Memphis in May Tribute - Good Luck to "Too Sauced to Pork"!

Jenn, of Jenn's Food Journey, and I have talked a lot about meeting at Memphis in May - a fabulous festival which boasts the supreme World Championship BBQ Contest (otherwise known as The Super Bowl of Swine!).  It starts tomorrow.

Neil Gallagher, of the prize-winning team Too Sauced to Pork, has offered to keep my name on his booth's guest list for two years now, which would enable me to eat to my little heart's content (since local health regulations prevent teams from feeding attendees, unless they're invited). I'd even planned to become a team member, helping in whatever way I could, even though my primary skills to offer are only sauce stirring and schmoozing with visitors. Neil and his buddies were accepting dishwashers, servers, choppers, and especially barbecue mavens to help with the effort; any skill, as long as it was offered generously, was welcomed. And they also planned to teach willing newbies like li'l ol' me, sharing the secrets to world class barbecue.

I saved and I planned and I dreamt ... but, alas, once again "real life" has intruded upon my little fantasy and has prevented my getting to Memphis for the party. Jenn isn't able to go this year either, although we were in serious negotiations about the trip - and about finally meeting in the real world, not only chatting in cyberspace - just a few months ago.

"Disappointed" is a woefully inadequate word to describe my dejection. The food, the aromas, the fun, the ambience, the festivities, the allure, the friendships ... everything was luring me down there. I scoped out restaurants along the way, and even across the state lines in Mississippi and Arkansas, too, planning my eating adventures and whetting my appetite.

Instead of getting sunburned and feasting gluttonously on pork and other goodies, though, I will be at home where family responsibilities beckon. (And if I seem to be a bit a.w.o.l. - waaaaaay behind on reading, commenting, and staying in touch - this is why. I've been serving as the figurative ham 'n' cheese in the "Sandwich Generation," with duties as both parent and child; and Craig's very sweet dog, Sammi, sadly was put to sleep last week.)

But the holiday of Shavuot [shah-voo-OHT] - which celebrates the bestowing of the Torah - began at sundown last night. I will eat traditional dairy foods, enjoy a few days off (the Jewish holiday in addition to time that I'd taken in anticipation of my trip), and have fun while also trying not to pout too much.

So Jenn and I will be in Memphis, at least in spirit! We have teamed up to offer "good luck" posts today to Neil and the team, as well as to everyone enjoying the party. I'm not a bar-b-cutie by any means - I don't own a smoker, and I don't devote days to injecting, rubbing, and mopping any of my foods. I simply grill, and do so impatiently, too, despite knowing that I should just leave things to cook over the heat without fidgeting and nudging.

But even though I'm not a world-class barbecuer, this simple, flavorful chicken and pineapple meal is a great way to celebrate the start of the grilling season!

(If you'd like to support Too Sauced to Pork, you can buy team-related clothes and other goodies here.)

Pomegranate-Marinated Chicken

4 boneless, skinless chicken breasts
1/3 cup pomegranate vinaigrette
3 tablespoons pomegranate molasses
1 tablespoon teriyaki sauce
2 tablespoons whole grain Dijon mustard
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
1/4 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

Place chicken breasts into a gallon-sized freezer baggie. Combine remaining ingredients, then pour over chicken. Seal bag, turn to coat, then refrigerate chicken for a minimum of 2 hours. Remove chicken from baggie and discard marinade.

Heat grill to medium-high. Place chicken away from flames and cook 10 minutes per side. For last minute on each side, place over flame to encourage grill marks. Remove chicken from grill and let rest for 5 minutes, then slice.

Makes 4 servings.

Honey-Grilled Pineapple

1 pineapple
1/3 cup honey

Trim top and bottom from pineapple; stand it upright and trim rind from sides. Turn pineapple on its side and cut into 6 slices.

Heat grill to medium-high. Place pineapple slices away from flames, drizzle with some honey, and cook for 6-7 minutes until starting to tenderize. Flip pineapple over, drizzle with the rest of the honey, and cook another 5 minutes or so until tender and slightly caramelized.

Makes 6 slices.

