That's All, Folks!

Stop and Shop has pork shoulders on sale for .89 a pound this week! Come on kids, when nearly any kind of protein is .89 a pound, it's compulsory to buy it. Even if only for the challenge!

Thankfully, I have what all pork shoulders want... an Original Bradley Smoker. If you want to know more about the Bradley, check out their website.


If there is any portion of your mind that thinks you can benefit from one of these, go for it. There will be no regrets. The OBS will only set you back about $300, but it will soon pay for itself turning cheap cuts of pork into a freezer full of the BEST STUFF EVER.

Think about everything you can smoke - turkey, chicken, ribs, sausage, brisket, salmon, salt, nuts and so much more. You can even cold smoke, which imparts flavor without cooking. Think ham or BACON!

As much as I'd love to write the entire blog about my love for my OG Bradley Smoker, this is about .89 pork shoulder.

If you've never purchased a pork shoulder (or pork butt or Boston butt), it could be something that you think you want to shy away from. It's not pretty. It's topped with a layer of fat and skin and, truthfully, may be the only piece of pork in the entire case that allows you to visualize it as still being part of Porky Pig.

Buy at least 2. I should have purchased 3 because Philip (proclaimed pork shoulder hater) announced plans he had made for the pulled meat I was about to score.

Put them in some type of marinade or dry rub 24 hours before t-time. You can buy something off the shelf or search the Internet for one of the endless recipes. Score the fat without cutting into the meat and get the party started.

My butts were supposed to go into the smoker early Sunday morning for slow, all-day cooking, so I started my marinade process Saturday AM. Philip thought ahead about the weather, though, and learned we were forecast for an entire day of rain on Sunday. Plan B! We were thrust into getting the meat on the smoker PRONTO. Mine only had about 5 hours with the marinade, but I had no other options. This is probably a good time to mention that you can't use your OBS indoors.

My larger butt (heh) was given my favorite traditional dry rub method. It's a secret, though, so don't even ask.


My smaller butt (heh heh) was my guinea pig. A wet marinade. Cubano style. Mojo, baby. I like to think of it as practice for my next purchase - the Cuban cooking vessel, La Caja China.


My smoke was a mix of apple and hickory. I know, right. The idea of pork smoked with apple and hickory just made you salivate. It's okay. I did, too.


I smoked for about 5 hours before I had to pull it and finish in the oven. The picture above shows the process only after a couple of hours. For those of you who aren't familiar, you CAN (and should) finish the entire cooking process in the OBS. You just can't do it if it's raining. So, instead of pulling an all-nighter with my smoker on the deck, I brought them in, wrapped them in heavy duty foil and put them into a 200 degree oven.

This morning, I awoke to pure happiness in pork form.

The BBQ style is above and the Cuban style is on the right.

After it was cool enough to handle, I gave my hands a surgeon's scrub and went to work. The top layer of skin/fat is super gross, but it comes off in one big hunk. The bone slips out of the shoulder and the meat is left to pull with little other cleaning needed. Sometimes you do have to remove a bit of fat or gristle. Just try not to think about it.

The finished product is WORTH it.

Pizza Stuffed Peppers

Recently, I was looking online at recipes and saw two that caught my eye. One was a pasta adorned with pizza type toppings. The other was a stuffed pepper. They both had characteristics I liked, but some I didn't. For example, I'm not a fan of big greasy, meat-packed stuffed peppers at all.

Tonight, I decided to take what I liked about them and make my own recipe. I bring to you, Pizza Stuffed Peppers!

Pizza Stuffed Peppers

4 bell peppers – red, green, yellow or orange

1 25 oz jar spaghetti or pizza sauce

½ pound deli sliced pepperoni

½ pound orzo pasta

1 medium onion, chopped fine

2 cloves garlic, pressed

1 tsp each black pepper, basil, parsley and oregano

½ tsp salt

Pre-heat oven to 350°

Prepare the peppers to your desired serving style – cut top off and seed or cut in half and seed. In a large pot of boiling water, blanch the peppers for 3 minutes. Remove and drain well. I cut mine in half, to allow for more portion control. Plus, you aren't then limited to one color of pepper!

