Peter has invested quite a bit of time and CNN’s treasure in becoming very familiar with the South Carolina political landscape over the last several years. His best Up State source also does his laundry, cooks for him and guards his door as he catches up on sleep after long days following the Republican Primary shenanigans from Spartanburg to Columbia to Charleston and points in between. Arriving for a weekend of R&R at GeeGee’s house that also coincided with Michael’s last night at home provided the on-site tech support that was called for to make this Skype thing work. Peter showed her how to download the program and how to position the device for opportune usage. I did a practice run through, and as a rookie Skyper myself, found it pretty cool and realized how important it will be over the next couple of years connecting with Himself from wherever he finally finds himself in Thailand.

Mom did an impromptu tour of her house describing important scenes such a two-week’s worth of Peter’s clean laundry folded on a bed. “Just like when you and your brother would come home with dirty clothes and eat and sleep all the time!” Yes Mom.

So, as the beautiful and talented, Anna Starnes, peer/confidant of Michael, and oldest of the Starnes clan and I were yakking by the fire awaiting the rest of her family, the people he most wanted to spend his last night and meal with, I could hear he and my mom laughing and talking. They weren’t together but they were.

And they told each other they both looked great.

The Troupe from New England

Six or seven days earlier, on the second-to-last day of the year, there arrived at Hamby Land a troupe of MBH’s friends from his four years of matriculating at Marlboro College in Brattleboro, Vermont. This “troupe,” a word I use because all six humans and one large dog were crammed into a small vehicle, that in their words, really resembled a circus clown car - not because of funny costumes, that depends upon your take on flannel - for as they unfolded themselves one after another it seemed impossible one more could emerge. Then came the dog, the size of a pony with a disposition sweeter than my mother’s fudge. These friends, close as brothers and sisters, including the three guys that MBH roomed together for four years straight, had spent close to twelve tight hours on the road from Brattleboro, Boston and Providence. And they reversed the trip on New Year’s Day, some thirty-six hours later. A road trip is a road trip. But when your friend is launching himself across the globe for two years, and even with Skype and e mail there can be a connection, good-byes are important, and if at all possible they need to be in person. A big dog with a big heart just makes it that much better.

Los Quatros Amigos

Providentially, the weather in Richmond hung in right about 65 unseasonably warm to very warm degrees when the troupe was here. This meant that long after TCH and I turned in, much firewood was burned in the fire pit and the fire place, and many, many beers were consumed. And, what is not to like about house guests that can, and LIKE to cook – and clean up after themselves? Best, they are all good people who found one another along the way and share a bond that will stretch far beyond New England and Thailand. It was terrific to be in the presence of their affection for one another. MBH is a lucky man. And Kasha, the mongrel mix of Ridgeback and Lab? She thought my Lou Holtz impression was hilarious. 

They left later on New Year’s Day than they should have; they lingered, putting the final adios aside, along with some tears and laughs, but then someone nudged them along and the clown car was loaded up, then gone. 

*** *** ***

I waited at the curb at the airport after we said good-bye to Michael, his mother wanting to return to the terminal for one last moment near him. When she got into the car I asked if all was okay?

She said, “He’s exhausted. I told him to get some sleep on the plane.”

Headed west, toward home, I looked at the clock on the dashboard. “Damn,” I said, “the sun won’t be up for two more hours.” And that full moon, an ET moon. I quite expected a child on a bike to fly across it.

So when we knew this Peace Corps thing was actually going to happen, Michael and I decided to cook a Thai meal at least once a week. ( We also began regularly slurping noodles at a local restaurant) I became his sous chef. He has been a very good cook for a long time. And I am a firm believer that there is a hierarchy in the kitchen, and it starts with the chef - then everybody else in descending order. I’m also a lead, follow or get out of the way guy. So, it was me who was chopping, getting it all in order and handing off to Himself at the helm of the wok. A dish that was one of our favorites was a green curry. We both agreed to amp up th heat the second time through. Apparently the “authentic” recipe had been dumbed down in that department. 

I could blather all day and night about the enjoyment of standing elbow to elbow in the kitchen with a son and creating a meal to share. You get it or you don’t. Either way, we have been learning from each other his entire life time that began prematurely by three months in 1987. Some of the lessons were tough, but none left permanent scarring. And I’m better for it. And he is about to meet new people who will be better for meeting and knowing him.

