Note to Self:

If you insert a picture into an ordered list, Blogspot truncates it on the right (but it doesn't show up that way in the preview).

In a list, set img width to 97%. Grrrr.

Cooking Ribs on a Gas Grill

I say “cooking,” because it’s not really barbecuing. We have a gas grill that, had I read all about it first, we probably wouldn’t have. I always thought grills had four great advantages over oven-range combos: 1) exceptionally drippy messes stay outside, and you can just burn it off, 2) heat stays outside in summer 3) you can keep a grill hot for a long time with relatively little fuel, and 4) you can get some flavors unmatched by other cooking methods.

1. Drippy messes. This grill’s user’s guide states that it is not designed for the burn-off cleaning method. Instead, you should let the grill cool somewhat and then use a wire brush while the grill is still warm. Let’s try that. Um, yeh, spreads the grease around real well—pretty swirly patterns—but it sure doesn’t get anything clean. I can just imagine the discussion that occurred between the marketing folks and the tech writer forced to write that drivel.



2. Heat the outside, not the kitchen. Most instructions for doing ribs on a gas grill include either par-boiling, par-baking, or crocking them first. What’s the point, especially with par-boiling and crocking? Where’s the spice rub that puts all the lovely flavor into ribs?



3. Keep the grill hot without a lot of additional fuel. Not only does our grill have no good way to install lava rocks for heat retention; the user’s guide expressly states that if you use them you void your warranty! Eh? I didn’t know there was such a grill, or I surely would’ve checked the guide before not buying!



4. BBQ flavor. There’s no way to get smoke beneath the food, so you have to hope it gets there sideways from a smoke box that’s about six inches above the flame. Hmmmm.

Okay, tell me I need to buy a smoker. For one kind of food. I don’t think so. Having once had a great long-term relationship with a Weber Kettle and Kingsford, I guess I just don’t “get” gas grills. I’m actually starting to lose my aversion to having a charcoal grill on a deck. Am I crazy? Meanwhile, I guess instead of great ribs, I’ll just have to settle for pretty good ribs.

Here’s the sketch; ask if you want more detail.

1. Remove the membrane from the concave side of the ribs. It’s a barrier to some of the flavors you want to add to the meat.



2. Rub the ribs with a dry rub. It’s called a “rub,” not a “sprinkle,” so spend a little time and make sure all the surfaces are coated: rub it in there. This is a great one, http://www.bbqsearch.com/search/26655.shtm, although I usually halve the salt so I can taste the other spices. The cayenne and paprika in the chili powder give the ribs their deep red color.
   
   



3. Let the ribs come up to room temperature for about two hours. If the sight of meat on a room temp counter bothers you, tent it with foil.



4. Fire up the grill to about 225° F (107° C). Use the burners on one side of the grill only.



5. Cut the racks to fit on a rib rack. Don’t have one? You can get one here, and, yes, it really makes a difference http://www.cookware.com/Grillpro-41614-GRL1015.html.



6. Half fill a pan with water. This will go on the grill to help keep moisture in the ribs.



7. Put the water pan on the flame side of the grill.



8. Put the ribs on the cool side of the grill.
   
   



9. Close the cover and sit back for at least 4 hours, 6 if you can wait that long; check the water occasionally and add more if necessary. Water is also a good indicator of grill temperature. If the water is forming bubbles at the bottom of the pan and generating steam, you’re in the right range; if you have a rolling boil, dial the heat down.



10. About ten to twenty minutes before removing the ribs from the grill, brush them with your favorite sauce. I’ve become partial to Sweet Baby Ray’s.
    
    

(I couldn’t wait to eat long enough to take a picture of the finished product.)

If you want baked potatoes, allow an hour and a half to an hour and three quarters because of the low grill temperature.

Computer Failure

I had planned to skip Vista and go directly from XP to Windows 7. Wouldn’t you just know that fate would intervene.

