No Bones About It

As a food writer I get invited to all sorts of fun events: fancy wine and cheese pairings, taco cart openings, judging margarita competitions, sausage casing extravaganzas, jello mold jamborees, salted moose feet soirees, free McRib vouchers...that sort of stuff.

But as a guy that likes to eat pretty much anything, I do love it when I get an email saying I'm on the list for anything vegan. The way that vegan cooking and eating has evolved, and is still evolving, makes my head and tummy spin. So when the nice folk at Food In Root invited me to check out a recent VegOut! event here in Tucson (and apparently there are various ones across the map) I said "oh mias oui!"

Or something like that.

It was a warm November Sunday and the VegOut! dealy was held in a near downtown center called the Whistle Stop, this funky events venue on West 5th Street, equipped with a rusted out hall and looming clock tower. Kind of steampunk-y if you ask me. Checking their website, it looks like they do a lot of weddings and gem show stuff. When I got there I was sort of surprised to find it in the center of a residential neighborhood. Not too sure how I would feel with an events venue like a block away. Noise perhaps. And the parking that day would suck. Luckily for me I found relatively decent parking, so I grabbed my trusty camera Matilda and walked to the event.

Yep...sounds like a vegan event

The Food In Root folk said I had a plus one which would account for the excessive amount of vegan swag I got: corn cakes, snacks, protein packs, bits of bark, bags of sand, grass fed grass, stuff like that. I left my +1 for a friend but when they arrived about an hour after I left they said that they still had to pay. Huh. And I still went home with their swag.

Hee hee...


The place was pretty packed. Vendors dotted the fairgrounds and the deck, and even interior, of the event center. Oh man, and dogs were everywhere. Lots of dogs. Vegans love dogs I guess. Plus the lines for food were really long so I opted to just take photos, take it all in and then take off.

In a weird way I kind of felt like I was intruding on a party that, sure, I was invited to but wasn't really a part of from the beginning. You know what I mean? Lots of folk standing about chatting about alternative medicine, other vegan festivals, being vegan, how to get other people to be vegan, veganism, vegan vegans...so on and so forth.

Oddly, I had a good time even though I really didn't participate. If that's a thing.

So here is a photo essay with captions, encapsulating my afternoon at the VegOut! vegan festival.

Enjoy.

Sweaty vegan cakes being all 6 bucks in the shade

I've had this guy's stuff at farmers markets...so I'm good

Uhh...sure

I'm assuming that churro is vegan, but aren't they already?

At this point I'd prefer whiskey in a jar, 'cause whiskey is vegan...right?

Free hugs or free boob squeezes with half gloved vegan hands

Is that locally sourced vegan mist you got there?

Vegans listening to vegans talk about vegan stuff

I love Island Plate Lunch but that line was too much

Eating vegan is so punk

Like I said, soooooo many dogs!

At first I thought it read Hot Rambo

Sweet third eye owl tattoo you got there Chad

It wouldn't be a vegan festival if there wasn't a pile of ironic garbage

After all of the vegan revelry I was pretty spent. And hungry.

So on my way home, I grabbed a burger.






Camera, Typing and Was There
"Metal" Mark Whittaker
A Weirdly Hot Day in Autumn, 2018

Metal Influence:

CARCASS

"Lavaging Expectorate of Lysergide Composition"

Welcome back Speakeasy!

My introduction to Speakeasy beers was when I was living in San Francisco, the home base of the brewery. It was the late 90s, possibly early 2000s (things get a bit hazy through time and beer), and a good buddy of mine was doing the books for the fairly new operation. Back then, as you do in your 20s, I was consuming mostly garbage beers; Hamms, Schlitz, Rainier, Natty, PBR, etc, the trail of beer tears was endless, mostly because of financial woes combined with a palate that had yet to reach full craft beer potential.

One day I get a call and my friend asked me if I wanted to work the San Francisco beer festival with him and the dudes from Speakeasy. That current phase of me was being a freelance music journalist and Heavy Metal DJ and my pal said most of the guys at Speakeasy were old school punks and metalheads. Plus there'd be free beer.

Enough said.

I agreed to help them out that day.

