Slim Man Cooks Minestrone

Minestrone and Tequila and OscarMy uncle Oscar and I were real close. He was my Dad’s only brother. They grew up poor on the streets of New York City, sons of Italian immigrants. Their Mom, Angela, moved the family to Baltimore, Maryland, when she started organizing the ILGWU—the International Ladies Garment Workers Union. Oscar (I called him “Unc”) went to medical school, became a surgeon, and—with a little encouragement from Angela--started a little health care company for the unions that evolved into United HealthCare. Unc made a fortune. He did it the old-fashioned way. He earned it. Started with nothing.I was just a kid when my folks got divorced. I stayed with my Mom in Baltimore, and my Dad moved back to New York. Unc was like a father to me—he was the guy I turned to in times of trouble, and in the good times, too. Unc was my doctor, my confidant, and my go-to guy.When I was a stupid teenager, I was at a party that got busted for under-age drinking. I had just walked in, and the cops came in right behind me—I was the first kid they cuffed. Unc was the guy who bailed me out—he and my Mom came and got me. All charges were dropped.When Unc went out of town, he used to lend me his big new Cadillac Brougham with the blue velour bucket seats and the wide whitewall tires. I’d drive around Baltimore, listening to Tony Bennett on the 8-track.When I broke up with XF2 (ex-fiancé number two), Unc was the guy I called. He told me to come over, and stay for a while. I ended up staying for a couple years.Oscar was a great cook. He taught me more about cooking in those few years than I had learned in my whole life. Oscar had gone to Marcella Hazan’s cooking school in Italy. Marcella’s cookbooks on Italian cooking are my favorites, she’s legendary. He took other cooking classes in Italy. Unc had skills.Oscar taught me all about food during those years. He also taught me a lot about wine. When I was a teenager, I accidentally opened up one of his very rare bottles of 1954 Chateau Mouton Rothschild cabernet when Angela--his Mom, my grandmother—asked me to pour her a glass of wine. Unc had gone out to dinner, but when he got back and found the open bottle, he was very understanding.“What the hell were you thinking? Have you lost your fucking mind?”He wasn’t really angry, that’s just the way he talked to me. Lucky me. When I told him the story, he laughed. It didn’t really bother him. Then he told me about the wine. It was the first of many lessons.Many years later, when I was living with Unc after my break-up with XF2, he went down to Florida for the winter. On my birthday, he called me at his house, and told me to go to the wine cellar and get a bottle of wine for my birthday—any bottle I wanted. I was making dinner for me and Hit Man Howie Z, and I told Howie to go down to Unc’s cellar and get a bottle of whatever he had the most of, figuring that the chances of opening a rare wine would be a whole lot less that way.Howie brought up a bottle of wine, and told me Unc had two full cases of it—way more than any other. I was busy cooking--I didn’t even look at what kind of wine it was, I just told Howie to open it, which he did. When I looked over at the bottle of wine, my heart sank. It was a bottle of Chateau Mouton Rothschild cabernet. What were the chances of that happening? We drank it—what else could we do? Put the cork back in? It was incredible.When Unc came back to Baltimore in the spring, I took him wine shopping in Annapolis. We were strolling around the wine store when I saw a bottle of the same wine that Howie had opened. It was $999.99--a thousand bucks a bottle. Unc noticed it and said, “I’ve got two cases of that.”I said, “Not any more.” I told him the story.He said, “Are you fucking kidding me?” Then he shook his head and laughed. I knew it didn’t make any difference to him—he was as generous as could be. But he always liked to give me a beat-down to keep me in line. Unc had a cellar full of really good wine—but not the kind of wine I was used to drinking. His tastes were a little more refined than mine.Unc also liked to drink tequila occasionally.I was in my early twenties, living at my Mom’s house when Unc called me up one night and asked me if I’d ever drank tequila. I told him no. He told me to come over. I told him I’d be right there. You can’t refuse a request from The Godfather.I had an old Datsun station wagon with rusted out floorboards — you could see the ground below on both the driver’s and the passenger’s side. It was a stick shift and it backfired when you downshifted — sounded just like gunshots.I got in the car and drove 10 minutes to my uncle’s house. When I walked in, he was standing in his kitchen with a bottle of tequila and two glasses. He poured us each a shot. He gave me a slice of lime. He put some salt on the skin between my thumb and index finger. He told me what to do - lick the salt, drink the shot, and suck the lime. I did. It tasted like turpentine. Smelled like it, too. It tasted like something you might drink after ingesting poison, so you could induce vomiting. It burned going down. My eyes were tearing up, my throat was on fire, and I had an instant headache.Let’s have another. We stood in the kitchen and drank some more. His wife was upstairs. Smart woman. Good-looking, too. Oscar was a sharp dresser, but that night, he was in his bathrobe. He had no drawers on. How did I know?Unc was not a modest man. He once got naked and went swimming in the river at his 75th birthday party. There were dozens of people there. He just took off all his clothes and dove in.Me? I have recurring nightmares about being caught naked in public.   