A MISSOURI THANKSGIVING: Kansas City-Style Ribs On A Minneapolis-Style Day

Introductory Remarks

Hi folks, it's Chef G.--your favorite cooking superstar--with a special holiday edition of the Chef G. Cooking Channel.  I'll be presenting a Thanksgiving feast you'll never forget. 

I can tell you I haven't forgotten MY first Missouri Thanksgiving.  It occurred in November of 2019 and in this episode I'm going to take you back to that very day.  How am I going to do that?  Well, you might remember me bragging in an earlier post that I used to write on a different cooking-related website until I was unceremoniously asked to leave.  Fortunately, I saved most of the article I wrote about my first Missouri Thanksgiving.  Therefore, through the magic of internet-based-time-teleportation, I am able to offer this encore presentation for your enjoyment. 

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Geography 101

As I said, today's episode features a specialty from the fine State of Missouri.  It's the fifth state I've spotlighted in my now-famous collection of Mid-western dishes, and it could end up being the tastiest one of all.  On the other hand, it could also end up being the most disgusting dish ever prepared by a world-class chef.  Yes, even a world-class chef like me can totally screw up a good recipe with imprecise cooking techniques.  Believe me, I've done it before and I can definitely do it again.  Wish me luck.

But before I start cooking, there are a couple of questions I must address:

1) Is Missouri even IN the mid-west?

    I'm aware that the legions of Chef G. fans are pretty much evenly divided into three camps regarding Missouri's place in these United States.: The Southern State-ists, The Mid-Western State-ists, and the Hybrid State-ists.  I think I understand the confusion and I'll try to sort thing out.  Lucky for you, I'm not only America's most beloved satirical chef, I'm also a geyser of geographical knowledge.

I've done some traveling in Missouri and have heard some pretty indecipherable southern accents there.  Plus, it's the next state above deep-south Arkansas.  Those points do support the "Southern State" theory.

The "Hybrid State" theorists concede that the Ozark region of Missouri is very southern, but they point to the fact that it is located right below Iowa, which is the quintessential mid-western state. And the citizens in the northern part of the state speak just like Iowans, which is to say, they speak like mid-westerners.  Ergo, Missouri has the features of both north and south.

Then there are the "Mid-Western" believers like me.  We are the people who were given that information by the nuns who taught our fourth-grade geography classes.  Since I am the host of this program, and since I believe almost everything I was taught five decades ago, and since I need this article to fit in with my mid-west food theme, I going to with the idea that Missouri is a full-fledged mid-western state.

Further proof:  Missouri sits right there in the center of the country,
bordered by the mid-western states of Iowa and Illinois.

2) Okay, let's assume Missouri IS a mid-western state.  What do mid-westerners know about ribs?  About barbeque?  Those are SOUTHERN things.

   I will grant you that northern states aren't commonly associated with great barbeque.  Sure there are backyard grillers in Minnesota, Michigan, Wisconsin, et al., who think of themselves as championship caliber BBQ chefs because they can cook a tasty hamburger or hotdog.  Sorry dudes, that kind of grilling is not the same as southern barbeque.  Nobody has ever salivated over an Illinois-style brisket.  Nobody has ever driven half-way across the country for some Ohio-style pulled pork.  Nobody cares about a Michigan-smoked ham.  Indiana grilled shrimp?  Forget it! 

Texas brisket, Carolina pulled pork, Virginia country-smoked ham, Australian shrimp on the barbee--that's what the people want.  And when it comes to ribs, the State of Missouri maintains a strong reputation for the best barbequed ribs in the world.  Sure, Austin, Texas and Memphis, Tennessee are famous for their rib joints.  Maybe some other cities too.  But what other state has TWO cities after which two distinct styles of BBQ ribs are named?  I submit that the answer is "there ISN'T another one."

                                       

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St. Louis-Style?  Kansas City-Style?  What The Heck's The Difference?

In some ways, the two styles are interchangeable.  They both involve pork ribs.  They both involve smoke and fire and a grill.  Neither of them involve sticking them in a crock pot or wrapping them in foil to bake them in an oven.  Neither of them are in any way related to the "barbequed ribs" you will find at an all-you-can-eat buffet among an array of stainless steel pans full of mashed potatoes, gravy-like substances, macaroni and cheese-food, taco fixin's, slices of things that resemble pizza, fried chicken pieces dripping with grease, something fishy, syrupy peaches, canned corn, wilted lettuce salad, thin chicken noodle soup, something red with kidney beans & tiny bits of hamburger that they call "chili," and sometimes a well-done chunk of steak that looks like an army boot.

