Cafe' Ugly

When I was 13 or 14, my father and I moved from my grandparents house in Benning Heights to the first and only home he would ever own as a single man, a one-level two bedroom with a basement in Temple Hills, just a spit away from the Marlow Heights shopping center, which was the center of the world for anything you wanted to get into back in the day: movie theater, record stores, video arcade, Pizza Hut, barber shop, etc. Jammed into this hotbed of commerce was the Steak in a Sack Cafe, a greasy spoon hidden within the mall that you would have thought time would eventually take down.

The place had already been there for a decade or two. The walls had wood paneling from the 70s and no one on the staff seemed to be under 50. The same went for the customers, many of whom seemed like they should have been extras on an episode of Alice. All it needed was a waitress named Flo with a beehive hairdo saying "Kiss My Grits". The Steak in a Sack was also a white folks hangout it seemed, something left over from what the county used to be before the Black middle class left DC to make it it's own. The food was okay. The ambiance was acceptable. And it was right down the street from where we lived. Because of the many funny-looking characters we would see perched at the bar and in the booths my Pops nicknamed the place
"Cafe Ugly".

Fast forward 15 years and we enter its doors again. This time there's not a white face in sight. The headwrapped and noticeably pregnant waitress moves around at the speed of light, taking orders and dropping plates on tables as if the owners are holding her loved ones for ransom in the back. The paneling is still there. The booths are still cheap pleather. The food is still acceptable. Not much has changed.

As I go to work on flapjacks, turkey bacon and home fries, my Dad gives me a brief lecture on pastrami as he eats what would be considered a miniature version of the real deal at any Jewish deli in the 5 boroughs. But when he and I came there it was never about the food. It's was about the convenience and the coziness of the place, as Pop was working hard to conquer and settle his piece of the brave new world beyond the city where he was born.

I remember the work we did renovating the house there, and the parties I threw in high school that were my first social success. I remember getting chased by ten boys from the neighborhood looking to jump a stranger. I did a Carl Lewis into the supermarket, ducked through the meat department and found an angel in the form of a clerk who let me out through the freight entrance so that I didn't go home bloody.

It feels so close that I can still touch it, but nothing in that mall is the same anymore. Even the supermarket itself has been redone, leaving fewer and fewer traces of one of the many worlds from which I came. But Cafe Ugly is still there and apparently still making paper, which proves that some things never change. I'm just happy that my Pops is still here to dine with me, my best friend for life and the best teacher I ever had.

Brazillian Coconut Shrimp Stew

Ingredients

1 lb. Medium Tiger Shrimp
1 cup white wine
1 can coconut milk
2 vine tomatoes
Fresh cilantro
1 white onion
Three cloves of garlic
Olive oil
Sea Salt

Directions

Peel and devein your shrimp but save the shells. Place the shells and the wine in skillet, bring to a boil, reduce heat and allow to simmer for 10 to 20 minutes.

Chop and dice the onion, tomatos and cilantro

Saute' the shrimp in the olive oil, cilantro, garlic and tomatoes until well done

Remove the shells from the skillet and pour the stock mixture in with the shrimp and vegetables still under a low-medium heat.

Add the coconut milk and still until the broths is orange. Cover and allow to simmer for 25 minutes.

Add sea salt to taste and serve.

Coal Mountain

"This is the part where Orlando scores 15 points in three minutes," my boy Robin's neighbor jokes as we watch the final moments of the NBA Finals on TiVo, an hour after the game has actually ended. Relaxation is in the air up in Silverlake and I have no intention of moving. But when Robin's phone rings and he tells me that some friends are having a barbecue at seven in the evening in Echo Park, something tells me that it might be worth tagging along.

Armed with a 12 pack of Pacifico beer, turkey burgers and cheese, we show up at a cozy wood house drowning in foliage. Exile, the famed underground beatmaker is the only person I recognize amongst the mostly white faces. A dude in a pork pie hat strums a guitar as he sings one of his own tunes. Another guy shows up with a girl whose dressed like it's wintertime outside and seems as nervous as clumsy as the geeky chick in a high school movie. The sink is piled high with dishes and stained with organic matter a CSI crew probably couldn't ID. Two Mexican women, one with big pretty eyes and captivating tattoos on both shoulders, float between all the various worlds within the single room. There's only one problem: Nobody's actually barbecuing.

