Saturday I spent the whole damned day in front of the smoker. Which would have been nothing terribly out of the ordinary, but I had a strange feeling that I was channeling a past life. Seriously. Not a New Age Mystical intuition, but an odd ability to live in the bodies and minds of people who lived many years ago. I was a Baptist preacher, I'm guessing in the 17th century. Trust me, I can rant. Hence the name of this blog. But sometimes I wonder how a Brooklyn born Jewish boy came to be sitting in front of a smoking kettle, sipping his own moonshine, chewing on a plug of baccy. Listening to bluegrass.
Smoking everything I could get my hands on. So I am actually myself smoked. Unpictured are the pork shoulder which was simply roasted in wet smoke after all this was done. 6 hours maybe. Ate last night at Lisa's. OH, and a little eel. He's hard as a rock now and hanging in the wine fridge. No idea what to do with him. But see the beef jerky. Top sirloin. Round does not work as well. Then a pancetta. Cured and smoked. It's really just a rolled pork belly though. Went into a broccoli rabe sauteed with garlic and chili peppers. Swear I nearly fainted.
And best of all a little tongue. It's got to be a calf, much smaller than any I've seen before. Bought at the Asian grocery for a few bucks. Fresh. Cured for a week, then smoked over oak. Next steamed for several hours and peeled and sliced thin. I'm guessing.
You are coming over aren't you?
The sink is now unclogged after I made a rash decision to chuck some wayward brussels sprouts into the garbage disposal. We shall not do anything of the kind again. But now we are ready to go.
There are pickles in the cabinet going, fresh salame in the wine fridge. I am gearing up for a party of some kind folks. Let me know you'll be around.