Today On My Counter ...

My apartment is pretty small, so I don’t entertain much. But every once in a while I get into “host mode” and want to show off my culinary skills a little and have a few friends over. So earlier this evening, I held a small dinner party for six friends and myself: my good friend Stacy and her husband, my touchy-feely friends Beth and Richie, and my pals Calvin and Mike.

Stacy came early to help me prep … she can’t cook worth a damn but she can use a knife and a cutting board like a professional chef. I decided to pull out all the stops since I hadn’t seen these guys in quite a while in an intimate setting. I made my cold beef and celery salad which coats tender slices of chilled sirloin, crunchy celery, and grape tomatoes, paper-thin sauteed carrots, and feta crumbles in olive oil, garlic, and various spices. For my entrée, I selected meatloaf served with steamed asparagus drizzled with cream and lime sauce.

Calvin arrived, greated me with a restrained hug, and, as is his way, grunted a "hello" to Stacy and her husband and then positioned himself in a quiet corner to watch some sports. Beth and Richie arrived next, playfully arguing about whom was the better card player. Mike was last but he had had stops to make … for the wine and liquor he wanted to contribute to the dinner. I think Mike may have a problem! Glug … glug!!

All in all, it was a good evening. I had made some black bean and pineapple salsa from scratch, so I took my time getting the meal on the table while my guests crunched and munched … their oohs and aahs over the spicy salsa like sweet music to my ears. Dinner was full of laughter and lively conversation. Beth told a few outrageous stories about her co-workers, which I tried to match but failed miserably. And several of us had to keep assuring Mike that his vodka "contribution" went equally well with meat or fish. After watching introverted Calvin finish the last scrap of meatloaf, everyone piled their plates on the pass-through ledge and then moved into the living room. For close to two hours we continued our loud get-together by playing pinochle, watching part of an NBA game I had dvr’d the day before, and just reconnecting.

Then I went to the kitchen to get things ready for my showstopper dessert. Step One was warming up my trusty Hamilton Beach 12-cup stainless steel deep fryer. Everyone should have a deep fryer for special treats and occasionally indulging in wonderful homemade french fries. When I was a kid, my parents had this huge fryer model shaped like a big bucket for doing fresh battered fish. It was silvery … not stainless … and dented and dinged up pretty bad. I distinctly remember bands of electrical tape in several places and a few times when the cord actually sparked and sputtered. I even think my Mom blew a fuse or two using that old, clunky contraption. But the meals it helped create … INCREDIBLE!!!!

My fryer isn’t much bigger than a sneaker shoebox. It has a dishwasher safe inner “pot” and an outer skin that barely even gets warm when the unit is operating. The appliance uses computerized temperature controls for added safety and very stable cooking temperatures. It even has a double filtration system so I can get the longest “life” out of my cooking oil, and an automatic shut off system so the chances of me accidentally burning my place down are greatly reduced.

Step Two was getting the batter I had prepared earlier out of the frig and giving it a quick stir with a whisk. It was a standard pancake batter mix (with egg, milk, and a bit of vegetable oil), but when making it for a dessert application like this I always add an extra egg and “doctor” it with vanilla, brown sugar, and a pinch of nutmeg.

Step Three … and my favorite … was to call my guests into the less-than-spacious kitchen and reveal their deep-fried dessert choices. Oreos. Milky Way bars. And Snickers bars. I had them all arranged on a small platter, with the candy bars cut into thirds. I purchased a few extra serving spoons at the “dollar store” so everyone could gently dip their choices in the batter and then carefully drop them in the hot oil. Mike was being an ass. He rushed the process and dropped his coated cookie from several inches above the lip of the fryer. Beth got “sizzled” by some stray oil and she gave Mike a look that could wither a steel beam. He apologized and behaved himself. Once the items are dropped into the oil, the cooking usually takes less than a minute. And luckily, the treats bob toward the surface, letting you know that they’re ready to be “rescued” and dropped into a bowl of powdered sugar.

While I put a few things away, the group retreated back into the living area. From the sounds people were making, they either liked the dessert or had started an impromptu orgy. I made myself a small assortment of tidbits, shut off the fryer, and joined my friends to continue our evening of high-caloric communing.

POINT OF RANT: No one left my party even thinking about food … they probably couldn’t even imagine EVER being hungry again!!

Today In The Kitchen ...

I need to get my hands dirty. And since I don't garden and I know crap about cars ... my extent is where the gas goes in, where to check the oil, where to fill the wiper fluid, and how to check tire pressure and add air if needed ... I'm gonna do the next best thing. I'm making a meatloaf.

Meatloaf was the first thing I remember helping my grandmother make. My mother was ill a great deal, so I stayed at my grandparents house often. I got bored easily, so helping with the cooking was something to occupy some of my time ... and a way to help out.

My grandmother made outstanding meatloaf. She was raised without a lot, but she splurged on ground sirloin when making meatloaf She would chop onions, celery, and a red pepper (a must) while I cracked an egg in a bowl and whipped it slightly. I also got to help with the ultra-secret ingredient ... crushed Cheez-Its in place or saltines or breadcrumbs. She also insisted on ground mustard ... never the prepared stuff from a jar or bottle ... Worcestershire sauce, a can of cream of celery soup, a bit of fresh garlic (the press never worked right in my little hands), a dash of horseradish, sage, and some little "squared" of slab bacon she usually purchased at a slaughterhouse where she swore everything was "better and fresher."

