Tag Archives: whiskey

Holy Pork!

28 Apr



Can we talk about Kickin’ Boot Whiskey Kitchen for a minute? Because holy god, this place haunts my dreams. It is a beacon of perfectly pulled pork, an epicenter of whiskey treats, and maybe where I’m going to get married one day, because SCREW PICTURESQUE MEADOWS, love is pork, pork is love, forever and ever I do, AMEN.



I didn’t think I liked baked beans until I tasted these. And in between mouthfuls of tender pork and the coleslaw that is now my boyfriend, I seriously scooped the beans into my mouth with their homemade salt and vinegar potato chips. I did this with zero shame, like a disgusting toddler. And then we got more napkins and I chose to believe that the servers, other diners, and my family members probably weren’t totally grossed out by my methods.

My uncle got this (Hi, Rob!):



And then the sky opened up and Jesus came down and handed us all homemade pickles and sweet mustard and perfect onion rings that don’t get all weird and stringy when you bite into them. And he said, BEHOLD CHILDREN, I have created the mecca of condiments and it is Kickin’ Boot! 





There is so much whiskey, IT’S LIKE CANDY MOUNTAIN. Candy Mountain is real guys, let’s go!


Maker’s Mark Catfish

12 Sep

I spent my Saturday painting my downstairs neighbor’s place to make a bit of extra money because, apparently, I have nothing better to do on my day off (which, incidentally, was probably the last nice weather day we’ll have until June. OH THE NORTHWEST!). It turns out that painting ceilings with a hand roller and a stepladder really does hell to your neck. After three hours the muscles in my neck were struck into state of fear-based paralysis, with every turn of my head threatening to send my whole body into a mess of complaints. So as I lay panting on my couch, carefully holding a food magazine parallel to my face so as not to aggravate my already useless muscles, C comes in with a bag of goodies to cheer me up. I guess since I made him like, ONE GOOD MEAL (read: pork chops) he now “owes me,” and bought something fun at the co-op: catfish! Catfish! Catfish!

This picture kind of blows since we ate at 8 o’clock and my indoor/incandescent/night time/food photography could use some work. But trust me, this meal was killer. I offered to help but, as I usually do, ended up leaning on the counter recounting stories about  nonsense and fiddling with the pile of produce that C was dutifully processing. He made a spicy rub for the catfish out of salt and pepper, chipotle, basil, oregano, paprika, and a hint of cinnamon. With some veggie oil he fried them up in the cast iron while the parsley-lemon rice simmered and the zucchini sautéed with a pile of quickly burning garlic. Surprisingly, the burny-ness  of the garlic worked well with the dish, a hint of bitter but not overtly so, softened with the mellow taste of the garlic that was sautéed to perfection. DELICIOUS. When the catfish was nearly done, he deglazed the pan with Maker’s Mark whiskey (a present from me to the both of us, a reward to myself for a fat paycheck and a raise at work) and made a sauce for the catfish: shallots, tomato, parsley, and (of course) heavy cream. Heavy cream, you are truly a gift of the universe! C knows my weakness for cream and wine and cooks accordingly.

Now the weather is surely turning for the worst, and autumn looms ominously… we’ve had days of downpour and wet asphalt, the wool sweaters have escaped my winter trunk, and I’m craving the foods I’ve missed for the past few months (but what a short few months of summer they’ve been!)… bring on the meat and potatoes, casseroles, stews, and roasts. I’m ready! I’ve got a new spatula and a knife sharpener! I’ve got a man who relishes food as much as I do and nothing to do! Tonight, pastitsio!

Book presents and breakfast feasts

29 Aug

My latest dilemma with this food blog is half the time I make regular-person food and even though it takes time and tastes good I don’t feel like it warrants the whole, “hey, let me just bust out my camera and photograph this for ten minutes before I eat it,” you know? What am I supposed to do, write about some fairly standard stir fry? I’d be like, so then I chopped a bunch of vegetables and added a bunch of soy sauce and spicy junk and oil and served it over rice like every other person in the world does 8,000 times a year. Please, read my blog. I’m desperate.

