Hungarian Comfort Food

Posted on 18/01/2011 by Grumpa Joe

Today was a day that chilled my bones. The temperature was relatively mild, but the dampness was gross. It started with a meeting of Lions this morning, and moved to an appointment with a doctor, then on to the grocery store for provisions. My plan was to come home and cook up a batch of chicken paprikas. By the time we got home, I was so chilled, the act of cooking warmed me over. The anticipation for the meal was building and I recalled memories of when I helped my mother make the same dish.

The recipe is so simple anyone who knows how to read and turn on a gas stove can make this stuff. The ingredients are spelled out in a photos below. The main ones are chicken, onion, sour cream, and some simple spices. Combine them in the right order and you get a dish to die for.

When I began cooking I was not hungry. By the time the dish was completed, I was ravenous. Between the aroma, and the flavor, my stomach sent signals to my brain that shouted “Feed me.”

I had to have a wine to go with it, so I went down to the wine rack and picked out a bottle of red. The wine turned out to be as great a winner as the meal.

I had problems making the spatzle. It certainly wasn’t as good as Mom’s. This is the fourth time I have made spatzle as an adult, and I need more practice doing it. Mother’s was uniform in size, and firm in texture. My dumplings were rather random in size, shape, and texture. Oh well, another day, another dollar. If I don’t wait another seven years between attempts, I should be able to improve.

The paprikas smelled great, looked great, and tasted great. The spatzle tasted great but looked like hell. The appearance did not deter me from attacking it with appetite.

The chosen wine  was accidental. It was the last bottle in the rack. I love Cabernet Sauvignon which is full bodied and flavorful. This one called “Dynamite.” was exactly all of that. It made a great pairing with the colorful red and rich paprikas.

If I were in a restaurant and had to rate this meal, I would give it four stars. If the dumplings were uniform in size and texture I would have rated the meal a five.

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WHO’S AFRAID OF VIRGINIA WOOLF

Posted on 17/01/2011 by Grumpa Joe
Chicago River @ night

Image via Wikipedia

Last night was make up night for our theater subscription. Normally, we go to Steppenwolf with  friends, but when Grandma Peggy and I got the flu we had to reschedule. So, it was solo date night for the old folks.  We bundled up and drove the thirty-five miles to North Halstead Street in Chicago to the Steppenwolf theater. We left early because sometimes we get into a traffic jam that takes thirty to forty minutes to get through. This evening we sailed without any jams and made it from our door to the theater in forty-eight minutes flat.

I pulled up in front of Trattoria Gianni’s and valet parked the Death Star. Gianni’s is across the street and four houses down from the theater. We enjoyed a four-star meal. I would have given it five stars except for the ambiance. The place was cold, and a bus load of women came in for dinner. They made the place so noisy that I had to shut my “state of the art” electronic ears off.

The play was “Who is Afraid of Virginia Woolf.” I had never seen it before, but Peggy  saw the movie with Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton. This production of Edward Albee’s work starred Steppenwolf’s ensemble members. Directed by Amy Morton who also starred as Martha. Her husband, Tracy Letts played the part of George.

The story is a riot at times, but also filled with dialogue reminiscent of a marital fencing match. It is obvious that this wife is totally disappointed in her husband’s ambition, and he in turn feels she is a nag. They drink copiously to numb their brains from the ho-hum of their lives.

The characters became real, and I couldn’t picture the actors as anybody but George and Martha. They left me wondering if they were as screwed up in real life as they portrayed on stage. This is a very long play and we almost left when the second intermission arrived. I thought the last scene was rather a strange ending. It turned out that there was another act.

I took the opportunity to run out and retrieve my car from the valet. The valet service ends at eleven, and I had visions of my car being towed by some aggressive towing company for being in a place it didn’t belong with me wondering where the hell it was and how was I going to get home. The valet was right there. My car was parked on the street immediately across from the theater doors. I paid him, got my keys, and made it back to my seat before anyone knew I was gone.

The final act started out being just as conflicted as the first two. The plot had us believing that George and Martha had a son. At the very end George plays one of his games and reveals to Martha that the son is dead. She keeps screaming “why did you have to make it end this way?” That got me to wondering if the son was real or did they just create him to make their lives more fulfilled, or was he a character in one of George’s novels. I left wondering if the couple was nuts, or were they in deep grief over the loss of their only son. Now, I have to do some reading to determine if the son was real. Maybe someone will tell me.

Grandma Peggy and I gave the performance five stars, but next time we will wear long underwear so we can give Gianni’s the fifth star.

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New Development in the Wabbit War

Posted on 26/07/2010 by Grumpa Joe

Image courtesy of Warner Bros, free use agreement.

