From Bacon to Habanero...

Continuing my musings on condiments discovered in Portland.

I blogged a little bit about the Portland Farmers Market, which is unbelievably fabulous with all kinds of artisanal cheeses, lamb sausage, legal non-hallucinogenic mushrooms, and lots and lots and lots of fresh, locally-made condiments. This is one of the food waves of the 21st century that I truly appreciate - a huge variety of non-mass produced condiments that don't contain lots of chemicals, just copious amounts of vinegar, garlic, ginger, chipotle (I swear, this has become the Paris Hilton of condiment ingredients).

We were on a bit of a budget and had to save money for the Bacon Bar, so I had to limit myself to one jar, so after sampling a few booths, I settled on the Rose City Pepperheads extremely spicy Garlic Ginger BBQ, Dipping & Cooking Jelly. Now I will tell you why this Jelly is a Jelly amongst Jellies - it burned my tongue. In an oh-so-good way. It's sweet, but ginger, garlic, and habanero gang up to light a fire under the sweet jelly's ass. It's really complex and very addictive - it's one of the few condiments that actually deliver a taste of each advertised ingredient. And I like the fact that is has a simpler name, unlike some of the Pepperheads other products, like Pomegranate Pizazz. Just Ginger Garlic, which almost lulls you into a overspiced stir-fry state.

God, in life we need more Ginger Garlic experiences. A taste, smell or idea that is consumed innocently and opens up our pores to the beauty and comprehensive spiciness and kick-assedness of it all.

Quick note: Thus far, I have only tried this on crackers and salami, but I will try preparing a stir-fry with it soon.

Condiment Grrl

The Magic is in the Hole

As promised, here are photos from our family pilgrimage to Voodoo Doughnut.

No matter what I do, I can't get this picture to orient correctly. This is me with my bacon booty outside Voodoo Doughnut, pre-consumption.

Mr. Mustard and Baby Balsamic eagerly anticipate their donut treats while being serenaded by loud Death Metal.

And the holiest of the holy -- the bacon maple bar. Is it not a thing of beauty?

Bow down before your master!

Condiment Grrl

Bacon Donut at Voodoo Doughnut!

So, this weekend, Mr. Mustard, Baby Balsamic, and myself tootling down to Portland for a party of a whole bunch of old friends and quickly lost ourselves in the delights of this city that really managed to get everything right:

- a great downtown served by an excellent train service.
- amazing restaurants
- lively neighborhoods, many of which have their own movie theater
- lots of McMinnamins which means great pub food while watching above-mentioned movies
- Excellent condiments at a diverse variety of locations, including PastaWorks, the amazing Portland Farmer's Market, and Voodoo Doughnut!

I blogged about Voodoo Doughnut before because they deserve the Nobel Peace Prize for using bacon as a condiment on a Maple Bar. Now, until recently, I had only heard of them on Anthony Bourdain's show. They were but the rumor of the promised land, the Sanctuary to my very own Logan-like run. They have fruit loops and oreos and marshmallows on all sizes of donut.

We found the shop on the edge of downtown in a slightly run-down, but rapidly gentrifying neighborhood. On the wall next to the store was a picture advertising "Fetish Night" with a woman with metal spikes through the skin in her back. The storefront is a small door on a large building with a giant Voodoo Doughnut sign dwarfing the entrance. It felt more like a club entrance than the gateway to Paradise. On entry, you find a very small area for the patrons to salivate over the offerings. There's lots of merchandise (some very attractive t-shirts, if you feel like buying your beloved condiment grrl a present) pinned to very dark walls and death metal punk blaring from overhead speakers. There's one small service counter with a rotating display case to the left which contains one kind of all the donuts they have available.

Remembering poor Comte's experience with them being out of the bacon bars, I quickly scanned the rotating case. And I saw one. And it glowed with beauty and joy; the two perfectly crispy pieces of bacon nesting in a slick icing of maple. I am salivating as I write this, it looked so freaking good. There were people ahead of us in line and I fretted and listened to their orders, worrying they would snatch up the last bacon bar. But they did not and when we reached the front of the line, we got a pink marshmallow donut for BB, and a lovely young woman with many piercings and tattoos delivered unto me the last bacon bar.

We took it back to the car and waited for BB to consume her pink donut, then sink into a deep sleep before consuming the Bacon Bar. And it was....AMAZING!!!

I know you were waiting for me to write that it disappointed me, but it did not. The maple glaze wasn't too sweet, which meant that you really got the combination of the maple and the bacon, versus a think sweet soup that comes atop many other donuts. The bacon was the perfect crispness, not greasy at all.

It was a really good donut. A really, really, really good donut.

Get thee to Portland now. Pictures tomorrow.

Condiment Grrl

You had me at bacon

This last Friday, Baby Balsamic, Mama Salsa and I ventured onto the nearby peninsula and discovered the delightful town of Poulsbo, Washington, which is like dropping in on a Norwegian village circa the 50s, but with more avant-garde art and better food. There's about 5 blocks through downtown with adorable store after restaurant after bakery after coffee shop (I especially enjoyed the Poulsbohemia Cafe) threaded by streets names things like "King Olav V vei" and "Queen Sonja Henie." Okay, it was just named Queen Sonja, but wasn't Sonja Henie adorable?

And let me start off by saying that the people there were all incredibly nice. When we first arrived, we had to quickly find a potty for the newly trained Baby Balsamic, but public potties are few and far between in these modern times. A woman who worked at the nearby Marina led us to their restroom and plugged in the code so we could gain entry. After Baby Balsamic had taken care of her urgent need, I was chatting with the woman who told me that I must check out the local Marina Market, as they had a wild stock of European foods.

