When I grew up (I can almost hear a collective groan as I write these words), my siblings and I had many, many aunts and uncles. For reasons unknown to me, we always called them by their first names – never preceded by “Aunt” or “Uncle.” It was Cork and Jeep, and Elmer and Leona, Fani and Rollo, and so forth.

Conversely, every single one of my nieces and nephews calls us Aunt Kris and Uncle Bill. We never discussed this amongst ourselves. It’s just that from the time that Erik was old enough to talk, that’s what he called us, and the others all followed his lead. The same holds true for all of my siblings. They are Aunt Bec, Aunt Jen, and Uncle Dave (well, that has mostly just been shortened to Unk).

Now there might be some variations. Erik calls me Auntie. Maggie calls me Aunt. Not Aunt Kris. Just Aunt. BJ calls me Anti (as in anti-climactic, which this post introduction is swiftly becoming).

Anyway, that has nothing to do with my nephew Christopher’s ability to cook. It just is something that occurred to me as I thought about my nephews this week. Christopher, by the way, calls me Aunt Kris – no shortcuts.

My brother David is a baker, of course, and a decidedly good one at that. He is also, however, a wonderful cook. He would likely purport to be more of a griller, but he can cook up a good pot of pinto beans and great chili. But he is a master at the grill, learned, of course, from our dad.

And, of course, passed along to his son Christopher.

Both David and Christopher are patient grillers. So was my dad. I tend to always be in a hurry when I grill, so my food is either undercooked or burnt to a crisp. Sounds delicious, huh? Christopher, like his dad, likes to enjoy a cigar while he grills, which I think enhances patience. I just don’t think I’m willing to give that a try, however.

I remember being over at Christopher’s house one day, probably for one of their kids’ birthday celebrations (they have four beautiful children), and he was grilling chicken wings. They were full-size wings, not cut in pieces like most wings. And there were something like 287 wings. That might be a slight exaggeration – well it might be a big exaggeration, WHATEVER! – but my point is there were very many wings. The grill was full of the little devils. I recall that he just calmly stood by the grill carefully turning the wings to prevent them from burning. He had his can of beer at the ready, because he is his Poppo’s grandson after all, and he would throw some beer on the grill when the flames would get too hot. The cigar was in his mouth, because he is David’s son after all, and he just patiently babysat the wings until they were perfectly cooked.

Like Erik and Kate, Christopher and his sisters (for this young man has three sisters, poor dear; for whatever reason, God blessed each of the Gloor siblings with one boy apiece) only saw his Nana and Poppo a few times a year because his family lives in Arizona. I was interested to learn what he remembers about Nana’s cooking, as I was with all of the boys about whom I wrote this week.

He immediately responded that he remembers eating Nana’s artichokes. That made me laugh, because I, too, remember eating my mom’s artichokes. Now, she didn’t do anything particularly unusual in cooking them; it’s just that I’m not sure we had even heard of artichokes until sometime in the late 70s or early 80s. My dad’s sister Myrta introduced them to us. Mom would simply cook them in water to which she added nothing more than a clove of garlic. But they were scrumptious, dipped in melted butter. Yum. I wonder if Christopher makes them?

Anyhoo, Christopher was given a smoker about six months ago. It sat unused up until about a week-and-a-half ago, when he dove in feet first and smoked a pork butt. He planned to serve it at a birthday celebration for one of his kids, but the party had to be cancelled. It was apparently delicious and he plans on serving it to us this weekend at the rescheduled celebration.

I can’t wait! Seriously, my mouth is watering and it’s 6:30 in the morning.

Christopher’s Pulled Pork

Ingredients
10 lb. pork shoulder or butt, or 6 lbs. pork ribs
Dry Rub:
¼ c. paprika
1/8 c. fresh ground black pepper
1-2 T. garlic powder
1-2 T. onion powder
1 T. or more cayenne pepper
¼ c. coarse salt
¼ c. brown or white sugar

Process
Combine the ingredients for the dry rub, and massage the rub into the meat.

