Author Archives: Ted Berg

Pork!

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I smoked a pork butt yesterday to make pulled pork. I expected it would take about 8-10 hours, but it wound up taking 13. In the middle, when I realized I wasn’t going to have my home-smoked pulled pork ready in time for a reasonable dinner hour, I walked a couple blocks to my local pizza place for a calzone to tide me over.

When I left, I caught the smell of delicious smoky barbecue and wondered if someone else in my neighborhood was also wood-firing some meat on a Sunday afternoon. But as I approached my house, I realized that I was the source — the smell of hickory and pecan smoke from my backyard was blanketing at least a four-block radius, I just didn’t smell it on my way to the pizza place because my nostrils had grown accustomed to it. Amazing. I should get some sort of civic honor.

Anyway, turns out the hardest part of smoking a pork butt is finding a suitable pork butt. All the instructions I could find pertained to bone-in pork butt (pause, as they say), but Stew Leonard’s — the place I could find near me selling pork butt — only had the deboned variety. (Also, no vinegar in the whole damn store.) Plus it looks like the butcher cut off a little fat from the top that might have been better left on there:

From there, it’s not terribly hard. Just a bit time consuming. Cover the butt in yellow mustard and spice rub. The mustard helps seal in the juices and gives the rub something to stick to, forming a nice crust when it’s all finished. The rub seals in the juices too, I believe, plus adds a little spice. I wanted the pork to be versatile — I knew there’d be enough of it that I’d ultimately use it in a variety of meals — so I didn’t want to go overboard with flavor in the rub. It was mostly paprika, salt and pepper, then a little bit of a lot of other stuff from the pantry.

Once that’s done, onto the smoker:

I used a mix of hickory and pecan woods. Hickory is sort of the gold-standard, bacony-smelling (I guess technically bacon is hickory-smelling, but whatever) barbecue wood, but I found with baby-back ribs that the flavor could be a bit overpowering. So I cut it with pecan here because pecan smells a bit like hickory and because it’s what I had.

I mopped it with a mix of cranberry juice, olive oil and spice rub a couple times toward the end, to moisten the outside parts and give the crust a little sweetness, a tip I took from a book by Gary Wiviott. But mostly, you just have to do whatever you need to do to the fire to maintain a steady smoke and low heat — around 250-degrees Fahrenheit — until the pork is between 190- and 200-degrees inside, at which point it sort of starts falling apart on its own. Doesn’t look all that appealing, really:

Next comes the really tedious part. Take that 8.5-pound pork butt and pull it into tiny bits:

Then, at 10 p.m., after you’ve been futzing with the fire all day, while you still reek of smoke, with spice rub still under your fingernails, enjoy your damn sandwich already. More on that later in the week.

(Tugs collar, fidgets, exhales)

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So obviously that wasn’t the Jets’ best game. Mark Sanchez threw a couple of interceptions and tried to throw a couple more, the Broncos’ purportedly porous run defense stymied the Jets’ lauded rushing attack, and Gang Green eked out a win thanks to a well-timed penalty on a desperate pass.

Here’s the good news though: The Jets still won. Some have said the win is a testament to their grit and fortitude, and though I don’t think those qualities are nearly as overrated in football as they are in baseball, I suspect the win speaks more to the Jets’ talent than their toughness — though in football sometimes it’s difficult to distinguish between the two.

The Jets won, sure, in-part because of the penalty, but also because they were good enough to stay in the game despite being outplayed for most of it.

Their defense was good enough to contain the Broncos’ high-flying offense. Antonio Cromartie played another spectacular game, and Darrelle Revis — even with his hamstring at 90%, by his account — looked a lot more like Darrelle Revis. They looked good even on the few plays they got beat; take 34 shots at NFL receivers, even in tight coverage, and you’re bound to connect on a few.

And their offense was good enough to move the ball despite Sanchez’s youthful hiccups. Though it appeared the Broncos came in prepared for the running game, the Jets’ o-line manhandled the Denver pass rush and appeared to give Sanchez plenty of time to work through his post-interception tentativeness. Plus Brian Schottenheimer made good use of the fancy stuff.

The Jets proved good enough to win even in a game they played poorly, and when a bunch of things didn’t fall their way. They head into their bye week with the best record in football, likely salivating at the thought of a Week 8 matchup at home against a banged-up Packers team that looked very lucky to stay with the Dolphins so long on Sunday.

