The guide at the hunting lodge I was visiting said, as the day turned to dark. “Go on up to the big house and in the sittin room get you some hors D’oeuvres.” (I do believe that is the hardest word to spell) I didn’t know at the time I was about to indulge in a simple gastronomic delicacy that would remain a part of my culinary life for the next 10 years. I don’t see myself not eating this for the rest of my life. A little back story. 

I was in a small town called Huntsboro Alabama. Not far from Atlanta Georgia. We were on a plantation called Enon. I was there for a hog hunt and a turkey hunt. We were in the Deep South where country food should be expected. The type of food I grew up on and the type of food I cook. So I don’t know why I was surprised by the Hors D’oeuvres that we were about to eat. We walked up the lane to the “big” house after an evening of fishing and as we climbed up the grand staircase. I was imagining soldiers returning from war or a gentleman riding up on his horse dismounting with the same intentions as me. Which were….Eating some good food. As I walked through the foyer the smell of fried chicken in the air, dark woods and a fire in the fire place. There on a coffee table the size of a hot tub was a plate and a glass of sweet tea. with leather couches and chairs worn with years of chats about prior and future hunts. There it was right in front of me. A bowl surrounded by ritz crackers and in that bowl was the “caviar of the south”. Yes our fancy appetizer was Pimento Cheese. A giant bowl of freshly grated cheese, mayo and red peppers. More ingredients than that but at the time that’s all I knew. And carefully placed around the cheese was a whole sleeve of Ritz Golden Crackers the perfect vessel for this food of the south. Pimento Cheese. Now don’t get me wrong I have been eating “cheese” as we called it for years. Cheese on white bread and mixed in grits. But this was different. It was perfect and I couldn’t stop eating it. So after I had my fair share i was on a mission. I had to find the recipe. So ventured into the kitchen. Where I often end up……there frying chicken was an older lady who I knew was the maker of the pimento cheese. She just looked the part. A smile that welcomed me and gleam in her eye that radiated hospitality. She was like my grandmother who would cook the most amazing simple dishes that still make my mouth water. Just like my grandmothers, this lady would influence my future cookery forever. I don’t recall her name. But what i do recall because I wrote it down was the recipe for the Enon Plantation pimento cheese. She gave it all to me. And as she recited it from memory I wrote it down. With intentions of duplicating it. Not expecting it to be as good as what came out of the kitchen at the hands of a “true chef”. …..but I did. And now you have the chance to do the same. To learn this recipe and carry it on from generation to generation. “The Caviar of the South”. 

Yesterday I picked my daughter up from Charlotte. Where she attends college at Johnson and Wales university to be a chef. The city is going through difficulties right now. I was a little anxious going into that “protest” environment. Where humanity shows its ugly side. But love makes you strong, and as we drove home last night my baby safe and at my side I thought of this. Today is her birthday. She turns 18 and I, with hesitation Whisper to myself “she is now an adult”. What? She hasn’t been home in 20 ish days and last night she, again slept in our home where she belongs. Safe and happy and feeling loved. I’m a firm believer that when difficult situations come up and they involve your family, as with Miep being away at college during dangerous conditions or Shepherd in the hospital it’s important for the family to come together. So on this day sept 24 18 years ago my first child was born. It was on that day so many years ago that I realized my purpose for life, I was a dad. That’s all that really mattered. So for the next 18 years that was my life, fatherhood. So as I reflect on all of your accomplishments, the friends you have made, the love that you show and the drive and ambition that amazes me. Mia Rae Starcher you are stunning and that day so many years ago you stole me heart and know this. I don’t care what or where you are or under what conditions, 

you call your dad to come get you and I will. I will always stand between those that dare to do harm and you. I will always have your back and I can’t wait to grow old watching you continue to amaze. 

You are the gift I was given on your birthday. I love you Thanks for giving me the privilege of being called dad happy birthday Miep my Pon Pon. #mattdad #fatherdaughter #chefmiarae

I had the pleasure of meeting and befriending a Sushi Chef named Tomo-son. He was the Sushi Chef at Mahi Mah’s in the early nineties and I was a line cook(I’m not sure how long but I was there for two seasons). After work he would take the bus home from the ocean front to Mt. Trashmore and wouldn’t get home until late. So I started to give him a ride home. It was on these rides that I began to learn about the Japanese culture and of course the art of Sushi. After I gained enough trust I asked if I could help out at the Sushi bar. He said yes but you have to listen to me. I couldn’t help but think of the karate kid and mister Miyagi. “We make secret pack I teach you how to make sushi and you promise learn. I say, you do, no questions”. That was it I was on board.  

