Congratulations! You debated whether to read this article after learning the discussion would be about cheese and here you are.  Be proud, very proud. You are ready to move past the plastic sleeved cheese slice that stuffs your grilled cheese sandwiches.

It’s time you push past your feelings of unworthiness because you haven’t taken a hoity-toity artisan cheese tour through the Pyrenees of Catalonia. Maybe you’ve been turned off by those types you spy at cocktail parties . . . the food snobs who know everything about anything epicurean.

They are poised by the cheese platter, decked in tweed coats and turtlenecks as they look down on you, the lowly cheese novice, glaring at you with their tortoise shell eyeglasses pushed far down the bridge of the nose.

But hope is alive for you cheese novices–the exclusive world of cheese is beginning to be being exposed. Years ago, you would have to visit a fine gourmet charcuterie shop manned by smart-assed 18-year olds pushing his globally lactic finds.

Today, fine artisan cheeses can be found in any massive warehouse clubs like Costco and almost any neighborhood supermarket.

So if your level of comfort is creating a cheese platter comprised of slabs of traffic cone colored cheddar and a fuchsia ball of port wine cheese with mechanically pressed on soggy walnuts, let this article serve as a primer to your first step in gourmet cheeses.

That first step is to pick a country. Let’s use Spain to start since most of this country’s cheeses are so easy on the palate.

The second step is to create a ladder of flavor for your guests to climb. Choose one mild, one medium and one strong cheese for your cheese platters.

MILD:

Queso Tetilla (tet-TEA-ya) is pleasant, mild-mannered cow’s milk cheese named after a woman’s breast. You can’t miss this two pound Hershey kiss shaped lump of cheese in the cheese bin. Don’t look past this shy, mellow seniorita. Tetilla is a great melter and can be used for grilled cheese purposes.

Cabra Romera is another mild to medium Spanish cheese with a firm and pale flesh.  During the final third month of aging, rosemary and lard is rubbed onto the rind infusing a floral-herb scent. This is one rind you don’t want to nibble around.

MEDIUM:

Young Manchego is a cave-aged smooth operator with a mild, nutty and slightly tangy flavor. You can sometimes smell a hint of mountain grasses and herbs the sheep munch on before sharing their milk with the farmers. If you prefer a tangier, in-your-face experience, try the grown-up aged Manchego. Remember, the more aged a cheese, the sharper the flavor.

Idiazabal (I-dia-tha-bal) is a rustic cheese from the farms of the northern Basque county near France. The hearty flesh can be smoky, oily and slightly chewy. For preservation, early sheep farmers of the Pyrenees Mountains would hang their Idiazabal cheese logs in chimneys stuffed with fiery hawthorn and cherry logs for preservation and aging.

STRONG:

Valdeon is a valiant and gracious blue whose cows and goats from the northern coast of Spain provide a  smooth, buttery flavor with a hint of pepper and a long linger on the tongue. Once this lightly salted cheese emerges from its dark and damp limestone cave, you’ll notice it’s wrapped in either oak or chestnut leaves. Most cheese-heads are familiar with Valdeon’s older and bolder brother, Cabrales. But for a lower price and more mellow blue cheese tang, Valdeon is a great beginner’s blue.

Cabrales is the big cheese, the Mike Tyson in the ring. Large and in charge, this famous Spanish blue may be a combination of cow, goat and sheep’s milk, depending on the whim of the farmer that spring. A thin foil wrapper tightly hugs a lightly salted crust that protects a creamy, but piquant blue-veined flesh.

Feeling cocky now and want to find more Spanish cheeses? Try logging onto these websites for a Spanish special delivery.

www.murryscheese.com: A New York City cheese institution that delivers.
www.tienda.com: A Spanish importer with high-end Spanish cheeses.
www.igourmet.com: An Internet retailer of gourmet goods and cheeses.

COOK’S NOTES: Not the cheese platter type? This pizza is a great appetizer for friends or a dinner for a chilly Fall evening.

VALDEAON, WALNUT AND HONEY PIZZA
Serves 4 or two really hungry people

1 pizza crust (fresh from supermarket or frozen from freezer section)
Sprinkle of flour or cornmeal
1 pear, sliced thinly
½ teaspoon thyme
1 teaspoon butter
¼ cup walnuts, chopped
4 ounces of Valdeon blue cheese
4 ounces of Tetilla or fresh mozzarella
4 ounces of Serrano or Proscuitto di Parma
Drizzle of Honey
Fresh ground pepper

Preheat oven to 450 degrees. Sauté pear slices in butter and thyme until pears are soft. Lay pizza dough onto floured baking sheet or stone. Brush pizza crust with olive oil. Evenly spread pears, walnuts, blue cheese, Tetilla and Serrano ham around the pizza crust. Grind fresh pepper overtop. Cook for 8 to 10 minutes until crust is brown and cheese is melted.  Drizzle honey over cooked pizza.

–Shelly Connors, Red Editorial Staff.

