I am the GIZZARD King, I can FRY anything!

I have a deep affinity for fried chicken gizzards - a nostalgic foodstuff that hails from  the Low Midwest of my childhood; rarely if ever prepared at home, but always an important ritual when dining at one of the three or four fried chicken restaurants close to my hometown of Lamar, Missouri.  My father and I still love them, even ordering a basket a few weeks ago at Barto's Ide Hour in Frontenac, Kansas after a day of piddling and foraging for morels at the family farm.  If you're from that neck of the woods, you know the farm, the one near Bluff Cemetery donning the signs, made by my father and me over thirty years ago, that read:

"NO TRESPASSING

VILATORS WILL BE PROSECUTED"

Dighero Family Farm near Bluff Cemetery

The deep fried gizzards and livers were on the table before we ordered our entrees, boasting a crunchy, salty exterior given way to dark, chewy muscle that seemed to squeak when bitten.  Liver, although tender and buttery, is exponentially more metallic, abrasive then it's gizzard counterpart.  I hated liver when I was boy, disgusted when I would pop one mistakenly into my mouth when thinking it was a gizzard; though these days I crave both, albeit for entirely different reasons.

Just a few days after my hometown visit, some friends introduced me to a new restaurant in Kansas City called Black Dirt, an earthy, elevated eatery boasting a special Fried Gizzard special that was nothing short of extraordinary; delicate, soft, and creamy like liver, sans the harsh copper smack in the face.  After inquiring, the chef reported back that the gizzards had been brined in buttermilk for nearly a week, breaking down the muscle into a wobbly, tender meat. 

Someone inquired, "what the hell is a gizzard anyway?" I quickly responded that it was the gall bladder; which may be only partially correct.  It's reported to be the muscle tissue in certain animals like duck, chicken, and even crustaceans near the upper part of the digestive tract, just above the stomach, that helps to grind the food to smaller bits and pieces.  I suspect the gall bladder of any animal would be dense, tough - but considering the hard feed and pebbles chickens consume, their variety is as rough and tough as any other.  Still, it's a delicacy in many parts of the world, including Africa and different parts of central America - and most definitely, and importantly,  near my hometown. 

Chicken Gizzards in Buttermilk

Following my excursions to Frontenac and Kansas City, I was inspired to create my fried gizzard recipe, borrowing technique, recipes from these two seemingly opposing restaurants.  I started by ordering fresh gizzards from our neighborhood butcher, Richard's Meat Market; they were clean, pink, and surprisingly plump.  After washing thoroughly, I soaked them in buttermilk for five days, changing the milk every other day to ensure freshness.  

If you're impatient, you can also braise the gizzards in chicken stock and mira poix for about an hour and half; then rinse and chill before frying.  I prefer the buttermilk technique, but the braised variety is quick, delicious. 

From this point I simply prepared them the way I would fried chicken; dipping each rinsed and dried muscle into seasoned (salt, pepper, paprika) flour, then egg and milk mixture, then back into the flour before dropping slowly into 375 degree oil in cast iron.  Fry until golden brown, around 5 to 7 minutes.   

Flour Dredge

Crunchy exterior, tender interior texture with umami flavor profile yielding culinary nirvana - this cheap, throw away organ meat, when given a little extra time and care, is transformed into something quite extraordinary.  They were particularly delicious the next day as a chilled High South Po' Boy when stratified between day old French bread, coarse grain mustard, and fresh green onions, next to an ice cold can of Ozark American Pale Ale.   

Fried Gizzards

I'm amazed that so many people have such an aversion to fried chicken gizzards, and frankly, that more chefs and gourmets aren't using them in their cooking or on their menus.  So, like most things, we'll continue our routines, day to day practices of doing what gives us solace and joy - prosecuting one VILATOR, and frying one beautiful CHICKEN GALL BLADDER at a time - thump thump!

Who's the Sauce? Carolina Versus Memphis

Divorces filed; wars waged; families divided - all because of BBQ sauce.  I'll be rallying the troops of BOTH sides this Sunday, May 6th in the Coca-Cola Kitchen @ the Bentonville Film Festival from 11am to 3pm - refereeing, treading the line between Carolina's mustard, vinegar based sauce and the iconic smoky, sweet Memphis variety - please come vote - but don't start a fire, a riot, or food fight - just bite, sip a Coke, and pick your favorite diplomatically - thump thump!

