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MOCK-A-RONI SAUCE: A VEGETARIAN MAKEOVER FOR “SUNDAY GRAVY”

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Vegetarianism is a choice.  My step-daughter is a vegetarian.

Six days a week, she is both proud of and happy with her choice.  But on the seventh day, not so much. 

Why?  Because once a week we serve macaroni for dinner.  And the macaroni in our home is always dressed with the Oliva Family Macaroni Sauce—a rich, flavorful ragu that’s chock full of fork-tender cow and pig parts.  It’s an Italian-American style of sauce that folks in some cities refer to (rightly or oddly) as “Sunday Gravy.”

For years I’ve tried to ignore the sad spectacle of my step-daughter pecking away at a plate of rigatoni with Trader Joe’s jarred marinara sauce, while the rest of us revel in the rapture of a tomatoey umami-gasm.  But alas, I could no longer shoulder the guilt.

I vowed to free my step-daughter from the shackles of insipid jarred sauce!  After all…if I was able to crack the code of an item as beastly and torturous as pusties, then surely I could figure out how to make a vegetarian macaroni sauce that tastes meaty.

And I did.  Spoiler Alert:  Mushrooms and soy sauce are the key ingredients. 

Here’s the recipe…

THE INGREDIENTS

28 oz. Crushed Tomato
28 oz. Tomato Puree
12 oz. Tomato Paste

2 cloves of Garlic (crushed with side of knife and skins removed)
15 oz. Water
Olive oil
Red wine for deglazing (if needed)

Soy sauce
12 oz Veggie Italian Sausage, cut into 1” chunks

12 oz Morningstar Grillers Crumbles (or similar item)
1 lbs. Mushrooms, quartered or sliced (I use a combo of Shitake and Crimini)

1 Onion, diced
1 lbs. Veggie Meatballs
Fresh Parsley and/or Basil (chopped)

Grated Parmesan or Romano cheese

THE ASSEMBLY

Step 1:  Sautee onions and mushrooms in olive oil on medium-high heat.  Add Morningstar Crumbles and garlic, sauté for 30 seconds.  Deglaze with a healthy splash of soy sauce, and reduce.  Remove and transfer to slow cooker.

Step 2:  Add veggie sausage and sauté until browned on all sides. Remove and transfer to slow cooker. 

Step 3:  Add tomato paste and (stirring frequently) fry until darkened, but not burned. Deglaze with wine, scraping up any browned bits cling to the bottom of the pot.  Remove and transfer to slow cooker.

Step 4: Add crushed tomato, tomato puree, veggie meatballs, and water to slow cooker. Stir to combine all ingredients.  Taste and adjust with more soy sauce, if needed.  Yeah, I know what you’re thinking.  “Why the bloody hell is he putting soy sauce in an Italian dish?!”  Trust me on this.  Soy sauce tastes like liquid meat.

Step 5: Set slow cooker to low, and let it simmer away for 4-8 hours.

Step 6:  Season with parsley/basil and cheese upon serving.

NOTES

Note:  I use a slow cooker, because I can set it and forget it.  You can certainly simmer the sauce on a stovetop, but who wants sit at home all day babysitting a pot of sauce?!

Note 2:  I served this sauce to a group of high school cheerleaders when we hosted a Team Dinner last week.  They all loved it and commented that they would not have guessed it was vegetarian.  Well…all but the one cheerleader who demanded plain noodles with butter.  Sigh…’merica!

Note 3:  You’re probably wondering why there’s an Instant Pot in the photo above.  Well…my original intention was to make this sauce in an Instant Pot—which would decrease the simmering time from hours to minutes.  But the Instant Pot was an epic fail.  The sauce scorched on the bottom of the pot, thus triggering the “Burn” warning before the Instant Pot reached high pressure.   Unfortunately, the only photo I have on my phone is this one.  I’ll replace it with a new photo the next time I make a batch.

Note 4:  If any of you can figure out how to make this recipe in an Instant Pot without triggering the “Burn,” you may be eligible to receive a collector’s edition “Sal’s VTB Tote Bag!”

Note 5:  Has it really been two years since I last posted? That’s a wee bit pathetic. I’ll try to do better in the future.

