It has been the reviled ingredient that ruins the breath of its consumer, often causing their love interest to cower away in disgust, nose pinched and eyes flooding with tears. It has been strung around many a supple neck to ward off vampires. It has been associated with Italian cooking for centuries, though Egyptians were often buried with it in their tombs long before Molto Mario was fondling the bulbs gently on The Food Network. It is bitter like Rachel Maddow or Keith Olbermann.

It mellows like Bob Marley when gently toasted or roasted. It goes with anything. It is garlic and this is its story.

It has had bit parts in Greek tragedies, fed to warring soldiers before battle for strength, been part of Egyptian burial urns found thousands of years later and of course, sliced and sautéed.

Heart disease, liver issues and performance issues all apparently get the “workover” by garlic’s curative powers. Blood is cleaned, lungs cleared, male “performance” issues solved. Garlic appears to do it all.

Shunned by America for most of the 17, 18 and 19th centuries, garlic finally gained a foothold in America as immigration increased. Polish, German and Italian immigrants brought Old World dishes that were useless without the bulb.  Sauces that once substituted onion, a distant allium relative, in place of garlic, were finally prepared the way they were done in the Old World as garlic was finally put back into place.

While America was now reveling in garlic and its flavors, old school Europe has made garlic a star for centuries. Bruschetta had garlic chopped into it, sauces had hints of garlic and Spain had garlic soup, a rich brew that incorporated garlic as the star.

And while cooked is the typical way garlic is used, other cooking uses of it in the raw are just as common. Left raw and pickled, the once pungent bulb is mellowed and softened with its ferocity of flavor gently blended with the pickling brine.  It is chopped raw and added to tomatoes for bruschetta. And some purists simply pop it into their mouths raw. That explains why they were dateless for prom.

The supermarket usually has one or two varieties of garlic for the home cook, but in the world there are over 600 cultivated sub-species.  A selected sampling follows:

–Purple Strip Garlic- hard neck species that have deep purple stripes. Rich in flavor but not overly pungent.

–Artichoke Garlic- soft neck variety most seen in supermarkets. More pungent.

–Silverskin Garlic- fragile skinned and used in garlic braids. Smaller than artichoke variety.

–Creole Garlic- rosy colored and very flavorful. Retain flavor well in cooking.

–Porcelain Garlic- rich white skin, large well-developed bulbs.  Rich flavor, blunted slightly by cooking. Does not store well.

Those are a few of the easier to find garlics in the US. They can be special ordered or found at boutique farmers markets. Each has it own distinct flavor and while some can be interchanged, loss of depth during cooking make some species better served raw.

Below is a riff on a Spanish style garlic soup. Traditions vary in Spain, some using stale bread as a thickener and others a lot more garlic. This has a nice balance and flavor. Optional garnishes are a small shot of extra virgin olive across the serving for a luster and bit more depth of flavor, croutons or parsley chopped and sprinkled on top.

Garlic Soup with Parmesan

30 garlic cloves (unpeeled), the artichoke or purple strip variety work fine
4 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
3 cups sliced onions
2 teaspoons chopped fresh thyme
20 medium sized garlic cloves, peeled
3 cups chicken stock or canned chicken broth
1 cup whipping cream
1 cup finely grated Parmesan cheese (about 2 ounces)

Preheat oven to 350°F. Place unpeeled garlic cloves in small baking dish. Add 2 tbsp olive oil, sprinkle with salt and pepper. Cover dish tightly with foil and bake until garlic is golden brown and tender, about 35-45 minutes. Allow time to cool. Squeeze garlic between fingertips to release cloves from the peels, transfer all to a small bowl.

Melt butter in heavy large saucepan over medium-high heat. Add onions and thyme and cook until onions are translucent, about 10 minutes. Add roasted garlic and raw garlic cloves and cook 5 minutes. Add stock, cover and simmer until garlic is very tender, about 30 minutes. Using either a sauce baton or a Cuisinart, purée soup in blender until smooth. Return soup into saucepan; add cream and simmer for a few more minutes. Do not boil. Season with kosher salt and fresh cracked pepper. Serve hot. Warm crusty bread should be served on the side.

Divide grated cheese and sprinkle evenly among bowls and ladle soup over. Squeeze 1 lemon wedge into each bowl and serve. A crisp white wine served with it is a great compliment.

–Tim Connors, Red Editorial Staff

The leaves have begun their color shows, with once vibrant green specimens going golden or fiery red, twisting and pirouetting down into a wispy, thin carpet across the northeast. The air has wrung out the heat of summer and slowly capitulated to the frosty chill of fall. And pumpkins, those denizens of Halloween, the harbingers of goblins and ghouls, have arrived.

The brilliantly orange hued or bright white orbs that are the official mascot of Halloween have a long and odd history that dates back to between 7000 and 5500 B.C.  Originally called “pepon”, Greek for melon, the name continued its evolution, given the moniker “pompon” by the French, “pompion” by the English and finally, as Americans are wont to do, we renamed it to its current name of pumpkin.

Native Americans maintained the pumpkin as a staple in their diet. Strips were hung and dried to be woven into fabrics, the flesh stewed or boiled and the seeds doled out as snacks. It is believed that the first pumpkin pie was created during this period by settlers cutting the top off of a pumpkin, removing the seeds and filling it with milk, honey and spices and roasting it over the ember of a fire.  I doubt Grandma uses that particular recipe.

