Curled Up with My Microwave

'Tis the season, for poop-brown snow banks in parking lots and salt-damaged leather boots. As soon as this bastard blizzard is over, I suggest you get yourself to the Goodwill WearHouse at 72nd and F.

This is where all junk goes to die. It's the last stop before they, who knows, incinerate it? In one of the intimidating blue bins (posted signs warn of sharp objects throughout) I hit a jackpot of vintage books, my favorite being the Better Homes & Gardens Microwave Cook Book, published in 1976. Here I sit, entrenched in the sofa, arm waving lazily towards the fridge in want of a beer, perusing the pages for my next culinary hit. Will it be the Quick Fish Soup? The Golden-Sauced Franks? I can't wait to try out the Egg Salad Sandwich Pizza on my friends. And to think, everything is handily nuked!

The only thing is, if the power goes out while I'm cookin', I'll be screwed.

Food Punk Part II

A few weeks ago a friend of mine made us six courses in his home kitchen. He rolled them out in perfect succession -- though we did have to take a whiskey break right before the bacon dessert.

Click on over and get envious of these mad skillz.

Pig Head Monday

So the other day I came home to a pig's head braising in the oven. This wasn't just any old pig's head, rather, it came from a local farm (yaayyyyy, local!) and was apple fed. I don't know why it didn't come with an apple in its mouth, but whatever.

Some folks are elated to eat pig's head, others aren't. I fear we need to let go of that neatly-packaged, pre-skinned, pre-breaded, pre-sliced, pre-cooked, ground-two-weeks-ago, patty-fied, ready-to-eat preference most of us have. If we're that nauseated from the sight of a cooked pig's head, do we have any right eating meat at all? I recall a friend getting grossed out over one loose feather in her carton of farm eggs. Did she think they were manufactured at the Nestle factory?

After all, most hot dogs are made of a mix of mechanically separated meats -- a product known as "white slime" -- and the average American chokes down about 60 of those a year. We've gotten really, really good at forgetting where our meat comes from, wouldn't you say?

Don't worry, I'm not gonna be pigheaded and get all "nose-to-tail" on you. While I do agree it's a more common-sensical, gentile approach to meat eating, it's not that easy. I had to forego the snout and went solely for the cheeks. Still can't quite figure out what to do with the eyeball. Probably throw it in some soup.

...

Oh, and for those of you who were not aware of any other options other than meat and potatoes here in Omaha, here's one Chicagoans take on it.

Sioux She

Feeling disillusioned over the amount of turkey you ate last week? Sick of leftovers, particularly the awkward way the congealed gravy soaks into your stale white dinner roll?

Maybe it's time you splurged on everyone's favorite Asian cuisine from the last twenty years that most Americans probably don't even eat correctly, sushi.

Or maybe you just want to read an article with one of the tackiest headlines ever. Roll into Ponzu.

Delivery from Sgt. Peffer's

1501 North Saddle Creek Road
And another location in Millard
Or, in this case, my bedroom in front of my TV
402.558.7717
Open daily 11am - 10pm
sgtpeffers.com

Hot Strombo and a side of potatoe salad ($6.50):
"Baked bun stuffed with sliced ham, pepperoni,
mancini peppers, mozzarella and romano"

Today at lunchtime I was faced with the strenuous task of finding something to eat without leaving my house. I foraged through the cabinets, but once the columns of Saltine crackers diminished, and the memories of setting the smoke detector off last night trying to make a pizza came back, I decided on delivery. My experience would have been smoother if I had the possibility of ordering online. In the "Delivery Instructions" field, I would have typed key by key with my index finger from my bed to please bring the food upstairs to my bedroom, along with some plates and napkins, and retrieve the money from my wallet which should be somewhere in the vicinity, but I'm not exactly sure where.

They don't offer online ordering, but to my delight, Sgt. Peffer's delivers. I spent most of the 45-minute wait wondering what's behind the name. What's a Peffer, and why the Beatles mid-career motif?

I intuitively disregarded Sir Paul's veggie crusade and went with a couple of meaty sandwiches. With a name like Hot Strombo, I was expecting something more, ya know, stromboli-like, perhaps a bit more fromagian. Instead, it was relatively light on the cheese, but stuffed with enough cured meats to fill a party tray. On the other hand, the roast beef au jus was just phenomenal.

