Taco Sundays

There's something about tacos...
Being raised in a bicoastal family has its perks; 4/5 of my immediate family are California natives, and with the entire extended family smattered across the West Coast annual pilgrimages from Virginia to California were frequent and with them always brought exciting new twists of culinary delight and exploration. Even as a young child I could differentiate between my mother's tacos (strictly Tex-Mex, virtually unrecognizable by any Baja vendor) and the street tacos sizzling on Tijuana corners, piled high with cilantro and onions as their only garnishes. Despite my appreciation for authenticity even now as I live less than 20 miles from the international American/Mexican border, when I trek back to Virginia as a visitor with grand spewings of carne asada and horchata (unknown to all suburbanites east of the Mississippi), part of my gluttonous nostalgia craves the 'authentic' tacos of my childhood. Despite dripping with Costco-bought ingredients, these crisp hot nuggets of my upbringing resonate in me more than any tacos I've ever enjoyed south of the border. I'm convinced that my extremely devout and Republican mother must have made a pact with the devil in return for his provision of a magical 'mom spice' that instantly guarantees any meal prepared by her hand trumps any potential competition.

Taco Sundays
When I picture my mother, the vision always remains the same: wild curls of thin-but-shiny hair spritzed into an immoveable helmet crowning an untanned spectacled face, darting gray eyes with nonexistent lashes and daily drawn-on brows with a slight pumpkin-colored tinge, arms constantly moving in a symphony of conversational expression, meal preparation, or simply tidying the ongoing litter trail left by her husband and children, a voluminous body measuring in at 5'5” radiating maternal love and a disciplinarian attitude when necessary, all covered in her omnipresent threadbare red apron depicting a pattern of Christmas Nutcrackers. The apron is ever-present in my mental recall, with its dilapidated hems and grease-spotted front pockets; it has dominated my mother's bosom and torso for as long as I can reach into my memory. If it had the ability to speak, it would easily claim the title of my mother's biographer with unlimited row-front seats to our family's history in and out of the house of conversations, interactions, and most importantly, meals.

To the modern day on-the-go family, the tradition of eating a meal as a family has almost completely disintegrated, remembrances only depicted on sitcoms and antiquated books. However, growing up in the Demmon household the family meal was never a question, only a certainty that at the end of the day we would regroup, shake the day's dust from our heels, and enjoy the fruits of my mother's labor. Weekends only prolonged the time available for an extended meal open to family and friends alike, and after church on Sundays it was understood that meal time was as holy as the prayers uttered earlier in the day. My mother's culinary magnetism slowly seeped throughout the neighborhood, and once we hit the teen years, she found herself as the second home to many a starved boy requiring the same caloric intake of bull elephants to feed their frenzied growth into manhood. As a California native transplanted in a suburb of Washington, D.C., my mother's table often included Mexican-inspired staples such as salsas, tacos, enchiladas, and other sizzling dishes not often found in the white affluent white neighborhoods of upper middle class Virginia. Her culinary wizardry became available every weekend in what became known as Taco Sundays.

With 3 biological children born within 3 years of one another, my mother's network of additional mouths to feed exploded once my older sister hit her pubescent years, and with a fresh crop of ravenous fans greedily salivating at her table every weekend my mother concentrated her efforts on what we all loved the best- her tacos and salsa. My mother would take a stack of corn tortillas and fry them in oil in a way that no one west of Texas had ever experienced, providing a crisp, hot shell ready to be filled and devoured; each Sunday she would load her sagging table to the breaking point with searing ground beef seasoned with traditional Mexican spices, fresh sour cream, shredded lettuce, mixed cheeses, and always a huge vat of her famous salsa, each time the heat level a surprise depending on the concentration of the peppers used that week. Authentically Mexican it was not, but the concept of family time centered around a meal was as unfortunately alien to many young attendees as was her introduction of pico de gallo to unsuspecting upper crust progeny.