Pumpkins are also used in the nifty holiday of Halloween, that festive occasion where candy is doled out to hyperactive kiddies to the horror of toothbrush wielding mothers and dentists who make down payments on mid-life crisis Porsches.

The jack-o-lantern seems to have originated in Celtic traditions as a welcome to deceased relatives’ spirits and as a tool to ward off the angry ones. As with many Celtic traditions, the haze of a solid whiskey hangover is definitive proof that no spirits were warned off, especially those that were poured over ice or served neat.

Aside from the carving of jack-o-lanterns and the more lascivious removing of the pumpkin bottom, scooping out the seeds, removing the top and filling it with candy after placing it on your lap for that college freshman trick or treat, pumpkins have become a new staple in the kitchen of American chefs.

Not content to slap a dense slab of pumpkin pie down on the table, chefs are using it in many a creative way. There are pumpkin and goat cheese napoleons, pumpkin pasta, chili and pumpkin sauces, seafood stews baked in pumpkins, roasted pumpkin as a vegetable, soups, pumpkin and rum ice cream. Pumpkin and chorizo pizza and pretty much anything that a creative mind can come up with. They now flavor mashed potatoes, are cubed and tossed in wild game stews and braises and are candied and served as a garnish with desserts.

No longer content to be the “Great Pumpkin” poor old Linus van Pelt was chastised for believing in, the pumpkin has become a unique and widely accepted food on American tables. What follows is a recipe that puts the pumpkin to good use. And if it doesn’t seem to light your jack-o-lantern, you can always resort to the old open bottomed pumpkin trick or treat basket, perv.

Seafood Stew baked in Pumpkin
1 small pumpkin per person
Unsalted butter, melted
1 medium onion, coarsely chopped
2 garlic cloves, chopped
Olive oil
4 peeled and deveined shrimp
4 small littleneck clams
2 oz crab or lobster meat
2 oz white fleshed fish, scrod or flounder
1 tomato, peeled and chopped
1 pint chicken or seafood stock
1 sweet potato, peeled and cubed small
1 baking potato, peeled and cubed small
4 oz raw pumpkin, cut in chunks small
1 cup heavy cream
1 pinch saffron
Salt and pepper to taste
2 tbsp chopped cilantro
Prepare the pumpkin by cutting the top to form a lid, Leave the stem as a handle. Remove inside, reserving seeds to roast as garnish. Scoop out most of the flesh, leaving a sturdy wall of pumpkin. Do not cut through.

Brush the inside of the cleaned pumpkin with melted butter. Replace the lid and set the pumpkin aside on a baking sheet.

Sautee the onion and garlic in a little oil until soft but not browned. Transfer to a large saucepan. Add fish, lobster or crab and shrimp to the onion mixture in the saucepan. Add the tomatoes, half the stock, a little salt and pepper. Cover and simmer until first clam just starts to open. Remove clams and shrimp. Add in potatoes, pumpkin and cream. Simmer until potatoes are tender.

Put the pumpkin shell in the oven at 375 degrees. Leave it for 30 minutes, or longer if the walls are thick. Allow the walls to start to brown slightly. This caramelization will add flavor to the stew and make the walls easier to eat.

Allow the simmering liquid to thicken slightly. Add back in the shrimp and clams. Stir in the saffron and cilantro. Ladle the stew into the pumpkin and put back into the oven for 10 to 15 minutes. Stew will get a thin “skin” on top. Skim that, sprinkle the baked seeds on top, put the lid back on and serve with a crisp Chardonnay.

–Tim Connors, Red Editorial Staff

Oktoberfest celebrations are being held all over America in the next couple of weekends. Pumpkin spiced ales and hot steaming brats snuggled in buns topped with a tart kraut will delight the palates of millions of Americans at these German-centric festivals.

As these festivals prepare to launch, I started to think about my first experience with authentic German food.  It was on one mundane October afternoon while I was in high school I first learned I was half German.

I was a snotty pre-teen know-it-all. A brat if you will. Too good to hang with my parents in those days . . . but on this particular day, I found myself reluctantly running errands with my father on a crisp October Sunday in suburban Philadelphia.

If my memory serves me right, this was the last stop on our tedious list of boring stops. My father had saved this secret stop for a special culinary surprise.

As we drove down a long stone driveway, a rustic fieldstone looking building with a commercial butcher sign hung over the colonial door. I don’t remember the name of the business, but I do remember the cracked wooden sign with a German last name and a simple graphic of a pig.

It was then I learned a bit about my German ancestry and their roots in Philadelphia.
Growing up in the outer suburbs of Philadelphia, there was plenty of German-Dutch heritage to be found all around.  Germantown still remains one of the largest reminders of the German pre-revolutionary settlements.

Pitched as a religious refuge by William Penn to the beaten down Protestants of Germany, the Mennonites, Quakers, and Amish immigrated to this area of Pennsylvania in substantial numbers to snatch up the cheap acreage.

It took months of traveling to make it to their new homes in America and it took years of indentured servitude to pay for their tumultuous journey over rivers, oceans and miles of unpaved dirt roads. And if the immigrants couldn’t pay for their own trip, they would generously sell one of their family members into slavery.