I rarely wear short sleeves or shorts. I don’t even wear flip-flops or sandals. When I go to bed at night, I don’t sleep naked. I wear my boxers and an undershirt. Why?Because if someone breaks into the bedroom and I have to jump out the window, at least I won’t be running down the street naked. But Unc? He didn’t mind who saw him naked. It wasn’t a sexual thing. Unc just didn’t see any problem with letting it all hang out; which he was doing that night.So there we were, in Unc’s kitchen, drinking shots of tequila, Unc with his bathrobe untied, and I’m starting to feel a little untied myself. Have you ever tried on someone’s eyeglasses, and they’ve got a really strong prescription? And things look really out of focus, and you get a bit of a headache after a few seconds and then feel nauseated?That’s how I felt. We’d had a couple of shots. I must have looked like a seasick sailor, because Unc was giving me worried glances. That’s when he said, “You don't look so good. I’ll give you a ride home.”Oscar loved my Mom, so he welcomed the opportunity to give me a ride home. Why we took my car, I don’t know. Unc always had real nice cars; Cadillacs, Mercedes, Maseratis -why he wanted to drive my old Datsun that backfired and had rusted out floorboards was a mystery. Unc got behind the wheel in just his bathrobe with no drawers on and started the engine. It backfired; sounded like a shotgun blast. I looked over and he had a look of glee in his eyes. He took off.He had a blast driving that car. Every time he shifted, the car would backfire. BANG! He’d let out a holler and a laugh; and drive on. You could look down through the holes in the floorboards and see the street zipping by. It made me dizzy. I felt sick to my stomach. Unc was having a grand ol’ time.He pulled up to my Mom’s house, parked on the street out front, and I got out and started staggering up the sidewalk to the front door. Neither my uncle nor I realized his wife had heard us leave his house and was following right behind us. When Unc got out of my car and started following me to the front door, she grabbed him by the back of his bathrobe and pulled him into her car and drove off. I was oblivious. I got to the front door of my Mom’s house, and turned around to let Unc in, and -He was nowhere to be found. I looked all around, in the bushes, behind the trees, in the car. I couldn’t find him. I was baffled. Where the hell did he go? I looked up and down the street. It was late. It was dark. I walked in the front door and walked into the kitchen.I woke up the next morning, asleep on the kitchen floor. My head felt like someone was firing staples into my skull. I couldn’t focus my eyes and my mouth felt like several small animals had spent the night in there.At least I had my clothes on.MINESTRONEAfter a night of tequila, ain’t nothing like a bowl of minestrone followed by a trip to the Betty Ford Clinic. I made this soup last night. It was the best I ever made, if I may say so myself. A couple things to remember -Italians don’t use a lot of corn. But I put some in this recipe. Why? Because it tastes really good. I like the texture and the color it adds, too.Pancetta is Italian bacon. If you are a vegetarian, you can skip the bacon. But I love the flavor it adds. When you cook pancetta, treat it like bacon. Let the pancetta brown on one side. Then give it a stir, and try and get the unbrowned pieces to brown on the other side. If you don’t have pancetta, you can use bacon.I use fresh oregano. I normally like dried oregano better, but for some reason, fresh tastes best in this recipe, but dried works, too.The tomatoes need to be smooshed. Open the can, pour them in a bowl, and dig in with your mitts, and squeeze the tomatoes. Remove the yellow center core, and any skin.The chick peas and the corn are already cooked. All you need to do is heat them up. So add them last.You can eat this soup as is or you can put some rice or pasta in it.I used to put the pasta right in the soup and let it cook in there. The only problem was the pasta would end up absorbing all the broth. So now I cook the pasta separately and add it to each individual bowl before serving.This recipe yields about 20 cups of soup. Which is 5 quarts. I think.INGREDIENTS6 ounces pancetta cut into small pieces¼ cup olive oil plus 2 tablespoonsCrushed red pepper (I start off with ¼  teaspoon)1 cup each – chopped onion, carrots, celery5 cloves minced garlic (about 2 tablespoons)2 cups each – green zucchini, yellow squash, Savoy cabbage – all cut in small pieces1 twenty-eight ounce can Italian plum tomatoes, smooshed up (about 3 ½ cups)8 cups chicken broth2 cups water2 tablespoons fresh Italian flat leaf parsley, coarsely chopped1 tablespoon fresh oregano, leaves stripped from the stems, chopped (or 1 teaspoon dried oregano)1 sixteen-ounce can garbanzo beans (chick peas)1 cup yellow corn (fresh, canned or frozen)¾ cup grated Romano-pecorino cheese, plus some for sprinkling/topping½ pound small pasta (ditalini, elbow macaroni, mini farfalle)Salt (I use kosher)Here goes…Put a large pot over medium heat. Add the pancetta, cook for 4 minutes without stirring.Give it a stir, let it brown for 4 minutes more without stirring.Turn the heat to medium-low. Add the olive oil and the crushed red pepper. Let it heat up for a minute. Stir.Add the onions, carrots, celery and garlic and cook for 10 minutes. Stir, baby, stir.Add the green zucchini and the yellow squash. Add a drizzle (1 tablespoon) of olive oil. Cook for 5 minutes.Add the Savoy cabbage, add another drizzle (1 tablespoon) of olive oil. Cook for 5 minutes.Add the tomatoes, the broth, and the water. Turn the heat to high. Let it come to a boil, and then reduce the heat to medium-low.Cook for 10 minutes or so, until the zucchini and squash are semi-soft.Add the parsley and oregano.Add the garbanzo beans (chick peas) and the corn.Add the grated Romano cheese.Let the soup cook for 5 minutes or so.Taste for salt and pepper and adjust.Remove from heat.For the pasta…Get a medium-sized pot, fill it with water, and put it on the highest heat.When the water comes to a boil, add a couple tablespoons of salt (I use kosher).Add your pasta. Follow the cooking instructions on the box. Two minutes before the pasta is supposed to be done, take a piece and bite into it. If it is chalky in the center, it is not done. Check your pasta every 2 minutes.When the pasta is done (al dente, firm to the bite), drain, and put in a bowl.Drizzle with a tablespoon of olive oil and stir. You might not use all the pasta.Dish it up! Get a soup bowl, fill it about ¾ of the way with soup.Add some pasta to the soup. Give it a stir.Top with grated/shaved Romano cheese, serve with some crusty bread, and…MANGIAMO!!!

