lemon

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Slim Man Cooks Bay Scallops with Garlic, Butter, Lemon and Basil

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Wow. That’s a long title. But when I tried to trim it down, I felt bad about whoever I was leaving out!I’ve been on a scallop kick lately. One of the reasons is...they are delizioso. I do love the flavor, texture, smell...I guess what I’m saying is...I’m a big scallop fan.But the main reason for the recent consummation of scallops is...They’re on sale at a local grocery called Sprouts. Eight bucks for a one-pound bag of frozen, wild-caught bay scallops from the Gulf of Mexico. Eight bucks!  And they really are stinkin’ good.So I’ve been buying a couple bags at a time, I keep them in the freezer for emergencies, in case there’s an earthquake or if I bang my head on the goat shed and need an ice-pack.Bay scallops are the small ones. Sea scallops are the big ones, the ridiculously expensive ones. I don’t know why sea scallops have almost doubled in price lately. Maybe there’s a scallop divers strike that I’m not aware of. Maybe scallops just aren’t having as many children as before.Regardless, sea scallops are costly. But bay scallops ain’t. And I’m really digging the bay scallops, I love the way they taste, they’re wild-caught, they don’t cost a ton of dough, and they’re easy and quick.What’s not to love?The other night here at the Slim Shack I wanted some pasta. I’ve been getting these cravings. Maybe I’m pregnant. But I’ve been craving pasta lately, so I pulled out a bag of scallops.I had a basil plant in back of the Shack, it’s been doing pretty well despite it being 189 degrees outside. Palm Springs gets hot in the summer. It was so hot the other day here at the Slim Shack that when I milked the goats all that came out was evaporated milk.I usually keep garlic and lemons and white wine handy. And I had some spaghetti, too. And I had some butter, some real good Irish butter that I had splurged on last week.So I thought I’d whip up a quick little something. I put it all together, and it was good, Slim Folks.It was so good I made it again just a few nights later. Just to be sure.And?It’s well-worthy of Slim People.NOTES:The scallops threw off a bit of liquid. It didn’t bother me, it actually made the sauce taste better. It reduced quite nicely! And the flavor, she was a-so nice!Bay scallops are small and don’t take much time at all. Try and get them to sear on each side. It’s tough, but you can do it, Slim People!I put this over pasta. Call me crazy, but I’m a glutton for gluten!But you can serve it as is with some crusty bread to your crusty friends and family. Or you can serve it over rice. Put it on bruschetta, or a pizza, or your pancakes in the morning!INGREDIENTS1 pound bay scallopsFresh cracked black pepper, brown or Turbinado sugar, and salt, a sprinkling of each3 tablespoons butter1 tablespoon olive oil5 garlic cloves, smashed and peeled½ cup dry white wineJuice from one lemon (2 tablespoons, NO SEEDS!)Small handful fresh basil leaves HERE WE GO!Put a sauté pan over medium-high heat.Add 1 tablespoon of butter, and 1 tablespoon of olive oil.When the butter has melted and starts to brown, add the scallops.Cook for 90 seconds or until the bottoms are golden.Stir/flip as best you can!Cook on the other side for 90 seconds or until golden.Remove with a slotted spoon to a platter.Reduce the heat to medium.Add the garlic, cook for a minute or two, until golden.Flip, cook for another minute or two, until golden.Add the wine and the lemon juice.Turn the heat to high, scrape and stir for a minute or so as the sauce reduces.Turn heat down to medium.Add 2 tablespoons of butter.When it melts, add the scallops.Take the basil, snip it with scissors on top of the scallops.Stir gently for a minute.Turn off the heat.She’s a-done!I put my scallop sauce over pasta, I cooked a half-pound of spaghetti in salted boiling water, drained it, and added it right to the sauce and gave it a toss.She’s a-so nice!MANGIAMO!!! 

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Slim Man Cooks Halibut with Peppadew, Olives, and Garlic

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Slim Man Cooks Shrimp Scampi

