Forced Family, Forced Fun, and Forced Fed

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RH Buffet 2015

It's Rosh Hashanah time again! 

For all you Jebliers (Jesus fans) out there that means today is the Jewish New Year and the start of our holiday season. It's one of two times a year you have to go all American Ninja Warrior at temple to get a seat. 

Unfortunately this year I am not physically close enough to my blood family to force them into eating my food and pushing my Jew-bulousness (Jew Fabulousness) upon them. I am also not physically near my Jew Bestie Forever and her family to get my Russian Jew fix. 

Fortunately for me I am in a living situation surrounded by new friends who are willing to eat whatever I put in front of them with the promise of alcohol. So this year I forced all my new Southern friends to come over to my pied a terre where I filled what little counter space with all the cheeses. All of them.

This week I spent my down time scouring cookbooks and stalking middle aged female celebrity chefs online. Then two days ago I had a Me Moment with my platters. I hadn't spent any one on one time with my platters for months. So like a good 80's romantic evening I lit some candles, put on a Carly Simon album, poured a La Croix, and reacquainted myself with all my favorite lovers. After a few hours I totally started to understand the point of view of the mother from Flowers in The Attic. Some of my lovers ended up back in the pantry with the promise to see the light of a buffet table at a later date.

Starting early on Saturday I got to work with what I feel covers everything a Southern Jew Rosh Hashanah Brunch needs. Needless to say finding smoked salmon options in a medium sized Southern non coastal city was not easy. There was one. It wasn't bad.

I filled all my baking dishes and sheet pans (and my mouth periodically). Ran the dishwasher twice and wrapped up a few episodes of Star Trek: The Next Generation. All in all a productive day. 

The menu ended up with the following: 

Smoked Salmon and Dill Quiche with Feta

Cinnamon Kugel

Traditional Challah Bread

Deviled Eggs

Mini Honey Bundt Cakes

Meat and Cheese Platter (Pimento Cheese included)

Spring Green Pomegranate Salad with Almond Halva Dressing

To recap I will say for being the only Jew in the room I was very pleased to be able to share this New Year with the kids at Melrose Place. However my new goal is to get @crazyjewishmom to find me a new Jewish doctor who still has a mother around to cook a Rosh Hashanah meal for me. 

Road Trips, Rory Gilmore, and (Future) Rugged Mountain Husband's

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Grit Skillet with Homemade Ginger and Sage Sausage from Over Yonder (Valle Crucis, NC).

Yesterday I found myself riding with the top down, scarf on my head, over-sized sunglasses protecting my baby blues, driving through the beautiful High Country mountains of North Carolina. 

Okay only part of that was true. 

I was on a day trip to some mountain towns in western North Carolina. But I was mildly gassy, my Ray-Bans were smudged and the Nissan top does not come down. And it was more than beautiful. I'm 8 months into my new life here in Winston-Salem and I have only recently begun to travel outside of the city limits. Winston-Salem has enough to offer me (booze and food) that I haven't yet felt the need to break free. However, yesterday I was called upon to travel West like many of my kind before me. 

I landed in Valle Crucis, NC. Home of the locally famous Mast General Store chain found here in North Carolina. And also home to Over Yonder restaurant. Picture any restaurant you would imagine Logan would have taken Rory to on Gilmore Girl's if he wanted her to feel comfortable. Located in the "Hard" Taylor House built in 1861 you can't help but awkwardly tell the waitress you plan to never leave as your grit skillet with homemade ginger and sage sausage is served to you on the back deck overlooking a koi pond that's adjacent to the garden, that's nestled on the hill overlooking the valley that makes you want to leave all your belongings behind and just start life new with nothing but your cast iron skillet and a couple pounds of butter.

After the waitress asked if I wanted my 12th coffee refill I decided it best to just lay down and roll down the drive over to the original Mast General Store. Originally opened in 1883 this general store has sold everything from caskets to the North Face. Plus you can still get a $.05 cup of coffee. Not to forget the entertainment of locals on the back porch singing old mountain songs. 

Added bonus - everyone in the mountains seems to be hot. Not it has been a long time hot, but why hasn't Mode Magazine been up here yet to snag that man behind the counter for future shenanigans with Betty and Mark? Like I said...all I need is my cast iron skillet, a couple pounds of butter, and now my empty ring finger for that rugged mountain husband.

I hope you enjoy the pictures from my day trip below!