Slim Man Cooks Ahi Tuna with Red Wine Sauce

Ahi Tuna With Red Wine Sauce and the Baltimore ColtsWhy don’t cannibals eat divorced people?They’re bitter.September 11, 1983.  The Baltimore Colts football team was scheduled to play the Denver Broncos.  The year before, 1982, the Colts had not won a game, and because they stunk so bad they got the first pick in the NFL draft the following year.The Colts chose quarterback John Elway, from Stanford University.  Elway refused to play for the Colts.  He was even considering joining the New York Yankees baseball team rather than play football for the Colts.  So the Colts traded Elway to the Denver Broncos and in the second game of the 1983 season, the Broncos came to Baltimore to play the Colts at Memorial Stadium.I had been a Baltimore Colts fan from day one. My uncle Oscar had season tickets from their very first game – the seats were in the mezzanine, right next to the press box.  Oscar played football in high school-he was good enough to be offered a full scholarship to college, but chose medicine instead. When the Colts came to Baltimore, Oscar bought the best seats. I went with him to as many games as I could. I knew all the players, their numbers, their statistics, their nicknames.Lenny Moore, #24.  Gino Marchetti, #89.  Artie Donovan, #70.  Johnny Unitas, #19. Raymond Berry #82.I loved football. When I was a kid, I played football in little league. I wasn’t offered any scholarships, but I loved playing. And I loved the Colts.You can imagine how thrilled I was when the Colts called and asked my band to sing the national anthem for Elway’s first appearance in Baltimore.  The band was BootCamp; we’d been making a name for ourselves in the music biz. We had worked up a great acapella version of the “Star-Spangled Banner.” It was a show stoppa.  At parties, shows, concerts, weddings, funerals - all of a sudden, out of the blue we’d burst into the national anthem  It was a cheap way to get a standing ovation. But our four-part harmony rendition was quite stirring, if I may say so myself.When we got to Memorial Stadium that Sunday, we were escorted through the Colts locker room, and into an underground tunnel that led to the field.  As we were coming to the end of the tunnel, we heard this rumbling…The players, all suited up and breathing fire, were coming down the tunnel right behind us. We stood up against the wall and let them pass.  They were big, and they had a look in their eyes that was fierce. Like Gladiators getting ready to enter the Coliseum.When they passed, we followed them out onto the field.  We walked up to the microphone. The announcer asked everyone to stand and remove their hats. Memorial Stadium got dead-quiet. Then he introduced us, “Ladies and Gentlemen, Baltimore’s own BootCamp!”We sang our hearts out.  It was the thrill of a lifetime. Fifty-thousand people standing on their feet, cheering.  A standing ovation!  Of course, they had to stand because it was the national anthem; but I’m marking it down in my bio as "a standing ovation before a sellout crowd of 50,000."When we finished, we walked to the sidelines, and stood among the Colt players.   The Colts’ front office had given us field passes.  I’m sure when they gave them to us they weren’t thinking we’d stay on the field for the whole game, but there we were, standing on the sidelines with the players and coaches.All the players and coaches were giving us funny looks.  I can’t blame them.  We were dressed like …well, it was the 1980s.  We looked like a cross between Duran Duran and Devo.  We had on as much eyeshadow over our eyes as the Colts had under theirs.On the opening kick-off, I couldn’t see what was going on, but I could hear it.  The two teams charging down the field sounded like a stampede of wild horses.  When they hit each other, you could hear the crack of the helmets, the grunts and groans of the players.When the special teams unit came over to the sidelines after the kick-off, it was something I’d never witnessed before.  The players were out of breath, wheezing and panting - fingers were broken, uniforms were muddy, noses were bloody.Playing football is a brutal sport. Playing music is not.  Musicians don’t encounter a lot of violence.  Unless, they’re really, really bad.The Baltimore fans were booing Elway mercilessly that day.  People from B-Mo were pissed off.  They weren’t afraid to be vocal about it.  John Elway had said he’d play anywhere but Baltimore, and we Baltimorons took it personally.It would have been nice if the Colts had won.  But the Colts were pretty bad that day.  They lost, 17-10.  The newspaper ran a photo on the front page the next day.Hit Man Howie Z was in it, back to the camera, walking off the field. 1983. It would be the Colts last season in Baltimore.On March 29, 1984, at 2:00 AM, 15 Mayflower moving trucks arrived at the Baltimore Colts training complex.  Eight hours later, they were loaded up and heading to Indianapolis.They took everything - the Colts’ name, the trophies, the memorabilia, the mascot, the uniforms.  All gone to Indianapolis.The mayor of Indy had offered the owner of the Colts a 12 million dollar loan, a 4 million dollar training complex, and a new 77 million dollar stadium.Let me make an analogy.  Your wife (spouse) meets someone new, a wife that you stood by through the good times and the bad.  This New Guy offers her a 12 million dollar loan, a 4 million dollar work-out room, and a 77 million dollar house.And she takes it.  That’s OK, things didn’t work out, I can handle that. But did she really need to take all your stuff, too?  Your trophies, your memorabilia, your mounted deer head? No.  With all that money, she could have bought new stuff.Did she have to take it all in the dark of night, at two in the morning, while you were sleeping? That’s harsh. But that’s what the Colts did.When I heard the news about the Colts leaving town, I was pissed off; so much so, that I didn’t go to a football game, or follow the NFL for years.I was bitter. Lots of folks in Baltimore were.When the Baltimore Ravens came to town, Oscar got season tickets, great seats in the club section.  I resisted at first.  Then I gave in.  I went to my first Ravens game.  The guy sang the national anthem and it sent chills up and down my spine.  The crowd cheered, jets roared as they flew right over our heads, and Ray Lewis came out of the tunnel and did his dance while fireworks shot into the sky. The stadium went wild. It was thrilling.I was hooked.  I was back in love! The Ravens went on to win the Super Bowl that year—2000.It took me a while, but I had found a better wife.  She’s been great.  She won the Super Bowl again last year. What more could a husband ask for?I’m not bitter anymore.  I’m better, not bitter.AHI TUNA STEAKS WITH RED WINE SAUCEWhat do you do with all that red wine left over from the Super Bowl Party? Make red wine sauce!You can use this sauce on steak, chicken or ahi tuna steaks. You can grill them, or sear them. I seared.I went to the grocery store not long ago and they had beautiful ahi tuna steaks for $8 a pound.  I bought two, and was wondering how to cook them.I had done tuna with a red wine sauce before, but it wasn’t where I wanted it to be.  The sauce wasn’t right. It was bugging me.  It was keeping me up at night.  Then, around dawn, it dawned on me. Tomato paste!The next time I made the sauce, I added a little tomato paste to the sauce to thicken it up and give it a little zip.  Then I added a little dried oregano to give it some zing.  Zip!  Zing!  It turned out great.A few things before we get started - the tuna steaks I used were about an inch and a half thick.  I cooked them for 2 minutes per side over medium-high heat.  They turned out perfectly — the pepper/salt/sugar that I had sprinkled on top gave them a nice sear, and they were a beautifully pink on the inside.Cooking times vary.  A thicker piece of fish takes longer.Also, when you light your Cognac on fire, be careful, boys and girls.  Yes, the subsequent explosion of flame looks so cool and very dramatic, but have the fire department on the phone in one hand, and a garden hose in the other.If you’re using this sauce on a steak or chicken, just cook or grill the steak as you normally do, and add a little sauce on top.This is a bold sauce. Don’t use too much!INGREDIENTS2 ahi tuna steaks, about a half pound (8 ounces) each2 tablespoons butter2 tablespoons olive oil2 tablespoons chopped shallots1 tablespoon chopped garlic2 ounces of Cognac (about ¼ cup)½ cup dry red wine½ cup stock (I used beef)½ teaspoon dried oregano1 tablespoon tomato pasteFresh ground black pepperKosher saltBrown sugar or raw/turbinado sugar (you can use plain sugar in a pinch)Here we go…Rinse off your tuna steaks and pat dry with paper towels.Let’s make the sauce.In a small pan over medium heat, add 1 tablespoon of butter, and 1 tablespoon of olive oil.When the butter melts, add the shallots and the garlic.Cook about 2 minutes until the shallots are clear and the garlic is golden.  Stir a few times.Add the 2 ounces of Cognac.Stand back, Jack!  Get a lighter, one with a long handle.  Light the Cognac on fire.  Be careful!  The flames will shoot up!When the Cognac burns off, and the fire department has left…Add the red wine and the beef stock.Let it cook for 3 minutes while stirring.Add the oregano, stir.Add the tomato paste, stir for a minute or so.Remove from heat.The sauce is done, now let’s cook our tuna.Rinse the ahi tuna steaks and pat ‘em dry with paper towels.Add a little freshly cracked black pepper, a little kosher salt and a sprinkle of turbinado or brown sugar on top of each steak.Get a sauté pan; put it over medium-high heat.Add 1 tablespoon of butter and 1 tablespoon of olive oil to the pan.When the butter starts to brown, add the tuna, peppered/salted/sugared side down.Add a LITTLE SPRINKLE of fresh cracked black pepper, kosher salt, and turbinado sugar to the other side.Cook for 2 minutes, turn over with tongs. Swirl the butter and olive oil around in the bottom of the pan, so you’re not placing the ahi tuna in a dry pan.Cook for 2 minutes on the other side.Give it a slice, see if it’s done to your liking.  If it is, dish it up. Keep in mind, the fish will keep cooking, even though you've taken it out of the pan. Err on the side of rare.Put some greens on a plate with a few grape tomatoes, place the tuna on top, drizzle just a little red wine sauce over each piece, and…MANGIAMO!!!!

