OK. Now I haven’t done this one before, as much as both Lee and I enjoy it for a reason. There will be folks who will swear that allowing A Damn Yankee to make the sacred Chicken Fried Steak is an abomination not to be tolerated. Let alone a Yankee in Canada. However, this matches my memories of Texas, and I have been coached by bona-fide Southerners on the proper production, so I will impart this recipe at long last. It will be long, don’t hurt me… this one is as much about the process as anything else. So take the jump and hang on…

Now there are three parts to the proper Chicken Fried Steak Dinner. The Steak, The Mashed Potatoes, and the Vitally Important White Gravy. I have been admonished that the white gravy is an utter necessity, and that to use anything else is a blasphemy punishable by death. But Fear Not. For we shall start with the steak.

For the steak, we want basically the cheapest cut of meat available. Usually I pick up pre-tenderized flank steak. You will know the stuff if you see it, it will look kinda pre-chewed. Like it went through the machine they use to make ground chuck and somehow emerged as a whole piece. Have a good strong plastic bag ready and nearby, you’re gonna need it.

Take your steak and cut it into pieces about the size of the palm of your hand. Trust me, this is some heavy food, you want to go smaller. Season it with a good solid coating of garlic powder*, chili powder, salt and pepper on both sides. Now take your pretenderized steak, and put it in the bag, cuz we’re gonna tenderize it even more. This actually is important, because if the steak is tough it’s not going to cut right and all the nice coating will come off and all will be sadness and despair. And besides, its fun. So grab a meat tenderizer if you have one, a hammer or a mallet if you don’t, and get to work beating your meat. If you can see the counter-top through the meat after you’ve whacked it, you’re hitting it hard enough. Try not to break the bag though, the mess sucks. Hitting you fingers sucks too, be careful if you’re not used to wielding blunt instruments.

Put the meat aside once you’ve pretty much beaten it all over and let it just hang out with all the nice seasonings to get tasty, cuz we’re gonna make the batter.

Beat together in a bowl wide enough to lay your meat in:

• 2 teaspoons Baking Powder

• 1 teaspoon Baking Soda

• 1 teaspoon pepper

• 1 egg

• 1 ½ cups Milk

Also, we’re gonna need a plate of plain ‘ol flour, also big enough to lay your meat out in. While you’re doing that, get out a good deep frying pan and heat up about and inch of oil in it. You can do what I do and pretend this isn’t nearly as bad for you as it is by using something low in saturated fats, like safflower or canola oil. The hardcore use melted lard I’m told. Now for the chicken frying part. We’re gonna batter and deep fry these suckers.

Grab your well-beaten meat and dip it first into the batter, then the flour, patting the flour all over it till it looks pretty much dry. Then do it again. We want two coats so the seasonings cant get free, because we aren’t interested in seasoned oil. Then pop that sucker in the hot oil. Let it go till is looks all kinda puffy and golden around the edges, then flip it. When that side is all OMFG*DROOL, drop it on some paper towels and let it drain out some of the oil (see above about pretending this isn’t bad for you) then repeat till you run out of chunks of meat. Set all of those aside somewhere so they’ll stay warm and we’ll start the gravy.

I usually have Lee mashing potatoes while i’m doing this next bit, so that everything is ready to plate in as little time as possible after the steaks are fried, so they don’t get cold. I’m sure I don’t have to give a recipe for mashed potatoes, but I will state for the record that the skinless variety is traditional here. If you have a kitchen-safe partner, I recommend getting a hand with that part.

Take a saucepan and make a roux. Now for everyone who just went “Whu??” I will ’splan. A roux is when you take fat and cook flour into it to thicken a sauce or a gravy. If you’ve got a Mom or Grandma who cooks they can probably teach you to do this. So take some butter… err, about two tablespoons? Usually I grab a spoon out of the drawer and curl off a chunk of butter about the size of a golf ball. (I’m having trouble with these measurements, I do this by eye…) Melt that down until it starts to go all bubbly. Now add about a tablespoon of flour and drop it in the butter. Stir. Stir constantly and consistently. The butter will absorb the flour, but if theres still loose butter, drop in some more flour until you have what looks like paste and it seems like you’ve wrecked this pan forever.

What you’re aiming for is to keep stirring this around in the pan till it just starts to go slightly golden. Barely. This takes practice to get it right I admit, but overcook rather than under… if you under-cook it the gravy will taste like flour and suck ass and you will never ever believe me about anything again. So by all the gods in heaven, don’t under cook it. If you over cook, basically it’ll taste ok, it’ll just be beige rather than white. Beige gravy is usually seen as unattractive, so we try to avoid that. I had to do this two or three times before I got it “just right” and I’m used to using a roux, but don’t be afraid.

Once you’re good there, grab the milk and slowly start adding it to the pan, never ever letting up on the stirring. If you stop stirring it will go all lumpy and weird, leaving you with a pot full of milk with chunks of buttered flour in it. This is a Bad Thing. Keep adding milk a little at a time, stirring till its incorporated and smooth in between, until you get enough gravy at about the thickness you like. Between adding the milk, (while youre stirring like mad) add some pepper. Well, actually lots of pepper. You want about a tablespoon of pepper in there. Tweak that to your personal tastes, and get it right off the heat when you’re happy with it.