So chin up, Mark Sanchez. The Jets are looking awfully handsome these days.

O.G. Ichabod Crane

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Did you know that the real-life Ichabod Crane was not a skinny Tarrytown schoolteacher but a stout, Staten Island military man? Washington Irving apparently thought he had a cool name, which makes sense, because he did. Lots of headless-horseman love up in Westchester this time of year. Hat tip to Jonah Keri for the link.

Sandwich of the Week

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This week’s sandwich came heavily recommended from various readers, Twitterers, and my friend Brad, who works near the shop in question. I appreciate sandwich recommendations so please keep them coming. I know there is no shortage of delicious sandwiches in this fine city, so if you’ve got one you love, I’m down to, you know, eat it. Especially if it’s within a reasonable subway haul from Rockefeller Plaza or a reasonable drive from Central Westchester, and especially if it’s something of an offbeat sandwich, since there are only so many things I can say about burgers.

(I don’t mean that. I can’t say enough about burgers. I’m sorry I even suggested otherwise, ground beef. I love you.)

The sandwich: Hot roast beef from Defonte’s of Brooklyn, 21st and 3rd Ave., Manhattan (also apparently in Red Hook, but good luck tearing yourself away from the taco trucks).

The construction: House-made Italian bread with roast beef, fresh  mozzarella, fried eggplant and au jus.

Important background info: I probably should’ve ordered the hot roast beef to stay — especially considering the wonderful smell at Defonte’s — but it was a nice day and I passed Gramercy Park on my way, so I figured I’d take it out and go sit on a park bench with my sandwich. Somewhere deep in my head I’m sure I knew that Gramercy Park is closed to the public and accessible only via key to residents of specific area buildings, but it slipped my mind on Friday, focused as I was on this much-hyped sandwich.

I walked a full lap of the park looking for an open entrance, panicking, knowing that my sandwich — with that au jus on it — was growing soggy. When I figured out I wasn’t allowed in, my head filled up with anti-capitalist angst as I hauled ass toward Union Square. Dammit, this city has so little green space, what exists should be for everyone! Those sons of bitches have a lot of nerve, locking people out. Damn-near shameful.

I eventually found a suitable bench on the northeast side of Union Square park. But soon after I opened my sandwich, a lady sat right across from me and started feeding squirrels, and I could see the little bastards eying my roast beef. That’s mine! Away from my sandwich, rodents! Move on, Willard-woman, please let me eat in peace. Next some panhandlers came by with cardboard signs and guilt trips. Man, isn’t there some way to make this park more exclusive?

What it looks like:

How it tastes: A bit soggy, as I feared, but still really, really tasty.

My particular mound of roast beef came from near the end of the roast, but it was still rare, moist and tender. This was a huge thing for customers at the deli — there were a lot of people who just didn’t want roast beef until it was cut from the center and rarest part of the meat. I always thought the rareness factor was at least a tiny bit overrated, but obviously I recognize that the butt-end of a roast beef is usually dry and unappetizing. Not the case at Defonte’s (though this wasn’t quite the very end), at all. Helps that they’ve got it soaking in jus, of course.

Speaking of: Something in this sandwich was quite garlicky, and I’m guessing it was that jus. Which is good. Garlicky is good. Every time I lifted my hand near my mouth for the rest of the day I smelt buttery garlic and remembered the sandwich, a nice little reminder of a delicious sandwich past.

And when I got good bites of the fried eggplant — when it was crispy — it perfectly complemented the roast beef and added some crunchiness to the sandwich. It was soggy a bit too often, unfortunately, which was a shame because it’s clearly what makes this sandwich especially notable. That’s not Defonte’s fault, of course; blame me for taking the thing to go and the people of the Gramercy area for locking their park (and that woman inside for not coming over and opening the gate for me when she saw me standing there, pathetic, obviously eager to eat a sandwich).

My one quibble would be the amount of fresh mozzarella. I should probably mention that this is a complaint I have with every food item in the world that’s not a massive hunk of fresh mozzarella, but on the hot roast beef the delicious cheese got overwhelmed a bit by the huge amount of meat. No disrespect to meat, obviously, but if I were constructing this sandwich myself, I’d probably substitute another layer of mozzarella for the last few slices of roast beef to balance out the proportions a little bit.