SPANISH DRIVER’S LICENSE EXAM: EL CONFIDENCIAL SHARES MY SHAME WITH A NEW GENERATION.

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Although I don’t like to brag about it, I am the 78,456th most famous man in Spain.

So when the publication El Confidencial asked to interview me about the tortuous process of obtaining a Spanish driver’s license as an expat, how could I refuse them the “Sally D. Bump?!”

Besides, I had already written extensively on this topic in a 2004 blog post–which, I guess, makes me a leading authority on failing the exam.

You can read the El Confidencial article HERE. Check it out! You need to practice your Spanish.

EULOGY FOR MR. O.

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[Note: My cousin, Tony, and I tag-teamed the writing of this eulogy for his father (my uncle), Sam Oliva. Tony delivered the eulogy at the memorial gathering, and it is therefore written in his voice.]

A man’s legacy is not determined by the amount of wealth or possessions he accumulated. It’s determined by the number of lives he changed.

My dad—“Mr. O”… “Uncle Sammy”… “Professor Big-a-nose”… “Galloping Groovy, the Gourmet Weatherman”…changed a lot of lives.

My dad’s own life was full of interesting experiences, artistic accomplishments, and enormous influence.

He was born in Utica, NY to first generation Southern Italians. Utica is a formerly thriving industrial city in upstate NY that was home to a huge Italian-American population—90% of which seemed to be an aunt, uncle, cousin, or friend of his.

Growing up in Utica, he had two passions: Food, and music.

The food passion was by stroke of luck. His mother was one of the best home cooks in central NY. She spoiled him rotten with a childhood full of tomato pie, pusties, homemade ravioli, fried zucchini blossoms, the onion/olive/anchovy calzone called “Fucazzo,” and most importantly…the Oliva family’s made-from-scratch, meat-heavy macaroni sauce.

If his passion for food was by stroke of luck, his passion for music was driven by talent, intelligence, and relentless practice.

He put down his fork and picked up a string bass. Inspired heavily by his musical idol, Paul McCartney, his string bass morphed into a bass guitar. Several bass guitars, in fact. And he played those bass guitars for a number of renowned central NY bands—most notably, the “Four Syns,” “Aerodrome,” and the jazz/rock fusion band “Fuel.”

He graduated from Proctor High School at age 17, and left home to become a touring musician. This was a gutsy move; and not always a smart one. He once spent the night in a Florida jail when local police discovered that the youthful-looking electric bassist on the tavern’s stage was, in fact, still a youth. True story.

He did session work during those early years with a number of major acts—including the Beach Boys, the Mills Brothers, and Daryl Dragon from the Captain & Tennille.

How many of you can say that you’ve met The Captain?

And, of course…after moving to Nashville, he spent two decades playing in Boots Randolph’s band.

He was a private pilot for many years, and a commercial pilot with Catskills Airline for a few. His biggest and most important vocation, however, was as a middle and high school music teacher.

But he was more than just a teacher. He was a mentor. A role model. A challenger of mediocrity. He was a builder and shaper of young men and women—coaxing them, cajoling them, bullying them to be better than they knew or believed they could be. And he did it in a way that still seemed fun.

When it was announced on Facebook two weeks ago that his journey was coming to an end, nearly 150 former students and colleagues—some from as far away as California—poured into the air park for one last class with Mr. O.

Most of you have read the avalanche of Facebook tributes that followed. But in case you haven’t, here’s a small sampling:

  • “Mr. Oliva was hands down the BEST music teacher I could’ve asked for. Starting from being a complete violin noob to first chair in one year. He taught me so much.”
  • “One of the most honorable, loving, gifted, smart men I have ever met. He touched so many lives.”
  • “It still amazes me how well his kids played despite being in the type of high school where string programs rarely thrive.”
  • “He was my orchestra teacher from 7th-12th grades and taught me how to play the violin, but more importantly he taught me about life.”
  • Mr. O wasn’t just a music teacher to me. He was a father figure in my life who cared deeply for his students’ safety and well-being.”
  • “[He] did more in [his] time on this earth than most will ever do. [He] left a legacy of musicians and music lovers.”
  • “He has taught me so much more than how to read notes and tune a violin. He taught me that music can heal the deepest wounds and that our orchestra was a family.”
  • “Some people have such an impact on your life and the way you conduct yourself in your career. I only had the pleasure to work beside him for four years, but the impact he had on me and so many others has been great. He knew how to take care of me while at the same time treat me as an equal colleague even though I had nowhere near the experience or cred that he did. The lessons he taught his students were life changing. The lessons he taught me were life-giving. If I can be half the teacher he was, I will be doing well.”
  • “He is a big reason why I am the person I am today. When life got crazy around me and school was challenging, I couldn’t wait to go to my Orchestra class and forget about everything and play music. I appreciate music so much more because of him.”
  • “We went through some super awkward phases together, and this man walked us through all of them. He taught us so much more than music. He invested his time, energy, his whole heart, and even his own finances into us. He got up at dawn to meet me at All-State auditions for moral support. He gave me private lessons after school to prepare me for those auditions. He took us on adventures and gave us experiences we wouldn’t have had otherwise, like convincing our principal that a trip to Six Flags was educational, and getting into a real recording studio to record a CD. He believed in me when I didn’t believe in myself.”
  • “We may not have come from much, but [he] brought us much joy through music. [He] helped us discover our abilities to persevere and succeed not only in music but in life. We will never forget the care [he] showed us or the values [he] instilled in us and will cherish our memories of [him] forever.
  • “I was never in Samuel Oliva’s class, but we taught together for seven years. I cannot even begin to describe how much of my teaching style comes from Sam mentoring me all those years. He was a fantastic musician, and was so skilled at building relationships with his kids. I was always amazed at how he could hold his students to such high standards and make them love every second of it along the way. My students may never know, but he is still having an influence on THEM because of what he taught me.”
  • “[He was] so much more than a teacher. [He was] a friend, confidant, mentor but most of all [he was] a parent to so many of us. No matter how irritating we all were, [he] never gave up on any of us. [He] loved unconditionally. Some of my best childhood memories are with [him] and all the class trips we went on.”
  • “I only pray that my son is lucky enough to have a teacher who invests in him half as much as Mr. O did all of us.”

So…as I said at the beginning…a man’s legacy is not determined by the amount of wealth or possessions he accumulated. It’s determined by the number of lives he changed.

In this respect, my dad’s legacy is enormous. “Mr. Holland’s Opus” ain’t got nothin’ on “Mr. O’s Opus.” “Jerry’s Kids” ain’t got nothin’ on “Sammy’s Kids.”

I don’t know if my dad realized the enormity of his legacy until just a few weeks ago.

Let’s be honest. He often complained about the frustrations of teaching. He often lamented that he never got to pilot 747s from Nashville to Italy and back. But the life he lived was far more valuable than that of any airline pilot—because spread throughout the world are hundreds of former students that are better musicians, better teachers, better parents, better human beings than they otherwise would’ve been. All—or, at least, in large part—due to my dad.

This, I know, he finally realized in the end.

So…if I had a glass of Scotch in my hand (and believe me, I will before this day is over), I’d raise it in celebration of Professor Big-a-nose. The body is gone, but the man lives on.

He lives on through me.

Through his step-children.

Through his nieces and nephews [ESPECIALLY SAL, WHO IS HIDING IN A CONFERENCE ROOM WRITING THIS WHEN HE IS SUPPOSED TO BE WORKING].

Through his hundreds of former students.

And through every one of you that sets aside that jar of Ragu and takes the time to make the Oliva family’s meat-heavy macaroni sauce from scratch.

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TORTILLA ESPANOLA: THE “NOT YOUR GRANDMA’S” EDITION.

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The word “tortilla” in Spanish of the Americas means a thin, starchy, floppy disc that keeps the contents of a 950 calorie burrito from exploding onto your lap. In Spain, however, it means something entirely different.

“Tortilla,” in the land of Cervantes, means a thick, Frittata-like, potato and egg omelette. It is, quite arguably, the greatest coupling of protein and carbohydrates since Five Guys’ bacon double cheeseburger with fries.

More so than Paella—which, although sophisticated and widely known, is really a regional (i.e., Valencian) dish—Tortilla Espanola is *the* national dish of Spain. Nearly every bar throughout the country will have a Tortilla Espanola sitting at room temperature on the counter—a hunk of which will likely be served as a tapa to accompany your glass of beer or wine.

