CHEF G.'S BIG TIME COMEBACK: Russian Cuisine For The Common Man

Hi folks, Chef G. here, and let me tell you I'm happier than a rattlesnake with a mouthful of field mice to be back with a new episode of The Chef G. Cooking Channel.  

Speaking of snakes, I should probably thank the reptillian Chef Gordo Ramses for filling in for me last week while I was recovering from food poisoning.  True, I SHOULD thank him, but I WON'T.  Far from thanking him, I CURSE him for telling the whole world about every embarrassing detail of my bout with stomach cramps, fever, barfing, and diarrhea.  And when I find out which one of my staffers leaked all that information to Chef Gordo, he or she will be given a scolding and a 10% cut in pay.

Anyway, I survived the ordeal and I'm ready to get back to my job.  It's the work for which I was put on this earth by the heavenly food gods.  (Um, that would be creating and cooking exquisite food recipes.)  

Today, I'll be sharing a dish I dug up from a secret vault hidden deep in the castle of the Stroganov family of Russian oligarchs.

I conducted a little research on that family and I learned I have a few things in common with them: 

• They became super rich in Tsarist Russia because they built a salt manufacturing empire.  In much the same way, I became super rich because I built a food blogging empire.
•  Given that the Stroganovs invested in the salt industry, it's obvious they liked the stuff.  I, too, really, really, really like salt.  It's easily my favorite spice.
•  The Stroganovs were patrons of the arts and fine foods.  I like art too.  And I like food. 
•  The Stroganovs have a famous dish named after them.  Likewise, I've named many of my dishes after myself.

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From Left to Right: Chef Rasputin G. and Count Boris Stroganov

According to Russian lore, the family's French chef created a dish with noodles, beef, onions, garlic, mushrooms, butter and creme fraiche, and he named it after the Stroganov family.  Unlike the Stroganov's, I don't have a French chef on staff.  I have French heritage though, so you know that I know what I'm doing.   My version of beef stroganoff has some of my own variations. I call this dish "Boeff Stro-G-Noff."

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It begins with the slicing and dicing of garlic and onions.

It continues with melting butter in a skillet.  When the butter is sizzling, throw the onions and garlic into the pan and stir frequently.  Oh man, that frying is the best smell in the world.  (For extra richness, add sliced mushrooms to the onions and garlic.  I didn't do that today because I was cooking for a couple of nieces who detest mushrooms.)

When the onions become translucent, remove the mixture from the pan and set aside.

Then put 1-1/2 pounds of lean ground beef into the same pan.  Break up the meat into small chunks, but not too small.  When most of the meat's redness is gone, add one cup of beef broth.  Add a healthy amount of salt--Stroganov salt if you can find it--and a tablespoon of soy sauce.  (I use soy sauce because I hate Worcestershire Sauce.)  Heat to boiling, reduce heat, and then simmer for 15 minutes.

Here is what the beef will look like when you move on to the next step.

Measure out a half-cup of flour.  Also, start boiling some water to cook up a batch of egg noodles.

Whisk the flour into another cup of beef broth.  When thoroughly mixed, add it to the ground beef.  Then grab the onion, garlic, butter mix that you had set aside and add it to the beef as well.  Bring it to a boil and stir constantly for one minute.

Stir in 12 oz. of sour cream.  The sour cream will produce creamy creaminess.  Ooooh, that creaminess is sublimely creamy . . . and tasty.

To serve, scoop the creamy creaminess over the egg noodles.  The flavor of this dish will make you wish you were a Russian.  On the other hand, there is Putin. 

 

CHEF G. GETS FOOD POISONING (By Chef Gordo Ramses)

Hi folks!  Today's episode of The Chef G. Cooking Channel will be presented by me, Chef Gordo Ramses.  As you may remember, I'm Chef G.'s arch-rival in the world of celebrity chefs.  Ironic, isn't it?

If you think THAT'S ironic, try THIS on for size:  The reason I'm here is that the so-called "America's Greatest Celebrity Chef" got a nice little case of food poisoning and--get this--it was probably from his own miserable cooking.  As soon as I heard the news, I jumped at the opportunity to be a replacement host and give a full report on his gastro-intestinal ordeal.  

