Red Curry, (mis)Fortune, and Oddly Behaved Dogs

Thai Basil takeout, wine, and good conversation was enjoyed by the Queens tonight.

On the way to pick up the red curry and fresh spring rolls, Queen DeAnna watched in both humor and empathy a desperate man trying to catch the infamously blue Tempe Orbit bus:

After a few hundred yard sprint, the (very athletic) man gave up, and the Orbit bus just kept on truckin' its steady pace towards University Drive. I wondered if the bus driver saw the running man trying to wave him down. Surely if he had, he would have stopped, right? I drove by the heavy-breathing, now dejected man and wondered whether I should give him a ride. No... might not be a good idea. Just practicing caution (right?). I'll send him a good vibe instead. Queen Emily lovingly reminded me that sending him the good vibe was likely enough to change his fortune for the rest of the night (perhaps). Interestingly, according to the Orbit bus website, it only stops when it is "safe". Whatever that means. 

The dogs were behaving rather oddly, both equally strange. Maybe a storm is coming. Or maybe they are just crazy dogs.

Paradise in January

What a day to be a Phoenician. It’s the last Saturday of January, and it's 75 and mostly sunny.

The queens are native to this paradise. In fact, Queen Emily is 2^nd generation Arizona native. She’s known to give world class tours of Tempe and surrounding areas when standing upon A Mountain. No, not a mountain, but A Mountain*. Well, one could suppose her to give a similar tour on any mountain really. Echo Canyon anyone?

Queen DeAnna woke up to a facial appointment and spent the afternoon riding her bike at Tempe Town Lake.  You will find a few photos of her adventure below.  

To all fellow Phoenicians from the Queens: cheers to a day in paradise.

*Hayden Butte, for anyone looking on a map.

Queens' Meal 1/23/12

Tonight we had a big salad.  Home/hydro grown lettuce, crumbled goat cheese, hard boiled eggs, avocado, red onion, and bacon.  I tossed it with a red wine vinaigrette that I stirred a little dijon into, and salt* and pepper of course.

I grilled two pieces of whole-paycheck ciabatta in the same pan I cooked the bacon, and we each had a glass (ok, a glass and a half) of red wine.  

We also listened to the Black Keys latest album, which is awesome.** 

Before

After

*kosher
**www.theblackkeys.com

Eat Your Heart Out

NOT the beef hearts Charlene served up

Heart

The deliciousness of milk and honey is the reflection of the pure heart:

from that heart the sweetness of every sweet thing is derived.

The heart is the substance, and the world the accident:

how should the heart's shadow be the object of the heart's desire?

Is that pure heart the heart that is enamored of riches or power,

or is submissive to this black earth and water of the body,

or to vain fancies it worships in the darkness for the sake of fame?

The heart is nothing but the Sea of Light:

is the heart the place of vision of God--and then blind?

Rumi [III, 2265-9]

Even the waitress seemed apprehensive.  "Should I continue?" she asked, a pause after she announced the evening's special: beef hearts, mesquite grilled and coated with aji panca, a Peruvian red chile paste that is sweet and smokey and the color of drying blood.

The Queens were partaking in Late Night, a Sunday tradition that involves a Chef named Charlene, a host named Pavle, and one of the best restaurants within driving distance.*  Late Night takes place during a brief window on Sundays, and is the chance to eat whatever Chef Charlene chooses to prepare for a bargain price, which is important for us Queens on a budget.  There's a regular menu too, but it's become ritual, an act of trust and gratitude for us to shimmy up to Charlene's counter and enjoy whatever "late night love" (as Pavle calls it,) she places in front of us.  It's a point of pride too, that we always clean our plates.

And tonight, she was preparing beef hearts. Beef hearts.  The Queens were awash in trepidation; after all, we, like most of our generation, think of the animals we eat as their parts: a hen is a saran sterile chicken breast, a pig a shining clean pork tenderloin wrapped in butcher paper, a cow a tube of ground beef from which to slice perfectly formed hamburger patties.  With the possible exception of a Thanksgiving turkey, many of our us remain blissfully unaware if the less appealing parts of our meat animals, and purposely so.  Their breathing lungs and cleansing livers are just a shadowy idea, one that reminds us our dinner was once alive and kicking.  We don't like to think about it; it's not palatable.  We don't want to be reminded of their beating hearts.

And now Chef Charlene wanted to put one of those hearts in front of us.  Grilled to perfection no doubt, subtly seasoned and then plated with love and care for sure, but still... Beef hearts?

A cow's heart weighs around five pounds, more that ten times the weight of an average person's.  It pumps nearly 10,000 pints of blood through the cow's body daily, all of which (if it's a female cow) travels through the utter to produce milk.  It's an amazing organ, and disconcertingly similar in shape and form to our own.  In function, a cow's heart is exactly the same as the muscle I have pulsing behind my breasts...

So it was a challenge.  Difficult.  Icky.  But Queens cannot be stymied by squeamishness developed as 21st century Americans, and so when the waitress brought our meal to the table, the plates included two skewers of what looked just like steak, little fillets that were slightly round and oblong and perhaps swollen, as if they were full to bursting with something hot and viscous.

