Ranch, by any other name...

Okay, I admit it.  I love ranch dressing.  I  a ranch aficionado.  It really goes great on anything, and being from Texas, we put it on mostly everything.  The problem I face is, there is just too much BAD ranch out there.  Not all ranch is created equal.  For me, it it comes in a bottle, it's crap.  I just can't get excited about a squeeze bottle of Ranch Dressing.  It's so full of stabilizers, emulsifiers, and preservatives, that its no longer ranch.  It's more like a science experiment then a  salad dressing. I decided that I needed to make my own ranch dressing, and I didn't want to use a packet to do so!  This is a simple great recipe, that has all the great flavor of ranch, and none if the crap that you don't want.  

Food Doofus Ranch

1 cup Helman's Mayonnaise 

1 cup milk

1/2 cup sour cream

2 tbs granulated garlic

2 tbs kosher salt

1.5 tbs onion powder

1 tspn white pepper

4 tbs fine rough chopped parsley

Mix all ingredients, adjust seasonings to personal taste preference. Keeps for two weeks in the fridge, if it makes it that long.

BBQ Steak Vinaigrette

You know that ounce or two of jus at the bottom of the platter that's left after barbecuing steaks? That rich delicious liquid that you just don't want to throw away, but you don't really know what to do with? I had this same problem last night. There are a few things that can be done with it. You could make a French dip, and use I as the jus. You could thicken it and make a tiny amount of gravy, or you could do what I did. Make a vinaigrette. What better thing can you do to a salad the to top it with a dressing made of meat?

BBQ Steak Vinaigrette
2 oz Steak jus
6 oz salad oil
1/2 T Dijon mustard
1T fresh cracked black pepper
1/2T fresh garlic
Splash of balsamic or sherry vinegar
Pinch of salt as needed

-Combine all ingredients, except oil, in a mixing bowl. Whisk to incorporate.
-Whisking vigorously, slowly add the oil. It should not float on top, rather it should mix with the liquid forming an emulsion
-Taste to adjust seasoning. It should have a slightly acidic flavor that complements the beefiness. 

Serve over greens with red onion, croutons, blue cheese, and of course sliced steak. Yummy.

Blackberry and Basil Cobbler

So today, in honor of Labor Day, I decided it was best to have a BBQ as kind of a "Hey come and meet The Pritchard's" party. Being new to our neighborhood, and since we don't know a lot of people I thought it would be a good idea. Also the neighbor lady gave is a bunch of great produce out of her garden, and that, coupled with the stuff from our garden and an insane drive to have people tell me how good a cook I am, it just kinda made since to throw a party.

I think the hit of the night was the blackberry and basil cobbler that I made for dessert. If you know anything about the old Food Doofus, you'll know that I'm no baker. In fact I really don't enjoy it. I am however, fairly good at it, so it's not to hard for me to make something tasty for a meal finisher. I started to look for a good recipe for the cobbler top. I didn't want to have just a crisp top, but I don't like a pie top either. This was going to get tricky. Enter my good friend and pastry chef extraordinaire, Joe Baker. Joe has a blog aptly named Joe the Baker (google it. It's great). Joe also has a really great recipe for classic peach cobbler. I had purchased some peaches and nectarines the other day at the farmer's market in Provo, and had planned on using them, but my daughters' propensity to eat any and all tasty fresh fruit in the house, left me with to few fuzzy fruits to make a proper cobbler. I chose instead to use frozen blackberries from my sisters farm, Miller Farms. 
A funny thing about frozen blackberries, they leak a lot of juice. A lot of juice. About a pint from roughly 1.5 pounds. I had some much juice, that I was able to do all kinds of things with it, but that is another post all together. Back to the cobbler. The filling was sweet and syrupy, and the pastry was GBD, and tender. I paired it with some blackberry whipped cream, which complemented it nicely. It turned out delicious. It was so good, it all got eaten before I remembered to take a picture of it, so you'll have to take my word on it. Here's the recipe, thanks to Joe Baker for the pastry dough formula.

Filling
1.5-2 lbs black berries
1/2 c chiffonade fresh basil
2 t fresh ground black pepper (trust me, it makes the dish)
Honey (enough to sweeten berries)
Cornstarch (enough to coat berries)
Pinch of salt

Pasty (courtesy Joe Baker)
4 oz AP flour
2 oz sugar
1 oz brown sugar
1t baking powder
1t salt
3 oz COLD butter
3 oz heavy cream

Mix the ingredients for the filling together, and fold with a rubber spatula, making sure not to crush the berries. Pour filling into a buttered 8x12 glass baking dish. 

In your food processor, combine all the dry ingredient and the butter. Pulse on high until the consistency of sand. Add cream and pulse until a soft dough forms. In high elevation add more flour, or oats. Break odd small amounts and dot the top of the filling.

