherwise your illusion of tenderness will be revealed for what it is. 

That is the bare minimum, just to enter the race. 

Now, lets skip ahead to the runner who has the lead. I found my favorite beef brisket at the home of my favorite pork Barbeque (but again, my publisher said to save that conversation for my inaugural tome). The Q2U BBQ Pit evolved from the backyard experimentations of friends, to an award winning Husbands/Wives Barbeque Team, on to a successful catering company and finally coming full circle in the form of a great 5-table restaurant just over Lake Wylie, by way of the Buster Boyd Bridge, into South Carolina. After being awarded the title of Grand Champions by the South Carolina Barbeque Association in 2007, the Q2U team of Brian and Linda Rich and Mark and Renee Cieslikowski opened The Pit in 2009 and have since built their restaurant on a foundation of incredibly delicious food. 

Almost every Friday at Q2U beef brisket is the special. This brisket is simply amazing. Like the brisket you see in the food porn on Man vs Food and the like, its juicy, its got a gorgeous layer of bark and a serious smoke ring. Trust me, she’s got the look. But the flavor, the flavor is where this brisket kills all that came into my life before it. Q2U’s own Rub is one of the catalysts that pushes the flavor of their brisket above and beyond. The prefect balance of seasoning, time cooking and, I’m sure, a little bit of love - I promise it will rise to the top of the list of any Barbecue lover with discriminating taste. The best way to order it is to get the Plate. It comes with a bun and enough brisket to stack yourself a pretty good sized sandwich and still have a couple of slices leftover to enjoy by themselves. The best of both worlds. With a squeeze of their own “Thick Sauce,” in keeping with the Midwestern tradition, you’ve got one of the best ‘Que meals* on the planet, especially involving beef brisket. 

Q2U is a place loved and frequented by locals and regulars, but every time I go in I see someone ordering that looks to be picking up the menu for the first time. The cool thing is, I think that both groups leave the place knowing they just dined with friends. 

Q2U BBQ Pit

4052 Charlotte Highway

Suite 105

Lake Wylie, SC 29710

*I left off the fact that, when ordering the plate, you also get two homemade sides and homemade hushpuppies. I did this on purpose. The sides at Q2U, as a team, represent the best tasting, most consistent and innovatively (I know that’s not a real word) original of any restaurant in the greater Charlotte area. I know that is a strong statement to make but I welcome a debate with those who think otherwise. And it is for that reason that I plan to devote an entire post to only the Q2U Sides Lineup in the near future. No need to wait for the book on that one. Stay tuned.

I Love When A Non-Planned Plan Comes Together

February 6th, 2011

Charlotte, NC - My Home

Fads, in my opinion, are typically a bad thing. Movements in music, television and fashion that are followed by very large groups over the last 10 or 20 years have rarely brought about anything truly innovative, creative or even likable. For the past 50 to 60 years the great majority of the fads that involved foods have been detrimental as well. 

Frozen pre-made dinners of the 1950's, originally a great timesaving tool for the working and/or single mother (since most guys, other than professional chefs, at that time were pretty much douches about not cooking), have morphed into over-relied upon vessels of cheap or fabricated ingredients, gargantuan amounts of preservatives and the worst smells encountered by man. Ever been in an office break room with the door closed while 30 people nuke a different flavor of Lean Cuisine? I almost ralphed in someone's block-o-chicken with powdered "gravy" once. It's frat initiation material. 

Mega farms shipping fruits, vegetables and meats to all parts of the country, while a great symbol endless the opportunities attainable by entrepreneurs and intelligent business people in this country, have led to mass outbreaks of illness time and time again. 

The boom of the fast-food industry, who's menu items originally consisted of, at least, real ingredients that were cooked to order, quickly spiraled into millions of people opting to have it their way multiple times a week by scarfing down gray Burgers and compacted Chicken McSplooge with a half-life of 100K years. We've sold our souls in the name of convenience. 

Not forgetting all of the species depleting over-fishing and environmentally devastating over-farming, we've done some pretty bad stuff to the sea creatures of the world because of food fads - you know, outside of the whole regular killing it and eating it part, with which I'm obviously down. 

As with most bad things, however, its not all bad. In the past few years there have been some very good fads to gain traction in the food world. Locally stocked and supported farmer's markets. Small, non-conglomerate beef, pork, lamb and fowl farms. A resurgence in the appreciation of offal, the nasty bits, all of the guts that were previously thrown away or sold for pennies per pound to ethnic markets where their magical qualities are still enjoyed and respected. Farm Fresh Eggs are all the rage and artisan cheeses, cured meats and baked goods are now as common place in large cites as ever. With every bite, every new customer and new appreciator the interest perpetuates. With every new restaurant visit, every dinner party or passed along recipe where a new ingredient or source is shared, promise of continued support for these things is bolstered and they continue to flourish. Take Grateful Growers, a pork and fowl farm local to me in nearby Lincoln County. Their Harvest Moon Grille food truck drove around the city dispensing their dishes comprised of incredible local ingredients to the point that they garnered a huge following. Based on that support they have now opened the Harvest Moon Grille, taking Monticello's vacated space at The Dunhill Hotel in downtown Charlotte. 

