Penne Alla Vodka / Awesome Italian!

Penne Alla Vodka  / Penne Vodka Rustica

This meal is one of my all-time favorite Italian meals (though the Russians claim it was called Penne Alla Russia before the Italians stole the secret ingredient ~ vodka. 

The sauce, when properly prepared, is Magnifico!  My mouth begins to salivate when thinking of this sauce.  It’s not very hard to make either, but you must follow all the steps, in order.

This recipe came from Carmine’s of New York City, and with a few very minor recipe changes, I now call it Carmike’s of Coweta.

Carmine says “This dish is our number one selling pasta of all time!  It leaves us flabbergasted, but uncomplaining!”  Personally, I have no idea why they would be flabbergasted, it is that delicious.

This recipe serves three (3) adults.  It should serve four (4), but I eat for two (2), thus, it serves three (3).  Confused?  Good.  This recipe is super easy to double or even triple. 

Ingredients:

¼ cup EVOO

½ small yellow (sweeter than white) onion, finely chopped (Carmine slices, Carmike chops)

2 tablespoons coarsely chopped garlic

8 chopped fresh basil leaves (or 1 tablespoon if using dried basil)

1 tablespoon chopped dried parsley (Carmine uses 3 tablespoons, Carmike uses 1 tablespoon)

½ teaspoon hot red pepper flakes

¼ cup Vodka

3 cups sweet Marinara sauce (Carmine’s recipe for this is not included in this blog, and I have found that using Emeril’s sweet Marinara instead is a great sub)

½ cup heavy cream (the real thing, using half & half is a waste of the recipe)

12 oz. dried Penne pasta

1 cup grated Romano cheese

¼ teaspoon sea salt (Carmine uses regular salt, Carmike uses sea salt)

1 teaspoon freshly ground cracked pepper (not the powdery kind)

The process:

Step 1   In a large sauté pan, heat the olive oil over medium-high heat.  When the oil is hot, add the onions and reduce the heat to medium.  Cook the onions, stirring frequently for up to 2 minutes till they are soft.

Step 2   Add the garlic and cook the mixture for up to an additional 2 minutes or until the onions are golden brown.  Do NOT let the garlic burn or brown.

Step 3   Add the basil, parsley, and red pepper flakes.  Cook and stir for 30 seconds.

Step 4   Remove the pan from the heat and add the vodka.  Immediately flambé the vodka.  If you choose not to flambé, that is fine, but you’ll lose a vital agent to seal in seasoning flavors.

Step 5   Add the marinara sauce and simmer for 3 minutes.  Add the cream, stir, and bring the sauce to a boil.  Boil it for 3 minutes, or until it thickens, stirring occasionally.  Reduce heat, and cover.

Step 6   Bring a large pot of water to boil, add salt, add pasta, and cook till al dente, about 8 minutes.  Drain pasta.

Step 7   Bring the sauce to a boil again, stir in ¾ cup of grated cheese, and sprinkle with pepper. 

Step 8   Ladle sauce over pasta, and sprinkle with remaining grated cheese.

Step 9   To turn this dish into Vodka Rustica, place under broiler for 3 minutes to bring cheese to a golden halo.

Bon Appetit!

Thanksgiving: A Tradition Started 390 Years Ago

Everyone has a favorite holiday.  For most it is probably Christmas.  For me, it is Thanksgiving.  I love the fall weather, football in the air, fireplace smoke, family, friends, and the food.  Wow, nothing like a Thanksgiving feast.
 

This preference for Thanksgiving as my favorite holiday started as a very young boy of probably 7 when we would travel from Kansas City to Bartlesville to spend time with Dad's family for the long weekend.  Some of my most fond childhood holiday memories are from that weekend, and the time spent with my Aunt Meda, with Grandma, and with Uncle Hurley.

The story though of Thanksgiving starts with the Pilgrims and the Indians that took place in 1621.  It was a 3-day feast to celebrate the harvest of fall crops.  This 1st Thanksgiving was not a holiday, merely a simple gathering to give thanks to God for His provision in the new land.

Pilgrims sailed to this country aboard the Mayflower, and were originally members of the English Puritan Church.  They had left their homes in England and sailed to The Netherlands to escape religious persecution.  While there, they enjoyed more religious tolerance, but they became disenchanted with the Dutch way of life, thinking it ungodly.

