Category Archives: Words

Meet the Meat: Wild boar

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My sister and her husband gave me an assortment of exotic meats for Christmas, because my family is just that awesome. Many of them are in burger form, which is massively convenient because I make a lot of burgers at home. Some of them are in steak form. All of them* will be introduced in this new TedQuarters feature, Meet the Meat.

I started with wild boar. Here’s what it presumably looked like before someone went all Lord of the Flies on it:

Here’s what it looks like as steak:

From the Internet, I expected lean, tough meat, but as you can see in the picture above the steak had some nice fatty marbling to it.

My wife and I picked up some frozen steamed buns in Flushing on Saturday after she picked me up from the airport, so my first instinct was to turn the boar into a version of the Hall of Fame Momofuku pork bun, since that seemed like a good easy recipe that would showcase the meat.

But then it turned out my wife doesn’t like hoisin sauce, which came as news to me. Turns out it takes at least a year and a half of marriage before you fully comprehend your spouse’s taste in Asian condiments. She happens to be wrong — hoisin is delicious — but even though I was once in a band called the Moo Shoo Porkestra, I was willing to adjust the recipe. That’s love, right there.

I pan-fried the boar in a little bit of olive oil and steamed the buns. Then, inspired by banh mi sandwiches and the herbs I happened to have at my disposal, I put a piece of boar on each bun with some Thai chile sauce (think sweet and sour sauce but with a little heat), fresh cilantro, and a couple of slices of cucumber and jalapeno:


Before I ate it I added a little bit of Sriracha, because Sriracha is amazing.

This wild boar bun is amazing. Honestly, I heartily recommend combining cucumbers, cilantro, jalapenos and Thai chile sauce wherever possible. Turns out they go really, really well together — really capture that sweet, spicy, sharp mix of flavors you get in a lot of southeast Asian foods.

And as for the meat? Excellent. I wouldn’t say it was tender, but it was a lot less tough than I expected — somewhere on the scale of a steak or a pork chop. Actually, halfway between a steak and a pork chop is probably a good way to describe the flavor. It tasted very meaty, but not in a way I’d call “gamey” — though I’ve never been entirely clear on what that word really means.

*- I reserve the right to not document some of them if I can’t come up with anything to say about them. But then you won’t know anyway.

Scoop stuff

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I broke news today, sort of. I heard that the Mets were signing Scott Hairston, so I tweeted it. I trusted that the people from whom I heard the news believed it wholeheartedly, but since I know the way these things often play out and am familiar with the game “Telephone,” I hedged the hell out of the Tweet with a full disclaimer before the news.

Adam Rubin, who is actually in the business of breaking Mets news and does a better job of it than pretty much anyone, confirmed the report later.

And so I contributed my piece to the nonsense that is offseason baseball coverage. I’m happy to say I’m now 1-for-1 in transaction-related scoops.

For what it’s worth, I also broke the news that Billy Wagner needed elbow surgery, way back when (only to have Mike Francesa read my report word for word on air without crediting me or SNY), and I was the first person to publish the news — on MetsBlog, at about 3 a.m. ET — that Willie Randolph had been canned.

That’s about it. I don’t intend to ever be in the business of breaking news with any real frequency, but when someone here hands me some or wakes me up with a phone call because I’m the most accessible person with a public forum, I’m happy to publish it. I recognize that’s probably a good way to increase my online profile or whatever, but at the same time I’m content to sit here writing about sandwiches.

I will say, though, that there’s one minor scoop for which I am directly responsible and have never been credited. I was the anonymous source that fed Matt Cerrone the details of the Johan Santana contract.

It went like this: I got word that Santana, his agents and the Mets’ front office were negotiating his contract in the SNY offices because of their accessible Midtown location. I work in said offices, and figured out which conference room they were in (it wasn’t hard — it’s the fancy one).

The workday was winding down as the negotiations were starting, and I had nothing particularly important to do that evening, so I went upstairs and parked myself at the receptionist’s desk outside the conference room. I considered doing the old sitcom cup-on-the-door thing. I IMmed Cerrone when they got dinner delivered.

I sat there for a while, browsing the Internet and waiting for something to happen. I was just about to give up when a dude — a young guy, must have been someone who worked for the agent or something — emerged from the conference room on his cell phone.

