Shrimp Scampi with Siri
A 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!!!
Slim Man Cooks Pasta Carbonara
Pasta Carbonara with Normy and Sam at Odessa
It was by far the biggest paying gig ever offered to the Slim Men. Not only that, but the promoter was going to put us up in a nice hotel, and buy us all dinner and drinks at the club after the show.The club was called Odessa. It was a fine-dining, elegant nightclub/restaurant in Laguna Beach, California. Swanky.Because it was so swanky and brand spanking new, and because they were paying us a lot of do-re-mi, we decided to pull out all the stops. We invited some guest soloists — guitarist Richard Smith and trumpet player Tony Guerrero.We made sure our shoes were shined, and our suits were pressed, and our wigs were in place. Showtime!John E Coale was on drums. The keyboard player that night was David Bach — it was one of his first shows with us. Mombo Hernandez played percussion. It was crowded, a good turnout of Slim People. Odessa had a 1960s supper-club vibe. Well-dressed guests sat at well-dressed tables and enjoyed dinner as they watched the show. We were scheduled to do two 1-hour sets.We did the first set. We sounded OK — we were just starting to catch our stride when we had to take a break to do a drawing. In between sets, they had scheduled a drawing for dinner with the band after the show. They brought a big fishbowl filled with tickets up to the stage. I picked a number from the bowl and called it out to the crowd. There was a short silence. A guy stood up. He didn’t yell or scream. He just stood up and sauntered to the stage.He was tall and thin, with blond hair. He was dressed casually, and had a loopy grin. He showed me his ticket. He had the winning number. So this guy and his guest were gonna join us for the post-concert dinner and celebration, a little after-party slurp and chew.The Slim Dudes went back on stage and did our second set. There were a couple of rough spots. At one point, Richard Smith came up to me after playing guitar on a couple of songs and said,“Nice trying to play with you.”But the Slim Men pulled it together. The crowd seemed to enjoy themselves. Nobody threw anything at us and nobody left. After the show, we walked over to the restaurant area of the club. They had a huge table set for us. Each setting had more forks and knives than anyone would ever need. I sat next to the couple who won the dinner drawing. It turned out to be quite a conversation.Normy was kinda quiet, and kinda quirky. His wife, Sam, was sweet with a quick smile.Normy and I started talking, and he told me that he made clay models for Porsche. Clay models are what they use to create the shells for the bodies of actual cars. And Normy worked with the designers making new Porsche sports cars. I’d been to the Porsche factory in Stuttgart, Germany. I did a private party there. Normy and I talked about sports cars, clay models, Porsche, Stuttgart, horsepower and how Normy did what he did. It was an intriguing conversation.We ordered food. We got appetizers. We got soups. We got salads. We drank more than a few bottles of wine. We had main courses. We had desserts. We had after-dinner drinks.It must have been around midnight when the waitress – who had been working so hard all night – gave me the bill. I was kinda embarrassed, but I told her that the promoter was picking up the tab. She told me the promoter was nowhere to be found.I got up, and started looking around the club; in front, out back, the men’s room, the ladies’ room, under tables, in the kitchen - I looked everywhere. I called him. I called the hotel. I sent out smoke signals, helicopters, and drones. Promoter dude had vanished.So I took out the old credit card, and prayed that the cops wouldn’t leap out of the woodwork and arrest me on the spot when it got declined. The wine alone must have cost a thousand bucks. Twelve courses for twelve people in a place like that? I was just hoping I wouldn’t have to wash dishes for the rest of my life.My card went through. I didn’t want to chance it with a tip, so we gathered some cash, and gave it to the waitress.We left the club that night a bit weary, kinda dreary, somewhat embarrassed, and a lot lighter in the wallet. We went to our hotel rooms and crashed. The next day, I was checking us all out of the hotel, and discovered the promoter had not paid for the rooms. Ouch.He never sent me the money he owed, and it was a lot. I never heard from him again. I ended up paying the band anyway. It was a huge loss, but…Normy and Sam have become good friends of mine. I’ve seen them at least a couple times a year for the past 15 years. We talk on the phone a couple times a month.They came to Catalina Island a few years ago to see the Slim Man Band at the Jazz Fest. We went out afterwards, and Normy had quite a few festive beverages. In his defense, Catalina doesn’t allow cars, people walk everywhere, so everyone tends to drink a bit more than usual. We were playing pool at a local bar when Normy started shouting at the band,“I LOVE YOU GUYS! I MEAN IT! I REALLY LOVE YOU GUYS!”He kept saying it; over and over, louder and louder. Quiet Norm was so loud and boisterous, that we ended up leaving the pool hall - after some encouragement from the staff and patrons. We walked on to the small streets of Catalina and Normy kept on yelling,“REALLY! I’M NOT JUST SAYING THIS!! I REALLY LOVE YOU GUYS! REALLY!”Sweet Sam finally dragged him back to his hotel room, screaming “I LOVE YOU!” all the way.The next morning, the Slim Man Band had breakfast with Normy and Sam. Normy was unusually quiet, turning whiter shades of pale with each bite. We quietly told him we really loved him, too. Really. To this day, when we see him, that’s what we say.
