The Angry Jew

The rantings of an Angry Jew in The Pacific Northwest

Over the recent holiday weekend, I decided to try something new.

Every region of the country has it’s own take on BBQ.  One of the tastes I have never explored is the slight sweet and sour flavor of Carolina style BBQ.  I decided to give it a try with the pulled pork I smoked on Sunday.

It got its usual rubdown with yellow mustard and then my own spice rub.  After six hours over hickory and another two in the oven, wrapped in foil, my Boston Butt was fall apart tender with a great black crust.  Rather then shred it, I decided to chop it to retain more substance.  It took about five minutes work with a cleaver to reduce the roast to small juicy morsels.

Now at this point I would have doused the pork in a sweet tomato based sauce and this is where i took a turn to the left.

South Carolina is known for it’s mustard based BBQ sauces.

After a little hunting around, I found the following recipe for “Big Daddy’s Carolina BBQ Sauce.”

• 1 cup prepared yellow mustard
• 1/2 cup sugar
• 1/4 cup light brown sugar
• 3/4 cup cider vinegar
• 1/2 cup water
• 2 tablespoons chili powder
• 1 teaspoon black pepper
• 1 teaspoon white pepper
• 1/4 teaspoon cayenne
• 1/2 teaspoon soy sauce
• 2 tablespoons butter

Combine all ingredients except butter and soy sauce in a medium saucepan, bring to a boil and then simmer for twenty minutes, stirring frequently.  Add the butter and soy and simmer for ten more minutes.

Now I have tweaked it just a little bit as the product I got was just a little thicker then I would have liked, so I upped the water from 1/4 cup to 1/2 and I have omitted an ingredient, 1 tablespoon of liquid smoke, as it was redundant given the pork was smoked.

It might be nice to include it if you were to use this sauce as a pour over for grilled meats of chicken.

If you are hankering for something different this grilling season, I strongly recommend you give this sauce a try.

Let me know what you think

I Love Pastrami.

I always have.  Since I was a kid.  Maybe it resonates with my Jewish DNA somehow.

A few weeks back I had some time to think about the coming decent weather we are supposed to have here in Oregon, any day now, so they have been telling us since April.  As my patio has no cover, the summer months are prime smoking months.

So, the question before me was, what to smoke this summer.

My ribs are perfected.  I can hold my own on salmon.  My pulled pork gets raves.  The brisket still needs work, but it’s an ordeal in a water smoker.  So, I thought what else is there?

And then it hit me.

Pastrami!!!

A pastrami is just a smoked corned beef brisket, I can do this.

As with all new projects, it took a bit of research before i felt comfortable actually contemplating a cook.

OK, lets start with the basics.

A corned beef brisket is a beef brisket that has been corned or cured using a brine.  The brisket soaks in a salt solution flavored with Bay Leaf, Coriander, Black Pepper, Juniper Berries and Mustard Seed.  Sodium Nitrate is added to give the meat its distinctive pink color.

After it has soaked for a week to ten days, what you have now is a corned beef.

To turn this into a pastrami, one merely coats it with a pepper based rub and smokes it.  Now, commercially produced pastrami is cold smoked, that is, smoked at around 68 degrees.  However, during my research, I found several hot smoke recipes, so I condensed them down into a very basic process so that I could tweek it as I went.

I purchased a 3 pound commercial corned beef and the local grocery and rinsed it off and discarded the enclosed spice packet.  No need for it here.

Next, I placed it to soak in a pan of water for two hours.  This was to remove some of the salt that the meat had picked up when it was cured.

While i was waiting I prepared my rub.

There was a plethora of rub recipes to choose from so I decided that for the first time out, I would use the KISS principal.  All together, Keep It Simple Stupid.

I combined 3 tablespoons of black peppercorns, I teaspoon of whole coriander seeds , 1 teaspoon of whole mustard seed and 1 teaspoon of granulated garlic.  I ground it up in my trusty coffee grinder and once the meet was done soaking I covered it in the rub and it was off to the smoker.

I used hickory, most of the recipes called for lighter woods such as maple and alder, but it was what i had on hand so I decided to go for it.  I have been playing around with a new innovation that sadly I can not take credit for.  I have replaced the chip box in my smoker with a cast iron frying pan.  DUHHH!!!

