.:ELECTRIC VELOCIPEDE:. Nonfiction

Isn’t it funny that whenever we are somewhere unpleasant, as I often seem to be, we mentally vacate for more tranquil settings? And, with me, that escape happens with the stomach first. Call it survival instinct at its most refined, but when threatened, by, say, a loud screeching noise too near my aural senses, I tend to think first of food. I know that sitting in this horribly sanitary space, tipped supine and at the whim of a man in slick medical goggles peering over my receding periodontics, food should be the last thing on my mind.

But, you see, when I know that, upon leaving my current surroundings, I will likely not be eating anything of substance, I begin conjuring that meal that will in no way be feasible for some time. Not only will I be barred from the eating itself, but I will miss the comfort to my physical pain and the personal humiliation that I will also bear at the hands of the horrific contraption that my current torturer will leave me with. And as it is summer, I think of all those simple pleasures of summertime eating that I will be missing.

The first thing I will be missing is the lovely summeriness of bruschetta. How easy and how satisfying . . . especially when you’ve already got the grill heating for that primal ritual of charred bestial feasting. Bruschetta is so no-nonsense that it is barely a recipe at all. But here is the best way I’ve found to make it . . .

Barbeque Bruschetta
4 vine-ripened tomatoes, seeded and chopped
1 small bunch of basil, cut into fine ribbons
To do this ribbon trick easily, simply pluck the leaves and pile them atop each other. Roll the whole bunch lengthwise and cut across the leaves . . . viola, strips!
Kosher salt, to taste (depending upon the sweetness and juiciness of the fruit)
Mix all these ingredients and let mingle while you get on with the rest . . .
1 loaf of Italian bread, cut on the diagonal, into 1 inch slices.

Take this bread out to the patio and lay it on the grill to toast. Keep your eye on it, as your fire power can make toast into charcoal . . . quickly. Flip and toast the other side so you have lovely grill markings striping all your pieces. Once these are gorgeous, rub both sides of the toast with a halved clove of garlic. And don’t cheat yourself with that yellowish, powdery stuff sold in plastic jars. Using a pastry brush, swipe one side of each toast with extra virgin olive oil. Plate your toasts and spoon the tomato mixture over the top . . . but keep any accumulating juices in your mixing bowl. Serve as is, or with a slice of fresh mozzarella, a wedge of parm, or a thin cutting of avocado. This is a recipe for anyone who can barely cook . . . it looks and tastes genius and is ridiculously pain free—OUCH!!!!

A smirking, “Did that hurt?” brings me from my reverie and I’m momentarily blinded by that super-watt swiveling lantern. The good doctor has hit a nerve—literally—and reminds me that I might feel a bit more of the same before he’s finished. This, reader, makes me despair, because the meat of my gums already aches. And meat is what takes me back to the refuge of my patio grill, for the second course of food escapism. You cannot have a true barbeque without the sauce and this one has pork written all over it. Actually, it is our little piggy that will have it all over him . . . but anyway, try this.

Pork and Rib Sauce

½ c. brown sugar
½ c. ketchup
½ c. vinegar
½ tsp. dry mustard
½ tsp. cloves
Paprika, as you like
Mix all together in a small saucepan over medium heat. Once everything is combined, whisk in
1 T. flour

Work this over the heat until all the lumps are gone, everything is smoothly dissolved and bubbling. Once you’ve boiled the sauce for a minute, pull from the heat and cool. The longer you boil the sauce, the thicker it will be as it cools. So if you like your sauce thick, give it a couple extra minutes.
Bathe whatever parts of the porky you like in this luscious auburn slick. Leave them in some of the sauce in a plastic bag for a few hours (or overnight) and then take that little piggy to the grill, keeping him succulent with more sauce as he cooks. This is superb with ribs, cooked slowly over several hours on indirect charcoal heat, perhaps flavoured with a bit of wood smoke . . . .my preference is for apple wood, but do as you like, by all means.

By this time, I’m drooling. And not so much from the visions of my smoky swine, although that has compounded the issue. I also have not had a spit in several minutes—minutes filled with gauze packs and cotton strips—in my now-numb gums. A sweet cherub-faced hygienist wipes my dribbles and whispers, “It’s almost over, hon.” At this point, I’m so hungry that I begin hallucinating about something I might be able to get into this reworked and wired mug . . . something cool and voluptuous . . . like ice cream.