Normy and Sam pop up a couple times a year at Slim Shows. They don’t ask to be put on the guest list. They don’t call in advance. It’s always a pleasant surprise when they show up. They usually manage to stay in whatever hotel the band is staying.Two weeks ago, I was in Palm Springs, California. Normy and Sam came out to see me play at a super swanky hotel called The Riviera. We had dinner that night after the show. We partied in the hotel room after dinner, drinking wine and whatnot.We had a wonderful time.Here’s the thing - I would never have met Normy and Sam if it weren’t for the Odessa gig.Sure, I lost a ton of dough. But would you trade two good friends for ten grand?Let me think about that one…PASTA CARBONARAIf you’ve been through a tough time, and you need a “What the hell, might as well” sauce, have I got a dish for you.I eat pasta carbonara a couple times a year. Any more than that and you’ll have to walk around with a defibrillator duct-taped to your chest.It’s a heart-stoppin’, artery poppin’ dish, but it’s one of my favorites. As soon as you try it, it’ll be one of your favorites too! This is my own version. I added white wine, which gives it a little kick.I use Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese. Most recipes call for Romano, which I find a little too salty for this dish. So I use Parmigiano, which is a little sweeter.The name ‘carbonara’ comes from the Italian word for coal, carbona. Legend has it that coal miners would put a couple of eggs, a piece of pancetta (Italian bacon) and a hunk of cheese in their pockets, and make this dish on their lunch break, using just one pot.Putting eggs in your pocket doesn’t sound like a good idea to me, especially if you’re mining, but what the hell do I know?
INGREDIENTS3 eggs1 cup fresh grated Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese2 tablespoons fresh Italian flat leaf parsley, chopped8 ounces pancetta, diced into small cubesCrushed red pepper (I start off with ¼ teaspoon)4 cloves of garlic, peeled, and smashed/flattened with the broad side of a knife¼ cup white wine1 pound of spaghettiKosher salt and fresh cracked black pepperHere we go…We’ll do this all in real time.Get a large pot. Fill it with cold water. Put it on the highest heat. This is for the pasta. As it heats up…Get a large bowl, one big enough to hold all the pasta and other goodies.Break the eggs into the bowl. Add the cheese. Add the chopped parsley. Add some fresh cracked black pepper.Beat all this goodness with a fork. Now let’s cook our pancetta.Pancetta is Italian bacon. So treat it like bacon. Don’t be flippin’ it all around. You want it to brown on each side. It’s tough to brown pancetta that’s been diced, but you can try!Get a small sauté pan. Put it over medium heat. Put the diced pancetta in. Let it cook until it's brown, about 4 minutes.Flip it over, give it a stir, and cook until it's brown on the other side, about 4 minutes.When the pancetta is done, turn off the heat, and use a slotted spoon to get it out of the pan. Put the pancetta in a small bowl and set aside.You should have some pancetta drippings left in the bottom of the pan. You’ll need about a tablespoon to cook the garlic. Get rid of the rest.Put the pan on medium-low heat.Add the crushed red pepper and the smashed garlic, cook 2 minutes until the garlic is golden and turn it over. Cook for 2 minutes more.Turn the heat to high. Add the wine; let it cook off for a minute or 2 while stirring. Turn off the heat.Now back to the pasta…When the pasta water comes to a boil, add a couple tablespoons of kosher salt. Add the pasta.Follow the cooking instructions on the pasta box. Two minutes before the pasta is supposed to be done, take a piece and bite into it. Look at the center of the pasta. If it looks chalky, it is not done. Check the pasta every 2 minutes. It might take longer than the instructions say. When the pasta is al dente, not chalky or chewy, drain it well.IMMEDIATELY put the pasta into the bowl with the eggs and cheese and parsley. You want the heat from the pasta to cook the eggs. Add the garlic and white wine from the small sauté pan. Toss gently. Add the cooked pancetta, and toss gently.Dish it up! Garnish with a piece of parsley, and…
MANGIAMO!!!!!