The rules those days were so harsh, if an indentured child slave died during their service repayment, another family member would have to repay the time. Harsh.

With this brutal lifestyle, besides the Church, these peaceful German Protestants brought their culinary traditions to Pennsylvania . . . veal, cabbage, potatoes and any ground meat stuffed in pig intestines.

Mennonites, Quakers, and Amish emigrated in droves. By 1745, over 41,000 German immigrants resided in Germantown. From there, the Germans branched out to New York, Ohio, Maryland and Georgia.

Even today, these small communities have kept their Pennsylvania-Dutch charm.  The term Pennsylvania-Dutch was actually a mispronunciation of the word deutsch meaning “German”.

But back in the butcher shop that smelled like a combination of sweet baked Shoofly pie and saw dust, I learned that day that authentic German-American food was a product of their overflowing hospitality, rich heritage and sturdy work ethic.

Behind the gleaming glass case, a large-framed, white bearded man with a ruddy nose stood stiff and proud. As a fourth generation German-American butcher, he said his fresh made sausages and his wife’s culinary creations like spaetzle and wiener schnitzel were the same recipes his ancestors made centuries ago.

So what is the mystery meat inside a wurst sausage? Mostly pork, but many brats can be made of beef or veal, seasoned with peppercorns and spices. The best accruements to eat with brats are simple sharp mustards, fresh sauerkraut and a slice of dark black bread studded with caraway seeds.

Bierschinken: A chunky sausage chock full of ham and pistachios meant for slicing (like bologna)

Bierwurst: a sausage seasoned with juniper berries and cardamom

Blutwurst: a blood sausage eaten cold and fried like a black pudding

Bockwurst: a veal sausage made smoothly ground veal seasoned with parsley and chives. It may look like a frankfurter. This brat is cooked in liquid before eaten and pairs perfectly with Bock beer.

Bratwurst: traditionally a raw, pale smoked brat made with veal, pork, ginger, nutmeg and other spices.

Braunschweiger: a creamy smooth liver sausage that is a spreadable smoked product. The milk and eggs in this brat encourage the smooth texture.

Cervelat: much like Italian salami, this sausage contains mustard and garlic for seasoning and is made out of pork and beef.

Frankfurter: the genuine German variety (not the same as an American frankfurter) contains finely chopped lean pork with a bit of salted bacon fat, and is smoked; reheat in simmering liquid.

Knockwurst; knackwurst: with a stubby profile, this is made of minced meats like pork and beef and is seasoned with pork, beef and a good deal of garlic. This brat is best served with sauerkraut.

Wienerwurst:  this long and slender brat is thought to be the father of the American hotdog. Coriander and garlic are used to season beef and pork.

Weisswurst: these sausages are made from veal and sometimes a combination of pork and beef. The name means “white sausage” in German and is a pale brat with a gentle flavor.

–Shelly Connors, Red Editorial Staff

It makes sense that a state drawing close to 50,000 people to its beer festivals and boasting more than 100 breweries would branch out to the world of wine.

In just the last decade, the number of Colorado wineries has grown to more than 80 with some experts predicting the state’s western slope is another Napa in the making.  But instead of California’s coastal breezes, Colorado growers rely on its dry climate and temperature-moderating winds that funnel through valleys and canyons.

Most of the wineries lie less than four hours west of Denver.  A scenic road trip (or train trek) across the Rockies through Vail Pass leads to the western slope’s stunningly varied landscape.

Wineries are clustered in two main viticultural areas: Grand Valley, including Grand Junction, Palisade and Fruita along the Colorado River; and West Elks, including Paonia and Hotchkiss along the North Fork of the Gunnison River.

To enjoy their nationally award-winning reds and whites–most of which never leave the state–you’ll need a map, a plan and at least a weekend to enjoy a wine scene that’s more about altitude than attitude. You’re more likely to be greeted by a Labrador than a Land Rover.

Start at Grand Valley, where the 4,500- to 5,000-foot high desert elevation nurtures heat-loving reds and the starkly beautiful red Book Cliffs rise above small-town Palisade.

Fruit has been part of the small town’s identity since the first orchards were planted in the 1890s. Tourists still come for tart cherries, juicy peaches, pears, plums and apples sold at roadside stands, but fall visitors drive, bike or take a shuttle between the roughly two dozen wineries tucked along the river or between the valley’s Victorian homes and orchards.

After pedaling to Canyon Wind’s tasting room, we sampled 47-Ten, a blend of reds named for the winery’s altitude, as well as cabernet franc, tempranillo and petit verdot.  Almost all the area wineries have a merlot and cabernet, which thrive in soils more similar to France than California.  Merlot tastes like Bordeaux. Syrah and Viognier are similar to Rhone Valley wines.

About 75 miles southeast of Grand Valley, West Elks wineries specialize in Riesling, Gewurztraminer and Pinot Noir.  Growers need grapes that can handle the cooler temperatures at 6,500-feet above sea level, which makes this one of the highest wine-growing regions in the world.

Fittingly, one of the oldest–Terror Creek Winery–feels a little like the Alps.  After a steep drive up dirt roads, the winery welcomes visitors with a homey wood-paneled cabin filled with photos of Switzerland where owner Joan Mathewson learned to make Alsatian-style wine.  Rows of grapevines spool down the hillside below, and mountains flank the valley.

