Showing posts with label caterer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label caterer. Show all posts

Thursday, February 16, 2012

1989, Ruby Red & The Story of Joe's Stone Crab Claws


“We need the tonic of wildness...At the same time that we are earnest to explore and learn all things, we require that all things be mysterious and unexplorable, that land and sea be indefinitely wild, unsurveyed and unfathomed by us because unfathomable. We can never have enough of nature.”
Henry David Thoreau

February 16th, 2012
Song: Highlights of 1989 . . taking you back!

I’m not so white anymore!  My current surroundings of the ancient ones did not deter me from at last setting out for the beach.  I’ve been here on Marco Island, Florida for over eight days and only just yesterday did I pull on my ex-bf inherited, metallic and Kermit the frog green speedo.  Gathering  up a few overly festive beach towels, my weathered non-fiction novel  “Lasher” by Anne Rice and my essential pocket companions of a wallet, a lighter, one pack of cigarettes and my i-phone; I stepped onto the white sand beach, rejoicing in my mediocre accomplishment.  The beauty of living amongst the near dead is that you really don’t care what anyone thinks about you!  (In my own defense, the inhabitants of this isla de viejos commonly refer to the siren of a passing ambulance as an immortal sign, stating “well, there’s another condo for sale!”) My belly still bloated from a solitary Valentine’s day eating extravaganza I settled in about twenty paces back from the tide leaving ample room between my neighboring Blue Hairs and Q-Tips.  

The backside of my body is now beet red (so was my poop this morning as last night’s dinner featured some locally grown beets and balsamic-glazed chicken breast:0).  The migrating sting doesn’t bother me, as a chef your grow accustomed to a certain level of pain but this does remind me of my first encounter with this seashell ridden beach back in the Summer of 1989.  Back then, Guns-n-Roses was enjoying (or shall I say, snorting) the spotlight of our American youth just as the the tropic of cancer sun enjoyed it’s searing of my backside.  My sister had abandoned my side you see, and left me to the calling of seabirds and gentle splash of aphrodisiac waves, my insomnia folded within . . . I fell asleep for five hours!  The next two days were spent in the reclusive confines of our hotel room administering lotions, aloe vera, even Vaseline with hopes that my skin would not peel from the flesh below.  No effort could undo the blistering calling card of Apollo.  I could not sit to watch TV only lay on my belly with my head turned counter-clockwise until at last the kinked vertebrae overcame the concept of uncomfortable; needless to say, that trip was flushed down the toilet.

I haven’t really divested much of anything with regards to food lately and so I will share the story of Joe’s Stone Crab Claws.  They are local to this region of the US, but really . . who and the hell is/was Joe?  (coincidentally it is my good friend Joe’s birthday today– a bit of tribute to him as these two species share some similar characteristics including a genuine love for the Ocean, strategically inclined to defend that which they believe in . . or offensively go after that which they desire, repeated physical torture whether self imposed or that of an outside element, and an earnest sweetness that can only be found after having cracked through the thick, protective eco-skeleton . . which takes a bit of work!)
 
The Story of Joe & the Stone Crab Claw
Reference: www.joesstonecrab.com//  the story recounted from Joe’s son, Jesse Weiss

Joseph Weiss-the "Joe" of Joe's Stone Crab-came to Miami in 1913, when his doctors told him that the only help for his asthma would be a change of climate. Joe and his wife, Jennie, both Hungarian-born, were living in New York, where their son Jesse was born in 1907. Joe was a waiter, and Jennie cooked in small restaurants. Some seventy years later, Jesse recalled the move: My dad borrowed fifty dollars on his life insurance policy, left my mother and me in New York, and came to Florida...He stayed in Miami one night, and he couldn't breathe. So he took the ferry boat that used to go to Miami Beach. Oddly enough, he could breathe over here. So, he stayed here and started running a lunch stand at Smith's bathing casino. That was the beginning of the restaurant that was the seed for Joes.

After a few years, Joe's was off and running. "We got the 'in'crowd, the society crowd, Jesse remembered. "At that time, we could seat maybe forty or fifty." But stone crabs were yet to come. In fact, no one then knew that this local crustacean was even edible until a Harvard ichthyologist conducting research in the bay finally prompted the question, "Have you ever used these stone crabs, these crabs from the water?" We were serving crawfish, all kinds of fish-but not stone crabs. "Nobody will eat them," Dad said. That was at breakfast. That day when the ichthyologist came down for lunch, he brought a burlap sack, full of live stone crabs. He and my dad went around and around about how to cook them. Do you broil them, or what do you do with them? My dad threw the stone crabs in boiling water and that was the beginning of it. The bay was full of them! When we started serving them cracked with hash brown potatoes, cole slaw, and mayonnaise, they were an instant success. We charged seventy-five cents for four or five crabs, twenty-five cents for potatoes and twenty-five cents an order for cole slaw. And this is the way we have been serving them since. We hit the jackpot with that one!

