“There were Hanoi’s running all over the place at school,” he says.

 ***

Being a poor country there is very little for a tourist to buy in Cuba to bring home which is probably just as well because your money disappears as soon as you land at Havana’s Jose Marti International Airport. All foreigners are required to exchange their currency for Cuban Convertible Pesos, CUC’s, with the Castro government taking 20% off the top. Cubans themselves spend National Pesos at peso stores on subsistence items. In this duel economic system, tourists are spending CUC’s for hotel rooms, meals, entertainment, taxis, cigars and rum. And since regular Cubans can’t stay in hotels, can’t afford to eat in tourist restaurants, drive the taxis, and are the entertainment, like everything in Cuba, it works most of the time, but barely.

 ***

Peter Loman is a Finn, married to a Cuban woman. He is an accomplished professional jazz trumpeter, and known all over Santiago de Cuba as the unofficial mayor in the country’s second largest city of 470 thousand, some 250 miles across the water from Haiti. Like many Cubans, to make ends meet, in addition to his music, Peter works a second job as a licensed tour guide, bringing in groups from Finland throughout the year. And for years he has been slowly and painstakingly renovating his 20’s era row house, two hilly blocks from the city square, historic Parque Cespedes, the site of the oldest building in Cuba. Frustrated by the unpredictable availability of building supplies at the government stores, he’s been buying cement and nails on the black market. In the process, a jealous, anonymous neighbor turned him in which resulted in a visit by a government official, a slap on the wrist and a small fine, as well as a refusal to name the snitch. The situation was repeated and when the mildly irritated inspector returned the second time, following the perfunctory wrist slap and fine, in return he passed along the neighbor’s name. Detente was reached in the neighborhood. The house is finished now, and beautiful, and by law he has no right to sell it even if he cared to. But at night, shirtless on his roof in the sticky heat, he plays his horn.

 ***

You can’t use a credit card. Your cell phone and Blackberry won’t work. Forget Twitter, YouTube and posting on Facebook. There’s no cell yell and limited internet access and you can smoke almost anywhere.

 Heaven or Hell?

 ***

I am sitting in a third base line box seat in Guillermon Moncada Stadium on a scorchingly hot and humid day under thick, slow moving tropical clouds the color of granite, watching the hometown Santiago Avispas, the Bee’s, take on the Havana Mets, and there is a beautiful, really beautiful young Cuban woman standing at the railing in the aisle behind me. She has dark skin and dark eyes and a striking figure. There are two more like her, equally exotic at the two sections of seats farther down the foul line. They follow the game, but I notice they are watching the sparse crowd, in our case, three young guys from Slovenia, me, my American buddy, Davison, and an old Cuban man with an ear piece listening to the radio play by play, the kind of fan who wouldn’t look out of place at any American ballpark. The Bees sport red and white uniforms, the Mets, solid red. The stunning women with the half smiles and red lip stick? They’re uniformly military green, standing in spit shined combat boots with patches over their pockets that read: Ministerio de Interior. They’re unarmed state police. As the Bees roll onto a 10-6 victory, the pretty militia seem bemused by the Americans while occasionally stepping into action. On this day shaking down a young boy to return a foul ball and telling another fan to take his feet off the railing by the field. You get the feeling they’d really rather be somewhere else.  

 ***

Orlando Pirez makes guitars and repairs all manner of “sick” stringed instruments in his cluttered workshop in his walk-up apartment on narrow Calle Acosta near the train station in Old Havana. At 78 and retired, and a bit famous from his appearances on Cuban television in the 70’s and 80’s with his band, Los Montunos, the Matanzas native no longer performs musica campesina, or country music professionally, but works hard to get by, scrapping for the basics needed for his craft. Out of necessity he has cobbled together a lathe-like machine to wind guitar strings that he sells to other Havana musicians on a daily basis. And although he would prefer wood from the Cyprus tree for his guitar bodies, and Canadian pine for the tops, Orlando must scavenge the many crumbling buildings of Havana for old beams and boards. The dryer the better.

 When a visitor sitting at his kitchen table set modestly with a bottle of rum, strong coffee and fresh fried sweet potato gifts the old man with a never played guitar that belonged to a beloved late son, Orlando apologizes for the stiffness in his fingers then plays and sings for twenty minutes, accompanied by an inefficient plastic table fan, finishing with Dulce Embeleso, by Santiago musician Miguel Matamoras. Through a translator, his cheek against the guitar, he smiles sweetly and says, that “this guitar will have a good home here.”

