CORN: Iowa's Crop, America's Vegetable

A Few Words About the Chef:

Chef G. is an award-winning chef and by far the most prolific writer on the Chef G. Cooking Channel.  As such, he uses his celebrity status to provide cooking joy to several people throughout the world.  Though his cooking would be in demand in any country on earth,[1]  he prefers to stick to his culinary roots, specializing in humble mid-western cuisine. 

A true rising star in the foodie world, people hardly ever spit, gag or vomit on Chef G.'s creations any more.

Chef G. humbly hoists his "Excellence In Cooking" trophy at the 2021 Thumbs-Up Awards
 Ceremony.  To date, Chef G. is the only chef in the world who has given himself this honor. 

And, honestly, who better than Chef G. to present this article on corn?  The guy is a native of IOWA--the #1 corn growing state in the United States of America.  Sure, there are lots of Iowans out there, but how many of them can claim to have reigned as CORN KING?

The Corn King of 1976.  (The dude looks like he's high on corn silk.)

Now, without further ado, I'd like to turn the keyboard over to the star of this show.  Please give a big, hardy welcome to the one and only CHEF G.!!!

A Few Thoughts On Corn

Hi folks, Chef G. here, and I'd like to thank my producer for that excellent introduction.  In this episode I'm going to tell you everything you'll ever need to know about corn, and I'll start with the most basic question:  What the heck IS corn?  

How is it to be classified?  Is it a vegetable?  Is it a grain?  Or is it something else?  Is it even a food for human consumption?  Or is it an agent for fattening cows and pigs?  Or is it a biofuel, something to be refined and added to gasoline to make our automobiles go?  Or is it nature's gift to bourbon whiskey distillers?  Or did God himself intend those golden kernels to be transformed into the most ubiquitous food sweetener of all--high fructose corn syrup?  Is corn good?  Is it evil?

I don't know the scientific answers to all those questions.  All I know is that when I was a kid growing up in Iowa, grocery stores didn't sell corn in the grain section with the wheat, barley, oats, quinoa, etc.  No, it was located in the frozen vegetable section along with asparagus, lima beans, broccoli and other distasteful stuff.  And it was in the canned vegetable aisle right next to the disgusting spinach, peas, and green beans.

To this day, corn can still be found in the canned & frozen food aisles and, in it's various forms, almost every other grocery store aisle too.

While on a quick corn-shopping spree this morning I scooped up all kinds of
delicious corn products.[2]  
 

I must tell you, though, that the BEST corn has always been found in the FRESH vegetable section.  That's where corn really stood out in my youth.  Sweet corn-on-the-cob was in its prime from mid-July to mid-August, and during that time of the year it was displayed in huge mounds.  My mom would grab an ear from the pile, peel back the green leaves to inspect the ear for bugs, and then toss the good ones into the shopping cart and the bad ones back on the pile.  Oh, the memories.

In the years that followed I've come to appreciate a few other vegetables, but to this day, none of them can match the awesomeness of a good ear of corn.  And the corn of today, genetically engineered for maximum sweetness, is even tastier than the corn we ate in the 1970s and probably even tastier than the corn (maize) eaten by native North & South Americans for centuries before that.

For Best Results, Forget The Grocery Store

Unquestionably, the ideal way to buy corn is to make a trip to any small town in Iowa and seek out the busiest intersection, where a farm girl has set up a temporary corn stand.  She will be sitting on a lawn chair next to a cart full of fresh-picked sweet corn.  She's been sitting there all day in the heat and humidity.  No problem, she's used to it.  She has the sleeves of her t-shirt rolled up to her shoulders and her hair pulled back into a ponytail to keep her neck cool.  She bags up a dozen ears of corn at a time for a steady stream of customers.  She accepts cash only, and makes change from a cigar box.  During the slow times she sits in the shade and reads a paperback book.

The same scene can be found in Illinois, Indiana, Minnesota, and any other mid-western corn state.

And, unlike the grocery store, the farm stand can be trusted to sell you corn that was picked only a few hours prior.  The corn in the supermarket was likely picked two weeks ago in someplace like California.  Iowans and Minnesotans grow their corn with love and the sweetness of nature, whereas Californians probably sweeten their corn with an infusion of high-fructose corn syrup--which they import from Iowa.[3]

Not quite as quaint as the Iowa farm girl, but my corn dealer is this couple from
Minnesota selling some mighty fine corn out of the back of a pick-up truck. 


 

Three Ways Into Corn Heaven

There are many ways to cook an ear of corn--some good, some not so good--but to me, "good" is not good enough.  I am about to teach you how to achieve corn EXCELLENCE by way of the three best cooking methods known to man.  

I want to be clear about one thing though: I did not originate these methods.  The Aztec and Mayan chefs of the 14th Century can take credit for that.[4] Nevertheless, there can be no doubt that I perfected them. 

Now let's move on to my step-by-step instructions for creating a feast of corn that no 3-Star Michelin chef has ever dreamed of.

