The Choc-y Milk Challenge

The 500Jerk family has taken to doing shots together lately. Shots of chocolate milk, that is. A quick slurp of some of the absolutely delicious chocolate milk offerings on the market these days is guaranteed to lift the spirits AND your blood sugar. Really, I'm not sure why anyone would choose any other kind of shot, when chocolate milk is so obviously superior.

Of course, we had to have a taste-off to see which choc-y milk (say it, Big Genie: "CHOC-Y MILK!!!") is the best.  Although Cruz Dairy, Homestead, and Promised Land chocolate milks are all fantastic, we did have a winner by a very slight margin.  I'm not going to tell you which it was, though, because YOU need to take this challenge.

Line up some shot glasses, get down to business, and enjoy!

Lucky Morning with Dulce de Leche

One of my colleagues occasionally places a mass mail order with Zingerman's, and although it set me back $37, I had to get in on the action. This morning I've got some of their deliciously dense raisin bread and what may be the best cream cheese in the United States on tap. But the thing I'm looking forward to most is the La Salamandra dulce de leche.

I must confess, there's almost nothing I like more than dulce de leche. Along with toffee and buttered toast, dulce de leche is a thorn in my dietary side. I'm going to hide this bottle of La Salamandra dulce de leche in the back of my fridge, behind the organic kombucha no one in my family will touch, and eat it spoonful by spoonful, straight from the bottle.

I'm starting right now.

It's Halloween! Time to Make the Doughnuts!

Given that we'll be eating Halloween candy all night, and probably in perpetuity the way Miss M and Boy Wonder collect and hoard candy, I made the healthful decision to serve homemade doughnuts for Halloween breakfast. The culinary stars were in alignment: I had whole buttermilk on hand, never-used doughnut cutters, a batch of cooking oil left over from last night's dinner party, and a bit of time. These circumstances sparked some latent doughnut-making ambition such that I simply felt COMPELLED to make and serve my family large quantities of sugary fried dough. A doughnut imperative, if you will.

Yeast intimidates me and waiting for dough to rise takes too long, so I opted for cake doughnuts. After mixing the sticky dough, Miss M helped me cut the doughnuts. She asked that I not post pictures of her in PJs, so you'll have to take my word for it: Miss M is very cute cutting doughnuts in her PJs.

We watched the cooking oil slooooooowly heat up. FYI, a watched pot of doughnut oil never gets to temperature. Fingers drumming.

First doughnuts in! The doughnuts sink to the bottom of the pan, then rise up with a golden crust in the shimmering oil. So far, so good.

But then. The doughnuts kind of fell apart. I'd like to call the look "hand-crafted doughnut," but that would be a stretch.

Here's the thing I learned: Big doughnuts are unwieldy and hard to cook thoroughly. Also, GREASY. After struggling through a few batches, I opted to shape the doughnuts into smaller discs that cooked up consistently and were much prettier.

These doughnut discs are easy to pop in your mouth and less of an eating commitment. I had three or four. As did everyone else. Actually, I'd say the Chez 500Jerk collective caloric ingestion is already somewhere in the 10,000 range. And we haven't had a real meal yet today.

It could be a VERY scary Halloween.

Better Butter

Is your life lacking that buttery je ne sais quoi? Do you find yourself lamenting the ersatz butter with which you top your toast every morning? Is your caloric and cholesterol count of absolutely no concern?

Then, THIS, my friends, is the butter for you:


You may think I'm schilling for Plugra, but I'm truly not. This butter simply tastes BETTER. In fact, it is downright DELICIOUS. So delicious that you should go out and buy some right away. Our downscale local grocery store apparently ordered a case of Plugra and couldn't find any takers (being European-style and all, it is RAWTHER expensive), so we found bars and bars of Plugra marked half off. As you might imagine, we now have a refrigerator full of butter. I see a lot of toast in my future. Also, early-morning workouts.

Try this butter. It is SO good.

Pig Pickin'

You know how locavores are advocating closer involvement with our sources of food? Well, we were eyeball to eyeball with our food sources this weekend at Chez 500Jerk, and I mean that literally. Advance apologies to all the vegetarians out there, but we roasted a 40-pound pig over a firepit Saturday, and HOT DANG WAS IT GOOD.

