AOK

Why is poetry important?

It isn't;

I couldn't say;

It's like peace during peacetime,

a struck penalty kick.

Who remembers it?

Teenage anarchists and wilting flowers,

enemies of syntax,

pissant cartographers.

Progress

It’s comforting to see that NBC, Fox and CBS have embraced a non-discriminatory stance by making around half of their anchors/correspondents/weather reporters women. Let’s see - there’s the auburn, side-parted long-haired 30-something with a short sleeve dress and a thin belt cinched tight about her ribcage; the blonde, side-parted long-haired 30-something with a short sleeve dress and a thin belt cinched tight about her ribcage; and the brunette, side-parted long-haired 30-something with a short sleeve dress and a thin belt cinched tight about her ribcage. Each complemented by a tangerine-hued, cryogenically-maintained Gordon Gecko with a brittle smile and cold eyes.

Here goes nothing

Overheard conversation fragment #1:

So I was like yeah I’m into new stuff so I thought I’d tell him I’m in the market for something else. You know how adventurous I am right. Yeah? Right, man. Anyway, so I asked him what was like Adderall. Yeah. I just thought I’d give it a

(fade out).

Asleep

I woke up at 1:38 and thought

            "I need to write a poem about cephalopods".

So here it is.
It's not very long, or very clever,
but it is done.

Spam, glorious Spam

Smot this with your glazzies: Spam, grapes, peas and onions. My mailbox was lit. and fig. spammed with this monstrosity. Bonus points for the immediate preparation time; (Like the poser asked of Ned Flanders by Homer: Could Jesus microwave a burrito so hot that He Himself could not eat it?) only Yahweh can make it faster. And make it taste delicious, presumably:

" VINEYARD SPAM SALAD

Recipe By :
Serving Size : 6 Preparation Time :0:00
Categories : Salads

Amount Measure Ingredient -- Preparation Method
-------- ------------ --------------------------------
1 cn SPAM Luncheon Meat, cubed
-(12 oz)
2/3 c Mayonnaise or salad dressing
1 tb Lime juice
1 t Dry mustard
2 c Seedless grapes
1 c Peapods, cut in half
1/2 c Thinly sliced red onion

In skillet, saute SPAM over high heat 2 minutes,
stirring constantly; set aside. In small bowl, combine
mayonnaise, lime juice, and dry mustard. In large
bowl, combine grapes, SPAM, peapods, and onion. Tos (sic)
with mayonnaise mixture. Cover and chill 1 hour."

I've always wanted to insert (sic) into somebody else's text. It strikes me as unutterably smug.

Typing “vineyard spam salad” into Google returns 7,540,000 results, which aptly illustrates how nefarious Search Engine Optimisation and content appropriation is. Other than a smattering of why have I been sent this recipe? – type peevishness, all the other links appear to return the recipe verbatim, which serves no purpose other than clogging up the arteries of the internet with spam.

I have also decided to strike from my bookmarks any recipe aggregator site that actually lists this recipe. I'm quite sure none of them have actually kitchen tested this bad boy, and are essentially untrustworthy whores.

I set out to make this salad, but unfortunately we live in an erstwhile food desert. Long Island City attracts yuppies, and yuppies don't eat spam. Even when they're camping in the Ozarks. The local victual repository, The Food Cellar, prides itself in only selling organic and quality noshage. Which is why oranges cost a dollar each. In addition to being deprived of spam, I'm flirting with scurvy. 

Before I moved to NY, I imagined that the average Manhattanite survives on a diet of coffee, macrobiotic salads, foraged microherbs, ortolan eggs, Korean/Kabbalah fusion truck food and so forth. I'm not entirely disabused of this notion. Luckily, I'm a stroll away from both Green Point and Astoria, home respectively to Polish and Greek communities, and handsomely furnished with greengrocers and cheap supermarkets. I secured a tin of low sodium Spam with ease.

I may look like a yuppie, but I don't eat like one. I like spam, luncheonmeat, bully beef, Shippams potted beef, mechanically reclaimed snoutwurst, the late night doner kebab. All are grist to my maw. The more dubious the provenance, the more likely I am to enjoy it. Why does this recipe curl my lip, then? Is it the egregious quantity of mayonnaise, the dubious use of the word Vineyard due to the inclusion of grapes, or the sneaky way Hormel, the makers of spam, market the product?

I can begrudgingly attest that Vineyard Spam Salad is moderately tasty. I deviated from the recipe in 3 ways: I used low sodium Spam, I cut the mayonnaise with a good dollop of crème fraiche, and I neglected to chill for the instructed hour. Mrs FAI, who loathes mayonnaise as a dressing (she only ever eats it with frites), pronounced it “okay”, and my mother-in-law adjudged it “delicious”. The saltiness of the spam complemented the sweetness of the grapes and the raw snow peas provided a welcome crunch. The sauce was tangy but there was too much of it. You can halve the mayonnaise with confidence.

