This Beats Chicken and Fries

In Munich a snack is served on a wooden plank. Not that they don't have any dishes, but to bring the food down to earth. Food on a wooden slab automatically makes it local. It eliminates from your brain words like "processed", or words like "vacuum packed". When you see food on a wooden plank you don't worry about a little stamp that says "Best before a certain date."

What do you think about that? Lipsmacking beautiful! A culinary master peace! Look at the complimentary colors! Van Gogh would have savored this! The health nuts would be awed until they discovered the heart of the offering.

Starting on the left, crisp lettuce enhanced with a dab of pimento cheese joyfully pricked by a few pretzel sticks. An array of sliced accompaniment of red and green onions, tomatoes, and the famous Munich beer radish, sprinkled with Feta Cheese keeps pouring on the mouth smacking enticement.

Now, on the right side of the wooden platter is where the proteins hit the cheese. There is sliced smoked ham and local Wurst piled on top of headcheese. The chunks of pig snouts, tongue and jowlels are waiting to be devoured with buttered rye bread chased with a hunk of pickle. Deeply smoked and dried Landjager provide an increased sensation to the already feverish tastebuds. Of course, under all is an ample layer of sliced cheeses to what we call in German "to close the stomach." 

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An Ode To The King

An Ode To The King

by

Franz X Beisser

Ah, Christmas, the season of sharing––what annual fun,

If we’re not careful, it can get quite overdone.

Giving shirts, more shirts with sales tag wagging.

Fancy ties and dapper hats, all not worth the bragging.

Long-johns, how many does a fellow need?

One in the drawer, and one doing its deed.

Does a guy need a present from the digital world?

For fifty years he was without it––why now be spoiled?

Does a guy need a book on gardening means,

When still in the freezer are last century’s beans?

So what are the best gifts the old guy should get?

Treats––like the pooch for good behavior,––you bet!

A sack full of goodies such the wife cannot stand.

Goodies all aged and packaged in a mystery land.

With labels printed in silver and gold Chinese,

Ingredients and spices added by pious Mongolese.

The goodies must explode with sharpness and flavor,

Only a man with exquisite palate and grit would savor.

Pickled eggs, hot cherry peppers to make the mouth pucker.

Black olives, purple and green, for which I am a sucker.

Herrings, kippered and smoked, in wine sauce sour.

Sardines, spiced and skinned, in bites ready to devour.

I love smoked fishes in olive oil layered two deep,

Or singed in hot sauce, a true memory to keep!

Smoked oysters from the Mekong’s clean waters, the ultimate treat!

Stuffed with pride into shiny new cans, sealed and packaged all neat.

Why not soft and hard cheeses, some born years ago,

Still improving with age as surely you do know!

Brie, how delicate its flavor, on a cracker sprinkled with pepper,

Or layered inside a hot baked potato, oh my, what could be better!

Camembert, its fast growing mold so pungent and white––

Paired with onions on seeded rye, a man’s true delight.

Smoked Edam and Gouda makes great little cubes,

Much superior to anything squeezed from a plastic tube.

Cheeses, bring them on!––Havarti, Fontina and Asiago too.

And don’t forget, the Kaiser of cheeses must make his debut.

The aroma arrives first with it an instant cheer.

I offered to share it, but none dared to come near.

All the other cheeses stood respectful in the wing,

Smiling, bowing to their ruler––Limburger the King!

I have gained eight pounds since last Christmas so fine,

Eating cheeses for breakfast, supper and at snacking time.

For weeks my wife noticed a gathering fragrance in the fridge.

I did not tell her, but knew the King waxed picante and rich.

It was well into January when the King took the stand.

An anointing with pomp was his rightful demand!

My wife, all giddy with joy, went quilting from morning till four.

From the fridge stepped my King, as she closed the front door.

Basking on fine china he blended to room temperature,

Giving a boost to its excellent flavor and aroma for sure.

The knife, the onion, and rye bread were ready for duty.

All waiting to give honor and elevate that aging beauty.

A little Mozart added to lift my heart’s dancing,

The dog aroused from deep sleep came prancing.

