redbeansroadshow.com

Back in NO: Sifting, sifting, sifting

Cletus Rabinowitz — Fri, 26 Jun 2009 16:45:05 +0000

RBRS: Leg 1 in review

The first official leg of the RBRS is completed, and I’m back in the familiar Faubourg Marigney coffice (coffee shop/office), considering life NOT on the move for just a little while.
The car is parked, and there’s some more moving to be done, and over the next week or so, i’ll be writing, posting and processing all the fun I had touring the southeast. Picrtures to come. Recipes to consider. A few thoughts on smuggling whiskey up and sodee water back down.
But meantime, here’s a few stats on the trip thusfar:

Miles: approximately 2900
States: 6
Stops: 11
Pounds o’ beans cooked (dried): 22
Pounds o’ pork consumed: 18

It’ll take a day or so of NON motion for the lessons to sink in, but look for more frequent updates in the coming days…

And thanks to all who hosted, cooked and visited on this go-round. T’was a hell of a ride…

Raleigh NC (Part the Second) : Industry Night in the Triangle (the Sketch)

Cletus Rabinowitz — Tue, 23 Jun 2009 15:59:46 +0000

Even with a big kitchen, the crowd spilleth over.

Head Count: 26

The Crowd: Doctors, lawyers, food fiends, brewers, book folk, reporters, well-fed tech folk, bakers, local chefs, line cooks, descendents of a famous Marquis, cutlery experts, best 8-year-old sous chef EVER.

Bean Batches: 3 (2/1 meaty to non)

The Stove:. Electric disks, plenty of room itn the kitchen

Quotes of the night (appropriately out of context):

“The walls are carpeted. It’s a cat’s wet dream to live in this place.” — Dean McCord, Esq.

“I ain’t a country cook. You want that, YOU go ask your MAWmaw” — April McGregor (quoting her mother with total attitude and SERIOUS Oprah neck)

“That’s more Chapel Hill people than I’ve seen in Raleigh in while. It was like the UN.” — Heather Hesketh

“I’m really not that full.”
(two bites later)
“I’m miserable. I can’t stand it. That wall is always one bite away, isn’t it?”
– Phoebe Lawless

Admirer: “Nice loafers. Are those nickels?”
Bill Smith: “Well no… they’re yen.”

“You know, we’ve had a lot of spillage tonight.” Dr. Marcella McCord, during cleanup triage

Raleigh NC: Night of the Fast Talkers (the Sketch)

Cletus Rabinowitz — Tue, 23 Jun 2009 15:56:11 +0000

Fast Talkers and a Baby Made of LEad

Head Count: 10

The Crowd:.Techies, entrepreneurs, labor organizers, sales folk, active and former reporters, translators and the Heaviest Baby in the World.

Bean Batches: 2 (both meaty)

The Stove:. Electric disks, plenty of room in the kitchen

Quotes of the night (appropriately out of context):

“There was no stalking involved. My grandmother had polio. It would have been an easy catch.” — Jeff Alsberg

“And obviously, tequila is a wonderful thing.” – Heather Hesketh

“The first time he brought me flowers, I screamed at him for three hours.” — Patricia Ivona MDS Meriera Colburn

“In the Congo, I might have a grill. In this condo, no..” – Rafe Colburn

“It cost me a lot of money to make this cat have fluids.” — HH

“So in Syracuse, I was playing poker with a guy who used to be in the Bangladeshi secret police…” — Steve Champeon

Monday Map Check: Leavin’ TN for Later…

Cletus Rabinowitz — Mon, 22 Jun 2009 15:11:46 +0000

The Ever-Changing Roadmap

Another Monday finds me shifting the Roadshow itinerary ever so slightly, since life on the road is all about flexibility.

I’m loading up the car today and headed from the beautiful mountains of Asheville back to sprawling Atlanta. The original plan (Maryville/Nashville/Atlanta) got tweaked a bit, but comfortably so. It’s been nearly 3 weeks on the road, and i’m looking forward to a little time in Louisiana before the next leg begins in mid-July.

