Pasta with a woman who smells naturally of roses

Dear City Gay,

Here is my first recipe/meal from the country. When I have a hankering for pasta, or when I'm at an Italian restaurant, I often go for the fettuccine alfredo. I know it is less than healthy, but I can't help loving the richness and creaminess of a good alfredo.

I've stolen my recipe from a Barnes and Noble cookbook that contains recipes that only require four ingredients. In my fast-paced country gay life, I don't have time for a lot of ingredients in recipes, but I also want to be able to do more than open up a jar of alfredo sauce when I make pasta. With the few ingredients in the recipe (heavy cream, butter, parmesan cheese, and pasta), I can make a fast dinner without needing to rely on fast food.


The sauce is quite easy. One only needs to melt 1/4 cup of butter then add one cup of heavy cream. When the cream and butter comes to a boil, reduce and simmer for five minutes stirring constantly. This is where I learned how tricky it can be to stir boiling milk and take pictures at the same time. (You are lucky, City Gay, to have Gus be your hand model in pictures!)


After simmering for five minutes, stir in 2/3 cup of parmesan cheese, add salt and pepper to taste, and turn off the heat. In the meantime, of course, you by now have boiling water and can add your pasta. I used non-dried fettuccine to make the cooking go faster, but you do whatever you want. I did have a problem here. I started boiling water too soon, and by the time I got to it, the water had boiled down. However, I pulled through, and the pasta was done in only five minutes.

One could stop there, drain the pasta, and mix in the sauce and serve. I decided to add a bit of shrimp to shake it up a bit. Again to save time, I bought pre-cooked shrimp, and tossed it with a bit of lemon juice and wine while warming it up before adding it to the alfredo sauce. To plate the dish, simply toss the pasta and sauce together and then serve with grated parmesan cheese.


Part of the reason for cooking alfredo tonight was to try a bottle of wine I bought while wandering through Oregon wine country last week. I stopped at the Montazi vineyard where I tried several wines, but the one that I bought was the Maysara Roseena, an Oregon rose wine. I don't often go for pink wines, even though they are du jour, but I couldn't resist the cold, fruity, crispness. According to the label, roseena is an "ancient Persian term for 'a woman who smells naturally of roses.'" I don't know much about how women smell, and usually women who smell like roses are old, but I thought this pink wine would be a nice complement to a shrimp alfredo sauce.


The fettuccine was creamy and rich, and the extra parmesan added an earthy flavor that made me want to gnaw on chunks of parmesan cheese. The wine's sweetness helped tone down the richness of the pasta, and after two servings of pasta, and two glasses of wine, I feel like I could probably bathe in both.

One downside to this recipe is that it is kind of a pain to make when the house is hot. Standing over the stove for 15 minutes doesn't sound like much, but I was pouring sweat, which I hope didn't make it into the sauce.

(Brad stole the camera for a self portrait.)

So, City Gay, if you feel like having a pasta that is fat enough to clog your arteries immediately, go with the homemade alfredo. And, in your search for good wines, I found it's good to not snub the pinks. Pink wines help create la vie en rose.

Fish and chips and vinegar... vinegar... vinegar...

Dear City Gay,

While Brad the Gay Gnome wasn't able to go to the coast with me, he was there in spirit, and if all goes well, he will soon make an appearance in a post later tonight or tomorrow. He even has an interesting addition to his wardrobe to add a little something to his appearances.

When a family trip was planned earlier in the year to go to the Oregon Coast, I began dreaming about eating nothing but clam chowder. I did eat my share during the week, but none of it was documented. I'm still figuring out how to not be too conspicuous while taking pictures in restaurants. Both times I took snapshots at meals, my family stared at me like I was a freak. However, they have been doing this since my grandma put lipstick on me when I was little, so I didn't think too much of it.

One gray morning, we headed to The Newport Aquarium where I stared at the shrimp and thought about how they would taste fried. I stared at this for awhile, but I didn't think about how it would taste:


Adjacent to the aquarium is the Rogue Brewery, which makes ales with "the finest hops and barley malt [and] free range coastal waters." Walking through a silo (perfect for howling like a wolf with a 2-year-old), one is immediately hit with the smell of brewing beer. For some the scent is intoxicating, for me it was a little nauseating. While I heartily enjoy drinking beer, the brewing smell is too bitter and sweet for my senses. The brewery's restaurant is sparse, but what it lacks in decor, it makes up with a nice selection of ale and coastal pub food. Because I'm weird, I opted for the Desolation I.P.A, a beer from Portland, rather than a locally brewed beverage. Some I.P.A.'s come off too strong, but this had a pretty moderate taste and went down smoothly with my fish and chips. The small cup of coleslaw that came with my lunch was bland and lacked the kick I enjoy in a nice slaw, but the fish was nicely fried, and the fish inside the breading was moist without being gushy.

(You'll have to ignore my dad's lumpy arm in the background, which makes the food less appetizing.)

After gorging myself on chowder and fish and chips, I moved to my other favorite seafood: fried shrimp. We ate at a restaurant connected to the Surftides hotel, where I ate enough shrimp and sourdough bread to make my stomach explode. The shrimp was tasty, though the breading was a bit too crispy, which caused some damage to the roof of my mouth. It's a small price to pay, I guess. I also had a piece of chocolate peanut butter pie to go, which made for a ridiculously rich breakfast the next morning. I wish I had photographed it before snarfing it because the chocolate ganache topping was good enough that I could have just eaten that without the peanut butter cream or the chocolate cookie crust.


Another staple for visitors to the Oregon Coast is Mo's, a restaurant with six locations that serves about 200 gallons of chowder a day. I ate plenty of chowder here, but I also indulged in fried shrimp and fries I ordered for dinner during our last night in Lincoln City. (Fried shrimp two nights in a row! Settle down, Country Gay!) The shrimp was meaty and crisp, just the way God intended shrimp to be eaten... or something.

The seafood extravaganza that is a trip to the coast has inspired my meal for tonight, a shrimp fettuccine alfredo, which Brad and I should be documenting for your viewing pleasure.

Keep on truckin',
Country Gay

Cheap wine for poor snobs: 2004 Michele Chiarlo - Barbera D'Asti

Welcome back, Country Gay!

Let's get this party started up again with some fermented grape juice, shall we?

I'm constantly on the lookout for great deals on delicious wine because I'm always poor and slightly alcoholic.

My goal, usually, is to keep the price to ten dollars and score a label I've never tried. When it comes to preference, I'll always seek out a dry, earthy European red with just a hint of fruit to make it "accessible." It could very well be in my head, but I feel like I can taste the history of the grape in those wines, you know?

Anyway, I HATE really sweet wines for the most part, but occasionally I'll have one that isn't offensive, so I'm never going to say never when it comes to wine. I do LOVE wine that's versatile enough for sipping amongst friends or pairing with any damned thing I feel like cooking.

So that's easy enough on ten bucks, right? Not usually. Usually I end up with a bottle of sludge that I drink anyway because, again, slightly alcoholic.

But tonight I got LUCKY! (not the dirty kind of lucky. yet.)



Michele Chiarlo - Barbera D'Asti 2004

Now the grocery store I hit up tonight (QFC) claims this is a $17 bottle of wine, but gave it to me for $10.99 out of the kindness of their hearts and because I have a QFC Advantage Card. But after a bit of Internet research, I discovered it's typically ten bucks anyway, so I'VE GOT YOUR NUMBER QFC!!!

But that doesn't detract from the fact that this is a fantastic bottle of wine for the price. Barbera, by the way, is a varietal of grape from Italy and Asti is the city within the Piedmont region of Italy in which these particular grapes were grown.

I found this wine to be an awesome sipping wine and went well with our salmon dinner tonight, but I've read it's real strength is when it's paired with strong flavors such as a hearty marinara sauce (it is from Italy after all). Order a bottle of Barbera instead of Chianti in Little Italy and I bet you'll sound less of an ignorant American for your efforts. Not talking about you, Country Gay. The others.