One problem that people sometimes note with these new fads are the associated costs. These farms don't have contracts with Super Wal-Marts to pump out their products hundreds of pounds at a time. Their prices are typically higher than those of average grocery items but their quality and flavor differences are exponentially greater so I say you actually get a better bargain, more bang for your buck if you will. 

The best part to me is the variety. Because the old food fads still have a firm hold on the average mega-mart, you have much less of a chance at finding some of those nasty bits I was mentioning earlier. Doing some asking around at your local farmer's market can score you some pretty awesome finds that aren't milling around in the refrigerated case at Harris Teeter. And those parts are still dirt cheap. You just need to know what you are looking for... 

A fan of Anthony Bourdain, I remember watching the episode of A Cook’s Tour, his first show with the Food Network before moving to the Travel Channel to film No Reservations, chronicling his visit to Fergus Henderson's St. John in London. The host, famous for being, well, a slight lunatic, was reverent in Fergus' house, solemn even. This struck me and as I paid closer attention to the food I understood why. This was as basic, simple and honest as it gets. No neon lights, waterfalls or DJ booth. White walls, dark wooden chairs and plates of the most exciting food I'd ever seen. I didn't act on these thoughts immediately, but years later I ordered Henderson's cookbook The Whole Beast: Nose to Tale Eating, and slowly began working through the recipes. There was a bit of a thrill when I went to the butcher shop to ask for a cow's heart and was given an approving nod by the man behind the counter. 

One entry of the cookbook is a recipe for Deviled Kidneys on Toast with a note from Ferguson mentioning that it is “the perfect breakfast on your birthday with a glass of Black Velvet (half Guinness and half Champagne).” So I, of course, sought out fresh lamb’s kidneys for my birthday feast this year. I didn’t have to search far. I had been spending some time recently checking out the website of a farm in, ironically, New London, NC called Windy Hill Farm. Owned by Charles and Dana Burrage, Windy Hill raises pigs, lambs, chicken and cattle. After a simple pre-order on their website, I swung by the Yorkmont Farmers Market on Saturday morning and picked up my kidneys for $2. After walking by Nova’s Bakery’s stall for some mini ciabatta - for that toast portion of the equation, I was well on my way to my birthday breakfast. I awoke the next day with a twinge of excitement not completely unlike Christmas morning. 

The “deviled” aspect of the dish comes from the spiciness of the cayenne pepper that is mixed into the light dredge of flour, mustard powder, salt and pepper. After shaking off the excess dredge, the kidneys are sauteed in a good amount of browned butter and finished with chicken stock and a liberal splash of worcestershire. This liquid, after the kidneys are removed, is reduced to a thick sauce. Both I spooned on top of the warm, crisp ciabatta toast and sprinkled with fresh parsley to distract from the 4 or 5 shades of brown on the plate.

Having only eaten lamb kidneys once, a couple years ago, I was, admittedly, a bit apprehensive of my first bite. While prepping and cleaning the kidneys I picked up a noticeable smell - what is it that kidneys do again? This apprehension quickly turned into big-ass smile as soon as I took my first bite. They were amazing! Very lamby and I mean that in the best way. Full of that deep lamb meatiness with just a slight irony hint in the background. And the sauce was over-the-top awesome. The sweetness of the butter rounded out the sharp edges of the worcestershire very nicely and the chicken stock added a needed body and helped cut the salt just enough. This sauce I plan to use in the future to accompany several different things, not just kidneys such as these. The texture contrast was spot on with the soft, almost creamy kidneys, spreading across the crunchy toast. Washed down with the Black Velvet, I immediately new that this would not be a one-time meal to be checked off of a list. I will spend the rest of my life persuading, coaxing and, if need be, lying to my friends in order to spread the gospel of this recipe. Happy Birthday to Me!

As I was preparing this dish I was tempted many times to augment or “doctor up” the recipe. Adding small flavorings or aromatics to elevate what, on paper, seemed almost too simple. I feel quite certain that had I given in I would have lost something - I would have not noticed one certain aspect of this meal that makes it truly special. While enjoying the meal and realizing that it was so incredible despite containing less than 10 ingredients it hit me that the reason was the impeccable quality of those few ingredients. A lamb that was raised 40 miles away gave its organs and a loaf of truly artisan bread baked less than a 20 minute drive from my house were brought together to make a truly awesome breakfast.

Adding to that - I did not have to go out of my way or spend an exorbitant amount of money to adhere, almost completely, to several current food fads while making this dish. Not the goal when I set out to prepare this, but a pretty cool bonus.

