Enjoy.
BANGING SHRIMP TACOS
DIFFICULTY: Your 12-year-old daughter can do this.
TIME: 20 minutes, start to finish.
What you’ll need from the cupboard: A skillet and a rubber spatula. Taco trays if you have them.
What you’ll need from the pantry: Frozen popcorn shrimp, mayonnaise, sriracha sauce, McCormick’s Thai Kitchen Sweet Red Chili Sauce (not necessary, but recommended), Tabasco and shredded cabbage (coleslaw style). Mission Street Taco Carb Balance Flour Tortillas, a salsa of your choice, and crumbly cheese (I prefer Cacique Queso Fresco). If you don’t have queso fresco, you can use the shredded cheese of your preference.
Decide how many tacos you’re making. Three to four per person satisfies most people. Figuring four shrimp per street taco plus six, remove what you’ll need from the bag or box. For the sake of this recipe, let’s say you’re cooking for two people.
Get all your add-ons ready. Cheese, cabbage (or lettuce), tortillas, salsa, etc. Set it wherever you want, but within reasonable reach of wherever it is that you’re cooking.
Cook the thirty-eight shrimp (four tacos/person times two people times four shrimp per taco, plus six) according to the instructions on the box (or bag). I prefer to cook them in an air fryer at 400 degrees for 12 minutes. Just prior to the shrimp finishing, place your skillet on the stove.
Turn the burner to medium high heat. Add a little oil.
Pause.
At this juncture, you either need to have your shit together, or at least have your condiments and/or tortillas ready. When this comes together, you need to act fast. The shrimp go from crispy and wonderful to soggy (and wonderful) in a quick.
I like to use the little bended sheets of metal that hold tacos (often seen in little wannabe taco shops, upscale Tex-Mex diners, or Williams Sonoma). If you, too, like using them, make sure your tortillas are situated in them and ready for action.
Now, back to cooking.
When the skillet’s at temp (hopefully at roughly the same time as the shrimp is done), add two parts mayonnaise to one-part Sriracha sauce and one-part Thai chili sauce. If you don’t have Thai chili sauce you can mix one to one mayonnaise and sriracha.
You’ll only need enough cover the shrimp, so don’t go nuts here.
I’d say I use no more than a TOTAL of four 1/4-cup parts if I’m making enough for the entire family.
Heat sriracha mixture over medium high heat, stirring with your little rubber spatula. Once it’s mixed well and orange-colored, add three healthy squirts of Tabasco. Much more will make it taste like shit, and any less will leave you wondering what’s missing.
Be forewarned, the fumes off this sauce will make your eyes water.
Throw in the shrimp. Toss with the spatula until everything’s covered. Stir a few times for effect (and to let some of the sauce soak in). This process, from start to finish, takes 2 minutes, tops.
Remove the skillet from the stove and RUSH to the tortillas. Add four shrimp per tortilla. Then, choose two random tacos on your guest’s plate and two on your plate. Add one shrimp each to those chosen tacos.
When you’re eating shrimp tacos, nothing is as good as a random extra shrimp.
Top with cabbage. Crumble some cheese on top. Add salsa, if desired (my wife drizzles them with Hidden Valley Ranch).
Eat, promptly.
Enjoy.
PORK CHILI VERDE
DIFFICULTY: There’s a flame involved, so…
TIME: Damned near all fucking day. This isn’t an after-work meal.
What you’ll need from the cupboard: A skillet, stockpot with lid, sharp knife, and a rubber spatula.
What you’ll need from the pantry: 2-3 pounds of pork loin or pork shoulder. 3-4 cloves garlic. A yellow onion, chicken broth, oil, salt, pepper, and cumin. 3 jars of Sprout’s Enchilada Sauce or Green Chili Sauce, (which, coincidentally, is the same). Tortillas (here, we prefer the Mission Whole Wheat Carb Balance).
Chili Verde.
My father started early and cooked it as a Saturday afternoon snack when we were kids. The aroma caused me to salivate. While he cooked, he’d explain things. Not about cooking, but about life. Like a sponge, I absorbed what he said, assuming one day it would all make sense.
“Never miss a good opportunity to keep your fucking mouth shut.”
That was one of his recommendations. The first time I heard it I suspect I was seven. Give or take.
At the time I wondered if it meant me and my siblings were supposed to be silent. It made sense, because he was always screaming something like, “Jesus H. Christ! Can you three fuckers be any louder? Quiet the fuck down!”
I later learned the recommendations he made to me as a child were to be used as a means of navigating my way through life as an adult.
In early adulthood, I decided my father was a wise man. His words of wisdom on Chili Verde?
“On your first visit to a Mexican joint, order the Chili Verde. If it’s good, everything else will be good. If it’s not, leave and never go back.”
He also said if a Mexican restaurant employed Anglos you should announce that you forgot your wallet and promptly depart.
If I was served this Chili Verde at a Mexican joint—even if they employed Anglos—I’d return time and time again. It’s that good.
Back to cooking.
Cut the pork into one-inch cubes. This is roughly the size of the ball of your thumb if you don’t want to measure them. Salt and pepper them liberally.
Pour oil into the bottom of the stockpot. Heat to medium high. Add the pork in small groups, so as not to overfill the pot. Brown on all sides. This should take 3-5 minutes per batch for 2-3 batches.
Remove the browned pork and set aside.
Chop the onion. When doing so, be careful.
Set it aside.
I’ll stop for a moment here and tell you a true story. In the winter of 2016, my wife’s family came down to visit. When you live in Southwest Florida, it seems everyone wants to visit in the winter. At any rate, her grandfather, grandmother, father, mother, brother, two sisters and brother-in-law all came to visit.
The entire group stayed with us (when we’re not playing host to distant family members, we have five at home and three in college).
One Saturday evening, the married sister decided she wanted to cook something. I don’t remember what it was, because she never cooked it.
She grabbed one of my knives, went to chop something, and chopped the end of her fucking finger off. No shit. Her dad rusher her to the urgent care, where they sewed everything back together.
Funny thing. She was trained in college to cook. It was her initial major. She later decided to be a schoolteacher, which is a good thing (because she can’t chop food for shit).
Back to cooking.
Add a little oil to the stock pot. Add the chopped onion. Sauté until translucent, stirring occasionally with the rubber spatula. Chop the garlic. Add it to the pot. Add the pork. Sprinkle a LITTLE cumin on everything. Add some chicken broth, about enough to cover the pork good (roughly a cup and a half).
Stir well.
Cover. Turn to low temp.
Let this simmer for four hours, covered.
Spend those four hours reading the first half of my most recent book, THUG, on Kindle. If you subscribe to Amazon Prime, you can read it for free on Kindle Unlimited. If not, it’ll cost you 3.99. Either way, it’ll be the most entertaining four hours you’ve ever spent cooking.