It wasn’t the music, the smell the onion was making.

It was the scent of something dead that caused his awaking.

Poo-bear, I said, this heavenly treat is for Papa alone.

I promise you will lick the plate––better than an old bone.

His tail wagged with anticipation as my nostrils flared,

To take a good bite now, was all that I cared.

Discarding the crust, so pungent and ripe, would be a sin.

A nibble of it made my palate explode. Wow––truly a win!

The crunch of the onion supported the creamy inside,

Delivered by the rye bread––with chest-pounding pride.

Each bite built more flavor on top of the last,

I enjoyed every morsel till noon day long passed.

My wife will be home shortly, the aroma still in my nose,

And wafting happily through the house I suppose.

I opened the deck door and a window or two,

Praying for the breeze to freshen the air all new.

The wrapper I buried deep in three zip-tight bags,

Then I noticed the pooch’s boisterous wags.

Come here my little brother in crime,

Lick this plate clean, we don’t have much time.

I scrubbed my hands and finger nails too,

Bent in the sink to rinse my mustache with bubbly shampoo.

The scented candle gently crackled and hissed,

While I sat in the chair waiting by my love to be kissed.

Its been a long day and I did miss my wife,

But the King of all cheeses had added to life.

She bounded through the door all jolly and filled,

Then drew a deep breath for a greeting so fine––WHAT STINKS?

Mayonaise Pancakes

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Give this post a chance. Don't look like the lama.

To say my mother was frugal is an understatement. Granted during the hard times after WWII she had to be. There was no other choice. Every crumb was eaten. We didn't have a fridge. So, to test whether something was too far gone to eat, you simply smelled it, or looked at it to see if it started to grow fuzz.

Even after we came to this country in 1955, she continued to "re-issue" various leftovers. She would create whole new meals. Most of them having no gourmet title, but were simply called hash.

Mother also saved the grease. Every drop of frying lard wound up in a crock that had its permanent spot on the back of the stove. It didn't matter if chicken was fried or fish. She also poured the bacon grease in that crock.

To make a cake, most recipes call for either butter or lard, or other shortening. To mother grease is grease. She made a walnut/raisin cake using the abundant stash in the crock. To say the least, the cake tasted like bacon.

Now my theory.

I always thought the "sell by date" stamped on everything is a marketing ploy. For instance, how can buttermilk get out of date when it takes sharp cheddar cheese two years to get good? Duh . . . the cheese stars with buttermilk curds!

The same thing with blue cheese salad dressing. Even tin cans have a date on them. Remember, milk was good until it smelled blinky? Someone didn't have to tell us.

Well, the mayonaise in our fridge was over half full, but two months "out of date." It didn't smell bad. It had no mold. Therefore good to eat.

I wanted pancakes for breakfast. My wife said, "We have no milk or buttermilk in the house."
"Oh but we have mayonaise!" I said.
"I'm not eating any of them," she said. "Not if you're thinking of using that outdated stuff."

Into the bowl went: one egg, 1/2 cup of mayo, 1 1/2 cups of self rising flour, a pinch of salt, a dash of vanilla extract, a flat teaspoon of baking powder, a spoon of sugar, a teaspoon of "fiber", and fresh black coffee to get the proper consistency.

I tell you what. I could not tell the difference from any other pancakes I ever made before. Maple syrup over them . . . yum, yum!

I often think of hungry people rummaging on rubbish heaps, looking for morsels to eat. I see children with hollow eyes and swollen bellies. I know it is a sin to waste food. I'm determined to consume what the Lord has provided before it becomes waste.
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We Don't Smoke The Weed, We Eat It

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Elderberries, not exactly a staple when it come to foods, are worth talking about.

You see them along the roadside and in dips where there is more moisture. They are a brittle bush, up to about 12 foot tall.

At this time of year they sport white bunches of blooms.

No, they are not chigger weed. They are the blossoms that later turn to dark blue berries. The old folks made elderberry wine out of them.

When I was a kid we used the berries, while still green, to shoot through our blowguns, also made out of the elderberry bush.  (one of 130 stories in my book)

I know you think of it as a weed, but to me it becomes one of my springtime favorite desserts.

Stay with me now. Don't get grossed out. What you will see here is incredibly delicious.

You dip the blossoms into a pancake batter. Not too thick. Made with all purpose flower and regular milk. Add an egg, a dash of vanilla flavoring and salt to the dough.

You then carefully lower the blossoms into the skillet or pan with hot frying oil. It will sizzle! The temperature should be hot, but not smoking.

While it's turning brown on one side, cut the stems off with a pair of scissors. Then flip over and brown the other side.

With tongs, remove from oil and let drain on paper towels.   --NOW-- comes my best part: sprinkle cinnamon sugar mix all over them.  --FRONT and BACK-- make it good! It'll taste better than any funnel cake you ever had.


DON'T BE A CHICKEN. GIVE IT A TRY!  And let me know.

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Heaven On Toast

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We all have our favorite toast. Some like it brown, some light. Some like whole wheat, some light bread. As for me, well you know me, I like it all. It's what winds up on top of the toast that counts.

 I'm going to make you drool on how to create heaven on toast.

Start out with some locally grown strawberries.

Then fill a large bowl full of cold water and add a cap full of laundry bleach. Dump the berries in and thoroughly wash them. The chlorine will kill any germs.

Next you need to cap the berries and remove all the soft spots caused by too much recent rain. Also cut away the hard and non-ripe portions so your delight will be pure and bright red throughout.

Now you're ready to mash them with a potato stomper, (google that one). Here is where we deviate from the ordinary. Many recipes will call for lemon juice to add a bit of zing to the taste. I say NO. The best zing you'll get is from added rhubarb.

We got this nice bunch, organically grown with genuine Amish barnyard mulch, from Lancaster County, PA. You can find some as well; it's not hard. Wash the stalks in chlorinated water, then chop, precook, and add to the smashed strawberries.

The rhubarb by itself will make you pucker more than this lama. Try a smidge.

So, here is the clincher. Add 7 cups of sugar to every 4 cups of mashed berry and rhubarb mix, you'll then be ready to turn up the heat.

Bring to a rolling boil. Add a packet of fruit pectin to every 7 to 4 mix. Re-boil, skim the foam, then fill the (sterilized) jars.

Ahhh. . . Heaven in a jar, and crawling deliciously all over the toast.

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My Mother

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Here is one of many stories about my mother. She truly saved our lives during those wretched post WWII years.

LEAF TOBACCO

The beds all had an addition to the regular mattress. It was called a Keilkissen, “Keil” meaning wedge and “Kissen” a pillow or headrest. This wedge-like mattress was put under the pillow end of the bed. It elevated the upper body somewhat. At one time, in my early memory (1945), my sister slept on a mattress and Keilkissen entirely made of tobacco. Mom had, in some way, obtained a bale of dried leaf tobacco. She took the straw out of the crib mattresses and replaced it with tobacco. She then carefully sewed up the tobacco in oilcloth, such as an old table cloth, to keep the smell down. Finally, she re-covered it with the old material. I knew that something was not right because we conducted the tobacco business in secret. Although the Nazis were no longer in power, the fear of them was still in the hearts of people. Stories of brother turning in brother and son betraying father were everywhere. No one really knew what anybody’s political affiliation was. Of course, I did not know such things; all I knew was that I had to keep my mouth shut about the tobacco. It was a product not legally available to the populace as yet; therefore, it travelled only in underground channels as probably many other products of habit did. As it turned out, the tobacco was a life saver. Mom would weigh out small amounts, about five to ten grams, and trade it for a variety of foods. One particular smoker, a chimney sweep by trade, had a great chance to get all kinds of food from customers through bartering for his services. I remember him, black from head to foot, bringing eggs and smoked pork in exchange for a small bag of the desired tobacco. Mom hung the smoked pork, totally black from the smoking process, on a broom handle across the corner of the bedroom, hidden from sight by the corner dresser with its fold-out mirrors on each side. The amount of pork increased as the tobacco decreased. In the summer time the aroma of the meat made us feel very secure and happy. I’m sure Mom sold a lot in larger blocks for money to buy knitting yarn and cloth for sewing.

