Earth Oven Tragedy

I’m not much of a recipe person. Instead of teaspoons and tablespoons, my measurement system relies heavily on “dashes of this” or “hints of that.” I am comfortable with this system because it usually doesn’t fail me. In this case, this system completely failed me. In this case, I am Mayhem from the All State commercials, wanting to cut down a large tree. I watched two minutes of a 9-minute, DIY, meat pit video then went and "rented the biggest chainsaw I could find".

Yeah, it only gets worse from here, but hopefully someone will read this and propel himself to give it a better shot.

In the last weeks before I departed for New York, I caught wind of a new Netflix series entitled “Chef’s Table.” If you love food, I highly recommend you checking out this series. I absolutely love the show. Can’t wait for Season 2. My favorite episode depicted the life of the famous Argentinean chef, Francis Mallman. He spends most his time cooking outdoors in rural Patagonia where he also owns his own island

Yeah, crazy right?

In the Mallman episode, Francis and his band of gypsies-chefs constructed a meat pit by digging a hole in the ground, building a fire, wrapping some food up in leaves, and then burying it all in the hole. This style of cooking is known as “Curanto” in Patagonia. Mallman explained people all over the world have been cooking in pits or "earth ovens"  for over 12,000 years. He also said the taste of the meat and vegetables from a pit were amazing… and he also mentioned something about,

“...potatoes you could suck through a straw.”

If people 12,000 years ago were doing pits and making all this amazing food like "potatoes that you can suck through a straw", then I sure as hell should be able to do the same now in the 21st century... I just really wanted some of those potatoes.

Again, I recruited my younger brother, Sam, who was still home on Christmas break. Compared to Mallman’s band of gypsy-chefs, we were a little outmanned and inexperienced, but hey, I had watched an entire two minutes of the nine-minute, DIY video.

After trip to the local meat market, we had all the food staples we would need: 1 Boston butt (commercially raised), half dozen potatoes, half dozen yams, and four onions. I had also thawed out the second and last Boston butt from New York. (remember it was free-range pork) Comparing the two pork butts yielded a large difference, not only in price per pound, but also in appearance. The meat pit would be my personal test to see which pork really was the best.

Sam and I decided to make the process simple and thought we could use the family fire pit out on the patio. It is a nice circular pit, edged in Texas limestone and situated just perfectly to watch college bowl games and tend the fire simultaneously. We simply needed it to be a bit deeper to bury the meat and veggies ala Mallman. So we start digging and about 12 inches into it we hit a PVC pipe that services the swimming pool.

What knucklehead put a PVC pipe underneath a fire pit?

Backup plan in action, we relocated the pit to Nana’s raised and currently dormant, garden. We dug and dug, finally getting a nice 3-foot deep pit.

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Now we would need something large to cover up the cavity. I quickly recycled some corrugated tin panels from an old barn and used some Boy Scout ingenuity to cut them to fit. The necessary tools were unavailable.

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Next, we laid down some lava rock then got a nice sized fire going. While we waited for our bed of coals to form, I threw some salt and pepper on the vegetables and both Boston butts. Then per the video’s instructions, I wrapped everything individually in foil, then again in burlap. Some craft wire held the packages together and created a nice handle for lifting and moving the bundles while hot.

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Late that night, after we had burned all of our wood and had some nice smoldering coals in the pit, we spread the rest of the lava rocks on top.Next we rounded up all of our “pit parcels” and doused the outer burlap wrappings with water. The water-soaked burlap would eventually create steam inside pit and slow cook the meat and vegetables over the next 12 hours.

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This is where things got screwy. We set the parcels upon the lava rocks and immediately covered everything with dirt, followed with the tin cover.

You probably think I’m a dumbass. I kind of thought I was too for a bit. You can imagine my disappointment the next day around noon. With the entire family standing around the pit anticipating lunch and straw-sucking potatoes, I dug everything up to find it under cooked. The dirt had completely extinguished our coals. The gathering of family, once ready to feast, now trickled back indoors to grab their car keys and head into town for lunch.

Man, I screwed up. But was I going to squander this precious pork? Absolutely not. I was gonna give it another shot.

I wasted no time getting a second fire going. A little gasoline never hurt a meat pit, right? It does burn hair, though. After careful inspection in the mirror that night, I found that I had singed not one, but both sides of my head.

Like I said, we really are pyro maniacs.

Late that night, we had a decent amount of coals. We probably needed more, but I was rushing this second attempt so I could at least have Sunday lunch ready when the Family got back from church the next day. Again, we wrapped everything up, soaked it, and put it back on the coals. Again, we covered the mouth of the pit with 3 tin panels, but this time covered the panels with dirt. This looked right. Small holes in the tin allowed steam to roll out all night.

The next morning, the Family gathered for lunch.

