The Lunch Encounter

RUBBER PORK CHOP

Physics Concept:
Mechanics
Kinematics in Two Dimensions
Motion of the Center of Mass
The demonstration takes about 1 minute to perform.

Description:
The painted white dot shows where the center of mass of the pork chop is. The pork chop is thrown and students observe the parabolic behavior of its center of mass, no matter how the chop is thrown.

There’s a fat fly buzzing me. After dark flies seem so loud. He’s driving me out of my mind and so I am waving the swatter around madly.

Among the concessionaires showcasing local food at this year’s Farm Aid? Patchwork Family Farms featuring Missouri pork chop sandwiches. Pork chop sandwiches? Why yes!

Soufside, native Missourian muses, Hmm, I don’t know anything special about Misery Pork Chop Sandwiches, anybody else? and, viewing the Patchwork Family Farm site, Mostly talk about ham. Mmmm ham. I wonder if they mean pork steaks, rather than pork chops? Is that farm keeping something from us?

Big question mark floating over my head. What the pork is it? Does it have a bone? Is it hot or cold? Mustard or mayo? Further investigation, aka googling, raised more questions. Bigger ones.

Flies seem faster after dark, too. Loop de looping, this one is swift.

What, for example is a “Youth Swine Skillathon”? (Came up in my search.) I missed the Missouri State Fair, where this Missouri Pork Association sponsored event took place, so I may never know. Youth swine? Huh? I can’t help but picture fresh young ham slices sizzling away in a skillet. No further information available on the State Fair site. Scratch head.

OH! Got that crazy fly. Now I can concentrate on more important matters. Like youth swine.

Will report back as the case develops….

meat-o-matic

I know I have been talking and talking and talking about tomatoes and bacon and BLTs, but I just can’t seem to stop worrying this critter. Pretty soon the days’ll get short(er) and a BLT will seem exotic and unattainable again. In the meantime…

From Henry Hong, sandwich expert and Baltimore City Paper contributor:
I hosted a BLT Sunday about a month ago when tomatoes were just getting good. I had an overwhelming craving – you know the feeling. As usual I went a bit overboard and decided that all components must be as close to perfection as possible. Luckily I planned ahead and had already planted tomatoes ha! But I decided to smoke my own bacon as well, but I did not bake the bread because I suck at baking. Anyway they were damn good, real BLT’s. I used green leaf so as not to compete with the texture of the bacon.

Anyway, needless to say, when another contributor to the City Paper carelessly suggested using chevre or cranberry walnut bread to spruce up a BLT, I was filled with rage and disgust!

And while I have bacon on the brain…
WARNING… ain’t-my-kid-cute? story ahead… WARNING
(file under Art Linkletter)
Served lamb chops one night, nice ones.
Mom, is this sheep?
Uh no. Followed by semi-detailed explanation
I don’t want to eat nature, Mom, only pig.

Last year, his first grade year, I was in his classroom fairly regularly to cook with the kids. Bedouin food, for one thing, cause they were studying Bedouins. Bedouin cooking?! Had to look that one up, alright, and then fudge a bit. Big success, some kinda little date, sesame, almond, orange flower water, sweet ball thingys (Tamr Bil Lowz wa SimSim) AND Bedouin sno-cones. Who knew they had so much ice out there in the desert?

Second grade now and this request just came in:
Mom, can you bring in a dead pig and make bacon?

In between a doctor’s appointment and a visit to a friend who is not doing so well, my sister and I stopped for sandwiches at Jettie’s. As many times as I have passed it, I’d never visited. The recommendation given by Sadie S in a casual survey was absolutely accurate. Jettie’s delivers. Big sandwiches, generous, not appalling. Sadie says, I should probably only eat half, but often pig out, eat the whole thing and regret it.

You go to the doctor, and it’s routine, except that going to the doctor is not routine. And they check all your vital signs and, whew, you’ve got em. All vital. So your appetite picks up.

Nice to sit at a picnic table and just eat a sandwich and NOT think about anything scary or bad. You have a friend who is sick and that makes you think. Some things you want to do a lot more slowly. And other things, faster.