Add pasta to water, boil for 7 minutes. Drain well.

In non-stick pan, cook pepperoni over medium heat. Cook to varied degrees of doneness – some slightly cooked and others crispy. You'll see I have some barely cooked and others really crispy! Rough chop the pepperoni.

In large bowl, combine orzo, pepperoni, seasonings, onions and garlic. Add ½ - ¾ jar of pasta until it’s moist, but not soupy.

Using a small spoon, stuff peppers with filling.

Top w/ a tablespoon of leftover sauce and a piece or two of pepperoni.

Bake for 1 hour.

I have to say, Philip was not a fan of the pre-cooked pepperoni, but I loved it. Plus, it rendered out a lot of fat that would have been sitting in the bottom of the pan. Gross.

You could add your other favorite pizza type toppings, too! I actually snuck in a jalapeno, chopped fine. It was great!

Here's To You!

Excuse my absence for the last couple of months. I've been unusual on the inside.

You know, not quite feeling myself and not at all inspired. I think it rained for two months here on Long Island, but the sun has since come out and the beautiful days have been more frequent.

So, this blog is for my boy. It's a little dedication to Harold Bogart Fallis, who left this world on June 14th. Harry, your dad and I will never forget you and the joy that you brought us for the last 6 years. We're so glad you came into our lives and can't imagine out future without you. We miss your voice, your stripey belly, the middle-of-the-night games of fetch, your after work belly rubbing routine, the good care that you took of us and so much more.

Our hearts will never be the same, Harry.

Beef Veggie Soup

I've really been hungry for some good beef vegetable soup!

We were back in Indiana last week and twice passed the exit to my favorite source of beef vegetable soup, The Overlook Restaurant. Philip and I lived near here when we lived in Bristow. Many Sundays found us heading down I-64 for a late lunch.

For Philip, it always started with a bowl of beef vegetable soup. I would taste it and be jealous, making a note to order it the next time. The next Sunday would come and I'd order it and love it, but it would just be too much on top of all of the other great things I had to have!

The Overlook is known for their homemade salad dressings, jams, biscuits and pies. Those homemade goodies on top of the fried pickles, chicken livers and mushrooms with horseradish sauce just never allowed much soup.

Driving by that exit last weekend made me think of that beef vegetable soup. It was soup, but it was still so hearty - fully laden with beef, corn, lima beans, tomato, green beans, potato and anything else they could think of. After putting a couple of saltines in it, there became few things that were more tasty.

Waking up this morning to a cold rain made it easy to start a pot of soup. I wanted to tackle this one from the bottom up, even though I've never made it before.

I started with what was called a 7 bone steak. I'd never really used this cut of meat before, but it looked like it offered a good balance of bone, meat and fat. I didn't want a fatty soup and I didn't need the 3 pounds of meat offered up by the chuck roasts.

Out came one of my favorite kitchen essentials... my Le Creuset dutch oven. I heated it over medium high and tossed in my 'steak' sans seasoning. I wanted to get some good browning.


After it was browned to my liking, I added my veggies and water to start my broth. It wasn't rocket surgery - just a quartered onion, a few cloves of smashed garlic, peppercorns and parsley. I added about enough water to cover. Here's what it looked like before the water went in.

I brought the contents to a boil and then turned it down to a simmer. I let it simmer for about 4 hours. If you let it boil for the next four hours, your broth will be cloudy. Immediately, the house smelled SO good. It was hard for me not to get myself a bowl of my half finished broth. Here's what the broth looked like after about an hour.

After about 4 hours, I removed the bones and meat that had fallen off. I put it on my cutting board to cool while I strained the broth. So far, so good!!