Look, I like buffets as much as the next guy, but it's important to distinguish between mushy ribs that have been festering under a heat lamp for hours while soaking in a bath of runny sauce, and ribs that were prepared over hot coals by a dedicated Missourian.

If you like the former, go to a place like this.  If you like
the latter, please read on.

Anyway, back to the difference between the two styles of Missouri ribs.  After many years of exhaustive analysis, I have determined that St. Louisans prefer spare ribs and Kansas Citians go for baby back ribs.  I guess the next question is, "what's the difference between spare and baby back?"  I know spare ribs are bigger.  I know nothing more than that and I don't have enough curiosity to learn more than that.  I don't NEED to learn more than that.  After all,  I'm a brilliant chef, not a butcher.  But I HAVE grilled both and I much prefer the baby backs.  They're leaner, tenderer, eye-pleasing-er, and delicious-er.  

Along with the spare rib/baby back rib controversy, the other main difference between the two Missouri cities is that St. Louisianados take less pride in their sauce than Kansas Citiacs.  I'm more like Kansas Citiophiles in that I really dig a rich, thick, sweet, gooey BBQ sauce.

And then there's this:  A few decades ago, a famous New York journalist and food writer named Calvin Trillin shocked the sophisticated food world when he declared a little Kansas City hole-in-the-wall rib joint named Arthur Bryant's to be "the single best restaurant in the world."  In the recipe that follows, I'm going to show you WHY Kansas City-style ribs are so delicious.

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It's Time To Barbeque

Anybody can grill ribs.  Many people do it.  And everyone who does venture into the rib world believes, with all sincerity, that their ribs are the best.  That just shows none of them have tasted MY Kansas City-style ribs, which are truly the world's best.  The proof is in the hundreds of awards I would have won had I entered them in any international rib cooking competitions. 

All seriousness aside, I admit there are some other BBQ artists with pretty good rib making skills.  That's why I felt some pressure to distinguish MY ribs from all the other racks of ribs out there.  Today I came up with an idea for doing just that.

EUREKA!!!  It's the Minnesota weather!  Some kind of mysterious chemical reaction takes place within the meat when a hot grill is surrounded by cold snow.  Scientists have yet to explain the phenomenon but, trust me, the hot-cold dichotomy seems to impart extra deliciousness.  AMEN TO THAT, BROTHERS AND SISTERS!

In addition, the winter weather makes it easier to maintain a low temperature inside the grill, which is important for slow-cooking the ribs.  Just try to regulate the heat on a hot summer day without constantly messing with the top and bottom air flow mechanisms or using such tricks as a pan of cold water underneath the ribs.  A gas grill provides more accurate temperature control, of course, but no self-respecting Kansas City rib chef would approve of that.  "Go charcoal or go home," he'd say.

Wood is fine too, I guess, especially if you like your ribs with a smokier flavor.  I've smoked ribs in the past and they were good, for sure, but sometimes the smoke overwhelms the meat.  My preferred method is simply a moderately slow-grilling process.  The charcoal itself provides enough smoke for me.

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But let's back up for a minute, because I forgot to discuss the preparation of the meat before tossing it onto the grill.  It's quite simple, really.  Only two steps are involved.

Remove the membrane (silverskin) from the bone side of the ribs.
Seriously, it makes a difference.

 

"Aye, there's the rub."  -Shakespeare
"Aye, there IS no rub."  -Chef G.

I simply salt and pepper both sides of the ribs.  They don't need a spice rub.  All they need is a good sauce.  The sauce is the rub.

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It's been a couple of hours, so let's go back out to the grill.  The ribs should be ready for some sweet, sticky, gooey, sauce.

Oh yes, I've tried many BBQ sauces in my illustrious grilling career, but I think I've finally found the very best.  It meets all of my specifications:  Rich, thick, sweet, gooey and sticky.  Purists might chastise me for not making my own rich, thick, sweet, gooey and sticky sauce, but, I assure you, I've tried.  I just cannot match the perfection that is "Rufus Teague Made Some Sauce."  There is nothing like it, and it's made in Kansas City, so you KNOW it's authentic.  I hope you can find it where you live.

There are only three easy steps left:
1) Slice the meat between each rib.
2) Place a few ribs on a plate for each guest.
3) Bow your heads in thanksgiving to god and Chef G.
4) Chow down.  (Like in the video below.)

MINNESOTA JAMBALAYA: A Southern Dish With A Northern Spin

Chef G. To The Rescue

Hi folks, thank you for coming back to the Chef G. Cooking Channel and subjecting yourself to another round of obnoxious cooking and commentary.  I'm your host, Chef G., and today I'm here to save your next social gathering with possibly the most awesome of all my awesome recipes. 