• Remove the green leaves and silk from two of the three ears of corn.
• Discard the greens, but save the silk for future use.[5]
• Wrap one of the ears in aluminum foil.

• Put charcoals in a grill and start them on fire.
• Put water and some salt in a pot and bring it to a boil on the stove.
• When the charcoals are hot, put the foil-wrapped ear and the un-husked ear on the grate directly over the coals.  Roast for about 20 minutes, turning them three or four times.
• When the water on the stove comes to a rolling boil, put the third ear into the pot.  Let it sit in the boiling water for about 12 minutes.

• When the cooking times have elapsed, remove all three ears from the heat sources.
• Peel the charred husks from the last un-peeled ear.
• Place all three ears on the nicest plate you have.  Presentation is an important part of le mais cuisine.
• Speaking of presentation, garnish the plate with popcorn--a most underrated form of corn.
• Sprinkle salt and pepper on the corn and liberally slather it with butter.

A meal fit for a king!

The Science Of Eating Corn-On-The Cob

There are many ways to eat corn-on-the-cob, but there is only one right way . . . the IOWA WAY.  Time after time I've seen egregious mistakes made by inexperienced corn eaters from places like Nevada or Connecticut or Iceland.  It almost makes me want to grab their plates and eat their corn for them.[6]  Here is a summary of the IOWA WAY in two quick photos:

Do not chew around the ear as shown at the bottom of this picture.
Do not take random bites like you see on the ear in the middle.
The correct way to eat corn on the cob is to chew horizontally.
Pretend it's a typewriter and peck at the kernels from left to right.
THAT'S THE IOWA WAY!

 

The two ears at the top were eaten by amateurs.  They're messy and incomplete.
The ear at the bottom was eaten the IOWA WAY--cleanly and efficiently--and the 
cob can be saved for future use.[7]

A Very Brief Conclusion

This was actually the first time I've ever made all three of my awesome corn recipes at the same time, so it was kind of fun to judge which one was the best.  And the winner of the side-by-side tasting contest is . . . . . The Ear That Was Roasted In The Husk!  I guess the greenery provided a little extra pizzazz.

I hope you are inspired to try the different forms of corn and judge for yourself.  And, as always, I thank you for reading my article and I hope you tune in next time.

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Footnotes

[1] Assuming that country's citizens are starving enough.

[2]  With one exception:  Creamed corn is the worst crime ever committed upon the world of vegetabledom.  Seriously, what kind of twisted mind would ever think of "creaming" such a majestic vegetable?

[3] Chef G. has no actual proof to back up his "high fructose corn syrup infusion" theory.

[4] This assertion is based on no historical evidence whatsoever.

[5] Back in the 1940's, kids who lived in the corn belt used to dry the silk, roll it up in cigarette papers, and smoke it for peace and relaxation.  I'm not here to promote a revival of that practice, so please don't send me your hate mail.  I'm just suggesting the silk can be used to create a discrete hair piece for bald guys like me.

[6] That wouldn't be sanitary though. 

[7] Before toilet paper was invented, people used corn cobs for wiping purposes.

MACARONI & CHEESE: The Only Food Cheesier Than Chef G. Himself

Hi again folks, I'm Chef G.--your host of the finest in food, fun and frivolity.  Before we get to today's excellent recipe, I must thank all of my loyal fans and supporters for making The Chef G. Cooking Channel the #1 on-line food program in the mid-central section of the western half of the upper mid-western part of the United States.  I couldn't have done it without you.  

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The dish I'll be preparing today is probably the first food I ever cooked by myself.  It dates back to my college years, which was well before I even knew I was a culinary genius.  Back then, I used a well known recipe and it was so bloody good that I've never felt the need to modify it at all, which is pretty rare for me.  Kraft Macaroni & Cheese was the perfect food for a college kid--fast, easy, cheap, and satisfying.

Oh sure, there are fancier macaroni & cheese recipes out there and I've made some of them. I cannot deny that a good home-made mac & cheese baked in a casserole dish is pretty damn tasty, but there is no way it could be as cheerfully ORANGE as this classic.  Orange is the new awesome, and Chef Kraft's orange recipe is readily available to almost everybody.  It's on the side of millions and millions of little blue boxes all over the world and, best of all, those little blue boxes contain almost all the ingredients you'll need to create this amazing dish.

Sometimes great things really DO come in small packages.  
And yes, I AM smiling because "it's the cheesiest."

It's been a long time since those college days, but I'm not so old that I've forgotten how hard it is to follow three simple steps after a long night of partying.  That's why I'm going to fully illustrate Mr. Kraft's recipe in the upcoming photos.  This goes out to my many, many college-aged fans.  [In this mathematical equation, Many = 1.]

While the noodles are boiling in water, melt the butter into the milk.  Resist the
temptation to drink the mixture right out of the pan.

Pour the macaroni noodles into the melted butter and hot milk.  Gently stir.

The absolute best part of this recipe is the addition of the magical powder.  That amazing chemical turns bland milk, butter and noodles into something sweet, salty, and brilliantly ORANGE.  Stir the powder in slowly and watch the transformation take place in real time.