Excuse me if I sound like I'm gloating, but, well, how can I help but gloat?  This may be a disaster for him, but it's a godsend for me.  Plus, nobody deserves such a malady more than the obnoxious Chef G.

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(Parental Advisory: The Following Report Contains Subject Matter That May Be Considered Too Graphic for Younger Viewers)

DAY ONE: Friday

Chef G.'s ordeal began soon after he and Mrs. Chef G. got home from a dinner date at a popular nationwide chain restaurant.  The first symptom to reveal itself was large volumes of very foul-smelling gas.  (Not much of a problem, since, based on my experience, that clown always smells bad.)  The gaseousness was followed closely by mild stomach discomfort and a general feeling of weakness & tiredness.  As a result, he went to bed early that night.

That brings us to the really fun stuff.  In the middle of the night, Chef G. woke up with pain in his gut and an urgent need to visit the loo.  In case you didn't know, "loo" is the British term for what you Americans call the "bathroom," though I assure you, his urgent need wasn't to take a bath.

The hapless bastard barely made it to the throne before a gusher of semi-solid fecal matter burst out of his intestinal tract in a most violent way.  Little did he know that the semi-solid stool he produced would be the last one with any semblance of solidity at all for the next four days.  Thus began his special new relationship with his toilet.  (Are you folks getting as much glee out of this as I am?)

Chef G.'s constant companion for nearly a week.

DAY TWO: Saturday

After an hour of fitful sleep, a feverish sweat broke out on Chef G.'s face, head and neck.  He was so tired.  All he wanted to do was lie there in the broth that was seeping out of his pores and go back to sleep.  Unfortunately for him, another emergency colorectal event was about to happen.

He sprang from his bed and, again, barely made it to the porcelain bowl before the poop shot out of his rear with a blistering vengeance.  Only this time the dookie had the same viscosity as urine after a long night of beer drinking.  About the same volume too.  This scene repeated itself every one or two hours throughout the night.  Except for the one time when he didn't quite make it to the doo-doo depository in time.  Ho ho, that must have been quite a sight to see the mighty Chef G. changing out of his soiled boxers like a little toddler. 

Later in the morning, Mrs. Chef G. added to his indignity when she went out and bought him a package of Depends.  (Disposable briefs for adults with incontinence.)  The Depends did make him feel a little more secure though, having learned that the diarrhea was pretty much impossible to hold in once it got to a certain point.  In addition, he found they were fairly comfortable and felt nice against his skin.

Chef G. did a little on-line research.  He learned there were several different kinds of germs and bacteria that cause food poisoning, and almost all of them usually go away in 5 to 7 days with no doctor visits, drugs, or antibiotics.  The most important thing is to hydrate frequently, which the dorky chef was already doing.

Of course, he didn't eat anything because he had no appetite whatsoever.  To the rescue came Mrs. Chef G. . . . again.  She convinced her husband, The Cuckoo of Cooking, to try a little chicken broth for some sustenance.  The soup went down his gullet so soothingly.  Within ten seconds, Chef G. was stumbling back to the lavatory.  The soup came back up his gullet so abrasively.

There were all kinds of other things mixed in the vomit as well.  As much as I'd like to humiliate my enemy as much as possible, I'm not going to describe the intensity or contents of his puke.  Doing so would probably make me barf myself.

And the liquid crap continued to flow throughout the day & night, almost hourly.

DAY THREE: Sunday

Chef G. was feeling a little better this morning.  Sure, the liquid-y shits were still there, but the fever and dizziness were gone.  In fact, he felt well enough that he took a chance on taking his daughter, Kaylo Chef, to the airport.  The trip would have been very easy if he could have simply dropped her off at the terminal and driven straight back home, but he knew he had to go inside to help her straighten out a ticketing SNAFU.