Seeking a better life, the Puritans negotiated with a London company to finance a ‘pilgrimage’ to America.  Most of the ones making the trip aboard the Mayflower were non-Puritans, and were hired to protect the company's interests.  About one-third of the original colonists were Puritans.

The Pilgrims set ground at Plymouth Rock on December 11, 1620.  Their first winter was devastating and 46 of the original 102 who sailed on the Mayflower had died in this new land, either by starvation or disease.

The harvest of 1621 was bountiful and the remaining colonists decided to celebrate with a feast; including 91 Indians who had helped the Pilgrims survive their first year.  It is believed that the Pilgrims would not have made it through the year without the help of the Indians.

The feast was more of a traditional English harvest.  Gov. Bradford sent our four men to hunt for wild ducks, geese, wild turkey, and deer.  At the time, the word "turkey" meant any type wild fowl. 

A staple at almost every Thanksgiving is pumpkin pie (I don't like it though ~ never have).  It is unlikely though that the first feast included pumpkin.  The supply of flour had been long diminished, so there was no bread or pastry of any kind.  However, they did eat boiled pumpkin, that produced a type of Indian fry bread from their corn crop.  

There was no milk, cider, potatoes, or butter.  There were no cows for dairy products, and the newly discovered potato was still considered by many Europeans to be poisonous.  The feast also included fish, berries, watercress, lobster, dried fruit, clams, and plums.

This Thanksgiving feast was not repeated the following year.  Many years passed before the event was repeated.  It wasn't until June of 1676 that another Day of thanksgiving was proclaimed.  On June 20 of that year the governing council of Charlestown, Massachusetts, held a meeting to determine how best to express thanks for the good fortune that had seen their community securely established.  By unanimous vote they proclaimed June 29 as a day of thanksgiving.  

It is notable that this thanksgiving celebration did not include Indians, as the celebration was meant to be in recognition of the colonists' recent war victory over the Indians.  By then, it had become apparent to the settlers that the Indians were a hindrance to their quest for more land, so the goodwill they shared at the first feast 55 years earlier had long been lost.

A hundred years later, in October of 1777, all 13 colonies joined in a thanksgiving celebration.  It also commemorated the victory in war over the British at Saratoga.  But it too was a one-time celebration.

George Washington proclaimed a National Day of Thanksgiving in 1789, although some were opposed to it.  There was discord among the colonies, many feeling the hardships of a few pilgrims did not warrant a national holiday.  And later, President Thomas Jefferson opposed the idea of having a day of thanksgiving at all.

History notes that it was Sarah Hale’s efforts that eventually led to what we recognize as Thanksgiving.  Hale wrote many editorials in her two magazines; Boston Ladies, and Godly Ladies.  Finally, after a 40-year campaign of writing editorials and letters to governors and presidents, Hale's dream became a reality in 1863, when President Lincoln proclaimed the last Thursday in November as a national day of Thanksgiving.

Thanksgiving has been proclaimed by every president since Lincoln.  The date was changed a couple of times, most recently by Franklin Roosevelt, who set it up one week to the next-to-last Thursday in order to create a longer Christmas shopping season.  Public uproar against this decision caused the president to move Thanksgiving back to its original date two years later (which certainly wouldn’t happen today since Christmas season officially starts now on Nov. 1^st).  

Finally, in 1941, Thanksgiving was sanctioned by Congress as a legal holiday, as the fourth Thursday in November, and nothing has changed in the last 70 years; though Thanksgiving itself is still best known started as a tradition 390 years ago.  Happy Thanksgiving!