I'm willing to bet that many of you have been fretting for weeks over what kind of food you're going to serve at your upcoming Academy Awards party.  (Or, for that matter, your NCAA basketball finals party, or your next Super Bowl party, block party, wedding reception, bar mitzvah, political rally, charity event, open house, business meeting, or soiree.  It doesn't matter, because this dish can be incorporated into almost ANY festive occasion.)  You've compiled your guest list, you've sent out the invitations, and you've put together a provisional seating chart.  You've got the big screen TVs strategically placed for optimal viewing from almost every room of your house.  You've vacuumed the carpets, mopped the kitchen, dusted the woodwork, scrubbed the toilets, and exterminated the spiders and cockroaches.  Still, there is that one nagging question eating at your brain:  "What the heck am I going to cook for my diverse group of friends that will be delicious, won't be too complicated to make, and won't result in shame and embarrassment for me?  Chicken wings?  Pizza?  Finger sandwiches?  Cocktail wienies?  Pigs in a blanket?"

BORING!

With the Academy Awards ceremony rapidly approaching, it's time for me to put your mind at ease.  That's right, I'm going to solve your food problem with this attempt to put a Minnesota spin on a Cajun classic--a freaky blend of southern and northern cuisine.  

The key word there is "attempt."  I haven't actually made a Minnesota version of jambalaya before, so I guess it's pretty cocky of me to say I'm going to rescue all of your future parties with an untested recipe.  On the other hand, I have made traditional jambalaya before and it is probably the tastiest jambalaya in the world.  Plus, I AM a self-proclaimed celebrity chef.  Everything I cook turns to gold.

This experimental recipe will incorporate a few distinctly Minnesotan ingredients, but don't worry too much--it won't stray too far from the perfection of an authentic Cajun jambalaya.  I hope.

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A Two Sentence History of Cajuns:

The Cajuns (Acadians) are an ethnic group with French ancestry who were forced out of the Canadian Maritime Provinces during some kind of dispute with the British a long time ago.  They settled in southern Louisiana and have maintained their own unique dialect, culture and cuisine.

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Now, you may have noticed that I have a French name.  I also have some French-Canadian roots but, to my knowledge, I am not a Cajun.  While the Cajuns were migrating to Louisiana to cook their gumbo and jambalaya, my ancestors migrated to Michigan's Upper Peninsula where they ate pasties.  Generations later, I ended up in Minnesota and somehow started to gain an appreciation for Cajun food.   I know it's all very confusing, so I created this map to better illustrate what the heck I'm talking about.

The area circled in red is the Cajun homeland.  The brown line indicates the Cajun migration
route.  The area in the blue circle is the new Cajun stronghold.  The green dotted-line is the
migration route of this jambalaya recipe from Louisiana to Minnesota, which is shown in
the purple circle.  Got it?

Now that the preliminaries are out of the way, it's time to gather the ingredients from my Minnesota refrigerator so we can commence with the cooking.

If you live in a southern climate and don't have a Minnesota
refrigerator, a regular refrigerator can be substituted.

 

Let's see . . . I have some of the items I'll be needing, but it looks
 like I'll have to make a trip to the grocery store for the rest.

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A Whole Lotta Photos Showing The Ingredients

A big trend in the foodie world these days is the use of locally-sourced ingredients.  In order to be taken seriously as a legitimate celebrity chef, I figured I had better adopt that philosophy too--at least for the purposes of this meal.  As much as possible, (and to the extent that it didn't inconvenience me) the ingredients I have chosen for my Minnesota Jambalaya are local, organic, humanely-raised, environmentally responsible, gluten-free, non-GMO, and very, very expensive.  I've covered all the bases; anything less would expose me as a culinary rube, a gustatorial hack, and I sure don't need that kind of reputation when I'm trying to establish myself as a major on-line superstar.

Now let's have a look at the ingredients individually.

2 Cups Chopped Onion
1 1/2 Cups Chopped Celery
One Chopped Green Bell Pepper
2 Large Cloves of Minced Garlic
(Cajuns refer to the onion-green pepper-celery trifecta as "The Holy Trinity."
In Minnesota we're not quite so grandiose.  I'm going to call it "The Righteous
Trio."  Not quite holy, but still pretty special.)

1 1/2 Pounds of Chicken Thighs Cut Into 1" Pieces

12 oz. Sausage cut into small pieces

[Special Note:  In addition to the sausage and chicken, a Louisiana jambalaya generally contains shrimp.  Since shellfish are not native to Minnesota, and we have an abundance of chickens here, I've eliminated the shrimp and added extra chicken for this recipe.  Also, I took the liberty of substituting a locally made Polish sausage for Cajun Andouille sausage.  After all, Minnesota has way more Poles than Cajuns.]

