4th of July bonus

A couple of weeks ago after dinner we swung by Chez Liberty for some cheese and digestifs. Luckily I'm way behind on my blogging, so I didn't get to write them up until Independence Day, which seems apt.

I should note that this isn't a real review, since we didn't do dinner there. We split a plate of the St. Andre triple-cream cheese, which was heavenly. Creamy (as you might imagine) and rich, firm but not unyielding. Chez Liberty has a lovely little cheese list at very reasonable prices, so they may become our go-to restaurant for postprandial cheese.

I don't know if cheese and brown liquor go together, but we didn't particularly care; I was in a scotch mood, so I ordered a MacAllan 12 off their very well-apportioned scotch list (which may be a touch overpriced or may just tend towards better scotches). Melanie got a glass of Fundador, a Spanish cognac that she liked quite a bit, although it was a bit spicy for my taste.

As the night wound on and Chez Liberty started closing down, the owner came around to talk to the cognac drinker. They've managed to score an 81-year-old bottle of cognac that was literally hidden from the Nazis in France during WWII, and which they'll be popping open this fall and serving at a discount. Needless to say we'll be going back, and not just to eat there so we can write the place up properly.

Review: Calhoun's

I didn't want my introduction to Tennessee barbecue to come from a chain, but that's the way it happened. Normally I wouldn't even admit to have patronized a chain in this space, but, as you'll see, they earned it.

On Sunday last we were on a wild notary chase, and had been frantically looking for a notary all morning. When 1:30 rolled around and we still hadn't eaten we were a little punchy. We had planned to try a little 'cue joint in Oliver Springs, but they were closed, so when Calhoun's came into view, we stopped there. We had heard decent things about them, and they're a small local chain, so we suborned our principles to our hunger and went on in.

Not bad barbecue. Pleasantly vinegary. Nice smoke ring. They've probably got a skinny white dude tending the corporate-approved ovens, and while he's doing a swell job, he's no 350 lb. guy named "Cincinnati Jefferson" running a smoker on wheels in a gas station parking lot. Overall: very tasty, but not transcendent. About the best you could get from a chain -- certainly better than other chain BBQ I've had.

A high point was the beer selection. As far as I can tell, no macrobrews were offered. They had their own beers, and maybe some other local brews. (I don't recognize the names yet, so I couldn't tell.) But there was no Miller Light to be found; no Bud Select, and no Sam Adams. Even more impressive, when I jokingly asked the waitress for a glass of something cold, amber-colored, and mildly intoxicating, she started listing off the beers that were actually amber-colored. This was no rote list of every beer they had; she filtered out the ones that were too dark or too light and suggested a brew based on my half serious criteria. Most waitrons wouldn't know Select 55 from Old Rasputin if Ol' Raspy jumped up and bit them in the butt -- that's the bartender's job, right? But this waitress was carefully distinguishing between the pale ale and the red ale based on a glib offhand comment. Oh yeah, and the beer was good too.

But wait, there's more!

As we were leaving, refueled, we asked offhand if they had a notary on staff. They didn't -- but within a few minutes we had the general manager, the assistant manager, the hostess, and a waiter all calling people, leafing through phone books, and wracking their brain to figure out where we could find a notary on Sunday afternoon. For fifteen minutes.

Impressed, my wife said she felt like she should buy one of the shirts in the display case to thank them. Pretty soon the GM came over with a shirt.

"I know you said you should buy a shirt," he said; "but I think you should just take one." We were a bit stunned. "But I'm not being selfless here," he cautioned. "Here's why: First, this shirt is a medium. I don't have a lot of guys in the kitchen who are mediums, so I've got a surplus of these. [There goes my skinny white dude theory.] Secondly, this doesn't have the Calhoun's logo on it, and that doesn't make me happy. But it does have the word 'Pitmaster' on it." He asked if we knew what a pitmaster was, and resisting our desire to mention the Sarlacc we told him we did. "Great," he said; "so when someone asks you what a pitmaster is, you can tell them this story." And with that he wrapped up a few of his business cards in the shirt and handed it to us.

I'm guessing he didn't know at the time that he was talking to East Tennessee's most widely read food bloggers (okay, only food bloggers), and that the story would be told to an e-audience of up to three readers. He just did it because he knows that word of mouth is great advertising, and that he had sufficiently wowed us with a spontaneous act of awesomeness that we'd be talking.

So go to Calhoun's. They've got pretty good barbecue, great beer, out-of-this-world service, and an awfully nice system of bribery going, too.

Meat. Meat!

The first time I went to the Knoxville farmer's market, I noticed a remarkable lack of meat. Someone willing to raise and whack their own hogs, pigs, or chickens could make a killing.

Well, that guy exists, but only goes to the Oak Ridge farmer's market. Fine by me. Apparently their business from high-end resorts and eateries must buoy them enough that they don't need the Knoxville business. Laurel Creek Meats sells a remarkable variety of assorted cow, pig, chicken, turkey, and duck parts, plus more esoteric beasts as well -- goat, game birds, and Lord only knows what else. We picked up a pair of massive bone-in pork chops last week to grill today. These things were seriously huge -- over an inch thick, with a tremendous thick rind of fat on them.