A thing of beauty.  Somewhat nutritious too.

For extra cheesiness, I like to garnish my mac & cheese with a few Wisconsin cheese curds.

THE BICYCLE TOURING WINE REVIEWS: Chef G.'s Greatest Hits

Hi folks, I'm Chef G. and I'd like to thank you for once again tuning in to The Chef G. Cooking Channel.  I know many celebrity chefs have websites and TV shows for you to choose from, so I congratulate you on selecting the very best.  Your excellent taste in blogs goes hand-in-hand with your excellent taste buds.  

Many of my fans already know that I'm not only an amazing chef, but also an amazing bike rider.  And, according to my mom and dad, I write amazingly about both of them.  The thing that's MOST amazing is that I don't get paid for either one of my current professions.  I guess that's because I actually LIKE doing those things.  Which is nice because I worked for the same company for over half of my life, getting paid for stuff I DIDN'T like all that much.    Fair enough I guess.  As Ray Romano once said, "you're not supposed to like your job.  That's why they have to pay you to do it."

Sorry for going off-topic.  Back to biking.  Every year since I retired from the job I used to get paid for, I've gone on a long-distance bicycle tour.  I've pedaled across the U.S.A. from west-to-east and from south-to-north.  I've toured the northern Great plains.  The Great Lakes.  Canada.  The deserts of the American southwest.  The Inland Northwest.  Iowa.  Cycling is the absolute best way to explore the country.

I do a lot of camping on my bike tours and one of the highlights is buying a locally produced bottle of wine along the way, hauling it to a campground, drinking the wine, and writing a wine review.  It's fun.

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At this juncture, I should mention that I don't much care for wine.  I'm more of a beer guy.  But since I'm a major international chef, it is important for me to at least be familiar with wine stuff.  Diners rely on us chefs for food pairings and for information about flavors, acidity, terroir and the best vintage for whatever varietal they're looking for.  I rarely know the answers to their questions but, like most celebrity chefs, I just make shit up.  Amateur oenophiles and the snooty gourmet crowd love to listen to the opinions of somebody who speaks of wine as if he was an ultra-confident sommelier.

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Have you ever read wine reviews in major newspapers or in food and wine magazines?  If not, let me tell you, they are quite amusing.  Oh, the aromas bouquets they conjure up.  Oh, the flavors they imagine.  Oh, the flowery prose they write in praise of the vintner.

Yes, it's ALWAYS praise.  Have you ever read a totally negative wine review?  I haven't.  Wine reviews lose any meaning when every wine apparently has "great balance," "notable hints of delicious fruits," "excellent mouth feel," and "beautiful aeration."   I suspect the editors of those food & wine publications don't want to jeopardize any advertising dollars by publishing a negative review.

I, on the other hand, have no advertisers, so I can rip on any wine I want.  I have no hesitation in suggesting that all dry red wines taste pretty much the same, whether it's a $200 bottle from an elite region of France or a $10 bottle from a backwoods region of Arkansas.  And I have no problem in saying THIS wine's aroma reminds me of the sweet scent of a chicken barn.  Or THAT wine tastes like heaven . . . if heaven is a mold-infested peach.  Kindly prose, faint praise and backhanded compliments are my stock in trade as America's Top Satirical Chef.

So, without further ado, I present to you my "Greatest Hits."  Heck everybody has put out a greatest hits album--from Elvis to the Beatles to the Stones to Barry-Freakin'-Manilow--so why shouldn't I showcase MY works?  After all, every one of them have reached #1 on The Bike Touring Wine Review charts.

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I know the readers of this blog are fans of food and wine--not people who ride a stinking bike.  So I've made it easier for you.  I've provided links to the wine review pages from my bicycle touring journals for your enjoyment.  You'll see them very shortly, but first I'll post a little teaser.  That way, you'll be able to see what kind of excellent wine writing you'll be in for if you do click on the links.  If you're not interested after reading the teaser, then don't click on the links.  It's as simple as that.  Cheers!

Here are the links to the rest of them:

https://www.cycleblaze.com/journals/mntoma/a-wine-tasting-and-professional-review/

https://www.cycleblaze.com/journals/goingup/mississippi-no-longer-on-authors-shitlist/

https://www.cycleblaze.com/journals/nocomplaints/the-third-annual-local-wine-review/

https://www.cycleblaze.com/journals/iowamyth/forestville-state-park-mn-day-of-wine-and-roadses-the-only-one-who-thinks-thats-funny-is-me/

https://www.cycleblaze.com/journals/niceguy/little-missouri-national-grassland-buffalo-gap-the-fifth-annual-local-wine-review/

https://www.cycleblaze.com/journals/fullhouse/buckskin-mountain-state-park-arizona-where-i-hosted-my-sixth-consecutive-bike-tour-wine-tasting-event/

https://www.cycleblaze.com/journals/iowamyth/intermission-my-seventh-bike-touring-review-of-a-local-wine-b06/

https://www.cycleblaze.com/journals/dottedlines/my-eighth-annual-bike-touring-wine-event-and-a-review-of-the-local-product-4f1/

If, by some odd reason, you'd like to read the bike journals in their entirety, you can do so by clicking on the funny-looking thing below:

https://www.cycleblaze.com/profile/misterfun/

And then there is my first video wine review from my 2021 bike tour:

https://youtu.be/2yk4U6OZufo

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MIDWEST GOODLY CHEESE STEAK SANDWICH: Chef G.'s Riff On The Philadelphia Classic

PHILADELPHIA?  THE "CITY OF BROTHERLY LOVE?"