But making Tortilla Espanola at home poses two challenges: (a) peeling, cutting, and frying the potatoes is tedious, messy, and time-consuming; and (b) getting the Tortilla’s center to cook through without scorching the surface is tricky.

But I’ve cracked both codes through research, trial, and error. Lots of error. And my now-perfected method is so quick and effortless that we often make Tortilla Espanola as a weeknight dinner—much to the delight of our children, both vegetarian and non-vegetarian…Spanish and non-Spanish.

So…what are the keys to my easy and fool-proof Tortilla? There are two: (a) use frozen French fries; and (b) start the Tortilla on the stovetop, but finish it in the oven.

Yeah, yeah, yeah…I know. No Spanish grandmother would ever, in a million years, use frozen French fries to make a Tortilla Espanola. Then, again…no Spanish grandmother understands the difference between a private message and a Facebook post. Just sayin’.

Progress waits for no granny. So…vamos, chicos! Let’s make…

 

NOT YOUR GRANDMA’S TORTILLA ESPANOLA!
(As bastardized by a lazy-yet-talented, US-born, former expat)

Ingredients:
1 lbs. Frozen French fries
10 Eggs
1 Onion (sliced thinly)
2 Garlic cloves (minced)
Shredded cheese (Cheddar, Monterrey Jack, Queso Cotija, or whatever the hell you like)
Kosher Salt
Extra virgin olive oil (EVOO)
10″ non-stick, oven-safe skillet

Step 1: Spread frozen fries in a single layer across cookie sheet and bake in oven til crisp and golden brown. 20-25 minutes (flipping once) at 450F usually does the trick, but check the baking instructions on the back of the bag. Sprinkle with salt and set aside.

Step 2: Crack eggs into a large bowl, sprinkle with salt, and whisk until combined and smooth.

Step 3: Add EVOO to skillet on stovetop at medium heat. When EVOO shimmers, add onions to skillet, sprinkle with salt, and saute til soft.

Step 4: Add garlic to softened onions and saute for thirty seconds more. Don’t burn the garlic. Burnt garlic tastes like mierda.

Step 5: Add the onions, garlic, fries, and a big handful of shredded cheese to the bowl with beaten eggs. Mix with a wooden spoon to combine evenly, hacking at the fries to break them up a bit.

Step 6: Add more EVOO to skillet on stovetop at medium heat. When EVOO shimmers, add egg mixture. Shake skillet briefly to even out egg mixture, and cook until bottom and sides just begin to set (perhaps 30-45 seconds).

Step 7: Transfer skillet into 450F oven. Bake on middle rack for 15 minutes.

Step 8: Remove skillet from oven. Don’t forget to wear an oven mitt, or you will experience Raiders of the Lost Ark déjà vu. Put a large plate on top of the skillet, flip, and lift skillet so that Tortilla sits on plate.

Step 9: Slide Tortilla onto a cooling rack. Let cool to room temperature. Some uncooked egg may drip to the countertop, but don’t worry. The center of the Tortilla will continue to cook and solidify as it rests.

Step 10: When cooled to room temperature-ish, cut Tortilla into wedges or squares (depending on your aesthetic sensibilities).

TORTILLA FLIP

Just to make this bastardization of a classic even more blasphemous, I like to eat it with a Salsa Brava dipping sauce made by mixing ketchup, mayo, and Sriracha sauce.

Grandma wouldn’t approve of that, either.

HITTING THE SAUCE.

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My uncle vacationed in Italy a few years ago, and was disappointed with the food. He considered it bland compared to the “Italian” food to which he was accustomed in the US.

I wasn’t surprised by his conclusion. In fact, I think that the reasons behind it are pretty simple. My uncle is Italian-American, and he was eating in the land of Italian-Italians.

Contrary to what many in the US believe, Italian-Italians and Italian-Americans are different beasts. And it’s not just because the latter has a propensity to scratch their crotches in public venues. The differences go right down to the food.

Italian-Italians like their sauces to have clean, fresh flavors. Italian-Americans like them to have intense, meaty (and especially, porky) flavors.  Admittedly, I’m generalizing–but this has been my observation.

