Food nerds on parade

John Besh, Tim Love, Aaron Sanchez...and me!

John Besh, Tim Love, Aaron Sanchez…and me!

I pretend not to notice when Keith Urban and Nicole Kidman are at my local Starbucks. I barely register a second glance when I run into Faith Hill and Tim McGraw at the Waffle House. I once stood next to Alison Krause at the check-out counter at an Indian restaurant and didn’t even know who she was (somebody told me later).

But here I was at the inaugural Music City Food and Wine Festival last year clamoring to wedge myself into a photo with John Besh, Tim Love and Aaron Sanchez. It’s embarrassing, really. Nerd. And I meticulously photographed everything I ate. Here’s The Catbird Seat’s take on bacon and eggs – thyme-infused custard with Benton’s bacon:

Bacon and Eggs NERD.

But I won’t be alone in my nerdiness this year. My son, Noah, and my good friend, Mary Ann, are coming with me. We will be nerds on parade.

I met Mary Ann in possibly the most unusual way ever. Back a few years ago, I became part of an all-girl competition BBQ team, Chicks in Charge, with two other friends. And I was discussing this on a BBQ bulletin board on the web when a complete stranger said she’d like to join the team.  Why the hell not? It was Mary Ann.

Me with Tatty and Mary Ann picking up a prestigious award in Mobile.

Me with Tatty and Mary Ann picking up a prestigious award in Mobile.

We did pretty good in our first contest in Mobile, something like 14th out of 70 teams. The team has since disbanded, but my friendship with Mary Ann has endured. There are very few people I would ask to spend $300 for tickets, plus airfare from Washington, D.C., to come to Nashville to eat all day and fawn over Food Network stars. I just love that girl. There are also very few people I know who are starstruck by Masaharu Morimoto, who will be at the festival. No, not Mary Ann. This guy:

Noah

Noah has been watching Morimoto since he was on the original Iron Chef and Morimoto is going to demonstrate how to make sushi, Noah’s favorite food. Nerd. Noah, not Morimoto.

Of course, I’m obsessing about all food all weekend since you never know. We might get hungry after a non-stop day of eating. So I’m laying in some steaks from The Butcher Block and vegetables from the Farmer’s Market and snacks like pub cheese, marcona almonds and designer olives from the Fresh Market. And I already have some mini croissants for Saturday morning, just to get those digestive juices flowing.

And I have not given this advice to Mary Ann and Noah yet, but I will. Wear your fat pants.

 

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Filed under appetizers, bacon, breakfast

Portobello Patty Melts with Comeback Sauce

Patty Melt 1

So bad and yet so good. A patty melt is just a hamburger on a piece of bread, but when you add comeback sauce to it…well it’s that whole new level thing.

Comeback sauce was invented in Mississippi and the name says it all – it’s so good you’ll want to come back for more. Down in Mississippi, they use it for sandwiches, salad dressings and just as a dip for something equally sinful like fried pickles.

I made this gut bomb of the hamburger world for my friends at Char-Broil. Hop on over and take a look. I think you’ll want to come back for another.

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Cholula Roasted Baby Potatoes

Cholula Roasted Potatoes

I’m pretty proud of my kiddo, Noah, on a number of levels. He’s a smart cookie who just graduated from UT. He knows how to work a crowd. He is compassionate towards those who need a hand up. He’s funny. That counts for a lot. Funny. I am also proud that he is becoming a really good cook, no qualifiers.

Noah's getting to be a grill master, too.

Noah’s getting to be a grill master, too.

Noah started cooking in high school. He was particularly noted for his extremely greasy quesadillas. He must have made them 67 times, always with way too much butter or oil. I worried for a bit that he’d never get beyond that stage, but he did. He got beyond the “too much salt” phase and the overcooked meat stage and the “way too much hot sauce” phase. Noah is a Hot Head and he loves his chiles. But he’s learned to calm it down a bit.

This is his recipe for Cholula Roasted Potatoes. I would not put a recipe on this blog for anything I didn’t love. Yes, there’s hot sauce in there but somehow the roasting process tames it. Cholula is a relatively mild hot sauce and has a nice fruity finish. I’ve now asked him to make this recipe twice and will again.

