Pork: The Meat Mothership

Mother's Day is not just an occasion to thank mom for all of the wonderfully wrongheaded advice she's given you over the years - it is also a fine day for food appreciation. Almost everyone can think of at least one dish their mom prepared exceptionally well. It was comfort food and she ladled it out with love even as dinners grew increasingly uncomfortable as you disappointed her time and time again. 

Unfortunately, not everyone thinks "mmmmm yes!" when they hear the phrase "just like mom used to make." For some of us, those six words are uttered only after eating a mom-cooked meal astounding in its mediocrity. On a personal note, when I was growing up my own mom had her kitchen strengths- chicken cutlets, baked chicken chicken surprise, chickened chicken and chickeny chick-chick-chicken - but honestly, she also lobbed a lot of duds out of the oven. Her meatloaf turned me off from all meatloaf for no less than 20 years. 

It's a known fact that Whistler made his mother sit in the corner when she fouled up dinner. But I love my mother and I was able to forgive and move on. I came to realize that while she is in fact my mother, she isn't my "food mother." No, for the nurturing qualities of a food mother, I turned to the food itself - and not chicken because chicken is no food mother. Chicken is more like a food-aunt ... the kind of aunt that comes over uninvited and never leaves your house. 

No, there is only one animal with the chops to be my food mother: The Pig. 

I stand over and stare at a pig and its parts like some men do with a car.My love affair with this animal and the fruit it bears is well documented, so there is no reason to slice deep and rehash old musings. Instead, I'll share a recent unctuous love connection between me and the swine. 

In Glen Cove, Long Island, there is a little place called The Polish Deli. Ok, the name isn't clever, but who cares. It is what it says it is - a no-frills, Polish deli, with a delightful fella behind the counter slicing meats and his not-so-delightful mother in the back cranking out the hot food. If you want a sandwich, you can't go wrong with cold sliced kielbasa with Oscypek cheese and hot mustard. (*NOTE: Oscypek cheese is a smoked Polish cheese. Get on that trolly.)

On this particular trip, I decided to go with a hot dish ... not because my Polish friend recommended it, but because one item jumped up and kicked me in my food-surveying eye. 

The item, a pork leg shank. 

Pork leg shank with mashed potatoes and hunter's stew. All Polish jokes end now. I knew I was in for destined an epic meal when the deli clerk said, "Wow, that's heavy," when he lifted this beauty out of the display. Salivating and shaking with excitement, I paid the man - trembling as I did so - and after mumbling something about "sleeping well tonight," my meal and I were on our way home where we could be alone. 

Flintstones, meet the Flintstones ...What followed can only be described as carnage. I'm not exactly sure what happened, but when I regained consciousness, I was slippery and my pants were gone. What I do remember is how the skin/fat/meat layers melted together for a savory flavory that sent my eyes rolling. My toes were cramped because I could not uncurl them. 

There were some leftovers. The next day I took that big honking bone and what was left of the meat and simply pan fried it. The skin crisped up, the fat became a glaze and the chemical reactions brought even more succulence out of the meat. 

You only live once. Why prolong it?Look at the above picture. LOOK at it. This is what Mother Nature has provided her children. Eat at her trough. You might be thinking, why pan-fry a seemingly meatless bone? Well for one, because the little bits of clinging awesome still on that bone provide some quality gnawing time.

The greens are only there to make the meat comfortable. They are not for consumption.

Pork. Fantastic on day one, orgasmic on day two. 

Your mom labored hard to get you into this world. If you can't appreciate her cooking, at the very least you should find someone else's mother and appreciate her cooking. 

Mothered,

The Cultured Pig

Sandwich Legends: The McRib

McDonald's McRib sandwich achieved legendary status after it disappeared from the fast food joint's menu, only to reappear and then disappear again. The "here one minute, gone the next" nature of this creation has some saturated fatties traveling the country, following the McRib as it pops up in one city and then the next. It is the Grateful Dead of fast food sandwiches ... except its followers are more likely sticky with sauce then stoned with substances. 

But why is it so legendary? Why would anyone follow a sandwich? Especially a sandwich produced, cooked and served by the Devil in Big Red Shoes, Ronald McDonald? Is it actually tasty? Or do sandwich-philes eat it simply because it has become an edible pop culture icon?

As luck would have it, the McRib returned to the New York area this week. Since my last encounter with it exists only as a vague, sweet/spicy memory stain, I set out after work to re-expose myself to the myth. 

At under $6, this was a fairly inexpensive experiment ... of course, the gastronomic expense figured to be a lot pricer. 