Slim Man Cooks Shrimp Scampi

Shrimp Scampi with SiriA 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 Pap's Pesto

Pesto and Fishing with PapsMy Dad walked into the TV room on the second floor and his head was bleeding. We three kids were trying not to laugh.My Dad had a workbench in the basement. The ceiling was low, and there were two large iron water pipes right behind the work area. When you turned around to go upstairs, you had to duck under the pipes to avoid cracking your skull.My Dad hit his head all the time. You could hear the “BOING!” all the way up on the second floor. It was always followed by a yell,“SUNNUVABITCH!”We three kids thought it was the funniest thing in the world.Maybe it was because we loved the Three Stooges so much. Maybe it was something else. Whatever it was, when our Dad hurt himself, we found it ridiculously funny.We called my Dad "Paps." He was a professor of literature at the State University of New York, and one of his favorite books was The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. Huck had an alcoholic father who used to get drunk, beat him and chain him to chairs. Huck called his Dad "Paps." I read the book and thought it would be funny if we called our Dad "Paps", too. It stuck.For the record, our Paps did not get drunk and beat us and chain us to chairs. But I’m sure he might have felt like it when we laughed at his bleeding head.Paps used to take us fishing. It was a lot of fun for us. It couldn’t have been fun for him.Fishing seems like a cruel sport. Somebody finds out what your favorite food is and what time you like to eat. They dangle it front of you, and when you take a bite; they hook you by the lips and drag you around.One summer, my Dad and Mom rented a house near the beach on Fenwick Island, Delaware. It wasn’t fancy; just a simple white cottage on stilts by the Atlantic Ocean. We had the place for a week. There was a boat rental place on the bayside not far from the house.One sunny summer day, Paps piled us three monsters in the back of the pale green Plymouth station wagon and drove over to the boat rental place. He rented a small wooden boat with an egg-beater engine on the back. He grabbed his rods and reels, the bait, and us three knuckleheads, and we walked out on the pier.There was a boat ramp on the side of the pier. The tide was high, and the ramp was covered in water. People were slowly backing their boats down the ramp and into the bay. On the other side of the pier were the rental boats. We all piled into one, Paps pulled the starter cord, and the motor revved up. We went motoring away, out into the wild blue yonder.Little Assawoman Bay. That really was the name of the bay. Big Assawoman Bay was the larger one, right next to it. It sounds like I’m kidding, but I’m not.We motored out for quite a ways and dropped anchor in Little Assawoman. My Dad got all of our rods baited up and we dropped our lines into the water. Then he got his rod, attached his brand new lure, and casted. He slowly drew the line in. We kids sat and waited for the fish to bite. We were not patient children.Paps usually stood at the front of the boat. His back would be to us. I would sneak up behind my Dad, and jiggle the butt end of his fishing rod, so it felt like he had a fish.Paps would jerk his rod suddenly and pull his line toward him like he was landing a blue marlin.“SUNNUVABITCH!”Then he would realize I’d played a joke. I’m surprised he didn’t throw me overboard.We didn’t take fishing very seriously, but my Dad did. Anything my Dad caught, he’d keep. He once caught an eel, kept it and made a tomato sauce with it. It was awful.Paps would catch blowfish and keep them. Blowfish puff up like balloons when you catch them. Most people don’t eat them. My Dad did. We didn’t.Paps could have pulled an old tire into the boat and I’m pretty sure he would have tried to make a sauce out of it. Just about anything he pulled into that boat, he’d keep.Except once.That day, when we were fishing off the side of the boat, my Dad’s rod bent over. He must have hooked something big. Or heavy. Or both. He reeled it in. It took him a while. Keep in mind; we’re in the Little Assawoman Bay. Not a lot of real big fish in there.When Paps got it to the side of the boat, he screamed for us to get the net. We scrambled, and the boat started rocking, almost knocking him into the water.I got the net, and pulled this big, ugly fish on board. It was the ugliest fish I’d ever seen. It had a big, wide mouth, with nasty-looking sharp teeth. My Dad’s brand new and very expensive lure was stuck in the back of the fish’s mouth, right behind all those sharp teeth.Paps decided to cut off the fish’s head right then and there, and retrieve the lure later. He cut off the head, and threw the body of the fish back in the water. Paps put the bloody severed head of the fish on the bottom of the boat. It was a joy-killer. We kids wanted to go back in.Paps didn’t look too happy as we pulled in our lines. He pulled up the small anchor, and we headed back to the pier. It took us a while. My Dad wasn’t the greatest captain in the world, but we eventually found our way back, after hitting a couple of sand bars, and missing a couple buoys.Paps pulled the boat up to the pier. We tied it up, and we three kids got out of the boat and stood on the pier. My Dad stayed in the boat. We watched as Paps grabbed the bloody fish head, and stuck his hand inside its mouth to pull out his pricey lure.The severed fish head clamped down on my Dad’s hand.“SUNNUVABITCH!”Paps let out a yell, and tried to shake off the fish head. It wouldn’t release its grip. Paps was waving his hand in the air, thrashing his arm around, but the severed fish head wouldn’t let go.We kids would have tried to help him, but we were laughing too hard.The dead fish head eventually released its grip, and got flung way up in the air. It landed in the water with a splash. My Dad’s very expensive lure was gone. His hand was bleeding. He got out of the boat, and walked past us hyenas to the boat ramp.Paps walked down the boat ramp. He was going to rinse his bloody hand off in the bay water. Only problem was -the tide had gone out. The ramp was covered in slick wet moss. When my Dad hit the slippery part, his feet flew up in the air, and he let out a yell,“SUNNUVABITCH!”Then he landed on his ass with a thud you could hear across the ocean. People in Paris felt a rumble. We saw the whole thing. We could not stop laughing. I’m surprised we didn’t roll off the pier and fall in Little Assawoman Bay.Paps was lying there on his ass, hand bleeding, and having trouble getting back up. He kept slipping. All we could do was laugh. Seriously.This was probably one of those times when Paps might have felt like getting drunk and beating us and chaining us to a chair. But he didn’t. Whenever I told that story, he’d be the one laughing the hardest.PAP’S PESTOPaps made pesto before pesto was cool. He had a bunch of basil beds in front of his cabin on top of the Catskill mountains. Rat Tail Ridge. That’s what his place was called.When the basil was ready, we’d pick it and go back to the house. We’d wash the leaves, and Paps would make pesto. He put it in small jars and sold it to local food stores. It was really delicious.Pesto in Italian means paste, and this blend of basil, cheese, garlic, pine nuts, and olive oil is delizioso. The recipe originates in Genoa, Italy. I had to Slimmify it a bit.I like to use toasted pine nuts, rather than plain. Toasted pine nuts taste better, that’s all. I place a dry skillet over medium-high heat, toss in the nuts, and flip them around ’til they’re light brown. Keep an eye on your nuts--don’t burn ‘em!!This recipe calls for both Parmigiano-Reggiano and Romano Pecorino cheese. Parmigiano is a sweeter cheese. Pecorino is saltier. The blend of the two is wonderful.However, in a pinch I have used just Parmigiano, and it tastes great like that, too.Paps used pesto in all kinds of dishes. He put it over pasta. He used a dollop in soups. He made omelettes with it. Use your imagination - I’ve put it on chicken and fish. I once made shrimp with pesto for the Food Network.Makes one generous cup of pesto.INGREDIENTS:2 cups fresh basil leaves, cleaned½ cup extra virgin olive oil8 tablespoons of pine nuts (pignoli), toasted (1/2 cup)2 cloves garlic, peeled½ teaspoon of salt½ cup freshly grated Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese½ cup freshly grated Romano Pecorino cheeseHere we go…Put the basil, ½ cup of olive oil, 4 tablespoons of the toasted pine nuts, the garlic and the salt in a blender and blend, baby, blend. You can also use a food processor.When everything is smooth, transfer to a bowl and slowly blend in the grated cheeses by hand. Or better yet, use a spatula.That’s it.If you want to serve it over pasta, farfalle works well.Get a large pot, fill it with cold water, and put it on the highest heat. When it boils rapidly, toss in 2 tablespoons of kosher salt and a pound of pasta.Follow the cooking instructions on the side of the pasta box. Two minutes before the pasta is supposed to be done, start tasting. Take a piece of pasta, and bite into it. If it’s chalky in the center it is not done. Check the pasta every 2 minutes or so. It might take longer than the instructions on the box say.When the pasta is firm to the bite (al dente), drain and transfer it to a warm bowl. Drizzle with 1 tablespoon of olive oil and mix.Scoop some the pesto sauce from its bowl, about ¼ cup, and add it to the pasta. Toss well, but be gentle. You can add some more pesto if it doesn’t look like there’s enough.Dish it up! Put a small amount of pasta on a plate. Add a little sprinkle of grated cheese, Parmigiano or Romano or both.Take some of the remaining toasted pine nuts, and sprinkle on top.Sometimes, I’ll broil a couple chicken breasts, chop ‘em up, and add them to the pasta. Delizioso!MANGIAMO!!!!!!!

