In the Sellwood Kitchen

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

10.0 The Phoenix and the Fowl

2008-03-10T19:01:00.000-07:00

Starring Erin, Mike, Adam, Josh & Jim
Filmed on Location in Beautiful Downtown Sellwood
Soundtrack: Your Favorite Songs about Birds

“I gave my love a chicken, it had no bone…”

Quiet now. Easy. Mustn’t make any sudden movements. They frighten easily, these little birds. Yes, YES! There it is! Right on the plate, awaiting its marinade. Yep, chicken again. I’ve been toying with changing the name of this column to “In the Sellwood Chicken.” Still, it’s chicken – you can do a lot with it. And it’s cheap. After all, I write the column pro-bono. Unlike this month’s recipe, which is “no-bono.” Boneless, that is. But more about the recipe later. Let me build up a few paragraphs with my blather.

Tonight’s Sellwood Kitchen is at SK2, Adam & Josh’s house. Tonight’s meal, in keeping with the advantages of home turf, is also Adam’s, or rather, an old family recipe. With both he and Erin at the stove, Josh, my brother Jim (newest resident of Sellwood and Knight of the Short Table), and I drool in the living room.

Meanwhile, Jack the dog is ALL OVER EVERYTHING ALL THE TIME. He’s a lanky fellow. Like one of those Land Striders from “Dark Crystal.” You know what I mean? I feel like a Garthim when I walk through the door. You get that one? I wish there were a few LIVE chickens in here to keep him busy!

I try to keep these articles fairly entertaining. Our Friend Dinners are always fun for us, but I suppose reading about them can be a little dry: We drink wine, laugh, eat dinner, laugh, watch TV, laugh, and everyone goes home. Yet we are not so different from the chicken, are we? Seemingly predictable, its bland even whiteness gives no more than a content nod to our taste buds. Until, of course, the culinary skills of Our Chefs transform this simple bird into a glorious phoenix of tang! I am thus inspired to transform these words on birds from plain copy into a monozygote of literature.

You ever read Harold Pinter? (“No, have you?”) Yes, actually, I have. I started a couple of days ago by devouring a few easy pieces. So I’m an expert now. British playwright, Pinter is, known for complex dialogue, broken by dramatic pauses and silence. I’d like to present a small portion of this piece in the style of Pinter:

VOICE #1

I’m always welcome to flip through Adam & Josh’s LPs but the radio seems to provide a suitable condition. I can tell by the crackle and jazz it’s KMHD (89.1 on your FM dial!). The jazz station out of Mt. Hood Community College is the most consistently safe signal on air, but I mean safe in the sense of free from morning talk-show DJs.
(Pause)

VOICE #2

Why don’t we have any snacks?

VOICE #1

They just play jazz. When someone stops me to ask if I listened to “Mark & Brian” or “Frick & Frack”, I shout a gregarious “Yes!” and pat them on the shoulder as I continue on. Egad! Give me some music! Maybe little news, maybe little traffic and I’m fine. Tonight, however, being Valentine’s Day, the speakers poured sugar-free honey into our laps – a lot of “smooth jazz”, the neutral vanilla of popular music.
(Pause)

VOICE #2
I’m not feeling feelings anymore.

VOICE #1

So the music fades into the background, and soon into memory. The true music of the night is the laughter – a box set’s worth.
(Pause)

VOICE #3

Liverwurst is the poor man’s pate.

And…Scene! Well done. Let’s eat! This is the first time I’ve ever had Chicken Cacciatore. It’s one of those recipes you always hear about but are never served. Like succotash or a$1000 burger.

Adam plates up the first dish. The “display copy” I call it. The one we photograph for the article. Jimmy eats the display copy. It’s almost a double serving. We devour it! The noodles seem plush to Adam. “Teddy bear noodles,” says Erin. “Build-a-Bear noodles,” adds Josh. Modified for our resident gluten-intolerant friend, the meal is a triumph, pleasing to the tongue, easy on the belly. I’m happy to report that olive oil was used in place of the suggested ingredient, which was “hot fat.”

Look, there on the horizon! The reliable chicken transformed, rising in a fireball of hot fat to the heavens! The phoenix reborn! Arcing in a maelstrom of Chinese fireworks towards the brightest stars of Ursa Major, a celestial ladle full of the wine of life!

