The Extremities

Tail & Tongue with Rich Red Wine Sauce

By now, ya’ll know this post is on a nasty tip. Doing this recipe, I didn’t necessarily learn anything new about cooking technique–it was surprisingly pedestrian–however, dealing with the ingredients was a truly unique experience. I probably wouldn’t have attempted this one quite yet if I hadn’t been stopping to say hello to a couple of butchers at pastaworks while they were cutting up a fresh half pig from tails & trotters. The trotter was just laying there on the butcher block, and I jokingly exclaimed give me that trotter!, not realizing that I meant it until it was being weighed on the scale, and wrapped-up tight in brown paper. In case you were curious, it cost me three bucks. Anyway, I didn’t know what I was going to do with it. You can work something out with 3 or 4 trotters, I figured, but one is a little trickier. It lay in the fridge and in the back of my mind for a day or two—I’d of hated for it to go to waste!—until I flipped to this recipe in The River Cottage Meat Book, and discovered that it called for, indeed, a single pig’s trotter! When I showed it to Gabrielle for the first time, she reacted quite similarly to the way you might (you could be cool with it, right?) be reacting to it right now—that is, with the heeby jeeby’s and a horrified shutter. Then I made her touch it.

After deciding to proceed with this recipe, I went out and discovered how naive I am. I thought it was going to be difficult to find an oxtail (which is really the tail of a cow, & yet), and a cow’s tongue. Mercy, me! All you have to do is ask if you cruise the places I hang. At Laurelhurst Market, they had as many as I needed! And there I was only needing of one of each. The butcher wrapped up my oxtail, and handed it to me, feeling in my hand like a rulers scepter, and then he handed me the tongue, which had an opposite effect with its misshapen contours, and clunky wield. This probably illuminates why I became confused when a co-worker later remarked that it looked like a sex toy; I thought she meant the oxtail. Oh my! So, at this point I still hadn’t seen or touched either of these curiosities, but they were in my possession. In case you were thinking that I’m crazy for even getting involved with this stuff—even though it may even upstage my post!—let me try to relate to you a segment from this book, titled The Professional Charcuterie Series by Marcel Cottenceau (if anyone wants to buy me this book as a present for being awesome, I’ve updated the ‘about’ page with my addy!) that the butcher shared with me. Stop me if you’ve heard this one before: You start off by taking a whole pig’s head, and carefully remove the entirety of it’s face, snout and all, in one piece. Meanwhile, you’re going to want to have about 30 pig’s tongues braising in some sort of delicious aromatics, and when those are ready, you’re going to wrap them all individually in caul fat (basically sausage casing), and then proceed to build a kind of castle out of them, using fine-ground sausage as mortar. Next, you bring the pig’s face back into the equation, and stuff the tongue castle you just built into it, sew it up, and bake it. When it’s done, draw in a new pig’s face (eyes, rosy cheeks) with your best friends make-up (not tested on animals.) I think that you’re supposed to serve this in slices, nice big slices. This is the kind of gourmet shit they used to make when your parents were my age. That’s actually only about half the steps, now that I read it over. Anyway, it probably makes this cross-section of the oxtail look pretty tame:

Tail is surprisingly meaty

The ingredient list for this is pretty spare. It calls for the oxtail, cut into pieces, the cow’s tongue, and the pig’s trotter, as well as two carrots, two stalks of celery, two onions, a turnip, about half an orange worth of orange zest, some herbs (bay, thyme, parsley), and a bottle of red wine. Basically, you just chop up all the veggies, but them in a pot with the extremities, bring to a slight simmer, and hold it there for a good three hours or so. Braise it until you can pierce the tongue with a fork, and it slides in like nothing.

Once it’s all done braising, remove the trotter, the tail pieces, and the tongue, and set aside until they are cool enough to handle. In the meantime, strain the stock through a couple layers of cheese cloth through your strainer. Once its all strained add the stock to a clean pot, and pour in half the bottle of red wine. Crank the heat up to high and boil it rapidly, reducing to about a quarter of the volume, or even further if you prefer. For me, the real winner in this recipe is the reduced stock. It was absolutely delicious. I was just sitting in the kitchen, drinking it. Man, it was good. But, in any case, it’s going to take a while to reduce, so you’re going to need something to do. By now the oxtail should be cool. Dig in and pick all the bits and chucks of meat out of those lovely, lovely vessels, and set aside into a bowl. Next, peel the tongue.

