Tastes that are as big as Texas

After eating myself silly for the past few days, I’ve decided to take a break and just sit still in front of the computer for a while, until it’s time for dinner. Yes, I’m in Italy, and dinner is served quite late here—an 8 o’clock reservation is the equivalent of the old-timer’s early bird special. There’s still a lot for me to process, but I will just say this: if you’re the kind of person who gets excited when they have free samples at the grocery store, I highly recommend you make the trip to Slow Food’s Salone del Gusto, a biannual fair held in Turin that showcases artisanal food from around the world. I couldn’t tell you how many booths there were (I’m a bad attendee as I haven’t fully read all my pamphlets), but let’s just say after five hours of wandering the halls of the Lingotto, I felt like I still hadn’t tasted everything. And yes I had a full belly, a light head and a pocket stuffed with toothpicks. Some of the foods I sampled: algas marinas from Chile; kanihua, a grain flour from Peru; chaam chicken, an endangered species from the Netherlands; asiago with honey; more stinky cheeses than I can count; uncooked and uncured sausage from Bra; smoky mezcal from Mexico (hence the light head); enough varieties of olive oil to fill a library; bitter chocolate, milk chocolate and hazelnut chocolate; purple grapes as big as plums; fois gras and various other pates; some strange hard ball of cheese with a tangy oozing center; my first whiff of a fresh, white truffle as big as a baseball—and that’s just the beginning.
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Homesick Texan Q&A: Vickie Brown

Vickie Brown who writes the delightful and informative blog The Moveable Feast is a personal chef in Southern Virginia. Or as she puts it, she's a chef by trade and a country girl by heart. Her blog is filled with wonderfully delicious recipes spiced with Texan wit and she is also prone to sharing her passion for animals, namely dachshunds. She also has a really cool knitting blog called The Virginia Purl. A country girl indeed! Here's what Vickie, a Temple, Texas native, misses:

Where do you come from? Do you still have family there? I was born in Ft. Worth but have no family who lives there. My father's family is scattered around the Lubbock area and my mother's family is in and around the Temple area. I claim Temple as home because my grandmother lived there my whole life until she passed away a few years ago. It's always been our family "base camp" because my father was in the military and we moved around a lot.

Where and when did you live in Texas? I really wish I had a chance to live there a long time, but when my father was stationed in Texas I was in elementary school and we lived there for three years. After he retired we moved back to the Lubbock area so he could finish his degree and lived there about 18 months. I lived there again later my senior year in high school and then again when I was first newly married. We are hoping to retire in Texas someday and that will be it for me ever leaving the state again!
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Texas Red FAQ

I’ve received lots of queries about my chili, so I thought I’d answer some of the more frequently asked questions:

Where do you buy dried anchos? You can get them at any Mexican grocer or some regular grocery stores. In NY, I buy them either at Kitchen Market or Whole Foods.

How will the dried anchos bubble without using any oil? Have you ever cooked a flour tortilla in an un-oiled skillet? You know how when it’s cooked it bubbles? Well, it’s the same with the split-open, leathery dried anchos; when they’re hot, they bubble.

What starches can you serve with this chili as it’s not soupy like other chilis? First, let me say if a chili is soupy, then it’s not chili at least according to Homesick Texan’s standards of chili—it’s spicy beef soup. As for starches, you can serve tortillas, either corn or flour, tortilla chips, saltines like they do in some old-school Tex-Mex places, cornbread, or even fresh bread if you like. Also, it’s good with rice.

Why isn’t this chili soupy? See above. But primarily because it’s just meat, chiles and a bit of liquid. And it simmers so long, most of the liquid cooks away.
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How to make a pot of Texas red: Part two

"The aroma of good chili should generate rapture akin to a lover's kiss." - Motto of the Chili Appreciation Society International

The Texas Red overture has finished, so now it’s time to get on with the main event: cooking your pot of chili. Are you ready? Let's go!

Before you begin cooking, you need to chop. I start with the veggies. I dice my onion, mince my garlic, slice my peppers and then chop the meat into bite-sized squares. Hopefully, you’re playing some good rhythmic music so you can shake your hips and tap your feet as you dance your knife along the cutting board.

After chopping, take your dried anchos, slice them open and remove the seeds and stems. Lay them flat on a hot, ungreased iron skillet and cook them for a few minutes until they start to bubble. (Warning: make sure you have an open window because there will be smoke and it can burn your eyes!) Throw the cooked anchos into a blender and just add enough water to cover them. Let it rest for a few minutes and then pulse until you have an ancho-chile slurry.
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Every dog has its day

I was perusing Off the Broiler yesterday and I discovered this: a Paterson, NJ delicacy called the Hot Texas Weiner. Now Texas isn’t really known for its hot dogs. Corny dogs, sure, but when I was growing up, the biggest hot dog chain in Houston was called Coney Island and that says a lot. No, when I think of great hot dogs, I think of boiled Chicago dogs with their poppy-seed buns, their pickles, their tomatoes, their peppers and their dash of celery salt, or I think of New York’s all-beef dogs grilled and served with steamed onion sauce, sauerkraut and mustard.
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How to make a pot of Texas red: Part one

"Chili is not so much food as a state of mind. Addictions to it are formed early in life and the victims never recover. On blue days in October, I get this passionate yearning for a bowl of chili, and I nearly lose my mind." - Margaret Cousins, novelist

When I woke up this morning, my apartment was as cold as a frosted frog. My super hasn’t turned on the heat yet, and as all but two of my walls are exterior (which is lovely in terms of light but awful in terms of climate due to shoddy insulation), my hands and feet had turned to marble. And since there's no better way to chase away a case of the chills than hovering over a pot of chili simmering on the stove, I put on my boots and started my preparations.