The drive to Marco Island, in Southwest Florida, is a serene one. Water borders both sides of the road, boats float listlessly along, fishing poles sticking out like pins in a fiberglass cushion. Egrets criss-cross the panoramic scenery, settling gently into the thick, lush mangroves.

The distance ahead soon offers up the large bridge that straddles a busy waterway thick with boats and mosquito-like jet skis and signals the edge of Marco Island. The destination on this winter haven is Mobile Tactics, an interesting place to pitch hot lead in many forms amongst the soothing tranquility that is Marco Island.

Reduced to its simplest terms, Mobile Tactics is an 18 wheeler that has been converted into a firing range. Deposited next to a small building that houses the actual store, it is outfitted with nifty features such as live fire simulator, which allows you the chance to react and fire when some punk clutches grandma by her blue hair and she screams for you to pull your piece and bust a cap. Along side the simulator are other effects to make you a better shooter. Inside the diminutive shop, firearms of all shapes and sizes are displayed. With the current scramble for guns, the place is a constant thrum of activity. Even so, it is still a nifty place to relax to the chest rattling thump of firearms.

Donning the required eyewear and much needed earplugs, targets are centered and the blasting begins. While most people are happy to bring in some six-shooter willed to them by great-granddad or a sharp new semi automatic pistol, others tumble through the doors loaded for bear, or lacking any ursine adversary, the end of the world. Assault weapons, extended magazines, high tech sights, lasers. A collection of gadgets that would easily outfit any Third World country against attack the next time Hugo Chavez gets a wild hair.

As I unloaded my own bag of goodies, methodically pressed bullets into my own array of extended magazines and listened to the sounds of a full auto MP5 rat-a-tat-tat away in the next lane, Mike, the owner, jogged in and gave a quick helping hand to someone in another lane who seemed unable to find the paper target set 10 feet away from them. Seems like grandma’s chances just got a little slimmer.

So for an hour we fired away. Spent brass flew wildly, pathetic attempts at marksmanship were displayed with chest thumping bravado and weapons were cursed for their inaccuracy. The time whizzed by like a 9mm across my field of sight.

Packing up the mini arsenal, we trotted off to the store to stock up on the necessities for dinner. And after a nice afternoon of throwing lead, nothing beats a backyard barbeque.

What follows is a recipe for both a dry rub and a sauce that can be used on beef, pork or chicken. Ingredients are easy to find and both choices pair incredibly well with a large cooler stocked with ice and beer. If your general locale is fraught with ice and snow, your cooking options are simple: roast. Use the dry rub and put the oven on 350 degrees. Add the sauce later on, just prior to serving your meat.

DRY BBQ RUB:

1.5 cup light brown sugar
2 tbsp chili powder
2 tbsb paprika
2 tbsp cumin, ground
2 tbsp kosher salt
1 tbsp sage, ground
1 tbsp dried basil or oregano
1 tbsp cayenne pepper
½ tbsp granulated garlic powder
½ tbsp Chinese five spice powder

Thoroughly mix. Rub liberally on your selected meat. Let sit refrigerated for 1-3 hours. Grill on a medium flame until done. Serve alongside a well chilled bottle of beer. Or three.

BBQ SAUCE:

2 cups ketchup
1 cup molasses
½ cup rice wine vinegar
1 small red onion, diced
1 jalapeno, chopped
4 tbsp chili powder
2 tbsp garlic powder
1 tbsp cumin
1 tbsp sage
1 tbsp tumeric
½ tbsp cinnamon, ground
1 orange, juiced and zested
1 tbsp chopped cilantro

In a pot, on low heat, simmer the ketchup, molasses, and vinegar for 10 minutes. Add the onion and jalapeno and continue on low heat for five more minutes. Add in all dry ingredients. Simmer and add the orange juice, zest, cilantro and cinnamon. Salt and pepper to taste. Cool and slather on after meat is ¾ done cooking to prevent the sugars from burning.

–Tim Connors, Red Editorial Staff.

We all remember the good old days of a steaming cup of warm apple cider slid onto the table by mom after a long day of chilly winter playing. That rich apple aroma wafted up to your nose, the deep warmth resonated through your fingers as they clutched the mug and that sweet flavor of spices resonated around your mouth.

Flash forward to your early twenties. Your student loans are coming due for that advanced degree in Sudoku from the local higher learning institution, rent on that fetid rat hole you call an apartment is being raised and your boss has just sent for you amidst company wide layoffs. That half finished bottle of ripple stashed under the growing piles of long forgotten TPS reports in the bottom drawer of your desk almost shouts out your name.

Under these dire circumstances, wouldn’t it be nice to have something homey to perk you up and stem that evil tide? A cup of cheer that cuts through your soul-pummeling day and eases you back into feelings left in the warm, wooly memories of childhood? Well, shove your way back from the desk, slap on your long, musty black rain coat and stomp on out for a steaming cup of happy regression to be found after a quick trip to the local liquor and grocery stores.