I’ve eaten in Italy many times, and I never encountered a sauce laden with meatballs, pork ribs, sausage, and beef hunks—in other words, the sauce on which my uncle and I were raised in Utica, NY.

No…nearly every tomato-based sauce that I’ve eaten in Italy tasted mainly of—hold onto your hats—TOMATO!

Sure, you can find sauces with additional flavorings tossed in (e.g., Bolognese with its ground beef, Puttanesca with its capers and spicy peppers, etc.), but these seem to be the exceptions rather than the norm.

So it’s a matter of apples and oranges. Personally, I’d be happy to eat a big bowl of either. But since not everyone is as flexible and open-minded as I am, I feel compelled to provide these folk with some sort of public service.

As such…I list below the recipe for my mother’s (and grandmother’s) classic, meat-heavy, Italian-American “Macaroni Sauce.” “Sunday Gravy,” if you’re from Chicago.

If you are Italian-American, planning a trip to Italy, and fear that your palate might be repulsed by the taste of an unadorned tomato, then you should pack a tub of this sauce in dry ice and wedge it into your suitcase.

Just don’t be scratching your crotch while standing in the TSA line.

OLIVA FAMILY’S MACARONI SAUCE

56 oz. Crushed Tomato
56 oz. Tomato Puree
24 oz. Tomato Paste
Salt & Pepper (to taste)
3-4 cloves of Garlic (crushed with side of knife and skins removed)
Water (no more than 28 oz.)
Olive oil
Red wine for deglazing (if needed)
1 lbs. Italian Sausage (recipe below, or store bought if you have a life outside the kitchen)
1 lbs. Pork “Country Ribs” or Pork Butt
1 lbs. Beef Chuck
1 lbs. Meatballs (recipe below, or store bought if you’re as lazy as I am)
1 lbs. Skirt Steak or Bracciole (optional, but it’s great if you aren’t a cheapskate like me)
Fresh Parsley and/or Basil (chopped)

Step 1:  Cut meat and sausage into chunks.  Combine meats and garlic cloves in large bowl or hotel pan.  Salt, pepper, and toss.

Step 2:  In a large sauté pan, fry meats  and garlic (in batches) in olive oil at medium-high heat until browned on all sides. Transfer browned batches of all meats  and garlic into large kettle (off heat).

Step 3: Add tomato paste to rendered fats and (stirring frequently) fry on medium heat until darkened, but not burned. Transfer fried tomato paste into the kettle with the meat and garlic. If any browned bits cling to the bottom of the sauté pan, then deglaze with red wine, reduce, and transfer to the kettle.

Step 4: Add crushed tomato, tomato puree, and water to kettle. Cook on low heat until the sauce gets hot, then simmer on lowest heat possible. Stir frequently, being very careful not to allow the sauce on the bottom of the pot to scorch or the meatballs to disintegrate.

Step 5: Continue to simmer.  Read a book.  Hell, write a book.  Talk to your spouse.  Just don’t forget to stir frequently. Your goal is to babysit that pot of sauce until all the meat to be tender and nearly falling apart. It sounds torturous, but the house will smell so good…you won’t want to leave.  Total simmering time (from start to finish) can be anywhere from 8 to 12 hours.  As my grandmother would say, “Just taste it.”

Step 6: When sauce is done, stir in the parsley (and/or basil).  Top with freshly grated Pecorino Romano or Parmeggiano Reggiano cheese when served.  Buy the good Italian stuff, not an ugly step-child from Wisconsin.  I also like a good sprinkling of red pepper flakes or a drizzle of chile-infused EVOO, because I am a spicy dude.

Note: If making sauce on the stovetop, my preference is to double this recipe  Seriously…if you’re going to trash an entire weekend making sauce, you might as well make a ton and freeze it in batches. It freezes very well, thank god.  Also, I place a diffuser under the pot while simmering to lessen the odds of scorching the sauce.

Note 2 and Life-changing #ProTip:  Did you know that you can skip 8-12 hours of babysitting a stovetop kettle by making this recipe in a slow cooker?  Yeah, it’s true.  You don’t even need to stir.  I can’t believe it took me this long to think of it.  Follow steps 1-4 as described above, BUT…instead of transferring the ingredients to a pot, transfer them to two (2) 6 quart slow cookers (or cut the recipe in half if using only one slow cooker…but seriously, just spend the extra $30 and buy a second slow cooker).  Set the slow cooker(s) to “Low,” then come back in 8 hours to finish the job at Step 6.

