For Steve Gilliard
I came home from this trippi store at the mall, Linens & Things, that stocked these little spice bags tied with cotton cord, they’re reusable, I thought of you and knew you’d like them.
I’ve been fucking up my California Central American black beans, they’re not lowland South Carolina, I know, but it’s what my grandma taught me. I can’t resist the coriander seeds (cilantro), but when you crunch ‘em with the served beans it’s just too much, I’ve only used ten or twelve in my batches, I can’t have all that coriander blasting, it doesn’t work. But with these bags I can throw in 20 seeds and fish ‘em out with one swipe later, it’s nice.
Quart and a half of water, 1 pound soaked black beans (8 hours), 2 ounces Safeway salt pork, 1 habenero, 1 jalapeño, 1 sweet bell, a yellow onion, 4 cloves whole garlic, a spice bag of 20 coriander seeds, ground black pepper, sea salt.
I had a chance for a private dinner with the seriously tasty stuff for dessert, I didn’t blow my chance, you know what I’m saying. Got a whole chicken and was an iron chef motherfucker, I boned, skinned and tenderized it myself, sauté in canola, bake off for 10 at 375 with thin button mushrooms and jack cheese. Sides of black beans and sweet fresh corn, off the cob early and nuked last second to warm it up. Fresh cilantro to garnish, a cheap Chardonnay for her, water for me. I did the dishes and started half a pot of Maui coffee. Dessert was awesome.
I would have told you at the blog but you’re gone. Most days it’s still pretty fucked up, I’m sorry, man, I miss you. We love you and think of you all the time, and after everything I’ve done I’m still here, Steve. We still fight back at the Left Coaster, Steve, we do. I’m glad you’re in a good place.