When I arrived at the SF Beer festival, which, that year, was held in a warehouse near the wharf and right on the ocean, I signed in, got my volunteer t-shirt and found my buddy. He introduced me the Speakeasy crew and all of the guys, as kinda promised, were laid back rocker types. My duties that day were to greet people and hand out samples of their beer while the brewers did all the explaining and schmoozing. At the time they had 3 different varieties: an amber ale called Prohibition, an IPA called Big Daddy and, I think, they had a pale ale called Untouchable but I might be wrong here.

The event was filled with vendors, various local and visiting breweries plus a slew of eager volunteers. After I got my briefing on the various ins and outs of Speakeasy beers, I walked around and checked out some of the other sudsy delights up for sample. The temptation to try them was all too fervent but I didn't want to be drunk before they even opened the doors. When I made my way back to the Speakeasy booth the boys wanted me to try the beers, to, you know, have some knowledgeable input for the arriving guests.

I tried the Untouchable. Really good. A little spicy and malty. Then came the Prohibition. Sweet and very smooth. But it was when I downed the Big Daddy that I knew I was in trouble.

I had never had an IPA before. Didn't even know what the IPA stood for. So when that hoppy, citrusy, crisp wonder splayed my tongue and gullet I knew right then and there to ditch the dirt beer and go for the real gusto.

It was so good. I had no idea beer could taste like that. Had no clue that beer could affect the senses like that. By the time they opened the doors to let the throngs of ticket holders in, I was seriously buzzed. On Big Daddy IPA. I couldn't help it. My brain and stomach just couldn't get enough.

Hour 2 of the beer fest and I was floating. All of the other breweries had great products but Speakeasy was by far my favorite. By the time the event ended I was loaded. Luckily there was a big buffet for all of the volunteers and brewers and I ate as much sausage and pretzels I could to get me back to semi-reality. To top it all off I lucked out by hooking up with a sweet girl with curly blonde hair. It was that kind of magical affair...to say the least.

The remaining years I lived in San Francisco, my go to beer was the Big Daddy, but any Speakeasy variety would do in a pinch. My long defunct hangout, The Crowbar, always had Speakeasy on tap and when a limited edition line hit the shelves at random liquor enclaves I always snatched it up while the getting was good.

When I met the lady I was meant to marry in 2005, prompting a move to Tucson, AZ in 2006, I knew I had to leave a lot behind me, including Speakeasy beers. It was a sacrifice but true love was a callin'. While on a family visit in San Diego one year, and a chance visit to a corner liquor store near our hotel, I spotted some very familiar friends:

Sixers of Speakeasy beers!

I spent more than I should have on that beer knowing there wouldn't be any waiting for me back home in Tucson. Fortunately I would be proven wrong. A big box booze chain actually carried it on their shelves. Hooray! Yeah but only for a brief time. When I asked some beer rep friends about it, they informed that Speakeasy had lost funding, or got bought out, lost over state line distribution, something like that. It didn't matter. Whatever the reason, it just meant that I couldn't get Speakeasy products unless I return to San Francisco. And that wasn't going to happen. At least anytime soon.

The Prohibition went so well with Mexican take out

But then...beautiful redemption!

A friend that works for Hensley Beverage gave me the good news that Speakeasy was back up and running and distributing to Tucson. Woohoo!

Turns out they got acquired by Hunters Point Brewery and that acquisition gave them enough of a budget to redistribute to Arizona and beyond. They hired a new head brewer and have expanded their malty and hoppy horizons by adding a porter, pilsner, saison, an American lager and two offsets of the Big Daddy IPA, a Baby Daddy session and a Double Daddy imperial. I've tried them all and, wow. Am I in trouble. Again. While the Double Daddy packed a serious whallop the Baby Daddy went down a bit too easily. It's all just so gosh darn tasty.

Cheers Speakeasy but I'm gonna have to pace myself here.

I made chili with the Pop Gun Pilsner

Their new pilsner, going by the name Pop Gun, is malty and sweet and I used it recently in a giant pot of chili that I made for a rainy monsoon night. I'm also really excited to try their Old Godfather line of barleywines, but that'll have to be for a special evening as most barleywines come close to about 10% APV and I'll probably need the next day off as well.