Now pop your fried steak onto a plate, with gobs of mashed potatoes and pour the white gravy over everything. If you have small children you’re trying to impress or are still pretending this isn’t bad for you, choose any veggies you like. At my house we just give in and go Au Naturale. Serve with biscuits and butter for the truly traditional. Chow down!

*This is one of the few times in my world that garlic powder is an acceptable cooking item. Really, use it for this.

]]> http://wp.dsafire.net/2009/12/29/chicken-fried-steak-2/feed http://wp.dsafire.net/2009/11/14/sometimes-im-so-smart-i-astound-myself http://wp.dsafire.net/2009/11/14/sometimes-im-so-smart-i-astound-myself#comments Sat, 14 Nov 2009 19:49:24 +0000 DSAFIRE http://wp.dsafire.net/2009/11/14/sometimes-im-so-smart-i-astound-myself Ok, so Ive had an install of Linux running for a bit now. I’ve been running Kubuntu inside WinBlows as a Wubi install, basically to see if it’s something I can easily get the hang of. I like this OS, it’s not as complicated as Linux used to seem, since Kubuntu and its older brother Ubuntu come with a prepackaged GUI*. Mom, if you’re reading this, give it a try, it’s cool.

So I figure it’s time to make another move ahead and install WoW to the linux virtual drive now that im comfy with using my other basic apps over there. Except, well, WoW is large. Fucking huge actually. And I set up with a fairly modest virtual drivespace. So I dink around with things trying to expand my virtual disk space. But it isnt working right for some reason. I must be missing something.

Finally I see theres another disk showing. I assume the virtual drive finally set up. I tell Kubuntu to move itself over there. Except… err.. that was my storage drive. *wince* In a fit of pique, I uninstall Kubuntu. Paitence is my middle name I tell you. Fortunately, almost everything is backed up across the network with the exception of a few days worth of spam and some music thats safely stored on my IPod.

Sadly, I cant really let go of windows altogether, since I’ll still need the Adobe Creative suite if the graphics work ever picks up again. I cant really switch to an Open suite, as Lee uses it, and I have to be compatable. So untill Adobe gets the stick out of it’s ass and does something other than say “It’s Windows Software. Deal with it.” Im kinda stuck dual booting.

So now im downloading an iso of the newest Kubuntu release. I’m off to look at how to get dual booting set up on a partitioned drive.

*GUI is the pretty thing with the boxes and buttons that makes Windows go. On these installs it makes Linux go too. With some exceptions. Much like using Win 3.1 where some things simply had to be done from the command line. Yes, im a TechnoGranny who remembers using Win 3.1. Shut up.

Heat the olive oil in a large pot over medium heat. Add the diced onion and whip em round till they’ve started to soften. Peel the sausages… just slash the skins and peel em off. Break em up into chunks and cook until they lose all the pink. Add the garlic and let that go while you open the can of tomato, then add the chicken broth and the tomato, keeping out of steam burn range. Unless you want a good facial. Dump in the drained beans and seasonings, then give er a good stir. Simmer for 1-2 hours.

When you are ready to eat, turn it up to a slow boil then add the pasta and cook for however long the box says or until you cant stand not tasting whats making that fantastic smell anymore. Taste the soup and re-season if needed, it should thicken on its own once the pasta is in. Serve with a bit of freshly grated Parmesan cheese on top and a nice crusty bread.

For a freeze ahead dinner, only simmer for about an hour, and do not add the pasta. Divide into meal sized portions and freeze. To finish, defrost and slowly bring up to a boil, then add pasta and cook as directed.

The so-called ‘psychotically depressed’ person who tries to kill herself doesn’t do so out of quote ‘hopelessness’ or any abstract conviction that life’s assets and debits do not square. And surely not because death seems suddenly appealing. The person in whom Its invisible agony reaches a certain unendurable level will kill herself the same way a trapped person will eventually jump from the window of a burning high-rise. Make no mistake about people who leap from burning windows. Their terror of falling from a great height is still just as great as it would be for you or me standing speculatively at the same window just checking out the view; i.e. the fear of falling remains a constant. The variable here is the other terror, the fire’s flames: when the flames get close enough, falling to death becomes the slightly less terrible of two terrors. It’s not desiring the fall; it’s terror of the flames. And yet nobody down on the sidewalk, looking up and yelling ‘Don’t!’ and ‘Hang on!’, can understand the jump. Not really. You’d have to have personally been trapped and felt flames to really understand a terror way beyond falling.

They all started to grow up. The girls started to go to bars and meet other people and mess around with some things that weren’t really good for any of them. And the boy disappeared.

Many things happened to the girls over the years, and their stories are all their own. But at least one of them often wondered what happened to the boy, and missed him a great deal.

Turns out, the boy was off pursuing his Bliss.

I have the feeling that you will all know his name someday in the not too distant future. And im so goddamned proud of him it isnt funny.

