A lack of sleep means a loss of focus.

A lack of food means a short temper.

A lack of touch means impaired learning.

A lack of water means hallucinations.

A lack of sex means a strained relationship.

—

Fulfill the physical and the mental follows; like a puppy panting in the desert, it comes.    The crude supplies the foundation for the fine.    The biological drives the logical.   Our art is propped upon piles of vegetables, feces, and pillows.   Technology is powered by the passion excreted by a thousand sweaty bodies, humping and gasping,  filled with water and steak and wine.

—

I am amazed at the ways in which our physical state affects our mental.

I am also abhorred by the same fact.

When will we break free?

And…what do we do in the meantime?

The title will be somewhat misleading.

As one who only spent a mere week mucking about the hallowed halls and entrails of central NJ, I am ill-equipped to make any sort of mention about the qualities that I witnessed.

But let’s suffice to say that I found it to be….less offensive than I was bracing myself for.     In fact, for the most part, I was rather happy and enjoyed my stay.

That all being said, here are some random pics to amuse your eyestalks:

Michael Ruhlman may just be a culinary hero of mine, but he may very well be a food prophet for the world; one that wanders in the desolation of modernized convenience and manufactured foods to bring a few simple stone tablets declaring that truth in cooking is found best in methods performed in your own kitchen, by your own two hands, because food and the way we approach it matters.

To such ends that I partake of the words of the seer and do my best to explore new-found worlds, I took it upon myself this past week to use his recipe to create my own corned beef. I figured I had little to lose, ultimately, and potentially a lot to gain from the experience. Plus, I’ve always been fond of soaking meat in brines of all sorts because they transform under the pressures of salt and time into new creations.

Two chuck roasts — chosen because they were significantly cheaper than a full brisket and I figured it’s best to ensure I was successful first — were soaked in the prescribed brine solution for six days. I procured some pink salt (sodium nitrite) from an online source for the most-essential preservative portion of the brine and to ensure a good, solid red color throughout.

Six days in the fridge, covered in brine, anchored to the bottom of a pan with a heavy plate. It was a long time to wait and hope that I was creating a marvel and not a fuzzy mold farm. Cooking with old methods like this is most definitely an effort in faith.

Last night I extracted the meat from its bath and rinsed it thoroughly, noting that the feel of it had changed from a pliable, meaty feel to a more solid, waxy touch. The two chunks were then dropped into my large cast iron pot (which you may have when you pry it from my cold, dead hands), covered in water, spices, and a mirepoix, and set to simmer on the stove for about 3 hours.

In the meantime, I busied myself making cabbage to go along, since it seemed like the proper accompaniment to such an iconic meal. Rendered bacon fat and water steamed up a head and a half of cabbage, sprinkled with thyme. I then tossed the bacon back in and sautéed it until the chopped leaves were translucent and golden. A bit of salt here, pepper there, and it was ready to go.

Extracting the corned beef from the pot and slicing it into manageable chunks was nothing less than equivalent to Christmas morning and the promise of untold wonders to be revealed. As the first slices fell away from my knife’s bold statement, this brilliant red, flaky meat burst into view, sending my spirits soaring. As all good chefs do, a personal sample was quick to follow.

When it’s so damned good, it makes me giggle in happiness. And I was a ball of laughter.

I made quick work of the rest, laid it on a suitable platter, piled another high with the cabbage, and with some included buttered fresh bread, the meal was complete. All ate and were satisfied.

To know that I was able to take something that’s been done for years and to make it work in my own kitchen was simply amazing and horribly fulfilling at the same time. If you have the means and the drive, I sincerely hope you will give this a shot — you will be forever grateful that you connected with your food in such an intimate way.

After six days of soaking in brine; note the paler, waxy appearance.

Corned Beef, in pot and ready to cook, pre-water/spices.

The prepared pot with corned beef (hidden), water, spices, and mirepoix.

Cabbage with Bacon, plated and ready to serve.

Corned Beef, plated and ready to serve

I’ve always had a huge problem — I am chronically plagued by the Munchies.

I’m not talking about needing to legitimately eat, I’m speaking of that feeling you get that says, “I’m not hungry, but I desperately want to be chewing on something…anything…”

Well, ok, maybe you don’t get it.   I have to assume not everyone does, because some of you are thin as a rail from simply intaking only what you must and that’s it.   Trust me, this is not an affliction that you want.   You are, in the nicest way possible, a lucky bastard.

It’s probably the hardest non-exercise-related item that holds me back from being fit and trim.    I used to think, “Hey, I just like the taste/texture/smell of food, ok?   Some people like books, some like movies…well, I’m just a goddamned FOODIE.   No problem, right?  They have a whole freaking TV network just for me!”