3 Cups Uncooked White Rice
1/3 Cup Pre-cooked Wild Rice
(The wild rice is another Minnesota twist.  I am incorporating a modicum
of that delicious grain--cultivated in the wetlands of northern Minnesota--
for additional regional authenticity.)

A couple strands of Saffron, 1/2 Tsp. Cayenne Pepper, Four or
five whole dried Chili Peppers, and Salt & Black Pepper to taste.

3/4 Cup Chopped Tomatoes
2 Sliced Green Onions

The Sauces.  (Yes, the 48 oz. can of chicken broth is a bit of a cheat.
As a master chef, I should have made my own broth by boiling a 
chicken carcass for a few hours.  But I just didn't have the time--
and neither will you on the day of your Academy Awards party.)

One Strip of Bacon Cut Up Into Pieces to Grease the pan.

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Let's Cook! 

The most time consuming and labor intensive part of this recipe is the slicing and dicing and chopping.  Once that's done, the cooking is the easy part.  The cooking is also the best smelling part.  Enjoy all the wonderful aromas as you heat up the burners, add the ingredients, stir the pots & pans, and spice things up.

The first step is to heat up the bacon until the frying pan gets nice and greasy.  Add the chicken and cook until it's no longer pink.  Then add the sausage and saute for another six minutes.

It will probably look like this.

While the meat products are cooking, heat 1/4 cup of olive oil in a heavy cast iron pot.  It goes without saying that you should not use plain olive oil, or even virgin olive oil, but only EXTRA virgin olive oil.  Vegetable oil would work just fine, but it's not nearly as pretentious as extra virgin olive oil, and us celebrity chefs are nothing if not pretentious.

When the extra virgin olive oil is nice and hot, add the righteous trio to the pot and stir frequently.  Again, take the time to appreciate the beautiful aroma wafting into your kitchen.

After watching that video, I'm sure you'll agree that my on-camera presence definitely needs a little work.  Perhaps I was a little nervous.  Perhaps I was overwhelmed by the aroma of sweet onions, celery, and bell peppers.  Perhaps a different chef's hat will give me more self-confidence.  

After attending to the righteous trio for a couple of minutes, add the garlic, the cayenne pepper, and the whole chilis.  Saute for another five minutes.  MORE irresistible scents will invade your nostrils.

Don't sniff the scents too long though.  You'll eventually have to move on.  Add the chicken broth, the chicken and the sausage.  Bring to a boil.  Then add the white & wild rice, the tomatoes, the salt & pepper, the strands of saffron, and a quarter-cup of soy sauce.

Don't sniff the scents too long though.  You'll eventually have to add
the chicken broth, the chicken & sausage pieces, the white & wild 
rice, the salt & pepper, the strands of saffron, the tomatoes, and a
quarter cup of soy sauce. 

Bring all that stuff to a rapid boil and then reduce the heat.  Cover the pot and allow it to simmer for 20-25 minutes until most of the liquid has been absorbed by the rice.  The waiting can be difficult, but try to relax.  Let the flavors of every ingredient meld into one delicious Minnesota jambalaya.

When the 20-30 minutes have elapsed, THIS is the beautiful 
vision that awaits you.  DIG IN!

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Let's Eat! 

In gourmet food circles it is considered de rigueur to serve wine with a fine meal such as this.  Call me gauche, but I don't serve wine . . . not with this or any other meal.  I serve beer.  Good beer.  I don't care what YOU want to do, but if you want wine at MY Academy Awards party you will have to bring your own.

Whatever you choose to serve, adult beverages will be especially necessary this year because nobody I know gives a rat's ass about what movie gets the Oscar for best picture.  Thanks to the Corona Virus, very few people have seen any of the nominated films.

No matter whether you'll be rooting for this or that movie or no movie at all, I highly recommend serving a Minnesota beer with Minnesota jambalaya.  That's just how it's done.

  

Surly is a fine Minnesota Brewing company and Furious IPA is its flagship
 beer.  Surly and Furious will also be good descriptions of my disposition
if the Minnesota jambalaya doesn't turn out well.

Fortunately, it DID turn out well.  In fact, it was astoundingly delicious.  I was like one of those celebrity chefs on TV who, at the end of every episode, taste the dish they just cooked and say "Mmmmmmmm, that is SO good."  I did the same thing.

Mmmmmmmm, that is SO good!
(By the way, if the cayenne pepper and the whole chilis don't provide
enough heat for you, feel free to sprinkle as much hot sauce onto the
jambalaya as you desire.  Such masochism defies Minnesota taste
buds, but we're pretty non-judgmental.)

Let's Summarize!

