Steven Rubio's Online Life

eating chili

We celebrated the 4th of July with our daughter Sara, at her urban farm in Rancho Cordova, just outside of Sacramento. Earlier in the year for her birthday, we had bought Sara a pig, which she named Chili, in part to remind her what the animal’s ultimate fate would be. Here’s what Chili looked like awhile back:

Yesterday morning, a large crew from the farm, along with some much-welcomed guidance from a few friends (notably Mundo, who provided just the right amount of mentoring), slaughtered Chili and quickly processed the remains:

When Robin and I arrived in the early afternoon, most of the work had been done … Mundo and his son Ray were cutting the last parts into pieces for carnitas. Mundo brought a carnitas pot his mother had given him 25 years ago, and folks proceeded to cook up what became a delicious batch of one of my favorite dishes:

There were also chicharrones, loins … well, basically, everything. We were lucky to take home some leftover carnitas and a frozen loin.

Meanwhile, there was other fun going on. Sara’s farm is by a river:

A farmer’s work is never done, and so the sheep had to be corralled into their pen:

The deer get to play wherever they want:

Before the eating began, everyone formed a circle and Sara said a few words about her pig and all that had happened that day, thanking everyone who had helped with Chili over the months she was on the farm. Later, I talked to some of the farm folks who had been closely associated with Chili, and they marveled not only at how good the food was, but also at how amazing the process was, from morning kill to evening meal. They had great respect for Mundo’s expertise, felt they had learned something important, and also knew that what they had done was … well, Sara used the word “humane,” and I can’t think of a better word … what’s the animal equivalent of “humane”? I thought about how meat is usually processed in this country … the thing that really hit home for me is that as I stood where the food was being served, I could see where Chili had lived, maybe a hundred yards away. No wrapping it up, freezing it, transporting it across the country … it was ecological the way meat rarely is.

Honestly, I’m not one to get too emotional about my meat … Chili tasted good, that’s mostly what mattered to me. But it was also good to see what an impact she had on Sara and her friends and workmates. Even if I didn’t make a spiritual connection, I appreciated that connection existed for many, and I was glad to be there.

There was a carnival right next to the farm, and so just before 10:00 we got to watch some fireworks, which capped off a memorable 4th of July, especially since Sara and I have shared many fireworks nights at Giants games over the years:

was it my best birthday ever?

On this date, 25 years ago, in the middle of our first-ever trip to Europe, I had my birthday dinner at a small town in France.

We spent most of the day driving north through France. I can remember stopping at one place for a beverage and a dinner roll, and thinking "is this going to be the highlight of my birthday?" I tried not to say anything, but it was kinda depressing.

Then we stopped for the night, and went to a restaurant that was next to a creek and had outdoor seating. The seating was a bit haphazard ... folding chairs and tables ... and the proximity of the creek meant the ground was damp. At one point, as I was making some brilliant comment about some very important item, I started to sink. The damp ground was swallowing up my chair, and slowly but surely I dropped down while everyone else laughed. OK, I laughed, too ... face it, by that point we were all drunk.

We weren't the only drunk ones, but more about that in a second. First, the food. I ordered a plate of various meats. What arrived was a huge basket full of salamis and hams and sausages, along with a knife. I was told to cut off whatever I wanted. This was, as you can imagine, my idea of heaven.

About that other drunk person. When the first bottle of wine arrived, my soon-to-be brother-in-law who later became my ex-brother-in-law but who was important to this story because he was the only one of us who spoke French, this fine fellow invited the waiter to join us in a glass. Which he did. After that, every time we refilled, the waiter refilled as well. On through the night we went, until I couldn't take it anymore and I wandered off to take a leak (my bladder worked better in those younger days). I get to the bathroom, but someone is there, leaning against the wall and pissing, so I wait. And wait. And wait. Finally, the guy emerges ... and yes, it was our waiter. Seems I wasn't the only one with too much liquid in my system.

By the time this post appears, I'll be spending my birthday in Spain, alongside John and Katie, whose anniversary falls on June 20, as well, and who will be with us for the Nerja leg of our vacation. Hopefully, I'll have something lovely to report then.

sara teaches cooking

We're at Day on the Farm, and right now my daughter is giving a cooking demonstration. It's especially amazing because when she was little, she would pretend to be Julia Child, and now she IS Julia Child.