 

Spatchcocked Chicken, Summer Shenanigans, and Sports Bar Pizza

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Herb De Provence Spatchcocked Chicken

With the arrival of summer I have found myself at the pool a few weekends in a row. Now as I am one to only get in a pool on the rarest of occasion, the time spent is pure observational. At the start of the summer I, along with a few select neighbors, could be seen lounging about, cattily chatting about the goings on around our building and tossing back a La Croix or two. With summer now in full swing the pool has become a petri dish of high school coming of age movies. Picture a lovely mash up of Heathers and Mean Girls. Everyone in their places with eyes spying over Hawaiian Tropic smudged knock off Ray-Bans.

So naturally my close knit group have situated ourselves on the deep end in a position to watch absolutely everything. From the pretty gay who surrounds himself with a dozen guests buzzing around to the thump thump of his overly clichéd Pandora playlist. To the wall of silent college linebackers not so stealthy checking out the opposite sex. To the family of four who dares to dip their toddlers in a salt water pool full of marinating humans. Occasionally there is a Step Up-like showdown of whose music can be played loudest. While other times you can’t help but hear the daytime drama emerging from a phone call “accidentally” left on speaker phone.

It is usually at this point I gather up my mumu, straw hat, and waddle my way back to my dorm room four floors up.

As yesterday was no different than the Saturday before I bullied my neighbor, Fitness Instructor, into leaving our Wild Kingdom watering hole early to go re-hydrate with beers alfresco. After we solved all of our problems over Small Batch beers we moved on to a new place in town. I’m not going to bother you with the name of this bar because, other than myself, Fitness Instructor, our dear friend Leasing Agent (who was singing at the bar) and the barkeep, we were the only people there. I could be wrong but there may have been a Nathan’s Hot Dog vendor outside but I think he moved down the block to the new strip club. Because hot dogs naturally go with vinyl lounge chairs and sad men. Needless to say I don’t think this bar will be around long.

However I will say I found my Netflix twin in the barkeep. In fact I was pretty sure we were destined to be best friends forever when after discussing the culinary expertise detailed in the show Hannibal, he offered up some of his cold pizza to share. And if anyone really knows me they know that I would bend over backwards naked behind a Nathan’s Hot Dog cart in front of a strip club to have day old cold pizza. Why it isn’t an option on pizzeria menus I will never understand.

Again all of life’s problems were solved over beers. And then I went to bed.

A few weeks into this summer living I have determined that only one day of pool research is good for the health. With that I have vowed to stay in today and catch up on some much needed housekeeping. And by housekeeping I mean roasting a chicken while binge watching Star Trek: The Next Generation.

As much as I want to just sit on the sofa and lick the carcass clean I plan on using this chicken to feed off of for a few days. You know the Jews love a good roast chicken.

Herb De Provence Lemon Roasted Chicken

  • 1 whole 5 lb chicken
  • 2 Tablespoons Olive Oil – divided
  • Coarse Salt and Ground Black Pepper
  • 1 Tablespoons Herb De Provence
  • 3 Small Lemons – sliced

1. Preheat oven to 425. Start by placing the chicken breast side down on your work surface. Beginning at the thighs remove the back bone using kitchen shears. Discard backbone or save for stock. Flip the chicken over and open like a book. Then press down on the breastbone, firmly to flatten the bird.

2. Rub the chicken with one tablespoon olive oil. Then season with 1 tablespoon of salt, ½ teaspoon of black pepper, and 1 tablespoon of Herb De Provence.

3. Oil the bottom of a rimmed baking sheet with remaining 1 tablespoon of olive oil. Layer half of the sliced lemons on the tray and then place the chicken, breast side up, on top of the lemons.

4. Using your fingers gently separate the skin from the meat of the chicken. Then gently place remaining lemon slices under the skin of the chicken.

5. Roast the chicken for 50-60 minutes. Chicken will be done when a thermometer placed in the thickest part of the breast reads 165 degrees.

6. Remove from oven and let rest 10 minutes before carving up.

Until next time.

Pickled Strawberries, Phantom Roommate Syndrome, and Pleasing Others

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Pickled Strawberries

I am in no position to beg for forgiveness regarding my absence with this blog. Naturally my apologies to my two faithful readers.

Let me see if I can catch you two up. 

In the last three months I have gained no ground on how to boil water on an electric stove top. I am 1000% convinced that they are the Devil’s work. Oddly, I have learned how to fry an egg on an electric stove top. It takes me more than twice as long as it did on a Heavenly blessed gas range, but still, I can fry an egg again.

In the last three months I have explored my vast new surroundings (read: the five square blocks that make up my new downtown living situation). There are wonderful fish tacos at King’s Crab Shack. Amazing wings and pizza at Ronni’s Restaurant. There is hardly anything Irish about the Irish bar down the street. And the dark horse winner is the oddly hipster bar around the corner that seats maybe 10 and has absolutely no online presence. One night I had to actually walk over there to see if they were open.