The knowledge that this article probably saved your Academy Awards party has made my hours of work creating this recipe and slaving over a hot stove totally worth the effort.  The only problem is that I now have my own dilemma.  Mrs. Chef G. and I have eaten all of the Minnesota jambalaya over the last three days.  Now I don't know what I'm going to serve my own Oscars guests.  I don't think I want to put myself through all that again in just a couple of weeks.  I have a feeling my movie-loving friends will have to settle for pretzels and potato chips. 

A WISCONSIN DELICACY FOR EPICUREANS: Giving The Lowly Bratwurst A Little Dignity

Introductory Comments

Hi folks, it's me--Chef G.--the world's most un-celebrated of all celebrity chefs.  Today I've got a very special treat in store for you.  That's right, it's bratwurst.

I admit that a bratwurst recipe isn't exactly the most sophisticated dish to be presenting on the esteemed Chef G. Cooking Channel.  Obviously, bratwursts are about as far from gourmet fare as one can get.  They are known as the kind of food that any backyard griller can toss onto a grate over hot coals and forget about for 15 minutes while entertaining friends.  The fact that bratwursts have become a tail-gating favorite is a testament to how easy they are to prepare.  I mean, if a van-load of Green Bay Packer fans can drive into the Lambeau Field parking lot at 7:00 a.m., drink huge quantities of beer until 11:30, fire up a little grill at that time, and have their bellies chock full of bratwursts by game time at noon--well, you KNOW it can't be too complicated, right?

Not so fast, there!  I used to believe that's all there was to grilling bratwursts and I made them like that for many years.  That all changed about 15 years ago.  While camping in Wisconsin's Chequamegon National Forest with a couple buddies, I learned a vastly superior way to prepare bratwursts from an honest-to-goodness bratwurst genius.  He was staying at the site next to ours with a group of his own buddies, and he invited us to join them in a bratwurst feed.

We were hesitant at first because he was a Packer fan and had been drinking huge quantities of beer.  Yet we were intrigued by his knowledge of what it takes to prepare the perfect Wisconsin-style gourmet bratwurst and by the high degree of confidence he had in his recipe.  We accepted the invitation and did not regret it.

We paid close attention to every step of his cooking process and watched in amazement at how he seemed to have two open beers at all times--one in each hand.  Ever since that day, I have almost exclusively used the brilliant recipe I learned from that mysterious backwoods Wisconsin legend.

Wisconsin = A Whole New Level Of Bratwurst Excellence

The name "bratwurst" might sound like it has German origins--and maybe it does--but Wisconsinites seem to think it was invented in their own state.  I'm normally a skeptic when it comes to such claims, but I'm going to let this one go because I've travelled in northern Wisconsin extensively.  The region is loaded with roadside butcher shops, grocery stores, and even combination gas station/bait shops that manufacture their own bratwursts.  Some of them incorporate such things as cranberries, blueberries, apples, habanero peppers, wild rice, and various cheeses into their recipes.  Venison and turkey bratwurst is sometimes offered as a leaner alternative, but to hell with all that.  I'm the great Chef G. and I recommend sticking to good old reliable bratwursts made simply with fatty pork and fresh spices.

If Wisconsinites didn't actually invent bratwursts, they almost certainly were the ones who shortened the name to "brats" (pronounced "broughtz") so let's show some respect where respect is due.  Besides, German bratwursts are almost impossible to find in the U.S. 

Let's Go Shopping

So you want to make a high-quality bratwurst while staying true to the cooking ethic of regional authenticity?  Good for you.  In that case it is of the utmost importance that you start with a bratwurst that is actually made in the State of Wisconsin.  No self-respecting bratwurst enthusiast would purchase brats made in California or Texas or Connecticut.  That would be like buying a fresh lobster raised on a farm in Ohio.  Or like buying Kobe Beef raised in Afghanistan.  Or like buying pineapple from a Manitoba citrus farm.  It just ain't right.

There are some national brands of brats that are made in Wisconsin--like Johnsonville and Klements--and they are actually quite good.  But for a true foodie experience I think it's necessary to seek out a small, rural Wisconsin meat market.  Some of them might even ship an order to wherever you live.

Better yet, visit Wisconsin and develop a relationship with the local sausage maker.  You will learn to appreciate a product made by a local artisan and the rusty gears of his ancient sausage grinder.  After a while--if you've ordered often enough and you've tipped well enough--he might even pull you to the side of the meat counter and hand you a package of his "special batch" with extra mustard seed and 10% more fat.

I live in Minnesota, but I'm only six miles away from the Wisconsin border.  The first town after crossing the St. Croix River is Prescott, which has a place called Ptacek's.  Lucky for me, Ptacek's has a reputation for processing some pretty fine bratwurst.  So I rode my bicycle there this morning to do some shopping for today's meal.