Place the pork shoulder, butt, or ribs in the smoker, and let cook for 6 hours. This is what it looked like after he removed it from the smoker:

Wrap the meat in aluminum foil, and cook it in a 225 degree oven for another 7 hours.

Once cooked, pull the meat apart.

Nana’s Notes: Just so you know, Christopher awoke that morning at 4:30 in order to begin the process. That is dedication. Guess he will be doing that again this weekend. I’ll think of him as soon as I awake at around 8:30 Sunday morning.

His father tells me that the entire process takes about 5 cigars. Not sure how I feel about that. Well, yes I am. Yuck.

Because my family owned its own business, my siblings and I began working at a young age in the bakery.

My sister Bec worked her entire life up until a couple of years ago when she finally retired. For most of her working life, she was a teacher. Teachers are at work early, and they aren’t finished working even when they get home late in the afternoon. Still, I’m pretty sure she put dinner on the table for her family every night. We weren’t the kind of family that would be satisfied with a sandwich for dinner.

Her husband loved to cook, but it was a hobby as opposed to a family duty. He used to tell me that he spent his day working on big projects where he never really saw a resulting product. He liked to cook because he could put ingredients together and then see a direct result from his efforts. That made sense to me.

Bec is a really good cook, though in a million years she won’t admit this fact. And though I suspect she – like I – did not directly teach her children to cook, they learned about good food and cooking through example, and perhaps osmosis.

Bec’s son Erik and his sister Kate saw their Nana and Poppo several times a year, even though they lived across the country. When the kids were growing up, the Borman family vacations largely involved either visiting family IN Colorado or entertaining family FROM Colorado. Erik was the first-born grandchild, son, nephew, etc., and had curly blond hair and sweet blue eyes and a smile that melted everyone’s heart. He had a special place in Nana and Poppo’s heart because he was their first grandchild. He, likewise, thought they walked on water.

He loved to help his Poppo bake, and thought his Nana made the best Swiss macaroni and cheese and mashed potatoes in the world. “They have these little pieces of potato in them,” he would excitedly explain, not understanding that others would say her potatoes were lumpy. Erik says he inherited his Nana’s mashed potato and gravy bowls, and he considers them prize possessions.

All this is to say that Erik became a good cook because he was surrounded by good cooks, and because good food is important to all of us, including him. While he likely didn’t cook while living at home, he began cooking as soon as he was on his own and had his own stove to cook on and clean.

Erik and his wife both work full-time, and they share the cooking duties. Both are health-conscious, and cook using healthy ingredients. One of Erik’s strengths, in fact, is that he can turn a generally-unhealthy entrée into something that won’t necessarily cause one to keel over you before the last bite.

Take his jumbalaya, for example. While most Cajun and Creole dishes are not particularly healthy, he does wonders with his take on the food. He substitutes turkey sausage, for example, for Andouille or smoked sausage. I have made both jumbalaya and gumbo, and I can tell you that I don’t have the patience to wait. Stirring, stirring, stirring. He does. Have the patience I mean.

Erik says he finds the process of cooking to be relaxing, but I think what he really enjoys is the social aspect of food. The gathering of family and friends over something you prepared with your own hands. I know what he means about enjoying the process. There is something wonderful about taking a variety of ingredients and putting them together to make something that tastes delicious. Our family enjoys gathering over a meal, and Erik can cook it for us any time he wants. And often does.

Erik’s Jumbalaya
Ingredients
2 lbs. medium raw shrimp
1 lb. turkey kielbasa (Jennie-O or equivalent)
Vegetable/canola Oil
2 c. chopped onion
1 c. chopped green pepper
1 c. chopped celery
4 cloves garlic, minced
2 14-1/2 oz cans of crushed tomatoes
2 14-1/2 oz cans low-sodium chicken broth
2 8-oz cans tomato sauce
2-1/2 c. water
2 c. long-grain white rice (uncooked)
1 tsp dried thyme
1-1/2 tsp ground red pepper (less if you prefer little spice, 2+tsp if you prefer spicy)
1 t. chili powder
1/2 t. sugar

