Picture This…


There’s been a lot of talk in the news lately about weiners. I mean wieners. Y’know – a red hot, nitrate stick, tube steak, frankfurter… a weiner, or wiener. It’s spelled both ways and means the same thing – hot dog!

Everybody likes ‘em, especially New York City. They’ve got the biggest one. Not officially of course, because I live in L.A. and I can tell you we’ve got some big ones right here. But New York has involuntarily been linked to the biggest and best Weiner ever. So all this wiener talk made me think about the last time that I had my hands on my own frank, and that made me go out and get all the fixings for a solo night of man-sized dog wrangling, which I really wasn’t going to share but…oh, well.

And just as I got started I got a text from this chick I know and she asked what I was doing. I told her what I had in mind but she didn’t believe me.

“Send a picture of it” she texted.

It sounded a little weird but I thought, “What the hell?”

“WOW” she texted back. “Is that all yours?”

I told her yeah, it was mine but it was a little deceiving because I’ve got really small hands and I asked her if she wanted to come by and try it for herself and believe it or not, 20 minutes later she was all over it.

Anyway, this isn’t anything special (I mean it’s no footlong), but it seemed to push her buttons, so I thought I’d share it with you. Just, uh…promise you won’t tell anybody that it’s mine.

Katt’s Cheesy Wiener

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It’s ‘National Something’ Day!!!


Nuts! I missed it again! Just like last year I woke up too hung over to remember that it was National Tequila Day. And each time this glorious day is celebrated I think back to that little neighborhood bar that I stumbled into 5 years ago. It was loud, it was packed, and it was National Tequila Day 2008 where I was taught the proper techniques for taking and giving Body Shots, a how-to course on slurping Tequila from the naval of female strangers, and the realization that just because you own a credit card that isn’t justification to scream “A shot for everybody!” multiple times in a crowed bar. It did make me a lot of friends though, none of which it turned out had bail money. But that’s a different story….

The origin of exactly why National Tequila Day is celebrated on July 24th is as fuzzy as my vision on the morning of the 25th. We celebrate Saint Patrick’s Day on March 17th because supposedly that was the day he died. And although I deeply admire the way in which the Irish celebrate the dead, I can remember many a day after a Saint Patrick’s celebration that I too wished I were dead.

But the 24th of July is set aside and solely dedicated to the celebration and appreciation of Tequila! Yaaay!!!!!

(Well… maybe not solely. It’s also National Amelia Earhart Day as well as National Drive-Thru Day which just goes to show how many national observances we have on any given day.)

So raise your shot glasses my fellow Americans and celebrate this smooth, clear, south-of-the-border nectar by licking some salt, tossing one back and sucking on a lime! Or if you prefer the amber brands you can do it like the Germans and lick some cinnamon, toss one back and suck on an orange slice. Either way, get a designated driver and stop at a drive-thru on your way home. Then do us all a favor and like Amelia, disappear into the night. You’re going to need your rest….

National Cheesecake Day is just around the corner!!!

It’s Getting Deep In Here: Sausage Mushroom Provolone-Mozzarella Pizza


We red-white-and-blue blooded Americans eat 3 billion pizzas a year, which breaks down to 350 slices a second or an average of 46 slices per person every 12 months. And 93% of us eat pizza a minimum of once a week which is the category that I fall into. Since my teenage years, on several occasions I’ve gone without booze or sex for weeks at a time but I seriously can’t remember not eating pizza at least once during a seven-day period. I just can’t do it! I’m jonesin’ now and I had pizza last night!

My pizza consumption has been a source of embarrassment for me since my high school days. I started out like my friends, just eating it on a recreational basis. Y’know, just a slice or two after a game. But before I knew it my dependence shot through the roof and I was ordering and consuming an entire large pizza by myself multiple times a week! I kept losing delivery jobs because customers would call and complain that their pizzas were showing up a slice short.

I’m much better now but whenever I eat pizza I still order an entire large pie for myself and down it all in one sitting. And of course I have a million pizza recipes. But this one produces the pie that I can only eat one slice of.

Now you can go all Sandra Lee and buy a pre-made crust and a can of spaghetti sauce if you just can’t make it though this entire process. Believe me, I’ve been there. But sauce is simple to make and it’ll give you something to do while you wait for the dough to proof, so tough it out if you can. Substitute and add where you see fit, and get the ice cubes ready; we both know that you’re gonna burn the roof of your mouth on the first piece so you might as well plan ahead. A couple of shots taken before the pie comes out will lessen the pain as well as help mask any culinary mistakes which you may have encountered. (I’m always watchin’ out for ya!)

Katt’s Deep Dish Pizza

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Burns My Bacon: Eat it, Bitch!