Slim Man Cooks Chicken Piccata
Chicken Piccata and Hobnobbin’ with Slim Slimski
Follow 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 garnish
Here 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!!!!!
Slim Man Cooks Carrot and Onion Sauce
Carrot and Onion Sauce and The Funky Shack
People use the word “literally” in the wrong way. For instance, my niece once said, “I literally puked my guts out” which is so wrong on so many levels.But way back when, when I was literally a starving musician, this was a sauce I loved to cook. I still do. Why? You can find the ingredients anywhere. It is quick, simple, healthy and delicious.It is cheap to make. Pine nuts (pignoli) are a lot more expensive now than they were back then in 1492, but still, this dish doesn’t cost much to make. This was important back in the early days. We didn’t have much do-re-mi.I was in a band called BootCamp. We started off with a bang, had two of the first 100 videos ever played on MTV, and we were getting a lot of attention from folks in the music biz.Our manager, Carl Griffin, called and asked if we wanted to spend the summer playing at a beach club in the Hamptons. On the beach. Long Island. New York. The Hamptons! It’s where all the rich and famous folk spend their summers.We took the gig.We packed up all our stuff, and headed up the New Jersey Turnpike. We were based out of Baltimore, Maryland; it was a five-hour drive to Long Island.The club had rented a house for us right across the street. We had visions of mansions, and pools, and tennis courts…and as we drove to the club, we saw all of that. Every house we passed was fancier than the one before. Swimming pools. Fancy landscaping. Garages bigger than our houses.
But when we pulled up to the club, and saw the house right across the street, our hearts sank. It was a shack. Literally. We walked in…there were spaces between the boards of the walls that you could see through. We called it - the Funky Shack.There were mice camping out, who later became our friends. There were a few really small rooms. The ceiling was maybe a little more than six feet high. I’m 6’ 2” and my head literally almost touched the sagging fiberboard panels that made up the ceiling.There was no heat. There was no air-conditioning. The only water that came out of the faucets, including the shower, was saltwater. The one and only bathroom was the size of a coffin.This would be our home for three months. The glamorous life of show biz.We went across the street to the club. They were still building it. It looked like a half-finished barn. There were construction materials all around. Workers standing around looking confused. It was a mess. Literally.There was no way we were gonna play any music in that place anytime soon. We walked to the beach. It was absolutely gorgeous. To the right was the private beach that belonged to the movie stars that lived on the ocean.To the left was a stretch of public beach, and then a canal. The only commercial zoning they had was this one little stretch of a couple hundred yards, where they had two nightclubs. Ours, the future Neptune Beach Club, was a rock club, and the one next door, Summer’s, was a disco. There was a small bar on the other side of the street next to the Funky Shack. It was called Cat Ballou’s.We went over there and had way too much to drink. Then we stumbled back to the Funky Shack.It got really cold that first night, down to the low thirties. We were freezing. We hadn’t brought any heavy blankets, not thinking we’d need them, and we were close to frostbite. There was no heat in the Funky Shack. Being incredibly resourceful musicians, bolstered by booze, we walked across the street to the club, borrowed a bunch of 2 X 4s, and started a fire in the shack’s small fireplace.The next morning some workers came over and asked us if we saw anybody taking any lumber, and we said, “No” as we were kicking the ends of the 2 X 4s we’d pilfered back into the smoldering fireplace.The Funky Shack was right on the bay. And when I say right on the bay, I mean it was literally on the bay. When the tide was high, the water came onto the back porch. I call it a back porch but it was more like a small rotted wooden raft.It’s not like the shack was on stilts, or had a pier. It sat flat on a marsh, and the bay was right out back. It was not really a bay, more like a big shallow body of swamp water.