Pledge of Allegiance - What It Really Means

	Below is the transcript of the Pledge of Allegiance performance on "THE RED SKELTON HOUR", January 14, 1969. Red Skelton's Pledge Of Allegiance has been read twice into the Congressional Record, and received 42 Awards for Patriotism. Be sure to have your computer speakers on to hear the story as told by Mr. Skelton himself.
	"I've been listening to you boys and girls recite the Pledge of Allegiance all semester and it seems as though it is becoming monotonous to you. If I may, may I recite it and try to explain to you the meaning of each word?" I me, an individual, a committee of one. Pledge dedicate all of my worldly goods to give without self pity. Allegiance my love and my devotion. To the flag, of the our standard, Old Glory, a symbol of freedom. Wherever she waves, there's respect because your loyalty has given her a dignity that shouts freedom is everybody's job. United that means that we have all come together. States of America, individual communities that have united into 48 great states. Forty-eight individual communities with pride and dignity and purpose, all divided with imaginary boundaries, yet united to a common purpose, and that's love for country. And to the republic republic, a state in which sovereign power is invested in representatives chosen by the people to govern. And government is the people and it's from the people to the leaders, not from the leaders to the people. For which it stands, one nation one nation, meaning so blessed by God Indivisible incapable of being divided. With liberty which is freedom; the right of power to live one's own life without threats, fear, or some sort of retaliation. And Justice the principle or quality of dealing fairly with others. For all for all, which means, boys and girls, it's as much your country as it is mine. And now Boys and girls, let me hear you recite the Pledge of Allegiance: www.bedford.k12.va.us/pledge/
			I pledge allegiance to the Flag of the United States of America, and to the Republic for which it stands: one Nation indivisible, With Liberty and Justice for all.
	Since I was a small boy, two states have been added to our country and two words have been added to the Pledge of Allegiance... Under God. Wouldn't it be a pity if someone said that is a prayer and that would be eliminated from schools too?

Owen Michael

Owen Michael (2.33), a.k.a. “O’Mike” has the most loud and gregarious belly laugh of all my grandchildren, and it has been this way since he could first laugh as an infant.  People would look and stare incredulously before asking us “How old is he?”

O’Mike loves to laugh, loves to be tickled, loves to play, be thrown, and to be rough-housed; and this last part is not for the faint of heart.  He has a pain tolerance that would make Alfredo Molina blush.  Who's that?  Oh he's just a guy from Costa Rica that is one of baseballs greatest catchers ever, who happens to play for the World Series Champion St. Louis Cardinal's; who doesn't think a broken knee cap should keep you from kneeling to catch for 9 innings, or a broken elbow should keep you from throwing out a runner trying to steal 2nd, or broken ribs should keep you from swinging for a home run.  The guy is TOUGH. 

Owen is by nature loud, proud, and in your face.  He takes no prisoners, and likely never will, especially when you see him with his perfect posture, tall stature, shoulders back, and then marching (or running) into a room as if to announce “I’m here!, take a number if you want to see me.”  I see another type A growing up before my very eyes, which incidentally, on O’Mike, are shaped exactly like mine . . .

Owen has his Mom’s nose, the Mace shaped head (also like his Mom), and his Pappy’s eye shape; and when you put it all together, it’s pretty spooky to see someone that looks a lot like me, so much so, that he is sometimes referred to as Mini-Me. 

Steven (his Dad) looks nothing like me of course, and Jackie (his Mom) is a virtual clone of her Mom (Nini Pam).  So, how does O’Mike look like me?  Well, it’s that DNA thing again that I’ve talked about before.  My 25% just happens to show up pretty substantially in him. 

Life with O’Mike is anything but quiet!  Wow, this little boy is Loud and Busy, with the capital L and B.  He runs, marches, skips, hops, jumps everywhere; walking was/is too easy.  I don’t think I’ve seen him take but 4 normal walking steps this past year.  It’s run, march, hop, skip, run, march, hop, skip; that’s O’Mike, no leisurely walking anywhere for him.  That’s too easy. 

When he wakes up, he is ‘on’, no slow wake up time needed for him.  It is look out, give me a ball, any ball, just give me a ball and get out of my way because I am coming through.  Oh, and by the way Mom, where’s my food; don’t you know you’re supposed to have my food ready when my feet hit the floor?  He says to himself "when will she ever learn?" . . . 

O’Mike is a big ‘un, but not fat, and he actually looks pretty lean when he is butt naked, but it’s just the way he carries himself that makes him look so big.  Right now though, his height is off the charts, somewhere in the hundredth percentile.  No one believes us when we tell them he is only 2, as he towers over most all of the other 2 year olds, and is on par with most 3 year olds. 

There is a lot of height on both sides of the family, so it is quite possible that Owen will be a tall one too.  Counting males, there are eight (8) known male relatives that are 6’ tall or taller, with two (2) of those topping out at 6’ 3”.  Counting females, there are three (3) known female relatives that are 5’ 7” or taller.  If he stops growing at 5’ 5”, no one will be more shocked than me; but I’m betting on 6’ 3” which is much more likely.