HOW TO CACCIATORE A CHICKEN

6 servings Boneless Chicken Breasts and/or thighs
1 Cup of Cooking Sherry
2 Cloves Garlic Chopped
Rice Flour
Salt & pepper
Olive Oil
2 Cups Onion finely chopped
1 ½ Cup of Green Pepper finely chopped
1 Tsp Salt
1 Tsp Parsley chopped
1 ½ Tsp Curry Powder
2/3 Tsp White Pepper
1 ½ Tsp Thyme
Approx 30 Oz Canned Tomatoes
6 Oz Can Tomato Paste

Marinate chicken in mixture of sherry and 1 clove chopped garlic for 2 hours in refrigerator. Remove chicken from sherry. Save marinade. Season with salt & pepper and roll in flour. Fry in oil until golden brown. Re-serve in warm oven. Combine onions, peppers and remaining garlic. Sauté in oil from chicken until tender, stirring constantly. Stir in 1 tsp salt, pepper, curry powder and thyme. Add tomatoes, paste and parsley. Stir in sherry marinade. Heat. Pour sauce over chicken, cover and bake at 350 degrees for approximately 50 minutes. Serve over rice or spaghetti (we went for brown rice spaghetti! It’s a GLUTEN-FREE meal).

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

9.0 The Lorange

2008-02-10T13:12:00.000-08:00

Starring Erin, Mike, Adam & Josh
Filmed on Location in Beautiful Downtown Sellwood
Soundtrack: “Zoom” by Robert Pollard

“Brought you your snack…”

The first “In the Sellwood Kitchen” of the year! Sure there was the January issue, but I think I wrote that in November… So, 2008, you hungry?

Well, it was a cold January night when our guests arrived. Their wool gloves and caps further confirmed an evening plunging towards absolute zero. We shut the door quickly to prevent the heat’s exit, where it no doubt would have burst into steam, solidified, and fallen like a frozen chicken to the garden below.

Adam and Josh brought three bottles of wine. Wait, was it three bottles? White, red and red. That’s a lot of wine! They’re good friends and also fed our cats while we were away. (As I write, one of those cats is staring at my glass of milk with an intensity matched only by my own staring at the meal Erin was about to prepare.) What an awkward sentence! Let’s wash the taste of poor syntax out of our mouths with this month’s repast!

I began with French bread, dipped in olive oil and balsamic vinegar, and slices of cheddar and gruyere, whose flavor is distinctive yet not overpowering, with a glass of organic Syrah. I purchased the Syrah both for its organic origin and for its label which depicted a crude rendering of Don Quixote, because my favorite musical is “Man of La Mancha.” The CD resissue sits in my collection sandwiched between the “Lenny” and “The Royal Tenenbaums” soundtracks.

Whilst Josh and I hovered over the appetizers in the foyer, Adam assisted Our Chef Erin in the kitchen. Earlier she had prepared the marvelous mixture designed for stuffing into the chicken breasts. I love music and it’s all I think about (except for Erin and ribald cartoons). I relate everything to it. I usually spout a lyric to complement any random comment one might issue. So when I considered the four ingredients in the ambrosial fill, legendary quartets sprung to mind: the Beatles, the Replacements, the Martyrs, We Five, the Kingston Trio…

Erin chopped and combined fresh basil, sundried tomatoes, feta cheese and garlic. The latter was prepared with a gadget called a “garlic zoom”. Maybe that’s a brand name and should be capitalized. Regardless, one inserts the cloves into the “moon roof” of the two-wheeled, internally-bladed device and ZOOM! Instant chopped garlic! Fun to roll, but a bugger to clean.

In a small white bowl, the ingredients become one. But, says Erin, “This is not schmear stuffing; this is not a spread.” Suddenly she speaks Yiddish! What she means is the filling is better scooped into the folded breasts. Next, said chicken is pounded flat. Simultaneously, Josh and I pound back another glass of wine. (But don’t confuse our “friends’ dinners” with frat boy keggers; I exaggerate the drinking for literary pop.)

So after the chicken is stuffed and slid in the oven, a spinach salad is prepared. A lemon is requested, so I produced the one I’d purchased earlier at New Seasons. Erin said get a “biggish” lemon. So that’s what I got, though something nagged me about its coloring. In the light of the kitchen, Adam asked, “Is that an orange?” for indeed, it was much more orange in color than I had suspected. But it was lemon-shaped, with nippled rinds on both ends. Yet when they cut in open, it still looked like an orange. However, the taste was unmistakably lemony. With a hint of orange.