The Spouse and a friend got crackin' early and sandwiched the wired-on butterflied pig between two large circular grates. They invited me to have a look at their creation ("It's like Lord of the Flies out here!"), then covered it with tin foil and flipped it every few hours until it roasted to a fine crisp.

All the women and children ran inside screaming when the pig came up from the firepit. Boy Wonder declared he was a vegetarian for the day. But the men were swelled with admiration.

Fire. Meat. Beer. Good.

Although there was a surgeon AND a vet at the pig pickin', yours truly dissected the beast. We had three platters filled with pulled pork and cracklings, Carolina vinegar sauce topping it all off. Plus, an amazing assortment of sides and desserts brought by friends. It was quite a feast.

Skipping the pig part of the meal didn't seem to hurt the twenty or so kids who ran around until dark playing football and flashlight tag . Maybe the gigantic marshmallows helped with that:


Although we sent guests home with bags of pork, we're still pretty covered up on the pork front. I'm predicting pork burritos and tacos this week. Pork and eggs, pork and beans, maybe even pork chili. Really, there are endless ways to recycle pork, and the leftovers may hold us until the next pig pickin'.

So, instead of turkey, guess what we're doing for Thanksgiving?

Dinner Club Kicked My A**

Every quarter or so, the 500Jerk family has dinner club with four other couples. The food is good--we plan the menu in advance and each bring a dish--and there's always a lot of wine, middle-aged merriment, and general carrying on. Our turn to host came up a few weeks ago, and AS I AM WONT TO DO, I set overly ambitious goals. I wanted the dinner to be outside, to include children, and to be something I'd never cooked before. Something distinctive that would impress the foodies in our group. I settled on . . . lamb shanks.

Now. I'm not a bad cook, but shanks are not part of my repertoire. I've never eaten osso bucco. Frankly, the thought of eating marrow makes me queasy. And shanks sound a lot like an inedible part of the beast. But I quelled my misgivings, special-ordered the shanks from our local organic grocer, and sent the menu out to our friends.

Starter: Phyllo Triangles with Sun-Dried Tomatoes

Entree: Lamb Shanks with Lemon Risotto

Salad: Wild Arugula

Side: Broccoli-Pecorino Gratinata

Dessert: Crack Pie

After a long week of travel and hard work, I swooped by the organic grocer to pick up my shanks at 8:50PM Friday night before my Saturday dinner. But. But. They hadn't ordered them. Or bothered to call me. They could have them for the next Saturday, would that be a help?

It would definitely not.

Saturday morning I awoke shank-less and desperate. I called groceries near and far. Finally, after learning way more about grocery delivery truck schedules than I ever wanted to know, I located my shanks. I then purchased wine, flowers, risotto, and olives. Also, food for the children's meal. Then the preparation and four-hour cooking process began in earnest.

Have you ever seen a dog chasing its tail? After dosing up on way too much caffeine? Neither have I, but I think you get the picture. In a frenzy of preparation, I set up tables, seared scary hoof-like objects, chopped vegetables, and pulled out the good china. I found candles, cloth napkins, and glasses. I poured broth, stirred risotto, and repeatedly poked my braising shanks. After thoroughly terrorizing my family, performing each task at least one more time than necessary, and putting all of my guests to work, we were able to come up with this:

TA-DAH! Fun was had by all. We drank red wine and enjoyed the food. The shanks were pretty good. We lit a bonfire. The kids ran around in the crisp fall air. Overall, it was a success, if I do say so myself.

But the next day, I was totally spent. I lay my worthless self down on the couch mid-afternoon and didn't get up until dinner. I couldn't even sleep I was so tired. Because dinner club and those shanks?

They totally kicked my a**.

Donuts Make People Happy

I find that donuts make people happy, don't you?


Although all donuts are good, the hand-crafted donuts at Blue Collar Joe's in Daleville, Virginia are special.

The owner of Blue Collar Joe's has rehabbed an old gas station into a Willy Wonka-like donut factory. Among the many delectable choices are shaggy vanilla; Oreo; pumpkin spice; bling-bling; orange creamsicle; M&M; jelly surprise; triple chocolate; blueberry pancake with bacon dust; and lemon cheesecake. All good.

A donut tower is a thing of beauty, no?

If you're on your way to DC from Knoxville, forgo the terrible continental breakfast at your hotel and make a pit stop at Blue Collar Joe's. You won't regret it.