Unlike the rest of the Kueny clan, but like most of the Fournier feaster’s, Owen is a BIG eater; somewhat persnickety in his choices, but a big eater of things he likes.  He easily out eats his brother WP on a regular basis, and we definitely see big food bills lining up in front of his parents once he hits the teens.  (Mom, always remember, if he works for McDonald’s as a teen, your food bill will be cut in half, so keep a job applicable handy when he hits 15.) 

For a long time now, Owen will ‘test smell’ his food before placing it in his mouth.  If it smells good, it’s going in.  Otherwise, who knows where it will end . . ., just like the flying tortillas at El Tequila, he has been known to hurl his food with tremendous skill if it doesn’t smell good to him.

His speech and comprehension will blow you away if you spend any time with him.  These type of skills have not been seen since his cousin Ava’s days of yore as a 2 year old.  Owen’s word count is probably well over 200 by now.  Plus, he has his Nini’s adroit skills of people watching and perception.  We witnessed him observing/reading lips and people’s behaviors before he could even sit. 

And babble.  Wow, does this little boy babble or what?!  Now, at 2.33, he will say almost anything you ask, and routinely speaks in full sentences.  He is literally only weeks away from being in fully understandable conversation mode; which is a full year ahead of language skills for most boys his age.

O’Mike’s smarts will get to you.  Owen thinks he is older than 2, and the way he will carry on full conversations with you, he truly believes that you understand every word that he is speaking, because he certainly understands what he just said.  He will ramble / bumble / babble for minutes on end, and you'll understand about half of it, but O'Mike understands everything of what he just said.  And if you asked him to repeat it, he gets ticked off.  That is one amazing brain at work.  I love you Owen Michael.

New Meaning For WWW (Working With Wood)

Working With Wood

I don’t like to get my hands dirty.  I’m not ashamed to say that.  It’s the truth; I hate dirty hands, and I hate touching dirty things.  A little dirt, a little grease, a little charcoal; I am headed for the soap.  Touch anything in public, I am squeezing my Purel.  Working around food, I am wearing disposable gloves.  Actually, I wear gloves for just about anything; whether it is gloves for weight lifting, gloves for golfing, gloves for batting, gloves for warmth in winter, gloves to wash dishes or wash cars, gloves for just about any reason you can think. 

And if I don’t have on gloves, I’ll be at the sink washing my hands.  This is just me, and has been for as long as I can remember.  OCD? Maybe a little.  But, this is a rule of my life.  And, there IS an exception to every rule.  With me, it is wood.

There is just something about wood.  I never have to wash my hands if I am handling wood.  Doesn’t matter how dirty or dusty I get; the wood dust, shavings, and scraps never bother me.  I love working with wood.  I love being around wood. 

I love to smell wood if is burning in a fireplace, burning from being scorched by a saw blade, or burning from a design being etched; and I especially love the smell of freshly cut wood.  I can tell if I am smelling mahogany, or cedar, white pine, oak, hickory, walnut, or pecan; having learned that skill at age 14 in wood shop, and it is still with me today.  I can tell the grain and density of most woods.  I’m not that good with bark or leaves, but let me look at the grain, and I’ll recognize most of the popular ones. 

Some would say I’m a little slow to have just recognized my love for wood; but it hit me yesterday, maybe it was when I walked into the beam to nearly blacken my eye.  Or, maybe it was when the miter saw got hung up on a large unseen knot and jerked my hand to within inches of *decapitation of several fingers.  (True story here; not more than 2 minutes earlier I had been prompted in my Spirit to pray for my safety around this beast of a blade.  Thank you Lord for your prompting and for your hedge of protection.) 

In any event, it finally hit home that this is something I truly love to do.  For some, it’s the thrill of killing a 12 point buck, for others it is landing a 4 lb. largemouth bass.  For me, I guess my ‘outdoorsy’ excitement comes with wood.  I spent all day on the patio modifying trim pieces, modifying posts, and preparing the patio to be painted.  100’s of nails were driven, 100’s of miter saw cuts were measured.  It was fun.  Exhausting, but truly fun.  Just like the ‘old’ days. 