I knew my computer was starting to fail. CHKDSK gave the “volume is dirty” notice; so there’s a new hard drive on order. Then, the dread “CPU Fan Failed.” Ack! Shut that thing down right now! And spend half a day at brick-and-mortar stores looking for a replacement fan, which, of course turned out to be a manufacturer’s special part.

The machine is a Dell. Long story short: I was very excited when I bought it; paid a lot of money for memory and power; have long come to the conclusion that I won’t buy another Dell for a host of reasons including the component failures and the need, within the first two months, to restore the system to its original state (and, of course, reload all my software again). It is the only machine I’ve ever owned that had any major component failure. An optical drive was the first to go (within the first year). Now the fan and the hard drive.

So, on Sunday I had to answer this question: do I order the fan and wait several days for it to arrive, or do we dredge up a Vista machine (an Acer Aspire) that’s been lying around for a year or so in order to get up and running right away? Yeah, it’ll be faster to just get that machine running…heh, heh.

Never has the process of setting up a new computer been so painful. It has been two full days, and I still don’t have all my software loaded. Not to mention data files. I made an image of the Dell shortly before the fan died, so I can browse the image to restore my data files. Or at least, I could if the image management software were Vista compatible. Yeah. I can see the image, but I can’t play with it. The trouble is, all the Plan Bs we come up with involve waiting. Fortunately, my partner also runs the imaging software and has graciously offered to extract all my files from the image to another external drive, and that will probably happen this evening.

Then, I’ll be able to restore my data files, including software application downloads. And only then will I be able to find out the hard way 1) which of those applications are not Vista compatible and 2) which were purchased as upgrades requiring a full version. Although I still have all the full versions for which I purchased upgrades, so I could theoretically load the full version and then the upgrade, what are the chances that the full versions, several years old, are Vista compatible? Fun! At least I was able to load Office 2007. And I had backed up my main pst (Outlook) file separately, so that’s running now. Some consolation.

It couldn’t have come at a worse time. Being unemployed with no access to your resume, personal reference files, application history, etc. is frustrating. Note to self: put all job search information on a USB flash drive, the way you used to do.

It’s been a painful few days that seem to have lasted for weeks. But it could be worse: I could be using Vista and a Dell.

Baltimore: Day Four

While we were planning this trip, I looked for submarines in the area (you’re welcome, sweety) and found the Torsk, a WWII tin can moored in the inner harbor. It has the distinction of having fired the last torpedo of the war. So Saturday morning was sub time. I’m pretty sure that’s not the regulation paint job on her bow:


But that was not the only fearsome ship in the water on this day: it seems there was some sort of pirate convention in town:


We ambled around enjoying the sights until lunch time; for me this was the second picture perfect day at the harbor.



We went to the well-known Phillips Seafood right on the harbor for lunch and took our time just enjoying the moment. I decided to have just appetizers. Mussels and scallops, and what a contrast. The scallops were a daily special that sounded much better than it turned out to be. A handful of bay scallops (think mini-marshmallows for size) and some little chunks of under-ripe mango, not prepared in any way other than having been cut up. But served in an oh- so-chic martini glass. Yyyyyeah, okay. The mussels, however, were utterly delectable in their Thai chili sauce with a coconut milk base. Should’ve just had two orders of those!

As we finished, we thought we had about two hours to stroll around the harbor before we had to leave for the airport. Just for shucks and grins, I thought I’d check the flight time on our tickets. Aaaaaaaaaah! We have to leave right now! Someone mistook arrival time for departure time! It cut our day pretty short, but at least we weren’t going to miss the plane!

Baltimore: Day Three

Slept in and grabbed a cup of Starbucks for breakfast in the hotel lobby. We had intended to take the MARC train from the airport to D.C., so we asked the concierge about the hotel shuttle to the airport. The next one wouldn’t come for over half an hour. Not wanting to wait, we decided to drive. Got to town, parked, and headed for the first order of business: lunch. We ate at the Capital Grille. Nice place; lots of dark wood, ornate gilded picture frames, very old Washingtony feeling, uncomfortable little wooden chairs, nice menu. I had the daily seafood special, which was a sandwich with chunks of crab. Very tasty.