It holds the heat beautifully and can accommodate a full bag of soaked chips.  The down side is that it will take longer to start smoking but then it will last for 3 1/2 to four hours.  Just be sure to cover the pan with foil and poke three or four good sized holes in it.

Once everything was ready it was off to the races.

Most of the experts agreed that the optimum temperature was in the 225-235 range, so that is what I used.

I was shooting for an internal temp of 160 degrees, but after four hours of smoking, my chips were exhausted and I had still only reached 140, so I decided to move my little science project to the oven.  It went into a 300 degree oven for another hour until I got to 160.

It looked great, but the truth is in the tasting.

To be honest, I was surprised.  It was pretty darned tasty.  The smoke flavor was very prominent without being overpowering.  There was a lot of heat from the pepper rub and there was noticeable saltiness from the brineing process.  I will have to wait and see what some of my official tasters have to say before I call this one a win.

I have all ready figured out a few tweeks for my next attempt.

1. They rub needs to be a ground a little coarser and I am going to increase the mustard and coriander to thin the pepper a bit.
2. If I am going to continue to use store bought corned beef, it is going to have to soak longer, I am thinking 4 hours.
3. As much as I love the hickory flavor, next time I am going to try two parts hickory to 1 part alder and 1 part cherry.

Stay tuned as I am going to stay at this until I get it right.

Who does not like Pork.

Can anyone reading this pass on a side of Bacon, a moist grilled pork chop, a marinated pork tenderloin.

No, I think just about everyone loves pork, or, as The National Pork Board would have us think of it, “The Other White Meat”

The problem is, The National Pork Board does not like unicorn meat, especially when it is marketed as “The New White Meat”.

As a matter of fact, their lawyers sent a cease and desist order to the owners of my favorite website, ThinkGeek.com, after, as an April Fools prank, the company offered canned unicorn meat for sale.  They do this every April 1st.

Now, anyone who has done business with them know they are famous for their prank products, like The Dharma Initiative Alarm Clock or Squeeze Bacon.  What is interesting is that some of their customer favorites go on to become real best selling products.

Not so in this case, just another prank product, just a laugh for the customers.

Well, no one was laughing when this letter arrived at ThinkGeek HQ.

Proof positive that lawyers have no freaking sense of humor.

Well, ThinkGeek has removed the offending ad and offered a ten dollar discount to any customer that took offense to their little prank.

“It was never our intention to cause a national crisis and misguide American citizens regarding the differences between the pig and the unicorn,” said Scott Kauffman, president and CEO of Geeknet. “In fact, ThinkGeek’s canned unicorn meat is sparkly, a bit red, and not approved by any government entity.”

I had pretty given up on writing.  There really is nothing new to rant about.  It has all been the same stuff, repeated over and over.  I guess I had given up, but, as I sit here on the cusp of another melt down, I realize that the cathartic value of writing this page was something I vastly underestimated.

It came on, as it always seems at first, out of the blue, and on reflection, as they always are, the warning signs were all there.

Thoughts of self harm, hopelessness , things slipping out of control.

Those closest to me, that really know me, must be thinking “What the hell is wrong with this guy, he is on top of the world, he finally got his shit together, got an incredible woman, what the hell does he have to be depressed about?”

Like an alcoholic who thinks he has beaten his disease, I failed to recognize one infallible truth, that I will be dealing with this for the rest of my life.  I thought, wrongly, that I had this thing beat, so, like our fictional addict, I stopped working my program, ignored the warning signs, and here I am again,  one step away from another visit to the happy house.

I had an incredible weekend.  Cooking as a housewarming present for some new friends,spending time with Mona, why should I acknowledge the fact that I was not eating right, not meditating, not sleeping, not managing my stresses both at work and at home, not exercising…not doing anything that would allow me to continue living this wonderful life that fate has handed me.

I ignored the thoughts of self harm, I must just be tired, after all, I would never do anything like that, right?

I allowed my personal affairs to slide into disarray, those dishes piling up, the laundry left undone, clothes not put away, I am just busy right?  I will catch up NEXT weekend, but next weekend never came, but hey, thats life.