“It’s a ‘lorange’” declared Adam. We all laughed; I found the term “Seussical”: “I am the Lorange. I speak for the cross-pollinated.”

As the oven became a bathysphere of succulence, we continued nibbling at cheese and bread, chatting, and quoting Saturday Night Live bits. You know, the usual. Soon enough, dinner was ready. Plated with painstaking finesse by Adam (“Sorry the meat’s cold,” joked Erin, “it took too long to make it look pretty!”), the meal begged our indulgence. We sat around the living room coffee table (floor seating for four comfortably), and sliced into the stuffed chicken, saliva pouring from our chops in time with the flood of exaltations! “Holy cats, that’s good!” A cross-section revealed what can only be described as “the marrow of God”. Served with Erin’s special spicy sweet potato oven fries and a tangy spinach salad ("Anyone who doesn't like spinach is my emeny." – Popeye), we dined contentedly, satisfied from the first bite.

The wine and a perpetually nagging nostalgia led Erin and Josh to an inevitable discussion of Disneyland, and the desire to return. (I quickly surmised this would be the conversation of the night.) We’d been there for our honeymoon and Erin’s been numerous other times, as has Josh. But Adam and I are freshlings to the Kingdom of Magic. Out came the guide books, the brochures, the 10-minute slideshow Erin had put together. Stuffing our maws with stuffed chicken, she suggested we all go to there, perhaps with Josh and Adam on their honeymoon someday. We decided we’d travel well together. Quite a mouse-ear wearing quartet!

It’s a long drive – I’d better make a cooler of “lorangade!”

FAB FOUR STUFFED CHICKEN

4 Chicken breasts
1/2 cup Feta cheese
2/3 cup Sundried tomatoes
2/3 cup Fresh basil
3 Cloves Garlic
1 tsp. dried basil
Olive oil
1/2 cup cheap white wine
1 tbsp lemon juice
Zest of lemon (or lorange!)

Mix well sundried tomatoes, feta cheese crumbles, chopped garlic and fresh basil in small bowl. Season to taste with salt & pepper. Pound out four chicken breasts to 1/4 inch. Spoon equal amounts of stuffing onto center of each breast. Fold over and secure with toothpick. Place stuffed breasts in oiled baking dish. Season chicken with salt & pepper, dried basil, zest of lemon, lemon juice and a 1/2 cup of cheap white wine (if you can pry it away from your guest). Bake at 400 degrees. Serve with rice pilaf. (Again, we went for the sweet potato oven fries, but that’s just because we’re hooked on them…)

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

8.0 The Sellwood Kitchen Anti-Massacree Friendsgiving

2008-01-03T17:00:00.000-08:00

Starring Erin, Mike, Jessica, Trent and Eleven Other Good Friends & Family
Filmed on Location in Beautiful Downtown Sellwood
Soundtrack: “We had the record player going all day…”

“Take this brother, may it serve you well…”

I remember how it began, but only because I wrote it all down. It was the day after Thanksgiving. What we call “Friendsgiving.” At least – since we developed this tradition last year. On Friendsgiving, we invite a bunch of friends over to our place, for a sequel of sorts to Thanksgiving. Full turkey dinner – stuffing, potatoes, cranberry, the works! I gained 45 pounds, though most of it was gravy weight.

Friendsgiving’s historical roots lay in the celluloid landscape of “A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving.” You know, when Peppermint Patty phones Charlie Brown (she calls him Chuck) and invites herself over for Thanksgiving dinner. Then she invites Marcy. And then she invites Franklin. And pretty soon Charlie Brown, Peppermint Patty, Marcy, Franklin, Linus, Sally, and that dog are sitting around a ping-pong table, eating popcorn and toast. (I only realized this similarity ex post facto.) So that’s what we do. Except we do the inviting. And instead of popcorn, there’s a Crockpot full of Li’l Smokies…

Once again, Erin and Trent did the cooking. Unlike last year, this Friendsgiving benefited from weeks of meticulous preparation. Lists were compiled. Invitations were mailed. Fridges were stocked.

At 10 am, I dropped the needle on Paul Mauriat’s “Love is Blue” (between 1959-1964, Mauriat recorded under pseudonyms Nico Papadopoulus and Willy Twist). His easy pop instrumentals beg the listener to sip a decaf and O’Mara’s Irish Cream. Your wish, Monsieur Mauriat, is our command!