What is summer without ice cream? Like a birthday without cake or a stool with two legs. It’s simply broken. Now, I use this basic base for every kind of ice cream I make and then I just add or change the flavourings and the add-ins as my whim (or my eating abilities) dictate. Mostly, I play around until I come up with something good . . . but this works well for plain ole’ vanilla too.

Scald to 150 degrees, stirring constantly
1 cup milk (whole, of course, is great, but it isn’t absolutely necessary)
1/2 c. sugar
1/8 tsp. salt
3 egg yolks

I always cook them because it takes the concern about raw eggs from the equation. Technically, these can be added after to avoid the need to strain out the cooked bits. If you choose to cook, by default, you are also choosing to strain. Of course, I have other reasons for it anyway . . . as you will see. (I also freeze the whites for whatever comes my way! You never know when a meringue occasion will pop up on the horizon.)

Add a vanilla pod, halved and scraped into the custard, and then thrown into the pot, too. (see why I strain it anyway?)

Once you get to 150°, pull from heat and strain into a container for the fridge, with some room to add more liquid. For plain vanilla, add 1 T. vanilla extract. If you want other flavours, add at least 2 tsp. vanilla and ½ to 1 tsp. of your other choice. (Coconut is amazing!)

While this cools a bit, whip 1 c. heavy cream to barely stiff peaks.

Once whipped, add to the cooked eggy mix and whisk together gently (try not to lose all your foam . . . I end up with a thicker layer of fluff standing on top).

Fridge for at least 4 hours up to overnight. Place in an ice-cream mixer and once the mixture has begun to freeze and thicken, add whatever add-ins you like. If you want some phenomenal coconut choco-almond ice cream, add about 3 oz. chopped dark chocolate, 1/3 c. shredded coconut and 1/3 c. chopped whole almonds.

Finish the mixing and freezing process and serve soft or put into an air-tight container in the freezer and freeze hard for a couple hours. I usually serve it soft, as I am a glutton with equally gluttonous acquaintances, and what I do with any leftovers is freeze them for later . . . but that never seems to materialise!

Want a couple more good variations? If you want super pistachio ice cream, use 1 tsp of almond extract and about 1/2 c. chopped unsalted pistachios for the add ins (of course, oven-toasted nuts are the best way to gild the lily here, but not completely necessary). If you really want it to be green, add food colour with the extracts, but I prefer it white, because the green nuts remind me of emerald jewels studding this creamy opal-white creaminess.

I have used this base, too, to make ice-cream with fresh-picked fruit (strawberry, peach, raspberry or combinations . . . peach-raspberry is frozen melba divinity!) I just make the vanilla custard, and then cut some of the fruit up into pieces (or leave berries whole) and pulverize some more of the fruit into pulpiness . . . I add the liquidy ooze to the freezer straightaway with the custard at the beginning and then add the bigger pieces at the very end (say, the last dozen revolutions of the machine).

As I groggily and speedily amble down the hall and out of the office, now equipped with what looks to be my mouth’s apocalypse, I fret that even ice-cream may not be easy to insert between wires. This leaves me with only a liquid diet. But, liquid can be a good thing . . . depending upon the strength of the concoction. For even through the tightest of wires, one can always find room for a tiny cocktail straw.

A few years ago, a certain older gentleman I know introduced me to the peachy cocktail, silk panties, which is always drunk as a shot. Since shots are definitely out of my realm for the foreseeable future, I’ve decided to concoct a beverage that can be pulled through a straw, in honour of said gentleman. He also had a love of lavender panties, the silky lace-strewn kind. Of course, you can drink this in whatever skivvies (or less) you’d like. By saying the drink’s name in your most proper English accent, you might almost forgive your lack of restraint in the amount you can guzzle through a swizzle straw. Besides, lavender has many medicinal properties . . .

Lavender Panties
Make lavender simple syrup by boiling equal amounts of water and sugar with 1 T. lavender flowers. Strain before use. If you like your drinks with weeds, skip this step . . . but, me, I think cleaner is neater.

In a shaker filled with ice, combine:

1 jigger of cranberry juice
1 shot of peach-flavoured vodka
½ shot of lavender syrup (adjust to taste)
A splash of blue Curaçao

Shake vigorously and strain into a sugar-rimmed glass. Lavender-coloured sugar is, of course, appropriate. Garnish with a sprig of fresh lavender. And don’t forget the swizzle.
Perhaps, with this kind of liquid diet, my summer will not be a complete loss. Enjoy yours. Drink, eat, and live heartily!