First, scour the shelves at your local food store for a quart of all natural, 100% apple cider.  Next, head on over to that seedy liquor store across town and procure, from the rather large, blindingly bleached blond, gum smacking cashier scrutinizing the long dark rain coat you are wearing, a bottle of Captain Morgan’s Spiced Rum.

From there, scurry back to work and into the break room, locking the door behind you and dropping the cheap shades. In that crusty old coffee pot on the table, add the cider, a few hits of cinnamon from some secretary’s secret tea stash, a packet of brown sugar and 1/3 a pint of the rum. Punch the brew button with heady authority and wait until the richly scented brew of apples and spice overtakes the fetid odor that permeates the break room.

Then, in a slow and almost ceremonial pouring motion, fill your cup full of cheer. Make that slowly warming cup your life raft as you navigate the shark infested waters of your life and the even deeper nadir known as work. Hang on, intoxicating cheer is only a few minutes away, at least until someone else takes a sip and realizes the warm cup of cider you stagger about the office with is actually only 10% juice and close to 90% pure alcohol.  Then, well, a fast vacation into rehab is at least time off from work.

The fortification of apple cider is not a new by any stretch of the imagination. It was started hundreds of years ago by people like you and me looking to choke out their sorrows and get in some healthy vitamins at the same time. Cinnamon, nutmeg, allspice and many of the traditional apple pie spices are steeped in the cider, then a roundhouse punch of brandies, rums, whiskies or other fruit based liquors are introduced into the to raise it from a pedestrian, yet healthy, fruit juice to a lofty, yet refined, and richly nuanced cup of spiced liver cirrhosis.

What follows are a few recipes for holiday cheer. But please, imbibe responsibly.

Rum Spiced Cider:

– 2 red apples, quartered
– 2 teaspoons whole cloves
– 2 quarts apple cider
– 1/2 cup light brown sugar
– 1 teaspoon allspice
– Pinch grated nutmeg
– 2 cups dark rum, preferably spiced
– Cinnamon sticks, garnish

In a medium pot, combine the apples, cloves and remaining ingredients except the rum. Slowly simmer over low heat for 10 minutes. Remove from heat and add the rum. Discard the apple. Ladle into mugs and add a cinnamon stick. Serve hot.
Hot Buttered Bourbon Cider:

– 4 cups apple cider
– 1/2 cup water
– 3 tablespoons (packed) golden brown sugar
– 4 whole cloves
– 1 cinnamon stick
– 3 tablespoons chilled unsalted butter
– 1 1/2 cup bourbon
– 1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
– Ground nutmeg

Bring first 5 ingredients to simmer. Remove from heat; steep 15 minutes. Add 2 tablespoons chilled butter to saucepan; bring to simmer. Stir in bourbon and lemon juice. Remove cloves. Divide hot cider among 4 mugs. Cut 1 tablespoon butter into 4 pieces and add 1 piece to each mug. Sprinkle nutmeg over.

–Tim Connors, Red Editorial Staff.

It is typically a season marked with fiery changes in summer’s green foliage, the first wafting smells of wood fires crackling in long dormant fireplaces and pimply faced teens slinging raw eggs at your freshly painted house or threading toilet paper deep within the recesses of your fern and bushes. It is that definitive point when the air stings your lungs with that first breath of a cold morning and recalls sweaters from their long summer storage. Ahhhh, Fall. The doormat to the great house of winter.

Aside from the pernicious activities of crazed teens and the heaps of dull brown leaves collecting in the corners of your untended yard, Fall is also a time of pumpkins and gourds, aromatic spices and pies, ciders and rich hot chocolates; each stamping some fond memory in the seasonal section of your brain.

It is the pumpkin, however, that living “clay” from which many a twisted jack-o-lantern is artfully carved, that wears the most hats during this season. From the fanciful, candle stuck greeter on porches and steps to supporting player in homey, cinnamon scented pies and ample host to heaps of sweet ice cream, this orange member of the squash family has come to symbolize the ambling arrival of the Fall season.

Not to be content as a player in baked treats that tease sweet smells from many an oven, the pumpkin also rears its orange gourd in a deep red beer that is anticipated by many beer aficionados with a fervor crouching just short of rabid.

Often sporting slightly higher alcohol content than other beers, thus making it the true life of any Fall party, pumpkin beer takes many styles. Sold in everything from growlers, small glass jugs, to the ubiquitous 6 and 12 packs, brewers utilize the spices of pumpkin pie, such as clove and nutmeg, to fortify this sometimes dark ale with flavors that range from a sublime hint of pumpkin to certain brews that are akin in flavor to a fire hose pumping a thick pumpkin puree down your gullet.

Yummy.

Others go so far as to have a touch of sweetness to them, a veritable dessert in a bottle. But after three or four of any of these styles the result is the same: a warm and fuzzy feeling just like Grandma’s house during the holidays after a fifth of Thunderbird . . . only more festive and socially acceptable.