After a week in Madrid, Tom, Denny and I had made our way south through Toledo and eventually west onto Lisbon, where my dominant culinary memory of our short stay there is of the freshly caught sardines, grilled on the beach by the fishermen, and of the cheap but good rose wine, dry enough to crack your teeth. As aimless wanderers we decided after a day or two to head south to a place called Faro where we would cross back into Spain with the ultimate goal of going south once more over to Tangier. It was on the bus that would take us across the border where we encountered the teachers, about ten of them, in their early twenties like us, on their first trip abroad and speaking English with flirty French enough accents that added a particular allure to the romance of being on the road in a foreign country. When we discovered their group was bound for Sevilla, it didn’t take long for our trio to decide we could put off Morocco and the Marrakesh Express for a little while longer. After all, unlike the girls who had a tightly scheduled itinerary,we didn’t have to be anywhere, anytime, except London in early September to catch the flight back to Cincinnati. A detour seemed the absolutely reasonable thing to do. So we did.

The only hitch in the plan was that the girls were being led by an older, shall we say, starchy chaperone of a woman. She and the girls had a separate travel plan that would take them to Sevilla, and when we departed the bus, the chaperone shepperded them along to their next tourist attraction and the three of us went to a cafe and drank beer and plotted. Looking back it seems charming but antiquated that twenty-somethings would require a chaperone, but it added a measure of challenge to the escapade, so overcoming an obstacle would only add to the adventure.    

I can’t remember how we got to Sevilla, but when we arrived, we were able to meet up with a few of the girls who were exploring the city during some free, unstructured, unobserved by Herself the chaperone, time. We drank wine in cafes, ate ham sandwiches on hard rolls, wandered and continued the flirtation. We discovered things about one another and we discovered Gazpacho. So maybe my fondness for the soup is inextricably linked to a fine day and night as a young guy in a new place enchanted by a girl named Jennette, who pronounced “this” and “zees” and “that” as “dat.” 

Our day together ended at dusk as the girls informed us that they had a curfew and had to return to he hotel. They were leaving early the next morning for the Canary Islands. We cajoled, we implored, we begged, all to no avail, so, after some hugs and kisses, we said our goodbyes and exchanged addresses and walked them to their hotel. Tom, Denny and I repaired to a cafe nearby and mourned what could have been and the foul luck to run across fun girls in the grip of a rigid old crone. Then, sometime later, ready to move on, the night growing long, there were giggles around the corner  followed quickly by Jennette and her two friends. It was a jail break. “We snuck out! We just have to sneak back in by dawn!”  

A week later, back in Madrid recuperating after a Moroccan induced bout of intestinal misery, I stood outside the Prado Museum waiting to cross the street. A bus passed and I thought I saw a friend of Jennette’s looking back at me and remembered the group had planned a stop in Madrid after the Canary Islands. My heart lifted and I spent the next two days walking in and out of hotel lobbies looking and asking to no avail. And that was that. Almost. Back in Cincinnati I wrote Jennette a letter telling my story of searching for her in Madrid, wondering if we could pay one another a visit, either in Cincinnati or Montreal. When she wrote back she said she had a boyfriend. It was too complicated, but the day and night in Sevilla were special and she would always remember them. And yes, she had been in Madrid.

It’s reassuring how food can fire the imagination and spark memory. What follows is a recipe for Vichyssoise. There’s a story behind that as well, but I suggest you make it taste it, share it and then I’ll tell.  

  Vichyssoise

…but excited nonetheless!

Excited, that is, to introduce the first Comfort Brothers cookbook–hand held version–by way of an i-phone application and available for immediate purchase and use, directly from this site.  Now, in my world (see old guy references above) cookbooks, good ones, are expensive, heavy and you have to turn pages to find something.  So at $2.99 for all that Comfort Brothers goodness, I am, yes amazed.

Over the years, Bill and I have fielded numerous requests for recipes.  Unfortunately, most of ours are written on the walls of the inside of our heads and not on paper.  Well, they still aren’t on paper, but they are available to you and your friends who have an i-phone or i-pod touch.  Hey, you’ve got to start somewhere.

