Cleanin’ Out My Cabinets: Miso Pulled Pork & The Perfect Reuben

During these past few odd weeks in Boston I have passed the time making some very salty taste treats while experimenting with the miso paste from Super 88.  I’ve also been casting lots of nervous glances at the corned beef brisket in my fridge that was rapidly approaching its expiration date.  Figured I would cover two of the most notable salty meals from these ingredients in one post, kind of like my love letter to salt.  It wouldn’t be the first one I’ve written to that foul temptress.

First up is a miso glazed pulled pork.  I got the idea from a food truck that regularly parks near my office and the rave reviews from coworkers of their miso pork.  That and I was addicted to the miso+meat combo after a couple successful rounds of chicken salad with homemade miso mayo.  Mmmmmmmm, salt.

The ingredients for the glaze:

Miso is an extremely dangerous thing to add to my repetoire.  It’s basically vegetable anchovies.  I have put this stuff on pretty much everything and it consistently makes whatever it is better

A spoonful of miso, sesame oil, crushed red pepper, a little soy sauce, and some maple syrup to caramelize the outside and give some contrasting sweetness.  With a little whisking this ended up about the thickness of Sweet Baby Rays BBQ sauce.  The goal was to lacquer it on early and often to get that borderline spoofy Marge Simpson’s ham-like glaze.

I preheated the oven to 250F and prepped the 5 lb Boston butt for cooking by applying a thick layer of glaze.

The now common window-side natural light shot has been a wonderful addition to this blog in my opinion.  And my opinion is really the key one when it comes to opinions on my blog

The pork went into the oven on a roasting rack with the plan to cook it for 6 hours or so, glazing every hour.  I also flipped it a couple times during cooking to make sure that no sides were deprived of a thick coating of glaze.

The only problem was that I was feeling a little impatient and the pork got stuck at around 170F for what felt like an eternity, while the glaze was making the transitioned from caramelized to burnt.  While pork is fully cooked at that temperature, the most tender and easiest to pull pork is usually in the range of 200F.  So, I basically had a panic attack trying to figure out how to get the temperature up without the whole thing becoming burned to a crisp, leading me to pulling this out at 180F and giving up.

I think it was actually about thirty minutes after this shot because the crust was definitely more burned than this.  You are completely out of touch with this blog if you don’t think the burnt to a crisp pieces were my favorite part

After letting the pork rest for a half hour, the temperature had climbed to 185F.  I had quietly hoped it would magically climb 20 degrees while resting but it fell a little short.  The shredding and pulling was a little bit tougher due to the lower internal temp and a bit of fat and connective tissue (that would have cooked off at 200F) needed to be cut out as I went.  I still had a decent pile of meat with no other destination than a couple sandwiches and a week of “Pete’s meat bowl” lunches.

I am convinced my coworkers think I am completely insane.  Instead of answering normally with “pulled pork” or “chicken soup” when they say, “that smells good, what is it?”, I respond excitedly with “PETE’S MEAT BOWL!!!!” or “SOUPER SUNDAYS Y’ALLL!!!”.  I like lunchtime to be an adventure, an adventure in obnoxious behavior

It smelled pretty solid and the samples I took along the way were awesome, but the problem with a pulled pork like this one is I had no idea what to serve it with.  The flavor was definitely asian, but a terriyaki sauce or a BBQ/soy combo would completely overpower the meat.  So, I went simple and just put a bunch of pieces in a bun with a piece of iceberg.  After viewing the following photo, you will agree that this should henceforth be known as “McDonalds-style”.

Definitely on of the worst unveiling shots in a long line of awful ones on this blog.  Looks unappetizing and anonymous

The pork came out pretty tasty despite not being as tender as I had hoped it would be.  I feel like I have made this mistake on multiple occasions and yet I will continue to think I can pull the pork before 200F just because I am horribly impatient and hungry.  Anyhoo, although the exterior crust was a little salty, when mixed in with the rest of the meat it was pretty balanced and the glaze was relatively mild.  The miso added a truffle-like umami flavor that matched well with the shoulder meat.  It’s a couple weeks later and I still haven’t figured out what I would serve this on if I made it again, but the leader in the clubhouse is a flour tortilla with a vinegar slaw and a smear of duck sauce.  So now you know.

On to the “perfect” reuben.