I've been drinking this stuff pretty much non-stop for a couple of weeks now, and it's good enough to warrant a post. Long-time readers know of my/our obsession with Fanta de limón, known in England as Lemon Fanta or Fanta Lemon or something like that, and, sadly, known in the U.S. as "huh?" To the best of my knowledge, Fanta de limón is not available anywhere in the States, and no one knows the reason. The local Spanish-food import store has Kas, a close second in my estimation, at around $2/can.

Well, something new has shown up on the shelves of our grocery store ... new to us, I believe it's been available elsewhere over the years. It's Sunkist Sparkling Lemonade (and a Diet version, as well!). Now, I won't know for sure until I taste Fanta in Spain this June, but if memory serves, this Sunkist stuff is the closest thing I've ever tasted to our beloved original. (And if you think I'm exaggerating about Fanta, go visit Google, and I'll see you here when you return. Fanta de limón is arguably the thing Americans miss most when they return home from Spain.)

There are caveats. Well, only one, really ... these drinks have caffeine, about 42mg per can, which is slightly more than standard cola drinks, about 2/3 of what you'll get in Mountain Dew, and less than half of what you'd get in a Starbuck's Tall Caffe Mocha.

Anyway, if you happen to see this post via the wonders of Google, and you aren't aware of Sunkist Sparkling Lemonade and/or Diet Sunkist Sparkling Lemonade, you owe it to yourself to give it a try if you find it in your neighborhood. (I tried a bottle of the non-Diet version, and it was equally good ... well, even better, of course, but if you don't want the sugar, Diet is the obvious choice.)

We're sitting at dinner the other night, and the talk turned to pie, mostly because we were going to be eating some very soon. Two of us were going to eat pecan pie, and after we gabbed about it for a bit, my son called a halt to the discussion and said something to me I'd never heard before: "You can't add a third pronunciation."

I've been saying the word "pecan" the same way for as long as I can remember, which is many decades by now. My son didn't care for the way I said it, though, claiming that there were only two ways to pronounce the word, and that I was trying to invent a third. I wasn't trying anything, I was just saying it as I always did, but looking at various dictionaries, it appears he's right that I'm not pronouncing it "right."

The two "correct" ways to say the word are PEE-cann and puh-CAHN. Well, here's how I say it: PEE-cahn.

So Neal's right, I'm inventing a third way to say the word. Help, I'm drowning! Does anyone else out there say PEE-cahn?

Yum!

Neal and I had lunch at Juan's today, and El Jefe was there, up from Mexico. He usually seems to come around every year or two for a month or so, but this time, they told us he'd been mugged and had some health problems and he might stick around a bit ... well, he's also 84 years old. We went over and paid our respects after eating ... I told him we'd been coming pretty much as long as he'd been open back in the 70s, and pointed to Neal, saying we used to bring him when he was a baby in a stroller.

I act like I'm a hermit who doesn't care about his neighborhood, but there's a reason we've been going to Juan's for more than 30 years. Sure, the food is solid, but it's also the place we go where, to coin a phrase, everybody knows your name. As rarely as we actually cook at our house, Juan's is probably the closest we come to home cookin', pretty funny considering Robin's a Midwest gal and I'm half-suburban Cali, half-Spanish. Linguica's still #1 for comfort food, but chowing down at Juan's is a close second, and it's amazing and a little scary to realize I'm older now than Juan was when he opened his Place.

We went to Juan's, as we usually do on Fridays, which is carnitas night. Met a friend there ... she had a present for me, a photo from the late-60s, and that was going to be the topic of this post, but 1) it deserves its own post, and 2) the afternoon/evening was so delightful, IT deserved its own post.

It started out pretty much like it always does ... I had carnitas, Robin and our friend had a quesadilla. We were talking about how nice it is to have a restaurant of "our own," one we've gone to for so long, where everyone knows your name, as they say. We've been eating at Juan's for 30 years or so, and the friend who was with us was also along on some of those visits back in the 70s, so the whole feel of the meal was nostalgic in a good way. She marveled at the relationship we have with the folks at Juan's ... they have always been very kind to our family. She was just glad that such things still existed.