Soon, delicate yet bold aromas drifted into the living room where I sat reading a Greil Marcus meditation on “Like a Rolling Stone.” Mmm…Trent’s Pumpkin Curry Soup roils under the lid. Lil Smokies (overheard from the couch, “The Velveeta of Meats”) are swallowed by a vortex of swampy barbecue sauce. Oops, I just drooled on “Works Cited”.

So far, it’s just the four of us; Erin & Trent in the kitchen, Jessica and I not in the kitchen. Eleven more guests will squeeze into our apartment before the day ends (which would be 12 hours later…).

Jess, even more pregnant than in our last article, was craving root beer (I can’t stand the stuff – it falls somewhere between soda and beer without the benefits of either). She also needed her book from home. Anyway, while there, Trent called her to bring back the smoked salmon. This led to what will be remembered as Jessica’s Polar Excursion for Smoked Salmon. I’m not sure why we needed the smoked salmon – there was already enough food to overextend King Kong’s belly; I guess we were playing it safe in case he brought his son.

Anyway, in a scenario one would assume had already been played out in an outrageous Japanese game show, Jess spent the next 30 minutes shoulder-deep in every fridge and freezer in their home, locating said fish only moments before the black tips of frostbite stained her fingers. Returning to the Sellwood Kitchen, Jess plunged her numb paws in the roaster, displacing some gravy onto the festive plastic tablecloth. I leapt from the couch to sop up the spill with an Eggo (it was still early and we were out of English muffins).

Meanwhile, the potatoes were whipped (overheard from the couch, “I’m planning on eating that whole vat of potatoes myself”), and the bird was prepared. Jessica’s Corn-Flake Potato Casserole rested, ready for the oven. Dinner was scheduled for 3 pm – and the chefs had everything prepared! So they got cocky. On a whim, they made caramel apples! And with the extra melted caramel, they make whiskey caramel candies. With Bushmills whiskey – la de da! Wait! That’s MY Bushmills!

So we relaxed and waited for the flood of guests. The music played: Roberta Flack, Ray Charles, Bob Dylan’s “Empire Burlesque”. I got up and tasted the gravy. The gravy is great! Not only the taste, but the texture – bursting like a yolk in my mouth! I wish I still had a Krazy Straw!

Knock, knock. Who’s there? Everyone! With MORE food! Thank heavens! Because I hoped to top out at 250 lbs before the weekend! In through the door burst Nicole & Ella, Adam & Josh, Alyssa & Michael, and Kella & Brian, all with dishes in hands! We packed into the living room.

Then my brothers and sister-in-law arrived. And they all packed into the listening room (we O’Shaughnessys like to separate ourselves from the pack – might be one of the reasons we escaped from New York). Then the bacchanal began!

The rest is a blur. A cacophony of chewing. (A few decibels under the ravenous din of chomping maws, one could hear the avant-garde clatter of the Beatles “Revolution #9,” my personal maneuver of auditory guerrilla warfare, a strike against the best-of collections of Earth, Wind & Fire and the Doobies.)

I ate for twelve hours straight that day.

And that was “The Sellwood Kitchen Anti-Massacree Friendsgiving!” Keeping the spirit of friendship and gluttony alive until Thanksgiving rolls around again!

FRIENDSGIVING

Two Cooks
Their Spouses
Eleven Friends
Music
Appetizers
Beverages
Main Course
Desserts
Games
Lots of laughs

Fill one small apartment with ingredients. Mix. Mingle. Mangia! Repeat next year.

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

7.0 Bet on a Bottle of Smoke

2007-11-27T19:04:00.000-08:00

Starring Erin, Mike, Jessica & Trent
Filmed on Location in Beautiful Downtown Sellwood
Soundtrack: The Royal Scam by Steely Dan

“While the music played, you worked by candlelight…”

6:01 am. My pillow was “filled by Louisville Bedding Co.” Now I know. Great. What byte of imperative knowledge did I replace with that revelation?

Jiminy! It’s Wednesday! The next article’s due tomorrow! Nice try, brain! Better get up and check the Internets to see what’s abuzz about “In the Sellwood Kitchen.”

Word on the web is that we’re “joyfully entertaining” and a “super good time.” Let’s see if we can sustain this zenith of informative hilarity. On to this month’s installment of ITSK!