Hi folks, I'm so glad you tuned in once again to the tomfoolery and inanity that is The Chef G. Cooking Channel.  I'm your host, Chef G., the most humble and loveable celebrity chef of all.

The idea for the dish I'll be making in this episode came to me when I was looking at about a half-pound of leftover steak in my refrigerator.  I grilled a big sirloin for Mrs. Chef G. and me last night and there was no way we could finish it.  I struggled over what to do with the steak for several minutes until I remembered something posted on Facebook by my niece.  It was in praise of a Denver version of a Philadelphia cheese steak sandwich . . . "wit whiz," meaning it contained Cheez-Whiz.  I was disgusted and intrigued at the same time.

I've never never made a Philly Cheese Steak Sandwich before but I'm pretty sure I can do it because I am, after all, a major internet top chef.  As such, I had a little work to do. Most viewers don't realize that us celebrity cooks have hundreds two or three behind-the-scenes jobs.  One of them is research.

After my usual five minutes of research, I came to learn that no matter how exacting one is in one's attempt to create an authentic Philly Cheese Steak Sandwich, there will always be some die-hard Philadelphian who will show up to critique the hell out of it.  He'll scrutinize the sandwich down to the finest detail and, if you're lucky, he'll grudgingly admit "sure, your cheese steak sandwich is okay but still, it's just a cheese steak sandwich--not a PHILLY cheese steak sandwich."  Then he will go on to nitpick on any insignificant difference he can find, such as your steak being sliced a fraction of a millimeter too thick.  Or the hoagie roll wasn't crunchy enough on the outside or soft enough on the inside.  Or the proportion of onions to bell peppers wasn't correct.  Or the cheese wasn't melted into the meat just right. Or the oil you used to saute the mixture was too clean (meaning, I guess, that it didn't drip off the forehead of Philadelphia's favorite son, Rocky Balboa.) 

The secret grease used to fry authentic Philly Cheese Steak ingredients.

 

Then comes the ultimate insult--the one the Philadelphian has been waiting to sling at you all along:  "Calling your cheese steak a 'PHILLY cheese steak' is like calling a pizza from Domino's an 'ITALIAN pizza.'"

OUCH!  Where's the brotherly love in that?  Never mind that even among the famous cheese steak vendors in Philadelphia itself there are differences in their recipes.  That fact doesn't matter to people from eastern Pennsylvania though.  No, it's as if they cannot accept the idea that a Philly Cheese Steak Sandwich could possibly be made anywhere else.  I don't think I've ever heard such snobbery outside of the French Champagne industry. 

 

The City of Philadelphia is so serious about its cheese steaks
that it created an official logo for them.

With that Philly-centrism in mind, I refuse to get into a major controversy with Philadelphia or any of it's food critic wannabes.  In deference to Philadelphians everywhere, I am not even going to suggest that my new recipe is in any way related to a PHILLY cheese steak.  I will be making my own version and I'll be calling it a "Midwest Goodly Cheese Steak Sandwich."  And boy, will those Phillyheads be disappointed when every restaurant, deli, and greasy spoon in the U.S. starts offering Midwest Goodly Cheese Steaks instead of Philly Cheese Steaks.

I figured I'd better create my own logo if I am to have
any chance of competing with Philadelphia.

Here is an on-line photo of the two most iconic Philly Cheese Steak vendors in all of Philly.
I feel bad about possibly putting them out of business with my Midwest Goodly Cheese Steaks.

IT'S TIME TO MAKE A SUPER-DELICIOUS MID-WEST GOODLY CHEESE STEAK SANDWICH (And To Explain How It Differs From The Philadelphia Version)

As I said, this is NOT a PHILLY recipe; it's a Mid-western recipe.  Yet, for some reason I wanted to get the "-ly" ending in there.  Philly did a good job on that.  I just needed to find just the RIGHT word ending in "-ly."

Once again, I was saved by a remembrance.  A few years ago I got an e-mail from the prince of a foreign country.  I can't remember if it was a Ugandan Prince or a Nigerian Prince, but I do remember the stressed-out guy was from Africa and he was in dire straits.  For some unexplained reason, his home country wouldn't let him transfer his $3,000,000 fortune to the U.S.  So he asked me for a favor because, in his words, he considered me to be a "goodly person."

He offered me a 10% share of his 3-million dollar fortune, and all I had to do was provide my bank account number.  Then he would deposit all the money into my account for safekeeping until he arrived into my "great country."  Once he arrived, he would withdraw the money from my bank account, less the 10% percent he promised me for helping.

