In the Sellwood Kitchen

29.0 You're Out of Your Gourd!

2009-11-03T12:44:00.000-08:00

Starring Erin & Mike and Kelly & Celia
Filmed on Location in Beautiful Downtown Sellwood
Soundtrack: A potpourri of jazz sides

“Song with Orange”

Autumn. Deep in it. It was raining a bit as I shuffled down Linn through a tarp of wet leaves. Earlier that afternoon, I’d fallen asleep on the couch listening to a live version of Coltrane’s “A Love Supreme”. At times my stride matched the dance of Elvin Jones’ drums. But now, through the leaves, all I could hear was the bow across Jimmy Garrison’s bass.

Our autumn began late September in Ohio’s Amish country. The town has an actual name, but I just call it “Amish Country” even though I purchased some delightful cookies from a sweet Mennonite gal. We were visiting our friends Paul & Donna, who made an appearance in the October 2008 episode of ITSK. They have opened a deli in the “big city” near them, a small town center that makes Milwaukie look like Manhattan. Donna is a terrific cook, made all the sweeter by their refusal to take any payment for our meals (which was darn middle-American of them). Also the visit marked thirty years since Paul and I had first met in grade school, and if he HAD charged me for the beef stew (which was out of this world), I would’ve thrown down my cheesecake-covered fork (also on the house) and stormed out of there!

On the Saturday of our visit, the deli participated in the town’s Scarecrow Festival. I bought a cheese-filled sausage and strolled through the fair, judging the entries on my own. “Woodstock Scarecrow” got a “thumbs up,” as did “Scarecrow Spiderman” displayed in a manner on his stake, I found myself silently musing, “Spiderman died for our sins”.

The orange and red sunsets over the cornfields of Ohio made the perfect autumnal entrance for Erin and me.

Back in Sellwood, we embraced the season. To the pumpkin patch! As luck would have it, our friends the elusive (and bitingly satirical) Kelly and Celia were also in the market for gourds. They met us at the Sellwood Kitchen.

Behold! Upon entering our humble abode one encounters the newly constructed O’Shaughnessy Public Library, five bookshelves, charmingly categorized, and containing more unread than read volumes. That’s my fault – I’m a slow reader, but a perpetual collector (though nothing suitable for the Antiques Roadshow, mind you).

Celia seemed more impressed with the library than Kelly who, reflecting on the Travel section’s proximity to the Poetry shelf, offered, “Let’s see what Whitman has to say about Paris.”

Curiously, I don’t have any Whitman.

Off to Alice’s Country Market in Damascus, not so much a pumpkin patch as a pumpkin pile, pre-picked and unmuddied, which was fine with me as I had worn my new Skechers. A hay pyramid, of the Aztec variety, displayed dozens of pumpkins on its ledges. Kelly scaled the monument and in the bright noonday sun, the silhouette looked familiar to the Tanis dig scene in “Raiders of the Lost Ark”.

It was an uneasy scaling, and indeed as she wobbled up the bales, she warned all subsequent climbers that this was not “stable hay” as she had presumed. Luckily, she descended unharmed.

Erin made the fortuitous decision to purchase a pair of butternut squash, a gourd whose playful name would serve well as a 1950’s sock hop dance, performed in tight high-waisted slacks. Later that evening she would turn squash to soup, whose shade so closely matched the color of our cat’s coat, we called it Simba Soup. Unofficially of course, because any cook or writer knows that beyond the Middle Ages, “cat” and “soup” is a poor advertisement for a hot, comforting belly-smile of a meal.

Erin’s Intro: Its autumn, you’ve got to eat this soup!

Creamy Butternut Squash Soup

2 Butternut squash
1 yellow onion, diced
4 tablespoons butter
3-4 Cups whole milk
1 can broth
1 teaspoon ground nutmeg
1 teaspoon curry powder
Salt and pepper

Cut each squash in half length wise and scoop out seeds. Coat a roasting pan with non-stick cooking spray and place the squash halves inside cut side down. Roast at 350 degrees for one hour. After squash has cooled slightly, scoop out all of the squash and throw away the skins. Bring a large stock pot to medium heat; add a small amount of oil, the butter, and the diced onion. Cook until onion is translucent, about five minutes. Add the squash, broth and half of the milk. Add seasoning and salt and pepper to taste. Using an immersion blender, blend to a smooth consistency. Add more milk to reach your desired consistency, blend again. Heat through but do not simmer. Adjust seasoning if necessary. Serve and Enjoy!

The “In the Sellwood Kitchen” cast and crew can be contacted at: erinandmike@sellwoodkitchen.com

28.0 Black Bean/White Album

2009-10-27T10:31:00.000-07:00

Starring Erin, Mike & Sarah
Filmed on Location in Beautiful Downtown Sellwood
Soundtrack: The Beatles by the Beatles

“Half of what I say is meaningless…”

So, Erin was supposed to be baking cookies for this month’s article (the announcement of which emptied my salivary glands) but apparently something happened to the dough, and we had a TOTAL #&$%! DISASTER on our hands! Well, not on my hands – I was halfway across the room flipping through a TV Guide from November 1976. I was conjuring the autumns of my youth for this first article of the fall.

When I was a kid, in the 1970s, the fall was the best of times and the worst of times (I just made that up). School restarted, and while I always enjoyed the first few days (what with the fresh notebooks and new dungarees), the seeming endlessness of it, the unbearable distance from the next summer, marked my biological calendar for life. Even today, at September’s cusp, a strange twinge in my gut triggers a phantom panic.

Tonight it’s raining. We still have the windows open, but the telepathy of fall has sent a cool transmission. It is faint, and in the rain. The train passes through and the wind carries the call-and-response of the mournful whistle and the canine baying. I’m reminded of the outro of the Beatles’ “Good Morning, Good Morning.” You know, with the barking…

You do own Sgt Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, right? So maybe it’s not the masterpiece it’s held up to be (for my money, there weren’t enough oboes), but it’s certainly influential. Though my brother Jim vehemently disagrees, I’m more impressed with their follow-up, popularly known as the White Album. I’ve owned the LP for years (jeez, I bet I bought it around ‘86?). But I’d never owned the CD until I purchased the new re-mastered version last week.

The Beatles White Album doesn’t have much to do with soup, although the word is uttered once during “Revolution 9”. My cursory research yields this is the only reference to soup in all of the Beatles lyrics. But the White Album holds no shortage of food: “Glass Onion”, “Wild Honey Pie”, and “Savoy Truffle”. “Piggies” sets the protagonists at the dinner table; “Cry Baby Cry” tackles a royal breakfast.

Ah, my thoughts are all a’swirl! You see, with fall approaching, my nostalgia grows a thicker coat, a bit ragged and ursine with each turned page of the calendar. The Fall TV Lineup of 1982, bare trees trembling outside a library window, shopping for Halloween costumes at Richie’s Variety, and the Beatles: these are loose bits in the pockets of my autumns. Especially the Beatles. Especially the White Album.

I close my eyes and see myself crunching through the oranged maple leaves while “Rocky Raccoon” tumbles through my ears. I feel like “Mother Nature’s Son” hiking up the mountain for blackberries. I saw a “Blackbird” fly! It’s such a “Long, Long, Long” walk that when I return home, “I’m So Tired.” “’Good Night’,” I mumble as I slog to the bedroom. But I’ve forgotten something – I’m hungry! The house is a bit chilly; rain and its dark clouds banished a fair piece of heat today. I’m starving! It’s fall!

“It’s black bean soup. You want any?” asks Sarah.

“Nah, I don’t like black beans,” I reply.

“He really doesn’t,” says Erin, “but I’ll have a bowl.”

Later, I’m on the couch eating macaroni & cheese, when my eyes start burning. But in the good way; in the grilling onion way. I peer into Erin’s bowl. A dollop of pure white sour cream floats on the surface of the black bean soup. Erin takes a picture. She swirls the sour cream into the soup. For a moment, the yin and the yang appear. Then yang swallows yin. Or the other way around. Is yang the spicy one?

I try a spoonful. That’s a pretty nice soup, nice and spicy! Then a flash, like a pulse of disco and it’s fall again. The evening sky is pumpkin red. There’s a cold anticipation to the air, as if cooling its jets for the winter. The steam climbs like ivy into the high dark corners of the house. The soup at once is exquisite and comforting.

Soon, the new Fall TV season, Halloween, stuffing & gravy, Time-Life Music Christmas album commercials…

Soon the butter cookies, the apple cider, the leftover bag of Midnight Milky Ways and Snickers Dark…

For now, keep the soup simmering, and I’ll tell you about the walrus & me…

BLACK BEAN SOUP

2 cloves of garlic, crushed
1 onion, diced
1 red pepper, diced
1 green pepper, diced
Oil
Salt & pepper
1 can beef broth
3 cans black beans, rinsed
1 ½ tsp cumin
¼ tsp ginger
½ tsp coriander
Cayenne pepper
Cilantro & sour cream to top

Ina large pot on medium heat, add oil. Sautee diced onions, peppers, and crushed garlic. When softened, add beef broth, rinsed black beans, and spices. Reduce to medium-low heat and simmer covered for 10 minutes. Partially mash mixture. Simmer uncovered for 10 minutes, to thicken. Garnish with tortilla chips, sour cream and parsley. Salt & pepper to taste.

The “In the Sellwood Kitchen” cast and crew can be contacted at: erinandmike@sellwoodkitchen.com

27.0 Orzo It Seems

2009-09-08T20:47:00.000-07:00

Starring Erin & Mike
Filmed on Location in Beautiful Downtown Sellwood
Soundtrack: Shaving Cream by Benny Bell

"Shave everyday and you’ll always look keen"

Just had a haircut and a shave in the bathroom (I’m my own tonsore). Now, in the air-conditioned bedroom, I’m a little chilly. Complaints, complaints. Erin’s scrapbooking (yet another talent) at her desk. And I’m typing in bed. Like Joyce! No, not Joyce. Maybe Saroyan. Probably not Mailer. I’ve got it! Fitzgerald! With his soft hands and all…

Me: Hey, Zelda, can I get you a mint julep?

Erin: (Pause) What?

Me: Oh, nothing.

We didn’t have one of our usual Sellwood Kitchen dinners with the gang tonight. Haven’t in a while. It’s been a busy summer, and, like I said last time (did you read my last article? It was fantastic!), Erin’s been catering her friends’ weddings, so soirees have been put on the backburner until September cools off (both literally and figuratively).

Because the sun looks down on us (not literally) and guffaws hot hales of dry white laughter (figuratively).

Because the sun is a bum what oughta be socked inna nose for getting too close this summer!

Who cares! We’re hungry, whether you dopes eat a big meal or not. What is this – At the Sellwood Borefest or In the Sellwood Kitchen? Give us a recipe!

All right, I’ll get you a recipe.

Me: Hon, do you have a recipe?

Erin: Why mint julep?

Me: Huh?

Erin: Mint julep. Why would I want mint julep?

Me: No, I was saying like if I was F. Scott Fitzgerald, then you’d be Zelda, his wife, and maybe you’d want a mint julep, even though his character, Daisy Buchanan, drank them in “The Great Gatsby” and not his wife…

Erin: (Pause) Orzo.

Me: Ouzo? Ugh, I hate licorice. I’d rather have a mint julep.

Erin: No, write about the orzo salad. God!

I start thinking about too many things at once and don’t pay attention to what’s happening outside my head. The orzo salad. My favorite salad! So cool and refreshing! Perfect for these deep summer days.

Erin created what seemed like gallons of this good stuff for one of the recent matrimonial events. So there were leftovers for me! A side dish, I suppose, but I eat it like a meal. I’d market it as such: Orzo Salad – Eat it Like a Meal!

I wonder if Fitzgerald ever had orzo…

Erin: What?

Me: (Did I say that out loud?) Oh, nothing, I’m just yammering to myself.

You’re telling us! Why don’t you go sort through those two dozen dusty LPs you dragged home from your precious Antique Mall so we can listen to Erin?

Hey, that’s not a bad idea! You see, they closed most of the booths there, so the records were going for cheap! Hmm, should I listen to The Live Adventures of Mike Bloomfield and Al Kooper or Invitation to Yiddish?

ORZO SALAD

Erin’s Intro: The Sellwood Kitchen has been completely taken over by giant trays, chafing dishes, and other oversized food serving paraphernalia. August is wedding season. Granted, I don't have a catering "business", I just seem to enjoy giving up my kitchen, my refrigerator, and 3 days of my life to feed friends of friends at weddings. Why did everyone decide to get married at the coast this year? Oh well, an excuse for a road trip. By the way, a shout out to everyone I know for loaning me coolers this summer. I couldn't have done it without you. The little Disney embellished cooler from our honeymoon isn't up to the task. So, this month, the Sellwood Kitchen hasn't been the usual place to gather with friends to eat and drink wine (we still drink wine though), I don't even remember the last time I cooked a meal for anyone living here... But, it has been a great experience to cook food for 35 to 100 people and walk into a room full of them eating it, and liking it. So, here is one recipe that I used this summer. And don't worry, it's not for 100 servings, but you can always multiply it by 10 if you feel the need...

1 box orzo pasta
1 medium red onion, diced
1 container grape tomatoes, halved or quartered, depending on the desired size
1 container feta cheese
1 English cucumber, peeled, seeded, and diced
1/2 bottle roasted red pepper vinaigrette
Extra-virgin olive oil (EVOO)

Cook Orzo until al dente, strain, and rinse with cold water. Toss with a little EVOO and put in a large bowl. To pasta, add the red onion, tomatoes, cucumbers and feta cheese. Mix together, toss with the vinaigrette. Season with fresh cracked pepper to taste. Let chill in refrigerator for 1-2 hours or overnight.

The “In the Sellwood Kitchen” cast and crew can be contacted at: erinandmike@sellwoodkitchen.com

26.0 Nineteen Hundred and Sixty-Nine Plus Forty

2009-09-08T20:37:00.000-07:00

The writer & his mother (pregnant with the writer) in 2009, recast as 1969

Starring Erin & Mike
Filmed on Location in Beautiful Downtown Sellwood
Soundtrack: “Get Older” by Matthew Sweet

"Who cares if you don't know what you want?"

I left the funeral home at one in the morning, embalmed. The fluid was cheap beer. The mortician was the bartender. And the funeral home was The Woods, Sellwood's new music venue on Milwaukie Avenue.

