Feijoada, a cheap black bean feast
Saturday, May 14, 2005
Black Beans & Rice
One of my all-time favorite reviews of Jersey Beat happened back in the Eighties, when MaximumRockNRoll still ruled the punk scene, and a review there could make or break a zine. (If nothing else, a good review guaranteed at least a dozen cash orders in the next couple of weeks.) One time, one of MRR's female staffers reviewed the latest issue of JB and her comment was, "this is pretty good but it doesn't have any recipes."
So it's 20 years later but it's time to remedy that complaint. So here is my recipe (actually, my grandmother's) for feijoada, or Brazilian black bean stew.
A true feijoada is a major pig-out, served with a variety of different meats, fresh fruit, and other accompaniments. I usually just serve it over white rice with maybe a salad or a simple green vegetable on the side.
It's super-filling, pretty cheap, and guaranteed to put hair on your chest in the winter. Just don't plan on going jogging or anything strenuous after you eat.
Start the night before with a bag of dried black beans that you can get in any supermarket (or the 99 Cent Stores.) Empty the bag into a big pot and pick through the beans; sometimes there are little pieces of stone or dirt in there. After you're sure the beans are pretty clean, cover the beans with water, cover, and just let them sit for 24 hours.
The next day, when you're ready to start cooking, drain the beans and just throw out the water (it'll be black.)
The choice is meats is really up to you but I usually get a couple of pork spareribs and a package of sweet Italian sausage. Brown the meat in your big pot with a little olive oil. When the meat's browned (but not cooked through,) take out the meat. Saute two small or one medium onion, diced, and a couple of cloves of mashed up garlic in the juices from the meat. When the onions get transluscent (don't let the garlic burn,) dump in the drained beans and cover with water. Add the meat to the pot and bring to a simmer. Toss in one or two bay leaves. If you want to add a little spice, toss in a little cumin.
A foamy gray scum will float to the top of the pot. Drain that off. You might have to do it a couple of times, depending on how fatty your meat is. Let the black beans and meats simmer for as long as you can. My grandmother used to cook them all day; at least two hours is needed.
When the beans are plump and ready to burst, it's done. Just ladle the beans and some of the meat over white rice and dig in! This is even better leftover because it'll get thicker with time.
Enjoy!
One of my all-time favorite reviews of Jersey Beat happened back in the Eighties, when MaximumRockNRoll still ruled the punk scene, and a review there could make or break a zine. (If nothing else, a good review guaranteed at least a dozen cash orders in the next couple of weeks.) One time, one of MRR's female staffers reviewed the latest issue of JB and her comment was, "this is pretty good but it doesn't have any recipes."
So it's 20 years later but it's time to remedy that complaint. So here is my recipe (actually, my grandmother's) for feijoada, or Brazilian black bean stew.
A true feijoada is a major pig-out, served with a variety of different meats, fresh fruit, and other accompaniments. I usually just serve it over white rice with maybe a salad or a simple green vegetable on the side.
It's super-filling, pretty cheap, and guaranteed to put hair on your chest in the winter. Just don't plan on going jogging or anything strenuous after you eat.
Start the night before with a bag of dried black beans that you can get in any supermarket (or the 99 Cent Stores.) Empty the bag into a big pot and pick through the beans; sometimes there are little pieces of stone or dirt in there. After you're sure the beans are pretty clean, cover the beans with water, cover, and just let them sit for 24 hours.
The next day, when you're ready to start cooking, drain the beans and just throw out the water (it'll be black.)
The choice is meats is really up to you but I usually get a couple of pork spareribs and a package of sweet Italian sausage. Brown the meat in your big pot with a little olive oil. When the meat's browned (but not cooked through,) take out the meat. Saute two small or one medium onion, diced, and a couple of cloves of mashed up garlic in the juices from the meat. When the onions get transluscent (don't let the garlic burn,) dump in the drained beans and cover with water. Add the meat to the pot and bring to a simmer. Toss in one or two bay leaves. If you want to add a little spice, toss in a little cumin.
A foamy gray scum will float to the top of the pot. Drain that off. You might have to do it a couple of times, depending on how fatty your meat is. Let the black beans and meats simmer for as long as you can. My grandmother used to cook them all day; at least two hours is needed.
When the beans are plump and ready to burst, it's done. Just ladle the beans and some of the meat over white rice and dig in! This is even better leftover because it'll get thicker with time.
Enjoy!
Thursday, May 12, 2005
Ham On Rye (or is it Wry?)
Rye Coalition held a MySpace.com contest - write 100 words on why each of the members rules and you'd win free tickets to their show at maxwells on Friday.
