CORNISH GAME HENS ARE LIKE MINIATURE OSTRICHES

Hi folks, in case you've forgotten, my name is Chef G. and I'm the pompous braggart who hosts this program.  It's great to see so many of you loyal viewers tuning in month after month, week after week, episode after episode.  I have to believe you appreciate my delicious recipes, my nostalgic stories, my impeccable cooking techniques, and my sparkling personality almost as much as I do.

My inspiration for today's episode derives from the wonderful world of poultry.  That's right, we are going to roast a couple of miniature ostriches.

Actually, they aren't so much miniature ostriches as they are miniature turkeys, which is perfect timing because Christmas will be here in two days.  More turkeys are cooked on Christmas Day than any other day except Thanksgiving.  (I don't have any real proof of that assertion other than my own gut feeling.)

But, as a world famous chef, I've got to be honest.  While it's true I'm going to be cooking a bird, this dish involves a bird that is more like a mini-chicken than a mini-ostrich or mini-turkey.  In fact, technically speaking, it truly IS a small species of chicken.

It's called a Cornish Game Hen, which is a more pretentious term than "miniature chicken."  Cornish Game Hens, like chickens, are 4.5 times tastier than turkeys and ostriches.  Therefore, I highly recommend you throw out the turkey you were planning to cook for Christmas dinner, and pick up a few of these hens.  (You'll be able to distinguish them from chickens because they're only about 1/4 the size.)

The very BEST thing about Cornish Game Hens is the coolness factor.  I mean, how could your guests' plates look any cooler than having an entire roasted bird on it?  Certainly not by having a couple slices of dry turkey breast on it!

Let's get down to the prep, shall we?

After defrosting the game hens (sad to say, it's very rare to find fresh ones in American grocery stores) rinse them in cold water, pat them dry, and season them inside and out.  I put together a mix of dried sage, paprika, pepper and plenty of salt for my seasoning.  My wife, Mrs. Chef G., prefers no seasoning at all.  She has the blandest tastes I've ever known--aside from my Swedish grandma.

Transfer the seasoned birds to the rack of your roasting pan.  At this point you can add your favorite stuffing to the rear cavity.  I've made a great wild rice stuffing in the past, but then I discovered an even better stuffing--onion wedges.  They add excellent flavor and aroma to the meat.  (Of course, stuffing of any kind is totally optional.)

Preheat your oven to 350-degrees (F).  (Note how Chef G. uses a regular household oven--not a fancy- pants restaurant oven like most of the other celebrity chefs use.  Chef G. is a man of the people.)

Roast in the oven, breast side up, for about 70 minutes and it will look something like this.  Let them rest for five more minutes before serving.

Serve with saffron rice topped with a bit of olive oil.  Add a green vegetable if that's your thing.  This meal pairs well with a good Chardonnay, I think.  It pairs better with a good IPA, I KNOW.

In conclusion, your family members will absolutely LOVE eating their own individual mini-turkeys.  Take the actual turkey you were planning to serve, and save it for another occasion--like your annual neighborhood block party.  The dogs will love it.

OOOOHHHHHH FUDGE!

Hi again folks, it's ME, Chef G., and today I'm going to help you make a sweet, sweet holiday treat.  It's a treat so sweet that it will single-handedly transform your boring family Christmas into a week-long, end-of-the-year, festival of chocolate & sugar.  It's a treat so sweet it will make your taste buds dance with delight.  It's a treat so sweet that I can almost guarantee three or four brand new cavities for the brand new year.  It's a treat that will send your primary physician into a state of shock the next time he checks your blood glucose levels.  In fact, it's SO sweet that even ants, honey bees and hummingbirds want nothing to do with it for fear of lapsing into a diabetic coma.

Q: What is this treat of which I speak?

A: It's FUDGE.  

Or, as my family calls it, "BUDGE."

 

I'll be using my mom's tried and true recipe.  It's better than any fudge you can buy on Mackinac Island, on the boardwalks of the eastern seaboard, or any other U.S. tourist destination.  Maybe that's because of the love she put into it.  Her annual batch of budge was a major holiday tradition that my brothers and I looked forward to all year long.  After she died, I took it upon myself to carry on the tradition.