“It’s done, dude,” he said. Then he paused.

He continued: “Six. Yeah, six and 137-point-five.”

Layup. That was my one endeavor into investigative journalism. I figure it’s not always that easy.

Of course, I had been working here for all of three weeks at the time, so I spent the next week crapping my pants worried that someone would find out and I’d somehow get in trouble. But then I realized I was actually kind of doing my job, and then no one ever asked me about it anyway.

As for Hairston, he seems like a nice pickup to compete for a fourth or fifth outfield spot. Eno Sarris has way, way more.

If we could talk to the animals…

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Chaser, a border collie who lives in Spartanburg, S.C., has the largest vocabulary of any known dog. She knows 1,022 nouns, a record that displays unexpected depths of the canine mind and may help explain how children acquire language.

Chaser belongs to John W. Pilley, a psychologist who taught for 30 years at Wofford College, a liberal arts institution in Spartanburg. In 2004, after he had retired, he read a report in Science about Rico, a border collie whose German owners had taught him to recognize 200 items, mostly toys and balls. Dr. Pilley decided to repeat the experiment using a technique he had developed for teaching dogs, and he describes his findings in the current issue of the journal Behavioural Processes.

– Nicholas Wade, N.Y. Times.

Man, dogs are awesome. First of all, for people who go on and on about how cats are so much smarter than dogs: Find me a cat that knows 1,022 nouns.

Second, you could be like, “Chaser, go scratch the bear,” to this dog and it will go pick out the stuffed bear from hundreds of stuffed animals and scratch it. And then he’ll turn around and crap on the floor, because that’s just how dogs roll.

I don’t really understand why people are so desperate to teach our languages to animals, because I suspect if we ever do crack the communication barrier we’re going to find that animals don’t have anything all that interesting to say. Probably after you say, “Chaser, fetch the ball,” Chaser just thinks, “ball! ball! ball! ball!” And then later he thinks, “food! food! food! food!’ And sometimes, “other dogs’ asses!”

Straight up, I’d guess that the way a dog learns to associate auditory cues with specific objects and actions can tell us very little about how a human child learns to understand language, even if there’s some overlap in certain processes. Dogs are not people.

Also no matter how often we assume it, dogs probably never think they’re people either. That requires a certain level of self-awareness that I’m not willing to attribute to dogs, awesome though they may be.

Sandwich of the Week

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People always refer to “gilding the lily” as if it’s a bad thing. And look: Lilies are nice and all and I recognize that there’s not much demand to improve them. But only a fool wouldn’t trade a straight-up old school lily for a lily covered in solid gold. Gild that thing. That’s what I say.

The sandwich: Spicy Chicken Sandwich with pepper jack cheese from Chik-Fil-A, many locations, most of them (but not all) outside of New York.

The construction: Boneless, breaded white-meat chicken breast with pickles and pepper jack cheese on a buttered bun.

Important background information: Someone needs to write a book on American regional fast food. Does that already exist? If not, someone needs to pay me to write a book on American regional fast food.

Chick-Fil-A might occupy the first chapter. Though the Georgia-based chain is slowly diffusing throughout the country, in inaccessible areas it remains the stuff of legend, due mostly to the strength of its chicken sandwich. The folks at NY Mag’s Grub Street — likely the “foodie” types who turn up their noses at most chain fast food — even ranked it among the Top 101 sandwiches in New York.

Pressure cooked in peanut oil, it is crispy and tasty on the outside and moist on the inside. It far outclasses chicken sandwiches from all the major fast food chains, many of which are cardboard-dry and appear reconstituted. Better than most is the McDonald’s Southern-style chicken sandwich, a clear rip-off of the Chick-Fil-A sandwich that features exactly the same stuff but is just not quite as good in any way.

What it looks like:

How it tastes: Gilding the lily, and not in the good way.

I was hungry by the time my flight landed in West Palm Beach on Friday and downright starving by the time I secured my rental car, so I was thrilled when Matt Cerrone tipped me off that there was a Chick-Fil-A not five miles north of the airport, off I-95. I figured I’d swing through to pick up the classic Chick-Fil-A sandwich, something delicious that I haven’t eaten in some time.