The rest went pretty quickly and I don't have any pictures, but it's pretty straight forward. I added a little olive oil, a chopped onion, celery stalk and garlic into my pot. I stirred and allowed these to cook while I peeled and cubed my potatoes. I tossed them in with the other veggies and allowed them to brown a tad. To this, I added a quart of store bought beef stock, a large can of tomato juice and a quart or more of my homemade broth. The store bought stock is beefy and salty. My broth was full of freshness and the two of them came together well to make a good base for my soup.

I added the reserved meat, some Worcestershire, basil, oregano, garlic powder, salt, pepper and a little dill and thyme. I let this simmer for about a half an hour until the potatoes were tender. That's when I added my favorite veggies - lima beans, corn, green beans, diced tomato and carrots. I also added half of a large can of tomato puree at this time.

I had Philip taste it and he thought it was a touch bland, so I beefed up the salt, pepper and spices. I also added a touch more of Worcestershire sauce and (my new secret ingredient) Heinz 57. I needed a little spice and a little tang and this did it for me.

It's so freakin' good! Seriously. I just put away two bowls!


I'm so glad I made it and I have heaps of leftovers that should freeze beautifully!

I like it when a plan comes together!

S. W. A. K. !.

When Philip and I made the final decision that we would move to Long Island, I had a little anxiety about a few things. After all, I was moving from a quiet, rural Indiana town to a heavily populated, metropolitan area. Naturally, I had concerns about traffic, general unfamiliarity, crime, etc. None of those things that I was preoccupied with prepared me for what would turn out to be my ultimate concern.


The kiss hello and, while we're here, the kiss goodbye. For the sake of making it easy, I'll just refer to it as the kiss. I mean, after all, it doesn't matter if you're coming or going. The kiss is still anxiety inducing.


You probably remember the 103rd episode of Seinfeld and Jerry's issues with the kiss. It was titled The Kiss Hello and focused on Jerry's desire to eliminate the kiss hello.


Please don't think I have issues with the kiss. I welcome it. I'm a kisser. I want to kiss! My friends back home and I are all very affectionate and it's not unusual for us to greet each other with a kiss. Did you catch that? I said it's not unusual for us to greet each other with a kiss. It can be on the lips or cheeks. Sometimes, after a few drinks, there may even be a little tongue.


I'm down with kissing. I'm just not at all sure about the kiss. I guess I could just go through life as a recipient of the kiss, just taking what I can get and never offering kisses back. A one-sided participant, if you will. On the other hand, I could just kiss everyone all of the time. A kissing bandit!





Let me tell you about my first experience with the kiss. It was a kiss goodbye. I had worked in NY for one week and, that Friday, the company was having a party at Dave and Buster's to celebrate my awesomeness. (Okay, not really, it was an employee appreciation/50th birthday party, but it's fun to pretend that it was for me.) I met a co-worker who I had not yet met that week. When we left, I reached to shake his hand and we ended up having an awkward hug and he kissed my cheek.


Was I supposed to kiss him back? What the heck! I just met this guy an hour ago and he gives me a kiss goodbye? I had so many questions. At that point in time, I came to realize that I did not know the protocol for the kiss.


I had to get to Neil. Monday couldn't come soon enough! Neil is the foremost authority on pretty much everything I need to know. He's a mentor, a teacher, a confidant, a friend and someone I respect and admire. I can go to Neil with help for anything and, even though he'll probably make fun of me, he'll help me. I knew he would be able to help me with the rules of the kiss.


On Monday, as Neil and I settled into our side-by-side cubies, I confided in him about my concerns. I had zero experience with the kiss and I didn't know who to kiss, when to kiss them, which way to go - I knew nothing.


As it turned out, Neil didn't know much either. I mean, he knew a little, but I didn't leave the conversation with the clear set of rules that I needed.


Here's what I know:


The men and the women kiss. The women kiss each other. The men do not kiss other men. (Well, I'm sure some of them do, but I haven't met those kind of men here yet. For the sake of keeping this easy - I'm strictly talking about heterosexual friendship type relationships.)


