I love memorable meals. Some are planned to be memorable, but then others include surprise experiences that breakthrough and demand a space in the archives of my memory. Last week we had a memorable family dinner at Stix. (It's an Asian eatery out at The Legends, which is a large shopping and entertainment district on the outskirts of Kansas City, KS. We try to do a lot of our shopping out there because it supports our county and state economies, and because for some reason it just feels comfortable when we are out there.)

My expectations for the meal were low. We have enjoyed the sushi and entrees at Stix, but this time we were trying out the Hibachi. We have been to other Hibachi's before, and they are always a good time. 8-10 people sit around a huge grill and a chef comes out and does comedic performance cooking. Tricks with the food. Light ribbing of the customers. Convincing eaters to catch shrimp in their mouths. Lots of funny hahas.

But we have found that most of the Hibachi's in KC are adequate. Not nasty, but not great either. And we had never seen anyone in the Hibachi at Stix, as we usually eat there during off-peak hours. Thus, the low expectations.

Well, the first thing I need to proclaim about the dinner was that it included the tenderest meat I've ever had the pleasure of eating. I went with the filet instead of the KC Strip, and I'm never going back to the strip at a Hibachi. Halfway through the meal I leaned over and told Stacy it was the tenderest steak I'd ever had. She assumed the statement to be either a joke or hyperbole. And then she tried it. It melted in her mouth. She was sold. I don't know what they do to the meat at Stix. They could very well use some kind of illegal meat tenderizing techniques. Perhaps it's some of that meat sacrificed to idols that they are always talking about in the New Testament. Whatever it is, it's the bomb.

In addition to the culinary memory that was forged that night, I also found the sociology of the Hibachi that night to be fascinating. It was very well the most racially diverse place I have ever been since moving to Kansas City. I would venture to say it was close to a 40-40-20 breakdown of white, black and Hispanic customers. (There were also a lot of Asian employees, but no Asian customers. As if. I've been to restraints that have high Asian populations, and they are not this gimmicky/touristy. Just like you aren't going to find any Hispanic folks looking forward to dinner at Carlos O'Kellys).

So one of the cool and sometimes comedic aspects of a Hibachi is that there is a lot of mixing of customers. They try to fill all of the seats around each grill, so unless you are rolling deep there is a good chance you are going to be sitting with strangers. We had 6 in our group and got to eat with a lady and her middle school son.

In a hilarious display of forced segregation, the table across from us had quite the mix of people. There were three Hispanic couples who looked to be pretty urban. Lots of tats. Gold chains. Baggy clothing. Drinking bottles of Bud Light. The works.

After they had been seated for a few minutes, the greeter brings another couple back. They are White. They are clearly suburban. As they grab their seats, one of the Hispanic dudes gives a head nod to the White guy. He uncomfortably nods back.

So it's clearly an unnerving situation for these two. They go out for a date, and the next thing they know they are, perhaps for the first time in their lives, put in a situation where they are the minority. And they are struggling. I'm pretty sure the lady looked down at her food the entire time. All the while, the Hispanic group is just enjoying each other's company. They are telling stories. Laughing.

Finally, the entire table has their food. But the Hispanic group is requesting hot sauce before they will eat. Lots of it. Like a whole bottle. Finally it comes. They pass it around the table and everyone is using generous amounts. When the sixth person gets done with it, he looks at the White guy and holds the bottle up. Dude looks for a second. Takes the bottle. Proceeds to follow the example of his eating neighbors and applies a generous amount to his food.

Now I'm cracking up. No way this guy is going to be able to handle that plate of food now. But he handles it like a pro.

I'm always going to remember that whole exchange. I'll remember it because the white couple didn't get up and leave. I'll remember it because the guys in the group were making efforts to be kind and neighborly to each other, even though it didn't seem like they had much in common. And I'll remember it because I saw a person who before that night didn't know what it felt like to be a minority, handle his first experience of minority with as much grace and dignity as he could muster even though he didn't have any time to prepare himself for the experience.

Renew and Restore

We've been doing a lot of shopping lately. We already have most things that are needed to take care of a child, but we obviously are missing certain pregnancy related items. Like, all of them.

As Stacy gets more pregnant, she will need different clothes. Maternity things. She's been doing quite a bit of shopping online at Old Navy and Gap, and we have hit up a maternity store or two on our jaunts out and about. Not a ton of surprises in the experience. It's the same type of shopping we always do, just with more adjustable waistbands.

Granted, there are some items on the market I am just now becoming aware of. Case in point: The Bella Band.

For those as ignorant as I, they make these bands that pregnant women can wear around their bellies. When the bellies are at their most ample, the bands provide a little insurance in the event that a shirt comes up short on coverage. It's a nice little invention, especially for ladies like Stacy who aren't into flashing their belly cleavage all over town.

But it gets better. Apparently, the Bella Band is also of use for women who aren't ready to move into full-blown maternity gear. For the lady who just needs a little extra space in los pantalones, the Bella Band allows her to hold out a little longer before moving to the full-blown maternity gear. You just unbutton your pants, and then slide the band over your waist. Your pants stay up, and you get the needed room.

Stacy wisely purchased 2 Bella Bands. Which brings me to what I'm not thankful for today.

I'm not thankful that Stacy won't share her Bella Band with me.

I am going to eat today. Let me rephrase that. I am going to eat A LOT today. All day. Not as much as I do on Meat Day. That would just be silly. But still. I'm going to eat a lot.

The thing is, I'm not going to eat a lot at my house. Were that the case, I'd just spend the afternoon schlepping my clothes around the house as my body struggled to digest all of the food. However, we're having Thanksgiving dinner at Stacy's grandparents house. In the interest of in-law harmony, I try to keep all of my clothes on regardless of how much I eat. Use good manners. Don't belch. Keep your pants buttoned. Don't stink up the lavatory. All good things to keep in mind when you eat dinner at the in-laws.