Lee came and got me and I spent the rest of the day lying down, moving back and forth between reading quietly, doing my yoga relaxation techniques and napping. Well, one nap, but it was for several hours.

This morning many calls were made. I cant get in to see a doctor till next monday, period.  Lee called HIS family doctor, they told him to take me to an ER if I needed care right away.* So rather than take up time in an ER for a non-emergency situation, we tried another walk-in clinic. James St. Medical. Nice, new looking facility.

After explaining the situation, including that I had been resting quietly all that morning and the previous day, I still tested at 160/90. Shock and awe, the doctor on duty actually gave me a prescription! He kinda looked sad and told me he’d had four Hypertension patients over the years that went off their meds and ended up paralyzed from a stroke. I admit its dumb as fuck to go off my drugs. I know this. I also know nobody has wanted to give me a scrip till today… even when I had meds they were donations from ye olde sample cabinet.  But I guess between his history with hypertension paitents, and the fact that not only did I know what drug I was on, I knew the exact dosage off the top of my head,  convinced him that I was genuine.

I wish this guy took regular paitents.  And thats High Praise from me, the person who likes to remind folks that MD stands for Motherless Dick.

So I’ve got a hundred days worth of drugs to look for a Doc who isnt an MD.

*This is what pisses me off about the situation locally with health care. There are nowhere near enough doctors in this fucking city. At least in part because large numbers of them only work in “walk-in clinics” which refuse to provide regular care, and of those who are in private practice, many only work part time. I dont know which is worse, when you cant get in to see a doctor because theyre too busy (Canadian system), or when you cant get in to see a doctor because you cant afford (US system) it.  Although up here you DO have the walk-ins and Urgent care facilites available. Theyre just uncomfortable for me to use because im a headcase.

Toronto and Hamilton are two longtime rival-cities. One, an old manufacturing city, that has been slowly crumbling into disrepair, the other an upstart attempting to ape the cultural and financial capitals of the world.

Currently, Hamilton is fighting to gain an NHL franchise. A worthy enough goal for a city attempting major recovery as the manufacturing sector dies all over North America. But a particular columnist from Toronto has decided to comment on this movement with the following words:

Dear Hamilton: You misunderstood.

When I called your city a “dump,” I meant it would be a worthy place for Toronto to send our garbage during the looming public-sector workers’ strike.

I mean, who’d notice, thereabouts?

Of course, this leaves me repressing giggles. Oh, Toronto, you are so goddamed cute in your big-girl pants, thinking you’re some kind of player in the grand scheme of things.

Now, I wont claim Hamilton isnt a city in crisis. There are some major issues that both are and remain to be addressed here. But Toronto’s egotism knows no bounds if it’s denizens really think this way.  Maybe it’s my New Yorker ego coming into play, but to me, TORONTO is the real joke. Hamilton is what it is, and doesnt make claims otherwise. Oh but Toronto seems to think it’s the Paris of the north. Which of course has me giggling again.

Paris, London, Rome, Tokyo… and yes dammit New York .  One could possibly include St Petersburg, Luxembourg, L.A. and Vienna.  These are cities rich in culture, history, art. Notice Toronto isnt in that list.

I admit to not spending much time in TO. To be honest, there hasnt been a reason for me to do so. To my eye, Toronto is just another second rate city, but this one has such pretensions of grandeur as to make it laughable.  Pot, meet kettle.

Silly little Toronto. Keep your arrogant yuppies, annoying hipsters and your “I’m the best” mentality. You remind me of my little sister during her most obnoxious pubescent stage, full of bravado and ignorance while slavishly aping whatever fashion will make you popular. Hang on to that darling little ego.

We’ll call you when we need a second stringer to fill in.

Cant do dickall to help Lee get over the most recent hump, all of my ideas have been exhausted. I dont have the energy to do anything active, and my passive pursuits are mostly on hold untill something happens somewhere to our financial status. Hello TV. *disgusted snort*

Long term goals pretty much boxed for the foreseeable. Im back in survival mode.

Work is unsatisfying. Unchallenged, underused, and of zero value to the company other than as a live body to throw at the schedule. Christ, even IntaBoro made us feel like we were of *some* value, and they paid us shit and gave us no benefits.

Just keep going, just keep walking, cuz I cant even run anymore.

But today, when I came home cranky and annoyed with the world, I sat down, and accidentally clicked on the stumble button on my toolbar, rather than the google button. And my browser showed me THIS.

I smiled.

Every once in a while the universe decides to stop and remind me that humanity does still have a better nature. It isnt always entitlement whores and the ever-shrinking universe of the self centered. Sometimes, people will just do something nice. For no real reason. Not big flashy, I saved your life when I dragged you out of a fire nice. But a three second moment when someone randomly decided to help.

Hold a door. Help a parent get a stroller off the bus. Give someone directions. Do something goddamned nice. Dont even tell me about it, just do something. For my sake.

Because I need to know that somewhere, out there, people are behaving in a way that gives me back my faith in humanity.

Also, want something deep-fried.