I ain't no dummy.  There was no way I was gonna turn down an easy $300,000 investment opportunity like that.

Anyway, as the prince said, I really AM a goodly person and I grew to like that word "goodly."  And there is no doubt in my mind that I am about to create a very goodly cheese steak sandwich.

And it will be a mid-western cheese steak sandwich made from mid-west raised beef, mid-west processed provolone cheese, and mid-west grown red bell peppers and onions from a local farmer's market.  It will truly be an authentic mid-western goodly lunch.

I already had the fresh, goodly mid-western ingredients I needed in my refrigerator.  NICE!

I sliced up the onion, provolone cheese, red bell pepper, and leftover steak as shown above.  Generally, the traditional Philly Cheese Steaks have green bell peppers.  I'd like to claim that my use of red peppers was a conscious use of culinary license, but the truth is that I just didn't have any green peppers on hand.  I sliced the steak and provolone as thin as I could without drawing blood.

I tossed the onions and peppers in a pan of hot, clean, olive oil.  None of that Rocky Balboa oil for me.

Next, throw the Provolone cheese on the steak/onion/bell pepper concoction and let it melt.
 Then it's just a matter of scooping it all onto a bun.  OHHHHH man, I can't wait to eat.

But I had a problem.  That problem was (gulp, I can hardly say it) Cheez-Whiz.  Incredibly, the famous Philly Cheese Steak vendors offer that bright orange cheese-like substance on their sandwiches.  You can get your cheese steak with Provolone or you can get them "wit whiz."  Or, I assume "witout" it.  Based on how picky the Philly fanatics are, you'd think there would be some kind of official cheese standard.

I assembled my first sandwich "NOT wit whiz" and I used a round sesame-seed bun instead of a hoagie roll--just one more way to distinguish my Mid-western Goodly from a Philly.  I must say, it was pretty darn goodly.

Then came the moment of truth.  It went against everything I believe in as a culinary genius, but in order to present a well-rounded article on cheese steaks, I felt it was important to make another one "wit whiz."  It pained me to do it, but sometimes a celebrity chef has to endure a little pain.

I made an emergency run to
the grocery store to pick up a jar of the stuff.

 

 

Incredibly, it was also pretty goodly.

THE FINAL ANALYSIS:  Goodly But Not Greatly

I liked my sandwiches, but I didn't LOVE them.  They were tasty, but not mouthwateringly awesome.  No doubt they were every bit as good as a Philly Cheese Steak Sandwich, but they're probably not going to put the Philadelphia vendors out of business.

At least I'm being honest.  The Chef G. Cooking Channel is ALL about honesty.  All the other celebrity chefs on TV just gush huge self-congratulatory comments about every single dish they cook.  I can't believe the superlatives they toss out there after they taste their own meals.  REALLY?  You guys and gals never fall short of expectations?  Well, good for you.

Hey, I sure appreciate you reading this article and I will try to do better next time.  See you soon.

-Chef G.

CONFESSIONS OF A MEAT EATER

Hi folks, it's me again--Chef G.--the best mediocre chef in the United States, according to an unspecified number of anonymous people.  Today my humble, yet enormous, brain is working overtime.  Instead of creating another one of my super-stupendous Mid-western dishes, I'm going to get all philosophical and shit.  I'm going to discuss a subject that has become obvious to my many, many four or five followers.  You guessed it--my cooking is heavy on MEAT.

I admit it.  I am attracted to meat in the most embarrassing way.  Sometimes I will eat ONLY meat for a meal--huge, unhealthy quantities of meat.  Cow meat, pig meat, chicken meat, fish meat--it doesn't matter to me what kind of meat.  It's what my body craves, and I always listen to my body.  I am not wired to be a vegan.  I seem to be no less of a carnivore than a tiger. 

Unlike the tiger, however, I carry an enormous burden of guilt about my meat-filled diet.  I don't know the reason, exactly, but I suspect it might have something to do with the fact that I don't sneak up on animals and pounce on them with my bare hands like wolves and lions and tyrannosaurus rexes do.  I don't swoop in from the air like hawks and I don't swim up to my prey like sharks.  Man, I admire those animals.

Call it laziness or cowardliness, but I obtain my meat from the butcher shop or grocery store.  I guess that makes me a scavenger.  In other words, I'm no more noble than a mangy hyena, campground raccoon, or roadside vulture.  

Philosophically and ethically I sympathize with vegetarianism.  I feel good about myself when I make a big salad for dinner.  Or when I make a pan of roasted vegetables or a veggie stir fry.  Or when I make something with black beans.  Or when I order fast food French fries in lieu of a burger.  Or when an entire meal consists of a big batch of popcorn like my dad used to make on Sunday evenings when I was a kid.  There are some vegetables I like quite a lot . . . but not as much as I like meat.

 

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Based on that information, it might surprise you to know that I tried vegetarianism in my college years.  I had met a bunch of vegetarian dudes in a "Philosophy of Religion" course.  They were smart and hip and cool.  I figured if I grew my hair long and became a vegetarian, I too would be perceived as smart and hip and cool.  

