the yachtsman recommends

[A recurring guest post in which the yachtsman recommends something.]

Allow me to Recommend

As the readers of Gruel for Dinner now know after my mother’s recent post, I was raised on a diet of food cooked in bacon fat. I have incredibly fond memories of eating my vegetables, yummy veggies like green beans, sauteed in delicious bacon grease, and there are nights I still dream about my grandmother Mo’s fried chicken, which was fried up in a skillet full of bacon grease. Some Muslims believe that if a person dies a martyr, he will be greeted in heaven by 72 virgins; I only hope that when I die I will be greeted by Mo and a skillet of her chicken.

In my adopted home of Vermont, where we thrive on the local, the organic, the free range, the hormone free, the cage free, and the antibiotic free, the food is delicious and, particularly this time of year, as fresh as fresh gets. But on occasion I like to feed my Southern heritage, which is one of many reasons why I love to visit my brother and his family in Boone, North Carolina.

On my most recent trip below the Mason-Dixon line, to celebrate my niece Lucy’s sixth birthday, my Southern sister-in-law arranged a trip to Shatley Springs in Crumpler, North Carolina. Crumpler is about 30 miles north of Boone, just a little beyond Meat Camp. For many years, Shatley Springs was famous for the supposed healing properties of its fresh mountain spring, and people from all over flocked to drink the magical waters. More recently, Shatley Springs’ family-style dining room is the place where the magic happens, and believe me, there is nothin' that food can’t heal.


Like I said, it's family style. For $15.50 you get all you can eat of the following:

• Fried Chicken—fried in bacon grease
• Country Ham—nothing goes better with chicken than pig


• Mashed Potatoes—so smooth, it's like eating clouds
• Creamed Corn—not a huge fan of creamed corn, and I am man enough to say it
• Green Beans—cooked in bacon grease


• Baked Apples
• Coleslaw
• Biscuits—I'm talking about Southern fucking biscuits that are so good, they make you want to kill someone
• Cream Gravy—made with bacon grease
• Sweet Tea—by the pitcher

And then, finish it off with cobbler and ice cream
• Strawberry Cobbler or
• Blueberry Cobbler or
• Peach Cobbler or
• Apple Cobbler or
• Do what my awesome sister-in-law did and ask to try all of them, and the waitress will bring you a massive plate of cobblers.


Let me be perfectly clear: The Yachtsman recommends Shatley Springs. As you know, I don’t recommend lightly, but this is without question worthy of my highest recommendation.


Travel details:

Here's the deal: There are cabins available for rent at Shatley Springs. What I'm trying to say is that Shately Springs is a destination resort. It’s the Disneyland of cooking with bacon grease. Fuck Mickey Mouse, I want Billy Biscuit.



Getting there: You can do what I did, and ride a motorcycle from Vermont to Crumpler,


or through Nancy and Udean’s Christian Tours you can book a Christian motor coach tour that makes a stop at Shately Springs. If you're unable to go by motorcycle with my sister-in-law, I can’t imagine a better way to arrive at the Mecca of Fried Chicken.

the yachtsman recommends

It's true, it's time once again for a yachtsman recommends, and I am pleased to tell you that today's recommendation is facilitating the recommendation itself. I come to you today to recommend a truly magical and revolutionary device, the thing the geeks call the Jesus tablet. That's right, I'm here to recommend the iPad.

Having purchased my iPad several nights ago, I am now able to unashamedly recommend it to the readers of GFD. Now I know what you are thinking: What would I ever do with an iPad? The truth is, after 48 hours with the thing, I have no fucking idea. All I can tell you is that the thing is magical. Why and how it's magical are not clear to me, and I truly have no idea what you are supposed to do with it. But damn it's cool. What I can say is that Gruel for Dinner never looked better than when I pulled up it up on the iPad browser. For that matter, every website I've surfed to with the device looks magical.