The turkey was turkey. You could actually read the anatomy of the slices on your sandwich. How fundamental. How actual. How vital. Havarti, the most buttery cheese, comforting. Not one to upstage turkey. Avocado, buttery too, and slippery. A few red onion slices, very thin, for punch, and, oh yeah, honey-dijon. Usually I like mustard that is not sweet, but that seemed too harsh. Anything else? Yes, lettuce. Wet and crunchy. It was romaine. Iceberg would have been nice too. Iceberg is not a type A.

Ate the whole thing. Not a problem. No regrets.
I’m alive – oh yeah!

Belated post. From late August.

Dance of the Ripe Tomatoes, White Dog Cafe

We wouldn’t have this cardboard tomato problem most likely if tomatoes weren’t such a pretty color. Everybody wants something red on their food. Food is so brown so much of the time.

Food stylist’s dilemma:
Client: Can’t we have something red to garnish?
Food stylist (in her dreams): Uh, no.

How did it get to be August and I haven’t had a BLT yet? SOMETHING must be done about this.

We stopped at a so-called farm stand on the way home from a Delaware beach last weekend and I got suckered again by the tomatoes. They did look too perfect, but I let my personal prejudices do the thinking. Asian people selling Asian produce + tomatoes, watermelon, zucchini – all the summer touchstones – and I think, well, they must have grown these perfect red globes too. Wrong. Of course wrong.

So, no BLT from those tomatoes. Why throw good bacon after bad tomatoes? Those toms sat on the counter for over a week without a speck of discernable change. Then I deep-sixed em.

Lookie here!

Photo by Sam Holden

Unacceptable meatless bites! Ugh. Henry Hong covers the minutiae of the topic – artfully.

It’s a friendly thing, brotherly even, between wine and ‘wiches. A philia. Thank heaven it is attainable and not that tortuous eros thing, defined by desire and longing. Nope, slap something between two slices of bread, poink out that cork and, glub, glub, glub, satisfy your urge.

Last Wednesday, the 22nd – or was it the Wednesday before? – Karen Page and Andrew Dornenburg‘s WINE column in the Washington Post food section suggested a wine pairing for Vietnamse banh mi sandwiches. Speaking of quenching desire, Ms. Page and Mr. Dorenburg write, “wines with a hint of sugar can help tame the flames.” See what I mean? Squirt on some hot sauce and then mitigate it with cool, sweet, viscous liquid.

The wine of choice for a banh mi stuffed with duck pate, “which, like foie gras, suggests a sweet wine”? The 2006 Quady Electra orange muscat ($13). A “delightful match….whose ripe peach flavor and light-bodied effervescence we’ve enjoyed only as a dessert wine until now.” Sounds like a love match to me.

My lunch encounter with banh mi is here. Love drinking wine off the hood of my car.

This post on the Bottle Rockets message board, my home away from home at home, raised my antennae:

They have been in the same location since 1913 (same family.)
They make their own ice cream and chocolate.
They have a huge BLT, 1/2 lb of bacon easily.
‘Nuff said!
I had a chocolate banana malt there last weekend to infuse some carbs into my diet…
Soufside

The poster, Soufside, as in souf side of St. Louis, referenced Crown Candy Kitchen.

I felt compelled to contact the poster directly and he graciously responded, with links. I would expect no less from a bacon-and-shake loving boy. Nice.

I’ve been going there literally all my life. My mom’s best friend lived
across the street and it was her home away from home.

Each booth has a Seaburg Wall-o-matic jukebox selector thingy.


“Back In The Day”, as the kids say, they all hooked up to a central juke box so you could pick songs from your seat. The haven’t worked for 30 or so years, and still have the last juke box cards in them from the late ’60s or early ’70s.

The Reuben and the BLT are their most popular sandwiches, Souf continued. They also do a very nice Chili Tamale with Cheese and Onions.

Click here for an inside look at the sprawling candy counter. Through squints I made out Ike and Mikes. Licorice wrapped in a cracked Sunday-school-shoe pink, sweetpea green, or white, plain cold white, shell. Oh wait a minute, those are licorice snaps. Even better.