Then we started the National Mall walk on the east end, the capitol. Then it started to get warm out. Very warm. I do not tolerate heat well at all. Less than halfway across the mall, I was ready to call it a day, but I hated to disappoint, so I bought a bunch of water and we kept going. Professional photographers have taken far better ones than most tourists, so I will refer you to the Web to find thousands of postcard-perfect pictures and share just this one:



Dinner was just a bite at Ruby Tuesday. Of course, being in Maryland, this RT’s menu included crab cakes. It’s the culture. Crab cakes are everywhere, and seem to be on the tip of the tongue at all times no matter the occasion. They are so important in the state that even McDonald’s sells them. What’s a trip to Maryland without a crab cake or two? They’re okay for a change, but not really my cup of tea. Seem to mask, rather than enhance, the flavor of the crab.

Baltimore: Day Two

The meeting was on Thursday, so I was on my own for the day. We were staying at the Hilton near the airport in Linthicum, so I drove into the city to spend some time with my friend Cheryl, whom I hadn’t seen in over fifteen years. It was as though she had never left. We fell right into a comfortable companionship and time just flew. We met at the inner harbor, a highly developed recreational area with much to see and do—and we really didn’t “do” any of it except have lunch at one of the myriad restaurants. The rest of the time we just walked and talked and had a wonderful time. The weather was perfect.





I arrived back at the hotel just in time to pick up my partner for dinner with the Northrop folks at a local brew house. One of the guys took it upon himself to order appetizers for the group. You know the guy--orders the boring cheese plate (come on—I’m from Wisconsin!) and cold cuts (do they taste better when they’re billed as “charcuterie?”). I had come for seafood, so I ordered a nice appetizer of mussels with garlic, chiles, and orange peel. Guess who was the most willing to share those with me? Actually, he was a really nice guy, just misguided in his appetizer selection. I was tempted to get another order as my entrée, but then I would have missed the perfection of what Americans call the “Cuban sandwich.” This one was made with Black Forest ham, Gruyere, and a luscious mango salsa. I highly recommend Victoria Gastro Pub in Columbia, should you ever be out in that area.

I was driving back to the hotel, and as we approached a road sign pointing the way to D.C, I said, “Hey, want to go to D.C.?” To my nearly overwhelming astonishment, I thought I heard, “Sure, what the heck?” Was I hearing things? This is a person who usually doesn’t want to divert even a block out of the way to go to a Walgreens on the way home. D.C.? And, we were planning to go to D.C. the next day, anyway. Well, I took the exit and we drove down, saw some city lights, got the lay of the land (as much as you can get in an hour in the dark) and then headed back to the hotel.

Baltimore: Day One

My cooking partner had a meeting scheduled in Baltimore for the third Thursday in April. This would be the first opportunity, in over two years on the job, to meet the packaging manager face to face: the hiring process was done via phone. With one company paid airfare and hotel room, we decided I should tag along and we’d make a long weekend of it as sort of a birthday celebration.

I procrastinated so long in writing this, that I have to admit I’ve forgotten much of the food aspect of the trip. I do remember that I was very excited about the prospect of copious seafood, and that the reality did not live up to the image. Might have something to do with it being a tad early for crab season. Still, it was a great trip.

We arrived late Wednesday afternoon, starving. The hotel restaurant, Acqua, had closed, but they came up with a couple of fabulous burgers for us. Normally, I don’t like hotel restaurants, but this one was really good! Although I’d never heard of “Rockford” cheese before. We met with the group from Northrop for dinner there as well, where I had a nice piece of salmon. I’m not much of a beer drinker, but I had to try the local brew, Clipper City, and I must say it was quite smooth.