When I got there I saw the sign heralding the new Spicy Chicken sandwich, and I figured if I like the regular one so much and I like spicy things in general, I should probably go for it. And then I saw that I could add cheese to the sandwich for only 30 cents more, and hell, cheese is delicious. Pepper jack that bastard up.

What I ate was still delicious, mind you — undoubtedly head and shoulders over every other fast-food chicken sandwich. The breading was still crispy and the chicken inside still moist. But the spiciness tasted somehow forced, like they just added a ton of spicy spices to the breading and robbed it of its subtlety. (Can a fast-food sandwich have subtlety?) And the pepper jack cheese, though creamy and good, just felt unnecessary.

Eating the sandwich only served to remind me how amazing the original sandwich is in its simplicity. Fried chicken, pickles, bun. Sometimes if everything’s good you don’t need to pile on ingredients for more flavor. That’s how the spicy version tasted, and it made me crave Chick-Fil-A’s OG sandwich offering.

Luckily, I stopped and got one on my way back to the airport. And lo, it was good.

What it’s worth: Cost something like $5 with a Diet Dr. Pepper — which they had on tap at this Chick-Fil-A. And it was only three or four minutes out of my way, tops. Very well worth the price.

How it rates: Hmm. If I had a separate scale for fast-food items, this might reach the upper 80s or even approach the fringes of the Fast Food Sandwich Hall of Fame. But there isn’t a separate scale, so this gets judged against the rest of them, which is kind of unfair but whatever. Truth is, it is the exceptionally rare — and perhaps non-existent — mass-produced fast food sandwich that’s going to compete in deliciousness with the upper echelon of sandwiches I’ve reviewed here.

But you know I like fast food, and obviously I recognize the benefit of enjoying incredibly convenient and reasonably priced fare, especially when it is also very tasty. I didn’t even have to get out of my car! America! 72 out of 100.

Gone south

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If things are a bit slow around here today, it’s because I’m heading to Port St. Lucie on a bit of a whirlwind trip. I’m not sure exactly what my schedule or Internet situation will look like, so I may or may not be posting stuff (which is always true).

The good news is I’m definitely going to see grass, which hasn’t been visible in Westchester for weeks now.

For now, enjoy the best song I know of about Florida.

Two things about closers

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Two things you should read about closers: 1) Eno Sarris’ plan for how the Mets could use K-Rod effectively without having his $17.5 million option for 2012 vest.

2) Cliff Corcoran’s analysis of just how good Mariano Rivera has been compared to every other relief pitcher ever.

I’ve long held that the one-inning closer role should be retired with Rivera. The telling stat is this one: In the 20 years before Tony La Russa popularized the one-inning closer, teams entering the ninth inning with a lead won the same percentage of games as they did in the 20 years after. There has got to be a better way to construct a bullpen than wildly overpaying one guy to throw 60-some innings.

Which New York sports nemesis would make the best comedy bad guy?

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To me, Shooter McGavin from Happy Gilmore was the perfect comedy bad guy. Talented, lame, pompous, enviable and manipulative, Christopher MacDonald’s character made an ideal nemesis for Adam Sandler’s goofy, immature, capricious hockey-goon-turned-golfer.

MacDonald also played a classic comedy bad-guy part in Dirty Work, for what it’s worth, but he’s hardly the only actor who does it well. The EPA guy in Ghostbusters, Ted Knight’s judge in Caddyshack, Biff Tannen in Back to the Future, the local police chief in Super Troopers, basically the entire jock fraternity in Revenge of the Nerds, Craig Kilborn’s character in Old School, I could go on. It’s a cliched archetype: usually good-looking, always entitled and generally snively.

I’ve been thinking about comedy bad guys a lot lately because of how Bill Belichick and Tom Brady seem such perfect foils for the brazen, obnoxious, fat, freaky Rex Ryan. Brady, handsome star quarterback that clearly takes himself too seriously, could easily be cast as the bad guy in every single 80s teen movie.

But I have previously compared A-Rod to Shooter McGavin, specifically after the way he dismissed Dallas Braden in basically every sense after their mound incident and Braden’s perfect game.

So I’m wondering now which New York sports nemesis would make for the best comedy bad guy. I’ve included A-Rod on the list because even though he plays for a New York team, he seems to count as a nemesis for both Mets fans and a large portion of Yankees fans alike. Same thing for Sean Avery.