“People think they’re really away from the world up here,” says Mathewson.

Of course, that’s part of the allure.  Wines crafted in Colorado taste best sipped with mountains or mesas within view.

–Photo and text by Lisa Meyers McClintick, Red Editorial Staff

Pizza. A simple five letter word that evokes a myriad of different memories from anyone who sees or hears it.

There is the thin crust, liberally doused with canned, almost gelatinous tomato paste and slathered over with a chemically induced cheese product that the sweet little old lady in your grade school cafeteria used to pawn off onto your cheap plastic tray.

There is the six inch thick, super stuffed, meat lovers, lactose extravaganza that Pizza Hut shills as real Italian pizza, yet no Italian worth their heritage would cop to having that carbohydrate juggernaut in their culinary family tree.

Chicago has its own contribution, a deep dish version that seemingly relies on a thick crust to give it a “traditional” Italian pizza feel. And then there is New York, the bastion of pizza perfection, with a thin, crispy crust, a smattering of rich tomato sauce and fresh mozzarella, all readily foldable into a “v” shaped valley of flavor.

Of course, there are variations on each of the above examples, but everyone agrees that the combination of baked (or even grilled) dough, tomato sauce and cheese is the baseline for pizza.

The history of pizza is laden with as many arguments as who makes the best version. Naples, Italy seems to hold the title as originator, though Greece and parts of the Middle East lay claim with entries of unleavened bread, olive oil and herbs as being the first true pizzas.

It wasn’t until after World War II and the return of American servicemen home that pizza went from something only seen in traditional Italian neighborhoods to being served all over the United States. The taste the GI’s had of true Neapolitan pizza fueled a growth in the pizza market that continues to this day.

The simplicity of pizza has also come a long way. From the basic dough, sauce and cheese, Wolfgang Puck took pizzas to new gustatory heights with “gourmet” pizzas topped with artisan cheeses, house cured meats, smoked salmon, arugula and a host of other ingredients that had never been seen atop the tasty disks.

Al Forno, a small Italian restaurant in Providence, started a trend with grilling their pizzas, infusing the dough with a smoky flavor and crisping crusts to new levels.

And with the resounding success of what is a cheap dish to make, the chains decided to step into the lucrative business of pizza and blow the artistry all to hell. Meat lover’s supreme, with slices of cured meat from every 2 and 4-legged animal known to man popped up.

Cheese lover’s supreme, with pounds of cheese crowning over the sides of the crust like J-Lo squeezed into tight pants. There are stuffed crusts, stuffed pizzas, white pizzas, pizza with pineapple and bacon, and pretty much anything that will stay on a disk of dough while it is baking.

For dough, there are water snobs who believe that only certain water can be used. There are sauce snobs who cringe when anything other than olive oil, tomatoes and seasonings are slow cooked down to a thick paste for the sauce.

With a cult like following that would make Justin Timberlake look like a loner with no friends, pizza has made itself a culinary pied piper with: pizza societies, blogs, websites, conventions, festivals and international pizza tossing contests. Italian cities have tours that take hungry tourists to the “undiscovered” pizza shops. Pizza “wars” erupt between NY and Chicago every so often over whose pizza is the best.

Cook’s Notes:

With such a colorful history for what is ultimately a simple food, what follows is a recipe for simple pizza dough. The technique for rolling out the dough takes a bit to get down, but in the end, it is worth the effort. This grilled version is inspired by Al Forno’s grilled pizza. Top it with what you want, but classic sauce, fresh mozzarella and fresh basil is always best. Buon Apetito.

1 tbsp molasses
1 package (1/4 oz) active dry yeast
1 tbsp kosher salt
1 teaspoon garlic powder
2 1/2 tbsp olive oil
1 cup whole-wheat pastry flour
2 3/4 cups unbleached all-purpose flour
Vegetable-oil cooking spray

Mix together molasses, yeast and 1 1/3 cups lukewarm water in a large bowl. Set aside for about five minutes. After this mixture is bubbly, add salt and oil and stir.

Mix flours together in another large bowl. Add yeast mixture to flours and stir with a wooden spoon until dough forms. With floured hands, divide dough into 8 portions and form into balls. Flatten these balls into discs with a floured rolling pin and place on a floured baking sheet. Preheat grill till it is piping hot and place discs onto the hot grill.

Wait till the disc puffs slightly and flip with a spatula. Grill for another thirty seconds and place back onto the baking sheet.

Top with sauce, cheese and basil and place back on the grill till the cheese melts. Serve hot.

–Tim Connors, Red Editorial Staff

They have been shot off a poor boys head with an arrow, caused banishment from The Garden of Eden when that wily vixen Eve tempted Adam with one, contain seeds with cyanide in them, yet we love them.

They are bobbed for at Halloween parties; roasted with herbs and served as a delightful side; covered in tooth rotting caramel and handed to already hyper-active children to push them over the sugar edge.  What, pray tell, are these many faceted objects that have such a pronounced visibility throughout history?

They are apples, those red, green and golden orbs of fruity delight that are versatile in many aspects of baking and adaptable to many styles of cooking.

Dangling from orchards throughout the world, the apple in its current form originated in central Asia and has since blossomed into 7500 different varieties.  Grown globally, the United States is second in apple production only to China in the annual gross tonnage produced.