Bake in a conventional oven at 370 for about 25 minutes. High elevation, add five minutes.
Convection oven, start in 370 oven with fan on, and drop to 355 when you put the cobbler in. Bake at 355 for 15 minutes, then raise the temp back up to 370 for the remainder of time

The Aftermath

Officially, I had what's called sleeve gastrectomy. And because of it, I've got a set of five new holes in my stomach. Well, more fittingly, my abdominal wall. They range in size from about the diameter of a standard pencil, to about an inch and a half wide. Coming out of surgery was definitely a new experience for me. I've never been in a situation of complete and utter consciousness, and then almost immediately being waken up and told that it was over. I was confused, mostly because I was heavily sedated, but also because I was able to look at the time and see that it was nearly 3:30 when I woke up. What, in my mind was supposed to be a two hour surgery, managed to last five hours. How I could do math and logical thinking like this while being so high on drugs is beyond me, but that was my first thought. My next thought was that I couldn't remember anything. Beyond the doctor telling me that he gave me a cocktail of some kind, to which I responded something about liking it shaken and not stirred. Then out. As if taken from an episode of the X-Files, my memory is gone. I assume, by the holes in my abdomen that the surgery was completed. But I guess I can't be for sure. I asked the Doc if I could have the piece of my stomach placed in a mason jar in formaldehyde, for my desk, you know, as a paper weight or something, but he said no. He said it was a "biological hazard" or some other fancy medical speak, but I think he just didn't want proof that he didn't cut my stomach out, and I'm only losing weight because I am only drinking liquids. I even brought my own mason jar. Quart size even. I was anticipating a large portion of my tummy-tum, based on its outward size. X-Files. That's what I'm saying. The pain wasn't that bad, mainly because of the really top shelf drugs they gave me through my IV. Demerol and Lortab, and all manners of black out, make the walls dance drugs were on the menu.
In fact the worse thing about the surgery that I can see, was not the stomach cutting and stapling, it was not the feeling like I got kicked in the gut repeatedly, not was it that I could drink anything for 18 hours, and believe me, I was thirsty. The worst part about surgery didn't even rear it's ugly head until today, a full FIVE days after the operation. The worst was the shaving. That's right they shaved most of my chest and stomach. I, like most men who are not body builders or Tom Cruise, have body hair. And when you shave said body hair, it starts to grow back and starts to itch. Badly. With a vengeance. As if to say "How dare you for shaving me off. Now I will punish you for at least a fortnight." It sucks. In future surgery, I think I will have electrolysis leading up to the big day. Surly that has to be less painful then a new crop of chest hair.

Memoirs of a Fat guy.

Let's just point out the elephant in the room. I'm fat. Probably fatter than the elephant. In fact I'm so fat, that the last time I flew on Southwest, the plane was full, except for two seats...right next to me. I don't feel bad about being fat either. The fact is, I love being fat. When you're fat, there's less pressure to look good. You can eat whatever you want, wear sweatpants in public, have Velcro shoes as an adult. Go crazy! It's okay, you're fat. When you are fat, not much is expected from you physically. I rarely got the call to help someone move; climbing up and down ladders is someone else's job. Nobody wants to see a fat guy fall, no matter how funny it is. And who doesn't love to have a funny, fat guy around? Heck, John Belushi and Chris Farley, two of my heroes, made a living from being that guy.
I've always been fat, despite what my mother says. I remember having to get size 28 Husky jeans when I was a kid. The first time I had to buy pants as an adult (18-19) I asked where the Husky section was. The lady looked at me like I had two heads. Then I started laughing and told her about always having to buy husky pants as a kid. I don't really think she cared all that much. Come to think of it, I should call her manager and report her for being so rude.
When people call me fat, it doesn't really hurt my feelings. It is something that I accepted as fact, like having blonde hair, or driving a red car. There really should be no offense, because it is fact.
Not only did I love being a fat guy, I reveled in it. "Never trust a skinny chef" became my mantra. I even named my pizza shop Fat Daddy's Pizzeria. Being fat was as much a part of my persona as it was my physique.
Over the course of a few years, I went from being fat to being the O word. And morbidity came along with it. Being fat was one thing, but obese?! When I think obese, I think the mom in 'What's Eating Gilbert Grape' fat. I think of getting the wall cut out of your house to get to the doctor fat. Not me. I'm what I call a 'functioning fat guy.' I always knew I was fat, and that's okay, but I was never willing to accept that I was morbidly obese. Things change. Sometimes in a hurry.
After Barret was born, and he started scooting around, I was sitting on a dining room chair in the living room. Barret had scooted under the chair and had gotten stuck or something. Nothing serious, but he started to cry. I reached down to get him, and I couldn't bend down enough to pick up my son. I had to stop, stand up and stoop down to get him. At that moment, truth became reality for me, and I decided that I had to stop lying to myself. I was obese. I did have a problem, that I needed REAL help with. I had to accept that it wasn't normal to wear 5X clothes and to wear tee shirts and basketball shorts for every occasion. It wasn't healthy or normal to sit and eat a dozen tacos from Jack in the Box, or drink gallons of soda. It wasn't normal to face a life of mediocrity because I couldn't fulfill all the things I wanted to do. My weight was my handicap, and it had become my prison. I didn't want to face a life of diabetes, pain, early onset heart disease and stroke. Something had to change. I had to break the cycle of my habits, before they broke me. I had to stop lying to myself, and start being truthful.
I sought out medical advice.
Dr. Fox is a general surgeon who specializes in Bariatric patients. We talked about all treatment options: diets, surgery, nutritionists. In the end, after consulting with Dr. Fox and my very good friend and adviser Dr. Jeremy Swain, we decided on surgery as the best option based on the amount of weight that I have to lose. The only dissenting vote was from the good Dr Pepper, whom I still consider a close friend, we just don't visit as often any more.
So begins my last week as a fat guy. On Friday, March 29, 2013, at 10:00 in the morning I will become a recovering fat guy. Abstractly, I will always be a fat guy at heart, but I am choosing a healthy lifestyle from now on.
If one can take anything from this, it's to stop lying to yourselves. Stop believing that you can't change whatever it is about you that is holding you back. You can break the cycle. You can change your life. Change your paradigm. Don't wait. Start today. Don't wait until you have to lose 220 proverbial pounds. Life is waiting for you.

Food Doofus goes on a diet

This may come as a shock to most of people who know me, but the truth is I am overweight. In fact my good friend Dr. Jeremy Swain would say that I am I obese. Morbidly so in fact. Now before you send Dr. Jeremy hate mail and boycott his clinic, believe me, he's right.
When being told that you are morbidly obese, one of two things can happen. You can run out of the office crying and screaming and hope that it is raining so that no one can see your tears, or you can smile and laugh and generally ignore everything the doctor just told you, dismissing it as crazy talk and the ramblings of an over cautious member of the medical community just trying to bilk another dime out of you. This is essentially what I did. I delighted in being a few pounds to heavy. But saying that I was a little heavy is like saying the Grand Canyon is a little hole. The truth is I am fat. Real fat. And sometime between not being able to bend down and tie my shoes and having to wear sweat pants or basketball shorts everywhere, it hit me like a ton of Jack in the Box tacos that I need to stop eating the same amount of food as an entire West African country. It was time for me to take a long look at myself. It had to be a long look too, because I was too fat, and there is just too much of me to take a short look at.
Diet it is. The problem with diet food it that it all tastes terrible and you can't cook what you like. That is unless you work at a culinary school full of enough lean protein and vegetable to make every sorority girl jealous. My diet includes things like grilled buffalo strip and grilled asparagus, grilled zucchini and pesto with hard boiled eggs, and baked eggs wrapped in bacon and topped with low fat cheese. One thing that I thought would be hard is my Dr Pepper. Lots of water keeps any urges at bay, and I haven't really had a hankering for one. So here we go. Diet food doesn't have to taste like twigs and grass, although I did have something called Green Juice, that was terrible. It tasted like a fresh cut lawn. It's a good think that I don't have to drink that stuff everyday, cuz I just think I would.

Beef...it's what's for dinner. At least tonight anyway.

When it comes to BBQ's with friends, nothing beats beef. Especially rib eyes. Rib eyes come from the rib section of the cow. It's the top of the cow, near the front. It is very tender and quite tasty. Because it is a choice cut of beef, it is also a little pricy. It is my favorite cut of steak.
Unfortunately, not everyone reverences Ribeyes like I do, so I've decided that there should be some rules in regards to attending a party where such bovine beauties are broiled.
1. Medium Rare should be expected. Don't even ask for medium. Well done is a complete sin, and should be handled in much the same way as that chick from the Scarlet Letter was dealt with. I can imagine people walking around with GIANT red WDs sewn on their clothes. The thought makes me happy.

2. Never, under any circumstances, should one ask for Steak sauce. It is an offense to the cook and disrespectful to the cow. Any good piece of meat will stand up on its own without the help of Lea or Perrin, definitely doesn't need A1. Soy Sauce is also a travesty, unless you're doing Korean BBQ, but that's a different post all together.

3. Don't give young kids a steak. Chances are, they would rather have a hotdog. Indulge them. I have seen too many mommies (Dad's would never waste a perfectly good rib-eye on someone who's more excited about the soda selection then the beef) give their little darlings a delectable delicacy, only to find that if it has been eaten on, half of it gets thrown away. This should be against the law. All offending parties should be thrown out of society, and be caused to live a hermits life. If giving a child steak is unavoidable, cut a portion of steak I to pieces so that you can control the amount that they get. Also children should get the smallest, most over cooked steak available. Never give a small child an adults steak. It's bad form.

4. Ask before making a take away plate with such beefy goodness. Most likely they won't care, but just because you didn't pay for the meat, doesn't mean that someone else didn't. It's the polite society thing to do, and you may not lose your hand.

5. Finally, help clean up. I know that the men will all be out hanging by the grill, and the ladies will be in chatting about whether they prefer to shave or wax their legs and armpits, but at the end of the night, there will be dishes to do. The kitchen will be a mess. Dinner parties are a communal experience. So should doing the dishes. Help clean up, and you might be invited back. Leave without lifting a finger, and you will be left out next time large amounts of strip loin cooked.

There you have it. Rules to live by when attending a BBQ party. Live these and eat well. Until next time, keep practicing your tournés.