Don Pedro's Carnitas - SCARY Good!

I like uncomfortable social situations; those idiosyncratic moments when the inner YOU is  suddenly forced to weigh the pros and cons of flight or fight mode...what's it gonna be?  Usually, I chose FLIGHT because, well, I'm a big fat baby and don't really like the idea of endangering the people close to me, or probably more importantly, myself.  Still, those quick, brilliant flashes of fear keep the wheels turning and the heart thump, thumping away; and food is no exception - I like being scared, approaching the great unknown of some small back alley, hole-in-the-wall, greasy spoon, scary restaurant that makes something so sublime, beautiful that it can't help but garner a devoted, cult following regardless of when it's open, and where it's located - because it's THAT GOOD! 

Chef David Palos of Don Pedro's in Springdale is a badass; as a father, as a husband, and as a chef with an almost superhero knack for using every single part of the pig; in a town where carnitas are undoubtedly the most beloved, consumed food no less.  Don Pedro's is a family affair, Palos' father supplying the whole pig from the butcher shop around the corner, and his strong, hard working wife manning the front of the house...the entire operation is a well oiled, badass machine.  Don't fear Chef David; despite his tough, confident exterior, he's really a sweetheart...always ready to show you his intricate, impressive al fresco smoking design, or just to chew the proverbial fat about his pork cooking skills and passion; and trust when I say that these skills and passions are worth fighting for.       

Don Pedro’s Carnitas

Address:  300 W Sunset Avenue, Springdale, AR 72764

Hours:  Mon-Sun 10am-10pm

What to expect: 

Don Pedro’s is the newest “write-in” on the Springdale Taco Tour, promising the most fun, stylized stop of all.  Locally raised whole hogs that are broken down on premise, then prepared in a massive smoker that serves as an olfactory beacon from miles around.  And Chef David welcomes guests with a boisterous “Hello” draped in smiles, black apron, while brandishing giant knife and tongs. 

What to eat: 

The Carnita Taco and Burrito are worth the trip alone, but don’t forget about the whole smoked chicken served with rice, beans, and a chopped salad.  If you’re lucky enough to arrive when David is carving up his wares, ask for a bite of the pig intestine, coiled, tender, butterscotch-y, divine.

Charley's Taqueria - Where the Tacos Taste like Tacos, and the Snozberries Taste Like Snozberries

Tacos are quickly becoming America’s favorite food, and why shouldn’t they?  Fast, cheap, filling, and delicious make this authentic cuisine popular with the masses.   On a recent spring day, I was joined by Team Springdale and Little Craft Show founder, Amber Perrodin, as we visited several of the destinations on her beloved Springdale Taco Tour that serves as a cultural and social media vessel for spotlighting the rich, diverse, and delicious edible culture of this great Arkansas city. 

Photo Cred:  Joe Wittkop

And what can you, the well informed Metro-billy reader, expect from our tantalizing taqueria expedition?  Well, a clear and fun guide into not only what to expect, but also what to order. Loosen your belt, take a deep breath, because you’re about to embark on a journey that will not only enrich your life, but will undoubtedly make you the TACO of the town.  First up in our Springdale series is one on my favorite restaurants in this region of Arkansas:  Charley's Taqueria.

Charley’s Taqueria

Address:  1830 S. Pleasant Street, Suite F, Springdale, AR  72764

Hours:  Mon-Thur 8am-10pm | Fri-Sun 8am-11pm

Scratch, Sniff, and Lick Menus | Photo Cred:  Joe Wittkop

What to expect: 

Charley’s is one of my favorite Arkansas taquerias, boasting a walk up order counter next to a wall displaying scratch, sniff, and lick photos of menu items {the tacos taste like tacos, and the snozberries taste like snozberries; kidding, you may certainly scratch and sniff the menu, but do NOT lick any of those pictures, staff and guests alike don't like it, take my word for it.  But it is helpful to get a visual idea of what you’re ordering, especially if you have kids in tow. 

Sopes | Photo Cred:  Joe Wittkop

What to eat: 

Beaver Lake Oysters | Photo Cred:  Joe Wittkop

The tacos are great, but the chorizo and carne asade sopes are the bomb, especially when devoured near their signature Michelada cocktail made with Corona Mexican beer, tomato juice, peppers, chili spices with garnishes of lemon, lime, fresh shrimp, and a mysterious meat wrapped straw.  Charley’s is also one of the only joints in town that serve fresh oysters, finished with a whisper of minced onions, chilis, and fresh avocado. 

Corona Michelada | Photo Cred:  Joe Wittkop

Full Citiscapes Article Here:  http://flipbook.citiscapes.com/flipbook_0518/?page=74

Refrigerator Cucumbers - Missouri Childhood in a Jar

Racing my bike through the streets of my small hometown was an integral part of my childhood; always en route to morning swim team practice with a towel wrapped tight around the center handle bars, the city park to roam and play, the fair grounds that connected a series of bike trails in the dense woods on the edge of town, the Wednesday matinee where I first held a girl's popcorn buttery hand, and at least one stop a day at either one of my grandparent's homes to raid their always fully stocked refrigerator.  I could count on very specific foodstuffs, depending on my destination that day; my father's parents always had cold sliced cantaloupe, bologna, RC Cola, and frozen ice cream drumsticks covered in chopped nuts; while my mother's folks maintained a fridge chock full of cranberry juice, leftover bacon from breakfast, fresh peaches from the family orchard, fried okra and onions, pork rinds, the original Chips Ahoy chocolate chip cookies, and a large Tupperware container filled with ice cold cucumbers and onions in white vinegar.