Not too sure if Tucson will get this but Speakeasy has introduced a line called the Syndicate Series, which are barrel aged vintage ales and top the APV of their barleywines. Again, it's one of those "close the curtains and bust out the comfy chair" types of drinking sessions. Perhaps if I order some German food I should be okay. It just seems to help.

Still, I'm an old school Speakeasy guy so my favorites of their current line of beers has to go to the Prohibition and, of course, the Big Daddy IPA, the one beer that changed my perspective on how a beer can just go beyond a cold thing to drink and get a buzz on. It's more than that. For me, its also a memory twitch. That day spent in a packed warehouse with thousands of hop heads bopping around the various tables flush with golden, red, black and sunset hued glories, some with foamy heads, some with not so much, all waiting to be quaffed, admired and thought about, then eating delicious German food before making out with a cute girl, all comes back to one beer and one brewery.

Thank you Speakeasy!

And welcome back...

And, behold...the majesty of the Big Daddy IPA

Typing, Drinking and The Last 3 Pictures
"Metal" Mark Whittaker
Almost Halloween, 2018

Metal Influence:

ELECTRIC WIZARD

"Return Trip"

Four Men Enter, Two Men Leave!

Before I started judging, I drank some Malort

Malört is known for its bitter taste. It can be found in some Chicago-area taverns and liquor stores, and is growing in popularity there, but it is seldom seen elsewhere in the United States. Jeppson's Malört, a liquor, is a brand of bäsk produced by the Carl Jeppson Company of Chicago. Jeppson's Malört is named after Carl Jeppson, the Swedish immigrant who first popularized and sold the liquor in Chicago. Malört is the Swedish word for wormwood, which is the key ingredient in a bäsk, a bitter-flavored type of Swedish brännvin.

After drinking Malort, they started cooking

In the 1930s Carl Jeppson, a Swedish immigrant to Chicago, began marketing his home-made brew. The Carl Jeppson Company is currently owned by Patricia Gabelick, who took over the business after the 1999 death of long-time owner George Brode. Brode had purchased the original recipe from Carl Jeppson in the 1930s and created the famous Jeppson's Malört testimonial that once appeared on every bottle. It was made in Chicago until the mid-'70s, when the distillery that produced it for the Carl Jeppson Company closed down. Jeppson's Malört is currently made in Florida.

Malort might have been used in this dish

While Gabelick acknowledges that the drink is a "niche liquor," selling a comparatively small number of cases annually, it has gained increased relevance among bartenders, bikers, and Chicago's Hispanic community, where Gabelick notes that it has become "a rite of passage." The satirist John Hodgman has also adopted the drink in his stage show, offering shots to his audience. For many years, it was only sold in the Chicago area.

The taste of Jeppson's Malört is extremely bitter, and is alleged to be a cure for indigestion.

In Summer 2013, Chicago bar Red Door featured Malört–infused snow cones (it has a summer tradition of serving snow cones doused with alcohol). The liquor is mixed with Benedictine and Angostura orange.

In Joe Swanberg's 2013 film Drinking Buddies, drinking a shot of malort is mentioned as a Chicago tradition for erasing past mistakes.

In an interview with Gothamist blog Chicagoist, humorist John Hodgman said Jeppson's Malört "tastes like pencil shavings and heartbreak."

In August 2015, the High-Hat Club was voted "Best Malört Bar in Chicago" and was awarded the Carl Cup, a perpetual trophy that is passed from past to future champions in a manner similar to the Stanley Cup.

While most consider "Malört" to be the common name for the style of liquor, Malört is in fact, a trademarked brand name owned by Carl Jeppson Company. The company secured the trademark on November 3, 2015. Other distillers that produced a similar spirit renamed theirs beforehand. Letherbee reverted to the generic "Bäsk", while FEW Spirits dubbed theirs "Anguish and Regret".

Malört makes up half of the boilermaker drink called the Chicago Handshake; the other half is an Old Style beer. Some Chicago bars serve various cocktails using Malört.

I think I need another shot of Malort

The city flag on the label only has three stars, and not because the designer was ripping shots of the product (which he probably was), but because it pre-dates the Century of Progress Exposition in 1933, which inspired the flag's fourth star.

Tartare with a Malort reduction

The liquor was sold door-to-door by Jeppson during Prohibition, with the loophole of being medicinal alcohol. Jeppson's Malort was the only legal wormwood product sold in American for 96 years, starting in 1912 and up until 2008, when other wormwood products (like absinthe) became legal.

