The Cousin of Sleep

Now, I'm pretty sure I'm going to step on someone's toes with this statement, but toes be damned...

Nas' 1994 debut album, Illmatic, is in a word, perfect. From the first track to the last Illmatic is a narrative of literate, fluid rhymes with sophisticated, thoughtful beats rooted in some of the best and most esoteric of jazz and hip hop. It's both simple and ambitious with no extraneous elements. It's smart and it's fun as hell. Just you try not to move your body while you listen. And once the album is over, I am always left wanting more.

It's an especially great album to listen to in the car. And, of course, I'm listening to it while I write this.

But there is one line that always gives me pause. It's from the second track, N.Y. State of Mind, "I never sleep, cause sleep is the cousin of death.” It could be that I'm a really big fan of sleep, or that I also have no problem, in concept or practice, with sleeping say, twelve hours straight. My head hits the pillow, I close my eyes, and I'm out. I also feel that sleep is really healthy (maybe not the twelve hour variety). It's good for the mind and body. A person can go crazy, can die, without sleep.

So why is it the cousin of death? Because your eyes are closed and you're lying down? Our minds are in superdrive with dreams during sleep, so it can't be mental. And wait, what about the ancient belief that sneezing is a near-death experience, and that a blessing will prevent your soul or sneeze from escaping your body and will deter the devil from entering? Shouldn't the line then be, “I never sneeze, cause sneeze is the cousin of death"? It surely seems more literal. And why cousin? I suppose it sounds better than nephew... the nephew of death.

The things that keep me up at night... At least they keep me further from death's cousin.

I've been thinking about sleep (and hence, that line) a lot because I'm not getting much of it. I'm pregnant and getting pregnant-er by the day. If I'm not up every hour for the bathroom, then I'm struggling to use the proper sleeping positions (my favorite body placement is apparently not recommended for pregnancy). Sometimes I even wake up in the middle of the night famished. And I know that this part will only get worse as time moves forward, and then there will likely be no sleep at all after our baby girl is born.

I've always been aware of, but paid little attention to, a couple of food/sleep – related old wives tales. One is that warm, liquidy stuff, like heated milk, tea or soup can be a soothing, sleep inducing aid. Another is that spicy food causes fitful sleep, or plainly put, nightmares. Well, what about spicy soup? Would that make for an extremely solid, good, long sleep with tremendously complex and mysterious dreams? Is this what the likes of David Lynch or Francis Bacon would have before bed while conceiving of their films/paintings? It most certainly would explain that which is Salvador Dali and Luis Buñuel's surrealist extravaganza, Un Chien Andalou.

So I figured, not only will I get some sleep, but I'm going to get some wicked creative sleep. What do I have to lose, right? Heck, maybe just maybe my opus, my Illmatic, would result. And, upon more listening to N.Y. State of Mind - I never sleep, cause sleep is the cousin of death. Beyond thewalls of intelligence, life is defined – I have to wonder if Nas himself tried this very same tactic. I'd like to think so. Maybe he'd like to try my racy-spicy pozole rojo one late night for the fuel to put him in the state of mind to put forth something as important and noteworthy as he did back in 1994.

Pozole Rojo
(recipe adapted from Emeril Lagasse)

Makes 4 quarts

Ingredients:

1 head garlic
3 1/2 to 4 pounds bone-in pork shoulder, cut into 3 or 4 pieces
3 teaspoons salt
1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
14 cups water
4 cups chicken stock
1 onion, sliced and 1 onion, chopped
2 ounces ancho chiles, seeded and stemmed
1 -ounce guajillo chiles, seeded and stemmed
2 (30-ounce) cans white hominy plus 1 (15.5-ounce) can

2 tablespoons chili powder
2 teaspoons ground cumin
2 tablespoons paprika
1 teaspoon black pepper
1 tablespoon ground coriander
1 teaspoon cayenne pepper
1 tablespoon garlic powder
1 teaspoon crushed red pepper
1 tablespoon salt
1 tablespoon dried oregano

Accompaniments:
Diced avocado, for serving

Thinly sliced cabbage, for serving
Julienned radishes, for serving
Chopped scallions, for serving
Chopped cilantro, for serving
Lime wedges, for serving

Directions:

Season the pork with 1 teaspoon salt and 1 teaspoon black pepper.

In an 8 quart Dutch oven, over medium high heat, brown the pork on all sides. Add the sliced garlic, sliced onion, 10 cups of the water and chicken stock. Bring up to a boil. Skim off any foam that may rise to the surface. Turn the heat down and gently simmer the pork, covered, until very tender, 2 1/2 to 3 hours.

While pork is simmering, toast the ancho and guajillo chiles in a pan over medium-high heat. Turn the chiles several times, cooking until they are pliable and fragrant, about 3 to 4 minutes. Add 2 cups of the remaining water; bring to a boil, turn off and let stand covered for 20 to 25 minutes.