Billy Joel stayed in that house. So did Leslie West. We heard more than one story about each of those guys living in the Funky Shack.We tried to make it habitable. The guitar player, who was also a carpenter, made a screen door. He made a wooden platform for the shower; because it didn’t drain, and the water would back up to your knees.When you took a shower, which was saltwater, you stood on the platform, and the spray literally hit you in the you-know-whats. I had to crouch over like the Hunchback of Notre Dame, because the ceiling was so low. If you wanted to wash your hair, you had to stand on your head.That was how we showered for a little more than three months.They eventually finished the club after a few weeks. After they did, we played six nights a week, seven hours a night, until 4 AM, with double shifts on Saturday and Sunday.And as crazy as it sounds- we were really happy.And late at night, after the gig, if we wanted a dish of pasta, we’d walk across the street, sneak into the club, and fill our pasta pot with fresh water.Then we’d come back to the Funky Shack and cook. Are you sure Billy Joel started off this way?CARROT AND ONION SAUCE
Ingredients3 tablespoons of extra virgin olive oil2 cups minced onionCrushed red pepper (I use about ¼ teaspoon)3 cups grated carrots2 cups chicken broth½ cup dry white wineA handful of Italian flat leaf parsley, chopped (about 2 to 3 tablespoons)A handful (1/2 cup) of pine nuts (if you can’t find pine nuts, you can use sliced almonds, as a substitute)1 pound of pasta — fusilli is my favorite, but you can use farfalle, or spaghettiKosher salt to taste Here we go…Put the olive oil in a large sauté pan over medium-low heat for 2 minutes.Add the onion. Add some crushed red pepper to taste. Cook for 5 to 7 minutes until the onion is translucent.Add the carrots, chicken broth and white wine.Raise the heat to high.When it comes to a boil, let it cook for 2 minutes.Reduce the heat to medium-low. Taste for salt, add some if needed.Simmer for 20 minutes or so, until the broth is nearly absorbed, and the carrots are tender but not mooshy.Just before the sauce is done, add the chopped parsley to the pan and stir.
Put the pine nuts in a dry pan over medium heat. Cook and shake for a few minutes until golden brown. Don’t burn your nuts!You can use this sauce over rice or on a bruschetta or flatbread; but I put it over pasta.Put a large pot of cold water on the highest heat, you got. When it comes to a full boil, add a few tablespoons of kosher salt, and the pound of pasta.Follow the cooking directions on the pasta box. Two minutes before the time is up, taste the pasta. You want it to be al dente, which means “firm to the bite.” Bite through a piece of pasta. If it is chalky in the center it is not done. Cook it until it is not chalky or too chewy.I cooked some penne rigate pasta the other night. It took 5 minutes longer than the instructions on the box. So keep on tasting the pasta as it cooks. You’ll know when it’s done.When it is, drain the pasta in a colander and put it in a bowl. Drizzle with a tablespoon of olive oil and mix. Add most of the sauce to the pasta and mix’em up.Dish it up! Put some pasta on a plate. Add a little sauce on top, and some toasted pine nuts. You can also add some grated Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese or even some Romano-pecorino, which is a little sharper and saltier.
MANGIAMO!
Swordfish with Shallots, Capers and White Wine
I grew up in Baltimore, Maryland, about three miles from Memorial Stadium. That’s where the Baltimore Orioles played baseball. It’s where the Baltimore Colts played football.My brother and I were crazy about the Orioles and Colts. Our uncle Oscar loved the Colts, took us to lots of games when we were kids. Fans at football games can get a bit rowdy. If you’re a 10 year-old, it’s good to have a sleeve to hang on to. Especially a sleeve connected to a guy like Oscar.But baseball? It’s a bit gentler, safer for a kid. In the summertime, my brother and I would go to Orioles games by ourselves. We’d get to the stadium anyway we could; walk, ride a bike, take the bus. We’d get there early, so we could catch batting practice. We’d stand out in the left-field bleachers with our gloves, two raggedy young kids, hoping to snag a batting practice home run. Or a foul ball. Or maybe a pitcher in the bullpen would throw us a ball. Anything.My brother and I collected Orioles baseball cards. We belonged to the Junior Orioles. When we played baseball in the backyard, we’d take the names of our favorite O’s players. My brother wanted to be called “Brooks” after Brooks Robinson (third base). I wanted to be Paul Blair, a black centerfielder. He was my favorite player. Paul Blair once threw me a baseball after I screamed “Hey, Paul, throw me a ball!” about 300 times during batting practice.Section 9 was our spot for baseball in Memorial Stadium—the outfield bleachers. There were rows of yellow aluminum benches with no backs and no padding; when the weather was hot, it was like sitting on a stove, when it was cold, it was like sitting on a block of ice. It didn’t matter to us. We loved the O's.
