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My Big Fat Pork Butt – PERFECTED

February 22, 2009 · 11 Comments

When I set up my blog, I thought I would be writing a lot about food since cooking has become something of an obsession for me in the past couple of years.  Instead, I’ve written about a dead cat and a religious experience.  Time to change the subject!

Someone else's. We eat ours too fast to get a photo.

Okay, this is someone else's sandwich. We always eat ours too fast to get a photo.

Today I’m here to tell you how I made pulled pork heaven because I promised my Twitter pal Joey D’Antoni that I would.  Warning: This is at least a two-day recipe. And it’s a lot of work. But it makes a ton of food, people will call you Kitchen Genius, and the leftovers are fabulous.

Get yourself a 5-7 pound bone-in pork butt.  If there’s a thick layer of fat on one side, trim most of that off.  The day before you plan to cook him, brine him overnight.  I use an 8-quart all-purpose plastic container that I got from my local restaurant supply house. You might need to reorganize your refrigerator to accomodate a container this large.

I’ve played with different brining ingredients (apple cider was a nice addition), but here’s the basic formula:

  1. Dissolve 1/2 cup sugar and 1/2 cup salt in 2 quarts warm water.
  2. Stir in 4 bay leaves, 1/2 tablespoon black peppercorns, and 1 tablespoon of cayenne.
  3. Add enough ice to bring the volume up to 4 quarts. Immerse the pork butt in the brine and refrigerate overnight.

The next morning, make a braising liquid in a sauce pan:

  1. I originally started with 2 cups of veal stock, but hey, how many of us have that kind of stuff handy? I later tried chicken stock, then beef stock, but I think I got better results replacing those with soy sauce (1/2 cup) and water (1 cup).  But of all those experiments, the veal stock was best, hands-down, probably because of its unctuous qualities.  Veal stock also helps the other flavors shine through, I’m guessing.
    PERFECTED, June 24: Skipped the stock, just used about 1 cup water, no soy.
  2. Add about 1 cup of orange juice. Fresh tastes best, but I’ve gotten by with mixing some from frozen concentrate.
  3. Now add about 3/4 cup of Steen’s pure cane syrup.  If you’ve never had Steen’s, it’s a really unique treat from Louisiana, not hard to find in the South. Get yourself some, and I’m sure you’ll find plenty of ways to use it. (On pancakes, for starters.)
  4. Next add 1/4 cup of apple cider vinegar. I prefer to use Bragg’s organic unfiltered, which is probably way easier to find than the Steen’s cane syrup.  :)
  5. Throw in a pinch of salt and pepper.  Stir, stir, stir. Bring it to a low simmer, then keep it on low heat while you move on to Phase Three.

You’ll need to get the pork butt ready for all the love and attention he deserves.  Here we go:

  1. Remove him from the brine, rinse him off, and pat him dry with paper towels.
  2. Season him liberally with salt and pepper.
  3. Heat 3-4 tablespoons of olive oil in a big-ass pot or dutch oven, and brown the pork butt on all sides. Don’t be shy, get it good and dark, because that crust will become the prize tidbits at the end.
    PERFECTED, June 24: Instead of browning him in the pot, I put my gas grill on low and put the butt in with a foil packet of wet cherry wood chips. (Alder or Apple would be good, too.) Turned the butt every 30 minutes to get a good char on “the big sides” and infuse it with smoke.
  4. Remove him from the pot (grill) and set aside. Now’s a good time to preheat the oven to 275 degrees.

Next you’re going to build a comfy bed for the pork butt, all in the same pot you browned him in:

  1. Saute 2 onions sliced into about 10 wedges each. I use one sweet Vidalia onion and one spanish yellow onion. You’re doing wedges because later you’ll want to be able to easily retrieve them from the braise.
  2. Add a couple of roughly chopped carrots and celery stalks. When they’ve started to soften, add 5-6 smashed cloves of garlic.
  3. Wait  a minute or so until you can breathe in the lovely garlic aroma, then add 1.5 tablespoons of Chinese five spice blend (a trick I saw on Top Chef) and about 1 tablespoon of crushed red pepper flakes.  Now a little salt and pepper.
  4. Hopefully you’ve been moving all the veggies around with a flat-edge wooden spoon, and you’ve noticed that there’s still some fond (the dark stuff) stuck to the bottom of the pot from browning the pork earlier. Pour 1/4 cup of bourbon in the pot and scrape as much of the fond up as you can (yes, it’s called deglazing).  If that’s not enough liquid to deglaze, add 1/4 cup of water and keep scraping.
    PERFECTED, June 24: Skipped the bourbon/water  deglaze since I didn’t brown the meat in the pot.
  5. Gently place the pork butt on top of all the veggies in the pot. Pour the warm braising mixture over him. It will probably come abuot midway to the height of the pork. Cover the pot with a piece of foil and then lid ‘r up and put it in the oven.
  6. If it’s not too early in the morning, raise a toast to your pork butt with your own shot of bourbon.

Okay, this is when you get to check your email, do some laundry, watch a movie, make a  nice slaw*, whatever.  You’ll leave your pork butt in the oven for at least 5-6 hours, but every couple of hours take him out to say nice things to him and bathe him gently with the braising liquid.  When he’s finally melting from all the love, carefully move him from the pot to a big oven-proof dish or casserole and let him relax under a sheet of foil.

PERFECTED, June 24: Since he got all that tender-loving smoke, I only braised him for 4 hours.

Now for Phase Five:

  1. Scoop all the veggies into a bowl with a slotted spoon.
  2. Strain the braising liquid into a fat separator if you have one.  Pour it (sans fat) into a sauce pan and start reducing it over medium heat.
  3. Use a couple of forks to start shredding the pork butt. Remove any unsightly blobs of fat as you go.
  4. From the bowl of veggies, retrieve as much of the braised onion as you can and add it to the shredded pork. Give the carrots to the dog. (My schnauzer loves those, but hates celery.)
  5. Ladle about a cup of the braising liquid back into the shredded pork and toss it all together.  Recover the pork with foil to stay warm until you’re ready to serve it up.

You can keep reducing the rest of the braising liquid until it’s almost syrupy.  It’s great to spoon a bit onto a pulled pork sandwich before piling slaw on top.

*Oh… you want the slaw, too?

Make a vinagrette dressing in a large bowl by whisking together:

  • Juice of two limes
  • Teaspoon of Dijon mustard
  • Enough olive oil
  • A few dashes of hot sauce
  • About two tablespoons of honey (Huajilla honey if you can get it!)

Now shred, chop or juilienne these goodies and thoroughly toss it all with salt and pepper in the big bowl with the dressing:

  • Small head of Napa cabbage
  • One red bell pepper
  • 5-6 green onions
  • One golden delicious apple
  • Half a red onion
  • Half a cup of cilantro
  • Two serrano chiles (leave ‘em out if you don’t like heat)

Now, as I said before, this is a whole lotta food.  Before you refrigerate the leftover pork, add the rest of the braising liquid and it will be wonderfully juicy when you reheat it.  And to my surprise, the slaw was still excellent after three days in the fridge, just not as crispy as day one.

I actually think all of this tastes better the second day, especially in warm flour tortillas. Give it a shot and tell me how it turns out!

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A tree that makes no scents whatsoever

December 5, 2008 · 11 Comments

Can you smell anything?  I can't smell anything...

I’ve got a botanical holiday mystery I want to solve, and I don’t have the faintest idea how.

It’s become a favorite tradition for me and my 10-year-old daughter Kinsey to hunt down the perfect Christmas tree on Thanksgiving weekend. Well… only if it’s below 70 degrees here in Houston, where it’s hard to get into an elfish mood when it’s a warm and humid November day.

Sunday was surprisingly blustery and chilly, so off we went to the same upscale nursery where we always plunk down a hundred bucks for a fresh Frazier Fir. (I’ve gone the cheap tree-lot route before and quickly ended up with a crispy fire hazard. Ya get what ya pay for.)

Relentless gusts of wind kept toppling all the trees over at the nursery, so it was tough to pick out the perfect specimen. Nevertheless, we found a six-foot keeper and soon had it roped to the top of our vehicle. Kinsey decided the tree’s name should be Harold.