Thus, it would be great if I could borrow the Bella Band. I could unbutton my pants completely unbeknown to any family. My gut would be happy. I would be happy.

But it will never be. Stacy has forbade my wearing of the Bella Band. And that's just selfish. I even offered to let her have first pick, but noooooooooooooo. No Bella Band for me.

So I'm not thankful. Because I'm going to eat my heart out and then I'll be terribly uncomfortable for the remainder of the evening.

There is always next year.

Renew and Restore

I didn't vote today. I voted a week ago. I voted while sitting on my couch and watching Sportscenter. Then I tidily folded up my ballot and sent it off in the mail.

Wait in line? Pfffffffffft. As if. I ain't waiting in line for anything if I don't have to. People can feel free to follow me, but I ain't lookin' at nobody's backside for 20 minutes. You crazy, son.

What's that? Oh. Chick-fil-a is giving out free sandwiches since it's Election Day? Holla at ya' boy! That's what I'm talking about. Ok. I'll wait in line for 20 minutes. Becuase I'm American. Because I love convenience almost (but not quite) as much as I love a $3.50 chicken sandwich. That's worth looking at some backside for.

You know what the hardest part of waiting in line for 20 minutes to get free food is? Behaving yourself.

One of the things that cracks me up is how often people have misued the word "socialism" these past few weeks. Like, there is a big difference between big government and socialism, technically speaking. There's a big difference between socializing certain programs and being a socialist country. But we're not generally skilled in the art of nuance when it comes time to vote. We're more the broad-stroke life-or-death kind of people.

So the term has been misused and people are all worked up about it. It's actually turned into a slur of sorts, but this too shall pass.

So anyway, I'm sitting there in line when I see some people with McCain shirts on. And this idea pops into my head.

Wouldn't it be really funny if I raised my fist up in the air and hollered at the top of my lungs, "Free food for the masses. Socialists UNIIIIIIITE."

Now that would freak some people out. But then I remembered that I didn't want to get people all worked up on election day, so I just stood there and played with a straw instead.

Renew and Restore

During my first year as a blogger, I finished the year off with a series of "Best Of" rankings. Best books, best movies, best sports moments. You know. The usual.

Then last year I started reading more blogs, and I realized that everyone and their mother was doing "Best Of" lists at the end of the year. It was like the blogosphere vomited a bunch of music countdowns where people were falling all over themselves in order to talk about how great Radiohead's last album was. I literally stopped reading blogs during the last couple weeks of 2007 since they had become congested with high levels of redundancy. I resolved to give up "Best Of" lists.

But then I had a bright idea a couple of weeks ago while we were shopping for a new frying pan at Macy's. As I saw the workers setting up Christmas stuff a good month before Halloween and a whopping 3 months before Christmas, I lamented the need for retailers to be the first to put up Christmas stuff. Then I ripped off their idea and vowed to do my "Best Of" list the second week in October. Gotta beat the holiday rush.

Here's my promise to you: no run of the mill lists this week. All original lists that you will not find anywhere else. Not now. Not in 3 moths when lists are the in thing. I won't promise that each list will have 10 items. Sometimes there just aren't' 10 best things. I also can't promise that all of these listed items were actually experienced in 2008. These are more timeless lists that exist in my heart. And I also promise not to mention Radiohead. You don't need me to tell you how good the album was. You already heard it from a bazillion other cats. Plus, I didn't listen to the album.

Kicking off our best of 2008...my favorite barbecue meats. For reasons of integrity, I'm not including anything I've actually made. Though, now that I think of it, none of my stuff would make the list. I'm waaaaay to hard on myself.

6. Gates Beef on Bread- Very classic taste. Gates flavor has a nice bite to it, and the ambiance of the joint makes up for the fact that the beef can get a bit on the dry side if you show up on an off day. That's the risk of hitting up a chain bbq joint. But it's nothing a heavy slathering of sauce can't overcome.

5. Jones BBQ Beef Sandwich - Superior meat quality to Gates. More celery seed in the rub, which might not strike every one's fancy. At first I didn't like it, but they have toned it down over the last couple of years and found a way better balance. The key to this sandwich is to get a side of baked beans. Jones has amazing beans that are sweet, juicy and have huge chunks of meat in them. I like to go sauseless, and then dip the sandwich in the bean juice.

4. Oklahoma Joes Hogamaniac (aka Hog Dinner) - Three ribs, pulled pork, sausage, pickles, texas toast and two sides. Dang. It's enough food for two people. This is my favorite meal when I have a high-stress day. I stop by a coffe shop and pick up a hazelnut latte, which is a great compliment to good meat. Plus, I think the dinner is only like $11.

3. The Shack Sampler Platter - I've only had this once. The shack is in Ocean Springs, MS. Sweet and sticky sauce. Best ambiance of any joint I've been to. Nice souther style BBQ.

2. Roy's Three Meat Sandwich - My first love. We made a lot of pilgrimages to Hutchinson, KS when I was in college just to hit up Roy's. It's the first place I ever experienced the zen of meat sweats. You can't leave that place without a saturation of smoke into your hair, clothing and skin.

1. Oklahoma Joes Pulled Pork Z Man on Texas Toast with a topping of Spicy Slaw slapped on the sandwich. The only sandwich that makes me shudder when I think of it. Meat, provolone and an onion ring. All on toast and Carolina'd up with that spicy slaw. It doesn't look like much, but you had better go gameface if you expect to finish it. And don't get it to go. It has to be eaten in the gas station, and in one sitting. Unlike any other bbq dish, it doesn't warm up well.

