Your Perfect Tri-Tip Day

At first I think that witty phrases, poetic incantations and well articulated prose are all beyond my reach today.  As I sit behind my sterile desk in my glass walled office wolfing down raw vegetables, half a cold sandwich and a diet Pepsi, my mind drifts off to lazy warm summer evenings, crackling pit fires laden with heavy smoke and perfectly seasoned sizzling tidbits.  The words begin to flow and my imagination begins to stroll through fertile fields.  I longingly ponder a juicy and tender Santa Maria Tri-Tip steak – the high pinnacle and mainstay of real California BBQ – and conjure up memories so vivid I can almost smell them.

I entertain a flash back to the 1950’s when Bob Shutz, the butcher at a Safeway market (the hallowed spot is now an old folks home) in Santa Maria was flush with trimmings for hamburger and stew meat.  He took the bottom portion of a top sirloin usually destined for the grinder, seasoned it with garlic salt and pepper and threw it on the red oak rotisserie along with the rest of the trimmed sirloins.  On this seemingly uneventful red letter day, the Tri-Tip was born.

While simple to prepare, this unique cut of meat can be transformed into a piece of one of Akron’s finest whitewalls if not properly treated.  This is a California legacy and should be afforded the loving tender care it deserves.  A real tri tip cooking session is communal affair involving friends, music, beans and garlic bread.  This usually goes on at a ranch or large picnic area but backyards and even balconies are not excluded from the list of acceptable venues.

Your perfect tri tip day is not one reserved for the venerable slow cooking smoke gazers, but a celebratory and raucous gathering.  This day begins with a breezeless early morning when the air is still cool but electric with anticipation of a central California coastal range scorcher.  Your beans are finished and in the fridge.  The garlic bread spread is at room temperature and ready to be slathered on the fresh French loaves you have yet to pick up.  The beer is cold.

Hot cup of coffee in hand, you check to make sure everything is at the ready – no last minute disasters today.  A slow and deliberate walk around the yard and you begin your inspection.  Gnarled and ancient white oaks surround the area in front of the cabin.  Nuthatches and Downy red headed woodpeckers call from the shady branches.  You can smell humble beginnings of an epic summer day.   Way up ahead, in the rocky creek bottom that runs parallel to the cabin, a small family unit of black tail deer is browsing in the tall grass under the shade of a big stumpy palo verde.  Dog like tracks in the dust of the road are the only reminders of the coyote pack that came through here early this morning at 3am and woke everyone up.  You resist the temptation to stretch out on a hillside and dream the day away, for this is your perfect Tri Tip day!

The red oak is split and stacked.  Clean towels are ready.  The grill is clean.  The good friends begin to show up in about two hours – around 10am – to help with the setup and drink your beer.  You’ll see the dust clouds kicked up in the long driveway leading out about a half a mile to the main road before you hear the engines of pickups.   The rest of them will trickle in around 2pm in open jeeps and SUVs.  You carefully selected your meat yesterday and seasoned it generously with a little olive oil, minced garlic, fresh chopped rosemary, some fresh oregano, a few crushed red pepper flakes and plenty of salt and pepper.  It’s been in the fridge absorbing the fresh herbs since you put in there last night, just before your wife called you to bed and told you to quit messing with it for the last time.

A last minute trip to the mountain junction store for ice, bread and fresh green salad veggies with a couple of your “helpers”, usually ends in an apology to the checkout girl who is rather quite embarrassed and not impressed by your juvenile antics in the store.  Once back at the ranch, it’s time to light the fire.  You have some thin dry splintered red oak pieces that you’ve carefully stacked under the grill and those readily take to the flame.  Soon, you feed it some more chunks, progressively larger until you are adding certifiable logs to the ever hungry fire.  By 2pm the rest of your guests have begun to show up.  The fire is spread out meticulously below the grill in the pit.  The grill is lowered and raised with something looking close to a gigantic steering wheel.  When the fire is good and hot – and the flames have receded to white hot coals, you lower your grate to get it ready for the meat.

The beans are on the stove and the garlic bread is ready and wrapped in heavy duty aluminum foil.  Your good friends are engaged in deep conversation in shady spots about the cattle that didn’t come out of the high country, the big deer they saw in the front country and the great big wild pig they’ve only been able to get a glimpse of and aptly named “Boss Hawg”.