It’s the first time we’ve named our tree but, hey, why not? We’ll be feeding and caring for him in our home for at least a month, protecting him from our over-energetic Schnauzer, adorning him with cherished family treasures, expecting him to light the way for Santa himself. Harold deserves an identity better than just “The Tree.”

I managed to carry Harold up the flight of stairs to our condo, place him with his least-handsome side toward the wall, and give him a good drink of water. We wanted to allow him a day to relax before draping him in lights and ornaments. That’s when I noticed something was wrong.

I gave up our artificial tree years ago because the holidays didn’t feel complete without the evergreen fragrance of a REAL tree filling our home. Harold was definitely real… but he had no smell! I stuck my head into his branches and breathed deeply. I crushed some of his needles between my fingers and sniffed. Barely an iota of pine-y scent. How could that be?

The next day, I called the nursery and tried to find out what was up. Scent-cancelling pesticides? Misguided genetic engineering? A left-wing conspiracy to squash everyone’s Christmas spirit?

I felt rather silly describing the reason for my call, but the woman on the phone asked me to wait on hold a moment. Minutes later, she came back on the line saying, “You’re right! I sniffed some of our trees, wreaths, and garlands and could barely smell anything!” Still, she couldn’t offer any explanation.

I feel cheated. I suppose I could tie some of those ridiculous car air fresheners on Harold as make-shift ornaments to fake the missing fragrance. But I really want to know where Harold’s smell went.

Tell me this, dear reader (that means you, Mom) — have you bought a fresh tree? And did you take a good whiff? Are Kinsey and I the only Frazier Fir consumers wondering whether certain growers have been meddling with Mother Nature?

Can’t wait to hear if we’re alone in our predicament…

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A halloween downturn?

November 1, 2008 · 1 Comment

Kinsey and I were excited that this year we’d be trick or treating in the Heights (a historic area here in Houston) with our favorite family friends.  For years I’ve heard stories about how their neighborhood pulls out all the stops for the local kiddos, and finally we’d get to share the experience!

It WAS fun, but not quite what we expected.  A surprising number of homes were silent, dark and candyless.  Were the residents gone?  Or just hiding themselves and the Milk Duds indoors?

We’re wondering what made this year so different.  Maybe it’s the post-hurricane blues, and no one is ready to do any celebrating.  Or maybe the noise about the economy is making people uncharacteristically stingy.  Or perhaps thousands of Houstonians were out waiting in line last night to cast their early votes for the upcoming election.

Was it the same in other neighborhoods?  What about yours?

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A quick Ike story

October 13, 2008 · 2 Comments

Like everyone else in Houston, we lost power and didn’t want to sit around in the dark.  I had a box filled with tapered candles, but had no candlesticks.  So I found a bag of dried lentils in the pantry, poured a couple of inches worth into various flower vases and other glass containers, and stuck the candles in that.  Voila!  Brilliant.

Late one night we had all the windows open to catch a breeze, and we were playing games by candlelight.  My young daughter suddenly asked me, “What’s that funny smell?”  One whiff, and I thought someone must be outside smoking marijuana!  Nope, it turned out that when hot wax melts on dried lentils, it smells EXACTLY like pot.  (Not that I would know how to recognize that aroma…) ;)

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My Dead Cat Diary

October 3, 2008 · 5 Comments

Several weeks ago, I noticed our fat and happy cat Pepper was looking a little less… fat.  She wasn’t eating.  In fact, the food in her bowl looked untouched for several days, I realized.

The vet said she had Feline Hepatic Lipidosis, or Fatty Liver Disease.  Strange for a cat this young.  Medical science really doesn’t know what causes it, but all the frantic research I did on the Web made it clear that survival odds were dismal.

This isn’t about the heaps of time, effort and money we spent trying to nurse Pepper back to health.  None of it helped.  Somehow she hung in there, week after week, even during the stress of Hurricane Ike and the following 13 days we endured without power.  (That’s another blog post entirely!)  I don’t know how this 11-pound kitty could wither away to 6.5 pounds and still be alive.  Stubbornness, I suppose.