I have had to ban Pimento Cheese from my home. I have found a new love of air conditioning (Captain Planet will not be happy with me). And I have learned the difference between “y’all” and “all y’all”. 

Also I have slowly found my way back into my kitchen.

Though still suffering from phantom roommate syndrome (I am sure this is real even if it’s not on webMD) I am learning what it means to cook for one. By “cook for one” I mean I still cook for the roommate I don’t have and then I freeze the rest. My freezer has become a cook’s nightmare. 

Thanks to the cast of characters that I have met in my new Melrose Place of an apartment building I have been able to pawn off some of my baked goods. 

Most recently I found myself in possession of a flat of strawberries. And after learning that the good folks of North Carolina do not look kindly upon rhubarb I had to compromise my plans of pies and jams. Thankfully the latest copy of Southern Living arrived and suggested pickling my fruit. Which oddly sounds like a euphemism for a man in a cold pool. 

So with some pound cake, vanilla ice cream topped with pickled strawberries I fed some neighbors and filled a void. Then kindly edged the last of them out of my home by 930 because I am old and needed to catch up on my stories on the TV. 

PICKLED STRAWBERRIES

Inspired by Southern Living Magazine but with modifications

Until next time. 

And know that bullying clearly works because I wouldn’t have done this without threat. Thank you Tami Two. You would be Tami Number One Fan but my mother is Number One. 

"Church", Cookie Sandwiches, and Camp Candy

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 This is the point where I thought "better get a picture before it's all stored in my moobs".

Hey Y'all! My conversion to a Southern Belle is happening slowly. And since we last kibbutz'd I have spent many hours practicing my "y'all", "bless her heart" and general use of the term "church" for anything to do when not at the office. As in, "oh it's five on a Wednesday. I gotta head to church". I'm fairly certain that means they are going home to watch The Big Bang Theory because the next day I never hear updates as to what happened at "church".

When not at work I have continued to spend my time roaming the highways and byways of this still Winter Brown state. Though the lack of snow and cold has been wonderful, I would kill for some winter wonderland to come in for a day or two and cover up all the mud I'm looking at.

So to console myself from the tremendous loss of friends, family and Perkins I have taken to food and basketball. Please don't act shocked. We all know I love food and a few of you know that I love physical activity involving balls. So when I am not at work or court side I am looking for my next feeding.

And here is this weeks restaurant recommendations should you come visit me. Which nobody has yet. I keep a damn clean apartment folks. I'm not like those other dudes who don't clean a toilet seat.

Back to the food -

Lunch yesterday found me at a little hole in the wall across from a video rental store (I assume with good Christian based family movies). The First Carolina Delicatessen is a New York style deli that has been serving the Greensboro area for 20 years. Simple wood paneling and a giant wooden statue of a woman with sagging bresticles makes one feel right at home when inhaling two Kosher hot dogs with hotly debated Dr. Brown's Cel-Ray Soda. For some short reading on the love it or hate it following this celery flavored soda has take a peek here.

Clearly surrounded by Southerns with a refined enough palate to appreciate Hebrew National Hotdogs I fell in love with this place. At a short 20 minutes away it is well worth the drive. 

Second on my sojourn of food yesterday brought me to Maxie B's Bakery and Dessert Cafe, also located in Greensboro. If you ignore the Shabby Chic/Surprise By Design look of the cafe and focus on the 20+ cakes they had to choose from you'll be just fine. With a line out the door on a Saturday dinner crowd you would think I could handle the pressure of choosing what to take home. Oh hell no. I was just inches away from the tween behind the counter kindly demanding my order when I crumbled and ordered a slice (the size of a baby's head) of Pink Lemonade Cake and a nice side of Chocolate Chip Cookie Sandwich. 

I'm presently writing this from my bunk at fat camp. I ate a salad for dinner last night. Chased it with some cake and a La Croix (cuz I'm healthy). Woke up to some Scooby Doo on Boomerang, more cake and coffee (cuz I'm sophisticated). Reorganized my pantry. Had another salad for lunch (see previous note on health consciousness) and proceeded to chase that petite melange with Chocolate Chip Cookies that bookend about two cups of frosting. 

So we can all just agree that I will become diabetic, republican and adept at shooting things while living here. And making frequent stops at First Carolina Deli and Maxie B's.

Gotta run. My camp counselor has found my stash of Mars Bars under my pillow. And for those of you who care my version of fat camp is Camp Candy.