In a blender, combine the chiles, the soaking liquid, chopped onion, garlic, 1 teaspoon of the remaining salt, black pepper, chili powder, cumin, paprika, coriander, cayenne pepper, garlic powder, crushed red pepper, and oregano and puree until smooth. Strain through a sieve to remove any skins or seeds. Set aside.

Transfer the pork to a cutting board, discard the bones, and shred the meat.

Rinse and drain the hominy. Return the pork to the broth; add the hominy, 1/4 cup of the chile sauce (or more to taste), remaining teaspoon of salt, and remaining water if necessary. Simmer the pozole for 30 minutes longer. Adjust seasoning if necessary.

Any leftover chile sauce can be stored in an airtight container in the refrigerator for 2 to 3 weeks and may be stirred into marinades, sauces, soups, or stews, or used to flavor meats before grilling or sauteing.

The pozole should look hearty but be brothy enough to be thought of as a soup or brothy stew.

Serve the pozole buffet style with bowls of the accompaniments for guests to add to their taste.


Printable recipe.


One year ago: Roasted Brussels Sprouts with Salami
Two years ago: Chicken with 40 Cloves of Garlic
Three years ago: Mercantile
Four years ago: Swiss Fondue with Truffle Essence
Six years ago: Roast Chicken with Meyer Lemons

Winds of Change

I’ve never considered myself much of a spiritual person. I was brought up with zero knowledge of any sort of religion or religious history.  Apparently, one day, when I was very young I returned home from pre-school and exclaimed to my mother, “Who’s this little girl, Baby Jeeza havin’ a birthday?” Turns out it was Christmas time and the other kids were referring to Jesus' birth. I just thought one of my classmates was having a birthday party and I wasn’t invited. My mom says she was mortified. She promptly proceeded to outline Religion 101--no great detail, just basic historical information. Easter was only just explained to me at length a couple of years ago thanks to Brandon. Boy, was I off about that one.

Over time I became hugely interested in my peers’ various religions and practices. I loved going to the Friend’s Meeting House (Quaker) with Kelly Wolf and her parents. Everyone sat in a little steeple and meditated for set periods of time – the kids had fifteen minutes while the grown-ups had an hour. During this time anyone that felt compelled to stand up and say – or sing – something was more than welcome to do so. I vividly remember someone standing up from the silence and belting out Morning Has Broken by Cat Stevens.  Me – I counted the stripes on the people’s shirts in front of me. After our fifteen minutes us kids were allowed to go play and do arts and crafts and stuff (Macrame! Macaroni art! Things that start with MAC!).

I also enjoyed attending midnight mass with my Uncle Pat and his family in Roanoke, Va each Christmas Eve at their Southern Baptist church (interestingly, the same church where my parents were wed). Mostly I loved that we got to hold candles (I’m a bit of a pyro) and sing Christmas carols (I really like to sing).

Then, when I was eight years old, my mom married Michael Lasky. Michael was (and, I imagine, still is) Jewish. This was my most favorite of all. I loved the process. I loved the ceremony. I loved the sense of inclusion. I loved Seders, the Yarmulke, the Menorah, the language. Michael’s mom was not too pleased about Michael’s choice in wife. Hell, her oldest son married a divorced-with-young-kid-shiksa. I guess she was mostly indifferent toward me, though. I think I used to wear a Yarmulke at the table, which, for obvious reasons, was looked upon with various levels of disdain and confusion. I went to Hebrew school, became a member of the Jewish Community Center and went to a Jewish Summer Camp, Camp Hilbert. Incidentally, I attended quite a few Summer camps in my time, that way, was by far, my mitzvah. Especially compared to Camp Hanover. Don’t even get me started on Camp Hanover. Those bitches in the Hogan next to me made up a secret language so they could talk smack about me. A language I deconstructed very quickly, which was convenient so I could spend the entire two weeks understanding what the mean girls were saying about me.

Mom and Micheal moved to Colorado with me and our car, Chet, in tow and then Mom and I, with our car, Chet, in tow, moved back to Richmond, sans Michael, eight months later. It had nothing to do with religion. Far from it. Their relationship had just run its course, I suppose. I was only eight. I didn’t really understand or care. I was just really happy to get back to my dad, my hometown, my friends, and a school system that had a Summer break (not that three months on, three months off crap). Plus, E.T. came out while I was living in Colorado. My name is Elliott. I was in the third grade. Need I say more? I only hoped the buzz of the movie had died down by the time I returned to Virginia.

It had not.