Kinsey and Pepper, 2004

Kinsey and Pepper, 2004

Pepper was my little silky black purring birthday gift to my daughter Kinsey four years ago.  We rescued her from a shelter as a kitten.  Kinsey likes to say Pepper was her first best friend.

This past Monday I knew the time was quickly approaching when we’d have to face the euthanasia decision, and we talked about it calmly and tearfully.  I didn’t have to do much convincing — Kinsey knew it was the right thing to do.  She said she wanted to be with Pepper when it happened.

Although I was feeling sad, guilty and helpless about not being able to get Pepper to recover, as a mom I was more heartbroken knowing how difficult the loss of Pepper would be for Kinsey, only ten years old.  I suddenly began to grasp how important it would be to have some ceremony, some ritual, some well thought out gesture to help her say goodbye.  It had to be more significant than digging a hole and planting a rose bush above a pitiful corpse.   (Been there, done that with hamsters as a kid myself.)

An hour before Wednesday’s final vet appointment, I asked Kinsey which of the many blankets piled in her bedroom was Pepper’s favorite place for stealing a nap.  The fuzzy green one, she immediately responded.  We got my good sewing scissors and cut a long 3-inch wide strip from the edge of the blanket, leaving plenty of blanket for Kinsey to keep in Pepper’s honor.

We thought of some of Pepper’s other favorite things.  Her gourmet catnip.  Her mini monster teddy bear.  And the stiff brush she loved to rub her chin against endlessly.  Then we located a cardboard box that was the right size for the burial.

Having anticipated Pepper’s demise, the all-knowing Grammy Gayle had already planned on the right spot in her garden for the upcoming funeral.  She called my brother Brett to prepare the grave while Kinsey and I made the agonizing trip to the vet’s.  It was over quickly, peacefully, with a simple heart-stopping injection.  We cried all the way back to Grammy’s place.

We took our box and curled Pepper up inside, resting on her share of the green fuzzy blanket, teddy tucked in, stiff brush within chin distance, catnip sprinkled liberally.  Before we closed the box and sealed it, we each wrote a personal love note to Pepper on the inside of the four box flaps.   We put it in the ground at sunset, said a prayer, and cried some more.

I know this may sound a little cold.  I don’t want to hear, “Pepper is in a better place, out of pain, chasing mice,” and all the sentimental drivel that people say to ease your grief over losing a pet, a child, a parent, a friend.  I do miss our sweet cat, and I do hope there’s a pet-friendly heaven where we will all have a joyous reunion.  But for this mom, mostly I’m relieved that I found a way to help my daughter say a heartfelt farewell.

Goodbye, sweet Pepper.  We’ll remember you, always.

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Doggone Famous?

July 11, 2008 · 4 Comments

Last year I put a silly video of our dog Snikkers up on YouTube to share with a few friends. I’m not sure why, but this schnauzer has gotten a surprising amount of attention!

Lately I’ve been getting email notices that people have posted a comment about it. A quick look shows me that it’s been viewed 5,731 times. What the… ???

I’d better not tell Snikkers. This notoriety is sure to go to his head.

Here’s the sleeper hit, “Schnauzers CAN talk.”

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It’s the little touches that make your home …special

May 3, 2008 · 6 Comments

Hey, I watch enough HGTV to know about all kinds of interior design tricks and flourishes. Haven’t spotted THIS one yet, though!
Our guest bath.  Really.

Kinsey wanted to hang the cute sign there. I added the props.

Just thought I’d share the love…

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The true story of my Religious Experience

March 30, 2008 · 8 Comments

Boy, did Easter come early this year, or what? I think this one marks the 20th anniversary of my very memorable Religious Experience. Seems like a pretty good reason to share it with the world! But this story only makes sense if I start with a bit of history.

When I was 25, my grandmother kept nudging me to go to her baptist church. This isn’t an ordinary church, mind you, it’s one of the earliest mega-congregations that have now proliferated all around Houston. My cousin playfully dubbed it The Baptidome, perfect since its new Worship Center featured a golden dome instead of the corny old steeple and cross of the original chapel. Grandma insisted I show up not just for the new bowling alley and cafe they added, but because “there are more than FIVE THOUSAND singles there!”