It’s time to place the tri tips on the hot grate.  You lower the grate to a spot where you can only hold your hand for a “3 Count” and put each of the tri tips at an angle to the grate – for perfect grill marks.  They immediately sizzle and snap.  After about 5 minutes you will rotate them to make lovely cross hatch marks.  Between beers and tall tales you’ll flip the trip tips and repeat.  Raise the grill up a foot or so and the tri tips are well on their way to becoming memories of a great California BBQ.  These will stay put until you can see pools of juice forming on top of them and they’ve plumped up like little footballs.  It takes some experience to really get the timing correct, but you’ve done it a thousand times – and can tell when they are done by simply looking at them.

The tri-tips come off to rest under an aluminum foil shield for about five minutes and you slice them thinly – at a 90 degree angle to the grain.  This keeps them tender and juicy.   Of course, you always serve your Santa Maria tri-tip with your salsa – a very, very simple concoction of finely diced tomato, onion, some bell pepper, cilantro, salt, pepper and a squeeze of lime.  The crowd descends on the beans, the garlic bread that you’ve grilled, a green salad and your perfect tri tip.  The conversation gets quiet while your guests are otherwise occupied, and all is well at the ranch.

As the last dust settles from the last vehicle and silence returns to your little ranch, the feeling of accomplishment is almost overwhelming.  A wild turkey yodels in the distance.  Today was your perfect tri tip day.

Cinco de Mayo, The French and an Excuse to Party

Ignacio Zaragoza

On May 5th, 1862, Mexican General Ignacio Zaragoza Seguin and his army were taking part in one of the worlds favorite pastimes – kicking the French Army’s butt.   Known as “The Battle of Puebla” this was the end of 8,000 well armed French troops against a mere 4,500 Mexicans.  The celebration of this unlikely victory is what ultimately came to be known to most of us as “Cinco de Mayo”.

Earlier in 1861, the French fleet had landed in Veracruz and chased El Presidente Juarez and his cronies into the hills.  While the May 5th victory was a big boost to Mexican morale, it didn’t take long for the French to overtake Mexico city and install Maximilian as ruler of Mexico.  Soon, the American Civil war winds down and the US focuses its attention on booting the French once and for all out of Mexico.  Napoleon III is fighting a multi-front war (he has that nasty Prussian issue to deal with on the continent) at this point and gives up the ghost stranding our hero Maximilian.  So in 1866 the Mexican guerrillas retake Mexico city with Benito Juarez and execute Maximilian and his friends.  Politics are indeed muy peligroso.

The Battle of Puebla

Why all this history?  Because Cinco de Mayo is not Mexican independence day.  That would be September 16th.  Cinco de Mayo is a celebration of Mexican Culture in the United States and is strongly associated with the South Western states more than it is in Mexico.  The French were trying to break up the union by supplying the confederacy – and any friend of the confederacy was an enemy of the United States at the time.  And so we celebrate as we have been doing for 100 years.

Which leads me (and most of the West coast) to my excuse to throw a hum-dinger of a BBQ party.  This weekend, the Quincho gets its first real workout since it’s construction.  We’ll take the left over pulled pork from our last slow smoking session and use that to build our beans with.  Making beans is a hot topic of debate in the BBQ world – the ones we make out here West of the Rockies are what’s known as “Ranch Style” beans.  Spicy, a little soupy and a perfect accompaniment to Santa Maria tri-tip.  They are quite simple to master – here’s how I make them.  Note there aren’t any measurements as I never measure these things – it’s always to taste.

First, I start with a base of pork.  This is either thick-cut, smoky bacon, left over rib meat or left over pulled pork.  I use anywhere from half a pound to a pound.   Depending on what you use you may need a little oil to get the party started.  Cook this over high heat to render the fat and crisp up the meat.  To this I add a minced onion, a clove of garlic or two and a minced seeded jalapeno.  Continue cooking the vegetables until they are tender.  Deglaze everything with a can of chicken stock.  Let this simmer and reduce by about a third.  I then add a 12oz bottle of Negra Modelo (Mexican dark beer), and a can of Las Palmas Enchilada sauce (the preferred brand in these parts).  Get this to a simmer and reduce again.  Add two cans of pinto beans (drained and rinsed), and a diced ripe tomato.  Let this cook at a simmer for 20 minutes, then stir in about a quarter cup chopped cilantro and a squeeze of lime.  Serve hot with a dollop of Mexican crema.

