Bon Vivette

I married an English Jew -- two of my fetishes wrapped up in a short, blond, blue-eyed, hairy, Polish-sailor looking package. With a cute accent.

Because he's from the Chosen people, the boy eats all the weird bits of the meat - sometimes directly from the chicken - even before you can make gravy with it. Waste not, want not. So, the boy likes liver. All kinds, from a nice foie gras to a crude chicken liver pate - he likes it. Once, on a quick excursion to Bath, he even ate liver twice in one meal ... a chicken liver starter followed by a sheep liver main.

I like the foie gras and the pates of this world -- but pure liver reminds me of choking down liver cutlets with copious amounts of Heinz ketchup from my childhood. Although my mother is one of the best cooks in the world, she has a propensity to overcook meat (for fear of poisoning us all), and liver is not one of those meats that can even be slightly overcooked -- hence, my apprehension when Joe brought home a massive liver and plopped it out on the cutting board.

Because we're close to the West Country here in Bristol, the liver is from sheep -- it's actually much harder to get cow's liver ... and then they call it "OX" liver. We just found an ox liver connection, down at the Slow Food Market held in the old part of town on the first Sunday of the month. I've lived in Bristol for 18 months now, but it took a San Franciscan coming to visit to get me to the market (I have been a regular at the Wednesday Farmer's Market and had been pretty disappointed with the offerings ... so had never managed to alter my usual Sunday routine ... which entails Joe bringing me tea and the Observer in bed). But I was pleasantly surprised by the Slow Food market. There were lots of local artisanally produced products -- gorgeous strong cheddar, ciders, and meats raised in Devon and Somerset, and a strong showing of farmer's produce.

Joe's preferred method of cooking liver and onions includes serious lashings of gravy -- a lovely gravy made with said onions, bacon, and mushrooms. Last night we had it served on mashed potatoes. It was our first meal in awhile that didn't include zucchini. It was also raining yesterday -- my own personal raincloud had found me again and seemed to be pouring all over the West Country.

When I am really homesick I crave Mexican food. When I have PMS, I would kill for a burrito from San Francisco Taqueria or Taqueria Can Cun. This same feeling would come over me when I lived in Japan years ago, but at least in Japan I had an option. The Hard Rock Cafe Osaka served great tacos, fajitas (yes, that is Tex-Mex and not officially Mexican, but it'll do in a pinch), and margaritas -- which were a 'welcome' respite from the fabulous udon, ramen, sushi, gyozas, and domburi that we normally feasted on.

The only Mexican food I can get around these parts either comes from a fast food joint called Chiquitas or an El Paso Dinner Kit. I once actually cried in a Chiquitos because it was so bad, and not bad in a good way, like Taco Time (similar to Taco Bell, but only seemingly found in little towns in Oregon). I had ordered the enchiladas, which is usually a good bet in any family-run Mexican restaurant or chain resto such as Chevys. This was so not the case in Chiquitas Bristol.

The enchilada itself was made with a flour tortilla -- something I had never seen before, and that seemed so wrong. A flour tortilla has its place, but that's not wrapping itself around my meat and calling itself an enchilada. Maybe they do that in Northern Mexico where wheat is more prevelant, and I will happily stand corrected, but an enchilada should be made with a corn tortilla (flash cooked in an inch of oil to make them tender). After the ghastly tortilla issue, I can barely bring myself to describe the sauce. I think it was ketchup or a whizzed Italian ragu ... but it was definitely not an enchilada sauce.

An enchilada sauce should be made with chili -- be that reconstituted dried chilis, chili adobo, or chili powder. But in some way chili must factor into the sauce. Sadly, Chiquitos did not get the memo.

Here is my rough and ready enchilada sauce recipe:

Few tablespoons of oil
Two heaping tablespoons of flour
Four super heaping tablespoons of chili powder
Two heaping tablespoons of ground cumin
One heaping tablespoon of smokey paprika
Two tablespoons of dried oregano
Two tablespoons of garlic powder (cheaty, cheat, cheat)
One tablespoon of cocoa powder
One tablespoon of salt
Ground pepper to taste
One large yellow onion, diced
Two cans of tomatoes, either chopped or sauce

Mix the dry ingredients together. Heat oil. Cook the dry ingredients in the oil to cook off the flour taste. Add diced onions. Sautee until onions are tender. Add tin tomatoes. Cook for about forty minutes or an hour -- or until sauce is thick and the dried spice flavor has cooked off. I adjust mine for heat and taste at this point. I usually add more salt and cumin ... and I add a can of chili in adobo (that can make it too spicey for some, but it adds a real smokey undertone). Cool the entire thing and then whiz in a blender or use an immersion blender -- thin with some water if necessary. It should be the consistency of vichycoise -- thick enough so that it clings to the tortillas, but does not overwhelm the filling.

Chiquitos continued to let me down with their boil-in-the-bag Uncle Ben's rice and so-called "pico de gallo." All in all, the entire thing brought tears to my eyes ... and I hadn't even sampled the Cuervo [trade mark] Gold Margaritas.