(click on the picture to purchase your Meat Mustache Mug)

That’s right—you may have noticed the svelte white sheath encasing the tongue meat proper. Truthfully, you needn’t peel it, so much as shake it off. This was probably the most shocking aspect of this recipe for me, or ever, really. Using the tongue raised a lot of questions about tongues in general. You never realize what a complicated, and sophisticated instrument it is until you have held one in your hands, and touched the tastebuds; felt how equally smooth, and rough it is depending on the direction you stroke it. Then with the revelation of the sheath, and the minute striations visible in the cross-section. But, despite its strange, awkward beauty, you have to chop it up. This stage involves a bit of preference, but I discovered that I’m not really feeling big chunks of tongue, and like it a little more in much smaller pieces. The book calls for 3/4 of an inch dice. i found out that that’s crazy talk. I say go with like 1/10 of an inch. I’m just going to come clean: I thought the tongue was nasty.

This is the final product. The pig trotter imparts a vast amount of gelatin to the stock, and allows for the meat and stock to be set in a mold. Alternatively, it can be served hot with mashed potatoes. I tried it both ways, and they were equally *meh* to me, but some other people tried it cold, and *said* it was pretty good. Some people really dig this kind of preparation. I’ve never been a huge fan of meat in a jello mold, and making this didn’t change my mind.

However, making this dish became totally worthwhile for me after I pulled the pig’s trotter from stock. Long and smooth going in, it emerged from the braise gnarled and bunched into a tight fist, the bones bursting through skin and fat. Examining it, I found that it almost mirrored a sculpture by the artist John Chamberlain that Gabrielle and I saw while visiting the Chinati Foundation in Marfa, TX last winter. I don’t know if you can see it, but to me these two examples are basically identical–one made of steel and paint, the other of skin and bone. Truly strange and remarkable.

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All Downhill

A word to the wise: Do Not Attempt to Snow Shoe Through Texas!

The idea of doing an end of the bicycle tour blog has given me bloggers block for some time now. It has proven difficult to come up with a clever or witty way to express giving something up, so I’ve decided to forego all that and do a basic rundown of events in order to finally move onto other serious blog business. The gist of it is that things were intensely boring and unsatisfying throughout the entire state of Texas, and from the looks of things the atmosphere wasn’t going to change much in the next 1000 miles (i.e.: between El Paso and San Diego). Meanwhile, we were spending money on all kinds of gross food and lodging accommodations, and it just got to the point where it wasn’t worth it anymore. I basically snapped when we stopped for lunch La Familia in Sierra Blanca off Interstate 10, and was served the same soggy corn tortillas filled with boiled chicken thighs and watery pico de gallo in a room where the patrons were either Border Patrol or at least 100 lbs. overweight. That’s where I told Brie I was ready to give it up, and she more or less agreed, although somehow it was harder for her than for me. And that’s it. The next day would be our last, from Fort Hancock to El Paso, and it would also prove to be one of the most trying of the whole trip: ninety degrees in February, with west winds at 30 to 40 MPH. By the time we made it into El Paso it was like 8PM, and all we had really heard about the place was that Mexican drug lords throw headless bodies off the bridges, so you can bet we were psyched to be riding through the place in the dark, right? Brie got the last flat tire of the trip as we rode underneath the bridge leading to Mexico.
Then we checked into this faux-swank hotel called El Camino Real and drank a gang of wine and calculated how much it was going to cost us to move to Portland, OR. That’s when we realized we were making the right decision in ending our bicycle trip. Cost will humble the purest of intentions. The next day we rented a Penske moving truck for our bicycles and headed due North, and now, here we are in Portland.

An addendum of some photos from Texas:

eaglesnestcanyonEagles Nest Canyon

goldengrassGolden Grass

purpleflowersThe Only Thing not dead in West Texas: these purple flowers.

whitecowsSome white cows on the roadside along the Rio Grande.

desertshoesPrada Marfa

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How We Roll


Waking up to this blanket will get you moving faster than ice cubes in your underpants. Once your eyes have adjusted, notice that it is the official Motel 6 blanket, the one from the room we stayed in the other day. Gabrielle and I got an early start that day, enticed by the prospect of all you can eat pancakes at IHOP across the street. So we geared up and were out by about 8:30, which is dead early for us–usually this is when we are thinking about getting out of bed. We actually prefer Waffle House, but you really can’t beat unlimited pancakes with 2 eggs and hashbrowns for 5 bucks (full disclosure: IHOP’s a sponsor (Psych-a-BOO-ski!)) So we at a couple plates, and got moving.

On our way out a member of the Kerrville, TX PD was roping in this crazy old bat that was wondering around outside. I saw her running across the blvd. a few seconds earlier, and the wind was so strong that a gust almost picked her up and put her on the roof of a high school. But seriously, the winds were blowing at about 20-30 MPH, the remnants of the front that blew through east Texas up to Oklahoma, causing all of those tornadoes. Some how we missed the brunt of that front. As we started to pedal it quickly became apparent that we weren’t going anywhere fast. In our easiest gears, we battled down Rte. 27 going a meager 4 to 5 MPH, which, if you don’t ride a bike is slow as molasses, and exceedingly frustrating. Brie likened us to those stupid seagulls you’ll see at the beach hovering above the shoreline. By the time we reached the next town, 7 miles and an hour and a half later, I was ready to call it a day, but we threw caution aside and pressed on. Once we entered the mountain passes the winds lessened to a great degree, and began to calm in general. At this point, the rolling elevations and the beautiful, temperate, sunny day took center stage and things began to look up.