Cooking, to me, is more than a way to sustain life. It is a passion and a joy. It is the ultimate expression of love and friendship. Come to my table and let me feed you, body and soul. I pity the young adults who live on take-out pizza, ramen and Sonic. I get it that cooking may not be their thing, but I’m so proud it’s Noah’s.

Cholula Roasted Baby Potatoes
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Serves: 4
 

Ingredients
  • 1 ½ pounds baby Dutch yellow potatoes
  • 2 teaspoons Cavender’s All-Purpose Green Seasoning
  • ¼ cup Chili Garlic Cholula hot sauce
  • ⅓ cup extra virgin olive oil
  • 1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

Instructions
  1. Preheat the oven to 400 degrees.
  2. Line a rimmed baking sheet with parchment paper and preheat it in the oven for about 15 minutes.
  3. Cut the potatoes into 1-inch pieces.
  4. Add the potatoes, Cavender’s, Cholula, olive oil and pepper to a bowl and mix thoroughly.
  5. Carefully remove the hot baking sheet and add the potatoes, spreading into an even layer.
  6. Roast for 15 minutes and then drizzle the potatoes with more Cholula. Continue roasting until the potatoes are tender and browned, approximately another 15 minutes.

 

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American Grilled: Defeated by an egg

The four of us

I look down at my hands. They are visibly shaking. I can barely hold the third cigarette I’ve smoked in two minutes or get a firm grasp on the bottle of beer I’m chasing my smokes with.  It is nine in the morning on a cold rain-soaked spring day in Memphis and I have just discovered what it feels like to compete in a timed reality cooking show. Honestly, it doesn’t feel good.

I hate what I made. I’m embarrassed at my lack of creativity. I should get the ax immediately. Oh, Lord, please let me last another round.

American Grilled is a Travel Channel show about grilling. I know all about grilling. I get paid to do it. I am competing against three guys half my age. That I even made it to this show is a friggin’ miracle. Maybe they were going for the geezer demographic. I’m okay with that. I’m here and hundreds of other applicants are not.

First round: Smoked bologna and red cabbage

I made a list before the competition of about 450 items native to Tennessee that the producers might choose for this show. Bologna and cabbage were not on the list, but there they are under the lid of the mystery grill. Shit. The boys and I got a quick 60-second tour of the “larder” – everything from spices to dairy to, yes, beer we can use to create our slap-dashed ill-thought-out 20-minute recipes. Okay. I’ll just say mine was slap dashed and ill thought out. I couldn’t see what those boys were doing.

Those boys. We awkwardly met two days before at the first producers’ meeting. Clint Cantwell is a pro – the editor of Grilling.Com. Blake Carson owns a skewer company as in the skewers they use to grill meat in Argentinian restaurants. And Kevin Jacques is more of a backyarder like me. The first day of shooting – starting at 7 a.m. – should have been, well, shooting but constant tornado warnings and torrential downpours had the four of us either huddled under an E-Z Up or sitting in the Hampton Inn hotel lobby across the street.

The show staff confiscates our phones. There’s nothing to do but talk to each other. We talk. And talk. And talk. Hey, this is kind of like the longest cocktail party you’ve ever been to but without the cocktails. The hotel staff feels sorry for us. They give us free breakfast. After eight hours and a thorough review of each other’s life histories, the director calls it a day and we retreat to our hotel without a single frame shot.

Another shot American Grilled

Twenty minutes is like 20 seconds:

From my perspective, here’s how the first round went. I lug the five-pound chub of bologna back to my station, which is about four feet wide. I turn to get my knife and the chub falls on the ground right in front of the cameraman who will be in my face the entire time. I expect him to be a good Southern gentleman and pick it up for me but I quickly realize that there are no social graces in reality TV. And no crying, either. I decide to cut the bologna into strips to make “croutons,” season them with BBQ rub and flash grill them on this incinerator thingie at the end of the grill. Put them on, turn around to cut the cabbage, turn back and they are burned. Shit. People are going to see this on national television. Shit.

All I can think of to do with the cabbage is make some ridiculously uninventive coleslaw. I am an idiot. Why did I think I could do this? I grill the cabbage, slice it up and make a quick citrus dressing. This sounds inventive, at least to me.

Five minutes. I don’t even have plates out yet. I make a second try at the croutons, pile the dressed cabbage on the plates, top them with the bologna and think, “My god, this just sucks.”