The following are but a few of the fine examples of pumpkin beer that make the holidays just that much more bearable. Some are tap only and others are sold in bottles, making them a convenient beverage to haul along as you rip bags of candy from a small child’s tender grasp and sprint merrily away shouting “Happy Halloween” over your shoulder.

O’Fallon Pumpkin Ale: dark, with strong but not overwhelming pumpkin and spices

Michigan Brewing Screamin’ Pumpkin Spiced Ale: strong pumpkin, lighter on the spices, copper color

Pumpkinhead Ale: minor hint of pumpkin, lacking spice and body

Trailhead Brewery Pumpkin Ale: a Missouri crowd pleaser, sold in growlers. Deep pumpkin, good spice, excellent flavor overall

Tun Tavern Pumpkin Ale: an Atlantic City favorite-dark amber, balanced pumpkin and spice. Thin head and long finish. Great flavor.

COOK’S NOTES:
And to provide some form of nutrition while you body slam your liver with an impromptu pumpkin beer tasting in your parents dimly lit basement, here is another use of that nifty orange orb with the inclusion of a splash of your pumpkin inspired ale: healthy pumpkin bread.

WHOLE WHEAT PUMPKIN ALE BREAD

1 (15 ounce) can pumpkin puree
4 eggs
½ cup vegetable oil
1 stick of butter, melted
1 teaspoon vanilla
2/3 cup pumpkin ale or water
2 cups white sugar
1 cup brown sugar
3 1/2 cups whole wheat flour
2 teaspoons baking soda
1 1/2 teaspoons salt
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1 teaspoon ground nutmeg
1/2 teaspoon ground cloves
1/4 teaspoon ground ginger

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.
Grease and flour a loaf pan.

Mix pumpkin, eggs, oil, butter, water, vanilla and sugar in a large bowl until completely blended.

In another bowl, whisk the flour, baking soda, salt and cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves and ginger. Gently blend the wet and dry ingredients together until blended. After pouring into loaf pan, bake for 45 to 55 minutes. Check for doneness by sticking a wooden skewer or toothpick in the center.  It should come out without crumbs.

–Tim Connors, RED Editorial Staff.

There was a time when New York City’s finest restaurants bragged they had fresh raspberries flown in from far away warm climates each December. Out of season produce was sourced from exotic locations to satisfy the particular palates of New York’s demanding gourmands.

Today, restaurants boast a new creed; serving what’s in season and locally grown.

Many of Manhattan’s top chefs attribute their penchant for seasonal cooking to their leisurely strolls through the city’s local farmers markets. In New York City, no other farmers market has driven the menus of New York’s top restaurants more than the Union Square Farmers Market.

Created in 1976, the Union Square Farmer’s Market was created to give smaller farmers a chance to sell directly to the public to increase their profit potential. Located in a formerly drug and crime laden block, potatoes and leeks replaced guns and hypodermic needles.

Many city planners credit the explosion of fine restaurants to the existence of this trailblazing market. Restaurants like Gramercy Tavern, Union Square Café, Blue Water Grill and Rosa Mexicana have been Union Square staples for years.

The Union Square Farmer’s Market is open four days a week, Monday, Wednesday, Friday and Saturday from 8am to 6pm.

Today, you can weave through the masses of munching crowds to find small producers of artisan cheeses, ciders, apples and pears, organic greens, hand woven wool accessories, baked goods as well as fresh meats and seafood.

As a former long time resident of Manhattan, I knew it was push or be pushed when walking through this market. You learn this early living in the city. You make a plan of attack on 15th street before you enter the market. You find your edible target, buy it and leave quickly.

But today, I am being pushed around because it’s been a couple of years since I’ve lived in the city and I am back as a tourist, gawking at all the new food offerings. I find it my duty to sample everything . . . to pay respect to the hard work of these gourmet craftsmen and women. And luckily, almost every stand offers a sample when asked.

A cheese stand offers smears of fresh goat cheese on a toasty baguette. Cubes of pumpkin bread and shortbread cookies are offered for the curious shopper. A flower vendor offers boughs of harvest themed flowers and gourds. Slices of upstate apples and pears are offered while the vendor explains to a regular how to make their grandmother’s apple crumble.

After an hour of snacking, I lumber away from the market, stomach filled with samples, one hand gripping a warm cup of hot cider and the other hand gripping a bag of local potatoes.

COOK’S NOTES: Potatoes and cheese are such a comforting combination during autumn. When I saw there was a cheese vendor so close to the local potato farmer’s stand, I knew I had to make a creamy potato gratin.

There were so many cheeses to pick from I decided to mix a couple together to make a Two Cheese Potato Gratin. This gratin would be delicious on the side of a grilled steak.

TWO CHEESE POTATO GRATIN
Serves 6-8
•    1 1/2 cups heavy cream
•    1 sprig fresh thyme
•    1 sage leaf, minced
•    2 garlic cloves, chopped
•    1/2 teaspoon ground nutmeg
•    Butter
•    2 pounds russet, Yukon gold or Colorado Golden potatoes, peeled and cut into 1/8-inch thick slices
•    Salt and freshly ground black pepper
•    ½ cup grated Parmesan, plus more for broiling
•    ½ cup fresh goat cheese

Cooking Directions
Preheat the oven to 375 degrees F.
In a saucepan, heat up the cream, goat cheese with a sprig of thyme, sage leaf, chopped garlic and nutmeg.