Slim Man Cooks Chicken with Marsala and Porcini Mushrooms

Chicken Marsala with Elvis in MemphisI was in Memphis in the late 1980s organizing a country music talent contest with my friend Michael.Michael is black.  I’m white.  Well, Italian.Marlboro sponsored the contest. Why they picked a black guy and a white guy — two city slickers, no less — to do a country music talent contest, is still puzzling.It’s not puzzling why Michael and I did the contest - they paid us a lot of money and they paid all our expenses. I ended up doing four tours for Marlboro. The one with Michael was my first.Michael and I traveled around the USA looking for the next big country music star. We went to more honkytonk hellholes than most cowboys.  We’d roll into a town like Memphis, find a club, organize the bands, and do the contest.  The grand prize was $50,000.  Fifty grand.I was in charge of the bands; I made sure all the musicians knew where to go, what to bring, and what to do.  Michael was the MC.  He was the Ryan Seacrest of honkytonks. When Michael appeared on stage, and introduced himself to the primarily white, all-country crowd, there was a little apprehension - on both sides of the microphone.He’d come out and say,“Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the Marlboro Country Music Talent Roundup.”That’s when the crowd got a little quiet.  Michael was from New York City, and he sounded like it.  He’d continue,“I know I don’t look like the Marlboro Man, and I don’t sound like the Marlboro Man, but tonight…”He’d reach down and put on his white ten-gallon Hoss Cartwright cowboy hat on, and continue,“I am the Marlboro Man.”Michael sounded like Shannon Sharpe — the football player and NFL analyst.  He looked like Cleavon Little in Blazing Saddles. Michael always got a laugh when he put the big white hat on. He had a singular charm.Marlboro tossed a lot of money at this thing.  We had all kinds of great merchandise — denim jackets, satin jackets, duffle bags, playing cards, T-shirts, polo shirts, denim shirts, posters. And they gave away free cigarettes at every show.  All you could smoke.They should have given away a Marlboro coffin.  Or maybe a Marlboro iron lung.Here’s how we ran the contest - we had ten bands a night, three nights in a row.  Each band got 15 minutes on stage.  We had three minutes in between bands, that’s all.Judges picked the winners--not the audience.  We’d find judges —usually three — from the local talent pool; DJs, producers, managers, agents. The judges would pick one band to go on to the finals in Nashville, where they would compete with the other finalists from other towns for the grand prize of $50,000.Before we got to Memphis, we got a call from Marlboro headquarters.  They told us to be careful.  It was the 20^th anniversary of Martin Luther King’s assassination in Memphis. And then they told us that the club owner was rumored to have ties to the KKK.The club was called The Vapors, a country music honky-tonk in the middle of Memphis.  Michael and I pulled up to the club in our rental car.  We walked inside and met the owner. He was friendly.  He was as nice and helpful as could be. He wasn’t wearing a white pillowcase over his head.Michael and I got set up for the show that night.  We had to hang all the Marlboro Country Music Roundup signs around the club, we had to make sure the sound company was good to go, the bands ready to play, and the judges prepared to judge.We finished soundcheck and had a few hours before showtime.  Michael had a friend who had a limo and tour bus company based in Memphis.  She rented these things out to bands and rock stars.  She invited us for a limo ride to Graceland and a private tour. She was a friend of Elvis Presley’s Mom.Graceland is the house that Elvis built.  It’s now a museum.Michael and I drove over to his friend’s house. She had all these limos and tour buses parked all around her property.  She got behind the wheel of one of the limos and Michael and I got in back.  She put the big black limo in reverse and floored it.She rammed it into the side of one of her tour buses that was parked right behind her.  BANG!  We got out, and surveyed the damage.  It was substantial — to both the limo and the tour bus.She left the smashed-up limo right there, and got into another one and drove us over to Graceland.  She gave us a private tour. We saw the Graceland that not many people get to see.  It was surprisingly small, and had a sixties vibe to it—lots of yellow vinyl and white shag carpets and mirrored walls.Elvis must have loved TV.  There were TVs everywhere.  He had quite a collection of cars, all kinds of exotic sports cars.  Elvis also had two luxury jets parked right across the street from Graceland.After the Graceland tour, Michael and I went to visit the Lorraine Motel, where Martin Luther King, Jr. was assassinated.  There were TV news crews doing interviews about the 20th anniversary, and one of them came up to Michael and interviewed him.It was eerie.Michael and I went back to our hotel, a Holiday Inn.  We decided to take a jog before the big show that night.  We put on our running shoes and started jogging down the streets of Memphis, side-by-side.On our way back, we heard someone shout from a car – you’ll have to excuse the language, but this is the way it went down.“Hey nigguh boy!  Hey hippie fag!”True story.  That’s exactly what was said.  I couldn’t believe my ears.  Then I heard it again.“Hey nigguh boy!  Hey hippie fag!”Oh, shit, I thought.  Here we go.  A black guy and a long haired white guy, running down the streets of Memphis.  I stopped and looked to see where the voice was coming from.It was the owner of the Vapors.  He was laughing, hanging out the window of his car, smacking his hand on the door.“I got you!  I got you goin’!  See you fellas at the club later!  Have a nice run!”He smiled and waved and drove off, laughing.He got us, all right.We did the contest that night at The Vapors.  The owner couldn’t have been nicer, the crowd was as cool as could be and the show went as smooth as glass.I love Memphis - Sun Studio, Graceland, Beale Street - and any city with a restaurant named Automatic Slim’s is OK in my book.CHICKEN WITH MARSALA AND PORCINI MUSHROOMSAutomatic Slim’s did not have chicken Marsala on the menu. But they should have!I came up with this dish a few weeks ago.  I used porcini mushrooms and the water they soak in.  It was amazing, if I may say so myself.The next night I cooked it for a very beautiful woman of excellent taste, and it was just OK.  I overcooked the chicken, and it was a bit tough and dry; so don’t overcook your chicken.I like to serve this sauce over egg noodles – not a lot, just a little bit underneath each serving.I used three boneless, skinless chicken breasts.  They were real thick, so I cut each of them in half. I had six cutlets, each was about ¼ inch thick.Marsala is a wine from Marsala, Sicily. There are basically two kinds; dry and sweet. I used sweet Marsala.Be careful when handling raw chicken—clean every surface it touches, wash your hands, and get out the pressure washer and put on the HazMat suit.INGREDIENTS6 chicken breast cutlets, about ¼ inch thick½ ounce dried porcini mushrooms (soaked in 1 cup of water for a minimum of 20 minutes—don’t throw out the water!)2 tablespoons butter2 tablespoons olive oil½ shallot, chopped fine, about 2 tablespoons3 garlic cloves, sliced thin, about 1 tablespoon¾ cup sweet Marsala1 cup of water1 tablespoon fresh rosemary, chopped½ pound of egg noodles – pappardelle work wellKosher salt and pepper to tasteHere we go…Rinse off your chicken breasts and pat them dry with paper towels.Remove the porcini mushrooms from the cup of water with a slotted spoon.Take the remaining porcini water and strain through cheesecloth — I used a coffee filter, by the way.  I’ve even used paper towels as strainers. Whatever you use, save the water – you’ll use a half cup for the sauce, and a half cup in the pasta water, if you want to put the sauce over pasta.Rinse off the mushrooms and pat dry.  Chop into small pieces.Grab your breasts.  Then grab your chicken breasts.  Notice the difference.  Salt and pepper the top of the chicken breasts.  Fresh cracked black pepper is the way to go. Salt and pepper just one side of the chicken breasts.Let’s make the sauce first.Put a small sauté pan over medium heat.Add one tablespoon of butter, and one tablespoon of olive oil.When the butter starts to bubble, add the shallots.Cook and stir for 2 minutes, until the shallots just start to brown.Add the garlic, cook for 2 minutes.  Give it a stir.Add the Marsala.Add ½ cup of porcini water.Turn the heat to high and let it cook for 2 minutes.Turn the heat to medium-low, and add the porcini mushrooms.Cook for 2 minutes while stirring.Add the rosemary.  Cook and stir for 2 minutes.Remove from heat.  Sauce is done!Let’s do the chicken.Get a large sauté pan (I used a 12 inch skillet).  Put it over medium-high heat.Add 1 tablespoon of butter and 1 tablespoon of olive oil.When the butter starts to bubble, add the chicken breasts, salted/peppered side down.Cook for 2 or 3 minutes until golden.Flip ‘em over.Cook for 2 or 3 minutes on the other side until golden.  Give a cutlet a slice, make sure it’s done.Pour the Marsala/porcini sauce over the breasts.Remove from heat!Plate ‘em up!  You can put this sauce over egg noodles, or rice, or eat it as is.I like to put this sauce over egg noodles--pappardelle are my favorite.  I use a half-pound. Get a large pot, fill it with cold water.  Add the remaining ½  cup of porcini water to the pasta water.  When it all comes to a boil, add 2 tablespoons of kosher salt.Add the egg noodles, cook until al dente, drain and drizzle with a tablespoon of olive oil. Stir.Put A SMALL PORTION of egg noodles on a plate.  Put some Marsala sauce over the noodles, put a chicken breast on top, spoon some sauce and juice and mushrooms on top and…MANGIAMO!!!!!!!!!  