And your passengers will be very, very happy.

Heart-Stoppingly Simple Recipe for Mid-Week Cheer

I don't know about you, but the 500Jerk household has been a bit cheerless of late, what with school starting, a real estate transaction inexplicably gone sour, and intermittent (related?) sleeplessness. Although I lost my will to cook over this ridiculously hot East Tennessee summer--for the last two months we've subsisted mainly on fried egg and tomato sandwiches--cooling temperatures and a sudden surfeit of high-fat dairy products in my refrigerator inspired some comfort cookery last night. If you, too, find yourself in need of humpday solace, consider the following course of action:

To one pound of drained hot pasta, add mixture of melted stick of butter, one cup of heavy cream, and one cup of freshly grated Parmesan cheese. Salt and pepper liberally. Toss. Permit clamoring bystanders to sample. Kiss foreheads and smooth hair. Avoid consideration of caloric content, and vow to run in the morning.

Bon appetit!

Pioneer Woman Cinnamon Rolls

The whole 500Jerk family joined in making the Pioneer Woman's cinnamon rolls last Sunday.

The first step--making the dough--happened the day before, and I don't know if it was the tremendously active yeast I used or the fact that I initially set the dough out to rise in a 200 degree oven, but that dough was ALIVE. Like SCARY ALIVE. It kept rising to the top of the mixing bowl and oozing over the top, like it was about to blow. I would punch it down worriedly, then stick it back in the refrigerator, muttering a prayer under my breath. I was scared to leave it alone overnight. I thought I might come down Sunday morning and the dough would have opened up the refrigerator, and I don't know, made itself a cup of coffee or something. Yeast is scary stuff.

But Sunday morning, all was well. We set to rolling out the dough.



By this time, the dough was very cooperative and lay down quite nicely.

Then we covered it in melted butter, sugar, and copious amounts of cinnamon.

Then--and this is the fun part--we rolled it all up into a long loaf.

The whole family started getting very excited. Then, we sliced it up.

And set our rolls out in the pan to rise.

This is the floury aftermath.

But where is the fruit of all this labor? The product of all this weekend baking insanity? Where is the picture of the just-baked cinnamon rolls, oozing warm butter and sugar, and gloriously smothered in a white sugar icing?

Friends, I'm afraid that a misty cinnamon haze rose up in the 500Jerk house and overpowered its occupants such that they were helpless to do anything but raise their forks toward their mouths. Again and again and again. Until every last crumb of cinnamon roll was gone and every last smidgen of icing was wiped away. Only then did we realize that we had gobbled down the cinnamon rolls before they could be forever memorialized in all their breakfast gloriousness.

Many apologies, but let me direct you a photo of these delectable pastries at the Pioneer Woman's website.

Enjoy!

Pound Cake and Patience

Inspired by Julie/Julia, which a friend has loaned me, and this unbelievable website, I pulled out Julia Child's collaborative The Art of Baking and baked a pound cake this rainy East Tennessee Saturday. Because kid soccer mercifully was cancelled--what a mudbath THAT would've been--I had time to bring cake ingredients to room temperature and follow the rather complicated directions about beating things thoroughly and in the correct order. The instructive detail actually was so intense that it reminded me of reading Medicare regulations.

Which, I'm sorry to say, I do with some frequency.

Anyway, the resulting golden pound cake swelled masterfully in the oven and looks very appealing. See?

I can't wait to eat it. Under normal circumstance, I would dig right in, but we have friends coming over for dessert, and I'm thinking a half-eaten cake might not be the right gesture of hospitality. Possibly I could slice a piece off the bottom, but . . . risky. Also, other family members might insist on their fair share.

Problematic.

Patience (drumming fingers).

Recipe for Panzanella

Take yourself to the Saturday Farmer's Market at Market Square and buy organic heritage tomatoes--green, red, yellow, and stripey. That night, chop into chunks. Cube left-over garlic bread made with a good sourdough. Mix. Douse with balsamic vinegar and bless with salt. Wait impatiently, ten minutes if you can. Eat. Defend leftovers from clamoring spouse and children. Use force and strong language, as necessary.

Blackberry Ice Cream You Must Try

Julie's blackberry ice cream is unbelievably delicious with a homemade brownie.