As the cream and cheese mixture heats up, butter a large casserole dish. Layer the sliced potato in an overlapping pattern. Make sure to season each potato layer with salt and pepper.

Remove cream from heat, and remove the thyme sprig.  Pour a little over the potatoes. Top with some grated Parmesan. Make 2 more layers. Bake, uncovered, for 45 minutes. Sprinkle the last of the Parmesan and broil until top of the gratin browns, about 5 minutes.

–Shelly Connors, RED Editorial Staff.

Our car windows are rolled down, but the heat is blasting to compete with the chilled October morning air. We wouldn’t miss the chance to breath in the clean, crisp air that autumn has blown in.

Our rental car lazily hugs the meandering curves of the road snaking alongside the Delaware River. Above us, tree branches arch over the winding country road, shivering their gold and amber leaves. We are witness to autumn’s bursting beauty in Bucks County, Pennsylvania.

Bucks County is a bucolic cradle of our nation’s revolutionary history located a little more than an hour from either Philadelphia or New York City. Bucks County’s natural splendor during the Fall is rivaled only by the magnificent craftsmanship of local artisans.

You’ll find artisans who work with oils and watercolors, flour and yeast or earth and seed.  There is plenty of fodder here in Bucks County for those passionate for working with their hands. From orchards, to grape vines to glorious scenic views, both the artist and artisan find plenty of inspiration for their creations.

Bucks County has been home to an eclectic and eccentric group of thinkers, writers, patriots and creative-types including George Washington, Pearl S. Buck, James Michener, Margaret Mead, M. Night Shymalan to Abbie Hoffman.

As we continue to drive along our country road, we spy a road side farm stand with a homemade sign leaning against a dilapidated wooden wagon. The sign, obviously looking to lure the occasional tourist looking for an afternoon adjournment, advertised fresh baked goods and warm apple cider.

Caught up by the charm, we stop to try the cider and fresh pumpkin bread and homemade apple muffins. We take the advice from the girl behind the counter to take our baked booty and walk across the street to the canal, opposite the Delaware River.

The canal is a remnant from the mule drawn canal boat era. These mule drawn boats hauled supplies and passengers from Philadelphia, our nation’s largest city in those days. It parallels the Delaware River for sixty miles and today is a refuge for joggers and families with picnic baskets. Today, dinner barges take tourists on scenic tours of farmland, covered bridges and historic towns.

Back on the road, we pass a town called Devil’s Half Acre that could be easily missed if you blink. It consists of one colonial house along the Delaware River that used to be a raucous tavern fueling the rowdy canal workers of the revolutionary period. When a drunken laborer would die from their nefarious mischief, the owner was known to bury the bodies in back of the tavern.

We stop by New Hope, Pennsylvania, a quaint artists’ town that hosts numerous cafes and charming Inns overlooking the picturesque river valley. Big city tourists linger in galleries and coffee shops looking to escape the sounds of mass transit and car horns.

Further down the road, we encounter Washington’s Crossing. Although there’s no snow on the ground and it is a couple months till Christmas, we still are able to stare in awe where a band of revolutionary rebels crossed an icy winter river to battle the resting Hessians on Christmas Eve.

We conclude our tour of Bucks County filled with seasonal baked goods, ready for our winter hibernation. We also leave with visions of stone farmhouses, covered bridges and a sense of why so many of our nation’s notables found inspiration in Bucks County, Pennsylvania.

For more information on a visit to Bucks County, visit www.visitbuckscounty.com.

COOK’S NOTE:
Inspired by the numerous roadside stands offering apple butter, apple sauce, apple bread, apple dumpling, apple cider, I knew everyone should have access to really crisp Autumns apples this time of year. This rustic apple pie is easy for any beginner baker. The batter bakes throughout the apples to make a sweet, cookie-like crust. Best served with a scoop of ice cream or fresh whipped cream.

RUSTIC DUTCH APPLE PIE

4 to 5 peeled and sliced apples, preferably MacIntosh, Jona Gold or Granny Smith
½ teaspoon nutmeg, preferably fresh grated
1 teaspoon good quality cinnamon
pinch of salt
1 tablespoon sugar
1 tablespoon vanilla

1 cup flour
1 cup sugar
1 egg, lightly beaten
1 cup chopped walnuts or pecan
1 stick melted butter

Preheat Oven to 350 degrees.
Fill a 9” pie pan with peeled sliced apples. Mix the nutmeg, cinnamon, sugar, salt and vanilla and sprinkle over apples.

Mix the flour, sugar, walnuts and egg. Add the warm melted butter to the batter.
Drop spoonfuls of the mixture over the apples. Do not spread.
Bake at 350 for 40 min or until golden brown.

