Without question, our signature dish at The River Room was our Dirty Ribeye, a 12-ounce cut of choice steak from the rib section of the cow, which we would purchase in 15 pound Cry-O-Vac hunks and hand cut. We’d buy these slabs of beef for about $125 each and sell the resultant 20 steaks for $500, served with a starch, a vegetable and a salad; with that sort of mark-up, you’d think that any idiot would be able to make a living in the restaurant business – obviously except for this idiot.
This manner of preparation, i.e. ‘dirty’, came from Dhoubi, our stoner chef from Kansas City, who got the recipe from our favorite restaurant in Kansas City, Il Trullo, which sadly is no longer in business. Il Trullo shut down shortly after we moved to the mountains, and I swear its demise was due in large part to the loss of our revenue, as I’d dropped bucket loads of money there both with business dinners and personal meals.
One advantage to the Dirty Ribeye was that we could make a steak taste exceptional without using a wood-fired grill – good for us, as the kitchen in The Riverside didn’t have a wood fired grill, only a flat top griddle upon which a steak could be cooked. Another nice feature of the recipe involved the ability to ‘dirty’ the steak - which gave the steak its superior flavor - early in the day and finish it quickly to order during the dinner rush, this becoming a necessity as our cooking staff dwindled to one during the last six months of our operation.
Also included is our recipe for a poor man’s Aceto Balsamico Tradizionale, officially known at The Riverside as Balsamico a Basso Costo delle Montagne, which we drizzled on the steak; it is essential to the dish.
Serves Four, providing you buy four steaks
- 1” Thick, nicely marbled Ribeye steaks – choice for certain, prime if you can find them
- About one dozen Hardwood chunks – mesquite, hickory, apple, cherry, pecan – roughly the size of a kid’s fist
- A cast iron skillet
In a charcol chimney, get the wood to blazing, then dump it in your grill. Let it simmer down for a minute or two, until the flames are mostly gone and you’re left with glowing, red-hot chunks of wood. Throw the meat directly on the glowing embers, no more than 90 seconds per side. That’s it! Take them off and set them aside. They’ll have some ash, some burn marks, maybe even a little grit on the exterior – no worries, as that also is digestable. Most importantly, what they’ll also have is a seared, smoky char infused into the buttery fat which is inherent in the cut. (You can do this step early in the day – cool them covered in the fridge.)
When you’re ready to eat, make sure your cast iron skillet is hot; not white hot like you were blackening redfish, but pretty damn hot. Finish the steaks in the skillet to your likeness, no more than two minutes per side, which shouldn’t result in a temperature any more than medium rare. If you like your steak cooked beyond medium rare, I would suggest you skip the first three steps of this recipe, as I see your journey to Belly Blissville involving a trip to a Golden Corral.
Slice the steaks on the bias into ½” thick strips, fan out on your plate and drizzle generously with the balsamic. We rested the steaks over a small mound of arugula; the smoky meat, the sweet tang of the balsamic and the peppery arugula resulting in an exceptional marriage of flavors, as if it were always meant to be.
Balsamico a Basso Costo delle Montagne
One 16-oz bottle of inexpensive balsamic vinegar
2 – teaspoons corn starch
2 – tablespoons corn syrup
Empty the balsamic into a sauce pan, wisk in the corn starch, and simmer until reduced by half. Stir in the corn syrup, let cool and pour into one of those plastic, pointy-tipped condiment dispensers that chefs use to make drizzles and spiky swizzles on plates. They sell them in the kitchen gadget section at the Walmart for a buck.
This stuff can also be used in salads, over fresh tomatoes when making Caprese, and anywhere else you use a good balsamic – possibly even over Little Debbie Bars or Cheez-Its with excellent results.
Better yet, if you can afford pricy, aged Aceto Balsamico Tradizionale, dispense with the aforementioned culinary skullduggery and enjoy the real thing, imagining while you enjoy this feast… that you are dining Riverside.
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
Sunday, March 11, 2012
Paradise Pizza Tomatoes
Alfred Joseph Paradise was born 89 years ago today, March 11th, in Hannibal, MO; he died on March 19th, 2004, eight days after his 81st birthday.
Al Paradise was many things, mostly good, as his talents were numerous and his foibles few. An engineer, a mathematician, a mechanical innovator, an artist, a calligrapher, a carpenter, a plumber and a smart ass and wiseacre of epic proportions; most of these were good things at which he made money or which he donated his talents for the benefit of others. But Al’s greatest skill was no more than a hobby, at which he excelled supremely and made not a raw nickel – damn, but the man could cook.
He was the ultimate example of an empirical cook, and a ‘foodie’ long before the term was ever coined. Cookbooks, recipes and measuring cups and spoons were for amateurs; flying by the seat of his pants was pretty much how old AJ rolled in the kitchen. His only formal training in the culinary arts occurred at a flat-top hash house in Ames, Iowa, a 4x8 slab of heated steel where eggs, bacon, sausage, potatoes, hamburgers, onions and anything else edible that can be fried on a hot griddle. This training had my dad making us hamburgers like no other any suburban Johnson County, KS kid was eating in the 1960’s.