... and, well, that's about all I know.


I don't know which way to go. I don't know when to kiss. I'm not sure who to kiss!

I guess I'll just continue to collect data and make observations. Maybe one day, my research will be complete and I can fulfill the needs of the world by providing the rules of the kiss.

... until then, if you hear something about on the news a kissing bandit, you never read this.

XOXO

The Closer He Gets...

My hair was very soft today. I bought some new product called Gold Heat that's a serum to use before you blow dry. My hair was so silky I couldn't keep my hands out of it! It was like when I curl up with my chenille blanket and lull myself to a near sleep working my fingers through the tassels.

Of course, with great soft hair also comes great sadness. My first crush comes to mind. Not that he had soft hair (that I remember), but that it was, in fact, my hair that kept my first crush from evolving into my first love.

I don't mean my first crush like when you first start to notice boys in elementary school. It's no secret that my elementary school crush was Brad S. I mean, my cousin, Tim, was friends with Brad's sister and spilled the beans. I'll never forget that fateful day on the playground when Brad approached me and said, "Your cousin said you have a crush on me!" Of course I hopped off of my swing and denied everything! My crush on Brad S. pretty much ended right there on the asphalt.

I didn't do much of that "going out" that you do in elementary school. I went to a Catholic school that boasted about 30 kids in my class. On a good day, I had to pick from 15 guys and, being the fat girl, I just couldn't compete. Truthfully, it just didn't interest me that much (I make up for this later) because I had an older sister who always had a steady boyfriend and it didn't seem appealing. I wanted to have fun and not the kind with boys (I make up for this later).

I'm talking about my first real crush. I was a freshman and Mr. Crush* was a year older than me. I first spotted him at the grocery store where he worked. He was so cute! Not traditionally cute, but SO cute. Shortly after my grocery store sighting, I noticed him riding my bus! I didn't ride the bus often and neither did he, so it took a while for the planets to align. I remember being on the bus with him a few times, he seated all the way in the back and me choosing a seat between the back and the middle. It was cool to sit all the way at the back and I was desperate to be cool, but MY CRUSH WAS BACK THERE!

I don't recall when or why he first spoke to me, but the point is that he did! Mr. Crush struck up a conversation with me. I'm sure I started to hyperventilate and said something really dorky, but we spent the next couple of days talking. I don't mean "talking" like we had deep meaningful conversations, either. It was more along the literal lines of words being exchanged between us.

One day, ONE DAY, out of the blue. THE BLUE! He says he's going to get off the bus at my stop and walk me home. Now, mind you, I grew up in a small rural town and just because we were on the same bus didn't mean we really lived anywhere near each other. He decides, of his own accord, to get off the bus at my stop and come home to hang out with me! OF HIS OWN ACCORD! I'll never forget stepping off the bus with him and walking down the street to my house. I was so excited! I felt like everyone in my neighborhood was watching me walk down Terrace Avenue with Mr. Crush. It might as well have been "the aisle" because, in my mind, that's where we were headed! I have no idea what we did or how long he stayed. I'm sure we played Nintendo or watched TV. He did call his mom to come pick him up later, but the important thing is that this started a pattern! Many days after that, he got off the bus and came home with me. We became good friends and I loved it.

A crush turning into a friend is bittersweet. Sure, you have a lot of access to them, but now they're your friend and they're friends with your friends. It's a really risky situation! My little heart never stopped pitter-pattering for Mr. Crush and every moment we spent together as friends was one step closer to me being Mrs. Crush. For the record, I'm using this marriage analogy to be funny. I had a crush on him. I wasn't being a psycho (I make up for this later).

We flirted and flirted for months, but nothing ever happened. All of the stereotypical business from that Bonnie Raitt song went on, but we just never got over the hump.

Then we went bowling. We had a snow day from school, piled into a friends car and headed to the bowling alley. We had fun! We had pizza, bowled some balls and then it happened...