I was filthy all day, but only washed my hands a few times, both for the normal circumstances of cleaning up for lunch, and using the bathroom.  How did I go all day with my hand washing fetish not kicking in, as my hands were constantly dirty, filthy?  I guess when you’re handling something that is not offensive to your system; you can handle as much of it as you want.

*Special note to the blood weary.  My Grandpa Willis lost 3 finger digits to blade accidents.  My Uncle Hurley lost 3 finger digits to blade accidents.  My brother Paul has lost 1 digit.  Myself?  I want to go to my grave with all my digits still in place . . . 

I can trace back to a very young age loving to be around wood.  I remember my Dad teaching me when I was maybe 6 or 7 how to remove nails from wood and re-straighten them with a series of carefully placed hammer strokes, making them almost as straight as brand new ones.  I can remember relentlessly scavengering the scrape piles in our new neighborhood at age 8 to find wood pieces that could be used to build skate boards and go carts; fashioning quite a few in my day that were masterpieces by my account. 

I remember building more tree houses and forts than you can count on both hands.  I was constantly building tree houses from age 8 to age 12.  Two of my brothers (Ken and Paul), were routinely helping me.  We had a good system going too.  One would look for and carry wood, one would saw, one would hammer.  This was more of a necessity though, as we only had one saw and one hammer, and shockingly, we were good at taking turns with these assigned tasks. 

Not that we didn’t have our fights.  We were boys after all.  Paul nailed me in the forehead with a hammer throw once, requiring stiches of course.  I got him back a few years after that, lodging a bamboo pole in his forehead, requiring stiches of course.  Ken took an early beginners course in falling (explained more in the next paragraph), as I can remember him losing his balance (or being pushed), and ending up on the ground many times, in one or more of many contorted positions, though never with any broken bones. 

Wood is in my DNA.  It’s got a long lineage in both sides of the family.  Wood got into by brothers Ken and Paul’s veins too, as they both became carpenters, and have been for most of their lives (save a few years they were each in the restaurant business).  Paul started off by framing houses, but grew into finish carpentry, and his main bread basket today is finish carpentry on high-end houses that take him and his crews many months of detail work to complete.  Ken started off too by framing houses, and was still doing that until he took a nasty spill from a 2nd story scaffolding.  Thankfully, he survived, but it ended his wood career, and he is back in the food service industry.

My Uncle Hurley was a master woodsmen; crafting exquisitely beautiful Grandfather clocks as his specialty, plus curio cabinets and desks.  No pre-made kits for him, everything was made by hand.  He even planed his own wood from rough cut to smooth cut.  Man, when that machine was on, you could hear it from .5 mile away.  The planer was, and is, the nosiest piece of wood working equipment ever made. 

His garage was full of the latest and greatest woodworking tools, and the smells, oh man, I loved to smell his garage.  I was invited to help him a few times as a young man craft some pieces with him, but Hurley mainly like to work alone, as I do; as helpers sometimes aren’t very helpful.  I did learn a lot from him though.  He taught me about clamps, designs with a router, turning a lathe, and tracing a design for the band saw cuts. 

My Grandpa Willis was a woodsman; building rocking chairs, stools, benches, and cabinets.  My good friend and cousin Art works commercially in the wood business, designing/engineering/estimating/drafting; and, he built his own home, with his own hands; amazing.  Art can build anything he wants to, and in one of our past lives, he built a wood porch for us that is probably still standing somewhere today.

Over the years for my daughters, I have not built much; nothing really.  My crown jewel to date was their playhouse from 25 years ago, but it was a dandy, complete with window sills, swinging doors, siding, painted, and fully shingled.  They got a few good years of enjoyment with it before we moved. 

Retirement is a foreign concept to me, 40 years away at least; but I’m going to need a hobby to slow down and enjoy for the next 30 years.  Perhaps I see the all-in-one Shop Smith Mark VII in my near future.  Priced at $4,655 + tax + handling; which is just the right size for two of my favorite daughters to stuff under their favorite Dad’s Christmas tree . . .

The BIG problem is; I need a 4^th car garage to put my wood shop in.  Wait, why did I say that?  That’s not a problem.  I’ll just build one ~ that will be my first project!  (Uh oh, Pam better not read the end of this story, as ‘project’ is a dirty word to us nowadays; I love you Babe.  Hey girls, thanks so much for that Christmas gift idea J).  Do you need the link for purchase . . . ?

