Tag Archives: comedy

Everything is at Steak!

Alright, I’ve been getting a lot of requests for me to write a recipe for grilling steaks. That’s a lie. Literally not one single person has asked me to do such a thing. But here it is anyways. I apologize in advance to those barbecue purists that think they make the best of everything and follow bullshit rules that their grandpappy taught them. Listen, our grandparents weren’t good cooks. I mean, sure, it wasn’t terrible, but things have changed. The equipment is better. It’s a different time. We live in a food driven culture. It’s time we destroy the patriarchy!!!

 

*lifts broadsword and charges forth, leading an army of foodies to the nearest gastropub*

 

Sorry, I got a little carried away picturing myself in a modern day telling of Braveheart. I digress. What were we talking about? Ahh yes, cow candy. I don’t think it’s necessary to go through each cut of beef. Y’all are adults, functional or not, you likely know which type you like best. I used to be a huge ribeye fan. As I’ve gotten older, I don’t care for all the extra fat and connective tissue. However, if you’ve paid any attention to my previous ramblings, you’ll know that I love fat, because fat is….???? FLAVOR! Correct! Very good class. A ribeye will give you the most flavor but, much like myself, it’s fattier. I’ve come to love the New York strip. It has a beautiful fat cap on one side, which will impart tons of flavor, and it’s easier to cut it off when it’s time to eat. Assuming you’re allowed to use sharp utensils. If you want practically zero fat, go with a tenderloin filet. They’re tender and tasty, but I’m poor and they’re expensive. If I cook for you and I tell you we’re having filets, there’s a solid 99% chance I lied to you and you’re eating a sirloin. Deal with it.

 

Now it’s time to prep. This can take anywhere from a few minutes to a few days. You’re gonna want to whip that meat out at least 30 minutes before you’re ready to cook. Bring that slab of protein to room temperature. If you have the time, lightly salt both sides, place it on a wire rack, and leave it uncovered in your fridge for 24-72 hours. This is called “dry brining”, which is stupid, because brining is done with liquid. Don’t get mad at me, I didn’t come up with the name. The salt will help to break down the fat and make your meat more tender. It will also dry the surface for a better sear. 24 hours should be plenty of time, but if you need to cook these tonight, then wait to salt your steak until right before you’re ready to cook.

 

Your steaks are done brining and you’re ready to grill. This might get a little NSFW, so you children under 25, skip ahead to the next paragraph. You’ve been warned. I like to lay my meat on the counter and admire it for a few moments before slathering it in extra virgin olive oil. My wife and I then spend a few minutes arguing whether it’s 1 inch thick or 3 inches thick. We get the tape measure out and now she can’t stop laughing and I’m in the corner crying. It was in the cold fridge. It probably just shrunk a little. I digress. Now that it’s oiled, hit it with a ton of fresh cracked pepper. You better not be using that sad powdery stuff that’s in the shaker on the table. Invest in a good pepper grinder, ya heathen. There is no need to add a ton of seasonings to the steak. S&P is enough for me!

 

Next up, we prepare our cooking station. There are several ways to cook up your beautiful bovine, my personal favorite being a charcoal grill. The experts will tell you that a cast iron pan is the best. Maybe you should go read their condescending blog. I am no expert because I am always open to learning and I don’t get stuck in those patriarchal ruts like I mentioned earlier. Cast iron will give you a great sear, create a nice crust, and fill your entire house with smoke, causing every alarm to go off and scare your anxious little ankle biter under the couch for the rest of the evening.

 

Charcoal or gas are my go-to ways for cooking. Charcoal takes a bit more time to get set up, although it will provide the best flavor. Gas is great for those weeknight dinners when you need to start cooking now and not wait the 20+ minutes it takes to get your coals ready. Whichever way you choose, you will want your grates to heat up with the hood closed for a minimum of 10 minutes prior to cooking. This isn’t negotiable. You need a screaming hot pan/grate.

 

Your steak is at room temperature. You’ve oiled and seasoned perfectly. Your grates are piping hot. It’s time. I know where my hot spots are, so that’s where I first want to put my steak. I don’t use tongs for this. I just grab that hunk of beat red flesh with my bare hand and place it on the grate and give it a gentle press, letting the cattle gods know it’s in good hands and did not die in vain. Now, close the lid and let it cook for 2 minutes. I talked to your wife and she said you’ve never made it 2 minutes. What I’m saying is, set a timer, big guy. Once your timer dings, you are going to flip your steak to a different hot spot on the grill. Do not turn it over on the same spot. Once you’ve flipped, close that lid and reset your timer. Do not walk away from the grill at any point. This whole process takes very little time. The timer has gone off for a second time. You’re now going to flip it back to the original spot, with a 90˚ turn to get a more even cook. After 2 minutes, flip and turn again. This is how you get perfect grill marks. However, grill marks are only good for Instagram photos. They look nice, but I would rather the entire surface have that wonderful crust. This is where the purists will come out of the woodwork to tell me I should only flip the steak one time and that I’ve somehow ruined this meal. Well, I’ve tried many different methods on hundreds of steaks and I’ve yet to find this to be true. If you think about it, the best wait to cook food over a flame is with a rotisserie, constantly turning, thus creating the most perfectly even cook. There will always be haters. Just cook them next.