Why should I worry about the emotional highs and lows that seemed to come at random, everyone has moods that change in a matter of moments, I am NORMAL dammit!

I mean, there I was, stressed to my very core that I was going to somehow ruin a meal I had made a hundred times, telling myself that even if they enjoyed it, they were only saying so to be polite, even though I know rationally that my BBQ rocks.

So I hear I sit, trying desperately to undo a months worth of harmful behavior, trying to decide if I need to go to the hospital after another night of tossing and turning.

I want to enjoy this life I have made for myself…I have everything I need, real friends who love me for who I am, not what I can do for them, a good job that, deep down, and don’t tell my boss this, that I enjoy and find challenging, and an incredible woman who is determined to see me through my darkest of days and who acknowledges that she can’t fix my problems, only support me while I fix them myself.

I want desperately to do right by all these people, but the only way to that is to do right by myself.

To those of you reading this who are new to my life, let me assure you, YOU did not cause this, YOU can not fix this, only I can.

To those of you who have been down this road with me before, well, here we go again.  I have had a real good example of what can happen when these type of issues are not dealt with and that is a road I refuse to travel.

Move over Subway, Bye Bye Pogys and adios Togo’s, there is a new sandwich chain here in Portland that has got you all beat.  OK, maybe not the Togo’s “9 on the off the menu rye bread with mustard, pickles and onions, but you get the idea.

With Bacon Betty doing her work thing yesterday, I was left to my own devices, which as any regular reader knows, often leads no where good.  Well, this time it did.

It lead me to Jimmy Johns Gourmet Sandwiches

I had seen this place up on Cedar Hills Blvd a few weeks ago and had made a mental note to try this new place I had seen driving by.

When I walked in, any thoughts that Jimmy Johns was some new indie shop flew right out the window.  he place screams chain.  I have an aversion to chain sandwich shops as you usually get too little for your hard earned dollars, but, I was there, my hungry spot was there, so why not.

The place was jumping, but it only took a few seconds to get too the register to place my order.  I have to apologize to the young woman who served me, because I did the worst thing a customer can do.

“I have never been here before, whats good?”

“The #9 is good.  I am not sure what is in it, but a lot of people order it and seen to like it.”

She had the harried, some what shell shocked look of some one who had been thrown into their job with very little training and you had to admire the honesty.

A quick peek at the menu board revealed that it might be a keeper.

It is billed as one of their Giant Club Sandwiches (double meat, double cheese) and had

Real genoa salami, Italian capicola, smoked ham, and provolone cheese all topped with lettuce, tomato, onion, mayo, and our homemade Italian vinaigrette. (You hav’ta order hot peppers, just ask!)

How bad can it be for $5.75?

If you have ever tried to get a sandwich at Subway during the lunch rush, you know you will wait at last 10-15 minutes, the three man crew working the prep station tossed me my order in under 5.

I took mine to go and headed home.

Judged solely on its looks, its a pretty impressive sandwich.  Judge it by taste and it only gets better.

The roll had just a hint of crunchiness at the crust that gives way to a soft interior.  The dressings were just right, I can’t stand a soggy sandwich, and the veggies were fresh and crisp.  The meets and cheese were well distributed and there was a little something of everything in each bite.

This my friends was a sandwich of substance.  Even with my appetite, by the time I finished it, I was FULL.  For those of you who eat like normal human beings, you might be better off with on of their 8″ subs, which price out at $4.75

Overall, I give Jimmy Johns high marks for quality and service, I cant comment on the dine in experience, and oh, did I mention they do delivery and accept on line orders too?

Next time you are up in the Cedar Hills neighborhood (they have another location in Portland on Broadway and 11th) and you are hungry for a sandwich, give Jimmy Johns a try, trust me, you will get more for your money then you will with a stripped down $5 Foot Long from the other guys.

The other day I was driving to work and got stuck behind a care with three or four bumper stickers at a long light.

Now, this guy had about four of them , obviously placed there for my education and amusement.

The first was for a Christian Radio Station.  No problem there, I will admit that I have enjoyed an occasional christian Rock tune, and there are some Christian metal bands that flat out Rock!