The next leg, as it looks right now, will be Largely Midwestern (including stops in Hot Springs AR, Columbia MO, Memphis, Nashville, LVLL and points other). The wish list grows and changes. It’ll be fun.

But now, to pack. Next stop, Atlanta. Birmingham on deck…

Week’s End Update:: Headed West

Cletus Rabinowitz — Fri, 19 Jun 2009 15:41:26 +0000

A very confusing Carolina hot sauce at the Roast Grill, Raleigh

It’s been a busy week in North Carolina — with plenty of cookin’ and visits with friends of MANY different eras. There’s been rhubarb Berliner Weisse beer, devilled eggs in LSU colors, and the scent of early summer gardenias wafting through the air. I’ve got plenty of material to work with, but for now I’m packing up the KitchenCar and pointing my way toward Asheville for a visit with the Pixie Twins, Aimee Ellingson and Chuck Krekelberg (New Orleans folks and co-conspirators from our days with the Krewe du Vieux).

ANyway, I know that I’m a wee bit behind on my RBRS write-ups, but to be honest, I’ve been subscribing to the “live it first, write it later” school of thought. (And not to mention, been cooking a heck of a lot and squeezing in work in between.) So just to keep track, here’s a list of upcoming episodes –

Savannah GA (on Tybee Island)
Raleigh NC 1 (Fast Talkers in the House of Wonders)
Raleigh NC 2 (Cook’s Night Off)
Triangle Reunions (portraits, etc.)
Various Roadside Flashbacks

As befits a new project, I’m still working out kinks in the system (see posted sketch from Savannah) but will likely settle into a short-then-long rhythm as time passes.

Meatime, it’s off to the hills. It’s been a great time, Carolina. I’ll be back sooner than either of us think…

Savannah GA: 3 Generations on Tybee (THe Sketch)

Cletus Rabinowitz — Thu, 18 Jun 2009 16:07:57 +0000

The Savannah Blanco Contingent

Head Count: 6 plus kids

The Crowd: extended family,

Bean Batches: 1 meaty

Quotes of the night (appropriately out of context):

“I’m the Ice Cream Pirate!” — Lawson Katz

Sister Lourdes: “Yes, I AM a nun, but I’m also Anne’s sister.”
Px: (confused pause) “So wait… You’re A sister and you’re also HER sister?”
SL: “Yes.”
Px: “sister Sister?”
SL: “Exactly.”

Monday Map Check: No mo VA

Cletus Rabinowitz — Mon, 15 Jun 2009 12:59:03 +0000

The New Map: Headed due West now

So it looks like, in keeping with the show’s free-form nature, that the itinerary is going to change a bit. Buddy and former New Orleanian Chad Lavin, the reason for schlepping to fair Blacksburg VA, is being held hostage by contractors in Rochester NY and won’t be in the Commonwealth this week.

So the map has been altered just a wee bit. Next stop, Asheville NC sometime midweek.

The intinerary change is noted on the Google Map. (Jebus, i love this new technology.)

Tonight, a gathering at Mr. Dean McCord’s place and a cast of the Triangle’s food mafia. We have been promised QUALITY TROUBLE for the evening. Oh. Hell. Yeah.

Charleston SC: Fare Thee Well, Family Style

Cletus Rabinowitz — Sun, 14 Jun 2009 16:34:58 +0000

In the Kitchen: Charleston

Head Count: 15

The Crowd:.plenty o’ kids, a LITERAL family circus, equine technicians, backgammon sharks, trilingual shorties, vegetarian yogi, adolescent black belts, South African soccor fans, world travelers and potluck veterans

Bean Batches: 2 (one meaty, one vegan)

The Stove:. Three-burner electric. No oven, no cornbread.

After a couple of days poking around Atlanta, it was time to make a beeline for the Atlantic and a few days with my favorite group of Teutonic Beachniks — the Family Cain down in Charleston SC.