Before he could deal with a Delta Airlines ticketing agent, however, he wisely made a stop at the men's room and ducked into a stall.  Of course, the second he pulled down his Depends, the stream of watery fecal matter hit the toilet water with the same sound you hear when a man takes a whizz.  Except that he was sitting.  And anybody who was nearby probably thought there was a woman in the stall.  I can't help but Laugh Out Loud at that.

DAY FOUR: Monday 

Chef G.'s personal waste materials never thickened one iota--not yesterday, not during the night, and not this morning.  And the frequency of dumping it never abated, resulting in another very poor night of sleep and an increasingly sore rectal area from all the wiping.

Mrs. Chef G. intervened once again.  The Shitting Chef G. tried to tell her about how Google said the food poisoning would likely go away without medical attention, but she insisted he go to Urgent Care to diagnose exactly what the hell was invading his bowels--bowels that normally seem to have a steely armor against whatever nasty, dirty, unhealthy, spicy, over-processed, under-cooked, garbage he crams down there.

As expected, the urgent care doctor gave him an examination and confirmed the entire checklist of what Google said about food poisoning.  Just when Chef G. thought he was about to get released, the doc added, "but just in case, let's just get a stool sample."

Chef G. wasn't too pleased about providing a sample, but he knew he could pretty much do so on a moment's notice.  So, he dutifully went to the bathroom, put on a pair of latex gloves, squirted out a sample into a large plastic container, poured the liquid into a sample cup marked "hazardous waste", screwed a lid on the cup, and deposited it into a metal box.  From there, some poor lab technician would gather it up for testing.

And the diarrhea continued . . . 

DAY FIVE:  Tuesday

The crapper visits were far less frequent last night. The runniness was still there, but Chef G. had gotten better at predicting when they were coming.  He felt pretty good about himself for transitioning back to big boy underwear.

Around noon, he got a phone call from the lab.  The results were in: Chef G.'s bug was a thing called "campylobacter jejuni." 

Can you imagine these things being in your intestines?  They gross me out.

 

Chef G. was sure it would be something more glamorous--like salmonella, e-coli, botulism, or listeria--but, unlike a lot of people these days, he was willing to accept actual medical science.  He learned campylobacter is the #1 food-borne bacteria in the world, so he felt not-so-alone.

The thing I take the most pleasure in, as Chef G.'s celebrity chef nemesis, is that he most likely brought this upon himself.  He was so ready to blame the fish he ate at the restaurant on Friday night, but it turns out campylobacter takes a couple days to kick in.  And campylobacter is most commonly the result of consuming raw or poorly cooked chicken . . . or poor kitchen habits--like not washing knives and cutting boards after cutting or chopping chicken.

Guess what Chef G. prepared two days before the onset of his food poisoning.  Yup, chicken fried rice.

This revelation will set Chef G.'s rise to celebrity chef prominence back several years.  I don't know how he can come back from this culinary disaster.  Better than that, it will propel ME--Chef Gordo Ramses--back to the #1 position I so richly deserve.

DAY SIX: Wednesday

Chef G. proudly took his first solid dump this morning.  Later in the day, he prepared his first full meal in nearly a week.  In celebration, he made his signature dish--PASTIES.

Damn, I gotta admit, nobody can make pasties like Chef G.  And I oughtta know, I'm from England.

Chef G. Puts On His Restaurant Reviewer's Hat

 

Hi folks, Chef G. here and I'm happier than a Dung Beetle after his favorite meal of fresh feces dumped by a hungry herbivore.  I'm happy because I'm back, after a five-month absence, with another fine episode of America's #1 Food Website.  I'm sure you've missed me.

Today, while trying to log into Blogspot, I noticed The Chef G. Cooking Channel has gained the attention of Google's Artificial Intelligence machinery.  At last, I've made it into the BIG TIME world of celebrity chefs.  Here's what AI said about my blog:

You can find the humorous and satirical food blog online at The Chef G. Cooking Channel Blogspot. [1]

Content Overview

Humorous Posts: Features satirical entries, witty commentary, and fictional updates from "Chef G."
Episodic Format: Numbered and dated posts mimicking a running broadcast or show log (such as mock celebratory chef updates and humorous rants).