I don't think it worked.  It's hard to be taken seriously as a hipster when you look like a 9th- grader and act like a 6th-grader.  Immature, impressionable, impetuous, nary a whisker, much less a beard. 

The professor of my class was cool too--for a guy who was, like, FIFTY!  Still, he had the beard, the longish hair, the doctorate degree in philosophy, and the academic credentials.  I admired him a lot, but I'm not sure if that was because he was an intellectually challenging professor or because I'd occasionally see him hanging out in my favorite college bar.  I would try to imagine what he was talking about with his companions.  Most likely, I surmised, it was the concepts and writers he exposed me to for the first time--existentialism, dialectical materialism, Kierkegaard, Nietzsche, Tillich, Buber.  I'd hate to think he was discussing the latest episode of Laverne & Shirley.

While Dr. Dreisbach's influence lasts to this day, my attempt to be a vegetarian only lasted about three weeks.  I really did give it the old college try, though.  My failure rested in that I pissed off my family and friends by always requiring a special diet and, more than that, the craving for meat was too strong.  Even the most determined tiger can only endure leaves and grass for so long before he loses his will-power and is compelled to eat a deer.  I reached my breaking point too.  In my case, I ripped into the flesh of a McDonalds Quarter-Pounder with Cheese.  I never looked back.

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My brother became a vegetarian more than 20 years ago and he has stuck to it.  Big time respect.  Once, when travelling together, I joked about getting a big ol' burger at Five Guys Burger and Fries.  He replied, "Yeah, let's do it!  I LOVE meat."  We both got a big laugh over that.  I asked him if he ever gets a craving for meat.  He said, "sometimes I crave bacon, which is strange because I never cared at all about bacon before I became a vegetarian."  I thought that was also pretty funny.

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Earlier I stated that I feel like a scavenger because, unlike falcons, barracudas, and velociraptors, I don't kill animals for my own meat.  On the other hand, I've seen humans who DO kill animals for their own meat and I was not impressed.  Let me tell you about my one-time experience in an Upper Michigan deer hunting camp.

I was still in college at the time and I also held a part-time work-study job at the university.  I was not a hunter and I'm sure I had never expressed a desire to ever go hunting, so it came as a bit of a surprise when my boss invited me along on a weekend deer hunt.  "Why not?" I figured.  I was open to new experiences and deer hunting seemed like it might be kind of interesting.

Oh yes, "interesting" is one word for it, that's for sure.  "Crazy" is another one.  "Totallymesseduponsomanylevels," is a better one.  Here is a day-by-day account of the experience.

FRIDAY:

After I was done with classes and my boss (Perry) was done with work, we began the two hour drive to Perry's cabin in the southern part of Michigan's Upper Peninsula.  It was a tiny shack with not much more than a bunk bed, a table & chairs, and a wood burning stove.  We stopped there just long enough to throw some wood into the stove and light it up for some heat.  Then we got back in the car and drove a few more miles to another cabin which belonged to Perry's friend. 

Perry's friend was a dentist from Chicago and the cabin could better be described as a $500,000 house with log siding.  It was the gathering place for about 15 hunters ranging in age from about 17 to 50.  Perry and I joined them for drinks.  And a few more drinks.  Joking, laughing, and old hunting stories were as bountiful as the whiskey, brandy and beer.  Of course, I had no hunting reminiscences to share, but I had some experience with alcohol consumption (after all, I was a college student) and I listened to the funny stories.

Somewhere around midnight the party dispersed, and several of us made drunken trips back to our respective cabins.

SATURDAY:

Just after sunrise Perry and I trudged about 100 yards through the snow to our hunting spot.  I should say HIS hunting spot because I had no intention of shooting a deer.  Besides, I didn't have a license or a gun.

The hunting spot consisted of a big bunch of apples strewn on the ground and a crude wooden tree house in a nearby tree.  We climbed a ladder up to the tree house (deer stand) and there we sat--waiting for a deer to come to the apples where Perry could blast it into oblivion from above.  So much for the noble idea of hiking through the woods all day in search of deer.

Not only did we just sit there doing nothing, we had to be silent so as not to scare off any deer.  Plus, I was freezing my ass off.  We never saw nor heard a single sign of a deer.  After a couple hours of extreme boredom, we climbed back down and trudged back to the cabin, where we prepared to go back to the big cabin owned by the dentist.

Along the way we stopped at a gas station where I bought a small bag of corn chips.  Little did I know that a bag of Fritos would be my only meal of the day.

Most of the same people from last night were already at the big cabin when Perry and I arrived.  None of those hunters had any more luck than we did.  It was probably only around noon, but the drinking was well underway.  There was more laughing and joking and friendly ripping on each other.  And more drinking.

At one point late in the afternoon, the dentist was doing something at the kitchen sink when he looked out the window at his barrel of apples in the back yard.  He shouted, "HEY, it's a deer!"  He quickly opened the window, grabbed his rifle, and took a shot right out the window.  "DAMN!  Missed him," the dentist lamented.