I slid a piece off one of the skewers, and was relieved the heart didn't leave a trail of blood scraped behind it, that there were no fluids oozing out the small hole the wood left behind.  I placed it on the plate in front of me and looked carefully at it for a moment, then purposefully sliced into my heart with a butter knife.  The small piece I peeled away was dark and smokey on the outside, and ranged from bright pink to vivid red on the interior.  There were few juices, and the meat appeared perfectly smooth, lacking the striations one expects in a sirloin or porterhouse.

The first thing on my tongue was the aji panca, which was hot like a mild chile - just a little at first.  The spice gave way to the flavor of the mesquite grill and other ingredients in the rub, and I closed my lips around my fork to discovered how wonderfully soft the meat was between my teeth, and just how familiar the flavor was.

Really, it was just like a steak.

Alright, maybe not just like a steak.  There was definitely something extra there.  My taste buds recognized the flavor of cow for sure, but there was something further that I couldn't quite catch, an intensity way back on the palate where it might have been placed by my subconscious...  The texture was easier to discern.  It was unbelievably smooth, with no chewiness to it at all, just the slight grit of the charred aji panca.

Am I a fan?  Well...  As Queen DeAnna says, I'm not a non-fan.  I ate my share, and the plate was empty when the waitress removed it from the table.  I had an appreciation for the preparation, and truly believe that any disatisfaction with the flavor of heart is purely a result of my social conditioning.  Had someone told me it was a filet medallion, or the trimmings from a t-bone, I probably would have enjoyed it with more enthusiasm and less fear; as it was I'm grateful for the chance to savor, to observe, and to experience a new and unexpected culinary adventure.  Will I order it again?  Perhaps; we'll have to see what Chef Charlene plates up next week.


*That's all the identification I'll offer (and it's more than enough if you're truly interested,) because the restaurant is small and, frankly, The Queens don't want you taking our seats.

Sticky Grapefruit Cake

Sticky Grapefruit Cake
I'd like to take this moment to be grateful for the awesome photos Queen De's iPhone takes.

This was described to us as a "baby lemon starburst that grew up into a cake."  We opted for butterscotch pudding at the time, but the characterization stuck with us enough that we went back to have our curiosity satisfied.

It came with whipped cream and candied kumquats, and it was awesome.  I can't say I get the baby starburst/cake thing, but the whole thing was sticky and spongy and sweet and delicious.  

  

Queens' Meal 1/12/12

Isn't that an awesome plate?  Goodwill, people. 

Chicken breast, butterflied and cooked with olive oil, salt*, and pepper in the heavy iron skillet, served over  baby spinach that was wilted with garlic in olive oil, sprinkled with crumbled goat cheese and toasted walnuts.  Totally paleo.

Queen DeAnna says yum.  Queen Emily says thank you for doing the dishes.

*kosher

The Queens on Wine

The Queens feel that wine is most important.  Second in fact, only to chocolate when it comes to kitchen staples.  Out of milk?  Bread?  Eggs?  No problem.  Low on wine?  All is dropped so someone can make a run to the store.

Yes, we like our wine (red wine, to be specific) and drink it frequently.  Never much at a time; bottles in the Queens’ home are usually open for a day or two before they are drained and re-corked, at which point they join their empty fellows in collecting dust on a corner of the countertop.  It’s rare for the Queens to finish a bottle the same night it’s opened, and even on those seldom occasions, it only comes out to two glasses per queen; not enough to constitute a drinking problem*. 

Wine adds such a lovely color to an evening.  A glass of red is warming and soothing, sweet and tangy and bitter and complex – much like the Queens.  The bulb of a wine glass fits perfectly in the palm, and there’s something sexy about the stem; it invites idle fingers to trace their way up and down its length.  A glass placed in a friend’s hand is a welcome, an offering, a gift, and an invitation: “Sit down.  Be easy.  Enjoy.”  And refilling that glass a time or two makes for low lit, lingering evenings, as we open ourselves to late night conversation, the kind that’s heartfelt and vulnerable.

Then there’s food.  The multi-layered flavors of a good pinot noir or cab blend complement and enhance so many of the wonderful things we eat; it’s as if everything put in our mouths becomes twice as amazing, twice as satisfying for the presence of something ruby jeweled or dark purple.  When cooking, a glass of wine keeps Queen Emily from eating as she goes, and makes time in the kitchen into a celebration.

Mostly, it’s the toast.  We Queens pour a glass and raise it with intention, with love and gratitude and awareness, fully aware of the blessing that is that particular moment.  Not just the wine, but everything.  From the roof over our head to the food in our fridge, the amazing people we have in our lives, the sunshine and breezes, our dogs, and everything else in the beautiful lives we are living, that moment when we bring the wine to our lips is an affirmation of all of it.  It is our prayer and mantra, and a way we connect to the grand everything that we are a part of.  We say it whether we are the Queens in our simple privacy, or together with 100 other shining souls.  We pour, we smile and offer our cheers, then we clink our glasses and murmur our affirmation: “To us.”

 *This paragraph is solely for the benefit of the Queen Mother, should she ever read this posting.