I didn't waste a hundred words, I just wrote a haiku for each guy. (But I only came in 2nd... some girl sent a naked photo of herself and won. :-(
Justin
Light-haired sun-glassed god
Swinging low beats and high vibes
And he’s a Mod, too.
Leto
You can take the boy
Out of New Jersey, but not
NJ out of him.
Ralph
He roars and he sweats;
A bellowing spectacle.
Did I say he sweats?
Jon
Gonnelli; it rhymes
With Ravioli, but he’s
More than stuffed pasta.
Herb:
His Gibson Les Paul -
Classified as a weapon
Of mass seduction.
Rye Coalition held a MySpace.com contest - write 100 words on why each of the members rules and you'd win free tickets to their show at maxwells on Friday.
I didn't waste a hundred words, I just wrote a haiku for each guy. (But I only came in 2nd... some girl sent a naked photo of herself and won. :-(
Justin
Light-haired sun-glassed god
Swinging low beats and high vibes
And he’s a Mod, too.
Leto
You can take the boy
Out of New Jersey, but not
NJ out of him.
Ralph
He roars and he sweats;
A bellowing spectacle.
Did I say he sweats?
Jon
Gonnelli; it rhymes
With Ravioli, but he’s
More than stuffed pasta.
Herb:
His Gibson Les Paul -
Classified as a weapon
Of mass seduction.
Jersey Beat: The Next Generation
This is getting weird. Back in the early Eighties, I wrote about a Hoboken band composed of three high school girls and a guy guitarist. They quickly became favorites with the Maxwell's indie rock scene. When the band broke up, the guitar guy went into city politics and the two gals formed a new, more metalish band that came pretty close to breaking into mainstream, major label success - but just missed. Both gals are still in bands these days, but what's blowing my mind is that the bassist's son - now 16 - has a band now too. They're called Mr. Impatient, a pop/punk four-piece who were showcasing for some labels at maxwell's last night.
They're good, too, fronted by a singer/songwriter/guitarist from Chicago named Anthony Settecase. It's pretty straight-up pop/punk stuff - the kind of music routinely dismissed as mall punk, but it does get on the radio; songs about smoking cigarettes in the boy's room and adolescent rebellion. They skipped over their ballad but they did close with the obligatory metal screamer (hello, Sum 41.) The only thing I didn't like was Settecase's stage presence. He's making music for children - and let's face it, the audience for that kind of stuff starts at around 11 these days - but it was clear that he considered his band to be R-rated. Besides peppering his stage banter with more than the usual quota of four-letter words, he kept talking about getting wasted, partying all night, everybody in the room having sex after the gig... Now I supposed that at least a part of Blink-182's demographic consists of 26-year old guys out to party all night, but if I was trying to launch a new band and get signed, I wouldn't count on it. If you're going to play music for 'tween and young teens - and that's pretty much what pop-punk has become, especially the way Mr. Impatient is writing it - then deal with it.
It was a weird bill. The first band was a middle-aged pop combo called The Lorax who were so bland that it was hard to focus on what they were doing. The instrumentation is fine, they're all good players, but there's nothing either visually or musically to hold your attention. Even the song about Hoboken didn't really ring my bell, and I usually eat that kind of thing up. The last band was totally the opposite, a red-hot hard-rock combo from Montreal called Priestess who raised the decibel level to 11. (They had their own soundman.) I was wearing my pro earplugs and my ears were still ringing till 2 am. They're great though, pounding out metal riffs with melodic but high-energy vocals. And when's the last time you saw a 10-minute Bonzo-styled drum solo at Maxwell's? It was one of those sets where there were 15 people in the room and ten of them were from the music industry. Mark my words and remember the name: Priestess. They'll be burning up FUSE and MTV2 by Christmas.
This is getting weird. Back in the early Eighties, I wrote about a Hoboken band composed of three high school girls and a guy guitarist. They quickly became favorites with the Maxwell's indie rock scene. When the band broke up, the guitar guy went into city politics and the two gals formed a new, more metalish band that came pretty close to breaking into mainstream, major label success - but just missed. Both gals are still in bands these days, but what's blowing my mind is that the bassist's son - now 16 - has a band now too. They're called Mr. Impatient, a pop/punk four-piece who were showcasing for some labels at maxwell's last night.