After spending a decade in New York, I'd gotten used to witnessing the bumbling antics of people who think they know how to barbecue: dumping entire bottles of lighter fluid on a single set of coals, painting up meat like five seconds before it goes on the grill, and serious undercooking and overcooking based upon criteria that might only make sense to a five year-old, it got to the point where my friends, even if we were in the homes of strangers, always turned their heads to me as if I had been named grill ambassador. Now, five months into this new place, I was at it again.

With a dirty counter and no cleanser, no Brillo, and a rack of spices about as organized as store inventory the day after Christmas, I rubber turkey burgers with sesame oil seas salt and a touch of soy sauce. I rubbed chicken with teriyaki, black pepper and cumin. I drenched hot sausages and long slabs of carne asada in whatever made sense, and slapped them all of on a grill someone had filled with an entire bag of coles. Needless to say, things cooked quickly.

As I brought in each platter, the two ladies and one of the houseguests, who was also Mexican, began chopping cilantro, onions and tomatoes, and organizing bread and condiments for a cafeteria-style meal. While the white boys listened to vaudeville records on an old phonograph, the folks of color were all about eating. The food appeared and disappeared. It wasn't my best work, but the entire room eventually came alive with praise, full mouths and thumbs up thrown in my direction. As the clock jumped past one it felt strangely good to be out and about at an indecent hour, a welcome change from all of these early bedtimes and assemblies of folks talking about the same thing forty different ways. Driving north to south on Vine, I thought dreamed of days ahead when I might have something to celebrate again, when the Job-like storyline of my life here might finally come to a close. That future, if it is to be, can't get here fast enough. End of line.

Grilled Chicken (or Steak) Fajitas

Ingredients:

Shredded jack and cheddar cheese
Soft flour tortillas
Boneless chicken breast (or steak)
1 White Onion
Three cloves of fresh garlic
1 Green Pepper and 1 Red Pepper
Fresh cilantro
Sea salt (add to taste)
Two jalapeno peppers (serves two)
Olive Oil

Directions:

Put two tbsp of oil into a skillet and put over a medium heat.
Dice the peppers, onion, garlic and sage

Add the garlic and let if fry before adding the chicken (sliced or chopped)
Cook over a medium heat (flipping with a spatula) for three minutes.
Then add the peppers, salt and seasonings and allow to cook, turning constantly, until done.

Drain and then add to tortillas, adding cheese liberally. Fold it or roll it and get busy ;)

Youngjasper's Jambalaya

When I was 20 I wrote a short story called "Jambalaya" that got me a first place prize for prose from my alma mater's literary magazine, The Catalyst. It was part of what was then to be my first novel, a road trip book called Arizona Iced Tea. This specific chapter, as the titles implies, took place in New Orleans and describe a one-night stand with a voodoo priestess named Dionne. The history of myself and the dish is far less contrived.

My stepmother is from LA but her people are from New Orleans. As gumbo is in her blood I spent my teenage years soaking in the blessing of her big pots of rue, crab, chicken, sausage etc. So of course I wanted to be down. But there's something about making gumbo, the size of the effect and the number of things that can go wrong, that has always scared me. So I decided to make my first cajun effort something more manageable. Hence jambalaya was my first cajun challenge so to speak.

I've made this two days back to back. The first time (pictured above) was for myself. The second time I tried it with friends. You be the judge.

Ingredients:

1/2 lb. smoked turkey sausage
1 lb. medium shrimp
1 lb, boneless chicken breast
4 small tomatoes
2 green peppers
1 white onion
2 cloves elephant garlic
1 cup chicken stock
1 cup orange juice
cayenne pepper
sea salt
olive oil
chicken stock
1.5 cups long grain white rice

Directions:

Peel and devein shrimp; chop and dice onion, tomatoes and peppers, chop chicken and sausage into thin slices.

Put a pot of water (or three cups chicken stock) to a boil. Once boiling add rice, cover and reduce heat.

Put 2 tbs of olive oil into a skillet on medium heat. Add the garlic and allow it to fry. Then add shrimp, chicken, onions, pepppers and tomatos. All allow to saute' for 3-5 minutes (turning regularly).