Dig if you will the picture of me seated at the scoring table and Mr. Crush coming up behind me. He rests his hands on my shoulders and starts in with a little massage action. He gently pulls me back. He leans forward. He moves his cheek towards mine and brushes against my auburn curls. I just know, JUST KNOW, that I'm about to get some awkward friend-hug-cheek-kiss kind of thing and I am READY for it.

... and then he screams, "OH MY GOD! Your hair. YOUR HAIR, it's so, SO HARD! WHY IS YOUR HAIR SO HARD?!"

I was totally shocked. I couldn't breathe.

What the heck could I say!? It was the 90's - every girl had hard hair (except for the hippies). Plus, I had unruly curls and a mother who owned a salon. So, while other girls were using AquaNet and Aussie from K-Mart I was using professional grade spray. Did I mention that I had unruly curls! Of course it was hard - was there any other kind? How else was I supposed to get the bangs to stay straight up all day?

Seriously, though, is hands shot straight up in disgust and he never touched me again. We stayed friends, but any hint of a crush that he had on me ended right there in the bowling alley. Later, we grew apart and our friendship faded. We both made new friends and he grew into the kind of person I wouldn't have been interested in anyway.

I guess that moment prepared me for the future. You know, surviving broken hearts or breaking them. Making sure I didn't use too much hairspray before a date. The important stuff.

I hear Mr. Crush is happily married these days, as am I. Looking back, I can't imagine being married to anyone other than my husband. He is the greatest man I've ever known and we're bound by past hair mishaps.





*Names have been changed to protect the innocent.

by Definition

mox·ie (mks)

n. Slang

1. The ability to face difficulty with spirit and courage.

2. Aggressive energy; initiative: "His prose has moxie, though it rushes and stumbles from a pent-up surge" Patricia Hampl.

3. Skill; know-how.

Just before the end of the day on Thursday, one of the owners called me into his office. I anticipated this call as the calendars of the sales staff were quickly filling for the next morning. As it seemed everyone would be out of the office, I expected to be asked to mind the showroom.

To my surprise and excitement, Steve didn't ask me to watch the showroom, but he asked me to accompany him to a networking breakfast. Networking is a pretty big deal here in the New York metro area. I say that as if it isn't a big deal anywhere else. I don't think that and assume most larger cities have a myriad of business networking groups. What I do know is that it's a big thing here and it is not a big thing back in Southern Indiana.

When you're from a smaller town, networking is a moot point. Everyone already knows everyone. You're born into your network. Families that were doing business with each other 50 years ago are still doing business with each other today.

The meeting was really great and I was thankful to be there. My administrative role in our company doesn't really require to me to do much of this and I appreciated the invitation. I was meeting with very interesting people from all different walks of life - from an owner/operator of a limousine company to the President and CEO of my bank. I spoke at length with a gentleman who is in the alternative energy business - making your home or business run from solar or wind power.

Just as the speaker started, a woman walked into the room. The room was full and extra tables were being set up. Something brought this woman to my table and I happily moved aside to make room for her extra chair. She quietly slid a business card to me and I was immediately drawn to the design of the card. It was an impeccably designed business card. I really couldn't take my eyes off of it. It was trendy and colorful. As my eyes scanned the card I read "exclusive community promoting the business and social interests of women."

How fabulous! It's like this situation just fell into my lap. I came from having a strong business and social network to a new area with virtually no business or social connections. What a great way to get to know like-minded women, make friends and meet business connections. Plus, I'm a strong advocate of women and woman-owned companies, etc.

When the speaker finished, I turned to the woman next to me and mentioned that I was sorry we hadn't the chance to talk before the speaker started, that I was very interested in her card and that I planned to e-mail her. She smiled excitedly and pulled a brochure from her bag. I've already explained how captivating her business card was, so you can imagine how fabulous this brochure was. I glanced at it and noticed how it focused on non-traditional networking and the meetings were held around cooking classes, spa visits or museum tours. I couldn't wait to get back to the office to pour over things.