Ahhhhhhh, the first weekend in October. Quickly becoming a landmark holiday in the Dashiell house. Nothing like one of the biggest bbq competitions in the country being held 4 minutes from your house to put a little pep in your step.

For the second year in a row, I got to judge the American Royal Open Barbecue competition. I hope to judge it for about 4 more years, at which point I hope to earn my way into the invitational at The Royal. But for now, I'll be content to spend a couple hours eating some of the best bbq in the country.

One key difference for my sophomore campaign is that this year I was actually a certified judge. Back in 07 I just signed up and walked in off the street. Still an enjoyable experience, but I felt pretty overwhelmed. There is a lot to keep track of when you are judging bbq. I had to lean pretty heavily on one of the experienced judges at my table, and he was very patient with me.

But this year was way better. Stacy helped me brush up on Saturday by quizzing me from portions of my bbq judge manual that I had underlined. Granted, she mostly was doing so in order to laugh at me and call me a dork, but I appreciated the chance to hone my skills.

I wound up needing that quizzing, as I ended up pulling double duty. Not only did I judge, but I also was appointed Table Captain. I had to retrieve the samples we were to judge, as well as make sure everything ran smoothly at our table. It was challenging. A lot to remember. Fortunately, my 5 fellow judges were patient with me and helped me out quite a bit.

In the end, I think I improved a lot over last year's performance. For one, I paced myself way better. It's pretty easy to get ahead of yourself when 6 portions each of chicken, ribs, pork and beef are put in front of you. Plus, you have to clean your palette between each entry with crackers and water. Last year, I pretty much slipped into a meat coma. I was sweating bbq sauce. It wasn't pretty.

This year, I managed to only go through 2 bottles of water (down from 4), and I didn't feel like I needed anyone to carry me home. Oh, I was full. Really full. But less full than last year.

The other improvement over last year had nothing to do with me. We simply got better meat at our table this year. It was all good, and there was nothing inedible. Man, last year there were 3 or 4 things that were just brutal. Like this chicken thigh that someone had rolled in rock salt. Sick. No automatic spitters this year, though. Thank goodness.

In case you ever have the chance to judge a contest, let me recommend my tried and true recovery method. First, sleep off the meat sweats. Your body needs the rest. Once you wake up, grab some coffee and a small snack. You need the heat and the sweet to help with digestion, and the sugar to get the salty taste out of your mouth. Then, just chill for a while. Preferably while watching football. When dinner time rolls around, just do fruit and water. And about 2 hours before bed, do a bunch of situps and pushups to get the old metabolism flowing again. Plus, if you are goign to eat a couple of pounds of meat, you might as well put the protein to good use.

Renew and Restore

Urban Black America has a weight problem. Genetics are a contributing factor to both weight and cardiovascular health. Soul food contributes. Not that I don't love soul food. I'll belly up to the Peach Tree Buffet as fast as the next guy, but I'm not interested in getting the details of my caloric and fat intake following the feast. Economics play a role as well. Cheap foods don't tend to be the healthiest foods. You ever seen a Wild Oats in the middle of the 'hood? Didn't think so.

One of the big struggles at The Hope Center is to get the kids to eat a balanced diet. They love hot chips and soda. But like a lot of kids their age, veggies and low-fat options don't float their collective boat. So we've instituted a policy at meal time where you have to heat a serving of fruits or veggies before you get a (moderately sized) desert. Just trying to institute some healthy habits in the mix.

As you can imagine, it's a constant struggle. Part of it is the gamesmanship of trying to get out of a stipulated practice. Good thing we have Love and Logic. "I'll be happy to hook you up with a dessert once you've eaten your fruit".

Imagine my surprise when I walked into a school cafeteria a couple of weeks ago, and found five of my seventh grade boys chowing down on...

Salad. A huge honkin' green salad with turkey and other assorted veggies. Topped off with a small cup of ranch or honey mustard dressing.

Me: Uhhhhh. What are you guys eating?

Boys: Salad. Duh.

Me: Did you guys forget your lunch money today?

Boys: No. We get it every day.

Me. What spurred this development?

Boys: We're trying out for basketball. We have to build our muscles.

I didn't have the heart to tell the fellas that they would need a little more protein to build their man muscles. Who cares? They were voluntarily eating a healthy meal. It was so cute.

Renew and Restore

One of the dysfunctions of our schedule is that we don't get to eat dinner as a family all that often. Too many evenings with the boys. Too many nights at the hospital. Which means the three of us don't eat together, or (like tonight) we have some delicious Wendy's. It's a far cry from what we were cooking up in la cocina this past weekend.

Saturday Breakfast: Eggs, toast and turkey breakfast sausage. The sausage is one of our favorites, and comes from an old Polish company that has been making sausage in our neighborhood for 60 years. It has apple and cinnamon in it, and it is amazing. I cooked it up on the grill, and we all know that breakfast is better when it's grilled.

Saturday Dinner: A little spinach pasta action. We got the pasta at the farmer's market, and it was good. Stacy threw some fresh spinach in there as well as oil and capers. It was nice.

Sunday Dinner: Bison Burgers. Oh man. Again from the farmer's market. Bison is goooood. Tough to cook because it is so lean, but we fixed that. I made a little bed of bacon on the grill and then put the burgers on top of it to soften the blow of the heat. The next thing you know, we have bacon bison burgers on whole wheat buns with tomatoes from our garden. I'll tell ya what. It was one of the best burgers I have had in a while. I'm very happy we have another 1/2 pound of bison burger in the freezer.