Of Course!

Right after we had the glorious but outrageously expensive short ribs, the Fresh Market had them on sale for $1.49 a pound—flanken cuts. I also picked up a couple pounds of tomatillos, some jalapeños, some cilantro and a few limes. It ended up being enough for three generous dinners (for two) and a lunch.
I browned the ribs then threw everything in the crock pot. About 4.5 lbs of ribs, 2 lb tomatillo, a generous handful of cilantro, and 5 or six peppers. I seeded all but one, and the heat was just about right. I forgot the limes.

This is a cooking method we’ve often used for chicken and pork, but without browning. So easy, so good. But I wanted the extra flavor that browning gives to the stock this time.

Add Spanish rice—which, by the way, I make with Basmati rice—and the lovely refritos featured in the Suburban Hausfrau’s Cinco de Mayo menu, and you don’t need a drop of Mexican blood in your veins to view this as comfort food.



A couple days later, I took the leftovers out of the fridge, skimmed the fat off the top and thickened the broth for a more stew-like consistency. We were too interested in eating to photograph it!

Easy Short Ribs

“And while you’re at the store, see if they have some nice looking short ribs.” Twenty minutes later: “How many short ribs do you want?” “About two pounds.” And my cooking partner came home with three ribs totaling two and a half pounds. I’m used to seeing them cut into three- or four-inch lengths, but these were nine-inch whoppers. Good thing I have my Everyday Pan.

We had the ribs with whole green beans and potatoes mashed with parsley and dry mustard. Mm-mm.

1. Start the pan on high heat for browning.


2. Grind enough garam masala to coat the ribs.


3. Add a couple tablespoons of oil (I used sesame) to the hot pan.


4. Rub the ground spices on all sides of the ribs.


5. When the oil is very hot, start browning the ribs. Brown on all sides. Take your time: about 30 minutes overall.
   (Most recipes remove the ribs at this point and brown chopped carrots, onions, and celery. Considering those veggies are already in most recommended broths, it seems double duty to me).


6. Add liquid.
   I used about 20 oz. of water and a couple tb. cream of balsamic. Use your imagination: do a wine reduction; veal stock is recommended; other stocks work, too.


7. Cover and simmer for 2 hours
   OR
   Cover and bake at 350º for 2 hours.


8. Add pared vegetables. Potatoes, carrots, onions are common.


9. Cover and cook for another ½ hour.


10. Remove ribs and make a pan gravy from the juice.

Pesto Pasta

Thanks to AeroGrow, I have fresh basil in my kitchen, usually more than I know what to do with. The other day, though, I decided to make some pesto.

I usually avoid using a food processor because of the inconvenience it causes in my too-small kitchen, but I didn’t really want to chop a packed cup of basil, so I hauled it out and it did a rather nice job. There are lots of variations on pesto, but this one was the classic basil, pignolia, garlic, oil, salt, and pepper. I didn’t add cheese because I wasn’t sure whether I would freeze it and the hard grated cheeses don’t freeze that well.

It called to me from the refrigerator the very next day, so I was glad I hadn’t frozen it. Ah, yes, I will make some pasta with pesto, a few nice shrimp, and those lovely fresh green beans I just bought. And then…no long pasta in the larder! Who doesn’t have linguine, or vermicelli, or angel hair, or something long in the pasta spot? Argh! I don’t’ know why I have a minor aversion to short pasta with pesto, but I had my heart set enough on this meal to temporarily ignore it.

The only grating cheese I had was asiago, so the pesto became a variation I hadn’t heard of, but tasted quite good nonetheless. The beans and the shrimp were steamed (separately) then tossed in plain butter: between the pesto and the herb garlic bread, the nose had quite enough to do with this meal.