Slim Man Cooks Arancini

Arancini and Christmas 2013For the record, when I die, I want a Viking funeral. They put your body on a small wooden boat, cover you with hay, float you out on the water, and shoot flaming arrows until the hay catches fire. Then the boat burns and sinks.Is that too much to ask?In November, 2013, I drove from my home in Nashville to my hometown of Baltimore. Seven hundred miles. Eleven hours. Batu, my bull terrier, drove with me. We did it in one day.A couple days later, I dropped Batu off with a friend who just loves Batu and loves taking care of him. Then I flew to Madrid to work on the new Bona Fide CD with guitarist Marc Antoine. He had volunteered to produce and mix.Two weeks later, the CD was almost finished – all it needed was a couple of tweaks. I left Madrid, flew back to Baltimore, and picked up Batu. I was getting ready to drive back to Nashville when I got a phone call.My Dad’s second wife had passed away in Annapolis, Maryland. She was young, and it was so sad. My Dad had passed away two years before — on January 4th. He was cremated.I went to the memorial service for my stepmom. It was heart-breaking. It had to be tough for her two kids. Right before I left, her son — my half-brother — gave me two jars of my Dad’s ashes. One for me and one for my brother.Batu and I drove from Baltimore to Nashville the next day. I stayed a few days in Music City, and then packed up some things – including the jar of my Dad’s ashes for my brother – and Batu and I decided to head west. Destination? Breckenridge, Colorado, a skiing village in the Rocky Mountains. My brother, the Slim Bro, had rented an apartment so the family could spend Christmas together.My plan was to hang out in Breckenridge for Christmas with la famiglia, go to Scottsdale for New Years, and then head to Palm Springs, California, for a couple months of Slim Gigs. So I packed up the Slimousine, threw Batu in the back and we left Nashville and drove west.Batu and I got to Breckenridge safe and sound. We drove 1200 miles. It took us two days. We checked in to the apartment. It was pretty nice, on the ground floor, right in downtown Breckenridge.Batu and I sat on the couch. I was reading the brochure for the apartment when I noticed there was a $100 dollar-a-day fine for having a dog. A hundred bucks a day. It was too late to find a new place. So I had to keep Batu on the QT, the Down Low and the Hush-Hush.My brother walked in. It was so great to see him. I hadn’t seen him since our Dad’s funeral. I gave him the jar of our Dad’s ashes. He put it on top of the refrigerator.Breckenridge was bitter cold. I woke up one morning and it was one degree outside. We were at 10,000 feet. I went jogging, like a fool. I jogged around the mountain. It was exhilarating – clear and sunny and beautiful and freezing cold.On Christmas Day, my brother, the family and I went to an absinthe bar on Main Street. I had never had absinthe. I’d heard about it. It’s an alcoholic beverage that is supposed to make you really crazy.How crazy? Well, rumor has it that one time Van Gogh drank way too much of the stuff, then cut off his ear and gave it to a prostitute.I’m sure she would have preferred to be paid in cash.So, on Christmas Day, we, the Slim Crew, went into the absinthe bar in Breckenridge, Colorado. We sat down. The waitress came over and started explaining the different kinds of absinthe. I think she must have tried most of them within the past hour, because her eyes had that space alien luminescence about them. And her ear was missing.The absinthe was expensive. Twenty bucks a shot.We ordered a couple. Only one of us had tried absinthe before. That person — I won’t say who – drank a lot of absinthe the night before a wedding, took a fire extinguisher off the hotel wall and sprayed everybody in sight.The waitress brought over two glasses of absinthe, one clear and one green. She put a small strainer over top of each glass, and placed a cube of sugar on top of the strainer. She brought over a samovar of ice water, and placed the two glasses under the two faucets. She let the water drip slowly over the sugar cube, through the strainer, and into the absinthe.When the cube dissolved, we turned off the faucet, and we each took a sip. It tasted like old bathwater, smelled like stinky sweat socks and kicked like a mule.   We passed the two glasses around, and drank. When we finished, we walked in the snow through the quaint little village, which was all decked out in lights and wreaths and ribbons.The town was glowing. We were also glowing – like nuclear waste. I don’t know if it was the absinthe or what, but we were definitely feeling merry and bright.When we got back to the apartment, we had a traditional Christmas dinner — turkey, stuffing, and mashed potatoes. We drank wine. Not that we needed to. After we finished, as we were cleaning up, someone — I won’t say who — knocked the jar of my Dad’s ashes off the top of the refrigerator. It shattered on the kitchen floor.We all stood in silence for a moment. Then we started laughing.Why were we laughing? You’d have to know my Dad. He was a professor of philosophy and literature; a tough and gruff and grouchy curmudgeon who also had an incredible sense of humor.   He once taught a course in comedy. He had a great laugh, his eyes would squint, he’d throw back his head, and he’d let it out.We all looked at his ashes there on the floor. What to do?We gathered up the ashes in a dustpan, picked out the glass as best we could, and went outside in the cold, dark night. I took the dustpan, and scattered his ashes in a schoolyard behind the apartment. Then we gathered in a circle, held hands, and mumbled something that sounded like a prayer.That was our Christmas. But that’s not the end of the story.When it came time to check out of the pet-unfriendly apartment, it was just me and Batu, cleaning and packing. My brother and family had checked out earlier. Check out time was 10 AM. At 10:05, there was a loud knocking on the door.“Time to check out!”Apparently, they were not only pet-unfriendly, they were people-unfriendly as well. Batu started barking. His bark could make Superman jump.I tried to get Batu to shut up. As the knocking got louder, so did Batu’s bark. All I could think about was paying the $100 a day dog fine. I grabbed Batu, lifted him up, and went out to the balcony of the apartment. I lifted all 70 pounds of him over the four-foot railing and dropped him in a snowdrift (don’t call PETA, we were on the first floor).I grabbed his bed and tossed it over. Then I jumped over the railing, into the snow drift. I scooped up Batu, grabbed his bed and ran to the car. I threw the bed in the car, put Batu on top of the bed, and ran back to the balcony.I jumped the railing, went inside, and went to the front door. I opened it. The guy who was knocking came in and started looking around. There was obviously no dog. He walked around, and then left without saying a word. I packed my car and took off with Batu.We drove from Breckenridge to Scottsdale, Arizona. It was treacherous — up and down icy, snowy two-lane roads. The car was skidding all over, and there were no guard rails. The drop was precipitous. The drive took forever. I had the death grip on the steering wheel. It was tense.  A trip that should have taken 10 hours took 20.But we made it. That’s my Christmas story for 2013. Happy Holidays.ARANCINIWant to make people happy around the Holidays? Make some arancini! Arancini are Sicilian rice balls stuffed with mozzarella cheese.Arancia is the Italian word for oranges. Arancini means “small oranges” which is the size and shape these rice balls should be.Two cups of leftover risotto should make about seven or eight small rice balls.In the past, I’ve used mozzarella for the stuffing. One night, all I had was goat cheese. So I used that, and I loved the way it tasted. If you are using mozzarella, cut it into small cubes, two for each rice ball. If you are using goat cheese, roll it into seven or eight small balls – each about the size of a grape.Eight ounces of cheese should be more than enough for seven or eight arancini.INGREDIENTS2 cups leftover risotto – I used some risotto with shrimp and peas I had cooked the previous night½ cup of flour3 eggs1 and ¼ cups breadcrumbs (I use panko)½ pound of mozzarella, cut into 16 small cubes, or ½ pound of goat cheese, rolled into 8 small balls¼ cup olive oilHere we go…Take the leftover risotto, put it in a large mixing bowl.Put the flour on a plate.Break 2 eggs into a bowl, add some salt and pepper, and mick ‘em up.On another flat plate, add 1 cup of breadcrumbs.Break an egg into the risotto, and add the remaining ¼ cup of breadcrumbs.Mix the risotto, the egg, and the breadcrumbs by hand. Mick ‘em up.Take a small amount of risotto. Put it in the palm of your hand, roll it in a ball--about the size of a small orange. Poke a hole in it, add 2 cubes of mozzarella in the center, or one goat cheese ball, and fold the rice over the mozzarella.Take the rice ball, roll it in the flour, and then dip it in the egg. Let the excess drip off, and then roll the rice ball around in the breadcrumbs until it's coated. Keep making the rice balls until all the risotto is gone.Put the olive oil (you can also use canola) in a large sauté pan over medium-high heat. I used a 12” pan.When the oil is hot, put your rice balls in the pan, and sauté until golden on the bottom, about 3 or 4 minutes. Don’t burn your balls.Turn them over, and sauté on the other side, about 3 or 4 minutes, until golden brown.When done, put ‘em on a platter lined with paper towels.Dish ‘em up!Eat immediately. Serve with some absinthe and go nuts!MANGIAMO!!!!