Stone Crab (Menippe Mercenaria)
Menippe-Greek, meaning force or courage
Mercinaria-Latin, something of value
In order to assure the continued survival of the species: Only one claw may be removed so the crab can defend itself. Egg bearing females are not allowed to be declawed. The crabs are captured in baited traps. No spears or hooks are allowed. Four inches from the first joint to the tip is the minimum legal size, that's about two ounces. A colossal can weigh 25 ounces or more. The large crusher claw can exert extreme pressure. As much as 19000 lbs. per square inch. Although their massive claws serve as deterrents to most predators, fishermen have reported the stone crab falls prey to the octopus. Stone crab season in Florida runs from October 15th to May 15. Stone crabs exhibit carnivorous feeding behavior. Sometimes in traps they resort to cannibalism! The claws make up half the weight of the whole crab, they are removed by carefully grabbing from the rear and twisting. The crab is returned to water and the claw regenerates. It takes between 12 to 24 months to reach legal size again. In 1963 stone crabs cost 30 cents a dozen wholesale but today you can enjoy their sweet, succulent flesh for mere $17.99 per lb. upwards of $37.99 per lb. for the colossal claws (you are correct – they’re not cheap!). 

You can order these bugger’s online or visit your local seafood restaurant to partake in the delicacy.  As for me, I have atrocious memories of having to prep-this guys (crack it but make it look it isn’t cracked at all) for the bazillion customers at MECCA in San Francisco as one of the owners had an infatuation with Key West and all that came from it.  The flavor is delicate so whatever you do – don’t over mask it with heavy spices, cheeses or pungent ingredients of any type.  I have a simple crab complimentary dipping sauce for yah . . gotta go put some more lotion now, till manana!

With Culinary Blessings,
                 Chef Scotty

Tarragon-Dijon Dipping Sauce
This recipe makes enough for 6-8 crab claws depending on how you like to dunk & dive.  You may elect to omit the tarragon if you prefer the one note of dill.  Don’t overcook your crab and check to see if it arrived fully cooked in which case you only need to bring it temp.  In the absence of all else – I like cilantro-ginger infused compound butter with my crabmeat.

Ingredients:
2 tablespoons chopped shallots
1/2 cup dry white wine
1 tablespoon tarragon vinegar or white wine vinegar
1/2 teaspoon freshly ground white pepper
1 cup heavy cream
1/4 pound unsalted butter, divided into 4 pieces
2 tablespoons each chopped fresh dill & tarragon
2 teaspoons chopped chives
3 teaspoons Dijon mustard
salt, to taste

Preparation:
In a medium saucepan, combine the shallots, wine, vinegar and white pepper. Bring to a boil, uncovered, and reduce by half. Add cream and reduce again by half. (Sauce should be slightly thickened.)

Lower heat and whisk in butter, one piece at a time. Quickly add the dill, tarragon, chives and mustard and salt, to taste.


Wednesday, February 15, 2012

E-Harmony - a Quest to Consider? Up & Away, Key Lime-Ginger Dressing


“Say what you have to say, not what you ought. Any truth is better than make-believe.”
Henry David Thoreau

February 15th, 2012
Song: What you think of that – The Makings of a Man by Jaheim
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2AvmeLwKxPI&feature=youtube_gdata_player

It's the day after valentines and my belly is still churning from the sadistic amounts of food that I plumaged into my mouth all washed down with some five dollar pinot grigio that was hidden away in my Mother’s fridge.  She and my Step-father took off for Key Largo yesterday, leaving me and her curly, snow shovel colored Bichon to our own demise.  With the gathering of condo-retirees below, Frank Sinatra pulsing through the semi-tropical air, I continued my gregarious consumption of the remaining chunks of cherry bundt cake and set forth on a task to conquer the likes of these online dating services.  Laugh as you will, I refrained from sinking below certain desperation by omitting my credit card numerals . . I simply perused through their questionnaires, filling out page after page whilst intoxicating my memories with more cheap p.g.  I must say, the E-harmony questions are so politically correct as such I’ve made a few modifications of my own:

Q: How often do you date?
When is the last time you’ve been laid?