And then came the proof that those things do indeed exist. The wait staff kept asking us what else we wanted ... it was late in the afternoon, it was clear we were staying for a bit to chat with our friend, and certainly one nice thing about having "a place" is that you know you can always linger when you want to. They kept trying to break down our resistance to coffee, or flan, or tea, or whatever. Finally, the waitress suggested buñuelos, and that got my attention! I grew up on those ... they're usually eaten around Xmas time, but we ate them whenever. Every culture seems to have their own version ... my grandmother's were basically chewy fried bread with anise. She went off to get the buñuelos ... they were going to make them special, just for us. Robin figured out before they arrived what they would be ... they're the crispy tortillas with cinnamon and sugar that Juan's serves to birthday celebrants. They were very tasty when warm, and of course, the fact that they made them special for us just added to the tastiness. Then the waitress started insisting that we needed something to drink with our dessert. We said no thanks, but she could tell I wanted something, so she bugged me some more, and I thought maybe a nice Mexican chocolate would be yummy. Well, they don't have that, she said, but don't worry, she'd get some, anyway. And off she went to the kitchen.

About ten minutes later, Freddie, one of the two sons of Juan who run the restaurant, personally came out with our cups of chocolate, which he had made himself. It was cream-colored, and the taste was milkier than the usual hot chocolate ... and he went to great lengths to remove any harsh taste. It was smooth and delicious, and we all burned our mouths. After awhile, Freddie came out and refilled our mugs, and finally, our waitress came and joined us, her own cup of chocolate in her hands.

January 2 is one of my favorite days of the year, because it's the day when the holidays are over. Today our holiday was extended in the best possible way ... this January 2 was special indeed.

And I still haven't told you about the photo ...

Ever since Moniz finally closed down after a gazillion years, Bay Area linguica lovers have had slim pickings on the Portuguese sausage front. But our prayers may have been answered.

Joe Barcelos is a Portuguese immigrant who ... well, I'll let his web site tell the story:

Since the day he was born, Joe Barcelos has always been surrounded by Portuguese cuisine. One of his hobbies was making linguica for friends and family from a small garage in San Jose, CA. The linguica was made using all natural ingredients and smoked over an open wood fire, the essentials for keeping his sausage authentic. He was encouraged by his family to expose it to the surrounding Portuguese communities. It was in the summer of 1993 that his traditional home-style linguica sausage began attracting public attention. He began receiving phone orders from individuals across the San Francisco Bay Area and central valley which prompted him to begin a door-to-door delivery service. It didn't take long for his orders and delivery routes to increase. Finally in 2008, a decision was made to commercialize the product. Barcelos Linguica was born!

Joe made an in-store appearance today at The Spanish Table, handing out samples and talking linguica. I don't suppose I have to tell you that we were there. I've been eating linguica my entire life ... heck, even Robin, who is as Midwestern White as they come, has been eating the stuff forever (her family had very good friends who were Portuguese and made their own linguica). She and I used to share linguica sandwiches when we first started going out back in high school.

Anyway, we go down to the store (it deserves a post all of its own), and there's Joe. I shake his hand and we start talking ... and, of course, sampling. He had mild and hot sausages for tasting, and they both were just fine, but you could tell they'd be even better made fresh. So we bought a few sticks, mild and spicy, and promised him we'd be eating linguica and eggs for dinner tonight. (We also bought some Kas limón ... they don't sell Fanta de limón at the Spanish Table, but you can buy cans of Kas for $1.99 each, and you know we did.)

Well, I just finished eating my linguica and eggs, and ladies and gentlemen, we have ourselves a new linguica supplier! Linguica is an interesting sausage ... well, interesting to me, I wrote a semi-famous essay on the subject many years ago that ended up on the wall of the offices at Moniz ... if you ask me, one piece of ground beef tastes pretty much the same as another, but sausages have actual recipes, which is one reason why, if you like a particular linguica, you stick with it. Moniz tasted different than Silva, which tasted different from Santos. And we were a Moniz family, going back to the 60s.

Barcelos has a distinct taste, which is a good thing. It's not Moniz, but it's pretty damn good, and there's no reason it should taste exactly like Moniz, anyway. The meat in the sausage looks pretty good ... linguica is not the prettiest thing you'll ever see, but these were almost ham-like in the pork department, which was impressive. Like most linguica in recent years, Barcelos isn't as greasy as the good old days. But it's tasty, it's available, and I have a feeling I'll be picking up the occasional stick for years to come.

With the return of Craig Ferguson (not a scab, BTW), and with another Britney headline awaiting us when we check our morning papers, it seems like a good time to post this, from last February:

have we finally found an american fanta de limón?