Click on the tab above or the App Store box to the right and follow the path to begin your own journey to fearless home cooking.  The recipes we included are our favorites to cook for ourselves and our families.  As such, they are simple to read, simple to follow and simple to prepare. Some long-held secrets in there as well.  And for fun we added a comforting “yummy” sound effect when you use the random feature.  Too cool.

A gift to our friends and fans, check it out and enjoy, and let us know what you think!

And if you’re a parent, you know that your children are always watching and listening. At times you wish you had been aware of that because you never know when they’ll remind you of something you said or did. Or you wish they’d finally learn a lesson you’ve been drilling them with since they were small. Well, when the boys were young and we’d pass a street musician playing for coins, good or dreadful, I always told Peter, Patrick and Michael to never pass by without tossing something, even a nickle, into the hat or open guitar case. My lesson was simple. They aren’t beggars, woeful as they might sound, at least they are trying. Years later at the funeral home, as friends, family and kids from Appalachian State filed past us to offer their condolences, a friend of Patrick’s I’d never met squared up in front of me and said, “You know Mr. Hamby, Pat always told us to never pass a street musician without giving them something. I always do it now.” Later another said the same thing. Maybe a small moment, but I realized I’d passed on something that he passed on. He had taken my advice. He had been listening. So now when I toss a coin into the hat, he’s throwing something in with me. Like the rain puddles, Patrick is by my side.

About a year after his death I found myself in a park in Portland, Oregon, smoking a cigar, killing time before going to the airport. Ten yards away, a guy sat down on a bench and unpacked a trumpet and set up a music stand. The fact he had a beanie hat on with a propeller only enhanced the scene and held out the promise for something special. Of course I was remembering Patrick and of course I would drop something in his case before I left. And then he started playing. He was god awful. But there was something endearing about his effort, his earnestness alone was entertaining. Pat would have loved it. Needless to say, but the few people who passed his way neglected to ante up; indeed some strollers purposefully vectored away from the caterwauling. His horn case held nary a penny. And when it was time for me to leave I pulled a ten dollar bill out of my pocket and wrote, Thanks. Patrick Hamby. I don’t know if it made his day or not, but it brightened mine.

Patrick was learning to be a pretty good cook. He had aspirations to attend cooking school because after a semester at Happy Appy, while he enjoyed his friends, he wasn’t happy with college and college wasn’t happy with him. The last time I heard his voice was a week or so before his accident. He called me while he was preparing dinner for his apartment mates in Boone, North Carolina, and he was irritated becuse his buddies were smoking in the kitchen while he was cooking. He said, “Da, what do I tell these guys?” I said, “Pat, tell them they are disrespecting the food and the chef as well.” I was trying to help out, pass something along, like the importance of grating fresh nutmeg into creamed spinach, a dish I taught him how to prepare, and one he loved. He just thought it was a neat thing to know about. And every damn time I pull that grater out from the spice cabinet I think of that special boy I miss so much. But I know he’s right there with me.

There. I’ve finally written something. Maybe I’ll do it again. Lucky are the ones who knew him. I wish you all had.

Have any other lamb lovers out there noticed that the distinctive taste of lamb has been devolving lately from that slightly gamy flavor to an almost bland to nothingness even when perfectly cooked? I’ve had several close encounters with lamb this Spring and have been disappointed each time and don’t know whether it’s my source, tastebuds, or something more sinister at work akin to what pork producers have been doing by breeding the flavor (fat) out of pigs. Last week I roasted a rack that was on special at my local Fresh Market ($11.99/Lb) for Mrs. Comfort Brother and myself and nailed a spot on medium rare. I mean it looked great on the plate but tasted definitely un-lamby. Bad for Hamby! Next up, lamb sausage on the grill at Peter Hamby’s crib in D.C. as fare for a NCAA Semi’s throw down. Result: Same as the rack. These came from Whole Foods. Then on Easter Sunday dinner at the Brian Connolly’s my sister-in-law Gerri grilled a marinated, butterflied leg just right. It was very good, and pretty, but lacking the characteristic flavor I craved. Admittedly I haven’t done enough research yet to come to any conclusionson on this thorny issue. I’m hoping I can source lamb that tastes the way I remember it. I’ll report back, but, I’m happy for your thoughts on the subject. Bring them on!

