Cuban Sandwiches

I have a confession.

I’ve been thinking about Cuban Sandwiches for a while now.  I tend to get something (food related) on the brain, and then I can’t stop thinking about it.  And, I don’t know about you, but it’s really better for me to just bite the bullet, and make whatever it is that I’m obsessing about, or I end up eating far too much of something else to fill that gaping hole in my belly that is screaming out “FEED ME SOME CUBANS!”

But your belly may not be as bossy as mine is though.  I don’t know.

There was just one small obstacle in my way: Sean seems to be allergic to ham.  Like, break out in hives and be miserable allergic.  So it didn’t look like we were going to be eating Cubans anytime soon.

But then, the stars aligned, and we had homemade pickles and a pork roast in the fridge and we both thought it would be a good time to buy a little ham, and make the sandwiches, hives be damned!

Well, a little ham turned into a 10 pound bone-in beast.  In our defense the only way we could be sure it was real food was to buy bone-in, and that was the smallest one we could find.  Also, ham is super cheap.  I think we paid $15 for that monster.

The ham came home with us, went straight into the oven, and after a few hours I coated it with apricot jam, grainy mustard, and brown sugar.  It is sooooo good.  And, Sean may need to start taking some kind of antihistamine soon.  In large doses.

So, to make a Cuban sandwich here’s what you do:

Rinse and dry a pork roast.  Chop up an onion, and brown it in a dutch oven, and then brown the roast too.  (Simple: salt, pepper, cook ’til done.)  Throw the whole mess in the oven at 300F for 2 or 3 hours.

Get a big ham.  Rinse it, dry it, throw it in the oven at 350F for three hours.  Then glaze it.  And throw it back in there for another half hour or so.

Take it out to rest for 20 minutes, and slice it.

Now you got your ham, your got your pork roast, you just need some cheese (swiss is traditional, but not my favorite cheese, so I subbed in jack,) mustard, and pickles.  Pile it all on a roll, and if you have a panini press or some fancy thing like that, press that baby.  If you have a grill pan like us, just lay it on there and smush it with something heavy (like a dutch oven and a tea pot.)

Try not to burn one side of it in the mayhem of trying to get the dogs out of the kitchen.

Slice (or not) and serve.

Porky, hammy, pickly, cheesy Nirvana.

Totally worth the hives.  (I think… I don’t know obviously.)

Anyway, I’m sure there will be more ham adventures coming, because there’s still a shitload of it in the fridge.

And as always, don’t forget the beer.

Hot dogs

I meant to cook some Mexican food, so we could start celebrating Cinco de Mayo last night, but a funny thing happened at the butcher shop.

I only went there to pick up some chorizo to go into my refried beans, but sitting in the corner of the butcher case were 6 beautiful, plump all beef hot dogs calling out to me.

I know what you’re thinking. Hot dogs? Sorta lowbrow and gross, right? Not from our butcher. He makes the best sausages. Also, we had some buns to use up from the brats we had eaten earlier in the week. So dinner plans changed.

In the past, I reserved hot dog eating for baseball games, but we live in BFE, which is nowhere near any sporting arenas. So, if I want to have a hot dog once a year, I’m gonna have to cook it myself. Or have Sean do it.

When I got home Sean gave me a sort of puzzled look. Later, when it was time to actually cook dinner, he asked me again, a little incredulously, if we were really having hot dogs?

Yes. We had hot dogs. And they were delicious. Sean ate two.

See for yourself.

In the corner of the plate is some of that leftover healthy risotto I made the night before. You didn’t see that, alright?

Here was our homage to Mexican food, even though I still haven’t gotten around to making any actual food.

Those are tequila shots. It should be known that I hate tequila, and usually end up in tears or extremely angry when I drink it. I’ve been trying to have a shot every now and then to see if I start to like it. So far, I don’t like it.

These are the flowers my awesome boyfriend picked in the yard for me that afternoon. Isn’t he the greatest, even if he doesn’t always trust my culinary instincts?

You can also see our pinball machine in the corner. It’s vintage and silly, and we like to refer to our house as the Vine Street Archade and HiFi Emporium. Or at least Sean does.

He thinks I hate the pinball machine and want to get rid of it, but I secretly love it. Don’t tell him.

Tuna Sandwiches

Every once in a while I get a craving for tuna sandwiches.  I know that’s kinda weird.  It was really weird to get a tuna fish craving today because there was a full tray of leftover lasagna in the fridge, but still… I wanted a tuna sandwich.  Please note: lasagna is one of my favorite foods in the world.  Maybe it was the heaviness of the lasagna that had me craving something a little more virtuous.

So, here’s my recipes for tuna sandwiches:

Three stalks of celery, finely diced

One quarter of one medium red onion, finely diced

A handful of cornichons, finely diced

A handful of capers, chopped

A big bunch of dill, chopped

The juice of one lemon

A couple glugs of olive oil (maybe two or three tablespoons)

A small spoonful of mayonnaise (you could use more, but I find it gross)

Salt and fresh ground black pepper

Two cans of tuna, drained

Put it all in a bowl and mush it together.  Serve it on your own freshly baked wheat bread.  What?  You don’t make your own wheat bread?  You should.  It’s dead simple, and delicious. I’ll give you the recipe next time I make it.

OK, maybe my brother is right.  Maybe I am one of those assholes who makes their own bread and pasta, and other annoying shit like that, but whatever.  It’s fun.  And I have nothing else to do while I’m waiting for five to roll around, so I can commence my beer drinking.  I don’t want to look like an alcoholic.

Anyway, this being my first post I didn’t think to take any pictures of my lunch.  Maybe next time.