Frugal Floozie Friday - Grizzly Peak Brewing Company

My friend Ruth Kraut "won" me last fall at Gimme Shelter, the primary fundraising event for Alpha House, which provides shelter and other support services to homeless families. I had donated a gift certificate to the silent auction, offering a chance to join me for a Frugal Floozie Friday write-up. When offering these donations, one wonders who's bidding and who'll come out victorious. I was thrilled to learn that Ruth and I would be sharing a food tasting adventure!

We were finally able to schedule our lunch date, and had a fabulous time - and a great meal - at Grizzly Peak Brewing Company. We were seeking vegetarian options, and my auction package had included an offer to order - and perhaps share, dependent upon price - an assortment of treats. So we debated among the bruschetta topped with tomatoes, basil, olives, garlic, and parmesan; the polenta fries served with housemade "catsup," recommended by our charming waiter; several varieties of the hearth-baked pizzas; and cheddar and ale soup. Each dish was tempting, each had merit.

We settled on three things, sharing each not only so that we could both have tastes, but because the servings were more than generous.

As Ruth and I talked about our children, about blogging, about work, about barbecue competitions (Memphis in May as well as the kosher answer to this "Super Bowl of Swine," the ASBEE Kosher BBQ Contest), and about many other things, we started our meal with the soft warm pretzels pictured above, served with a hard cider-infused cheddar dipping sauce. With four large, tender breadsticks in the basket, as well as the rich cheese accompaniment, at $8.95 this was a great appetizer for two within our mandatory $5 per person budget.

Next we shared a pizza which, as Ruth noted, was truly large enough to have been our entire meal without any other dishes. We chose the one with roasted bell peppers and artichoke hearts, which was beautiful and flavorful all at once. For only $7.95, this was an exceptional value for a large amount of food.

We couldn't leave without dessert, especially since an AnnArbor.com reader who posts as DBH had recommended that I try the restaurant's cherry bread pudding.

At $4.95, Ruth and I could each have ordered our own and stayed within the budget; but it was rich enough - and we'd already enjoyed enough other items - that splitting it was perfect. (Our waiter even brought us individual plates, each with its own half-portion.)

If you ever just want coffee and a little sweet "something" to share with a date, I would highly recommend this. Featuring white chocolate, toasted pecans, and numerous tart cherries, the pudding is drizzled with a bourbon-caramel sauce that was an ideal accompaniment.

For attentive and friendly service, warm ambience, and excellent food that offers great value and numerous frugal options, Grizzly Peak is a wonderful place to enjoy a meal with loved ones.

Grizzly Peak Brewing Company
120 West Washington
Ann Arbor, Michigan 48104
734-741-7325
Monday - Thursday: 11 a.m. - 11 p.m.
Friday - Saturday: 11 a.m. - 12 a.m.
Sunday: 12 p.m. - 11 p.m.



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Paczki, Polkas, and Pictures

Last year, I wrote about various food-related adventures I wanted to have, from taking a road trip with my best-est blogging buddies to immersing myself in sensory and digestive overload at the Memphis in May World Championship BBQ Contest (a.k.a.: "The Super Bowl of Swine").

And now, I can officially say that I've knocked one item off my "to do" list ... YES!!!

My BFF Wendy and I went on one of our "Thelma and Louise"-style trips yesterday, and we reveled in pączki [POONCH-key] - gorgeous, obscenely rich, filled pastries - from the New Palace Bakery in Hamtramck [ham-TRAM-ick], a traditionally Polish city which is mostly-but-not-entirely surrounded by Detroit.

In Polish communities, all the butter, eggs, sugar, cream, lard, and other items that are about to become verboten during Lent - as Christians prepare for Easter through a combination of sacrifice, abstinence, fasting, and penitence - are embedded into sturdy, luscious pączki. (Please note: pączki is the plural, pączek [POON-chek] is the singular. And yes, I'm the only one with a sufficient language OCD to make this distinction; everyone else calls them pączki no matter how many they're talking about ... or eating.  But hearing the English-y non-word "pączkis" - pluralizing the plural - makes my brain want to scream.)

Pączki may look familiar, as though they're merely glorified jelly doughnuts. However, to refer to them as such is to commit a sacrilege - these are a decadent delicacy all their own!

So Wendy and I set out first thing in the morning to purchase pączki, which can admittedly be found at bakeries in Ann Arbor as well as at grocery stores (though these are of such lesser quality that they don't really count). But Hamtramck is the heart and home of pączki - it's only right to shop there.

But truthfully, for reasons far more important than simply acquiring excellent pączki, Wendy and I schlepped off to wait in the cold to have ourselves an experience.

Rather than regaling you with a long-winded tale of amusement, diversion, sugar, and whatnot, here is a photo essay of our Pączki Day adventure:

Where we started in line; the bakery door is still around the corner and down the street a bit. Fortunately, the weather was 32-ish: cold enough to know it's February in Michigan, warm enough not to lose any toes while waiting outside for an hour.  We made friends, chatting with a man behind us who was buying treats for his co-workers, with a woman who had the good sense to wear boots and snowpants to help her stay warm, with a presumed drug rep who was buying pączki to take to doctors' offices (and help keep the docs and drug companies in business!), and with a man who'd just moved to Michigan and was immediately ready to assimilate by joining - beaming with happiness - in our traditions and rituals.

Our host/doorman, who would have served as a security guard if folks hadn't been so giddily well-behaved.  He was a true character!  Numerous times, just for the festivity of it, he called out "One ... two ... three ... HAPPY PACZKI DAY!!!"  And, of course, everyone joined in with him.  (Be sure to notice his sparkly belt slathered in rhinestones.)

Channel 2's news cameras were covering the show live.  The Detroit News had a cameraman inside, shooting footage for its website.

Another shop offering a different type of pre-Lenten treat.  Note that they are "beignet-skis," rather than the better known "beignets," because Hamtramck is traditionally a Polish town ... ;)

All of the staff were wonderfully friendly, despite having worked since 3 a.m. yesterday and undoubtedly having worked very long hours in previous days, as well.  The plan was to close only when they ran out of supplies to continue the pączki-making fest.  Notice the "I Survived Pączki Day" t-shirt hanging in the window, though its message isn't at all legible - Wendy and I each bought one.

Just a few of the fillings being offered.  Caramel Cream was the new flavor for this year, so I had to make sure I bought some (4).  I also ordered Custard (6), which is Jeremy's favorite, and Raspberry (2).  Yes, I bought one dozen pączki and am proud of it!  Frankly, when I think of the flavors I didn't get to try - Cherry coated with chocolate, the Strawberry/Custard Combo, Lemon, the Pink Custard in honor of breast cancer awareness - I wish I'd bought more.

In the door!  We took a number (#16), then waited for nearly 2 hours.  They were at #77 when we got in; they went up to #100, then went back to #1 again.  Remarkably, there was no pushing, no shoving, no cutting, no complaining, no whining; everyone chatted, danced a bit to the polka music being played overhead, told stories of how far they'd driven and whether it was their first or fifteenth trek to Hamtramck ... it was a great, big, happy, pączki-loving family!

My favorite chuckle of the day!  In the display cases, which offered beautiful cookies and cupcakes and breads and such (that, of course, were being ignored because the pączki were stealing the spotlight), I found hamantaschen - Jewish cookies!  Hamantaschen are served at Purim, but they've been assimilated and are now also considered a German Christmas cookie.  When I asked a very nice woman if I could sneak past her to take this picture, I explained my reasoning; the man with her leaned in to listen to my story, then his neighbor came closer ... then the folks further back asked what I was saying, and the men were passing the message along.  Everyone came for Polish-Catholic treats, but also left with information about Jewish ones!

Success!  The fabulously seductive and sublime Caramel Cream pączek - split and filled with a light, fluffy, sweet frosting.  This variety is the one that was most coveted by folks who saw my Facebook post yesterday; it's the one at the bottom-left corner in the picture at the top.

Word of the Year

My word of the year for 2011 was "Nurture."

It turned out to be the perfect choice, though not for the reasons I'd intended. I'd written that I hoped to nurture "people, animals, ideas, projects, tomatoes, and also myself." But the year was so chaotic - multiple break-ups and attempts to cling to a doomed relationship, numerous moves before settling down, much trauma and heartbreak, and far too many tears.

My overwhelming memory of that year is of the tears. Instead of my nurturing others, I am still so immensely overwhelmed by the generosity and love and kindness of those who nurtured me. It wasn't what I'd planned. But it was still the operative word for the year. As much as I'm loathe to quote the Rolling Stones, I have to say that "you can't always get what you want, but ... you just might find you get what you need."

Restored, though still frail and fragile, I was ready to "Reach" in 2012:

"Reach out to friends, to keep them close.
Reach out to new people, to broaden and enrich my family.
Reach out to those in need.
Reach beyond my comfort zone.
Reach for new opportunities, both personal and professional.
Reach beyond my limitations, not letting them inhibit me.
Reach my potential ... reach for the proverbial stars."

I reached new audiences when invited to write each month for the Washtenaw Jewish News in addition to my regular posts for AnnArbor.com, and with an article about The Molly Goldberg Cookbook for Repast, the quarterly newsletter of The Culinary Historians of Ann Arbor. (I'm thrilled to have been asked to contribute an essay about baking my own matzah for an issue to be devoted to Jewish baking, too.)

I reached out when new adventures were offered, such as: being invited to work with the wonderful people at Entre-SLAM (an opportunity I've unfortunately had to take a hiatus from, given recent stresses), or judging culinary masterpieces for the Ann Arbor Civic Theatre (chili) and Perry Nursery School (pie) as well as Temple Beth Emeth's Sisterhood (brisket) and the Girl Scouts Heart of Michigan (luscious desserts).

I reached into my bank account to start fixing up the condo I landed in, which I inherited from my ex-husband (who will one day appear on "Hoarders").  It's not presentable yet, but I hope one day to be able to host Friday night dinners and holiday celebrations with loved ones. I reached past my comfort zone, which already encompassed a wide variety of musical styles (everything from 80s New Wave to French chansons, from Cuban rhythms to Medieval chants), and even found that I like country music ... a long-reviled genre that I've now grown rather fond of; it provides a great background while I'm writing.

I reached out to old friends, going out for coffee or for dinner or for hot fudge sundaes, to keep them close. I reached out to new people, welcoming fresh faces into my extended family. If there was a way to reach out or a direction to reach towards, I tried valiantly to do it. I became an opportunist, but not with any negative connotations: if an opportunity presented itself, I gratefully appreciated it and cherished it and sought to do my best with it.

And so, after achieving so many of the goals I'd hoped for in my choice of last year's word - both thrilled and humbled at being able to reach into so many different facets of myself and of life - I considered what to do for 2013.

Along with my beloved Leanne of From Chaos Comes Happiness, who initiated this project by choosing a new word each year and encouraging all of us to join her, I pondered the coming months and my hopes and dreams for them. In July - when Leanne and I finally met in the real world, as opposed to only hanging out together in cyberspace - we discussed my choice as we toured, and became inspired by, The Art Institute of Chicago. I shared with her the word that, even at that early time, seemed like the perfect choice.

Dance.

I confessed to Leanne that, after a year of misery and then a year of rebuilding, I found myself - every so often, quite by surprise - dancing as I cooked. A spin. A twirl. A swivel of my hip. As I stirred. As I baked. As I waited for the timer to ring. I could play music I enjoyed, music that infused what I was creating. Music to which I would instinctively sway, something I hadn't done for more than two years. Music I had chosen, music I loved.

I was happy.

I could once again cook pasta in a large pot of boiling water to the sounds of passionate Italian opera, rather than being told the noodles (and only a certain type of approved noodles) had to be sparingly prepared in a small, cramped saucepan so as not to irresponsibly squander precious resources such as water and electricity. Italians - who know just a bit about these matters! - say that you should cook pasta in a large pot of salted water, precisely so it can dance without being constrained. For many, many months, I still could not cook pasta once I was free of the limitations ... or, rather, just free. I would try, and tension would overcome me. Such a simple thing, and yet it had been taken from me for a long while. But I found I could enjoy this again.

I was happy.

Craig doesn't like to dance. He won't go line dancing with me even though, when I tried it, I remarkably found that I enjoy it and have some talent for it.  Just the other day, he did write to me that "I'll dance w/you anywhere," but then added a disclaimer ... "(well, almost anywhere!)" Maybe I'll get him to dance at the Ann Arbor Art Fair in July ...? Perhaps at Memphis in May, which I plan to attend for the World Championship Barbecue Cooking Contest, but which also offers a music festival ...?

But he's dancing through life with me, even if he won't go out on a dance floor. And it's a life that's been a bit complicated in our four months together, as one of my most cherished loved ones has been hospitalized for rehab but still relapsed several times afterward, as I've found my once-legendary immune system has been compromised by two bouts of bronchitis, as he's suffered from kidney stones and then even threw his back out on Christmas Eve, as we negotiate with elderly parents and take care of Craig's adorable little aging dog, contend with the abundant energy and enthusiasm of my grandpuppy, and help to guide our kids who still seek to find their way in the adult world.

I reached out across the table when we met for coffee, and Craig took my hands in his ... my new dance partner.

And so, in 2013 I intend to dance. Dance while I cook. Dance - or, at least, bop a little bit - while I drive. Dance in the grocery store, a place I find so full of fun and inspiration (and only occasional routine drudgery). Do the Snoopy "happy dance" whenever I can, appreciating the moments that inspire it.

Because I will also have to continue to dance with the twin devils of mental illness and alcoholism, which occasionally rear their ugly heads in my loved ones and do not back down readily from the war even if some battles have been won. They have been rudely cutting in again recently, making me dance on tiptoe rather than dancing with joy.

I will dance with my boyfriend, even if he won't do so in public. I will dance through life, because the alternative is to sit still, to be stagnant. I may not always do it gracefully, as I tend to be a bit clumsy; Jeremy is convinced that Armageddon will arrive the day I don't have any bruises on my legs.

But I will dance, literally and figuratively.

And so, what better way to end this with than a cheesy dance song from the 70s??? (I have such a perverse affinity for this genre, though no one else can tolerate it!) So much is in place that's never been settled before, even if my life is still a work in progress. Yeah, it's taken me 50 years to even get to this point. But my ancestors were living into their 80s even 150 years ago, and my paternal grandfather lived to be 98. I'm only halfway done!

Fairy Mary's Food Fantasies

I haven't written a post with a meandering list in ages and ages.  But for some reason, it struck my fancy that the time had come to do so ... to make a list of goals to encourage acting upon my word of the year - reach - and keep seeking ways to expand my proverbial horizons.

And so today, in no particular order, I offer a list of various food-related hopes and dreams, experiences I would like to have someday (although some of them will require not just renewal of my passport, but also a 'script to medicate myself into submission to overcome my phobia of flying!):

1. Memphis in May: The World Championship Barbecue Cooking Contest is also known as "The Super Bowl of Swine."  To even place in this event is a coup; to win it brings not only prize money but - really, even more importantly - tremendous respect.  I can't see myself competing against people for whom this is truly a life's passion; I don't even own a grill, though I plan to remedy that personal deficit this summer.  Instead, I want to just eat my way through it and experience the joy of - and devotion to - a culinary art form: meeting the contestants, sampling entries and voting for People's Choice Award, touring the grilling stations, and relishing the celebration.

2. Although I've lived in Michigan since 1978, I have never stood in one of the very long lines at a Polish bakery in Hamtramck on Pączki Day (the day before Ash Wednesday).  I want to schmooze with my fellow devotees as we huddle in the cold before being rewarded with freshly-fried pączki [POONCH-key] once reaching the front of the line. Here's a video that shows the camaraderie and anticipation as happy, hungry folks wait for what is so much more than just a glorified jelly doughnut. I need to do this next year!



3. I want to eat my way through Italy, learning about the idiosyncracies and trademarks of the regional cuisines.  The Italians take these things very seriously - there are even laws enforcing production standards and places of origin in order for certain foods to be labelled by particular names.  (For example, Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese can only officially be called such if it is produced in the provinces of Parma or Reggio-Emilia or their immediate surroundings.) There is no such thing, in Italy, as "Italian food."  Items are localized to regions and even to cities, with pride at the heart of it all.