After all that food I really needed some Malort

Malort is an incredibly small operation (they have two employees, including the owner), and while their budget can't afford print ads, fan-created promotions are right in the brand's wheelhouse. Here's just some of their ad wizardry:

• Malort, kick your mouth in the balls!
• Malort, when you need to unfriend someone IN PERSON.
• Malort, tonight's the night you fight your dad.
• Malort, the Champagne of pain.
• Malort, turning taste-buds into taste-foes for generations.
• Drink Malort, it's easier than telling people you have nothing to live for.
• Malort, what soap washes its mouth out with.
• Malort, these pants aren't going to sh*t themselves.

After Rod won we drank some Malort

At the Marsalle distillery in Chicago during the 1960s, women that worked there would often pull bottles off the production line and drink them when they had menstrual cramps. Guess you don't need a heating pad when you can just light your stomach on fire from the inside.

The grand prize was a fancy knife...not Malort

Congrats to Roderick and Alfredo for winning that night.

I had a lot of fun.

Cheers!

MALORT!

Camera, Judging and Malort
"Malort" Mark Whittaker
Malort, 2018

Malort Influence:

 MALORT!

Drenched!

Unfortunately I had to skip out on being a judge for the annual Salsa, Tequila and Taco Challenge held at the La Encantada shopping thing up yonder in the Foothills, hosted by the always awesome SAACA (Southern Arizona Arts & Cultural Alliance), last year because I am pretty sure the wife and I were out of town. Were we? Pretty sure we were. Or maybe I wasn't invited yet because being the type of food writer that I am, well...writer in general, usually takes a lot of industry folk to relax a bit because they never know what I might say or, heh!, do. 

But never fear! My dopey approach to things and sarcasm only comes from a place bound in a general sense used for wanting to take the lighter rail to important destinations. Heck, this is food writing for craps sake. We write about food! Not politics or the glaring terror of world hunger and racism. 

"Was that torta to your liking?"

"Mmmm...it was okay. Here's my dissertation on why your avocado crema just didn't work on so many levels. Part one:..."

Ugh. 

Ease up people. 

Plus this is Tucson. Sure we are the first US city (I seem to mention this in almost every blog these days...wow) of gastronomy but, let's get down to brass Twinkies here: You're eating food then writing about it. 

Have fun. Drink the wine. Mingle. Enjoy the fact that you get in events for free and all of your food is usually comped. 

How awesome is that?

It's way wicked fxxking awesome!

Judges getting oriented

Fortunately this year I was in town and when I got the invite to be a judge I replied back: Oh hellz yeah!

Judging culinary events and competitions is the best. The coordinators make you feel all important and such, the ones competing kind of kiss your ass and best of all...cheap as free food and booze. Personally I got into food blogging because it was fun. Just something rad to do because I loved, and still love!, the food scene here in Tucson. I had no idea how far it would take me. Getting invited to do fancy crap such as plated dinners, high end events and, yes, judging, is a plume in my tattered and non-existent hat. My head is just too big for those things. I'm still fairly new at it, like this my second year being on lists and all that due to the Weekly gig...but still. I'm old enough and have done enough to take it all in stride and appreciate what comes my way.

This competition had tequila though.

Let's go!

First stop...Seis

I packed up my nice digital camera, Matilda, who has held my photogenic hand since 2014. She's a bit rattly in her middle age but as said in that man love cowboy movie with the Joker, "I wish I could quit you!"

But I can't.

As I drove down Campbell Ave from midtown Tucson, heading towards Skyline Blvd. a few miles up, the clouds thickened and lil drops pattered on the windshield. This was, after all, late monsoon season and we have been fortunate enough to get a good downpour here and there. Mostly here. Ah, it'll pass, I thought to myself. It usually does.

But as I wound my way towards the Foothills, I found myself switching the wipers up from 'now and then' to 'um, better double up on that'. About a mile away from my turn off to get the the mall, or whatever you want to label La Encantada, an outdoor retail spree dotted with Michael Kors and Anthropologies and all types of fxxkery that I would never step foot in except to ask if I could use and destroy their toilet after much hot burn salsa had been ingested on a stomach steeped with tequila, the rain amped itself up to a level where the wipers were on full blown 'we may not make it out of here alive'.

