Oklahoma prime rib redux.

Fried smoked baloney sandwich with dill pickle spread. © Ryan Schierling

"What the hell are you smoking?"

I get that question from time to time, especially when I come up with oddities like Chicken-fried Chicken a la King Ranch Chicken or the unholy marriage of gas-station snack-pack jerky and cheese inside a homemade jalapeño popper. But today, since you asked, I'm actually smoking bologna, thank you.

Bologna, Italy would have been my first guess as to the genesis of smoked bologna. They probably figured out every way imaginable to prepare that mishmash meat loaf and I'm betting the guy that perfected it wasn't named Oscar Meyer. But, from what I've heard, Italy didn't want to have anything to do with this bastard-child treatment of their lard-studded mortadella. The Sooner State takes full responsibility for the further preparation of this one.

As with any legendary regional recipe, there are disputes when it comes to origins. Cheap and plentiful, fried bologna sandwiches have been around forever, and everyone from states south of the Mason-Dixon line probably has a fond childhood memory of their favorite version. Smoked bologna is another tall-tale altogether, with a pair of pushpins stuck squarely in a map of Oklahoma – one in Tulsa and the other in Oklahoma City. Stories go back fifty or sixty years about the creation of "Oklahoma prime rib" and wherever it started, you know there had to be some drinking involved. 

The devil made me do it.

The fruits of the devil... vegetarian deviled ham spread on crackers. © Ryan Schierling

Deviled ham is disgusting. 

Wait, what? You don't agree? Okay, go get one of those tins of the deviled ham with Old Scratch on the side – the ones that have been manufactured by the same company since 1868. Oh, and walk over to the pet supplies aisle and fetch a can of dog food with pork in it. 

Put on a blindfold. Have someone crack both tins open and wave them around under your nose, one by one, then tell me which one is the deviled ham. You can't. Spread a little of each on a cracker and keep that blindfold on. Pop those crackers into your mouth and let me know what you think. Indistinguishable, no? 

I've prepared and eaten a lot of questionable foodstuffs in the name of research, and progress, and… boredom. I've never made a Beggin' Strips, lettuce and tomato sandwich, but I've taken a few shots in the gut for the team. I like the idea of deviled ham, and I've eaten it infrequently enough to have a sentimentality-fueled craving once every three or four years. Last week, I bought a couple little tins of Underwood® deviled ham and some buttery crackers to snack on, and boy was my nostalgia disappointed. It was beyond bland – nearly tasteless and textureless – with a scent that made our cats come running to the kitchen. I ignored the congealed yellow fat immediately under the pop-top lid. By this human's standards, it was nearly inedible. The kids have less discerning palates, and scarfing down the pork and associated gelatinous fat would probably give them a kitty cardiac event. 

Austin Bakes for West, Texas.

 A good old-fashioned bake sale for a worthy cause.

What we love about Austin being such a food-centric town is that we're part of a greater community – one of chefs, restaurateurs, food writers, bloggers and food and drink aficionados who not only organize in appreciation of food, but to pool their energy and talents to help others. 

This month I am excited to be baking for the Austin Bakes for West event on Saturday, May 4. This delicious fundraising event will be from 10 a.m. to 2 p.m. in eight locations around the Austin-metro area and there's a venue near you. 

• Bee Cave: Whole Foods Market, 12601 Hill Country Blvd, Bee Cave, TX 78738
• Central: Foreign & Domestic, 306 E. 53rd Street, 78751
• Central: Stiles Switch BBQ & Brew, 6610 N Lamar Blvd, 78757
• Downtown: Whole Foods Market, 525 N. Lamar Boulevard, 78703
• East: Springdale Farm, 755 Springdale Road, 78702
• North: Whole Foods Market, 9607 Research Boulevard #300, 78759
• Round Rock: Round Rock Market 221 E. Main Street, Round Rock, 78664
• South: Crema Bakery, 9001 Brodie Lane, Suite B, 78748

We put a lot of love into our baking at Foie Gras Hot Dog, and we're sharing in hopes that our friends, family and neighbors will come out to support those in West who have been so terribly affected by the explosion that devastated their city.

For more information about this bake sale and supporting Austin Bakes, please visit austinbakes.com.

East Austin salsa shootout.

Margo's salsa. © Ryan Schierling

In Texas, the most important food contests and cook-offs involve barbecue, chili, and salsa or hot sauce.

There are as many opinions on salsa as there are types of salsa, and the stuff is so cheap and plentiful in the Lone Star state you'll never go wanting. Like breakfast tacos, it's just something Julie and I take for granted.

For years, we never entertained the idea or explored the possibilities of making our own. Our "house" salsa was a store-bought, fiery little number made in Telephone, Texas. It just worked for us, and that was that. When a tortilleria down the street opened up last year, we started buying freshly-made tubs of a delicious roasted rojo and a fresh, piquant verde. The flavors were so much more crisp and unadulterated, and a 16-ounce container was under two bucks. Say hello to the new "house" salsa...