Process
Peel and devein the shrimp. Saute the shrimp in 3 tbs oil in a Dutch oven (medium heat). Stir continuously until all shrimp are pink. Remove shrimp (leave oil), cover and refrigerate. Slice kielbasa into ¼ inch pieces and half. Saute in remaining oil plus 1 tbs additional oil. Kielbasa is already cooked, so simply brown to add another flavor layer. Remove and set aside. In remaining oil, add the onion, green pepper & celery (known as the trinity in Creole cooking). Cook, stirring constantly for 5-7 minutes until your desired consistency. Mince garlic and add, stirring for 2-3 minutes to incorporate well. Add turkey kielbasa back to Dutch oven, and add the crushed tomatoes plus rest of the ingredients. Bring to a boil, then cover, reduce heat and simmer for 45-50 minutes until the rice is soft and most of the water/broth has been absorbed. Stir frequently. Add chilled shrimp and let simmer for an additional 10 minutes. Serve with fresh bread.

Mom didn’t really teach any of her children to cook. Not really. Now, that isn’t to say we didn’t learn to cook from mom. But we learned by watching her, especially when we were older and had families of our own. I remember sitting at their breakfast bar when she and Dad lived in Dillon, CO, and watching her cook. But she never said, “Kris, you make this Vegetable Soup with Beef Shanks. I will tell you the ingredients and let you do it while I watch.” Or even when I was a high school girl, “Kris, since I have been at work and on my feet for, I don’t know, 10 or 12 hours, perhaps you could prepare some dinner so I don’t have to do it when I get home.” Didn’t happen.

I am not complaining. First of all, I had no interest in preparing dinner after I got home from school. After all, I had to call my friends and there were LPs to listen to. I might need to go have a Cherry Coke at Tooley’s Drug Store, or go to my BFF’s house and make prank phone calls. Busy, busy, busy.

But as I was thinking about my mom’s grandsons and their love for cooking, I realized that my son Court, though he is a very good cook, certainly didn’t learn to cook from me. At least not in any direct way. Just like Mom, I made dinner every night, but didn’t teach him a darn thing.

I said in yesterday’s post that BJ loved food from the time he was a small boy. Not Court. As a very small boy, his father and I would have to use trickery to get him to eat anything. We called the diced lettuce on tacos “Mexican grass” because he certainly wouldn’t have eaten it if he suspected it was a vegetable. There was a time in way younger years – 3 or 4 – when he practically lived off of hamburgers and grilled cheese sandwiches. I could make him happy by toasting two pieces of bread, laying a slice of American cheese between them, wrapping the sandwich in a napkin, and putting it in the microwave for 1 minute or so. Voila! Happy camper. Not cooking, however.

At some point, though, (and I really can’t remember when it was) he learned to enjoy food. So parents of small kids who won’t eat much, there’s hope. Things can change. He liked comfort foods such as meat loaf and porcupine meatballs and tacos. In fact, he once ate 13 tacos in one sitting when he was 16 or so.

The year he was turning 13, we happened to be in New York City on his birthday – the first time for Court and me. Bill and I decided to take him to a really nice steak house for his birthday dinner. He announced that he wanted to order lamb chops.

Now, growing up in Nebraska, I didn’t run into lamb chops. Lamb was not on many restaurant menus, which mostly featured steaks. My mom certainly never prepared lamb. I had literally never tasted it, never prepared it, never talked about it, never was curious about it. Yet, Court decided he wanted to try lamb.

“Really?” I asked him. “What if you don’t like it?”

“I will,” he said with certainty. And indeed he did. To this day, it would probably be his favorite meat. He requests it at every opportunity. Most recently I made it for Christmas Eve dinner, and it was fabulous.

And now that he is married and has three children and one on the way, he cooks at least some of the time. Well, I think mostly now he grills. He makes a mean pot of green chili, and grills pork chops that he maintains might – MIGHT – be better than his Poppo’s, and are almost certainly better than his Uncle Dave’s. (His words, not mine.) Now there’s a throwdown challenge for you.