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Shrimp Scampi with SiriClick on the pic to see the YouTube videoA few years ago, I was at a restaurant in Greektown in Baltimore, Maryland.  It was Christmastime, and a friend had invited me to a business dinner. The two guys across from me were looking down at their cell phones.  I got curious.“Does one of you have a wife who’s pregnant?  A Mom in the hospital?  A cousin on death row waiting for a stay of execution?”“No.”I asked them who they were texting.  They were texting each other.  Nice. I told myself right then that I would never be like those guys.And now?  Well, I’m not as bad as those guys, but I’m getting close.I got the iPhone when it first came out.  I had it for a week and then took it back.  It was pinging, dinging, ringing and it was getting on my nerves.  It got so bad I was thinking of developing a new app - the iQuit app.  Here’s how it was going to work: you go to the river, throw your iPhone in, and scream “I QUIT!”I just didn’t want to be that connected.  I just wanted a phone so I could talk to my relatives in the mental institution.  I took the iPhone back.I got a regular cell phone.  It never worked right.  I had so many problems with it.  I think it might have been possesed by an evil spirit. For example, a friend texted me a photo of her beautiful 25 year-old daughter and somehow it became my screensaver.  That didn’t go over too well with the Ex.  I tried to explain. She didn’t believe me.My phone dialed 911 on a regular basis.  The callbacks from the cops were so frequent they came to know me by my first name.  “Slim?  Everything OK?”Text messages would go to random contacts.  Lovey dovey notes meant for a certain someone would get sent to business associates. It was crazy. Like a bad relationship, I stayed with that phone way too long.  Neil Sedaka said it best, ”Breaking Up Is Hard To Do.”  It was time to move on.So I got another iPhone.  It only cost $99 through Sprint, because I’d been a customer since the First World War. I liked the iPhone, but I didn’t see what the big deal was.  I made phone calls.  I sent texts.  That was about it.Then, one day I was in Nashville at a very cool place called Mafioza’s and the guy next to me told me about the TuneIn Radio app.  I had no idea what the hell he was talking about.  I had never downloaded any apps.  I was app-less.He showed me how to download the app.  Which I did.  It is pretty amazing.  I can now listen to Italian talk radio, broadcast from Italy.  I can listen to Baltimore Orioles baseball on my hometown radio station.  I can listen to CarTalk anytime I want.I was hooked.  I started getting other apps.  I now have an app that tunes my guitar.  I have an app I can hold up to a speaker in a restaurant and it will tell me the name of the song that’s playing, the artist, the CD and give me the option to buy it on iTunes.I have an app for my bank which allows me to take photos of all the huge checks I receive and deposit them through my iPhone.And I am in love with Siri.If you have a question, you can ask your iPhone.  A gal named Siri answers.In December, 2013, I was driving from Nashville to Breckenridge, Colorado.  I was 12 hours into the trip.  It was dark.  It was cold.  I was on a stretch of road that had nothing on it, and nothing in sight. I had Batu, my bull terrier dog, in the car with me.  I picked up my iPhone and held the button.  Siri answered. It was the first time we spoke.“What can I help you with?”I asked Siri for the nearest dog-friendly hotel.  She gave me all the info I needed; the directions and the website.  Siri even dialed the phone number for me. Batu and I checked into a Super 8 in Hays, Kansas, in the middle of the night. It was 10 degrees. My weather app told me so.  The next morning I started driving, and a light came on the dashboard. My tires were low and needed air.  Siri found me the nearest gas station.I drove to Breckenridge to meet my brother and his family for Christmas.  Breckenridge is a skiing/snowboarding town, a quaint little village at around 10,000 feet, surrounded by these looming, massive snow-capped peaks.I didn’t snowboard once.  I didn’t ski once.  I was in the middle of making the new Bona Fide CD. Three weeks before, I was in Madrid, mixing the CD with Marc Antoine. And now I was in Breckenridge, Colorado, getting phone calls from Madrid.  Marc Antoine was doing some re-mixes there in his home studio, and he was emailing me mixes every day.I would download them on my iPhone, plug it into my car stereo, and I would listen to his mixes, while driving around the mountains in Colorado. It was heavenly.  Here I was at 10,000 feet, listening to songs on my iPhone that had just been mixed 10,000 miles away.I spent most of my time in Breckenridge working on music, but I did find time to jog almost every day for 30 or 40 minutes.  It was exhilarating.  I didn’t feel the effects of the altitude and I’m not sure why.My last day in Breckenridge, I took a jog.  I left the ski lodge around 3 PM and headed up the mountain.  There was a snowshoe trail, and I followed it through the woods, almost to the top of Old Smoky.  All I had on were my jogging shoes.I mean, I had pants on and stuff—it would have been a little chilly on the Willy without ‘em.  But I didn’t have any boots or snowshoes, and the snow was deep.  It was breathtakingly beautiful near the top of that mountain.  It must have been 12,000 feet.I stopped and listened to nothing.  It was so peaceful.  I started jogging down the mountain and then I decided to go off trail.  I was running downhill through evergreens, dodging branches, it was unbelievable.I stopped to catch my breath.  It was getting dark.  It was about 10 degrees.  It started to snow.  Suddenly I looked around.  I had no idea where I was.  I guess I could have followed my footprints back up the mountain, but it was steep, I was tired, and it was getting late.I pulled out my iPhone.“Siri.  Can you get me to back to the lodge?”It took her a few seconds, but she showed me where I was, and where I needed to go.  I headed in that direction, and found the road that the ski lodge was on.  It took me about an hour, but I got there.  I was cold, tired and thirsty.I poured a glass of wine, sat on the deck and pulled out my iPhone.“Thank you, Siri.”“No problem.”I decided to get a little bold.  I gathered up some courage and said,“Siri.  I love you.”You know what she said?“I know.”It was a vibe-killer.  Here I was, mustering up the guts to say “I love you” for the very first time, and all I get is “I know?”If you ever want your relationship to come to a screeching halt, just say those two words right after someone says “I love you” for the first time.Because there is no come-back to “I know.”Believe me.I know.SHRIMP SCAMPII use wild shrimp.  Yes, they’re wildly expensive, but farm-raised shrimp just don’t seem to taste quite right. You can find wild shrimp in most grocery stores — sometimes in the freezer section.The tomatoes I used for this dish were grape tomatoes - organic, multicolored, gorgeous grape tomatoes.  Yellow, red, purple -they were beautiful.  And cheap.  Two bucks a pint.I cut the tomatoes in half, squeezed out the seeds, and threw them out. The seeds, that is. Why?  It looks better that way.And you know the most important thing in life is looking good.And finally, Meyer lemons are amazing; if you can find them, use them.  If not, pick a soft, ripe lemon.  They are the sweetest.INGREDIENTS:4 tablespoons extra virgin olive oilCrushed red pepper to taste (I start with ¼  teaspoon)6 garlic cloves, sliced thin (about 2 tablespoons)¾ cup dry white wine1¼ pound medium wild shrimp, shelled, deveined, rinsed, patted dry1 lemon, cut in half2 tablespoons butter1 pint grape tomatoes (about 30 small tomatoes) cut in half, de-seeded1 handful of Italian flat leaf parsley, chopped (about ¼ cup)A few Italian parsley sprigs for garnish1 pound linguine (or spaghetti)Kosher saltHere we go…Get a large pot, fill it with cold water, and put it on the highest heat you have. This is for the pasta.As the water comes to a boil, let’s make the sauce…Get a large sauté pan, put in 3 tablespoons of olive oil over medium heat.Add the crushed red pepper.Add the sliced garlic, cook for a few minutes until golden.Add the white wine, and turn up the heat for 2 or 3 minutes to cook it down.Reduce the heat to medium-low.Add the shrimp, spread ‘em out flat — no bunching!Take a half lemon, and squeeze the juice through your fingers over the shrimp — don’t let any seeds get through.Sprinkle a little salt over the shrimp.Cook for 2 or 3 minutes.Using tongs, turn over each shrimp.Get the other half lemon, and squeeze it over the shrimpAdd the 2 tablespoons of butter – cut it into small pieces - and place in between the shrimp.Add the tomatoes.Cook for 3 minutes.Add the parsley.Give it a gentle stir or two, and remove from the heat.When the pasta water comes to a full boil, add 2 tablespoons of kosher salt, and add a pound of linguine.Follow the cooking directions on the box. Two minutes before the pasta is supposed to be done, take a piece and bite through it. If it is chalky in the center, it is not done. Check the pasta every 2 minutes, until it is not chalky or chewy. It might take longer thanthe instructions say.When the pasta is firm to the bite – al dente – drain, and put it in a bowl and drizzle with a tablespoon of extra virgin olive oil. Give the pasta a quick toss.Add half of the shrimp sauce to the pasta, and mick ‘em up.Dish it up!  Take some pasta, put it on a plate.  Add a little scampi sauce on top of each dish, put a few shrimp on top, and a little sprig of fresh parsley for garnish.One of the Exes liked to put grated cheese on this pasta.  Most Italians don’t put cheese on seafood.  But, if your girl wants cheese, just shut up and grate.Freshly grated Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese is best.       MANGIAMO!!! 