So break out a cold one this weekend, make some frijoles and grill up whatever comes to mind.  Even if it is something French.  Viva El Quincho!

Smoke, Zen and Really Great Barbecue

I positively love to poke at a live fire, coaxing a reluctant flame from wood and creating enough heat and smoke to cook a wonderful meal in the great outdoors.  The relaxation afforded me by such a process can not be expressed in mere digital form.  My mind becomes a primal thing, an instinctive instrument for mastering fire.  The right amount of fuel at the right time combined with the right amount of air flow and a heat source creates fire – a perfect triumvirate that is greater than the sum of its parts.

I am a complex and fickle thing however, and cooking over a live fire can (and often does) take second banana to a slow smoked delicacy.  An otherwise indigestible and tough cut of meat can be turned into a thing of beauty when slowly smoked in a WSM 22.5″ double racked bullet smoker.  The key word here is “slow”, so if golf is something you can’t stand because it takes 4 hours to play a round – crafting true slow smoked BBQ may not be your bailiwick. On the other hand, if you like a hobby that involves drinking a cold beer, looking at a black pit emitting slow steady curling smoke and smelling like something just this side of heaven – then you may be a latent seeker of the smoke.  Left alone with only your dwindling thoughts on which to quietly meditate, you may solve the worlds problems while slow smoking a meal fit for a king.

The other weekend I found myself with an entire Sunday that had nothing on the schedule.  These are rare days indeed for me, and after clearing it with my beautiful wife – making sure there were no unknown trips planned for me that day – I settled in to a day spent with the pit.

The beginning of each “smoke” starts with proper preparation.  I had decided on a pork shoulder and procured a beautiful 6.5 pounder from my buddy the butcher at the Italian market.  The night before, I slathered it generously with a ballpark mustard based concoction I created a while back.  I sometimes am partial to the “Dizzy Pig” company’s Dizzy Dust (readily available from them on-line), so I sprinkled this heavily on the meat.  It adhered well to the slather.  I wrapped up my prize with saran wrap and stuck it in the fridge (on a baking sheet as these things can get juice all over the inside of the fridge if you aren’t careful).

The next morning I slowly assembled everything I would need.  There is no rush, only careful movements.  This way you don’t forget anything.  Plenty of briquettes, towels, wood chunks, a remote thermometer and of course, cold beer.  Make a checklist for yourself and enjoy the process.  One must figure on about an hour a pound so by 9am your fire should be lit.

Lighting the fire in a smoker is an art in itself.  Do not do this without an open beer in your hands, lest the BBQ gods get offended.  And they are offended mighty easily.  Lighting the fire without a beverage in your hands is also referred to as a “Party Foul”.  You want to be sure you have enough fuel to burn the whole (or at least most of it) time without creating too much heat.  Enter the “Minion” method popularized by Jim Minion, smoker and BBQ aficionado extraordinaire.  He lights his coals in the middle of a can surrounded by the rest and removes the can so that the fire slowly spreads outwards.  My latest creation allowed me to do just that using a tube fashioned from heavy duty aluminum foil.  When the coals get going I remove the tube and let nature do the rest of the work.

Add the wood chunks, these are your flavor elements.  Match the wood smoke to your target food.  Pork matches well with Oak, Hickory and Alder.  Fruit woods also make an excellent choice.  Once we close up the “pit” and the wood begins to smoke, check the pit temp and find your happy spot.  This is where you will endlessly watch the BBQ and work on your beer.  You want the pit to hit a steady 250 degrees.  This is easily accomplished by closing down or opening the vents on your BBQ pit.  Once we are at the desired temp, you can add the meat.  Make sure you do this with no small degree of ceremony.  There’s no rule here but to marvel at your creation while you send it off to be bathed in smoke.  The next time you see it, it will be a beautiful mahogany color.  A remote thermometer is quite handy to help judge the condition of your meat without opening the smoker.  Pork shoulder “pulls” anywhere from 190 to 195 degrees, so if it’s pulled pork you are after (as was in my case), you’ve got to wait for it.

At this point one returns to his or her happy spot, preferably in the shade and preferably in earshot of some good blues or southern rock.  The Alman brothers, BB King or the Black Keys are a good accompaniment.  Put up your feet and focus on the smoke and the pit temp.  Relax a while.  Take a swig of your cold beer now and again.  If you are more “type A” than this, you may have a BBQ journal and record the pit temp and the meat temp every 15 minutes.  It won’t speed anything up, but it will give you the illusion of control somehow.