They're good, too, fronted by a singer/songwriter/guitarist from Chicago named Anthony Settecase. It's pretty straight-up pop/punk stuff - the kind of music routinely dismissed as mall punk, but it does get on the radio; songs about smoking cigarettes in the boy's room and adolescent rebellion. They skipped over their ballad but they did close with the obligatory metal screamer (hello, Sum 41.) The only thing I didn't like was Settecase's stage presence. He's making music for children - and let's face it, the audience for that kind of stuff starts at around 11 these days - but it was clear that he considered his band to be R-rated. Besides peppering his stage banter with more than the usual quota of four-letter words, he kept talking about getting wasted, partying all night, everybody in the room having sex after the gig... Now I supposed that at least a part of Blink-182's demographic consists of 26-year old guys out to party all night, but if I was trying to launch a new band and get signed, I wouldn't count on it. If you're going to play music for 'tween and young teens - and that's pretty much what pop-punk has become, especially the way Mr. Impatient is writing it - then deal with it.
It was a weird bill. The first band was a middle-aged pop combo called The Lorax who were so bland that it was hard to focus on what they were doing. The instrumentation is fine, they're all good players, but there's nothing either visually or musically to hold your attention. Even the song about Hoboken didn't really ring my bell, and I usually eat that kind of thing up. The last band was totally the opposite, a red-hot hard-rock combo from Montreal called Priestess who raised the decibel level to 11. (They had their own soundman.) I was wearing my pro earplugs and my ears were still ringing till 2 am. They're great though, pounding out metal riffs with melodic but high-energy vocals. And when's the last time you saw a 10-minute Bonzo-styled drum solo at Maxwell's? It was one of those sets where there were 15 people in the room and ten of them were from the music industry. Mark my words and remember the name: Priestess. They'll be burning up FUSE and MTV2 by Christmas.
Wednesday, May 11, 2005
CONTEST!
Design a Jersey Beat button!
We're looking for talented, creative, artistic, clever, DIY people to design a Jersey Beat button - otherwise known as a pin or a badge. You know, those little round things that punk kids pin on their backpacks.
The winning design will win one of the following prizes:
1. If you're in a band, we'll do an interview and photo shoot with your group for the next issue of our zine.
2. If you're not in a band, you'll win a big sack full of free CD's. Which you can either listen to, or take to the nearest used record store and trade in for X-Box games.
Plus you'll get a bunch of the pins once we print them up!
Email your design to: jimjbeat@aol.com and be sure to include your name!
What's In Your CD Player?
People always ask me what new stuff I've been listening to lately. Usually I go blank and can't think of anything. But since I'm feverishly trying to finish up the (much-delayed) new issue of Jersey Beat, here are three CD's that have spent a lot of time in my CD player lately that I'd highly recommend -- one underrated local band and two veteran folkies.
LONGWAVE - There’s A Fire (RCA) A year ago, the members of Longwave were telling the press that their next CD would be a concept album about a sea monster, which they planned to produce themselves. Somewhere along the line, the sea monster idea was tossed aside and producer John Leckie came aboard, and the sonic yumminess that resulted makes There’s A Fire a surefire contender for best Britpop album of the year. Of course it could also be the ONLY Britpop album of 2005 – and by four New Yorkers to boot - but who cares with production this over-the- top and so many instantly ingratiating pop songs to enjoy? Imagine Jesus & Mary Chain and Oasis having a party doing Modern English covers - tambourines and sci-fi synths, orchestral backing vocals and lost-in-a-cave echo effects, all adorning Steve Schlitz’s amiable, laidback vocals and the band’s hooky melodies. These guys may not be as successful as fellow NYC Class of ’00 alumni Interpol and the Strokes (yet;) but Longwave, I melt with you. - Jim Testa
LOUDON WAINWRIGHT III - Here Come The Choppers (Soverign Artists) Comedians say funny things; comics say things funny: Reason enough why Loudon Wainwright III (these days, perhaps best known as the father of Rufus and Martha) ranks as one of America’s pre-eminent comic singer/songwriters (and has for over 30 years.) Here Come The Choppers finds Wainwright live in the studio, recording with an all-star backup band of legendary session players (including guitarist Bill Frisell and drummer Jim Keltner.) Otherwise, not much has changed: He’s still churning out wistful, rueful, insightful, and self-deprecating ditties about his life and world, like James Thurber with an acoustic guitar. Targets this time include chuckleworthy topics like his biggest fan, Christian conservatives (“God’s Country,”) failed relationships (a perennial Wainwright favorite), and in a rare foray into politics, the terror of war: Written on the eve of our invasion of Iraq, the album’s title track imagines what it might look like if tanks and military helicopters swarmed through downtown Los Angeles instead of Bagdad. Yet even when he’s being deadly serious, though, Wainwright still makes you smile; he just sings things funny. - Jim Testa