I couldn't have said it better myself.

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Sure, I'm best known for my out-of-this-world cooking expertise, but sometimes I like to expand my blogging into restaurant reviews.  Now that I've become super-famous, I feel confident in posting a couple of recent reviews right here and right now.

Neither of the restaurants are famous.  Neither of them have even a single Michelin star.  Neither of them are even located in my home state of Minnesota.  Both of them, however, were an important part of my road trip to Spokane, Washington with Mrs. Chef G.

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THE CHEF G. REVIEW OF WIND'S PASTY SHOP

One of my first, most famous, and most beloved episodes of the Chef G. Cooking Channel was my recipe for Upper Peninsula pasties.

 THE CHEF G. COOKING CHANNEL: THE MAGNIFICENT PASTY: Upper Michigan's Gift To Human Taste Buds 

Mrs. Chef G. and I love pasties and the best ones are made in the U.P. of Michigan.  No Cornwallian or Australin or anybody else can dispute that.

On previous trips to Spokane, Mrs. Chef G. and I were happy to have discovered a pasty shop in the mining town of Butte, Montana.  They're pasties were okay, but they were far from the standard of Upper Michigan pasties.

This year, we discovered a better pasty in the mining town of Anaconda, Montana.  

The entrance to Wind's Pasty shop was nothing special.  In fact, its crumbling facade and dirty floors were a little intimidating.  That's exactly the kind of U.P.-style pasty shop we were looking for.

The lone employee was a dude with long hair and a poorly trimmed goatee, but he was very friendly.  He did a great job of telling us about their pasty ingredients and offered us free 6-ounce bottles of water while we waited for our pasties.  

There were a couple of stools at the counter and only one table in the whole place, so we took our pasties to go.  As Montana pasties go, I gotta say, this place is light years ahead of Joe's Pasties in Butte. 

Wind's produced the closest thing to a U.P. pasty I have ever seen outside of the U.P.

We liked them so much in the car that we turned around and bought a dozen frozen ones to bring to Mrs. Chef G.'s family in Spokane.

All in all, I give Wind's Pasties a rating of 4 1/2 stars out of 5.  Congratulations to that fine restaurant for getting so close to meeting my highest standard.

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The Chef G. Review of Chowderhead's Restaurant

If you thought Wind's Pasties sounded delicious, just wait for this review of a hidden Spokane gem.  I never even heard of the place until Son of Chef G. told me about it.  He had driven from his home in the Seattle area to see Mrs. Chef G. and I.

On an earlier visit to Spokane, our son consulted Reddit for recommendations on the best sandwich shop in the city.  I think he loves sandwiches more than any other food, and I'm sure he loves sandwiches even more than I love sandwiches.

He told me he had already tried Chowderhead's sandwiches and said they were great.  Based on that recommendation, I suggested we should probably go there for a meal.  Oh man, that was one of my best suggestions in years.

Chowderheads is located on an unassuming corner of a busy secondary north-south route.  The exterior belies a hip interior vibe.  While we perused the Washington-centered craft beer list, 1990's era alternative music played on the loudspeakers.  The servers were friendly and fully tatooed.  Already, I knew this was my kind of place.

For a sandwich place, the prices seemed a little high.  But I can assure you, their sandwiches were well worth the $20 asking price.  And the chowders were absolutely delicious.

On the Chef G. rating scale, it deserves the 5 Stars I give this place.

Best Bahn Mi I've ever had, and the Steelhead Trout Chowder was even better.

EVERYBODY LOVES CHEF G.

 

Hi folks, Chef. G. here, and I thank you for patiently awaiting my return to the Chef G. Cooking Channel.  I hope you didn't worry about me too much, though I'm sure my two-month absence had to be agonizing for my legion of Chef G-niuses.  I can assure you that, even though I haven't been blogging, I've definitely been cooking.  I cook, like, almost every day.  If I didn't cook, I'd lose my creative celebrity chef edge.  If I didn't cook, I'd go plum crazy.  If I didn't cook, I'd have no reason to live.  If I didn't cook, I wouldn't NEED a reason to live because I'd starve to death.