Jack Attack!

Jack Arthur (3.75), 4 in March, a.k.a. Jack-Jack, is built like a fire hydrant and is the live-wire little brother of Jared.  As discussed earlier in my blog about Jared, Jack is technically my nephew, but I know he will grow to know me only as Pappy.  Jack likes to call me Mr. Mike, which of course I love, but when the other g’kids are around, he calls me Pappy too. 

Jack has the toughness of a Sherman tank, and might likely be the one that ends his big brother Jared’s football career the first time he flattens him while playing tackle football in one of their back yard pickup games.  Jack can be running on the driveway, trip, and can go face-first onto the concrete, and come up shaking it off with nary a whimper.  His face will be full of scraps and contusions, kneecaps showing cartilage, palms without a mark (remember, I said face first), and he still has the pain tolerance to just dust himself off and come back for more. 

Jack’s smile is infectious.  Since birth, I can remember very few times when I’ve looked at Jack and he was not smiling.  Jack is a spitting image of the Stank clan; with those melt your heart blue eyes, great head of blond hair, and that smile.  Wow, you just gotta love that smile. 

Jack spoke quite early for a boy, and one of his first words/sentences was referring to his dog Harley; which he has also shown a great propensity in his love for dogs.  That part I’ll never understand, but hey, no one is perfect.

Jack does not yet have the master negotiation skills of his older brother Jared, but Jack is always ready for “Let’s Make A Deal!”, the game show version.  You know the one, where Monte Hall comes around and tells the lady that he’ll give her $100 if she can instantly produce a Sooners key chain, or an Afro hair clip, or an empty container of eye shadow out of the bottom of her purse.  With Jack, he’s always got something in his pocket.  It might be his Croc Dundee knife, or a frog’s leg, or a toy soldier, or one of Harley’s dog biscuits; but I guarantee you, there is always something in Jack’s pocket. 

Jack was originally scared of me as a baby boy, but his love for me has grown with his age and maturity, and now he gives me great big bear hugs whenever he sees me, and then almost immediately shifts into play mode. 

It was an honor to be named Jack’s Godfather shortly after his birth; and I love it when he crawls up in my lap just to chill; most frequently though, I am under constant ‘Jack Attack’ by this little dynamo, with me living the Scout motto of “Be Prepared!”  I love you Jack Arthur.

Veteran's Day 11.11.11

My Dad served in the Korean Was and was a MP (Military Policeman).  My late Uncle Art served as an Officer in the Navy.  My late Uncle Lewis was a Marine.  My cousin Martha serves in the Air Force.  My nephew Stephan is a Marine.  My son in law Steven served in the Air Force.  My other son in law Joe serves in the Air National Guard.

Thank you.  I respect every person in uniform.  Now, or in the past.  Thank you.

GREAT Steak Recipe!

Savory K.C. Strip Steak

Last night was a good night for steak (or, as the BEP's William sings, a good-good night ~ love that song), so I broke out the flat iron griddle.  This fine piece of grilling cookware runs 2nd to the grilling love of my life; the charcoal powered Hasty-Bake, with the ubiquitous Jenn-Aire gas grill running a distant 3rd.  But, since there are not many days in fall/winter that are Hasty-Bake worthy, and I don't really like the gas grill, I have perfected quite a few fall/winter steak recipe's for indoor grilling.

Starting with a trip to Sam's to choose from their supply of steaks, a package of four strips was chosen.  I love Sam’s strip steaks, and their T-bones, and baby back ribs, and spare ribs, and tenderloins, and . . ., you get the picture; I love meat. 

Sam’s meat, while not grass fed, is the tenderest (or is it the most tender?) grain fed beef that I’ve ever found.  It has just the right amount of marbling, and the outer ridges are trimmed with just the right amount of fat for sizzling flavor.  Plus, it is Choice.  This is an excellent go between cut of beef.  It is not as great as Prime, but way better than Select, and Sam’s ‘Choice’ is priced lower than most stores selling the shoe leather tough ‘Select’ beef.