We present our dishes to the judges. No crying. Put on a happy face. Sell that sad, lifeless plate of cabbage and bologna. SELL IT. The judges are professional chefs. I understand as my faux chirpy upbeat explanation of my “dish” is coming out of my liar-liar-pants-on-fire mouth that they are just not buying it. And, unlike me, they were born yesterday.

Back in the tent. Beers all around. What the hell. Let’s just inoculate ourselves with some amber liquid courage. There’s a saying in our family: Whatever the situation, no matter how dire, if you can get a joke and a story out of it you’re all good. We’re laughing, somewhat hysterically, me and the boys. We’ll get a story out of this.

We are called out to one of our executions. We stand before the judges.  And it’s not my name they call. It’s Kevin. And because I know now after eight hours of camaraderie that as the director of residence halls at the University of North Alabama he has hilarious stories to tell, that he has a lovely wife and precious little boy, that we share many of the same competition BBQ circuit friends – I am just sad. Just like in grade school, I want all of us to get a ribbon.

Round two: Pork belly, moonshine and sorghum.

The lid goes up and it’s three things I had also not put on my extensive list. A massive pork belly, probably at least 10 pounds, a jar of sorghum which I am ashamed to admit as a Southerner that I have never used and cherry moonshine.

And my mind is completely blank. Not a wisp of a thought in there. Breakfast for supper. Pork belly is just bacon on steroids. I’ll make breakfast for supper.

Grab potatoes, onions and peppers. Slice the potatoes, throw them in foil packets and get them on the grill. Put the peppers and onions on the grill. Slice a few strips off the pork belly and heave the rest of it on to the ground. Yes, on to the ground. I realized during the first segment there is no room on that blasted small station. Brush the pork belly with sorghum to kind of/sort of/maybe resemble pig candy and hurl it on the grill. Massive flames. Just like the ones I would like to jump into right now.

The moonshine tastes like cough syrup. Grab some strawberries from the larder, throw them in a pot on the grill, add some of the moonshine and some vinegar to smooth out that awful taste. I shall call this a strawberry moonshine compote.

At the end of the round, Clint comes back to our little tent with a third-degree burn on his thumb from grabbing a hot skillet bare handed. He genuinely looks like he’s about to cry. Mustard. Get me some mustard, I tell a producer. It’s good for burns.

Back to the firing squad. I hear some vaguely encouraging words from the judges and then this from the head judge, David Gaus. “I wish you would have put a fried egg on top of the hash since you’re calling it breakfast for supper.” Oh, oh. I would like to think that I thought of a fried egg, but rejected the notion because that’s not grilling. But it never entered my mind.

And I am out. And, honestly, slightly relieved. It does not occur to me until the long ride back to the hotel that it is my birthday today. I am 62 years old.  And I didn’t embarrass myself, except in my own mind. I didn’t quit. And I didn’t cry.

Postscript:

Clint won, as he should have. He smoked us all. He made corn cakes on the grill. He made bacon-wrapped bologna. He made a barbecue sauce with the moonshine that the judges were licking off the plate. Well played, sir.

The judging was imminently fair. The producer/director was kinder than he needed to be. The production staff was warm and encouraging. For two days only the boys and I were “talent.” Would I do it again? Honestly, I’m not sure. Childbirth was less stressful. But I’m glad I got to do it once. And, yes, I would add the damned fried egg to the hash.

 

 

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Filed under bacon, eggs, pork, veggies

Smoked bologna and red cabbage – American Grilled

Competitors This is what four schmoes who said “what the hell” when invited to compete on the Travel Channel’s American Grilled look like after the first 20-minute challenge. Not a pretty sight.

It was 9 a.m. in the morning, our hands were shaking so badly we couldn’t write down the ingredients of our dishes and we’d just invited ourselves to steal some of the beer meant for the contest for a little liquid courage. The producers appeared not to notice that “the talent” was drinking. Without regret.

Despite the seven-page confidentiality agreement, I can now talk just a little about the first ingredients since two commercials are out that reveal them.

I had compiled a long list of traditional Southern ingredients that might be in the competition and I can honestly say that smoked bologna and red cabbage weren’t on there. This despite the fact that I’ve eaten smoked or fried bologna sandwiches all my life and I buy red cabbage at the farmer’s market almost every week. You do not understand the level of fear that surfaces when you are confronted with a 5-pound chub of bologna.