You should know this about me -- I don't like to leave the house after supper. What can the world offer me that my couch does not? But the Woods, the old Wilhelm Funeral Home converted to a music joint, is within walking distance. Plus it's my birthday weekend. And we don't have a recipe this month (which I concur is really the only reason to read this furshlugginer article each month), so I needed something to write about. (Erin's been busy catering a few of her friends' weddings so we’ve been eating a lot of cereal at home.)

Just as well -- what would be an appropriate recipe for my 40th birthday article? Soup? Boring. Delicious, but boring.

Yes, by the time you read this, I'll be 40. Or dead. Which would make it a real keepsake, unless you're reading this 100 years from now in the Sellwood Public Library's digital archives (or on some micro-fiche if you're one of those neo-traditionalists everyone will hear so much about in the 22nd century). In that case, my being dead 100 years from now would be unremarkable. Indeed, if I am still around, wrapped in an electric slankee in my anti-gravity rocking chair, bemoaning the cost of a Rolling Stones concert ticket, be sure to thank me for inventing the full-body wet-nap, a moist towelette coverall for distribution at restaurants with sauce-heavy menus; I hope to have it in production by the end of third decade of this millenium.

I entered the world in a storm, a 12 lb hailstone of a child. Forty years and 138 lbs later, I still prefer the rain to the sun (perhaps nature played a larger role in calling me to Oregon than practical reasons). I was a large child, a fact either doubted or celebrated by the curious, considering my thereafter lean physique. My gargantuan birth weight was the talk of Mary Immaculate Hospital that week. Why such a gentle giant? Laziness. I believe I overextended my stay in the womb. My birth should have coincided with man's first step on the moon; instead Buzz & the boys were already back on Earth, eating ham sandwiches and watching the Johnny Carson show...

I was 3 weeks old as Woodstock sang, swayed and stank 2 hours north in Bethel, New York. I couldn't make it -- Dad was a dyed-in-the-wool folkie in the Brothers Four/Kingston Trio tradition, and if by some cruel twist of Aquarian fate he found himself in the tea-soaked mud, he more likely would have been trying to score an valium rather than the brown acid.

I did attend the Woodstock (Oregon) Festival & Parade the other day. There was considerably less nudity than the famed festival of 1969.

Erin: What are you doing?

Me: Electric daydreaming. I'm taking stock of the last 40 years.

Erin: How's that going?

Me: I’m watching Cookie Monster on Youtube. Sesame Street turns forty as well this year. Yes, Cookie Monster and I are about the same age. We’ve been having an unspoken cookie-eating contest these last four decades. (Don’t tell him, I lost count years ago. Also, don’t tell him because he is a puppet.)

Forty. Well, not 40 yet. One more day (I’m back in real time now). Erin's having a party for me today. I was going to say "in my honor" but that makes me sound 80. Some would say my vocabulary makes me sound like 80. Just because I bring up Margaret Dumont a lot.

I suppose I'm a slightly unusual for my age. I act about thirty years older, but was carded for looking 27-years old the other day (while purchasing a box of wine). No, I mean case of wine. I haven't bought a box of wine in almost 15 years. That was during my Carolina Days, when I lived in Calabash, NC, and my only literary output was editing and contributing to a zine I published with my friend Harry Carbohydrate. "Report to Hell" we called it (a play on Kazantzakis' memoir of Greco). Desperate poetry and clip art -- it was the best of rhymes, it was the worst of rhymes. But I developed a style I utilize today in ITSK. Be thankful this column isn't called "In the Calabash Kitchen" -- after all, how many ways can one prepare macaroni & cheese?For better or worse, I'm at my peak, artistically (though I pray fervently that I have not reached the zenith of my abilities or my legacy may be limited to the aforementioned wet-nap tuxedo).

Why would any of this be interesting to you, my Sellwood/Moreland/Etc neighbors? Oh heavens, I can't imagine it would be at all, at all...

So, in lieu of a recipe, here’s some trivia you can chew on! Get it? With the chewing…?

In 1969: The Beatles Abbey Road, New York Tendaberry by Laura Nyro, Trout Mask Replica by Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band, and The Velvet Underground were released.

In 1969: Ice Cube, PJ Harvey, Christy Turlington and Dweezil Zappa were born.

In 1969: Paul Chambers, Brian Jones, Josh White and Frank Loesser died (Loesser, on the day I was born).

In 1969: The New York Mets won their first World Series in Game 5 against the Baltimore Orioles.

You see? Even the losers get lucky sometimes. Well, gotta go. The guests are arriving, the hotdogs are bursting…and it’s almost time for my nap.

Oh, and go to The Woods! Someday it’ll be regarded as the CBGBs of Sellwood!

The “In the Sellwood Kitchen” cast and crew can be contacted at: erinandmike@sellwoodkitchen.com

25.0 Don't You Know About the Curd

2009-08-17T17:58:00.000-07:00

Starring Erin & Mike, Sarah, Adam and Jim & Jessika
Filmed on Location in Beautiful Downtown Sellwood
Soundtrack: Imperial Bedroom by Elvis Costello & the Attractions

“I’m the town crier…”

Before the winds conspired and the leaves and dust and litter rose in a dioramic Ascension, I dreamed of dessert. In moments a soundless fury of wind would rush down SW Morrison like a big baby blowing out his candles. “Lemon curd,” I whispered in my car, waiting for Erin. “Lemon curd,” I whispered again, seeing her step out of her building with her hair aloft. “Must’ve been a rough day,” I thought. Then the atmospheric mood swing hit and I saw a troupe of Marcel Marceaus walking against the wind. Erin struggled to the passenger side and we entered the stop-and-go flow of rush-hour traffic cum mass-hallucination evacuation.

“Wow, this storm came out of nowhere!” said Erin.

“Oh, yeah, I know. Listen. This isn’t going to affect dessert, is it?”

It wasn’t, I was assured. We were having a few friends over for dinner, like we do; but the barbecue, as mouthwatering as it would be, was not the main attraction. It was: Lemon Curd Cupcakes.

Curd? That sounds awful. I know, right! But it’s not skimmed curdled milk, as I first horrifyingly assumed. No, this is something else, a fruit curd, lemon to be precise.

The dinner conversation was as delightful as ever. Jessika, who despite critiquing the décor of our bathroom on her last visit, broached the lively subject of strange human pervasions. We guffawed, howled and snickered. We raised our stubby beers in bawdy approval of our shared love of off-color euphemisms.

But eventually, the noise went white as my blue eyes, green with gluttonous greed, drifted to the oven, wherein those cupcakes quickly gestated in the Hotpoint womb.

The lemon curd, I sensed with feral desperation, cooled in the fridge. I began astral projecting into the appliances when a gale of laughter slapped me back to the table.

“The ‘dinner bell’!” offered Jimmy. Adam lost it!

The table was cleared. Erin and Sarah began filling and frosting the cupcakes. I busied myself with odd distractions: In my head, I tried listing the Seven Dwarves in order of likability (for the record, Bashful is the worst).

I find myself locked in a spell that can only be broken by the taste of lemon curd. Erin detects my non-verbal cue.

She hands me a cupcake. A breeze, smelling of rain, drifts in through the screen door. The world is perfect enough.

LEMON CURD CUPCAKES

Erin’s Intro: This recipe is perfect for a non-diet spring treat. It’s cute and fresh and fun. If you’ve never had fresh lemon curd, you are totally missing out. It tastes like summer, and by itself, it’s gluten free. Add it to these fancied-up cupcakes and homemade butter cream frosting and you have a REAL treat. There are two choices listed, and they are both irresistible. For the frosting, you can find a simple butter cream recipe or use pre-made. We creamed butter, lots of powdered sugar, vanilla and a little milk. It’s a basic recipe and easy to find so we didn’t list it here. These cupcakes are super cute and perfect for spring gatherings. Hope you enjoy!

Lemon Curd:

3 eggs
1 egg yolk
1 Cup sugar
½ Cup unsalted butter
2 teaspoons grated lemon peel
1/3 Cup fresh lemon juice

In a double boiler, mix the above ingredients on low to medium low heat. Whisk regularly until the mixture becomes thick. Remove from heat and strain until it is smooth. Let cool.

Cupcakes:

1 Box lemon cake mix
1 (3.4oz) box instant lemon pudding mix
8 oz. cream cheese
½ Cup sour cream
¼ Cup water
¼ Cup oil
2 Eggs

In a mixer, cream together cream cheese and sour cream. Add water, oil, eggs and mix well. Add cake mix and pudding and mix until smooth. Batter will be thick. If you have a spring loaded scoop, use it to spoon mixture into muffin tins lined with cupcake wrappers. Bake at 350 for 20 minutes. Let cool. Makes 24 cupcakes.

Two Options for Lemon Curd Cupcakes:
1) Baked-in: Before baking the muffins, make a dent in the top of the batter and fill it with a spoonful of lemon curd. Bake as directed.
2) Filled-in: After cupcakes cool, cut out a cone from the top of the cupcake. Fill the hole with a spoonful of lemon curd using a piping bag. Level off the cut-out piece of cupcake and place it back on top of the lemon curd. Cover with frosting to set in place.

The “In the Sellwood Kitchen” cast and crew can be contacted at: erinandmike@sellwoodkitchen.com

24.0 Manicotti Redux

2009-06-28T17:10:00.000-07:00

Starring Erin & Mike, Adam & Josh and Sarah
Filmed on Location in Beautiful Downtown Sellwood
Soundtrack: Willoughby by Mike “Sport” Murphy

“So let's go out and act as if it's Saturday - I cannot bear to wait 'til one arrives.”

Madonna mia! Why must writing this article be such a chore? Our present meal in the Sellwood Kitchen tantalized, satisfied and even conjured (the primary effect I seek). Yet here I sit in front of the laptop, sipping on a souvenir Japanese Grapefruit wine cooler, and thinking about what to write (a Zen master would suggest “not-thinking,” a state of consciousness conducive to enlightenment). The wine cooler can (yes, the can) bore only the word “grapefruit” in English. But I’d been forewarned (threatened?) that the contents did contain alcohol. I wonder if there’s some NHK-inspired parody of Bartles & Jaymes in Shibuya.

We wonder if there’s an NHK-inspired parody of you in Shibuya, and if so, can we TiVo it?

That’s terrific. So anyway, I know Erin has similar blocks, scrambling for a recipe before the deadline. With greater ease, she lights upon a lip-smacking dish. Me, I’m as dull-faced as Spencer Pratt at a Richard Feynman lecture. Leave us turn back the hands of time to that delightful day in May from whence derives our episode. (Disclaimer: The following events did not transpire on one day, although we shall proceed as if they had.)

12:05am: Saturday begins as usual at midnight where I find myself at PDX awaiting the arrival of my Aunt Arlene’s flight from New York. She said she was getting in at 9pm (she was wrong); the airline said 11pm (they were wrong); the plane lands at 12:05am (it was correct). Home. Bed. Sleep.

9:05am: I donate a busted TV and dump off a deuce of moldy director’s chair (and I don’t mean Clint Eastwood) at S.M.I.L.E’s annual clean-up day. Five bucks for a good cause. They do it every year.

10:25am: After a quick brunch with Aunt Arlene at my mom’s place, I walk home with an Entenmanns crumb cake, flown in fresh from her carry-on. It’s a beautifully sunny day!

10:28am: I stop by the annual Sherrett Street Book Sale – in essence, the “perfect” garage sale, with proceeds benefitting the Oregon Association for Childhood Education International. I picked up a couple James Joyces, a Styron (the memoir), Loren Eisley’s “The Immense Journey”, two animal books and three LPs, including Johnny Smith on Verve.

Well, aren’t you a modest pseudo-intellectual, complete with just a hint of hip ennui?

Oh, why do you say that? Because I was flipping through Ulysses at the Laundromat?

No, we think your attempts at erudition produce mere fringes of facts, bolstered by bolts of noisy info-tainment. It’s like filling in a manicotti tube with whipped cream.

Wow, tell a fella what you really mean, right? Listen, did you mention manicotti because you read ahead in my rough draft, or was that just a coincidence?

William Burroughs says “In the magical universe there are no coincidences and there are no accidents.”Also, we read the title up above.

Oh, yeah. Well, then that takes us up to…

7:40pm: I wake up on the couch (where I fell asleep after my busy morning – remember all that walking?). Adam & Josh are seated at the kitchen table.

“The black spots are protein.” Maybe I’m in a waking dream. Adam’s talking about the ants. We have ants.

“No, it’s pepper,” covers Erin mock-heroically. But it’s ants. It’s 7:42 and Sarah and Erin are making manicotti, or “munuhgut” or (dreadfully) “manny cotty.” But to quote “Sixteen Candles”: You don’t spell it, son, you eat it!

There was a gluten issue concerning the purchase of non-Gluten Intolerancy Committee-approved pasta – in this instance, manicotti tubes. So let me now issue this warning: This is not a gluten-free recipe. Let me also exalt this proclamation: This is not a gluten-free recipe!

I don’t think I’ve had manicotti in years. I used to eat it like it was going out of style. Which it did, I guess, or else so many manicotti-less nights wouldn’t have passed without regard. Tonight, this isn't the frozen variety I microwaved in its cardboard crèche, lo, those many years ago (it was my first foray into gourmet) – this is homemade eye-tie!

While Sellwood is by no means the Little Italy of Portland (it's a “little musty,” but that's just because of all the antiques...), we do have our share of ristorantes – Gino's, Portofino, a Cena, Staccato Gelato and the Garden State food cart (that’s a nice sausage sandwich). I’ll add the Sellwood Kitchen to the list (my name’s O’Shaughnessy, but I’m also half Russo).

“…but you can’t make him laugh.” That was the punch line to an alternate article title. I changed the title. Manicotti is a funny word, but it won’t join a comedy troupe. It’s funny on its own and repels any attempts at pun. One can only regard the title of the piece as an essence of the beatific simplicity of the word manicotti. At best, one could affix an obsequious adjective postpositively.

So is manicotti a stuck-up dish? (I once admonished a Fettuccini Alfredo to get off his high horse.)

No matter, manicotti: It’s what’s inside what counts.