This part of Texas has some problems right now. There has been a drought here for so long, that most of the people we’ve come in contact with have forgotten when it began. It seems that, essentially, the environment is changing over to a desert climate. It is dry everywhere. Everything is either yellow or brown. We have made countless river crossings that are nothing but a bed of rocks, and a lot of these beds have tire tracks so prominent they denote the river is no longer a river, but a road. Despite all of that, there is something alluring about the landscape that keeps the riding interesting.



Despite Brie almost being crushed by this family conveying an ass-boat full of fire wood to someplace or another, the rest of our ride that day was without incident. We passed by these two dudes headed east digging in to this killer pass that we were lucky enough to be headed down, and shortly coasted into Vanderpool where we hoped to find something decent to eat. As we sat outside at the picnic table spooning in mouthfuls of Frosted Mini-Wheats and drinking cans of Juminex two locals pulled up, one on a dirt bike and the other in a pick-up. The driver just about fell out of the truck, before heading in, and a minute later he and the other emerged from the store with a pack of pop-rocks each. The kid on the dirt bike dispensed with formality and dumped his whole bag right through his kisser, while the other looked him up and down and called him crazy with a smirk. I was just like these two motherfuckers just made a trip down to the store for some pop-rocks, and kept eating my cereal, when someone else showed up and bought a bag of corn nuts. I don’t even know. I suppose you get cravings, even in Texas Hill Country.

Well, somehow I managed to get a flat tire between the picnic table and the road. After I fixed that flat, I got another flat pumping up the new tube I installed after the valve broke off. That’s when I had a mini-breakdown because by them it was almost 5:30, and sundown is a little after 6:00. Meanwhile, we don’t know where we’re camping for the night. But, because I was so pissed, I declared that we were just going to have to camp right there on the spot. Gabrielle suggested we go through this gate that was open a few hundred feet back, which made sense because it would get us off the road. That’s when we discovered that every part of this part of Texas that isn’t the actual road is covered with big rocks. I can’t speak for everybody, but I don’t like to sleep on rocks. I had to fix my flat, again, and fast so we could keep moving, and I did so hastily. Luckily that patch held, and we were able to keep moving for the last light of the day. A half-mile further down the road there was a sign advertising a picnic area 1 mile away—-up a basically vertical 500 ft. elevation climb. That is when Gabrielle lost it. Climbs are still hard for us because we do things like eat a shit-ton of bar-B-que every chance we get, and if people are pouring wine, we’ll drink ’till all the bottles are dry. This climb was no exception, and neither of us wanted to do it, but We Bad, so we busted it out.


It wasn’t anything at the Picnic Area but a picnic table and a cold, hard slab of cement, so that was out. However, across the way the shoulder veered off to the side and down into a table covered in deer bones and empty cans of Big Red. What made this a desirable place to bed down for the evening was that some thoughtful somanabitch had the foresight to throw a mattress off his truck right there, we just had to pull it out of the brush. Working the bugged knot out the telephone wire binding it up, we pondered what we’d do if a dead whore flopped out. Releasing the knot, the mattress popped like a jack-knife, and we were somewhat relieved that we would only have to sleep on it, rather than run from it.


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Texas Photos So Far


We’re about halfway through Texas now. The following is some of the photos I’ve taken so far.


This is in a livestock auction house in Navasota that we slept in one night. I was doing a pretend auction.


This is a picture of the sunset through the roof at the same Navasota auction house.


This cat was at this lovely B&B we stayed at in Burton called the Front Porch. He was more or less a stray cat that hung out in the barn. I pet him for a while, and he fell in love with Brie and I. He stayed on the porch all night and would walk around the yard with us if we went any where. When you pet him his eyes would go all cross-eyed like they are in this picture. His name is Scruffy.


We weren’t really feeling Austin, so, as we had rented a car, decided to head down to Lockhart to sample the local BBQ scene. This town has 3 of the top BBQ joints in the state. We had intended to visit all three, but couldn’t keep going after the first two. We got put in a BBQ coma and could barely stand. This is the brisket and a garlic sausage from Black’s. We thought that we could eat some BBQ and we were wrong. There were some emmer-effers put us to shame up in this town. Naturally, they were mostly twice our size.


Texas Longhorns




There were about 50 goats on this hill we road past today. They all ran down to the gate to stare at us. It was bizarre.


At a small bridge crossing the Guadalupe River outside of Waring, TX.


My favorite vegetation thus far in Texas, the prickly pear cactus.