Need Cooking Help !

[Lester Curtis]

Wow, you're really lost, aren't you?

I'm a bachelor and I don't cook either, but here's what I'd do -- get some cans of spicy chili, some hot dogs, and some grated cheese. Cut the hot dogs into bite-sized pieces and put those into a baking dish with the chili. Sprinkle the cheese over the top and put it in the oven at medium heat until the cheese starts to brown.

While your guests are waiting, serve them lots of beer and liquor. When the stuff in the oven is done, serve it with nacho chips and more beer. If anyone asks what this is called, make up a name for it including the word "Texas."

I just made that up, but I guarantee you it'll be a big hit. All your friends will be amazed at how well you've learned to cook like an American.

[Lester Curtis]

I've got to say, this is altogether incredible . . . some person finds this site, apparently at random, and asks a question that is largely inappropriate for the site --

-- and gets more responses -- all (except my own) utterly sincere -- than we usually see for any of the stories posted here for comment!

Well -- I just can't help myself -- the rest of this post is a segment of a story I worked on (never mind the rest) in which two people are aboard a luxury space yacht, getting ready for dinner.

Jerry is naked (until he puts the apron on) and Raiehth is an alien. Sasha is the ship's computer.

'Sandfish' and 'hrissel' don't exist in life as we know it.

Bon apatite!

**************************

"Raiehth, are you hungry? There's bound to be something here you like."

"I could eat, something, a little, not much."

"Well, I'd like to find something we could both enjoy together, maybe share in preparation. What do you like to eat?"

"I can eat much of human food, but no milk products, and no caffeine . . . "

"Okay, Sasha, flag all restricted food items. Hmm . . . do we have sandfish aboard?"

"Yes, Captain, wild Jettison sandfish is in stasis, five locations totaling six point seven one kilograms."

"Wow. Sasha, what's the smallest piece?"

"It is point seven eight kilograms, Captain. Shall I dispense it?"

"Yes." He stepped over to the stasis locker and waited while it hummed softly and then slid out a drawer with the packaged meat in it. He pressed the 'hold' button and took out the package, hand-labeled 'Raw Wild Sandfish rib meat fillet, taken on Jettison,' and unwrapped it. He cut off about half and rewrapped the remainder, put it back in the stasis locker and closed the drawer.

Ray asked, "What should I do?"

"Hm, get a small sweet onion, small green pepper, small red pepper; chop those all into pieces about so big. Oh, and grated carrot, we need about one good handful. While you're doing that, I'll cut the meat and start looking at sauces and spices."

Jerry cut the sandfish meat into finger-sized pieces, parallel to the grain. Almost as an afterthought, he cut off two little chunks and handed one to Ray. "You ever had sandfish? I'm going to cook some of it, but it's good raw, too."

They both ate their morsels, and Raiehth sleeked his feathers and perked his crest up another notch. "Thank you. I ate once something said sandfish, with fuel depot crew on day off . . . not this. This is good."

"Yeah, what you ate before was that farm-raised garbage, probably, or it might not have been real sandfish at all. This is wild, from Jettison. The only good sandfish comes from Jettison, and the only good hrissel comes from the lesser continent on Shaktuurah. They make it on the greater continent too, but that stuff isn't much good. And those imitations are no good at all. Have you ever had hrissel?"

"No. Is it something to eat?"

"It's a beverage, a drink. No alcohol in it, and they say it's supposed to make your brain work better or something, but I'm not sure about that. Most people like it because it's just real pleasant and refreshing, and it's fun to watch, when you break the seal on the bottle."

"What happens?"

"It fizzes up, makes lots of bubbles, looks like a pink fog for a few seconds. It chills itself too, so it doesn't need to be refrigerated. Don't ask me how that works, but it leaves more room in the refrigerator for other stuff."

"That sounds nice. Hhhh, what do I do with this?" Ray held up a green pepper.

"Hm? Oh, you cut it in half, scoop out and discard the seeds and the white stuff, then cut it up. Here, let me show you this." Jerry walked over and tapped the display panel closest to Ray, and it lit up with a list of options. "Here, see these tabs, those are the items you drew from storage. Touch the tab, this is a green pepper, and your basic preparation instructions are here, storage here. There's a recipe section, too."

"All set, now thanks, Jerry." He picked up a knife. "Work."

Jerry grinned and set about collecting spices, locating a suitable cooking oil, and gathering implements. He queried his display panel about a dipping sauce for the sandfish, and found two recipes, one for cooked and one for raw. Both were available from condiment dispensers near the bar. The ingredients looked about right to him, so he sampled each, nodded, and filled two small bowls with each sauce. He noticed that Raiehth was putting the chopped vegetables in piles on the counter. "Oh, Ray, I forgot to tell you, mix all that together in a bowl."

"Am I making a salad?"

"No, I'm going to stir-fry all that together with the sandfish and some spices."

"May I add include another ingredient?"

Jerry was about to say, 'Sure,' but he remembered a bad food experience. "Uh, what is it?"

"Chopped sunflower seeds?"

"Yeah, that sounds great, but use the unsalted ones."

"How many seeds?"

"Uh, I generally don't measure things like that, I just -- stir some in until it looks right. Uh, start with -- half a cup."

The kitchen turned out to be the last bastion of the English system of weights and measures.

"Ah, they have chopped up!" Ray hit the 'Dispense' key, and was at the machine waiting when it rolled out the chopped seeds. He dumped them into the bowl and stirred, then, with a slight flourish, he presented the bowl to Jerry. "Need more?"