Paula Deen would be proud.

A Burning Sensation

Mrs. FAI puts chilli on just about everything, or rather, she would if I allowed her. To her mind, there's simply no food, or combinations thereof, that won't benefit from being drenched in heat. Chilli has an affinity with most things Mediterranean and Mexican, Near and Far East, however, I put my foot down when she wants to spoon chilli over, say, a quenelle of poached fish with leeks, or a Comté souffle. Just...no.

Sometimes I wonder if chilli is a food crutch, the adult version of slathering ketchup on the dreaded vegetables that your thin-lipped parent insists you eat.

I like Tabasco on my oysters, Sriracha on eggs, MSG-riddled Chinese flavoured chilli oil on fried rice, but for me, the Italian way of preserving fresh chillies in olive oil yields the tastiest results. A pizza or tomatoey pasta is naked without it.

This fruity, spicy condiment gets better with age. Fresh chillies lend a length and depth of flavour (not just heat) that shop-bought, long-dried chillies can't match. You can top up the oil for a while without diluting the fruit's punch. I suppose if you live adjacent to an olive grove you'd happily use your best cold pressed extra virgin, but I have obtained very good results with pomace oil, which is significantly cheaper. Use whatever you can afford.

Holy Oil

Buy a couple of large handfuls of fresh, red chillies. Although you could use piri-piri or bird's eye, I prefer the slightly milder large red “cayenne”style pepper. Remove the green stalks and chop the chillies into 1cm long slices. Don't remove the seeds. Take care not to rub your eyes until you have washed your hands thoroughly, unless you desire to look like the Bride of Wildenstein.

Now place all the chilli pieces in a sieve, add 1 cupful of coarse salt, and place the sieve above a glass or ceramic bowl. Leave for a week, during which the salt will leach all moisture out of the chillies. Stir every now and then so that the salt mixes well with the chillies. You can use the liquor which accumulates in the bowl to flavour cholent or curry, if so desired. Don't be tempted to hurry this procedure. The chillies must be dry before being steeped in oil: any residual water may turn the fruit rotten and there is a risk of botulism, which is really rather nasty.

After a week, pick the chillies out of the salt, shaking out as much loose salt as possible, and then place in a glass jar. Top with olive oil, and leave for a week so the oil can draw flavour. This oil can be kept in the store cupboard.

Keep the salt. I use it every year, topping up when necessary, and after a while it will be a beautiful pink colour and dotted with chilli seeds (my stash is visible on the left of the photo). It is lovely used as a punchy table salt.

Porky persiflage

Gratuitous photo of my beautiful but flawed jambon persille, that "jewel of the charcutiere's art", according to one gushing writer. It looked and tasted the part, but my attempt at cutting it into French-sized slices resulted in a hideously deformed thing, post wolf-mauling. Note to self: chop the porky bits smaller next time.

Brussels Sprouts

Family FreshAirInspector have been on holiday, mostly next to the sea when not actually frolicking artlessly in it. I've eaten my own bodyweight in squid. Cats trail in my fishy wake, yowling disconsolately. There have been some memorable lunchtime meals (a plate of mixed mussels with limpid, peppery olive oil and homemade bread was the stuff of legend) and some mundane ones (many Balkan restaurants offer pizza, few offer any that are worth eating). Most evenings we sat on our various hotel balconies and ate bread, prsut, cheese and little tomatoes whilst guzzling tasty plonk out of plastic mugs. Sometimes the opportunity to cook presented itself. I quite like the challenge of cooking outside your own kitchen, although I really should take my own paring knife on holiday with me. Why do people invest in fancy knives and never sharpen them? What is this fascination with serrated knives?

Poor old sprouts. They get a bum rap. If they're overcooked they have that gassy cabbage smell of used poultice. They require quick cooking to retain a slight crunch and a subtle nuttiness. They can be eaten raw too: Ottolenghi does a great salad of Brussels sprouts. I like them pan fried or roasted, drizzled with a little olive oil and salt, or with nutmeg and crème fraiche.

Roasted Brussels Sprouts en grill double contact

This is a simple, healthy way to prepare sprouts that shows off their nutty, sweet crunch best. Eat as a side dish with any roast or grilled meats. I didn't have access to a non-stick frying pan in this self-catering apartment, so used the pictured “dual contact grill” or panini maker instead. The outcome was super.