Wine Spectator apparently rated it an 86, but those numbers never mean anything to me anyway. I just want it to taste good and cost about the same as two value meals at Wendy's.

So, if you can't find it in any of your local stores, give Wine.com a try because the wine and the site both kick major tokhes.

- City Gay out

More chowder, please

Dear City Gay,

You have obviously been busy in my absence, and I'm sure our four readers are extremely appreciative. I'm not quite back to the country, but I am back in Idaho. I should regroup with Brad the Gay Gnome tomorrow evening, and we can continue our country cooking extravaganza.

I did document a couple of my meals during my trip, so look forward to that.

I was impressed with your eggies in a bat, even if they came out a bit charred. This does open a whole new avenue for egg in bread combinations. You are a true trendsetter, City Gay.

Until next time,

Country Gay

No food. Just beer and women.

City Gay is going country this weekend, so we'll be quiet here for a few days. I'll be camping in a field with 500 of my closest lesbian friends and four toilets. It's some big softball tournament (I don't play) that they call LCP. I'm not sure anyone knows what LCP stands for, but I think I've got the first letter nailed down.

I'm thinking my culinary experiences there will be of little interest to anyone, but I can tell you that there's a case full of this waiting for me:



Camping and I don't mix. I'm also not best friends with softball. In other words, please pray for me.

Soda: Evil-doer?

Country Gay's on vacation this week, so I'll just write to the other four of you who read this.

That joke's only funny when it's an exaggeration.

So, after reading this article about the harmful effects of the preservative sodium benzoate commonly found in sodas, I think I may break the hold the carbonated sugar has on my soul. I did, for several months, live a soda-free lifestyle. But something happened and I can't remember what because I think sodium benzoate is erasing my memory.

Getting back to the article, there's strong evidence that sodium benzoate damages vital portions of your DNA and could lead to Parkinson's or cirrhosis of the liver.

The problem - more usually associated with ageing and alcohol abuse - can eventually lead to cirrhosis of the liver and degenerative diseases such as Parkinson's.

But here's my hang-up. I frequently abuse alcohol anyway and I'm most certainly ageing, so... what's there to lose exactly? But I suppose the point is that it makes it happen faster and I've been drinking soda since I was wee, so I think it's time I cut it out.

"These chemicals have the ability to cause severe damage to DNA in the mitochondria to the point that they totally inactivate it: they knock it out altogether.

"The mitochondria consumes the oxygen to give you energy and if you damage it - as happens in a number if diseased states - then the cell starts to malfunction very seriously. And there is a whole array of diseases that are now being tied to damage to this DNA - Parkinson's and quite a lot of neuro-degenerative diseases, but above all the whole process of ageing."

I'll just stick with coffee for my caffeine intake because I hear it improves your skin. I also hear it won't work if you don't exercise, so I'm screwed any way you look at it.

The sinister side of eggs

Country Gay -

Last year after seeing Natalie Portman eat an "egg in a basket" (which we lovingly dubbed "eggie in a basket" and not to be confused with "toad in the hole") in the film V for Vendetta, we went on an eggie-in-a-basket binge.

Eggies in baskets were all we ate for dinner two weeks in a row. Yes, we're that shallow as to radically change our diet based on what a beautiful girl eats in a movie. But then we lost focus and accidentally forgot about them until this week.

In the spirit of whatever we're doing on this blog, I decided to switch it up a little and make ... wait for it ... BAT IN A BASKET. Not an actual bat, you bumpkin! An egg... in the shape of a bat. Really, the idea was to cut a fun shape into the bread, and the bat was the only cookie cutter we own, so I ran with it.

And it was a miserable failure of an idea.

Here's where I believe I went wrong: Bats are associated with darkness and, to some extent, evil. Yes, even Batman himself has a bit of a dark side. My friend Deb's nickname is Batman. So if A equals B and B equals C, guess where that gets us? Deb ruined my dish!