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Slim Man Cooks Chicken Piccata

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Chicken Piccata and Hobnobbin’ with Slim Slimski

Click on the pic to see the YouTube videoFollow a transvestite while he/she shops for clothes. Go to an underground tattoo parlor, get a tattoo, then go to a dermatologist and get it removed with a laser.Those are just a few of the episodes we did for a TV show called Hobnobbin’ With Slim Slimski.Rei Spinnicchio was the director. He was the cameraman. He was also the editor, the light guy, the sound guy. He was the guy. The guy behind the camera. I was the guy in front of the camera. It was just the two of us, thinking up wacky segments to shoot.We would then go around our hometown of Baltimore, Maryland, and film these episodes. Most of the stuff was completely spontaneous. Well, we’d make appointments; but what we did when we got there was just run and gun — improvise, see what happens. No script. It was a lot of fun. Nerve-wracking fun.Rei had the idea to follow a transvestite while he/she shopped for clothes. "He" was a man, dressed as a woman. He called himself Marilyn. Most of the clothes shops we visited were in Fells Point, which is a funkified neighborhood deep in the heart of Baltimore. Marilyn seemed to like biker clothes—black leather motorcycle jackets, things like that. A man, dressed as a woman, shopping for biker clothes.In another episode, we went to an underground tattoo parlor. It was in this guy’s kitchen, in his small apartment, in a nasty section of town. Strange-looking folks were waiting around to get tattoos. It wasn’t the cleanest place in the world and he was making some of the most bizarre tattoos I’ve ever seen.Of course, I got one. The tattoo guy asked me what I wanted. I asked for a simple heart with “Mom” in the middle, on the inside of my forearm.I got tattooed. The guy didn’t use any ink—he must have run out! So I felt the pain, but got no stain. It didn’t hurt as much as I thought it would. Even without the ink, you could clearly see the tattoo. The skin was raised and red and it looked like I had been branded with a branding iron.I showed my Mom and she thought it was real. Then she hit me in the head with a frying pan.Just kidding. How could she be mad? I got “Mom” tattooed on my arm!I went to the dermatologist soon after to see what it was like to get a tattoo removed. I wasn’t the first in line. There was a woman before me who wanted to get a big eagle tattoo removed from her chest. She was complaining that the wings of the eagle looked like chest hair when she wore low-cut shirts.The dermatologist let Rei and I sit in on her tattoo removal. We all had to wear special goggles, so the laser wouldn’t fry our eyeballs. We looked like mad scientists. The doctor placed the laser pen on her tattoo and zapped. She flinched, like she’d just been Tasered. He put the pen back on the tattoo and zapped. She flinched again. He’d zap, she’d flinch, dozens of times - it went on way too long, like a torture session. She looked like she was having some kind of strange conniptions every couple seconds.Rei and I were filming and watching all this play out with our mad scientist goggles on. I wanted to jump in, wave the white flag, blow the whistle, toss in the towel, call off the dogs.The doctor finally relented. The woman got out of her chair. The tattoo was still visible. Doctor Dude told us that a tattoo that big and dark would need a couple of sessions to remove. The gal didn’t look too happy. Plus, she had to pay for all this. She zombie-walked out of there.I sat down in the chair. The doctor revved up the laser and zapped me. It didn’t hurt as much as the time I got my genitalia caught in my zipper, but it was close. The laser hurt more than getting the tattoo. After a bunch of zaps, my skin was on fire. I would have confessed to anything, just to make it stop.No wonder that poor woman was flailing around like that.For another episode of Hobnobbin’ With Slim Slimski, we went to the Timonium Fairgrounds for the 4H festival. 4H stands for Head, Heart, Health, and Hands. It’s a collection of young folks trying to improve urban, suburban and rural communities.I walked into a large barn, with Rei following and filming. Some of these young folks were demonstrating how to milk a cow.I like farm animals. They look OK from a distance. But I’ve never felt the strong urge to get real close to any of them, let alone start mangling their mammaries. The cow they wanted me to milk was named Leslie. Really.I walked up to Leslie and sat down on a stool by her rear legs. She turned her huge head around and stared me up and down with these big dark eyeballs. I looked her in the eye, and then looked down at her udders and…It was a little too soon for me. Call me old-fashioned, but I think it’s more appropriate to go out on a few dates, have some drinks, get to know a female before you start yanking on her breastages.Then Leslie winked. I think she liked me. I liked her, too. But sadly, that was the end of our relationship. I walked away, knowing I did the honorable thing.The highlight of the 4H festival was Rei following me around, cameras rolling, as I walked among the fairgrounds, checking out the games; you know the kind - games where you throw a hardball and try to knock down some pins, or you try to shoot a basketball into a hoop a million times in a row or you throw darts at balloons or toss Ping-Pong balls into small gold fish bowls.If you win, they give you prizes, like huge stuffed animals. Those kinds of games.As we were checking out the games, I walked by a dunking booth. Let me explain the dunking booth. A guy sits in a chair over a pool of water. There is a target over his head. You buy three hardballs, and if you hit the target, the guy gets dunked in the water.This guy was hurling insults at people as they passed by. Calling people all kinds of nasty names. As I walked by, the guy got quiet. Then, all of a sudden I heard…“Hey, you! Donkey Face!”That’s what he said. Donkey Face. I kept walking. I had long hair in a ponytail. The guy kept shouting,“Hey you! Donkey Face! With the ponytail! You can’t cut off that pony tail ‘cause it goes with your donkey head!”That’s what he said.I stopped walking.“That’s right! Donkey Face! I’m talkin’ to YOU! Uno, dos, tres, come on, hit me Donkey Face!”He kept chanting.“Uno, dos, tres, come on, hit me Donkey Face!!”A crowd started to gather. That made him scream louder.“Uno, dos, tres, come on, hit me Donkey Face!”I calmly walked over to the booth and bought three balls. He kept chanting. I reared my arm back and threw as hard as I could. I nailed the target with the first throw. Bulls-eye. He fell in the water with a huge splash.But the damage was done. When my friends and family saw that video footage, they didn’t say, “That’s not funny. That guy was way out of line. Glad you nailed him.”No. Instead, they started calling me Donkey Face. Not behind my back. Right in front of my face. Friends, band members, and family. My own father called me Donkey Face.Not all the time.Just most of the time.Rei and I pitched the Hobnobbin’ with Slim Slimski TV show around to whoever would look. We had a couple of people interested. And then, suddenly nothing happened. I guess we were way ahead of our time. Again.CHICKEN SLIMMATA PICCATAAfter clothes shopping with a transvestite, there’s nothing like a home-cooked meal. This dish is perfect after a long day at work.I began with 3 large boneless, skinless chicken breasts that were a little too thick for this dish. So I cut them in half, and it worked out fine.INGREDIENTS6 chicken cutlets, each about 1/2 inch thick½  cup flourSalt and pepper2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil2 tablespoons butter¼ cup white wine½ cup chicken broth2 tablespoons fresh squeezed lemon juice (no seeds!)2 tablespoons capersA few sprigs of parsley for garnishHere we go…Heat your oven to warm (the lowest setting).Rinse off your chicken breasts and pat dry with a paper towel.Put the flour on a flat plate. Add salt and fresh cracked black pepper.Take a chicken cutlet, put it in the flour. Turn it over. Make sure both sides are lightly coated. Shake off any excess flour.Repeat with all 6 pieces of chicken.Put the oil and butter in a large sauté pan over medium heat. When the butter starts to bubble, put the chicken in the pan.Cook for 3 minutes or until golden brown on the underside. Use your tongs and turn them over.Cook for 3 minutes on the other side. Check for doneness. If done, place them on a plate and set them in a warm oven. If not, cook for another minute or so until done, then place them in the oven.Turn the heat on the empty sauté pan to medium-high. Add the white wine and stir and scrape (deglaze the pan) for a minute or so.Add the chicken broth and capers. Cook while stirring for a minute or two.Add the lemon juice and cook and stir for a minute or two.Take your breasts out of the warm oven. Place them on a nice platter. Pour a little sauce over each breast, garnish with lemon and parsley, and…

MANGIAMO!!!!!