I might add, that on Sunday, January 8, Michael Hamby will be leaving for Thailand on a 2 year hitch with the Peace Corps. With that in mind, food wise, we will be enjoying satay tomorrow in the warm embrace of a few friends. His Last Meal request on Saturday: Brunswick Stew and grilled cheese sandwiches, something that may be slightly hard to come by in Thailand! 

Onward and upward!

CBB

Yellow Goodness

I couldn’t wait to get home and cut it open, and when I did, I stared at it with a grin as I recalled my grandparent’s backyard in Iuka Mississippi sometime during the 50’s. The image had been lodged in my memory all these years, and somehow with all the sourcing of food and produce I have done I had managed to not run across one. I’m sure they’ve been around, but not in my path. I showed it to Mrs. H., who reluctantly tasted it…”Tastes like water melon!” she says. Needless to say, Peter and Michael Hamby both looked suspicious, but gave it a try with favorable results. So I did a bit of Internet research and some claim it’s sweeter, or less sweet than red varities. I could care less. The memories that came back to me were the real treat, further evidence that food can be a wonderful synapse to the past. 

So make a memory. Go find a yellow water melon.

Oh, and I just saw a promo for the new season of Tony Bourdain’s No Reservations. The premiere is in Cuba. Note to Tony: Bro, I was there first!

The battle of the food was a similar contest, with CB Bill’s Welcome-to-Tex-Mex shredded pork Tinga tortilla appetizer starting things off with a bang. Just like the Steelers at the start of the game, the chipotle-kissed, queso topped delights had everyone asking, “What is this?,” as they scarfed down another.  So good they could make you forget the words to the Star-Spangled Banner as everyone in our crowd thought Christina Aguilera did just fine.

As for the rest of the appetizers, while the black-eyed pea salsa held its own (better than Fergie’s?) with the home-cooked chips, the early favorite was the Black (bean) and Gold (sweet yellow pepper) chili that, like their 10 second quarter points, was a first half bright spot for the Steeler camp.  The beer & cheddar cheese soup, like the Packer passing game, was a steady performer throughout the game, particularly with the kids.

The brats made it out of the Wisconsin snow, to our grill and into an onion-beer bath right on time, but like questions about Aaron Rodgers: Who is this guy? Is he worthy of the supplanting the great Brett Favre?; our Virginia diners were wondering: Is it pork? Is it a sausage? How should I eat it? Should I put mustard on it? I’ll come back for that. Following the lead of baseball coach Tony Szymendera, those who weren’t afraid put two on a roll, Sheboygan style, came back for more and properly had to be wheeled to their vehicles—victorious as Rodgers in answering all questions.

At the half it was time to try to get Pittsburgh going and our version of the Primanti brothers sandwich was the answer.  Stacked tall with layers of roast beef, turkey and ham, melted provolone, topped with Lefty’s signature slaw and Comfort Brother Pete Van Winkle’s perennial Super Bowl garlic fries, the super size epicurean’s delight was presented, sliced and served.  Like the Steelers second half success, the sandwich made a strong entrance but was gone in an instant.  They could have used another possession and we could have used another big sandwich.

The icing on the cake for the Packers came with a Pittsburgh fumble and one more touchdown toss from Aaron Rodgers.  While that was happening, Comfort Sister Suzie Sullivan’s sweet blackberry perogis kicked off our dessert course on the Pittsburgh side while Green & Gold apple strudel represented the Packer faithful.  Like the bratwurst, both required some explaining to this southern crowd but like the game clock for the Steelers, ran out quickly!

While the game itself was decisive, all in all our food war was a toss-up.  Our Pittsburgh offerings faired better than their counterparts on the field while our Green Bay fare, like the Packers and Rodgers, gradually but certainly won the crowd over. Good times.

How was it for you?

Our parameters are clear, Wisconsin vs. Pittsburgh, time to make a game plan and a menu. This is not going to be a game for the timid and neither is this year’s menu.  From the beer and cheese capital of the U.S., America’s Dairyland brings a hearty cuisine to match its weather and its football team while the steel men from the Iron City bring their own brand of gusto to the game and the table.

This is old school football and old school food. While I’m sure you can find new age “healthy” fare somewhere in Wisconsin, not today.  And when the whistle blows at the mills and factories on the Monongahela, there’s no heading out for an iced chai tea and a salad.

