Funkay

For some reason this track is stuck in my head today and there's no way of getting it out. Once the bassline starts walking over a shuffling slow funky beat, my face assumes an "I think I smell a fart" expression and I keep nodding my head. The song appeared out of the vaults of Blue Thumb Recordings on a compilation in 1997, but I bet it's from when the sisters were still a foursome. It's got a fantastic blaxploitation vibe mixed with sensuality, and a groove worth sampling many times over. Check it.

Pointer Sisters "Don't It Drive You Crazy"

the art of a sandwich

This kinda goes in that string of using the homemade bread as much as possible. That, and I'm obsessed with putting a new slight refined twist to something very familiar to most, if not all. I'm talking about my favorite drunk diner food, the Patty Melt.

My take on it.

3/4 lb of boneless chuck roast (you gotta pick a day when your local butcher slices the side of beef and scoop it as one of his hourly guys puts the cuts in the cold case, pick one with good marbling). That gets ground with a small die in the meat grinder. It's very important to grind your own meat for meatballs, sausage or burgers. Reasons are not so appetizing. If the store grinds it behind the scenes, you simply don't know which scraps are going into it and whether that's the meat that can't be sold whole anymore or not, but that's a lesser evil, the store ground kind. If it's the meatpacking plant grind, you're asking for shit in your food, literally. Now, I would like to advocate and follow the principle of only eating farm-raised grass fed beef, but my funds and availability of such cows dictate otherwise. If you'd like for me to explain why you're eating cow manure when you consume packing plant ground beef, ask me in the comments, or simply watch Food, Inc. End of tangent.

Anyways, grind it with whatever your preference is, some pepper, garlic, some folk like to add egg to their ground beef, which I do not advocate because I like my burger med-rare and do not enjoy uncooked eggs, or sriracha, the 6th "mother sauce." I like the simplicity of kosher salt and black pepper.

Cook the patty in your favorite fashion. I prefer the cast-iron stove-top method.

In another pan, preheat a tablespoon of butter and roast 1/2 to 1/4 of the onion of preference (depending on the size of the onion), mine (preference) being a red onion. Cook until translucent and slightly browned. Push the onion off to the side and put two bread slices in the pan, grilled cheese style. My last batch of bread was made with whole dark rye and barley flour in addition to the usual brad flour and some sunflower seeds.

When the bread is getting a golden color to it, assemble the sandwich. Top the beef patty with the onions and a cheese of choice (I had mozzarella due to my homemade pizza obsession), and cover it with another pan (or stick it into a broiler if one is available) so that the cheese can melt, then "sandwich" the whole bit between two warmed slices of your favorite (preferably, homemade) bread.

Plate and enjoy with your favorite beer.

what feeds us

Taking a plunge into this here Samizdat.

Food and music.

Many have touched on the relationship of the two. Anthony Bourdain wrote about music in kitchens, chef-musicians and what loud clubs kitchen folk go top for a nightcap/industry happy hour.... First off, I'm not a professional chef. I haven't been educated, or have worked through the ranks. I simply have a certain love for the subject, I am friends with many chefs, I could hold my own on the line, but I prefer just the geeky creative aspect over the assembly line mass production aspect of many a pro kitchen. I do DJ professionally, but I have the same attitude toward that craft. I will not answer requests for hits and/or top 40 tracks, I am here "not to stoop to the lowest common denominator, but to raise it" to quote a dj acquaintance of mine, Jeremy Sole from Los Angeles.

So, by keeping those two crafts as hobbies rather than professions, I believe I am able to keep them close to my heart. This intimacy with my hobbies keeps me from losing sight of why I feel so passionately about sourdough, or a great wobbly bass line.

At which point do the creative professionals start compromising their vision in order to earn the paycheck? Like a chef who will order from Sysco instead of shopping at the farmer's market, or a dj who will play Black Eyed Peas mashups until his ears bleed just to keep a major commercial club residency? Is it still "doing what you love?"

Last night's dinner was a chicken version of a porchetta sandwich. Chicken, brined with garlic, bay, black peppercorns and fennel was pan-seared with butter, finished in the oven, pulled off the bone and piled onto freshly baked sourdough bread. I've been obsessing with this bread, slow-fermenting it in the fridge over 96 hours time to get that sour/creamy crumb. About a year ago I added some yeast from the bottom of a Rodenbach Grand Cru and I swear I can still smell the flemish sour notes.