My brother and I played little league baseball for years. My brother was really good; he got all the trophies. I wasn’t any good, but I loved playing. I still like throwing a ball around. I really like batting cages. You stand in a fenced-in cage, and a pitching machine throws baseballs at you, and you try and hit them with your bat.My Dad lived in upstate New York. Cooperstown—where the Baseball Hall of Fame is—is not far away. My Dad was an extra in a Tom Hanks baseball movie—A League of Their Own—that was filmed on the baseball field in Cooperstown. I’ve been to Cooperstown a couple of times, it’s a great place to visit if you’re a baseball fan. They’ve got batting cages—I tried the pitching machine that threw knuckleballs, and I didn’t hit one good ball.The next time I stepped into a batting cage, I hit two good balls.My band BootCamp was playing in a rock club in Ocean City, Maryland, one summer and there was a batting cage in an amusement park right behind the club. The afternoon before our Big Show, the drummer, Hit Man Howie Z, and our friend Roger—who would later name his only son Brooks—went down to the batting cage. We three were the only ones there.All I had on was a thin, baggy, nylon bathing suit and a T-shirt. It was the beach, it was summer. I grabbed a bat, put my money in the machine and stepped into the cage. This was hardball; I was staring at an 80 mile per hour fastball machine. I stood next to home plate, bat poised, waiting for the first pitch. It catapulted out of the machine, and screamed towards me.I swung, and hit the ball with all my might. The ball shot straight down, hit home plate, and shot straight up like a rocket and hit me squarely in the you-know-whats.I hit the ground like a sack of cement. I curled up in the fetal position, racked in pain, breathless. Fastballs were screaming over my head, smacking into the backboard, and bouncing all around. Hit Man and Rog were trying to grab me in between pitches, trying to avoid getting hit by 80 mph fastballs. My legs wouldn’t uncurl. They eventually dragged me—still curled up tight in the fetal position—by my feet, out of harm’s way.The BootCamp show that night was not as lively as usual. I sang while standing in one spot, all night long. I couldn’t move. But I did hit some high notes I’d never hit before.In 1983, BootCamp sang the national anthem at Memorial Stadium for the Baltimore Colts football team. A couple months later, the Colts moved to Indianapolis. I hope our rendition of the Star Spangled Banner didn’t affect their decision. I thought we sounded great.In 1986, BootCamp sang the national anthem at Memorial Stadium for the Baltimore Orioles baseball team. Earl Weaver, their long-time manager, retired a couple weeks later. I was starting to think maybe I was a jinx.In 1992, the Orioles moved from Memorial Stadium to a new ballpark in the heart of downtown Baltimore—probably to get rid of the jinx. The new stadium was called Orioles Park at Camden Yards, and it was and is a beauty.In 1995, I released the first Slim Man CD, End of the Rainbow. I wanted to take a copy to my dentist, who was also a friend. Going to his office was like going to the Playboy Mansion; all the assistants looked like Playboy Bunnies and he was like Hugh Hefner—I think he even dressed in silk pajamas and ascots rather than scrubs and a mask.I drove to downtown Baltimore, parked in an underground lot, and got in a limited access elevator--it only went to the top two floors. Guess who got in right behind me? Cal Ripken, Jr., shortstop for the Baltimore Orioles. Rookie of the Year, 1982. Most Valuable Player, 1983—when the Orioles won the World Series. I’d seem him play hundreds of times, but had never met him. I introduced myself, told him I was a big fan. Cal Ripken, Jr. shook my hand. I gave him the End of the Rainbow CD that I was saving for my dentist. I told Cal it was my first CD; he gave it a look, and thanked me.About five years later, the Orioles asked me to sing the national anthem at Orioles Park. I guess they were desperate. I’m a patriot. I love the USA. And singing the anthem is an honor, plain and simple.I practiced “The Star-Spangled Banner” day and night for weeks. My neighbors probably thought I was either really crazy or really patriotic. Or both. I tried singing the anthem every way I could. I sang it slow. I sang it fast. I sang it half-fast, which is the way I normally sing.The day finally arrived. I got to Camden Yards that September evening, 2000, and a young woman from the Orioles office led me on to the field. The sky was cloudy, it looked like it might rain. Hit Man was with me, so was Roger. So was Griff, the guy who signed me to Motown—he’s a huge baseball fan. My Mom, in her wheelchair, was in the stands nearby. She was also a big Orioles fan, used to listen to the games on the radio in the kitchen at Rosebank.