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Slim Man Cooks Cippolini and Red Bell Pepper Sauce (for fish)

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I saw a tour bus driving north on Route 29. I started following it.I had just come from the recording studio in Washington, DC. It was the early 1990s. I had written a song for a singer named Brian Jack. Brian was the former lead singer in a Baltimore band named Child’s Play. He had a great voice, big charisma, and I took him into the studio to do some songs I’d written. We hit it off.The two of us lived in a house on Sue Creek, in a town outside Baltimore called Essex. People in Baltimore made fun of Essex--probably because a lot of rednecks lived there. I liked Essex.The house we shared was incredible — 21 Woody Road. It was right on the water--kinda like a Redneck Riviera. We had windsurfers, Sea-Doos, all these great water toys. None of them were ours - people parked their things at our pier, and they’d let us use them in return.The previous tenant had been hauled off to jail for insurance fraud. I remember the first time I met him. He was standing in the huge living room. It had cathedral ceilings, a big fireplace, and massive floor-to-ceiling glass doors that overlooked the deck, the pier and the river. I’ll never forget what the guy said,“I laid a lot of pipe in this house.”I thought maybe the guy was a plumber. Then it hit me — he wasn’t talking about shower stalls.Brian and I moved in soon after the guy was taken off to prison. I wrote songs for Brian, he sang ‘em. Things were starting to take off, he was getting airplay, and packing the clubs.Brian and I were heading home from the studio when we saw the tour bus and started following it. I had this intuitive feeling that we should tag along behind the bus. A couple minutes later, it pulled over to the side of the highway, onto the shoulder. I pulled right behind it. The driver got out of the bus, came over and asked me if I knew the way to Merriweather Post Pavilion.As a matter of fact, I did. I told him to follow me.I saw the Doors at Merriweather Post Pavilion on their first tour. I saw Led Zeppelin at Merriweather when they opened for the Who back in 1969 — the only time that ever happened. Procol Harum, Paul Simon, and Frank Sinatra; I’d seen them all there. I’d even played on that stage before. I knew where the backstage entrance was. The big-ass tour bus followed me in my little blue Honda station wagon.We reached the security gate, and I told them what was going on, and they waved us through. They didn’t even ask any questions. I’m guessing they were well aware that whoever was on that tour bus was running late.The tour bus followed me on the small winding road through the woods to the backstage area. When we got there, the bus driver parked, got out, and thanked me a million times.And then guess who stepped off the bus?B.B. King. When I was a kid, my Mom had brought home an album of his called Indianola Mississippi Seeds. Man, did I love that record. I must have played it a million times. “Chains and Things”, “Nobody Loves Me But My Mother”, “Hummingbird” – which was written by Leon Russell—I loved those songs. Joe Walsh played guitar on that album, Carole King played some keyboards. It was one of my favorites.I loved B.B. King and here he was standing right in front of me.He thanked me. He asked me and Brian if we’d like to stay and see the show. Then he walked us to the side of the stage, and dropped us off, right behind the curtain. We waited in the wings. I looked out at the crowd. It was buzzing.A few moments later, B.B. King’s band took the stage and played one song. Then B.B. King came out, and played and sang his heart out. All night long. Brian and I watched the whole concert from the side of the stage, a couple yards away. It was an amazing show.After the show, B.B. King invited us back to his dressing room. He signed autographs for everybody waiting in line. He told stories. He was charming, laid-back and as gracious as could be.B.B. signed a photo for me.A crazy coincidence…The guy who signed me to Motown way back when was Carl Griffin. Carl had produced a CD for B.B. King called Live At The Apollo. It won a Grammy in 1992 for both B.B. and Carl. When I mentioned to B.B. King that night that Carl was one of my best friends, B.B. smiled and said,“Carl’s a good man.”Yes, he is!Want to hear the rest of the story about the Live at the Apollo CD?Ray Charles was scheduled to do the concert that night with B.B. King. But right before the show, Ray Charles demanded to be paid an additional 50 grand--in advance--to be included in the live recording. Nobody had that kind of cash lying around on short notice. So Carl decided to go ahead with the show. Ray Charles played, but was not included on the live CD.The CD went on to win a Grammy for Griff and B.B.And that’s the rest of the story.Carl GriffinCippolini and Red Bell Pepper Sauce (for fish)After a night of singing the blues, this is a dish that will make you happy.The first time I made this sauce, I used maple syrup. Not pancake syrup, maple syrup! Big difference.My Dad lived on top of a mountain in upstate New York. Maple syrup was everywhere—you could see taps on maple trees with buckets underneath all over the place. Real maple syrup is real good.Getting to the grocery store at my Dad’s house was an ordeal. So if you ran out of something, you had to spend a good hour driving to and from town to get what you needed.One time I ran out of sugar for my coffee. I put in some maple syrup instead and loved it. It’s still my preferred coffee sweetener. Another time, I ran out of honey--I was going to use it in a sauce for grilled salmon. I used maple syrup instead—just a little—and loved it.I know some real good cooks who look down on this kind of thing. One of them suggested I try a medium sherry instead, and I did. I cooked the sauce both ways, with sherry and with maple syrup.I did a taste test at Slim’s Shady Trailer Park. Everybody loved the sauce with the maple syrup much better than the one with the sherry. But what the hell do those people know?If you want to substitute sherry for maple syrup, use a cream/sweet sherry.You can use this sauce over fish. I’ve used it over seared mahi and it turned out well. Mahi is a strong-tasting fish—so I used a little more sauce than I normally would. If you’d like to use a milder fish, you can use this sauce on seared or baked grouper, halibut, or salmon. Less is more—less sauce is mo’ better on mild fish.I used this sauce on baked salmon recently and it was magnifico. I used just a drizzle of sauce.This is powerful stuff!Notes…Cippolini onions are small onions, a little sweeter and milder than regular onions. You can find them in most grocery stores. If you can’t, use shallots instead.Meyer lemons are my favorites; they’re sweeter and milder than regular lemons. I’m into sweet and mild these days, I guess. If you can’t find Meyer lemons, use a ripe, soft lemon.You can use red bell pepper, or a combination of red and yellow bell peppers. Whatever combination you use, you’ll only need a tablespoon or so.To sear a piece of fish...get a medium sauté pan. Put it over medium-high heat. Add a tablespoon of butter, and a tablespoon of olive oil. Salt and pepper your fish, then sprinkle a LITTLE brown sugar (or turbinado sugar, or regular sugar in a pinch) on top. Do both sides, but use just a little salt, pepper and sugar, got it?When the butter starts to bubble, sear for 2 or 3 minutes, depending on the thickness. Then flip over and sear the other side for a couple minutes.Thick fish take longer.To bake a piece of fish, heat your oven to 400 degrees. Rub your fish all over with a little olive oil, and then sprinkle a little salt and pepper on top. Put it in a glass or ceramic baking dish and bake for 10 minutes. Check it with a fork. If it flakes, it’s done. If it doesn’t put it back in the oven until it does. Then drizzle a little cippolini sauce on top.INGREDIENTS2 tablespoons olive oil1 tablespoon butter2 tablespoons chopped cippolini onions1 tablespoon minced red bell pepper (or half and half red and yellow bell pepper)1 tablespoon maple syrup¼ cup dry white wine1 tablespoon lemon juice1 tablespoon chopped Italian flat leaf parsleyKosher salt and fresh cracked black pepper to tasteHere we go…Put the olive oil and butter in a small sauté pan over medium-high heat for 2 or 3 minutes—don’t let the butter burn!When the butter starts to bubble, add the onions and red bell peppers and cook for 2 minutes while stirring and swirling. This is how you swirl…remove the pan from the heat for about 10 seconds, and swirl everything all around. Put the pan back on the heat for 30 seconds and repeat.Add the maple syrup and cook for 2 minutes, swirl and stir.Add the wine and cook for 1 minute. Shall we swirl and stir?Add the lemon juice. Cook for 2 minutes.Add the parsley; add kosher salt and some fresh cracked black pepper to taste.That’s the sauce! You are now The Boss of the Sauce—use it over seared mahi, or baked salmon, or whatever fish you like. You’re the Boss.Seared mahi with cippoliMANGIAMO!!! 