CB I-Phone App       

The Caulk Brothers at Modal Inc., the very wizards who created this cool site as well as an easy to navigate version for your smart phone, are at this moment deep into the design phase for a CB I-Phone App. Way cool. It means that in the not too distant future you’ll have 60 Comfort Brothers recipes to hold in your hand. Stumped for an appetizer, breakfast, lunch, brunch, dinner or late night recipe? Turn to your I-Phone or I-Pad. It’s all there: Ingredients and Directions, fun and simple and pretty to look at. No more running to the computer and back to the kitchen for inspiration. Stand by for more news on this.

CB Swag 

Here’s a shamless plug for the first items available soon in the Comfort Brother store. In his other life CB Jim was a hat wear executive and has employed those skills in creating a cool CB baseball hat in a couple of different colors and an apron. Keep checking in here as we inaugurate the CB online store.

Tony Bourdain

If you missed Monday’s No Reservations on Basic Kitchen Techniques, be sure to catch the re run. (The Travel Channel repeats them endlessly) It’s nice to see Tony back in the kitchen at Les Halles in his whites actually cooking while being snarky as opposed to wandering the planet being snarky. He makes a simple to prepare beef bourguignon. And among others, Jacques Pepin whips up an omelet and Thomas Keller roasts the perfect chicken. There’s also some talk about knife skills, the perfect steak and and rustic pasta. And mercifully, Tony doesn’t shill on camera for one of his sponsors, the CHASE Sapphire Card, a recent troubling and  “revoltin’ development” in the series as Ralph Cramden would say. But snark aside, the boy can cook. Check it out.

Good Writing

Finally, my friend and restaurant critic John Haddad has an excellent review of the Richmond, Virginia restaurant Six Burner in this week’s STYLE Weekly. John knows food and is an excellent writer. The CB’s prize that ability. 

Enjoy the Spring.

Out.

The Chief Conspirator In Residence, Mrs. Jeanne Oostdyk, had recruited the CBs earlier in the month leading to covert E mails and calls and one final planning meeting to propose the final menu. (The CBs, having done a few of these surprise gigs are getting pretty crafty at being sneaky.) Old friends Bob and Victoria Holly made the trip from New Jersey, Jeff and Kathy Idler parachuted in from Philadelphia and were joined by Scott’s brother Dale and wife Paige along with CBJ’s wife Jan. You can always tell when authentic old friends unite because the interrupted conversations of years before are restarted with such ease, it is as if they had all been together the day before. Wine of course was involved at this stage of the gathering and that can quicken the alchemy of a reunion like this.

CBJ, as noted on these pages previously, is pathologically incapable of not creating a theme around a CB dinner. And in this case, as he has known Scott since college, was able to map out his life through the menu. And although we always collaborate on our cooking gigs, I’ll give a full tip of the toque to CBJ on this one as executive chef. Here’s the menu:

A LIFE BEGINS – When he was a Baby: Miniature Crabcakes topped with Poached Quail Eggs, Caviar and Old Bay Hollandaise

GREEN IN JUDGMENT, COLD IN BLOOD – His Salad (Days) of Spring Awakenings: New Potatoes, Hearts of Palm, Asparagus Tips and Red Grapes over Spring Greens with Champagne and Grape Leaf Vinaigrette

INTERMEZZO -A Spicy Kiss (Jeanne) Cleansed his Palate and Sharpened his Focus: Lemon Sorbet with Creme de Menthe and a Kiss of Mint.

THE HEART OF THE MATTER – What Feeds His Soul (Family) and Sticks to his Rib(eye)s: Prime Bone-In Ribeye Steak with Sauteed Mushrooms, Gorgonzola Polanta and Mixed Baby Vegetables

THE JUST REWARDS – Well-Earned Bread (Pudding); the Fruits of his Labor: White and Dark Chocolate Croissant Bread Pudding/Mixed Berry Garni

As a chef I have to say that the crab dish that CBJ came up with is awesome. The tedious stage are the quail eggs. They have tough shells and a fairly thick membrane, so delivering an unbroken yolk to the poaching liquid was a bit of an adventure. This dish killed.

Also, the ribeyes were spectacular pieces of meat. We had the butcher “French” the bone for a prettier presentation, then sliced them perpendicular to the bone and fanned each steak over the polenta. Birthday Boy showed a bit of amazement when his Flintstone sized beef was served Pittsburgh Style. Apparently Scott didn’t think his grill out back could crank enough heat for the proper char. I was able to get it really fired up, so with the combination of super high heat, closed lid and beautifully marbled fat dripping into the flame, well just let me say, we were fired up! There were clean plates all around, and in our business, it doesn’t get any better than that.

