Condiment Grrl in Vegas, Part I

So, Condiment Grrl went to Vegas, baby, Vegas. And she's still tired and can barely hold her head up to type to you, devoted readers. But she persists. And she will blog about condiments in Vegas.

And here's my review: Eh. Vegas isn't about condiments. It's about glitz and huge, giant, over-the-top capitalist craziness that is more reminiscent of Rome before the Fall. My god, I'm still having dreams about New York, New York. It's such a twisted, cleaned-up replica of New York that you can't help but be captivated by it's tiny Central Park and it's Greenwich Village ala Munchkinland. But here's the thing, we went on Saturday morning looking for bagels. Thinking, that of all the casinos on the strip, that we were most likely to find a bagel there. Har de har har har. We even went into "Greenberg's Deli" which anyone actually named Greenberg should sue and burn to the ground because THEY DIDN'T SERVE BAGELS.

We did dine in a Chinese restaurant with a lousy breakfast buffet, but they had a decent fried rice, so I was briefly sated. Of course, we were in Vegas to celebrate Big Mama Salsa's 70th birthday and she enjoyed a Bloody Mary with the FINEST garnish I'd ever seen in a drink. It almost made up for the lack of bagels. It was a skewer that sat across the glass with a cube of salami, a cube of cheese, a big green olive, a cocktail onion and a lime almost breaking the stick in two with the weight of their condimenty goodness. I took photos with my Aunt Joyce's camera which I will post when the Las Vegas police let my Aunt Joyce out for that unfortunate incident involving Australia's Thunder Down Under at the Excalibur.

There was a slot machine with a Tabasco theme, but I didn't have a camera or I would have had myself photographed losing money into it.

We dined at a bistro in the Paris monstrosity with the Eifel Tower and everything. The restaurant was actually quite good. Siegfried and Roy were there and we saw Roy being pushed out in a wheelchair. POOR TASTE COMMENT ALERT - I guess we should be glad the tiger didn't have the right condiment or there would be no more Roy -- END POOR TASTE COMMENT.

We had steamed artichokes which had a disappointing thick gloop that was supposed to be a lemon butter for a dipping sauce. But they were redeemed by the horseradish sauce that was served with Big Mama Salsa's Prime Rib. I had a nibble or two when BMS was otherwise occupied with her wine and it was most delicious, especially the sauce. When we were getting up to leave, BMS offered me the leftover Prime Rib, but I only grabbed the horseradish sauce which I carefully placed in my bag in case I came across something that needed dipping.

Unfortunately, I lost it later that night after bumping the night away in a club in the Hard Rock cafe.

And no, Thunder Down Under was not involved. Now THERE would be a prodigious use of the dipping sauce.

Viva Las Vegas!

Condiment Grrl

Falling Down on the Job...

Sorry for the delay in posting, my saucy lovelies, but Condiment Grrl has been quite busy with silly, other things, like taking Baby Balsamic to the Washington State Fair. It's filled with rides, pigs, cows, bunnies, and more crap made by eight-year olds than you can shape a heat-injected plastic mold stick at, but it's not the finest place for condiments.

Although, I don't know that for sure. There's actually a whole homemaking crafts portion of the fair where farm ladies bring in their pickles and salsas for judging. I read the entry form, but my skill lies in the consumption of the pickle, not the creation. I offered to be a guest judge, but alas, those rubes don't appreciate my celebrity.

Baby Balsamic did very much enjoy an ice cream cone. We rarely give her ice cream, so she suctioned up every drop, then proceeded to wilt into a diabetic coma in her stroller.

That night, she perked up again by eating her weight in Norman Bishop Cranberry Mustard. She called it "ketchup" and kept asking for more, more, more with her lamb.

If anyone out there has any power at the Washington State Fair, I BEG you to get me a judging seat next year. You won't be sorry.

Condiment Grrl

The Wasabi Code

Last night Mr. Mustard and I feasted on the flesh of raw fish and seaweed, otherwise known as sushi. Of course, I had to prepare my accompanying condiment platter just so: pickled ginger (there could never be enough blog entries about my love for pickled ginger), and wasabi stirred into soy sauce. What I enjoy most about the wasabi/soy sauce combination is how it changes throughout the course of the meal. First, the wasabi is but a bubbling echo whispering in the salty soy sauce, then as you keep dipping, soaking up a larger percentage of soy sauce than the wasabi, the wasabi gradually kicks the soy sauces ass until you take a bit of a tuna roll and your sinuses erupt and run like Mount Fuji.

But while it's intense, it doesn't hurt like chile peppers. It feels more like tough love, like some huge Sumo wrestler is going to clean out your sinus cavities BY ANY MEANS NECESSARY!!

As I discovered through the magic of best Internet friend, Wikipedia, that inherent surprise is not the only one wasabi has to offer. According to "Wiki," as I like to call her:

"Fresh leaves of wasabi can also be eaten and have some of the hot flavor of wasabi roots. They can be eaten as wasabi salad by pickling overnight with a salt and vinegar based dressing, or by quickly boiling them with a little soy sauce. Additionally, the leaves can be battered and deep-fried into chips."