Roast Peppers

Rant Alert: to skip this little diatribe, go directly to the next paragraph. Why do produce suppliers feel the need to affix an adhesive label to every individual piece of fruit or vegetable? They’re such a nuisance to peel off, and if you forget, and wash the produce first, you have to wait until it’s thoroughly dry to remove the label or it will merely shred. A sign in the produce department saying, “Florida Oranges,” “produto de Brasil” or “Mexican Peppers” would suffice. Yet another example of America’s obsession with excessive labeling.

Fairly often, the Woodmans where I shop has clearance produce. Grocery carts full of bulging produce bags for seventy-nine cents each. Saturday, they had both green peppers and bananas in the clearance carts. That’s nearly four pounds of whopping great peppers, suitable for stuffing, at half a pound apiece. Yes, eight huge peppers for under a buck. I also picked up a bag of bananas weighing in at 3-3/4 pounds, mostly ripe, a few partly green, so I see banana bread in my near future.

Most people, when pondering a plethora of prodigious peppers would probably be tempted to stuff them in one way or another; not me. I’m rather cool toward stuffed peppers (except jalapeños stuffed with cream cheese, but that’s a different topic), and rather keen on roasted peppers. Rarely am I without a few in the freezer and I resort to the jarred form only when a large number is required (when serving Italian beef to a couple dozen people).

Usually I roast the peppers on the grill, but I wanted to try out my electric oven and see how it would do in this application. I had more than one panful and I suppose I could’ve just set both ovens to broil, but that seemed a bit excessive at first blush. So I looked up some instructions for roasting peppers in electric ovens and they were, basically, set the oven to 400º F (205º C), put the peppers on a foil-lined pan, and roast, turning every so often until all sides blacken a bit. (The method I use on a grill is to oil the peppers first, but I’m not sure that really serves a purpose, so I decided to roast them dry this time.)

Well, I messed up a little, but here’s how it went.

Lovely peppers ready for the oven.

I put the peppers in and waited for fifteen minutes. Nothing. So I wondered, if you can grill them and broil them, why set the oven temperature so low? Let’s crank it up to 450º. Finally, one turned a little brown, and then…

Oops…THAT’s not supposed to happen.

The burst skin really wasn't a big deal. The underlying flesh did not scorch, so all was well. After about twenty minutes of turning the peppers to char all the sides, I removed the peppers to a large bowl, covered them, and let them steam for about fifteen minutes; use plastic wrap if your bowl or pot doesn’t have a lid. This steaming finishes cooking the pepper and makes the skin that’s not burnt easier to remove.

Why you line the pans.

Ugly peppers before they transform into lovely condiments.

After steaming, the work begins.

If you want to keep the tasty juice, start by popping the top off of a pepper and inverting it over a cup.

Peel the skin from the pepper.

Remove the seeds and ribs.

Ugly peppers transformed into beautiful condiment.

Usually I quarter the peppers and freeze them about two peppers to a bundle in plastic wrap and then put the bundles into a freezer bag. But today I was running a little late, so I poured the reserved juice over the peppers and put the bowl in the fridge to keep until I can finish up. It’s amazing how time flies even when you’re not working!

A few of the green peppers, with much thicker flesh than the others, failed to cook all the way through, and their skins were a little hard to remove. Other than that, the oven method seems to work alright, but I still prefer the grill.

The knife making a guest appearance in this post is one of my favorites: a Kershaw parer that I bought on EBay several years back.

By the way, I thought it safe to use a nylon cutting board because I would just be removing the ribs and seeds, with no cutting against the board to dull the knife blade. So the knife is fine, but the red pepper stained the board badly. I'm going back to wood for all cutting applications. I have bleach, and I know how to use it!

Wouldn’t You Know?

I was looking forward to the down time afforded by the end of my last contract. My last day of work was Tuesday, September 30th. Guess what followed my partner home from work like a puppy that Friday: a cold virus! Sure, we can keep him, Honey.