I asked him to share one of his recipes for this post. He said, “I don’t really have recipes; I just mostly eyeball ingredients.” I assure you, he didn’t learn this from me as I am almost entirely unable to cook without a recipe in front of me. I’m pretty sure that means he’s a better cook than I.

Chicken Creole

Ingredients
1 pack boneless chicken thighs, cut into pieces
1 onion, diced
1 green pepper, diced
1 red pepper, diced
2 jalapenos, diced
1 stalk celery, diced
3 cloves garlic, minced
1 cup sliced mushrooms
1 large can diced tomatoes
½ can tomato paste
Lots of creole seasoning throughout cooking process
Garlic salt, regular salt, pepper to taste

Process
Combine ingredients and cook in crock pot on low for 6-8 hours. Serve with rice.

Anyone care for a grilled porkchop throwdown?

It’s halfway embarrassing (well maybe only one-quarter embarrassing) to think about the role of food in my family’s life. And when I say family, I don’t just mean Bill, me, and our children. I’m talking about my whole extended family.

There would never be a family function that did not include food. Furthermore, it is not an exaggeration to say that when the whole of us are together, we begin discussing our lunch plans at breakfast and our dinner plans at lunch. Furthermore, my grandmother always said, no matter the occasion, be it a celebration or a funeral, “You have to eat a little something.”

It’s become our family mantra.

I began thinking about that recently when one of my nephews proudly posted photos of a pork shoulder he smoked for a birthday party that subsequently was cancelled due to illness. It was an impressive piece of meat (that I will be featuring later this week). What I realized is that my grandmother and grandfather loved food, my mom and dad loved food, my siblings and I love food, and our children love food. Period. End of story.

And our children cook. Or grill. At any rate, they love food and they are responsible for preparing it at least some of the time in their busy lives.

Take my nephew BJ. Jen’s son BJ has always appreciated good food and wine. And I mean from the time he was small. He has worked for many years at a family-owned Italian restaurant in Fort Collins because he appreciates that it is locally-owned and he loves the food and the owner’s cooking philosophy. He would tell you he learned much about cooking from Clyde Canino.

But I purport that he learned much about grilling from my dad – his Poppo.

Poppo was a master griller. I don’t remember my life without a grill in it. Nearly every night in the summer when I grew up, Dad would fire up the grill (and I’m talking the charcoal kind) and cook his butter-basted chicken with lemon juice or his delicious steaks.

The grandkids especially remember his pork chops – skinny little chops sprinkled in salt and pepper. Dad would always keep a can of beer nearby to douse the coals as they flared up. So the chops (or chicken, or steaks) were basically all basted in beer. It was delicious. Our sons remember the can of beer, and I would venture to say every one of them uses beer to cool an overly-hot grill.

Taking a cue from his Poppo, BJ grills nearly every night – even in the winter. Rain or shine. Warm or cold. Company or not.

He says often what he chooses to grill is a pork chop. I haven’t confirmed this with him, but my guess is that pork chops are cheap and it’s easy to buy one chop and cook it for oneself. He might marinate it. He might simply grill it with salt and pepper or Monterey seasoning. He often tops his meat with bleu cheese. He almost always serves it with grilled vegetables on the side. Sometimes he cooks a potato in his toaster oven. I LOVE the fact that he cooks for himself.

So I asked him for one of his recipes. No written-down recipes, Aunt! But here’s what he told me:

Poor Man’s Pork Chop
I found pork chops on Manager’s Special at King Soopers – two for $6. I marinated one of the chops in a little olive oil sprinkled on top with Monterey seasoning for about 10 minutes. It was minus 4 degrees outside, so I cooked the pork chop on my grill pan indoors. I grilled a red onion that I had sliced up, and then placed the chop on top to cook. I cooked the onion until it was blackened because I think that blackened red onion tastes like onion straws. When the chop was cooked through, I put some blue cheese crumbles that I had in my refrigerator on top, covered it and let it melt.

I used what I had on hand, and it was delicious. I still have one chop left for next week.

Honestly, his Poppo would be very proud.