The first thing that hits you when you take that first bite is the unfamiliar texture, which you can’t help but consider off putting– at least at first.  Its something new that you haven’t had the privilege of trying before; something that you have little-to-no basis of comparison for.  In the process of chewed assessment, you recognize the nostalgic and familiar pork flavor coming through.  The frying oil becomes a background, as the only fat you can taste is pig.  The fat is textured just right to be eaten in by itself, without even the acidic helping hand of the lime juice or pickled red onion.

You enjoy the experience, but not because the food is perfectly suited to your preferences, but rather because it is a new experience and anything new is often exciting.

Taste can be considered elusive, broad and complex.  There can be countless nuances with levels upon levels that increase with ever passing salivating moment.  Texture has much less room for change.  When writing on the texture, one finds much difficulty in sounding nearly as poetic as when referring to tastes and flavors.  I guess what struck me as important is my own tendencies to rally around taste and put texture in the background.  I can relate this fault to every bit of my life.  I would classify it as a cultural issue, simply because textures aren’t particularly revered in our burnt little corner of the melting pot, but I think it lies more in personal outlooks and upbringing.  

Pork Fries at The Refinery in Seminole Heights

I am in no way advocating a separation of these two characteristics.  They compliment each other so well.  Its simply important to balance textures and flavors.  In cooking and in life.  If something or someone tastes really good  but the texture sucks, savor it for what it is, but don’t keep on chewing it.

I’ve seen some reviews around that have said that The Rack is overpriced.  I can’t really debate this, but since on hospitality night it is 50% off… yeah… 50% off for anyone with a pay stub, it kind of makes it worth it.  For example, I always get the Salmon Carpaccio appetizer.  It is a good 6 oz’s of Salmon Sashimi over a ton of tobiko (flying fish roe) and a tart ginger sauce/dressing ( I am reluctant to classify it).  Then you have a nice pillow of Daikon underneath the fish and finally a little salad of pickled cucumbers.

The fish was fresh, and was perfectly fine by itself without any of the dressing or Tobiko.  The plating was excellent in my mind, and I will continue to order this dish every time I find my way in.

As far as criticisms go, The rack needs some more liquor.  I mean… come on.  It’s a fuckin bar, right?  They only had 2 or 3 bourbon’s to choose from, with nothing too interesting.  The drinks are also a bit overpriced–but once again 50% off– I didn’t really notice.  My tab ended up being like 23 bucks for six shots of Jameson (not all for me), three pints of Sierra Nevada, and the Carpaccio (which came out to be about four dollars.

I’m not saying this place is the best bar, or the best Sushi place, but for fuck sake, if you work in hospitality, start going on Sunday nights.  Oh, and our bartender was sexy.  Awwww yeah, Theresa.

-EE

Flash and Lighting aside, Some nice plating on a Salmon Carpaccio App at The Rack

Let me start out by saying that if you find yourself even mildly offended by that tasteful leader, than you probably stumbled across something here that you might just be better off without.  Tonight, in celebration of a new employment opportunity, I once again took my sweet, sweet, (oh, so sweet) baby Aubrey out.  This time, we went to Ella’s Folk Art Cafe over in the Seminole Heights area.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t already know damn well what I was going to order, but the prospect of some new beer’s on tap was enough to entice me.  Not to mention, as much as I am always in search of new places, new foods and new menu items to write about, sometimes you just have to go with whats good.

I’ve talked about Ella’s before, I’m sure, but after tonight I just feel as though somehow I needed to talk about it again.  Admittedly, the prices did go up.  In fact, the burger I order actually jumped from 11 to 14, but hey… was it enough to deter me? No.

I get ’The Badd’, which is dressed with a garlic aoli, roasted red peppers, and a whipped goat cheese.  Even though the burgers are probably a good 1/2 pound before cooking, I of course always have to double up on the meat.  I mean, lets be honest here… it’s rare enough to get a good burger in a restaurant, and even rarer to find a place where the meat is consistently grass fed, organic, and fresh.  When these places do come along, you just have to capitalize, man.

This next part is very important.  I am sick and tired of eating with people who order their burgers cooked all the way through.  Having just gotten back from Ireland and London where mince meat (or any ground meat) is required to be cooked through, i know now why had to declare independence from British rule.  Common, people.  Don’t let the FDA or the little “consume raw or undercooked items at your own risk” disclaimer on the bottom of the menu dissuade you from eating like we were meant to eat!

There is a reason beef is called red meat and not brown meat.  Think about it.  Ehh… to be continued.  That Cigar City Double IPA put me to sleep.

