Who's the Sauce? Carolina Versus Memphis

Divorces filed; wars waged; families divided - all because of BBQ sauce.  I'll be rallying the troops of BOTH sides this Sunday, May 6th in the Coca-Cola Kitchen @ the Bentonville Film Festival from 11am to 3pm - refereeing, treading the line between Carolina's mustard, vinegar based sauce and the iconic smoky, sweet Memphis variety - please come vote - but don't start a fire, a riot, or food fight - just bite, sip a Coke, and pick your favorite diplomatically - thump thump!

Carolina BBQ Sauce

Ingredients

• 1 1/2 cup prepared yellow mustard

• 2/3 cup brown sugar

• 5 tbsp ketchup

• 3 tbsp Worcestershire Sauce

• 2 tbsp apple cider vinegar

• 2 tsp white vinegar

• 1 tsp Frank's Red Hot Sauce

• 2 tsp garlic powder

• 1/2 tsp black pepper

Technique

Combine all ingredients and mix well. Use immediately or refrigerate several hours or overnight to allow flavors to blend better. 

VERSUS

 

Memphis BBQ Sauce

Ingredients

• 1/4 cup firmly packed brown sugar

• 1 tablespoon chili powder

• 1 teaspoon black pepper

• 1/2 tablespoon onion powder

• 1 teaspoon garlic powder

• 1/2 teaspoon celery seed

• 1 teaspoon seasoned salt

• 1 teaspoon smoked paprika

• 1 cups ketchup

• 1/4 cup mustard

• 2 tablespoons apple cider vinegar

• 1-1/2 tablespoons Worcestershire sauce

• 1 tablespoon canola oil

Technique

1. In a medium saucepan, stir together all the ingredients except the oil. Bring to a boil, then reduce the heat and simmer for 25 minutes.

2. Add 1 tablespoon canola oil and whisk until well blended

Home Is Where the Art's Place Is

We all need a place to call home; a proverbial hearth that simultaneous garners sanctuary, familiarity, and inspiration alongside the people we love and cherish.  Home is not simply a place, but rather a state of mind and, at times, even of taste, touch, and smell.  The fragrance of fresh brewed coffee, frying bacon, and cigarette smoke transcends me to my childhood and the home kitchen of my grandma Dighero as she poetically maneuvers through her standard, grease laden daily breakfast.  No matter when:  childhood, adolescence, adulthood….I could count on those three intermingled perfumes to make me feel safe, and perpetually hopeful. 

These days I search heard for a surrogate to that important, ghost of a sanctuary; and sometimes, just sometimes I catch a whisper, hint, tiny taste and smell of those beautiful days…sometimes in the strangest, and most inexplicable of places. 

I’m asked on a weekly basis:  where’s your favorite restaurant, who makes the best burger, what’s your favorite beer, where do you go for a drink?  I typically derive answers based on the party questioning, and my answers to the independent questions alter day to day, depending on my mood.  However, the sum of all of those inquiries together lead me to one, undeniable location in Fayetteville:  Arts Place Bar and Grill.  {Notice, there is no “E” at the end of grill}

Dark, brooding, smoky, embellished with sounds of pool balls “clacking” intermittently beneath laughter, “rhubarb rhubarb rhubarb” muttering, and the unmistakable “sizzle” of burgers on a flat top grill.  Ahhh, this is home…this is where I come to make business deals, to celebrate the lives of contemporaries, to mourn the loss of important family, to be alone, to be part of a crowd, to break-up, to fall in love, and to, most importantly of all, drink a beer and devour the best cheeseburger on the planet.

There’s really nothing stylized about the Art’s Place burger; it’s an archetype of perfection, but one should never expect something groundbreaking or cutting edge.  The beef patty is fried in front of you, behind the bar on a flat top grill that has been seasoned with whiskey, bar brawls, and a million lonely hearts, then stratified with mayo, sliced tomato, cold iceberg lettuce, and thick sliced white onions…be sure to ask for extra crispy fries; and don’t be offended if the pretty girl sitting next you at the bar pays you little mind, because she is, well, you’ll just have to see for yourself.