So happy birthday Scott, nice going Jeanne and thanks to all Scott and Jim’s friends and family for doing your part and for letting me in on the action. Oh, Scott, you look great in that new Comfort Brother ball cap, but not quite as fetching as your bride in her CB apron!

But the football gods as well as the dining crowd, not to mention the Super Bowl advertisers, seemed to want a more interesting contest.  As Sean Payton was contemplating starting the 2nd half with an onside kick, our guests were contemplating stepping into unfamiliar food territory as well.  Perhaps related to the “loosening up” provided by Comfort Daughter Anna’s Hurricane Punch, the diners’ strategy changed from “What’s this?,” and “What’s that?,” into “I’ll try this,” and “Oh, let me get some of that.”  Whatever the reason, the Gumbo pot was undisturbed no longer and the muffaletta and po-boys began to move as quickly as the Saints offense.

Just as Tracy Porter’s pick-six interception ended the run for the Colts and took the game over for the Saints, the ribs and hush puppies gave way completely to the spicier and more interesting N’awlins fare.  As a good deal of America was proud of the Saints and their accomplishment, I was proud of our Richmond, Virginia guests–not normally noted for embracing new and different–for diving into spicy Italian coldcuts laced with olive salad (What?), and chunks of andouille sausage mixed in with their beloved crabmeat in the gumbo.

In the final analysis, though the Saints and their food were the winners of the day, still there was nary a corn dog or rib left to be had, symbolic of the staying power of Manning and the Colts who will certainly rise again.  The game and the menu were both big hits and as they were eating theirs, all declared it was indeed a Super Sundae. New Orleans, and its food, found a home with many new fans and, thankfully for me, now has something other than Katrina to talk about.

Gobs of Gulf Gumbo for Garcon: Saints fans hope the Indy wide receiver gets as healthy a dose of New Orleans as what’s in this classic favorite.  We’ll start with a roux and load it up with shrimp, lump crabmeat, crawfish tails, okra and andouille sausage.

Indiana Wants Me, Lord I Can’t Go Back Ribs: Anything pork works for Indy, so CBL, aka Sweet Lew, put this in the starting lineup, and why not?  The Colts hope to barbeque Brees and Bush and if Manning’s ribs keep from getting bruised, he’ll go back to Indy with another title.  We’ll “bruise” ours with charcoal and hickory and dress ‘em with CBJ’s Lefty’s Best Barbeque Sauce.

Hush Peyton Puppies: We honor Indy with these corny delights, they go with ribs and kids love ‘em.  But at the same time we use ‘em to bust on Manning.  Great player, but he talks too much.  Shut up and eat!

Hoosier Daddy Corndogs: Right out of the Indiana State Fair, pork wrapped in corn.  Another good one for the kids but an adult or two will sneak one too.  ”Hoo” will own this dish and this game?  Peyton’s daddy Archie was a Saint.  Doo-doo-doo-doo, Doo-doo-doo-doo…

A Muffalotta Offense:  We expect “alotta” offense in this one so we need an awful lotta Muffaletta (in N’awlins they pronounce it moof-a-lotta).  The classic New Orleans Italian cold cut super sandwich is a must have if you go to the Crescent City, and a must have on this menu.  Slices of Cappicola and Prosciutto ham, Genoa salami, Mortadella, Pepperoni, Provolone and Mozzarella on a round Italian loaf slathered with olive salad and cut into wedges.  CBJ’s favorite N’awlins food and the real reason he wanted the Saints in this one.

N.O. No Longer Po-Boys: Just by making it to the Super Bowl the Saints, no longer the “Ain’ts,” their fans, their city, and especially their players, coaches and owners, are no longer poor! In honor of how far they’ve come we honor one of their greatest creations, a pre-depression-era sandwich handed out to striking transit workers by a supportive local restaurant. The sandwich, like the Saints, is no longer cheap and ours are filled with fried oysters and BBQ shrimp.

CBB’s Black and Gold Beans:  Gotta have beans with ribs and CBB’s Black to match the Saints ones are the perfect accompaniment.  He’ll add some “gold” with some golden-browned treat that’s a game-time decision on a need-to-know-basis.