Corned beef and cabbage was a relatively common meal in the Ryan household growing up.  We ate enough of it that I was obsessed with eating the white pieces of fat when I was young, and unlike my continued obsession with baking sheet crispies, I now recognize how disgusting that was.  Moving on, we always had leftovers since Mommy Ryan would buy an extra large corned beef brisket with the intention of serving reubens the following day.  Her reubens were pretty incredible, and made the reuben a top 3 sandwich for me.  Unfortunately, over the years I’ve learned that 90% of reubens served in restaurants are crap due to presliced/precooked deli corned beef.  It has to start with thick sliced tender corned beef brisket, no exceptions.  So with Kristi gone for the weekend, that’s where I started.

The deli slicer is the kitchen appliance I most often insert into love songs when babbling/singing to myself in the kitchen.  The initial courtship was too fast, our relationship is up and down, and eventually I will lose a limb because of her, but dammit, my deli slicer deserves to be immortalized in a love song

The corned beef brisket loses about a third of its weight during the boiling process and takes about 3.5 hours to become fork tender.  Because the slicer is at its best when the meat is cold and firm, I boiled the brisket on a Friday night with the intention of using it Saturday.  After letting the meat cool in the cooking liquid for 30 minutes, I transferred it to the fridge to spend the night.  The shot above is from the following morning.

In the universe of sandwiches, I think reubens are relatively unique in that every one uses the exact same combination of ingredients yet the taste and quality varies widely.  I could order a turkey, cheddar, lettuce, and mayo on a sub (#2 on my sammiches list) at pretty much any deli in America and it would come out delicious almost every time.  The same number of ingredients for a reuben ends up an abomination in the hands of most restaurants.  It’s really not complicated to get right, but I’ll run through it for any aspiring delicatessens.

It all starts with rye bread (seedless for me):

One of the best things (slash worst for me) about having Janet around is that we have real softened butter available in the house due to our constant attempts to fatten her up.  It’s certainly fattened me up

The bottom slice of rye is given a good slathering of thousand island dressing and the top slice is spread with butter for griddling.  I know it looks like a lot of butter, but that’s how Mommy Ryan taught me, so blame her.

Time to get the corned beef involved.

The container of corned beef had an extremely unfortunate aroma when opened but it went away shortly after opening.  No idea why it happened, but it wasn’t a smell I like associated with my food.  I guess that’s what happens when you pickle beef

I sliced the brisket a little over 1/8th of an inch thick and that stack represents three thick slices of meat.  I can’t state strongly enough that it is not worth it to make this sandwich if you plan to use sliced corned beef from the deli counter unless you are near an awesome Jewish delicatessen that makes their own meats.  I never speak poorly of Boars Head, but I think the meat they use for their corned beef is a roast cut, not brisket, which ruins the texture and flavor.  That’s right, you’re not even allowed to use Boars Head.

The order of the next couple ingredients is up to the maker, but I of course have a strong opinion.  So bring on the sauerkraut!

I had some sauerkraut in my fridge in a tupperware that tasted fine.  I used it on all reubens made in the following days before realizing it was leftover from an Oktoberfest party last fall.  Sooo, yeah, turns out that stuff doesn’t go bad quickly.  It’s still in my fridge

I will not debate this point (nor does anyone else care enough to do so), but the cheese has to be melted over the sauerkraut to prevent the bread from becoming a soggy mess.  The cheese has to serve as a barrier.  DO NOT DEBATE THIS WITH ME!

Now a few slices of deli Swiss cheese to make that barrier.

Here’s a little thing: when I was a kid I called deli American “Holy Cheese” because it had tiny holes that I loved and it was also generally delicious.  But, I hated Swiss because the holes were too big.  I was a picky little sh*t

With the Swiss cheese loaded, the buttered rye slice goes on top, butter side out.

Mommy Ryan always cooked these in a pan grilled cheese-style, and I have always had success doing the same.  But, a few years ago I used our panini press with the flat griddle plates to make a reuben and realized how much better life could be.  Perfectly even griddling and a little weight on the top half to keep the large pile of ingredients inside compacted.  I’ve never looked back (though I also hadn’t made reubens between then and this most recent run).

The press was preheated and a little butter was melted on the bottom griddle since the bottom slice of bread was dry on the outside.  Then I closed the press.

Side view of the panini press working its magic.  I bought this panini press for Kristi along with a paring knife for her second birthday while we were dating.  I am pretty sure she had no interest in either and recognized I was buying for myself with the eventual hope of merging our possessions. Lucky to be married folks, lucky to be married

At a medium heat setting, it takes about 8-10 minutes to get the bread golden brown and crispy.

The press is a pain to get out and use but never, ever disappoints.  I’m not really sure why the act of removing a small appliance from a cupboard for use seems so annoying but it really is

Remove from the press and eat.  After pausing to take a picture by your window, ‘course.