Fair Dinkum

I like cheese. Mostly cheddar, but I also have been partial to Jack, Pepper Jack and Provolone. The only cheese I really dislike is Swiss. Not too sure why that is. It just makes me want to gag for some odd reason. Though, I do enjoy the Swiss Cheese fondue at The Rhinelander in PDX. Perhaps when the Swiss is melted it looses it's barfy qualities.

Anywho, my attention was caught last week at the grocery store as I was loitering by the deli counter. Next to all of the run-of-the-mill cheeses sat a platter of white cheese, prominently marked with a sign that read "Horseradish Cheese". Man, I love horseradish. But it's just so hard to keep consistent when applying to a sandwich. The Horsey Sauce at Arby's does a pretty good job, but it's mixed in mayo. Mayo is super-fat. Fast food may is super-duper-fat. Not interested in that every day. Nor am I interested in sneaking into a different Arby's every week and stuffing Horsey Sauce packets into my pants.

Immediately, I realized that this Horseradish cheese thing could have great potential. Clean. Healthier than mayo. Available at the store. So I asked the deli man for a slice and he obliged.

When I popped the cheese in, it smacked me with a heavenly burn. Right up high in the nostrils. It was so good. And far more potent than I had anticipated. I couldn't say no. I had to get some.

But then came the second smack of the experience. That there cheese rings up at $9/pound. Dang. You know what, though? Totally worth it. You just have to pace yourself. So I purchased 5 slices. They were nice and thick, and ended up costing about $.40 per slice. Not too shabby. Plus, the taste is strong enough that you can cut out any other condiments on your sandwich. Meat, bread and one slice of cheese. Tasty.

My only beef is that the slices have a tendency to stick together. If I'm paying $9 per pound I don't want to have to struggle to cut my cheese. I want you to cut my cheese, and I want it cut nice and smooth.

OK. I'm done. Thanks for indulging me.

Fair Dinkum

I really enjoyed that week of spring that the Midwest graced us with. It was wonderful, and now it is hot. H-O-T, hot.

My favorite part of summer is thus the Slush. Over the years, the Slush has evolved into various incarnations existing at once. I sample a variety in the summer time, and have four distinct favorites. They are fantastic in their sweetness, but also in their ability to cool the hot individual from the inside out. Mmmmmmmm. Slush.

My 4 favorites are as follows

4. The 7-11 Slurpee - Pretty inferior to the others, in all honesty. I'll probably grab it just once this summer. However, it deserves respect as the classic, and will get some love seeing as though there is a 7-11 near work.

3. Quick Trip White Cherry - Very good. The flavor is unique, and a little on the strong side. But the QTWC slush is great with a hot dog or taquito. There is nothing quite like getting your entire lunch from a gas station.

2. Blue Valley Market Strawberry - Probably the best texture of any selection on the list. It's essentially a half melted snow cone. The syrup is thick and sweet and delicious. I absolutely love it. But not as much as...

1. Sonic's Strawberry Limeade Slush - My wife turned me onto these. The plus side? Fresh strawberries in the bottom of the cup. Not only are they super good, but it's a fun challenge to try to suck them through the straw when you are finished with the actual slush. The only problem is that they are not uniform. Depending on your slush chief, they can have different ratios of Strawberry to Lime to Slush. You never know exactly what you are going to get. Though it can be a little bit of an adventure, I must say that for the most part they are excellent. Just be careful. I'm pretty sure they put freon in those things. They are so addictive and cold that they regularly cause ridiculously painful brain freezes. Zoinks.

Fair Dinkum

Tonight I will have dinner at 39th and Wyoming. In what used to be a service station now resides an eatery that I have become completely smitten with. The Aladdin Cafe serves up such marvelous Greek and Mediterranean cuisine, that this will be my fourth visit in as many weeks. I'm officially an addict.

It's not just me, either. Stacy's jonesing as well. In a bad way. She's a huge fan of the hummus, as am I. She is also holding tight to her tradition of ordering a Gyro each trip. I am very proud of myself in going with three different dishes in my three trips. I loved the gyro meat and hummus plate. Amazing. I sorta liked the curried chicken. One problem I was having is that my tastes are tuned to the Asian/Indian curry. To my tongue, those are sweeter than the Mediterranean variation. It wasn't bad. It just wasn't as amazing as I had hoped. So last time I went with the plain chicken and couscous platter. Good call.

Tonight? Not sure. Probably back to hummus and gyro meat. And perhaps a hookah session for dessert.

I got to drive the Jeep today. It's Stacy's baby so much so that Elli was confused as to why we were driving it today. She asked me numerous times where Daddy's Blue Car was.

Well little lady, papa's gettin' a brand new...freezer. An upright deep freeze, to be precise. One of our friends came across a free freezer (as in her mother is giving it away), so I rented a U Haul trailer today so that I can go pick it up after work. Christmas in May.

Some might wonder what the big deal is. Used household appliances don't typically make one turn cartwheels. For that matter, very few things make me turn cartwheels. The physics of tossing my gangly frame end-on-end is very hard to achieve given the restraints of gravity.

Freezers, however, make me dance for joy. Because starting tonight I will have the opportunity to buy meat by the case. A whole hog. Shoot, even a side of beef. Then, at my hearts desire, I can head down to the basement and pull out the meat so that it can later be smoked at my convenience. This really is a big moment in my meat smoking career.

Glory, glory.

Fair Dinkum

My culinary resume is growing quite robust. The Asian section is looking good thanks to tutelage from a theology prof and his wife, not to mention spending my formative years at Chinese Baptist Church. Italian is easy. We all know about my performance in the outdoor meats category. And let us not forget that I can grill a mean pizza with honey whole wheat crust.

But there is one substantial void in my past performance: I have never had the opportunity to cook Thanksgiving dinner. I know. I can hardly consider myself an adequate cook. But tomorrow, all of that changes.