Guess what?  The holiday season is upon us.  Ergo, it is time to whip up a beautiful batch of budge.  Let's go!

Next, add a whopping 4-1/4 cups of sugar to the mix. 

Bring the sauce to a boil while stirring frequently.  When it becomes a bubbly golden syrup, turn down the heat and let it simmer for six more minutes.

This is where the real fun begins.

At the six minute mark, add a 12-oz. bag of San Francisco semi-sweet chocolate chips.  Stir them into the syrup and watch them quickly melt.  It's cool to see the mixture slowly transform from golden to light brown to dark brown.

Then you'll add 12 oz. of Baker's German Chocolate . . . 

. . . followed by 8 oz. (or 7 oz.) of marshmallow creme.

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At this point I think it's appropriate to expose a little foul play by the Kraft Foods Corporation--the worlds largest manufacturer of marshmallow products.  Sometime in the last few years, they changed their 8 oz. jars of marshmallow creme into 7 oz. jars.  I have no doubt in my mind that they knew a lot of recipes call for eight ounces of their sticky white stuff and they saw an opportunity to trick consumers into buying an extra jar every time we made whatever we were making.  In this case, budge.

I admit I was suckered into that scam for the first couple of years, but not THIS year.  Seven ounces will certainly do the trick.  Sorry Kraft, but you can jet puff that last 8th of an ounce straight up the tail end of your digestive system.

                                      

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Some people like walnuts in their budge.  Not me.  Whenever somebody asks me if I like my budge with or without walnuts, I paraphrase the great Minnesota Vikings wide receiver, Randy Moss.  I proclaim, "straight budge, homey."

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So, I was stirring the 7 ounces of marshmallow into the concoction when I noticed something pretty cool.  I summoned my film crew to make another fine Chef G. video.

After a few more minutes of stirring, it was ready to pour.

So I poured it into a 9" X 13" pan lined with parchment paper and selfied one more video enlisted my cinematographer to film one more video.

                

After a few hours of cooling, you can safely take the budge out of the refrigerator and flip the contents of the pan onto a cutting board.  My mom always cut the big slab into pieces approximately 1.5 square inches in area.  That's what I do too.  

Then I stack the pieces in a container with wax paper between each layer.

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I'll let you in on a little secret.  I don't really care for sweet treats all that much.  Not pie.  Not cake. Not candy bars.  Not ice cream.  Not cookies.  Maybe that's because I ate so much of that stuff in my first 50 years of life.

I make an exception for my mom's fudge.  (And, once in a while, Oreos.)

Well, it is now time to taste test my batch of budge.

The second it hit my taste buds, I recognized perfection. 

The second it hit my teeth, I knew I'd have to visit my dentist after the New Year.

PRETTY GOSH DARN GOOD PIZZA WITH HOMEMADE FREAKIN' INGREDIENTS

Hi folks, Chef G. here, and once again I'd like to warmly welcome you to the Chef G. Cooking Channel.  

Before I get started though, I feel like I should apologize for the salty language in the title of today's episode.  It is quite unusual for me to use such foul swear words (in public) and there is absolutely no excuse to take Gosh's name in vain like that.  But in this case I was so excited to share my latest creation that I couldn't help myself.  That nasty language just burst out of me like a bad case of diarrhea.

Now that you've forgiven me, I assure you there is nothing nasty about the recipe I'm going to present today.  PIZZA! Pizza is America's favorite food and I am America's favorite celebrity chef.  That's a pretty potent combination.

Now don't go thinking I'm going to teach you how to throw a frozen pizza into the oven.  I admit to making hundreds of pizzas that way in the past, but I have too much chef-ly integrity to do that on my internationally famous cooking blog.

I've also called a multitude of pizzarias for the delivery of a large pie, but I'm certainly not here to instruct you on how to dial the phone and tell the Dominos employee that you want a large, thin crust pizza with pepperoni, sausage, onion and extra cheese.  That would be ridiculous.

No, I am going to attempt to make the most "from scratch" pizza possible (within my capability.)  I mean, I didn't grow my own onions and mushrooms, I haven't learned the art of mozzarella cheese production, and I don't know how to make pepperoni--YET.  Still, at least I am going to try home-made crust, sauce and Italian sausage.