Yep, hungry again.  I salute you reuben.  Hell of a sandwich

No need to deconstruct the flavor of this reuben, just know it was the reuben of your dreams.  Crispy bread and the sweet dressing/salty beef/tangy sauerkraut combo, all smothered in melted swiss cheese.  Sigh.  Airplane seatbelts are elastic these days, right?

And that’s it.  Heading to DC and may fit in some food exploring this weekend.

Cleanin’ out my Cabinets: The Italian Beef Sandwich

I love regional sammiches and if I know an area has a signature one, I generally do whatever is necessary to sample it when I visit.  I consumed over 400 cheesesteaks during my two years in Philly, dream about the debris po boy from Mothers on a regular basis, and will write a 1,000 word missive about the Jersey sloppy joe some point soon.  They’re not all winners, though. I wouldn’t recommend you visit Pittsburgh for the soggy french fries and deli meat on stale bread sandwich at Primanti Bros.  Sandwiches You Will Love lost all credibility for me with that one.

On Kristi and my visit to Chicago, I wanted to get the famous Italian beef sandwich.  But, as documented previously, it was a pretty packed couple days and we covered two of the most popular regional specialties in hot dogs and deep dish.  The sandwich had to be passed on for, you know, normal restaurant meals and stuff.  It was a vacation away from Janet for cripes sake.

I don’t know if that’s all me or if my raincoat was full of air, but I don’t think I want to know.  Not sure if I would tell you either

Blah blah blah, I didn’t get the sandwich.  Sounded friggin’ awesome though, sliced roast beef with Italian seasonings, simmered in the cooking juices and loaded onto a sandwich.  Then, the whole sandwich is dipped back into those juices if you so chose.  Yeah, sounded too awesome to not make that for myself.

It all started with a few blade steaks.

My Friday afternoon trips to the Back Bay Shaws get a little crazy.  Anything that isn’t bolted down and I haven’t cooked before has the potential to be purchased

As alluded to in the caption, I have thoroughly enjoyed hitting up the supermarket by my office on Fridays for random cuts of beef and pork and usually some seafood as well.  These blade steaks looked good and I’d never cooked them before, so I was completely unaware that they can’t be grilled like a regular steak.  Explains why they were pretty inexpensive and had a visible ribbon of gristle running down the middle.

Since they couldn’t be grilled, what else could I do but take a crack at the Italian Beef Sandwich.  I seasoned the steaks with salt and pepper and put them in a preheated ‘Lil Blue with some olive oil to brown on the stovetop.

The gristle is pretty visible here.  It looked like a slice of the hanger meat, which is probably what I would discover blade steak is if I did even 5 seconds of research.  Meh

After the meat was fully browned, I removed it from the pot and threw in a mix of celery, carrots, and garlic that I had run through the food processor.  After that cooked for a couple of minutes I added in a sliced yellow onion.

I gave myself a lot of crap for how odd it was to send most of the mirepoix through the food processor and leave the onions whole.  But I wanted them to have a visible presence in the final sammich, and I now have to live with that visually disjointed decision

I cooked the onions until they had a little color on the edges but were otherwise translucent, about 10 minutes.  At which point I deglazed with a cup of red wine, added some dried basil & oregano, and turned the heat up a bit to reduce.

I will freely admit that this looks like a complete mess.  Usually food shots that look this crappy involve large amounts of grim looking organ meat, but this was just all over the place

After the wine had reduced by about a quarter, I stirred in a few chopped tomatoes, a cup of beef broth and a couple bay leaves.

Smelled like an awesome beef stew, but probably looks like about 30 other previous posts on this blog.  Braising is the tool of the weak and I braise a lot of stuff

I brought the liquid to a boil then lowered to a simmer for ten minutes to reduce it a bit and let the flavors come together.  Once it looked right (I have no effing idea what that means but its true), I added the blade steaks back in and made sure they were well covered in the liquid and onions.  Lid went on, heat was reduced to low, and left it to cook for 80ish minutes.  At which point I had this.

Not sure what magic happens once the lid goes on, but it seems like stuff goes into a liquid and it all comes out a thick sauce.  This bears almost no resemblance to what it was an hour and a half earlier

I fished the blade steaks out with some tongs and gave them a good shake to get the extra sauce and onions off of them before transferring to a cutting board.