The Cains are one of my touchstone families and a wonderful reason to head for the Palmetto State. The pater familias Greg (not pictured) is currently working on his MD residency, and in keeping with tradition the rest of the family (Mama Anja, bigbad Paul, fleet-footed Henry, sweet Juliette and Julius “THE BOBBY”) were making their annual pilgrimage to Germany (Anja’s home) to recharge their Deutscheness during the warm months.

Backstory/Flashback: 2007

A few years back, Dr. Greg was set to graduate from medical school, and put out the call for a party on nearby Folly Beach. We rent a house, lollygag for a week, and celebrate the summertime.

Hostess and Host: Anja and Greg

I’d known the boy since well before his med school days — we met in Oxford MS during grad school in 92 — and had watched his family grow from afar. We got together in Berlin a couple of times over the years — when the eldest Paul (now a spindly 16-yearold Klaus Kinski lookalike) was (as we call it back home) “tee-tiny.” I didn’t really know his others, but decided to pack up the kitchen, drive over to Folly, and hang out for a few days.

During that week, I was able to sit back, relax, and really appreciate the essence of beach-houseness surrounded by the many facets of the Cains’ life in South Carolina. Greg’s parents came down from Camden, his sister Darlene slowed her musician’s migration, brother Jeff came in from Chicago and the many friends of Dr. Greg gathered for six days of eating, swimming and late-night discussions.

The Cain Kids (Chronogically): Paul 16, Henry 14, Juliette 9, Julius 7

I got to watch these kids (then 14, 12, 7 and 5) run around on the beach all day, host various clutches of friends at the shore, flop around and soak up the sun. Little Juliette had just lost both front teeth, loved to play backgammon and helped teach me German by making some basic flash cards. The Big Kids schooled me in foosball and were jazzed to see the summertime blockbuster pirate movie. Anja taught most of the kids “vaulting” — a kind of horseback gymnastics.

The week at the beach (and a couple of other short visits that summer) connected me to Los Cainiacs, and if I didn’t make it there by the kids’ departure date, it’d be another year before I could get my butt kicked at backgammon by a little German girl.

Rote Bohnen Auf Wiedersehen

With a Saturday departure scheduled, we decided to do red beans on Friday night — and to gather a bunch of Anja’s colleagues and friends together for a proper potluck goodbye. Of course, it would be a reunion of sorts — a gathering of faces from the last trip and an effortless multi-family mealtime as a proper sendoff. Cook two batches — one for the vegetarian crowd — and the guests would take care of the rest.

There would be plenty of workaday chaos. There might be yoga. Also, a salad.

Tonight would be a “cook and run” situation, since another wondrous occasion was in the works — old Austin roommate Robert Brown was getting married in Charleston that weekend, and the rehearsal dinner was the same night.

The afternoon was a blur — chop, cook, set to simmer, get presentable and pre-celebrate the nuptials — so when I returned to the Cain homestead, the beans were in full swing. Off with the jacket, roll up the sleeves — there’s catching up to do.

In my experience, the Cain table is one of the great spaces to spend leisure time. With a few chairs and a wooden bench along one side, it’s worn from constant use, and a multi-purpose gathering spot of the old school. It’s used for morning coffee, afternoon homework sessions, art projects and everything in between.

Horsey Acrobatics: Ms. Ellie, Sharon and Kimberly hoppin' over horses at vaulting practice (2007).

This night, the surface was covered with bowls and plates in various states of emptiness. Adults were luxuriating over beers and tea. The younger kids sat in laps or hovered nearby — the older kids went off to play in the adjacent living room. The din was fantastic.

Of course, there were plenty of familiar faces from the last trip — Kimberly Anderson (ballerina/horse trainer) brought her husband Ian, Sharon Fish accompanied her kids Wren and Ellie (She Who Knows Things & Rolls Her Eyes). The children paired off by age group and played as we ate and talked about work and summer plans.