As you may have ascertained from the title of this piece (or perhaps you’ve read some of my previous blogs), I’m not too concerned with being ‘politically correct.’ In my small circle of animal loving, hybrid driving, “We Are the World” group of friends, I’m considered somewhat of a jerk.

I’m regularly referred to as a ‘Neanderthal’, ‘clueless’ and ‘barbaric’ whenever I’m asked to give my opinion regarding the latest food trends. Lately I’ve been defending my “hands off” attitude toward obtaining certain background information about my meals. Why should I apologize for caring more about how my veal was prepared than how it was raised? After all, it’s one of the perks about being at the top of the food chain. I don’t care how you slaughtered my lunch just don’t over cook it!

I don’t mean to sound cruel but I’m a carnivore without a conscience. If my chicken dinner is going to cost an additional ten bucks because it’s “free range” then just give me the common bird that was raised in a pen resembling a Tokyo subway car during rush hour. Believe me, once it’s battered and fried I could care less about its childhood.

And regardless of what my friends may say, my dinner isn’t more enjoyable when I know that the tuna is ‘dolphin safe,’ or what local farm my steak came from. Taste is my top-deciding factor when I’m planning my next meal option. Cost comes in a close second.

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All Bow to the King of Condiments

All Bow

Apologies that I haven’t contributed anything of substance lately but I’ve been locked deep inside the ES Test Kitchens trying to perfect the ultimate food condiment and I think that all of my hard work has FINALLY paid off! If you’ve ever had the great fortune to eat off of one of those big city food trucks that specializes in middle-eastern chicken and rice dishes served on top of fresh Halal bread, then you know what I’m talking about; the magical secret all-purpose white sauce! It’s that gunk that makes everything it’s squirted on taste better. From waterlogged hot dogs to fusion tacos to simple soups and chili, this stuff is so good it would make a corpse edible. (That’s just conjecture on my part and it has nothing to do with my research!)

After countless variations and taste comparisons I think that I’ve finally hit the perfect combination of ingredients that make what I refer to as my ‘Valhalla Sauce’. I call it that because this stuff is so good only the Gods previously knew how to make it. And also because ‘Valhalla Sauce’ sounds a lot better than ‘Angel Jizz’.

Katt’s Valhalla Sauce

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Simple Seasoning, Sharing of the Rib-Eye

Seared Rib-Eye

Simple is best, sharing is better.  I was fortunate enough to be given a 32oz bone in rib-eye, a cut of meat that I’ve never cooked before, and something that completely terrified me.  Sure I’ve cooked big chunks of meat before, but nothing as special as this.  There aren’t many recipes or instructions out there on how to cook a slab of meat that size, I didn’t even know how many people it would serve – of course I could have just saved the leftovers for myself – but where’s the fun in that?  I went simple, and small.  A couple of friends, a couple of sides and a simple seasoning of salt and pepper, there was plenty of fat on this bad boy that no added oil was needed.

A rubbing of s&p, a searing of about 6-8 minutes on either side in a heavy skillet, and a roasting of about 15-20 minutes until it reached about 120 degrees was all it took.  Accompanied by a few sides of sauteed leeks, creamy parmesan mashed potatoes and roasted carrots, this was a perfect meal for two hungry friends and myself.  The fun of cooking like this is the sharing of the meal, cutting the meat at the dinner table, it really is a great way to cook and entertain.  Something I plan on doing more of.

Check out a few more photos after the jump.

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The Bargain Ham Incident


So it’s the second day after Christmas and I’m in my local grocery store when what do I see? All of the leftover hams that weight ten pounds or more are marked down to 99 cents a pound! Am I interested? Heck to the yeah! I grab two and make a mad dash for the checkout counter and before you know it I’m stuffing my bundles of pig joy into the freezer next to my emergency vodka. Sweet!

Fast forward to yesterday, when I’m wondering what to do for dinner and I suddenly remember my major swine score. So I thaw out contestant number one and pop it in the oven next to some scallop potatoes that I threw together. About 40 minutes later–voila! I sit down to enjoy my dirt-cheap ham dinner feast. It was so good I couldn’t wait to fire up a ham-steak-and-egg breakfast this morning. Then a few hours later I treated myself to a lunch consisting of a cold ham sandwich with mustard and Swiss cheese. Now I’m getting ready to make my dinner when what do I see staring back at me from inside my fridge? That goddamn ham! About eight and a half pounds worth. What was I thinking? Deal schmeal! This feels more like a sentence—and there’s no time off for good behavior. I’m now deep into day two of all things ham and it’s déjà vu all over again.

But wait a minute–maybe I’m approaching this wrong. Maybe if I didn’t think of it as ham I wouldn’t have a problem choking down another plate of it. What if it wasn’t ham, but it was its upscale Italian cousin pancetta? Now we’re talkin’! If I think of it as pancetta, then I could make this:

Katt’s NOT Pancetta and Angel Hair Pasta Dish

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