Great Find: Cities: Bar-B-Que & Beer in Asheville, NC

So when the news finally settled in that injuries sustained in my recent motorcycle accident (read more here) would prevent me from just about any flight, let alone a three-legged one from Atlanta to Chicago to Madrid to Barcelona, a second plan for a honeymoon, a back-up if you will, had to be made. Rebecca thought that plan should include a whole lot of nothing in case I was still somewhat immobile. And what does her mind translate that meaning? Sitting around on the veranda reading while sipping cocktails. And who am I to argue with that? As a child she had visited Asheville, NC to see the Biltmore Estate and found online that the Inn on Biltmore Estate had a large veranda with a view of the Blue Ridge Mountains. I had seen History Channel shows on the place and it intrigued me quite a bit, so why not? I was more interested though by the fact that I had heard of some great BBQ and eating down in Asheville. The BBQ part was almost a given in the Carolinas, but my uncle had recently sent me an article about the ten most surprising food cities as rated by a magazine, that included his beloved Pueblo, CO. Also on the the list was Wichita, KS (Rebecca's one-time home) and Asheville, NC, touted as a leader in the farm-to-table movement and also a city big on beer (recently named BeerCity USA). So sign me up!

A bump in the road.

When I started this blog I told myself that I must keep up to date with it. I didn't want to be another blog that got some people excited only to start to whimper off and fall into the rare-poster category. Some weeks I have had as many as three posts, but never less than a post a week. Not long ago I was even nervous about having a week post and ended up posting one or two more times that week. But last week was the first, and I hope last, time I didn't post at least that one time. And although some say excuses are for the weak, I'd say I have a pretty damned good one!

Let me explain!

I guess there are a couple things I would like to air out for everyone. Perhaps no one has even noticed or questioned them, but I'd feel better to let you all know a few things!

I am happy to share recipes. If it is a recipe that I assembled myself I will usually put it in the post. If it is something I got from a published book, I will not publish it on my website, but will always happily credit the author who put the time into their publication and link directly to it in hopes you'll make the wise investment and buy one of these great resources. Either way though, I would likely send you a recipe via email if you request it, and again urge you to buy the book!

From across the room.

My maternal grandfather was a cook in the US Army. I never really asked him anything about it while he was alive. He'd occasionally make a crack about peeling potatoes, but that was all I really remember about him relating to food except for a few things I knew he loved to eat. He loved the fried catfish at Barney's, the BBQ at the Caboose, Buffalo Wings at Schooners (who doesn't love these?!), the Fried Chicken from the Grand Hotel and fried livers and gizzards, but I don't remember where he got those. But he didn't cook much at home. I do remember loving his huge batches of hamburger hash cooked up in an ancient seeming cast-iron skillet, something I always pictured him cooking for the ranks back during The War. Since I spent a lot of time at their place during the summers, there are two very distinct foods that always accompanied his quart of Busch as he swore at Andre Dawson or cheered on Ryne Sandburg (OK, we all know it was mostly swearing as any die-hard Cubs fan does, a lot). They were salted, roasted-in-the-shell peanuts and pork rinds. If you heard a bag being opened in the kitchen, you knew a small snack was at hand. But unless you were paying attention you didn't know which it was until Charlie took his first bite. And if it was pork rinds, you knew it from across the room.

These bizarrely shaped super-crunchy curls of deliciousness always intrigued me.
"What is a rind?"
"What part does it come from?"
"This can't really be the skin."

These days, when you buy a bag at the store a lot of them come with a small packet of hot-sauce. Clearly an influence of our central American population and their treatment of the "chicharron," though this wasn't the case back when I first started eating them. But as with so many things that once just had its place, the crispy bits of often discarded deliciousness, pork rinds seem to have been moved to a new status. Being seen on pork-centric and gastro-pub menus across the country, they are perhaps almost, chic? But I assure you, that with his white t-shirt and fatigue pants driving down the street in a woody-station-wagon, Charlie was not looking to set any trends!