[poll id=”15″]

Your move, James Franco

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This reached a nadir when Ms. Young, some 85 minutes into the show, failed to defecate on cue, despite having given an advance interview advertising her ability to do so. She invited audience members to help her find ways of achieving her goal, and most obliged. They gave her cigarettes, Coca-Cola and practical advice about manipulation. They loosened her frock; she was wearing a full-length hooped dress with petticoat. They offered manual assistance. They encouraged her when she relocated to a chair after squatting over a bowl.

This went on for more than 10 minutes. Finally Ms. Young — claiming she must be nervous and admitting the show was running considerably over time — departed to complete her defecation in a restroom nearby. I was one of several (but too few) people who left at this point. I left partly because of the show’s sheer inefficiency. Principally, however, I felt that to remain would indicate that I shared the audience’s far-from-tacit consensus that Ms. Young deserved encouragement, and that this was fun or rewarding.

– Alastair Macauley, N.Y. Times.

Excuse me for waxing scatalogical, but what if the intention of Ann Liv Young’s performance-art piece (here reviewed by Macauley in hilarious fashion) was not to poop in front of a live audience, but to try and fail to poop in front of an audience? Maybe it was a massive failure, or maybe it was a bold meditation on performance anxiety, unmet expectations, and constipation.

I really need to get into performance art. It’s a great way to get people to praise you for behaving bizarrely.

I may have mentioned this here before (though I can’t find it if I have), but I launched a fake student-government campaign for my TV show in college that culminated in me and some friends unleashing thousands of bouncy balls in a crowded campus square while I shouted “Balls!” into a megaphone.

While we were doing it, a couple of grad-student types walked by and I heard one woman say, “must be some sort of performance art.”

Well, it wasn’t intended to be, ma’am. But if you want to call it that, I won’t disagree.

I don’t think it works that way

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But Cromartie guaranteed Brady will be picking on him by telling the Daily News on Tuesday that he hates Brady and that he’s “an ass—-.”…

“I try to just throw where the guys are open,” Brady said Wednesday. “I don’t think I pick out players.”

Cromartie didn’t back off his comments, and Brady is not going to back off throwing at him….

Three years ago, during the Patriots’ undefeated regular season, Steelers safety Anthony Smith guaranteed Pittsburgh would beat New England. That didn’t work out so well. The Patriots won, 34-13, and Brady burned Smith for two touchdowns.

“Those plays just kind of came up as they did,” Brady said. “I don’t think there were plays on the call sheet to go after a particular player. That’s the way the reads went, and he happened to be there in those situations.”

Sure. Just like Brady’s reads will take him right to Cromartie on Sunday.

– Gary Myers, N.Y. Daily News.

That’s more than I usually like to excerpt from any one article, but Myers kept coming back to the same point. He seems to really think Tom Brady will now try to “pick on” or “throw at” Antonio Cromartie more than he would have if Cromartie didn’t call him an ass—- in public.

How can that be?

Does anyone really think Tom Brady — remarkable competitor, obvious ass—- and one of the best quarterbacks of all time — is going to change his game plan because of something someone said about him? Can it possibly work like that?

Of course Brady is going to throw Cromartie’s direction sometimes, but it’s going to have a lot more to do with Cromartie’s open man than Cromartie’s running mouth.

It seems almost insulting to Brady — and I’m all for insulting Brady, mind you — to suggest otherwise. He’s going to put aside doing everything he can to win a playoff football game to seek some petty vengeance? Tom Brady’s going to do that? Really?

As I suggested yesterday, I suspect that this type of thing is fun for fans and great for filling papers, but utterly meaningless in terms of the actual game on the field. These men are professional football players, even if some of them happen to wear man-UGGs.

Cromartie himself said, “They can have all the (bulletin-board) material that they want. It’s about what you do in between those white lines. They don’t care what we say in the media.”

In the interest of fairness — even though I have no interest in fairness — I present our man Mark Weinstein’s column for MSG.com. Mark, a Giants fan, has no patience for the Jets’ antics, though he stops far short of insinuating that they have any impact on the actual game. And he presents a pretty hilarious chart.