At the end of the process, the pork is finally at 195.  Note that around 180 degrees, the mysterious plateau appears – and you are stuck at 180 for about an hour.  As soon as she breaks through, you’ll quickly hit 195.

The meat is removed to inside quarters for the pulling.  You’ll find this process quite relaxing as well.  Some use their fingers while some use forks.  The meat is pretty hot so you might want to use some gloves unless you have asbestos fingers.  After you’ve pulled your beloved pork, the whole house will smell of smoky BBQ.  The traditional sauce for this is a vinegar/tomato/sugar/pepper based remedy – made specially to cut the richness of the dish.  Of course the actual ingredients folks use are hotly debated and usually closely guarded.  Just throw some commercial BBQ sauce in there and cut it with vinegar to thin it out if you don’t want to join the debate.

The shredded pork is now added to kaiser roll sandwiches with coleslaw and enjoyed immensely with more beer more conversation and more accolades from friends and family.

Now keep the left overs to make beans, but by all means – if you’ve learned anything – don’t rush it.  Slow BBQ is where all Southern wisdom comes from.  And probably Mint Juleps.

Klassy Smoking

I’ll admit it.  I am a bit of a snob.  I am even dubious of red wines from Sonoma, anything made in China (except Chinese food) and Canned Spam.  But when it came to finding a cold smoker with the perfect balance utility and price, I swallowed my greater sensibilities and ordered one.  It was called the “Amaz’n Pellet Smoker”.  The mere fact that it had an apostrophe in it’s name was enough to raise a well coiffed eyebrow.  And when I saw it was actually spelled “Amaz’n”, I barely stifled an eye roll and practically passed it by altogether.  But, curiosity (and the fact that it was only about 40 bucks) got the better of me and I ordered it.  Besides, who would ever find out?

About a week later a little box showed up with a bag of cherry wood smoking pellets (which looked a lot like rabbit food) and a small metal perforated device for burning said pellets.  Basically, you fill the device up with whatever sort of wood pellets you want to flavor your target with, light one end with a blowtorch and blow out ensuing the flame after a minute or so. 

The pellets are laid in a bit of a snake like row from one end of the device to the other – separated by a small metal wall.  This essentially acts as a “fuse” slowly burning the pellets from one end to the other, all the while generating smoke – for about 6 hours.

So, with a healthy dose of pessimism, last night I rigged the thing up and set out to cold smoke two mammoth blocks of mozzarella.  I filled the unit with pellets from one end to the other.  Using my creme brulee torch, I blasted an intense blue flame in the hole at one end and in about 30 seconds or less the pellets near the hole were burning.  I let them burn for about a minute and gently blew out the flame.  I placed the unit – which was now happily smoking away in the bottom of my 22.5 inch Weber Smokey Mountain (we snobby pit masters call this a “WSM” because it sounds much cooler).  I placed the cheese in the top rack, replaced the cover and went to bed to let it smoke.

I went to visit my project first thing this morning, half expecting to see that the pellets had gone out and stopped smoking.  The yard had a pleasant cherry smoke smell that was encouraging.  I opened the front access door on the WSM – and all the pellets were burned.  I carefully lifted the lid  and – low and behold – two beautiful golden bricks of mozzarella lay before my astonished eyes.  I was sold.  This Amaz’n Pellet thing actually is AMAZ’N.  I quickly vacuum packed my prizes and put them in the fridge to mellow for a week or so.

So if you are looking for an inexpensive, simple, effective cold smoking solution for your cold smoking dreams – look no further than something with an apostrophe in it.  Mighty klassy if’n I don’t say so myself.  Did I actually say Klassy?  God Help me.

Check out https://www.amazenproducts.com.  (I ordered the AMNPS – which is the pellet smoker).  You can cold smoke salt, peanuts, bologna, lox, cheese, popcorn… possibilities are endless.   And don’t let the name fool you.

Life Finds a Way

This morning was one of those northern California gray mornings.  A lingering marine layer, a present sent directly from Half Moon bay about 12 miles to my West on the other side of the coastal range of large hills (or small mountains, depending on your viewpoint).  Days like this always start out overcast which burns off into bright sunshine later on in the day.  This one was no exception.

