What do second stage ethanol fermentation and metabolic detoxification have in common?
Vinegar! Acetic acid. Good for excreting into the toilet and preserving produce. Except probably don’t use urine for the produce part. Too many other things in that for a good pickling medium.
Fortunately, it’s easier to just buy vinegar than to rely on the above in-home methods of production. And much easier than attempting the lactic acid route (though I’ll totally try that one day). But for now, it’s refrigerator pickles, sans-Orléan method. Standard grocery store vinegar for this one. Here’s the recipe I used:
1 cup water
1 1/3 cup white vinegar
1/3 cup granulated sugar
2 Tbsp. kosher salt
Seems a tad sweet, but I’ll give it a week to settle and adjust accordingly.
We have cucumbers (there’s an abundance from the garden right now and the kid wanted to make some after learning about it at summer camp), serrano peppers, and red onions. So far, the red onions are pretty good. One of the most ridiculously up-charged items to buy, by the way. More street tacos in the future!
No, I did not travel to Vienna in my youth. I went to New Mexico a few times, but that was about the extent of family vacations. Travel to me involved Boy Scouts, which mostly consisted of bleeding and sweating…and sometimes hypothermia. But tourism wasn’t exactly on the menu.
What I did have was a very good friend in 7th grade – Aaron. He was not a subscriber to the traditional Texan masculinity. I hate the term “Toxic Masculinity”, as it implies an inherent problem with men as a whole, but in some circumstances I think it’s the best explanation for male adolescent behavior – particularly those in Texas during the 90s. Example: the time someone broke the soap dispenser in the locker room at the pool (I was in school swimming at the time), and surreptitiously squirted its contents into my locker, soaking my clothes. That was a fun day. I’m still not certain why, seeing as I avoided the groups of larger boys and kept my mouth shut. I suppose I was just an easy target for random aggression.
Fortunately, the aforementioned friend was in swimming with me and also avoiding the bros. He was incredibly religious, like many Texans, but meant well. He gave me a pocket bible on one of these particularly bad days to try to help my declining mental state, and – for the purpose of this post – regularly shared with me his daily canned ration of Vienna sausage. I don’t know why, but he always had a can in his packed lunch. I had never had them prior, nor knew what they were. At the time, they just seemed to be small canned hot dogs. But 7th grade males aren’t very discerning with their meat products, and I thought they tasted wonderful. I had never had them since.
Then, just recently, some 28 years later, I took the kid to the liquidation outlet she likes to visit. Packed with mis-inventoried/lost/returned/written off shelves of all the crap Americans order through the mail, it’s a paradise for people possessing more time than money and trying to get a good deal on something random. Or, in my daughter’s case, someone who doesn’t know what to do with her allowance. And there, sitting on warehouse wire shelving, was a cardboard pack of Vienna sausage cans.
Mmmm, in chicken broth!
But to the kid’s credit, she’s willing to try most any food substance at least once, and agreed to eat some if I bought a $1 can of this processed meat-like…stuff, and try it with me to scratch an old nostalgic itch.
So – for Aaron! A kind soul in a desolate wasteland of Texan douche-bros.
And upon her initial bite, the kid spit it out and said it tasted like cat food. And I’m afraid that I have to agree. It was not like a hot dog. There was no pleasing snap followed by salty ground meat. It was a pressure-molded funky mush lick of the remaining meat stuck in a grinder that has to be washed out before the health inspector arrives. Yuck. Although the dogs didn’t seem to mind.
Sorry Aaron. You were a good friend and I appreciated you sharing your lunch. But I hope the times since have treated you well enough that you can now enjoy something a little higher quality. It was fun to reminisce, though.
I wanted a knife. A bigass noif, if you will. Because I buy vacuum-packed whole primals and break them down. Why? Well, if you can afford the upfront cost, it’s cheaper long term. I also like the flexibility of determining the size of my cuts (sure, I could ask a butcher to cut me something exact, but that’s a bother for both of us). And lastly, I enjoy the opportunity to maintain certain butchery skill sets.
But, I am an anomaly. No one puts themselves through such tasks voluntarily, even if they possessed the skill sets. Consequently, it was somewhat difficult to find the type of knife I was after. I could have gone to commercial knife vendors, but I also wanted a knife that looks nice. No wide-gripped nonslip ugly white plastic polymer handles for me! Something elegant please.
Alas, Wüsthof does not make such a blade in their Classic Ikon set (the design that I prefer). What’s a former part-time professional meat cutter/deli clerk to do?
Fortunately, Dalstrong makes a design that’s very close. I don’t like the steel as much, and the handle doesn’t quite match, but it’s close enough and I can live with it, despite the hokey marketing-ism terminology they so love (“Lionshield treatment”?).
And it comes with a pin! So I can wear a badge of honor that I was able to fork over $139, I guess. It kind of reminds me of those plastic captain’s pins they used to give out to kids on airlines. I also get stickers with some products. I guess we all need a little bit of psychological validation these days?
Alton Brown had an amusing take on these flat meat diner foods in which he concluded that regional variances render this American staple undefinable. And if you were to try to find agreeable definitions, you would indeed be engaging in folly. Fortunately, I’m never too concerned with being agreeable here, so I’ll happily offer definitions.
Chicken-fried steak: flattened beef cutlet breaded with flour and deep-fried, then topped with sawmill gravy. Served with fries.
Country-fried steak: flattened beef cutlet breaded with flour and pan-fried, then topped with broth-based brown gravy. Served with fries.
Salisbury steak: cubed beef cutlet breaded with flour and pan-fried, topped with onions and braised in tomato sauce with broth. Served with mashed potatoes or vegetables.
There. I’ve managed to piss everyone off now.
But as for the nostalgia-based reason for this post: I miss chicken-fried steak, which was a staple of my west-Texas childhood. Every restaurant, diner, and cafeteria had it – usually as the first item on the kids’ menu. The Midwest, however, seems to favor country-fried steak. And I don’t remember ever seeing Salisbury steak outside TV dinners. And none of these variations are very common at all now, seeming only to occupy a niche in country home kitchen type restaurants like Bob Evans or Cracker Barrel (neither of which are very good, I’ll add).
But not being terribly culinary difficult, it can be easily made at home. Which I did.
Family reviews indicated that it was “not terrible”, and “not the worst thing I’ve ever had”. So I guess that’s why it doesn’t find its way onto many menus. It’s in actuality cheap food with minimal spices, relying on flavor through caloric addition.
I’d never had a copa roast. It’s apparently from the neck meat. Which means lots of connective tissue. Which means low and slow cooking…like in a crock pot!
Paired with mashed potatoes and an oniony brown sauce = yum.