A few months ago, Julie's friend Margo brought totopos and fresh salsa for a party. It was a roasty, spicy, smoky kick in the face and everyone loved it. Growing up, Margo's grandmother would make a special pico de gallo every Saturday. "It had loads of lime and tomatillos and an entire bunch of cilantro. A part of me keeps that flavor in the back of my mind every time I hear the word salsa." Her salsa recipe is a heritage-driven nod to her grandmother, with her own twists based on the ways her palate has changed since she was little – and it is some of the best table salsa we've ever eaten.

Last week, we got an email from RL Reeves, Jr. asking if we'd like to participate in a salsa shootout at his next pop-up restaurant event at Tamale House East. We were flattered, and a little baffled. Though we make pico de gallo and salsa verde often, there's not a single salsa recipe on Foie Gras Hot Dog. It was either develop our own version quickly, or make a batch of what was inevitably bound to be our new "house" salsa – salsa de Margo.

Tortas de coliflor tacos.

Our new "house" taco - tortas de coliflor (cauliflower). © Ryan Schierling

It's been some time since a new taco recipe has graced the pages of this humble blog. There are taco joints a-plenty in this town and every home cook has a private claim to fame – such is the nature of good Austin living.

To date we've stayed true to our mission statement, entertaining ourselves here with stupendously highbrow and treacherously lowbrow tacos, plus a couple in between. But these tacos with their little cakes of tender, sweet cauliflower have, in a matter of just a few weeks, become our new "house" taco. As in "just you try and stop me from eating these every day!" 

I wish we could take credit for the concept, but we know a good thing when we taste it and Papalote Taco House on South Lamar in Austin gets our respectful nod. Papalote is a friendly little taco purveyor with an assortment of creative and delicious fare, and some of the more interesting vegetarian options you'll find in town. Unique among these offerings is a taco starring a fried patty made with cauliflower, dressed in guajillo chile sauce and topped with cabbage and queso fresco. Delicious! It's a stroke of genius with a very low guilt quotient. 

How we first made these at home is most certainly not a story of scientific inquiry or deliberate re-creation. We just had a head of cauliflower that needed to be used, a stack of corn tortillas in the fridge, and we were hungry. We were working from vague memory of a previous visit, but with the basic concept and flavor profile in mind, and simply began making them as we saw fit. The cauliflower, we thought, would be most flavorful if roasted, and in order to let it shine we kept the patty seasonings minimal, simply adding an egg and some flour to tighten up the mixture. Loose as it was, we were able to form small patties, coat them in fine breadcrumbs and fry them up moist and delicious. 

Instead of making our own sauce that first time, we tried using the Frontera Guajillo Salsa which is looser, chunkier and milder but makes a bang-up shortcut if you're pressed for time. If you like them this way, you'll eventually want to try our Guajillo Sauce recipe below for the richer depth of chile flavor it imparts.

Bunny chow de chivo, Tejano-style.

Quarter chivo. Texas-style bunny chow. © Ryan Schierling

I was at the fancy grocery store a while back, and there was a little girl in the bread aisle throwing an unfettered hissy fit. "I don't want to eat the ends of the bread!" she cried at her mother. Mom looked confused. "What?" 

"I DON'T WANT TO EAT THE ENDS OF THE BREAD!!!!" the girl shrieked again. Her mother shook her head, grabbed her daughter's hand and, still somewhat puzzled, explained earnestly "You don't have to eat the ends of the bread."

The little girl crossed her arms indignantly and scowled. "Good. Because only poor people eat the ends of the bread."

I wanted to grab a $40 jar of Bar-Le-Duc red currant jam, hand-seeded with a solitary goose quill, and throw it at her precious little head. Not only do poor people eat the ends of the bread, sometimes they repurpose the empty plastic bread bags to put over their kids' shoes when they're out playing in the snow. I might have some deep-seated childhood issues about that one, but I will still make a sandwich out of the heels of the bread if that's what's left. Waste not, want not. 

As for what poor people do and do not eat, some of those back-of-the-pantry, scraped-together, day-before-payday, simple meals are the best things you will ever put in your mouth. However fancified by restaurants in the last few years, soul food and comfort food all come from the deep roots of poverty, part and parcel. 

Thai green curry rice balls.

Fried jasmine rice and Thai green curry balls with crispy basil. © Ryan Schierling

Around here we use the term "legacy" when referring to the yesterday's food and its delicious potential. Most folks use the designation "leftovers" but that seems so... unseemly. In this instance, I am referring to our last post and the recipe for Thai green curry. Make it, enjoy it, and save whatever remains for these delicious Thai curry balls.

You will need about two cups of chilled curry with plenty of tofu and vegetables from our Thai Green Curry with Fresh Tofu recipe. If you have few cups of rice from the day before, you may use that, but if it has been more than a day I would recommend making a fresh batch of jasmine rice. The only other items you will need are some additional coconut milk and panko breakcrumbs. Plus oil for frying, of course.

That's it. No eggs are necessary. The tofu acts as a moist binder on the inside – not to mention it being a great source of protein – and we use coconut milk instead of eggs to prepare the balls for breading.

Whether the aim is to make yesterday's Thai curry new again, or to simply sneak a bunch of vegetables into a beloved picky eater with the allure of fried food, we're all over these little appetizers. But calling them leftovers? I have no idea what you're talking about.