Oh my GOD! This is like the DaVinci Code or something - a small green nondescript paste that hides a potential and beauty so far beyond anything I've experienced. Let me just add that that paragraph holds five of my favorite words: Salad, Salt, Vinegar, Deep-Fried, and Chips. I can have all those things with a simple wasabi root? Bring it on, baby, bring it on!

I just checked the website of the huge Asian store in Seattle, Uwajimaya and they sell wasabi root! I sense a field trip. I sense exposing my pristine kitchen (maintained quite lovingly by Mr. Mustard. I'm too busy blogging.) to the perils of deep fat flying everywhere.

And I must pickle. I have yet to pickle in my life, so I might as well start with wasabi leaves.

Until then, I will have to content myself with munching on Trader Joe's wasabi peas, but you know, they do get old after a while.

All this talk of wasabi and sushi takes me back to my first sushi experience in San Francisco. I was working with the San Francisco Mime Troupe at the time. An amazing actress, costume designer and all-around superstar of a human being, Keiko Shimosato, and myself were slaving away on props and costumes for the summer show. I didn't know her that well and was a little bit in awe of her, so I let her drag me to a sushi place, even though I hated sushi.

Or so I thought.

She told me that someone else always had to order for you the first time you ate sushi, so I allowed her to present me with yellowtail and hamachi and maguro and even, some smoked eel! Sushi is about texture as much as taste and I remember feeling so proud of myself that I liked sushi. How hip and urban I was! This was years ago, but I can still see Keiko's sly smile as she turned her head and held out the chopsticks to me. And I can still taste the wasabi expoding in my sinuses. And it reminds me of her, because she's a small, beautiful woman with a gentle aspect, who just explodes with talent and charisma and power.

Here's to the Wasabi code.

Condiment Grrl

Norman! A True Story

Okay, that's the stupid title of the biopic that I am going to script about the life of Norman Bishop: Renaissance Man and mustard and sauce-maker extraordinaire.

I am waxing rhapsodic tonight because the last few days have been spent in a haze of Norman Bishop's Seafood Dill Sauce with Mustard. Lighter and a bit tangier than their mustard, the dill slithers onto my fish and I can't stop spooning more and more onto my plate before I manage to drag my glazed eyes to the Nutrition Facts and see that two tablespoons of this manna contains eight grams of fat.

No matter. I will spend extra time chasing after Baby Balsamic who's become a little, disappointingly, crazy for French's mustard. It's okay. I'll still love her no matter what's on her condiment hit parade.

I have not been able to find out any information about Norman Bishop. When I last ordered my two cases of G*D mustard and Cranberry mustard, I spoke with a Sales/Marketer/Taster who told me it was a "small, family operation." Then I went on to describe in probably too much detail how much I loved the smooth, creamy consistency of the mustard; how it was different than other mustards. "It's because of our special mixing process." Then, as I went on and on in my freakish way, he got a bit uncomfortable and mumbled something about getting the cases out to me. Then he hung up.

Sigh. I still love them so. Anyway, I keep thinking of the classic biopics, like the one about Schubert, I think, where he and his beloved, played by someone like Norma Shearer in fetching bonnet and giant bell skirt, are riding through the forest and he starts humming a bit of a song, then a bird tweets in time, then another carriage drives by blowing horns in harmony and Voila! He's written "Stairway to Heaven."

I picture Norman Bishop as a Russell Crowe-type, all burly, but handy with a mortar and pestle. Mmmmmm... Hold on. I have to picture that for a moment. Ooookay. Continuing. So, he's in his manly yet warm, French country kitchen and he's just been informed by his evil landlord that they're going to sell his house and decapitate his chicken and sell his mother to the gypsies. He stares out the window, desperately trying to think of a way to save his chicken, and he starts grinding mustard seeds in a certain way. Then, he has an idea and turns and his elbow knocks over a jug of vinegar, splashing some into the bowl. Then the chicken frantically flies into the kitchen, being chased by the landlord, and it has dill all over it's claws that it shakes into the bowl.

Russell, I mean, Norman never stops stirring, stirring, stirring. Music swells as his muscled wrists grind and press into the pliant mustard seed. He teases some olive oil into the mix and it gets all slippery and creamy. Then a milkmaid, looking strikingly like, oh, I don't know, me, stumbles into the kitchen and her finger falls into the mix and she lifts it slowly to her mouth never taking her eyes off of Norman's manly wrist.

"Oh my god. I've never tasted anything so delicious in my life."

"Really?" Norman asks, setting the bowl down.

"Stairway to Heaven" swells as the camera pans out.

What's that? It's Dreamworks on the phone. Gotta go!

Condiment Grrl

The Things I Do for You People

Friend and Commenter, Brent, wanted a review of ALL the Chicken McNugget McDipping sauces that McDonald's has to offer. So, in the interest of scientific and epicureal advancement, Mr. Mustard, Baby Balsamic and I dined on a meal of Chicken Nuggets.