A new force has mysteriously intervened in the Wabbit War. Striking in the dark of night, the new force has divided the Alliance. Grumpa Joe smilingly approves. The Alliance consisting of Wabbits, Grandma Peggy, birds, squirrels, mice, ants, and the dreaded Heron have suffered a major setback. Still unidentified, the strike force snuck into the garden climbed the window style and stole a bird feeder. In a fit of disappointment, Grandma Peggy directed Grumpa Joe to search for the lost feeder. He spent three hours in the yard mowing and weeding without spotting any evidence of the feeder or its hanger. Meanwhile, the Wabbits continue to eat any new plant sprouting in the flowerbeds. They also continue to enjoy the birdseed that Grandma Peggy now spreads on the patio for the birds. Is it possible that the Wabbits themselves are responsible for this latest act of aggression? Have they allied themselves with the opossum or the raccoons in order to avail themselves of easier food?

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Fabulous Bar and a Good Menu Too!

Posted on 25/06/2010 by Grumpa Joe

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Today, I ate lunch at a landmark restaurant in a town southwest of Chicago. Today’s lunch marks the third visit to this eatery in the past month. Do I like it? No, I love it.

I learned of the place from my friend, Bob. He loved antiques, and he dined there regularly with his lady- friend. They drove the forty miles on Interstate 80 to exit 112: Morris, Illinois. He spoke of the tasty food, the good service, and the ambiance that the bar and the antique furnishings created. It took five years before I finally visited the Rockwell Inn on U.S. route six just west of Morris. All I can say is this: What took me so long?

The Inn sports decor from a turn of the century (1893-1906) motif. Budweiser commissioned the magnificent bar in 1893, for their pavilion at the Columbian Exposition in Chicago. Made from mahogany and rosewood, it has a history of its own. The light fixtures represent a collection from 1900’s vintage hotels. Beveled glass windows divide rooms and allow prisms of color to flow into the dining area from the garden. The unique brass door handles came from a business that suffered the 1906 San Francisco earthquake. The walls sport a collection of Saturday Evening Post covers featuring Norman Rockwell paintings. There are also a few signed Rockwell prints scattered about. The cover art gave birth to the name Rockwell Inn over thirty years ago.

I tried different entrees at each of my visits. In every selection, the food was of high quality, in generous portions, and prepared to satisfaction. The steaks are juicy and delicious. A bread bar compliments the salad bar stocked with an ample variety of veggies and prepared salads. The bread bar has freshly baked loaves of white, wheat, and dark rye. It invited me to cut a generous slab to enhance my loaded salad plate. A barrel filled with pickles sits in the corner almost hidden from view.

After the wonderful repast had me loosening my belt, the server tempted us with the desert tray. I should have eaten desert first. Peggy and I shared a specialty of brandied vanilla ice cream. The desert came presented in a wide rim wine glass filled with a heaping swirl of ice cream blended with Christian Brother’s brandy, and topped by a flaming sugar cube.

If you still have some disposable income, treat yourself to a meal at this fabulous restaurant. Enjoy the art, the bar, and the great cooking. * * * * *

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Eatin Chickin

Posted on 24/01/2010 by Grumpa Joe

Grampa Jim loved chicken and chicken soup.  Most of his teeth were gone, so he had a hard time chewing tough meats.  When Mom made chicken soup, she used the entire chicken in the pot.  We ate the soup with her homemade noodles. For chicken soup she cut the dough into long fine strands.  We ate the soup first. She served the boiled chicken parts for the main course.  Dad always took the breast; I always took a leg.  Gramps stuck to the wings, feet, neck, and head.  He thought he would be taking it off our plate if he took a larger part to eat.

By the end of the meal he had the neck sucked down to a pile of discrete vertebrae.  He did the same with the wings, and feet.  We all hated the boiled skin, so we pushed it aside into a pile on our plates.  Gramps always asked for the skin, remarking “You’re leaving the best part behind”.

Toward the end of the meal, Gramps attacked the chicken head.  He used the fine point of his pocket knife blade to pick the eyes from the socket, and eat the eye right off the tip. He never washed his pocket knife, he only wiped it off, folded it, and put it back into his pocket. I was with him at times when he used the same knife to cut fish for bait.

It was a short time before the chicken head was a bare bony skull; smaller than a walnut.   One would think that there was nothing more to eat, but we were always wrong.  Gramps set the skull down on the table. He lined up the sharp edge of his knife along the top of the skull. Then, SLAM. He hit the dull side of the knife with a karate chop. The heel of his hand slammed against the knife to split the skull in two.  Again, he used the very tip of the knife to pick out the chicken brain which was the size of a small pea.  Sometimes he had to pick a piece out of both parts.  The brain disappeared into his mouth off the end of the knife like it was caviar.

Filed under: Biography, Birds, Characters I knew, Cooking, family, Grampa Jim, Memories, Warm and Fuzzy | Tagged: , , , , , , , | 2 Comments »

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