The next advised me to “Thank Your Mother For Choosing Life.”  Well, OK, for the moment we will ignore the obvious paradox presented and read on.

Next up was one telling me , in no uncertain terms, his stance on abortion.  Bright red, 4 inch letters proclaimed that my road partner was “Pro Mother; Pro Child, Pro Life”.

Then last, smaller then the rest, was a notice explaining “Freedom Isn’t Free…Thank A Serviceman”

While I thank him for the advice, and the props, your very welcome by the way, I really wanted to to follow this guy and ask a few questions.

Like, Isn’t a freedom of choice in reproductive health one of those freedoms that us servicemen paid for.

And, being such a supporter of the Armed Forces, are you really saying that it is OK to kill adults, but keep your hands off the fetus.

Buddy, I respect your right to voice an opinion, but do us all a favor, pick one stance and stick with it, will you.

Bacon Betty and I surprised ourselves Saturday by going out and taking a walk.  I know, shocking, right?

I found this great book while wandering through Powell’s a few weeks back.  It is called “Walk There-50 Treks In and Around Portland and Vancouver”.  It is a guidebook for walking tours of Portland’s neighborhoods.  It is amazing how little of this city I have seen in my ten years here and now that I have a fantastic crime partner like Bacon Betty, it was high time I got out and saw some of what this city has to offer.

We decided to stick close to home for our first outing and explored Betty’s home town…Milwaukie.

Little did I know that besides being home to a geek Mecca, Dark Horse Comics, Milwaukie also offers something that I thought no longer existed in America.

Something that, for years, had shaped and molded our youth and then, like the Hula Hoop, disappeared from the American landscape.

I speak of course, of the Killer Play Structure.

Gaze with wonder upon this child killer we found in a Milwaukie Park.

Can’t you just see some little urchin reaching the top of this cabled peak, only to loose their balance and learn the amazing life lesson that getting to the top can mean a long painful fall to the bottom of the heap.  Where else can our youth find life lessons like this?

On a wimp ass, politically correct, injury free playhouse like this one that we found in the more upscale portion of Milwaukie?

I think not.

Kudos to this fair city for having the strength of character to not cave into the national obsession of bubble wrapping kids and keeping them from harms way.

How else of we supposed to winnow out the weak and potentially useless members of society before they grow old enough to attain political office?

Every now and then, the state of Oregon will pass a law that makes sense.

I know, but hey, accidnts happen.

Our new cell phone law is an example of a much needed piece of legislation.  It bans using hand held devices while driving.  Since most people in this state cant seem to walk and chew gum, I figure it is a good idea that they not talk on the phone and drive.  Almost every time I have had a near miss or witnessed some act of vehicular stupidity, the offender has almost always had a cell phone clutched in their sweaty fist.

So the other morning, while driving home from a long nights work, I could not help but being annoyed when a driver swerved half way into my lane, and then back into her own.

It was a little early in the morning for a drunk and IU suspected a cell phone must be involved.

Sure enough, a block later I was sitting right next to the offending driver waiting to make a left turn.  There she was, cell phone pressed to her ear, oblivious to the world around her.  Now the light in question is one of those “long” lights that take about a week and a half to change, so, being me, I decided to have a little fun.

I tooted my horn to get her attention.

When she looked over, I made a “shame, shame” finger gesture at her, then held my hand to my ear to simulate talking on an imaginary phone.

She smiled and gave a a shy little wave as if to say, “Yes, I know I’m a bad girl” and went right on jabbering away.

I tooted my horn again and when she looked over, I held up my bluetooth headset.  She mouthed, “I know” and then shrugged as if to say “I know I shouldn’t be doing this.”

I tooted my horn again and this time motioned for her to roll down her window.

When she did, I gave her a friendly little wave and shouted

“You damn near ran me off the road so HANG UP THE FUCKING PHONE!”

I only had a few seconds to savor the shocked look on her face before the light turned green and off I drove, content in the knowledge that maybe, just maybe, I had saved a life that day.

Once a Navy man, Always a Navy man.

While my stint in the navy was but a small part of my life, it had a very large impact on me.  I can honestly say that my experiences of those years made a larger impact on who I am today then just about any other life experience.

