Friday, October 21, 2016

How to Make Las Vegas Coleslaw







Last night, I dug in and got cooking.

Some of you are asking why isn't the Quad Queen helping, or doing it.

Well, I'll tell you. This is a modern household of the 16th century, and we honor each others talents instead of trying to meet some stereotyped standard.

More importantly, I'm a way better cook.

First I figured out how to make my About To Become Famous Las Vegas Coleslaw. Chef Ian had written down some ingredients, but no recipe.
Fremont Street Coleslaw, Flusher Style. Nailed it.
I googled the ingredients and found some things that looked similar, but I just wasn't sure.

Next I worked on a rub for the pork.



Nighty-night, porks!
OK, back to the slaw. I had a green cabbage, and a purple cabbage, aka Spock's Brain.
Spock's Cabbage Brain
It looked really creepy up close, so of course, I photographed it. And then I got busy on the cutting board.

The dressing was kind of weird - it has maple syrup in it and whole grain Dijon mustard - but it's really tasty for some reason. The dish turned out much better than the "Add two cups of Miracle Whip" plan I originally had would have.

This morning, I woke at 7:00 and put the porks in the oven at 225. I put a little beer in the pans. Because beer.

Then I worked on a Carolina Mustard BBQ sauce.
THIS. CAN'T. BE. RIGHT.
It takes dedication, and a lot of stirring with your eyes closed.
That's better. Tastes good too.
I dropped the coleslaw at Divana's place. She buzzed me in and when I went up to her unit, arms full of coleslaw and Carolina sauce, the door was unlached. I pushed it open.

"Hello Royal," she said, from her position on the couch, architectural magazines arranged artfully on the coffee table in front of her. She wore what looked to be a pantsuit. It was difficult to tell, because it was made completely from feather boas. I thought I spotted a button at one point, but I couldn't be sure.

The pink theatrical non-tobacco cigarette in its long holder was freshly lit. There were no ashtrays, lighters, or matches in sight.

"You look smart with that cigarette holder," I said as I stowed the food in the fridge.

"I am smart, Royal. I have a Doctorate you know..."

I turned from the fridge and somehow, she was perched on loveseat just inside the bedroom. The cigarette and holder were gone.

"Royal, you'll oil my squeaky bedroom door, won't you."

I had to get out of there or I'd end up renovating the place with one fix-it request after another.

"Got oil?..."

"In the closet somewhere."

I dug through about 99 pairs of shoes, moved boxes, and that's when I saw it.

A certificate from Flusherville Community College that indicated Divana Flusher had been granted a course credit in Mixology.

Except the "course credit" part was crossed out and the word "Doctorate" was scribbled in what looked like eyebrow pencil.

I found the oil, and put some on the hinges. I said nothing about the certificate. When I closed the closet door, Divana was perched on a stool at the kitchen island.

"See you tonight!" I said, and hauled ass.

Self-granted Doctorate in Mixology!

I'll whip home at lunchtime from the plant and check on those porks!!! Meanwhile, the Quad Queen has taken the day off to take Chippy to the Left-B-Hind Kennel, which has mysteriously moved to about two hours away.


1 comment:

  1. I had noticed that Quad Queen was conspicuously absent from the food prep - smart woman! But not sure which "Carolina" you got that mustard-y sauce from....

    ReplyDelete

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