–Shelly Connors, RED Editorial Staff.

The notion of vending machine “dining” is not new. A crumbled package of Doritos stands in as an appetizer and a main course of mummified turkey on lab engineered bread parades as a main entrée, though dishes may vary from machine to machine.  This type of eating has long been a staple at both colleges and the hallowed halls of great institutions as well.

But on a recent trip to Tokyo, I stumbled onto what can only be described as a parallel universe of vending machine dining, a refinement and elevation of vending machine food to a status that lurks just below a real dining experience. And for a few yen and later intestinal distress on par with hand grenades exploding in my GI tract, I tucked into my own personal vending machine buffet.

Wolfing down my first course of chicken and rice to quell dagger-like hunger pangs, I ran from my 12 x 12 hotel room back to this mechanical purveyor of dining happiness for a look at what future meals I may be partaking in. Before me, in the brightly lit and gently humming machine, a veritable full restaurant menu’s worth of boxed delights shone back.

Curry beef with warmed rice, teriyaki chicken simmered and served with noodles and a vegetarian dish were a small sampling of gustatory delights all awaiting the savvy vending machine diner armed with a pocketful of change and no motivation to hit the streets for dinner. Japanese sweets lined the bottom of the machine, the final course of this electric buffet. I half expected a small, kimono clad robot to come rolling out from behind it with a pad to take my order.

Not content with the loathsome, chemically “enhanced” slop that haunts most American vending machines, the Japanese versions contain a stunning array of meals that are heated via a firm tug on a rip cord attached to the bottom of the box, which quickly fires up a chemical reaction that steams pre-cooked rice or noodles and heats the packet of main entrée contents. Not three minutes later, after a quick tear of the entrée bag and an unceremonious dump of said bag onto the accompanying pile of rice, a true vending machine dinner was born complete with a set of chop sticks and a napkin.  I opted for the curry beef and the chicken.

And set back just a few inches from the food vending machine sat the most incredible of all the sights that had graced my eyes that evening: an alcohol vending machine. A veritable bar full of different sakes, beers and even mixed whiskey drinks, all gleaming in finely polished cans and regal looking bottles.

With trembling hand I reverently inserted the required yen and gently caught the first of my top shelf selections: a tall Sapporo. Seconds later, a bottle of cloudy sake. Finally, a Kirin beer drifted in to my cupped palms. Clutching the precious cargo to my breast like a suckling newborn, I retreated to my room for an impromptu beer, sake and liquor and vending machine food tasting.

An hour or so later, deep in relaxed reflection and appreciating my good fortune in finding these miracles of food wielding machinery, the final bill came due. The “curry in a hurry” wanted out and was taking no prisoners as it exploded violently through my gut.

Apparently, in my hunger induced tunnel vision, I had failed to read the ingredients. Etched midway through the list of curries, spices and seasoning was MSG, a vicious little preservative that, if you are allergic to as I was, causes severe intestinal “distress” and other nasty side effects. In retrospect, maybe those Doritos were not so damned bad a choice after all.

What follows is a “Slow Curry” dish sans MSG:

1 tin red curry paste
3 tbsp fresh chopped ginger
1 stalk lemongrass, chopped
1 medium onion, sliced
4 clove garlic, sliced
2 medium potatoes, cubed
1 red pepper, chopped
3 scallions, chopped
3 tbsp cilantro, chopped
1.5 can coconut milk
2 can chicken stock
3 tbsp pineapple juice
1 whole 3.5 – 4 lb chicken, quartered

In a hot pan, brown chicken, ginger, lemongrass and all vegetables. Add curry paste and stir. Add potatoes and all liquids. Simmer slowly until leg meat starts to separate from bone. Finish with scallions and cilantro, salt and pepper.

–Tim Connors, RED Editorial Staff

Large buildings thrust up towards a slightly gray sky, dull slivers of windows reflecting the sluggish glut of traffic crawling along Avenida Paulista. On the serpentine streets below, pedestrians casually amble along, the relaxed pace reflective of the national attitude. It is another day in Sao Paulo, the cosmopolitan Brazilian city that squats in the shadow of her flashy sister, Rio de Janeiro.

It is here where a confluence of culinary influences ranging from African to Spanish and Portuguese have given birth to a “peasant” dish that nimbly utilizes the natural resources of this beautiful country: feijoada.

While still waist deep in a career as a chef, I had the good fortune to be handed an opportunity to travel to Sao Paulo as a representative of Massport, Boston’s transportation department, and taste this incredible dish. A deal had been struck with the Brazilian tourist department for a cultural exchange and Massport was in need of an American chef to whip up a traditional Thanksgiving feast alongside chefs from Italy, Denmark and France who were cooking meals representative of their own holidays.

Armed with a freshly stamped visa inside my passport and flanked by two Massport volunteers costumed authentically as pilgrims, complete with brass buckled shoes, large floppy black hats and taking with disconcerting seriousness their positions as ambassadors of gobbling turkeys and Granny’s bread stuffing, we boarded a flight for the 11 hour jaunt to the land of nanoparticle bikinis and happy living.

