Grilled Pork Tenderloin & Swiss Sandwich

Notes: I didn’t have to leave the house for this one. Holy Jesus. I see your “ham” and raise you a quarter pound of deli-sliced cooked pork tenderloin. Combined on super-sharp rye with swiss and dijon mustard, then grilled in butter and pressed with a cast iron skillet.

Sweet Corn and Poblano Chowder

The weather may be warm, but the corn is too amazing this time of year to miss out on making a corn chowder. Our version uses half-and-half in lieu of heavy cream to lighten it up a little bit, and the poblanos provide a nice heat. After chopping and adding one, check the heat level; poblanos vary in temperature, so you don’t want to let this get too spicy. The sweetness of the corn will temper things nicely, though, so if it seems too spicy at first, don’t worry…it’ll mellow out.

Sweet Corn and Poblano Chowder
Serves 6
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349 calories
46 g
44 g
16 g
10 g
9 g
534 g
1117 g
10 g
0 g
6 g
Nutrition Facts
Serving Size
Amount Per Serving
Calories 349
Calories from Fat 143
% Daily Value *
Total Fat 16g
Saturated Fat 9g
Trans Fat 0g
Polyunsaturated Fat 1g
Monounsaturated Fat 5g
Cholesterol 44mg
Sodium 1117mg
Total Carbohydrates 46g
Dietary Fiber 4g
Sugars 10g
Protein 10g
Vitamin A
Vitamin C
* Percent Daily Values are based on a 2,000 calorie diet. Your Daily Values may be higher or lower depending on your calorie needs.
  1. 2 tablespoons butter
  2. Extra-virgin olive oil
  3. 1 medium white diced onion
  4. 1-2 Poblano peppers, seeded and chopped
  5. 2 minced cloves garlic
  6. 1/4 cup all-purpose flour
  7. 6 cups vegetable stock
  8. 2 cups half-and-half
  9. 2 potatoes, cleaned, peeled, and diced
  10. 3 slices bacon, cooked and crumbled
  11. 6 ears corn
  12. Salt and pepper
  13. Parsley, to garnish
  1. Saute the onion, garlic, and poblano peppers in the butter and olive oil until all vegetables are soft and onions are translucent, about 10 minutes. Dust the sauteed vegetables with the flour and toss or stir to coat. Add vegetable stock, and bring to a boil. Add the half-and-half, potatoes, and crumbled bacon, reserving 2 tablespoons. Bring to a hard boil, and let the potatoes get beaten up. As they break down, they will thicken the soup even further. Cut kernels off the corn, saving as much of the "milk" that comes off the cob as possible. This will impart a very rich, strong corn flavor. Add kernels and milk to the soup. Season with salt and pepper, and simmer until the corn is soft, another 10 minutes.
  2. Heat the butter and 1 tablespoon olive oil in a soup pot over medium heat. Add the onion, garlic, and thyme and cook until the vegetables are good and soft, 8 to 10 minutes. Dust the vegetables with flour and stir to coat everything well. Pour in the vegetable stock and bring to a boil. Add the cream and the potatoes, bring to a boil and boil hard for about 7 minutes, until the potatoes break down (this will help to thicken the soup and give it a good texture). Ladle the soup into bowls, and garnish with sprig of parsley and reserved crumbled bacon and serve.
From Away

Parisian Street Sandwich (Aurora Provisions)

Today’s sandwich brought me back to Aurora Provisions, for their “Parisian Street Sandwich.” It combines thinly-sliced ham, slices of brie, mixed greens, spicy dijon mustard, and cornichons on a baguette.

Location: 64 Pine Street
Price: $6.95
Notes: This is an exceptional sandwich. The tart, cool, crisp snap of the cornichons provide an amazing contrast to the salty ham and surprisingly lively dijon mustard. A well thought-out sandwich that I will return for frequently.

Today’s Sandwich: Roast Beef & Cheddar (Whole Foods)

Location: 2 Somerset Street
Price: $7.95
Notes: There’s no other way to put it. Today’s sandwich was a complete and utter disappointment. We had been excited about trying the fresh sandwich options at Whole Foods, but probably won’t return. After trying to direct me to one of their pre-made sandwiches, and not being able to tell me about what kind of bread they had, I ended up with an utterly anemic roast beef and cheddar on a whole wheat roll. I tried to jazz it up by adding their habanero mayonnaise, but what I ended up with was a lifeless, flavorless mess. I would have been thrilled with this sandwich at half the price; but at around eight bucks, this one simply wasn’t worth it.

Leonardo’s Pizza: Yeah, I Mean, I Guess.

When trying a new pizza place for the first time, I tend to start as simply as I can. Either plain cheese, or if they have it, a Margarita slice tells you about all you need to know about the kinds of pies a place is slinging. Being free of the distractions of toppings gives you a much clearer picture of the entire restaurant, and the attitude they are taking with regard to their product. You can judge the quality of the crust, the amount and spice of the sauce, the kinds of tomatoes that were used, and whether or not the restaurant is paying the extra dollar per pound for decent mozzarella. Indeed, the plain cheese slice is something you could make your life’s study, as a pizza man, so subtle are the interplay of ingredients and so important is component to the whole.