While most are shipped whole, a thriving apple based industry involving sauces, chutneys, vinegars, dried apples, canned apples, preserves and many other forms are all part of the apple empire. And for those who love apples as well as a good buzz, Calvados or applejack brandy is an exceptional spirit guaranteed to bring forth thoughts of fall with each sip.

Aside from the massive quantity and abundant variety, they have a colorful history that has seen them used as fruits of eternal youth given to Norse gods in various verses of mythology, as props in Greek tragedies and as the aforementioned Biblical catalyst for the tossing of Adam and Eve out of Eden.  Apparently an apple a day not only keeps the doctor and the health insurance industry at bay, it is great fodder for many a tale.

In their natural form, apples a generally considered a healthy food.  The benefits include cancer fighting agents in the apple, antioxidants, nutrients that help stave off dementia and a solid dose of fiber.

With all of this exceptional verbiage about the benefits of apples and their illustrious history, the other tremendous benefit is that they are great fruits to cook with, baked, roasted, grilled, used in stuffing, filled themselves with sausage, sage, brown sugar and baked, they are as versatile and useful as Michael Vick in a pit bull ring.

You will find below a recipe for pork chops with an apple based stuffing. Pair it with a nice glass of Calvados or a light red like Merlot and sink into that fall feeling.

Cook’s Notes: They’re your arteries, not mine, so I’ve developed a recipe with smoked thick cut bacon. Is the bacon necessary? Well in a word, yes. It lends the stuffing a smoky and salty taste that pairs perfectly with the sweet apples and rich pork. Don’t skimp!

And if the supermarket doesn’t have the super thick, double cut pork chops, ask the butcher behind the counter to cut you some. 90% of the time, they will oblige in two shakes of a meat cleaver.

Double Cut Pork Chops with Apple Bacon Stuffing
Serves 4

Pork Chop Marinade
4 pork chops, at least 1 to 2 inches thick
2 tablespoons olive oil
Pinch of Kosher Salt
Pinch of fresh ground pepper
1 garlic clove minced

Apple Stuffing
4 slices thick cut smoked bacon, diced
1/4 cup finely chopped celery
1/4 cup finely chopped onion
1 garlic clove minced
3 gala or fuji apples, peeled, cored, and diced
1/4 cup brown sugar
1/2 cup fresh bread crumbs (canned-dried is ok to use)
Pinch of kosher salt
Pinch of fresh ground pepper
2 teaspoons chopped parsley
2 teaspoons chopped rosemary
2 teaspoon dried sage
¼ cup apple cider

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit

Cut a slit or pocket carefully with a sharp knife in each of the chops so you can stuff with your apple mixture.  Make sure not to cut all the way through the pork chop. Place the chops in a plastic sealable bag. Fill with olive oil, rosemary, garlic, salt and pepper.

In a heavy saute pan, fry the diced bacon until browned and crisp on medium to high heat. Don’t drain the fat. Add the celery, onion and garlic until tender. Add the diced apples, sugar and then cover. Cook for about five minutes on low to medium heat.

Add the fresh bread crumbs and herbs to the apple mixture and taste. Season with salt and pepper as needed and taste again. Stuff the apple mixture into the seasoned pork chop pockets.

Season the stuffed chops with salt and pepper on both sides. Sear the pork chops in a hot skillet with a tablespoon of olive oil on both sides.

Add a quarter cup of apple cider to the hot skillet and cover. Place in oven and roast for about 45 minutes to one hour. You can remove the chops from the skillet and add flour to the cider to make a delicious gravy to serve on top if you like.

–Tim Connors, Red Editorial Staff

When one thinks of Cuba, that feisty, cigar chomping communist Fidel is the inevitable image that blasts onto your mental screen. The beard, the army field hat, that “Piss off, American infidel” swagger and look in his eye.

Then, there are the cigars. Hand rolled by smiling workers with far away gazes that seem filled with wonder and joy that they labor all day and night for their benevolent leader for a few crumpled food coupons.

But there is another Cuban icon that has made its way to America and been given a seat amongst the minor deities of food: the Cuban pressed sandwich, a ham and cheese delight that has become a staple of deli and sandwich shops across the country.

Utilizing crusty bread that is split and typically filled with mojo marinated roast pork, house cured ham, Swiss cheese, pickles and mustard, it is then given a somewhat Italian treatment by way of a Panini machine, two hot plates that both crush and toast the sandwich, caramelizing any goodies overhanging the bread and steaming the inside with the moisture from the ingredients, giving a crusty outside that hesitatingly gives way to a chewy inside.

Ybor City, in Tampa, seems to take the American credit for this particular sandwich, though Miami is no slouch. With the huge influx of Cuban immigrants, low on cash but rich with culinary heritage, the pile-o-pork sandwich stemmed from the pervasiveness of pigs in Cuba, the cheap ingredients of pickles and cheese, and the bread.

Its popularity blossomed like the sweet red flower of communism did in South East Asia in the 60’s, becoming the staple of immigrant owned delis in Miami and Tampa. As the influx of immigrants continued, word got out and the tourists started lining up for this unknown treat.

From there, word and sandwich spread, and with it the original sandwich’s integrity. Slow roasted pork gave way to commercial roast pork, ham became the pressed version that sits in every American deli case and lovingly crafted pickles were forked out of a grocery store jar. But its transformation was far from stalled.