Not since 1998 have I had Thanksgiving dinner in my own home. I never traveled back to Portland for the holiday during college, and the tradition in Stacy's family is to go to her Grandparent's house on Thanksgiving. It's hardly good manners to elbow an elderly woman off of her own stove in order to prove your worth in the kitchen.

This year we find ourselves tethered to Kansas City by the demands of Stacy's schedule, however. The 30-hour shift that begins at 6am on Thursday followed by another 30-hour shift on Saturday really puts a dent in your opportunity to travel. And instead of leaving the dinner responsibilities to the hospital cafeteria, a fellow husband and myself decided to take on the duties and bring the meal to the hospital.

The meal has been meticulously planned, and the tasks divided up. On this eve of Thanksgiving, I find myself excited. My contributions to our meal are as follows:

*Turkey - I wanted to smoke one, but it's currently far too cold outside for such endeavors. Something about 32 degrees and light precipitation makes me feel as though going outside numerous times in the middle of the night would be a poor life decision. As such, we are going to rock the baked turkey with the apricot glaze.

*Sweet Potatoes - No canned yams here, holmes. Elli and I picked up the real deal sweet potatoes in the produce section yesterday. We have a solid recipe lined up, complete with marshmallows.

*Green Bean Casserole - This dish is not from scratch. I would have been game, but the idea of frying onions myself made me a little nervous. Plus, my only assistance is going to be Elli, so at some point in time I needed to make sure I wasn't over-committing myself.

*The Best Jello Dish in the History of Humanity - cherry jello + pomegranate juice+ fruit + whipped topping complete with cinnamon and nutmeg = a sensation equal to that on one thousand fairies dancing across my tongue. How else would it be able to bump the famed Watergate salad from the menu?

*Rolls - alas, also not from scratch. Sorry.

I dare say, we'll have a nice little spread. And if you can't tell, I'm more than a little excited for this rite of passage.

Fair Dinkum

I went to the grocery store with a specific list. The list detailed all of the items we needed to restock the fridge, as well as a few baby-related items. Mostly essentials, but one or two luxury items as well.

The dairy section was the locale of the latest temptation to impulse buy. It came from the most unlikely of sources, but the powers of persuasion were strong. The typical routine has me grabbing two glass bottles of skim milk from the Shatto Dairy for Stacy and I, as well as a similar bottle of whole milk to beef Elli up. Two green caps and one red cap. Easy breezy.

But this day, the pint bottle of light tan milk donning the silver lid was calling my name. "Christian," the Root Beer flavored milk called out to me. "Psssst. Yo, dogg. Pick me...pick me!"

I don't know why, but I obeyed. It must have been a Jedi mind trick. Even as I wound my way through the isles to gather up the remaining items on my list, I found myself trying to figure out why in the name of all things bovine I would buy root beer milk. It really does sound like a horrific combination. But instead of casting the bottle aside, it kept its seat in my cart and was eventually scanned, bagged, payed for, and sitting next to me in the car.

I couldn't wait. I busted the bottle open in the car to find out whether or not I had been taken for a fool by a bottle of milk. The thick liquid passed my lips, rushed over my taste buds and washed past my uvula before making its decent into my dark innards.

Delicious.

And so it is that I came to find out that root beer milk is actually a beverage of joy and beauty. Reminiscent of a root beer float, the combination of fatty whole milk and sugar is one of sheer brilliance. Part of me wanted to guzzle the entire bottle on the way home, but I kept my sensibilities about me. I nursed the bottle in thirds over the past few days, just recently finishing off the last sweet drips of creamy nectar.

I can't wait to go to the store again on Thursday.

Fair Dinkum

I smoked meat twice this weekend. Chicken thighs on Friday night, pulled pork on Sunday. But these smokes were different. They officially marked the beginning of my Five Year Plan (FYP). You are correct, sir. I have a five year plan that culminates with competing in the American Royal Open Meats cook off. You might fancy me a dork for such ambitions, but I figure I deserve it. The last 5 years have been filled with all types of lofty goals that are serious in nature, and the next few seem to have a number of those as well. So we need something light and fun. And delicious. Like meat.

So, here it is. My FYP...

Currently - Smoke as much meat as possible. I started a journal in a 5 subject notebook to chronicle the developments. I have sections for pork, chicken, brisket, ribs and rub. The way I see it, meat smoking is part science. The right mix of spices. The right timing. You have to make the controllable variables work to your advantage. you can't make the same mistakes over and over again. So, I am now taking copious notes each time I smoke in order to master the science of smoking.

Spring 2008 - Study meat. Take the KCBS Certified Judges course. Upgrade my equipment. I'm still smoking on my rookie setup. Stacy got it for $4 at a garage sale, and it's been great to start out with. However, the Brinkman Smoke'N'Grill isn't ideal for large cuts of meat. You can't really regulate its temp that well, and it's small. Now, I don't need anything huge. Right now I'm thinking about going for the Weber Smoky Mountain cooker, but I might change my mind over the next 8 months or so.

Spring 2008 - Spring 2010 - Smoke as much as possible. Get a team together. I figure my Meat Day partner and my father-in-law would both be on my smoking team. We would probably want to pick up another person or two. If you are interested, you should let me know. It would also be nice to find some generous soul or corporation to sponsor us, but probably not necessary.

Fall 2010 - Enter a smaller competition. Just to get our feet wet and get our stuff in order.

Spring 2011 - Enter another smaller competition, followed by the Great Lenexa BBQ in June. Lenexa serves as the State Championship for Kansas, so it would be a good cook to get involved in.

Fall 2011 and Spring 2012 - Another competition smoke.