For a pound and a half of meat, it contracted a ton and looked like barely enough to fill a couple sandwiches.  I think I started telling Kristi she wouldn’t like it at this point, mostly to secure a larger portion of the meal

I sliced each steak into medium thickness slices since I wanted them to retain some texture then added them back into the cooking liquid.  ‘Lil Blue went back over low heat to simmer for another thirty minutes.

As the simmering time for the braise neared its end, I sliced and lightly toasted a crusty baguette.  A couple big spoonfuls of the braise and lot of the liquid went into the baguette along with a sprinkling of cheese and, on my half, a handful of sliced sweet peppers.

Not enough liquid to do the full dip of the sammy, but I made sure it was soaked and nearly impossible to eat

With a couple more spoonfuls of cooking liquid and a knife to hold everything in place I gave the sandwich the old close and squeeze.  First I cut Kristi off her half, and then dug in.

This was a cross between the roast pork sandwich at Johns in Philly and some sort of Italian flavored pot roast.  Well, I guess that’s what it was actually.  The meat was tender but not quite to the point that it was like a shredded beef or fall-apart pot roast; still had some texture.  The liquid gave it a french dip like flavor but with the Italian seasonings and tomatoes clearly in there as well.  It was definitely a little salty from the salt on the meat and the reduced broth, but in an enjoyable way.  The parmesan cheese gave some nice contrast sharpness and the pickled peppers added some crunch and contrasting vinegar flavors.  I raced through my half to make sure there was enough for another half.

I left some for Kristi’s second half as well.  I am a jerk and all but I save some sammich for the ladies

Man of the match is probably the crusty Iggys bread since it was just crusty enough to hold it’s crunch/crust while also being completely soggy and soaked with sauce.  This was a solid sandwich.

I was going to make these again for the Super Bowl but couldn’t find the right sized bread.  Probably for the best, we always have way too much food.

Snowstorm this weekend!  Gonna make some sh*t.

Pete’s Travels: South Carolina and The Masters

Last Sunday I went to The Masters in Augusta, GA after finding out about an available ticket a couple days before from my friend Derek.  I flew down to Charlotte, NC on Saturday to drive down to Columbia, SC where we would be staying.  On Sunday, we spent 13 hours at Augusta and had an incredible day, highlighted by prime seats for the final playoff hole where Bubba Watson wrapped up the Chip.

Derek and I are in the green and red hats, respectively, on the right side. I showed this picture to everyone I passed on the street for the following four days

The importance of the photo above, aside from making my friends envious, is that it is the only photo of me at Augusta National since no cameras are allowed.  Tough to write a food blog without photos, so instead of verbally walking you through everything I ate on the trip, I will instead focus on the two best things I ate.

First up: the pimento cheese sandwich.

None of the photos in the first half of the blog are mine, let's just get that out of the way. I have no idea how someone took this picture but I like to think it was with some sort of spy-like eyeglasses camera that someone risked smuggling into the Masters just to take a picture of a sammich

Now, it’s important to share that I went into the Masters completely unprepared since it was such a last minute situation.  I hadn’t taken the time to research the course, the concessions, etc.  I just knew what I’d learned from watching the tournament religiously on TV for 10 years and particularly intently the two days leading up to Sunday.

I didn’t know about how beloved The Masters’ reasonably priced food and beverages are until receiving a slew of texts Saturday morning from friends that had been before.  The egg salad sandwich was well reviewed, but the overwhelming message was that I was going to love the pimento cheese sandwiches, the signature sandwich of The Masters.  Since I like pimento cheese spread, I was intrigued to say the least.

After a chicken biscuit to start the day, I purchased my first pimento cheese sandwich somewhere in the 10s.  It was like they’d been holding this tournament for 80 years hoping that a Ryan would show up and truly appreciate their sandwich.

While watching the playoff we looked down the hill to the employees-only area and saw a few folks in chefs whites. I wanted to go down and congratulate them on having the 21st-century version of the Coke recipe; people take wrappers home to unravel the ingredients of their sandwich

The sandwich is simple; soft fluffy white bread filled with a mixture of shredded processed cheese, chopped pimento, lots of mayo, and some additional spices.  It took about three bites for me to fall in love.  And at $1.50 apiece, the price was certainly right.

If I saw this on the ground I would have picked it up and taken it towards the trash exaggeratedly shaking my head then made a hard cut to hurry into a bathroom stall and eat it with no judging eyes looking on. Just a little window into how I think

I ended up having four of them (possibly five) along with a turkey and cheese sandwich and a bunch of $3 beers.  Between the hospitality, the minimal hit on the wallet from the concessions, the cloud-free weather, good pals, and the dramatic final day, I can say that Sunday was one of the most enjoyable days of my life.  Wholly recommend making the trip at some point if you can swing it.