 

After cooking for a total of 8 minutes, move your meat to a warm spot on the grill and get out your trusty digital thermometer. Digital will give you the most accurate reading and doesn’t need calibrated or adjusted. Personally, I like my steak cooked to medium rare, which is around 135˚. This all depends on the cut of meat. For a ribeye, I like to go to medium. It renders the fat better and leaves you with a steak that you can cut with a spoon. Basically, start at 125˚ for rare and go up 10 degrees until you reach your desired doneness. If you like your steak well done (165˚), just buy a dehydrator and make yourself some jerky. Also, delete me from your friends list. We clearly have nothing in common. I’m kidding of course. Seriously, don’t contact me for any reason. If your steak isn’t quite to your preferred temp, then cook for 30 seconds more and flip for another 30 seconds. Keep doing this until your temp has been reached. It’s not a bad idea to pull the steak a few degrees before it reaches temp, because it will continue to cook. It’s much easier to throw the steak back on to cook it a little more than it is to invent a time machine and start over.

 

Once finished, transfer to a plate and toss a couple pats of butter on top. Cover the whole plate with foil and let it rest for 10 minutes. I know you’re tempted to cut into it, but do not do that. Set that timer and get everything else ready for your dinner. If you slice into it now, all the juices and flavor will bleed out on to the plate and ruin everything. I know you’re used to disappointing others, just don’t do it with this.

 

Now that you have the basics down, you can play around with different recipes, techniques, and cuts of meat. At the end of the day, this is your dinner to eat. Cook it the way you want. If you want to cover it in ketchup, I say go for it. Just maybe don’t invite me over that night. As always, Bone Apple Teeth!

The Depressed Chef

Can I Get a Ramen

Alright noshers, I’m back with another delicious recipe that none of you asked for. Much like you, it’s simple, cheap, and delicious! I can’t take credit for this masterpiece, but I do make it quite often. It comes from Chef Roy Choi. If you’ve ever seen the movie or the series “Chef”, you’ll recognize him. He’s the brains behind the operation with loads of unique talent.

This ridiculously easy dish starts out with a single pack of ramen noodles with that little pack of magic soup dust. That little msg packed foil pouch is important, so don’t lose it. You’re also going to need a chicken egg (preferably, unfertilized) and 2 slices of American cheese. Trust me! Don’t go gettin’ all fancy and trying to use a better cheese. Nothing melts like American singles. Fight me. You will also need toasted sesame seeds. I used to toast my own until I found out you can buy them already toasted! I know, right?! No need to complicate things. The last two things you’ll need are a pat of butter and some sliced scallions, green end only. That’s green onions for you culinary deficient folks.

Now, this isn’t fancy ramen like the kind you get at some bougie place in downtown Ann Arbor, that you waaaay overpaid for. This is sustenance. This is life. This feeds your soul.

You’re gonna start off by boiling 2 cups of H2O and cooking the noods according to the package. I believe it’s 3 minutes. Let’s just go with that. Here’s a pro tip: Break up the noodles while they’re still in the pack. Makes life easier. And who doesn’t want easier, amirite?! Dump that freeze-dried pack of pasta (that looks like Justin Timberlake’s hair circa 1995) into the pan and add that concentrated powder pack of flavor and stir to combine. The instructions say to do it at the end. But they’re wrong and I’m right.

When there’s 30 seconds or so left on the timer you forgot to set, toss in that butta and crack that egg right into the water. Fold some of the noodles over the egg and let it poach. Now turn off the burner. I like to break the yolk almost immediately and stir it right into the soup, or you can leave it whole and let it continue to cook. This is your slop to eat, so you do you, boo!

If you’ve made it this far, congratulations. It’s time to transfer this scorching hot goodness to a bowl. I prefer a bowl over a plate, because it’s a bowl and bowls are good for things like soup. Plates are not. I also find it helpful if you don’t burn yourself during this process. Once you have it in your vessel of choice, slap those two pieces of American processed plastic that we talked about earlier, right on top. I know this goes against everything you’ve ever learned about cooking soup. You must trust me. Have I ever let you down before? If you know me, then the answer would be yes, but that’s a topic that only my therapist is privy to.