It remains understood within our family that when my mother serves her tacos, it is the only acceptable time when decorum takes a backseat and we are not required to wait to bless the food before stuffing our faces with the glorious shells- God understands that a cold taco makes a sad meal, and as children we silently thanked him and my mother with full mouths and grateful hearts. However, with a rapt audience ready to kowtow to my mother's any whim, she could never pass up the opportunity to act as a mother and spiritual guide to any available ear once she had attained their everlasting loyalty through their stomachs. Many who passed through her home were starving not only for spiced delicacies previously unknown, but for the radiating servitude and motherhood she selflessly served to any willing to seat themselves at her table. Based on the numbers of youngsters lining up each Sunday, it proved to be a successful line straight into the heart of the community, and once welcomed to the Demmon table, few ever left. Despite moving out from my parent's roof over 6 years ago, I still get the occasional call from an old friend regaling me with a recent story of stopping by my parent's house and being held hostage by my mother until they had been properly fed.

Especially during my turbulent teen years, Taco Sundays proved to be the single point during each week where the typical teen angst and parental embarrassment reached a cease-fire, where parents, children, and friends alike could gather in harmonious union over a table overflowing with beans, rice, tacos, and salsa. Food marches on as the universal unifier of all who share a meal; this singular act of eating together has allied countries and preserved families for generations. Lack of culinary connection weakens communication and unglues the very foundations of households every day, and luckily that line was never tread in my home. Stragglers from broken homes and the offspring of working parents could hardly help being bewitched by the welcoming bounty provided unselfishly by my mother every week. I don't think that any smug satisfaction ever burned within my mother due to the social good she provided, only pleasure in fulfilling her God-given appointment to minister to the community through tacos. I, for one, can't think of a better way to show love and motherhood to those in need of both.

Andy's carbonara pizza

Having an enthusiastic and talented chef as a roommate definitely has its perks. For as much as Andy can appreciate and manipulate dishes of magnificent quality, he is equally passionate about some of the lower echelons of culinary exploration, such as the quintessential pizza and beer combination. Truly, if there is a better pairing of food and drink I haven't yet found it.

Having said that, there's certainly nothing wrong with run-of-the-mill pizza pies from any number of chain establishments or your grocery's freezer; there's always a time and a place for some cheap eats. However, if it's something a bit higher class that you yearn for and you don't mind putting a little elbow grease into it, I recommend the herb pizza dough available at Trader Joe's. I find it to crisp up nicely while leaving a gooey trail within the crust. For our particular experiment this night, we gathered up some of the best dry and sharp cheeses, along with some fresh arugula and herbs smattered on top of a thick, creamy, mushroom sauce that smothered the misshapen pie to ultimately be crowned with a halo of fresh eggs (cracked at the very end to ensure maximum runny-ness while avoiding that pesky salmonella). I can't truly explain the details without my mouth suddenly becoming full of saliva in a desperate yearning for a recreation of the glory, so perhaps a visual is necessary.



When confronted with a particularly savory group dish, a quandary often presents itself soon into the meal. Does one A) scarf it down with relish to ensure as much possible goodness is selfishly consumed by oneself, or B) does one maintain a sense of decorum and savor each bite to maximize the pleasure time? Let's just say with two hungry boys standing between me and my fair share of the pizza, the entire concoction was gone within moments. A glorious triumph for pizza lovers everywhere.

How to spend a weekend in San Diego

Ashton's mom came into town for her first San Diego visit on Thursday night, so of course we had a multitude of fun, awesome, and DELICIOUS things for us to do. Let me just tell you that 75% of what we had planned was where to eat! Thursday night she got in late, so the only edibles she encountered were the cookies upon check-in at the Doubletree. We more than made up for it over the course of the weekend. I missed the first part of the festivities on Friday as they experienced Hodad's in Ocean Beach, which I am incredibly envious of. I'd previously blogged about it here, and will someday fulfill my life goal of eating there. Until then, I will rely on their assurances that it was superb. Luckily, we had a great dinner planned at Ranchos on 30th, blogged about here. One of the reasons I love this place is the great salsa they have, and they had actually switched it up a bit this go. We got a more orange-y dollop which was interesting and a tiny bit sweeter than the original. A pleasant and unexpected change! It didn't seem to be permanent since our 2nd bowl was the darker red original, so who knows what is going on there. I got the fish taco combination which was absolutely stellar.