We’ve both been under the weather for two weeks. I’m one of those people who get knocked flat on their butts by colds. The last time I had to work through a cold, I did so with copious amounts of DayQuil and NyQuil…when they still had pseudoephedrine in the formulas. They worked great. The newer formulas? Not so much. Well, I’m not one of those people who reach for a drug at the merest sign of discomfort, so with no requirement to buck up, I’d just as soon stay drug free this time and just deal with it.

I’m at the stage where my head is cloudy and my balance is a little off: like being on a boat. Pretty sure recovery is just around the corner. Still looking forward to that down time...the relaxing kind.

Fire!

A combination of attitudes usually prevents me from answering my phone in the car: drivers on the phone are even less considerate than the rest of the Chicago metro driving population and I am determined not to become like them, I can do without being connected to the possibility of human contact 24-7, and my phone is set to vibrate because I have no need of yet another source of aural stimulus…hmm….

That’s why I was in the parking lot at work on Wednesday morning when I finally got the message that the office was shut down by water damage sustained when the sprinklers put out a fire on Tuesday night. No one was injured. The fire was limited to a handful of cubicles on the second floor, and my first floor cubicle, along with all the others in that wing of the building, was off limits until the insurance inspectors could assess the damage. It might be days.

Timing

Last week I learned that my contract would end on September 30. Yesterday, with only ten billable days to go, the office was shut down because of fire damage; when I got home, the phone was blinking because a contracting firm had called to see whether I was available. Life is good.

Well, not that good. They wanted someone who could start Monday for a two-days-a-week job. I’m all for working fewer hours, but not that many fewer.

I’m looking forward to some down time. It’s not the work or the people…they’re both good…it’s the drive that has been sapping my energy these last couple of months. I have in the past finished up a contract one day and started a new one the next, but right now I need a little chill.

Looking back, it seems the process of finding a contract position starts like this: you find several prospects, and each prospect falls into one of several categories, although which category a specific prospect belongs to is not always immediately ascertainable.

The bulk of positions result from the panicked realization that the workload and deadline far exceed the company’s capacity. “Holy cow, we needed someone to start this three weeks ago!” These are recognizable within minutes of first contact with the client.

The non-position is the result of unfeasible projects. These prospects usually bring you through the interview stage, after which you learn that the company decided to either postpone or abandon the project. The panicked-realization project sometimes goes this route.

The half-price contract falls under the auspices of engineering in companies where the engineers in charge look upon professional writing as something that doesn’t involve much skill because it’s not engineering. (An example of this would be the Suburban Hausfrau’s “Old Company.”)

The future contract is the one that gets tangled up in HR or legal red tape for so long after the interview that you may no longer be available when the company is ready to move forward. If only these were easy to spot, I could take two weeks off between contracts every time.

Then there’s a super category that encompasses all of the above: the big-house prospects. The client contacts several contracting firms, large and small. Within hours, the job posting appears, with identical wording, on five job boards; two more within two days; two more within a week. You know they’re all offering different rates, so you respond to all of them and hope you can negotiate the highest rate possible with whomever contacts you. And your silent phone just stares at you.

Change

Early last week the manager I’m working for told me that my contract would be terminated at the end of the month. Due to budget constraints, most contractors are being let go. She is not happy about it, as there is still much work to do, nor is the engineering manager whose product my writing projects support. There is so much work, in fact, that the company could use another permanent writer.

They acquired a company out East, and its products are complex enough to be supported by two whopping documents and several smaller ones, as well as an online help system, all of which are grossly out of date with some documents going back to 2002. Most were in the process of being updated when the writer left, as people will do when their facility is about to close its doors and move several states away. No replacement was hired to fill the writer’s position.

Déjà vu struck when the engineering manager was opining that these manuals are so important that he would talk with his veep to see if they could come up with some creative ideas to keep the project going. No matter what company you go to, people deem their departments, functions, or products essential, and disagree with management’s decisions about where and how deep cuts should have been made…usually without any idea of the input and logic behind the decision process. I suppose it’s human nature to want to believe that your work matters at least as much as the next guy’s. But, regardless of all the second-guessing of the executives and their rationale, it’s their decision to make.