Now, will it replace my smartphone? No. Will it replace my laptop? No, in fact you have to have a computer to sync it with. [Ed.: Will it replace his wife? I'm nervous.] So does it do anything my other devices don't? No. In fact, any website that relies on Flash won't display, you can't multitask, and if I want to use it on the 3G network I need to cough up another $25 to AT&T on top of the other $100 a month I give them for my iPhone. But, 48 hours into this, I can't imagine life without it.

So, I recommend you buy an iPad. And please don't ask to see mine, because I don't want your dirty fingerprints all over my nice, shiny screen.

Until next time,
The Yachtsman

Sent from my iPad

the girl who never posts recipes anymore

I recently splurged on this:

The book, not the dog.

I've spent hours with it, reading and drooling over the photos and wishing Thomas Keller were my bitch. I mean, personal chef. What I have not done is cooked from it. I have not made the Spring Vegetable Garbure or the Roasted Beet and Potato Salad or even the Blowtorch Prime Rib Roast. Soon, I swear.

Other things I swear:

1. I swear I didn't notice when I read The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo last fall whether the prose was good or bad (this was during that period after my dog died when I thought Twilight was brilliant, so clearly I was vulnerable and not judging books by the quality of the words inside them). But I just finished The Girl Who May or May Not Have Killed Three People, or whatever the second book is called, and the writing is so poor I was at times embarrassed for Stieg Larsson. Which doesn't matter at all: I could not put it down and am seriously considering breaking my no-hardcovers rule to buy The Girl Who Lives Happily Ever After With Both Fucking Kalle Blomkvist and Miriam Wu, which I hope is the title of the third book.

2. I swear, the yachtsman MADE me post this video.

the yachtsman recommends

OK, here you go, folks, the post you have been waiting for. That's right, its been a dry spell, but the Yachtsman is back, and I have a recommendation just for you.

Having recently traveled to Southern California for the annual Natural Products Exposition,


I come to you today to recommend a product that I believe has the potential to change the world. In this era of energy drinks, Double Downs, and cola-flavored milk, I have longed for a simple, natural product that combines the great taste of beef with the caffeine of double grande frappuccino.

Well, friends, I found it, and I just couldn't be more pleased to recommend it to you. It's called Perky Jerky, and did they have me in mind when they came up this.


Like the new Window's 7 TV commercial where French people take credit for inventing Windows, I fucking invented this. Delicious, all-natural beef jerky spiked with caffeine and guarana. I don't even know what the hell guarana is, and frankly I don't care.

There is just no bad time for this product. It's great for breakfast, I love it for those mid-afternoon, I-am-going-to-crawl-under-my-desk-and-nap moments, and instead of a relaxing cup of coffee after a fabulous dinner, pass me the damn Perky Jerky.

What is so lacking in our food products today is innovation. To hell with kale. Kale is the same as it was 10 years ago, 20 years—I bet the damn Pilgrims ate kale. They sure as hell weren't eating Perky Jerky, 'cause if they were you know what we'd be eating for Thanksgiving.

And to celebrate the return of the semi-regular, ongoing series of Yachtsman Recommends, I am going to give away a pack of Perky Jerky. The rules are easy: send an email to gruelfordinner [at] gmail [dot] com and you will be entered into the contest. At midnight, on Wednesday the 28th of April, one name will drawn at random from a large, funny hat. Good luck.

—The Yachtsman

iPoop

When the yachtsman rules the world, peace will prevail on Earth. The space shuttle program will resume, and there will be free beef jerky for all. In addition to a chicken in every pot, there will be an iPad in every lap.

Personally, I'll miss book covers.

Images are from the Book Cover Archive.

We'll all be reading text on back-lit screens and reminiscing about brick-and-mortar bookstores, with their funny shelves full of bound paper and chairs for homeless people to nap on. Luddites like myself will browse the Book Cover Archive and try to remember what it felt like to turn a page.

O books, how we shall miss thee.

the final frontier, & also easter

The yachtsman just had this conversation with himself while I stared at a blank bl*g post: "What are you doing? Writing a bl*g? About the space shuttle liftoff? There're more women in space than ever. More Japanese in space than ever. You know what that means: It means hamachi in space."