So for the first couple of weeks I washed the rice, until the water ran clear. This took a few washings. Then back to being a line cook. 

Next week I learned to cook the rice. Adding the correct amount of water. Using the first knuckle of my pointer finger as a measuring tool (how do we remember stuff like that). Letting it cook, then removing the rice with a wooden paddle spoon and making sure not to scrap the bottom of the pot. Which would loosen the colored rice that was over cooked. I had another chef I trained under from Puerto Rico that called this the el pegado and it was an awesome, nutty kind of Carmelized rice.   

Then the rice is seasoned with rice vinegar, sugar and salt I think. This is what gives sushi rice its unique flavor.   

I learned to feel the rice as I carefully formed little football shaped serving vessels for tuna, and eel and salmon. As Tomoson would show me the motions and say “you have to feel the rice”and smile a big grin. I was doing as promised I was learning and he was teaching. I went on to learn to roll sushi, keeping my hand wet as I mashed a small tennis ball size of “sticky” rice on to a sheet of Nori the pressed seaweed sushi wrappers. I learned how wet my hands needed to be, how hard you can press with out ripping the delicate nori wrapper. I was learning.  “Wax on wax off”  “Paint the fence” as I became more bold I made the mistake of picking up the chef’s knife his sushi knife. Whoa.  

The calm, sweet docile man he couldn’t have been 5 foot tall, became disturbed and angry. He said in a Japanese touched whisper, (as we were in a public show kitchen), “you must never ever touch a Samurai’s weapon, his sword is his honor and in no instances should I handle it.” Another lesson learnt. Something I never forgot. That evening I became much more respectful of even my own knives and I held/hold them under the same regard as a samurai. I did eventually get to fabricate the fish with my own knives and prepare the secret eel sauce which is mirin, soy sauce and sugar. I also learnt a valuable lesson that life gives us opportunities to learn and when it does promise me this “do as I say” and take advantage of them. I will never forget that summer on the Atlantic Ocean when I became friends with a real sushi master the last Samurai I ever met.  Well I did meet Morimoto and that was pretty cool.  

It was more then just cooking Shrimp Tacos. 

Last night I did something I have done many times, I cooked supper for the family with Mia Rae But this was different. Not sure why I was thinking this. As we cooked in the kitchen of my Mothers vacation home in Nags Head NC we were in Harmony. We worked as if we were from the same blood, as if she was my first baby, as if she knew I had her back and she had mine. We cooked as a father and daughter or parent and kid should always do. As we looked up recipes, talked about sauces, decided on sides and our main course, a course that would be Shrimp Tacos, with a Lime Cilantro Creme and a Sweet-Red Chili Cole Slaw. We started as a team, never out of place just flowing so smooth of the same person, my twin, my first off-spring who shares the same love, the passion of cookery. We cut, we chopped, we talked and created, we took chances and laughed, we made supper together me and my Mia Rae. Then it hit me, when will our last supper take place? When will you not stay over and cook, and laugh, and be my child in my home. Is this feeling the feeling of gratefulness as I watch you cook with my humbled, fluttering heart, knowing that you will be awesome at what ever you do. Confident in your determination and ability, I know you will crush it at Johnson and Wales. Or is this feeling a feeling one feels when his nest is starting to empty when that process the “older” parents talk about starts. Is this when my core family the Starcher six starts to live their own lives, where the “family” is not “the home”. I think that is it. I think that is why this night that we prepare Shrimp Tacos I see my world changing and I am not quite ready, she is, but this dad is not. Just as she watches my back, I will always watch hers. But I won’t be able to, like I want. I mean I will always have her back. But I will be five hours away- I will be there, just five hours after I wanted to be.  So as we completed the preparation and cooking process and I taught and I learned, I smiled. I smiled knowing that this is just another step in her process of becoming the person we always dreamed she would become, that we prayed she would become. 

As we stood beside each other, as one, we tasted our creation, and Anna asked “is it good”. We just smiled at each other and we knew that is not just good, it is great and I smiled bigger, lip splitting big, knowing our greatest accomplishment ever, our Miep is more then good she is great and I will share my kitchen, her kitchen or wherever to have the pleasure of cooking with her again, as often as I can, for as long as I can with my ChefMiaRae.