What it’s worth: Sandwich cost about $10, plus two rides on the subway and about 10 minutes of walking for me. But look at that damn thing; there’s enough there for two meals. Good luck trying to stop eating it after the first half, though.

How it rates: Please excuse me for avoiding a proper rating for the second straight week. As I enjoyed it, this sandwich still merits a rating in the mid-to-high 80s: delicious. But due to the potential here and all the vehement recommendations, I suspect that under the proper conditions this might very well have been a Hall of Fame sandwich. I guess think of it like the Tony Conigliaro of sandwiches: An Italian stud on a Hall of Fame trajectory but sidetracked by misfortune. Only obviously the story of the hot roast beef is far less tragic, since it will end with me eating another.

Frenchy Tracker update

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Two more Jeff Francoeur stories in area papers, bringing the total to six thus far. If you’re playing at home, that’s three articles for every plate appearance Frenchy’s had in the ALCS, and nearly an article per pitch he’s seen. Even in a rough outing, it took CC Sabathia all of seven pitches to retire Francoeur twice last night. Frenchy swung at five of them.

Kudos should to go Andy McCullough of the Star-Ledger for turning in a balanced Francoeur feature, one that, after swipes at the Mets, mentions Francoeur’s petulance upon losing his job in Flushing and success in a diminished role in Arlington.

The second Francoeur feature comes from Mike Sielksi of the Wall Street Journal, he of the memorable “No Cameras for Francoeur’s Milestone” piece which some have claimed was meant to be tongue-in-cheek. This Francoeur piece is straightforward and rather damning. Sielski calls Francoeur a role player — rightly — and writes that “he needs to understand and acknowledge it.”

But best of all, Sielski includes this stunning tidbit:

Even then, though, Mr. Francoeur couldn’t contain his delusions of grandeur when it came to the money he might command on the open market.

He isn’t eligible for free agency until after next season, but during a conversation before a game in Philadelphia, he referenced Jayson Werth, Ryan Howard and Joe Mauer—three of baseball’s elite players—in talking about the factors that might affect where he played in the years to come.

Wow.

From the “particularly ominous e-mails” folder

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Ted, you better review the McRib when it is rereleased. Possibly Nov. 2.

– Kevin, via email.

Kevin: Duh.

This is actually the first I heard about the glorious return of the McRib, but a quick Googling reveals this helpful website, which identifies the locations of known McRib-distributing McDonald’s restaurants.

I trust it will still have weird grill-simulating stripes.

Things Sandy Alderson said

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“Managers are very controlling. You look at the managers today and the ones that are ‘my way or the highway’ are very few. It’s a remnant of another generation. If an organization is worth its salt – why would you turn that company over to a middle manager? So the attitude (in Oakland) was, ‘We have a philosophy and we’re going to find a manager who is going to implement that philosophy. We’re not looking for someone to tell us how to run the team, or upon which theory it should be predicated. We already have that. We want someone who is going to implement it for us.’ That’s a very different approach.”

– Sandy Alderson to ESPN, via MetsBlog.com.

I’ve maintained all along that I won’t make any sweeping declarative statements on the Mets’ general-manager hunt and I’m not about to roll back on that now, but it’s hard not to get excited about Alderson based on this and just about everything else I’ve read about the guy.

This quote, in particular, makes me think about the way the Jenrry Mejia situation unfolded this spring, and reminds me that a strong general manager with a sense of priorities can and should overrule a field manager clamoring for short-sighted decisions in the name of middle-relief help.

Mets fans — in the MetsBlog comments section linked above and elsewhere — knock Alderson’s taste in managers because he hired Art Howe. But that neglects to consider that Howe, presumably hired by Alderson as a manager willing to implement his and then Billy Beane’s grand plan for the A’s, helped Oakland to three straight playoff berths and consecutive 100-win seasons before butting heads with Beane and fleeing for Flushing.

As Mets fans we hated watching Howe appear comatose at the helm of some truly awful clubs at Shea, but clearly he was, at least for a while, a capable company man in the middle-management role Alderson described.

Obviously philosophies related to reporters “years ago” are different than those employed actually running a team, and so it’s too soon to praise Alderson without evidence that, if hired, he practices what he preaches at the Mets’ helm. But just the suggestion of a top-down organization with a clear pecking order and a well-conceived, thoroughly implemented plan is enough to capture Mets’ fans imaginations after the last administration.