Our first order of business after the vicious “landing” perpetrated on the runway at Congonhas Airport was to find a cold draft beer, or chopp in Brazil, and loosen up the damned pilgrims.

Nary had a moment passed after the main cabin door hissed open when the poor unsuspecting passengers exiting the plane became the recipients of a stiff-legged pilgrim style curtsy delivered with early American flair, and a long, drawn out doff of those ludicrously floppy hats.

I quickly re-thought my plan to head out with the pilgrims and discretely struck off on my own.

The first beer I curled my hand around was Brahma, a popular amber brew that is sold literally every 100 yards along the beaches up in Rio from little huts. Soon after, Bohemia, Brazil’s oldest and agreed upon best, graced my palm. Others followed, including Antarctica, Skol and Kaiser, all fine pilsners.

After performing my chef duties the next day and carving up a giant display turkey for the Holiday Festival buffet set out at Maksoud Plaza, our hotel, I went off to find feijoada.

Comprised of black beans and all parts pig, from the ears to the hooves and tail, it is simmered for hours and served with farofa, a condiment of toasted and seasoned ground cassava crumbs with an orange slice.

Along with a glass or three of Xingu, a dark, sweet Amazonian beer, or a caipirinha, a refreshing cocktail of cachaca, lime, sugar and ice, it is usually a Sunday meal that is meant to be enjoyed in a number of bloated, sloth-like crawls up to the pot, each time a small portion taken, savored and allowed ample time mortar itself onto your gut.

There are easily hundreds of versions of feijoada. Many call for linguica, a Brazilian sausage, kale, and vegetables along with Porky’s odd bits. Below you will find one recipe that has panned out well, though some of the authentic ingredients are missing due to unavailability in the US.

1 ½ lb  dried black beans, soaked overnight in water
1 lb ham joint on the bone, smoked or salted
8 oz  dried beef. Jerky is acceptable.
8 oz  kielbasa or chorizo sausage, diced
4   pork spare ribs
2  salted pig ears, soaked with beans and sliced
6 oz   thick cut smoked bacon, chopped
½ lb   linguica sausage, diced
2   fresh pig trotters, split in half
2 Tbs olive oil
2 large jalapenos, chopped
1   large onion, finely chopped
2   cloves garlic, crushed
salt and freshly ground black pepper
1 lb kale, washed, chopped and sautéed.
Water or chicken stock
2 cups of orange juice
2 whole oranges
White rice

In a large pot, sauté onion and garlic in olive oil until lightly sweated. Add joint, bacon, jalapenos, trotters, ears and ribs.  Brown.  Add  beans, water or chicken stock to cover them and bring to boil. Reduce heat and simmer for 1 ½ to 2 hours, until beans are cooked. Midways through the cooking add kielbasa, linguica and jerky strips.

When beans are done, remove 3 cups, mash, add orange juice and return to pot. Season with salt and pepper. Serve over rice with the kale and an orange slice to squeeze on top. If you can find farofa, serve this on the side. Or just make it down to Brazil. They do it best.

–Tim Connors, RED Editorial Staff.

There are certain moments in life when clarity is bestowed upon your consciousness; a fresh vision of the road life sent you down. The birth of a child, finishing your first marathon, the stark realization that the job you once struggled so hard to find actually plumbs the depths of such sheer misery that it makes every day a race to happy hour.

And then there are the moments of lucidity that strike when, in an act of testosterone laden bravado, you shove into your caw a chicken wing drenched in some form of hot sauce so potent that even the military removed it from its post Cold War arsenal.

Those moments are not to be confused with the view from life’s grand road; rather, they are a soggy eyed, panicked stare down a newly paved side street that dead ends in the hottest furnace deep in the bowels of Hell.

The catalyst of these moments is no noble endeavor, no charity cupcake sale. It is, in all its searing glory, hot sauce.

Once the province of drunken fraternity dares and closet masochists, hot sauces have elevated their fiery stature and taken their rightful place on the food mantle along with other condiments such as ketchup and mustard.

Labeled with warnings and stern legalese distancing the maker from any internal, or for that matter, external damage done to the eater, these sauces, fresh from Hell’s spigot, can be used to sharpen a variety of dishes; adding not only heat but a breadth and depth of flavor to everything from stews, roasts, chilies and even desserts.

Typical ingredients of these sauces are habanero or scotch bonnet chilies, vinegar and some form of base, such as tomato or carrot. To jack the pain level up, reductions of chili or pure capsaicin–the very same stuff you were sprayed in the eyes with at that coed dance in college–are added in varying levels. This is the heat in hot sauce.

Let’s take an abbreviated look at some of the more popular sauces on the market today.

Marie Sharps, a vibrant orange sauce hailing from Belize, takes carrots as a base and ramps up the heat index from mild to incredibly hot with scotch bonnets in varying quantities.