Carolina BBQ Sauce

Ingredients

• 1 1/2 cup prepared yellow mustard

• 2/3 cup brown sugar

• 5 tbsp ketchup

• 3 tbsp Worcestershire Sauce

• 2 tbsp apple cider vinegar

• 2 tsp white vinegar

• 1 tsp Frank's Red Hot Sauce

• 2 tsp garlic powder

• 1/2 tsp black pepper

Technique

Combine all ingredients and mix well. Use immediately or refrigerate several hours or overnight to allow flavors to blend better. 

VERSUS

 

Memphis BBQ Sauce

Ingredients

• 1/4 cup firmly packed brown sugar

• 1 tablespoon chili powder

• 1 teaspoon black pepper

• 1/2 tablespoon onion powder

• 1 teaspoon garlic powder

• 1/2 teaspoon celery seed

• 1 teaspoon seasoned salt

• 1 teaspoon smoked paprika

• 1 cups ketchup

• 1/4 cup mustard

• 2 tablespoons apple cider vinegar

• 1-1/2 tablespoons Worcestershire sauce

• 1 tablespoon canola oil

Technique

1. In a medium saucepan, stir together all the ingredients except the oil. Bring to a boil, then reduce the heat and simmer for 25 minutes.

2. Add 1 tablespoon canola oil and whisk until well blended

You Say BOBOTIE, I Say BOBOTIE

Following the March Wednesday over Water (aka, WOW) I found myself picking up a couple late night impromptu foodstuffs for my family at Wholefoods; whereupon I had the fortune of running into iconic restaurateur, food writer Crescent Dragonwagon, who was also shopping after hours.  After a few minutes of catching up, chatting, culinary pontificating, I mentioned that I had just completed a WOW show inspired by the Soul of a Nation exhibition at Crystal Bridges, where we served the traditional one pot South African dish, Bobotie.  I pronounced it “Ba-boo-tee” with an emphasis on the second syllable, almost as if to say, “shake your ba-boo-tie” Crescent, smiled and phonetically uttered the word COMPLETELY different than I had just seconds before – she said, “Bah-Ba-Dee” with more of an inflection on the first syllable, with a cadence of “zip-pa-dee” that could be the beginning or end to a funky, cool scat. 

I immediately blushed; and said, “Wait, is that really how you say it?”  And of course, being the socially gracious, well read, published writer that she is, Dragonwagon winked and said, “Oh, I guess, that’s how you say it…”  I realized that more than likely, the famed James Beard award winning cookbook writer that stood before me, was correct; and that I had just spent an hour and half in front of an audience of 200 museum guests mispronouncing the evening’s featured dish.

It seems that I’ve spent a lifetime mispronouncing or misusing words; and not just the culinary variety; at fifteen years of age, I excruciatingly remember telling my parents that my new high school girlfriend was an “intellect” rather than an “intellectual,” and in hindsight, honestly, she was neither, or wait, is it either?  And that’s not even breaking the surface of the scores of artist names and painting titles I’ve butchered during my eight year tenure at Crystal Bridges.  As a chronic “word butcher,” my advice to anyone who accidentally mispronounces or misuses a word in an embarrassing social situation is to either completely “own” your mistake like a badge of honor, or just simply grin and bare it with just a pinch of humility, which I guess is what this blog is when you get right down to it.    

Regardless, the WOW audience swooned over the centuries old South African minced meat dish that is traditionally made with exotic spices, herbs and an egg topping, similar to Greek Moussaka or British Shepherd’s Pie, sans the potatoes.  It’s really a casserole that can be easily made into one pot, then finished in the oven, a perfect dish for entertaining or feeding the family on a weekday, like perhaps, Wednesday.  We served it alongside a delicious, bright citrus slaw and a slightly spicy mango relish designed with fresh mint and medium heat peppers; the chilled slaw successfully cut through the rich, meatiness of the Bobotie, while the mango relish triggered the myriad herbs and brown spices layered throughout.  The recipe listed here will ensure that your next dinner party will impress even the most discriminating, finicky guest…wait, or is it insure?  Either way, they’re going to love it!       