Slim Man Cooks Halibut Panko Fish Sticks

My sister had all her kids by C-section.  They’re all pretty normal, except whenever they leave the house, they go out the window.When the doctors perform a C-section (cesarean section) they make an incision, and bring the baby out via the abdomen rather than, well you know. They stitch you back up, and instruct you to stay still for a week or so until your incision has healed.  When my sister had her first baby, she asked me to babysit for a week while she recovered.  I did.  I loved it.  I told my sister that whenever she had another kid, I’d do it again.I had no idea at the time that she’d go on to have four more kids.The doctors should have put a piece of Velcro on her stomach.  My sister had kids every two years, like clockwork.  At one point I was babysitting a newborn, a two year-old, a four year-old, a six year-old and an eight year-old.  My sister used cloth diapers. Not on herself, on the kids. So whenever the kids peed or pooped, you had to take off the diapers, shake ‘em out, and put on a fresh one—with safety pins. And then put on a diaper cover. Babysitting was hectic.  Crazy.It was exhausting, yes, but I actually didn’t mind it.  Whenever my sister and her husband needed a break from their precious little monsters, they’d ask Uncle Slimmy to come up for a while.Babysitting five kids is like living in a tornado – it’s a whirlwind of activity.  Get ‘em up, get ‘em dressed, make breakfast, get lunches packed, cut chewing gum out of their hair and then get them off to school.After school, you pick them up, drive ‘em around to all their after-school activities, go home, make dinner, clean up, make sure they do their homework, and then put ‘em to bed.The next day, you get up and do it all over again for the ingrates.One especially hectic morning, all the kids were running around screaming.  I was trying to make sure all five were dressed; I was making school lunches and trying to get everybody ready for school.I’m not good at breakfast.  I can cook you a dinner that will make you cry tears of joy, or at least not make you sick, but breakfast for me is some fresh fruit, maybe an English muffin.I rarely eat cereal, especially the kind kids like to eat – Peanut Butter Cap’n Crunch, Count Chocula.  But when you need to feed the little monsters in the morning and you’re in a hurry, cereal is quick and easy.  You just fill a bowl and grab some milk.Which is what I did that crazy morning - except when I grabbed the milk carton, it was empty.  Well, there was a drop.  Kids love to do that, don’t they?  They’ll drink out of the carton, and leave the last drop so they won’t have to throw it away.So there they are, five kids seated at the table, bowls filled with cereal, clock ticking, and no milk. The kids had a rare moment of silence.  They all looked at me, wondering what I was going to do next.I looked at the clock.  We were running way late.   I grabbed a liter bottle of Coca-Cola and poured it over the cereal in each bowl.  They first looked at me like I was crazy. Then suddenly they all just thought it was the coolest thing in the world.  They ate it up.  They left the house that morning on the highest of sugar highs.No one got sick, so I’m marking it down as a successful meal.Breakfast was a crapshoot, but I almost always had a nice home-cooked dinner for the kids when they got back from school.  Spaghetti and meatballs.  Chicken Parmigiano.  Cacio e Pepe (Italian mac ‘n cheese).But one night, I realized we had nothing in the fridge.  It was too late to go to the store and come home and cook.  So I ordered Chinese food.  Only one problem – they didn’t deliver out in the sticks where my sister lived, meaning I’d have to jump in the car and go pick it up…My favorite car ever?  My Jeep Wrangler convertible.  I loved that car.  It was a manly man’s car; stripped down of all luxury.  No radio.  No AC.  No back seat.  A canvas top.  Canvas doors.  Plastic windows.  It was a rough ride. I loved to put the dogs in the back, smoke cigars and drive around.When the weather was nice, and you had the top down and the doors off, it was heavenly.  It was basically a two-seater.  Which posed a problem that night.  I couldn’t leave the kids home alone while I went to pick up Chinese food.I didn’t have enough seats or seat belts to strap them all in.  What to do?I put the two youngest in the front seat and strapped them in together.  The other three I put in the back, and covered them with a big blanket.  It looked like I was trying to smuggle illegals.  I told them to shut up, and I gently drove to the Chinese place, picked up dinner, and drove back.It was only a few miles.  I took it easy on the brakes – I didn’t want those kids rolling around the back of the Jeep.  I’m just glad I didn’t get stopped by the cops.After that, the kids wanted me to drive them around all the time in the back of the Jeep.  I didn’t want to press my luck with the police, so I’d drive them around the property, through the cornfields, over the hills.  They loved it.I did an all-ages show one Christmas in Towson, Maryland. The nieces and nephew were just kids, they came down and sat in the front row. It was the first time they’d seen me on stage. To this day I remember how good that made me feel to see them there. None of them fell asleep, like people normally do at my concerts.I introduced the kids to the crowd, and then asked them to come up on stage and sing with “Uncle Slimmy.” They were mortified. It was the first time I ever called myself Uncle Slimmy. The name stuck. The kids didn’t come up on stage that night—but they’ve been coming to Slim Shows ever since. I thought they’d have more sense than that.I was honored when my oldest niece asked me to sing “End of the Rainbow” at her wedding three years ago. She just had twin girls. She didn’t name either one “Slim”. But it does make me a great uncle.Great Uncle Slimmy.HALIBUT PANKO FISH STICKSMy Mom was a great cook. But when she was in a rush to get dinner on the table for us kids, sometimes she’d pull a package of Mrs. Paul’s Fish Sticks out of the freezer and heat ‘em up.  When I was trying to come up with a recipe for a piece of halibut, I decided to cut it into pieces the size of Mrs. Paul’s, and make my own fish sticks.  I’m a genius, ain’t I?How did fish get to be so expensive? The halibut I used was $28 a pound. That’s ridiculous. What’s even more ridiculous is using that expensive halibut to make fish sticks. But they are so ridiculously good.I love panko bread crumbs.  I mean, I don’t eat them out of the bag, but they’re great for frying. Panko breadcrumbs are all the rage right now.  I understand why panko breadcrumbs are so popular.  They’re light, crunchy, delicious, and have a great texture.Where the hell were they a few years ago?  It’s like balsamic vinegar - up until ten years ago, nobody knew what balsamic vinegar was. All we had was Progresso red wine vinegar.And now?  We have 500 varieties of balsamic vinegar.  We’ve got $600 bottles of balsamic vinegar made by monks in Montepulciano.As far as the fish goes, you can use any thick, firm-fleshed white fish — halibut, sea bass, or grouper.  Cod would be an inexpensive alternative. The best way to cut these filets is into rectangles, about four inches long and about an inch wide.Another thing – don’t bread the fish in advance.  Dip and fry, that’s what I always say.  If you leave breaded filets sitting around, they get gooey and don’t fry right.  And you know what Nat King Cole said,”Straighten up and fry right!”INGREDIENTS1 pound skinless halibut filets, cut into rectangular pieces2 eggsSalt and fresh ground black pepper½  cup canola oil (or olive oil)2 cups panko breadcrumbs on a plate (you might not use them all)Here we go…Rinse the fish and pat dry with paper towels. Put the fish on a platter.Take the eggs, and put them in a shallow bowl.  Add salt and pepper.  Beat it!Heat the canola oil in a large pan over medium-high heat.  You can use canola oil for this, because it doesn’t smoke at high temperatures.  But I’ve used olive oil many times with great results.Grab a piece of fish.  Dip it in the beaten egg, let the excess drip off.Then roll it in the panko breadcrumbs.  Press each side in, make sure the panko sticks to each side of the fish.  Put it on a plate.Do this with all the pieces of fish.When all the fish is breaded, take a pinch of the breadcrumbs, and drop ‘em in the oil.  If they sizzle, the oil is hot and ready.Place as many pieces of fish as you can in the hot canola oil.  When you see the bottom edges of the fish turn golden brown – 2 or 3 minutes - use some tongs and turn them over.  Don’t fork it – you don’t want to lose any of the juiciness, and you don’t want the fish to flake apart on ya.Brown on the other side for about 2 or 3 minutes.When both sides are golden brown, place on a plate with covered with a layer or two of paper towels.You gotta eat this dish right away.  Plate it up right quickly, garnish with parsley, and serve with lemon slices. My Caprese salad is the perfect side for these fish sticks.MANGIAMO!!!!!!!!!!!