I've been drinking this stuff pretty much non-stop for a couple of weeks now, and it's good enough to warrant a post. Long-time readers know of my/our obsession with Fanta de limón, known in England as Lemon Fanta or Fanta Lemon or something like that, and, sadly, known in the U.S. as "huh?" To the best of my knowledge, Fanta de limón is not available anywhere in the States, and no one knows the reason. The local Spanish-food import store has Kas, a close second in my estimation, at around $2/can.

Well, something new has shown up on the shelves of our grocery store ... new to us, I believe it's been available elsewhere over the years. It's Sunkist Sparkling Lemonade (and a Diet version, as well!). Now, I won't know for sure until I taste Fanta in Spain this June, but if memory serves, this Sunkist stuff is the closest thing I've ever tasted to our beloved original. (And if you think I'm exaggerating about Fanta, go visit Google, and I'll see you here when you return. Fanta de limón is arguably the thing Americans miss most when they return home from Spain.)

There are caveats. Well, only one, really ... these drinks have caffeine, about 42mg per can, which is slightly more than standard cola drinks, about 2/3 of what you'll get in Mountain Dew, and less than half of what you'd get in a Starbuck's Tall Caffe Mocha.

Anyway, if you happen to see this post via the wonders of Google, and you aren't aware of Sunkist Sparkling Lemonade and/or Diet Sunkist Sparkling Lemonade, you owe it to yourself to give it a try if you find it in your neighborhood. (I tried a bottle of the non-Diet version, and it was equally good ... well, even better, of course, but if you don't want the sugar, Diet is the obvious choice.)

you say pecan, they say pecan, i say pecan, let's call the whole thing off

We're sitting at dinner the other night, and the talk turned to pie, mostly because we were going to be eating some very soon. Two of us were going to eat pecan pie, and after we gabbed about it for a bit, my son called a halt to the discussion and said something to me I'd never heard before: "You can't add a third pronunciation."

I've been saying the word "pecan" the same way for as long as I can remember, which is many decades by now. My son didn't care for the way I said it, though, claiming that there were only two ways to pronounce the word, and that I was trying to invent a third. I wasn't trying anything, I was just saying it as I always did, but looking at various dictionaries, it appears he's right that I'm not pronouncing it "right."

The two "correct" ways to say the word are PEE-cann and puh-CAHN. Well, here's how I say it: PEE-cahn.

So Neal's right, I'm inventing a third way to say the word. Help, I'm drowning! Does anyone else out there say PEE-cahn?

at chevy's with the babes from robin's work

Yum!

juan

Neal and I had lunch at Juan's today, and El Jefe was there, up from Mexico. He usually seems to come around every year or two for a month or so, but this time, they told us he'd been mugged and had some health problems and he might stick around a bit ... well, he's also 84 years old. We went over and paid our respects after eating ... I told him we'd been coming pretty much as long as he'd been open back in the 70s, and pointed to Neal, saying we used to bring him when he was a baby in a stroller.

I act like I'm a hermit who doesn't care about his neighborhood, but there's a reason we've been going to Juan's for more than 30 years. Sure, the food is solid, but it's also the place we go where, to coin a phrase, everybody knows your name. As rarely as we actually cook at our house, Juan's is probably the closest we come to home cookin', pretty funny considering Robin's a Midwest gal and I'm half-suburban Cali, half-Spanish. Linguica's still #1 for comfort food, but chowing down at Juan's is a close second, and it's amazing and a little scary to realize I'm older now than Juan was when he opened his Place.

family restaurant

We went to Juan's, as we usually do on Fridays, which is carnitas night. Met a friend there ... she had a present for me, a photo from the late-60s, and that was going to be the topic of this post, but 1) it deserves its own post, and 2) the afternoon/evening was so delightful, IT deserved its own post.

It started out pretty much like it always does ... I had carnitas, Robin and our friend had a quesadilla. We were talking about how nice it is to have a restaurant of "our own," one we've gone to for so long, where everyone knows your name, as they say. We've been eating at Juan's for 30 years or so, and the friend who was with us was also along on some of those visits back in the 70s, so the whole feel of the meal was nostalgic in a good way. She marveled at the relationship we have with the folks at Juan's ... they have always been very kind to our family. She was just glad that such things still existed.