MANICOTTI REDUX

Erin’s Intro: Sometimes you just need gluten. Not really, but apparently no one makes gluten-free manicotti shells; I might have to look into manufacturing them someday. I’d have to manufacture GF Ricotta too, because I learned this month that it’s no good for the gluten intolerant. Although I normally would have protested by making something else…well, we needed a recipe STAT! Don’t worry, we didn’t poison Josh, we made a separate dish for him; he loves pasta, literally. Well, this month I decided to kick back and take it easy, so I let Sarah take the lead – she makes a mean manicotti!

8oz. box manicotti noodles
2 cups ricotta cheese
2 cups grated mozzarella, divided
¾ cup grated parmesan, divided
2 eggs, beaten
1 ½ tsp salt
½ tsp fresh ground pepper
10oz box frozen spinach, thawed and drained
1 large shallot, minced
3oz. pancetta, chopped
4 medium cloves garlic, minced or pressed
2 twenty-six oz jars pasta sauce
1 cup water
1 tbsp Italian seasoning (optional)

Start with a sauté pan with a touch of oil on medium heat; add the pancetta, sauté for about 4 min. until it begins to brown; add shallots and sauté until translucent and starting to brown. Add garlic and sauté for an additional minute. Set aside to cool. Next, in a large bowl combine ricotta and beaten eggs until smooth. Add 1 cup mozzarella, ½ cup parmesan, salt, pepper, spinach and the pancetta mixture. Mix well. Combine jars of sauce and water (and seasonings if desired); pour 1/3 of this mixture into a 9x13 inch baking dish.

Next we stuff the shells! Put the ricotta mixture into a gallon sized plastic bag, cut a one-inch hole in the corner to create a make-shift piping bag to squeeze the filling into the uncooked manicotti shells. Place stuffed shells into baking dish in single layer. (Place any extra stuffed shells into separate smaller casserole dish and freeze for later use). Top with remaining sauce and sprinkle with remaining cheeses. Place in 350º oven until noodles are soft in the middle (45 minutes to an hour). Remove from oven and let set for 10 minutes and enjoy!

The “In the Sellwood Kitchen” cast and crew can be contacted at: erinandmike@sellwoodkitchen.com

23.0 In Cod We Crust

2009-05-13T19:02:00.000-07:00

Starring Erin & Mike, Adam & Josh , Sarah & Adam, and Jane
Filmed on Location in Beautiful Downtown Sellwood
Soundtrack: Fisherman’s Blues by The Waterboys

“Castin' out my sweet line with abandonment and love”

Actually, we use tilapia, but that’s a great title, right? In Tilapia We Lightly Coat with Corn Meal” doesn’t have the same zing. But I’m getting ahead of myself. First, a history of fish.

“Fish” was a short-lived (14 episode) sitcom that ran on ABC from 1977-1978. Starring Abe Vigoda as Det. Phil Fish, the series (a spin-off of the abundantly more popular “Barney Miller”) centered around the home life of Fish and his wife Bernice, after their unlikely decision to adopt five troubled foster children. I say “unlikely” because even in ’77 Vigoda looked about a hundred.
What does this have to do with tonight’s meal? Nothing. Let’s continue.

Imagine if you will: Neptune astride Leviathan, a mighty plume of seawater obscuring his beard, flowing bolts of geoduck. On his trident, thrust toward the undrying sun, three perfectly browned and crispy fish sticks. This is the glorious regurgitation of the fathoms, the favored gift of the sea!

That’s a little closer to tonight’s inspired dish. This next bit reels it in.

Every Friday, even beyond the Fridays of Lent, my father returned from work to a fish sticks and spaghetti dinner. It wasn' t

More than anything the ketchup thermostat has colored my impression of all fish (if not all pasta) meals. Isn’t there some quote about fish being a dish best served cold? Putting ketchup on a fish stick is the culinary equivalent of icing down a swollen knee (but more appeasing to the taste buds).

But please don't let me be misunderstood. It was my favorite meal of the week. Also, as a nostalgic trigger, it signaled the beginning of the weekend – my next meal after the fish dinner would be Saturday morning pancakes while watching the Krofft Supershow (1976-1978).

So when the other night, Erin decided we'd be having fish sticks for the Sellwood Kitchen entree, all sorts of questions sprung to my tongue: Is "Donnie & Marie" back on the air? Do we have enough ketchup? Did you convert?

Answers: No, the variety show is dead; no, there's plenty of ketchup (Erin despises it); and no.

I didn't care. I was just anxious that we start defrosting the fish sticks in time for Donny & Marie (thank you, You Tube).

Erin began to explain, as delicately as one can to a 39 year old in the throes of a severe nostalgic episode, that these would not be "your father's fish sticks."

O joy! O rapture! Home made fish sticks! I called my mother. "Wanna come over for dinner? We're having fish sticks! No, we don’t need any ketchup." (On a curious side note worth recording, my mom, aware of Erin's famous chicken skewers, had misinterpreted the nature of the meal. My brother asked her what she'd be eating at my house, and she responded, with waning certainty, "Fish-on-a-Stick?").

We had a full house that night: Our residents Lenny & Squiggy (Josh & Adam); sous chef extraordinaire Sarah MFB and Adam, uh…2 – both Sarah’s boyfriend and Erin’s old college chum; and my mother, popularly known as Jane. It was a Thursday night, Holy Thursday if I recall, and of course in addition to eating, we had gathered for our weekly TV funnies.

Now it was time for the main event ("Remember the Main Event" -- sorry, just a little nautical humor). Served with fresh tartar sauce, with spring rolls on the side, the fish sticks were plated, photographed, and presently consumed. I loved them, but...

Erin wasn't bowled over by it. Something was lacking. The nucleus of the meal was sound, but the electrons needed a little charge.

My taste buds, abused by years of Drake’s coffee cakes and Yodels, could find no fault. But my psychic inner-ear picked up these whisperings from the ocean of archetypes Jung dubbed the Collective Unconscious: You should only serve fish sticks on Fridays!

FISHED STICKS

Erin’s Intro: What’s a minced fish? I don’t know, but we aren’t having any. This isn’t your average frozen fish stick. We’re using fresh Tilapia, and GF ingredients, of course. And for once, we aren’t frying anything. I know, sad. But considering we’ve fried every type of food we can get our hands on in the past six months, it’s time for a break. I first called this recipe “boring”, but I changed it a little, and decided it’s not boring, it’s “simple”, and there is nothing wrong with that. It’s a great GF meal, especially for kids. Prep them ahead of time and bake them later for an after school snack. Or bake them for a house full of hungry grownups. Either way… preheat oven to 350°.

4 Tilapia fillets
1 Cup Rice Flour
1 ½ Cups Corn Meal
2 Eggs + ½ Cup Milk, whisked
Salt and Pepper
2 Tbs Cajun Seasoning
Fresh Lemon Wedges
Cooking Spray

Put rice flour, corn meal, and egg mixture into three separate shallow dishes. Slice Tilapia fillets into strips, about 4 strips per fillet depending on the size. Lightly season fish with salt and pepper. Mix Cajun seasoning into the corn meal. Dredge each strip in flour, shake off, and coat in egg mixture. Then, press the fillet into the corn meal mixture so it is completely covered. Repeat with remaining Tilapia strips. At this point the fish can be chilled in the refrigerator until ready to bake. Set fish sticks on parchment paper lined baking sheet. Spray the fish sticks with cooking spray. Bake about 6-8 minutes, flip and spray the other side, bake 6-8 minutes more. Fish should be white and flaky. Squeeze fresh lemon onto the fish sticks before serving with tartar sauce, or ketchup, if you’re into that.

The “In the Sellwood Kitchen” cast and crew can be contacted at: erinandmike@sellwoodkitchen.com

22.0 Out of Our Element

2009-04-12T20:28:00.000-07:00

Starring Erin & Mike, Adam & Josh and Introducing Sarah
Filmed on Location near Beautiful Downtown Sellwood
Soundtrack: “Diner” Original Motion Picture Soundtrack

“Definitely the smile of the week!”- Fenwick

“Fire! There’s a fire!” shouted Sarah in the crowded kitchen. “Ack!’ responded Erin, dashing to the pantry for the extinguisher. “How does this thing work?!?”

No worry, the fire went out, leaving nothing but an acrid stink smoking from the burned-out element of the stove. Granted, the stove is old (it has dials, for pete’s sake), but typically did not belch electric flames until this moment.

There’s a hole in the element. Cripes! No kitchen for the Sellwood Kitchen meal! No worry – we’ll head over to Sellwood Kitchen II, aka Adam & Josh’s. Considering the meal, their abode seems more fitting. Why? It’s diner food, so why not cook it at Adam’s? He is our King of Fifties Kitsch (and ‘20s, ‘30s and ‘40s as well).

I need only cock my head to the right and I’m bombarded (or “atom bomb”-barded or “Adam bomb”-barded) by anachronistic wall clocks, electric fans, brownie cameras, candy dishes and a Better Homes & Gardens Handyman’s Book (There’s the dad with his pipe and hat, and mom in her pink housedress!).

Certainly, the essence of diners need not be locked in the 50s (I’ve chowed at many trapped in the ‘70s), but they seemed to reach their zenith of iconography in that period. Have you seen “Diner”, Barry Levinson’s directorial debut? It’s only the best movie ever! By now, that movie’s in my DNA. My kid’s first words will be issued with Modell’s cadences. (I don’t hesitate to type out my inner monologues, do I?)

Hey, ITSKers! There’s a new kid in town! Eastern Oregon’s own Sarah M.F.B.! A Betty to Erin’s Veronica? Nah. A Paula Dean to her Rachel Ray? Closer. Sarah’s more of an Alton Brown with her scientific knowledge of various foods (and beers – she’s one of Oregon’s few female brewers!). Anyway, she cooks up a storm…although she did ruin the stove! Nah, it wasn’t her fault – the culprit was none other than Time (in our case, one might say “Time wounds all meals”).

What was the meal? Nothing less than God’s wedding band: the onion ring. (Yes, I know God would not get married, but if He did, for the sake of my metaphor, he’d flash one of these deep-fried babies to the archangels.) And the onion rings aren’t even the centerpiece! Can you believe it? No, the main dish, the blue plate special, if you will, is a Southwest Dip. It’s like a French Dip, but spicy. It’s the Rita Moreno of steak sandwiches (that’s for the fifty and over crowd!).

“Must-See TV” (do they even call it that anymore?) radiated from the old Dumont. I’m a professional couch-warmer, magazine-flipper, wisecracker, and tv-junkie. I ascribe to Ferris Bueller’s rule of leisure: Leisure rules. I’m only in the kitchen for photographs. I stay out of the kitchen at diners, too. The cook is an alchemist. Somehow she turns flour and water into gravy. I know I write a food column (I naysay the naysayers!), but I delight in the mystery. When I’m dipping my fries in the brown gravy, I don’t need to know how Florence made it happen.

Guy Fieri, of Diners, Drive-ins & Dives, was in town recently (he was filming a segment at Pine State Biscuits on Belmont). I was going to put in a call to the Food Network, to see if he’d stop by the Sellwood Kitchen for a bite. But I was really hungry, and I suspect he would’ve put a significant dent in the onion ring tower. Actually, I think he wears an onion ring. I kid – Fieri’s ok with me! And he would definitely dig tonight’s meal.

Erin noted that the onion ring tower, as designed by Adam, looked suspiciously like Alf’s nose (as in “Alien Life Form” television puppet that ate cats). Mmm. Then we ate Alf’s nose. It was sort of an appetizer and a side dish, which means I ate it twice. And the main dish? Well, I’ll let Erin tell you about it. Suffice to say, you can take the cook “out of” the Sellwood Kitchen, but you can’t take the Sellwood Kitchen out of the cook!

Southwest Dip

Erin’s Intro: Our friend Sarah contributed a lot of her food science knowledge for this recipe. Not to mention, her knowledge of beef, which, as you know is not a common ingredient in the Sellwood Kitchen. But sometimes you just gotta have the beef! And sorry Josh, but sometimes you gotta have some gluten too! To compensate for making a sandwich in the Sellwood Kitchen this month, we decided to make Gluten Free onion rings. And I didn’t hear any complaints. They are so delicious, you don’t miss the gluten. As for the Southwest Dip Sandwich, the only thing in this recipe not gluten-free is the bread and Au-Jus, so a corn tortilla can be used to make a wrap with the same ingredients. Its greasy 50’s diner inspired, with less grease, and less gluten. The last comfort meal of the season! See ya later winter, don’t let the door hit you on the way out!

Onion Rings:
1 sweet onion sliced into rings
1 Cup gluten free four
1 Tbs baking powder
½ tsp white pepper
1 tsp salt
1 tsp garlic powder
1 Cup dry champagne
Extra GF flour for dredging
Oil for frying, 350 degrees

Mix dry ingredients together. Add champagne and mix. You can alter the amount of champagne based on how think you want your batter. Although, it will puff up in the fryer so it doesn’t need to be too think.
Dredge onion rings in flour before coating with batter. Gently lower the battered rings into the hot oil one by one. Do not crowd the pot. Fry for 1-2 minutes on each side, or until the crust is golden brown.

Southwest Dip Sandwich:
Tri-tip roast
Sea salt
Fresh cracked black pepper
Fresh crusty bread sliced on an angle
1 white onion, sliced
1 red pepper, sliced
Pepper jack cheese slices
Extra virgin olive oil
Salt and pepper to taste
Creamy horseradish if desired.
Au Jus dip

Liberally season the roast with sea salt and cracked pepper. Roast at 350 degrees until Medium or Medium-Well. Let rest. Mix Au Jus and add drippings from the Tri-tip roast pan. Set aside. Toss sliced onions and peppers with olive oil, salt and pepper. Sauté on grill pan until hot, but still crisp. Butter one side of each piece of bread. To build each sandwich, set butter side down on grill pan, stack with thinly sliced tri-tip, pepper and onion mixture, pepper jack cheese, and the other piece of bread. Press into grill pan using another skillet or whatever else you have laying around. Grill on each side for about 2 minutes, until golden with mouthwatering grill marks. Serve with Au Jus dipping sauce and onion rings.

The “In the Sellwood Kitchen” cast and crew can be contacted at: erinandmike@sellwoodkitchen.com

21.0 The Great Potato Feast of '09

2009-02-25T17:44:00.000-08:00

Starring Erin & Mike and Adam & Josh
Filmed on Location in Beautiful Downtown Sellwood
Soundtrack: Christy Moore – The Box Set 1964-2004

“It’s easy to halve potatoes where there’s love” – Irish proverb

That the evening should be cold and wet was fitting. A powerful wind lorded over a bone-mining weather. Despite the imprisoning freeze, the night appeared alive: muck on the bark shimmered like shafts of silver light; the pools of Oaks Bottom shuddered to an impenetrable rhythm.

And the sky was half clear, a full coin of moonlight slighting the folks below. A dark figure darts down Tenino, in his fist a clear bag of two sweet potatoes, a roll of paper towels tucked under his arm. "The moors, the moors," he mumbles, as the stiff collar rubs against his bristled skull. Icy mist needles his face. "Give us a jar of poichin," he shouts blindly at a banshee -- for what else could have stirred these wicked winds?

He forges ahead. The four corners of the intersection scream at him. The concrete cracks and upends. Streetlamps pop. The clouds and the moon vanish. He clutches the groceries tightly. Straight on to the beacon above the front step, he rattles the doorknob with his key.

Now in the warmth of the living room, Christy Moore murmuring through the speakers, the figure was me, slipping out of the night’s coat and stepping lightly to the kitchen. Tonight is a Sellwood Kitchen night, and potatoes, red and sweet, are the main ingredients. Just as my Irish grandmother (herself being born on St. Patrick’s Day!) worked her alchemy on the hearty (excepting for the blight) potato, with the Westminster Chimes vibrating from the clock in the sitting room, Erin prepared to fashion potatoes into pancakes, Tom Petty's chiming guitars electrifying the air.

Ah potatoes! The curse and cure of Ireland! I’m an O’Shaughnessy, a pleasant burden Erin’s taken on (by which I mean the name, not her husband). For a twelve-letter name, it’s actually quite easy to spell. Our branch of the O’Shaughnessys, descended from the last pagan king if Ireland (we lost the crown, but some of us kept the paganism), hailed from County Limerick, where they were neither landowners nor noblemen (not to say they weren’t noble men – and if you want to argue, you’ll get a pug in the snot for your troubles!). As many of these stories go, my grandfather with my grandmother’s brothers sailed to New York, or thereabouts, in the early 1900s, and almost 100 years later, here I am telling you about it, from my New World, Oregon.

And still eating potatoes. In these difficult times (I’ve heard a bollix or two call it “a soft economy”), consider the potato! Relatively thrifty, exceedingly variable, positively healthy (high in potassium and Vitamin C), the potato’s your only man!

I could go overboard with the Irish in this episode…

Ah, no, don’t.

…as I had begun with an earlier draft, where I took notice of this being the March edition, the month of the commercialized Celt. We could flow down this green river over flotsam of mythology, jetsam of hyperbole, and past a few sprites of history. And perhaps we will. I am, after all, one known to blather on about my heritage, imagined and otherwise.

O, jaysus! Here he goes…

Pipe down, the lot of you! Sure I've told you of that time in Dublin years ago when I wandered off the Vico Road and stumbled into a fairy ring where I slumbered and dreamed I'd fallen in with a mad tribe from Ballybrack, sampling the dark stuff then hurdling into some bushes across the road from Enya’s estate and afterwards scaling the gate of the Canadian embassy to sing “Pride in the Name of Love” to Bono who lived across the road…

You keep yourself busy “across the road” now, don’t you?

… and you could tell because all the foreign students with their ragged backpacks tacked notes to his wooden gate and it was my birthday after all and hadn't the boyos and ladies taken me on a pub crawl (which was about right since I could barely walk towards the end) and I was 26 and might’ve had a pint for each year and would’ve been remiss to not sing a song to Bono tho shouldn’t he have sung one for me, it being my birthday after all?

Only, it wasn't a dream and I spent the next day sipping tea and nibbling at a chip butty.

Thanks. That was a pleasure to none but yourself. You think the sun shines out yer arse, don’t you?

Please stop interrupting or I’ll backspace you out of existence. Ahem. Well, onwards…

Adam & Josh arrive late (forgiven, as the boyos have been busy updating their basement). Earlier, while cutting through the cheap ceiling, a dead rat broke free from the rafters, horrifying Josh from beyond the grave! Had even Poe conceived of such a macabre renovation?

- Oh my god, Josh shuddered, I don’t think I can take enough showers.

Mildly skeeved, we adjourn to the kitchen.

- So what are you making? asks Adam

- Potato latkes, I answer.

- O, potatoes? Hity-tity! he lilts.

- Yes, so of course I’m giving the article the Irish slant.

- But aren’t latkes Jewish?

Think quickly, O’Shaughnessy! He’s right! The Irish can’t stake their claim on everything made from that versatile tuber! So I stop time (all writers are middling gods) and do a bit of perfunctory research.

- Well, what about Leopold Bloom, the protagonist of James Joyce’s Ulysses! Or Daniel O'Connell's successful efforts to have the oppressive British law "De Judaismo" repealed, declaring, “Ireland has claims on your ancient race, it is the only country that I know of unsullied by any one act of persecution of the Jews.” Even after the shame of the relatively bloodless Limerick Pogrom at the start of the 20th century, didn't the people of Cork welcome the Jewish refugees just as sure as the upstart priest Father Creagh was rebuked for his ugly sermon (though the Pope did later appoint him Vicar Apostolic of Kimberly, Western Australia)?

Erin, Adam & Josh had already moved on to more culinary matters. I’m still thumbing through my unread copy of Joyce’s behemoth when I hear the ambient bubbling of the latkes in the pan.

- We had spaghetti last night, said Josh, It was amazing.

Why? I wondered. No rat?

Now, the potato is a gorgeous root, but it’s merely a diamond in the rough compared to the gems we polished off. We absolutely devoured those golden-brown latkes, decorated with dollops of apple sauce and sour cream. A side dish of traditional ITSK stalwarts, sweet potato oven fries, perfected the meal. I smiled at my friends, and my love, and considered: Is my home stereotypically Irish-American enough?

The Clancy Brothers and Tommy Makem LPs? Check. Coat of Arms plaque (“vert, a tower triple towered argent, supported by two lions rampant combant”)? Check. Shellacked shillelaghs? Check. Finnegan's Wake, The Ginger Man, a slim volume of Sean O'Casey’s one-act plays on the bookshelf? Check.

While no framed photos of President Kennedy or Pope John Paul II bless the meal below, we do have a Pope Innocent action figure and a “Runners for Obama/Biden” button perched atop the medicine cabinet.

Yes, that'll do. But really these potato latkes are all we need. Thank you, Mrs. O’Shaughnessy!

O'Shaughnessy's O'Latkes

Erin’s Intro: There is a theme that ties this month's recipe to last month's. The theme is: Frying things that Josh can eat! We don't usually fry stuff because frying usually means breading. But lately we've been getting creative. I know frying isn't the healthiest of cooking techniques, but there is something so mouthwatering about a perfectly golden brown crusted piece of food! This month we use gluten-free flour to aid in our frying. Speaking of gluten free, who worked in the restaurant business for years and never heard of gluten-free diets or celiac disease? That would be me. But then I met Josh and started learning more than I ever wanted to know about this stuff. Turns out it's pretty common. So, ITSKers, keep an eye out for a Sellwood Kitchen surprise from all of us involving gluten-free foods, and the Josh stamp of approval (in the form of a thumbs up). For now, we celebrate our Irish heritage (well, Mike's Irish heritage) by cooking with potatoes...

6-8 red potatoes, washed, peeled, shredded.
1/2 white onion finely chopped
1/2 cup gluten-free or regular flour
2 eggs
Salt and Pepper
Oil for frying

DRY shredded potatoes thoroughly. Press moisture out with paper towels. Mix all ingredients through salt and pepper together. Press mixture into small patties (approx. 3" around). They will be slightly loose. Gently set the patties into 1/2" of hot oil. Fry for 2-3 minutes on each side, or until golden brown and crispy. Serve with sour cream or applesauce.

The “In the Sellwood Kitchen” cast and crew can be contacted at: erinandmike@sellwoodkitchen.com

Sellwood Test Kitchen 1.0: Quantum of Applesauce

2009-02-01T11:50:00.001-08:00

Welcome to the Sellwood Test Kitchen 1.0! This is nothing new to the Kitchen, where Erin whips up wonderful appetite-whetters on a whim, but it's the first inside look for all you ITSKers!

Last night, we decided to have breakfast for dinner (it always seems like a treat!) and I recalled a recent suggestion of potato pancakes. We only had one potato, but Erin gave it a shot anyway (she did ask if I wanted to go out and get a few more, but I choose the lazy-jerk route and declined). She added onion and an egg (we only had one of those, too), and some other stuff.

In no time at all, she created over half-a-dozen hockey-pucks of potato pancake glory! It was like being at Cana the way she stretched out that one potato! Paired with our respective toppings (sour cream for her, applesauce for me) and bowls of cereal, we had a great supper!

Here we are enjoying our meal before heading out for a cheapo showing of the newest James Bond movie. It was a cold and foggy night, but we sat in our uncomfortable seats, satisfied with a successful test launch of potato pancakes! Coming soon to an In the Sellwood Kitchen near you!

20.0 All the Best Shrimp Have Coconut Coating

2009-01-28T20:20:00.000-08:00

Starring Erin & Mike and Adam & Josh
Filmed on Location in Beautiful Downtown Sellwood
Soundtrack: All the Best Cowboys Have Chinese Eyes by Pete Townshend

“I always wished to walk with her into restaurants”

What’s it all about anyway? Love & Food & Music! In each of these, I see a mine of beauty, I catch rays of beauty! Perhaps we could last a day or two without Food & Music. But the Love? No. Not me, pal. I couldn’t even make it without the Music (anyone who reads our column knows ITSK is almost as much about Music as it is about Food – it’s the province of the artist to write and discard all the rules). Until I met Erin, the Food wasn’t such a big deal for me either. Now – I need all three! I want all three! So let’s get on with it! Eh? Welcome to the Sellwood Kitchen 2009!

It does seem like ages since we’ve been here, right? Well, the return is triumphant! 3 incarnations of the shrimp! How about that? That’s as tremendous as picking up a triple LP – like the Clash’s Sandinista! How bold!

Where do I begin? Well, with the album, Side One is recommended (sequencing is an art!). But with the trio of prawns? Hmm. But I’m getting ahead of myself (unlike those shrimp which have already been beheaded).

As a typical return to form (and a winning formula for a good time), Adam & Josh arrive for the meal. Earlier, I’d blasted Dinosaur Jr. as I attempted some prep work: We were to barbecue the shrimp. Then I stepped outside to uncover the barbecue. That’s when my spirit turned from Green Mind to Ice Station Zebra. I stepped back inside and slid the door shut. Get the grill pan! (It has “Sellwood Kitchen” engraved on the handle). The snow is gone and the floodwaters have subsided, but the stubborn cold lingers. Let’s stay inside and eat!

In the kitchen: Erin & Adam prepare the meal, as per. Josh develops a sweet, gluten-free dipping sauce for the anticipated coconut shrimp. I’m in the LR typing away, softening my workday mood with George Harrison’s Dark Horse. Have you ever heard “Far East Man”? It’s far out, man! After that, some later-period Cat Stevens (a bit synth-heavy) lulls me into an acceptable demeanor, relaxing my tummy for the shellfish smorgasbord.

It’s Thursday, five days before Inauguration Day. Let’s throw Hope in there (with the Love, Food & Music). A double-episode of “Earl” nudges out “Kath & Kim”, dampening our mood momentarily. Then the coiling tendrils of garlic’s aroma spring us back to Gratitude! Ah, that we can eat a good meal in a warm home on a cold night…

Erin scoops the fried coconut shrimp from the river of oil. It’s almost biblical. Shrimp Moses.

Succulent! someone utters. Yes! That’s shrimp! Succulent shrimp, courtesy of Brother Jim! Assembling the Shrimp Triptych, Adam mocks TV-chef Tyler Florence’s habitual catch phrase: All right?

“Erin, what would your catch phrase be?” I shout to the kitchen. “Booyah!” she responds. I thought it should be something else, a compound word uttered when hot oil spits on her arm.

Speaking of catches, the shrimp has reached its penultimate destination on the kitchen table. We dig in. Which shrimp first? The coconut? The garlic? The marinated? The garlic dish is accompanied by a delightfully buttery sauce.

Adam eyes the tiny bowl, “Can I drink that? Is anyone going to eat that?” The garlic butter coats your upper lip. We dub it “Lip Gloss Butter.” The coconut shrimp sauce is equally decadent. We want to eat all the sauces with a spoon.

While drinking her Lemon Drop (the favored seafood cocktail), Erin said, “My mom made hummus, but she said it was too lemony.”

“Maybe she used too many lemons”, I reply.

The shrimp disappeared so fast I thought one of the Five Chinese Brothers had stopped by. We ate so much seafood that if you drive to Cannon Beach and put a conch shell to your ear, you will hear our kitchen.

Cleanup isn’t fun. It never is. I’m not cleaning up tonight. I’m too busy “writing the article”. That’s my “job”. I’ll be writing this thing for the next week (which is nice for a change – we usually put together the meal the night before deadline!).

This is what it’s all about. Filling your heart with Love, your ears with Music, and your belly with Food. In this fresh era of America, let’s do our best to ensure all our neighbors benefit from these three basic needs!

“Hey, Erin, can we have the coconut shrimp again?”

Her response inspires me, and sets the tone for the world ahead:

“Yes we can.”

COCONUT SHRIMP

Erin’s Intro: I'm so excited for this recipe because it means I finally get to fry something that my gluten-intolerant friend can tolerate. Not only did he tolerate it – he inhaled the test shrimp so fast, I don't know if he even tasted it. Eventually everyone got their share of shrimp; we had three kinds: Asian marinated, garlic butter, and coconut. I decided to write this month’s recipe for the coconut shrimp, because it seems like something people probably don't make that often. But it’s so simple, and so delish!

20 jumbo shrimp (peeled, de-veined, with tails on)

2 egg whites

1/2 cup milk

Gluten-free flour

Bag coconut flakes

Oil for frying

Mix egg whites and milk dipping dish. Dredge cleaned shrimp in egg/milk mixture, then flour, then egg again. Press shrimp firmly into coconut. Fry each shrimp until mouthwateringly golden brown! For an extra treat, dip finished coconut shrimp in this sweet sauce (1 cup apricot pineapple preserves, 1/4 cup Dijon mustard, 1/4 cup honey – it’s gluten-free as well)!

The “In the Sellwood Kitchen” cast and crew can be contacted at: erinandmike@sellwoodkitchen.com

Cardboard Robot Doctor Recommends "The Sellwood Kitchen"

2008-12-18T20:11:00.000-08:00

Here!

From the brilliant minds of Qner, et al at Wunderman.

19.0 A Kitchen Carol

2008-12-15T17:59:00.000-08:00

Starring Erin & Mike
Filmed on Location in Beautiful Downtown Sellwood
Soundtrack: Rhino Records' Rockin' Christmas The 60's

“Hi, everybody, this is James Brown. This is a very, very unusual way to come to you, but I gotta start by saying thanks, thanks for such a wonderful year.”

Charles Dickens. Clement C. Moore. Jean Shepherd. Towering Giants of Christmas Literary Tradition. Shall we add Michael O'Shaughnessy to this honored list?

Not likely.

At best, I'll rank with the copywriters of the 1978 Sears Wish Book. Hooray!

STAVE ONE. Noble's Scent.

Noble was dead: to begin with. Well, soon enough. Erin & I procured the dying fir from the corner lot on SE 14th & Bybee, in the shadow of Wilhelm's Portland Memorial Funeral Home. We neither perused nor considered: I entered the small corral, pointed to this tree, registered Erin's nod of approval and paid the salesman. Moments later, my hands smeared with mud, I drove the fir crown-first into our trunk. I wiped my soiled paws on my denimed thighs with a sudden disdain.

So, you had "this stain" on your pants?

Ha, yeah! But don't interrupt. At home, we eyed the cats with reasonable suspicion, holding the inevitable scolding in check: Kitties, you better not muck about with this tree! Erin balanced the rather plantain-shaped tannenbaum as I twisted the supporting screws of the iron stand. Satisfied, Erin went into the kitchen to prepare tonight's meal.

Have I yet told you of how the first rays of Christmas appeared over our autumnal horizon? Early November, Disneyland, the destination of our road trip. Adam & Josh teamed with us for the pilgrimage. Early Saturday, as we sought to stroll under the arch of Cinderella's castle (like you do), we collided with a camera crew and carefree crowd, filming a segment for the upcoming "Walt Disney World Christmas Day Parade" TV special. Coda: We're in the audience as Jose Feliciano belts through several takes of "Feliz Navidad". Later, dancing snowmen frolic down Main Street. "Navidad" revolved through our heads all day. It was the tremor of Christmas. Perhaps that magical Disney moment with Jose accounts for Erin’s decision to assemble and simmer a pot of tortilla soup! Feliz Navidad to me!

STAVE TWO. The First of the Three Hunger Pangs.

When I awoke it was so dark, I'd forgotten where I was. The night before our tree-trimming, we stayed at my in-laws up the mountain. After breakfast, I spelunked their crawlspace, retrieving three tubs of our not-yet-ridiculous-haul of holiday decorations.

Driving home, the radio played the strain of “Christmas in the Northwest” (my arm shot to the off-switch so ferociously I risked undergoing Tommy John surgery). Our tree, in the wild, had attained a height no taller than Art Carney, but a full cardboard chimney higher than Mickey Rooney.

(I mention Messrs. Carney & Rooney because of their significance to my Christmas traditions. I say “my” Christmas traditions because they are not Erin’s, nor will they ever be. The high point of my holidays is the viewing of the Christmas special! Old Christmas specials! Tis the season for “Ziggy’s Gift”, “Mr. Magoo’s Christmas Carol” and “Twas the Night Before Christmas”, the one with Joel Grey as the clockmaker, and George Gobel as a mouse. I won’t even begin to explain to Erin who George Gobel is because she wouldn’t even begin to care! Hence, our serendipitous compatibility. (Yeah, hence!) Carney stars in my favorite Twilight Zone episode, “Night of the Meek” as a down & out department store Santa; Mickey Rooney plays Mickey Rooney in something Mickey Rooney-esque.)

Now home, the tree secured, we shook our decades-old ornaments from hibernation. They hung from branches, alive again for their season.

From the kitchen, I could hear the crisp chopping of fresh vegetables. I genuflected before the record cabinet.

"I'm making tortilla soup!" said Erin. I was rifling through my Christmas LPs. Hmm, I thought, "Favorite Christmas Songs from Singer" or one of the Robert Shaw Chorales? I held each album aloft.

"Terrific," I returned. My vinyl fumblings continued, and my mind bellowed through phantasms of old record shops, garage sales, a DJ booth in Chapel Hill, 1993. I got lost in the music.

Punched in the olfactory by the most redolent glory, I untumbled back to the here and now, pursuing the aroma, as if my nostrils were being lured to the kitchen by cartoon smoke fingers. "Bah, YUM-bug!" I exclaimed, "I want to eat what that smells like."

"No. And don't film me." I turned off the camera and returned to the Christmas music – specifically the delightfully soft soul of “Merry Christmas, Baby” by the Poets, which lulled me to sleep.

STAVE THREE. The Second of the Three Hunger Pangs.

Awaking in the middle of a prodigiously tough snore, I discovered a rivulet of drool winding down Linus’ thinning coiffure. Auggghhh! My Charlie Brown Christmas album! Rubbing my eyes, the satin Ziggy ball and Mr. Parker’s Major Award came into focus. What a tree! It smelled so Christmasy!

“Well, have a taste!” suggested an old woodsy voice.

Woodsy voice? Are you asleep now while you write this?

Listen, you weren’t there. It was woodsy, and I answered (because I was starving, the way middle-class children do), “All right!” and pounced on the tree, nibbling on a high thin branch. I spooked several rocking horses; they fell to the skirt below, taking down one glass ornament and a tin monkey. It made a racket.

“Was that the cats?” shouted Erin, with her annoyed-at-cats voice (just a key higher than her annoyed-at-me voice, which would have been appropriate).

Phlah! I spit out a mouthful of pine needles, simultaneously escaping from my hunger trance. “Yeah, the cats – they’re the worst!” Simba and I exchanged knowing glances. Brushing off my tongue, I dragged my feet into the kitchen. “Hey, Baby, is it soup yet?”

"No. And don't film me." I turned off the camera and returned to the Christmas music – specifically the delightfully soft rock of “Merry Christmas, Baby” by the Carpenters, which lulled me to sleep.

STAVE FOUR. The Last of the Hunger Pangs.

The Phantom slowly, gravely, silently, approached. It was Nala the kitten. "Jeepers! Sneak up on a fella, why dontcha?” I recoiled. “This kitty just about scared the coal out of my stocking!" I shouted to Erin.

“What? Ew."

So I sat, the cat in my lap, the tiny green lights on the mantle endowing our silhouette with a Tyco Night Glow cast. The needle tailed off the groove of James Brown’s “Let’s Make Christmas Mean Something This Year” and skated across the green Rhino label. It sounded like Santa scratching his beard. I couldn’t get off the couch.

“Is dinner ready?” I whined. “No,” she replied. “When?” I trailed off. “Can you wait until the last Stave?”

STAVE FIVE. The End of It

Yes! and the soup bowl was my own. And the soup therein – glorious! And so, as little Nala observed, “Meow Meow Meow, Meowmeow Meow!

CHICKEN TORTILLA SOUP WITH HOMEMADE CHIPS

Erin's Intro: So, I’m no chef. Usually for our articles I just get an idea, read up on a few recipes, and then do whatever sounds good. I rarely attempt practice rounds before the main event. Maybe if I did, my food would be better…However, in this case, the 3rd (or 5th or whatever) time is a charm! This has been my favorite soup since I used to sneak samples of it while serving at the Roadhouse. I’ve altered this recipe each time I’ve made it, and this is the best version I’ve come up with. Ask Mike. I used to use pre-cooked chicken breast meat (gasp!) out of convenience! Never again I say! And the chips, my god, the chips! I stole the general idea from Irene, but she’s my business partner so it’s not stealing. Right? I’ll never eat store bought tortilla chips again. They insult me. My mom requested I cook this for our Christmas Eve Dinner! Talk about a compliment. I hope you enjoy this soup as much as I do!

2 Chicken Breasts
Salt and Pepper
Chili Powder
Olive Oil
1 Cup Stock
½ Large White Onion, diced
1 Carrot, diced
2 Celery Stocks, diced
1 Red Pepper, diced
1 Clove Garlic
Salt and Pepper to taste
Dash Cayenne
Dash Chili Powder
1 Tbsp Cumin
1 Can diced tomatoes
1 Can whole corn kernels, drained and rinsed
1 Can Black Beans, drained and rinsed
3 Cups Stock
2 Cups Water

The Soup: Season the two chicken breasts with salt, pepper and chili powder to taste. Add oil to pan and heat to medium. Cook the chicken on one side for about 4-5 minutes until browned. Turn and cook a few more minutes until brown. Add about one cup of stock. The chicken should not be submerged in the liquid all the way so adjust the portion accordingly for your pan. Cover and simmer for about 10-15 minutes. When the chicken is cooked all the way through and pulls apart easily, remove it from the pan, shred it with two forks, and return it to the pan, uncovered. When the liquid is evaporated, remove from heat and set aside.

To a large soup pot on medium heat, add oil, garlic, onion, celery, and carrot. Season with salt and pepper to taste. Cook for a few minutes. Add the red pepper, cumin, cayenne and chili powder. Cook a few minutes more. Next, add the diced tomatoes, corn, black beans, stock and water, then mix in the shredded chicken. Cover the soup and bring it to a simmer for about 15 minutes, stirring occasionally.

The Chips: To a small bowl, add ¼ cup oil, and a dash of the following: Seasoned salt, pepper, garlic powder, onion powder, cayenne, chili powder and cumin. Mix well. Set aside. Cut flour tortillas into large chip shapes of your choice. Place them on a baking sheet covered in tin foil. Brush the mixture onto the chips on both sides of the chips. Bake at 350 degrees for 10 minutes, or until they begin to brown and crisp. Place a few chips as a garnish on top of soup with a dollop of sour cream and shredded cheese. Take a minute to enjoy its beauty, then devour! And once you taste those chips, you won’t forget to devour them too!

The “In the Sellwood Kitchen” cast and crew can be contacted at: erinandmike@sellwoodkitchen.com

Happy Thanksgiving!

2008-11-27T10:52:00.001-08:00

Mike gets his hands all up in the cinammony apples.

Wishing you all a terrific day, from the Erin and Mike in the Sellwood Kitchen.

The end result -- no, I can't have it yet! Waaahhh!!!

18.0 The Wild Brunch

2008-11-14T07:14:00.000-08:00

Starring Erin & Mike and Adam & Josh
Filmed on Location in Beautiful Downtown Sellwood
Soundtrack: blinking lights by eels

“A little wonder goes a long, long way”

Sunday morning, Fall. Chilly, but the Sun’s punched holes in the clouds. A charity run warms the pavement on SE Linn (I passed them going for a coffee earlier). Even before that, Erin and I drove to the Reed neighborhood Trader Joe’s for the ingredients for today’s recipe, stopping in to Limbo’s next door for pineapple, sweet potatoes, a couple plantains (why not?) and one nutmeg. I’d never seen the nutmeg in its unsullied state. Kind of looks like a malted ball. Before today, I might’ve guessed it was shaped like a Joshua tree. Speaking of…

Josh and Adam are due here at noon for brunch, although noon’s sort of a trigger for lunch. It’s a post-lunch brunch. Hey, it’s America and I’m one of the liberal elite media, so I can do what I want! I shan’t begin campaigning here, but you’d have to be either a first-time reader or one with scant comprehensive skills to not know my political leanings. But just to make it obtusely clear – I HOPE that on the morning of November 5th, I am eating an Obamalette, and not an Egg McNuthin’. Hopefully, we can get beyond the Palin. (Boy, I hope this article doesn’t end up becoming my “Dewey Defeats Truman.”)

Dewey? Truman? If I get any more obscure and outdated, I might be tapped as McCain’s speechwriter.

That’s President McCain!

Yikes! [Sniff] Hey, what’s that delightful aroma? Fried plantains! Have you tried them? They’re muy delicioso! I had them a few years ago in a Puerto Rican café in Kingston, NY. (I sound like Anthony Bourdain.) This is what I love about brunch – anything goes!

And so begins the kitchen cacophony, which I hear from the couch, close to the stereo. I’m focusing on the Rolf and Joachim Kuhn Quartet as the ingredients for “Passive-aggressive Coffee Cake” are mixed (it’s just gluten-free coffee cake baked with barely-restrained intolerance by two half-asleep cooks).

Concurrently, the Brown Sugar Bacon is sizzling. Mmm, brown sugar! How come it tastes so good? Brown sugar!

And now, the first ever Sellwood Scramble is, uh, scrambled! Sweet potatoes, peppers, onions! Erin’s alchemy sets the aromatic mood! Next, she assembles the fruit cups – starring pineapple and strawberries, their cool geometry suspended in vanilla yogurt. Adam steals a piece of bacon (it was cooling on the windowsill).

Just as I’m throwing on Side 2 of Jackie by Jackie DeShannon, I’m summoned to the kitchen. I am to make the mimosas!

I make the mimosas. Back to the stereo.

The plates are already set on the coffee table (where we eat every meal – there’s something delightfully Pan-Asian about it). A plated brunch is photographed in the filtered noon light. The Boys had taped (yes, taped!) Saturday Night Live, so we ate, almost laughed, ate, grimaced, groaned then licked the plates clean (well, to be honest, that was just me).

While the remnants of our meal hardened on their unrinsed plates in the sink, we took a walk down 13th, crossing to Sellwood Boulevard and continuing toward the park. I saw the salamander leaves reddening to autumn’s camouflage. It’s magic! It’s science (same thing)! That brunch served quite efficiently as fuel. I didn’t even get tired on the teeter totter!

I peered over the cliff where Oaks Park comes into view. It’s a dreamy scene; a ghost carnival, the hazy circus colors (maybe it was the mimosas). But the fall is a crisp season – eat the apples and snap the stalks from the pumpkins. My other senses seem to be sharper this time of the year.

I see microcosms everywhere – I see America in Sellwood, just as Georgians see America in Athens, etc. And I see the breakfast in the brunch. Maybe that’s what I’m trying to say, or do: let this dog catch his tail. Or tale. As the days grow colder, we huddle together for warmth and comfort. But what do we huddle besides our bodies? Well, our ideas and dreams; our obsessions and fears. And our recipes, our how-to’s: “How to design a better brunch” or “How to build a better country.”

How do you do that?

Huh? I don’t know. But I’m sure it begins with a good breakfast. Or, for those of you lazy like us, a brunch.

SELLWOOD SCRAMBLE

3 medium sweet potatoes, peeled and cut into 1/3 inch cubes
2 red peppers, diced
2 green peppers, diced
1 large onion, diced
1 Tbs olive oil
2 Tbs Montreal Steak Seasoning
Salt and pepper to taste

Toss ingredients together in large bowl to coat. Spray baking sheet with non-stick cooking spray. Roast potatoes in a 450 degree oven for 1/2 hour or until browned, turning once half way.

BONUS RECIPE!

FRUIT CUPS

Strawberries and pineapples cut into bite size pieces.
Mix fruit and place in 4 trifle cups. Set aside.
In a small bowl:
Add two cups vanilla yogurt
2 Tbs cinnamon
Mix together

Drizzle cinnamon yogurt down over the fruit and refrigerate until ready to serve.

The “In the Sellwood Kitchen” cast and crew can be contacted at: erinandmike@sellwoodkitchen.com

17.0 Nostalgia is an Inside Joke

2008-09-26T20:37:00.000-07:00

Starring Erin & Mike and Donna & Paul
Filmed on Location in Beautiful Downtown Sellwood
Soundtrack: Jesus of Cool by Nick Lowe

“They’re nice friends and good for a party!”

“Describe Sellwood in two words.” Coffee and nostalgia. “That’s three words.” How about coffee, nostalgia? (“No thanks,” says Nostalgia, “I’m more of a tea drinker.”) By coffee, I mean coffee, as purveyed by Lovecup, Twin Paradox, Ugly Mug, and etc. The nostalgia’s found on Antique Row. Antiques are one of the physical manifestations of nostalgia, that yearning for yesterdays.

“Why all the talk about nostalgia? How about getting to the main dish?”

How about you settle down and have a decaf once in a while? I speak of nostalgia because our guests tonight are my best friend Paul and his wife Donna (typically, we visit them in Beaverton for one of Donna’s outrageously good 14-course meals, only 3 of which my pea-sized gullet can digest).

Paul (who once claimed he had the soul of an 80 year old, and the body of his father) and I have known each other almost 30 years. That’s thirty years of the same jokes. Hang around us for a week and you’ll have Brooks & Reiner’s “2,000 Year Old Man” bit committed to memory. Not to mention more obscure references to The Uncle Floyd Show, the Jackie Puppet, High Feather, the New Zoo Revue, and Myron Cohen.

Paul knows everything about every show he ever watched in his life. And all the advertisements in between. The nostalgia aspect emerges when you find out he’s got hours and hours of commercials from the70s and early 80s on VHS. Commercials are the Rosetta stones of past generations – so telling in fashion and vocabulary. Our resident “snark”-aeologist burrows through boxes at garage sales for these elusive “golden tickets” of culture. I was there when he bought Gnip Gnop at an estate sale (I believe I purchased my Odyssey 2 at the same time). He’s still got his membership card from the original Star Wars fan club (circa’77)!

Fantastic, right? Well, maybe not. I think so, but I too suffer a touch from the sensation once diagnosed as a medical condition. Mal du pays, I believe, Hofer called it.

What does Donna think about this? Same thing Erin does – nothing. All they hear is Paul and me yapping like two old men about the size of Gene Rayburn’s choppers or Monster Week on the “4:30 Movie” (especially delightful as Tostitos crumbs festoon the refried beans).

“Refried beans? So you’re eating already? What about the prep?”

Please don’t interrupt. You know I’ll get to the point eventually. Anyway, we don’t just yammer about the “good ol’ days”; we refer to minutiae in every annex of entertainment from the time of the bicentennial to the cancelation of Mystery Science Theater 3000. We’re Neil Simon’s Sunshine Boys, 40 years too early. In other words, capital boring. Still, it’s our joy, the joy of habit.

I anticipate that moment our wives see us trip into the time machine. I think they might feel themselves the hostages of nostalgia. It begins with a simple spell: “Remember that time…?”

“Remember that time you were going to fix a meal?”

Yes, I do. We’re having enchiladas, okay? And they’re going to be delicious! Years from now, you’ll be sitting around the spaceship saying, “Gosh, I wish I cold get me one of them enchiladas from the early 21st century.”

That’s nostalgia! To continue: Just when you think it couldn’t get anymore uninteresting to everyone else in the room, my brother Jim shows up. Jim loathes nostalgia. And just the past in general. But his arrival triggers more memories from our illustrious youth. Mostly throw-up stories. Yet another topic inappropriate for food columns (remember that, aspiring writers!).

After growing up together in New York, sowing our wild oats (that means drinking boxed zinfandel) in North Carolina, and finally settling down (is it “settling down” when you’re already notoriously lazy) to marry in Oregon, we must bid each other adieu – Paul and Donna are moving to Ohio in October. This was a Last Supper, of sorts; or the “Last Supper Until We Visit Them in the Buckeye State.” Ah, from Beaver to Buckeye! There’s a joke in there, if only I knew what buckeye was!

Erin, a thrill ride enthusiast, was delighted to hear that the famed Cedar Point Amusement Park is a just an hour from their new home. We will be seeing them soon! Terrific – Paul and I can catch up on his latest mid-70s Sears Roebuck Wish Book acquisitions!

Is nostalgia a thing of the past? Lately, styles and tastes change at such an accelerated rate, the joke is one may experience a nostalgia for last week. Irony ruined the 21st century. I’m not sure what I mean by that, but it sounds important. When the past catches up with the present, and the two become almost indistinguishable, nostalgia is lost. Will it go the way of the dinosaurs, vanished these last 5,000 years?

Let us then at least leave the enchilada as it is – perfect. Let’s do the same with love and friendship. Oh, yeah – the recipe! I told you I’d get to it! And best of luck to Paul and Donna on their move!

AUTUMN ENCHILADAS

4 chicken breasts
Salt and pepper
1/2 tbsp cumin
1/2 clove of garlic (chopped)
1 chopped onion
1/2 large can enchilada sauce
1 can black beans
1 small can green chilies
1 cup shredded Mexican cheese mixture
1/4 cup sour cream
Shredded cheese for topping

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Season chicken with salt and pepper. Heat oil in pan. Add chicken to pan and season with about 1 to 2 tbsp Cumin. Add chopped onion and garlic. Cook chicken until finished. Decrease heat to low. Remove chicken, shred with two forks, and return shredded chicken to pan. Add remaining ingredients to shredded chicken and mix well. Coat 2 casserole dishes with non-stick spray or oil. Spoon enchilada filling into tortillas and roll closed. Place them seam side down into casserole dish. Spoon leftover enchilada sauce evenly over enchiladas. Top with a thin layer of shredded cheese mixture. Cook uncovered for 15 minutes or until cheese is melted. Makes about 10 enchiladas.

The “In the Sellwood Kitchen” cast and crew can be contacted at: erinandmike@sellwoodkitchen.com

Happy Birthday, Brooke!

2008-09-17T07:15:00.000-07:00

Aunt Erin cooks a couple of hot dogs for Uncle Mike and wishes our Jersey neice a happy birthday! And a shout out to sister Noelle as well! You know, a box of Knotz pretzels with horseradish mustard would go great with those dogs!

16.0 Tom Patty & the Heartburners

2008-09-03T08:33:00.000-07:00

Starring Erin & Mike and Kathy & Rick
Filmed on Location in George, Washington
Soundtrack: Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers Live

“When we laid our blankets on the groundYeah and I woke up feelin' hungry”

Know what I’m eating write now? Erin’s Blueberry Lemon Curd Pie. Curd doesn’t sound like something you eat (too close to “curdle”), but Miss Muffet was a big fan. And the blueberries – fresh from her parents’ yard. I helped pick them. Right off the bush! Amazing! Just plain amazing.

My in-laws are great (or is that In-Laws?) Last weekend, we all drove (well, Rick drove; Kathy, Erin & I were chauffeured) to the Gorge Amphitheater in George, Washington (birthplace of our first president!) to camp and see Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers. This seemed like the perfect opportunity to take the Sellwood Kitchen on the road (yeah, I know, this is like the THIRD time we’ve done this – but hey, as home is where the heart is, so the kitchen is where the digestive system is). A barbecue before the highly-anticipated double-fist pumping, over-drinking, and off-key sing-a-longs of stadium rock!

It was the weekend of the 16th. Remember? The mercury hit a hundred. The thermometer looked like blown glass. We drove five hours in a heat that ultimately conquered the air conditioner. We arrived at the Gorge moist, warm pools spilling from the crooks of our legs. In a scene from Beau Geste (or more appropriately Laurel & Hardy’s Beau Hunks), we pitched our tents in earth so warm my spike sank in like a needle through a Jell-o shot. Luckily, by the time we raised our shelters, the sun (by my admittedly amateurish calculation) dangled (and I might be exaggerating) 14 feet above our heads. I paused, looked up, then out, surveying the 20,000 Petty fans blasting “American Girl” from their SUVs’ woofers, and decided “I want a hamburger sandwich.” But, turning back towards our camp, I realized that Erin and her mother had gone for ice. Rick and I sat in the semi-shade, like desperadoes under the eaves.

After an indeterminate amount of time, during which a bramble of soon-to-be-besotted concertgoers carpeted the once-empty campground, Erin & Kathy returned.

Poof! Erin got the Coleman started. I took a pull from my Coronita, and retrieved our camera. Erin had wisely prepared the burgers at home, in the Sellwood Kitchen (at the time, I was leafing through an old issue of Marvel Two-in-One featuring The Thing and the Inhumans). Here at Camp Petty (where I suspect Tom & the HB avoided the pre-concert sweating by chilling in the Cavern Rooms at the Cave B Inn), Erin grilled the turkey burgers to perfection.

One is not often guaranteed a perfect burger cooked on a camp grill in the sweltering and dusty heat; lesser burgers can be a little rough around the edges, or inside, a little hollow. But not this one. It was fatter than Ron Blair’s bass.

Burgers and beers in belly, the four us joined the mile-long exodus from camp site to stage. It was quite a hike, but thank god we passed a pod of honey buckets being emptied, the stench accomplishing the dual task of wiping out blocks of memory while inducing a dry, unfathomable nausea that only made our arrival at the front gates almost transcendental. But we made it!

As Steve Winwood took the stage to open the show (he sang “Can’t Find My Way Home”!), Erin & I weaved through the crowds, past the sprinkling hippies, and the above-the-belt cellulite ladies, and found our seats (Row 20 – I could practically read Winwood’s watch!).

Soon that benevolent tyrant of life, the sun, sank into the desert beyond the Columbia. And behind us Earth’s natural satellite appeared, white and whole. Tom Petty took the stage and full-blown full moon fever kicked in! The first three chords of “You Wreck Me" serving as a clarion call to erupt the sold-out crowd! Erin let loose with a wild whoo-hoo, rebelling against Earth’s gravitational pull, to take orbit around Gone Gator Country!

I lost myself in the experience, thrusting my warm $9.50 Coors Light into the electric night, fueled by Erin’s love of rock and roll and the best turkey burger I’ve ever eaten. I felt so god. Like anything was possible.

PANKO/TURKEY BURGER WITH CHIVE MAYONAISSE

Turkey Burger:
1 1/4 lb of ground turkey
1/2 cup of Panko (Japanese breadcrumbs)
1 tablespoon Worcestershire
1 tablespoon Montreal Steak seasoning
Clove of garlic (crushed)
Salt & pepper

Mix ground turkey with other ingredients, and form into four patties. Grill to preference.

Chive Mayo Spread:
1/3 cup mayonnaise
1 teaspoon horse radish
1 tablespoon fresh minced chives

Mix. Spread on toasted buns. Insert patty. Open mouth. Insert sandwich. Oh yeah! All right!

The “In the Sellwood Kitchen” cast and crew can be contacted at: erinandmike@sellwoodkitchen.com

Cake? Good!

2008-08-10T21:25:00.000-07:00

Happy Anniversary, Baby!

15.0 ABBA the Greek

2008-08-03T15:03:00.000-07:00

Starring Erin & Mike and Adam & Josh
Filmed on Location in the Beautiful Sellwood-Moreland Neighborhoods
Soundtrack: 20th Century Masters - The Millennium Collection: The Best of ABBA

“All I do is eat and sleep and sing…”

Tonight we go Greek! What’s the occasion? Why our sudden interest in the Hellenic Republic? Perhaps Penguin has finally published a Portable Kazantzakis? Sadly, no. No Nikos (I guess I’ll have to read ALL of "The Greek Passion" now).

The occasion celebrates the release of “Mamma Mia”, the movie of the musical of the songs of Swedish hit-makers ABBA. Aren’t they Swedish? They sure are (especially Agnetha!), but the film’s setting is the Greek Isles. So that’s why we’re going Greek!

Is there a Sellwood angle? Isn’t there always?

“No, actually, there usually isn’t,” you say

Well, there is this time – we’re seeing it at the Moreland Theater!

“Isn’t that a Moreland angle?”

(Sigh) Let’s listen to “Waterloo”, shall we?

Josh is the first (of two) to arrive, driving straight from work. So we start drinking wine, as the ancient Greeks would have (no retsina, just some merlot).

Also of note this temperate summer evening, Erin & I have moved the Sellwood Kitchen. We’re still in Sellwood (yes, I mean Sellwood, not one of the Morelands), just a different part of the neighborhood. Not much else to say, I guess. Maybe not even worth mentioning.

Egads! Trouble at the kitchen sink! The “fresh” garlic we just purchased had an insect in it. I’ll refrain from mentioning the establishment, but suffice to say, it is NOT located in Sellwood. And we will not buy garlic, or any other non-artificial item, from there again!

Adam’s here! “Hey, Adam, you just missed the maggot!” (Note to aspiring writers: This is not proper “food column” talk, but thank Zeus, this is not a proper “food column.”)

I’ve got The Best of ABBA playing through for the second time. I feel like I’ve got to stick with the ABBA thing all the way to the end of the article. I’d rather be listening to The Dead Milkmen’s Big Lizard in My Backyard, or even one of Jens Lekman’s ep's. At least, I’d be faithful to the Swedish theme.

“It’s supposed to be a Greek theme,” you report.

(Sigh) Let’s drown out the riff-raff with “Dancing Queen” which is a terrific song. Starts with the chorus. Fantastic! Though not nearly as amazing as Erin’s warm and fresh hummus! At its entrance, I jump up, smash my knee on the coffee cable, curse in faux-Italian, and retrieve from the shelf The Collected Poems of C P. Cavafy. The late Modern Greek poet wrote:

From one monotonous day, another day
follows, identically monotonous.

Yikes! Lighten up, Constantine! Poets, right? And how am I eating this hummus? Not with my fingers (for a change), but with Erin’s recipe #2: Pita bread. Or pitta. Or Sunshine Schwarz. Call it whatever you want – it wrangles with the hummus for a world title!

Greece is myth or no myth; history’s playpen or atomizer. And what a great flag! And literature! And I almost forgot Vangelis! His work in Aphrodite’s Child is only surpassed by his soundtrack to “Blade Runner!”

Obviously, I pride myself as sort of a Greek scholar. (I hope no one from Eleni’s Estiatorio on SE 13th reads this and reveals my unfathomable ignorance!) Truthfully, I know as much about Hellenic history as Poseidon knows about t-shirts.

Fifteen minutes before showtime, we say farewell to Dionysus and hello to Hollywood! Piling into the Element, we arrive at the Moreland Theater as the lights go down. The majority of us enjoy the musical (which entails listening to “S.O.S” for the 8th or 9th time this evening, only this time it’s being massacred by Pierce Brosnan who curiously possesses the kind of voice you’d expect from Ernest Borgnine. Or Tova. Dreadful. Still, the movie was fun. What else do you want? It’s an entertainment! Go see it at the Moreland Theater. The best theater in Portland!

If only they served warm hummus! Luckily, the Sellwood Kitchen serves warm hummus. Despite our dining area resembling Cerberus and Orthrus’ kennel, remnants of tonight’s meal welcome our return! I leap the gate, burst through the door and scarf down a pita, bits of bread sprinkling from my mouth as I whistle “Super Trouper.” The winner takes it all! Hail Eris!

PITAS & HUMMUS

Pita bread:
1.5 cups flour
1 Tablespoon extra virgin olive oil
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon oregano
Ice water

Mix flour, salt, oregano and EVOO together.
One spoonful at a time, add ice water and mix with a fork until mixture forms a dough.
Knead dough about 10 times and divide into 4 small balls.
Roll out each ball as thick as you would a pie crust. (6 or 8" rounds)

In non-stick skillet over medium heat: Cook each pita 2-4 minutes on each side or until they just begin to brown.

Hummus:
1 can garbanzo beans, drained.
1 large clove garlic, minced
1/4 cup tahini sauce
2 Tablespoons lemon juice
Salt and Pepper
2 Tablespoons minced fresh parsley
Extra Virgin Olive Oil

In a food processor add: Garbanzo beans, garlic, tahini sauce, lemon juice, salt and pepper and parsley.
Start with a splash of EVOO and blend well. Add enough EVOO to reach a smooth consistency. Adjust salt and pepper to taste.

The “In the Sellwood Kitchen” cast and crew can be contacted at: erinandmike@sellwoodkitchen.com

14.0 Ramble & Stuff in Philadelphia

2008-07-02T08:22:00.000-07:00

Starring Erin & Mike and Our Family
Filmed on Location in Philadelphia!
Soundtrack: The Jack’s Basement Reunion

“Always look on the bright side of life…”

I can hardly keep my eyes open to write this. Erin and I just got back from a weeklong vacation in Philly, the cradle of liberty! (I’d say Philadelphia, but everyone calls it Philly.) Really, we stayed in a suburb of Philly, which happens to be in New Jersey. We Eastcoasters are strange cats. Jimmy B., Tra and their two girls hosted us, housed us and fed us. And boy did we eat!

Erin & I have decided to tag our vacation as an “epicurean excursion,” for the sake of justifying this month’s episode of ITSK. As if we needed a reason, right? Who’s going to scold us? Jimmy Breslin or Phil Stanford?

In addition to Philly and its outlying suburbs, we also spent a weekend on Long Island in New York. Although it was only a brief jaunt, I did get to show Erin, who’d never been to NY before, my old stomping grounds. Mostly architectural ghosts (“That’s where the Friendly’s used to be. That’s where the True Value Deli used to be. That’s where Sal’s Pizza used to be. That’s where Titus Oaks used to be”).

After the tour Erin got to experience a classic Long Island barbecue at Jimmy B’s parents. It was great to see Mr. & Mrs. B again. Everyone was there! Johnny Mo, Murph, Stinky, Emmett (“Does it rain like this in Seattle?”), Homey! Lots of great food, weak beer, and hilarious stories (ask me about the “Duke of Fluke” sometime). And did I mention the most fantastically horrendous thunderstorm I’d ever seen? Well, it was awesome (check the blog for some footage). The next day, we returned to Jersey to really begin our Philly vacation.

“Hey, Mike” you’re asking, “Who cares?” I do. “Well then, are you going to talk about cooking?” Maybe.

Before I talk about cooking, I’ll talk about eating. New York’s got the best pizza – it’s not even worth discussing. We didn’t have any pizza. Philly’s got the best cheese steaks (or “Philly Cheese Cake” as my mother, the Queen of Malapropisms, repeated). But we didn’t have any cheese steaks either.

“Hey, Mike” you’re asking, “So you went to Philly and didn’t eat a cheese steak?” Nah.

What we were introduced to, though, was the soft pretzel. Actually, let’s say “properly introduced”. I grew up eating big soft salty pretzels, and still buy the frozen ones occasionally. But these soft pretzels were a quantum leap from your typical twists of dough. Big, warm, with the perfect distribution of salt crystals and, best of all, the accompanying spreads. We devoured the horse radish cream cheese. So good! Jimmy B, my brother Jim and I rocked out in the front room, working off the pretzels and sweating out the coffee as we sang soft rock classics and the Westerberg songbook. Piano and two guitars – it was a reunion of our early 90’s band, Jack’s Basement! Ok, hungry again. Back in the minivan!

The burgers at Five Guys placed a close second to the pretzels. Hand-formed and served with an abundance of hand-cut fries shoveled into a paper bag, these burgers were hands-down the best I’ve had since I last ate at the Muddy Rudder. Yes, I sure do love a hamburger sandwich!

OK, so finally we made it into Philly. We took a double-decker bus tour and glided through the birthplace of America. Did you know Ben Franklin invented everything? Even the Franklin stove! If Erin and I’d been around in the 1700’s, Ye Olde Sellwoode Kitchen would’ve prepared all its meals on a Franklin stove.

“Hey, Mike” you’re asking, “Do you even know what a Franklin stove is?” Yes – it’s a metal-lined fireplace with baffles in the rear.

“Hey, Mike” you’re asking, “Do you even know what baffles are?” No.

Where were we? Oh, yes, Philly! We saw the Fairmount Water Works, Pennsylvania Railroad Station, Reading Railroad Station... Hmm, that sounds familiar. Then we walked through the Municipal Services Building Plaza. It was full of life-sized Monopoly pieces. Wait, now I know – Monopoly!

We viewed examples of the Mural Arts Program. And I ran up the stairs to the Philadelphia Museum of Art (the Rocky steps, if you will). I worked up quite an appetite!

I’m “gonna fly now” to our last night there – Chickie & Pete’s Crab House & Sports Bar in the Stadium District. Get the cutlet sandwich and crab fries. I won’t even describe it – you’ll drool so much your tie will run.

Our time in Philly was wonderful. Erin met a lot of my friends; we became Aunt Erin and Uncle Mike to Jimmy B’s daughters; we experienced a lot of history; and ate very well! And before we knew, we were back in Portland. But no time for sleep, Dr Jones! Two days later, we had a wedding to attend (for fellow ITSKers Adam & Josh!) So what can you whip up in exhaustion? Erin’s got just the thing! It’s delicious, summery and refreshing! Just like Philadelphia (though, I’m almost certain, the same could not be said of Ben Franklin’s undershirt).

THE THING TO BRING
SUMMER PASTA SALAD

1 package bowtie pasta
1 jar roasted red peppers, diced
1 can of artichoke hearts, diced
1 can sliced olives, drained
1 package Italian dry salami, sliced in quarters
1 can great northern beans, rinsed and drained
1/4 cup vinaigrette
1 package shredded Italian blend cheese
1/3 cup toasted pine nuts

Cook pasta according to directions, drain, and rinse with cold water. Toast pine nuts lightly and set aside to cool. To pasta, add the next 5 ingredients. Toss everything with the vinaigrette. Next, add the package of Italian cheese and toss well. Top salad with toasted pine nuts. Chill or serve immediately.

The “In the Sellwood Kitchen” cast and crew can be contacted at: erinandmike@sellwoodkitchen.com

13.0 Chin Music from Big Pank

2008-07-02T08:13:00.000-07:00

Starring Erin, Mike, Adam & Allee
Filmed on Location in Beautiful Downtown Sellwood
Soundtrack: Music from Big Pink by The Band

“Won’t you feed him…whenever you can…”

Part 1. The Blatherer’s Tale

We have waited. And the ocean has delivered. At last I can stand in the Sellwood Kitchen and declare, “It smells like fish in here!” Why? Because Erin prepared panko-coated tilapia this comfortable spring evening! Finally! Brain food! And just in time – I was starting to forget such important minutiae as who engineered Life’s Rich Pageant.

Tilapia is a mild tasting fish. Wow! There’s a recommendation for you! Maybe that should be their new slogan: We Are a Mild Tasting Fish. That’d be the sharpest ad campaign since “Sorry, Charlie.” Anyway, the tilapia (of major importance in artisanal fishing) is also known as “St. Peter’s fish”, the darks spots on their sides representing the fingerprints of the saint. From that time, you know, he picked up a fish and, uh, then put it back down. I believe those verses can only be found in select apocryphal books of the Bible.

What tilapia is not is a telepathic fish. It does not read minds, on the suspicion that if they did possess this ability, they would’ve read the mind of the guy holding the net.

Before we prepared tonight’s meal, we walked over to the Moreland Farmer’s Market on Opening Day to sharpen Erin’s knives. And have a spicy sausage sandwich. And watch Padam Padam perform Tom Waits’ Strange Weather. And eat gelato at Staccato Gelato on Bybee (it was their opening day, too).

Strolling down 13th, we looked like one of Chaucer’s lost Canterbury Tales. Neither the Canon’s Yeoman nor Wife of Bath, we were rather the Cook, the Scribe, the Troubadour, the Gardener and the Educator and his Dog. That’s Jack, the pooch with a snout for buckles. A motley crew, true, but unlike Chaucer’s pilgrims, we’d all bathed within the last week. Well, most of us had…

Knives sharpened, nostrils delighted, ears tantalized, we parted ways, and Erin & I returned home to the Sellwood Kitchen.

Part 2. Breaking Bread with that Gadgety Girl

As Erin begins to prepare our meal, and I drop the needle on Nilsson’s …That’s the Way It Is (engineered by Richie Schmitt, fresh from John Travolta’s eponymous debut), Allee arrives. Minutes later, Adam makes it a quartet.

Slim fingers of asparagus are seasoned for baking. Red potatoes are quartered for roasting. The tilapia fillets are coated in panko. Popular in Japanese cooking, panko is a breadcrumb made from crustless bread, thus lending the final fry a desirable crispiness. Who wants a mushy fish? I mean, besides a toothless otter.

Panko makes me think of Rick Danko from The Band, which makes me think of how perfectly he phrased his verse in “The Weight” from The Last Waltz .Wow. But I don’t have a copy of that album (for shame!), so I opt for some dinner music – Jimmy Smith’s The Cat, fitting in the background, but a party when you turn it up!

Unlike last month’s meal, tonight’s came together much quicker. Still, we had time for crusty bread which we dipped in olive oil and balsamic vinegar. Mid-chew, Adam blurted out “Ham and cheese!” showering the coffee table with glistening crumbs. Erin eyed him oddly. “What? Ham?”

“Hammond B-3,” I interpreted. “That’s the organ Jimmy Smith’s playing.” Adam nodded, choking down his atomized bâtard bits. Not long after dinner was served, and the obligatory floor model shot taken, he unwittingly returns the favor and mishears Erin.

“Did you say ‘bodacious’?”

“No, what am I, a Ninja Turtle?” she responded. This leads to a discussion of TV shows from our childhood. Well, THEIR childhood, what with me being over a decade older than everyone here. I’m like “Yeah, I wish I had a Chuckle Patch,” and as I start to sing the Storybox song from The Magic Garden I realize I am alone in my nostalgia. (The Magic Garden ran for 52 episodes on WPIX in New York from 1972 to 1984, so you wouldn’t care either, I guess).

Two minutes later, our plates are clean, without even a hint of the mouthwatering aioli Erin had dribbled over the fish. Yeah, I know it’s mostly mayonnaise – that’s my point.

Conversation did not stray far from children’s television, except for one entry in my notes where I quote Allee declaring, “There’s not enough bronze in the world”, but I don’t record why. Although I did muse, “I miss the bronze age.” Don’t you?

PBS is discussed. “What’s with Ghostwriter? They open their Pee Chees and there it was!” I had no idea what they were talking about, so I sought safety in the great equalizer: Sesame Street.

Erin heard that the Cookie Monster was the Carrot Monster now. I called bull roar on the whole thing! (A quick visit to Snopes.com rendered that rumor false – Cookie’s merely cutting back on his namesake.) Still, we wondered how ‘politically correct’ the Street’s become. I said, “New Age Oscar lives in a recycling can now.”

Time for dessert! Instant pudding! Adam breaks in to his Bill Cosby impression. It’s right on the money!

I look past the curtains to the black Sellwood sky. The Market is here. The summer is coming – strolling through the evenings; coffee and bacon maple chocolate chip cookies at lovecup; the antique browsers and dog walkers animating 13th Avenue; and once again the delightful aromas of the Sellwood Kitchen swirling into the cosmos.

PANKO-COATED TILAPIA FILLETS

4 Tilapia fillets
2 eggs beaten
Flour
Panko bread crumbs
Salt and pepper to taste
Cooking oil
Aioli Sauce (1/3 Cup Mayonnaise, 3 teaspoons fresh lemon juice, 2 teaspoons Cajun Creole spice mix)

Mix aioli ingredients well and chill for at least 30 minutes. Heat 1/4 inch of oil in a large pan. Season tilapia lightly with salt and pepper. Dredge each fillet in flour, then egg. Press into Panko crumbs so each one is covered. Cook fillets in hot oil for 4 minutes on one side, then flip and cook until golden brown, a couple minutes. Cook in batches, do not crowd the pan. Serve with aioli.

The “In the Sellwood Kitchen” cast and crew can be contacted at: erinandmike@sellwoodkitchen.com

There is Power in a Union

2008-05-18T10:29:00.000-07:00

Sunday morning. If you leave Monday out of the equation, it's my favorite time of the week. I brewed some coffee and made Erin and myself a turkey bacon, cheese and onion omelet (yeah, I can cook a thing or two; not three, just two). I'm listenining to Billy Bragg's "difficult third album", Talking With The Taxman About Poetry. It's almost cool here in the living room, which is a delight, because this same living room reached an almost book-bursting temperature on the Bradbury scale on Saturday.

Yesterday, Erin and I, with extraordinary assistance from Melissa (who is not 3'5 as I had previously claimed) hosted Adam & Josh's wedding shower. We had 14 friends crammed in our small, hot, upstairs apartment, midday. Open windows, open front door (cats locked safely in the bedroom), several fans and a tempermental air conditioner.

Erin handled the cooking; Melissa took charge of the decorating. I piped some letters on the cupcakes.

With a Disneyland theme, the 2 CD mixes Erin compiled were appropriately whimsical.

Most of the guests tanked it on the "Ridiculous Disney Quiz" and the Portland heat via the Amazon put the kibosh on the much anticipated Disney Pictionary.

Still, a swell time was had by all! Good food, good friends, good god -- did I mention the heat? (The black balloons deflated instantly when the noonday sun struck them; followed soonafter by the exploding yellow ones...)

Sitting here Sunday morning, thinking about eating my fifth cupcake this weekend, Erin walks into the room and smiles, "I love having parties here."

Congrats, Fellas!

12.0 There Will Be Pork

2008-05-14T21:13:00.000-07:00

Starring Erin, Mike, Adam, Josh, Jim & Allee
Filmed on Location in Beautiful Downtown Sellwood
Soundtrack: Punch the Clock by Elvis Costello

“Isn’t this the greatest thing?”

A Timeline for New ITSKers: May, 2007 – The Maiden Voyage of the Sellwood Kitchen. To think it all began with herb chicken, sweet potato oven fries and John Coltrane. Ah, chicken! Our albatross! (Maybe we should try albatross sometime…)

Well, here we are (are we all here?) one year later, as unpopular as ever, but still true to the cause: Providing delicious recipes paired with esoteric banter and vague references to obscure musicians (“Hey, Mike, you can quote Guided By Voices songs all year, but no one’s gonna download their discography…”). Ah, give it time…

Full house tonight in the Sellwood Kitchen: Josh & Adam (as per), Jim (as of late), and Erin’s girlhood chum, Allee, who notches up the intelligence quotient by about 50%. (Sure, I can namedrop Ayn Rand, but she’s actually read The Fountainhead. Oh, and Jim’s read Atlas Shrugged. Eggheads.) Ayn Rand developed a philosophy called Objectivism (she preferred Existentialism, but Nietzsche had already nicked it). Rand’s idea that happiness is the moral purpose of our lives, and productive achievement is our noblest activity, sounds tempting at first listen, but I balk at her unswerving conviction. I am certain of nothing. I also shrink from reading anything written by someone whose name I cannot pronounce (this accounts for the absence of any Anaïs Nin on my bookshelves).

But Erin’s devotion to a delicious meal flashed parallels to Objectivism: Allee remarked on Erin’s refusal to compromise her ideals, despite the cries of hunger from her needy diners.

Our entrée this evening is the other white meat. No, not sea turtle (as I was disappointed to learn), but pork. Apparently, the unnecessary killing of threatened or endangered species is frowned upon by an incredible number of conservation groups. I faced this same difficulty in Ohio back in 1914 when I was forcibly pulled down from a poplar tree while poaching a few eggs from a passenger pigeon nest.

Tonight’s meal is nothing you can whip up in flash. Time is the main ingredient (for those listening to this article on tape (as read by Lyle Waggoner), that’s t-i-m-e). The lengthy prep time offers guests a rare opportunity to chat without crumbs spraying from their jabbering maws. We gathered in the kitchen, an interactive audience to Our Cooks’ presentation. It’s like performance art, except at the end you get to eat the Playbill. So what’s happening now is the pork tenderloin is simmering in a cast iron Dutch oven for an hour.

“It’s an enamel cast iron Dutch oven,” interjects Erin. The stock pot was a birthday gift (not from me – I got her a 2-year subscription to Ranger Rick, which I had mistaken for a 2-year subscription to Rachael Ray’s magazine).

Speaking of Rachael Ray, of whom Erin is a fan, Josh’s roiling digestive juices conspired for this select choice of verbal bile: “Welcome to Erin O’Shaughnessy’s 30-Hour Meals!”

Not only is tonight’s meal extended, the Kitchen itself gains a foot and a half when we roll the microwave stand next to the oven, thus establishing a prep area for Adam. Never underestimate the ingenuity of the lower middle class!
Jimmy puts on a mix tape he made me (sure, it’s on a CD, but when I try to say “mix disk” my tongue cleaves to my palate and I can only dislodge it with a shoehorn). Allee’s ears perk up to a Velvet Underground song. Josh wonders aloud, “What’s the difference between ‘underneath’ and ‘beneath’?” I suggested “beneath” was the word of choice for stuck-up sticky-beaks. He declares he’ll start using “beneath” in ordinary conversation.

After the pork has sufficiently cooked, it is removed from the pot, shredded, and then returned to the pot to be further reduced for a secondary eternity. But to paraphrase Poe, “What care I how time advances? I am drinking Two-Buck Chuck today!”

Jim declares Daniel Day-Lewis’ portrayal in There Will Be Blood the greatest performance ever given in American cinema, even surpassing De Niro’s Travis Bickle in intensity. He is happily haunted by the film, the 158 minute Oscar-winning epic. I see the cast of flavors and crew of utensils toiling & boiling & embroiling us in a new American epic. If P.T. Anderson was to cook a meal, it would be pork tacos.

Josh regales us further with outrageous pet peeves, such as his loathing of gerunds, and of sentences that end with prepositions (“No, it’s ‘what time does Target open at?’,” he heard a father correcting his son).

Seconds before we slip into berserker mode and settle on cannibalism, dinner’s ready! We rush to load up our plates, nearly forgetting to assemble the floor display for the official photograph. Adam does the honors. It looks too good to eat; nevertheless, we eat it.

“Blue in Green” (a highlight among highlights on Miles Davis’ monumental Kind of Blue) hushed out of the stereo as we sat down to eat, and its luxuriously slow meter set a necessary pace for what could have become a feeding frenzy. And while we did cram down about four tacos each, I realized the lobster bibs I had on standby were merely precautionary.

All the waiting (which really wasn’t long at all, unless you were born in the impatient era known as the late twentieth century) was totally worth it! We all learned a little about anticipation, self-control and gerunds.

What shall we call this recipe? I suggested “Puerco Tacos”, or pork tacos. Someone thought I said “puerto tacos” or “door tacos.” Not to be confused with “floor tacos”, which you could’ve eaten from underneath the table. Oh sorry, beneath the table.

The dinner party stretches late into the night. Adams falls asleep on the carpet, using the latest issue of Real Simple as a pillow.

TOTALLY WORTH IT TACOS
Serves 5-6

2 boneless pork loins
Two cloves of garlic (minced)
Olive oil
1 sweet onion (chopped)
2 large jalapenos (seeded and chopped)
1 green pepper
1 red pepper
3 cups of chicken broth
Taco seasoning (1 tsp cumin, ½ tsp red pepper flakes, ½ tsp ground cayenne pepper, ½ tsp oregano, ½ tsp seasoning salt)
Salt & pepper to taste

Heat olive oil on medium. Add minced garlic. Cut up pork into two-inch pieces. Season with salt and pepper. Place pork into pot. Brown thoroughly on one side. Flip pork, add taco seasoning and continue browning. Once browned on both sides, add jalapenos, onion and peppers. Cook for 2 minutes, then add broth. Bring to boil, reduce heat, simmer for one hour. Remove pork, shred with two forks, and return to simmering broth. Raise heat slightly and reduce broth. When broth almost completely reduced, remove pork with slotted spoon and serve on warm soft corn tortillas with your favorite taco fixings. Sure it takes a while, but they’re TOTALLY WORTH IT!

The “In the Sellwood Kitchen” cast and crew can be contacted at: erinandmike@sellwoodkitchen.com

11.0 The Champions of Breakfast

2008-04-05T14:44:00.000-07:00

Starring Erin, Mike, Adam, Josh & Jim
Filmed on Location in Beautiful Downtown Sellwood
Soundtrack: Rufus Wainwright by Rufus Wainwright

“I will take my coffee black…”

It was a beautiful Sunday morning in March when we had our first recorded Sellwood Kitchen breakfast. The usual gang was there, presently dubbed the “Sunday Morning Circle of Jerks”, as we marked the diameter of our low round table and issued forth our mockeries and other raw quotes and jokes from the TV and other things that are not TV.

A chicken-less meal at last? Yes, you Windsor-whipped tea-tippler – no chicken! Or rather, a potential chicken, as the main ingredient is the unfertilized hen’s egg. Erin’s making frittatas!

But first, let’s get a cup of coffee. I only started drinking coffee about 10 years ago. At work. Have you noticed how work breeds addictions? Now I drink it like a stereotype. We could brew a pot at home, but it’s so much more glamorous getting a cup out on the town. So before Adam and Josh show up, we met with my brother Jim at New Seasons for some fresh veg for the meal. Then walked over to SoTac Coffee & Cream (on the corner of 13th and Umatilla). Only, it’s not SoTac anymore – it’s l♥vecup! Jami & Jamie (or Jamie & Jami) own the place. You’ll recognize Jami (or Jamie) from the old SoTac. They brew a mean cup of joe and bake up a dynamite blueberry scone (get ‘em while they’re warm)!

Now the chemicals from without and within are balanced! Back home to the Sellwood Kitchen. Time for music. It’s Sunday morning – what do we listen to? I think Esquire or some glossy ad mag used to query celebrities about their “Favorite Sunday morning albums.” What is a “Sunday Morning Album?” For me, it’s something quiet yet lively, and maybe there’s a song about coffee on it. My faves? Well, that’s an article – nay! a book – in itself! But briefly, let’s say Judy Collin’s In My Life, Tom Waits’ Swordfishtrombones, Laura Nyro’s Eli and the 13th Confession… Really, any album, I guess, because any music anytime is good. So I put on Catch Bull at Four by Cat Stevens. What a great album! You probably don’t know anything from it.
I sure do yap a lot about music. Here’s some useful info: I’ve found some choice cheap vinyl (perfect for Sunday mornings) at the Sellwood Antique Mall on the corner of Se 13th and Lexington. I probably shouldn’t reveal this well-kept secret until I’ve scooped up the remaining Allen Sherman platters. Now back to our story…

Adam and Josh show up. The usual fanfare! It’s going to be a 10:30 breakfast. It’s going to be a brunch. It is brunch. The creation of it begins! Erin and Adam go to work. Jim, Josh and I hover over the pub table in the foyer eating red grapes and drinking mimosas (ingredients: orange juice and the cheapest champagne you can find). We trade “30 Rock” quotes. I throw on a Clancy Brothers album (Freedom’s Sons!). Cue olfactory – the wafting has begun!

We smell bacon, and Erin’s double batch of homemade biscuits is done! Garlic and onion rises!

Hot butter! While the cooks cook, Jim and I wolf down warm biscuits (sorry, Gluten Guy, have another grape…). For some unreasonable reason, Josh is aghast at how Adam butters his biscuit: He shmears it on top. I declared the move brilliant, as keeping the biscuit intact retains the flaky heat within! Josh thinks it’s weird. Jimmy shrugs and butters a biscuit.

We’re all very excited about breakfast! We discuss that touchtone film of the mid-80s, The Breakfast Club, and assign each other characters. I don’t remember who’s who, but I’m certain no one was eager to be Anthony Michael Hall. I put on the 5th Dimension’s Greatest Hits on Earth and just as Marilyn McCoo-ed “One Less Bell to Answer”, the frittatas were served! As per usual, Jimmy was presented the floor model (after it had been satisfactorily photographed).

What can I say? The breakfast was almost overwhelmingly delicious! The onions, the tomatoes, the spinach! But the asparagus! What an addition! In fact, let’s call it “Adam’s Asparagus Addition!” Who knew what flavor it would bring? Asparagus in a frittata is like a diamond nut on a golden bolt!

Mopping up the last bit of melted butter with the last crumbs of our biscuits, we hear a sighing Josh utter, “I’m ready for a nap.”

To which Adam seamlessly responds, “Cripes, I was ready for a nap when I woke up.”

Ha, ha! Those two! Let’s have a nap and coffee and walk and nap!

FRITTATA MONDATTA
Serves 5-6 (in two medium pans)

14 Eggs
1/2 Cup Milk
Butter
Turkey Bacon
8 Stalks Asparagus, segmentedChopped red onion
Garlic, also chopped
2 Tomatoes, chopped as well
Roasted Red Peppers
Fresh spinach
Shredded cheese (we used an Italian mix)

Cut bacon into one-inch pieces and fry in pan; put aside. In separate pan, cook down garlic and onion in butter for 3-5 minutes. Add asparagus. Wilt down spinach leaves and mix in with onions, asparagus and garlic. Stir in roasted red peppers. Reintroduce the bacon. Separate into two pans. Beat 14 eggs with 1/2 cup of milk and pour evenly into pans; cook on medium low until eggs are set. Sprinkle tomatoes on top. Add healthy, or unhealthy, dose of shredded cheese. Broil briefly until cheese is melted. Serve with biscuits, hash browns and mimosas. Get dibs on the couch and stay there until early afternoon. Then walk it off on the Springwater Trail.

The “In the Sellwood Kitchen” cast and crew can be contacted at: sellwoodkitchen@gmail.com