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I began by going shopping for fresh ground pork. Vidalia onions.  Mozzarella cheese.  Mushrooms from some deep, dark Minnesota cave.  Ingredients for dough.  Tomato sauce and tomato paste.  I already had all the spices I needed. 

I paid no attention to the frozen pizza aisle on my way to the vegetable section.

So I gathered my ingredients, packed them in my panniers, and rode my bike home to start cooking.  The first order of business was the Italian sausage.

1/2 pound of ground pork  
One tablespoon of fennel seed
A Pinch of garlic powder
A Pinch of salt 
A Pinch of black pepper
A Pinch of Onion Powder
A Pinch of Red Pepper Flakes
Slightly more than a pinch of Italian Seasoning
SMOOSH it all together by hand and refrigerate the mixture for a couple of hours.

After a couple of hours in the fridge, fry the sausage.  Flatten it frequently with a spatula and break it into small pieces.

The second order of business was the pizza sauce.  I could not believe how easy it was to make.

All you have to do is pour one eight-ounce can of tomato sauce and 1/2 of a six-ounce can of tomato paste into a jar.  Add one-and-a-half tablespoons Italian Seasoning, 1/4 tsp. garlic powder, 1/4 tsp. onion powder, 1/4 tsp. sea salt, 1/8 tsp. black pepper, and stir like crazy for about a minute.  No cooking required--just put a cap on the jar and refrigerate.

Chef G.'s Pizza Sauce in a jar

The big questions in my mind were:  1) Will my homemade Italian sausage be as good as the stuff the meat department at my local grocery store makes?  2) Will my homemade pizza sauce be as good as the many options available in that same grocery store? 3) Will my homemade sausage and sauce be enough to make more than one pizza?

In all three cases, the answer was a resounding "HECK YEAH!"

(Again, I apologize for my foul language.  It's totally inappropriate for a professional chef like me to resort to such words.  [Then again, there is Chef Gordon Ramsey, whose ratings seem to thrive on much worse language.])

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While the flavors in my sauce and sausage were melding in the refrigerator, it was time to roll out the pizza dough followed by the part I've wanted to do ever since the first time I saw a pizza master do it on TV.  That would be the part where I throw it up in the air in a twirling motion.  I guess that helps dry it out which results in a crispier crust.  That's a good thing since I prefer a thin, crispy crust over those thick-crusted pizzas advertised on TV as being "Chicago-Style."  Dang it, those thick crusts are like eating 80% bread.

There I go again.  Sorry about that "dang it" outburst.

I enlisted Mrs. Chef G. to photograph and video my pizza twirling operation.

The end result after a few tosses

Now that I've got the crust, sauce and sausage prepared, it's time to put it all together in the form of the finest pizza ever made by me or any other son-of-a-beechin' pizza chef this side of Italy.  (Sorry, once again, for writing another disgusting curse word.)

My favorite pizza toppings. 

After baking the empty crust in a 500-degree oven for five minutes, I spread a layer of sauce on it, put the sliced onion, shrooms, sausage, & pepperoni atop the sauce, and finished it all off with about three-quarters of a pound of Mozzarella cheese.  Now you know why pizza tastes SOOO good, but is SOOO bad for you.

Turn the oven heat down to 400-degrees and place your pizza on the middle rack.  Let it bake for about 10-12 minutes.  After that amount of time, it will look something like this:

Then you can cut the bastid (oh man, I can't help myself) into eight slices and serve.

Since we're having a special pizza party, I recommend serving a special beer.  To my taste, Surly's seasonal ABRASIVE ALE is the best beer on Gosh's ever-lovin' earth.  (There I go again, ruining a perfectly good post with swear words.)

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In conclusion, WOW!  You'll be surprised at how bloody good your homemade pizza can be.  The jury is still out on whether a pizza that requires three hours and $30 worth of ingredients is worth the extra effort over a decent $5.00 frozen pizza, but it was a heck-of-a-fun pizza to make.

THIS ONE'S FOR THE KIDS: A Favorite From The Children's Menu

Hi Boys and Girls, my name is Chef G. and I'm a famous celebrity chef.  Do you know what a "celebrity chef" is?  No?  Well, you'll have to ask your mommy and daddy about that because I don't have time to explain it to you today.  For now, let's just say it means I'm your parents' favorite food cooker.  

