Caveman Cuisine: Rubble Stones

If you missed my previous rant on the preposterous Post cereal "Fruity Pebbles", I highly encourage you to check it out (see "Flint Chips").

Otherwise, here's the executive summary. A caveman on the front of a cereal box is bogus and makes me want to smash something with a club.

Now that we're all on the same page, this recipe is focused on taking down "Cocoa Pebbles", so without further ado, I give you Rubble Stones...

Actually, there is some more ado. Check out what you'll find in the average spoonful of Cocoa Pebbles:

INGREDIENTS: RICE, SUGAR, POLYDEXTROSE (SOURCE OF FIBER), HYDROGENATED VEGETABLE OIL (COCONUT AND PALM KERNEL OILS), COCOA (PROCESSED WITH ALKALI), SALT, CARAMEL COLOR, ARTIFICIAL AND NATURAL FLAVOR, BHA (TO HELP PROTECT FLAVOR).

Wow, that sounds really delicious! (By "delicious" I mean disgusting.)

Now, here's what I put into Rubble Stones:

INGREDIENTS: 1/4 CUP ORGANIC SHREDDED COCONUT, 2 TBSP DRY ROASTED MACADAMIA NUTS, 1 TBSP CACAO NIBS, 1 TBSP ORGANIC WHITE CHOCOLATE (CHOPPED).

You see what I did there?  I used real foods (including unprocessed cacao) that don't require "natural" or "artificial" flavors, "caramel color" (whatever that is), or BHA to "protect flavor".  I topped the whole thing off with a generous glug of full fat organic coconut milk and a hearty splash of unsweetened almond milk.

If Rubble Stones don't get your rocks off, I'll give you a full refund.*

* Note, no actual refunds will be given.

Caveman Cuisine: Flint Chips

Am I the only one offended by the gross misrepresentation of Paleo foisted upon the American populace by the overlords at Post Foods?

That's right, Post Foods, the people who have since 1971 been selling "Pebbles" (both of the "Fruity" and "Cocoa" variety) with the image of a caveman right on the front of the box.

As far as I am aware, Fred Flintstone ate things like my Roasted Beef Ribs (or were they Brontosaurus ribs?), ran around completely barefoot (no Vibrams on those three toed feet), wore an animal skin loincloth, and was in all (mostly inaccurate) ways, the consummate caveman.  He wouldn't have been caught dead eating artificially flavored rice crisps (even though they're now advertised as "gluten free").  I am also highly dubious that his friend and fellow caveman Barney would have violated the social order of their tribe just to steal a bowl of such a breakfast food. Well, I intend to right this wrong. 

The original "working title" for Fruity Pebbles was "Flint Chips" (they also came up with "Rubble Stones", but I'll be stealing that in a later post), so my first order of business is to co-opt that moniker for my own purposes.  I'm then going to make my Flint Chips out of whole food ingredients that offer nutrition without the need for added vitamins and minerals.  Finally, I'm going to eat it out out of a bowl topped with organic full fat coconut milk and almond milk.

Let's forget for a moment that my reimagining of a Paleo cereal uses varieties of fruit never known to paleolithic humans, sources ingredients from geographically disparate locales that would have exceeded any early human's ability to travel or trade, and is eaten in the comfort of a air conditioned room free of parasites and predators.  Rather, let's focus on what makes this version of a caveman's breakfast food superior to the fake stuff that comes in a brightly colored box.

First, here is what you will find in each and every bite of Fruity Pebbles:

INGREDIENTS: Rice, Sugar, Partially Hydrogenated Sunflower Oil, Corn Syrup, Salt, Contains Less Than 0.5% of Natural and Artificial Flavor, Turmeric, Oleoresin, Yellow #6, Red #40, Yellow #5, Blue #1, Blue #2, BHT

Sounds like a Yabba Dabba Don't doesn't it?

Then, check out the ingredients in my Flint Chips:

INGREDIENTS: 1/4 cup organic coconut flakes, 1 organic gala apple (chopped), 1 tbsp organic raisins, pinch cinnamon, 1oz chopped Baker's chocolate, 2 tbsp hazelnuts (chopped)

Oh yeah, that's definitely a Yabba Dabba Do!

Hunting and Gathering (plus Sweet Potato Stuffed Sausage Balls!)

In the typically hazy depths of my memory, there is a particular day that stands out in stark relief.