A while later, one of the younger guys got up and went into the bathroom.  When it became apparent that he was in there longer than it should take to urinate, somebody yelled out "SHITASS!"  Within seconds, almost everybody joined in the chorus, "SHITASS!  SHITASS!  SHITASS!" over and over again. 

"Why are they calling that dude a shitass," I asked Perry?  

"Because it means he's been eating solid food.  He's supposed to be drinking, not eating."

Man, I sure was glad I wasn't the one who had to go.  Then I questioned again, "so nobody eats around here?" 

"Not until tomorrow.  Then we have a huge feast." 

SUNDAY: 

Shortly after sunrise we repeated the ritual of trudging through the snow, climbing up to the deer stand, and sitting in boring silence.  The results were exactly the same as yesterday, except that today I could add extreme hunger to the extreme boredom I was feeling.

Then back to Perry's cabin, back on the road, back to the dentist's big cabin.  And sure enough, the feast was being prepared.  It looked fantastic and seemed worth the wait.  It was a veritable breakfast buffet, complete with meats and sausages and eggs and fruit and fried potatoes and I can't remember what else.  

Noticeably absent from the menu was fresh venison.

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

Quite the "sport" hunting is.  I learned a lot about it that weekend.  If I ever had even the most remote interest in becoming a hunter, that experience put an end to it once and for all.  Also, it reinforced my belief that only hunters who chase down an animal and kill it with their bare hands should be allowed to call themselves a "sportsman."  There is nothing sporting about aiming a gun from whatever distance and shooting an animal that is completely unaware that it is competing in a "sport."  To me that's too one-sided to be called a sport--almost like playing tackle football with a two-year-old kid.  I'll just get my meat from the butcher shop, thank you.  At least ranchers, meat processors and butchers don't think of themselves as sportsmen.

 

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

In summation, I cook lots of meat.  I eat lots of meat.  My body needs meat.  I listen to the needs of my body.  Like most addicts, I feel guilty about it.  Thank you for reading, and I'll see you next time right here on the Chef G. Cooking Channel. 

 

NORTH DAKOTA RED: (AKA Bison Chili)

 

A Totally Unnecessary Introduction

Hi folks, I'm back once more with another dose of food-related silliness, deliciousness and wordiness.  It feels a little ridiculous to be introducing myself again because, thanks to this wildly successful blog, I've become an international cooking sensation.  That's not just braggin'; them's the facts.  Even so, for the one or two of you who are visiting for the first time, here comes another introduction anyway:

I'm Chef G., the Goofy God of Gastronomy, the Shimmering Chef of Shambala, His Excellency of Eating, the Cocksure Cook, the Bastard Child of Baking Brilliance, the Master of Mid-western Munchies, the Enormous Ego of Epicurianism, the Ass of Awful Alliteration and, most importantly, the Humble Host of the Chef G. Cooking Channel.

I specialize in mid-western cooking, but I also like to adapt mid-western sensibilities to dishes from all over the world.  So far it has been my pleasure to present specialties from Minnesota, Iowa, Wisconsin, Michigan and Missouri.  Today I'm going to show off my interpretation of what a North Dakota chili would look like if North Dakotans actually made chili.  

Somewhere I think I read that North Dakotan taste buds are something like 90% Scandinavian, so it's likely they don't make chili.  If not, they SHOULD.  North Dakota is the coldest of the lower 48 states, and I believe nothing can warm the perpetually frozen blood of those stoic Norwegians and Swedes like a hot bowl of chili.

Don't worry though.  This chili recipe isn't going to be a weird combination of tomato sauce, turnips, lingonberries, and reindeer.  No, it'll be an award-winning Chef G.-style chili that remains true to the Tex-Mex tradition.

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

Every Single Chili Maker Thinks His Or Her Recipe Is The Best

It's true!  I've seen on-line chili recipes that claim to be the best.  My dad thinks his is the best.  My brother thinks his is the best.  I have several friends who think their recipes are the best. Incredibly, there are people who sprinkle cheese and/or crackers on their chili and still have the nerve to call their recipes "the best."  Even more bizarre are the southern Ohioans who claim a thing called "Cincinnati-Style Chili" (a popular regional version that calls for vinegar and spaghetti) is the best.  HUH? 

As much as I would have liked to include the the mid-western state of Ohio in my blog, noodles and acetic acid have no legitimate place in a chili recipe.  Nor do cheese and crackers . . . or any other junk people use, like brown sugar, cinnamon, cocoa, corn, etc.  Those people are nuts.

And then there's Texas.  Texans think they have world domination over chili excellence and they point to their "Texas Red" as being the gold standard of chili.  There can be no doubt that Texans know chili, but what if I were to transport you all the way across the Great Plains and substitute Texas beef with North Dakota bison?  Bison is leaner and has a more outdoorsy taste.  I love outdoorsy.  I love taste.

And what if we add two kinds of beans for a little extra flavor, color, texture and flatulence?