Wisconsin welcomes you . . . to buy bratwursts.

There are four sections of bratwurst in the Ptacek's meat case.  One is dedicated
to Johnsonville products, the other three are in-house specialties.  I didn't actually
count them, but I'd estimate they have at least 20 different types of bratwurst.

Adhering to my own preference, I selected the regular
brats with no fancy additives.  I also picked up some
real Wisconsin beer, some of which will be used in
the cooking process.

[NOTE:  Most Wisconsin bratwurst makers offer a version of their product that is "flavored with beer."  As you will see in the recipe that follows, there is absolutely no reason to buy that stuff.]

I raced back home while trying to hold back the drool.  There were visions of sizzling Wisconsin sausages dancing in my head.

It's Time To Cook

The List of Ingredients:

• Five Wisconsin Bratwurst Sausages
• One small Wisconsin Onion
• 12 oz. Wisconsin Beer
• Five Wisconsin hotdog buns
• Yellow Mustard (It doesn't necessarily have to be Wisconsin yellow mustard, but certainly not Dijon or any other fancy French stuff.)

Cooking Instructions:

Open the package of bratwursts and place five of them, individually, in a 3-quart pot.  Handle the brats carefully so as not to puncture the delicate casings.

Next, cut two thin slices off of the Wisconsin onion, finely dice 
them, and set aside for later use.  Quarter the rest of the onion
and toss the chunks into the pot with the bratwursts.

Bratwursts are a dish best cooked outdoors, so if you aren't camping, haul your pot of brats and onion out to the back yard.  Light the charcoals on your grill  (A gas grill simply will not do!) and pay attention to the next step.

 

[SPECIAL NOTE:  Wisconsin considers itself to be the beer capitol of America.  Indeed, such iconic brands of the olden days--Miller, Schlitz, Old Style, Old Milwaukee, Pabst Blue Ribbon, Leinenkugel, Blatz--all came from Wisconsin.  Unfortunately, almost all of them no longer exist or were bought out by non-Wisconsin companies.  

The good news is that there are many new craft breweries in Wisconsin.  When a Michelin-starred French chef utilizes wine in his boeuf bourguignon he doesn't pour a half-bottle of Boone's Farm into the pot.  No, he relies on quality.  Likewise, I'm straying a little bit from the recipe used by my ingenious Wisconsin bratwurst mentor.  He used Miller Lite.  I'm upstaging him by using Spotted Cow Ale from the New Glarus Brewing Co.  It's greatest claim to fame is that it is sold ONLY in Wisconsin.  There are many great beers from all over the U.S. that are better than Spotted Cow, but I'm sticking to this Wisconsin craft beer for the sake of authenticity.]

When the beer-y liquid in the pot comes to a rolling boil, allow the brats to absorb the beer and onion flavor for approximately three minutes.  Then transfer them to the charcoal grill.  Allow the the pot of beer and onion to continue simmering while the brats take on additional color and flavor from not only the coals, but also from whatever residual flavors are left on the grate from last night's meal.

Three more tips:

My brat-cooking guru consistently had a beer in
each hand.  I didn't get it at the time, and I still
don't.  But why take any chances?

Keep an eye on your dog so he doesn't flip the lid off your
grill and eat all your brats.

Do NOT ignore the bratwursts like the tailgating Packer
fans.  Turn them frequently to give them a nice uniform 
charred look.  Enjoy the pleasant sizzling sound as the
brats drip their grease onto the embers.

After about fifteen minutes of sizzling (while turning frequently) return the brats to the still- bubbling pot of beer and onions as seen in the exciting video below. 

Ahh, more flavor.  While the brats simmer in the thickened beer and onion liquid, prepare the buns and condiments.  Don't waste your money on those big "brat buns" from a bakery.  Too much bread takes away from the natural flavor of the Wisconsin bratwurst.  Assuming they're fresh, a $2.49 package of eight hotdog buns is perfect.

As for the condiments, use the finely chopped onions you set aside earlier and a few squirts of mustard.  Sauerkraut and pickle relish are acceptable, but should be used sparingly.  NEVER put ketchup or barbeque sauce on a bratwurst unless you want people to believe you lack epicurean culture.

When serving your Wisconsin masterpiece, garnish the plates
with potato chips and some kind of green leafy stuff.  The
enhanced presentation will impress the hell out of your guests
who doubted whether you were capable of pulling off this
exquisite example of culinary excellence.