And on today's show I hope to become YOUR favorite food cooker too, because I'm going to teach you how to make a food every kid in the world loves.  Yup, you guessed it . . . Grilled Cheese Sandwiches with Ham.  YIPPEE!

I know the kitchen can be a scary place, what with all those hot burners and sharp knives and stuff.  I also know your mommies and daddies will be worried about whether you're mature enough to cook by yourself.  This is the time to reassure them by saying something like, "Don't worry parental figures, I am not a child anymore.  I'm almost five years old.  I got this."  They will be so impressed by how cute that sounds. 

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Would you like to know how the idea for this Grilled Cheese Sandwich episode came to be?  No?  Well, I think I'll tell you anyway.  

A few days ago, Mrs. Chef G. and I went for a walk with our doggy.  His name is Diggity and he might be the cutest dog on the planet.  After pooping in the park, Diggity led us across the street to a food truck.  One of the food truck's specialties is Grilled Cheese Sandwiches.  Alas, we had just eaten dinner so I didn't even have a tiny bit of room left in my tummy.

The nice owners of the food truck live right in our neighborhood.

I've had the joneses for a grilled cheese sandwich ever since that day.  Everybody gets that craving once in a while.  Ya know what I mean?  Maybe you've had it for tacos.  Or spaghetti.  Or hotdogs.  Or pizza.  Or liverwurst.  

                                         ************

Let's start cooking, shall we?

I can't emphasize enough to you little folks about the importance of fresh, high quality ingredients.  What I mean to say is, the goodness of the stuff you put into a meal can be the difference between an okay meal and a great meal.  That is why I STRONGLY URGE you to tell your moms and dads about my new line of Chef G. Branded foods.  I'd advise using this line:  "The Chef G. Brand of foods is not only healthy and delicious, but it's also super-groovy." 

Once again they will again think you are the cutest kid ever (in a Brady Bunch kind of way) and, more importantly, they'll appreciate your excellent advice.

So, here are the fine Chef G. ingredients we'll be using today:

World class cheese

    

The best bread money can buy

Beautiful smoked meat from the leg of a pig

Ultra-creamy, hand-churned butter

Zesty Pepper Sauce

Now that we've gathered up all those top-shelf Chef G. Brand Foods, you little punks can roll up your sleeves and get to work.  We'll start with the assembly of the sandwich.

The first step is to grab two slices of "Chef G.'s 13-Grain Bread" and spread a nice layer of "Better Butter By Chef G." onto one side of each slice.  The buttered sides will be the outsides, the sides that come in contact with the grill.

After you've flipped the bread over, you'll have to sneak a sharp knife out of your mommy's knife drawer and slice a few pieces off the end of the brick of "Chef G.'s Cheddar Cheese."  Be very careful.  

You wouldn't want to cut off half of your finger.  That kind of owie is messy
and it hurts.

After cleaning up the blood, place a little "Chef G.'s Deli Ham" on top of the cheese slices.

Next comes the part that will separate your grilled cheese & ham from that run-of-the-mill crap stuff from the kid's menu at Appleby's.   Splash a little hot sauce on there--but not TOO much.  Have you ever taken a swig of hot sauce?  It's really tasty, but it should only be consumed in small quantities by anyone under 4-feet tall.

Can you count to 4?  If so, you're old enough to climb a chair and turn on the burner to heat up your griddle.  Good job!

Now you can put the fully assembled sandwich back on the griddle, butter side down, and relax for a bit while watching the following video for further instruction.

Remember that part when I said to take a sip of "Chef G. Ale?"  If you are under the legal drinking age of 16, please ignore that instruction.  WHAT?  21?  When did that happen?

Yes, kids, it's as easy as that.

Well, not so fast there adolescents and pre-schoolers.  You've probably heard it a billion times from your dictatorial parents, but you really DO need to eat your vegetables with every meal.

Therefore, I'm including a vegetable side dish that will be munchy and easy to make.  Check it out, little dudes and dudettes.

