Growing up one typically has several friends, family members and/or teachers who become a huge part of their lives and help mold and shape them into respectable members of the community. Being the rigid and hard headed individual that I am and was, I only had a few who were willing to step up to the plate; most of which had to because we were related. To those individuals who did have the courage to step up on my behalf; well………..“you should be ashamed of yourselves”. Have you seen how I turned out???? Crap Fire.
Uncle Dave (no blood relation) was one of those few individuals brave enough to take me under his wing and show me a thing or two. Being of no blood relation, I often wonder why he was so willing to take on the challenge; regardless of his reasons, I am thankful he did.
As things go, Uncle Dave and I tend to see eye to eye. We are both fairly rigid in our ways, we both are quite stubbourn and I can’t recall a time when either of us were wrong about anything……..that was until recently.
If I haven’t said this before, it is high time that I do………”If you put goat cheese on a turd, there is a good chance I am going to eat it”. As odd and unappetizing as that may sound, it is true. Yes, goat cheese is my epicurean crutch. The creaminess and tanginess goat cheese brings to a dish is unmatched. If you are a virgin to goat cheese, be a virgin no more.
God did not grace me in the nether regions, nor give me a crap load of cash; but what he did give me was an uncanny ability to cook. Given that Siete can burn water, we were a match made in heaven. This recipe certainly wooed Siete and is sure to give you the entry key into any man or women’s boudoir.
Depending on the driver and of course the number of riders, Bourbon Street is only about a case of beer away from A&M. Much to my parent’s chagrin, New Orleans became a second home for me and my running buddies, which may partially explain my insatiable drinking habit and my affinity for Cajun cuisine.
As much as I enjoy good drunken buffoonery, I have never been a huge fan of Mardi Gras. A mob of 100,000 drunken idiots, crammed onto narrow streets, pushing and shoving as they move to and fro is not my idea of fun. No, I prefer to drink alone….. But, regardless of my likes or dislikes, Mardi Gras has become a huge part of the Cajun culture and has greatly influenced the region as a whole.
For a lot of Texans, we are coming to the end of our Religious Pilgrimage. Sure there is always a spring turkey to shoot or a big redfish to land, but for all intents and purposes, hunting season is all but over. We must now return to our familial responsibilities and hope that the return of the season comes sooner than we might expect.
It has become a tradition within my group of hunting buddies to have a “Man Dinner” at the close of every season. A time to bring families together and enjoy the fruits of our labor. A time to enjoy the company of our wives, our kids and……blah, blah, blah. Who am I trying to kid. The Man Dinner has very little to do with bring our families together. No, the Man Dinner has everything to do with drinking beer, eating good food and telling lies about all the good and bad hunts we had. And from what I can tell, though I have never asked, I think the women folk may enjoy it too.
If you have followed my blog, you know that I have a very chaotic life. One wife, four kids, three dogs and six exes, it is enough to drive any man crazy and lord only
knows how you can keep them all happy at the same time. However, the other evening while finishing up dinner, I noticed something highly unusual. Siete wasn’t bitching at me, the kids weren’t fighting and the dogs weren’t under foot. For a brief moment I thought this must be what normal families eat like…….then Meat (the youngest) fires off a big one, sending everyone scurrying for safety. So much for our Leave It To Beaver meal.
I am a firm believer that if someone were to serve me goat cheese ala poopoo or bacon wrapped turd, I would probably eat it without hesitation. And although most may not subscribe to my line of thinking, goat cheese and bacon do make most things better, which is reason enough to try this gem. It is a takeoff from Tin Star’s Chipotle Chicken Scaloppini. Its fairly simple, it is spicy and it is sure to create your own family bliss.
When you have been married as many times as I have, you eventually learn to listen or at least act like you are listening. So, when Seite came to me and asked me if I would post her favorite recipe, I decided “what the hell”.
Super Bowl Sunday is just around the corner and pizzerias across the country are gearing up for the big day. Being the gluttonous whores that we are, Americans are expected to consume more than 8.3 million pies; that is 4,800 tons of pizzas – roughly 8 times the weight of Jerry Jones’ new “Vigaboard”. Now that is a lot of friggin pizza.
Now, I am not sure when you last ordered delivery pizza, but that schit has gotten expensive. I have made many a homemade pie and I am here to tell you, those bastards are definitely sticking it to us. So, here is my version of the Sunday best and of course Seite’s Fav: BBQ Pulled Pork Pizza. Homemade and delicious; sure to please the most finicky of crowds.
I now know why poets, authors and painters are notorious alcoholics and druggies……..being creative is an ass whip’n to the highest degree, especially after the holidays. So please forgive me if this post seems rather drab and mundane.
As seasons go, winters in Texas aren’t too bad. Unlike the northern states, Texas winters tend to be mild and pleasant. But on special occasions, Old Man Winter will pay us a visit. That visit came this past Sunday and The Old Man seems to be rather pissed. Typically, he comes and goes quickly, 30 degrees one day, 70 degrees the next. Not this time. No, it seems that someone has pissed him off good and he ain’t leaving anytime soon.