My episode with my barbecue band of brothers – Kevin Jacques, Clint Cantwell and Blake Carson – airs next Wednesday on the Travel Channel. I believe my 5-year-old granddaughter, Sydney, will be watching her Nana compete. I hope I didn’t drop the F-bomb.

 

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Squash casserole (don’t hate me)

Too much squashWe are a little dim in the South. You know that old saying from Edmund Burke, “Those who don’t know history are destined to repeat it.”  We do that every year. We plant squash.

We have been doing this for hundreds of years. As I said, we’re a little slow down here. In late April, it seems like a good idea. One plant. A few pounds of yellow squash, just for a squash casserole. Let me just say that anything, even one plant, that produces a vine is trouble. Here’s how the season goes.

April: Ah, spring. Time to get our hands dirty and grow our own vegetables. I will put the squash plant off to the corner of the garden so as to minimize its naturally invasive  nature.

May: The tomato plants next door to the squash plant become visibly upset as the squash plant has now turned into ground cover and is creeping slowly but confidently straight for them.

June: I move the tomato plants to the other side of the garden. It is my only hope of a tomato sandwich as the squash vine has now encircled them and is heading toward the peppers.

July: Well, I don’t really like peppers anyway. They have succumbed to the squash vine, which is now approximately the size of Delaware.

August: The squash are ready to harvest – all 10 acres of them. That is a substantial accomplishment considering I have a 10-by-12 foot garden. I make my squash casserole in a 9-by-9 inch pan. I need approximately six squash for this. That leaves me 857 squash to creatively give away. It starts with subtle subterfuge. I tell the neighbors, “I have a little extra produce from the garden – would you like some?” They know this is code for she’s going to try to force 10 grocery bags of squash on us. They do not make eye contact and politely refuse.

Church. I will take the squash to church. It will only taken seven trips.  If I go after dark, leave it on the steps of the parish hall and run quickly away no one will be the wiser. NO! God will know what I’ve done and who knows if that’s one of those things that’s a deal breaker in the afterlife. Squash dumper. Murderer. Rapist. It may be all the same to Him.

As I said, we are a little slow down here. This sad story repeats itself each and every year and it’s multiplied by the fact that we are all growing squash like it’s our birthright as Southerners.

Squash CasseroleSo here is my squash casserole. There are two schools of squash casserole makers – those who prefer the squash chunky and those who like it as a more homogenous part of the casserole. I am in the latter camp  so I grate my squash. There is also a divide between grated Cheddar cheese and Velveeta. I think you know where I stand on that.

5.0 from 1 reviews

Squash casserole
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Serves: 4
 

Summer on a plate -squash casserole made with Velveeta and a buttery cracker topping (euphemism for Ritz Crackers).
Ingredients
  • 4 tablespoons butter
  • 4 cups seeded grated crookneck squash
  • ½ medium Vidalia or other sweet onion, diced
  • Salt and pepper
  • 4 ounces Velveeta, cubed
  • 24 Ritz crackers, crushed and divided
  • 1 egg, beaten

Instructions
  1. Melt the butter in a sauté pan and add the squash and onion. Season with salt and pepper. Saute over medium heat until the squash begins to brown.
  2. Put the squash and onions into a bowl and add the Velveeta cubes. Then add ⅔ of the cracker crumbs and the egg. Mix thoroughly.
  3. Put squash mixture into a casserole dish, sprinkle with remaining cracker crumbs, and bake for 30 minutes at 350 degrees.

 

 

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Grilled Filipino adobo chicken wings

Filipino Adobo Chicken Wings 1My beloved Tennessee Volunteers will take the field once again a week from today. We are going to battle Utah State and I believe we will prevail. It’s been a tough few years to be a UT fan. I will not disparage the two worst ever in the world coaches who got us into this pickle, but I’m counting on Butch Jones to get us out of it.

King Daddy and I always watch the games in separate rooms. I cannot stand the yelling. When Noah was little he actively became afraid of football because of the screaming at the screen. Normally, King Daddy is a very composed individual, but not on UT game days. He watches in the den and I watch in our bedroom and when he hollers at the TV I can still hear him. Chardonnay helps. With both the yelling and, in the past few years, the games.