Click here for some exterior photos and milkshake info. On this site, chopped onion, the vanilla shake is described as euphoric. Now that I would like to see. Can euphoria squeeze through a straw? Crown Candy Kitchen is a real nice looking place. Plenty of street parking too, which I believe is a comment on the neighborhood

And the prologue. Click here and here for what the photographer would have seen had he turned around. Apparently someone turned around, camera to eye. These shots are beautiful, in an urban decrepitude sort of way. When the eyes of the property owners behold these sites I doubt they see beauty. Ca-ching is not the sound effect that comes to mind.

The picture of Park’s Drug on page 2 was taken from Crown’s doorway, writes Souf. I wouldn’t know, having never been to St. Louis. Sniff. I’m an armchair sandwich girl, flicking crumbs onto the carpet and wiping my mouth on the sleeve of my housecoat.

(l-r)Colonel Mustard, Mister Green, The French Maid, Professor Plum, Miss Scarlet, Miss Peacock, Miss White

This week’s featured exalted food:

MUSTARD

Say you’re hot for mustard. Should you find yourself in Doesburg (Holland), Beaune (France), Mt Horeb, Wisconsin (USA), Dijon (France), Norfolk, (England) or Boston, Massachusetts (USA), with a little time to fill, there is a museum for you! The listing below was lifted from the directory on The Food History News site. Compiled meticulously by my mother, any inaccuracies would be shocking. Although I did have a little trouble with a couple of the websites… Must be me. If not, the cornerstone of my world has a hairline crack.

Mount Horeb, Wisconsin is in the realm of the possible for me. I’ve been there in fact – years ago. Time to repeat that jaunt. France, on the other hand, may as well be on the moon as far as my travel plans are concerned. France, England, Germany. Nope. I’ll click on the Fallot Mustard Mill site, French-English dictionary in one hand, le jambon sur le pain de seigle avec le moutard in the other. Ahem. Forgive me, I spent the afternoon at a French matinee.

Read on below to learn a couple tidbits about the partnership of M. Grey and M. Poupon (Mr. and Mr. to me). Did they do it in the kitchen? With the…candle stick? Nah, musta been the cook with a copper pot.

Doesburgsch Mostard en Aziijnmuseum
Boekholtstraat 22
Doesburg 6984 CW
NETHERLANDS
Tel/Fax: 0313-472230

Admission Info: Open Monday – Friday, 10 am – 5 pm; Saturday, 11 am – 4 pm. Closed on Monday from January through March.

Fallot Mustard Mill
Beaune
France

Mission: The Fallot Mustard Mill, the last independent mustard mill in Burgundy, is housed in the Napoleonic building of the original mustard factory, with its jars, table-mounted sieves, old drive belts, winnowing machines and millstones. An interactive tour, using video and other contemporary technology, is offered to groups limited to a maximum of 20. Fallot has been an independent Burgundian family business since 1840. The Mill continues to prepare its mustard using recipes guarded over several generations, milling the mustard seed with stone grinders.

Mount Horeb Mustard Museum
100 W. Main St.
P.O. Box 72
Mount Horeb WI 53572
Curator: Barry Levenson, founder/curator
Tel/Fax: 800-438-6878

Admission Info: Open daily, except major holidays, 10 am – 5 pm
Other Info: Issues a periodic newsletter.

Musee de la Moutarde Amora
48 Quai Nicolas Rolin
Dijon 21000
FRANCE
Tel/Fax: 03-80-44-44-52

Other Info: Undoubtedly the mustard capital of the world is Dijon in eastern France. This picturesque city gained its reputation as the home of master mustard makers in the 13th century. The French were passionate about mustard, considering it the condiment of kings. They passed strict laws governing what could be called Dijon mustard and still ensure that mustard labeled Dijon adheres to appellation controllee standards, much like fine French wines. The most famous of the great Dijon mustard firms was founded in 1777. M. Grey, who had developed a secret recipe for a strong mustard made with white wine, formed a partnership with M. Poupon, who supplied the financial backing to manufacture the product.. The creamy mustard their partnership yielded remains the standard by which Dijon mustards are judged. Grey and Poupon also revolutionized the business by introducing the first automatic mustard machines, thus freeing workers from a backbreaking chore. Today, at 32 Rue de Iz Liberte in the heart of Dijon, one can visit the Grey Poupon building which over the years has become a mecca for mustard lovers the world over.

