Mole Poblano holds a special place in my heart. I grew up in a place that had wonderful mexican food, much, much different than the awful sludge found here in lincoln. Mole was something that a lot of mexican families were very proud of, not to mention very secretive with. Want to get a families mole recipe off of them? Nice try. You'd either have to marry into the family or break into their home to get it. Which is exactly what people will be wanting to do to you once you master this:) Exaggeration? possibly, depending on how good my memory is here:) Seriously people, this is a special one that I have been tweaking for a couple of years. This is real mexican food. not cheddar cheese laden, sour creamified fluff. Get good at this dish and you will have something in your repertoire that can stand up to any dish, no matter how fancy pants it is.Because "mole" sounds better than dried pepper, peanut butter chocolate tomato meat sauce
Mole Poblano holds a special place in my heart. I grew up in a place that had wonderful mexican food, much, much different than the awful sludge found here in lincoln. Mole was something that a lot of mexican families were very proud of, not to mention very secretive with. Want to get a families mole recipe off of them? Nice try. You'd either have to marry into the family or break into their home to get it. Which is exactly what people will be wanting to do to you once you master this:) Exaggeration? possibly, depending on how good my memory is here:) Seriously people, this is a special one that I have been tweaking for a couple of years. This is real mexican food. not cheddar cheese laden, sour creamified fluff. Get good at this dish and you will have something in your repertoire that can stand up to any dish, no matter how fancy pants it is.Primal fears...

For whatever reason, I had always been scared of making a prime rib. I guess it's because it seems like a big investment to have turn out poorly, so the other day when I saw one on "manager's special (aka, buy me before I go bad) at supe's I was ready to finally face my fears. My plan of attack was a simple one: trim off some fat, smash some herbs and garlic on top and roast away. I was baffled by how ridiculously easy this was. I will recommend, however, that you pick up a probe thermometer like this, to make your life that much easier. Just set the desired internal temp and an alarm will sound when ready. couldn't be easier. Oh, and those potatoes that I used as a roasting rack...awesome. 1.5 hours of basting with herb crusted beefhunk made them crispy, beefy, potatoey...gurgle, gurlge...How to throw/survive a holiday party (appetizer edition)
If "to err is human" well, then, I am like king of human ville, or at least a very prominent figure...
Some more catch up photos
holla(back)daze
If you burned alive in your car this morning, it's not my fault...
Tick tock, you don't Strop? well, you should.
It's hard to fall in a rut, when you run with the wolfpack.
About this food, I have no reservations...
I've been making lists my whole life, what's one more?
The end of one season, the start of another...
Duck, Duck, Loose!
“You have to come over and check this out.” Those were the words coming from my best friend on the other end of the phone line. It was his birthday, and I was sure that his parents had just given him a super Nintendo. After all, it was all that I had been asking him to ask them for. I was out the door in record time, pedaling toward marioland. I don’t even think that I hung the phone up. On the way there, I thought about how much my life was about to change, how I was going to play a super Nintendo before my brothers, and how jealous that would make them; especially when I wouldn’t tell them anything about it.
When I got to his house, I knocked on the door and tried to contain my excitement. I’m sure one of his parents answered the door, but I couldn’t concern myself with such trifle things as saying hello, so I ducked under his mom/dad’s arm and ran back to his room. There he was, on his bed with his back turned to me crouching over his great new “Excalibur” of a present. I took two steps sideways to take in the glorious view of the machine that would dictate our lives for the next year, only to find that what I had come over to see was a baby yellow duck. “I named him “Mighty Duck!” said my best friend. “Do you want to hold him?” Now, of course I didn’t want to hold the duck, I wanted to escape into a land where eating mushrooms makes you bigger and where plumbers can defeat angry, hammer-throwing prehistoric turtles. I wanted to feel the sweet sting of sweat that only comes after an all-nighter of intensive 16-bit video game overload, but all I could say was “Sure.” So I reached out my hand, letting go of my hopes and embracing what did not at all resemble the second player controller. “I think it’s the best present ever!” he said. “It’s pretty great,” was my apathetic reply. What was I suppose to say to him? It was lame and that we couldn’t use it to play contra? About that moment, Mighty duck pooped on my hand. That was it; any hope this duck had of me being nice to it was over. My friend laughed and I wanted to smear my poop hand all over his face, but it was his birthday, and even I wasn’t that mean…yet.
As the duck grew, so did my hatred for him. It would follow my friend around wherever he went and he treated it as if it was his new best friend. The duck was even getting in the way of our playing “home run derby.” That was our favorite game, since we had no super Nintendo. His yard was our baseball field and it was pretty hard to hit a home run. That stupid duck was always in the way. Let’s just say that a lot of low grounders were aimed in the duck’s general direction.