The only alternate conclusion is that the bat shape was not big enough to hold the large egg.

But here, take a look at these photos and see how it all went down. I think it's imperative to note that the hands in these photos are NOT MINE. They are Gus' hands and, guess what else? Her other nickname is Robin. This is not a coincidence!

Proceed...

The victims in this experiment. Salt and pepper were also involved:


I still think this is a brilliant idea, I just need a chubbier bat next time:


The trick to successfully grilled bread is to put a a thin even coating of butter on the bread itself and then an assload more of it in the pan.


Here's where everything started going wrong (i.e. See Batman's sidekick's hands purposely tipping the egg from my bat hole? Not that bat hole, you sick freak.):


Unfortunately, we also learned too late that gas heat needs to be TURNED DOWN when the pan reaches temperature or you're bat is charred. Also, my basket has an egg goiter:


Not cute! But don't you love how I slathered jam on the extricated bat? The very jam I purchased in Friday Harbor! But guess what else? Bat in the hole was still delicious!

One thing I continue to struggle with is getting the egg cooked right because I like the runny yoke, but achieving runny yoke in a bread hole usually seems to result in runny egg white and that is mostly nauseating. Any ideas?

Love you long time,

City Gay

Booty booty booty booty booty errywhere

Hey Country Gay,

Love the gnome. Love the super feminine stance. He's a fitting new member for the blog.

So anyways, enough about you and your gay gnome.

I never was a big Chuck E. Cheese gal (another mouse already had my heart), but I LOVED Showbiz Pizza. Always slightly frightened and bewitched by the keyboard-playing gorilla vocalist (Fatz Geronimo) of the Rockafire Explosion animatronic band, I kept my distance while the other more obnoxious children danced right up in his grill.

I was delighted to find on a pizza blog called Slice that not only is Rockafire Explosion alive and well in several people's homes, they have been given great new material to work with:

I want one.

- City Gay

I get by with a little help from my friends

A little friend may very well appear now and then in the Country Gay posts. He seemed ready to help himself to beer and cake this afternoon.

Happy Birthday Country Gay!

First thing's first

Hey Country Gay,

As you may recall, our newly purchased townhome came with a disgustingly (ew ew spit gross) filthy oven. After living there for two months, we have yet to cook food in it because, really, would you want your food stewing in the steaming juices of whatever the hell this is:


As you also may recall, I came mighty close to outsourcing the dirty dirty job of cleaning that shit, but LO, I got a bee in my bonnet yesterday (not even a proverbial bonnet!) and went to town.

My main concerns were the noxious fumes that are typically associated with oven cleaners. And then I discovered this aerosol can full of a magical cleaning serum.


See! Just like Mad Max, except Fume Free Max instead. But I bet it's STILL beyond the Thunderdome because it kicked my oven's grody ass!

It doesn't require you to turn the oven on at all. In fact, it forbids it. It doesn't require rubber gloves. And it only made me feel a titch more funny in the head than I normally do. So I sprayed it in the oven and went to see the Harry Potter movie while it did whatever it does.

By the time I came back, it was a simple matter of wiping it out of the oven with several paper towels and vacuuming out a strange assortment of glass chards I discovered in the back of the oven. I assume the chards were a result of the previous owner's mysterious cooking rituals and NOT of the magical serum.


Now I can finally try my hand at this cooking thing! It should be noted that this is the only oven I have ever cleaned in my life as I've normally allowed the heat coils to burn off the dirty nastiness of my previous ovens (flavor!).

Peace out,

City Gay

DVR Alert - Anthony Bourdain: No Reservations

Country Gay! Alert!

Season 3 of No Reservations begins tonight at 10 p.m. on the Travel Channel. Bourdain kicks the season off in Shanghai. Next week: NYC.

Yay!

Hold the cow-tippin' phone -- do you even get the Travel Channel in Southern Idaho?

- City Gay