Mustard Shop Museum
15 Royal Arcade
Norwich
Norfolk NR2 1NQ
ENGLAND
Tel/Fax: (01603) 627889

Mission: Opened to commemorate the 150th anniversary of the partnership between Jeremiah and James Colman. In late 19th-century style. Implements used in mustard making in the past. Advertising material, including mustard pots, posters, and old packaging.

The Mustard Shop
Faneuil Hall
Boston MA 02100

Mission: Historic displays illustrating the atmosphere of Colman’s in the 19th century, when mustard was transported to all parts of the British Empire. Mustard cultivation and manufacture, packaging, advertising.

A story in the Washington Post food section today – Tap Into the Secrets of Picking the Best Melons – included a watermelon pizza. It seems to me if you can put watermelon on a pizza and make the paper, watermelon in a sandwich might be good, or better even. Iceberg lettuce is good and it serves a similar purpose – wet, mild and crunchy. The brie on the pizza was too mild though cause watermelon needs salt and tang to counter its soft sweetness. The basil was good and the parmesan too. Parmesan is sharp and salty. Let’s rework this pizza and turn it into a late summer sandwich. Just for fun.

Start with firm white bread – like a dense Italian. Plain. Sliced pretty thin. Butter it. Shave off some watermelon and lay it on top of the butter. Salt it. Sprinkle with crumbled feta. Now the basil. Tear it. I say add some mint. Mint and basil are good mates, and in this case they bridge the gap between sweet and savory. Grind pepper on top. Parm, shaved too. Or not. Up to you. Press on the top. Slice sandwich and eat asap. You know, I’ll bet red onion sliced so thin it’s see-through would be good between the butter and the herbs.

Okay, it might be weird and not good, but I’m going to try it. We have an excess of watermelons since we grew a crop this year and that one shaving ought to really lighten our load. Never knew you could get so many watermelons out of five measly seeds.

Anyway, the pizza was weird and not good, but the picture is pretty, although it sure looks blown out on the Post website. Hey, and what’s with skipping my credit!??! There is no pay involved when your work goes to the web. Dang, how bout a credit?

Speaking of watermelons and picking the best of em….
How do you know when they are ripe, dagnabit? I know about thumping, but I don’t buy it. We have some beauties growing out back, plus a monster we picked to enter in the county fair. The entry was deemed Grand Champion – yowza! Home again now, we are afraid to cut it open. Made the mistake of cracking a smaller one earlier in the season only to find anemic flesh inside. Had to pitch it. What a shame. Dropped the second. Whoops. Cracked. Pale inside. Deep-sixed it, deep, so as not to get caught by the authorities.

Okay, got to stop posting pictures of my kid. Summer is over and now we are going to buckle down.

This is the kitchen that David built.

These are the tomatoes, that were grown by Miriam, and put in a basket, and carried to the house and into the kitchen that David built.

These are the boxes and baskets and crates where the tomatoes rested and nested and waited, to be made into salads and sandwiches and sauces, on the table, beside the hutch, in the kitchen that David built.

These are the dishes that were laid on the table, to bask in the sun, filled with food that said Summer!, that was sliced in the kitchen, by Miriam and others, in the kitchen that David built.

And here is a sandwich, all ready for eating, of bread smeared with mayonnaise, and bacon that’s crispy, fat sliced tomatoes, paper thin onion, and a tousle of pickle, that was canned in the kitchen by Miriam last winter, in the kitchen that David built.

And this is David, his back to the sun, on the edge of his chair, leaning into the sandwich, that he precisely constructed, bacon, tomato and pickles, the sweets not the dills, that came from the kitchen that he built.

Miriam’s beside him, but not in the picture (she doesn’t like cameras that are pointed at her), her bread heaped with good stuff, that came from her garden, that she watered all summer, then picked for the basket, and carried to the house, the dogs alongside her, and into the kitchen that David built.