I’m struggling today; been fighting bronchitis and a sinus infection for almost two weeks, doing nothing but getting soft. I have fat, blood, meat, and seasoning under my nails, but that doesn’t bother me; weeks ago I bought a nail brush for my shower because I learned that gunk from the shop doesn’t come out with normal washing.
The shop is busy today, and Max and Tommy are arguing like an old married couple, but Max has been unusually catty with me too. Tommy keeps yelling at him to stop yelling at me. Max isn’t “yelling” at me per se, just loudly inquiring. Burt is kind of a mess today; cussing under his breath, too many balls in the air, letting it get to him more than he should. I can tell he’s in pain, too; he got a cortisone shot in his back this week, but they didn’t get it in the spot where he needed it.
A pack of yuppie hipster kids comes in—over-entitled, under-aged—flashing daddy’s credit cards. They stare at me. Apparently I appear out of place behind a butcher’s block. I hang back, say nothing, simply glare at them. They want ribeyes. Tommy overcharges them.
While I’m in the back room working on a tub of baby backs, Tommy comes back, looks at what I’m doing. I proudly add another beautiful rack to my finished stack, noticing a little piece of fat I missed and quickly trimming it. He asks, “You like doing this?” like he still can’t believe it, even though I’ve been at the shop for about three months. He’s asked me this before. My answer hasn’t changed: “Yes.”
Tommy pulls a huge dark red chunk of meat out of the cooler, ribs on one side of it. I ask him what it is; a rib roast he’s making into ribeyes. I ease up next to him and watch silently, engrossed. He works quickly, first removing the ribs, then thickly slicing the steaks, and finally trimming the fat off. He notices the intent expression on my face, asks, “Does this interest you?” Again I say yes. (Why else would I be here?) “Here, follow me.” We go to the bone saw. He cuts the ribs in half, cubes them up, and bags them for me. “See if these work as well as short ribs since we’re all out.” An experiment!
The next day finds me hurriedly
browning the beef ribs and chopping vegetables for a slow cooker recipe: carrots, parsnips, turnips, onion, garlic (my
addition, not in the recipe), a bundle of rosemary, thyme, and sage (it called
for parsley instead of sage, but the store sold that group of herbs together
for a third the price of buying all three separate), Worcestershire, spicy
brown mustard, Guinness, and water. Not
everything fits in my slow cooker. I live
in a small apartment, so everything in the apartment must be small by association. Some of the meat and veggies go back in the
fridge; I’ll do a second batch later. I also
put a rub together for a rack of baby backs:
lots of brown sugar, ground mustard, paprika, cayenne, onion powder,
garlic powder, salt and pepper. Let that
soak in for a while. Meantime, I head to
Taste of St. Louis with two girlfriends.
At Taste I tried Chicken Satay and
Pad Thai from Rearn Thai because I always seem to crave Thai food at these sorts
of events. Of course the noodles got dry
and gloppy too fast. Got a Beef Sambusa
from Meskerem Ethiopian Restaurant—deep fried goodness. The Lamb Taco from Siete Luminarias Mexican
Restaurant was amazing. Grabbed some
Crab Rangoon from Hot Wok Café because, again, I crave these things. I thought I was finished after I had Birthday
Cake Ice Cream from Oberweis (sprinkles and icing comes inside the ice cream; it is just like being at a Chuck E. Cheese
party all over again), until a friend who was working the event pulled up in a
golf cart and told me about Filet Mignon sliders down the way. My stomach then informed me that I still had
room for one of these majestic morsels. While in search of these tasty treats, I heard my last name shouted through the crowd. The only people who ever addressed me thus tend to be from my far-off past. Lo and behold, a guy I went to high school with owns and was working The Rice House tent. In lieu of Filet Mignon Sliders, I chose to support my friend’s business. He recommended the jerk chicken kabob, marinated in pineapple juice, vinegar, and soy sauce; it was very juicy and tender, tasted almost like pork. I couldn’t finish it so I wrapped it up and stuck it in my purse.
Another friend working the event gave us two VIP passes. When we pointed out that we were a trio, he pulled a knife from his pocket and told us to work it out. We then informed him that two of us were already armed; we didn’t know we’d be searched on entering, but the search wasn’t very thorough. (We weren’t trying to sneak weapons in, but it is second nature for city girls to carry knives wherever we go.) We decided to have our friend escort us through the VIP entrance, where we were given free drink tickets; I later learned that people were paying $50 for tickets to this shindig, and beers were $7 apiece at the booths, so the free ones were much appreciated. Turned out one of the bartenders was an acquaintance as well, and at last call he pretty much emptied the bar at our table. We poured our beers into water bottles since we couldn’t take glass back on the street.
Clearing out was a free-for-all . . . vendors were giving everything away; I saw a cop run off with like five pizzas. One of my friends got a plant; but not just any plant, not some little potted flower for her windowsill; this sucker was fifteen inches in diameter and weighed about thirty pounds. She carried it on her head while walking back to the car. When the staff tried to stop us and inquire about the mystery liquids in our water bottles, we told them it was piss and kept walking. They questioned us no further.
We made a pit stop at a gas station on the way home, and the cop posted out front liked my shirt so much he took a picture of me (it was a brown shirt that read, “I Pooped Today!”) to send to all of his cop friends. Now I’m going to have to keep that shirt in my car at all times in case I get pulled over in the future.
When I got home I removed the cooked beef ribs and veggies from the crock pot, and put in the second batch. I didn’t make a second batch of sauce, so I’m worried that the sauce may end up overdone. Then I started the baby backs in the oven. I mixed honey barbecue and sweet chili sauces to baste with every half hour until 1am. The second batch of beef ribs were done at 4:30am. This is what I do for the sake of good food; it is a labor of love, and I’m a damned fool for love.
Thus ends the first culinary adventure of The Butcher’s Apprentice. This is about what I eat, what I cook, and what I cut. It’s not always pretty, but it always has something to do with food.
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