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Recap:

• Pork looked beautiful, but my seasoning was really weak.
• The New York pork had  good flavor, but lacked seasoning as I mentioned above. It quickly got shredded and combined with some salt and brown sugar for lunchtime pulled pork sandwiches.
• Nobody touched the Texas pork. But the Sisters sure did love the flavor!
• All the potatoes were overcooked. Yes, I was deprived of the potatoes that you could suck through a straw.

Note: If you try this at home, don’t cover your meat packages and coals with dirt. The steam needs a pocket to properly cook everything.

...and hey, let me know if anyone achieves the straw-sucking potatoes.  I still want to try those.

This ‘ol Gal is Smoking Hot

It’s a damn good feeling to be back in the Lone Star state. For the past few weeks, I’ve been at home resting up and sampling some good eats. I’ve gotten more than a few dinner requests from the Family and I’m beginning to think they have forgotten that my time in New York was spent in a meat cooler, not a kitchen.

Whatever. I love to get in the kitchen, throw on some jams, and make something special.

Since I’ve been home, I’ve learned to make tamales and I tied and prepared a huge rib roast for the Family Christmas dinner; however I was craving to experiment with things I had learned in New York. Unfortunately, I lacked a commercial kitchen and shiny appliances like I had access to at Fleishers. That meant I was going to have to find my own and on a broke butcher’s budget. After mapping out my meat quest I figured I would need the following:

• a smoker to practice my brisket making,
• a dehydrator to test my new jerky recipes,
• and a curing chamber for some charcuterie experimentation.

My trip to New York wiped out my bank account, but Santa Claus came through with a couple of Benji’s in my stocking. I just had to decide which one of the three pieces of equipment to invest in. I only had enough cash for one. The other two would have to be put on the back-burner. This was my line of thinking until I stumbled on an old, unclaimed smoker.

At first, I wasn’t sure if the ‘ol gal would work. There were rust holes in the bottom, the grill had come detached, and the pipe stack that once rose from the pit had been severed. Her thermometer had definitely seen better days. Its glass cover was shattered and the needle registered a perpetual 185°.

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All and all, not insurmountable for an old Boy Scout. A quick trip to Walmart for a freestanding oven thermometer and a few twists of wire to get the grill back on, I had the ‘ol gal back on her feet. Now to give her a test run.

On the actual brisket, I figured I couldn’t go wrong. Chef Jason and I had thrown one in the electric smoker in New York and it turned out awesome – no work and great meat with an amazing bark. Since my smoker didn’t exactly stack up to that commercial one, I would have to keep a careful watch over this brisket the entire time it cooked. The main chamber temperature needed to hover around 225° and stay as smoke-filled as possible.

Pulling an all-nighter would require some help. Luckily, the fridge was stocked with Shiner Bock and my brother was home for Christmas break.   He willingly volunteered as soon as I uttered the word “fire.”

We’ve been pyro-maniacs since birth.

The new recruit and I made our way to the local meat market where we commandeered an 15lb. USDA select brisket. Yeah, it wasn’t the 100% grass-fed brisket I was use to working with in New York, but it would do.

After a good thirty minutes of hand-grinding seasonings, I laid down a heavy coat of salt and pepper over the meat.

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In the meantime, Sam had started a fire in the smoke chamber and once he had a good bed of coals and the oven thermometer read 225°, we placed the brisket in the main chamber.

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Pit masters apply wood chips to create a large amount of smoke without all the heat of a large fire. I applied hickory wood chips every 10-15 minutes throughout the night.

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The next morning, the meat thermometer read 190° when I placed it into the center of the brisket. I pulled the brisket from the hand-me-down smoker and let it set.

The ‘ol gal had done good. The bark was thick, dark and glistening. The smoke ring was a lovely ombre red.

After 30 minutes of resting, I sliced and shared.

Sweet victory!

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Feedback:

1. Aunt Hedy thought it was a bit peppery. It might have been from all the fresh cracked pepper I used.
2. Mom thought the meat could have been more tender, but the flavor was spot on.
3. Note to self: ALWAYS invest in good meat. If you want a great end product, you have to use great ingredients.

Packin' Pork

All I have been talking about for the last three months is how good the pasture-raised pork is from Fleishers.

• How it tastes like pork is suppose to taste.
• How breeders are breeding the fat back in after the anti-fat stigma of the 70s.
• How modern farmers are raising these animals on open range and supplementing their diets with tubers and apples.

So the family mandate was in. They wanted me to put up or shut up. Mom had scheduled a tamale making class for when I got home so I thought it would be perfect timing if I packed some pork back to Texas for Christmas tamales. Just one small problem, well, actually one big problem, how was I going to get all of my belongings and the pork packed in my suitcase?

I never got rid of the boxes I originally shipped my stuff up to New York in. They actually turned out to be multi-purpose, standing in as chest-of-drawers, a nightstand and a dining table. So flipping the boxes upright, I crammed in all of my earthly processions: espresso machine, cook books, cutting boards, boots and bedding and shipped them back to Texas via the neighborhood UPS store. That left me with my carry-on for the plane and one 55lb. box of pork as checked baggage.