Now, my devoted readers will already know that there's nothing I love more than discovering and experiencing an exotic new condiment, so mention of a store brimming with strange sauces and sublime rubs had me trotting up to the doors as fast as my sensible Clarks could carry me (Baby Balsamic in tow of course, I didn't leave her back at the Marina restroom).

And low and behold, she was right. There was shelf after shelf of strange Norwegian sauces and pickles and concoctions that would make the most discerning pallet love lutefisk (or not. It's a hard sell). Sadly, I only have so much money and approached the counter with only two items: 1. A tube of what I could only suppose was lemon mayonnaise, as it was called "Sitron Majones," but there was no english anywhere on the packaging to confirm this. It was either lemon mayonnaise or "serious testicles."

2. A jar of a yellow mustardy mixture with bits of unidentifiable things floating in it. Again, no english at all on the jar, but there was a picture of one of those rolled up sandwich things that they serve at catered functions (nobody I know rolls up their sandwiches).

I asked the lovely woman behind the counter what was in the yellow jar and she said, "Well, for starters, Bacon..." then she kept talking about other things and how it was used for the roll sandwich, etc, etc. But all I said was, "You had me at 'Bacon.'" We started chatting about my blog and she ended up giving me a complimentary condiment, an Indonesian red pepper rub, which she said would be quite good with rice.

So far, I have only tried the Sitron Majones and it was...interesting. It was clearly mayonnaise, and it had some lemon, but it also was a little sweeter than I expected. I swiped some on bread and added a slice of mayonnaise and it was tasty, but I think I'll reserve this for a future picnic where I need a handy mayonnaise dispenser.

Since it was Father's Day today, Big Daddy Condiment was over and he too sampled the Sitron Majones.

"It tastes fishy. Did they add lutefisk or something?"

No one else could taste the fish, but it made me wonder if one of the Norwegian ingredients on the label (fortykningsmiddel perhaps?) doesn't mean "testicles."

Happy Father's Day!

Condiment Grrl

Six degrees of separation from Condiments...

True confession: I HEART Turner Classic Movies. I could sit around all day watching dames in hot satin nightgowns pour stiff drinks for hair gel be-slicked men wearing pants that practically ride up to their armpits speaking sparkling dialog, the likes of which we will never again hear in the movies. And the plots -- those crazy plots! A mysterious young woman disappears, presumed dead, the detective falls in love with her picture, but she's still alive, then Fred Astaire comes in and they all tap dance while Harpo Marx randomly blows a horn and plays a harp.

They just don't make 'em like that anymore.

I was laying around the other day, thinking deep thoughts, when a movie I had never heard of --Hullabaloo, starring none other than the Wizard of Oz himself, Frank Morgan. The Wizard was playing an adorable louse who wants to be a radio star, if only he could get out of the clutches of three ex-wives and the children he's littered behind him. Hijinx ensue and then everyone appears in a giant radio show where Fred Astaire comes out and everyone tap dances and Harpo Marx...well, you get the idea.

I always like to follow up on movies I've seen with IMDB to glean more interesting details and to procrastinate. In Frank Morgan's bio on the site, it listed that his family made it's money by producing Angostura Bitters -- an apertif and digestif normally added to cocktails to settle the stomach. A sort of cocktail condiment. I quickly searched the house to see if I had a bottle of this lurking in a filing cabinet or in Baby Balsamic's bookshelf (stranger things have turned up in the house). The jar looked so familiar to me, but I realize now that what I recognized is its close resemblance to Worchestchershirechestshire Sauce (look, I can't even spell it correctly enough to locate a record on Wikipedia, so this is what you get. You know what I'm talking about). And the label has that British, highly refined, lots of complicated words look that make you think you're getting a high-quality product.

So, my new goal is to purchase a bottle of Angostura bitters and add them to gin (to make Pink Gin) and then review. The cocktail will only be to better serve you, my devoted readers. And maybe if I drink enough, then I'll get to see Fred Astaire play the harp while Harpo Marx tap dances and I'll wear a hot satin nightgown.

And all because the Wizard was in a movie I saw and I discovered his family heritage. This lust for condiments brings all sorts of good things into my life.

To summarize:

1. Drinking Angostura Bitters in a cocktail will help your digestion and bring you one step closer to Frank Morgan who...
2. Played the Wizard in the Wizard of Oz with Judy Garland who...
3. Starred in Easter Parade with Fred Astaire who...
4. Taught Harpo Marx to play the harp!

Okay, I made that last step up, but look drink Angostura Bitters and you're 3 steps away from a dancing legend. Is this a great country or what?

Condiment Grrl

I don't approve of this AT ALL

Read this article from the San Francisco Chronicle.

Now, I know that we've all been frustrated with fast food before. It's late, you're hungry and tired and there's good old reliable McJackintheKingBurger. You pull in, receive your food through a tiny window, drive for a bit, stop to enjoy your modest repast and discover that they forgot to give you ketchup. Or that the Chicken Nuggets dipping sauce is only good for two nuggets and you've got eight more sitting in a box. And the Chicken Nuggets REALLY need dipping sauce. It's unAmerican to eat them without.

But this, this, this, is unbelievable. To shoot a manager over not enough Chili Sauce.

Have we all gone mad? What's next? The Mustard Murders?

Condiments must be consumed in a civil manner. Or else we are all doomed!

Condiment Grrl