Another skill that he picked up from the griddle in Ames was his unrivaled mastery of hash-browned potatoes. No matter how many times I watched him or how many times he told me his secrets – “boil the potatoes under a full strong boil for eleven and a half minutes” – I could never duplicate the perfectly golden, cracker crisp outside and the fluffy white inside; mine are always overdone on the outside and underdone on the inside.
As I grew in my ability to cook on but a whisker of a gourmet level, I’d have my parents over for dinner and always be on edge as to the quiet, subtle and occasionally constructive criticisms that would sometimes come from the old man. Once I attempted fried polenta with a red sauce as a side dish – “Fried Polenta with porcini ragout” I announced with a flourish. Unimpressed, he offered “I don’t know what you just called it, but it looks like fried corn meal mush to me. I used to make that for you when you were kids…..remember?” Hmmmph.
One of AJP’s most famous concoctions, and one which we would occasionally serve at The Riverside, was unofficially referred to as Paradise Pizza Tomatoes. The downside to serving it as our vegetable side dish in the restaurant was its appearance – spooned onto a plate it looked like one of those casseroles that you wouldn’t even think about trying as you’d peruse the various offerings at a church pot luck dinner. But the adventurous diner was tastefully rewarded with the first bite, as steaming hot out of the oven Paradise Pizza Tomatoes more than make up for in taste what they lack in aesthetics.
Serves 6 – 8 – best prepared in a round 9” baking dish
2 – 28 oz. cans of tomatoes, drained
½ stick unsalted butter
3 – Tbsp olive oil
1 – large yellow onion, small dice
4 – large cloves of garlic, chopped very fine
2 – Tbsp dried basil
2 – Tsp dried thyme
2 – Tsp fennel seeds ground in a mortar and pestle (this is key – don’t omit!)
8 – or so grinds of fresh pepper and a pinch or two of salt
½ - sleeve of saltine crackers (approx 25)
2 – cups shredded mozzarella cheese
- Thoroughly drain the tomatoes, place them in the baking dish and chop roughly. There will be juice in the dish after you chop – don’t drain that.
- Melt the butter in a sauté pan; add the olive oil and heat.
- Add the onions and sauté for about 5 minutes until translucent.
- Add the garlic, basil, thyme, fennel seed, pepper and salt and sauté for a few minutes, and then add this mixture to the tomatoes. Stir in well.
- Take ½ of the saltines and rough crush with your hands and ½ of the shredded mozzarella and add to tomatoes, stirring in well.
- Evenly distribute the other half of the cheese over the top of the mixture, then crush the remaining crackers and distribute them over the layer of cheese.
- Bake uncovered at 350F for about 45 minutes, or until the mixture is bubbly and the cheese and crackers are nicely browned.
Al Paradise was many things, mostly good, as his talents were numerous and his foibles few. An engineer, a mathematician, a mechanical innovator, an artist, a calligrapher, a carpenter, a plumber and a smart ass and wiseacre of epic proportions; most of these were good things at which he made money or which he donated his talents for the benefit of others. But Al’s greatest skill was no more than a hobby, at which he excelled supremely and made not a raw nickel – damn, but the man could cook.
He was the ultimate example of an empirical cook, and a ‘foodie’ long before the term was ever coined. Cookbooks, recipes and measuring cups and spoons were for amateurs; flying by the seat of his pants was pretty much how old AJ rolled in the kitchen. His only formal training in the culinary arts occurred at a flat-top hash house in Ames, Iowa, a 4x8 slab of heated steel where eggs, bacon, sausage, potatoes, hamburgers, onions and anything else edible that can be fried on a hot griddle. This training had my dad making us hamburgers like no other any suburban Johnson County, KS kid was eating in the 1960’s.
Another skill that he picked up from the griddle in Ames was his unrivaled mastery of hash-browned potatoes. No matter how many times I watched him or how many times he told me his secrets – “boil the potatoes under a full strong boil for eleven and a half minutes” – I could never duplicate the perfectly golden, cracker crisp outside and the fluffy white inside; mine are always overdone on the outside and underdone on the inside.
As I grew in my ability to cook on but a whisker of a gourmet level, I’d have my parents over for dinner and always be on edge as to the quiet, subtle and occasionally constructive criticisms that would sometimes come from the old man. Once I attempted fried polenta with a red sauce as a side dish – “Fried Polenta with porcini ragout” I announced with a flourish. Unimpressed, he offered “I don’t know what you just called it, but it looks like fried corn meal mush to me. I used to make that for you when you were kids…..remember?” Hmmmph.
