Voices in the Night

...like constant, frantic conversation, and nervous shuffling about, and the rattling of furniture and god knows what from another room. That's what the winds sounded like last night, the incredibly high, gusting winds, marking a rise from the 30's to the mid 50's, and then a steep drop to about 13 degrees, all within a few hours. Between the noise and the anxiety of the severe damage which might be caused to the house, it was a fitful night.
Sometimes nature seems to burst at the seems, behaving in ways it's not "supposed" to. It's those moments that make you wonder how we ever made it this far.

"A Guide to Recognizing Your Saints" part II

On a critical level, one could find certain flaws with Dito Montiel's "A Guide to Recognizing Your Saints"; a tighter edit, a more focused expansion on main themes, etc. So let's get that shit right out front so nobody accuses me of being a sycophant.
Now...
"A Guide to Recognizing Your Saints" is a memoir, a riff, a road opus and beat anthem, a time and a place, and an internal wide-eyed joy ride. Every once in a while a book shimmers with sheer enthusiasm and joy, a rare earnestness and love... and this is one of them. Like Michael DeCapite's "Through the Windshield" and with nods to Kerouac, Montiel composes a memoir rich in the real flavor of his hometown neighborhoods and deep affection for his fatally flawed friends, acquaintances, and lovers, right alongside his own flaws, all the while finding the inspiration in these unlikely "saints".

'twas beauty

that killed the beast; or so said a straight-faced Jack Black at the end of King Kong. My daughter, a big fan of School of Rock, and I were watching the dramatic ending of the movie last night, and when we saw Mr. Black appear, she turned and said, "huh?"
Mr. Black's brilliant comic powers, and animal magnetism aside, the hulking Kong reminded me more of our dog than any "beast", so to speak. With his big black nose, complete devotion to the lady of the house, and the inexplicable ability to only flee in one direction--not necessarily the best direction, our over sized Rottweiler mix is his own King Kong, misunderstood--scaring the neighbors while hopelessly lovable and devoted.

Grist for the Food Mill

... not the food processor.
Which is where the roasted tomatoes, garlic, and onion need to go--the food mill, that is. Food processors do a wonderful job of turning everything into a puree--problem is, you may not want everything pureed. In this case, after developing the sweet and fruity flavors of the tomatoes by roasting, I wanted to separate out the skin and seeds, which only contribute bitterness to the final sauce. The food mill takes extra work, but the subtleties in flavor are worth it. We call it food "preparation" because there is a process, a finesse, which takes it from raw ingredients to a meal. It may be a simple process, but with a purpose and intent; grist for the mill--but choose the right mill for the job.

Only a hardcore Clevelander would like...

... a day like today. Or not even. Bitter cold, wet and snowy, and a deep blue-gray dimness soaks the day.

My daughter hates the cold, and she hates the relentless heat and blaring sun in the summer. Somewhere moderate and slightly temperate is in her bones. Me, I've always taken it in stride--I've been here all my life, in Cleveland. I think that after a certain point it became an evocative link to other memories--weather and light do that--conjure up previous times and moods in the same conditions. If one were to switch to a drastically different climate after spending half his life in another, what would become of those memories? What would trigger them? Would nostalgia fade or grow stronger? Or simply become confused, like a puppy in his first snow?

"A Guide to Recognizing Your Saints"

...written and directed by Dito Montiel. Sometimes a movie comes out of nowhere and hits me upside the head...

More later--I will go read the book.

Fatty Butt (part II)

...so the beauty of a cut like this is all of the marbled fat which flavors it. You can keep your lean-ass chops, in fact, you may as well eat tofu! If you're gonna die from meat, make it fatty.

After eight hours of slow roasting, the rosemary and garlic infused meat was falling off the bone. A quick sauce was deglazed and reduced from the sugary-spicy drippings, and all was right with the world. A potato gratin, rich with Pecorino Romano, cream, and parsely, and a salad of grape tomatoes and cucumbers rounded fatty out. Carmenere/Cab was a good choice to brace the richness.

Fatty Butt

... or shoulder, or something. It's a sleeper of a cut, just a fatty, bone-in pork shoulder butt; cheap as hell, but with the promise of an unforgettable night. This fella started out early this morning, poked and stabbed, and studded with slivers of garlic and sprigs of rosemary. Then we rolled him in a rub of brown sugar, sea salt, cayenne, and black pepper, and let him catch his breath for an hour or two. Next, into the oven at about 225.
Slowly. Slow. slow.



He needs a good eight hours, really.


More later

Manwich, it's more than a...

..."sounds like you're eating human" says the oldest. "Why is it called 'Manwich'?" they want to know...

Missus explains that it's from a time when housewives were told that the way to keep their men was to make them big, fattening, simple meals. Sandwich?? heck, dear, here's a MANWICH!

I piped in, "Sounds more like it has '70's gay disco overtones...".









I swear to you--both girls started laughing...

It's somewhere I'm not...

...the Mantini, that is--at least not always.

It's the place to go after hours or between clients to refresh and recreate. If you need a bite to eat or just something to chew on, you may find it here. Let me get you a drink--the first round is on the house.