It’d been a typically difficult Monday.  Our crews were rained out from working on projects, but that doesn’t mean that there was no work in the office.  Plus, I needed a good workout at Gold’s, and had to meet with another insurance adjuster at our home in the afternoon too.  Coming home to cook a great steak, paired with a Sam Adams Oktoberfest was going to be just the ticket I needed to punch for the rest of my day.

So, for those of you needing a cooking lesson, here’s how to do it:

Place your steaks on a clean plate and allow them to come up to room temperature for one hour.  If your refrigerator is really cold, it might take 1.5 hours for them to come up to room temp.  Do not season them though at this point.  Just let them set, the juices will settle, and the outer edges will become prepared for the seasoning to come.

When the steaks are at room temp, turn on your flat iron griddle, and set to 375.  Also, place your meat presses (at least two) on the griddle so that they will heat up to the same temp as the griddle is, and at the same time.  One could argue for 350, but I prefer 375.  I like the first searing to be just a little hotter because the temp of the steak will cause the griddle temp to fall to 350 anyway.

For seasoning, my favorite recipe for flat iron griddle steaks comes from one of my Williams-Sonoma cookbooks, slightly modified with garlic.  ‘Ample amount’ means just right.  Too light, and you won’t taste it.  Too heavy, and that’s all you’ll taste. 

You can’t use “T” or “t” with these ingredients, as the various sizes of the steaks completely screws up the ratio of seasoning if trying to stay with the conventional measuring T or t.  A good rule of thumb with these seasonings is that after the steak has been seasoned, you’ll see about 40% red meat, and the rest will be covered with seasonings.

Season in this order (all ingredients are to be an ‘ample amount’, evenly hand applied, unless otherwise noted:

Ground Summer Savory or Thyme.

Ground Marjoram.

Kosher Salt (do not try it with regular salt).

Lightly applied Garlic Powder.

Then, using a pepper grinder, apply a generous portion of cracked black pepper (about 8 twists).

Pat steaks lightly to secure seasoning.

Turn steaks over, and repeat seasoning process.

There will be some seasoning left on the plate between the steaks.  Turn the steaks on edge and dab the fat edge onto the excess seasonings to pick up the leftover seasoning.

~

To cook the steaks; I cook my steaks to Medium.  Some steak aficionado’s believe that Medium Rare is the best way to enjoy a steak, but that’s just a little too cool for me.  Rare means raw, and if I wanted raw, I’d give you a cooking lesson in Steak Tartare.  And if you’re one of those guys that like their steaks well done, well, what can I say, you’re wasting good money on steak.

Anyway, your griddle and meat presses should be at 375 by now.  Place your steaks on the griddle, and apply your meat presses on top of the steaks.  This gives an immediate searing to both sides of the steak at the same time.  Searing is important as it seals in the seasoning, and helps to seal in the juices.

Set your timer to 6 minutes and leave the steaks alone.

Turn your steaks over, and reapply the meat press.

Set your timer for 3 minutes and leave the steaks alone.

Remove your steaks to a plate, and immediately cover with aluminum foil or a cookie sheet.  If you need to use a cooking thermometer, do so at this time, but you should know just by touching the cooked meat if it is the right temp on your fingertips.  (Wash your hands first of course).

Set your timer for 7 minutes and leave your steaks alone. 

While your steaks are setting, their juices are stabilizing/settling, and by setting them off to the side, it also allows the meat to finish cooking with the internal heat of the steak.

While your steaks are setting, this is a good time to sauté some spinach that takes about 2 minutes.  Sam’s sells an excellent Organic Spinach, already pre-washed.  It is very simple to cook.  Place a large skillet on the stove; cover the bottom of skillet with 1t of EVOO, and 1t of Organic minced fresh garlic (kept in a refrigerated jar).  Heat on medium-high, then fill skillet with spinach.  If you’ve never sautéed spinach, it takes an entire skillet to yield one large serving once it is sautéed.  Keep stirring the spinach until it is cooked soft.

Or, if you prefer salad with your steak, Sam’s also sells an excellent Organic lettuce mix.  I’m not going to teach you how to make a salad.  If you can’t do that, you’ve got real problems.

Open up a bottle of Oktoberfest (or your favorite beverage of the season), and Bon Appetit!

*Note to eater: Do not add A1, Heinz 57, or any other type of steak sauce to your steak.  If you do, once again, you are just wasting good money on steak, and you also wasted your time by following this recipe to begin with . . .