It actually comes at a very good time for me, psychologically if not financially. When I approached the contracting firm about this job in March, I knew it was a commute that I could not sustain over the long haul, and I said so. The contract was to be two to three months, and I knew I could endure it for that long. It has been six months and I’ve been approaching my limit for some time, even though I’ve been working from home one day a week. A few weeks ago, I broached the subject of working more than one day from home and was told that one day was all the director allowed, which is, of course, her prerogative. But it’s a showstopper for me. Early this month, I had decided to give notice and be finished no later than end of next month, so the cutbacks indeed came at a good time.

I did plant the bug in the writing manager’s ear that should the company realize that the current writing staff is insufficient, I know someone who might be interested in a permanent position. The Suburban Hausfrau lives up that way…

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Ah, the Summer Tomato

Fleshy and juicy, firm yet tender, sweet with a little acidity, the vine ripened tomato is the quintessential contrapunctal delicacy. This is the fruit I dream about wistfully when the winter wind blows and the grocers offer only the sour, hard, boxy third cousins of the voluptuous red orbs that now await me in my garden. This is summer.

Last night I used them in this tuna salad. The dressing goes underneath the tomatoes: they taste good enough by themselves.


Served up with a bit of dill garlic bread (sounds awful, tastes weird by itself, but goes with the tuna) it was nothing special, really, but it sure tasted good.

Mocha Java Chiller

Sonic opened its first drive-in in the Chicagoland area last Tuesday. See my earlier posts to recognize that both my cooking partner and I are familiar with these outlets.

Of course my cooking partner wanted to go on opening day, and, to be honest, so did a little part of me. Fortunately, it was my night for dinner, so I got to make the call, and the wiser part of me won the day. I had already put over a hundred miles on my car on Tuesday; I wasn't about to do another fifty and wait in what I knew would be a ridiculously long line on a weeknight.

Although I knew this weekend would be crazy busy at Sonic, I also knew how much my partner wanted to go, so I suggested we go on Saturday. (You must recognize that this was a bit of a sacrifice for me because I absolutely detest waiting in lines, especially at restaurants...often if there's a wait at a restaurant, I turn right around and head out the door.) So we went. On the first Saturday. And it was beyond crazy busy.

Mind you, we waited to leave the house until 9:15 P.M., figuring to arrive around ten (yes, I am sometimes crazy) and thereby miss the worst of the dinner rush. At 10:02, I turned in from Farnsworth just past the drive-in, immediately turned right again on the little mall road, but could not turn right into the Sonic parking lot. They had a guy directing traffic and he waved us over to the big mall parking lot, and then we saw them: four, I kid you not, four lines of cars with a guy at the head of each directing lucky diners to take their turns at the most fabulous of restaurants ever to have been known in the history of the world. Or, at least that's what you’d have thought if you’d been visiting from a foreign country.

Had we lived within ten miles, I would have done some hard in-car negotiation for a reprieve, but, since we had driven three-quarters of an hour to get there, I wasn't going to leave without having had some jalapeño poppers.

I actually had a bit more. Ahem. Knowing that we would not be back to this neck of the woods for some time, we each ordered a sandwich and two sides. And, of course the Java Chillers.

If you have never been to a Sonic, I will say this despite all the controversy and vitriol its opening seemed to stir up on the comments pages in the Chicago Tribune: all the arguments over the food are to be dismissed out of hand. You go to Sonic for its extensive drinks menu. (I don't know why they don't list all of the standard drinks on their Website.) Additionally, they are amenable to mixing any of their drink bases and flavors to create your own custom blend, although I'm not quite that high maintenance. Their most popular is the cherry limeade. You have to try it at least once.