June 2012 - Our return to Lenexa. It will be the last hurrah before we set sail for The Royal. By this time we should be a well-oiled machine. Ready to rumble. Ready to roll.

You never get anywhere without a plan. Thus, my FYP. Perhaps one of the best plans ever, at least when you consider the end result. You can rest assured of frequent updates to the plan in this space.

Fair Dinkum

Last night I had the delight of experiencing a new culinary creation. Not a creation I invented. Shoot. I didn't even cook it. But I did eat it. That is quite an accomplishment.

The delight du jour just so happened to be the epic fried green tomatoes. To be perfectly honest, Stacy and I had our sights set pretty low. But as circumstances would dictate, we had an abundance of green tomatoes that have no chance of turning red now that summer is officially over, so we had to do something. I even went out and hurled insults at them for 30 minutes the other day in hope that they would get embarrassed and take on some color, but to no avail. So the choices were unceremoniously throwing them in the composter, or cooking up the fried greenies.

Stacy ended up researching a slew of recipes on the google, and finally landed in the camp of simplicity. We beat a couple of eggs, added salt and pepper, and then rolled the dipped tomatoes in a jiffy corn bread mix. Did somebody say easy button? Well the should have. Then they should have said "delicious button". Those suckers were yummy.

The dish shattered paradigms on two levels for me. First, they tasted remarkably like red tomatoes. Interesting. Secondly, they lacked a tartness that I was preparing for all evening. Experience tells me that unripened fruit lacks a certain sweetness that makes it go down nice and smooth. But the fried green tomato elicited nary a pucker or wince. Subtly sour? Perhaps. But very good. So good that Stacy is going to experiment with a little fried green tomato parmigiana concoction here in the next few days.

So if you find yourself with too many green tomatoes about this time of year, you know know what to do. Have fun.

Fair Dinkum

It came, I met it head on, and it was everything I had imagined it to be and more. Yesterday, I was a judge at the American Royal Barbecue Contest. 500 competitors. 500 judges. Pounds and pounds of finely smoked meats, with $12000 and a competition smoker on the line. The following is an account of my day. Non-meat related details have been edited out, since this post will be long enough as is.

7am - Wake up. Usually my alarm clock is a screeching, horrendous sound that I dread. Today, it sounded as though angels were singing softly in my bedroom.

7:15am - Opening snack while reading the paper. I went with coffee and half of a peanut butter and honey sandwich. Just enough to get the metabolism going, but not enough to stick around for the rest of the day.

9:00am - Trek to the lavatory with a news magazine. Gotta maximize available intestinal space for maximum digestion.

9:30am - Wardrobe selection. I go with green nylon pants from Old Navy and a grey Mecca t-shirt. Casual and comfortable.

9:45am - Hang out with Elli while she eats her second breakfast of the day. I sneak a couple of grapes. Hey, a little fiber can't hurt anything.

10:30am - Grab "BBQ JUDGE" parking pass. Slip a pen in my pocket. Kiss wife. Kiss child. Embark on my adventure.

10:40am - Begin walk from parking lot to the designated judging area. The competitors are all pretty quiet. Smokers are smoking and puffing rich, meaty smoke into the air. My stomach grumbles. My mouth waters. My pace quickens as I attempt to still my madly beating heart.

11:00am - Check in at the non-certified judges table. I get my official lapel pin. I am directed to my seat between a couple of very nice gentlemen. I find out that they are from Chi town and make this trek every year to judge at the Royal. They also compete in the prestigious Memphis in May competition each year. I start picking their brains about the competitive barbecue circuit. I'm soaking it all in, loving the fact that I have been gifted such a fortuitous seat.

11:05am - A friend from church comes over to my table to greet me. He asks if I brought a bag. Uh, no. Rookie mistake. Judges are allowed to take leftover portions home. He gives me a bag, which is a huge relief. Now I won't be tempted to eat every scrap of meat put in front of me. I now notice that some judges have brought small bag coolers into the building. Smart.

11:10am - My bubble is burst as I'm moved to table 51. There goes my own personal informational session. Suck. I now have a three certified judges on my left, and two non-certified on my right. Nobody smokes competitively. The two non-certified women have traveled from Florida to judge in the competition. Small talk ensues.

11:30am - We are informed that they have run out of aprons, so our table will not be getting any.

11:34am - I'm starving. I eat one of the saltines in front of me, and take a swig from one of the many bottles of water at our table.

11:35am - Judges meeting begins. It consists of a man greeting us, and then playing a CD of the official rules. We're near the speakers, and it's so loud I consider covering my ears.

11:43am - We take our official oath as judges. "I do solemnly swear to objectively and subjectively evaluate each Barbecue meat that is presented to my eyes, my nose, my hands and my palate. I accept my duty to be a judge, so that truth, justice, excellence in Barbecue and the American Way of Life may be strengthened and preserved forever." That's what I call patriotism.

12:03pm - The chicken is brought to our table by our Table Captain. He has a huge tray with six Styrofoam boxes on it. Each box has a contestant number taped on it, and includes at least 6 portions of meat. All of the meat must rest on green lettuce and/or parsley. Our table is silent as we evaluate the relative beauty of each entry. We grade each box from 1-9 on presentation. The Table Captain then passes each box around and we each take a portion. Now, we begin tasting each piece, and grading it from 1-9 on both taste and tenderness. Between each contestant's entry, I take a swig of water and bit off of a saltine to clean my palate. Overall, it's very good. Except for my last piece. For some reason, the chief picked a recipe that included encrusting the chicken thigh in rock salt. Blech.

12:15pm - Our table turns in our scoring cards. We clean the table and chat about our impressions. I pick the brain of the certified judge sitting next to me, and vow to take the certification class this year.

