De-skinning Poached Salmon Steak

It's always been a difficult task for me to extract every morsel of succulent salmon meat from the skin. Not anymore. Here's a video of my mom accomplishing this tiresome task in no time flat.

The Merits of the Clinton A & P

Now, before I get started on food and its splendor, let's get the supermarket talk out of the way first. I know what you're asking yourselves, particularly if you frequent the Clinton A & P, a dilapidated, understocked, and wholly inferior supermarket, on a regular basis: What merits could the Ginger King, a culinary elitist, possibly be talking about? Maybe you're disappointed that I would even consider dedicating part of a post to such a seamy establishment. And your disappointment may be warranted. All I ask is you hear me out first before leaving this site for good.

The Clinton A & P does suck in almost every way. To take it a step further, some may wonder how, in fact, this particular branch attracts even a single customer, considering ShopRite's presence a mile down the road. Well, I recently took a trip there in search of the answer to this very question.

As I walked across the cracked parking lot, through the dirty sliding doors, and into the funny-smelling supermarket, I certainly didn't expect to find any merits easily. No, I had to dig deeper, to scratch below the surface, to observe this ugly entity in ways that most people don't. First, I headed for the produce area, a relatively-sparse collection of veggies and fruits. Nope, no merits here. But as I was rounding the corner and heading to the meat aisle (a personal favorite section of any market), a nondescript, lonely cart caught my eye. Filling the shelves were marked-down, shrink-wrapped packages of different fruits and vegetables. I thought to myself, "What is going on here? Why is this produce separated from the rest, seemingly left abandoned, like a ginger baby by his family?" And then it struck me. These vegetables WERE rejects, left on this cart in unflattering packages for one last-gasp chance to convince someone to buy them before rotting away the rest of their existences in a dumpster.

To the untrained eye and the ignorant mind, this produce, like a ginger kid, might seem unattractive or thought of as "rotten." It and the Ginger King, however, were in luck on that day. I piled my cart high with packages of avocados, red peppers, cucumbers, zucchini, and tomatoes, all of which were perfectly-ripened and three dollars apiece. I exited the A & P excited about my bounty and the little-known cart that really does deserve more consumer attention.

That night, Mom, Emily, and I concocted a magnificent Mexican feast with the "rotten" veggies from the A & P. The following is a series of photos detailing our efforts and the final outcome.

Red peppers, mid-sauteeing.

I am completely devoted to consuming avocados on a regular basis. These photos of guacamole preparation/consumption really get me salivating. Wow. Take a close look at the texture and tell me you don't crave some.

Several pounds of beef chuck with added chopped vidalia onion, dark red kidney beans, crushed garlic, and taco seasoning. The smell of this simmering amalgam caused me to buckle at the knees.

And the final spread. All thanks to the Clinton A & P. Just goes to show, you can't judge a supermarket by its outer appearance. Delights abound in the most unexpected places.

Side note: My mom's cherry wood mixing tool is indispensable. It is substantial and solid yet light and agile, a perfect combination. I hope to see one under the tree next Christmas.

Breakfast Sandwich Addendum

A bagel is also a fine option for a breakfast sandwich, as evidenced here:

And here:

I couldn't resist sharing these photos.

An Ode to Corned Beef

Corned beef and cabbage: an authentically Irish meal, fit for a ginger king. That's what I thought until I stumbled upon "The History of Corned Beef". While a tasty morsel of this briny beef is definitely fit for this ginger, it's decidedly not Irish. In fact, corned beef's origins lie with the Jews right here in America. I know, I couldn't believe it either. Hungry Irish-Americans in the 19th century, looking to recreate a delicacy from their homeland, substituted Jewish brisket for the traditional but ne'er-to-be-found "bacon joint" in their holiday cooking. In this way, contemporary corned beef was born. We have, in large part, the Jews to thank.

Let's get one thing straight: I love corned beef. I love its high fat content, I love its stringy, delicate nature, and I especially love dipping it in hot, whole grain mustard. Unfortunately, I only eat it once or twice a year. This year's St. Patrick's Day celebration at Mom's house involved no green decorations, no leprechauns, and no drunk Irishmen. Just a perfectly-boiled and spiced corned beast. If someone were to taste this and tell me they "just don't like it" or "it's too fatty," I would be incredulous, to say the least, and probably feel personally offended. Simply put, if I find out you don't like corned beef, I will regard your decision-making abilities as irrational and disregard your opinion on almost all matters. That is how good corned beef really is.

Mom's method is simple. Heat a big pot of water until it's boiling. Place pre-salted corned beef into pot along with packet of "corned beef spices" (peppercorns, cloves, mustard seeds, bay leaves, and probably some other stuff). Add several large peeled onions and chopped up celery and simmer for approximately three hours. Remove meat from pot and strain out vegetables and as much of the spice mix as you can. Finally, simmer cabbage and carrots in the broth for 15 to 20 minutes. Potatoes are also a popular addition to this dish. I find that the boiled cabbage is overwhelmingly addicting and all you really need to perfectly complement the savory meatiness of the beef.