 
Pizza the art of making something edible from flour, water, yeast, sugar, salt and Olive oil. It is one of the coolest things to make. The way dough follows the form of your hand as you stretch it. Encouraging it into the shape of a pie. Remember this was a cup of flour just hours ago.  It is awesome to create a food that few know how to make from scratch, and yet pizza is a favorite for nearly everyone. In this country number one is hamburgers and number two hotdogs, but everyone knows how to make those. When you finally find that perfect pizza recipe, and become comfortable making it, it could become a weekly occurrence, like at our home. That being said, last night, after years of making hundreds of pizzas, I have finally mastered a “really” good dough recipe. I have tweaked it, a little more salt, twice that in sugar, a touch of olive oil, garlic butter on the crust, details details, it is where I think it should be. Add a tomato sauce or Alfredo, assorted ingredients, or just pepperoni, my favorite. 

So now I have a pizza crust that is wonderful as pepperoni rolls, garlic knots, it is a family favorite. There is nothing more rewarding then cooking a meal, that your family looks forward to eating and is big enough to share with friends and loved ones. Or to have left overs for breakfast, cold pizza, that is it, pizza my number one food. So Give it a shot. Don’t be a afraid to try, and give me a shout if you have any difficulties. Remember it is just flour, water and yeast. How hard could it be. I mean it only took me 45 years to find the “perfect” recipe for cold pizza in the morning. Enjoy. M. 

Two days ago I walked into 711 and there was an old couple at the register probably 90 to 100 years old. They were grocery shopping.  Milk. Wrapped sandwiches, banana, cigarettes and a soda.  I watched them and wondered what was their story.  He was not the boss. Both were frail as they went to pay he tapped his pants as I do looking for my pocket book.  It wasn’t there he had given up carrying it long ago. As she pulled out money from her purse she reached for a brownie and said “temptation an impulse buy”.  I walked past to the next register and made my purchase.   She was handed her change and she said in what I thought was the accent of a queen “I gave you a two hundred dollar bill my lady”.  A smile as big and real came to her face.
I waited by the door wanting to help them if I was given the opportunity.  I held the door in awkward stance as people came and went. Finally as the couple approached me she said in a bossy tone “what are you doing?”   I said I am holding the door open for two beautiful, intriguing people.  She said “and where is my red carpet?”.  I did not understand her she talked as if her dentures were a little loose.  She repeated I said “where is my red carpet and my chauffeur?”.   Then we talked.  What I wanted to do all along.  As we stood in front of 7-11 on battlefield by the YMCA I was touched by two people that had lived.   He was Frank,from West Virginia.  A town I knew of.   She was “from across the water”.  England.  A queen .   At least a queen to Frank.  Her name was Zoe and they met while frank was in WWII. She was disheveled and her hair was messy.  But her mind was sharp.  He was quiet and strong.  She had an arm missing from her glasses but beautiful blue eyes.   Eyes that…. as I thought had seen a 100 years.   He was 102 and she was 98 or so she said.   She gracefully lifted her hand and I took it as she stepped down off that curb. And I opened her door as she was driving a red 2006 mustang.  They take care of each other,  What ever it takes.  This morning i met another queen.

I now wish I would have found out where they lived.  They have been in GB for 50 years. Frank and Zoe.  I’m gonna find them.

So this morning we left the house at 2am to drop our son off at the airport in Richmond. He was to fly out at 5:45AM to Atlanta and then on to Minneapolis and bus to Fargo.  
A few things were happening at that airport this morning. First I get nervous and excited when i go to an airport. I even think it smells of excitement. As we parked the car, and walked in I felt nervous not excited. My boy is 15, he has never flown, he is going to a giant wrestling tournament, he is watching his weight so he is hungry and I can’t feed him, he is nervous but is with his buds so he has to hold that in and not show emotion, I can’t hold him as much as he needs. He has parents that don’t want to let go, more on that later. So as we waited for the rest of the team and coaching staff I watched him. I saw a boy sitting there and I couldn’t tell if he was nervous or excited or maybe just sleepy. But what I did see was a chiseled jaw line, the broad shoulders of an athlete, the look of determination that one gets when they know what they are about to do is going to be difficult, it is going to be relentless and a challenge. The look of someone who has trained for weeks, for years really for this moment. This moment when he has to step out of his comfort zone and push through a wall he has never seen. 
And it was then that I saw me. Sitting just a few feet away, with out the muscles, and with more of a broad belly then shoulders. But the face is the same, we both have that same heart to battle for what we love. We have the same lump in our throats, we have the same stoic look at that moment of everything is cool. When inside he is the same as me, nervous, anxious, a little scared even though we both know it will be ok.