Saturday morning we got seated pretty quickly at The Mission in North Park, where we assured her that her first weekend brunch would be fantastic. Of course it was (like this time). I got an okay chai and a fabulous soy chorizo scramble, with their unbelievable rosemary toast instead of tortillas. A fortuitous decision, because their bread is the best rosemary bread I've had to date. Marylou opted for the Roast Beef Hash at our suggestion, and loved every bite. It was a 100% success. After waddling away from The Mission, we headed up the 101 to show her the north county sites like Swami's, the garden at the Self-Realization Center, a bit of Encinitas, Carlsbad, Leucadia, and the more picture-esque, quintessential California beach towns. After seeing the sites and stopping by the Hotel Del Coronado for a few drinks at their Sun Deck bar, we were ready to eat again, this time at our favorite Thai place to date- Amarin on Richmond Street in Hillcrest. It's hard for me to get something that's not a noodle dish, so I got my standby of Drunken Noodles with Squid and it was of course spectacular. Ashton got HIS standby of Green Curry, and it is just always first rate.

After all this food, I don't know how we managed drinks, but we made it all the way next door to Alibi for a few beers. Where it fit in our bellies, I'll never know. Fast approaching never-before experienced food coma levels, we called it a night, only to awake the next day starving as though we've never eaten before. We had made the strategic decision to make Sunday brunch at Urban Solace (again) to take advantage of the bluegrass band on Sunday mornings. The wait was a little longer than usual, so we seized the opportunity to run to Henry's to snag a few essentials for the dinner we had planned that evening. Our first choice was the Hillcrest Farmer's Market, but it was so woefully packed that we couldn't find a parking space within 500 miles and with a tight schedule had to make a quick stop elsewhere. However, brunch was definitely worth the wait, and my Portabello Mushroom Benedict was as the waiter promised, fantastic. I had been deciding between that or the Steak Benedict, and at his suggestion got the mushroom option because it supposedly sopped up more of the flavor. Well, he was right. Marylou and I went halfsies on one of each, and I thoroughly enjoyed the portabellos much more than the steak. Sadly, the bloody marys were pretty bad, and after having enjoyed an unbeatable one at the Sun Deck at the Hotel Del only the day before, I would have to pass on Urban Solace being a hot spot for them.

The rest of the day consisted of going to the Botanical Garden at Balboa Park, which is unmissable for anyone in San Diego. The indoor exhibit is lush, beautiful, and very well maintained and well planned out. Even someone not incredibly enthusiastic about flowers and plants will enjoy themselves. Next up was the obligatory downtown/Gaslamp excursion, with a stop at a curbside bar called Toscana with local beers on tap and $3 pints all day. There is nothing like a cold beer after a long weekend of entertaining to refresh one's palate! We'd had about enough of the exploration at that point, so we headed back to North Park to make dinner- not before stopping at the Greek Festival on Park Avenue to score some tasty additions to the meal!!! We got boxes of everything made by the hands of Greek women, so it was sure to be excellent. Dolmades, Moussaka, Spanikopita, it was a feast of epic proportions, and we hadn't even made the Tomato Pie yet.

Marylou has an amazing recipe for Tomato Pie which is possibly the most unhealthy and most delicious thing ever. I can't even blog about what goes into it here, because I need to recover for a year by dieting on lettuce and celery. Then, and only then, can I even begin to fathom it. Let's just say it was a hit with our friends who joined us for the home-cooked-plus-Greek dinner.

Sadly, all good things must come to an end, and this concluded our weekend. I think we hit all the highs that San Diego offers, and got to experience some of our favorites once again. This is a pretty good guide for what to do and where to eat, so the next time you have an out-of-towner stopping by, considering trying some or all of these places! You have my stamp of approval.

Beer Battered Fish Taco Extravaganza

The name Demmon is synonymous with "excellent taco making". Taco Sundays were a regular part of the week for many a young soul in Northern Virginia from 1999-2003, and sporadically since then. Mama D's tacos were a thing of wonderment, and even though I live a stone's throw away from our authentic Mexican friends and eat Mexican cuisine multiple times a week, I often crave the unique flavor that only Mom's cooking seems to be able to capture.