It was coming...down! Thing is, that La Enc...you know what, I'm sick of spelling that place...the mall thing is an outdoor affair. Yes! The Salsa, Tequila & Taco challenge was slated to be as well.

How would this play out?

I was curious too...

Its so beautiful

I arrived a bit early before the 5:30pm judges check in, so I walked around the various shops in my vintage Hawaiian shirt and old skateboard shoes and shorts and wondered if any of this splashy price tag fluff was actually worth it? The Foothills area is a far cry from the foibles of regular ol' Tucson. Its sort of like comparing getting an enema from a licensed professional in a clean and comfortable environment to some guy named Terry offering to siphon Mountain Dew up your trumpet in the back of his van for the low low cost of "Just gimme a couple'a smokes".

Kinda like that.

But I far prefer my real Tucson to the unreal environment of the Foothills. Money is cool and all but...how much spray tan and silicone injection does one need to feel worthy? I mean, it's just...

Oh look! 5:30. Time to check in.

A lot better than the description provides

There was about a good dozen or so judges, a few of which I knew, and because the event was so big with so many vendors we were fitted into three separate groups. I got group 3, paired with absolutely no one I knew, and our beat was the entire upstairs area of the mall.

Wait. Upstairs? What do you mean by that?

Apparently they wanted us, with some volunteers leading us around to the various tables, to judge outside and not the usual comfy and far less drippy judges room.

I looked outside.

BOOM! went some lightning. Rain sheeting down in torrents. Then they handed us some paper on a clipboard in which to tally our votes.

Paper? In rain?

Luckily I left Matilda in the car because there is no way I was going to get her soaking wet. So the images you see here are the few I took with my phone.

Sorry about it.

Shimmering beacons of hope

On the Team 3 beat we had Guadalajara Grill, Cafe a la C'Art, Royal Cafe, Seis Kitchen, Cruz del Sol Tequila, some juice place and then Saffron Indian Bistro (?), among others. Saffron? An upscale Indian restaurant?  Um, sure.

Our group made a big circle around the upstairs dodging as much as possible the heavy drops machine-gunning their way down. I tried listening to the chefs or presenters descriptions of what we were about to try but to little or no avail. The pitter patter on the ground and on the umbrellas was just too much for my Metal destroyed ears. So I just nodded, quickly took a bite, and sip, marked down what I thought, like it was 1-5 on taste, originality, presentation, etc, and moved on.

Around this time, 6pm, the VIP crowd was let in. For $100 the general paying public, per person, got to sample all the goods that we did before the plebian $60 ante uppers would be set free at 7pm, stumbling in, then eating and drinking their way to near oblivion.

"I'm not here to eat...I'm here to drink!", announced some middle aged dude that probably hadn't touched his wife in years. The VIPers are a distinct community. They paid the big bucks here and demand that they get the full upper decker treatment. Men in shiny tight shirts with ladies that can hardly balance on heels so thin they approach the invisible. Frosted, angry tipped hair on dissatisfied women that insist on speaking to the manager. Golf bellied men high fiving after shots of silver tequila. Brokers. Real estate swingers. Quaffers of white wine at 11am. They surrounded me. The rain and thimble shots of tequila or Dixie cup sized margaritas did very little to help. The rain did not keep the "event folk" from coming out and making their heavily perfumed selves known. I just buckled down, tallied my votes, turned it in and made my way around the rest of the big spenders and shops filled with glimmering loot I would never understand. 

Gypsy Caravan rules

To save face I met up with some beer and liquor vendors I had become friends with from my various travails across southern AZ as a food writer. I began to calm down a bit. Outside of just salsa, I actually ate some real tacos which made me feel even more human. But the rain. The rain!

It would ease up enough for dancers to come out and colorfully move about in unison on the main esplanade but then, crash! bang! boom!, more thunder, more lightning followed by more and more rain. I'm sure the organizers were not too happy about the weather outcome.

"Last year it was 110 without a hint of breeze," a buddy told me. "This year we got hit with rain. Hopefully next year they can move us indoors. But...who knows."