Given our spartan kitchen, I just rubbed them with salt, pepper, olive oil, and some rosemary off the plant we brought with us. Turns out that was the right choice: the magnificent swiny taste of the meat shone through, and the fat rind crisped up gorgeously, the sweet fat balanced by the acidic woodsmoke. We rooted the sweet melty marrow out, scraped the dark, hugely flavorful meat from the bones, and were generally barbaric. Some grilled farmer's market summer squash rounded out the meal. (The patty-pan squash was particularly nice.)

I still think that what Laurel Creek needs the most is competition (although their prices were remarkably low for a de facto monopoly). We've found our meat vendor for the forseeable future, but someone must be able to turn out better sausage, or a nicer broiler chicken, or a hanger steak that will make me weep. Prove me wrong.

Every apricot should be bite-sized

This one courtesy of the fried pie stand at the Knoxville Farmers Market.

Review: Market Square Kitchen

Saturday morning after the Farmer's Market, which lacks the tasty breakfast sausage sandwiches that were our weekly breakfast back in Nebraska, we went to the Market Square Kitchen for breakfast.

Melanie had the French toast, which had no shortage of cinnamon and sugar, so was right to her taste. Her side of bacon was unremarkable and a touch overdone.

I got the ham steak breakfast, with the runniest dang over-medium eggs I've ever seen. The grits were overpoweringly chicken broth-flavored, and pretty hard for this Yankee to eat first thing in the morning. The ham steak, though -- ooh, boy, was that a tasty hunk of pig. Crispy around the edges, with a nice rind of fat, carmelized bits, and wonderfully salty.

Service was mediocre, coffee was passable, and no dog bowl was provided.

Review: Oodles Uncorked

Friday night we grabbed the dog and headed to Market Square, where a number of Knoxville's many dog-friendly restaurants are. The three of us walked around getting loved up (okay, just the dog) until a menu jumped out at us, eventually pulling up a patio table at Oodles Uncorked. It was devilish hot, so I ordered a beer.

Two of my favorite things about Knoxville: 1. You can get Yuengling; and 2. It's routinely one of the cheaper beers available.

I ordered the seafood fra diavolo, which was awfully tasty. They had spiked it with chili oil, not just with red peppers, so the heat permeated the whole dish. I'm more accustomed to mussels with a hefty helping of meuniere or the like, so they were a little raw and fishy tasting without anything similar, but the shrimp were perfect -- tender, not overcooked, brightly flavored. Beer, spicy pasta, nice sun -- awesome.

Melanie got the portabello sandwich, which was absolutely drenched in a to-die-for goat cheese sauce. Unfortunately, the quantity of sauce tended to drown out the other flavors -- not that that's necessarily a bad thing when you're dealing with goat cheese. She had a glass of Sebastiani Chardonnay with it, which was smooth and tremendously buttery. Not my first choice for a hot weather wine, but a nice deal on a deeply malolactic chard. The wine list in general was quite complete, with a wide range of various varietals, including organic and otherwise "green" choices.

Our dog got a bowl of water (very promptly, with ice), which she seemed to enjoy immensely, lots of love from about every server in the place.

A rudimentary kitchen; figs; strawberry salad

Our first home-cooked meal in Eastern Tennessee was, I suppose, about as good as it could be given the conditions. The conditions: a supposedly fully furnished townhouse that would actually best be described as "barely furnished," with four non-stick pans, a basic Pyrex set, a few plastic cooking utensils, no hot pads or mitts, no knives, no cutting board.

We've been eating out for about the past month since we weren't allowed to use the house while it was on the market, so we wanted something healthy. Melanie found a strawberry salad in Good Housekeeping, and we kicked it up a few notches. The original recipe was just a side, but we added some sauteed chicken and a few other bits (green onions, some goat cheese, a better dressing) to make it a meal. The dressing turned out pretty chunky and the greens were cut too big, but in my defense it's remarkably difficult to mash garlic with a pocket knife on a cutting board made of cardboard covered with plastic wrap. Check out the recipe.

We also had picked up a small wheel of goat's milk "brie" from Earth Fare (my new favorite supermarket) this weekend, and had some figs we brought on the trip, so I sliced a few wedges of the cheese, laid half a fig on top of each, and drizzled with honey. A glass of James Arthur Vineyards Edelweiss went nicely with it.

Strawberry salad with chicken

For the chicken:

3 skinless boneless thighs or 2 skinless boneless breasts
1 T coarse mustard
2 T olive oil
1 T white wine vinegar
1/2 T fresh or 1/2 t dried tarragon
Salt and pepper to taste

For the dressing:

2 T balsamic vinegar
1 T course mustard
2 T olive oil
1 T honey
1 garlic clove, mashed with coarse salt
Pepper to taste

For the salad:

1 bunch spinach
1 bunch red-leaf lettuce
2 green onions, chopped
1/4 c. toasted walnuts
3/4 c. sliced strawberries
2 oz. Goat cheese (a fresh chevre would be ideal)

Whisk the marinade ingredients together and let the chicken marinate for 2-4 hours. Grill or saute over medium heat. Let rest (even until partially cooled) and slice.

Assemble the salad. Whisk the dressing ingredients together and serve over the salad. Serves two people sick of fast food fat and calorie content but accustomed to fast food portion sizes.