And what if we make it a little extra meaty so that nobody would ever mistake it for a soup?  Just look at a menu some time.  Restaurants, diners, and all-you-can-eat buffets all over America include chili in the "Soup" section along with their chicken noodle, French onion, split-pea, and vegetable beef varieties.  I can't speak for ALL chili-heads, but in my opinion, chili is NOT soup.

Yeah . . . meaty, bean-y, thick, and bison-y . . . THAT'S North Dakota chili.

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

The Stuff That Goes Into Bison Chili

2 Pounds Ground Bison
1 Cup Diced Yellow Onion
2 Cloves Garlic
1/2 Cup Diced Green Bell Pepper
1/2 Cup Diced Red Pepper
2 Tbsp. Finely Diced Jalapeno Pepper
3 Whole Dried Chili Peppers
2 Tbsp. Chili Powder
1 Tsp. Ground Cumin
A 15 oz. Can of Black Beans
A 15 oz. Can of Pinto Beans
3 Big Tomatoes Diced (or one 28 oz. can of petite diced tomatoes)
One Cup Crushed Tomatoes
Have some decent beer available

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

How To Transform All That Stuff Into North Dakota Red

The first step is to brown the ground bison in a big pot with two tablespoons of olive oil.  Add a generous amount of salt and pepper.  Break up the bison burger, but not too much.  Bigger chunks provide more flavor, texture and hardiness.  Here in the upper mid-west we don't want our meat broken down into microscopic bits like those found in a can of Beefaroni.

While the meat is browning, you can start cutting up the vegetables--not too small, but not too big either.  Chop them just right.  (And please do not ignore the very important warning coming up next.)

CAUTION!  Food Prep Can Be Hazardous

A Case Study:

Are you familiar with the word "capsaicin?"  It's the chemical compound in chili peppers that makes them spicy hot.  Jalapeno peppers have a relatively low level of capsaicin compared to such firebombs as habaneros, Trinidad scorpions, and ghost peppers.  Even so, do not let your guard down.  Jalapenos still have plenty of the stuff to cause pain.

Cutting the jalapenos into tiny bits will require the finger tips of your non-cutting hand to come in contact with the capsaicin-loaded juices oozing out of the peppers.  Put one of those fingers to your tongue and you'll feel the burn.  But, until you've had a chance to scrub your hands with soap and water, do not under any circumstances try to scratch an itch in the corner of your eye.  It will hurt . . . A LOT.

If you've already touched your eye with jalapeno-soaked fingers before reading this, try to 
endure the pain & the uncontrollable flow of tears, seek medical help if you notice blisters 
 developing on your cornea, and be thankful my recipe didn't contain a Carolina Reaper.

Another thing to keep in mind while chopping your vegetables is that knives are sharp.  They can do serious damage to human flesh.

It really sucks when you accidentally cut off part of your finger while dicing onions.

And finally, when all of your concentration is focused on creating the most perfect batch of chili possible, it's easy to forget that things can get pretty hot in the kitchen.  The burner coil or gas flame, the chili pot, and the chili itself are all going to be dangerously hot.  Don't let the pain of burning flesh be your reminder of that fact.

Please excuse me for a few minutes.  I'll finish the recipe after I treat these 3rd-degree burns.

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

Don't worry folks, not only am I a world famous chef, but I also have some pretty decent emergency medical skills.  I am perfectly capable of performing retinal surgery on myself, bandaging a knife wound, and doing my own skin grafts.  So let's finish with the chili, shall we?

Granted, I look and sound quite amateurish in that video, but I have a couple excuses for that.  The main problem is that I need a professional camera crew.  Emeril, Gordon, Wolfgang, Rachel, Bobby, Mario, Guy, Jacque, and all my other celebrity chef competitors have them.  It isn't fair that I should have to hold my own phone while speaking and cooking.  I assure you, as soon as I get my first big paycheck from this gig, I'm going to invest it in some Hollywood-quality video cameras and a couple of big time cinematographers.

My other excuse is that I was still a little disoriented from the throbbing pain in my eyeball and half of my fingers.  I think all three injuries are going to require additional medical attention very shortly.

Anyway, those are also my excuses for failing to mention a couple other important cooking instructions.  I should have told you to put a lid on the pot while you let the chili simmer, removing it only to stir every 20 minutes or so.  Also, I should have told you what to do if, while stirring, you find the chili is too thick.

You add a little ale, of course.  Maybe a half-cup.  Maybe a little more.  Maybe a little less.
Use your own good judgement.  You don't need me to dictate everything.

After all that simmering, the flavors of the bison, spices, vegetables and beer will blend to create one incredible fusion of hardy deliciousness.  There is nothing more I can say about that.  The only things left to do are to remove the three dried chili pepper carcasses (unless you want severe discomfort in your esophagus, stomach and intestines) and load up a big bowlful.  Bon Apetit!

The chili is a meal in itself, but I went ahead and made a cucumber
salad with bell peppers and onions.  It's coolness and sweetness will
provide an excellent contrast to the heat and acidity of the chili. 

DAMN, that's some good stuff.