tinastrong

Old Sour OLD SOUR This is a versatile condiment that originated in the Florida Keys. I grew up with it, and am growing old with it. It is splendid with seafood, cooked or raw. Use it in place of vinegar or citrus juice in salad dressings; or add it to mayonnaise or butter-emulsion sauces. I like to bottle it in old Grolsch beer bottles that I buy at garage sales. For every two cups freshly squeezed Key lime (or Mexican dwarf lime) juice, you will need one heaping tablespoon sea salt, or kosher salt. Squeeze juice from limes. Line a funnel with a double thickness of cheesecloth, and strain juice into a clean bottle. Add sea salt, and shake the bottle well. Tie a square of cotton cloth (such as old bedsheet scrap) over the top of the bottle. Let the sauce age in a dark, cool cupboard for at least two weeks, or as long as eight weeks. When desired, strain again through double thickness of cheesecloth and return to bottle. Aged Old Sour should have an acid-salty flavor,with a slight bite on the tongue. Cork the bottle, and the sauce will keep indefinitely. There is no need to refrigerate this sauce, and it gets better with age. Some people add a dash or two of Tabasco sauce to each bottle. It's a matter of personal preference. Keywords: Condiment, Easy, Fruit, American ( RG1642 )

Old Sour OLD SOUR This is a versatile condiment that originated in the Florida Keys. I grew up with it, and am growing old with it. It is splendid with seafood, cooked or raw. Use it in place of vinegar or citrus juice in salad dressings; or add it to mayonnaise or butter-emulsion sauces. I like to bottle it in old Grolsch beer bottles that I buy at garage sales. For every two cups freshly squeezed Key lime (or Mexican dwarf lime) juice, you will need one heaping tablespoon sea salt, or kosher salt. Squeeze juice from limes. Line a funnel with a double thickness of cheesecloth, and strain juice into a clean bottle. Add sea salt, and shake the bottle well. Tie a square of cotton cloth (such as old bedsheet scrap) over the top of the bottle. Let the sauce age in a dark, cool cupboard for at least two weeks, or as long as eight weeks. When desired, strain again through double thickness of cheesecloth and return to bottle. Aged Old Sour should have an acid-salty flavor,with a slight bite on the tongue. Cork the bottle, and the sauce will keep indefinitely. There is no need to refrigerate this sauce, and it gets better with age. Some people add a dash or two of Tabasco sauce to each bottle. It's a matter of personal preference. Keywords: Condiment, Easy, Fruit, American ( RG1641 )

I second T&S Seafood (not just Cantonese) on N. Lamar. From early lunch until after midnight, tables turn quickly. Vietnamese menu items are allure for me, although I live 60 miles west of T&S. When I "go to town (Austin)," my conscience suspends control of my appetite. I point my car at T&S, knowing it will be open. And I know it will be more than worth the gas mileage. Also would like to suggest Carmelo's, 504 East 5th St., 512.477.7497. Just Sicilian cuisine, in a surviving (this is Texas), historically-significant building. Seasonal specialties cooked with skill. Italian-intensive wine list (inspires me to continue educating myself) with many moderately-priced selections. Outstanding service. Thank God they don't do lunch. Sleep-deprived Austin drivers not equal to the challenge.

Against all odds, Galveston has survived another murderous storm. It always did have a gift for gambling. Thank you, Mother Nature, for once more sparing our exquisite little city on the sandbar. And your husband too, if He’s around. Galveston. You’ve gotta go there. And when you get there, you’ve gotta go to Gaido’s. It’s the best, old seafood joint in Texas, for sure. I’m not qualified to judge outside my region. And I admit to being very smitten in San Francisco (Alioto’s) last June. But, for God’s sake, please don’t dine in the (shudder) Pelican Club! That’s not Gaido’s. Gaido’s is about eating Gulf oysters so fresh that they quiver in terror at the touch of your fork, while you gaze out the huge, picture windows at dirty breakers devouring the beach. Or the same windows at night, blacker than black in the blazing light from the ceiling, shed by a clutter of brass chandeliers. It’s about the pervasive clash and clatter of the fuel-injected kitchen, no matter where you sit in any of the “public” dining rooms. It’s about 86 years of cumulative cooking smells; to be specific, the long-married aromas of expertly cooked seafood. It’s even about the drifts of dust and tiny insect specks in the mirrored, wraparound display case filled with the late Mrs. Gaido, Sr.’s antique, cut glass decanters and serving dishes. This is a restaurant, not a museum! The only disappointing meal I’ve ever had at Gaido’s was on a date with the son of a Pelican Club member. The food might have been exactly the same as the stuff going out to the restaurant. But the comparative atmosphere was as an acquaintance’s funeral fellowship is to two good friends’ wedding reception. Did someone remember “the genteel tinkling of ice cubes,” and “the muffled patter of wealthy patrons” as the ambient sound in the Pelican Club? How long since you been there, child? Don’t let your ice cubes collide, and you’d best not laugh out loud (or even soft). Why, someone might think you‘re…drinking in public! (As opposed to drinking behind closed doors.) Or worse. No oysters on the half shell, unless you want to stand out. Too messy. I will always believe that my flounder was overcooked because it was ordered from the Pelican Club instead of the restaurant. Want boring? Hang out with Texas old money types. Unless you actually like your fish “well done,” with a glass of weak iced tea (can I have some Sweet’nLow?). If that’s the case, you’ll just love the Pelican Club. The waiters will call you Sir, Ma’am or Miss. A lot. Me? Give me a twelfth-up spot on the waiting list at the Gaido’s of my childhood, my prime and the rest of it. There’s always a bench in the anteroom where I can sit down if my feet hurt. I wouldn’t trade it for a Pelican Club table if they promised to comp my meal, and everyone else’s too! Give me a big, vulgar hummock of Gaido’s pristine, lump blue crab with an extra side of drawn butter. If I dribble on the white linen (and I will), I won’t cringe with embarrassment. But bring me some of that primordial gumbo first. And send a white-headed lifer to wait on me (alas, not so many of them left), who calls me by name when he parks the dessert cart. All I want is some coffee. It’s as good as everything else is at Gaido’s in Galveston.