Once the numerous elements were combined, I got the honor of mixing everything together in a big stoneware bowl. It was cold and gunky and disgusting looking ... and I loved it. It always reminded me (still does) of those neighborhood Halloween haunted houses where we made kids wear a blindfold and put their hands in cold cooked spaghetti, graped coated with cooking oil, and "chopped up" Jello.

As a kid, I was never strong enough ... or focused enough ... to get it mixed thoroughly, so Grandma had to finish it up. Then it went in the loaf pan where she decorated it with one long strip of bacon on the top ... she said the bacon was her "visual timer."

If there ever was "comfort food," my grandmother's meatloaf leads the pack. Beats mac and cheese by a mile. Leaves PB&J sandwiches in the dust. Even edges out a pot of rich, creamy potato soup that's been simmering for hours. If I need to impress a guest or make something for an under-the-weather friend, "Grandma Loaf" is the go-to dish.

Over the years, I've tried adjustments ... no bacon, no garlic, cream of mushroom instead of cream of chicken, wheat crackers ... but when I follow the recipe exactly, it's a steaming slice of the past waiting to fill my stomach.

POINT OF RANT: Somethings just can't be improved ... don't fight it!

Today At My Favorite Wings Joint ...

It's a Monday night and I'm sitting in "T.C.'s Wing House," my favorite wing place in the world, with my sister, her daughter, and my oldest brother's son. Earlier in the day my sister called me at work and asked if I wanted to meet them for dinner after work ... my treat, of course. Of course, I agreed, minus the "me treating" part.

The Wing House is typical of every wing-slinging dive in the country I've ever patronized ... noisy patrons happy for the taste of a cold beverage, multiple big-screen TVs tuned to sports of all types, messy napkin and condiment stations, cool track lighting, crowded tables and booths, and the ever-popular trivia remotes obviously perched on several tables.

I love wings, the spicier the better. But I'm also a bit demanding. I like good spicy food, but for the life of me I can't understand why some of these bars and pubs make these scalding hot dishes that are all fire and no flavor. Heat for heat's sake just doesn't make sense. Does it really make you more of a man if you survive eating something that can dissolve the lining of your mouth and gums? Go figure.

My late father and I had similar philosophical leanings when it came to spicy foods, especially chili. Food that successfully combines "heat" and "flavor" should surprise you, not make you frantically search for a glass of water ... or a fire hose. It should open up your nasal passages, not cause open sores to sprout on your tongue. It should make you sweat, not swoon.

One time in college, one of my roommates, Brodie, decided to make chili. He had a recipe for something called "Texas Oilman's Chili" that called for cubed-up sirloin, three different types of peppers, tons of expensive spices, lots of red onion, and even a healthy spoonsful of horseradish. It was actually delicious, but cost prohibitive for college students. I remember telling my Dad that that chili probably ended up being about $9 a bowl, but once I described to him how good the "sweat" from it was, he offered $10.

Back to the wings ... like most places, T.C.'s has a range of wing flavors ... timid to bold to beyond bold (I bet your regular wing joint has similar selections). There's "mild" and "medium" for the beginners, two tastes that, at most establishments, seem identical to me. And there's two barbecues ... "smokey" and "sweet." The general strength of flavor and heat goes up a notch then with teriyaki (always one of my favorites for it's depth), "Spicy Garlic," "Sesame Ginger," and "Parmesian" (which is surprisingly hot). Then there's a few choices that promise spicy richness ... "Island Jerk," "Mango Fire," and "Burbon Street." And finally, T.C.'s has three hotties to try. One is called "Blazin' Wildfire" and it does simply scorch the land of your mouth and throat like an out-of-control conflagration. The second is "Habanero Heat," combining a tobasco heat with the scorch of it's namesake pepper. And the last flamethrowing menu item on the wing spectrum of taste is ... drumroll, please ... "Valhalla Hot." Down the street it's called "Dante's Inferno." At a place in D.C. near Georgetown where the fish tacos are out of this world, it's named "Five-Alarm Fantasy." It's pure heat ... pure eye-watering irritant. In my opinion, it ain't any good!

Most really "hot" hot wings incorporate capsaicin, an oil found in many types of peppers. Capsaicin affects the nerve receptors in tissues, especially mucous membranes ... that's what causes the burning sensation in your mouth when you bite into a pepper or eat a "hot" wing.

Some restaurants include a copy of the notorious "Scoville Scale," a rating of peppers and corresponding foods according to their capsaicin levels, in their bar menus.

Like with most things, different people have different tolerances for capsaicin. That's why you all know someone who can eat something you consider extremely mild but they freak out over the "spicy" taste. Or who doesn't have one person in your life who can eat things that are just-short-of-actual-fire hot and never flinch.

From my own personal experience, I know that, when faced with a too capsaicin-rich dish or wing, water doesn't help. It just spreads the oil around, making the burning spread more quickly. And don't look to a cold beer for any first-aid assistance ... alcohol is said to only intensify the burn.

For me, ice cream or a small taste of sour cream works best. I have friends who say a glass of milk or a spoonful of yogurt does the trick for them. The fats in dairy products seem to dissipate the burn, and most bars and restaurants have these things on hand.

If lactose and you are not friends, try a lemonade of a lemon- or fruit-wedge from the bar ... the acidity in these items cuts through the capsaicin attack.

And I read someplace that capsaicin and starch don't play well together. The starch in rice, bread, and even a banana can help beat the heat back to a managable level.

POINT OF RANT: If you are gastrointestinally challenged, be prepared whenever possible!