I’ve Hopelessly Complicated Something as Simple as a Hot Dog!

CaptureExclamation point indeed. You can read all about it at the rah-rah football site, but the long and the short of it is that I attempted to recreate Birmingham’s iconic “special dog” and ended up making a sauce that’s just that much better than any hot dog sauce I’ve ever had.

I don’t often brag on my concoctions, but this seriously has me wondering if the recipe is scalable and if so, how to get it bottled and on the grocery store shelves.

As it turns out, condiment king fantasies are a lot better than lottery winner fantasies. Embedded in the lottery fantasy is that inevitable moment at the country club or the mayor’s fundraiser when someone turns up a nose and says something along the line of “I don’t know why he’s here. It’s not like he earned anything.” And there isn’t a very good retort to that. “I risked two dollars on a ticket at a Stuckey’s!” doesn’t quite cut it.

But, as a condiment king, if you are at that same country club or mayoral function and your right to be present is questioned, you just pull back your seersucker jacket to reveal the revolver at your side and bellow “Sir. I say sir. Ima hafta take umbrage at that there disparagement!” and challenge him to a duel.

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Sunday Sauce: Bucatini with Sage, Rosemary, and Pancetta

IMG_4086[I know it’s Tuesday, but stuff got in the way. If it helps, the basic outline was written on Sunday.]

I don’t think coffee would be much improved by peanut butter. There may be just two ingredients, but it sounds like a bad idea. That’s just my opinion.

There is a fetish for simplicity in cooking; less is more being the idea. I’m not an adherent. The final result is good or not, independent of the number of ingredients but I’ll admit to being pleased with the fact that most of my Sunday sauces have no more components than fingers on my left hand but only because that generally means I spend less. (Why did he specify the left hand? That was weird.) Continue reading

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Chicken Parmesan from The RBR Tailgate – Edizione Internazionale

Chciken Parm CaptureI’ve gone global. Thanks to the power of #pasta and Twitter, last week’s post for the rah-rah football site got picked up by I Tre Mercanti, a specialty foods shop on the Campo della Guerra in Venice, and shared on their newsletter.

Now, like a guy in a moderately successful band when asked how his latest album is doing, I can say “Thing’s are going okay over here, but I’m big in Europe.”

While I’m certainly thankful to I Tre Mercanti for including the post, I have to wonder what their readers will make of it. The recipe is straight forward, but the post was written for an Alabama fan site. The lead in touches on Leonard Fournette and the Heisman Trophy. I imagine Italian readers would be a bit confused as to why a Frenchman would be the favorite for a German award. “Cos’è ‘CLANGA?'” Continue reading

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Sunday Sauce: Spaghetti con Pomadoro e Ricotta and The Week That Was.


For the record, I just made that headline look Italian. I have no idea if that is a correct translation or not, but “Spaghetti con Pomadoro e Ricotta” looks like something that would be in one of my cookbooks. That means burgers and fries right? La Lingua Italiano appropriated.

I didn’t think about it at the time, but the hat that I grabbed so I wouldn’t be embarrassed by greasy bed head when I went to the grocery store was my Carroccio Ricotta hat. For the uninitiated my mother’s maiden name was Carroccio and her diminutive immigrant progenitors, by extension my own, made their living as cheese makers in the booming metropolis of Little York, NJ.

It’s been almost thirty years since I’ve been to Little York, but if memory serves, the local economy consists of a candy store and a gas station situated catty corner from one another with some municipal offices, a post office and whatnot, occupying the rest of the only intersection I saw. Its Wikipedia page, which is appropriately short, claims that a tavern exists. Maybe so. That was out of my nine to twelve year old sphere of interest.

The long and the short of it is that I went to a store to buy ricotta wearing a hat that advertised my family’s ricotta business. It’s a flimsy little coincidence to muse over, but it’s Sunday, and musing is what Sundays are for. That and worshiping God. Continue reading

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Punters, Place Kickers, and Robert Graves

Lane Bearden CaptureIt’s not every day that you get to do a Q&A with a real fan favorite, but that’s exactly what I got to do this week.

Former Alabama punter Lane Bearden shares his experiences as a kicker for a major program over at rollbamaroll.com. It’s a revealing look into the world of the specialists and how they deal with and overcome problems.

Also, it’s facinating because it’s Lane Bearden. He’s the only kicker I can think of who was called the toughest player on the team by his quarterback, but I guess that’s what happens when you play three quarters of a season with a torn ACL.


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An Alabama Dad Talks Hard Truths To His Kids.

Forgive me if I’m crediting the wrong folks, but this appears to be the work of the people over at solidverbal.com. I’d love to be certain, but such is the internet. In any case, well done filming inclined people who are not me.

No explanation for why this righteous man’s children are dressed so blasphemously, but otherwise hilarious.


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It’s Bye Week. That Means Osso Buco For Some Reason.

Osso Buco CaptureBecause I said so. That’s reason enough.

This is the scenario we have all been dreading. Ole Miss needs a loss if my beloved Crimson Tide is to have a shot at a playoff berth and there are only so many places where that loss can come from.

As much as pains me (And you too, by the way. I’ve made you complicit in all of this.) I have no choice but to root for the barners. So clench your teeth and say it with me:

“Go Auburn! War Tiger!”

“Look at that high school offense go!”

“Yeah, arm tackles!”

“What illegal receiver downfield?”

I don’t know how they keep this up, but give as much as you can fellow decent people. Every little bit helps. In the mean time, here’s a salubrious little recipe for Osso Buco to help you through the game. While you are there, check out the rest of the rah-rah football site. You might come for the food, but you’ll stay for the top notch analysis.

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They Are Who We Thought They Were…

But we didn’t let them off the hook.

This is a follow up to yesterdays post in which I posited, or at least lent credence to the positing of another, that the Tennessee Volunteers were less than respectable members of society and lacking in decency, honesty, kindness, and other attributes requisite to civilization.

Exhibit Too High To Count:

A particularly kind benefactor allowed rollbamaroll.com to piggy back a tailgate party on top of the already established tailgate he and his wife began quite some time ago. The majority of the attendees had tickets and were in the stadium. A small contingent remained, watching the game on television and drinking the beer provided by sponsor Good People Brewery as well as a bit (loads) of bourbon poured by a bartender so heavy handed that the squirrels, cats, and other local fauna in Tuscaloosa began pairing up in search of a large boat.

It was a splendid time. Continue reading

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A Hate Week Classic.

The Tennessee game is finally here. Like reading “Twas the Night Before Christmas” on Christmas Eve, The Declaration of Independence on the 4th of July, or Jonah Goldberg’s “A Movie for All Time” on Groundhog’s Day, watching this unknown Alabama fan rant about the Viles on “The Third Saturday in October” has become a holiday tradition.

Prepare to nod vigorously in agreement.

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More Cookbook Stuff: Did I Just Find The Missing Link?

IMG_3999This will be twice in the last week that I expound upon cookbooks and my considerations of, but I just got an Amazon delivery and it casts doubt upon all my previous “scholarship” on the matter.

I was of the opinion that cookbooks followed the Joy of Cooking/Essentials of Classic Italian Cooking model layout: sober, informative, and with no pictures past the occasional pen drawing every fifty pages or so. And then came Jamie Oliver. Continue reading

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