SAACA has no say in how the weather will turn out but if they continue to have this competition in late summer, all I know is that the Tucson weather is all but informative and forgiving. It just happens! The rain is always a welcome sight and it is nice to see the washes flowing with water, but for an outdoor culinary event, it is the opposite of 'hey rain, great to see ya!' I was soaked. So was everybody else.

7pm. And the floodgates opened.

What stampeded their way in can only be described as hungry villagers forced behind barriers for days mercilessly teased with the promise of a few scraps of food and the last pours of beer and booze. They looked desperate, savage even. I have never seen so many drunk and wet Caucasians moving towards me in a "Night of the Living Dead" procession, enough where I downed my last margarita with haste, ran to the car and drove back to my safe haven of midtown Tucson.

Once I crossed River Road, the rain stopped. Odd that. Maybe it was the altitude of the Foothills. Maybe it was just a rogue storm making its way past. Or maybe it was the Almighty saying "Please move this amazing event elsewhere next year! Haven't you gotten the hint?"

Either way, thank you SAACA for letting me judge yet another culinary competition of yours. You all do such great work, I just feel bad about the weather situation.

Once I was home, I dried off, cuddled up with the cat and felt really lucky, once again, to be doing what I do. And you should too.

Rain, heat or whatever...Tucson is a mighty fine place to call home.

Cheers!

Mas tequila

Camera, Typing and Judging While Wet
"Metal" Mark Whittaker
Late Summer Monsoons, 2018

Metal Influence:

AETHERIAN

"The Rain"

Happy Birthday Tucson!

Wow. Tucson turned 234 this year. And I've only been here for like 12 of those years. Think about all of the old restaurants and saloons I've missed out on. Oh well. 

To honor the city's past while at the same time looking well into its future, chef Gary Hickey and his team at Charro Steak put on a 4 course dinner paired with Tucson's own distillery, Hamilton, and their line of award winning whiskeys, Del Bac, creating flavors that nod to Old Pueblo history and highlighting its rich food culture. 

Let's get started shall we?

Oh its on!

"It was a dark and stormy night..."

Thus begins our tale into the ascent of yum. The monsoons were working their way in on this Monday evening, swaying trees to and fro while dropping fat blobs of potential rain. Luckily I found a parking spot not too far from the front door so I raced in to grab a seat.

Fortunately I got sat next to Vanessa Moon, owner and charcuterie chef at Phoenix Salt & Spice Company, so when the first course rolled out, everyone at our table got a first hand explanation of what was going on.

It was a board toppling with cured meats such as salami, chorizo and proscuitto paired with Mexican Manchego cheese, fresh summer berries and tomato jam then finished with crispy chips. The beginning of the evening was a resounding whole lot of yes.

The accompanying drink was a Del Bac sidecar, made with the clear smoked whiskey. The citrus and smoked sugar really brought it all together and, wow, was quite potent too. But that's how we do it here in Tucson. The ghosts of the city's past wouldn't want it any other way.

Can I haz meat and cheez?

The second course was one I could have eaten over and over. It was local salmon that was cured in Del Bac smoked whiskey for, get this...72 hours! Holy fish nards was this good.

It came cuddled with cubed house made bread and arugula and radishes from the Mission Garden. It was scrumptious, all of the elements really worked together. Plus the drink they partnered it with, called a Citrus Smash, wasn't foolin' man. This thing had a boozy chip on its shoulder and was rearin' to get into a fight. The thyme they used on the dish was implemented into the cocktail so there was a thematic reach to this course.

Getting buzzed and getting full is what I do best.

Whiskey smoked salmon...yes!

The crowd was beginning to relax and the conversation, thanks to the potent potables, was getting considerable more lively. Two dudes at our table who fessed up the $65, each, to be a part of this event were pretty funny. You could tell that they were there to have a good time...because they kept reminding us!

"I had nothing better to do tonight so I said...fxxk it! Brought my homie with me."

"Thanks man. Yeah, this is great."

"What's your favorite so far?"

"Oh man...these drinks!"

"Foods bomb too homie!"

"It is the bomb!"

I kind of miss those guys.

Werkin' it

The third course was interesting because although tasty, I was a little confused on the drink choice. It was pretty sweet, probably due to the use of vermouth, whiskey soaked cherries and Swedish Punsch, which is basically a brandy. Although it was made with my favorite in the Del Bac series, the "Dorado", which is mesquite smoked barrel aged and has characteristics of bacon, the drink felt more like a dessert drink. I dunno. Maybe it was just me.