Mispronounced Bobotie 

Ingredients

2 tsp coriander seeds, roasted

1 tsp cumin seeds, roasted 

½ tsp ground allspice 

Pinch of salt

1 tsp curry powder

1 T ginger root, peeled and roughly chopped

1 t turmeric

4 garlic cloves, chopped

½ long green chili, sliced

 1/2 small habanero pepper

2 slices bread

 1/2c milk

 3t vegetable oil

2 onions, finely chopped

 1 ½ lb. ground chuck

 ½ lb. ground lamb

1 green apple, peeled finely diced

1 tbsp. mango Chutney, plus extra to serve

½ c golden raisins, soaked in warm water, drained

½ lemon, juiced

Freshly ground black pepper

¼ c toasted sliced almonds

The Custard

2 large eggs

1 c milk

4 fresh bay leaves

Technique -

Use a spice grinder to grind the coriander seeds, cumin seeds, allspice and salt to a powder. Add the curry powder, ginger, turmeric, garlic and chilies, and pound until a fine paste forms.

Soak the bread in the milk for about 10 minutes, then strain and fluff up bread with a fork.

Heat the oil in a frying pan over medium heat. Add the onions and cook for 5–6 minutes, or until soft. Add the spiced chili paste and cook for 2 minutes, or until fragrant. Increase the heat to high, then add the beef and lamb cook, stirring to break up any lumps, slowly simmer for 30 minutes.

Add the apple, chutney, raisins, lemon juice and mashed bread. Season with salt and pepper and spoon into a shallow baking dish. 

To make the topping, whisk together the eggs and milk and pour over the meat. Place the bay leaves on top and bake for 20 minutes at 325 or until custard is just set. Garnish with toasted almonds

Home Is Where the Art's Place Is

We all need a place to call home; a proverbial hearth that simultaneous garners sanctuary, familiarity, and inspiration alongside the people we love and cherish.  Home is not simply a place, but rather a state of mind and, at times, even of taste, touch, and smell.  The fragrance of fresh brewed coffee, frying bacon, and cigarette smoke transcends me to my childhood and the home kitchen of my grandma Dighero as she poetically maneuvers through her standard, grease laden daily breakfast.  No matter when:  childhood, adolescence, adulthood….I could count on those three intermingled perfumes to make me feel safe, and perpetually hopeful. 

These days I search heard for a surrogate to that important, ghost of a sanctuary; and sometimes, just sometimes I catch a whisper, hint, tiny taste and smell of those beautiful days…sometimes in the strangest, and most inexplicable of places. 

I’m asked on a weekly basis:  where’s your favorite restaurant, who makes the best burger, what’s your favorite beer, where do you go for a drink?  I typically derive answers based on the party questioning, and my answers to the independent questions alter day to day, depending on my mood.  However, the sum of all of those inquiries together lead me to one, undeniable location in Fayetteville:  Arts Place Bar and Grill.  {Notice, there is no “E” at the end of grill}

Dark, brooding, smoky, embellished with sounds of pool balls “clacking” intermittently beneath laughter, “rhubarb rhubarb rhubarb” muttering, and the unmistakable “sizzle” of burgers on a flat top grill.  Ahhh, this is home…this is where I come to make business deals, to celebrate the lives of contemporaries, to mourn the loss of important family, to be alone, to be part of a crowd, to break-up, to fall in love, and to, most importantly of all, drink a beer and devour the best cheeseburger on the planet.

There’s really nothing stylized about the Art’s Place burger; it’s an archetype of perfection, but one should never expect something groundbreaking or cutting edge.  The beef patty is fried in front of you, behind the bar on a flat top grill that has been seasoned with whiskey, bar brawls, and a million lonely hearts, then stratified with mayo, sliced tomato, cold iceberg lettuce, and thick sliced white onions…be sure to ask for extra crispy fries; and don’t be offended if the pretty girl sitting next you at the bar pays you little mind, because she is, well, you’ll just have to see for yourself.

Art’s Place is a lot of things to a lot of people, myself included; but at the very least it’s an important part of the edible culture of Fayetteville, Arkansas.  It may not be your idea of home, sanctuary, inspiration…but I guarantee it’ll be the best burger you’ve had in a very, long time.