Sphincter Shrinker from Dr.Payne Indeass of Madeira Beach, Florida, is a hot sauce that uses the sweetness of raisins and applesauce to barely tame the unholy heat it provides, yet it ads an almost chocolaty hint to anything you dare grace it with.

Dave’s Insanity, a perennial favorite among chili heads, comes in all levels of heat, from a relatively tame sauce that lifts up an otherwise bland meal to an oral conflagration rivaling a mouthful of napalm. But oh so good.

And then there’s Blair’s 16 Million Reserve, a name referring to the 16 million Scoville units of heat it produces. For simple comparison, a habanero, roundly regarded as the hottest pepper in the world, has only 500,000 of these units.  It should be screamingly obvious that this product is an expeditious way to lay waste to your tongue and mouth in a way comparable only to French kissing the sun.

Not a sauce, but pure capsaicin in little granules that could easily be mistaken for salt, Blair’s takes fiendish pride in the adage “A dab will do you,” and honestly means it.

In a 2-gallon pot of finely crafted beef chili, spicy in its own right, one grain, one tiny white flake of Blair’s, ceremoniously tossed in by surgical-gloved hands, dropped my brother in law Justin to the floor like he was gut shot. No amount of milk could assuage the volcano in his mouth. Hot was an understatement.

If none of these give you the rush you seek, have the local law enforcement officer hose down the inside of your mouth with pepper spray. Aside from fond memories of that dance, you’ll unequivocally get your heat on.

Bon appetite, tough guy!

–Tim Connors, RED Editorial Staff.

In a scene strangely reminiscent of “The Good, the Bad and the Ugly” in which Tuco runs wildly around the graveyard searching for Bill Carson’s name, headstones whirling violently past, I careened around the Fancy Food Show in San Francisco; glistening hams flashing by, fleeting glimpses of obscenely large blocks of cheese and portly food lovers clotting around the newest gizmo for boiling water.

This was where food, in all its smells, shapes and glory, lived for a few short days. I was here to sample as much as I could cram in my face.

Our flight to San Fran was benign. Arriving in the late afternoon, we cabbed it down to our temporary lodgings; a nice little boutique hotel with chocolates left on the pillows every day, fresh flowers and an incredible array of drinking establishments in close proximity to the front door.

All important amenities if we were to gulp down the whole experience of being among the elite of the food world.

Checking in to the show, we were blindsided immediately with samples. Little slivers of sausage, delicately grilled and tucked sweetly under a slice of onion slathered with barbecue sauce. The waiter seemed none too pleased as I grabbed a large handful and returned only a pile of toothpicks to his silver tray a mere minute later. After a repeat performance with seared scallops served and wasabi, word had apparently spread throughout the ranks of the serving staff. I became a sample pariah, given wide berth by anyone bearing a tray with food on it.

We ambled along, sampling incredible Serrano ham from Spain, delicately sliced and gently flavored with salt and spices, pâtés deftly constructed out of port soaked chicken livers, pistachios and caramelized onions smeared on a thin wafer with such a vast array of exotic extra virgin olive oils that Rachel Ray would be left in a twitching, euphoric heap if she ever cast her eyes on this Mecca of her beloved EVOO.

With stomachs reaching maximum density, it was time to turn our attention to sauces. Specifically hot ones. I had heard vague whispers of Dave, the maker of Dave’s Insanity line of hot sauces and a favorite in our household, being at the show.

After numbing my tongue with some other hot sauces, tears streaming down my cheeks from the vicious heat and laughing off any thought of a soothing glass of milk, we turned a corner and found ourselves face to face with Dave. Frighteningly thin and mildly mannered for someone in the food business, I stretched out my hand to shake the maker of one of the finest hot sauces in both this world and possibly even Hell.

Shoveling praise on him like some star struck fan gushing over a chance meeting with The New Kids on the Block, I hope he didn’t think I had slipped the bounds of sanity and was weeping from the encounter.

We spoke of hot sauces, made idle chatter, and then, rather offhandedly, he offered a sample of his Reserve label of hot sauce on the tip of a toothpick–retailing for around $300 for a large bottle if I remember correctly.

Words cannot describe the sheer hell that saddled itself onto my tongue and rode it like a bronco set afire. Keeping a stiff upper lip, discretely dabbing at the welling tears in my eyes and thanking Dave for the miracles of heat he performs with his sauces, I staggered away praying an errant truck would barrel through the show and release me from the violence being perpetrated upon my mouth.

All in all, it was an enjoyable experience. When the opportunity presented itself, we tasted many foods that had never ambled across our paths. There were infinite numbers of artisan olives, scores of dried fruits from all over the Middle East and a dizzying array of uses for common herbs in condiments and sauces. A fancy food show indeed.

And we dropped no more than $300 for the whole package (hotel and medicinal drinking after the show included). It was worth it; even the small lump of scar tissue that sits brazenly on my tongue.

A testament to what a dab of Hell can do to you.

–Tim Connors, RED Editorial Staff.