Turns out it’s a HUGE problem because it means at any point in the day I may get a fantastic urge to shove something in my gob for a snack.    The problem is that the resulting caloric intake is far beyond what I should be ingesting and couple that with a sedentary job and bad exercise schedule (until recently), you end up looking — like me.   Overweight and far too many squeezy parts.    Good if you’re a teddy bear, not so much if you’re a 32-year-old guy.

Here’s the really frustrating part about this — eating something?   Yeah, it only solves the sensation for awhile.    Immediately, certainly, and then for a bit more, but it drops off after awhile and I’m back where I started.    The only tried and true way, besides willpower to stop it, is to eat until I am stuffed full — at that point, something else kicks in and stops the sensation and I go back to normal, albeit feeling like a whale because I’ve just ate when I didn’t have to.

It’s much easier to ignore if my defenses are strong — when I’m well-slept, not stressed or pressured, have had good exercise, love from my family, and generally feel good about myself.     Step on any of those or trod on many and it becomes easier and easier for me to fail to resist the urge and instead solve it by grabbing something to munch on and moving on.      Thus, when work has hammered me down into the ground and I’m working insane hours, it’s been a long week of only 4-5 hours/night sleep, or any other factors, I gain weight.    And it’s almost entirely the fault of this sensation.

That’s not to say I’m not the person in control, because I am.   I have no one to blame but my own failures.     It does mean, however, that I have to constantly work on trying to figure out the best way to A) prevent it from happening in the first place and B) how to mitigate it when the munchies DO hit me full-force.

I think the first battle is identifying it, which I’ve done and tried to elaborate on with this post.    Secondly, it’s finding and defining activities or mental exercises to avoid giving in to the sensations.    I know exercise helps, but I can’t always burst into “Ab Crunchers for Dummies” during a 3pm meeting at work.    I need to build up my defenses in other ways to make this work.

Then maybe one day I can battle the Munchies every time….and win.

What the hell is up with “lite” sour cream, would someone please tell me?

I am a huge fan of sour cream and this was such an incredible lack of judgment on my part, I just have to share — to warn and advise.   Mostly to warn.   Strenuously.

Like many of you, I try to be conscious of what’s sliding down my gullet and I’m all about choosing products that are lower in fat, salt, sugar, and anything else determined to be cancer, heart-attack, stroke, or stupid-causing.   I will happily defend my consumption of diet pop, I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter (really — it’s not that much of a stretch), and low-salt gravy not in the name of them being exactly like the original products, but close enough proximity that the sacrifice of flavor is more than made up by not coating my insides with lard and corn syrup on a daily basis.

Not so much luck with Lite Sour Cream.

I don’t know why I picked it up — I guess I saw the label, like above, and figured that whatever was lost in the pursuit of something that doesn’t stick to your hips as readily would be acceptable.   Boy, was I mistaken.

Have you SEEN lite sour cream?   It looks like a plastic bucket of cold whale spooge and has the consistency of snot.     Immediately upon opening it up I checked the label to make sure I didn’t accidentally stop by the “Spawn Your Own Salmon” department instead of the dairy case.   I was dubious about it crawling out and throttling me as I stood there, let alone trying to flavor my baked potato.

But looks aren’t everything and one shouldn’t judge a book by its…gelatinous appearance…so I proceeded to slop it onto my baked tubers and give it a shot.    To say that it invokes a gag reflex is being kind and gentle, I assure you.

Whether or not it has any flavor besides “disgusting mess” is hard to determine as your tongue backs away from it in a damned hurry.   What little made it down my throat before I decided that starving sounded better had a strong essence of moose spit and rubbing alcohol.   I’m unsure whether or not there is actually any, “cream”, inside and if there is, I’m probably better off not knowing what sort of cream it really is.

Let’s not kid ourselves — sour cream is one of man’s finer culinary creations, right up there with butter, but it’s horrifically hard on your body, what with a ton of fat, calories, and so forth.    But my god it’s tasty and goes perfectly well smothered ontop of any number of food items.     So why wouldn’t we look for something that’s a bit easier on the paunch yet still gets the point across?   I understand the motivation at least.

Lite sour cream, however, is not the answer, unless you are so sadistic that you enjoy self-torture with food products.   Clearly this is one area where a healthier alternative has not been achieved and we would all do better to simply use the real thing in moderation or shrug and ladle on great globs of its creamy, sour whiteness with glee and screw the consequences.

Whatever the outcome, I guarantee you’ll be happier than if you had used something lite-er.