One of AJP’s most famous concoctions, and one which we would occasionally serve at The Riverside, was unofficially referred to as Paradise Pizza Tomatoes. The downside to serving it as our vegetable side dish in the restaurant was its appearance – spooned onto a plate it looked like one of those casseroles that you wouldn’t even think about trying as you’d peruse the various offerings at a church pot luck dinner. But the adventurous diner was tastefully rewarded with the first bite, as steaming hot out of the oven Paradise Pizza Tomatoes more than make up for in taste what they lack in aesthetics.
Serves 6 – 8 – best prepared in a round 9” baking dish
2 – 28 oz. cans of tomatoes, drained
½ stick unsalted butter
3 – Tbsp olive oil
1 – large yellow onion, small dice
4 – large cloves of garlic, chopped very fine
2 – Tbsp dried basil
2 – Tsp dried thyme
2 – Tsp fennel seeds ground in a mortar and pestle (this is key – don’t omit!)
8 – or so grinds of fresh pepper and a pinch or two of salt
½ - sleeve of saltine crackers (approx 25)
2 – cups shredded mozzarella cheese
- Thoroughly drain the tomatoes, place them in the baking dish and chop roughly. There will be juice in the dish after you chop – don’t drain that.
- Melt the butter in a sauté pan; add the olive oil and heat.
- Add the onions and sauté for about 5 minutes until translucent.
- Add the garlic, basil, thyme, fennel seed, pepper and salt and sauté for a few minutes, and then add this mixture to the tomatoes. Stir in well.
- Take ½ of the saltines and rough crush with your hands and ½ of the shredded mozzarella and add to tomatoes, stirring in well.
- Evenly distribute the other half of the cheese over the top of the mixture, then crush the remaining crackers and distribute them over the layer of cheese.
- Bake uncovered at 350F for about 45 minutes, or until the mixture is bubbly and the cheese and crackers are nicely browned.
Sunday, March 4, 2012
Barbara Muehlebach Paradise
With the heaviest of hearts, and tears in my eyes, I write of the passing of my beautiful mother, Barbara Muehlebach Paradise. All of us hold our mothers in the highest of esteem, so it would be pedantic to argue mine vs. yours, but with absoluteness, Barbara was on the highest level of motherhood and wifeliness that one could attain; certainly on every par with you and yours.
Barbara was born in St. Louis, MO in 1920, the second child, and first and only daughter of William and Willa Muehlebach and a loving sister to her four brothers William Jr., Lawrence, Charles and George. Barbara doted on her brothers like her loving mother, and carried that ability to love to her spouse, children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren and all whom she knew and befriended throughout her 92 years; the list is beyond the scope of the written word.
My Mother did not know hatred, contempt or ill-will. Sarcasm was not only above her, it was beyond her. Barbara had a sense of humor that was neatly countered by her ability to suffer the fools that her husband Alfred and his progeny would lampoon; she the better than all of us, earning her a fast track to eternal glory, whilst the rest of us hope, wait and pray for a pass from the Almighty. Thank God that she’s there to help smooth the way for us.
My mother lived a long life, essentially dying healthy of body; sadly her mind didn’t keep up with the heart and the lungs. It was intensely painful for all of us who loved her to watch the degeneration of that beautiful mind, while her strong body and stout will proffered on, hanging and fighting for the opportunity to remain vital.
Peace my dear Mother. Your fight is over. You won. I can only hope that I inherit but a smattering of your strength, your resoluteness and your righteousness.
I will miss you and your loving touch the rest of my days. I pray that I will be worthy of seeing you again.
Your loving son,
Richard William
Barbara was born in St. Louis, MO in 1920, the second child, and first and only daughter of William and Willa Muehlebach and a loving sister to her four brothers William Jr., Lawrence, Charles and George. Barbara doted on her brothers like her loving mother, and carried that ability to love to her spouse, children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren and all whom she knew and befriended throughout her 92 years; the list is beyond the scope of the written word.
My Mother did not know hatred, contempt or ill-will. Sarcasm was not only above her, it was beyond her. Barbara had a sense of humor that was neatly countered by her ability to suffer the fools that her husband Alfred and his progeny would lampoon; she the better than all of us, earning her a fast track to eternal glory, whilst the rest of us hope, wait and pray for a pass from the Almighty. Thank God that she’s there to help smooth the way for us.
My mother lived a long life, essentially dying healthy of body; sadly her mind didn’t keep up with the heart and the lungs. It was intensely painful for all of us who loved her to watch the degeneration of that beautiful mind, while her strong body and stout will proffered on, hanging and fighting for the opportunity to remain vital.
Peace my dear Mother. Your fight is over. You won. I can only hope that I inherit but a smattering of your strength, your resoluteness and your righteousness.
I will miss you and your loving touch the rest of my days. I pray that I will be worthy of seeing you again.
Your loving son,
Richard William
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