FOOD PREP MARATHON: BIRTHDAY BRUNCH

My food prep marathon lasted three days.

The images here come from a tasty night in LA to set the mood.

I’ve had other cooking marathons, but this one combines a few of them.

It began with the idea of hosting a breakfast brunch.

Hmmmm ? ? ?

My first impulse with a group in my house is feeding them.

My second impulse is cooking something memorable.

With that in mind we started with three bottles of champagne, orange juice, and a variety of mimosa flutes, which match the variety of silverware in the drawer and variety of coffee cups on the shelf.

We’ve got variety here, an accumulation of dishes over time without dumping everything and starting over with new sets of matching everything.

One day we will, but not today. Probably not tomorrow, but one day. That’s a baby boomer dream many share.

The food prep had already been going on by the time we poured the first drinks.

A few days ago the wife got an itch to cook something tasty that needed some chopped carrots, onion, and celery.

As usual I chopped up twice as much as she wanted. Once you get the rhythm why not keep going?

With the mirepoix starter, and breakfast brunch on the horizon, I thought about the smoked pork butt in the freezer.

If corned beef hash sounded good, smoked pork butt hash sounded better.

To get everything together I ended up going to the store so often it felt like Thanksgiving.

The recipe made two servings, so I quadrupled it, which means keeping track of measurements like 1/8 teaspoon of cayenne and ground nutmeg.

Once you start grinding nutmeg you know you’re getting into deeper cooking water.

 

Pork Butt Hash

(More LA dishes. Hey guys.)

I smoked a pork butt for twelve hours a few months back, a lot of pork butt.

The frozen extra would replace corned beef in the hash, so I thawed it out and cut it into quarter inch cubes, give or take.

My Dad was a fan of corned beef hash in a can.

He’d open one up, dump everything into the skillet and cook it down before topping it with eggs.

That was my plan, just better, for my kid’s birthday brunch.

Here’s the hitch: I had Grandad duty from Friday night until brunch, and the grandkid was a willing helper.

Bluey helped too.

Best of all worlds with the right wife on hand.

Earlier in the week I’d chopped the carrots, etc, Friday night was potatoes and meat.

I cooked the meat down while I boiled potatoes then cubed and browned them.

Once I got the timing down I wanted to keep cutting. But what?

Zucchini and mushrooms with my secret sauce? Yes.

Hours of chopping and cooking and cleaning and Bluey and wife made for a great night at home.

When did cooking turn from a chore to a challenge to look forward to?

It’s kitchen competition with my wife, who is a class act.

She found the recipe, saw how I was working it, and whipped out a Sharpie to rename it as, “David’s Brown Sludge.”

It comes from a joke I shared with her before we got married.

As a single man I cooked up a dish for holiday work parties, a side dressing with lots of eggplant and black olives to make it look like burned rubber.

It was delicious, but few tried it so I had plenty to take back home and enjoy.

Now she thinks that’s my plan every time I make something questionable. It might be.

What I did:

Pre-cook everything before adding them together and setting the timer to stir and not burn.

At the precise time I cracked ten eggs on top, put on a clear lid, and waited.

And waited. And waited.

The clear whites weren’t turning white and the yolks were moving.

The goal was firm whites and runny yolk soaking into the hash once it hit the plate.

After I’d waited long enough I put the whole pan into the oven to broil, which cooked the yolks.

What I should have done:

Used two big skillets and spread the hash thinner to cook the eggs from beneath instead of broiling them solid from above.

We’d set the start time for at eleven o’clock, and it worked. Everyone showed up.

We sat down to eat at one o’clock.

I was either two hours late in my timing, or had just enough mimosas to go around so no one noticed.

 

The Rest Of The Story

Saturday was also Oregon Duck football day after a two week break.

They traveled to Iowa to face the Hawkeyes where no one made the obvious sound comparison between Hawkeye and Sockeye.

The Ducks game started while we chatted at the table, and it was no sure thing at the start.

In days of old and with families in big homes far, far, away, the servants would have cleared the table after brunch while the men retired to the drawing room and left the ladies to their tea.

Yesterday I used my magical powers to clear the table, load the dishwasher, and scrub the pots, pans, cutting boards, and counters, while no one noticed.

 

(LA treats)

 

 

My food prep marathon came down to the wire and the whole group came away with a birthday brunch win.

With that in the bag, and the arrival of the fourth paddle, (hey Zane,) the men retired to the den, er, garage, swung out the table tennis court, cracked beers and cheered for the Ducks in the sort of obscene manner you hurry past when you hear it coming out of anyone’s garage.

“You can’t see the sh!t in front of your ##cking face you corn-balled ##cksucking ***therf**ker ref.”

And so on and so forth.

“No one is dragging their punk-a$$ all the way to f**cking Oregon so they can lose to Iowa, so snap the hell out of it **ckers.”

More pings, more pongs, more pounders, and the Ducks fished out a win in the end.

I’m renaming my kids Atticus and Sappington in honor of this game.

The icing on the cake?

The women went out while the men played and played and watched the game progress.

“Get it in *&cking gear you drag#ss slackers and stop playing like %ucking sockeyed salmon sons of b!tches.”

After a few hours and a few phone calls, the women came back with pizza.

In a world for concern and worry with millennials and boomers and babies on the run, it’s a good thing to slow down for slow food and family time.

PS: To those who wonder if alcohol plays in a harmonious day? Yes, it does, and it’s a comfort to drink with people you know and trust.

PSS: It’s much better than drinking with people you don’t know or trust.

What was the question?

Cheers.