Wasted Away Again in Michelada-ville

I lick the rim, instantly causing an involuntary spasm in my cheeks elicited from the combination of citrus, pepper, and salt; my mouth waters, so I part my lips and take a long, slow pull from the frosty glass; g-u-u-u-u-l-p,  g-u-u-u-u-l-p, g-u-u-u-u-l-p;  Mexican lager, lime, salt, umami cascade across my tongue, against my throat, and into my stomach.  I open my eyes, and the dream is gone…

I started drinking micheladas in 2002 at the newly opened Oseguera’s Mexican restaurant in Springdale, owned and operated by a trio of second generation brothers who learned the intricate tools of the trade from the family establishment located in Hot Springs.  Oseguera’s quickly became a weekly destination for me because of the exceptional hospitality, incredibly authentic food, and the house Michelada.  I still fantasize about their higado encellado, or beef liver with caramelized onions, delicately prepared with lard laden refried beans and coarse ground corn tortillas.  But the michelada was, out of the many wonderful items offered, the thing I craved the most.  The first time one of the gregarious brothers brought a tray full out to a table full of friends, some of which hailed from central Mexico, I reached for the sweating, footed, bulbous glass cautiously because I had never heard of such a thing.  The opaque goblet was rimed with chili salt, teeming with foam that ceilinged a dirty brown beer mixture.  I sipped, slurped, and gulped like Harry Dean Stanton emerging from the desert.

There was always a swirl of mystery around the Oseuguera michelada recipe; the boys were as welcoming and accommodating as any I’d ever met, but they were tight lipped and elusive about the ingredients of their house beer cocktail.  In fact, just before publication I contacted Anthony Oseguera, one of the brothers who now owns Mangos taqueria in Fayetteville, in an attempt to procure their coveted recipe, and his response was kind, but as vague as ever regarding the original ingredient.   I always ordered it with Tecate, but it was just as delicious with Negra Modelo; I could decipher fresh lime juice, salt, something spicy, and something earthy, umami.  But what the hell was that earthy, umami component?  I suspect that it could be Maggi, a dark liquid seasoning found in Latin and Asian markets that has a similar consistency and flavor as soy sauce, but is sans soy. 

These days micheladas can be found throughout the High South region at a number of Tex-mex and authentic taquerias, and most offer the base recipe with tomato juice, which I’ve learned is heresy for most diehards.  Although rarely do they compare to the Oseguera recipe, I still order them all the time, La Hacienda in Northeast Fayetteville makes a solid version, and Charley’s taqueria in Springdale makes one filled with a lime, lemon, pickles, meat sticks, and poached shrimp; and even though it seems more than a little superfluous, I order it almost every time I dine there

So, I still think about, fantasize about that first michelada from Oseguera’s, which sadly, subsequently closed a few years later, leaving a pretty substantial gap in the life that defined the culinary me.  It’s true, I’m a nostalgic guy; and I fell head over heels in love with Tammye, who later became my wife, over many sexy, blurry eyed evenings of queso fundido, higaldo  encellado, and the salty, ethereal kiss of the michelada.  It’s my own damn fault….thump thump.

Check out my Ozark Michelada recipe here using Ozark Beer Company’s American Pale Ale - Enjoy!

Ozark Michelada

Ingredients

Salt and Smoked Paprika, for rimming the glass

¼ cup fresh squeezed lime juice – probably 3 or 4 medium sized limes

Ice

1 can Ozark American Pale Ale

3 shakes of Worcestershire sauce

3 shakes Cholula hot sauce

1 shake of Maggi

Freshly ground pepper and lime wedge for garnish

Technique

Place enough salt and smoked paprika in a wide, shallow dish to cover.  Rub the rim of the glass with lime wedge, then dip glasses into salt, paprika mix.

Place lime juice, sauce shakes in the glass, mix, add ice, then beer, top with a few grinds of pepper, garnish with lime, serve, enjoy. 

*Keep in mind that it’s perfectly fine to add a splash of tomato juice to this recipe, but please don’t add tomato until after you’ve tried it without – Gulp Gulp!