Q: Define how important sexual relations are with your partner?
How often do you masturbate?  How many sex toys do you own?  Do you consider porn a hobby or an obsession?

Q: What are the four qualities that your friends would best describe you as?
Pick the top two best qualities and bottom two negative traits of your mother & father – that’s you!

Q: Do you believe in monogamy?
How many partners have you cheated on and how many times did you get caught?

Q: Please describe your physique?
You don’t have a swimmer’s build let’s be honest.  Just get a colonic, starve yourself for 3-days and snap a full body photo (less the genitalia).  Note: if you nail a date I suggest you choose your clothes wisely!

Ok, that might be a little too blunt, perhaps a bit too cynical but honesty will present itself eventually.  If you want to entertain some fairytale for a few dates before breaking the genies grip, that’s all on you!  For me, things are looking up so far as the career development, the lawsuit advances, the money tree sprouting, my faith in humanity . . . and why shouldn’t things grow in my field of fortune?    Oops,  that reminds me, I need to take a brief Buddhist break > forgot to chant < 

Refreshing to keep that routine going as it boost’s my compassion level.  Today, I thought I’d try and take a bit more humorous approach to my outlook on relationships (the last few entries having a serious undertone, uprising against futility and pitted perspective of my reality).  I do believe I am more than ready to broaden the scope of conversation to more conventional topics such as our ecological conundrum, the purpose of toes, the deception of college, apricots and the mind-boggling varietals of wolf/fox descendants aka: dogs. March is approaching and with it the budding potential for plenty of green.   

So, how about one of my favorite dressings that captures the confliction of oil & vinegar, sour & sweet and the undisclosed element of candied ginger . . . the level of spice depending on its origin – if I had to rate my level, I’d likely come in at 8.3 out of 10. That damn cherry bundt cake taking me down a full point as I successful earned a gluttonous ring around the belly in less than two days – thank the calendar we’ve got another 354 days before Valentine’s Day surfaces to inflict it’s arrows! (be they arrows of marshmallow melodies or nitrous inflamated steel shafts).  So, many percentages with all of those dating surveys . . . how could I resist delivering your recipe in the same format!

With Culinary Blessings,
                     Chef Scotty


Candied Ginger Key Lime Dressing


Organic Safflower Oil
14.40%

Organic Key Lime Juice Concentrate
14.40%

Sesame Oil
5.76%

Rice Vinegar
23.56%

Candied Ginger
23.82%

Agave Nectar
5.50%

Onion, chopped
3.93%

Sea Salt
1.83%

Cilantro
5.76%

White Peppercorn, ground
0.11%

Citric Acid
0.73%

Cayenne
0.11%

Allspice Berry
0.11%


100.00%

Basically, throw it all in a blender and let go for 5 minutes.  Don’t forget to hold the lid.  This dressing is spunky, uber refreshing and on point as your this Jeremy Lin of the New York Knick’s.

Monday, February 13, 2012

Unravelling Rapture & Blue Demons in Pursuit of Something

“One is not born into the world to do everything but to do something.”
Henry David Thoreau
 
February 13th, 2012

At last, I feel words form to my thought . . something dignified.  I believe in God, despite my renouncement of his lacking of late, my everyday curse as one of the living.  This is the second morning that I have risen before that of the Sun.  The sky is so beautiful transcending every shade of blue, maybe the blue of yesterdays poem alludes to the same.  Where the Earth meets “the floorboards” of heaven it is topaz adorned with silhouettes of swaying date palm fronds, then tiffany to majorelle, duke to navy and almost gray but really prussian melded with anubis and dotted by the stars of the Almighty . . . I search, a turn of the head, to capture and gaze at the iridescent moon as it encapsulates my new mood that stirs within.  Yes, I believe in God still . . . Buddhist by nature, by choice . . belief by blood or so it seems.