12:27 pm - Our table captain brings the ribs out. Note to self: don't submit spare ribs to competition. They aren't as pretty and are way tougher than baby backs. Both of the spare rib entries get lower scores at our table. One is so bad that I don't even put the leftovers in my bag to take home.

12:44pm - Ribs judging concludes. I get a good tip on giving the ribs a honey glaze when you pull them off of the smoker.

12:15pm - Pulled pork enters the arena. I'm pumped. It's my favorite. One contestant take a risk and submits a terryiaki sauce on the pork. It's good. Not the greatest, but the risk was probably worth it.

12:45pm - Pork exits the arena. The lady next to me remarks that she's stuffed. Uhhh. You better suck it up. We still have brisket, lady. I will admit, I'm getting the meat sweats at this point. I regret not wearing shorts. I try to walk it off, but it doesn't help. I also regret not bringing some unscented wipes to de-sauce my hands that are getting progressively grubbier.

1:20pm - One of the organizers takes the mike and informs us to stick around following brisket, because we will all be judging sausage. Sausage doesn't count toward the composite Grand Champion score, so not everyone does it. The crowd goes wild.

1:27pm - Finally. The brisket is out. 4 of the entries are very good, and make me realize how much I need to work on my brisket skills. The other two? Bad, bad bad. Like chewing on leather.

1:42pm - Brisket is gone.

1:56pm - Sausage enters the arena. We only get three entries. None of them are great. The problem is the contestants used salty and flavorful rubs, which isn't necessary since sausage is already spiced. Too bad. I don't pack any of it up to take home.

2:05pm - I'm outta here. I lug my 4lb bag of meat leftovers out to the car with a huge sense of accomplishment. I'm soooooooo full. Certainly going to have to sleep this off sometime this afternoon. And take a shower. All of that meat sweating has made me a little ripe, if you know what I mean.

2:20pm - I enter my home the victorious bearer of meat. I kiss the baby. I kiss my wife. Stacy remarks, "Either you or that meat smells very fragrant."

Fair Dinkum

The asterisk can communicate many a splendid thing. It can communicate that people think you used steroids and growth hormones to bulk up, thus they look at your sporting achievements with a bit of doubt. Or, it could mean that your proposition has some sort of loophole that will be explained at the bottom of the page in legal jargon. In this case, it is meant to convey the fact that I evaluate life events on on two separate scales.

Some days of my life are in the running for Best Day Ever (no asterisk) because they hold deep emotional or spiritual significance. The day I got married. The day we went to the orphanage to pick up Elli. Really important days.

But then there is another group of days. Days that hold little significance, but that exist in my mind as days where I accomplished achievements on a grand and mythical scale. These are the days whose stories grow in stature each year. These are the days that make other grown men giggle while at the same time causing a twinge of jealousy to spark deep in their sternum as my feats of manhood are recalled.

October 7, 2007 will be one such day. For many years to come, it will be in the running to be named my Best Day Ever*. For it is on that very day that I will be a judge for the 28th Annual American Royal Barbecue Competition: Open Meats Division. It will be my honor and privilege to sample and grade approximately four pounds of smoked meat in one of the most prestigious meat smoking competitions around.

Please know that I take this job very seriously. It's not all fun and games here, people. A lot is on the line. The grand champion is awarded a new competition smoker, as well as a cash prize of $12,000. It's kind of a big deal.

I'll be honest. This is like Christmas for me. I may very well fall into a meat coma when all is said and done. I probably need to procure a designated driver, just in case my body isn't properly able to process all of the protein in a timely manner.

I've already warned Stacy that I'm going to be pretty ridiculous following the festivities. I've wanted to enter a contest such as this for a while, but am still honing my skills before I go pro. Knowing how these things are judged can only help my chances when that wonderful day comes, though I'm sure this will give me the itch to get in there and rumble with the big boys. Don't worry. When the time comes for me to join the circuit, you'll read it here first.

Fair Dinkum

It's about time for a meat post. It seems like everywhere I turn, meat thoughts are dancing through my head. Thoughts that don't come out of no where, but that are rather introduced by others who come across my path.

For instance, I am going to a wedding next weekend. A very dear college friend of both Stacy and myself. A few months ago, she mentioned that they might be roasting an entire pig at the rehearsal dinner. Be still my madly beating heart. Roasting a whole pig is only one of my life's goals, though Stacy isn't too thrilled at the prospect. Something about me digging a huge hole in our back yard and cooking dinner in it over the course of numerous days isn't that appealing to her.

While it might be of little consolation, Stacy does know that this meat smoking triumph is quite a ways off. An entire pig is a big investment, and I'd like to walk through the process with someone before I do it myself. The couple of opportunities that have come up to earn my stripes have managed to fall through, as did this particular chance. It seems as though this young lady's father wasn't able to carve out the 3 days it was going to take to do this undertaking the week of his daughter's wedding. I can respect that. There will still be succulent pork to sup on, and I can respect that as well. Oh baby, can I ever respect that. I'm modifying my eating habits over the next eight days accordingly.

Today, I also came across this post on Scot McKnight's blog. I guess there is a national discussion going on pertaining to the best sandwich. My contribution?

The Carolina style pulled pork ZMan on Texas toast from Oklahoma Joe's located in a gas station here in town.

ajsk;ldfapoficmcfhsdopifmmcsdapojficm.

Sorry about that last line. I had to wipe the drool off of my keyboard.

Now, if you go to OKJ, you won't find this sandwich on the menu. It's a little hybrid sandwich I order by combining a couple of their specialties. It's pulled pork, provolone cheese, an onion ring and spicy slaw meticulously placed in between two fresh slices of buttery toasted white bread. National discussion that, yo. Oh. And don't forget the strawberry soda.