On my way back to the office, I was thinking about this opportunity. I was thinking about how this woman could have sat at any table or next to anyone else at my table. I got excited about the opportunity to meet and learn from other women in the community.

I sat down with my brochure (if you can even call it that, really) and a cup of coffee. I read voraciously and pulled up the website. I wanted to know everything - where do I apply, what are the membership fees?

Wait a minute.

"This exclusive women's community is comprised of business-savvy professionals in senior level positions from all different industries and backgrounds."

Potential members must posses a certain X Factor that is necessary for membership. The requirements are listed as:

* Senior Level Professional - Seasoned member of the business community
* Decision Point Person - Able to make decisions and bold moves with little hesitancy
* Well Connected - Broad range of high level contacts within the region
* Eager to Share - This isn't a network for the stingy and reluctant.

Are you kidding me right now? I'm not welcome as a part of this group because I'm not a CEO, Director or President? I'm not welcome because I'm new to the area and am not "well connected."

My mind wandered back to the meeting and the owner/President of the limousine company. His disheveled appearance and casual clothes were a stark contrast to the President and CEO of the bank. Yet these men were peers. Both men were in high executive positions of their respective companies.

How did I fit into this picture? My make up was conservative. My clothes were pressed and my shoes polished. I shook hands firmly and looked people in the eye. I smiled and spoke with confidence. When I introduced myself I stood straight and tall, smiled gently and separated myself from everyone by adding a "Good Morning."

... and I'm going to be excluded from this particular group of women who boast of supporting other women - because of my title or because of my lack of connections. What is it that doesn't seem very supportive about that?

For a moment I considered sending the e-mail anyway and explaining myself. I'm new to the area - how can I be well connected? I'm not in a Senior Position at my company, but there are only two and they're the owners! Surely she was have considered me. After all, she so eagerly gave me her card and the brochure.

I kept reading the website and the brochure. Instead of wanting to become a part of this group, I started to realize just how exclusive it was. Before, it had been pulling me in and now, truthfully, it was just putting me off.

ex·clu·sive (k-sklsv)

adj.

1. Excluding or tending to exclude: exclusive barriers.

2. Not allowing something else; incompatible: mutually exclusive conditions.

3. Not divided or shared with others: exclusive publishing rights.

4. Not accompanied by others; single or sole: your exclusive function.

5. Complete; undivided: gained their exclusive attention.

6. Not including the specified extremes or limits, but only the area between them: 20-25, exclusive; that is, 21, 22, 23 and 24.

7. Excluding some or most, as from membership or participation: an exclusive club.

8. Catering to a wealthy clientele; expensive: exclusive shops.

9. Linguistics Of, relating to, or being a first person plural pronoun that excludes the addressee, such as we in the sentence Chris and I will be in town tomorrow, so we can stop by your office.

n.

1. A news item initially released to only one publication or broadcaster.

2. An exclusive right or privilege, as to market a product.

Reading between the lines, I saw the website and brochure condescending and almost insulting. This group doesn't embrace and support women. This group exludes women who don't fit a pre-determined socio-economic status.

Suddenly, I found myself thinking again about the president of the limousine company. He was welcomed into this group by his peers even though his company was more service oriented and it was likely that, at one time or another, he might have been the driver for one of these other men.

Women have separated themselves from men in various situations. There are women's hospitals that focus solely on the health care and wellness of women. Think of how we say "woman-owned company" and bask in the delightful thought of some woman, somewhere, who overcame adversity and runs a successful company or organization. We separate ourselves from men in so many ways, but when it comes down to the basic idea of acceptance - I think there is something we can learn from men.

I have no intention of speaking unkindly of this woman or her group. She's obviously filled a niche and has proven to be very successful. I'm happy for her, but it's just not something I can be a part of. Ever. Even after I move into a "senior level" position and have developed a strong network of business connections. I don't want to be part of a group of women that looks down upon other women.