Any chance I have to relive even a small part of that experience is always welcome.  It was that desire that lead me to be active in hosting sailors during our pre-9/11 Rose Festival fleet week here in Portland, and I will never pass on the opportunity to share a “Sea Story” or two with friends and fellow vets.

it was this desire to relive a bit of the past that led Bacon Betty and Myself to our latest adventure.

It was a beautiful spring day in Portland last Friday afternoon and we had to get out of her apartment and enjoy the day.  It is required to be outdoors when the sun is shining here as you never know when you might see it again.

Now we had talked about visiting the USS Blueback in the past and the timing was perfect.

Now for those of you not in the know, The USS Blueback is Portland’s own fast attack submarine.  After being decommissioned she was moved to The Oregon Museum Of Science And Industry in 1994 where she became a permanent display with tours offered daily.

We were able to secure a slot for the last tour group of the day.

We killed some time before the tour going through the museums latest exhibit, a display of memorabilia on loan from NASA and we were all fired up to get on with the tour.

Finally it was time to go.

Before we could board, our group was required to prove that we were physically able to participate in the tour.  This meant that we were each required to pass through a small opening meant to simulate the smallest hatch we were going to have to pass through on board the sub.  One “Skinny Minny” earned a laugh when she asked if extra points were awarded for diving through head first.  Bacon Betty and I were able to perform this feat with out too much trouble, grin, and off we went to the dock.

I have done the Blueback tour a few times since moving to Portland, so Bacon Betty and I hung to the back of our group as Richard, our guide for the excursion, pointed out some of the exterior features of the “boat”.

From the start, I knew that Richard was not only new to the job, but that he wasn’t that up on sub lore and design either.

Listen, I never served a day on a sub and I freely admit that most of what I know I learned from Tom Clancy and The Discovery Channel, but I pretty much knew off the bat that I knew more about The Blueback then he did.

After giving his spiel, it was time to go aboard through a hatch that had been cut through the hull to accommodate visitors to the ship.

They say the strongest memory trigger is the sense of smell and over the years I have learned that all Navy ships smell the same.  A hundred memories rushed back to me as we descended to the main deck of the sub.  The best way I can describe it is sweat mixed with stale cigarette smoke, diesel oil and a hint of, I’ll say it, fear.

I paused at the bottom of the stairs, closed my eyes and breathed deep of the memories.

When I opened them again, there was a sailor standing next to me, dressed in submariners overalls and the rank insignia of a Petty Officer 2nd Class.

“You a Navy Man?” he asked.

Takes one to know one.

He introduced himself as Steve and proceeded to try to recruit me to volunteer aboard as a crew member.  Something to think about.  We chatted a bit and then Bacon Betty and I joined our fellow tourists in The Officers Wardroom for the first part of our tour.

Richard filled us in on the ships history and and on submarine operations.  He made a few mistakes, but I bit my tongue.

Next

we moved to the control room.  Again Richard made a few errors and again, I kept silent.  Betty and I hung back as the group moved onto the crew berthing area to take some pictures, and to give me a chance to show off my knowledge of naval ships as I pointed out some of the features that Richard had missed.

We rejoined the tour in the crews berthing area and I must have reached my limit, because I finally started to speak up and correct some of Richards errors.  I was nice about it, very nice in fact, and some of our fellow tourists edged a little closer as I began to point out some of the details of the compartment and added a short personal story or two.

Our next stop was the torpedo room.

I think Richard had hoped to get even when he deferred a question about torpedo’s to “Our Navy Man”.  I quickly rattled off what I knew about the MK48ADCAP torpedo (thank you Tom Clancy) and the sub launched Harpoon anti-ship missile.  I tried to fade back into the background, but several members of our group hung back as I pointed out some Emergency Escape Breathing Devices and Oxygen Breathing Apparatus units that were in the compartment to my faire lady.

The tour wound to an end in the engine room.  My lady and I hung back as the tour group departed to talk with our guide.  We talked about military service, he wished he had had the opportunity to serve, and some good resources to use to further his knowledge of subs.

We must have chatted for 15 or 20 minutes before we too headed for the exit.