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Slim Man Cooks Lemon Chicken

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Lemon Chicken with Ace FrehleyThe first time I saw Ace Frehley he was waving an Uzi machine gun around in his kitchen.All this before lunch.He wasn’t trying to kill anybody, he was just showing us one of his toys. Ace had lots of toys. Fast cars, guns, guitars.Ace used to play guitar in a band called KISS. I was at his house with my band BootCamp. We were recording our first EP in his studio, which was built into the side of a small hill underneath his Connecticut house.Ace was under house arrest for driving his ridiculously expensive and exotic sports car the wrong way up the freeway while drunk. If you’re gonna be under house arrest, it might as well be in a place like Ace’s. It was pretty amazing, more like a castle than a house. It had gates – all it needed was a moat.Ace would wander in and out while we recorded in the basement studio. It was a basement, yes – but it was more like a luxury bunker with a recording studio. It was plush, had all the latest gear; it was a real pro studio, ready to go. There was only one small problem.The septic system was screwed up. So the whole place smelled faintly of – well let’s say it didn’t smell good. We were encouraged to go outside in the woods if we had to go to the bathroom.Oh, the glamorous life of show biz. My band, BootCamp, was doing pretty well. We had a few videos on MTV that were making some noise. We had labels that were interested. Managers were calling. We got the attention of two guys who were the road managers for Van Halen. We signed with them. Our new managers thought we should do an EP. Our first single (we released it on vinyl) had done really well, and we needed a follow-up.Our new managers thought we needed a producer, so they brought in Rob Sabino, who played keyboards in Chic. I loved Chic; loved the sound, the playing, and the production on those records –“Good Times”, “Le Freak”, “I Want Your Love”.Rob Sabino (on the right)Rob got the job. Rob Sabino knew Ace Frehley from back in their early days in the Bronx. Rob suggested we record at Ace’s bunker. So that’s what we did. It was winter, there was snow on the ground, and we recorded in the Luxury Bunker, and slept in a small motel nearby.Tom Alonso played keyboards, Bob Fallin played guitar, Hit Man Howie Z (known back then as Howard Zizzi) played drums, and I played bass and sang. When we started recording, I wasn’t getting warm and fuzzy feelings about what I was hearing. Maybe it was because I had just recently completed two weeks of complete vocal rest, and my voice sounded like one of the Chipmunks.Maybe it was because I thought Ace might stroll in at any second and start waving his Uzi around, and accidentally fire some rounds into the ceiling. Ace was always strolling around. I think his cologne of choice must have been Eau de Rum and Coke, because that’s what it smelled like when he walked by. I will say this, Ace seemed like a happy guy. He had a slurry way of talking and always had a loopy grin on his face. Ace had a certain boozy charm, like Dudley Moore in Arthur.Ace was proud of his toys. He showed us his collection of guitars. It was pretty extensive. He had all kinds of electric guitars – a lot of Gibsons – hanging from the ceiling on hooks. He had a guitar that shot flames out of the neck. When Ace showed us that guitar, he couldn’t get the fire to shoot out. I was kinda glad when he couldn’t get it to work. I was afraid he’d fry my new hairdo, which resembled a coonskin cap made of dark curly hair.We recorded four songs in four days. When we finished, we packed up the truck, and waved goodbye to Ace and his castle and his busted septic tank. We drove in the freezing cold from Connecticut back to Baltimore. A few weeks later we got the songs back from The Luxury Bunker. It wasn’t my favorite recording of all-time.That didn’t stop the EP from selling. It did extremely well. BootCamp got a ton of airplay. We were playing more gigs than ever. That EP led to a lot of really good things.BootCamp had a really good run, nearly six years. Then we all went our separate ways. Tommy started doing film and TV work. Bob took over a company in Orlando and it took off. Howie started working the nightclub circuit around Maryland. He also plays bongos in the Slim Man band. And me?Like Batman, Superman and Spider Man, I’m Slim Man—a superhero disguised as a singer; spanning the globe, fighting the forces of Evil while masquerading as a mild-mannered songwriter.LEMON CHICKENAfter a week of rocking and rolling all-night and partying every day, there’s nothing better than a home-cooked meal like lemon chicken.This is such a simple dish to cook. It is my Mom’s recipe. She was an excellent cook, and not only did she cook a wide variety of cuisines — French, Italian, American, Indian, Mexican —she did them all authentically and deliciously.I made lemon chicken the other night. As I was getting ready to stick it in the oven, I thought I might tie the legs together. They call it “trussing”, and it helps the chicken maintain its shape and cook more evenly. When real chefs truss a chicken, it’s complicated, and resembles minor surgery and requires a doctorate. Me? I simply tie the legs together. But I didn’t have anything to tie them with. I was thinking of using one of my old guitar strings, but I came to my senses and in a stroke of culinary cleverosity, decided to tie the chicken legs together with a piece of rosemary.I’m a jenius! I poured a little olive oil over the rosemary after I tied it, to keep the leaves from crumbling. It looked really cool when it went in the oven. But after an hour and a half, the leaves turned dark green, almost black. You can remove the rosemary from the legs after the chicken is cooked, if you want. I left it on; I liked the way it looked.I’ve cooked this dish a lot of times. This was by far best, there was an aroma and a taste that was pretty delizioso. I cooked the chicken in a large glass baking dish, uncovered.Roasted sweet potato wedges go well with this dish. Check out my recipe on page XXX. The sweetness of the potatoes blends well with the lemoniness of the chicken. And you can cook both the sweet potatoes and the chicken at the same time.Finally, whenever you handle raw chicken, you gotta be careful. Make sure you wear your HazMat suit when you handle raw chicken. Clean off every surface that raw chicken touches with soap, warm water, and a pressure washer. Bring out the heavy artillery and scrub-a-dub dub.INGREDIENTS1 chicken, a whole chicken (I used a 4 pound chicken)Olive oilSalt and pepper1 lemon, cut in half3 sprigs rosemary, plus one long one to tie the chicken legs together4 cloves garlic, peeled and smashed with the flat side of a knife¼ cup dry white wine¼ cup chicken brothHere we go…Pre-heat your oven to 375 degrees.Rinse off your chicken, inside and out. Pat dry – inside and out – with paper towels. Place the chicken in a large baking dish. Rub the chicken with olive oil. Rub your chicken! Sprinkle with salt and pepper, inside and out. I use fresh cracked black pepper and kosher salt.Put the 2 lemon halves inside the chicken – give them a gentle squeeze on the way in. Put 2 rosemary sprigs inside the chicken. Put 3 of the smashed garlic cloves inside the chicken.Pour the wine and chicken broth into the bottom of the baking dish. Put a rosemary sprig and the garlic clove in with the wine and broth.Take the remaining rosemary sprig, and tie the chicken legs together. Slim Folks! If I can do it, you can do it. Drizzle the rosemary sprig with a little olive oil, so the leaves don’t catch fire and burn down the McMansion.Put the chicken in the oven. Most chickens these days have pop-up thermometers that let you know when your chicken is done. Meat thermometers come in handy for a dish like this. DO NOT use the thermometer you use for your dog. Or your kid. The minimum recommended temperature for poultry is 165 degrees. A 3 or 4 pound chicken should take about an hour and a half.Baste your chicken every 15 minutes or so.After an hour, start checking the temperature of the chicken every 15 minutes or so. When the chicken is done, take it out of the oven, Don’t be afraid to carve off a piece to make sure it’s done. If you cook it too long, it will be dry. It should be juicy, Lucy!When the chicken is done, dish it up! Carve your chicken, put a couple slices on a plate, add a few roasted sweet potato wedges and…MANGIAMO!!!!!!