Yesterday was Easter. Jesus rose from the dead, and I rose from the couch and went to my Greek stepmom's. This year the cupcakes (aka the sin that Jesus died for) were made by Mojie.

Photo by Mojie.

You can read about last Easter and find the world's best spanakopita recipe here.

After a long diatribe about hitching a ride with the Russkies after the space shuttle program ends ("It's like taking the bus"; "That's not how we roll"; "I don't even think they have bathrooms"; "Do you know what the Russkies eat in space?"), the yachtsman emailed me this photo. "For your bl*g," he said.

personal finances

Sometimes when I'm lying on the couch procrastinating doing work or longing to be on a beach in Bali or coveting the boots I saw in the window at my favorite shoe store, I'll announce to the yachtsman that I wish we were rich.

"But we are rich!" the yachtsman will reply, alarmed. "We're rich in so many ways! We're rich in love!"

This is why I married him, of course: He's made me rich in love.

What I did not marry him for are his eating habits. We may be rich in love, but my husband has an impoverished palate. And not only is the yachtsman a picky eater, our tastes are completely different: While I love beans, legumes, whole grains, whole wheat, and green, leafy vegetables, the yachtsman prefers burgers, cheese pizza, white bread, and fried chicken.

So usually we just don't eat together. Or we eat at the same table at the same time, but we consume different foods—I cook a pot of gruel and the yachtsman "cooks" a meal of prepared foods from the grocery store, or I nibble on some leftover gruel while the yachtsman noshes on takeout. Even the simplest of weeknight meals, spaghetti and red sauce, requires either some compromise or four pots crowded on top of the stove: one for the yachtsman's white spaghetti, one for his sauce from a jar, one for my whole wheat spaghetti, and one for my homemade sauce.

I recognize that we have different tastes, I've accepted that the man will never eat gruel, I don't even bother offering him a bowl of homemade soup. But for god's sake, we can't eat the same red sauce on top of our two different spaghettis?

Awhile ago I took a stand, goddammit, and its name was homemade spaghetti sauce.

Let me be clear: My homemade spaghetti sauce is nothing special. It wasn't passed down from an Italian grandmother, it doesn't bubble on the stove for an entire Sunday, there are no meatballs involved. It's basically some onions and garlic sauteed in a splash of olive oil, a can of plum tomatoes, some herbs if I have them, red pepper flakes if I'm feeling feisty, and a long, slow simmer. Like I said, it's nothing special, but I think it's better than what you can buy in a jar. The yachtsman does not agree.

So I've made adjustments, starting with a soffritto of garlic, onions, carrots, and celery, varying the herbs, adding red wine and sugar. I've pureed it all in the blender (the man does not like lumps). I've broken out cookbooks, making everything from a fussy Cook's Illustrated recipe to a hippie version with crumbled, fried tofu (which, by the way, was delicious). And each time the yachtsman will politely thank me, he'll spoon my sauce on top of his white spaghetti, and he'll eat it, a tepid look on his face. Then, the next time we're at the grocery store, he'll make sure to drop a couple of jars of sauce into our cart, a tactic that may win him the next battle, but I will never concede the war.

I didn't think much of this recipe the first time I read it—it seemed almost too simple, and I'd been leaning in the other direction, toward adding more ingredients, not using less. But on a snowy evening a few weeks ago I found myself home alone and hungry, the cupboards nearly bare, the night too cold to venture out. I did have one lonely onion, some butter, a can of tomatoes spinning on the lazy Susan, so I dumped them all in a saucepan, let everything simmer for nearly an hour, fished the onion back out, added a little salt, and poured the warm sauce over a tangle of whole wheat spaghetti. And my secret weapon was born.

A secret weapon with a secret ingredient: butter.


Butter! In tomato sauce!

And an onion that is not chopped or sauteed, it's halved and stewed and removed. The butter gives the sauce a depth and richness you can't get from olive oil or even a grate of fresh Parm. The onion adds flavor without overpowering, without adding any of that texture the yachtsman finds so pesky.