The next day, the connectors would be bound for another life with the grandparents in Berlin and beyond. We’d stay connected through the magic of the web.

As we laughed and caught up or got introduced, Dr. Greg worked late night at his hospital’s Emergency Room. He’d finish his twelve-hour shift just in time to run home, drive his family to the airport, and say goodbye before collapsing from exhaustion.

We made sure to raise a glass to him and (more importantly) set aside a bowl for the good doctor. Physicians gotta eat, too…

Welcome to the Road Show

Cletus Rabinowitz — Thu, 11 Jun 2009 12:28:31 +0000

If you’re showing up here today (Thursday, 6/11) , you got wind of the early launch via FaceBook or Twitter.

Annnnnnd velllkummmm to the show.

I’m a few parties in the hole (a perfect recovery day in Atlanta, Deutscheish goodbye in Charleston, a Tybee Island kick-turn), but there’s no time like the present for a launch. Look for updates and interface tweaks (more pix, bells and whistles) in the coming days.

Better to launch and adjust than wait ’til it’s perfect, doncha know.

Meantime, off the computer and on to the road.

North Carolina, you’re next…

Atlanta GA: The Perfect Kickoff (with Possum Talk)

Cletus Rabinowitz — Tue, 09 Jun 2009 14:38:40 +0000

Head Count: 23

The Crowd: writers, photographers, New Orleans expats, musicians, chefs, front-of-house folks, bacon-obsessed bartenders, master printmakers, grooms-to-be, wine merchants, wandering scholars, visiting 7th Ward royalty and my boy Willie Nelson.

Bean Batches: 2 (both meaty)

The Stove: Blast-furnace hot Five-Star commercial range. Damn.

Quotes of the night (appropriately out of context):
“Every once in awhile, I get a dead possum in the kitchen.” — Angie Mosier

Johnny: “It was flat, like a Cuban sandwich.”
Angie: “Kind of a possum panini.”

To kick off the first official leg of the RBRS, I pointed the KitchenCar to Atlanta — which my friend Kevin once referred to as “Dallas, Georgia” — and straight into the sunshiny embrace of one Angie Mosier (food stylist, photographer, strawberry blonde force of nature).

After leaving New Orleans at ungodly o’clock on Monday morning (a time philosophers have referred to as “f*ck thirty”), I double checked my sausage supply and was magically eastbound and down.

Our hostess: Angie Mosier

The Old “Roll & Soak” Routine

Somewhere on the Mississippi coast — Diamondhead? Biloxi? – I found a Piggly Wloaded by the side of the road and loaded up on Camillia red beans and a couple of gallons of water. The GPS informed my newly-caffeinated brain that I’d land in late afternoon, and since the beans wasn’t doing anything anyway, I loaded two batches worth in the pressure cooker, added water, and hoped for the best.

The cashier, still working on her first cup of the day, watched me fiddle with pots, add the water, and drive off. She did not, however, alert the local authorities.

Eight cruise-assisted hours later, I eased into leafy Grant Park– a neighborhood near downtown — and the home of Angie and Johnny Mosier, my ambassadors to all things Atlanta.

Since we hatched this hare-brained scheme a few days earlier, Angie had called a mess of our mutual friends and — in true Monda night fashion — the guest list had blossomed beyond the confines of a single table. We counted the potential diners on two sets of fingers (including all the “maybes” and “gonna show up laters”), cracked open a couple of APB (afternoon preparation beers) and commenced to settin’ up.

“Oh, THIS old thing?”

I turned to the stove and started the Monday night motions — chopchopchop, sizzlesizzlesizzle, stirstirstir — as the lovely Angela busied herself with the dining setup (sturdy wood folding tables, canvas drop cloths, Café du Monde cans as improvised vases, fleur de lis cake stands, every chair in the house). Everything went out into the back yard, which magically became the most UNfussy Martha Stewart setup I’ve ever seen.