I was just a boy at the time, and years away from taking the wheel, so I have no idea where I was and how my dad got us there, but we eventually arrived at a large park service cabin deep in the wilds of South Florida for the mandatory hunter's safety course. Inside, the room was packed with tykes such as myself, and proud fathers of future-hunters. The walls were adorned with the skulls, heads, and hides of past hunts and there was a feeling of promise in the air.

We learned about never pointing a gun, loaded or otherwise at anything you wouldn't wish to shoot (such as your face, or someone else's face). We then went and shot a variety of guns, learned the basics of tracking (See that scratch over on yonder tree? That's a sign that bucks on the rut!), and generally had a great time. Then the proverbial shit got real.

With my newly minted certificate in hand, my father and I embarked on a series of hunts that tested my ability to sit in a tree stand for significant periods of time, to wade through vast and seemingly empty wetlands, and our pushed our ability to maintain utter silence to the limit.  (What conversations we did have inevitably revolved around hushed explanations as to why the deer weren't where we were.) To my father's consternation, and to me and my mother's secret relief (well her relief was not so secret) this was how it went for many years.

Perhaps you are expecting this story to segue into how I finally, triumphantly, bagged the big one. Or, perhaps you are waiting to hear about how I shot a deer, looked at it in its large, wet, and dying eyes, and promptly became a vegetarian. The real story, however, took a very different turn.

The direction was in fact, no direction (pardon me for getting a little Bruce Lee-ish.)and  I continued to eat meat while simultaneously cultivating an inability, or more accurately an unwillingness, to kill animals directly.

Perhaps I will go on a hunt again, but in interim, I am forced to consider that perhaps, in our large, complex societies, there is an inevitable division of labor, responsibility, and awareness. Unlike the relatively small, egalitarian social order of hunter gatherer bands, we operate more like an ant colony, with professional soldiers, workers, farmers, and royalty (although we tend to refer to these as "captains of industry"). As such, I can reliably eat bloody meat without ever bloodying my hands.

Should I be concerned about this?  Should my carnivorous diet require that I at least once take on fluorescent orange vest and "Real Tree" shirt of a human hunter and dispatch a woodland creature with a well placed bullet?  Would doing so prove anything to myself other than I can, and if so, is that worth killing over?

Clear answers to the above questions continue to elude me, but what I do know is that at it's best, a hunted animal dies quickly and with a minimum of suffering at the end of a life spent in freedom.  This is far more than can be said for the 90% of animals who are raised in factory farms and whose short lives are spent in steeped in misery.  I am happy, then, to take as much venison from my father's meat freezer as I can manage without suspicion.

With the hunting comfortably outsourced, I am free to exercise skills that are nearly as ancient; the gathering of root vegetables and the cooking of nature's bounty.  Of course I did my gathering at a local Whole Foods store, which, on any given Saturday afternoon can be just as dangerous as the ancestral savannas.  Similarly, the cooking didn't require that I strike fire from shards of flint and balls of tinder, but it still demanded an awareness of what was being cooked, and the challenge of applying heat to foodstuffs.

Ingredients:

One large organic sweet potato
1lb venison sausage

Directions:

Puncture the sweet potato a few times with a fork. Wrap it in foil, and place in a 350 degree oven. After 45 minutes to an hour, it should be soft and ready to peel and mash.

Once you have a nice bowl of mashed sweep potato, it's time to break out the sausage.

Divide the sausage into 12 equal portions.  Flatten each portion into a small disk.  Place a spoonful of sweet potato in the middle of 6 of the disks and use the other 6 to cover.  Pinch the edges together to seal (think "meat ravioli").

Place the balls back into the oven and cook for an additional 15-20 minutes.

Enjoy with as clear of a conscience as one can have in this world.

Caveman Cuisine: Mocado Proteini

While you'll never hear me order a Grande, Non-Fat, no water, 180 Degrees, Tazo® Chai Tea Latte in public, in private, I'm all for fancying things up.

For example, why not sip my green smoothie from a margarita glass?  Who's ever going to know?  (Well, I suppose YOU know, but you'll keep my secret right?)

After taking the time to carefully select ingredients like perfectly ripe Hass avocados, unsweetened cacao powder, pure unflavored whey protein, fresh ginger root, frozen organic vegetables like spinach and broccoli, and bananas harvested from my own neighborhood, it only seems right to make the presentation special too.

In fact, "Choosing to eat food that is both pleasing to you and nourishing to your body by using all your senses to explore, savor and taste" is one of the central tenets of Mindful Eating, a practice that encourages freedom from reactive and abusive food behaviors.

It's all too easy to get caught up in the raging torrent of life.  So remember, treat yourself.  You deserve to drink out of a fancy glass.