Tangy Temptation? Just like Jesus, I guess. First off I don't remember it being served on a long roll, but that's fine with me. Can you read the fine print? If not, allow me:

It's the telltale sign of that tangy barbecue sauce that's left its mark on your lips. The fact that the tender boneless pork is smothered in it means there's no way of getting away with this love affair.

Wow. Am I about to cheat on classier sandwiches with a crack-addled whore hoagie? Suddenly I feel like Ray Liotta in Goodfellas, two-timing the mother of my children for that no good coke-head, Sandy. 

You'll notice that I'm eating the McRib in my car. Yet another clue to my gluttonous shame. 

That pickle doesn't stand a chance. Ok, so it definitely smells like barbecued pork. The roll looks good, it's not soggy to the touch, but instead is firm, almost toasty. The onions look crisp and fresh ... I'm officially into this. But hang on a second, this is called a McRib ... but ... there are no ribs on this at all ... yet, it seems to have been formed into a rib-like shape ... What on Earth did that demented clown do? What sort of black magic is he practicing?

It's like when Arnold saw Predator's face for the first time. "You are one, ugly motherfucker."I have to admit, even with the faux-rib markings ... I still really, really want to eat this thing ... not only that, I feel like I would step over most of my close friends to get one. The sandwich's strange allure is becoming more and more apparent, the closer I get to consuming it. The sauce is enticing, the bread looks downright comfortable, the onions look delightful, hell, even the pickles are adding an element of wonder. 

However, scooping this thing up proved more difficult than I expected. While the top bun was firm, the bottom bun had given up long ago and was not a big help at all. There was no way to pick up the McRib without a fair amount of sauce engulfing your hand. 

The sandwich equivalent of rough sex with a moderately attractive partner in a dive bar at 3 a.m.

After many bites, I can safely say that this is a pork sandwich. I'm not sure what part of the pig this actually comes from or if this pig was a real pig at all ... perhaps it was spliced together and grown in a tube in the McGenetic Laboratories. No matter what it is, I noticed that it is impossible to stop eating once you start. Immediately after my first bite, I dinosaured through it with reckless abandon. Maybe it was fear of being caught, I really can't say for sure ... but as quickly as it started, it was over. The deed was done. 

CSI: McDonalds

My verdict on taste is pretty straight forward: It's tangy barbecued pork with an onion finish. Less obvious are the reasons why this sandwich has reached mythic status. It's not the taste ... I've created more delicious sandwiches with far less. The only conclusion I can come to is that people want odd novelties ... and apparently they want them in their stomaches.

So rest easy America ... I ate it, so you don't have to. 

McRibbed,

The Cultured Pig

Today's Sandwich: Zombie Elvis

Just a quick little piggy for a Wednesday afternoon. 

Elvis had a couple of good songs. "Achy Breaky Heart," "Don't Stop Believin'," and the theme to "Back to the Future," just to name a few. But for me, Elvis' greatest legacy is his hunk a'hunka burnin' appetite. Here is just one of his culinary influences on the world.

Cook some bacon to your liking and set aside. Grab two slices of whole wheat bread (cause we like to keep it healthy) ... spread peanut butter on both slices ... cut one banana into "silver dollar" slices, put on one peanut buttered bread .... take cooked bacon and put it on the other peanut buttered bread.

Here's a Ying and Yang I can get behind.

Now, just grill as you would a grilled cheese sandwich. Add some butter to a heated skillet, and also on one side of the sandwich. DO NOT bust out the spray can of that phony non-stick crime against nature. "Pam" is an evil cyborg fembot, sent here to battle against Mother Nature. And Mother Nature wins every time. 

Butter on the bottom, butter on the top. Pam is a two-bit whore.While letting the Zombie Elvis brown on both sides, feel free to ponder on the sandwich you are about to experience. Get your beverage ready ... I recommend milk ... or coffee if you plan to "clean house" soon after eating. 

If God had a cross-section, it would look like this.

Now, simply consume. The mix of peanut butter, banana and bacon flavors is truly underrated and should not be feared. The saltiness of the bacon cuts right through that banana and peanut butter sticky texture. The result is a sweet and savory, mouth-engulfing, delicious mess. The bacon and peanut flavors do battle, as the banana stays constantly in the background, creating a running theme and something for your palate to hang onto. 

Elvis' music was mediocre ... his appetite was legendary. Verdict: Inexplicably awesome. Just a couple of changes for my next one: Higher quality bacon and perhaps some jalapeno slices. Of course, that's a different sandwich altogether ... The Zombie Elvis from Mexico.