Why, then, do Portland area pizza places seem to have such an absurdly high amount of what I would consider California Pizza Kitchen-style “novelty” pizzas? Why all the goat cheese, the arugula, and the barbecued chicken? Why the leeks, the Gerneral Tso’s sauce, and the philly cheese steak? And why is it that, so far, the more complex the offerings of a particular establishment, the less-competent that place seems to be with the humble cheese slice? Look, if I am looking at a pizza menu, and I see that you are putting buffalo wing sauce on there instead of tomato sauce, and then you are piling on mozzarella, breaded chicken chunks, and gobs of blue cheese, my reaction isn’t “Ooh, how innovative,” instead it’s, “You, sir, do not like pizza.” I’m as excited as you are that you thought to put mashed potatoes and pesto onto a pizza, but unless you have absolutely, unequivocally NAILED the plain cheese slice, I am not going to be impressed by whatever else you’ve decided to pile on there.

Like many other area pizza places, Leonardo’s Pizza has some complicated offerings. In fact, that’s putting mildly. Leonardo’s will put any godamned thing you can think of on a pizza, with four different types of crust, five different kinds of sauce, and then a veritable shopping list of 26 types of additional toppings. I navigated my way past the “Asian Thai Chicken,” with chicken, Thai peanut sauce, mushrooms, red onions, green bell peppers, and broccoli. I didn’t order the “Sausage Alfredo Supreme,” with its Alfredo sauce in place of tomato sauce, chopped garlic, spinach, mushrooms, plum tomatoes, hot Italian sausage, and Gorgonzola. I didn’t want a crust-dumpster, I wanted a pizza. I ordered a plain cheese, medium, regular crust, at $9.95 for a medium.

The results weren’t bad. The crust was fluffy and airy, chewy, with a nice slope down from a thick rolled crust, to a thin crust at the point of the slice. The sauce was nicely spiced and not too sweet, but cooked a little too long. I prefer a brighter tomato sauce. The cheese was of a decent quality, with low grease and nice pull. I was also happy to see that the Leonardo’s style involves a tiny bit more cooking time than we have seen previously. While it certainly wasn’t the charred perfection of a Pepe’s or a Modern, you could see some definite darkening of the mozzarella. After the wet, wiggly slices we have been eating lately, this was a nice surprise.

Ultimately, though, this pizza didn’t make much of an impression. It wasn’t bad, by any means…I just don’t see why you would order this pizza over any of the national chains, and who wants one of those? If anything, my strongest impression of this pizza was that it would be what the jaded teenagers who worked at a Domino’s would cook up after hours, after the doors had been closed for the night. If you took the standard, plain ingredients offered by a chain restaurant, and then ever-so-slightly tweaked the technique and went off-instructional poster (that is, used a tiny extra dough, a little more sauce, and cooked it a little bit longer, and didn’t count how many handfuls of cheese you put on) this is what you’d get. A perfectly serviceable pizza, but certainly nothing special, and nothing I would go out of my way for. If I lived nearby, I could see popping in every now and again, but their own apparent lack of interest in their cheese pies won’t convince me to return to branch out into any of their “gourmet” options.

Moxie Cocktails: The Dark ‘n’ Stinky

Last night, along with my Chimay Blue, I decided to play a joke on my mouth, and bought a 20-ounce bottle of Moxie. For the uninitiated, Moxie is officially, as of 2005, the state soft drink of Maine. It began as a patent medicine in the late 1800s, a tonic sharply flavored with the strong, sharp flavor gentian root, and used to treat everything from “nervousness” to “brain softening.” Eventually, soda water was added, and Moxie was transformed into a curiously bitter soda. While it has fallen out of favor nationally, Moxie continues to be sold in the Northeast.

I hadn’t had one in about 20 years, and in my memory, it stood out as one of the worst things I had ever tasted. When I ran across a bottle last night, I was happy to see that the packaging had barely changed. While the iconic orange can was gone, I now had an extra eight ounces to pour down the sink. I braced myself, and had a sip.

I was stunned by what I tasted. The taste is, at best, unusual for a soda. It tastes Earthy and like a root; a bizarre combination of bitter and sweet that is sure to get in your head. I realized that, of course when I tasted it as a child, it seemed awful; I thought everything that wasn’t a hamburger tasted awful. As an adult, though, I’ve tasted things far more awful than Moxie, usually in alcoholic form. In fact, that’s what Moxie immediately reminded me of: Jagermeister without the annoying maniacal buzz. I set out to correct this oversight immediately with the creation of a Moxie cocktail. A Moxtail, if you would. I wouldn’t.

The obvious choice, with their shared medicinal flavors, is to add Jagermeister to Moxie, over ice. My problems with that, however, are that I am not in a dorm room, I am not actively engaged in a fistfight, and I am not a total lunatic, three traits that prevent me from drinking Jagermeister. A quick search revealed something called a “North Easter,” a repugnant combination of Moxie, gin, and Worcestershire sauce, of all things. My interest in crafting a Moxie cocktail was to make something delicious, so the North Easter was out.

After trying a few different options, I finally fell in love with the following, a drink I am calling a “Dark ‘n’ Stinky.”

Dark ‘n’ Stinky

  • 2 ounces Sailor Jerry’s rum
  • 4 ounces Moxie brand soda

Combine ingredients in an old fashioned glass over cracked ice. Serve.

I’m not normally a fan of spiced rum, but the extra aromatics, backed by the extra alcohol content in Sailor Jerry’s, makes for a potent cocktail. It’s completely changed my thinking about Moxie as a mixer, and is my favorite drink right now. At least, until I figure out what to do with Allen’s Coffee Brandy.

Photo: jntolva