Taking 'Cues

Ben and I have become barbecue enthusiasts. The time-honored Southern tradition of roasting an entire pig over a wood fire has become very dear to the hearts of these two Yankees.

For those of you unfamiliar with barbecue, or for those readers who think of barbecue as an event held on the Fourth of July or similar occasions, let me point you to the wisdom of Rhett and Link, North Carolina's favorite musical comedy duo:

People not from the South think barbecue means cookout.
And that’s something they’re wrong about.
Barbecue’s not a verb.
Barbecue’s not a grill.
Barbecue is meat prepared in a very special way, which varies depending on where you are.

And when you're in Eastern North Carolina barbecue territory, like we are, barbecue is pork prepared with vinegar-based sauce. And that's it.

I'll spare you details on the Eastern-style/Western-style drama, only saying that most folks around here like Eastern-style and Ben and I are with them on that.

Our favorite barbecue spot in Bill's in Wilson. There are a lot of good things about Bill's. First -- and most important -- the food is excellent. Second, there's a lot of it. Third, it's pretty cheap. Fourth, the ambiance and decor are such that you don't feel bad if you drop a little of your barbecue on the table. Or the floor.

I usually go for the barbecue (pork -- but that goes without saying in the Tar Heel State), chicken and dumplings, hush puppies, sweet potatoes and biscuits. And peach cobbler. The photo at the top is my most recent Bill's meal. Notice the half-eaten biscuit. That's where I started.

Ben skips the dessert and does double barbecue and biscuits. He's also a sweet potato fan, likes the fried chicken and hush puppies, and has been known to try fatback but reports it isn't his favorite menu item.



I think this picture of Ben really captures our barbecue experience. See how he's savoring the moment? Or just happened to blink as I took the picture?

If you're in the neighborhood, stop in at Bill's. Tell them we sent you. But I'd recommend skipping the fatback.

A Kale Tale

See this leafy green stuff? It's kale.

If you've never had it, here's how I'd describe it: a really, really tough version of parsley. It doesn't wilt. It takes a lot of effort to chew. Did I mention it was tough?

I don't have much use for kale. In fact, I have only one recipe I use it in: a sausage and potato soup. (If you're still interested in trying it after you read this -- and really, you should, because it's a good soup -- the recipe is at the end.)



The soup calls for two cups of kale. The thing is, you can't buy kale by the cupful. You buy it by the bunch. And there's a lot more than two cups of kale in a bunch.

Back when my sister Allie and I had our apartment in Farmington, I made this soup one time. I used my two cups of kale. I thought about throwing out the extra. But then I didn't.

This apartment was the first place I'd lived that had a garbage disposal. It was an impressive machine and I was a little fascinated with it. I thought it would be fun to feed it the kale.

And it was -- at least for stalks one through six. They spun and spun while the blades ground away, eventually sucking in leafy tops. Stalk seven, though is what gummed up the works. I was faced with an ugly kale clog.

I tried running the garbage disposal longer. Nothing. I tried four different grades of drain cleaner. No dice. I tried a snake-like gadget that was supposed to clear any blocked pipe. All it did was bring up a few good size chunks of kale, unharmed, except for the color bleaching that occurred as a result of the three gallons of Draino I used.

Ben finally showed up to help and suggested lye. Citing my aversion to corrosive alkalines in the kitchen, I said no. Then he suggested a plunger. I have an aversion to plungers in the kitchen, too, but it was better than lye and I was desperate for an operational sink at this point.

At first, even the plunger was helpless against the kale blockage. Eventually, however, Ben was able to clear the clog. I was giddy. My sink was kale-free. I'm sure my landlord would have been appreciative, too, had he been aware of the situation.

Thanks to this experience, Ben asks me whenever I make this soup not to put the kale down the garbage disposal. Let me caution you in the same way. Toss it, give it to the dog, put it in a vase and pretend it's a bouquet -- but do not try to grind it up in the InSinkErator.

Trust me on this one.


Sausage Kale Soup

• 1/2 lb. hot Italian sausage
• 3 to 4 cups chicken broth
• 3 to 4 cups milk
• 1 small onion, minced
• 1/4 cup bacon, crumbled
• Dash salt
• Dash crushed red pepper flakes
• 1 large russet potato, scrubbed, with peel
  
• 2 cups kale, chopped

Grill or sauté sausage until cooked. Slice into 1/4-inch slices.

Combine broth, milk, onion, bacon, salt and pepper flakes in a large stock pot. Cook at medium high heat for about 10 minutes.

Quarter the potato lengthwise, then slice. Add to pot. Bring soup to a boil, then reduce heat and simmer, uncovered, for about 30 minutes.

Add sausage to soup. Simmer for an hour.

Add kale. Simmer for 15 minutes.

Makes four servings.


The food: Kale
The verdict: Great in soups. Not great in drains.

Sir, Mix a Lot?

I don't use mixes that often, but inevitably, whenever I cheat and bake something from a mix, someone wants the recipe. Basic recipe: Go to Harris Teeter. Add eggs and oil.

I've decided there is no need to apologize for using a mix -- some of them are really excellent. Betty Crocker's Double Chocolate Chunk cookie mix, for instance, makes the best cookies I've ever had.

I'm also throwing my official blog endorsement behind Country Gourmet scone mixes. My two favorites are cranberry orange and blueberry oat. Just add water. Not too sweet, not too dry. Very sconey.

The food: Double Chocolate Chunk cookie mix and Country Gourmet scone mixes
The verdict: The best thing that ever happened to an egg and two tablespoons of water

The Good. And the Bad and Ugly.

Thanksgiving. A day for giving thanks. But mostly for cooking. And eating. And then eating leftovers.

This was our second Thanksgiving in North Carolina and while we briefly entertained the idea of making barbecue for the big meal, we went traditional in the end. In my post-Thanksgiving review and analysis, I give a thumbs-up to the turkey (made in my slow cooker), the cranberry sauce (made in a factory by Ocean Spray) and the biscuits (which were both a Thanksgiving side and breakfast today, served with gravy).



The secret to the biscuits is Maine's own Bakewell Cream. I haven't found it around here, but if you're into making biscuits, it's well worth a mail order. The leavening agent makes biscuits flaky and fluffy (unless you're a compulsive mixer or kneader, which I used to be -- and in that case, even the magic of Bakewell Cream can't save you). The moral of the story: Mix minimally. Knead lightly. Use Bakewell.

The day, however, was not without its disappointments. The biggest disappointment: Rachael Ray's Double-Decker Pumpkin-Caramel Pie.

Check out this link to see what Everyday with Rachael Ray promised me it would look like. Here's what it actually looked like:



I swear, there's a slice of pie under there.

This flop was particularly painful since dessert is the best part of Thanksgiving and pumpkin pie is the best dessert.

There were three main problems. First, I couldn't find the chocolate graham crackers for the crust, so I improvised with Oreos. Sounds good in theory, but they stayed in the pie plate. Second, the pie batter was a little on the bitter side, so I added a little (lot) more sugar. The pie never really set right. Third, the caramel whipped cream was made by melting caramel with cream, then adding the mixture to cream whipped to soft peaks. The caramel deflated the cream and turned the whole thing into a soupy, yucky-sweet mess.

Despite the obvious visual evidence that I had failed, I grabbed a spoon and tried a slice. This, after all, was Thanksgiving, and I needed some pie. It wasn't pretty.

Next year, it's back to regular old pumpkin pie. Hold the caramel.