Secret Aardvark Trafficking Has Green Light

Canned beans and tortillas live in excess in my pantry—my friend Kezia says I am one-third Mexican at heart. It's a comparison I'm happy to accept. Authentic Mexican food / Green-Chile-based Northern New Mexican Food / Tex Mex Slop—as you will learn—are my absolute favorite types of cuisine. Spicy, fresh, hearty, and ridiculously cheap and easy.

Hence, operation Tostada Night is in full effect: 3 corn tortillas, sprayed with canola and baked 8 minutes at 425; homemade refritos with some queso fresca, Chobani greek yogurt (screw sour cream, Chobani has become a ridiculously versatle staple in my kitchen, replacing sour cream, mayo, and even buttermilk)—cleaning out even more space in my refrigerator. Damn, do I feel frugal. And yes, I ate THREE tostadas.

Tonight I used up the last of my beloved and selectively used Secret Aardvark hot sauce. I discovered this on a trip in 2007 at a cafe in Portland, OR—Jam on Hawthorne—brought back a bottle—this spring, a kind colleague at Bob's Red Mill (also in Portland) took pity on me and sent me another after learning of my utter obsession.

However, I found out tonight that I can order the stuff, FINALLY online, score! I'm terrified of possible Aardvark Overdose.

People. If you like to burn your mouth in the most pleasant way possible, I urge you to try this ass-kicking nectar. It has a very complex, sweet, fresh taste at the front (roasted peppers and tomatoes, carrots, vinegar) and a mouth-coating slow fire after you swallow.

Oh. And it's hot as balls again here in Boston. Fitting.

The Depahhhtted

It's hot as balls.

Today is day 1 of Mission Downsize Apartment. I'm having a yahd sale tomarrah. Too bad I don't still smoke, I could wear curlers in my hair and a housecoat and some slippers for an authentic Dorchester experience.

Anyway, two goals: 1. remove useless, ugly, or redundant kitchen schtuff to yard sale shelves and 2) eat through my freezer before I move.

The Rejects, to the left.

(Don't ever buy a $10 Mandoline at Target. It IS too good to be true.)














My meal: Luksasowa Polish Vodka and pineapple juice, such a classy choice—make that klassy with a "k"—and some beef-barley-mushroom strew I made earlier in the spring (beef and marrow courtesy of the cows from Wheelview Farms in Sturbridge, MA). Stew eaten at 90+ degrees quite good but increases perspiration, by, oh about a million times.

Hobbit Hole, Here I Come

For years my friends have been telling me to start a food blog. I cook them fairly tasty things and they know I love doing it, and I can do it better than a lot of people, because I do it a lot. Practice makes perfect pizza crust, sheeit.

However, I never really felt like what I'd post about my own cooking would be that interesting to anyone who wasn't filling their stomachs with my finished product. Who the fuck wants to read about my blabbing on about my enchilada sauce (use a fresh Mayflower Poultry whole chicken, spiced, seared, and cooked in San Marzano tomatoes and 3 kinds of chiles)? See what I mean? What good does that do you unless you're stuffing your face with it? I can write recipes on an index card any ol' time.

Now I'm pretty sure I have a somewhat reason to write about how food and cooking in my life are going to change dramatically: I am moving from my current 1100 square foot apartment in Dorchestah to a 350 square foot basement studio in The People's Republic of Cambridge.

A 350 square foot studio apartment WITHOUT A STOVE.

Friends have cringed, wrinkled their brows, or just plain gaped at me when I tell them about this "one small thing" about an otherwise amazing place.

I'm going from a 16 x 14 eat-in kitchen equipped with a killer gas stove, dishwasher, disposal, pantry, copius counter and cabinet space, 3 windows and a back porch to a shiny new kitchen "area" with a small fridge, tabletop dual burners and a countertop convection oven--about the size of a new microwave. Gulp.

Possibly as part of a way to deal with my anxiety over how I'll deal in my new kitchen, I'm gonna chronicle the transition. I must admit though—I am more excited and curious than apprehensive—this will be a challenge for me as a cook, as an eater, and as a hostess.

I'll learn new culinary tricks, ideas, and probably host some major shitshows. I might end up eating a healthier diet—unless I fall into the trap of making meals out of some expensive cheese purchased from Whole Paycheck on my way home (I'm going to pass it EVERY DAY! I MUST institute a once-a-week visit rule, or I will end up large or broke or both). You know what I really think? I'm a good cook. I love food. I'll deal.

Jump down the hobbit hole with me. I promise to feed you something tiny and delectable.