Windy Hill Farms

New London, NC

windyhillfarmnc.com

Nova’s Bakery

Charlotte, NC

novasbakery.com

Medicine Man

January 31st, 2011

Fort Mill, SC

Something greasy…Kahlua and Cocoa Puffs…whatever you had last before going to sleep…water…definitely no water…Bloody Mary…beer and tomato juice…more sleep…Gatorade…V8…Vitamin Water…anything greasy

In the college seasons of ‘00-’01 and ‘01-’02 I spent just about every Friday evening driving from my office in Charlotte to a friend’s apartment in Columbia, SC. We would spend every one of those Friday evenings at bars or parties and, subsequently, every Saturday morning would be spent recovering on his couch. I came upon a culinary combination during this time period that quite possibly saved my life on more than one occasion. I realized one morning that that if I consumed a recently microwaved carton of Cup ‘O’ Noodles while drinking a bottle, not can, of Bud Light I would be cured of all hangover symptoms and be ready for whatever the day had to hold. I’m serious. A 43¢ cup of ramen and a beer that I never drank other than in the morning, as part of this ritual, was better than anything else I’d ever tried. I believed in, and depended on, this for years.  

I went through a phase where a Bojangles’ Cajun Filet Biscuit or a Harold Tindall’s Chili Burger could substitute, as well, I have consumed my fair share of spicy Bloodies and Redneck Benedicts from Seel’s on Sullivan’s Island.* But the noodle/crap beer combo always had the most consistent and immediate results. And I actually like Cup ‘O’ Noodles, so it wasn’t like choking down some strangely concocted cure-all. It was perfection, and, I’m pretty sure, it was blown out of the water by something I had for lunch this week. 

Plaza Fiesta is a mall of sorts in the building of a former outlet mall next to Carowinds at the South Carolina/North Carolina line. It now houses a myriad of South and Central American shops and restaurants. On my first visit to Plaza Fiesta I walked through, trying to decide where to eat, and looked up to see written in bright neon, the word, Cevicheria. 

Punta Galapagos, an Ecuadorian restaurant that has been open for about 3 years, serves typical fare from that country. Wonderful roasted meats, the pork is an absolute favorite, and fried fish, they have daily lunch specials for less than $7 that are so big that a tray is required just to carry everything the mere 10 feet to your table. But on that day Ceviche was my target - and man, right on target they were. Simply “cooked” by the denaturing compounds of acidic citrus juices, ceviches are typically very light and refreshing. Typically thought of as Peruvian in origin, there are several claims that this dish was actually brought to the world by the Ecuadorians. Their signature twist involves a mix of seafood and a shot of ketchup...just stick with me here.

I counted no less than 11 individual ingredients in my small bowl of this Ceviche. The traditional shrimp is joined by firm whitefish, sweet octopus and calamari - the latter are cut into pieces so small that they, when curled from cooking, look like Tic Tacs. All of this incredible, fresh seafood is spooned into a bowl where they add a fresh swirl of mixed citrus juice, fresh tomato, painfully thinly sliced red onion, bright cilantro, minuscule diced green chilies, avocado, hot sauce and, yes, regular ole’ tomato ketchup. I was admittedly very skeptical when I saw that they had just sprayed my very adventurous fish salad with Heinz, but the sweet condiment, when stirred through, imparts a light sweetness that balances out the strong, acidic citrus. 

All of the liquids meld into this spicy, cold brew, known as Leche de Tigre(Tiger’s Milk), that gives you that rush of clarity so needed after accidentally knocking back 8 scotches while hanging out with friends. I don’t know how this works - no clue of the active ingredient. It’s sour and minerally with a slight viscous quality that gives the impression of being substantial and filling. That burn from chilies and the hot sauce not only peak the interest of the taste buds and round out all of the flavors, but the increased sweat production helps to purge the bad decisions of the previous night. I have read that tipping the bowl to your lips after consuming your ceviche is completely acceptable. I have also read in several places that you can add a bit of vodka to your Tiger’s Milk, but that’s what got us here in the first place now isn’t it?

To be honest, I was not feeling the effects of a long night of mingling with friends over my favorite cocktails on this particular day. I’d had a pretty good nights sleep and no alcohol in at least 48 hours. But I tell you this, I will at some point in the future imbibe again and when I do, I will wake up the next morning and venture straightaway to this little oasis of rejuvenation (by this, of course, I mean I will beg my wife to drive me because it will be hard for me to focus and I even less easy multitask).

Punta Galapagos     

3700 Avenue of the Carolinas                           

Fort Mill, SC  29715

*I think that I am about to cry. As I was typing this sentence I jumped over to my favorite search engine to confirm if “Seel’s” was, in fact, possessive and came to discover that this wonderful establishment closed in November of last year, less than 3 months ago. I have many fond memories of this place. Breakfasts or lunches on every visit to the island, this was where my son, the day after taking his first steps in the ocean, dominated a giant pancake (at least in comparison to his 1 year old head) for the first time. They also housed the only Red Bull and Vodka slushy machine I have ever seen. Combine that with their stellar breakfasts such as the aforementioned Rednecks Benedict – consisting of two hot, buttery, open-faced buttermilk biscuits, topped with a fried chicken breast and two sunny-side eggs, smothered it top notch southern white sausage gravy – or the Trash Plate – a mixture of crispy home fries and soft scrambled eggs that were studded with sausage and/or bacon and, of course, drenched in that white gravy – Seel’s  was self-perpetuating. It will be missed and remembered always.