JOHN PRINE - Fair And Square (www.ohboy.com) John Prine’s mush-mouthed, nicotine ‘n’ whiskey-soaked rasp made him sound like an old man even when he was 25. Now that he’s pushing 60 – and a cancer survivor, and a new dad to boot – that craggy baritone’s deeper still, but infused with the wisdom of a hard life well-lived. Most of the songs on Fair And Square, Prine’s first collection of original material in nine years, eschew the topic-driven lyrics of his youth (when he sang against war, for old people, and in defense of masturbation;) these days, rather than dwell on the headlines, John Prine seems content just to sit back and chortle over the funnies: There are songs about true love, and going crazy looking for success, and the pleasures of simply talking a walk, while the wit and insight of “Some Humans Ain’t Human” are worthy of Mark Twain. The music’s warm and comforting too – and significantly, marks the first time that Prine’s produced himself - with his gruff voice and finger-picked acoustic guitar coddled by layers of accordion, pedal steel, piano, organ, and fiddle. Nine years between albums seems inexcusable, but longtime John Prine fans will be glad they waited, and any new listeners will be making a beeline for the back catalog the minute this disc ends. - Jim Testa
People always ask me what new stuff I've been listening to lately. Usually I go blank and can't think of anything. But since I'm feverishly trying to finish up the (much-delayed) new issue of Jersey Beat, here are three CD's that have spent a lot of time in my CD player lately that I'd highly recommend -- one underrated local band and two veteran folkies.
LONGWAVE - There’s A Fire (RCA) A year ago, the members of Longwave were telling the press that their next CD would be a concept album about a sea monster, which they planned to produce themselves. Somewhere along the line, the sea monster idea was tossed aside and producer John Leckie came aboard, and the sonic yumminess that resulted makes There’s A Fire a surefire contender for best Britpop album of the year. Of course it could also be the ONLY Britpop album of 2005 – and by four New Yorkers to boot - but who cares with production this over-the- top and so many instantly ingratiating pop songs to enjoy? Imagine Jesus & Mary Chain and Oasis having a party doing Modern English covers - tambourines and sci-fi synths, orchestral backing vocals and lost-in-a-cave echo effects, all adorning Steve Schlitz’s amiable, laidback vocals and the band’s hooky melodies. These guys may not be as successful as fellow NYC Class of ’00 alumni Interpol and the Strokes (yet;) but Longwave, I melt with you. - Jim Testa
LOUDON WAINWRIGHT III - Here Come The Choppers (Soverign Artists) Comedians say funny things; comics say things funny: Reason enough why Loudon Wainwright III (these days, perhaps best known as the father of Rufus and Martha) ranks as one of America’s pre-eminent comic singer/songwriters (and has for over 30 years.) Here Come The Choppers finds Wainwright live in the studio, recording with an all-star backup band of legendary session players (including guitarist Bill Frisell and drummer Jim Keltner.) Otherwise, not much has changed: He’s still churning out wistful, rueful, insightful, and self-deprecating ditties about his life and world, like James Thurber with an acoustic guitar. Targets this time include chuckleworthy topics like his biggest fan, Christian conservatives (“God’s Country,”) failed relationships (a perennial Wainwright favorite), and in a rare foray into politics, the terror of war: Written on the eve of our invasion of Iraq, the album’s title track imagines what it might look like if tanks and military helicopters swarmed through downtown Los Angeles instead of Bagdad. Yet even when he’s being deadly serious, though, Wainwright still makes you smile; he just sings things funny. - Jim Testa
JOHN PRINE - Fair And Square (www.ohboy.com) John Prine’s mush-mouthed, nicotine ‘n’ whiskey-soaked rasp made him sound like an old man even when he was 25. Now that he’s pushing 60 – and a cancer survivor, and a new dad to boot – that craggy baritone’s deeper still, but infused with the wisdom of a hard life well-lived. Most of the songs on Fair And Square, Prine’s first collection of original material in nine years, eschew the topic-driven lyrics of his youth (when he sang against war, for old people, and in defense of masturbation;) these days, rather than dwell on the headlines, John Prine seems content just to sit back and chortle over the funnies: There are songs about true love, and going crazy looking for success, and the pleasures of simply talking a walk, while the wit and insight of “Some Humans Ain’t Human” are worthy of Mark Twain. The music’s warm and comforting too – and significantly, marks the first time that Prine’s produced himself - with his gruff voice and finger-picked acoustic guitar coddled by layers of accordion, pedal steel, piano, organ, and fiddle. Nine years between albums seems inexcusable, but longtime John Prine fans will be glad they waited, and any new listeners will be making a beeline for the back catalog the minute this disc ends. - Jim Testa
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