Art’s Place is a lot of things to a lot of people, myself included; but at the very least it’s an important part of the edible culture of Fayetteville, Arkansas.  It may not be your idea of home, sanctuary, inspiration…but I guarantee it’ll be the best burger you’ve had in a very, long time.

Bad Parenting @ Table 3

Thai Taste, the new ramen restaurant in Springdale, is recovering from a busy lunch, a few tables still cluttered with bowls, napkins, platters, and chopsticks; the calm after the storm only recognizable to restaurant people.  I hate that I'm arriving just before closing, but I'm starving and thirsty. Thankfully delighted that the hostess seats me at a wall table - in fact, it's table number 3, denoted by the numerical sticker on the side of the napkin dispenser.  I keep expecting to hear mumbled resentful from the kitchen and service staff, a string of cross, unfamiliar Thai words interjected with "number 3"  - I can only imagine translated to "What an asshole...yeah, he's at table 3...walking in here a few minutes before we close - asshole!"   It was reminiscent of my high school days as I rose through the ranks of dishwasher, busboy, and then server at the only Thai restaurant in the Texas town I lived in.  Only then it was usually the owner, head chef cursing me for screwing up an order or being late; "Unintelligible Thai words....CASE....unintelligible Thai words....PUNK ASS....unintelligible Thai words...!"  Back then I would just nod and take it as I slid on my red silk server's blouse (yeah, I said blouse) speckled with blue flowers and chili sauce.; but not now I'm a grown man, and I swear to God,  I'll walk right the fuck out of here.   But much to my surprise, the staff are quite gracious and attentive, doting even as they tend to my needs while cleaning up the dining room. 

I order a large Thai Tea; earthy, milky, and ultra sweet - I suck it down, consuming almost half of it immediately, stopping only to breathe as I recollect our family Thai Tea debacle from nearly ten years ago.  Both daughters and I opted for lunch at Thai Diner in Fayetteville, devouring a huge meal of sushi, ramen, seaweed salad, and spring rolls, but not before engaging in an endeavor that would go down as one of my greatest fails as a father.  We each ordered a large Thai tea, at least 32 ounces of the thick, creamy, condensed milk laden drink, of which I proposed, or rather, challenged both girls who were 7 and 14 years old at that time, to see which of us could finish the beverage first. 

Georgi, the youngest, with eyes crossed loudly, quickly slurped down the last drop from her straw, easily beating Lily and me.  The issue didn't rear its ugly head until 15 minutes after leaving the restaurant as we were approaching a busy intersection with a stop light, Georgi grumbled "dad, my tummy hurts," followed by two burps, one long and deep, the other short and shallow - I fumbled to roll down her window from the front seat, just in time for her to poke her head out of the window, notice cars next to us, then with eyes bulging, frantically searching for a less embarrassing locale, retreat back inside the car to unload every last bit of our lunch, including 32 ounces of Thai Tea, all over my back seat.  When I say it looked like a crime scene, I'm not exaggerating.  As mentioned, this was not one of my proudest moments as an adult, father, or even human being; and since that infamous day, Georgi has sworn off Thai food, and Thai Tea - and honestly, who could blame her.

I was snapped out of my sad recollection as the server dropped off an order of Summer Rolls, stratified with red pork, rice, carrots, lettuce, green onions, and cilantro next to a pair of peanut and rice wine vinegar based dipping sauces.  Then came my large bowl of Tom Yum Miso Ramen, teeming with red and black specks, thick noodles, shrimp, pork, crab, egg, cilantro, and briny fishcake.  I twirled the noodles around my chopsticks, slurping and sucking everything in sight; it was divine, but I could only eat a quarter of the bowl.   Still, I was in love with the ramen at Thai Taste. 

Suddenly I was compelled - snapping a quick pic of the Thai tea, I sent it to Georgi, who is now 15,  with the caption "thirsty?" and even though she was in school I was granted an immediate response that simply said:  "I think I could give it another try."   My sweet girl.  I started hatching a plan to bring her back soon to face her culinary nemesis from all those years ago, right here at table 3; lesson learned, all is well, all is forgiven, Thai Tea Challenge 2018 - Here we come!