4. I would love to win a James Beard Award, considered the Oscars of the food world - sheesh, even a nomination would thrill me!  I don't see it happening - I'm not a chef, I'm not a sommelier, I haven't published a cookbook.  Sure, there's a category for "Best Food Blog;" but I do this part-time and don't have the resources to create anything substantial or impressive enough to garner Beard-worthy attention.  There is a category for "Best Personal Essay," as well as the M.F.K. Fisher Distinguished Writing Award; but these aren't meant to cover flaky chicks who blather about $5 Frugal Floozie Friday deals or cling peaches in heavy syrup. Maybe I'll finagle and schmooze my way into these venues some day!  A girl can dream ... :)

5. Morocco has long sung its Siren song to me, and I would love to shop in the souks (open air markets), taking in all the colors, fragrances, sounds, tastes ... it would be an entire sensory experience.  Moroccan cuisine is one of my favorites - tagines, spices, fruits, salads, pastries, mint tea (I have my own set of the special tea glasses) ... all of it calls to me.  There is so much more than just the couscous that many people know of!  I need to cook some Moroccan food ... it's been too long ....

6. How extraordinary would it be to have dinner at Alinea in Chicago, to be amazed by the transformation of ingredients that culinary magician (and James Beard Award winner) Grant Achatz and his staff performs???  Just click on this link and gasp at the sheer beauty of the gorgeous photos - these dishes are artworks, not merely sustenance.  Achatz is one of the leaders in the poorly named Molecular Gastronomy movement, which involves scientific and technological techniques that go far beyond just "cooking" foods.  Instead, they are altered and become both unfamiliar and yet, once touching the tongue, recognizable as each item's unique essence shines through.  I'm not quite certain that I would even know how to approach some of the plates!  But a meal at this exceptional restaurant would be, truly, a once-in-a-lifetime experience that I would so love to indulge in.

7. It would be a tremendous challenge to be the cook for the winter-over staff at the Amundsen-Scott South Pole Research Station.  From February through October, it is desperately cold (on average, -100F); travel to-and-from the continent is virtually impossible, so once you're there you're committed to the extreme 24-hour darkness.  Summer is the more crowded season, with numerous projects and greater staffing needs, but some work continues through the winter.  A unique community forms among those who think it is reasonable to live cooped up in the facility for 6 months dependent upon each other, despite these being independent-minded folks who would otherwise think it was ludicrous to abandon loved ones and life as they used to know it for this adventure!  Supplies are very carefully and cautiously purchased and shipped to the Pole, and what you've got is what you work with; thus, as kitchen staff, you'd try to provide nutrition and variety while simultaneously not being able to run to the market to buy ingredients to satisfy cravings or replenish the pantry when it's running low.  My "Chopped" Challenge was nothin' compared to this!

8. And finally, I would adore an opportunity to go on a food-fanatics' road trip with my best-est blogging buddies, so we can all finally get together and celebrate food, fun, and our fabulous selves!  Touring the country, eating our way through large cities and small towns, cementing life-long friendships as we learned about each other's favorite family recipes and legendary hometown restaurants ... how amazing would that be???

If I really were a fairy godmother - my Purim costume for this year - I would wave my beribboned pink wand and make all these wishes come true!  Unfortunately, I have no powers.  And in the picture above you can't even see the glitter that sparkled in my hair; and my gold-bedazzled wings were blowing around in the breeze ... oy.  Many people told me I'm the only one they know who could pull off wearing wings and a tiara, that this outfit was very "me."  I'm happily taking that as a compliment!  A girl's gotta have a sense of humor and whimsy ... :)


I don't normally post on weekends, but this girl who's one-quarter Irish is, indeed, aware that Saturday is St. Paddy's Day.  (I'll be happily and excitedly judging the Brisket Bake-off at Temple Beth Emeth that evening; but I'll wear green, and they're also serving that Irish staple - potatoes!) So, a few days early, here are some Irish-themed recipes for your upcoming festivities:


Irish Soda Bread


Banbury Cakes


Chocolate Guinness Cake



For today's recipe - Cipollini in Agrododolce alla Romana (Roman-Style Sweet-and-Sour Onions) for the Ides of March - go to the Food and Grocery page of AnnArbor.com ....