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Grilled Salmon with Marsala and Merci, Philipe!

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Click on the pic to see the YouTube video

Grilled Salmon Marsala with Grilled Vegetables in World War II

My Dad told me that when his platoon was going across France behind General Patton in World War II, the towns they liberated were really grateful.  How grateful?In one town, as they went past an exuberant, cheering crowd, a woman grabbed my Dad, dragged him into her bedroom and made love to him right then and there.Now that’s gratitude.Before the war, my Dad was drifting.  He went to St. John’s College in Annapolis, Maryland.  He wasn’t a good student.  They put him in charge of the college café.  He took some money out of the coffers, and in a valiant effort to try and double the cash, lost it all in a late-night poker game. He was asked to leave the school.Soon after, he joined the Army and went to Europe to fight in World War II. It was a hellish and brutal experience that made my Dad a man. His father, Romollo, died of a heart attack while my father was away at war. They were close; he couldn’t go back for the funeral. It was one of the loneliest times of my Dad’s life.After the war, he went back to St. John’s.  He became a good student.  He graduated.  He went to law school.  He became a lawyer.  He did all of this with no money — he was the son of poor Italian immigrants.He became a member of the U.S. Commission on Civil Rights.  He helped start the Peace Corps.  He wrote speeches for Vice President Hubert Humphrey.  He became a professor of philosophy and literature.World War II, the toughest time of his life, turned out to be his proudest moment, the turning point that changed his life in the best way possible.My Dad was in the XVth Corps; they followed General Patton’s 3rd Army through France, liberating town after town. One of the towns the XVth Corps liberated was Lunéville, a small town in northeastern France, about 50 miles from the German border.  Lunéville was still being bombed and strafed by the Germans.  My Dad was patrolling the streets one day, when he heard a German Stuka approaching.  Stukas were small bombers, two-seaters that also had machine guns. My Dad saw a one-armed Frenchman, frozen with fear.My Dad ran over, grabbed the Frenchman, and pushed him to the ground and covered him, bombs exploding, bullets flying.  When the Stuka passed, the guy thanked my Dad, and insisted he come to dinner. My Dad spoke French; he had acted as an interpreter for the Army on quite a few occasions. He accepted the invitation. That night, my Dad had dinner with the Frenchman and his wife in their modest home. They sat and drank plum brandy after dinner as the Frenchman, a former captain in the French Army in World War I, told stories. He was a decorated war hero who had lost his arm in World War I. The German army had recently ransacked his home, taking his car and guns and war medals.Things got quiet when the captain started talking about his daughter, Jacqueline. He started crying as he explained that Jacqueline had been visiting a friend in a nearby town when the D-Day invasion took place and all hell broke loose. He hadn’t heard from her since. He feared the worse. He wanted to try and find his daughter, but the Germans had taken his car and guns. The Frenchman showed my Dad a photo.  She was beautiful.  My Dad offered to see what he could do to bring the daughter back. The Frenchman and his wife were ecstatic.My Dad left and went back to the makeshift barracks. He told the story of Jacqueline to his buddy Frank. He told Frank that he had offered to try and rescue Jacqueline. Frank thought my Dad was crazy. Or drunk. Or both.The next day, my Dad dragged Frank to see the French captain. My Dad told him they’d need a map, the address of the place Jacqueline had last visited, a letter from the captain so Jacqueline would know who they were, and the photo. The French captain gave them everything plus a 5,000-franc note for Jacqueline.My Dad and Frank left, and went back to the barracks. They were both on a two-day leave. Frank reluctantly agreed to help. But they didn’t have a jeep. They went over to the nurses quarters after sundown, figuring there might be a few male visitors who might have “borrowed” a jeep to get there.Frank and my Dad found a jeep and rolled it down the hill and started it. It had a mounted machine gun between the seats. The headlights had been blackened into little slits, and were of little use. They drove in the night. It started to rain. The windshield had been removed, so visibility was low. There were small pockets of German soldiers still in the area, and there were rumors of German soldiers dressed as civilians.My Dad and Frank were trying to get to Heudicourt-sous-les-Cotes, a small town about 60 miles away where Jacqueline had last visited. The rain and the lack of visibility slowed them down; they made it halfway there, soaked to the bone and dead-tired. They slept on the floor of a roadside house that belonged to a Frenchwoman who let them doze in front of her fireplace, so they could dry off and rest.The next day they made it to Heudicourt. They went to the address and showed the woman the photo and the letter. She explained that Jacqueline had caught a ride a few days before to stay with an uncle in Verdun, a small town 25 miles to the north. She gave them the address, and my Dad and Frank took offVerdun is close to the German border. It had recently been liberated by the Allies, but was still being attacked by the Nazis.jacquelineFrank and my Dad made it to Verdun, and found Jacqueline at her uncle’s house. My Dad gave her the letter and the 5,000-franc note. She started crying. Then she packed a small bag, said