On the Packer side, its cheese, brats and beer, not necessarily in that order, and not as simple as it sounds.  For the Steelers it’s a Primanti Brothers sandwich stacked with everything but the sink and a sweet pierogi to top it off.

In both cases, the beverage is beer—no fancy Hurricanes or Cosmopolitans for this menu—they lost.  If we can’t find Schlitz (The Beer that Made Milwaukee Famous), it’s Miller (Milwaukee and the World) Time.  And if Iron City is not available, Rolling Rock of nearby Latrobe, PA, is the choice of many a ‘Burgher and tastes better anyway.

While there could be changes up until game time, here are the projected lineups for our battle of the Super Bowl Foods:

First Quarter

Home Cookin’ Chips — Salsa Dancin’ with the Blackeyed Peas

Assorted (What else?) Cheeses & Crackers

Second Quarter

Brew & Cheddar Cheesehead Soup

Vs.

Black & Gold Go to Texas Chili

Third Quarter

Beer Grilled Brats on Sheboygan Rolls

Vs.

Picked-Off Primanti’s All-the-Way Sandwich

(Complete with Slaw and Fries)

Coach Mike McMac & Cheese

Fourth Quarter

Polamalu’s Sweet Pierogis

Green & Gold Apple Strudel

Super Sundaes

The brats and rolls have been ordered—for authenticity, like an Aaron Rodgers bomb we’re flying them in from Sheboygan.  If you think we missed something let us know.  Like the Steelers deciding who’s going to snap the ball, there’s still time to make changes.

After that, it’s only a matter of who will win.  Last year, New Orleans’ muffalettas and gumbo made easy work of the Indy corn dogs, but this year’s contest is anyone’s guess.  One thing’s always certain about our battle; no one will go away hungry.

So whadda we got?

Time to assess this year’s final four playoff teams and their cuisine to decide who to root for.

Chicago:  We don’t like Jay Cutler, but we like Lovey (great football name) Smith.  Same with the food, some we like, others more difficult to understand.  There’s nothing not to like about Chicago-style deep-dish pizza, like the Bears special teams and defense, filled with good ingredients.  The Chicago Hot Dog is personified in Cutler, inside there’s some real beef, but it gets covered up by a lot of weirdness and headscratching: a hot dog with tomatoes, a pickle spear, hot peppers, onions and celery salt?  That’s a lot of extra stuff with your dog that, like interceptions, a real fan and hot dog purist could do without.  (Good to eat, though.)

Green Bay:  Like last year’s Indianapolis Colts, the Packers don’t bring a cuisine familiar to most of us.  But, like this year’s Packers team, there are some hidden treasures and once you get to know them, you like ‘em.  In the wake of Brett Favre, Aaron Rodgers has snuck on the scene to the delight of Packer fans and so will a couple of Wisconsin favorite food items.  A cheddar cheese and beer soup is just the accompaniment for a no nonsense dog we prefer to Cutler’s Chicago version—the Brat.

Pittsburgh:  Another toughy, Pittsburgh is a town with a varied mixture of cuisines but no single identifying food item—kinda like the Steelers themselves.  Whose team is this, anyway?  The shine has faded on Roethlisburger’s armor.  Is it Troy Polamalu’s or James Harrison’s defense?  Rashard Mendenhall carries the load on the ground, Hines Ward is an old favorite and still sneaks underneath, Heath Miller is a prime short target, Mike Wallace goes deep and Antwaan Randel El can catch it, run it, AND throw it, and probably will.  The most famous single food item in Pittsburgh happens to be just like this team: a sandwich with EVERYTHING on it, or in it, like Pittsburgh.  The meat doesn’t matter: a burger, roast beef, ham, turkey, or all three.  The rest is, like the Steelers, a mixed bag that makes for an impressive and tough to deal with total package: lettuce, tomato, cole slaw, french fries and sometimes a fried egg.  All that goes between two slices of Italian bread and that’s the classic Pittsburgh sandwich.  Super size, appropriately, for the team with the most rings.  Eat a whole one and you’ll feel like you took a shot to the head.

New York:  The Jets put Manhattan clam chowder back into play after a year’s absence, but without New England to duel with, it’s only worthy opponent would be the Cheese soup of Wisconsin.  Sabretts dogs are another tradition as is deli, complete with half-sour pickles, and a New York style cheesecake is an easy call.  A NY Strip is another obvious choice, but it’s got to be Aged, and these Jets are not. Save the expense until Sanchez and Ryan have earned the honor.