The refrigerator cucumbers were my favorite - fresh, cold, puckering tart, and utterly refreshing in the middle of those sweltering, humid Missouri summer days.  I stood with the heavy door opened, propped against my skinny, tan legs - holding the cold Tupperware against my belly (yes, there was a time when I wore a half shirt in the early 80s) while I clamped thumb and index finger around the floating coins to plop into my mouth, one after the other.  When I had my fill, I raced back into my care-free childhood, screen door banging loudly behind.

As complicated as cooking could be for the recipes and meals devised by the women in my family, these quick pickles were surprisingly simple and easy to prepare.  Usually, the cucumbers were harvested from  the garden, layered with sliced red or yellow onion, then covered with vinegar that had been embellished with a whisper of salt, sugar, and pepper.  And that was it... 

As much as things have changed, they've also stayed the same in many ways.  I still stand mesmerized in front of an open fridge eating leftovers, drinking milk, or sometimes a cold beer in the middle of the night - but my favorite refrigerator ritual still involves standing in the glow of the intermittent light, munching with eyes rolled back on the nostalgic, tart, ice cold cucumbers from my childhood, albeit sans the half shirt, but now that I think about it, probably sans a shirt at all.    

Refrigerator Cucumbers

1 English Cucumber

2 Cups White Vinegar

1/4 Cup Salt

2 Turns Cracked Black Pepper

Technique - Slice the cucumber into thin coins - place in jar or Tupperware container - cover completely with vinegar, add salt and pepper - chill for at least two hours - then devour.

I am the GIZZARD King, I can FRY anything!

I have a deep affinity for fried chicken gizzards - a nostalgic foodstuff that hails from  the Low Midwest of my childhood; rarely if ever prepared at home, but always an important ritual when dining at one of the three or four fried chicken restaurants close to my hometown of Lamar, Missouri.  My father and I still love them, even ordering a basket a few weeks ago at Barto's Ide Hour in Frontenac, Kansas after a day of piddling and foraging for morels at the family farm.  If you're from that neck of the woods, you know the farm, the one near Bluff Cemetery donning the signs, made by my father and me over thirty years ago, that read:

"NO TRESPASSING

VILATORS WILL BE PROSECUTED"

Dighero Family Farm near Bluff Cemetery

The deep fried gizzards and livers were on the table before we ordered our entrees, boasting a crunchy, salty exterior given way to dark, chewy muscle that seemed to squeak when bitten.  Liver, although tender and buttery, is exponentially more metallic, abrasive then it's gizzard counterpart.  I hated liver when I was boy, disgusted when I would pop one mistakenly into my mouth when thinking it was a gizzard; though these days I crave both, albeit for entirely different reasons.

Just a few days after my hometown visit, some friends introduced me to a new restaurant in Kansas City called Black Dirt, an earthy, elevated eatery boasting a special Fried Gizzard special that was nothing short of extraordinary; delicate, soft, and creamy like liver, sans the harsh copper smack in the face.  After inquiring, the chef reported back that the gizzards had been brined in buttermilk for nearly a week, breaking down the muscle into a wobbly, tender meat. 

Someone inquired, "what the hell is a gizzard anyway?" I quickly responded that it was the gall bladder; which may be only partially correct.  It's reported to be the muscle tissue in certain animals like duck, chicken, and even crustaceans near the upper part of the digestive tract, just above the stomach, that helps to grind the food to smaller bits and pieces.  I suspect the gall bladder of any animal would be dense, tough - but considering the hard feed and pebbles chickens consume, their variety is as rough and tough as any other.  Still, it's a delicacy in many parts of the world, including Africa and different parts of central America - and most definitely, and importantly,  near my hometown. 

Chicken Gizzards in Buttermilk

Following my excursions to Frontenac and Kansas City, I was inspired to create my fried gizzard recipe, borrowing technique, recipes from these two seemingly opposing restaurants.  I started by ordering fresh gizzards from our neighborhood butcher, Richard's Meat Market; they were clean, pink, and surprisingly plump.  After washing thoroughly, I soaked them in buttermilk for five days, changing the milk every other day to ensure freshness.  

If you're impatient, you can also braise the gizzards in chicken stock and mira poix for about an hour and half; then rinse and chill before frying.  I prefer the buttermilk technique, but the braised variety is quick, delicious. 

From this point I simply prepared them the way I would fried chicken; dipping each rinsed and dried muscle into seasoned (salt, pepper, paprika) flour, then egg and milk mixture, then back into the flour before dropping slowly into 375 degree oil in cast iron.  Fry until golden brown, around 5 to 7 minutes.   

Flour Dredge

Crunchy exterior, tender interior texture with umami flavor profile yielding culinary nirvana - this cheap, throw away organ meat, when given a little extra time and care, is transformed into something quite extraordinary.  They were particularly delicious the next day as a chilled High South Po' Boy when stratified between day old French bread, coarse grain mustard, and fresh green onions, next to an ice cold can of Ozark American Pale Ale.   

Fried Gizzards

I'm amazed that so many people have such an aversion to fried chicken gizzards, and frankly, that more chefs and gourmets aren't using them in their cooking or on their menus.  So, like most things, we'll continue our routines, day to day practices of doing what gives us solace and joy - prosecuting one VILATOR, and frying one beautiful CHICKEN GALL BLADDER at a time - thump thump!