Tell your mom or dad to pick up some broccoli and salad dressing while on their way home from work.  Insist they purchase only the very best--"Chef G.'s BROCCOLI EXTRAORDINAIRE."

And his Italian Dressing, which was especially
 formulated to be slathered over broccoli.

  

Wowie Zowie!  Does that salad look super-rad or what?

 

I think the only thing left to do is to taste our delicious creation.  In fact, that's the title I came up with for the video in which I tasted the delicious creation.  (In the video, you'll be able to see Diggity--the cutest dog on the planet.)

YOUR HOST MAKES A SIMPLE ITALIAN DISH AND SUDDENLY HE WANTS TO BE CALLED CHEF BOY-AR-G.

Hi folks, it's me . . . the Chef Formerly Known as G.   However, I have recently discovered the joys of Italian cooking and I got to thinking I might need a new name.  It would have to be a name that sounds Italian, even though I don't have one iota of Italian ancestry.  (Mrs. Chef G. does though, so maybe that gives me some Italian cred.)

It would have to be a name that proves I've spent spent a few hours intensely studying that country's cuisine.  To be sure, I've looked at a few on-line recipes and I've watched some episodes of cooking shows featuring the food of Italy.  Those television shows were hosted by my fellow celebrity chefs Lidia Bastianich and Mario Batali.  I learned a lot from them.   I learned to take my time and pay attention to detail as I cook.  I learned that Italian cooking is not just pizza or pasta smothered in spaghetti sauce.  I learned to appreciate the value of locally sourced ingredients.  I learned that Mario confessed to being a sexual harasser after he suddenly resigned from his show. 

So I came up with a few good Italian names for myself:

• Chef Michelan-G-lo
• Chef Leonardo da Vin-G
• Chef Quentin Taran-G-no
• Chef Frederico Felli-G
• Chef Martin Scor-G-G

When all was said and done, I settled on Chef Boy-ar-G in honor of the most famous canned food chef of all time.  Think about it.  His Beefaroni, Spaghetti & Meatballs, Beef Ravioli in Meat Sauce, and  Pizza Maker Kits are legendary in the processed food business.

Lets get to my recipe, shall we?  What I'll be making today is a very basic, very traditional, Italian meal that is made in Italy every day by real life Italians.  

And the only ingredients are Roma tomatoes and yellow onions grown in Minnesota, garlic grown in California, Italian virgin olive oil that seems to have a mix of Spanish and Portugese olive oil mixed in,  Italian flat-leaf parsley grown who-knows-where, Minnesota chicken breast, and the best imported Italian pasta I could find at the Hy-Vee store.

I made the pasta al dente according to package directions, but with a little olive oil and extra salt.

Someday I really want to make my own pasta, but for now these spaghetti noodles, a full 24" long, made from course-ground semolina, are going to be the next best thing.

The next thing to do is to heat up some olive oil in a fry pan, add one chopped up chicken breast, and saute until browned.  Remove the chicken and wipe the oil from the pan.

Add fresh olive oil to the same pan, add the chopped onions, and saute them for a few minutes.  Add the garlic and saute that stuff for another minute.

Looking good already.  Smelling even better.

Add the tomatoes, parsley, and previously cooked chicken.  Season with salt, pepper, and oregano. Stir in the pasta.  Then it will look like this:

It looks DE-licious.

Serve it in a bowl and it looks even DE-liciouser.

Chef Boy-ar-G signing off, and thank you for watching.

DOOFY CHEF CHOWS DOWN AT THREE RESTAURANTS IN THE BALTIMORE-WASHINGTON, D.C. METRO AREA

Hi folks, Chef G. here once again.  Thank you for that enthusiastic applause but, gosh, I don't deserve it.  I'm just a regular guy like you.  The only difference is that I just happen to be world famous for my highly dubious food knowledge and questionable cooking skills.  That's all. 

Nevertheless, you have every right to be excited about today's food topic.  I am going to take you on a culinary trip from the comfort and safety of the Mid-west to the dangerously hip East Coast.  Specifically, I'm talking about the Chesapeake Bay area.

My brother and I had the good fortune to accompany my septuagenarian dad to a business convention in Washington D.C. seven years ago.  We had a blast.  We visited all the cool government buildings, museums, monuments and other tourist attractions.  We learned and rode the subway system.  And we checked out a couple of interesting restaurants.