It just made it a little more difficult to start my body’s engine on a Saturday morning.  Post coffee and paper, a morning chat with my lovely wife and I’m ready to tackle the yard work I know is waiting on the other side of the door.  I  have a small lawn by California standards so at the start of this year I bought an old fashioned push mower to get some exercise and do my part off the grid. This works fine and is noble by all accounts – except when you have waited 3 spring weeks to mow it.

So I steeled myself and made ready for the day.  The alarm system called out “Front… Door…” as I flung it open in its mocking little mechanical voice.  And there it was.  About 5 inches of thick grass, bordered by feathery azaleas, blooming Irises, stately armeria, giant ajuga, and leafy burgenia.  All hungry and demanding food, cutting, trimming, sweeping and just plain attention.  I was ready.

As I leaned into the push mower the sun began to break through the low clouds, reenergizing me.  The resistance of the tall grass was no match for my springtime enthusiasm and in no time the lawn was trimmed and under control.

I began to wander about as I am want to do when I am gardening.  There is no priority, I work at whatever strikes my fancy.  Anyhow, at this point I happened to look down onto the pavers on the driveway and there it was.  A weed.  Growing out of the cracks.  Somehow enough soil and nutrient had collected there to give the little thing a foothold.  It struck me as amazing.  Life always finds a way.  In a world full of polluted oceans, carbon infused atmosphere and littered landscapes – life always finds a way.  Somehow this little weed made me feel just a little more optimistic about everything.

I grabbed the hand edger and toiled over it long enough to get nice crisp lines in the lawns border the way I like it.  I fed all the flowers their food and trimmed the bushes.  It was hard work, but honest work.  I vowed to go back in and make my wife and I an egg salad sandwich for lunch.  But not before I got the round up and sprayed all the weeds in the driveway.

Egg Salad (Makes enough for 2 sandwiches)

• 3 chopped hard boiled eggs
• 1/3 cup Mayo
• 1 TBS lemon juice
• 1 TBS Yellow Mustard
• 1/4 cup peeled diced cucumber
• 2 TBS minced parsley
• About half a carrot, diced
• Pinch Cayenne
• Pinch Curry Powder
• Double Pinch Dill
• Salt and Pepper to taste

Mix everything to desired consistency (adding more seasonings to suit your taste).  When was the last time you had an egg salad sandwich?  Take those colored eggs you made for Easter and knock one out this weekend.  You’ll be surprised at how yummy they are.

I’m sure that by next weekend new weeds will find their footing in the cracks of the driveway, because Life Always Finds a Way.

The Humming Bird

On a sunny day at the top of the tallest branch in a group of tall trees you can see him.  The humming bird.  The Jimmy Cagney of the bird world.  He’s got the short guy syndrome.  Nobody dares encroach on his territory lest they suffer the slings and arrows of his supersonic (and yes – they are actually supersonic) dives.  I love to watch one drop in from a dizzying height only to pull out at the last minute and snap the sound barrier with his tail.  Last weekend we lit up the grill in the mountain shack above the ocean on a clear blue spring time California Saturday.  Being in the middle of the forest and about a mile from the ocean is a very exhilarating experience by itself, but combined with an outdoor cook, it’s positively heavenly.  Between the humming birds acrobatic displays and tending to the smoke coming off the grill Saturday afternoon I barely had time to enjoy a beer and a few chips with some guacamole.  We have two weber grills up here, both at the end of their usefulness but enjoying their retirement and still producing some damn good barbecue.  This time it was about three pounds of skirt steak in a beer marinade and a whole cut up chicken in an achiote paste marinade.  You cannot rush good barbecue, so I started early.  The coals smoked away while they were heating and we settled down to some serious conversation and some chips.  I made a substantial dagwood sandwich to sustain us during the wait.

Next time you make a roast beef sandwich, or any sandwich for that matter, give careful thought to what you are putting with it – the veggies or cheese, the spread or sauce and the bread you are using.  It makes all the difference in the world.  My roast beef started with a soft french baguette slathered with a horseradish sauce.  I carefully layered some thinly sliced tomatoes, thin red pepper rounds some muffletta mix for an acid component, mounds of roast beef, sharp cheddar cheese and iceberg lettuce.  I always season the main component with a little salt and pepper before closing it up.  Making a giant sandwich all at once on a whole loaf makes it easy to serve a few people at once.  You can slice as much as you want.  I cut off a couple of hunks for us and we settled in to a good Mexican beer, some smoke watching and some rather existential conversation.  Not politics, women or sports mind you – but dark energy, chaos theory and Bebo Valdez (a celebrated Cuban musician and the father of modern Cuban jazz  who had just passed away last Friday).  He died “with his boots on” in Spain, the way he always wanted to.  The roast beef sandwich was fabulous and we wrapped up the rest for the next day.