Will Parker

Will Parker (5 this month) a.k.a. “WP” is the most loving of all my grandchildren.  He is my pretty boy too; seriously, he is a beautiful little boy.

His Mom is absolutely the #1 person in his life right now, with everyone else running a distant 2nd. When recently asked by me on our of our outings together, "Will, who is the prettiest girl in your school room? His reply (given with his trademark smirk) was a rather sheepish 'My Momma'".

Will has his Momma's eyes and nose (all 100% of that part of the DNA strand for sure), his Pappy's ears (which came from his great-great Grandpa Willis), making them a very special 5th generation set of ears on WP!  No, Will was not named after Grandpa Willis, but he sure does have his ears. Pretty amazing to trace the DNA, and realize that WP has only 6.25% of his great-great Grandpa's DNA, but 100% of his ears!

The rest of Will looks like his Daddy; the hair, the eyebrows, and the long-lean body shape physique of a Kueny.  Like Daddy too, Will tried to jump before he could walk, and when he did learn to walk, he learned to walk with a strut, before he could run! 

Will shares his birthday sometimes with Thanksgiving, my favorite Holiday of the year.  His birthday party last year was a bowling party, (and this years will be too), which is another one of Will’s favorite past times.  He can shot-put a bowling ball like no one else!  But in fantasy land bowling, WP is mastering Wii bowling, setting a personal best record with a 201 game.  In the famous words of our resident trash talker he told Nini, who bowled a paltry 197, “I’m good Nini!, I’m going to beat you again!” 

WP was blessed with the spiritual gift of mercy (just like his Nini, though she would debate you as to the merits of it being a blessing), and he possesses such a pure, affectionate, and compassionate heart that you can’t help but shower him with hugs and kisses every time you see him.  But, having now said that, I have been known to shower all my grandchildren (and my own children) with hugs and kisses, quite frequently in life being told to stop.  But WP has never told me to stop.

WP and I didn’t get off on the right diaper change from the get-go.  Many family insiders think that WP took it to heart when he heard In Utero that I had been adamant in my wishes that WP was a girl, (before I knew he was a boy).  The first 14 months of his life was mainly without Pappy, not that I was not there; just simply that WP wanted no part of me.  It was heartbreaking at the time, but WP and I made amends when he moved in to live with us for 3 months while his new house was being built.  Since then, it’s been all green lights.

Speaking of which, WP loves green lights when he is riding with me in my Corvette, which he knows as the ‘go fast’ car.  For the better part of a year now, Will drools to the feel and sound of raw torque kicking in gear.  Nothing brings a smile to his face quicker than when he sees a green light, and tells me to ‘go fast Pappy’.  I believe strongly in child car seats, and probably ought to have WP wear a helmet with me in the Vette; but I want you to know that ‘go fast’ does not mean that I am taking chances.  Besides, it doesn’t take much effort for him to notice the difference in a slight ‘punch’ on the Vette accelerator; because he is used to being lulled to sleep in the lumbering luxury of his Mom’s big Buick SUV . . . 

Will has a personality combination of type B, paired with anal-retentive tendencies.  He is a natural follower, and a great follower at that, but his abstract reasoning skills and engineering traits are so obvious that a person would be blind not to see them. 

Many years before he could talk, Will was mastering puzzles.  By the time he was 4, he was building puzzles that would stump most children 3x his age.  His anal-retentiveness, along with his abstract reasoning and processing skills are off the chart.  When he builds blocks with me, I can tell he sees them in 3D by how he studies them, the same way I do; and the way he can play hand held phone games, computer games, download and discard apps, (all without being able to read), are still astonishing. 

Plus, he drives computerized race cars with more skill and adroitness than some adults ever will.  Build a racetrack, assembly blocks, puzzles, color with no errors, wow; if he doesn’t end up building bridges, rockets, skyscrapers, etc. for a living, it would be amazing. 

Will’s early language skills were called “willbonics”, mainly because of his challenges with a hard K, and because of this, he was solely responsible for having several new words added to the most current edition of Webster’s.  The new words ‘brote and trut’ are some of my favorites.  Look for them soon to be used in everyday lingo; they already are by me J.  I love you Will Parker, with all my heart (a sweet Willism).