Cajun-Covered Austin Collie-Flower Salad:  CBJB, aka Jaybird, came strong with the suggestion of “Austin Collie-flower” so since we’re light on the “salad” portion of our meal, this will work.  Wide receiver Austin Collie, rookie hero of the playoffs (Playoffs?) for the Colts gets a chance to see how he stands up on the big stage.  We’re going to cover our Collie-flower with corn (to make him feel at home) but kicked up with a Bourbon Street confetti of peppers, onions seasonings to see how he can hang with the big dogs.

Sweet Endings: Without a team to call my own (whither the Baltimore Colts) I always root for Offense and Overtime.  A high scoring affair with a who gets the ball last, down to the last second ending is sweet to me.  Here’s what we’ll have as we finish strong…

Does Coach Caldwell Have Popcorn Balls:  The Colts refused to play for the perfect season by backing off once they were in the playoff driver’s seat.  We’ll see if caution bites them back.  CSS (Comfort Sister Susanne) provides this treat as we see the results.

Bourbon (Street) Banana Who Won the Bread Pudding:  Bananas Foster is the classic New Orleans dessert.  CBJ adapts it to his famous bread pudding further paying homage by using Croissants for bread.  We’ll enjoy this as we learn who wins the game and the score by quarters pool.

Make Your Own Super Sundae:  Super Sunday is as fun as you make it.  So it is with the Super Sundaes.  As with the spectre of a world championship, it’s there for the taking.  Go for it.

Have fun and stay tuned for the post-game recap.

Only a higher power, no doubt contemplating his or her Super Bowl menu, could have caused a team like the Vikings to fumble six times, losing three, and caused Brett Favre to throw two picks (he threw only 7 all year), one critical. And who do you think was the 12^th man in the huddle (Who gets that penalty in that situation?) that cost the Vikings a game winning field goal at the end of regulation?  I saw the replay, and there was St. Jude (patron of impossible causes) dressed in a Viking uniform standing in the back of their huddle.  No kidding!

Since the conclusion of Sunday’s games, the Comfort Brothers research department has been painstakingly seeking “classic” Indiana cuisine for the food duel that is the most important aspect of Super Sunday.  Comfort Brothers Nation, including nearly 400 Facebook fans, and nearly 15,000 visitors to this site, has discovered, sadly, what we already knew about Indiana cuisine: it ain’t much.

Thanks to all in the Nation who weighed in, and we’re still taking suggestions by the way.  Here a few of our favorite findings:

Jenet says: Aw, let ‘em eat cake.  King Cake!

Dabney says:  Whatever Artie Donovan would have requested.

Dean says:  Corn dogs?  Pork chop on a stick?  Corn on the cob?

Susan says:  My son is at an army base near Indianapolis and he thinks they have “really good fake crab salad.”  Does that help you?  (I’m sure I’ll offend someone from Indiana – sorry.)

Shannon (our personal favorite) says:  Breaded pork tenderloin sandwich—they have them everywhere and everyone claims theirs is the best.  Pork itself is huge.  I saw “Pork Three Ways” on a couple of different menus.  And, corn.  [Insert Forrest Gump voice here] Corn pie, corn cakes, corn casserole, corn puppies (corn in hush puppies basically) corn fritters…

Finally, Dabney added: NOLA food…bettuh. And he’s right.  So the early money’s on the New Orleans side of the Super Bowl battle of the food.  From Cajun to creole, with French, Italian and southern influences, from the Gulf to the swamps, it’s nearly impossible to compete with New Orleans in this one.  But, while the teams themselves are stuck with the players on their rosters, we’re fearless in the kitchen and can make what we want, as long as it relates in some way to the theme of the day.  And there are many ways around a bad team cuisine:

We can go “venue,” for example, using Miami in this case, and do something with palm tree hearts, gator-bites, or an orange bowl of punch.

We can go with a generic theme and serve A Super Bowl of Salsa.

We can stretch it, taking off on Sweet Lew’s suggestion, by serving, “We- were-once-from-Baltimore Crabcakes.”

