ODE TO A SWEDISH MEATBALL

Meatballs in hoagies.

Meatballs on pasta.

Meatball perogies.

Meatballs…ya basta!

Big, bad Tony Soprano.

Has no bloody idea.

That the finest of meatballs.

Are all found in IKEA.

A tomato-based salsa.

Might, to some, seem a dream.

But the best meatball sauce.

Contains fresh dill and cream.

And a true meatball master.

Much to many’s surprise.

Is eleven feet tall.

With blonde hair and blue eyes.

So, next time in your kitchen.

Embrace your inner Sven.

Fry a ton of Swedish Meatballs.

Stockholm Syndrome’s your friend.

THE TIMES THEY ARE A CHANGING.

Ummm, hi. Remember me?

There was a time--seems like a thousand years ago--that I was living in Spain and blogging on a daily basis. This blog racked up hundreds of posts over a period of a couple years. It was easy to do. I was living in a foreign country and immersed in an interesting culture. Largely in isolation, with nothing to do but observe carefully, sharpen my wit on an oil stone and reduce the lot into a pithy 1,000 words for the benefit of a couple hundred indulgent (and highly valued) readers. It was all very satisfying, fun and therapeutic.

When I moved back to the US in 2008, it all stopped. Life in that joint is far too busy. Too hectic. Too exhausting. When the body and mind get tired, the first thing to go is the capacity for creative thought. It's true.

Other interests took over and competed for those precious-few morsels of time and energy. I can say with absolute certainty that it's much easier to run 18 miles than it is to sit down and write a respectable 1,000 word blog post. The 18 miles nearly always won.

Plus, the world changed. Blogging--which so quickly and completely enraptured millions of keyboard warriors around the globe--suddenly became a dinosaur. Facebook took over and asked the question, "Who needs 1,000 words when you can get away with 250 characters?"

I, too, fell victim to its charms. Instead of spending ninety minutes carefully crafting a blog post that I could be proud of, I'd bang out a Facebook status update that I could be proud of in literally ninety seconds.

Although when Twitter appeared to save those poor souls that viewed 250 characters as the equivalent of an IronMan triathlon, I drew the line.

So...what's the point of today's post--the first post in nearly a year? Well, it's three things.

Number one, I happen to be sitting in a hotel room in Spain at this very moment...with nothing to do. When I think "Spain" and "nothing to do," I immediately thing "blog!"

Number two, I saw an uncle over the weekend that I haven't seen in years. And he spent a few Scotch-induced minutes lamenting the death--or, at least, the hiberation--of Sal's Virtual Tapas Bar. I could do nothing more than agree...and lament mightily myself.

And number three, I got married last weekend. It was something that I never thought I would do again. It was also something that I couldn't imagine NOT doing with this woman. Blogging is a very narcissistic endeavor. The average blogger has to believe--rightly or wrongly--that the rest of the world gives a rat's ass about him, his life, this thoughts and his opinions. Oftentimes this belief is misplaced. The best bloggers--through sheer hard work and hard editing--make this belief a reality. Regardless of which to those two camps I fall into, Sal's Virtual Tapas Bar (and its brief incarnation as Fat Sal's Smoking Lounge) forced you to hear about a happy marriage, a fallen marriage, a long, solitary walk through the woods, a difficult parting of the ways with the country of Spain, and then three years of near-total silence. Oh yeah...and how NOT to build a smoker out of a flower pot.

I feel that I owe this update to the VTB.

And, so...I am pleased to announce to the Blogosphere that I'm married to Anne Elbaor, and I couldn't be happier.

This was fun. I'll be back.

SOMETIMES IT PAYS TO BE PERSISTENT.

Top Chef Masters winner, James Beard Award winner, best chef in Chicago--Rick Bayless...and friend.

THE LOST WEEKEND: AN ENCASED MEATS LOVE STORY.

ENTER "THE FINO COCKTAIL."

When my beloved cat Fino went to live with "that nice young couple on a farm" last month, I resolved to create a cocktail in his honor.

Like its legendary namesake, the "Fino Cocktail" had to be cool, sweet, strong and, above all...a striking blue. Prrrrrr...

Last night, with the help of a sharp palate and a Telfon liver, the Fino Cocktail was perfected. And I have to say, it's a damn good cocktail. Here's the recipe:

THE FINO COCKTAIL

2 oz. light rum

1/2 oz. Simple Syrup

1/2 oz. Blue Curacao

1 dash Fee Brothers Orange Bitters

Silver Dollar-sized Lime peel

Step 1: Add rum, Simple Syrup, Blue Curacao and Bitters to a shaker.

Step 2: Add abundant ice to shaker, stir until ice cold and strain into a chilled cocktail glass.

Step 3: Twist lime peel over drink to float the oils, and discard.

Step 4: Drink, purr and make love. That's what Fino would do.

Note: To make Simple Syrup, add 1 c. sugar to 1 c. boiling water. Off heat, stir until sugar is completely dissolved, cool and refrigerate.

BONEY DOG'S FIRST AND LAST ANNUAL BRATWURST SMACK-DOWN.

Take fifty food fanatics, thirty-four varieties of bratwurst, a vacuum-sealed bag of homemade proscuitto, a Holmesian hot dog named "The Big Wally," four Weber kettle grills, three waffle irons and a man named "Boney Dog." Drop them onto a field in southern Wisconsin for seven hours. What do you get?

You get Boney Dog's First and Last Annual Bratwurst Smack-down...which you can read all about HERE.

And yes...it was I who brought the Ream's.

Here we have the infamous Boney Dog nearly cracking under the pressure of grilling the same damn sausage for five and half continuous hours.

Eating the same damn sausage for five and a half continuous hours was a much easier feat.

Contrary to appearances, we did take time to eat our vegetables. Pictured above is Mrs. Boney Dog's German Potato Salad. Teeming with grilled potato slices, bacon and vinegar, it was the best I've ever had.

Thanks again, Dog. It may not have been much fun for you, but it was a day on Fantasy Island for the rest of us. A really, seriously fabulous day.

EXIT THE LOVE MACHINE.

SEPTEMBER 8, 1997 - AUGUST 4, 2009.

Irreplaceable.