ST. PATRICK'S DAY IN CHEF G'S LABORATORY OF DELICIOUSNESS

The wearin' o' the green

HI folks, it's Chef G. again, and I'm here with a quick report on how I celebrated St. Patrick's Day.  But first I should make it clear that I am NOT Irish--not even a little bit.  Mrs. Chef G. is not Irish.  My dog is not Irish either.  There are no shillelaghs or shamrocks or leprechauns in my household.  Occasionally, there might be a few bottles of Guinness in my refrigerator, but that's about as Irish as I ever get.

But yesterday I was reminded of the legend of how St. Patrick saved Ireland by driving the snakes out of that fine country.  It's a great story, though not as great as the story of St. Urho driving the grasshoppers out of Finland.  Being that I'm 1/4 Finn, I probably should have been celebrating St. Urho's Day, which arrives on the day before St. Patrick's Day.  Unfortunately, I didn't have any fresh reindeer meat for a proper Finnish meal.

But I did have some corned beef thanks to a friend of Mrs. Chef G. who offered to bring us a traditional Irish meal of boiled corned beef, cabbage, carrots and potatoes.  That was a really nice thing to do and we accepted her generous gift with gratitude.

Now, in my opinion, boiled potatoes are so bland they're not even worth wasting stomach space on them.  And boiled cabbage tastes and smells so foul that it creeps me out.  So I gave my share of that stuff to Mrs. Chef G. and tried to think of a use for the corned beef, which I do like.

I'm sorry Ireland, but that's gross.

I know Mrs. Chef G. likes all those boiled vegetables, but I still had to find a way to celebrate at least one saint who drove some pest away from some country, so why not celebrate St. Patrick's Day with a homemade Reuben Sandwich?  Sounds good to me.

A Reuben is quick, easy, and delicious.  If you can make a grilled cheese sandwich, you can make a Reuben.  Just follow these simple instructions:

1. Heat up a skillet
2. Butter one side of a slice of dark rye bread
3. Put the slice of bread, butter side down, on the hot skillet
4. Place a slice of thin Swiss cheese on the bread
5. Crumble up some corned beef and sprinkle it on top of the cheese (corned reindeer can be substituted for those who prefer to celebrate St. Urho's Day.)
6. Squirt some Thousand Island Dressing over the corned beef
7. Put another thin slice of swiss cheese on top of that
8. Butter one side of another slice rye bread and place it on top, butter side up
9. Flip the sandwich over when the bottom slice of bread gets toasted
10. Cook it on the skillet until the other side gets toasted
11. Move the sandwich to a plate and chow down

Along with some corned beef, this is all you 
need to make a tasty Reuben sandwich.

Lookin' good!

Garnish your Reuben with any corned beef that wouldn't fit
inside during the sandwich-building process.

I must say, that Reuben was so fantastic that I went ahead and made another one.  Then I finished off my meal by making a delicious green beer from food coloring and a can of  Downward Spiral IPA from my local brewery. (It is a much darker green than a mix of food coloring and Coors Lite.)   I put on my best green shirt and green chef's hat and took a picture.  The result is the photo you see at the top of this page.

IT AIN'T EASY BEIN' A CULINARY GENIUS IN THE TIME OF COVID

HI folks, Chef G. here.  I don't have a recipe for you today.  It's just an essay in which I'll be complaining about how hard life is right now.  I hope you can relate even though you're not a major internet sensation like me.

You might think the life of a superstar chef is all fun and frolic, eat and enjoy, glitz and glamour, basking in never-ending praise and adoration.  Yes, in normal times, that's pretty much the way it is.  However, in these difficult times of social distancing, even I-- America's most popular Satirical Celebrity Chef of all-- can start feeling a little lonely and restless.  

Here's how bad things have gotten for us cooking professionals.  Until March of last year, I pedaled my bike to the grocery store almost every day to pick up the food I needed for the evening meal.  I like buying fresh meat and vegetables on a whim for whatever I feel like cooking on any particular day.

I thought it was a pretty good way to shop, and also to have short conversations in the aisles with with people I know.  Mrs. Chef G. didn't like my shopping method at all.  Her side of the story was that my system was neither economical nor efficient.  It did not provide enough of a food stockpile for emergency situations.  (Such as if all the grocery stores burned down at the same time, I guess.)

In the time of the Corona-Virus, it's even worse.  In order to keep social contact to a minimum, I am forced to shop her way--that is, going to the grocery store once every couple of weeks, buying $300 worth of food to fill up the refrigerator & cupboards, and driving it home in our bloody, stinking car.  Where's the fun in that?

It's terrible.  How the holy hell am I supposed to know what kind of food I want to cook two days from now much less two WEEKS from now?

Not only that, but Mrs. Chef G. comes along on these shopping excursions and she reads the nutrition labels and the price-per-ounce information.  As a result, the visit to the grocery store that only took ten minutes before takes well over an hour now.  It used to be a fun outing for me.  Now I can see why other people consider it a boring chore.