The players were standing by. I walked up to the microphone at home plate, the crowd stood on their feet, hats off, hands on hearts. The announcer introduced me, and I started singing. I did the “Star Spangled Banner” Slim Man style—low and slow. The woman who had led me on the field kept waving her arms in a circle, motioning for me to speed it up. She looked like a third base coach waving a runner home.But, like Frank Sinatra, I did it my way.I thought it sounded good. Nobody booed and nobody left, which to me is a successful gig. The anthem is not an easy song to sing. At least I remembered all the words. When I finished, I walked by Cal Ripken Jr., who was warming up outside the dugout. I was hoping he’d come up to me, give me a high five and say, “Slim Man! That CD you gave me in the elevator is incredible."He didn’t. But he did smile and shake my hand and say, “Nice job" as I walked by.Then I started thinking…was he talking about my version of the anthem? Or the End of the Rainbow CD? He probably meant both. Right?Swordfish with Capers and Shallots
A couple things…before you buy or cook your fish, take a sniff. It should smell like the sea. Fresh. Your nose knows. When in doubt, throw it out.Swordfish sometimes has small, dark areas. I cut these out. They tend to taste really fishy. You can use any firm-fleshed white fish — halibut, sea bass, or grouper.Cooking times are always approximate. The thicker the fish, the longer it takes.Serves 3Ingredients3 pieces of swordfish, about a half pound each, about an inch thick, skin removed1 tablespoon extra-virgin olive oil1 tablespoon butterFlour (a ¼ cup should do)2 tablespoons minced shallots2 tablespoons capers, plus a tablespoon of their juice2 tablespoons chopped Italian flat leaf parsley¼ cup dry white wineSalt and pepper to tasteHere we go…Rinse off the fish, and pat dry with paper towels. Sometimes frozen fish retains water, so pat dry until the paper towel is not damp.Heat your oven to the lowest possible temperature, which is usually 170 degrees. The oven at Slim’s Shady Trailer Park has a “keep warm” setting that works nicely.Heat the olive oil and the butter over medium-high heat in a sauté pan, big enough for all 3 pieces of swordfish. Let the olive oil and butter heat until the butter starts to bubble, about 2 minutes.While it’s heating, put some flour on a plate. Add salt and pepper to the flour, mix it up.Press each piece of fish into the flour, lightly coating each side. Lightly!Put each piece of swordfish in the pan.Cook for 2 or 3 minutes, depending on the thickness (thicker pieces take longer). Grab your tongs. Turn the fish over. Swirl the olive oil and butter in the bottom of the pan before you put the fish back in. You don’t want to put it in a dry pan.Cook for 2 or 3 minutes.Remove the fish to a plate. Put it in the warm oven.Add the chopped shallots to the pan (the one you cooked the swordfish in), cook for 30 seconds or more until golden brown.
Add the capers and their juice, cook for 30 seconds or more. Then add the parsley and white wine, and cook for 2 minutes.Turn off the heat under the pan.Remove the fish from the oven. Put it in the pan for a quick minute, then, dish it up! Put each piece of swordfish on a plate.Pour a little sauce over top of each piece of swordfish.Add a circular slice of lemon (remove the seeds), and a sprig of fresh Italian parsley. My incredible Italian kale recipe goes well alongside this fish dish, or maybe my amazing spinach and almonds recipe. Or perhaps Uncle Slimmy’s rock ‘em, sock ‘em broccoli and peppers? Yes indeedy!
MANGIAMO!!!!!!