As is typical of many simple foods, the Cuban sandwich has been hijacked by the culinary establishment and evolved, devolved, twisted, turned and elevated to lofty gustatory heights. There are temples of haute cuisine that use expensive prosciutto, organic pork from heritage pigs, farm grown and house pickled herbed cucumbers and local cheese.

Others swap out ingredients adding, amongst other things, house cured hams, pickled vegetables and artisan cheeses. Still others secret out sandwich presses, or planchas, from undisclosed locations deep within Cuba, risking the wrath of Customs and possible fines and jail time.

With that enticing thought, Williams and Sonoma sells one that works really well and keeps you out of the clink.

From humble beginnings and simple recipes hustled out of Cuba, this simple sandwich, loaded with pig and flavor, has become iconic of the simplicity and minimalist approaches to great food that our little red menace south of the Florida Keys is known for. Get a cold beer, rustle up a fine cigar, stuff your ever widening girth into your 20 year old army uniform, don your cap and slap your Cuban onto the Panini maker.

Viva la Cuban, mi amigos.

Cuban Sandwich Recipe:

4 thin slices of baked ham, preferably glazed
3 thin slices roast pork, see note
4thin slices of Swiss cheese
3 or 4 sliced butter pickles
Cuban bread,or a hard crust loaf like French bread)

Cut bread in half lengthwise, leaving both halves attached. Proceed by scooping a very shallow hollow along the center. Discard the scoopings.  Add the slices of ham, roasted pork, cheese and pickle slices. Brush the outside of the bread with olive oil or melted butter. This will caramelize the bread and add some flavor.

Place the sandwich in a Cuban sandwich press or standard Panini press and apply steady pressure until the cheese is melted and the bread is slightly hard and crusty to the touch.  If you are without a true Cuban sandwich press, you can heat up a sauté pan, brush it with butter and place sandwich into it. Using a heavy pan, press the sandwich down until that side is toasted. Flip and repeat, cut it, serve it warm and with a solid glass of good Cuban rum over ice.

Mojo Marinate for a Pork Butt:

2-3 lb pork butt
10 garlic cloves, peeled
1 tbsp salt
15 black peppercorns (whole)
2 tbsp dried or 1 tbsp fresh oregano
3 cups sour orange juice
(If no sour orange juice, use two parts orange to one part lemon and one part lime)

In a blender, puree up the dried ingredients. Add in the orange juice. Pour over the pork and allow the pork to marinate for 24 hours. Roast at 350 degrees until done. Allow to cool before slicing thin for sandwich.

–Tim Connors, Red Editorial Staff

There are many places in the world where you can meander through vibrant outdoor food stalls loaded with nifty vittles and easily identify each ingredient. Look, there’s a chicken thigh. Oh, and over there, beef brisket. And looky looky: shrimp.  But when you take the same stroll through the stalls of Singapore’s food stalls, all bets on easy ID’s are out the door.

The polite “Ooohs” and “Ahh’s” doled out liberally elsewhere are quickly replaced with “What the hell?” and “Where does that come from?”

Braised pig uterus, fried chicken gizzards, duck embryo, sautéed intestine with vegetables. Parts that many would argue should have been left in the now deceased host. But just because the name or the look is somewhat alien, just how do they taste? And just what the hell are they? And from where? Let’s take a look, junior food detectives.

After pushing your way through the teeming masses to get to the small, sweaty food vendor frantically ladling out a vibrant yellow dish, a close inspection of the “street cuisine” finds hunks of sting ray, those cuddly little bat like sea creatures that swarm giddy vacationers splashing about in the warm Caribbean waters. Prepared with a sambal, a chili pepper, shrimp paste and spice mixture, these little morsels may swarm no more but sure taste good.

And across the way stands a street hawker offering what looks to be a fleshy slinky, chopped up and covered in a steaming soy sauce. Ahhh, the joys of pig intestine. It is actually tender and tastes like a mild cut of pork. The sauce, a vamped up soy with vegetables that were done cooking back during the British Empire, enhances the pork intestine with a sweet and salty undertone. A bouquet of bowel indeed.

Something more down to earth is piled at the next stall: fried chicken gizzards. Now, those familiar with the cuisine of the South know of dirty rice; that intensely flavored dish of white rice using chicken parts to flavor it.

Here, alongside the standard chicken heart, stomach, liver and gizzards is chicken uterus, an almost prickly looking ball that, after a double dog dare and a few solid shots of whiskey, actually taste like, well, chicken. Never mind where they are from. Or the perverse thoughts that ride along in your foul mind. They are, when coupled with some sriracha style chili sauce, tender and tasty. Who’d have thought?

The thought of only exotic animal parts being the sole stars was instantly crushed as I was introduced to durian fruit, a large green football shaped fruit armed with vicious spikes that is so incredibly foul smelling it has been banned from certain flights as cargo or carry on due to the fact it makes the out houses at Woodstock smell like gently tied bunches of fragrant flowers.

Getting over the foulness and having it blended into a shake certainly helped. Words are tough to stick on the flavor. Avocado, rotting onion, garlic and a faint hint of sewer. Thankfully, the yogurt it was blended into cut the evil and, well, made it palatable. But just barely.