When I finally made it for him last weekend, I considered putting the sauce in a jar and pretending I'd bought it, but this is so much better than anything you can find on the shelves of a grocery store, I feared he would not be fooled. So I cooked it right in front of him, served it without a word, and waited for that polite but lukewarm smile. But it turns out we're not only rich in love, we're rich in tomato sauce now, too. Reader, I'm so glad I married him.

Homemade Tomato Sauce, Goddammit
from here and here, originally adapted by someone from here

28 ounces whole, peeled, canned plum tomatoes (preferably San Marzano)
5 tablespoons unsalted butter
1 medium-sized yellow onion, peeled and halved
Salt to taste



1. Combine the tomatoes and their juice, the butter, and the onion in a medium-sized saucepan. Bring to a simmer over medium heat, reduce heat to low, and keep at a slow, steady simmer for 45 minutes, or until droplets of fat float free of the tomato. Stir occasionally with a wooden spoon, crushing the tomatoes against the side of the pan to break them down. Remove the onion, taste the sauce, and add salt as needed.

[I ate my sauce like this...


and pureed the rest for the yachtsman,


which he ate over white spaghetti.

And I almost hate to tell you this for fear that you won't trust me anymore, but you were probably a fool to trust me in the first place, so here goes:


I combined the leftover sauce and pasta, heated it the next day for lunch, and it was really good. Trust me.]

honor & obey & overeat

I would like to post a nice little recipe here today, but instead of cooking this weekend, I did the following:

1. Slept late.
2. Proofread.
3. Watched numerous episodes of Friday Night Lights.
4. Ate dinner at IHOP.

That's right, IHOP. In my defense I offer the following:

1. It was the yachtsman's idea.
2. The IHOP in Vermont is the only one in the U.S. that serves real maple syrup.
3. The yachtsman basically made me.
4. I got the Pancake Combo with buttermilk pancakes, and it was delicious.
5. The yachtsman is the man of our family, and I do whatever he says.

In other news, I still feel sick to my stomach.

it's even better than bl*gging

Do you want to know what the yachtsman is doing right now? He is singing T. Pain lyrics into his new iPhone app while he makes a frozen mudslide from a TGIFridays mix (just add ice!). I wish I could tell you I disdain these kinds of plebeian activities, but I've been spending most of my time lately reading the Twilight books.

The yachtsman: "Honey, do you wanna hear me sing 'I'm in Love With a Stripper'?"

That's right, the Twilight books. Awhile back I made a Faustian bargain with my friend M. LaBee: He would watch the television masterpiece Gossip Girl; in exchange, I would read Twilight. Frankly, the trade seemed unfair. I knew M. would love Gossip Girl, and I knew I wouldn't like Twilight, but I agreed to the deal because I am a generous, self-sacrificing person.

So M. started watching Gossip Girl, and loved it as much as I knew he would, and I avoided reading Twilight, because I knew the writing would be terrible, and even though my favorite movie when I was fifteen was The Lost Boys and my favorite song was "Bela Lugosi's Dead," the idea of a teenage vampire romance sounded a little, well, nauseating.

And it is pretty bad. Every male has a husky voice and there are far, far too many smoldering eyes, the plots are pretty transparent, and it's hard to ignore the teen abstinence theme. But I don't care. I'm hooked. Like, on crack, hooked. I literally started to have a panic attack yesterday at the bookstore when I went to buy the third book and couldn't find it (when I did find it, I had the cashier double bag my purchase so if I ran into anyone I knew I wouldn't have to claim that I'd bought it for a friend and could quit any time I wanted).

Don't get me wrong: I'm not recommending that you read these books, just like I wouldn't tell you all to go out and eat a wonderful little dessert called Twinkies. But Twilight is pretty much the only reason I'm getting out of bed these days. It's better than working, it's better than crying, it's better than thinking, it's better, even, than sleeping. So if you ever want to get lost for a little while and have already watched both seasons of Gossip Girl, try a little abstinent teenage vampire escapism. Or, turn on your T. Pain app, make a mudslide, and start singing.

literally, metaphorically

The service is going to be spotty around here for the next couple of weeks. You'll sit for hours before someone finally takes your order, your water won't be refilled, you'll ask for a glass of pink wine and receive a Shirley Temple instead.

All of which is to say, this week I'm busy, next week I'm on vacation. If not words, I'll try to post photos. For example, of the yachtsman's lunch.


Every day: turkey and Swiss on something white. Potato chips. A glass of OJ. If you think that's all kinda (literally) white bread, you should see the man on the dance floor.

The CEO is On the Road

GFD Readers:

I am sorry to announce that GFD Bl*g CEO Katherine M. O'Neill is away on business. Well, she is actually sitting at the table next to me, but swamped with freelance work (business) and has asked me, yes me, the Yachtsman, to fill in. Don't expect witty writing, or for that matter, correct grammar.

Instead, you get a Yachtsman Recommends. Submitted for GFD Bl*g readers' approval, Whistle Tips.

The first GFD reader to submit written and notarized proof of whistle-tip installation on their vehicle will receive a Yachtsman-baked Blueberry Buckle. The shit is good.

Whistles go whoo whoo,

The Yachtsman

pina coladas & pea soup

The yachtsman: What are you doing?
Me: Trying to write a bl*g post.
The yachtsman: How's it going?
Me: I got nothing.
The yachtsman: Why don't you do a Yachtsman Recommends?
Me: What do you recommend?
The yachtsman: Pina coladas. Getting caught in the rain.
Me: I don't know.
The yacthsman: I'm into champagne?

--------

What the yachtsman does not recommend is pea soup, but I ate it today in dip form


and thinned out, as soup.


It tastes just like ... peas -- sweet and fresh. Like summer.

Possibly the Best Pea Soup
From Bitten

1 tablespoon olive oil
1/2 cup finely sliced shallots (about 3)
1 clove garlic, chopped fine
1 pound shelled fresh sweet peas
1/2 tablespoon chopped fresh tarragon
1/2 tablespoon salt
Pinch pepper
1/4 cup half and half or light cream

1. Heat olive oil in soup pot. Add shallots and garlic and cook over med. Heat until shallots are just wilted. Add 3 1/2 cups water, bring to boil, turn down heat and simmer for 1/2 hour.

2. Add peas, tarragon, salt and pepper and bring back to boil. Turn down heat and let simmer for 5 minutes. Remove from heat and let cool to room temp. Purée in a blender in batches until very smooth. Force through fine sieve into clean pot, discarding small amount of pea skins left in sieve.

3. Stir in half and half and add salt if necessary to taste. Can be reheated and served hot or chilled and served cold.

i would like you, too, to be surfing the internet instead of getting any work done

The yachtsman used to work for Greenpeace, and recently sent along the following two items.

A video of an action they did on Mount Rushmore:



Amazing photos from Greenland (click here to see more):


Seriously, though, you may be able to go home at 5:00, but I have to sit here not doing my work until I get my work done. Though sometime soon I may be sitting here not doing my work until I get my work done with a glass of pink wine in my hand.

jello shot at the bowling alley

We are a classy people.


And by "we" I mean "the yachtsman."

cake & the last word

I’m pretty sure this is the first cake I’ve made from scratch in my adult life. But because I’m basically senile, I cannot confirm that this is true. For all I know, I own a bakery. Regardless, I am the best wife in the world. I hope what’s-his-name thinks so, too.


The recipes are from Cook’s Illustrated online, the assistance and reassurance and actual frosting of the cake were provided by my mother- and stepsister-in-law. Baking is serious business, so I did not deviate from these recipes. What's-his-name's review and rating follow the recipes.

Fluffy Yellow Cake
Makes two 9-inch cake layers. Bring all ingredients to room temperature before beginning.