Ingredients:

1/2 ripe Hass avocado
2 tsp Hershey's unsweetened cacao powder
1 small banana (or 1/2 of a large one)
1" chunk fresh ginger root
1 cup cold brewed coffee
1 cup frozen organic green vegetables (I used a combination of broccoli and spinach)
1-2 scoops pure unflavored whey protein (optional)
1 cup almond milk
Cold filtered water (as needed)

Directions:

Blend all ingredients together until smooth. Add more or less water to reach desired consistency.

Serve in a nice glass. Be sure to clear off your table and take a comfortable seat. Slowly enjoy your drink, taking time to breath and relax. Feel free to let go of any worries and concers.

Caveman Cuisine: The Big BAM

Ok, so I love food. I love making it, thinking about it, and, most of all, eating it.  I don't always do the whole "moderation" thing either.

As a long-time fan of the Travel Channel's "Man v Food" I have even indulged in the occasional "food challenge".  One issue that I have, however, is that most food challenges involve eating things that I neither like nor want to put into my body. A pizza the size of a wagon wheel? Nope. An ice cream sundae served in a 5-gallon bucket? Pass. A giant bowl of spicy soup?  Ok, I can handle that.  At least, that's what I thought.

It was during a trip to L.A. and the venue was one that had been featured on an episode of "Man v Food".  I should have known something was wrong when I failed to find a cheering crowd, or even an indication of surprise/awe when I walked in to the Orochon Ramen shop and ordered the "Special #2".  Our waitress, a small Japanese woman who looked like she had just jumped out of a Sailor Moon cartoon, was far more excited to find that she and my wife shared the same birthday, in fact, you would have thought I ordered the kid's meal by nonplussed reaction.

Yes, there was a picture of Adam Richmond on the wall.  Yes there were numerous other photos of past challenge winners, beaming with their empty bowl.  Yet, the lack of fanfare for my own endeavor made the whole scene feel sad rather than inspiring.  Then the soup arrived.  A fiery red broth contained by the biggest bowl I have ever seen in my life.  It was boiling hot and required the addition of numerous ice cubes to be brought down to a temperature appropriate for human consumption.  I would soon learn that this would be the least of my concerns.

I began by spooning out the solid bits.  The pork, been sprouts, and scant noodles went down easily enough.  It was hot, don't get me wrong, but I was still in control of the situation.  I promptly lost control of the situation when I started working on the broth itself.  As I slurped it directly from the bowl, I failed to realized that I was merely skimming off the most dilute portion of the liquid.  A pure gel of micronized chili pepper was forming below the surface and I was, for the moment, completely unaware.

Then it hit.  My face exploded as if I had just swallowed a spicy hand grenade.  Nose running, eyes watering, and stomach churning.  I pushed on, gulping down the pure hot lava and then a strange thing happened.  With only had another mouthful or two left (witnesses to this sad affair, my wife and sister-in-law both thought I had the thing in the bag) I became catatonic.  I was frozen, staring glassy-eyed at the swirling liquid at the bottom of the bowl.  A realization fluttered into what was left of my consciousness.  I knew then and there that nothing, and I mean literally nothing, not even one million dollars would be enough to motivate me to finish this bowl of soup.

I stood up, walked briskly to the bathroom, and promptly inverted my stomach.  As a final insult, a molten droplet ricocheted back into my eye, blinding me while I heaved like a sea-sick pirate.  My skin broke out into a cold sweat and I stumbled back to our table.  For the next several hours my wife was concerned that I would have to be taken to the hospital and I didn't even get my picture on the wall.

Today wouldn't go down like that, however.  Today would be different.  Instead of a ridiculously spicy bowl of soup, I would be making a burger of epic proportions.  This time it was on my terms.

The first step was to season a full pound of grass-fed beef. I kept it simple, just fresh ground black pepper, sea salt and a little cayenne pepper.

I then took the meat into my hands and squeezed, kneaded, and cajoled it until it came together into a ginormous patty.

After washing the meat and myoglobin from my hands, I sliced some white onion and put it into a pan with some grass-fed ghee. The onions initially filled the room with a tear-jerking pungency, but it soon gave way to the pleasant odor of Maillard compounds.

With a cry of "BAM!" the big ass meat-patty (BAM) went onto a hot pan. It sputtered and sizzled as the meat browned. To prevent the unnecessary loss of any juices, I followed the "No pressing or fiddling with the meat once it hits the heat" rule and continued with my preparations.