There are twenty-four grams of fat in the ten-piece serving I consumed. I think I gained five pounds in one sitting. Don't say I never did anything for you!

First off, special thanks to Mr. Mustard for helping me with my research. He truly devoted himself to the cause, dipping and commenting with aplomp. Baby Balsamic is in a bit of a rut, as children are wont to be at age 2, so she stuck with her beloved "Kechp."

And not only did Mr. Mustard participate, he was the one who sweet-talked the young counter-person into supplying us with all they had to offer. They're "not supposed to do that," but my Mr. Mustard can be quite smooth and suave.

Here's our review of sauces, in order of preference:

1. Spicy Buffalo - this was quite surprisingly spicy and tasty. Both Mr. Mustard and I were in agreement that it was our favorite, but he thought it was too vinegary. Me, the words "too vinegary" aren't in my vocabulary. This sauce was also actually the healthiest in terms of ingredients: lots of natural ones and no High Fructose Corn syrup. There's a good taste of the cayenne and it's a touch creamy. It's still kind of hot, so I liked combining this with the Ranch sauce.

2. Ranch - Again with the no bad ingredients. Nice, creamy ranch dressing. It's a little too bland for me to want to go a dipping session alone with, but it makes for an excellent addition to a threesome.

3. Chipotle Barbeque - First ingredient: the deadly High Fructose Corn Syrup. Now, up until our taste test, I had been partial to combining this sauce with the Ranch sauce. I still like it, but I found myself preferring the Spicy Buffalo. But it's still tomatoey with both actual Chipotle and Smoke Flavor kicking it up a notch. I wouldn't throw myself off the Golden Arches if I had to only have this as a dipping sauce.

4. Sweet-N-Sour - Again with the High Fructose Corn Syrup! I know it's McDonalds, but they should just offer Diabetes 2 tests along with all their foodstuffs. It's everywhere! The sauce is fine; pretty standard sweet and sour sauce you'd get at any cheap Chinese restaurant. And it made for a sweet contrast when the Spicy Buffalo got overwhelming.

5. Hot Mustard - Not hot. And it should hang its head in shame to claim the name "mustard." Kind of bitter, no vinegar (for heaven's sake!). Just brown, strange sauce. Really. If you ever get nuggets and they are out of everything else, just please, for the love of God, go for the "ketchp."

6. Regular Barbeque -- not tasty, almost like ketchup with just a hint of chemically smoke flavoring. We agreed it was the worst, even worse than the hot mustard. In fact, the first time I published this post, I left it out, so eager was I to forget my experience.

Please, if you have differing opinions of the dipping sauces, feel free to email me. I'd be curious if there are any McDonald's Hot Mustard devotees out there. Disappointed, too.

Yours in High Fructose Corn Syrup,

Condiment Grrl

The One Where Condiment Grrl Eats Her Words

A while back, I blogged about three condiments that I had purchased with a sense of hope and high, heady anticipation, only to have my dreams crushed with a cement motar and pestle. I, however, just had a fresh experience with one of these condiments that has caused me to rethink my initial position. In one fell swoop I will do what the Bush Administration stubbornly refuses to do in the face of all available evidence - admit I was wrong.

I was wrong, wrong, wrong about Blackberry Peppercorn Zinfandel Vinaigrette by Earth & Vine Provisions.

Here's a picture. I've given up on my own food photography skills and am turning to the product website, except that I can't seem to make it bigger:

 

Tonight, Mr. Mustard (who does all the cooking. I'm exhausted from twisting open condiment jars all day) prepared a simple meal of barbequed chicken and a salad of mixed greens with feta cheese. When I went out to the barbeque to observe what sauce he was going to baste on the chicken, I saw nothing. "I just put my own collection of spices on it. No sauce." After asking Mr. Mustard why he hated America, I quickly retreated to the kitchen to get out some barbeque sauce for my portion.

I was completely out of barbeque sauce. Clearly, there is a serious rent in the time/space continuum.

But Condiment Grrl will not be denied! I quickly flung open my refridgerator to review what I had that I could mix into a barbeque like sauce. My hand stopped at this Blackberry Peppercorn Zinfandel Vinaigrette; I could mix a sweet, spicy tomato-esque sauce with it for an interesting blackberry experience. I opened the bottle and dumped some in a bowl, when there was a ginormous sploosh and a chunk of the sauce, which I had complained was sludgy, hit the bowl and a thinner liquid poured out after. I mixed it up, tasted and the vinaigrette leaped up and dispelled the zin heaviness. It was the missing link; the sauce was different: sweet and vinagery with low earthy tones.

The label had warned me to "shake thoroughly." I failed to comply.

I served myself some salad with feta cheese and cut up one of the chicken breasts and placed it on top. Then I added the BPZV (I can't keep typing that name out) and Voila! A very tasty salad: salty, sweet, earthy, berry. With wine.

So, please, if you love your condiments as much as you love your medications, read the label!

Condiment Grrl