Mixed in throughout the “guts” of the food stalls are Muslim venues as well, serving halal dishes that are a bit more identifiable. There are also coffee slingers all over selling local coffee that is guaranteed to thwart the jet lag you have been leaning on as a crutch for your foul mood and lack of personality.

So, if you have the intestinal fortitude, or simply the desire, to fill your caw with stuff your local mini-mart would never stock, get yourself a ticket to Singapore. Down a few Tiger beers, Singapore’s own local brew, and belly up to the steaming piles of vittles that your mommy never slapped into your lunch box.

Here is a recipe for stingray sambal. If the thought of flailing through the shallows after some poor stingray leaves a bit to be desired, this recipe can be used with fish, typically whole, white fleshed species like snapper or grouper.

Sambal

10-15 dried chilies, seeded.
1 cup warm water, for chilies
4 medium sized shallots, sliced
hot chili powder (if necessary)
tamarind paste (for sour and sweet version)
dark brown sugar (for sour and sweet version)

Soak dried chilies in warm water. Pour away water. Blend the chilies with a tablespoon of water. Slice shallots and blend them. Fry onion puree in oil. Add chili paste. Bloom the paste until fragrant. Add tamarind and sugar to make a sweet and sour version. Thicken with chili powder if needed. Will keep refrigerated for a week.

Stingray

1 wing per person, skinned.
Large banana leaf for each portion
Corn oil, to brush over the banana leaf
Limes, sliced thin
Cilantro

Wrap the stingray in the leaf with a slice of lime and sprig of cilantro. Use toothpicks to hold the leaf closed. Salt and pepper to taste. Grill over medium flame on grill. Serve with sambal on side.

–Tim Connors, Red Editorial Staff

Vacation is over. Fall is here and all over America, kids are schlepping to their bus stops with crinkled brown lunch bags packed into overstuffed backpacks.

And what is in those lunch bags? In many, the classic lunch box fare is most likely included: peanut butter and jelly, tuna salad, egg salad, turkey and cheese, cheese and crackers,  fruit chews and  animal crackers just to name a few.

Likely, due to an unrelenting recession, American workers are starting to pack their own lunches to save a buck.

From Suzie Orman, Dave Ramsey, Clark Howard, these prophets of “pinching a penny” have been preaching  to America that packing your own lunch or making your own gourmet coffee is a sage strategy for digging your way out of your financial hole.

If you are one of those penny pinchers, you may know of only one way to pack a lunch. Many of us revert back to the menus of our childhood lunchboxes.

As you unpack your smooshed peanut butter and jelly sandwich or the turkey sandwich with wilted lettuce and soggy bread, you stare off and dream of the crunchy, fresh baked rolls at your favorite lunch haunt slathered with that magical mystery spread.

So where did this love affair for bread and a savory filling begin?

Consider the first sandwiches.  In the Middle Ages, stale bread was used as a plate so the bread could soak up the grease and juices from the meal stacked on top.

As the medieval munchers finished the fillings piled high on their rustic sandwiches - or “trenchers” as they were called back then–the left over bread was either fed to a dog or given to the poor.

As you can imagine, over time, bread became much more than a grease trap. Bread making became an artisan trade.

So as you sit in your cubical, unpack your pathetic lunch bag and you watch your co-workers departing  for lunch to indulge in a $10 gourmet sandwich, be assured, there is hope to bring life back to your lunch bag.

A delicious sandwich all starts with the sandwich spread and really good bread. You can never fail with a good French baguette. And for the spread, bottled mayonnaise just won’t cut it.

Try the included aioli recipe, which is basically a fancy French mayonnaise. It tastes fresher than the aging glop found on the dusty supermarket shelves.

With this spread, you can add various flavors throughout the week.  Keep the components separate so you can mix and match as you like. You can even use these spreads for dinner to top your baked fish or grilled chicken.

Roast Turkey, Roasted Red Peppers with Pesto Aioli:

½ French Baguette
6 ounces sliced turkey breast
Three to four slices of fresh mozzarella
Three to four slices of roasted red pepper
Two tablespoons of pesto (recipe below)
Two tablespoons of aioli (recipe below)
Mix the aioli and pesto together and spread on the bread

Assemble the ingredients onto the baguette and add lettuce and tomato if you like.

Basic Aioli Recipe:

2 egg yolks
1 garlic clove
1 teaspoon Dijon mustard
1 tablespoon of white-wine vinegar
About 1 cup olive oil
Dash of kosher salt
Dash of fresh ground black pepper
Pinch of cayenne pepper

Blend all ingredients except the olive oil, salt and pepper in food processor or blender. As the processor is running, add the olive oil in a slow and steady stream to emulsify the aioli.  Season the aioli with salt and pepper to taste. Store in a Tupperware container in the fridge.

Pesto:

2 large garlic cloves
1/2 cup pine nuts
1 cup Parmigiano-Reggiano, grated
1 teaspoon kosher salt
Juice of half a lemon
Zest of half a lemon
1/2 teaspoon black pepper
3 cups loosely packed fresh basil
2/3 cup extra-virgin olive oil

Place all ingredients into a food processor or blender and blend till smooth.