 This awakening of realization stems from an intercourse in recent fiction – I speak not of the bible or distant church bells that resound here on Marco Island but a book that I’m reading of witches, demons & man in his many incripulous faults and deeply wedded loves.  My reading is titled, Lasher by Anne Rice and whilst it is the primary subject of my thought, knowing each character and hanging on the suspenseful climax, one that I speculate and anticipate with the turn of each page; there is an abundance of Christian symbolism at this time.  I passed over the Grammy’s last night and in it’s place, settled on watching Angels & Demons.  You know the movie with Tom Hanks and the plight of the Vatican’s own meddling of affairs nearly causing the destruction of Rome.  It was this movie and the immediately following cinematic Sci-Fi Channel special that captivated this audience of one (plus dog, but he didn’t offer any input on the channel selection).  The secondary movie, I can’t seem to recall the name, heralded the return of Arnold Schwarzenegger (no longer a California governor and his fortunes divided by divorce – he has returned to Hollywood in true form of action/thriller) in yet another movie with Roman priesthood battling Satan’s return in attempt to breed his spawn with some once in a thousand year born child named Christine.  Of course, it was Arnold who portrayed some Rambo meets Saint Michael character but that is far from the topic of importance here.

All of this religious mumbo jumbo has stirred something more spiritual than a splash of vermouth over iced down Tanquerey gin (I openly admit to having three last night and oh, were the artisan blue cheese stuffed olives delish!).  Whitney Houston’s death, the daughter of one Emily “Cissy” Houston, renowned as one of America’s great gospel singers; the abandonment of Prop 8 and the ongoing battle of belittling the authenticity and legality of legal gay marriage; the conflicted republican GOP racey religious overtones sporting a “Royal Rumble” between Mit “the Mormon” Tyrant,  Newt “the Grinch” Gingrich & Ricky “the Papal Slave” Santorum (again, I leave Ron Paul alone); and my own acceptance of faith and fate spooned over an attitude that hasn’t quite settled on the next move . . . fearing the right as much the wrong.  Am I a Fallen Angel?  

In many ways, I identify with the actors and characters of my recent entertainment escapade – that is to say, “the good guys” with their many flaws flanking their intentions as members of the righteous wing.  And I’m not ashamed to say that I too can find my own corrupted soul entwined with the likes of less angelic heirs . . . perhaps it is the blend of the two that allows one the fortitude to strike out against the hand of evil; the saintly all too reserved, too faithful, too passive as the innocence of a nested dove amidst a torrential storm.  No, no . . I am not passive that is for certain, but I have definitely taken my time these passing months, I’ve taken no real assertive steps in any direction for the very fear of making the wrong choice. 

Is any choice the wrong one?  Or is it simply another path of lessons that unfold in perfect triangular fashion as a Star Spangled Banner Flag is passed to the widow of a soldier no more?  Death comes to us all, it is merely the mode and hour that has to be determined – I have no fear of that darkening moment.   I fear having failed to live life to my fullest potential; I fear my own neglect, whether coherent of unconscious, of my pre-ordained destiny to “change the world” . . that is to be an open-ended concept that continually evolves or shall I say revolves; I fear what most do not . . . I know myself, I know the coming of change has accountability and responsibility that few have but elected to embrace . . . I know, I know . . . I know nothing right at this moment, but that God would have me be something more than that of late.

I am a warrior, often meek in merit, but none the less . . I am fighting everyday with the devil within and by circumstance, or fate . . the demon of Eden.  A chef by trait, by passion, by celestial gift – I am hardly content to settle for such selfish preoccupations of simply garnering a wage.  Money is not the root of all evil, it is what we do with it that harbors such ill elections.  My choices however are limited by the unfortunate absence of funds and therefore the struggle couples and leads me further astray, perhaps to turn my sight in oblivious pursuit to be loved by another . . that escape is ever so appealing.  But at last, I recognize the angel sent to me this past November – a mere memory of what can be, could be, will be . . .  and yet that I need find myself before the latter love can ever fully be honored.  Again, I wonder how much of this makes sense?  I know that I believe in God again and tomorrow my Valentine might just be that of the cross embroidered into my plight of possibilities rendering on the stove. 

With Culinary Blessings & Love,
                  Chef Scotty  

A Valentines Menu

Seared Sea Scallop with Saffron Beurre Blanc & Sun-dried Tomato n’Artichoke Risotto Cake

Wild Rocket Salad with Parsnip & Ciopolleni Confit, Corn Shoot, Baconized-Black Raspberry Vinaigrette, Shaved Ossau Iraty & Pink Peppercorn-Pistachio Praline

Sorbet of Scarlet Champagne

Caramelized Shallot encrusted Lambchop wth Sangiovese-Cocoa Demi-God Sauce, Fingerling Potato-Fennel Gratin, Nasturtium Confetti

Coconut-Cardamom Panna Cotta bathing in Rosewater Seduction Sauce