It was the strangest thing I’ve ever seen — she was headed out to the toolshed, and next thing you know, the first red beans night had… PRESENTATION.

(I’d like to state for the formal record that Monday Night Red Beans are, by definition, a no-frills even. In my own personal home, I’ve never so much as smoothed a tablecloth, or fluffed a sofa pillow. The whole point of the edible exercise is to NOT throw a dinner party. Low-impact foodstuffs on a no-pressure weeknight. With wine. And maybe ice cream if we’re lucky.)

Seriously, it looked like one of those produced-to-death magazine spreads about “entertaining possibilities” — but in REAL LIFE. And to be honest, it was kinda freaky at first. I mean FLOWERS?

For Angie — collector of depression glass and singer of a mean “Lady Marmalade” — this was her equivalent of house party autopilot. Throw the tarp on the picnic table, set up the cooler station for beers, and somehow it’s all the aesthetics of a micromanaged “dinner party” with NONE of the micromanagement.

After she finished the setup — executed with her two canine partners in crime — it was stunning. There was only one response: “HOLY SHIT.” Her response? (shrug) “What?”

Atlanta: The first night table

First Night Good Fortune

The evening went on, as these often do, without a hitch. Linton and Gina Hopkins took the night off from Restaurant Eugene, Elizabeth and Jeff Moore came in from a trip to Nashville, Kate Medley brought in the Montana Gals and the charming Mr. McGirk. We started out in the kitchen, adjourned to the back yard on a clear night, and raised a rumpus as the evening wore on.

It was great to see a mix of friends meet each other for the first time. Old Austin roommate Robert Brown (now chair of the printmaking Dept. at Savannah College of Art and Design) showed up after his pre-nuptial dancing lesson — that weekend, he’d be heading to Charleston for his wedding. New Orleans writer friend and boarder-of-houses David Lee Simmons and his lovely journalist bride Faith Dawson arrived, escorting a very special guest — Faith’s mama Adonicia Dawson, sister of Leah Chase and the soul of Creole poise and grace. (Seriously, I want her to be Secretary General of the UN one day.)

Johnny Mosier (host and all-around salt o’ the Earther) arrived post-gig with a flourish and a couple of band mates. A trio of no-count Louisville buddies — Todd Richards, Big Duane Nutter and Jerry “the Bourbon Boy” Slater — arrived fresh off a celebration of closing on a new barbecue joint (Rolling Bones in nearby XXXX) and with a mini-bar experiment in tow. (Rye whiskey infused with smokey Benton’s Bacon, sweet vermouth and bitters for several batches of Bacon Manhattans.) Winewoman and melon slayer Ashley Hall spoke French and did a full “Lord of the Flies” on a perfect Georgia watermelon with the help of the poised yet bloodthirsty Ms. Gina.

And the special guest, of course, was the only regulation-sized kid — William Nelson Moore, age 5 — who put up with the bigger kids and never batted an eye. Shy at first, he soon realized that being the shortest dude at a house party has distinct advantages — especially when you’re named “Willie Nelson.” He answered all our Star Wars questions without condescending. He also patiently demonstrated how to turn a yellow Camaro into a robot named Bumblebee without rolling his eyes even ONCE. A class act, that Willie Nelson.

Late Night Wind-down

Evening turned into night, then to wee-hour morningtime — and the dayjob crew gradually peeled off to prepare for the next day’s snoozebar tango. The remaining ne’er-do-wells barely noticed the Monday/Tuesday transition until we loaded all the dirty plates into Angie’s improvised dishpit — a repurposed gigantic Tupperware container filled with hose water. (Soak at night, wash in the morning.) We’ll get the chairs tomorrow. That can wait. Don’t worry about it.

The stragglers congregated in the kitchen (as always), and Angie glanced at her watch, then let out a victorious holler.

“TWO AY-AM? On a Monday? That’s GREAT! We kept it going until two! I LOVE this!”

What a way to start the show.