Hi. Erin speaking. I know, right?! I’m writing! Right. Don’t worry – Mike will return. I’m just checking in. I’m writing, but that doesn’t mean Mike is cooking. He’s just asked me to give a report from the kitchen. He doesn’t regularly venture into that part of the house. It’s not that he isn’t helpful; it’s just that we have a 3 square foot kitchen and I prefer him to stay out! Moving on. Luckily, this month we received an unexpected invitation to our friends Jess and Trent’s house for dinner. I can’t tell you how relieved I was not to have to come up with a recipe. Sometimes I get this thing I call "chef’s block." Not like a knife block, it’s more like writer’s block, but with food.

So anyways, I told Trent I was happy to be a sous chef for a turn. He understood completely, and I started slicing cremini mushrooms. As soon as they hit the pan, Jessica began popping in and out of the kitchen more than usual. All the while, she kept her eyes on the sizzling fungi. She seemed concerned about something. Sweating with a desperate enthusiasm over the stove, I broke her glazed and penetrating stare. “Don’t worry,” I assured her, “there’s plenty for everyone. Now go back to your 15th century pedantic banter in the living room!”

Mike here. I’m back from… well, it’s really none of your business where I was. Ok, where did Erin leave off? “Sizzling fungi”, “penetrating stare”, “15th century…” Ah yes! Well, actually it was an American History textbook from 1939 that Jess owned. You see, this is usually how our friend dinners work. Erin and Trent cook. Jess and I babble pseudo-intellectually about the political climate and quantum mechanics. Or else, we’re watching "Cash Cab" while thumbing through the viciously honest chapters of Jenny McCarthy’s baby book. Yep, Prego and I loaf in the lounge while the chefs sweat like quilted pigs in hell’s kitchen. But Jess has an excuse, being an expectant mother. Me, I’m just lazy. Hey, that’s an excuse! If I weren’t so exhausted debating about which is the superior Steely Dan album, I’d rise from the couch to give you an update from the kitchen. Hey, Erin? How goes it?

Oh, you know, it goes... Well, we made “the” sauce (Trent’s pièce de résistance), sautéed the mushrooms, grilled the chicken, and cooked the pasta. We drank wine. I cut up some great crusty bread. We drank wine. Wait, did I say that already? Well, we did, and it was pretty tasty. Trent and I spent part of our cooking session daydreaming about running our own restaurant. If people are rude in our restaurant, we would be able to make them leave. I always wished I could do that when I was serving… It was a good dream. However, we soon realized we have no money to start such a business, and no business experience. Well, it’s good to have dreams anyhow. Overall it was a pretty good dinner-making experience. I think Trent and I are getting pretty good at cooking together. We’d better be – we’re cooking together for 16 people in the smallest kitchen EVER for Thanksgiving. If our friendship survives that, we’ll be unstoppable. Enough about that. You’ll read about it in the next article. Now, on to the food! I’ll let Mike take over; his enthusiasm for food makes for some highly-entertaining writing. No pressure, Mike!

Don’t worry – I’m a professional writer (let me give a “shout out” to my long-suffering brothers and sisters in the Guild). Well, before I knew it, dinner was served. I don’t know what those two in the kitchen were complaining about – it seemed to take no time at all. Heck, I got through seven chapters of that baby book!

How best to describe the meal? Ye Gods! What a flavor! Smoky, but not “stink bomb” smoky. Rather, it possessed a delicate elemental flavor, as if the essence of smoke had been captured in a bottle and… wait, I’m told the sauce derives its epithelial hue from something called “Liquid Smoke.” Go know, right? The sauce languishes over the superlatively-cooked penne, the chicken enmeshed in the furrowed quills! And of course, there is bread. (Note to ITSK-files: there is always bread.)

Jessica, charged with a burgeoning anticipation, enters the kitchen and is so overcome by the swirling scents of steam she clamps onto the table’s edge with a vise-like grip. Only her locked elbows fight the gravitational pull of this irresistible dish. She’s like James Brown after the encore, and she hasn’t even tucked in her napkin!

Saliva pools! Tongues beckon! Forsooth – even my isthmus of the fauces yelps with curious delight! What power hath this entrée over us? Is it succulence or succubus!

Why, it’s friend dinner, done to perfection, once again!