But the brisket and lobster stuffed enchilada was fun. Honestly, because it wasn't smothered in sauce, the "enchilada" felt more like a rolled taco or fancy taquito. Same thing right? No matter because it was very good. And I liked the bed of creamy hominy, which paid tribute to the usual beans and rice yet tipped its grainy hat towards menudo. Really clever.

Not to mention the house salsas and chips went perfectly with each dish as well. These guys were straight destroying it that night. So rad!

Trust me, that's an enchillada

Whatever "issue" I might have had with the previous course, all but vanished when they set a big bowl in front of me, one that was decorated with what they dubbed a "tarta", mainly because it was too bold to just be labeled a torte. This tarta could kick your torte's ass any day. Still flour-less though, it was constructed with rich chocolate and espresso, topped with a whiskey creme anglaise and salted whipped cream.

You have no idea.

There is a picture of me out there, taken by chef Gary Hickey, tipping the bowl back to get every last melted drop of awesomeness. The table mates to my right, whom were quiet and didn't seem to be having as much fun as the rest of us, look on in slight horror at my slurp action. Whatever. Had to be done. Hey, I'm a professional!

Seriously, if you want to gaze at the pic, go to my Facebook page (facebook.com/metalmarkwhittaker) and see for yourself. Good stuff.

OH! And the cocktail this time really was a dessert drink forged with Hamilton's distiller's cut, cask strength single malt whiskey, a Spanish liqueur called Licor 43 and espresso. After all that rich food and strong hooch we all kind of needed a boost.

As usual with dinners such as this, I was sad to see, and taste, it come to an end.

I literally licked the bowl clean

By the time I left, downtown Tucson was dark; not just from the setting sun but with the sky blotted out by thick black clouds. It wasn't raining, yet, but it was blustering with balmy intent. So I made it to the car before the sky zipped open and released the late summer drizzle.

Thank you to all of the chefs, bartenders and servers involved with this dinner. Tucson as a whole was, and is, proud of its continuing promise of being one of the most delicious cities in any state or any country. This birthday celebration dinner totally proved that.

Cheers!

Thank you chefs!

Camera, Typing and Slurping Bowls
"Metal" Mark Whittaker
A Rainy Night, August 2018

Metal Influence:

VAN HALEN

"Take Your Whiskey Home"

Ancient Ways, Modern Methods : GUT Does It Again

Tis the season here in Tucson for events, pairings and coursed dinners!

It seems that the local food community likes to wait a bit till the coast is clear of tourists, students and snowbirds to showcase their talents and tastes, under the cover of summer, before the hilt of common cuisine bombast takes heed.

The Gastronomic Union of Tucson, aka GUT, as I have written about a few times before, is at the center of this attention and to start off the season of seasonings they went all out with a challenging menu for not just patrons but for them as well.

Chefs relaxing before service (don't worry, they washed their hands after...jeeze)

This year the GUT collective stepped it up, way up, as far as preparing a coursed dinner is, and was, concerned. Their take, which they featured on a balmy Sunday evening at the Carriage House, was food inspired by ingredients native to southern Arizona, and regional desert climates, before the "Columbus" era of European influence came into be and became quite the norm for native peoples.

This means cooking with no butter, no flour, no sugar, no cow meat and no animal fats. Quite the audacious contest wouldn't you say? I do say!

So the chefs had to develop dishes that incorporated proteins and plants that were, and still are, indigenous to Tucson and beyond.

Thing is, they still wanted to show off so they included the term "postmodern" in with their pre-Colombian moniker. Of course they did.

You think these chefs want to deliver a boring plate of just some elk meat, potatoes and like bits of cactus? Yeah. No.

This is GUT.

This is how they do.

The very inspired menu

It was a great turn out for the event; was really nice to see all seats accounted for with curious and eager palates.

With a brief introduction by Carriage House executive chef Devon Sanner, who was cold rocking a twisty waxed 'stache that night, the shared appetizers made their way around to each table.

The quail soup with a quail egg was a good starter; brothy and lightly firm in flavor. The only problem was is that my shooter did not have an egg in it. Oh well.