Surely a BAM such as this deserved an equally epic topping, so I plucked a pastured egg from the refrigerator an fried it with some more grass-fed ghee.

The bedding for my bunless burger would be strictly traditional. Fresh chopped lettuce, red onion, mustard, organic REAL ketchup, and high-oleic expeller-pressed safflower mayonnaise.

After the burger was done cooking, doneness was tested by hand. Touching the surface of the BAM revealed that it was firm but yielding, a good sign that there was soft rare meat lurking in the center. I let it rest for a few more minutes and then set it atop it's throne, crowned with caramelized onions...

A fried egg...

And half an avocado.

Feasting ensued, and this time, I finished the meal with my dignity and intestinal contents intact.

Caveman Cuisine: Chicken and Eggs

All of the sudden, I was awake.

Having been lightened of yesterday's burdens (see the cathartic "Eggs and Chicken" post), I began the day with an appetite, an appetite for food.

IF'ing for breakfast (i.e. eating nothing) isn't my bag so it was back to the refrigerator for another round of "Let's See What We Can Make!" (Which I am pitching as a new Food Network game show so don't even think about stealing it!)

Irrational as it is, I sometimes expect to be surprised when I check the fridge for the 3rd time in a row. Perhaps, unbeknownst to me, a friendly relative or neighbor has stopped by in the interval with a basket full of goodies? Maybe groceries spontaneously regenerate? Maybe I've entered the Twilight Zone and my refrigerator door is in fact a portal to a delicious alternate universe? And maybe not.

What I did find was the same exact things I found the last time I looked. A glass jar of ghee, some kale, chicken (you pathetic and scrumptious creature you!), and eggs.

Melting a chunk of ghee into a pan I sauteed the greens before tossing in chunks of dark meat from the chicken's thigh. I cracked the eggs directly into the pan, and watched as they instantly curdled in the heat.

This dish was something different, I realized, and it turned out better than I had imagined.

Ingredients:

4oz dark meat chicken (torn into pieces)
3 eggs
2 cups fresh kale (washed and torn into pieces)
1 tbsp ghee

Directions:

Melt the ghee in a frying pan over medium heat.  Once the ghee has melted, add kale and saute until wilted.  Add the chicken and cook only long enough for it to heat up.  Crack the eggs directly into the pan and stir.  When the eggs have cooked through, it's time to eat.

Caveman Cuisine: Eggs and Chicken

Sometimes convenience and cost trumps conscience. Case in point, the supermarket rotisserie chicken.

While I would most definitely prefer to purchase a locally raised, heritage breed chicken raised on organic feed supplemented by natural forage such as fresh green grass and the odd bug or two, whose handsome feathers warmed in the midday sun warm and whose nights were spent roosting in the avian version of the Grand Bohemian, whose name was possibly "Bettie" or "Valerie", alas, this was not the case.

Instead, I opted for a bird whose short life was nameless and miserable. Raised in a cramped cage it likely had little room to move, and even if it could, it's gigantic breast would have made it impossible or difficult anyway.

I'm not proud of purchasing such a bird.  I'm not proud of it in the same that I am not proud of pumping gas into my car, wearing shirts made by sweatshops is "Malaysia" or "China", or typing this sentence out on a plastic keyboard that will likely inhabit this earth longer than my children's children.  But, I swallow my pride with the knowledge that life doesn't tolerate perfection.  It demands compromise.  Who must die today so that something else might live?

Back the bird.

In the kitchen it's little headless body looks up, reclining in a full "spread chicken".  Peeling off skin, separating limbs from joints, muscles from muscles, connective tissue from bone I parcel it out.  It seems inconceivable that something so intricate can be destroyed so easily. 

I make a mixed green salad, organic greens of course, and boil a few eggs.  I think, "What would a chicken think of this?"  I would imagine that it would be horrified (assuming it could have such a thought or express such an emotion), but a chicken is not a human and in my attempt at empathy am simply projecting humanness upon a bird.

So I continue with my preparations and but together a nice salad.  It was delicious and morally ambiguous.

Ingredients:

The meat of one chicken thigh and leg plus two wings
2 hard-boiled eggs (easy as boiling water, instructions here)
1 cup shredded red cabbage
1 medium carrot (shredded)
2 cups organic baby greens
Fresh ground pepper to taste
Lemon juice and good extra virgin olive oil (for dressing)

Directions:

In a large bowl, layer vegetables and season with pepper. Sprinkle the greens with lemon juice and olive oil and toss to coat.

Add chicken and hard-boiled eggs.

Enjoy while committing to buy a better bird the next time around.