Relevant experiences

Since my return from my first stay in France, about which you read in my first two posts, I spent some more time in Europe. During a second period in France, as an English teaching assistant, I spent 4 months working for free in a pair of restaurants in the South of France. This "stage," as it is called in the restaurant industry, led to a change in my plans for life. I returned to the US, moved past my former career plans as a graphic designer, and enrolled in culinary school. Being 31 at that time I felt I needed a jump-start in my experience and knowledge to try to catch up on time lost. So I moved to Chicago and began my life as a professional cook. I completed 3 of 5 quarters at a good culinary school. I took all the required classes and a good number of extra electives. Classes like cheeses, fermentation, wine & spirits, sausage making and even Chinese Cuisine helped me learn beyond the knife skills and product ID foundations. I got a job during my internship and ended up not going back to school.

Beside the cost of the classes, the conflicting schedules of the required monetary income and the education wasn't very accommodating. But I was fortunate to be working at a highly regarded restaurant that helped me increase my knowledge in the charcuterie world. And through the excitement and interest exhibited through this I was eventually the go-to guy for charcuterie items like terrines, as well as some pickled goodies to accompany them. A few weeks ago I left said restaurant to go to a new place. Though my current role is poissonier, the fish guy, I have been told I will soon be filling the new position of charcutier. Since it is a new restaurant and the menu is still under some review and changes there is not quite the need for a FT charcutier, so I fill the split responsibilities of both jobs. A couple sausages, some foie gras, and lots of mise en place for the fish station plus cooking during service. But when I am home, I am still stuffing casings, mincing meats and smoking bellies. I just can't get enough of the stuff!

Why Low? part 2.

This charcuterie shop was more of a specialty foods type of shop. It offered imported items from Italy like dry pastas, canned San Marzanos and a vast array of anchovies. It had a sweets section with lots of imported goodies. It had some various liquor bottles. It had a lot. Then I reached the front corner of the shop exposed to the outside by two walls of glass. Facing the inside of the store towards me was two long display cases of prepared foods. But it wasn't potato salad and macaroni & cheese. It was their charcuterie offerings including pork rillettes, salmon rillettes, chicken rillettes and duck rillettes.

But even though it was those rillettes that drew me there, it was all the pork based items that amazed and intrigued me. Patés (at least 6 kinds), fresh sausages, dried sausages, smoked sausages, smoked slab belly, lardons, city ham (jambon de paris) and lots of dried hams. At this point I was familiar with and fond of proscuitto. But to see so many others versions, only identifiable to me by there tags, sparked my interest even more. Proscuitto de San Daniel, Jambon de Bayonne, Jamón Ibérico, Jamón Serrano, Pata Negra, Bellota and more I can't even remember. These were all in the leg form, still on the bone and with the hoof still attached (except the proscuitto). They were sitting in these wood based cradles that held them in a position to be carefully shaved by hand to order. Those yet to be carved hung in the windows with their labels and their prices, always by the kilo, some hitting over €150 /kilo.

Why Low? part 1.

So what happened when a latch-key child of a single, 2 job having, mid-western mother had to to fend for himself when hunger set in? It pretty much depended on the supply in the fridge. I was a huge fan of hot-dogs. I imagine I ate over a pack a week in my prime. After all, they were easy enough, boiled in water. Then in the mid 80s that microwave thing came out and made things so much easier. They were always covered in mustard, never ketchup. From time to time white bread had to fill in for the lack of proper hotdog buns. Sometimes I would put dill pickle slices on them too, but I usually let it ride with just the mustard.

Ahhhh, mustard. When the selection in the fridge was more minimal it was hard to beat a yellow mustard on white-bread sandwich. Bologna and Budig style dried beef sandwiches always pleased. Again, mustard with the bologna or butter with the beef. Or I guess back then it was margarine.