So you know, I’m just not gonna do that. Luckily when my sister, Beth and her boyfriend, Jeff visited me this weekend I scored something food related to take a photo of.

Beth works in a really sweet bookstore so she’s always throwing rad books my way. She brought this with her for me so that we could collaborate on an awesome taco night for my mom’s birthday next weekend. I haven’t decided which tacos to bust out, but prickly-pear margaritas and stuffed peppers are definitely on the list. Beth has good ideas.

They came up for a wedding and when I gave them the tour of my tiny little house, Jeff spotted my Bullet Bourbon bottle on my nightstand (I use it for a water bottle because it’s the only container that my cat can’t stick his face in. GUH.) and was like, “BULLET BOURBON. You two really are sisters.” And then I remembered my sister’s and my shared love of all things whiskey, so after C and I picked them up from the wedding shuttle we stopped by Uisce’s to check out their whiskey menu. Uisce’s is an Irish pub and known for their whiskey selection. Being a total sap for whiskey (a love song might be in the works…) I should’ve been frequenting this bar long ago, but last night was my first time in there. I avoided it because I was afraid… NOT OF THE WHISKEY. Of the bartenders. I had this fear of going up to the bar and being like, ONE WHISKEY, PLEASE, SIR! And them being like, you moron. It’s a whiskey bar. WHAT KIND OF WHISKEY. And then I’d falter and get embarrassed and skulk away because let’s be honest, I don’t really know shit about whiskey. One day when I’m staggeringly rich I’ll have a complete knowledge of the finest liquors that my monkey barkeep (who I will have trained to talk via a tiny robotic speaker) will have educated me about. But that’s not going to happen for at least another six months, and in the mean time I usually make the classy request of “whatever’s cheap tonight.” I know, I’m full of charms.

But I asked for the whiskey menu, balked at the space where Bullet should’ve been but wasn’t, then found out they had it, just not on the menu. So Jeff and Beth and I got our Bullet on the rocks, C got some ale, and ALL WAS WELL.

This morning I was feeling like an epic breakfast, so Beth and I ran to the Co-Op for ingredients. I made smoothies with kiwi, banana, strawberry, blueberry, and raspberry (and orange juice and vanilla yogurt. YUM.)

my favorite glass.

Then I put together a scramble with crimini mushrooms and… oh wait. Hold on, SIDE NOTE TIME. Every time I buy or write about or talk about crimini mushrooms I say Criminy! mushrooms. Like I’m in the backwoods in the olden times and someone was like,”Snake! Snake in your boot!” And I go CRIMINY! Which, according to wikipedia, which I trust for pretty much everything, is a curse word from the 1600’s meaning CHRIST! Crimini mushrooms have a totally different pronunciation that I just can’t seem to grasp, so I’m gonna go ahead and call them Criminy! mushrooms. Every time. From here on out. ENJOY, SUCKAS.

Ok, back to the scramble: Criminy! mushrooms, yellow pepper, spinach, red onion, eggs, Tapatio hot sauce and salt and pepper. Easy peasy. Then we scored some English muffins (half of which were already moldy when we purchased them! Yes! I love surprises!) with blackberry jam homemade by two of my coworkers. DELICIOUS. Nectarines, chicken breakfast sausage, and it was a done deal. I’m still full.

So tonight’s plan includes mooooore fooooood! And mooooore driiiinks! My favorite things! The local gastropub, The Copper Hog is starting an industry night tonight for food service and bartender folks. You bring in your paystub to show that you are indeed a hash-slinging kitchen wench and they give you a membership card that gets you 20% off every Sunday. At least I think that’s how it works. Regardless, I’ve got my paystub all tucked into my purse, ready to get my card and get some Copper Hog goodies tonight. Score!

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