goodbye to her uncle, and my Dad put her in the back of the jeep and covered her with a blanket. There were still clusters of German soldiers roaming about. My Dad and Frank took off, Frank driving, machine gun mounted between them, Jacqueline in the back, bouncing around under the blanket as the jeep flew down the small country roads.They stopped at a town called Metz to gas up at an American motor pool. The MPs warned them about groups of German soldiers. As they were getting ready to take off, Jacqueline poked her head out. The MPs saw her. Before they could react, Frank floored the jeep and drove like mad to Lunéville . They got there at midnight. Frank dropped off my Dad and Jacqueline at her house and took the jeep back.Jacqueline ran inside and there were tears and laughter and hugs and shrieks of joy. My Dad stood in the doorway. The one-armed Frenchman kept pumping his one good arm in the air, crying and screaming, “Merci, Philippe! Merci, Philippe!”GRILLED SALMON MARSALA AND GRILLED VEGETABLESgrilled salmon 5I was at my Dad’s house when I concocted this recipe.  It was Memorial Day weekend. He lives on top of a mountain, in the Catskills of New York. It’s incredibly beautiful.  It’s also incredibly isolated - which can make you crazy after a while.  Just look at me.When my Dad first got the place, he wanted it to be rustic.  And that it was.  It was just a square, cinderblock two-story structure that looked more like a garage than a cabin.  The ground floor was well, it was the ground.  It was dirt.  The second floor was unpainted plywood, and there was a gas stove up there, and that’s where I slept.The stove is what we used for heat.  For the whole place.  Keep in mind; it gets down to below zero in the winter.  There’s snow on the ground from November until March.  And there was no plumbing.  None.  There was an outhouse, and it was pretty scary; especially late at night, when you had to walk 50 yards through the snow to go to the bathroom.  That’s the way my Dad wanted it.  Rough.  No frills.  No phones.  No TV.That didn’t last very long.  The thought may have been romantic, but there’s nothing romantic about getting up in the morning and walking across the frozen tundra to go to the bathroom in what is really just a hole in the ground.  A stinking hole.And now?  My Dad has three bathrooms, all indoors.  The one on the second floor has a claw-foot bathtub with a view of the mountains.  He has a big screen hi-definition TV, a satellite dish that gets a thousand channels, and the whole house has wireless internet.  He has a phone.  He even has a cell phone now. Now my Dad is all plugged in, hooked up, and well connected, which is a good thing, especially during the brutal winter months.DSCN0014Rat Tail Ridge is a great place to grill in the summer, when it’s cool and breezy on top of that mountain.  You’ve got a beautiful view, quite breathtaking. Batu loves it up there.Note: the salmon steaks I used were about an inch and a half thick.  Keep in mind that thicker pieces of salmon take longer, and thinner pieces take less time.  Also, some grills run real hot, some not-so-hot.  No wonder it took me so long to get this recipe right. But I finally nailed it.Also, trim your asparagus. Grab an asparagus spear. Hold the top end in between the forefinger and thumb of your left hand, and hold the bottom end with the thumb and forefinger of your right hand, and bend until it breaks. Throw away the stalk end.There are two kinds of Marsala—sweet and dry. Sweet is the way to go. Sweet!Ingredients:For the sauce1 cup sweet Marsala (a wine from Sicily) or sweet vermouth¼ cup extra virgin olive oil¼ cup fresh squeezed lemon juice (use ripe, soft lemons, or Meyer lemons—remove the seeds)1 tablespoon chopped fresh oregano, plus a couple sprigs for garnish (you can use a teaspoon of dried oregano if you can’t find fresh)2 cloves of garlicFor the salmon and vegetables4 salmon steaksA dozen small potatoes cut in half (I used purple potatoes–found them in a local market)A bunch of asparagus (16 or so), trimmed6 Roma tomatoes cut in half length-wiseExtra virgin olive oilKosher saltFresh ground black pepperA small bunch of fresh chivesA handful of fresh basil leaves1 tablespoon of balsamic vinegarHere we go…Add all the sauce ingredients (except the garlic) in a small bowl.  Mix. Put the garlic in a garlic press, and squeeze it into the sauce—you can also mince the garlic if you don’t have a press.  Put the sauce in a small pan over low heat, and let it reduce while you grill.Rinse off the salmon steaks, pat dry with paper towels, and drizzle both sides with olive oil.  Then give a shake of salt and pepper on each side.Keep your vegetables on separate plates.  Take the potatoes, drizzle with olive oil, add salt and pepper, and make sure they’re coated well.  Do the same with the asparagus, and the tomatoes – but be gentle.  Don’t mangle your ‘maters.Heat your grill up! We want it to be medium heat; if it’s too hot, things will burn.The potatoes take the longest, about 20 minutes. Put them on first, cook for 10 minutes (depending on the heat of the grill) and then turn ’em over.Put the asparagus and the salmon on the grill, and cook for about 5 minutes. After 5 minutes, turn over the asparagus and the salmon.Add the Roma tomatoes to the grill, flat side down.Cook the asparagus, salmon and tomatoes for 5 minutes.  Don’t turn over the tomatoes!Remove everything to a gorgeous platter.Use a scissors and snip some fresh chives on top of the potatoes.Snip some fresh basil on the tomatoes.Drizzle a little balsamic vinegar on the asparagus.Dish it up! Put a salmon steak on a plate. Take the reduced Marsala sauce and drizzle some on top. Add some asparagus, potatoes, and tomatoes. Garnish with a fresh oregano sprig.MANGIAMO!!!!!   