I was not yet a famous food blogger at that time but, thanks to a few pictures and my Blogspot journal of the trip, I will be able to tell you a little bit about those restaurants.  

As if that isn't exciting enough, I made another trip to that area two years ago.  By then, my dad was an octogenarian and I drove him to Baltimore so that he could attend a memorial service.  We had a great father/son trip.  We told each other stories and did some serious bonding.  My dad's ultimate goal, though, was to pay last respects to his best friend since childhood.  My main goal was to taste a hugely popular Chesapeake Bay specialty for the first time in my life.

WASHINGTON, DC -- 2014 

Yeah, there was the White House and our nation's Capitol building and the Supreme Court and the Smithsonian and the Washington Monument and the Lincoln Memorial and the National Spy Museum and the Arlington National Cemetery and the Kennedy Center for the Arts.  They were all well and good, but my brother and I escaped all that for the chance to visit BEN'S CHILI BOWL.

While my dad was in one of his meetings, we aimed ourselves to that iconic Washington D.C. eatery.  It took three subway changes, but we eventually found our way to this little diner located in an African American district that had seen some pretty challenging times.

Such famous people as Duke Ellington, Miles Davis, Ella Fitzgerald, Nat King Cole, Redd Foxx, Martin Luther King and Barak Obama have eaten here.  Damn, that's a pretty talented list of clientele.  How could we possibly resist going to such a well-respected restaurant?

On the day we visited, it was chaos in there.  I suspect it is chaos every day.  The place was incredibly busy and overcrowded.  The line of customers extended well beyond the front door.  Customer orders were written up on little pieces of paper at the counter.  About ten workers were flying around behind the counter putting together orders and, as far as I could see, there was only one cash register.

And here's the thing:  it is NOT a fancy restaurant.  No, it's more like a fast food joint that serves nothing but chili, hot dogs, chili dogs and French fries.  That's it.  That's the entire menu.  And there were a hundred people in front of us waiting for it.

This is a stock photo of the place.  When I was there, it was so busy that I forgot to take a picture.  

This internet photo of the chili looks exactly as I remember it, and it was awesome.

There wasn't a single seat available inside, so my brother and I took our chili outside.  We parked our asses on the curb in front of the restaurant and shoveled the tasty stuff into our mouths.  I had the chili con carne, my brother, being a vegetarian, had the vegetarian version.  I found my chili to be a welcome departure from the tomato-ey stuff one finds almost everywhere else.  Not that I dislike tomato-based chili, but Ben's Chili was thick and rich and, somehow, more exotic.  Plus, I think our curbside seating arrangement enhanced the deliciousness.

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Ben's Chili was a great dining experience, but it wasn't the only one I had that day.  I got hungry again six hours later.  Alone, I ventured a block or two from our hotel on the north side of the city to a Cajun restaurant that looked pretty interesting.  Days earlier I had seen people eating in the patio area in front of a place called "Hot and Juicy Crawfish."  No kidding, that was the name.

Hot and Juicy Crawfish served shrimp, crab, crawfish, lobster, clams, etc. by the pound.  They cooked it in hot sauce (YOU choose just how hot you want it) and they serve it in a big plastic bag.

At first I ordered crawfish, but when the server said crawfish were out of season and they only had frozen crawfish, I changed my mind.  I ordered FRESH shrimp instead.

Several minutes later she returned with a big plastic bag of shrimp along with a bib, a piece of corn-on-the cob, a Cajun beer, a roll of paper towels, and a bucket.  The shrimp were whole shrimps--heads, shells and all.  They were stupendous!  By the time I was done eating, the bucket was loaded with shrimp shells, wet-wipes, a bare corn cob, and a whole lotta paper towels.

Before this day I had never envisioned eating jumbo shrimp out of a plastic bag.

 

The server kindly took this picture of me with my bib and my bag of shrimp.

BALTIMORE -- 2019

I had already been a celebrity chef for more than a year before my trip to Baltimore.  Surprisingly, I didn't write about this eating experience on my previous blog before I got kicked off of it.  That's OK, now is the time.

