Oh for heaven's sake, everyone knows that Hollandaise isn't Dutch!

A friend pointed me to an article on CNN about the origins of some condiments. It's a little bit interesting, but it's just your basic -- "and then they had a dude ranch and then they made ranch dressing." It's pretty light -- no backstory on the combining of the ingredients, the subsequent tastings, the discovery of what the condiment worked with and didn't work with...and so on..



Anyway, I think, and I'm not bragging kind of, that my post on the origin of Norman Bishop Dill Garlic mustard is far more informative. And it's totally 100% true!

The Pimento -- the Quiet Friend Who Wears Glasses

Okay, y'all, I've been hanging onto an empty jar for awhile, waiting for some time to crop up to blog about this MOST AMAZING OLIVE. And now that I've downloaded the new Green Day, I feel the time is write to reveal that I'm leaving all my other Olive relationships for this one --

Ybarra Aceitunas Manzanilla verdes OR A green olive stuffed with Pimento.

Now, before you say, "Oh, Condiment Grrl, COME ON, those olives are everywhere. And salty and BORING." That's what I said to when I first viewed the jar, introduced to me by Mr. Mustard (and it was introduced to him by a good friend, another foodie, as available at the amazing Big John's PFI (Pacific Food Imports) in SODO). But, then the jar was opened and I tasted the olive.



OH MY GOODNESS!

It was kind of like in those ridiculous Chick movies where there's the silent friend with glasses who never says anything, but who swirls in in divine purple chiffon with no glasses (because glasses are ugly, right?) and leaves everyone gasping for air with his/her attractiveness, general desirabilty, and oddly detailed knowledge about erogenous zones.

These olives take the glasses off the misunderstood pimento. Until you've tasted these olives, you haven't really tasted pimentos. Honestly, I don't think I ever really understood what a real pimento tasted like before because most pimento stuffed olives are so so so so salty.

Not these, there's this wonderful rich flavor -- I can't really describe it and do it justice -- but, it's kind of peppery, kind of musky, and wonderful that imbues the olives. They're not overwhelmed with sodium. They exist in their own pimento-stuffed olive world -- glorious, green, red and perfect.



Anyway, here's a picture of a related jar. I couldn't find an exact one on the web:

Take out the picture of the garlic and mentally put in a lovely red pimento, looking oddly like a pair of very kissable lips, with or without glasses.

Enjoy!

Artichoke Mousse -- one item too many

I carry a heavy load; although, I like to think I embrace zen philosophy, in reality there are too many "things" I feel I need: warm socks, thin socks, warm pants, thin leggings, a book to read, another book to read in case I finish the first book, another book in case I don't like or get bored with one of the other books, a brown sweater, a black sweater, boots, tennis shoes and sandals. You name it, I feel I need it.

And, occasionally, a glass jar or two is lodged in my suitcase. Perhaps I am going to a desolate land without decent condiments (you know who you are) and I need to bring a spice or mustard or two to keep my spirits up. Perhaps, I discovered a new thing that I must bring home to take up yet more space in my groaning refridgerator door.

I was just down in California caring for an extremely cranky and doped up Big Mama Salsa post-shoulder surgery and I had to hie myself to the nice market near her house on several occasions. They have an okay condiment collection -- I discovered the Napa Valley line there, which I adore -- but they are a small space that serves a certain area of Oakland and for some reason, they'd prefer to have more "food." Whatever.

Anyway, on one of those missions of mercy, I strode down the condiment aisle to see what's what and saw a coy little jar winking at me from the shelf. It had little round sides and an intriguing condiment name: Artichoke Mousse. Mmmm...the tangy unique flavor of the artichoke enmeshed in a cream base. Very intriguing. And not only that, the little hussy was on sale!

I tucked the jar in my bag and headed home. And after Big Mama Salsa had thrown her plate of food at me for the umpteenth time and demanded more percocet, I opened the jar to see if it could sweep me from the house of recovery and into a place with rainbow ponies and no weak shoulders or slippery stairs or stubborn mothers who refuse to move their bedrooms down to the first floor.