However, I can't remember her ever exploring the art of the fish taco, so I decided for my inaugural taco attempt I would risk everything and go for the gold... en flaky crust of beer battered fish tacos. (Ignore the pun or act impressed). A quick Google search yielded a gigantic amount of results, so being a poor twentysomething I picked the recipes that included the most ingredients that I already had, or could substitute. I already had the red snapper, corn tortillas, extra sharp cheddar, colby jack, and fresh organic romaine, but what is a fish taco without white sauce? Just a dry taco. This search yielded the most hits with approximately 2,993,830,247 different ways to make them, so what I eventually did was:

1/2 cup ranch dressing (it said yogurt but I didn't have any and ranch is delicious)
1/2 veganaise (it said mayonnaise, but since mayo is gross and I would never use it again, why buy it?)
1 jalapeno (big and somewhat wrinkly, I like to think the older they are the hotter they are. This is completely not true.) Can use a habanero, whichever flavor you prefer.
The juice of 1 fresh lime
Generous helping of cayenne (probably around a teaspoon)
1/2 teaspoon oregano
1/4 teaspoon pepper
Add the mayo and ranch/yogurt with the lime, mix, dice the pepper as small as possible and add with the seasonings. Mix well, it should be a little drippy but not runny.

The beer batter was pretty much the easiest thing in the world. 1 cup flour, 2 teaspoons salt, and one beer (not dark). I used Bud Lite because I'm ashamed to have it in my refrigerator and this was a good excuse to get rid of it without having to drink it. I cut the snapper into 1 inch pieces and dipped them in the batter after heating the oil to medium heat. Each piece took about a minute to cook to a light gold color without turning brown and getting burned, and provided a super light, crispy shell that wasn't too "fried". Nothing is more annoying than getting a Fried Batter taco when all you want is some evidence of fish buried deep within the taco. Afterward, I fried the corn tortillas for about a minute, folding them halfway through to ensure the right shape and crispiness! Perfectamundo!

Mama D, you would be so proud.

Marley's mac n' Cheese

My sister is not known for her culinary flair (just mention the words "jello salad" and you will be regaled with a tale that the family will NEVER let her live down!) but I definitely respect her for her persistence in the cooking realm. Actually, her husband Jason has a bit of talent with a grill, and even with the smallest kitchen I have ever seen, they've been able to knock out some commendable tidbits. I haven't yet tried the following recipe, but with cheese, jalapenos, and prosciutto, I think it sounds pretty damn tasty.


Ingredients

8 oz. box of macaroni (we use Cresti di gallo noodles; its large size and the ridged texture always adds to the pasta when you have a rich sauce by helping the sauce adhere to the pasta)

4 tbsp unsalted butter

1 small shallot, finely diced

1 jalapeno (include seeds and/or a 2nd jalapeno if you prefer it spicier)

3 tbsp all-purpose flour

1 tbsp dried/ground mustard

1/2 tsp paprika

2 cups half and half

8 oz shredded sharp cheddar

8 oz shredded pepper jack

1/4 tsp garlic powder

1/4 tsp salt

1/8 tsp black pepper

3/4 tsp Worcestershire sauce

1/2 cup plain bread crumbs w/ 1 tbsp melted butter

1.5 oz (half a pack/to taste) prosciutto (found near the deli counter by lunch meats)



Directions

1. Preheat oven to 350 F (175 C)
2. Bring large pot of lightly salted water to a boil. Add pasta noodles and cook for 7-8 minutes until they're almost al dente; drain well and set aside
3. Meanwhile cook prosciutto in olive oil/butter in a small saucepan until slightly crispy; cut into smaller pieces and set aside
4. In a large saucepan (at least 3 inches deep) over medium heat, melt 4 tbsp unsalted butter; add shallots and jalapenos and cook for 1 minute; add flour, dry mustard and paprika; stir continuously until blended (about 1 minute); pour in half and half slowly as you're stirring everything fast enough to keep it from getting chunky
5. Add shredded cheeses and stir until blended
6. Stir in garlic powder, salt, pepper, Worcestershire sauce
7. Add macaroni and prosciutto to pan and mix everything well; transfer to a 2 quart Corning ware/casserole dish. Mix 1 tbsp of butter with bread crumbs (can use same small saucepan as the prosciutto) and sprinkle over macaroni and cheese
8. Bake in preheated oven for 30-35 minutes or until hot and bubbling around the edges.