Slim Man Cooks Luigi's Chicken

Luigi’s Chicken and Luigi

Luigi was my grandfather. Luigi Quintiliano. Grandpa Luke is what I called him. He was quite a character, a tough guy, an Italian immigrant. He left Italy, came to New York City, got his start as a tailor in a sweatshop, and then got involved in the labor unions.Luigi was an anarchist. Just so you don’t have to look it up, an anarchist is someone who doesn’t believe in government, thinks we might be better off running things on our own.Luigi was a political activist; he helped edit the anti-Fascist Italian newspaper Il Martello, which was started by labor organizer Carlo Tresca. Tresca survived an assassination attempt by Fascists, but was later gunned down by the Mafia because he insulted a mob boss.Luigi was also secretary of the Italian Committee for Political Victims, which raised money to defend Italians who had been imprisoned because of their political beliefs. Luigi helped raise funds for Sacco and Vanzetti, two Italian anarchists who had been accused of murder and robbery.Most folks conclude that they were railroaded. Luigi testified at their trial. Sacco and Vanzetti were convicted of murder in 1921. The case was appealed. For the next six years, the Sacco and Vanzetti case got worldwide attention. Protests were held in most major cities in the world.Luigi helped raise money for the appeals process to try to get them acquitted. But in 1927, the verdict was upheld, and Sacco and Vanzetti were executed. Most scholars agree that they were convicted because of their anarchist beliefs, not because they were guilty of murder.Luigi carried a gun, a 32 automatic. He was handsome, well-dressed and elegant. He was also an anarchist, a radical, an activist. But to me, he was Grandpa Luke; the guy who gave me silver dollars and said “donna tella nobody.” He was always so sweet to me.I didn’t find out until I was older that Luigi wasn’t my real grandfather. My real grandfather died before I was born. Luigi was my grandmother’s…boyfriend? That sounds weird. Lover? Even weirder, especially for a grandson. They were in love, Angela and Luigi. That’s for sure.Even though they were never married, a lot of folks knew them as husband and wife. In the US census in 1940, they were listed as Luigi and Angela Quintiliano. Back in those days, two people in love didn’t just shack up. They usually got married if they wanted to live together. But Luigi, being an anarchist and all, didn’t believe in marriage. Even though Angela and Luigi never got married, I know they loved each other.Luigi had a sister, Estherina, who was a nun. She was in a convent in Italy, and then later was assigned to a convent in New Jersey. Estherina wasn’t too happy about her situation in Jersey. Apparently, the convent in Italy was a lot more respectful of the nuns than the convent in Jersey. I imagine the food in the Italian convent was a little bit better than the one in Jersey.Estherina was miserable.Luigi was more than happy to help Estherina leave the convent. Luigi told Estherina that his friend, Joe, had agreed to marry her, so she could stay in this country.Luigi arranged for my uncle Oscar — Angela’s oldest son–to get her out of the convent.Oscar and a friend drove to the convent in New Jersey, snuck Estherina out of a window, over a wall, and then drove her to Baltimore. Luigi introduced Estherina to his friend Joe, and they got married. Luigi wanted Estherina to get married in order to become a US citizen, but he didn’t want her to stay married. But something crazy happened…Estherina and Joe fell in love. They moved up to Flushing, Queens and lived happily ever after in New York.Luigi continued his anti-marriage crusade. When Oscar was getting ready to get married, Luigi was against it. Oscar’s fiancé’s family was against it as well. They offered Oscar money not to get married.Luigi got offended. On one hand, he was against marriage. But on the other hand, Luigi was pissed off that they thought Oscar wasn’t good enough to marry their daughter. Harsh words were exchanged.Oscar’s fiancé’s family threatened Luigi with a gun. Luigi said, “You better not miss, because I never do.”There was always a lot of animosity between the families, but never any gunfire. Oscar got married anyway.When my Dad fell in love with my Mom and wanted to get married, he brought her to meet Angela and Luigi. Luigi made a feast. He made antipasti, pasta, cutlets, sauces, meats, and he kept serving my Mom.My Mom, being ever so gracious, ate what was served. Luigi was amazed that she hung in there like a real Italian. It was like he was testing her, and she passed with flying colors.Luigi developed a soft spot in his heart for my Mom. You could see he loved her.Luigi was still against marriage, so I guess that’s why my Mom and Dad eloped—they got married in New Orleans.Luigi and Angela eventually broke up. I guess a girl can only take not being married for so long. Angela broke it off, somewhat reluctantly. I have letters from Angela to Luigi, and they are so sad. Angela really loved Luigi, but he couldn’t commit, couldn’t let himself go.What a shame.When Angela died, I was going through her stuff, and found Luigi’s gun at the bottom of a trunk. I still have it. It’s the only thing of Luigi’s I have, besides a few letters and this recipe…LUIGI’S CHICKENLuigi used to make this dish with rabbit. I don’t know if it’s because I love Bugs Bunny so much, but I’m not crazy about eating rabbit. I don’t wake up in the middle of the night and say “Damn! I wish I had me some rabbit to nibble on.”When I cook this dish, I use chicken. Most times, I use organic free-range chicken, although in all the western movies I’ve seen, and in all my travels, I’ve never seen herds of wild chickens roaming the free range. I’ve seen buffalo roaming. I’ve seen horses. But never chickens.When I first cooked this dish, I used chicken on the bone. I had my butcher dude chop each breast into three or four pieces, and each thigh into two pieces.When I cooked this recently for a lady people friend of mine, she mentioned that chicken cut like that would never fly in a restaurant – people might choke on the bones. She told me I should use boneless chicken.I felt like grabbing Luigi’s gun and firing a couple of rounds in the ceiling, but I didn’t. I just agreed.You know what? She’s right. You don’t want Grandpa Luke choking on a chicken bone!So the next time I made Luigi’s chicken, I used boneless, skinless chicken breasts and thighs. It was real good, but I thought that it could be even a bit mo’ better with just chicken thighs. Boneless, skinless chicken breasts don’t hold up well in a dish like this; they tend to get a little dry.So last night I cooked this dish with boneless, skinless chicken thighs. And it tasted really good. Moist and delizioso! I dig the dark meat, it really made this dish sing. Zippity Do Dah!I used about 2 pounds of chicken thighs. You need to cut them into thick pieces, about the size and shape of a flattened egg. Or a big chicken McNugget.The chicken needs to brown. That means the oil has to be hot enough so the chicken sears, but not too hot that it burns and sticks to the bottom of the pot. The chicken should sizzle when you first put it in. Don’t stir it around, let it sit and brown.. Each piece has to brown on each side. This is important; browning sears in the juices so the chicken doesn’t dry out. Browning also gives the stew a nice color.If the chicken thighs take longer than 5 minutes to brown on one side, your heat ain’t high enough.Dutch ovens are good for searing, and then making a stew like this. I used a 7-quart (12” diameter) Dutch oven. You can use any big, heavy pot.You’ll need to peel the pearl onions. It’s easy. Drop them (with the skin on) in boiling water for a few minutes. Remove, and cut off the tip of the root end. Grab the pearl onion by the top, and squeeze the onion out of the skin.In the video, I cook the pearl onions and the chicken together. I was using a really big Dutch oven, and everything fit easily. If you’re using a smaller, 7-quart Dutch oven, brown the chicken first, take it out, and then brown the pearl onions.And please be careful when you light the Cognac on fire. Stand back! It’s explosive. Have the water pistol loaded and ready.INGREDIENTS8 boneless, skinless chicken thighs, about 2 pounds, cut into large cubesFlour (a half cup should do) plus 1 tablespoon5 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil3 dozen or so pearl onions peeled (about 2 cups)2 ounces of Cognac (about ¼ cup)3 cups sliced white mushrooms1 ½ cups of chopped celery5 garlic cloves, chopped fine (about 2 tablespoons)2 ½ cups chicken stock1 cup dry red wine1 tablespoon fresh chopped rosemaryKosher SaltFreshly ground black pepperHERE WE GO!Rinse your chicken pieces in cold water.Pat dry with paper towels.Take some flour, put it on a plate.Take each piece of chicken, and roll it in the flour, coating all sides lightly.Do this with all the chicken. Salt and pepper the tops of the floured chicken pieces.Put some olive oil, a generous 3 tablespoons, in the bottom of a large pan or Dutch oven over medium-high heat.Let the pan heat for 2 minutes, and then add the chicken; salted/peppered side down.Add a little salt and pepper to the tops of the chicken pieces. Don’t stir; let the chicken brown for 4 or 5 minutes. The chicken needs to be BROWN, Slim People.Flip the pieces over and brown on the other side – still no stirring – for 4 or 5 minutes.Remove the chicken from the pan, and put on a plate.Put the onions in the pan and let them brown for about 3 minutes.Turn them over, and let them brown on the other side for about 3 minutes..Add the Cognac to the onions.Be careful!! Get a lighter with a long handle, and stand back as you light the Cognac on fire—it’s gonna explode!When the flames die down, and your wig has stopped burning, add the mushrooms and celery. Add a tablespoon of olive oil.Give’em a stir. Scrape the delicious bits off the bottom of the pan.Let the celery and mushrooms cook for 5 minutes, stir often.Add the garlic, cook for 3 minutes.Now, put the chicken back in the pan.Add 2 cups of the chicken stock.Add the cup of red wine.Add the rosemary.Turn the heat on high.When it comes to a boil, let it boil for a few minutes, then reduce the heat to medium-low, and cook, uncovered, for 10 minutes.Take a tablespoon of flour, whisk it in the remaining half-cup of chicken broth, and stir it into the sauce. The sauce needs to be thick, like gravy.Turn the heat to simmer, and cover and cook for about 30 minutes, until the chicken is tender, and the gravy is gravylicious! Stir every so often.Taste the sauce for salt and pepper and adjust.You can serve it as is, with some crusty bread or over egg noodles—I use a half-pound of pappardelle. You might want to cook them first.Cook the pasta according to the instructions. Drain, put in a bowl and drizzle with the final tablespoon of olive oil.Pour some of Luigi’s chicken over the egg noodles, make it look nice, and…MANGIAMO!