I’m not a big church-goer, as my mom can verify. Over the years I have gone with her occasionally to the modest presbyterian church in our neighborhood. And I visited a few others with friends. Maybe it’s my inner sinner, but I’ve just never felt at ease in any church.

One day I asked my mom how you know you’ve found the right church to commit to and join. She thought for a long time and finally said, “It’s just a special feeling you get. God seems to let you know you’re in the right place.” Okay, whatever.

Now, back to the Baptidome. To give it some credit, they made some attempts to draw in a younger, more casual crowd with a few clever initiatives. For instance, they started a new bible study class for scripture-challenged people like me. The first session seemed a little surreal, though, as we took turns introducing ourselves. One young woman said, “Hi, my name is Joleen… (which sounded more like “Hah, mah nime is Jo-leeeen?”) …and I’ve been a Christian for six years!”

Was this Sunday school, or did I accidentally step into a Baptists Anonymous meeting?

They also started doing come-as-you-are Saturday services at 6pm. (This appealed to me because Sunday mornings there felt a little like a high-fashion competition and I never had appropriate shoes.) So one fine spring Saturday, I put on my best jeans and went.

I arrived a little early, which meant I had my pick among hundreds of empty pews. Usually I like to sit in the back so I can hit the exit quickly, but I noticed that they were setting up a full orchestra for some kind of musical extravaganza. I was curious about the enormous harp. I planted myself about three rows from the front to get a good view of someone playing it. More people gradually arrived and also gravitated toward the front of the church.

Little did I know, the orchestra was there to accompany a full production of the Passion Play. They had actors who had rehearsed for months, kids waving palm branches, livestock meandering (and pooping) down the center aisle, and a convincing-looking Jesus riding in on a donkey. I kept wondering what the guy’s employer must have thought about him growing his hair and beard like that…

Then they got to the crucifixion. Is there some kind of Academy Award for Best Special Effects in a Church Production? There should be. I swear to you, it really looked like they were nailing this guy to a huge cross laid flat on the floor. And then they slowly, slowly LIFTED IT UP with him hanging there, bloody, just a few feet right in front of me.

Just then, something happened.

It was like a bolt of electricity shot through my chest and made my heart pound. In that split second, I immediatly recalled my mom’s advice about God letting me know when I was in the right place. Was this a sign?

Then another split second later, I realized what had happened. As Christ Our Lord was being lifted up on that cross, I had drawn in a huge breath of air and was holding it, holding it… until my overstretched bra strap snapped violently and flung off its hooks — POW!

So there was my savior, hanging bloody and helpless in front of me, and I had to cover my face because I was laughing so hard. Honest, I tried to hide it, but I was shaking with laughter at myself and couldn’t stop. Lucky for me I must have looked like I was sobbing. An elderly woman behind me reached forward and tenderly patted my back to console me.

I was so relieved there was no long sermon after that. I held my arms down strategically to keep my bra from dangling as I made a hasty retreat, still red in the face and grinning like a lunatic.

Isn’t it wonderful that God has such a profound sense of humor? Amen.

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I’m no rocket scientist, but…

March 27, 2008 · 3 Comments

Part of my exciting job at MarketingProfs involves producing weekly online seminars. Live. We affectionately call my workspace Mission Control, and here’s a video that might help explain why.

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What’s an ADD mom to do?

March 4, 2008 · 3 Comments

My family has the Attention Deficit Disorder gene. I strongly suspect my daughter has some degree of ADD, which is making fourth grade a little more challenging for her than third or second grade.

So… I just got this friendly “progress report” that says Kinsey is a sweet and loving girl but she lacks organizational skills. What the hell am I supposed to do with that enlightening information, dear teachers?

Me to Kinsey: “Honey. GET ORGANIZED.”
Kinsey to me: [blank stare]

Look, she’s consistently getting A’s and B’s, even with the most disorganized mom in this galaxy as her role model. So I’m annoyed and frustrated by the unconstructive comments from the faculty.

My other favorite example? “Kinsey is missing some school supplies.” Can’t you people be a little more effin’ specific? Does she need paper? Maybe more pencils? Or, hey, perhaps she is missing DECENT TEACHERS?

And please, don’t get me started about the psycho bus driver…

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