And then there's the mask-wearing thing.  I'm all for doing my part to curtail the spread of this virus, but it still feels weird to be wearing a face mask designed for surgical operations and gloves designed for prostrate examinations.

As I've said, times are tough for a celebrity chef like me, but I guess there are worse things than having to shop for hours with one's wife, missing out on daily chats with friends and acquaintances, unloading bags and bags of groceries from a car, stuffing your precious food into a freezer, and having nightmares of invasive medical procedures.  You know--things like having a deadly virus invade your lungs.

Yes, things are tough for us famous chefs.  Yet, we will press onward because we know our fans depend on us to publish delicious recipes and food-related information.  I guess it wouldn't be too far off the mark to say we are "essential workers."  Without us, families would be at a loss as to how to provide high quality meals for their children.

GRILLED SALMON INFUSED WITH MIDWESTERN SENSIBILITY

Salmon is one of my favorite meats, not only because of its fine flavor, but also because of its cool pinkish-orange hue.  As a bonus, salmon has lots of that heart-healthy omega-3 fatty acid.

Not that I care whether omega-3 fat is healthy or not--I just just like fat, period.  Fat is what makes food taste good.  That's why a well-marbled steak is better than a lean chicken breast.  That's why people put dressing on a salad.  That's why people put mayonnaise on a sandwich.  That's why people put gravy on mashed potatoes.  That's why people butter their toast.  That's why bacon exists.  Fat makes the food world go round.  If I teach you nothing else on the Chef G Cooking Channel, please remember this:  FAT = Flavor.

Another thing to remember is that salmon flesh IS meat.  It's beyond me how some vegetarians justify the consumption of fish.  Nor can I figure out how devout Catholics can eat fish on Fridays during Lent AND be in compliance with the "no meat on Fridays during Lent rule" at the same time.

I'm sorry, but fish meat is no less a meat than cow meat is a meat.  Nevertheless, I'm happy to be posting this salmon recipe during the Lenten season.  I hope it provides a nice alternative to all those Friday night fish fries that pop up in bars and restaurants all over the mid-west.  I also hope it saves a few kids from having to eat Mrs. Paul's Frozen Fish Sticks on the night of their religious observance.  (Like I did back in the day.)

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

I've seen a number of celebrity chefs preparing salmon in a variety of ways on TV.  I learned a few tips from them, but I don't think I owe any of them any kind of recognition.  I developed my own superior version of grilled salmon through trial and error.  The key to this recipe is my proprietary blend of salt, pepper, paprika, and dried sage.  Son-of-a-bee, it's good.

Unfortunately, "proprietary" means the blend is mine, it's top secret, and I'd have to charge you big bucks for it.   Well, more truthfully, I've never actually written down the exact proportions.  All I can say is, mix and match them on your own and come up with your own proprietary spice blend.  That's what makes cooking fun!

The spices. Let your preference and imagination be your guides. 
(A free hint:  Use more salt than the other ones.)  

Liberally season the salmon filet with your proprietary blend of
spices.  Gently press the mix into the fish meat with your hand
and let it rest while you get the grill ready.

The tricky parts of this recipe involves heat and cooking time as it's harder to control those things in a charcoal grill.  If done correctly, however, the results can be so much more awesome than salmon cooked in an oven.  Just don't overcook it.  I'll repeat that: DON'T OVERCOOK IT!  Like a good steak, grilled salmon should be served medium-rare.

I can't tell you how many times I've overcooked salmon in the past.  Luckily I now have my grilling method down to a science and it has been a long time since I've ruined a nice $16 salmon fillet.  I hope I don't blow my success streak today.

Actually, it's not all that difficult.  Pour coals into the grill.  Light 'em up.  Get 'em nice and hot.  Place the filet on the grate on the opposite end of the coals, put the lid on the grill, and let it heat for about 15-20 minutes.  When the fish meat develops a nice golden-brown shade, move it directly above the hot coals for another three or four minutes.

What could be easier than that?

Just make sure to check on the grill frequently to ensure you  
don't overcook your $16 salmon filet.

If only you could see the drool running down my chin.

When done, the outside of the filet should have a sizzle-y copper color; the inside should be firm, yet it still retains a little of that raw pinkish-orange hue.  If the thought of slightly rare salmon grosses you out, I suppose you can go ahead and ruin it by leaving it over the coals for a while longer.

MMMMMMmmmmmmmm.  Omega-3 fatty acid fish meat, 
baked potato smothered in butter fat, and coarsely-chopped
cabbage in a homemade mayo-based coleslaw sauce.

Almost done eating.  Sorry for the blurriness.