Allow a handful of sprouts per person. Trim the base and discard any wilted or discoloured outer leaves. Cut sprouts in half lengthways. Toss in a bowl with 1 tsp light olive oil, and season lightly with salt and pepper. Bring a large non-stick frying pan to medium heat, and place a single layer of sprouts cut side down on the base. Place a lid over the pan (I use a flat baking tray instead of a lid) and allow to cook for five minutes. Test the sprouts by pricking with a sharp knife. They should give a little but still retain their bite. The lid helps the sprouts to steam cook, whilst the cut edge roasts. Now remove the lid, turn the heat to high, shake the sprouts around the pan to brown the edges a little, and serve.

If you are the lucky owner of a panini maker, oil and season the sprouts and cook both sides simultaneously for superlative results.

Steak Perrtaters

My wife likes steak. A lot. We eat steak regularly. I get lots of practice cooking steak. I have become experienced at cooking steak. Grilling steak. Broiling steak. Eating steak. That parses like Hemingway with a brain injury.

Sometimes it's comforting to be repetitive. Repetition may be the enemy of chance, especially in the kitchen. Thus, I offer my perfect steak supper recipe, safe in the knowledge that it has been tested to death. All that you require is good quality, aged steak. Spend decent money and it will be as good as a restaurant meal, I promise. I like Aberdeen Angus ribeye with a nice marbling of fat and no bone, so that I can do two at once in my small pan. Sirloin is good too. Rump is ace. T-bone is tasty. Fillet is acceptable, notwithstanding its shameful lack of fat. The steaks should be at least an inch thick. This way you get to sear the outside and keep the inside medium rare. I make no bones for only telling you how to cook a steak medium rare. Any more cooked, and you're wasting a good piece of meat and should really just stick to casseroles and things eaten cold out of a tin with a spork, possibly while wearing fingerless gloves. I scorn equally those macho blowhards who insist on eating a steak blue. You want it to be heated through, don't you? I bet you're the type of pestiferous customer that gives steakhouse chefs the heebie-jeebies.

You'll also need a blue steel frying pan (e.g. de Buyer) or something similar (non teflon-coated is preferable) that is oven proof (no rubber handles).

With this dish, timing is important, so make sure your prep work is done before the steak hits the pan, and that the salad is made and the potatoes done.

Pan fried steak with steak potatoes

Get your steak out of the fridge 2 hours before you cook it to allow it to come to room temperature. An hour before you want to eat, wash some smallish potatoes (I like Rooster for this dish – allow 2 or 3 per person) and cut into quarters lengthways. Keep the skin on. Now dry the potato wedges in a tea cloth and then put into a mixing bowl with 1 tsp olive oil, a generous pinch of cayenne pepper, 1 tsp curry powder, and a good grind of salt. Toss to mix well, spread out on a baking sheet skin side down and put into an oven preheated to 190C and cook until they yield to the tip of an inquisitive knife.

Turn your attention to salad. I don't wish be prescriptive, suffice it to say that a little dressed watercress or something peppery (I'm loathe to use the r word, arugula being shorthand for 90's bistro laziness, but it does the trick) or what I had – a little red chicory dressed with a honey, dijon, lemon and oil emulsion.

Now, turn up your oven to 250C. Whilst you are waiting for it to reach the required heat, finely chop 1 small clove of garlic and ½ tsp fresh thyme. When the oven is hot you can begin cooking the steak: place your pan on the hob and turn on to the highest setting. Be brave. Wait a few minutes until you have created a mini mirage above the hob, and the dry pan is smoking. Rub each steak with a tiny drizzle of grapeseed or peanut oil (not olive oil – the smoke point is too low). Get your stopwatch handy. Salt one side of the steaks and lay, salt side down in the pan. Count 2 minutes. Don't prod or move the steaks. Don't turn the heat down. Don't be tempted to cook them longer. You may want to switch on your extractor fan. After 2 minutes, salt the other side of the steaks and turn them over. Wait another 2 minutes.

Remove the pan from the hob and place in the hot oven. Allow 3 minutes, maybe up to 4 if you'd like your steak closer to medium. Take out the oven (at this point switch the oven off and put your plates in – steaks deserve a nice warm plate). Add the garlic and thyme to the pan, along with a little knob of butter. Stir well, and add a grind of pepper. Careful, that pan is going to be very hot.

Get those plates out, put your steaks on and drizzle the scant meat juices/butter mixture over them. Allow to rest for 5-10 minutes, then garnish with the potatoes and salad.

Eat with a steak knife, please. And drink a nice bottle of sturdy red out of your best glasses. We had a bottle of 1999 De Toren Fusion V. It was lovely, the tannins were well integrated and there was still an imprint of sweet fruit, chocolate and vanilla.