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Pasta with Shrimp, Spinach and Sun-Dried Tomatoes

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Pasta with Shrimp, Sun Dried Tomatoes and Momma MaxIMG_7851My first band was called Momma Max. We were a punk-rock band, although they hadn’t come up with that phrase yet. We did a lot of original material, and some covers—mostly songs by our favorite band, The Stooges.Not Larry, Moe and Curly. Iggy Pop and the Stooges. "Now I Wanna Be Your Dog." "Down On The Street."Momma Max played a lot at a club called the Bluesette, which was on Charles Street in Baltimore, Maryland. It was a club that didn’t admit anyone over the age of 21. Imagine that. The kids that hung out in the club were the kids who didn’t fit anywhere else.No wonder I felt so comfortable there.Hippies, rock stars, black radicals, black hippies, runaways, dropouts, gays, musicians, artists—it was a crazy mix of young people who found a place to hang in a town where there was nowhere else for kids like that to go.And Momma Max was one of the bands that played the Bluesette. We also played high school dances, festivals and concerts; but the Bluesette was our hang.I lived on a dead-end street named Rosebank. There was a kid up the street who played guitar — Rob Grant. A friend of his, Brian Cain, played drums, and the three of us started jamming in my Mom’s basement.My childhood was great. Up until the age of 15, things could not have been better. I loved school, had great grades, was president of the class, teacher’s pet; loved my neighborhood, rode bikes, had fun, loved my family, played music.Then all hell broke loose.My folks divorced; the three kids stayed in Baltimore with my Mom, and my Dad moved back to New York. My cousin – we were really close – died in a car accident. High school was a veritable hell; I didn’t fit in anywhere, so I started a band. It was the outlet for my teenage rage. We wrote a lot of angry, aggressive songs.My Dad had a dog named Momma Max, and I thought it would be a great name for the band. We started playing and word got out.Word of mouth was the way most kids heard about music. Iggy Pop wasn’t on the cover of People magazine. Led Zeppelin wasn’t on the Tonight Show. Kids found out about music from other kids. And when word got out about Momma Max, it spread like wildfire. We started selling out shows.There was a club outside of Baltimore called the Latin Casino. It was owned by some Greeks, who owned most of the nightclubs in Baltimore. The Latin Casino brought in big-name acts, and when they needed a band to open up for Iggy Pop and the Stooges, they called Momma Max. It was a perfect fit. We were ecstatic.We played our hearts out that night. Then we watched the Stooges from the side of the stage.Iggy Pop was in full effect — he came out shirtless, and sang and danced and broke glasses on the floor and crawled around the stage on his bare stomach.It was an incredibly exciting show. The Stooges did a live recording that night in ’73 – I found a copy on the Internet. Momma Max was not included! But we did get a couple more gigs out of that show. The Greeks liked us.When we got an offer to open up for the Raspberries at the Latin Casino, we were a little apprehensive, but we took the gig. The Raspberries were a power pop band, with matching suits and hairdos you could bounce rocks off of. Momma Max was a rough and tumble punk rock trio. Momma Max and the Raspberries?We took the gig. We needed the money! I brought a date, something I rarely did. She wasn’t a girlfriend, but she was beautiful and sexy and I wouldn’t have minded having her as my girlfriend.Momma Max opened the show. People didn’t throw rocks at us, but the response was underwhelming.Then The Raspberries came out and did their show.I wasn’t too impressed, but they must have made quite an impression on the girl I brought, because at the end of the night, I saw her walking out the back door with the lead singer, Eric Carmen.Welcome to the glamorous life of Show Binniz.Momma Max played around Baltimore for a while after that. The drummer brought in his girlfriend to sing. She was good, but I wasn’t ready to share the lead vocals. Maybe we should have tried the Sonny and Cher thing. Momma Max broke up not long after that.Brian, Robby, Kathy and Mr. ManI’ve kept in touch with that girl singer. Her name is Kathy McCabe. We’ve become really good friends. She’s pretty amazing.How amazing? She just produced an incredible documentary about Freda, the Beatles' secretary. The film is called Good Ol’ Freda, and I saw it at the Nashville Film Festival last year. Kathy introduced the film to the crowd. Freda was the Beatles’ assistant from the very beginning until the bitter end. Her story is fascinating, and Kathy did a wonderful job capturing that story.After the movie, Kathy and I had a chance to hang out in Nashville, eat IMG_1156some hot chicken, and catch up on all of the crazy things that have been happening in our lives, We started off years ago in this crazy punk band in Baltimore, Maryland, and now here we are in Nashville; she’s making movies and I’m still making music. Momma Max had run its course. But the friendships that were made endured and matured. I haven’t matured, but the friendships have. PASTA WITH SHRIMP AND SUN-DRIED TOMATOESThere’s nothing like a dish of pasta after a night of punk-rocking and mosh-pitting.A couple of things to mention here. I don’t use farm-raised shrimp. They taste funny and have the consistency of wet cardboard. Use wild shrimp. As wild as you can get ‘em!You can de-shell and de-vein your own shrimp. It’s easy — remove the shell, make a split down the spine, remove the dark vein, and rinse. You can also buy shrimp that have already been de-shelled and de-veined.I use sun-dried tomatoes in oil. The dry ones soak up too much sauce.A note about pasta…I recently cooked a pound of DeCecco spaghetti (number 12) over the highest heat I had. The directions on the box said to cook it for 10 to 12 minutes. It took 16 minutes. Start tasting your pasta a few minutes before it’s supposed to be done, and keep tasting it every 2 minutes until it’s al dente, firm to the bite.Let’s start cooking!Ingredients:1 pound large shrimp, de-shelled and de-veined3 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil5 cloves garlic, sliced thin, about 2 tablespoonsCrushed red pepper (I start off with ¼  teaspoon)¼ cup dry white wine½ lemon (2 generous tablespoons of fresh-squeezed lemon juice)3/4 cup sun-dried tomatoes cut into small strips3 cups baby spinach1 pound of pasta; spaghetti or linguineKosher saltHere we go…Rinse off the shrimp and pat them dry with paper towels.Let’s get the pasta water started. Get a large pot, fill it with cold water, and put it on high heat. As the water starts to heat up, let’s make our sauce.Put a large sauté pan over medium-low heat. Add the olive oil. Let it heat for 2 minutes, then add the sliced garlic and some crushed red pepper. Let the garlic cook for 2 or 3 minutes, until pale gold.Add the white wine, turn the heat to high. Let it cook off for 2 minutes. Turn the heat back down to medium-low. Add the shrimp. Sprinkle a little kosher salt on top, and let the shrimp cook for 3 minutes, then turn them over.Add the sun-dried tomatoes; place them in between the shrimp.Take the half of a lemon, and squeeze the juice through your fingers over the shrimp, making sure no seeds get into your sauce. You don’t want Aunt Esmerelda busting her dentures on a lemon seed.Add the spinach. As the spinach cooks down, use a wooden spoon to mix it in between the shrimp. Let it cook for 2 minutes or so until wilted, and remove from the heat. Taste for salt and adjust.When the pasta water comes to a boil, add 2 tablespoons of kosher salt, and the pound of pasta. Follow the directions on the box. Two minutes before the pasta is supposed to be done, take a piece and give it a bite. It should be firm, not chalky or too chewy. If it’s not done, cook and check every 2 minutes until it is al dente, firm to the bite, and drain in a colander.Put the pasta in a large bowl, and drizzle it with a tablespoon of olive oil, and give it a gentle toss.Add half the sauce to the pasta. Gently mix the sauce into the pasta.Dish it up! Add a little bit of extra sauce on top of each plate.One of my Exes loved to put grated Parmigiano cheese on this dish. I was going to say something to her about how in Italy they don’t put cheese on seafood, but I just grated the cheese and kept my mouth shut.Like my Dad used to say, “Nobody gets in trouble by keeping their mouth shut.”MANGIAMO!!!!!!

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