The South, and Further South

Paula Dean can kiss my biscuits!

I'm cookin' up Southern food, and comin' to take your crown, girl!
Lunch today was blackeyed peas (buried at the bottom of the bowl), and collards (with onions cooked in bacon fat, of course) and ham. It was a bit soupy, with extra chicken broth. But, oh so good.

Ok, I know I've got no chance of taking the Southern Cooking Queen's place, really. I don't like fried chicken. There. I said it. I'll also say that "mayonnaise" only has three syllables, tops. Sometimes just two. So, all the Southern ladies can pat me on the arm, whisper "bless her heart" to each other, and I'll be on my way.

As a matter of fact, I'll be on my way further south... I don't believe I have Mexican anywhere in my mutt ancestry. I have almost everything else... all of Europe, several Native American tribes... but, despite not being from around here, even genetically... I love South Texas. Here is one of many reasons:


My afternoon snackies. Tortilla chips (sadly, and abnormally, not fresh or local) and homemade guacamole (what?! you don't know how to make it?!) and... Sotol. It's like a cousin of tequila, only, well... tequila is the one that lives in a trailer, wears undershirts out in public, and gets in bar fights. Sotol lives in a hacienda, wears tailored suits, and settles disputes of honor with duels.
See... big difference.
The Grill Master read an online review that compared sotol to cognac. That clinched it for me. We paid a ridiculously low price for such an elegant, delicious beverage, and brought it home to taste. It is wonderful. I actually had the agave nectar next to the beautiful bottle of sotol, ready to add in after I tasted it straight. Whatever! No... nothing needs to be, nor should be added.

Well, I added ice. And a couple splashes of club soda. After all, it was hot outside.

How To Make Guacamole

This is really hard folks, so pay attention:

Buy some avocados. If they are Hass, the kind you'll likely find everywhere except near Florida, they should be almost-black and a bit squishy. Not so soft it feels like you could stick your finger through it. But hard means it's not ready yet... which is fine, if you're patient. I'm not.

So, you've got an avocado or two, depending on how hungry you are, and how willing you are to share. Cut it open, squish out all the fleshy part, into a bowl. This is messy, but fun. If it's not squishy, it wasn't really ripe, but oh well, you're committed now.
Smoosh it with a fork. Or cut it in smallish chunks, if that's your thing. Everyone has their own thing.
Plop some SALSA VERDE on top. Not regular ol' Pace Picante sauce or whatever. Red sauce + green avocado = guac that looks like puke. Don't go there. Please.
Salsa verde is not hard to find... although if you're not in South Texas, you'll likely have to get yours in a can. Blech. Move to South Texas.
Stir.
Taste.
Want more salt? Add it. Want more tang? Add a squeeze of lime wedge. Want more spice? Might I suggest green Tabasco? Lovely.

There ya go.

Oh, and if you're stuck with mass-market major conglomerate tortilla chips, I highly recommend toasting them for just a couple of minutes in the oven. About 350 degrees ought to do it. You don't want to brown them, but you want them sizzling. That's how to fake the fresh.