But I always do football food in the hoped-for spirit of victory. This has backfired on me more than once since the more the game deteriorates so does King Daddy’s appetite. One game last year, I couldn’t even get him to try the hot Rotel, Velveeta and Tennessee Pride Sausage dip. The man loves his hot cheese and sausage dip (he can take or leave the Rotel since tomatoes are a vegetable – actually a fruit, but that’s another discussion).

By the way, the first game of the year is on a Sunday. I take that as a sign of divine intervention because we’re going to need a lot of that this year. I will be making Char-Broil’s Filipino Adobo Chicken Wings. You will be alarmed when you see what they’re marinated in, but I guarantee they will cure even the most forlorn UT fan. The recipe is over on the Char-Broil LIVE site. Go on. Get on over there and you can thank me later.

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Summer on a plate: crowder peas, fried okra and cornbread

Crowder Peas, Fried Okra and Cornbread

I wasn’t born in the South, but I got here as quick as I could. When the dinner bell rang at our house in suburban Chicago (yes, we really had one to call my sister and me in from playing – oh the good old, carefree, no-worry days), it was usually to a meal of soggy boiled yellow corn, canned asparagus and dry cube steak. As many of you know, my mother hated to cook.

I did not realize until I got to the South that summertime was abundant with farm-fresh vegetables. I didn’t know there were seasons to take into consideration. I never felt that sense of gustatory anticipation when fresh crowder peas and vibrant okra hit the farmer’s market. As I said, I got here as quick as I could.

We often have summer on a plate at 5117. King Daddy loves his meat, but he seems to be satisfied with a big pot of crowder peas (kind of like black-eyed peas but not) laced with some ham hock meat if you can find hocks and cubes of city ham if you can’t. Crowder peas are always served with Duke’s mayonnaise because that’s the way Granddaddy liked them and we always, in every way, deferred to his superior judgment.

IMG_5150Cornbread must be done in a screaming hot cast iron skillet with a precious plenty of Crisco melted into it and it cannot be sweet cornbread. I use the recipe on the back of the Martha White cornmeal container. The most important thing is to heat the cast iron skillet with the Crisco in the oven for 15 minutes or so. When you pour the batter into the skillet, it must sizzle violently. That makes the crispy crust prized by Southern cooks. I am teaching Noah how to do this. I did not have a Southern great grandmother so I have borrowed Mark’s and made her my own.

And fried okra must be done in the method King Daddy learned from his mother’s mother’s mother, Granny Belle. It is a simple country recipe but it yields superior okra with a crackling crisp crust and tender green interior. No slime. Mark is teaching Noah the method, as well. I am proud to say the line of Northern aggression stops here because my son is Southern, through and through. He knows that canned asparagus is never a good idea, that corn must be white Silver Queen never yellow, and that a ham hock trumps cube steak every day of the week. Unless it’s country fried steak with cream gravy. But that’s a lesson for another day.

Okra

Fried okra
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Serves: 4
 

Ingredients
  • 1 pound fresh okra, tips and stems removed and cut into ½ inch slices
  • Whole milk
  • Cornmeal
  • Vegetable oil
  • Salt to taste

Instructions
  1. Put the okra into a medium bowl and cover it with milk. Let the okra soak for about 15 minutes. Drain and add enough cornmeal to coat each piece, tossing in the bowl so all areas of the okra are covered with cornmeal.
  2. Heat about ½ inch of vegetable oil in a cast iron pan or other heavy skillet. When the oil bubbles around the end of a wooden spoon resting on the bottom of the pan, the oil is hot enough to fry.
  3. Add the okra to the pan carefully (the oil will boil fiercely in the beginning) and fry until a medium golden brown. Drain on a plate covered in paper towels and salt to taste immediately while the okra is still hot.

 

 

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Tammy’s best dessert

Tammy, my daughter in law, won the award for “Best Dessert” at the Mayhew/Harbin/Mayhew family reunion this past week. This may come as a shock to her because Tammy does not cook, at least in the conventional sense. Let’s just say boxes are her friends, her happy and comfortable place. That is why she’s in charge of “snack day” at the cabin, a day that has become one of our favorites. It’s so good to be bad and we’re so bad on snack day. The line up this trip included pigs in a blanket, pretzel dogs, fried macaroni and cheese bites, Bagel Bites, taquitos with sour cream and salsa, stuffed potato skins, Southwestern wontons and cream cheese and bacon bites coated with tortilla chips.

But this dessert I’m about to tell you about is not out of a box. Well, it kind of is. It’s out of a plastic sleeve, a container and a bottle. But it’s a genius idea and I’m stealing it from here on out.

Cookie DessertYes, it’s a cookie, ice cream and hot fudge sauce sort of mini sundae. A warm cookie straight from the oven. Granted, it’s a packaged cookie dough cookie, but who cares? It’s warm out of the oven. In this case, a chocolate chip cookie, topped with vanilla ice cream and microwaved hot fudge sauce. And you cannot feel guilty eating it because it’s an individual dessert. That means you’re supposed to eat the whole thing without consequences. Served on a paper plate for easy disposal of the evidence.

So now, of course, I’m thinking of other combinations: peanut butter cookies with butter pecan ice cream and caramel sauce, chocolate chocolate chip cookies with mint chocolate ice cream and chocolate sauce and sugar cookies with strawberry ice cream and strawberry sauce.

Yes, I know. I am, as usual, over thinking this. Just shut up and eat the dessert. It’s a warm cookie.

 

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Filed under sauces, snacks, sweets

Ham dip and the Princess

 

Noah and Sydney ham dip

The Princess is in the house and the first order of the day is ham dip. We are at our beloved Oak Haven Resort for the latest family reunion and after the luggage is deposited and the wine is cooling, ham dip must be created. It is the glue that holds this family together. We will make multiple batches over the far too few days we are here and it is now tying generation to generation.

It is a simple concoction from my mother in law, Bunny – Underwood Deviled Ham (I know of no other kind) and sour cream. Served with Fritos Scoops. Bunny taught me. I taught my son, Noah. And now, Noah is teaching my granddaughter, Sydney. She is 5. We call her the Princess because that’s what she is. Truly. She wears a tiara. And she’s a generous girl – she shares it with whoever is within tiara range. Gender is not an issue.

Noah crownedNoah and Sydney

Ham dip is the catalyst for a week of excess. It is a miracle we have not all been admitted to the cardiac care unit of the Sevierville City Hospital. This is literally the snack list for the week: deep fried macaroni, taquitos, steak bites, pigs in a blanket (both kinds – puff pastry and pretzel dough), Lipton’s onion dip with bacon-flavored Pringles, Doritos with that magic cheese dust, triple chocolate chip cookies, apple fritters, molten chocolate cake with vanilla ice cream and both chocolate and caramel sauce, a 4-pound jar of Jelly Bellies (49 flavors!) and an energy blend of edamame, cranberries, almonds and sunflower seeds strictly for health reasons.

If you cannot smile broadly and swallow a laugh as you dig into the onion dip and bacon potato chips while preparing for an excursion to the Ripley’s Believe It or Not Aquarium in Gatlinburg, you are not our kind of people.

So Tammy, mother to the Princess, inspired snack week by the virtue of the fact that when she married our beloved Josh she did not cook. Snacks she could do and she has taken this genre to a high level of art. But I believe Bunny and I have rubbed off on her over the years. A few weeks before the reunion, she asked me if I could teach her how to grill a steak. Wow, that’s a single source of food that requires heat not set to 350 degrees for 20 minutes. Hell, yes.

So, here’s the lesson and your tip for the day. Pick a steak. I like flat iron. Hot and fast on the grill. Salt and pepper or your favorite rub. Put it on the steak. Spray oil. Spray one side. Throw the spray side on the grill. Hear that immediate sizzle sound. That’s what you want. Grill it until you can peek and see nice grill marks. Don’t mess with it too much. Spray the top side and flip. USE AN INSTANT READ THERMOMETER. Sorry to yell, but if you’re an amateur griller you need to invest in one of these. 130 degrees internal temperature for medium rare. Pull it off the grill and let it rest for 10 minutes under a tent foil. That’s it.

Tamy grills

There’s my girl. Checking her steaks with an instant read thermometer. Notice King Daddy and the Princess in the background. They are waiting for this:

Sriracha-marinated flank steak

Done deal. From ham dip to perfectly cooked steak. We’ve got it covered. And it’s just Day 3. By the way, the super secret recipe for ham dip is two large cans of Underwood Deviled Ham to 8 ounces of sour cream. Serve with Fritos Scoops. It looks like dog food but you will eat every last scrap. You’re welcome.

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Filed under appetizers, beef, dips, snacks