Much more challenging to stick with the teams, and not giving up on Indiana, here are the rosters we’re working with:

New Orleans:  Gumbo, Jambalaya, Super-Size Muffaletta, No-longer-Po-boys of Fried Oysters and BBQ Shrimp, Bourbon Bananas Foster Bread Pudding

Indianapolis:  Hoosier Daddy Turkey-Corn Chowder, State Fair Corn Dogs, Breaded Pork w/ Fried Cabbage Slaw(ter), Manning Corny Commercial Hush-Pups, Hoosier Mama Sugar Pie

Snacks & Drinks:  Pickled Irsay (Okra),  Super Salsa Bowl & Home Cooked Chips, Pat O’s Hurricane Punch

We’ve got the off-week to prepare starting lineups and finalize game plans.  Stay tuned for Super Bowl Food Part III: Game Day.

The Comfort Brothers, virtually (not politically) correct in their views 99.9% of the time, recognize each of these areas of interest and appreciate them all:  the commercials can be interesting and entertaining; the halftime show, not-so-much, but an erstwhile superstar may make news by forgetting their lyrics or an article of clothing, or dying on stage, and we want to be up-to-date in all things cultural, LOL:), OMG, etc.; and finally as former players, officials and coaches, we want to see a good football game.

Above all these things, however, stands the most important aspect of the Super Bowl tradition, as with any other important religious celebrations like Christmas, Thanksgiving, Easter, Passover, Yom Kippur and Ramadan, whether absent or abundant, it’s the FOOD that is the FOCUS!  Amen!  Passover me some grub!

Which is why, each year at this time, we look at the four teams left in the playoffs and decide who to root for based on the menu we want for Super Sunday.  This year is an easy one and the Comfort Brothers picks for this weekend’s games are:  The New Orleans Saints and the New York Jets.

Considering the alternatives, Minnesota and Indianapolis, no offense, but these are localities without a cuisine.  No offense again, but when they first started “flying over” the Midwest states, not a hint of a cuisine fell off the wagon.  So what are we left with?

Minnesota Foods:  Wild rice (because the native Americans introduced it to the great white, really white, settlers), Blueberries (same deal), and anything from that mouthwatering of all international cuisines: Scandinavian.  The “land of 10,000 lakes” really is where the Vikings ended up, gracing the region’s culinary coffers with an assortment of anything, mostly fish, smoked or pickled.  Lastly, I almost forgot: Yumpin’ Yiminy, Swedish Meatballs!

Now, can we make something of this?  You bet, and I’d probably stick with focusing on the Vikings theme with some smoked turkey drumsticks, maybe some smoked lake trout, a wild rice salad and a “Black and Blue” (for the NFC North division) Berry pie or something as the contribution from the Great White NFC North.

Indianapolis, on the other hand, is dismal.  State Fair corndogs and fried dough, for God’s sake.  Indy prides itself on its “diverse” cultural influences, meaning it doesn’t have any.  Google it up and you’ll see.  Indianans don’t even know what their cuisine is.  Some actual quotations:

“Don’t know, but we Hoosiers sure like steak and potatoes!”

“Not really sure, but I do like our breaded pork tenderloin, with ketchiup, mustard and mayonnaise.”

“I moved to Indy about 9 years ago from the East Coast and there are a few things here that I had never heard of: Breaded pork tenderloin, Beef and noodles, Chicken and noodles, Biscuits and gravy, And there are also a lot of really good steak houses, BTW – GO COLTS!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Really? Biscuits and gravy and a chicken-fried piece of pork loin?  With a corn dog on the side and fried dough for dessert?  OMGIIFH (Oh my God, I’m in food hell.) BTW – GO JETS!!!!!!!!!

Jets vs. Saints and we’re in good shape.  N’awlins gives us the oyster po’boy, the muffaletta, gumbo of any number of varieties, crawfish, shrimp, okra, rice and beans, Cajun, French, Old South and everything in between.  And their favorite holiday is about getting FAT!  What could be better?  New York provides as many can’t miss possibilities.  We’ve got New York Strip or if that’s too heavy make it New York Deli, but don’t scimp on the meat, breads, chopped liver, and half-sour pickles.  Manhattan clam chowder can also come to play along with anything “apple,” like say a “big apple” cheesecake with “they got creamed” caramel sauce to top off the meal.  Now that’s a party.

So do what’s right, for your food health and happiness and start rootin’ for the Jets and Saints.  And stay tuned for Super Bowl Food Part II: Makin’ it Happen on Super Sunday…