The hatch had been dogged, thats closed to you non-navy types, we can’t have you civilians knowing what we are saying, and Richard stepped past it to open it.

It opened maybe an inch and then stopped.

Richard pushed and prodded at it a bit, but it would not budge.  He turned and looked at me as if to say “UH, your the expert here, a little help?”

I stepped up to the hatch, pulled it all the way closed and rechecked the dogs or latches, all were open, so I gave it a good firm push expecting it nto open.

And it did.

For about an inch.

WTF?

I was able to peek out through the crack and immediately saw the problem.

Some one had placed a padlock on the door.  We were locked in.  It became apparent that crewman Steve, thinking the tour group had left, promptly closed up shop and locked up for the night.

Whenn I anounced this fact, Richard turned a little white and Bacon Betty turned a little green, she had told me earlier that she is a bit claustrophobic.

“Well Richard, what now” I chortled.  The whole thing struck me as rather funny, which earned me a pained look from both of them.

Richard looked just a little panicked, so I asked if there was a phone aboard, I gently suggested he call someone in the museum to let us out.

No answer, it was after 5, the museum was closed.

Great.

Is there anyone else we can call?

Richard started a mad search for the number to the museum security desk.  I suggested to Bacon Betty that we head down to the crews berthing area for “closer inspection” and got a dirty look for my trouble.  She was not moving from her spot in front of the exit hatch.

What can I say, I am a randy old goat.

I decided to poke around a bit and found a small compartment that was used as a office for the “crew” and right there on the wall was a list of names and phone numbers.

“Hey Richard” I called out “Why not just call Steve and have him come back and let us out?”

His voice cracked a bit as he told me he didn’t have his number.

“His cell phone number is right here on the wall.”

It was at that moment that their was a rattle at the hatch and it swung open.

Silhouetted in the opening was a lady security officer performing her rounds.  OUR HERO!!

We left Richard to stutter out an explanation of what we were doing aboard and headed back to our car, laughing all the way.

Maybe it is being in a new and healthy relationship, maybe it is getting adjusted to working a graveyard shift, but lately, I have just been very angry lately, much to my friends disgust.  I can be pretty schmaltzy when I am happy, which Bacon Betty has made me in the extreme these last few months.

With that in mind, a piece in this afternoons (morning’s) paper had me spitting coffee across the table.

Effective Thursday, a new law goes into effect that frees that enslaved class of Americans, the flying public.

The new regulations are a result of an incident that occurred in December of 2006, when passengers were held on board an American Airlines flight that was en route to Dallas and was diverted to Austin.  Passengers were held on board the aircraft for 11 HOURS!

The new regulations will impose a fine of $27500 per passenger on any airline that holds passengers hostage for more then 3 hours.  Another example of government reacting to a real problem for a change, score a victory for the little guy, right?

Well, not according to David Castleveter of the Airline Transportation Association of America, an industry lobbying group.

According to David the new regulations will only cause more cancellations, more missed connections, more mishandled bags and more passengers who will not get where they want to go.

DA’Fuck?

How fucking hard is it to pull an air stair up to a cabin door and let people get off the aircraft to stretch their legs and take a leak, David?

How deeply would it cut into corporate profits to have a facility located inside the secure area of the airport equipped with restrooms, coffee, a few vending machines and maybe a phone or two, and maybe (gasp) a smoking area, so that the passengers YOU strand could maybe feel a bit human.

You would only need one such facility per airport, I am sure all these big airlines can learn to play together, a few bus’s to transport the passengers, and maybe a TSA officer or two to keep passengers from wandering off.

Come on now David, it’s not like that facility is NEVER going to get used or anything.

I find it interesting that instead of embracing these changes and vowing to better serve the customers that pay your freaking bills, the airline trade associations instead decide to issue threats.  Pretty telling, don’t you think?

I don’t fly very much these days and, knock wood, I have never had to endure being stranded on the tarmac for hours on end, but considering the fact that they are charging a fee for everything but breathing, opps, wait a minute, strike that, I don’t want to give the airlines any ideas, you would think that the airlines would be just a bit more concerned for their customers.

I guess I just have to be a little more realistic, it isn’t as if sheeple are going to stop lining up to be abused in the name of profits, right?