In almost no time the coals were ready and I put the chicken parts on.  I build a 2 zone fire for these.  A double layer of coals on one side of the kettle and a single layer on the other.  This allows me to quickly sear the chicken over the hot side and then move them to the single layer side and slowly finish them off.  About a half hour into this, I put the steak on the hot side to grill them – this way everything ends up done at about the same time.  Later that afternoon we plated the meal with a side of beans, rice, fresh tortillas and some salsa. 

We enjoyed the meal outside and invariably the conversation moved to Politics, women and sports.  We are hopeless, but well fed.  Towards the end of the daylight hour, the humming bird returned for a final perch on the tallest branch of the tallest tree and surveyed his domain.  I’m sure he’s there right now.  More power to the little guy.

The Great Outdoors

Favorite activities form intersecting circles that allows one to branch out into some strange directions and indeed makes for some strange and seemingly unrelated bedfellows.  Allow me to explain how my obsession with live fire cooking can spawn circles of friends, bound together by unrelated yet tangential hobbies and some fantastic experiences.

Obsession with live fire cooking tends to be a peripheral activity to a big sphere of influences, namely that which is referred to as the “Great Outdoors”.  To me these things include – but are not limited to – Fishing, Hunting, Camping, Hiking, Backpacking and Gardening. The group of people I’ve connected with over the years hunting and fishing have all been wonderful live fire cooks themselves, a testament to my theory.

Obsession with cooking is peripheral to other creative outlets, such as music.  I frequently combine the two playing loud live music and cooking for the rest of the musicians I happen to be playing with.  Of course this dovetails directly into live fire cooking, which invariably means BBQ – and that can lead to a weekend of playing some serious blues and slinging some serious smoked meats.

Last year, I found myself on a hunt in a Colorado quietly sitting in a quaking aspen forest listening to the rustle of the aspens and the eerie trumpeting calls of a bull elk keeping his harem in line.  A small herd of elk cows was below me in an open meadow.  It was beginning to snow a little and I could see my breath in the cold air.  There was a particularly large bull in the tree line, just above the cows.  I could hear him but hadn’t seen him yet.  I could tell he was magnificent.  After what seemed like an hour but was probably about 10 minutes he stepped out of the cover of the aspen.  His long arching horns were so big they almost reached his tail end when he lifted his head to roar a high pitched bugle that echoed off the canyon walls.  I was in total awe.

I am a hunter, a gatherer, a lover of wild things and protector of their habitats.  The natural world holds a special wonder for me, it’s part of my DNA.  I respect everything in the wild and careful preparation of a naturally harvested meat must do the animal justice.

The tenderloin, back strap and inner strap of any animal is always the most tender and prized.  Last weekend I got the elk tenderloin out of the freezer and relived the thrill of seeing him for the first time in my mind.

I first rubbed this down with some olive oil and added a spice rub fragrant with cumin and New Mexico chile.  I trimmed it up and tied it off so it would cook evenly.  This would end up smoke roasted over the indirect heat of an oak fire with plenty of good California oak smoke.  Wild animals are naturally lean.  They were not whisked away in a cattle truck and feed enormous amounts of high energy feed to promote an unhealthy and expedited weight gain.  They stay fit and trim on natural grasses and natural activities.  In order to kick such a perfect and lean cut up a notch, I added a particularly unnatural processed item on top of it… Bacon.  Yes, the world is full of double standards and inconsistencies.  Who am I to judge?  What’s good is good, and bacon is good.  I cooked the tenderloin to 145 degrees for about an hour on the smoke.  The thick bacon was crispy, salty and delicious.  I whipped up a salsa criolla (see recipes) for an acidic component to balance out the richness of the meat.  Some steamed asparagus and a little mayo and lemon juice was all that was needed to make a perfect meal that reminded me of the great outdoors, beautiful wild things and an obsession for live fire cooking that binds music, hunting, fishing and everything else I find myself involved in.  Salute!