As the “cheese” begins to melt, you will start to understand the beauty of this uncomplicated dish. Sprinkle the top with those toasted sesame seeds and the green onion. I like to add a little (a lot) sriracha to mine or if I’m really hating myself, I’ll add a few dashes of Bravado’s A.K.A Miso Ghost-Reaper sauce. This stuff is seriously hot and will give you something to cry about other than your life choices.

It’s time to stir up this crazy concoction and get to slurping! I prefer to use one of those deep spoons you find at Asian restaurants. You can get them online for souper cheap. Chop sticks are another option, but I’m not coordinated enough for that noise.

This dish represents comfort. If food could wrap you up and give you a big hug, this is what would do it. If you suffer from depression, you will still suffer depression after eating it. It’s food, not bourbon. So, build a blanket pillow fort, put on your most comfortable clothes, (as if you weren’t already in them), que up Good Girls on Netflix and remember that a happy belly is a happy mind.

Bone Apple Teeth!

The Depressed Chef

The Mac Attack is Back, Jack

Alright, listen up food noobs and fodder snobs. I’m about to school ya on mac n’ cheese. And no, not your grandmama’s recipe from when you were just a wee little tax deduction. I’m talking powdered cheese pack, just add butter and milk, depression mac. That Blue Box Blues stuff. Or whatever knock off brand you find at your local dollar store.

See, the box has you cook the pasta for 8 min. Don’t do that. That’s way too long for those tiny noodles. 4 min on a rolling boil. Stir twice. That’s it. Just check it before you strain it. Now, here’s where we mix it up. The directions tell you to strain and then add the noods back to the pan and add the cheese dust, ¼ cup of milk, and a ¼ cup of butter. That’s a half a stick, ya ding-dong. Or 4 Tablespoons. Whatever is easiest for you. And don’t even think about using that margarine bullshit either, you uncultured swine.

Time to get funky with it. BEFORE your broke ass adds the mac back, return your pan to the stove and turn your heat down to medium-low. Now, add that processed cheese dirt back to the pan with the milk. Don’t just throw that half stick of delicious golden butter into the pan. Cut it into like 6 smaller slabs. It’ll melt quicker, college boy. Or girl. Or dinosaur. Whatever you are. Now, stir that shit up! If you’re feeling froggy, grate a little sharp cheddar and add a splash more milk to your pan. And don’t buy that bagged shredded waxy crap. It literally costs the exact same amount to buy a block and do it yourself. I like to add some hot sauce for a little kick. Raid your fridge and toss in whatever makes you feel pretty. Like…leftover taco meat, bacon bits, hot dogs, Skittles…I don’t care. This is your time to shine. I ain’t judging ya. However, do not add salt. There’s enough sodium in that powder packet to choke a yak. Your heart will thank you later.

Once everything is melted and well incorporated, dump your sad little pasta elbows into that agent orange looking sauce you’ve just created. Which is essentially a roux. I’ll explain that a little later. When you mix everything together, you get a nice even coating, rather than a clumpy mess of half melted butter and cheese sand. Adjust the consistency to your desire with more milk to thin it or more grated cheese to thicken. Now, go eat that somewhere in the dark and try not to feel too much shame. We’ve all been there.

Added Bonus:

Mac n’ cheese is not a hard recipe to do. Essentially, you can make a fairly decent version with only 5 ingredients:

-Cooked macaroni

-Grated cheese (ex. cheddar, gruyere, cojack…)

-Flour

-Butter

-Milk

You mix the butter with a little flour over medium heat and add your milk. Congratulations, you just made a roux. Now, you fold in your choice of grated cheese and let it melt until smooth then add the pasta. Now, that you have the basics down, you play around with it and make it your own. You can use different cheeses, bake it with breadcrumbs on top, add different seasonings and spices like nutmeg, garlic powder, or red pepper flakes. If you really want to amp it up, try adding a little stout to your roux. 😉

Yours truly,

The Depressed Chef   

Duck(ed) 2: The Quackening

For those of you that remember El Diablo Duck, I present you with the sequel…

El Diablo Duck II: The Quackening

Much like the horrifying incident that occurred on Maddie’s birthday 4 years ago, it was a bright and sunny afternoon. The air was crisp, but the sun on our faces was a relief from the recent chilly weather. The morning started off as any other. We got ready, had a small bite to eat and then took Maddie to school. The birthday girl, Laura, was excited to get out of the house and have a little daddy/daughter celebration. Our first stop was lunch. We decided on 5th Street Pub. The little wanted pizza. It would occur to me later that the original incident also began with a trip to 5SP. It almost feels like some sort of deranged destiny.

After lunch, we made a stop at the grocery store to get items for dinner and get a bag of carbs for the little feathered heathens. Laura insisted on the cart with the attached Volkswagen beetle. Which, if you’ve never had the pleasure of pushing one of these things, it’s like trying to push an actual Volkswagen through the aisles of Kroger, with the maneuverability of a semi. However, was I going to tell the birthday girl no? Absolutely not. I’ve learned. Pick and choose your battles. And the battle was just beginning….