Roast Beef with Caramelized Vinegar Onions and Chimichurri Aioli:

6 ounces of roast beef
¼ cup caramelized onions
Two to three slices of Havarti
2 tablespoons of chimichurri sauce (recipe below)
2 tablespoons of aioli
Mix the chimichurri sauce and aioli together
Baguette

In saucepan, cook half an onion in a splash of balsamic vinegar, a teaspoon of brown sugar and a splash of olive oil till caramelized.  Spread the chimichurri aioli on the baguette and then the rest of the ingredients.

Chimichurri:

1 cup (packed) fresh Italian parsley
1 cup (packed) fresh cilantro
3 tablespoons white wine vinegar
2 tablespoons chopped fresh oregano
2 garlic cloves, peeled
1/2 teaspoon dried crushed red pepper
2/3 cup plus 1/4 cup olive oil

Blend all ingredients in a blender and store in a Tupperware container. Great on grilled beef, fish or chicken.

–Shelly Connors, Red Editorial Staff

The air was especially humid for the usually warm Labor Day holiday weekend. If memory serves me correct, Labor Day weather in the Northeast can either be hot and humid or a slight tease of the crisp and cool fall to come.

Unfortunately for my plans, this was one of those drenching humid days. It was also the weekend I wanted to hold my husband’s surprise birthday party at his sister’s roof-top garden in Manhattan.  It was two days before the big day.

With a desire to keep the affair simple, I constructed a menu that was suitable for a large crowd, but was served cold so hotplates or searing hot barbeques didn’t add to the heat of the Manhattan rooftop.

So with labor being the last thing I wanted to worry about on Labor Day, what could be more perfect than Pulled Pork sandwiches with Coleslaw?  It can be cooked ahead of time and only needs a basic rub and sauce.

Besides, living in Manhattan, proper BBQ is a rarity and would be a treat for my croissant-munching, city-dwelling cohorts.

The flavors of this pulled pork recipe tastes like you spent all day cooking, but in reality, it’s the oven and spices that do all the work.  But go ahead, as your guests drool all over themselves in delight of the tangy-sweet, tender pork, take all the credit.

No need to reveal how easy it was to your swooning fans. If it makes it look more authentic, wet your brow with water and splatter your shirt with sauce as if you worked you butt off for this meal.

This meal always starts with a trip to Costco. Most of my friends expect me to visit my swanky high-end butcher who hooks me up with premier cuts of meat. But for this specialty, I have found Costco’s pork shoulder, or more affectionately called, Boston Butt, is marbled with just the right amount of fat for flavor and maximum “shredability.”

But wait! Before we go on with the rest of the story, we must address the name of this cut that makes the snootiest of chef giggle, the Boston Butt.  Some would assume it is called a butt because of its large, rotund, squishy characteristics.

But actually, in pre-revolutionary times in New England, this cut was considered undesirable since it was high up on the shoulder of the hog and promised a chewy bite if not cooked for long periods of time.

These large pork pieces were packed into casks (called butts) for shipment and storage to the other colonies from Boston, so the name, Boston Butt became a common moniker for the hardy shoulder of the pork.  Strangely true, in Boston, they don’t use that name!

But back to the cooking . . . with one eight pound butt in a large roasting pan, you’ll be able to feed at least twenty people for your Labor Day picnic.

The key to this recipe is the spice blend and the length of cooking. I’ve tried other cooking times, but the key number is fourteen hours.

Yes, you read right. Put the butt in the day before at 8PM and take it out 10AM the next day. Just set it, and forget it. With this recipe, your oven does all the “laboring” while you receive all the love from your Labor Day picnic guests.

Pulled Pork Sandwiches:

1. Assemble the Pork Rub
–1 tablespoon of each: cumin, chili powder, coriander, smoked paprika, onion powder, garlic powder, ground fennel, dried mustard, ground pepper, kosher salt.
–½ cup brown sugar

2. Mix the rub ingredients in a bowl and spread all over the butt. Cover with plastic wrap and let sit in the fridge overnight. Place the butt in a 210 degree preheated oven uncovered. Cook for 14 hours.

3. Remove the butt from the roast pan and set aside. Pour dripping into a large saucepan. Add the following to make a barbeque sauce. Cook on low heat to reduce into a thick sauce for about twenty to thirty minutes.

2 cups cider vinegar
2 cups ketchup
½ cup finely chopped onions
½ cup brown sugar
4 teaspoons hot red pepper flakes
1 tablespoon of Worcestershire Sauce
Kosher salt and pepper to taste

4. When the pork is cooled, pull apart with a fork. Add half the sauce into the pork to wet it. Save the other half for people to add onto their sandwiches. Purchase super soft hamburger rolls to serve. Don’t go fancy on the rolls. The cheaper, the better.

Memphis-Style Coleslaw (inspired by Corky’s Memphis Coleslaw):

2 bags of shredded green cabbage
1 bag of shredded carrots
1 chopped green pepper
3 tablespoons of grated onion
2 cups mayonnaise
¾ cup sugar
¼ cup Dijon mustard
¼ cup cider vinegar
1 tablespoon kosher salt
½ teaspoon white pepper

1. Mix all ingredients except the cabbage, carrots and peppers in a large bowl. Add the vegetables and toss to combine.

2. Let the slaw sit overnight to absorb all the flavors. Serve on the side of the pork sandwiches. Encourage your guests to top their pulled pork sandwiches with the slaw!

–Shelly Connors, Red Editorial Staff