For a number of years I had been hearing about how great crab cakes are.  They are loved by foodies all over the United States, and it seems as though no crab cakes are as universally praised as Maryland crab cakes.  Apparently it's all about the quantity and quality of the Atlantic blue crabs that are harvested from Chesapeake Bay.

Personally, I could never understand the frenzy over a lump made of crab meat, bread, egg, mayo, Worcestershire sauce, mustard and seasonings.  I mean, all of those ingredients are fine individually, but I just couldn't get excited about all of them combined.  On the other hand, I like meatballs, so maybe I should think of a crab cake as a meatball from the sea.

I could not wait to try one.  But I didn't want to try just any old crab cake.  I wanted to find the very best crab cake in all of Baltimore, though I didn't really have a plan for doing so.  

That's where a woman I met at the memorial service comes into the story.  She had taken piano lessons from my dad's best friend at the Maryland School for the Blind several decades ago and had kept in touch with him all these years.  (My dad's best friend was also an accomplished concert pianist.)  I sat next to her at the church and we talked for a while before the service started.  When she learned my dad and I had driven all the way from the mid-west, she turned to me and said, "have you tried any of our crab cakes yet?"

"No," I replied, "but I WANT to.  Do you have any recommendations?"

She named two places.  One of them was in the inner city.  The other one, she apologized, "is way out by the airport in a nondescript building."

"Well, that works out fine for us," I replied, "because we just happen to be staying in a hotel near the airport."

I'd call that serendipity.  First, because I needed such crab cake advice.  Second, because we happened to meet a local who knew something about crab cakes.  Third, because the restaurant was so conveniently located.  And fourth, I presumed that since the woman was blind, her other senses were enhanced.  (I'm sure I've read about that phenomenon in the past.)  Therefore, I had extra confidence in her endorsement of G&M Restaurant. 

Indeed, I Googled "G&M Restaurant" and learned that it not only was about a mile from our hotel, but it was rated (by some polls) as Maryland's #1 place to go for crab cakes.  Heck, you can even order their crab cakes on-line and have them shipped to anyplace in the country.  I was convinced.  "Oh yes!  Gimme some," I thought as I drooled at my computer.

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"Gimme some," I repeated once we were seated at the G&M Restaurant and the server started telling us about their specialty dish--crab cakes.  My dad ordered the crab cake meal too, though he wasn't as enthusiastic about it as I was.

I enjoyed a locally brewed ale while waiting for the main course.  That's completely normal for me.  My dad ordered a cocktail, the name of which I can't remember, but that seemed very unusual for him.  I think I've only seen him have a glass of wine with dinner.  That's not the point of this paragraph though.  The point is that we couldn't wait for the crab cakes to arrive.

And it took quite a long time for them to arrive.  I calmed my impatience with the belief that the chefs were attending to every painstaking detail in order to send the very best possible crab cakes to our table.  I KNEW we were in for a real treat!

Oh man, look that that!  Beer, coleslaw, dinner roll, steamed broccoli, and a crab cake
the size and weight of a baseball.  GIMME SOME!

There's my dad preparing to dig into his meal.

I really WANTED to like the crab cakes, but I'm sorry to have to report that I did NOT like the crab cakes.

I did not like them with a beer,

I did not like them there or here,

I did not like them with rubbery slaw,

It's too hard on my tongue and jaw.

I do not mean to sound like a troll,

But I did not like them with a roll,

Even broccoli could not save them,

I don't think I'll ever crave them.

I did not like them near the airport,

I fear anyplace I ate them they'd fall short.

Perhaps my expectations were too high,

That is something I cannot deny.

If ever I am offered them again,

I'll likely toss them in a garbage bin,

I just don't like them Sam I Am,

For crab cakes, I don't give a damn.

Perhaps I was too hard on crab cakes in my Dr. Seuss-like poem.  I have little doubt G&M's crab cakes really are among the very best.  Crab cakes just aren't for me.  That's all I'm sayin'.  (I guess it's similar to when I build up Upper Peninsula pasties as some kind of unbelievably tasty regional food, only to have somebody tell me, "Meh, they're OK I guess, but nothing all THAT great.")  

Even so, I'm still glad I at least tried some authentic Maryland crab cakes.