We arrived at Flower Hospital. The water was glistening. The birds chirping. Not a single cloud in the sky. As we slowly made our way to the feeding grounds, I noticed there wasn’t a single water fowl in the area. Nothing. Not a duck in sight. No swans. No geese (Canadian or otherwise). No large warrior ducks. Nada. How could this be? I wondered aloud. Usually this place is teaming with bread thirsty birds. We moved along and found a parking spot near the observation deck. We sat, speculating in the car for a moment. Was it the guys mowing the grass off in the distance? Doubtful. These crazed animals aren’t afraid of anything.

We decided to exit the vehicle, anyways. Maybe we’ll just go for a walk. I opened the bread bag and took out a few slices just in case I needed some hard currency out on hospital grounds. I unbuckled Laura and then shut the driver door. There they were. 3 of them. Large colorful ducks, standing on the curb. Where did they come from?! Laura giggled as they were quacking away. We forced our way onto the grass and began feeding these beasts. They were actually pretty friendly. Eating little bits of bread right from my hand. They weren’t scared. And slowly I became less frightened as well. Laura never showed any fear. Everything was going great…until…Laura ran out of bread. The larger of the 3 approached her, thinking he could intimidate my little one. Then, without provocation, bit Laura on the finger. Just as I’m about to intervene, Laura stands tall, puffs her chest and yells “DON’T BITE ME! IT’S NOT NICE!” Her scolding echoed though the parking lot. The ducks immediately retreated. Sensing they had picked on someone that wasn’t going to fall victim to their bullying tactics. She turns to me with a grin on her face and a tiny maniacal laugh. I stood proud of my little pork chop.

We made our way to the deck and soaked in some rays. Snapped a few photos and dropped some bread down to the few ducks that had gathered. Once out, we made our way back to the van. Just as we took our first few steps, I saw him. El Diablo was standing near a large maple tree. He wasn’t approaching, just watching. As we turned away from him to head out, we were faced with a couple dozen ducks. Where were they all hiding?! Did Diablo send reinforcements?! Was this his plan all along?! But, how could he know?! Laura quickly recognized that we were vastly outnumbered. And out of bread. We slowly backed away. I remotely opened the van door and told Laura to run, sacrificing myself to a potential mauling. I closed the door once I knew she was safe. Facing my own demise, I decided to trick the birds with some sweet kung fu moves. Thankfully, my opponents were stupid and they took the bait! They backed off enough for me to make a dashing escape into the van.

As we drove off, El Diablo stood his ground. His death glare will haunt my dreams for weeks to come.

Duck(ed)

So, I thought it would be nice to take Maddie to feed the birds at Flower Hospital, because Mo loves ducks. That was until we didn’t have enough bread for all of them.

It was a beautiful afternoon, especially near the shaded pond. Maddie and I strolled over to the decked area to sit on a bench and quietly feed the hungry little waterfowl. Everything was going as planned. Maddie was quaking away, attempting to communicate with our new feathered friends.

Little did we know, lurking in the shadows of a tall maple tree, was a monster neither of us would soon forget.

After a few minutes we noticed the group of ducks was growing. They could sense food in the air. The rustling of the bread bag was like a dinner bell. In no time, we were surrounded by ducks of all shapes and colors. Beautiful mallards, black and white spotted ducks, Canadian geese, white ducks, you name it, and they were there. And they were hungry.

I started to back away because of the overwhelming amount of blood thirsty birds. Our way out was interrupted by what I have named, El Diablo Duck. There he stood, tall as a giant, and flapping what appeared to be a 10 foot wing span. He squawked with angry determination. His loud battle cry sent chills down our spines. As he approached, we quickly switched directions and took our chances with the smaller and less frightening ducks.

El Diablo Duck anticipated our moves and managed to get between us and the parking lot.
Holding Maddie in one arm and a half a bag of torn up moldy bread in the other, I swung the bag like a mediaeval flail and charged Diablo Duck. He charged back, continuing to howl and flap. The large scar on his beak led me to believe this wasn’t his first fight.

At the last moment, I tossed the bag to my right and darted to the left in hopes of creating a distraction. Leaping over small innocent bystander birds, and dodging a few ducklings, we made it safely to the parking lot. The distraction worked! Diablo Duck took the bait!

As we made it to the car, sweating and nearly out of breath, I buckled Maddie into her car seat and gazed over the battlegrounds. No lives were lost, but they were forever changed. El Diablo stood proud as he feasted over his bounty. We made eye contact. It appeared as though he gave me a slight nod, approving me as a worthy adversary.