Why You Should Milk A Corn Cob

A couple of nights ago I created thee best recipe ev-ver! Ok...I am aware that I say that everytime but this time I really mean it.  Well, I didn't really create it...it's more like I stold it. The idea for it anyway. 
    While dining at Justas Drugstore, which just may be The Best Restaurant In The Whole World (more about that at a later date) we wallowed in what the menu called “corn scented mashed potatoes.” I’m here to tell you that they were roll-your-eyes-in-the-back-of-your-head good. Since I knew that there was not a snowballs chance in hell in getting the actual recipe from the chef without writing to the RSVP section of Bon Appetit, and since The Big Guy was desperate for some more of that golden goodness, I did what a girls gotta do and what a girls gotta do is make up her own recipe.

          I may not be above stealing someone else’s idea, but I do have certain food principles...like I’m not about to rip-off the name, so I am calling mine “corn spiked mashed potatoes”. Look closely, you’ll notice the difference. Scented, spiked…see? Are you judging me?
     I decided that to get the best flavor possible, I would need to “milk” those little corn on the cobs. In case you are wondering if they have impossibly small teats, let's just say that I persuaded them to give up the milk by showing them just what I am capable of doing with an 8” chef’s knife.

         My life-long taste tester’s eyes fell into the back of his head and he did that leg kick thing that he does, when something is so good that it should be against the law.  Since there wasn’t anything obvious that I could think of that he needed to be sucking up for, I took him at his word when he said they were even better than the ones Jonathan Justus had served. Hah! Take that Master Chef! 
     The Doc and Mrs. Lexus were our dinner guests that night and they also vouched for their yummy-ness and did the eye roll, leg kick thing when the met up with the first bite. They are the most impossible dinner guests to please so when I saw them sneaking out with the leftovers, I knew we had a winner here.  
     Folks, I present you: “Corn ‘Spiked’ Mashed Potatoes”.  Run, don’t walk to the kitchen and start milking those cobs! Just be gentle.

I served these with salmon, which was on a bed of
grilled mini sweet peppers and grape tomatos, topped
with toasted pine nuts and drizzed with basil oil.

Since I didn't write down a thing while I was making them, I'm just winging the amounts here so adjust as necessary, which means more cream and butter may be necessary. I hope Paula Dean is reading this because it would be right up her alley and maybe she'd invite me on the show! Go to the "Sides" tab at the top of this page to view it. 

If you are reading this and have not signed up to be a follower, I have just one word for you. Why the hell not? How do you expect to be a winner in the monthly draw if you don't play?  Last months lucky winner was Shane Rice. He won a new Dodge pickup! Congratulations Shane!

Social Clubbing In Deadwood

The Big Guy and I rode the Harley to the Black Hills the other day.  Because he knows that I am not a fan of the Bike Rally in Sturgis, he said we were really going there so we could visit our good friend, Dennis. Yeah, right—like I was born yesterday? I do love Dennis and always enjoy seeing him and riding through the beautiful Black Hills so I said, “PLEASE DON'T MAKE ME GO!!!!”

     First a little about Dennis; he and Big were friends long before I ever climbed up into that cabover Kenworth for the first time. He is one of our best friends and is a true motorcycle aficionado. At last count he had 13 of them in his garage, but that was week ago so he probably has one more by now.

     Over the years we have spent many days with him riding through the hills and we have had a lot of laughs. Back in the days when Dennis was known to throw down a few drinks, we watched in disbelief as he ran his Harley off the Nemo road and into the ditch, laying it over and skidding it through the weeds.  He got up, brushed the dirt off himself, picked up the bike and climbed back on. Meanwhile, the chick that he had ejected off of the back was having a major hissy fit about him skinning up her brand-spankin-new silicone filled ta-tas. She waited until we were having dinner at the Friday night Nemo fish fry to show us all her road rashed twins. Which brings me to point of this story.

Dennis, riding his Sunday afternoon bike

So we get to Dennis’ and Big decides that we should go to Nemo for dinner.  Mind you it’s a Saturday, which means the fish fry was last night and so tonight EVRYTHING will taste like fish because that’s all they serve is a bunch of deep fried crap. Dennis and I only agreed to go to Nemo because we like rehashing that whole bike wreck story and talking about Bimbo’s (not her real name) banged up boobies.

    I used my half a brain to order the fish, unlike you know who and you know who else. It was so bad that Dennis and I decided that this would be the last time we let Big pick where we eat—funny num-num stories or not.

Yes, that is the back of my head
and yes, I took that picture myself

     So the next night we decided to head to Deadwood for dinner. On the recommendation of a local we snagged a reservation at the Deadwood Social Club, which sits above the Saloon No.10, right on Main Street. It has an indoor dining room, but the real social scene seems to be outside on a deck which overlooks the shenanigans on Deadwoods main drag. Dennis is no food snob, but he does know and appreciate good food and he can recognize when a chicken fried steak tastes like fish.

     But back to the Social Club.
     We started off with an appetizer of a marinated jumbo shrimp that was curled around an Italian sausage.We likey! Big had what he always has if it’s on a menu and that’s the (Pork) Osso Bucco. It wasn’t totally falling off the bone, but it was very tender. It was topped with a mirepoix and served with rice, rather than the usual mound of mashed potatoes, but he said it was really good and it didn't taste at all like fish. He gave it an 8. 

Dennis had the Shrimp Scampi, which was not just your basic blah, blah, blah white wine, garlic scampi. Spinach and tomatoes came to this scampi party and it was really a nice dish.

I hit the jackpot with my entree which was called a Seafood nest. It was linguine noodes that had been fried and formed into this cute little upside down nest and then hidden inside it were shrimp and scallops, swimming in a creamy basil sauce. LOVED IT!  

     Here is where the story gets sad…we all dug in like some classless, biker heathens so I didn’t even think to snap a picture until we were almost finished poking it down the old pie holes. (Hence the above pictures)
     The Big Guy loves him some tiramisu and never misses an opportunity to order it for dessert. The Social Club's version of it didn’t disappoint. In reply to the waiter's question of how he liked it, Big described it this way: mmmm, firm and big; a definite 10. Huh? We are talking about tiramisu aren't we? The waiter just smiled as he walked away. Dennis laughed. Ahhh, I saw exactly what those lame brains eyes were focused on and let's just say we were not all looking at the same dessert. They were oogling the lovely (coughbullshitcough) biker lady at the next table with the bolt-on-boobs.
     I'm gonna have to let this one slide...I'd much rather go to the Deadwood Social Club than the Nemo Fish Fry, especailly if I have to listen to old hooter stories. 

This recipe is one of my own creations for Tuna Tacos with Black Bean-Roasted Corn Salsa. It tastes like fish because IT'S SUPPOSED TO! Go to the "Seafood" tab at the top of this page to view it.