And then came the proof that those things do indeed exist. The wait staff kept asking us what else we wanted ... it was late in the afternoon, it was clear we were staying for a bit to chat with our friend, and certainly one nice thing about having "a place" is that you know you can always linger when you want to. They kept trying to break down our resistance to coffee, or flan, or tea, or whatever. Finally, the waitress suggested buñuelos, and that got my attention! I grew up on those ... they're usually eaten around Xmas time, but we ate them whenever. Every culture seems to have their own version ... my grandmother's were basically chewy fried bread with anise. She went off to get the buñuelos ... they were going to make them special, just for us. Robin figured out before they arrived what they would be ... they're the crispy tortillas with cinnamon and sugar that Juan's serves to birthday celebrants. They were very tasty when warm, and of course, the fact that they made them special for us just added to the tastiness. Then the waitress started insisting that we needed something to drink with our dessert. We said no thanks, but she could tell I wanted something, so she bugged me some more, and I thought maybe a nice Mexican chocolate would be yummy. Well, they don't have that, she said, but don't worry, she'd get some, anyway. And off she went to the kitchen.

About ten minutes later, Freddie, one of the two sons of Juan who run the restaurant, personally came out with our cups of chocolate, which he had made himself. It was cream-colored, and the taste was milkier than the usual hot chocolate ... and he went to great lengths to remove any harsh taste. It was smooth and delicious, and we all burned our mouths. After awhile, Freddie came out and refilled our mugs, and finally, our waitress came and joined us, her own cup of chocolate in her hands.

January 2 is one of my favorite days of the year, because it's the day when the holidays are over. Today our holiday was extended in the best possible way ... this January 2 was special indeed.

And I still haven't told you about the photo ...

the return of linguica

Ever since Moniz finally closed down after a gazillion years, Bay Area linguica lovers have had slim pickings on the Portuguese sausage front. But our prayers may have been answered.

Joe Barcelos is a Portuguese immigrant who ... well, I'll let his web site tell the story:

Since the day he was born, Joe Barcelos has always been surrounded by Portuguese cuisine. One of his hobbies was making linguica for friends and family from a small garage in San Jose, CA. The linguica was made using all natural ingredients and smoked over an open wood fire, the essentials for keeping his sausage authentic. He was encouraged by his family to expose it to the surrounding Portuguese communities. It was in the summer of 1993 that his traditional home-style linguica sausage began attracting public attention. He began receiving phone orders from individuals across the San Francisco Bay Area and central valley which prompted him to begin a door-to-door delivery service. It didn't take long for his orders and delivery routes to increase. Finally in 2008, a decision was made to commercialize the product. Barcelos Linguica was born!

Joe made an in-store appearance today at The Spanish Table, handing out samples and talking linguica. I don't suppose I have to tell you that we were there. I've been eating linguica my entire life ... heck, even Robin, who is as Midwestern White as they come, has been eating the stuff forever (her family had very good friends who were Portuguese and made their own linguica). She and I used to share linguica sandwiches when we first started going out back in high school.

Anyway, we go down to the store (it deserves a post all of its own), and there's Joe. I shake his hand and we start talking ... and, of course, sampling. He had mild and hot sausages for tasting, and they both were just fine, but you could tell they'd be even better made fresh. So we bought a few sticks, mild and spicy, and promised him we'd be eating linguica and eggs for dinner tonight. (We also bought some Kas limón ... they don't sell Fanta de limón at the Spanish Table, but you can buy cans of Kas for $1.99 each, and you know we did.)

Well, I just finished eating my linguica and eggs, and ladies and gentlemen, we have ourselves a new linguica supplier! Linguica is an interesting sausage ... well, interesting to me, I wrote a semi-famous essay on the subject many years ago that ended up on the wall of the offices at Moniz ... if you ask me, one piece of ground beef tastes pretty much the same as another, but sausages have actual recipes, which is one reason why, if you like a particular linguica, you stick with it. Moniz tasted different than Silva, which tasted different from Santos. And we were a Moniz family, going back to the 60s.

Barcelos has a distinct taste, which is a good thing. It's not Moniz, but it's pretty damn good, and there's no reason it should taste exactly like Moniz, anyway. The meat in the sausage looks pretty good ... linguica is not the prettiest thing you'll ever see, but these were almost ham-like in the pork department, which was impressive. Like most linguica in recent years, Barcelos isn't as greasy as the good old days. But it's tasty, it's available, and I have a feeling I'll be picking up the occasional stick for years to come.

good luck

With the return of Craig Ferguson (not a scab, BTW), and with another Britney headline awaiting us when we check our morning papers, it seems like a good time to post this, from last February: