Chant du Cygne Sunday, Apr 10 2016 

Swan song en croûte.

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Inscribe the date.

A final somewhat selfish fabrication to celebrate and honor the nuptials of 2 cherished, well deserving friends who are straight after all.   Tamworth pâté en croûte with heart, tongue, wedding vegetables and mini-mortadella inlay.

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Both their birthdays, too.

After 13 years and a few months, there’s no more juice left to squeeze, so fuck it, we’re done.  There have been countless friends, a reunion with a sister, 5 issues of Gluttony Digest, a dozen freedom BBQ’s, suckling pigs, turkey variations, fancy pumpkin, jobs here and there, bars that have expired, bars that have been raised, 2 cats, 2 presidents, legalized pot, statehood not, some competitions, softball, a blog, pictures, trips, broken thumb, brownouts, blackout, heartache, dwindling friends, steeper rents and relentless sirens at all times of the day and night.

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There’s a swell bell.

My sweetheart, the cats, bric-a-brac and I going out to pasture to become sharecroppers and manage a little slice of country living in Einstein’s getaway on the Northern tine of  Eastern Long Island  nestled between the LI sound, Peconic bay and some shitty vineyards.  We’ll be living in a 1940’s house with an original built-in murphy-bed style ironing board on an organic sheep farm with pigs, chickens and a garden; upstream and closer to the source of food. We’ll eventually help open and run a full service butchery & grocer using products grown on the 28 acres outside.  What’s more, there is a 2 acre garden where we can grow jelly beans, cotton candy and our very own dildo tree.  Hurray.

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A little lopsided, as is often the case with love.

Thank you all for your readership. There are arcane liquor and zoning laws up here, cellphone service is sporadic, there are many spiteful low-watt Trump supporters and public transportation is virtually non-existent save for the occasional single-track diesel train that still runs in 2016. So we are pretty much moving back in time with the rest of you, but the barns and people are charming even if they tawlk funny.

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Looking out my backdoor.

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Pâté en Croûte: Distraction Spéciale «Merde Sandy, Il Pleut». Monday, Oct 29 2012 

Pâté en Croûte:

Special “Crap Sandy, its Raining” Distraction.

Ivy League Edition: Beats Harvard and Yale. Both flooded.

With the absolutely crippling, thrilling, paranoid fantasy of a shotgun full of delusional diluvial rain pointed at what seems like the crotch (the good kind of crotch) of North East America, take the time to call up your local utility provider and courteously thank them for the thankless services they provide  before rabidly barking at them 72 hours from now when you have to suffer the inevitable consequences of weather and the fallibility of electricity when you are not able to sustain your sedentary lifestyle with less than 3,800 calories of raw fruit.

It might float your boat.

This silly culture of irrational fear is remarkable.   It has been suggested by the media, home improvement store magnates and toilet paper manufacturers that such coincidental weather patterns are more likely brought on by the really very real threat of Al Qaeda, gays marrying homosexual pets or iced cream, a second socialist term of a totally radical left-handed Muslim president and running out of milk.  A scholarly professor-type in the family posits that America’s atavistic pilgrimage to the milk aisle before hyperbolic warnings of fire, rain and brimstone is a terrifying emotional regression to an infant state nurtured by mother’s milk.  An erudite cynic at the local tavern professes that toilet paper consumption during fo-rizzle rapture-inducing drizzle can be attributed to giardia brought on by desperately drinking tainted river water.

The Arc that I baked.

But rather than curse your flooding basement, here’s a metaphorical lifeboat, or, if you still have electricity, a worthwhile distraction since this thing will sink like a 3rd world ferryboat.

Sturdy hull.

This “inadvertent argyle peppercorn-nipple edition” is hardly waterproof, is not sea-worthy and will not power a flashlight or lightsaber, but doesn’t need any appliances or utilities to cook.

Rivet(ed)ing.

Baking Bad.

Chunky ration.

Pâté de Porc et Veau Rose: Édition Spéciale Amandes et Cassis au Gin Tuesday, Apr 24 2012 

Bershire Pork and Randall-Lineback Veal Pâté:

Special Marcona Almond

and Gin-Soaked Currants Edition.

Sane in the membrane.

Berkshire pork and Randall-Lineback rose veal from Joe Henderson’s Chapel Hill Farm out in Berryville, VA.  A garnish of corned veal tongue, confit heart, paper-clips, smoked pork belly, toasted Marcona almonds and blackcurrants soaked in gin.  Tucked in with caul fat, toasted almond slivers and some more currants, drizzle of olive oilizzle.  Sadly, the caul fat busted in the oven, the result of a dozen or so superfluous magic minutes, so no pictures.  Use your imagination if this revelatory food-stuffs diary hasn’t turned your brain into shit.  Tastes good though.  Probe thermometer with a 200ft range remote alarm has been purchased and will alert me to the proper doneness when I am buying cigarettes, pornography and liquor next door for the kids down the street.

Le Pâté de Pork; Édition Spéciale Rosace Trivial Poursuite Monday, Jan 30 2012 

Pork Pâté, Special inlaid Trivial Pursuit Rose Petal Edition

Rose colored forcemeat.

While in France, when not seeing naked ladies dance I saw remarkable pictures of inlaid pâté and heard stories of even more remarkable ones. To wit, a clock themed meatloaf whose slice face showed the hands of a clock which moved after each slice. Yeah, I know, right?!. Ever desperate to break through the forcemeat elite, a modest “rosace” (best translated as rose-petal shape) was devised. Not easy. With the help of a protractor, T-square, computer, nudity and laser, a mold was fabricated to hold the colored liver farce-fine wrapped in painstakingly hand sliced fatback frozen into shape. Cubic Zaffronia (turmeric) and paprika fortified the colors. An erudite eagle-eyed friend indicated the uncanny resemblance to nerdy pie pieces of a Trivial Pursuit  game. Hmmm, pie.

History hat trick

Nothing worthy of the Grand Prix de France, but a respectable inaugural effort.  Whole bunch of stuff in there.  Heart, tongue, liver, fatback, and the petals wrapped in a liver forcemeat. In other news, many of these documented fabrications can be sampled and purchased at Society Fair in Alexandria, VA where I tend the butcher’s counter in the evenings and all day on weekends. Cooked charcuterie and proteins (dry aged when applicable) cut to order. Properly trussed poultry, barded roasts, French butcher’s cuts and boneless lamb centerpieces. Randall Lineback beef, boneless stuffed Beaver Creek Quail, pâté en croûte, saucisson à l’ail, pork liver pâté and such and such.

Pâté en croûte d’anniversaire; Édition spéciale jour de naissance Tuesday, Jul 12 2011 

Anniversary pâté en croûte;  Special birthday edition.

When this bun came out of the oven.

Happy birthday to me.  No real surprises in this production.  Another exercise in a series of fabrications benefiting the fabrication of a legitimate pâté en croûte which is structurally, texturally, tastefully and aesthetically sound. Measurements in the pastry have been slightly altered (60/40 butter/lard) and recorded as have the forcemeat participants to ensure a consistent fill without excessive surplus.  Forcemeat components were raw cured shoulder, pistachios, fatback, currants and tongue.  Future filling tests will have the raw shoulder replaced with cooked ham.  Pork and chicken livers marinated in brandy and port along with aromatics bound all the stuff together after being partially frozen, ground twice (meat and fat separately so that the fat doesn’t smear or melt) and puréed –but not too long as an extended stay in the whirly blades incorporates too much air and lightens the color.

Forcemeat genesis.

Stenciling the date into the pastry lid involved several delicate dances of draftsmanship before an efficient routine could produce crisp, evenly spaced numbers.  A proper cutting instrument was essential for the surgical incisions as was the temperature of the doughy patient.  Warm dough is virtually impossible to cut with any precision.

Save the date and incise it.

For some reason the forcemeat did not shrink much and left little to no gap between the lid for the aspic.  No birthday shrinkage.  How about that?  Needless to say, what little  aspic made it through the numerical chimneys was sturdy and flavorful as far as savory port flavored Jell-O goes.  Pastry was enjoyable and similar to past episodes though it eventually softens and is not as crisp as the purported hot water crust meat pies from theUK.  Hot water pastry needs to be worked before it cools but is alleged to yield a firm crust (insert that’s what ___ said).  Prototypes will be experimented with shortly, perhaps in a less sophomoric manner.  And a special kudos to the dearest sister for the trademark slideshow.

Another C-section, 37 years later.

Édition Spécial Heraldique District de Columbia No. 2 Monday, May 16 2011 

Pâté en Croûte.

Special At-Large 2.0 DC heraldry Edition.

Pork barrel degustation

Commissioned and cheerfully donated to a Bryan Weaver At-Large campaign party, and a follow-up to the inaugural DC heraldry edition.

Stately pastry

The endeavor failed to sway votes but allegedly swooned attentive eyes and registered palates. Coincidentally, Mr. Weaver was in attendance at an Easter party and following an introduction as the progenitor of the jingoistic meatloaf, pictures corroborating his alleged enthusiasm for the creation were shown. A doughy, half-baked plan was kneaded, the filling of which was to raise Mr. Weaver’s profile by staging an abduction and sequestering him in a Mt. Pleasant villa. Spanish television in the background of all telephone conversations would complete the Central American kidnapping ruse. The sleeper agent at the party was to have been provoked into seizing the candidate by a singular pickled shishisto pepper flavored jelly bean, but after having ingested a multitude of tutti-fruity jellied beans necessary to maintain appearance of legitimate mingling, the agent’s palate was muddled, incapable of distinguishing root beer jelly beans from keg beer and the plan had to be aborted.

The Flavoring Candidates

The meatloaf campaign was similar to past efforts with proportions of garnish (fatback, pistachio, figs) based on 1/3 of the weight  of the forcemeat which was comprised of pork marinated in brandy and port, then supplemented by chicken livers and a foie gras & truffle mousse which had been idling in the fridge for the better part of the Obama administration. As an added bonus, an inlay of cured pork ran through the middle.

Federal Jambox

In its raw state, the pâté was remarkably stately, albeit with a mid 1980’s boom-box allure.  After a repose in the heat (as any observer of the prolonged effects of sunbathing and gravity can corroborate), there was a little bit of sagging. The drooping consequences evoked either smarmy little bastard Stewie Griffin or brainy rolling robot Johnny No. 5.

Victory is mine. (Weaver’s will have to wait).

Coloring the aspic red in a thrifty manner proved to be a considerable challenge given the home bar’s absence of grenadine, the tremendously bitter properties of annatto and burgundy results of red beets. In the end, a heavy hand of red food dye squeezed from a sizeable stone would have to suffice.

Red #40 alive.

Excess forcemeat was cooked in a small terrine and sampled in accordance with the terms of epicurean accountability. The forcemeat was moist, smooth, tender, properly seasoned and offered hints of the brandy in which it marinated. Sadly, there is no documentation of the pâtés interior and concerns about an uneven distribution of the aspic linger. However, Mr. Weaver’s lively presence a fortnight later on the eve of the election was evidence of the pâté’s gustatory success, though it surely can not be blamed for his unfortunate loss.  At the very least it deserves to be in good company with state dinners and other notable political dinner roasts.

Meat Party demographics.