Add the stock and orange juice. Reduce heat and cover for 10-15 minutes, seasoning to taste and checking meats until they are well-cooked. Serve over rice.

Note: The version above appears without rice, which is why it looks soupy.

LA Cocina

It's been a little over two weeks since I drove close to 3000 miles to make a new life writing for film and television. Since all had for travel was a four-door Saturn, I packed light. I ever left most of my cooking utensils at home except for two knives, a pair of tongs, a knife sharpener and a smoker. Living a somewhat monk-like existence, I've mostly cooked one or two-pot items for myself like variations on my breakfast potatoes, pan fried tilapia and kale, turkey sausage and peppers, etc. It wasn't until last night, when I finally met up with my Facebook friend Tonya in person, that I had a chance to put together a meal for myself and someone else.

The first thing I have to mention about LA is that the produce at the regular supermarkets is superior to even the best Whole Foods has to offer in Manhattan. The colors are bright. The clerks are helpful and though the prices are a little more expensive, food shopping is more of an experience than the roller derby it can often be in Brooklyn. As I'd never cooked for Tonya before, I figured I would try something simple. As I've been trying to perfect my champagne cream sauce, I bought some shrimp and penne and did it up real simple. I chopped up some broccoli crowns to saute in olive oil and even made bruschetta for my hungry new friend (who I had to take special care to keep away from a box of White Cheddar Cheez-Its).

As every person's kitchen is different, the process of cooking for the first time is awkward and clumsy. You don't know where things are and sometimes the items you need don't happen to be around. But her spot was well stocked and as I put things to together over the course of a good 45 minutes I could definitely feel the culinary force is full flow. Though I made the same mistake again of seasoning the shrimp with a little too much sea salt when pairing it with a sauce that had both heavy cream and fresh parmesan, I didn't have too many other complaints. More importantly, my guest didn't complain at all. And that's always good ;)

Once I'm settled into a new place I'll have to throw down something massive for my LA peeps old and new. Maybe gumbo or chilli. Maybe I'll barbecue (I can do that in March in Cali) or have a fish fry or whatever. But after close a week on the road, traveling through ice and snow and the curve balls that life can throw you, there was nothing better for me than making good food that got good reviews. As an aside, if you're going to make bruschetta [I'll post the recipe if you're interested] be sure to use either french bread or a good Italian loaf. Since it was a Sunday I got stuck with sourdough. It's not the same. It's so not the same. Now that I'm fully Left Coast new posts should be back to normal soon. Out.

Sopa de Pollo (But Latinos Might Just Call it Kenji's Chicken Soup)

Ingredients:

1 Pack of chicken fryer Parts
2 Lemons
1 Bunch of fresh cilantro
1 White Onion or 1 bunch of green scallions
Olive oil
Sea Salt
Black Pepper
Adobo
White Rice

My Dad has always been a fan of soups, and has made some delicious ones over the years.
But it was an episode of No Reservations that made me want to take a crack at Sopa de Pollo (Chicken Soup in Spanish). I saw a group of Mexican cooks eating some as their staff meal and decided to give it a try.

Everyone knows that chicken soup is great for colds and has been praised as one of these best remedies for common ailments. There's some scientific explanation but I was an English major. What I knew on the given day was that I want something warm and filling, and as fried chicken isn't really what I'm known for, what was I going to do with those fryer parts in the freezer.

If you keep stock (or chicken broth) in your house then you should start there. I will add about a quart of stock to a quart of water [multiply for larger amounts) and bring the mixture to a boil.

I chop and dice my onion or scallions and at them along with diced cilantro, the juice from a squeezed lemon, a few tablespoons of olive oil and seasoning. Then I let it all reduce for about ten minutes. I boil one to two cups of rice in a separate pot right about here so that it will be finished and cooling when the final soup is ready.

Then I add the fryer parts (after washing and cleaning them of course. I reduce the heat and let it all cook for a good 30 to 45 minutes depending on the portion. Season to taste as you go along, checking the flavor once every seven ten minutes to make sure it suits you.

When it's all done, I fill a soup bowl with broth, an ice cream scoop's worth of rice and one piece of the cooked chicken (two if they happen to be wings) Let it cool for give to ten minutes and serve. While tortillas would be the traditional way to serve it, French or Italian bread will do you just as good. Enjoy.