Happy Honey Day!

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OMG, I knew it... via Iwillhaveamillionofyourbabies.wordpress.com

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Dear God! I almost missed celebrating Honey Day! And no, I'm not being sarcastic. I love bee juice. Incidentally, this post isn't going to be about the urban bee-keeping trend, or a lament about "where have all the bees gone?", or maybe even about honey, much...

That stuff is neat, but I'll let you guys Google it. I'm actually just really excited about a recipe I found. I haven't made it yet, but one of the ingredients is condensed milk, the most delicious form of milk on the planet. My family and I pour it on everything (Peruvians do that). Oh, and the recipe calls for honey, too.

Peach and Orange Honey Pops, from L.A. Times Test Kitchen.

• 1 1/2 cups full-fat Greek yogurt
  
• 1/2 cup whole milk
  
• 1/4 cup sweetened condensed milk
  
• 1/4 cup honey (preferably orange blossom)
  
• 4 cups sliced peaches (4 to 5 peaches)
  
• 2 tablespoons apricot preserves
  
  1. Place the yogurt, milk, condensed milk, honey, peaches and preserves in a blender. Blend until smooth.
  
  2. Divide the mixture evenly among the pop molds, pouring so that you leave about one-half inch of headroom at the top. Once they are filled, tap the molds gently against the counter, allowing the liquid to settle evenly into the molds and dislodging any air bubbles that may have formed. Cover the molds and fit with popsicle sticks, if necessary. Freeze the molds until completely firm, at least 5 hours. For easy unmolding, run the frozen pops under warm water for 10 to 15 seconds before removing them.
  
  Each of 8 popsicles: 170 calories; 5 grams protein; 26 grams carbohydrates; 1 gram fiber; 6 grams fat; 4 grams saturated fat; 12 mg. cholesterol; 24 grams sugar; 34 mg. sodium.
  
  

Wow. They even break down the calories for us. Bravo, L.A. Test Kitchen. Bravo.

MasterChef Kind of Sucks

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He's full of whimsy. via Delawareonline.com

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There are way too many cooking competition-type shows these days, but I'm giving MasterChef a chance because I need a show to work out to.

The main draw for me is not the contestants, though. I'm wasting my precious time on it for Gordon Ramsay, because anything involving G.R. in a cooking version of American Idol is bound to be bawdy, entertaining, and informative- most of the time.

In case you've never heard of it, MasterChef is a quest to uncover the best amateur chef in the U.S. (why, yes, it IS a rendition of a show from England!). Each contestant has to earn a MasterChef apron to compete for the prize; thirty made it out of thousands of applicants, and there can be only one MasterChef. The winner gets gets $250K, a cookbook, and all of the glory in all the land.

Ramsay is joined by Graham Elliot and Joe Bastianich, no lightweights in the restaurant world. If you're wondering which one will be the Simon Cowell of the show, you'll be happy to know this show has two of them! Hint: it's not sweet pushover Elliot.

We luck out with two versions of Cowell: Joe B's version is the metro serious business dude with the poker face who has trouble hiding when he has the hots for someone. Ramsay's version is a mood swinging, fire-breathing, yet lovable one.

Aside from watching the hosts have fits over both the great and terribly-composed dishes, there's nothing much going on as the show is trite and a little behind the times (nothing tops the classic Iron Chef, and we already have Top Chef and a slew of other knock-offs).

Every contestant gets his or her own little heart-rending background story, replete with slow motion shots of hugs with family members. The tearful close-ups cultivate a sense that surely, so and so will win because they have enough trauma in their lives to fuel them to success (that worked well for Batman, anyway)...

...at least the judges keep you guessing. Cue the contrived suspension during judgments: "I need you to take off your aprons....and tie them back on again, tighter, because you've made it on to MasterChef!".

That's priceless.

It also induces viewer rage, and we all know rage is the best fuel for work outs.

Angelo's | Reuben

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Whatthe?

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What makes a reuben fantastic? Thick layers of corned beef, melted Swiss cheese, sauerkraut, (rich) thousand-island dressing, and dark rye bread soaked in butter. It sounds simple, doesn't it?

The perfect reuben is simple! It is also simple to ruin.

Enter: Angelo's of Ann Arbor, MI.

The Angelinos want to make a good reuben, and the effort shows. They use thick layers of fillings, but where's the rye? The substitution of thick, crusty bread white bread is a huge misstep, and utterly ruins the sandwich.

No matter how you slice it, though, Angelo's reuben sandwich is a flop. There in't enough meat, sauerkraut, or dressing in the world to hide that thick, white bread crust, or Angelo's soul-deep disdain for proper Jewish deli fare.

Zingerman's | Best Ribs Ever

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Where's Swayze?

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The best ribs I have ever tasted were the "pit smoked spare ribs" served to me at Ann Arbor's beloved Zingerman's Roadhouse this past Monday.

Zingerman starts with ribs from specially-bred "Niman Ranch" pigs, slow-cooks them for nine hours, then serves them with not-quite-too-tangy "Alex's red rage tomato BBQ sauce", mashed potatoes, and yellow mustard corn slaw. A thin layer of sauce is baked into the ribs (below), and the flavor runs through all of the pork, so that every bite is flavorful and amazing.

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The knife means you don't have to share!

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The intense flavor comes partly from the slow-cooking and smoking process, which helps to bring out the dry rub. Throughout the process, the ribs are basted in a "Memphis-style" sauce. A crisped layer of pork skin is left on one side that I would gleefully stab my dining companions over, if they tried to take it from me.

Speaking of gleefully stabbing things, a big part of the flavor profile comes the free-range ranch pork; the tenderness of the meat is striking, and I feel better knowing telling myself that the pigs I was eating had lived a lovely life ...

... at $19 per half-rack, those pigs had damn well better lead a happy life - but, whether they do or don't, I'm sure they'd agree that these ribs were to die for!