Before you across town (or the country) to grab one of those bad boys, you need to set aside some recovery time. Ingesting all of this meaty goodness has been known to cause the Meat Sweats. This is a diagnosable condition that I first experienced on a visit to Roy's Barbecue in Hutchinson, KS. You get it when you eat too much smoked meat in one sitting. It just begins with the sweating as your body struggles to break down all of the succulent protein. It then moves to a stage where you must find a couch, lay down, and pass out. Preferably while watching soccer, college football or college basketball sometime during the midday hours. By early evening, you should be ready to rock and roll. Unless you get the three-meat dinner at Roy's. Then you might need a couple of days.

For some reason, I'm really hungry right now. Smell ya later.

Fair Dinkum

The dichotomy that is holidays. No matter what the holiday, there is the part where I just want to party and the competing desire to make it a meaningful experience. Yesterday was a holiday. The tension ensued.



The party half was off the chain. I smoked meat all day and we had a grip of people over to just chill. In some ways it was a day of vindication for me, because a couple of weeks ago I wasn't completely happy with my Meat Day performance. The turkey was too dry for my liking which really irked me because it has become somewhat of my calling card.



At first I was just going to do turkey, but as we added more people to the get together we had to add more meats. It grew and grew until we had an entire menu. That being the case, I had the great inspiration in the shower right before everyone showed up to make snappy little names for all of the meat dishes. Man, some great things are invented in the shower. Like the following titles:



*Oxymoron (boneless ribs)

*For Mature Poultry Only (turkey breast)

*El Classico (ribs)

*Man's Worst Nightmare (sliced sausage)

*No Fat Fair Trade Grande Ribs (ribs with a coffee rub)



Now that final dish was my first real branch out in my meat smoking career. I got the idea from a wonderful Canadian chef who served espresso encrusted steaks at an event I was at, so I decided to add some ground up coffee beans to my rub for one of the rib racks. The people who tried it seemed to like it, so I think it's getting added into the regular rotation.



And as much as I enjoy parties, there is this certain internal debate I always have on patriotic holidays. It's the dissonance that occurs when my faith collides with my politics and I think about what it looks like for me to honor my country on days like The Fourth. There are things I love about this country. There are serious changes I would like to see in this country. And because some people are more poetic than I am, I quote them here. There's a great song by Matt Kearney, where he sings metaphorically about America. It's great. He was about to get really big this summer when he was scheduled to open for Kelly Clarkson's arena tour. Then the American Idol bubble came back to reality, and she didn't sell enough tix so the tour got put on ice. So read the lyrics here, go buy his cd, and then maybe he can headline another club tour this summer.

Girl America by Matt Kearney
My girl America is just a youth in this world.
Her smile is more precious than the sparkle of pearls.
And though her age reads she's just a young girl.
The age behind her eyes show the pain that she's swirled.
Through the hand that's been dealt though it's quiet as kept.
The weight that she felt last night when she slept.
And as she crept into the dreams of the things of her past.
Seems to have grown so fast, way beyond her own class.
Though they're right there with her, her brothers and her sisters.
A natural born leader even when her peers dis her.
My girl, she's at a crossroads, people praying for her.
Some are preying on her magazine ads, sex, drama.
Smoking marijuana, longer for a father to call her, 'daughter'.
She's part of a generation longing for reconciliation.
And this future that they're facing and this poison that they're tasting.
My girl, I know this love you're chasing.

[chorus]
My girl America's crying when she's lying on her bed at night.
I can see that she's screaming when she's dreaming for her freedom.
My girl America's dying while she's trying just to stop this fight.
Don't stop believing, my girl America.

Boys with hungry eyes have been beating her door.
Telling her that's what she's for, trying to rob at her core.
Then leave calling her a whore, but still she knows there's more.
I know she knows there's more because there is a voice she can't ignore.

'Cause it was founded in the foundations, from the day of her creation.
In God we trust engraved on the treasures of her nation.
And the void that the boys can't fill.
With the tipping of the bottle or the popping of the pill.
But still most of her friends don't care as they glare.
Ready to drown down the funnel as they frown down the tunnel.
They stumble and they tumble breaking down into rubble.
My girl America, stop can't you see?

It's not the circumstances that determine who you're
gonna be.But how you deal with these problems and pains that come your way.It's for you that I pray with hope for a brighter day.And so I say, your deliverance
is coming.

Faith like a child from your first birth.
You left it in the dirt on your worst hurt.
And I see each tear and every scar.
The hands that have held you where you are.
And I can see we've strayed so far.
A king born under that morning star.
As a crown of thorns was placed to erase.
Each tear that's touched your face.
And his palms and sides were pierced with spears.
He hung in love just to draw you near.
My girl, out of this whole world.
Can't you see this is where we started?

Fair Dinkum

The Dashiell Adoption Awareness Media Tour is now over. For now, at least. Last night Elli's story ran on a local news station, and we couldn't have been more pleased. It was so cool to see them edit it in a way that helped us express how much of a hand God had in bringing our family together. You can see it if you follow this link, but I'm not sure how long it will stay up. Perhaps only a day or so. Oh, and you will have to view a short ad. Sorry.

This morning we got to do a local morning show. Live tv with an 18 month old is pretty fun. Elli did swell, especially when you consider she was 90 minutes late for her morning nap. The crew loved her, and it was fun to be behind the scenes of a television show. It's actually pretty chill. Without a big studio audience, there's just a nice cool vibe going on. It helps that the producer was laid back. I'm sure if she had been running around like crazy it would have been a little more stressful.

Now, it's onto Meat Day. Sweet, sweet Meat Day. I think I'm doing turkey and pulled pork. This is quite possible the best possible precursor to my First Father's Day.

Fair Dinkum