PENNE FROM HEAVEN

The Sauce
Equal parts flour and butter to form a roux
2 cups whole milk
1.5 teaspoons liquid smoke
1.5 teaspoons Frangelico or hazelnut syrup
Salt to taste

The Rest
Cremini mushrooms, sautéed to perfection
2 Chicken breasts, grilled and sliced
Penne pasta

Serve sauce, mushrooms and chicken over pasta. Enjoy with crusty bread, good wine, and friends!

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

6.0 Our Chef in Sellwood

2007-10-28T12:44:00.000-07:00

Starring Erin, Mike & Allee
Filmed on Location in Beautiful Downtown Sellwood
Soundtrack: Planet Waves by Bob Dylan / Our Man in Paris by Dexter Gordon

A spooky dish awaits you at the end of this long, dark article! Brush away the cobwebs and… wait a minute. What’s today? The 1st? Rats! Halloween was yesterday! Oh well, so much for that meal!

The chill of Oregon’s autumn touches me with tendrils of mist. Brrr! Brrr! Brrring on the soup! Turn up the heat! Drop a platter on the turntable! How about Bob Dylan’s Planet Waves? Backed up by The Band, it sounds like November to me.

“On a Night Like This”: Dinner for three – our Maid of Honor is coming over! Erin begins creating the soup. What kind of soup? I’m not sure yet. She’s slicing up a kielbasa. Our kitten is skittish. Simba, our elder cat, is casual, airy. Subtle, even. They nest in the living room this evening. Rainclouds nudge their way through the suppertime sky.

“Tough Mama”: I nibble on candy corns, writing in a notebook on the coffee table. Erin peels sweet potatoes. The sidewalks of Sellwood are feathered with small yellowed leaves. The trees fade like flats of atmosphere, guiding your stare through depths of dappled orange.

“Something There is About You”: Mascara streaks down Erin’s face as she chops a yellow onion. I laugh – when did Alice Cooper get here? Next, celery is executed. Knock, knock… our guest arrives.

“You Angel You”: (Dylan flubs the first line – it’s great!) The stock pot’s on the stove top. Wine is poured. I abstain (for a change). Allee and Erin chat in the warm kitchen. Wonderful smells start wafting into the living room. Sometimes I help with the cooking. But tonight I’m too occupied with writing. Or acting like I’m writing. I put on a new album, Our Man in Paris by Dexter Gordon. I found it for fifty cents. Scratched to heck, but his horn leaps from the ragged grooves. I read the liner notes. They’re by Nat Hentoff. You know…Nat Hentoff? Oh, forget it. Can you hear someone rolling their eyes? I think I just did.

“Scrapple from the Apple”: She’s putting apples in the soup! It appears to be a variation on mulligatawny! Erin cooks like Ornette Coleman plays horn. It’s free jazz! Better – it’s free soup! She’s bebopping with the spices!
“A Night in Tunisia”: Soup’s on! But not just soup! There’s homemade biscuits! (When did that happen?) Steam rushes from their split sides. The soup is… transplendent! Two bowls, I eat. I’m stuffed. I can’t eat another bite. Erin brings each of us a slice of warm apple pie (she baked that, too) and a scoop of vanilla ice cream. I guess I can eat another bite.

At the core of Erin’s commitment to cooking is a restless desire to learn. Before I lay down for the night, I ask Erin a question. She answers, “No, I’m not wholly satisfied at the moment; my recipes are just beginning.”

Thanks to Nat Hentoff and Dexter Gordon.

FALLIGATAWNY

1 yellow onion
2 carrots
1 apple
1 kielbasa
3 celery stalks
2 small cans diced tomatoes
1 quart of vegetable broth
I cup of water
I sweet potato
2 cloves of garlic
2 tbsp of curry powder
Dash Nutmeg, cumin, salt & pepper
1 cup of chopped parsley

Brown sliced kielbasa. Set aside. Sautee diced onions, celery, carrots and garlic in stock pot for a few minutes. Add broth, kielbasa, diced sweet potato, diced apple and water. Spice with curry powder, a dash of nutmeg, a pinch of cumin and salt & pepper. Bring to a boil, reduce to low heat. Cover and simmer for 30 minutes. After simmering, stir in fresh chopped parsley. Ladle into bowls. Serve with homemade biscuits (oh yeah, that’s another recipe!). Enjoy with any one of Dylan’s early-70s albums.

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