Feel free to click to get a sampling of the rest of the 130 stories. A Time And Place

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Methane Gas

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It has been reported that a lot of the problem with the earth's ozone layer is the result of excessive bovine flatulence.

The world peoples, other than the Hindus, eat a tremendous amount of beef. Is it expedient then for mankind to find an alternative food source? Certainly, all warmblooded creatures basically have the same digestive systems, including us. What meat, or other rich protein source should we then put on our backyard grill?

According to the "Save The Earth" people, the answer is none. No more hotdogs at the ballpark. No more burgers on the grill. All dogs and cats need to become vegetarians as well. Carrots and celery sticks would be the feature items at all the fast food chains.

We would be a healthier people, and the ozone would help slow down the melting of your ice cubes in your tea. Isn't that wonderful? No more UV protection needed in you sunscreen.

This year, I once again did my part on Earth Day. I fixed me a large bowl of pinto beans, decorated with an organically grown chopped onion, I sacrificed the usual country ham in my beans in honor of this holiest of environmentalist's day. I started to savor this treat a little after eight in the evening. I watched a program that showed the mistreatment of chickens. (Poor things they really don't have any rights.) All the while washing down my beans and onions with organically squeezed soy milk.

I started this annual ritual late in the evening, because I'm well aware of my body's reaction to legumes. I didn't want to pollute the sacred day by having contributed to the destruction of the ozone before midnight.


Now, methane gas is flammable. Naturally, a natural source of energy. I can very well see a future of sticking a pressurized bottle of methane into ones vehicle and drive off to work. I can also see each homeowner, with their own septic system, utilizing this natural emission to heat their hot water tank. Why not? It is free. Or we could stick a pipe down to the septic tank and light the gas coming off and have an eternal flame to soothe the ozone gods.

I have heard stories of pining engineers at most universities have personally experimented with the combustibility and potential use of methane. I've heard stories of these tests being performed not in the lab, but by sitting around in their skivvies, playing with matches.

Funny or not, we do need to consider our environment. It is our job to protect and preserve what has been entrusted to us.

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Papa's Brittle Recipe.

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This is a no tricks, simple and delicious brittle or granola. 

The trick to its wonderful flavor is the toasting of the oats, as well as the good pinch of salt. Salt and sugar makes the taste buds explode. 

Once you start nibbling on the brittle, you can't seem to quit eating. 

This brittle is great over ice cream, also a treat on top of your favorite cereal.  

INGREDIENTS:

1 1/2 cups oatmeal

1 cup crushed pecans or walnuts, or nuts of your choice

1 teaspoon salt 

1/4 cup olive oil --or your oil of choice

3/4 cup brown sugar --light or dark brown

1/4 cup Karo, or other corn syrup --light or dark

1/2 cup raisins or cranberries --by choice  

Heat oil in large skillet. 

Add oats and salt, mix quickly so oil is evenly soaked up by all the oats.

On medium to high heat brown the oats. Stir vigorously, turning them over and over until lightly toasted. Turn down heat when you first start to smell the toasting oats. You may even want to remove skillet to make sure the oats will not burn. (You could toast the nuts along with the oats.)

Turn heat to low. If the brown sugar has hard lumps, pre-soften in microwave.

Add nuts, raisins and brown sugar. Stir until all the sugar is melted and thoroughly mixed in. If this takes too long, turn up the heat slightly. 

Add Karo (corn syrup) and stir until totally mixed in. Less Karo makes the final product more brittle and hard. More Karo will make it more chewy. 

Empty skillet onto dinner plate to cool. . . Hint:  First spray plate with a little non-stick spray.

You can also experiment using molasses or honey instead of corn syrup. Or by adding your favorite cereal to the mix, or cinnamon.      

ALTERNATE MIX:   Add 1 cup of natural peanut butter instead of nuts, then cut into bars and refrigerate.

Enjoy!     Papa

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