Sadly, there were no rainbow ponies awaiting the bottom of the spoon. It was a very faint artichoke flavor with a bland cream sauce. I expected artichoke mousse to bring home some of her good friends: lemon, vinegar, sesame, SOMETHING. But it was sadly bland and I couldn't help but regret the Weight Watchers points wasted on this bland concoction.

Which is a travesty because condiments should NEVER make us feel we have unwillingly ingested fat. We should delight in the oil or the cream or the butter, not feel ashamed.

There was no space in my bag for the artichoke mousse. Nor is there space in this blog for the name of the artichoke mousse. It is a mystery best left unspoken.

Condiment Grrl

As It Says in the Good Book...

of something or other, as quoted to me by an old friend who's a Unitarian Minister, in response to my bacon salt posting:

"In my house we use salt as a gentle memory of bacon's greater promise..."

Now, here's a religion that I could BEE-LIEEVVE in. Maybe I already do...

A Treatise on Bacon Salt

As I sit here at my computer (obviously), listening to a variety of tunes on Random Play (Fleetwood Mac, then Green Day, then Shirley Temple. Awesome) after spending entirely too long on Facebook (or Crackbook), I am aware of the transient nature of technology and community and networking and music. We all flow apart, then sometimes find each other again, at different places in life, but still connecting on the same old jokes and shared memories. Then sometimes you start to build something new, some new strange connection that initially makes no sense, but in your new life, with your new hair and your new love of mushrooms and possible acceptance that everything Neil Diamond recorded wasn't total crap, it makes sense.

Sort of like Bacon Salt. "You have a friend request from Bacon Salt."

On first take, it makes no sense. Bacon is meat and salt is a condiment. Does not compute. They are two different substances. They serve two different purposes. But then you stop and think about the experience of eating bacon. Of course, there's the delicious sizzling smell, the grease squirt as you bite into a perfectly cooked piece, the feel of the slice in your hand (only heathens and lovers of zuchini bread cut their bacon with a knife and fork), and the flavor of the bacon sliding down your throat, the tingling salt and nitrates.

Stop! Salt?

Hmmm...maybe this does make sense. Bacon is very salty due to all the preservatives and smoking and things they do to it to turn it from pig into bacon (I just re-read "Little House in the Big Woods" and I know all about this process now.) So...what is bacon flavor? Is it the actual meat or is it the chemicals that go into the processing of the meat? What came first -- the meat or the chemicals (or condiments) that create the bacon?

Sometimes I like bacon bits on my salad. I always like salt. What if the two were combined? Would I get the succulent crackling sensation or would I get more of a chemical burning of my taste buds?

So, I put bacon salt on my salad. And I am sad to report that I found that I missed the meat. The chemical burning won out. It was just too...too...unnatural. The flavor was too removed from the actual flavor of the food. I like bacon flavor, but I also need the fat, the grease, the slice in my hand to fully enjoy the experience. I'll just have my salt separately.

I am ignoring the Friend Request from Bacon Salt.

What's this? A Friend Request from Baconnaise? Hmm...I shall have to explore

I'm back! With a delicious tapenade in tow...

I return now that I've recovered from the thrill of Obama's election and the fear that something would happen to him prior to Inauguration. Now it's over!

It's a bright new condiment-filled day!

And there's one I've been meaning to write about for a very long time, by one of my new favorite brands, Made in Napa Valley -- purveyor of the savory treat.

Seriously, their website is almost akin to voodoo doughnuts in making me drool -- things like Country Dijon With Merlot & Shallots (I sense a deep affection for the shallots! Also, this was a tad disappointing), and Sun-Dried Tomato Tapenade with with Balsamic and Garlic (Yummy!). They just get the mixes and the flavors and the goodnesses right (like Obama!).