Mom began this process late in the day so the finished corned beef sat in the fridge all night long, solidifying its deliciousness. The celebration began in earnest the following day. I sprang out of bed early at 10:00 a.m. with a newly-discovered sense of youth and vigor, and a raging appetite. I had planned to reheat everything and devour it without any thought of preparing the meat, cabbage, onions, and carrots otherwise. My mom was already in the kitchen, however, in the process of putting together.....yeah, you guessed it....two, stuffed sandwiches with all the essential trimmings (sauerkraut, the meat, Swiss cheese, Russian dressing, and pumpernickel bread). She had even fired up the George Foreman Mean Lean Fat Reducing Grilling Machine! Some aloof individuals may scorn this grill with indignation, believing it to be some newfangled gimmick, a tool of convenience only suitable for the layman chef. To them I say, please, don't disparage the Foreman simply based on its cheap outer shell or your distaste for the man himself without giving it a spin first. It has its limitations, to be sure. But in the case of this sandwich, it did its job magnificently. Butter, I dare say, was neither used nor missed. After a few minutes under Foreman's heat, we removed the first sandwich. The melted Swiss was flowing like cheese lava from a Corned Beef Reuben volcano! What a sight to behold. With boiled veggies to sop up the sandwiches' entrails, it was a truly epic two minutes of consumption.

Buttery Chops with Vegetable Assortment

A plump, juicy lamb chop, one of the most beautiful cuts of meat ever devised, is something I cherish when in my possession and once it's actually in me. Unfortunately, lambs are something that most people, including myself, don't eat nearly enough of in order to appreciate their tremendous flavor. In the homeland, most Americans, I would dare to say, treat the lamb as an inferior animal, unfit for and undeserving of our consumption. In other parts of the world, however, lamb is an everyday meal, a roadside treat, or a revered delicacy. Recently, my mother did her part to sustain the languishing American lamp-chop-producing industry. She brought home five thick lamb chops to feature in the night's supper. I applaud her for the support.

My mother assumed the tall task of preparing the chops. After applying a routine spicing of salt and pepper to the meat, my mom added a substantial pad of butter and a drizzling of Extra-Virgin olive oil to a heated pan. Remember, this is no time to skimp on the butter in some dedicated attempt to "eat healthy"." If you've committed to eating an animal, properly honor the beast by savoring its delicious, life-giving qualities. It deserves nothing less. Mom simmered the chops on medium heat, flipping them only once after about 10 minutes of pan-time. Lamb meat, like cow meat and pig meat, is best cooked on the rare side. These beauts came out perfectly thanks to the experience of a veteran chef.

I'm so caught up in the splendor of lamb meat that I almost forgot to describe the side dishes. Vegetables also get an undeserved bad rap from too many of my fellow citizens, for two reasons. One, fresh products are often hard to come by and/or expensive. Two, too many people overcook their precious bounty or otherwise prepare it in a manner that fails to match its true taste potential. Vegetables, to me, are an overlooked and under-appreciated delight and Mom cooked lots of them that night. Headlining the delicious display were oven-roasted sweet potatoes with onions and cumin. These were accompanied by boiled green beans, sauteed asparagus, a hefty helping of the trusty squash casserole, and a broccoli salad, a stream-of-consciousness creation of Mom's. Disperse a potion of balsamic vinegar, salt, pepper, extra-virgin olive oil, and cilantro over a large bowl of diced shallots, capers, roasted red peppers, and boiled broccoli, and mix thoroughly. It turned out delicious, just like the rest of the meal. One final note: an honest dollop of mint jelly is an obligatory accompaniment to every bite of lamb. Here is the final picture:

Actually, here's the final picture:

Breakfast Sandwiches for Lunch

Upstairs in my bedroom at 1:00 p.m. and already hungry, I caught a faint whiff of sizzling bacon in the air. An automatic reaction to find the source of said heavenly stench triggered in my brain. I hurried down the stairs, through the living room, and into the kitchen. There, next to the stove top with fork in hand, stood my younger brother, Will, masterfully flipping several soon-to-be-crispy slabs of pork. "Only three slices!" I worriedly exclaimed. The bacon gods were with me on that fine March day, as another pound of the divine meat was lying in the refrigerator, nearly exploding from the vacuum-sealed pack it's sold in, like a voluptuous woman wearing a tutu.

I placed six more slices in the hot oil bath for Emily and me. Will and I, both ravenous and on the same culinary wavelength, did not engage in any small talk - we had assessed the kitchen inventory and knew exactly what needed to be done. While Will busied himself with the frying, I began to cut extra-sharp Vermont cheddar cheese into thin slices. The finished bacon product, post-rendering and uber-crispy, is shown in the image below.

I proceeded to drain the hot bacon grease into an empty coffee can, a perfect place to store the oil until cool, as pouring it directly down the drain is generally a bad idea. Key point here. Do NOT wash the pan. If you're frying eggs, all you need to do is pour out the excess oil. The leftover bacon-fried goodness is what really makes these eggs, and the entire compilation, shine. Your pan should look like this, or something like it:

As the eggs slowly met their maker, I toasted three English muffins in the toaster. Be sure to toast these puppies completely - I prefer them slightly blackened. Wait a good three to four minutes, at least, for the eggs to fry before flipping them. If you flip too early, they will run and create a yolky flood, still delicious but not as aesthetically pleasing. Here are the eggs, before I popped the yolks:

Extra-sharp Cabot Vermont cheddar cheese is a staple in much of my cooking. All other strands of cheddar cheese are vastly inferior to this hard-to-find variety, but putting in the time to find a block is worth it. Eating the other kinds is unfulfilling and downright boring. Trust your taste buds, they don't lie. A couple slices melted atop a fried egg is a thing of beauty.

Take a look at the final product. With care, attention, and technique, four amazing ingredients came together in perfect harmony. It looks delicious, doesn't it?

If you don't have English muffins in the kitchen, you can make an equally-satisfying alternative by substituting Amish potato bread for the muffin.

A bite of either version really makes you wonder if this wondrous combination could substitute for the opposite sex.