All told, not a bad four to pick from.  Except for the Bears, navy and orange, the “team color” food options are many and varied to compliment the signature city entrees.  Black and Gold could be black beans and corn or black bean and mango salsa works; Green and Gold puts plenty of food in play.

So whadda we want?

In the NFC, Chicago and Green Bay is a tough pick, but I’m leaning toward the Pack.  I’d love to see them do it without Favre, putting that living ghost to bed.  I also prefer the Bratwurst to the Chicago dog and Beer-Cheddar Cheese Soup is something you don’t have everyday.  Big hunks of cheese to eat or put on your head is another draw to Green Bay.  Love ya, Lovey, but can’t root for your hot dog.

As for the AFC, New York has the edge in cuisine for sure—love a deli, love Sabretts with hotdog-cart onions, love a Manhattan clam chowder, love a cheesecake, love a New York Strip,  and what’s not to like about a Rex Ryan, who obviously loves food and out-psyched and out-coached the “genius” and the pretty-boy from New England.  But Mike Tomlin ain’t Belichick and he ain’t payin, Rex.  The Steelers are healthy, hungry, seeking revenge and have too many weapons.  They were also good enough to handle the Ravens and take crabcakes off the menu.  They’ve been there before and the Jets are just too green.  Besides, we’re looking forward to assembling that Pittsburgh Super-Sandwich.

Whadda you think?

“So, Starnesy, whatcha been up to?”
“Oh, still coaching and among other things, cooking.”
“Cooking?”
“Yeah, and we actually started a little business.”
“We?”
“Yeah. I’ve got a partner, named Bill, who’s a great guy, and we do dinner parties together.”
“Dinner parties?”
“Yeah.”
“Like, real cooking?”
“Yeah, why not? You know I can cook. I cooked for you. Anyway, yeah, we cook it, serve it, talk about it, you know, put on a little show, matching outfits, the whole bit. People love it.”
“Does Jan know about this Bill guy?”
“Hunh?”
“Starnesy…have you turned gay?”

Score another one for an enlightened Ivy League education and the death of stereotypes in the twenty-first century. But, in retrospect, I can’t blame my friend. I mean, the buzzwords are there, right? Partner? Together? And, of course: Cooking! After all, we’re not talking about beer-in-hand-standing-guard-over-burgers-on-a-backyard-grill kind of cooking. We’re talking about real in-the-kitchen stuff, with ingredients and different-sized knives and sauces and maybe even…garnishes?! Quick! Somebody turn on a ball game!

It’s like this, sports fans. As with the homophobe, the real man who says the kitchen is for women is really addressing the inner doubts as to his own manhood. He’s scared. We are not. A real man might not eat quiche, but unless he’s truly a wimp he ought not be afraid to make one. As fearless about their sexuality (or anyone else’s) as they are in the kitchen, the Comfort Brothers are amused by the issue, every time it rears itself.

On a family trip to Africa with my cooking associate, Bill, and his family, we had the pleasure of visiting a primitive village in the Zambian bush. Part of our tour involved the men and women splitting up—women to the “kitchen” and men to visit the “healing doctor.” Bill and I requested a reversal of the custom and after some brief confusion on the part of the villagers were off to the kitchen, a patch of dirt with a couple of fire pits in the center of the village, delineated by three-foot high mud walls. When we rolled up our sleeves, got down on the dirt floor and waded elbow deep in the sadja (a polenta-like corn meal mush), grinding peanuts and vegetables over the outdoor flame, we attracted quite a large crowd of inquisitive villagers. While we understood none of what they were saying, you don’t need a translator for finger pointing and giggling through hand-covered mouths. In this village, men don’t spend time in the kitchen. Even though we had our wives and six collective children with us, there was clear suspicion regarding our sexual orientation. But we didn’t care. We’re fearless chefs and besides, I like to think there may have been a few Zambian dudes who figured out that while they were off doing “man” things, we were in the kitchen with all of the women!

Confirmed heterosexuals with seven natural children as evidence, no, the Comfort Brothers are not “gay,” but we respect and admire the fearlessness and integrity of anyone unafraid to be who they are, say what they mean, do what they feel and speak from the heart, for in that we are kindred spirits. As for the rest of those who don’t get it, well, they’ll just continue to amuse us.