This is a sweetish tapenade with a delicious tangy note to it, but what keeps me coming back for more is the texture -- not too lumpy, not too smooth. You can pile it on your plate next to a piece of chicken, or slavish it on a cracker on top of blue cheese -- that is the best!

Seriously -- a really good blue cheese, a deep red wine, and Fig & Roasted Shallot Tapenade and it's like you don't need love, or laughter, or friends, you have it all built on top of a gluten-free cracker (let us not forget my crazy German naturopath).

I actually think it would be super good on scrambled eggs as well but I literally just thought of it (Condiment Grrl in Action!) and now I think I will have scrambled eggs tomorrow...

I've also tried their tomato tapenades, tomato vodka mustard, and orange balsamic mustard -- all very yummy, unique, and in this tree-hugging era -- all-natural.

I know times are tough, but don't we all deserve to put a little something special on our eggs? And if you try the Fig & Roasted Shallot Tapenade, you also get a dose of fruit and vegetables, right?

And yes, ketchup is a vegetable. So was Ronald Reagan, let's move on...it's a new era!

Condiment Grrl

Vice Presidential Condiments

It's been an exciting two months. We are in the middle of the most historic election of my lifetime and I have managed to get my nose out of the mustard jar and into the action. Far too much. I should join a group called "Pollsters Anonymous," because I'm so addicted to studying all the news related to the election.

So, I bet you're thinking, "but how do you work in condiments into the election girl? How?" And I say to you, it's so easy:

Vice Presidential candidates are the condiments for the Presidential Candidates. They are the assist that makes the presidential main dish shimmer and glow or sink it like a heavy mole sauce on a fluffy salmon fillet.

First up, Joe Biden. Or as Baby Balsamic calls him, "OBiden." Barack Obama's scapping long-time Senator and Vice Presidential candidate from Delaware is one of the working class guys. The type who are used to ordering the usual fried liver and onions (yum!) from their favorite greasy spoon. The guy who liberally shakes salt over Aunt Millie's experimental Sweet Potato/Zuchini roast and keeps a big shit eating grin on his face as he eats it.

Honestly, he's the guy who could be a meal on his own.

And to drive that point home, for me his condiment identification is chutney. I know it's a "furrin'" dish, but it contains apples and onions and carrots and all kinds of filling ingredients in a think, sweet and spicy sauce. Good on cheddar cheese and elitist gorgonzola pork rind pastries. Delicioous with the very substantial, complex yet straightforward main dish that is Obama, but it could easily be a meal on its own.

Now, Sarah Palin. Sigh. She likes to sell herself as superior for being from a small town as opposed to us big city elitists who clearly aren't moral or don't love their children as much or...(I could go on forever here. It's a very sore point.), but when you dig a little deeper, you discover something insubstantial that leaves a bad aftertaste in your mouth.

She reminds me of a standard table condiment you would get put in front of you at Applebee's or Cracker Barrel. Supposed good, down home country fare, but it's really run by some massive corporation that's doing all it can to replace mashed potatoes with mashed potato-like product and run the old single proprietor cafe out of business.

She's a bottle of "Applebee's Own Catsup" -- old tyme spelling to evoke the Americana nostalgia. You open the lid and it smells just a little too sweet. You pour it on your plate and it makes your french fries bitter and acrid and your processed meat loaf product dissolve into a grainy paste. It's overly sweet, with a nasty afterkick. Then you read the ingredient list and you see all the very bad things we're told not to eat: partially hydrogenated soybean oil, high-fructose corn syrup, and a million chemicals that we don't recognize. And sadly, it only makes the overcooked turkey that is John McCain tougher and more difficult to swallow.

It cannot in any way shape or form be a meal on its own.

Clearly, I, Condiment Grrl, am biased, but it's my right. And while I would love it and shower you with virtual Norman Bishop Garlic Dill mustard if you voted for Barack Obama, I really, truly believe that the most important thing you can do is get and and VOTE for whoever. Seriously, it's your right. Do it!

And God Bless America and all the Condiments that make it great.

Condiment Grrl