For what it's worth, I am a professional woman. I am strong and confident and I am good at what I do, regardless of my title or lack thereof. I am charismatic and, believe me, I have moxie.

Santa Fe Gordita

Many of you probably don't remember a time when the "Santa Fe" option was available to gordita lovers. Of course, it was also available on the chalupa, but that doesn't matter here.

This is about the Santa Fe Gordita something that I knew well and loved often. There were countless nights where I pulled up to the Taco Bell in tiny Jasper, Indiana and said, "Three Santa Fe Gorditas with Chicken and NO CHEESE."

Emphasis was put on the "no cheese" part of my order, but not too much emphasis. Too much emphasis can ring darkly in the ears of pissed off Taco Bell staff and through a conscious (or unconscious) synopsis, translate to extra cheese. It is said that my behaviour earned me the name "no cheese lady."

Cheese on my gordita meant one of two things:

One number: Manual cheese removal, a detailed and lengthy procedure that often resulted in...
Two number: The trash

Enough sadness, allow me to take you there and wrap you in the pillowy flatbread that was the vehicle for the heart and soul of the Santa Fe Gordita (no cheese). After all, that's where it all started, on that warm and soft base. Standard Taco Bell chicken topped with Santa Fe Sauce and Fiesta Salsa (aka 'heaven'). Fiesta Salsa consisted of black beans, crispy corn kernels and cilantro. I think I remember finely minced red onion and I've found copy cat recipes that called for a diced red pepper, but I don't recall well enough to confirm either.

It was so good. It was the perfect combination of warm and cool, soft and crunchy and just plain tasty!

I'd be lying if I didn't tell you that I could shed a tear over how I miss this. Not only was it good, but it was also available during a time in my life that was really good. You know the time. It's my comfort food. Imagine how you'd feel if mashed potatoes or spaghetti were discontinued.

I've found several "copy cat" recipes online for the Santa Fe Gordita. I mean, really, the only hard part to figure out is the sauce. I can throw together a can of frijoles negros and some corn. The recipes I found all called for Chili Sauce, Mayo, Lemon and Vinegar. It sounded okay and it was all I had to go on, so I did it. Right now, as I write this for you, I'm trying to recreate the Santa Fe Gordita. Like Randall said in Clerk's 2 - "I'm taking it back."

The recipe I found for the sauce is as follows:

2 Tbls. Chili Sauce
2 Tbls. Mayo
1 tsp. Lemon Juice
1 tsp. Vinegar

Combine and let stand for at least 30 minutes.

Well, let me tell ya, this shit must be what Sour Patch kids are dipped in. I should have known. I do okay in the kitchen and Chili Sauce, Lemon Juice and Vinegar are all sour, sour, sour! I did what any normal cook would do - I started adding. Firstly, I tried some southwestern type spices. Specifically, "Fiesta Party Dip Mix" from Tastefully Simple. Still sour. So sour, in fact, that I couldn't even tell I put it in there. I added some sour cream with no luck. I felt like it was getting me there, so I added more sour cream. A touch of horseradish and a bit of sugar later, I think I have a decent sauce. Of course, it's probably no where near Taco Bell's Santa Fe sauce, but it's better than the lethal combination that was the recipe I found.



Now, the Fiesta Salsa was a breeze. I rinsed a can of black beans, drained a can of summer crisp corn and threw it in with some finely chopped red onion and cilantro. Fiesta Salsa, done.



As far as the chicken goes, I just pan roasted some boneless chicken breasts. Seriously, it's not like Taco Bell was even using real chicken. So, I feel like I'm ahead of the game already. Chicken, done.


They were okay. I mean, they tasted good, but they were no replica of Taco Bell's Santa Fe Gordita. The sauce was just too sour and tangy. I think even off-the-shelf southwestern style ranch would make more sense.