The tepary beans, pepita, acorn and amaranth cracker with pickled cholla buds was fun, but as my table neighbor noted, the cracker tasted a bit like a granola bar. It was still really tasty.

The standout was the agave simmered squash in saguaro syrup. Oh man, this was awesome. To me the texture and flavor took on an almost sweet potato sense, and that, dear reader, is an alright thing.

Native squash was so delicious

I kind of forgot what the cocktail was that they served but it was pretty good. Real earthy and a bit syrupy. The servers began to come around and pour wine meaning that the first course was on its way.

So excited!

Chefs gearing for the first course

First up was a Hualapai rabbit stew. The Hualapai is a tribe from northwest Arizona and the name breaks down to 'People of the Tall Pines'. The stew consisted of a confit of rabbit, a "three sister salad", a collection of squashes, corn and beans, a poblano puree then finished with a tart edible local flower.

Myself and table neighbor to my right literally licked the bowl clean. Every component was well considered and executed even more precisely. Very, very impressive.

We were off to a very good start.

Whats next?

Hualapai Rabbit Stew

Next up was a bit of a madman.

This was a roasted quail that was stuffed with a duck confit, paired with sunflower oil, a hominy puree and purslane, which is a edible succulent, pesto.

The quail was intense, both in flavor and blandishment. I could have eaten like a dozen of these things. The flavors all made sense, if not intrigued a bit. Not too sure what those 'corn nuts' were, sort of like hominy, but perched with the puree and the telluric grits, this should be given a place in a permanent menu somewhere.

Again, the plate was spotless when the server removed it from my spot.

Wow. GUT has really moved forward with their cuisine.

Made me almost not want the dinner to end.

Roasted Quail stuffed with Duck Confit

Thing is that European influence didn't take full effect until almost the 18th century and a lot of people don't know that tomatoes, wild rice, pumpkins and even cranberries were available to native people for centuries. So this dinner got down to its core.

You can tell there was a lot of research and thought going into each dish.

And all I can say about that is...thanks GUT!

Chef Michael explaining the third course

For the third and final course there was a bit of an Italian take on indigenous game meat.

They created what they dubbed "Deerchetta", a porchetta made from, that's right...deer. Included was masa gnocchi, popped amaranth and a pulque (an alcoholic drink made from fermenting sap) wolfberry (aka goji) agrodolche (an Italian sweet and sour sauce).

Although massively delicious, it was really rich with a grainy hue. It took a few bites to get my palate aquainted with what was going on. By the time I was finished, my mouth was asking "Yo, is there any more?"

This was an excellent way to end a very adventurous, and essentially historical, coursed dinner.

And this is why Tucson is the first US city of noted gastronomy.

Because we straight killing it!

You're welcome.

And...sorry about it.

"Deerchetta"...c'mon now

To finish everything off (remember, they cant use sugar or flour) was a dessert featuring a really refreshing prickly pear sorbet (very clever!), corn cookie crumble and a Tohono O'Odham squash atole (basically a corn and masa based beverage).

There were also these hard candy dollops that were fun if not a bit tough to bite down on. But, whatever. With each element fixed into my spoon, it was as if the ghosts of the past wafted through with an appreciative grin, joyful to be mixed with 21st century techniques and vision.

This dinner is only the beginning for 2018 and a grand step up from last years events. Not that I am saying last years dinners were crap...opposite!...but the confidence and measure of all the chefs has definitely grown. Its exciting to watch and best of all it is exciting to eat.

Prickly Pear Sorbet with Squash Atole

So thank you chefs and all involved with this season's first GUT dinner.

If the ones to follow are any indication or reflection of this one, then Tucson is on its way to global celebrity and recognition.

Until then, it is nice to have the town to ourselves, in a sense, so happenings such as this can be savored by us locals (yeah I know I wasn't born here but I've been here for over 12 years so...back off man) before the inevitable food flood comes barreling down.

But that wont happen for a while I think. And hope.

Doesn't matter.

Cheers GUT!

Thank you chefs!

Camera, Typing and Just Happy To Be Along For The Ride
"Metal" Mark Whittaker
Almost August, 2018

Metal Influence:

IRON MAIDEN

"Run to the Hills"