"Uh, yeah, about half that much more."

"Half of half of cup?"

"Yes, the fraction is called 'quarter.' You need a quarter cup."

While Ray was adding the last bit to the mix, Jerry began gathering plates and tableware. "Where do you want to sit?"

Ray pointed with his head. "Big table, please."

"Good choice. The chairs look more comfortable. I'll be at the end, you're on my right." Jerry laid out the places and moved the chair away from where Ray would sit. "Okay, two more things -- Sasha, do we have hrissel aboard, and if so where?"

"Yes, it is in starboard locker B-4, lower level."

"Okay, Ray, I'm going down for some hrissel; you can find me a cook's apron. A big long one, I hope."

Ray found an apron with plenty of coverage, perhaps designed for chefs in the raw, or maybe just for people who didn't want to get their finery smudged. Jerry had almost forgotten the plate-warmers, and he got those and a drinking straw for Ray.

"All right, here we go. Bring that bowl of vegetables over here." Jerry turned on the wok and periodically flicked drops of water into it until they began to explode into puffs of steam. He poured in the cooking oil and swirled it around, then added a mixture of dry spices and stirred them in. "You might want to stand back a little, this will spatter some, and you probably don't want greasy feathers." He dumped the vegetables into the wok and tossed the contents around amidst fragrant hissing steam, then grabbed half of the sandfish and added it and began swirling the wok and lightly tossing the contents with a spatula. "Ray, take that raw sandfish and put half on each plate, please. All the work in this meal is in preparation . . . cooking time is . . . just enough to sear everything on the outside . . . like . . . that. About thirty seconds. Let's eat." He carried the wok over to the table and emptied it onto the plates, tossed the apron aside, and sat down.

Ray took his place, and once they had both poured their drinks, he forked up a piece of the cooked sandfish and took a bite. Chewing and swallowing the piece was an animated and somewhat noisy process, since Ray's anatomy made it impossible for him to chew with his mouth closed. He constantly rolled the morsel around in his mouth by tilting his head and using his pointed black tongue, to get the best bite angle. Then he had to tilt his head back to swallow. "Good! Oh, very good! Did you use a recipe for this? What are these?"

"Thanks, and thanks for your help. These are sauces, you dip the cooked sandfish in the white one and the raw sandfish in the red one. If you want to. And, no, I didn't have a recipe for this. I learned this when I was on Jettison, about -- six years ago."

"Was Jettison scary?"

"You mean, haunted scary, like those old stories? Not that I ever noticed. It could be dangerous, but I wouldn't call it scary. I liked it." They paused in their conversation to eat and drink some more, and then Jerry raised his glass of hrissel and said, "I almost forgot. A toast."

"Toast? We were supposed to have toast? I can make that . . ."

"No, not the food toast, it's -- it's a tradition, a little ceremony, where you say something complimentary, or make a wish for the future, and then everyone drinks . . . one person will say, "I propose a toast,' and that gets everyone's attention, and then he'll say something like, 'Here's to a safe journey,' or 'Here's to our crew for being on time.' Then everyone else responds by raising their glass and saying, 'Hear, hear,' or something else that signifies agreement. And in small groups of people, they can all clink their glasses or bottles together. Then they drink."

"Here's . . . to? What does that mean?"

"Uh, it's a short way of saying, 'Here's a toast to, something.' So . . . here's to -- a safe and pleasant trip."

"Yes. And good food!"

"Absolutely!" They clinked their glasses together with civil restraint.

[kailhofer]

Oh, what the heck. This is one of our family favorites and is very easy to make, but it's thoroughly bad for you, especially if you watch petty things, like cholesterol.

Cock-a-doodle Casserole

(Don't ask me why it's called cock-a-doodle. There's no chicken in it. My grandmother didn't know either, and she taught me the recipe.)

Ingredients:
1-1/2 lbs. Vermicelli or Thin Spaghetti (Vermicelli is better)
2 lbs. Ground Beef
15 or 16 oz. can commercially Canned Peas (If you don't use canned peas, it won't taste right. I use Del Monte.)
1 lb. Bacon
16 oz. Tomato Sauce (I use Hunt’s.)
Salt


Fry bacon to crispy. Dry & cool on paper towel. Crumble into small pieces. Save the bacon grease.

In a small portion of that grease, brown the ground beef, then add bacon bits. Also add leftover grease as needed to give beef a strong bacon flavor. Salt to taste. (You're aiming at making the ground beef taste very much like bacon.) Let simmer on low heat until almost all the liquid has evaporated.

Cook spaghetti to tender. Drain & rinse.

Drain canned peas, saving the juice.

In 3 qt. Casserole dish layer 1/3 of meat, 1/3 of peas, & then half of the spaghetti. Repeat, and then put last 1/3 of meat & peas on top. Pour the saved juice of the peas over the top. Spread tomato sauce in a thin, even layer over top. (This will help make a barrier to keep moisture in and keep the spaghetti from drying out and getting crispy, which no one likes.)

Bake, covered, at 350° for 30 minutes. Uncover and continue to bake for an additional 30 minutes. Tomato sauce will darken and form what looks like a thin, weak crust on top. (But isn't a crust at all, it just looks that way.)

Cooking the ingredients (before baking) usually takes me about an hour. Can be refrigerated and baked later, but this adds 30 to 45 minutes to the covered cooking time.

Feeds a small, hungry army. (I've never tried scaling it down--our little army is always hungry.)