The potato salad served on the side was one of my favorites in recent memory; it had a semi-pureed consistency, interrupted with bits of crunchy scallion.

As with most takeout, both sandwiches resembled a surgery, or as my dining buddy mused, "John Lennon's brain spatter." But both were much better tasting than the "jelly on stale bread" I would have come up with myself. Thanks, Sarge.

Roast Beef au Jus ($6.50), with peppers, onions and provolone cheese

Goldberg's II

5008 Dodge Street
402.556.2006
Open Mon - Thurs 11a.m. - 11p.m., Fri and Sat 11a.m. - midnight, closed Sunday
goldbergsindundee.com

Cheeseburger  on Pretzel Bun with Curly Fries ($8.50):
Seasoned, juicy patty, toasted pretzel bun and crisp toppings.
Passed all points of the burger inspection with flying colors. 

My recent visit to Goldberg's in Dundee evoked the repetition (in my head) of one of my least favorite adages: "It is what it is."

The cheeseburger was well-proportioned, and in many ways an exemplary model fit for even the most stringent burgerphiles. The atmosphere, marked by straight backed booths, senior citizens yammering on, and even a mural of what I think was Memorial Park, was charming. The decorative details from decades past and the intimate, relaxed feel reminded me of any one of my home city's bajillion Irish pubs.

The soup was clearly not the focus here -- I'd be surprised if it wasn't doctored up Campbell's, served lukewarm -- but the oyster crackers made me smile. No need to quibble over the unimportant. Goldberg's says they're good at "Burgers, Beers & Bloody Marys," and I believe them.

While the food was mostly pretty good, I'd probably have to befriend some regulars to really get the feel for what makes this place so special. And if I never get around to that, I'll still go here next time I'm in the mood to bust my gut with all of the good things in life. I hear their salads are nice, too.

Pastrami Melt, slathered with creamy horseradish sauce,
and sweet potato fries, which chicks really dig for some reason ($9.45).

The Fourth "B," Bread Pudding ($5.75)

Beef broth soup with the occasional grain of barley and random corn kernel ($4.25).

La Casa Pizzaria

4432 Leavenworth Street

402.556.0585

Open Tues-Thurs 11am-10pm, Fri and Sat 11am-10:30pm, Sun 4:30pm-9:30pm, closed Mon

lacasapizzaria.net

Double slice deal:
Spicy sausage with olives, and
 "Genoa Bianco" with artichoke hearts and mushrooms

As I was bumbling down Leavenworth Street the other day, I noticed a sign next to La Casa's Best Pizza in Nebraska facade advertising a lunch special of two slices and a salad for $6.69.

My addiction is to pizza no secret. When I saw that sign, my excitement was palpable. 

Side salad with creamy Romano dressing

The appetizer lunch salad -- a handful of colorful greens, a blob of house-made cheesy dressing, and a chunk of herb focaccia -- provided some much-needed foliage for the day's diet without killing my pizza buzz. The slices arrived rectangular, and seemed reheated, but with exceptional toppings such as spicy sausage and fresh mushrooms. Another thing that I imagine makes La Casa's schtick special is the dense, flaky, pie-like edges. But strangely unlike pie crust, it buckled under the weight of the toppings and flopped towards the table when I picked it up. Cue the sad trombone sound effect. 

The Hot Italian Beef sandwich was a fine specimen, though if you want to get technical it was more like a French Dip. And the pizza was more like... flatbread? Ok, I'll shut up.

Should anyone ever have the gall to leave Omaha, La Casa now ships its pizzas nationwide (four pies for only $100, plus a nominal $49.99 shipping fee). Because, ya know, there's nothing like it anywhere. 

Hot Italian Beef sandwich --
I wonder if they'd ship one of these to Chicago?

Addendum:

They say sex is like pizza -- "even when it's bad it's still pretty good." But I maintain that bad sex and bad pizza are both pretty depressing. Unless you're drunk, of course, in which case neither exist. Behold this Chicken Caesar slice I ordered recently in a fit of intoxication and you'll understand. I've enjoyed many a lackluster pie in my day, but until I finally attain the status of functioning alcoholic, I just won't understand La Casa's die-hard appeal.

Chicken Caesar Salad slice, Anna Maria Pizza, Brooklyn --
Hot lettuce is not the same as hot sex.