I must say that the Java Chillers in Aurora weren't quite as good as those we had in Nevada, but, let's just say they're the best ones we've had since we got back from that trip. I do have some very strong coffee in my ice cube trays right now, so we're probably going to have some fun coming up with our own frappamoochillerinos.

New Stove

We usually host a Fourth of July get-together. It started out as a barbecue, evolved through a catering phase, and now is pretty much a crockpot Italian beef affair. That’s Pat’s is the perfect Italian beef and is native to the Chicagoland area. Use this beef and your guests will be happy while you will have enough stock left over to make a nice beef soup. But I digress.

Our oven had been giving us some trouble in the week leading up to the Fourth, and the burners have always been a little problematic (the stove was in the house when we moved in about ten years ago). My cooking partner decided to make a batch of brownies during the party and the oven would not come up to temperature. No problem, just bake them a little longer, right? Hah! The brownies ended up a pan of gooey glop inside a thin chocolate pastry crust. Good thing we weren’t relying on them as our only dessert.

This was the last straw for that stove. On the fifth, I did a little research on the web; on the sixth, we went out and ordered this little beauty:


Unfortunately, because of the construction of our house, which I won’t detail here, the gas pipe enters the kitchen through the floor instead of the wall, so the stove has to jut out a few inches beyond the cabinets. (Great design, eh?) And, as you can see, we were limited by space to a standard 30” stove. But for all of that, this range is a joy to work with.

It’s a dual fuel range: gas cook top for better heat control and electric ovens for more even baking temperatures. Yep, I said ovens, plural. The little one at the top heats to 350° in about five minutes and is perfect for french fries, garlic bread…anything short: the interior is about 5½ inches high. The lower oven can be run in either standard or convection mode. One shelf has rollers, so it comes forward almost effortlessly, and one rack can be converted to half width so you can cook something tall next to two shorter dishes.

But the reason I was attracted to this model initially is its cook top. I don’t know about you, but I have not had a stove capable of a true simmer since I was a little kid living in my parents’ house. This stove has two burners that not only simmer, but actually burn low enough to heat delicate sauces without the cook’s undivided attention. It also has two power burners (one 12,000 BTU and one 16,000) and one all-purpose burner.



The trouble with the old stove was that, even using a heat diffuser, the lowest burner setting kept liquids at a boil a fair amount higher than a simmer. One of the first things I used to test out the ability of the simmer burners on this new baby was rice. We cook rice on the stovetop because we don’t have room for a rice cooker in our little kitchen. On the old stove, because of the higher temperatures, our rice was, well, inconsistent, and often boiled over. The first time I made rice on the new stove, I used the power burner to bring the water to a boil and then moved the pot to a simmer burner on low. It was too low! Joy of joys! A burner that actually warms gently.

I’ve since learned the appropriate setting for rice, but have also had to adjust to the short time it takes the ovens to come up to temperature. You know how you sort of get a rhythm going when you put a meal together? You start out gathering your stuff, paring your vegetables, and, at some point a timer goes off in your head telling you that it’s time to start the oven? Yeh, I did that and when the oven rang out it’s up-to-temperature notice, I still had about ten minutes to go. Same thing getting used to the power burners.

I’m not completely competent with this new stove yet, but I’m sure enjoying the learning process.

Dubba-do-B-B-M

That's Newsradio 780 in the Chicago area. What's with the pronunciations they teach in broadcasting schools? WBBM has a mostly professional image, and if you just want news, traffic, and weather without a lot of schoolkid antics, it's the station to turn to. For the most part, it sounds like a professional reading the news. But then, "dubba-do." I'm pretty sure that I didn't learn the name of any letter being dubba-do, and I'm pretty sure that our alphabet hasn't changed since I learned it.

When you have fewer than half, you have a minority, which still has four syllables and is not homonymous with the former Formula One team Menardi.

Summers in Chicago are not arid, but neither do they come with high "yumidity."

And, while some may equate Richard Daley with some or other part of a horse's anatomy, he really is not the "mare."