Let me pause here to itemize the contents of my checked baggage: two 13 lb. Boston butts, four Frenched pork chops cut 1” thick, and one large hog’s head perfect for tamales.

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They say a picture is worth a thousand words so I wish I had one to show you here, but I don’t. Just try to picture this scene in your head if you will:

I sauntered up to LaGuardia’s Southwest Airlines check-in and presented my documents for boarding. I then hoisted my box of pork onto the luggage scales and waited for my baggage claim check. It was at this point that Miss LaGuardia informed me that I must use "Southwest Airline approved boxes" for my belongings. Ok, no problem. So there on the spot I begin to unpack and transfer my pork to the approved shipping box.

Lets just say that Miss LaGuardia’s eyes moved to “alert” status when the lovely pink chops surfaced. By the time I was transferring the hog’s head, she was on full "Silence of the Lambs” alert. But the best part was when I reached down and grabbed my knife roll, looked up at her and said,

Ma'am, I’m a butcher and I am going to pull out my knives now.

I just wanted to let you know.

After a gasp then a pregnant pause, her relieved expression showed she now comprehended that indeed I was not Hannibal Lector, but an actual butcher. With the color returning to her face, Miss LaGuardia waved off security and finally handed me my baggage claim check. (Something tells me she is going to let the next guy in line slide with his cardboard boxes.)

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My flight from LaGuardia to Chicago was easy, but the last leg into Austin seemed like it would never end. I was more than ready to be home, so I pre-maturely unbuckled “before the plane had come to a full and complete stop.” I grabbed my carry-on and quickly located my pork box at baggage claim. As I went to the outside curb for pick up, I spotted the most beautiful girl I have ever seen. There she was. Waiting curbside for me. Black hair, black eyes and fluorescent hunting collar. I dropped everything as my Remi ran to me for a good ear scratchin’ and face lick.

Home, sweet home.

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Final Note: I’m back in Texas for a bit to re-group and plan my next leg of my carnivorous journey. In the meantime, I will be holding some jerky and sausage making classes. If you are interested, send me a message in the “contact me” section.

I hope everyone has a Merry Christmas and eats well this holiday season. I sure will!

Empire State of Mind

  Three months in the big city have come and gone and I find myself once again back in the Lone Star.

Damn, it feels good to be back!

My last week in New York was a whirlwind. I had final exams at Fleishers, one of which required me to break an entire steer in a single day. In case you were wondering, I broke that bad boy down with hours to spare thus finalizing and passing the 12-week Fleishers’ apprenticeship with flying colors.

My last Friday there, the Fleishers staff presented me with my course completion certificate and an amazing knife roll from Victorinox. The knife roll is ridiculous. It holds all nine of my knives, plus my honing steel.

It was bittersweet leaving New York.  Already, I am missing my Fleishers family and our intimate family-style lunches. I will miss Chef Jason in the kitchen and all of his patience with my endless culinary questions. I will miss butchers Jason, Josh and Anderson in the cutting room and all of their wisdom and knowledge imparted to me over the last few months. And of course I will miss my fellow apprentice, Timmy, who always kept things interesting. “Guy” and I had some good times and I will treasure our beer-infused conversations about Chicago's  supremacy in everything from pizza to subways.

To the Fleishers Family,

Gracias and vaya con dios.

Meat Monger

meat monger mēt mon·ger (noun)

1. A dealer in or trader of meats.

I hope everyone had a great Thanksgiving. I was blessed to have my mother and brother fly up to visit me for the holidays. We did a little bit of everything. I tagged along on some of Mom’s business meetings, we toured Central Park in a rickshaw, saw School of Rock on Broadway, and ate some amazing food. If you are visiting New York City anytime soon, be sure to check out my Eats page where I list some awesome places to “break bread.”

I am now down to my last two weeks in the Fleishers Butcher Apprenticeship. For the past week, I have been stationed in one of their retail shops in Park Slope, a section of Brooklyn. It is a charming, old-school, neighborhood butcher shop. There, I am shadowing the head butcher, Josh Meehan, and assisting with setting and maintaining the meat cases. The shop is a much more fast-tempo environment with customers rushing to procure their meats for the holidays. I’ve had to set aside my cut glove, which I had grown accustomed to. Now, sans glove, I really need to be on my game everyday and careful not to chop a digit or two!

Josh is teaching me how to take the sub primal cuts coming from the Red Hook production facility and transform them into a more refined case cut. This entails cleaning the meat of any fats, silver skin, and other inedible while forming the meat with our blades into our own kind of carnivorous art.

I head back to Texas the end of next week. I’m excited to see the family and be home for the holidays, but I’m going to miss Fleishers. It’s been a great experience.