We feel the same. As we caught a glimpse of him going through the metal detectors and briefly made eye contact, my eyes leaked a little. 
 Now a couple of hours later I sit in this coffee shop as he is 10,000 feet up. I now know what I saw and what I felt. Rstar is growing up and what I am most anxious about is that he is going to come back a man. So strong from the battle, both mentally and physically that he won’t need us anymore. I mean he will still want money for shoes, and he will need encouragement to clean his room, and the basics, he is becoming so independent.  
But I guess that is what we are supposed to be doing as parents preparing our children for battle. So when they do face the giants that they will face. Whether it be peer pressure, or a job interview or a bracket of 100 kids wanting to beat him up at a wrestling tournament….in Fargo. You bet-yeah….they come out better then when they entered the battle. 
My son is turning into a man and I am so proud of him. He has been training all his life for a moment like this and so I have to be the dad that gets to sit by his son and just sit. Knowing that he knows I am there if he ever needs me, I will always have his back. To be the dad that gets to enjoy the accomplishments of his children, to be the dad that gets a lump in his throat when his kids are feeling the same. Now I know what that feeling is and it is worth all the heartache because it is the feeling of love that parent has for their children.  
Rstar just battle, lay it all on the line and I pray for safe travels, an injury free week and God speed as you come back to your folks as we quietly sit and wait for your return. We love you Riley.  

This was set up was outside of a restaurant in Gloucester. I thought it was an odd way to display the days specials and thought nothing more of it. As I dined on Pad Thai a traditional rice noodle dish, the perfect yen and yang combination of sweet and spicy or crunchy peanuts and the soft noodles, the exotic aroma of fish sauce, yes pad Thai it is my favorite Thai dish. I ate my lunch with chop sticks, I always find it a little odd more people don’t use chop sticks when they eat at an Asian Restaurant. Its simple, fun and makes you slow down when you eat. Which allows for a better, more enjoyable meal. Back to the food display. I started to think about the reasoning for the four course meal and why each portion was so small and left outside where the critters could indulge. So I asked. I often wonder if folks that speak English as a second language get offended at my curious questions about their culture. I don’t know. But I still ask questions, I’m not offended by someone asking me questions. So I asked what does the food display represent? He told me it was an offering, a way to give back to the gods and pointed to several Buddhist Statues on display. I thought this was so cool, not something I had ever heard of. So I did what I  I often do, I googled “food offering for a Thai God”. What a learning experience. Thailand is made up of 95 percent Buddhists and offerings play a significant part in their religion. This particular offering according to Wikipedia is defined as

“Thai people install spirit houses, miniature wooden houses outside their dwellings, where they believe household spirits live. They present offerings of food and drink to these spirits to keep them happy. If these spirits aren’t happy, it is believed that they will inhabit the household and cause chaos. These spirit houses can be found in public places and on the streets of Thailand, where the public make offerings.”

I also like the idea that if a bird wants some lunch they get there “peck” from a four course Buffet. The Thai fellow also told me that they cook each and every morning for this offering and it is serious. Life is full of learning moments. This was just another chance to ask some questions and enjoy some street noodles. 

Thanks for reading

The Spirit House and the Offering 

Lunch Pad Thai with Pork.  

It started as a poplar seed. Then grew for 30 years. It was injured and started to rot from the inside and became hollow. The tree died and was in danger of falling on a building. The animals used it as a home the woodpeckers pecked and ate bugs maybe a mom and dad squirrel and the baby squirrels slept inside maybe even a screech owl lived in this poplar tree. It was cut down and left in chunks on the burn pile. That’s where I found it and decided that tree wasn’t done making memories. One day that poplar seed will be a finished spoon that will give a family comfort as it stirs a potato soup. All that took place because when you look for beauty you find it, somethings just take a little longer than others. ​