To make true Texas chili—a pot of Texas red—you first need to set the scene. I reckon if you’re down in, say, Terlingua, all of these things come natural—it’s just part of life. But when you’re holed up in a tiny Manhattan kitchen, before you start boiling your beef you need to create some ambiance, some flavor, some feeling that you’re not where you are so you can pretend that this pot of red was made for real, in Texas.
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Freddie Fender: 1937-2006

I'm cooking some Tex-Mex, listening to the "Lone Star" soundtrack when I hear the news: Freddie Fender is gone.

I'm two for two now with Texas musical legends dying while I'm listening. Back in college, a group of us decided to listen to nothing but Stevie Ray Vaughn one evening. It was an odd choice for us, as we were more inclined to listen to The Pixies or Depeche Mode. But I'm glad we made it as we learned the next morning that Stevie Ray had died in a helicopter crash the night before. We were shocked and very sad to hear the news, but at the same time we felt like we'd somehow honored Stevie Ray by listening to him instead of one of our usual musical selections.
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No cupcake left behind

Did you know that in Texas they have something called the “Safe Cupcake Amendment?” That’s right, under the Texas State Law cupcakes are a protected species. Now I love cupcakes as much as anyone else, but I feel this might be taking cupcake-o-philia a bit too far.
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Homesick Texan Q&A: Stephen Tobolowsky

You may not know Stephen Tobolowsky by name, but you certainly know his work. He's an actor who has appeared in a host of movies and TV shows including: "Memento," "The Grifters," "Groundhog Day," "The Insider," "Single White Female," "Thelma and Louise," "The Closer", "Deadwood", and "Desperate Housewives." He's so ubiquitous, in fact, he even made an appearance in the home movie of my mom's 13th birthday party. And while he's usually a supporting actor he does take a star turn in a new film called "Stephen Tobolowsky's Birthday Party," a sort of meta documentary where Steve tells true stories of his life to a crowd of birthday-party guests. But his talent is not just limited to acting--he also co-wrote one of the best Texan movies ever, "True Stories." And because he's such a cool guy, not to mention a Texan, I thought he'd be a perfect candidate for my series of Homesick Texan Q&As. Here's what he misses:

Where are you from? Do you still have family there? I’m from Dallas. I still can visit my father, mother and my brother's family.
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Don't mess with Texas

Yee haw, we won! Clearly more a mantra than a slogan, "Don't Mess With Texas," grabbed top honors last week in the third annual Advertising Week's Most Popular Advertising Slogan competition, beating Nike's "Just Do It," Burger King's "Have it Your Way" and "Got Milk?" among others.

The campaign, created by Austin-based advertising agency GSD&M 20 years ago, has featured a host of popular Texans in its spots: Lyle Lovett, LeAnn Rimes, Stevie Ray Vaughn, Lance Armstrong, Owen Wilson and even Shamu have urged people to keep Texas clean.
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A bit of Texas in Orlando

I'm staying at the Ritz-Carlton in Orlando right now for work, and I saw on the room service menu a dish called the Texas Breakfast. This is what you get: one fried egg on white bread, tater-tots and a piece of bacon. OK....that doesn't sound terribly Texan to me. And even though I'm on an expense account, before I spend $25 for this early morning treat, I decided to talk to the kitchen about what makes it Texan. The manager said, "Well, it's big." But it's only one egg, a bit of bacon and tater-tots." He replied, "There's also bread." Is it toasted? "No, but we can toast it if you like." Back to the size issue: He said, "It's big for kids. It is, afterall, on the kid's menu." Ah, I see.
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Add a can, lose the bland

Ten years ago, another Texan friend who had also recently moved to New York City gave me a call. “You’ll never believe what I found in Brooklyn!” she said. I could hear the excitement in her voice. “What? What? Tell me!” I said. She wouldn’t divulge her find, she just insisted I come over to her apartment immediately to see for myself—I would not be disappointed. Curious, I hopped in a cab and sped across Central Park to the Upper East Side. When I arrived, she and her husband had big silly grins on their faces and they led me to the kitchen. Sitting alone on the counter, bathed in fluorescent light was a long-lost friend—a can of Rotel Tomatoes.

If you’re not familiar with Rotel Tomatoes, here’s a bit of history. Back in the 1940’s, a vegetable packer from Elsa, Texas named Carl Roettele started canning his mix of Valley-grown diced tomatoes, green chilies and spices. He called his product Rotel (because he didn’t think anyone would be able to pronounce the brand if he used his real name.) His tomatoes were an instant hit, and soon became a staple in every Texan’s pantry. Slowly, Rotel branched to the neighboring states, and Con Agra eventually bought out the Roettele family’s business, but it’s still a regional thing, far off the culinary map for many Americans. And that's a shame.
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