A nice cross section of an intestine stuffed torta

For the sake of sanity, today I took my good friend sweet baby Aubrey out for a little study break at the taqueria.  I was delighted to see that Taco Nazo’s sister restaurant, Taqueria Monterey, had tripe on the menu.  I discovered the place a while back after wandering out of an adjacent tattoo parlor after just having got the inside of my bicep covered with a nice cartoon explosion. I’ve had the lengua (tongue) a couple times already, so finding some other portion of a cow that’s traditionally overlooked was nice.  I was also informed that the barbacoa is apparently head meat?  I mean, I had learned the derivation of the word for ‘barbecue’ came from barbacoa; however I always just assumed it was braised beef.  After all, I seriously doubt Chipotle, who is owned by McDonalds would really offer head meat as part of their line-up.  I may just be getting that completely wrong and I would research it but that would kind of defeat the amateurish feel I’m aiming for.  I digress.  Anyway, I had chosen to get my tripe on a torta which comes on a big hunk of fry bread adorned with shredded cabbage, avocado, pico de gallo, cilantro, salsa roja, salsa verde, and a few other unidentifiable bits.

To my surprise,  the tripe wasn’t in its familiar honeycomb shape, which leads me to believe what I ate today was in fact intestine and not stomach.  The reason I make this assertion is because the meat seemed to be sections cut off from a long thin tube.

I’m no gerontologist, but in my brief stay in anatomy two semesters back, long tubes are most commonly found in the intestines.  Now, don’t get me wrong because I addressed this finding almost as a bonus.  I’ve had honeycomb tripe before and  I’ve never had cow intestine.  As previously mentioned, it was cut into small sections of tube, similar to calamari. The texture was strange, in that I’d like to compare it to calamari as well; however, there was a strange chewiness to it that was very distinctive.  It wasn’t rubbery, in fact it was extremely tender, but it just required a bit more chewing than one would imagine.  Flavor wise, I was most certainly consuming some part of a cow, but there was a rich, funky, gaminess to it as well.  I would say the first flavor I got was pungent beef, but it faded off into the distance as the funk took over.

Sweet Baby Aubrey

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t at first a little apprehensive.  Knowing what travels through intestines doesn’t exactly make them any more appetizing.  The preparation was simple.   The tasty little morsels were pan fried in what tasted like vegetable oil.  I got some tongue as well.  There’s something sickly satisfying about seeing the little taste buds.

One of the best parts about Taqueria Monterey, in comparison to Taco Bus, is the salsa cart they offer.  They have shredded cabbage, cilantro, fresh limes, pico de gallo, 9-10 different salsa’s ranging from a cool avocado sour cream with some contrasting heat, to a spicy peanut salsa. They had pickled cabbage, pickled red onions, raw white onion and freshly pickled jalapenos.

The horchata, on this particular day, was admittedly a bit chalky.  Sweet baby Aubrey compared it texturally to Pepto-bismol. We also tried cantaloupe, hibiscus flower, tamarind and pineapple water’s which were all refreshing… for the exception of the hibiscus flower which was just a little too syrupy.

The more I think about the food scene in Tampa the more I tend to think a little bit more positively.  I know its not the best, but finding the few sources of good food scattered around a relatively large area makes me feel at least mildly accomplished.  Now all I have to do is got someone to read this mother fuckin’ blog.

EE-

Immediately after waking up this “morning” wayyyy too relaxed for it to be BEFORE my alarm was supposed to sound at 8:30 a.m., I happened to notice that my piece-of-shit phone sat untouched on my bedside table.

Something about the raised buttons mocked me as I unlocked it to notice it was two and a half hours after my exam was supposed to start AND way too late to be starting one’s day, especially since I didn’t get fucked up the night before.  Realizing my mistake and writing several panicked emails to my professor, I relaxed into a state of bitter acceptance and started looking for a distraction.

“Ahhh, Mr. Bourdain.  I do believe I will read a bit in ‘Kitchen Confidential’,”  I thought and did not say (obviously… since if I had said that aloud, that would make me pretty odd, even by my own loose standards, and therefore it would be omitted from this publicly viewed blog)… I digress (in parentheses).

So I read, and I found myself hungry, but not for the dollar menu so close and so affordable, so on a whim of passion for a food lover’s food, I drove to the only step up from any generic super market I have found thus far:  Fresh Market.

I walked up and down the aisles, the produce section, the meat counter… I spent about an hour and half wandering around that store reading labels, and for some reason, feeling more inclined to make little grunts to myself when other shoppers were around.  Why?  I couldn’t say.