On the complete opposite end of the spectrum from The Masters is the second food item I want to discuss.  Easily the most notorious food of the south in general, chitterlings.

When I arrived on Saturday I had some time to kill so I took the scenic route from Charlotte, NC to Columbia, SC, intentionally taking back roads to try and find some authentic roadside pit BBQ.  Unfortunately, despite Siri’s help (she led me to a garden center she said was a BBQ joint) I found no roadside food in the first hour and a half.  I only saw churches (I would guess over 100) and gas stations (that apparently double as fast food restaurants).  In an abandoned, Children of the Corn-looking town I saw some potential in this place:

I know, I know, it doesn't look promising at all. But, it was the first place I'd found that said BBQ. Plus, the creepiness factor of what looked like a ghost town surrounding it made me think it must be OK to have stuck around despite the local economic struggles

The buffet looked dodgy to say the least, and the BBQ looked more like mushy shredded beef than anything that had ever seen real wood smoke.  So, I had to invent a new go-to move to avoid awkwardly walking out of a hospitable southern restaurant.  And that would be, “I bet you make a great sweet tea, can I get one to go?”

After two sweet teas and with my bladder threatening to throw a locker room champagne celebration in my shorts, I saw this roadside sign.  Looked VERY promising when paired with the rundown building.

Sunbleached plastic signs with stock image mascots are always a good sign. Means they've stayed in business for a while by doing something right

Given the speed everybody moved inside and the fact that it smelled like most patrons enjoyed their food over a couple packs of Winstons, I have no idea what the word "Express" was doing in their restaurant name

I went inside and talked to the nice old lady behind the counter who seemed confused that I was interested in ordering chitterlings (I pronounced it “chitlings” which might have been incorrect).  She kept trying to extract “chicken wings” from what I was saying but eventually brought her daughter out who verified I did indeed want chitterlings.  So I took my seat at the empty lunch counter and waited.

The menu for Saturday. Baked Chicken, Fried Chicken, Fish, Pork Chop, Chicken Dumplings and Chitterlings. I think it's obvious where I was ending up

She didn't move too fast but gave me free refills on my sweet tea (third of the day, I was friggin wired). Also, I think Janet has that smock. The handwritten signs all over the place were pretty funny

Chitterlings are hog intestines, cleaned as thoroughly as possible (you hope) then boiled in a broth with spices for however long it takes to get them tender.  According to the guy in the back who was dredging chicken in batter when I asked, he boils his chitterlings for 12 hours.

Chitterlings (called “chitlins” by the other woman at the restaurant) have a bad reputation because of what they are, but also because there is no amount of prep that can hide what you are eating.  They have a pretty distinct aroma.  Here’s a quick artistic break from the topic.

These stools have gotten a lot of ass in their day. Wokka wokka. Pretty sure it was a lot of large, gaseous dudes, though

Anyway, as I sat there waiting for my chitlins, I was pretty nervous.  I’d had a nice conversation with these women, they were about to serve me some authentic food in an empty restaurant, and I didn’t want to have one bite and sprint out the front.  When my bowl came out, I wasn’t feeling any more confident.

I can't give my full description of the general aroma of these on a family friendly website, that's for my side project blog "PeterisADB: After Hours". Suffice it to say that it was a little strong and "sitting on the floor of a Green Line train after the Boston Marathon"-y

My first line of defense was a healthy shake of hot sauce and salt & pepper.  My second line of defense was pausing to take a picture and collect myself.  But, from there, I just had to dive in.

They were very thin and easy to get a plastic fork through. They also looked exactly like what they were

The first bite was entirely surprising.  There wasn’t even a hint of the unpleasant aroma in the taste and as long as you didn’t have your nose over the bowl (not a pun) you wouldn’t have any idea they were an organ.  Kind of hard to believe, but it was true.  In addition, they weren’t chewy at all, very tender, and the broth they were cooked in gave the meat a lot of good flavor.

Halfway point, but I ended up eating the whole bowl and it didn't really take any effort at all

In the end, I polished off my chitlins and laughed with my hosts about how good they were but that the smell takes a little getting used to.  Quick refill of the sweet tea to ensure that I would be behaving like a meth addict when I arrived at my hotel looking for the lobby bathroom, and I was on my way.

One weekend, two items off my bucket list.  Next week will focus on my attempt at Ponce that happened a few weeks ago.  I also got a deli-style meat slicer via mail today which will either lead to a few posts or the end of posts due to loss of fingers.  One of the two.