Anyway, I'm happier than a fox in a Tyson Chicken plant to be back with you today.  That's because I have a very special dish coming up.  It's something I've never cooked before.  Furthermore, it's something I've never even eaten before.  Yet, I'm strangely compelled to give a try.  

Why?  Here's the backstory:

Last night I was watching an old rerun of "Everybody Loves Raymond," which is one of my all-time favorite TV sitcoms.  I think I've seen every episode at least three times over the years and I still laugh at them.  If you're married and can't recognize the humor and everyday reality in that show, I worry for you.

Sorry, I got sidetracked a little bit there.  So, last night's episode reminded me of a recurring joke about Debra Barone's (Raymond's wife's) bad cooking skills.  It seems the only thing she can cook that's any good is her Lemon Chicken.  And it's strongly implied that the only reason she is able to make Lemon Chicken is that the recipe is very easy.

Well, "easy" is right up my alley, so I looked up some Lemon Chicken recipes on the Google Brain.  I could not believe how many variations came up.  I'm guessing Debra Barone's recipe involved nothing more than squirting some lemon juice on baked chicken.  The version I'm going to prepare--using different ideas from various recipes--is a little more complicated than that, but still pretty easy.  

Read on to see how I made "Lemon Chicken ala Chef G."

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Before I could get started, I had to pick up three important ingredients.  (Riding my bike to the grocery store gives me much satisfaction.  I do it almost every day.)

With the purchase of lemons, Italian flat leaf parsley, and a medium-priced dry white wine, I now have everything I need.

I've got the seasonings . . .

. . . and I've got the olive oil and three chicken breasts.

I preheated my oven to 400-degrees Fahrenheit.  Then I mixed three teaspoons of the poultry seasoning, one teaspoon of the garlic powder, 1/4 teaspoon of the freshly-ground pepper, 3/4 teaspoon of Pink Himalayan salt, and 1/4 cup of extra virgin olive oil.

Now, you might be thinking I'm a hack for using "poultry seasoning" instead of fresh oregano, sage, and thyme.  You may be right, but I redeemed myself by using the pretentious Pink Himalayan salt and extra virgin olive oil instead of regular Morton salt and NON-virgin olive oil.  So, take that, you culinary purists!

 

Here's what the slurry looked like after I whisked that combination of lame and pretentious ingredients together.  It looked good enough to drink right out of the bowl, but I resisted and poured it over the chicken breasts instead.

Then, with the help of my professional camera crew, I made a video of me performing what I consider the most important part of the recipe.  I don't use sterile spoons or spatulas to work the spice mixture into the meat.  I use my hands.  I didn't worry about bacteria because my hands were somewhat clean.  That is to say, I washed them within the last couple of hours, and I didn't use the toilet since then.

The next step in preparation was to mince three cloves of garlic and to grate a couple teaspoons of lemon zest into a bowl.  Then I used all the grip strength I had to squeeze every ounce of juice out of a lemon into the same bowl.  The piece de resistance was to turn the bottle of Pinot Grigio a couple times toward the bowl, whisk it all together, and pour it over the seasoned chicken.

Then, I sliced up another lemon and strategically placed the slices on top and in between the chicken breasts.  

Blurry picture of garlic and lemon zest

Pretty picture of the dish before putting it into the oven.

A mediocre picture of the dish after it spent 30 minutes in the oven. 

Before serving, I sprinkled some flat leaf parsley over the top of the chicken.  That helped make the dish look very pretty again. Unfortunately, I forgot to take a picture of the prettiness.

All I can tell you at this point is that the "Lemon Chicken ala Chef G." was delicious.  I was amazed how nicely the lemon, wine and garlic penetrated the meat.  Mrs. Chef G. and I could taste all the flavors in every single bite.  This dish will definitely become part of my regular rotation of fine meals in the Chef G. household.

"Thank you, Debra, for bringing Lemon Chicken to my attention."

"You're very welcome, Chef G."