I ended up with a two and a half pound brisket, some sweet hot pickles, a small log of smoked liver pate, two golden delicious apples and a create-your-own six pack.  Why should you care?  You probably shouldn’t, but if you do, my girlfriend thanks you for inflating my ego.

I got back to my apartment feeling as thought I had accomplished very little; which I had.  I then cut the onions into thick pieces, smashed up a few garlic cloves and poured in a bottle of Full Moon winter lager.  I then, admittedly, got out six packets of Sonny’s sweet barbecue sauce.  I don’t care what anyone says, that stuff is the best sweet sauce I’ve had.

I salted and peppered both sides of the meat and seared it.  I don’t really think there was any  point for that, but I had seen one of the chef’s at my job searing off short ribs before braising a few nights ago, and for some reason that obligated me.

The meat was covered with tin foil and placed in the 275 degree oven where it has stayed up until just a minute ago when I sliced it and put it back in the jus.  I do believe I will reduce the jus down after another hour or so once the meat is out.

Everyone knows, just like any other meat slow cooked, it only gets better if you let it sit and cool in the fridge in a tightly sealed zip lock bag, or plastic container.  Unfortunately I haven’t eaten today and would find it pretty difficult to go get fast food and ignore that beautiful hunk of beef.

Oh well… and the sad part is, after saying that last bit, I think I’m heading to Wendy’s for a couple junior bacons.  Submit to the fatness….

-EE

-EE

1)  Attain several snapper carcasses after the meat (minus the cheek and head portions) has been removed.

2) Extract the gills

3) Extract the vital organs from within the head

4) Slide a blade down the spinal column severing the protective sheath covering the spine and the bloody goodness within

5) Extract this bloody goodness with finger or blade

6) Ice the resulting bloodless remnants of fish for long enough for some of the ice to melt and draw away any excess blood.

7) Enjoy your final product… which is absolutely useless minus the stock/fumet applications as previously stated.

As one would imagine, the smells which quickly fill the room are those of both blood and fish.  Who could ask for anything more?  When I return home after nights of this type of prep, my roommates are quick to accuse me of ‘receiving my red wings’, and if that term needs further explanation, I would encourage you to use the infinitely useful resource that is urbandictionary.com.  On that note, I would also like to publicly state that during my last shift working the fish station (caviar, lobster, tuna tartar, etc.), I was asked if I had ever ‘tossed a salad’…  Now… just to get this straight… we were talking about women at the time, and more specifically the location of their urethra in relation to both the vagina and the anus (medical terms used for the sake of class).  I was informed that the female urethra is located outside of the vagina? Between the vagina and the ass?  In writing this statement, I am going to check an anatomical diagram immediately after posting; however this just seems wrong to me.  I should have asked that lesbian chick at work.  I digress.  For any readers out there who may work in diverse fields outside of the restaurant industry, is this a commonly asked question?  I mean, while you are sifting through files or entering data, are you asked about if you’ve ever ‘tossed a salad’?  I mean really… I am far from shy and I am far from offendable, but come on.  It wasn’t even asked with candor.  It was asked pointe blank as if it were commonplace banter.  I think the difference there is also the fact that it is not outlandish enough to be considered funny under the subheading of ‘absurd’.  For example, an Alaskan grand slam or a hot karl, both ridiculous, but hilarious… especially because no one actually takes part in those acts and talks about it, or if they do… well they are shameless.  Whatever.  I think I lost any intelligent thought about 200 words ago.

-EE

I don’t want anyone to be confused about this.  This is not a plea for the removal of all latex gloves from the food service industry.  God knows there are countless coworkers who, if I were paying $220 for an ounce of Iranian Ossetra caviar,  would not want anywhere near my food.  What I am saying is,  the art form which is plating, is compromised when forced to use a protective barrier.  And the sex doesn’t feel nearly as good… Just pull out… I’m just kidding; I only practice safe sex… But I heard it feels better to pull out…

-EE

Post Shucking Euphoria

In recent times, I have become a member of the greater oyster shucking community.  We are usually able to spot our own through the scarred, scabbed, or bleeding hands of our compatriots.  I can’t begin to pretend that I don’t like the practice of inserting a blade into a living creature and prying the life out of it, but depending on the depth of the wounds and the juiciness of the lemon wedges you unavoidably have to handle shortly after (for plating),  it can potentially kick your ass.  I began to come up with some story about an incident but came to the realization that all my wounds so far would probably make me look like a pussy if I were to write about them.  With that thought, I think I will wait a few weeks until I actually do come home with a gaping wound to elaborate more on this post.  Maybe a severed tendon will inspire eloquent prose… or tetanus.

-EE