2 1/2 cups cake flour, plus extra for dusting pans
1 1/4 teaspoons baking powder
1/4 teaspoon baking soda
3/4 teaspoon table salt
1 3/4 cups sugar
10 tablespoons (1 1/4 sticks) unsalted butter, melted and cooled slightly
1 cup buttermilk
3 tablespoons vegetable oil
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
6 large egg yolks, room temperature
3 large egg whites, room temperature

1. Adjust oven rack to middle position and heat oven to 350 degrees. Grease two 9-inch-wide by 2-inch-high round cake pans and line bottoms with parchment paper. Grease paper rounds, dust pans with flour, and knock out excess. Whisk flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt, and 1 1/2 cups sugar together in large bowl. In 4-cup liquid measuring cup or medium bowl, whisk together melted butter, buttermilk, oil, vanilla, and yolks.

2. In clean bowl of stand mixer fitted with whisk attachment, beat egg whites at medium-high speed until foamy, about 30 seconds. With machine running, gradually add remaining 1/4 cup sugar; continue to beat until stiff peaks just form, 30 to 60 seconds (whites should hold peak but mixture should appear moist). Transfer to bowl and set aside.

3. Add flour mixture to now-empty mixing bowl fitted with whisk attachment. With mixer running at low speed, gradually pour in butter mixture and mix until almost incorporated (a few streaks of dry flour will remain), about 15 seconds. Stop mixer and scrape whisk and sides of bowl. Return mixer to medium-low speed and beat until smooth and fully incorporated, 10 to 15 seconds.

4. Using rubber spatula, stir 1/3 of whites into batter to lighten, then add remaining whites and gently fold into batter until no white streaks remain. Divide batter evenly between prepared cake pans. Lightly tap pans against counter 2 or 3 times to dislodge any large air bubbles.

5. Bake until cake layers begin to pull away from sides of pans and toothpick inserted into center comes out clean, 20 to 22 minutes. Cool cakes in pans on wire rack for 10 minutes. Loosen cakes from sides of pans with small knife, then invert onto greased wire rack and peel off parchment. Invert cakes again and cool completely on rack, about 1 1/2 hours.

Foolproof (No, seriously, it's really foolproof! It was made by a fool!) Chocolate Frosting
This frosting may be made with milk, semisweet, or bittersweet chocolate. [I used semisweet.] The frosting can be made 3 hours in advance. For longer storage, refrigerate the frosting, covered, and let it stand at room temperature for 1 hour before using.

20 tablespoons (2 1/2 sticks) unsalted butter, softened
1 cup confectioners sugar
3/4 cup cocoa
Pinch table salt
3/4 cup light corn syrup
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
8 ounces milk, semisweet, or bittersweet chocolate, melted and cooled slightly

1. In food processor, process butter, sugar, cocoa, and salt until smooth, about 30 seconds, scraping sides of bowl as needed. Add corn syrup and vanilla and process until just combined, 5 to 10 seconds. Scrape sides of bowl, then add chocolate and pulse until smooth and creamy, 10 to 15 seconds. Frosting can be used immediately or held (see note).

WHAT'S-HIS-NAME'S NOTES & RATING

ME: What did you think of your cake?

WHAT'S-HIS-NAME: Moist. Super chocolate-y icing. Yellow. You out Duncan Hines’d Duncan Hines.

MY STEPSISTER-IN-LAW: God, I hope so.

ME: How many stars?

WHN: A google x infinity.

ME: Out of five, honey.

WHN: A google x infinity.

After I finished writing this post but before I put it online (we were in the Adirondacks without internet service), what's-his-name hacked into my computer (by which I mean he turned it on) and added the following comment.

"The yachtsman recommends this cake. Your wife sucks if she doesn’t make you this birthday cake. I am a lucky man, and you are not. So ha, I eat cake and you do not."

Do you find him charming? I do.

please do not be still, my beating heart

Do you know what this is?


It's a maple-glazed doughnut. WITH BACON ON IT.

I would never, ever buy something like this, just like I never would have bought That Burger. But I will eat it, of course. And I did. And it was delicious. There is no good reason to put bacon on a doughnut, and there are plenty of reasons not to eat a doughnut with bacon on it. Which I am unable to discuss at this time, because I am licking the bacon off a doughnut.