I’m pretty sure that was the last of my religious vision quests for a while. There were drum circles and “sweat lodges” happening a lot in college (#drugs). I even took a “Religions of the World” class there. It was in a shoebox-sized room with only six students. Only moments into the first class, the dude sitting next to me, Jerry Bello, the stinkiest, hippiest boy on campus, (who if his B.O. wasn’t alarming enough (and I like B.O.)) proceeded to pluck a beard hair and floss his teeth with it. I walked out of the class and marched right to the Dean’s office to promptly drop said class. Never to return.

And that about wraps things up for the next decade - certainly through the Atlanta years and into The LA ones.

A couple of years after I moved here, however, my friend Heather introduced me to this thing called yoga. Maybe you’ve heard of it?

If there’s anything I lack more of than religious education it would be the drive to exercise. In college I took juggling and “Independent Rollerskating” for PE credit to avoid any team sports or actual sweat, in general. I have tried various gym memberships over the past fifteen years, but nothing lasts longer than about a month. This has all fine and dandy until I noticed that, since moving into my thirties, my always-the-same-size-since-high-school body has, well, changed. It’s not a huge deal. I still fit into most of my clothes. Just differently.

And so I realized I have to get proactive. Obviously I enjoy food a great deal. I am willing to make certain sacrifices, certain tweaks, here and there, but let’s face it – I’m not going to fast or become vegan or macrobiotic. Same deal with the wine. I can certainly scale it back, but it’s still going to be around. That leaves one option: exercise.

So. Back to Heather and yoga almost a decade ago. When Heather first suggested we go to a Kundalini yoga class, I scoffed. I mean, exercise and chanting and meditating, with a pile of strangers? Honestly, I’d rather stick needles in my eyes.

But I went. And I fell in love with it.

I never became very regular with it. I still only lasted for brief fits and became distracted by something else. But something about this Kundalini stuff… It touches me. Spiritually. I am always very affected by the classes – both during and afterward. And it’s great exercise to boot.

Needless to say, I have returned to yoga. I just started going back this week so we shall see how long I last. But right now I feel energetic, alert, centered, happy and sore as hell. Even laughing hurts.

This past weekend my mom gave me a pork butt from, the most awesome Lindy Grundy, that was too big for her to cook in her kitchen. I had never prepared anything pork butt-ish as far as I knew, but the first word that popped into my mind was braise (and braising really is very zen, you know).

And, this past Sunday, braise I did. Heather came over and while the butt braised and braised, we settled in on the couch for a marathon of Criminal Minds. As we drew near the end of braise-o-rama, I pulled out the meat to rest while I made the pan sauce. I then was supposed to pull the meat apart with two forks.

What? I had imagined serving thick slices with the pan sauce over the meat.

This was when Heather gingerly pointed out that, not only did I not take note of the image of what the finished dish was supposed to look like, but I did not read the recipe in its entirety – or really look at the title of the dish: Beer Braised BBQ Pork Butt (actually she was far from “gingerly” about it – there may have been laughing and pointing).

So I accidentally made my first BBQ pulled pork. A lot of it. And it’s really good!

It’s true, I know I should always read a recipe all the way through before embarking on it – but, for some reason, I rarely do. I suppose this is because I feel so confident riffing in the kitchen. But Heather had a point. And it seems a prevalent point right now. While I’m all spiritual and stuff.

Be patient. Be thorough. Be calm. Be confident. Take your time and try do things correctly – even if you mess up a little. You will get it just right soon enough.

Beer Braised BBQ Pork Butt

Makes like 276485 pulled pork sandwiches

For the dry rub: 

 

2 tablespoons salt  

About 45 grinds black pepper  

2 tablespoons chili powder

1 tablespoon garlic powder

2 teaspoons ground coriander
2 teaspoons mustard seed
12 ounces good ale or dark beer

5 cloves garlic, chopped
1 5-pound pork butt (shoulder of the animal)

Directions: 

Combine rub ingredients in a bowl and mix well. Rub all over pork butt. Wrap in plastic wrap and refrigerate for at least one hour and as long as overnight.

Preheat oven to 500 degrees F. Unwrap pork and place in a roasting pan with sides about 2 inches high. Cook 45 minutes until dark browned and even blackening in places. Remove from oven. 

Lower oven to 325 degrees F. Pour beer over the top and add chopped garlic around the pork. Cover tightly with heavy duty aluminum foil or twice with regular foil. Poke about 10 holes all over the top of the foil. Cook pork butt 3 hours longer until so tender that it comes away very easily from center bone.


Place the meat on a plate and pour the pan juice (there will be plenty) into a saucepan. To the pan juices add: 

1/2 cup ketchup

2 tablespoons whole grain Dijon mustard

3 tablespoons Worchestershire sauce

1/3 cup dark brown sugar

1 tablespoon apple cider vinegar 

Bring to a simmer until reduced by half and thick, about 20 minutes.

While the sauce is boiling down, pull apart the pork with 2 forks. Pour the sauce over the pulled pork and work through until fully absorbed.

Make sandwiches!

Printable Recipe