Note 3:  I tried to make this recipe (again, cutting it in half) in an Instant Pot–believing that 8 hours of simmering could be reduced to a mere 20 minutes under high pressure.  And it would have worked, if it weren’t for that meddling “Burn” warning.  Yes, sadly…the Instant Pot “Burn” function kept triggering before the sauce reached high pressure.  If anybody can figure out how to get the sauce to high pressure without triggering “Burn,” you’ll likely find a Nobel Prize under the tree next Christmas.  That said, if you have an old school/low-tech stovetop pressure cooker, give it a try and let me know if my hypothesis holds [pasta] water.  I’ll betcha it does.

NONNIE’S MEATBALLS

¾ lbs. Ground Beef
¾ lbs. Ground Pork
3-4 slices of Bread (soaked in water and squeezed)
1 Egg
Garlic (minced)
Fresh Parsley
Fresh Basil
Salt & Pepper
¼ cup Grated Cheese

Step 1: Mix ingredients.

Step 2: Roll into balls.

Step 3: Fry in olive oil until browned. Let cool on cooling rack or paper towel-lined plate.

Disclaimer:  I haven’t made homemade meatballs in years, much to my mother’s chagrin.  It’s just too much trouble.  I buy froze meatballs from the grocery store and fry them along with the other meats.  Honestly, I can’t tell the difference in the finished product and it saves me at least an hour’s worth of labor.

NONNIE’S ITALIAN SAUSAGE

4 lbs. Coarsely-ground pork butt (i.e., pork shoulder)
2 teaspoons salt
2 tablespoons paprika
2 teaspoons fennel seed
2 tablespoons hot red pepper flakes (optional)
Sausage casings, soaked in water to soften and remove salt (optional)

Step 1. Mix pork and spices in a bowl.

Step 2. Cover and let sit overnight in the fridge.

Step 3. Stuff into casings.  How do you do that?  Look it up on YouTube.

Another Disclaimer: Steps 1 and 2 are pieces of cake. Step 3 is a bit of a pain.  Plus, it requires special equipment. To be honest, I almost always just buy a good quality Italian sausage from the market when making sauce.

BRACCIOLE

1-1.5 lbs. Round Steak (sliced thinly)
Fresh Parsley
Salt & Pepper
Garlic (minced and sautéed) or Garlic Powder
Grated Cheese
Kitchen Twine or Toothpicks

Step 1: Pound steak with mallet.

Step 2: Slice steak into strips (i.e., wider/longer strips for big bracciole; narrower/shorter strips for small bracciole).

Step 3: Sprinkle steak strips with salt, pepper, garlic (or garlic powder), parsley and cheese.

Step 4: Roll strips like a jelly roll, so that the seasonings are inside the roll. Tie with twine or spear with toothpicks, so that they won’t unroll.

Step 5: Fry in olive oil until browned.

Yet Another Disclaimer:  I rarely make bracciole.  Honestly, the above combo of ribs, chuck, meatballs, and (most importantly) sausage is more than sufficient.

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EXIT THE NONNIE.

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After a giggly, gourmet, ninety-six-ish year journey, my grandmother (“Nonnie”) has taken a seat at that great macaroni house in the sky.

When a family member dies, I’m usually asked to write a eulogy.  It’s a task that, quite frankly, I’d be happy to do without.

But in Nonnie’s case, the eulogy was easy. I’ve been writing it for the past decade.

You’ll find it HERE.

Buon appetito, and save room for the pusties.

THE PASSION OF THE ALDI.

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There are two kinds of people in this world: (a) Those that know and understand Aldi, and (b) Those that don’t, but make assumptions about it.

Aldi, of course, is the German-based, low-cost, low-frills supermarket chain that has been expanding like a late July brush fire around the world and across the US. It stokes passionate feelings on both sides of the spectrum.

People that have never set foot inside an Aldi tend to make bold assumptions—the most prevalent of which is that each Aldi resembles the East Berlin supermarket that I visited in 1988.

That pre-unification, East Berlin supermarket epitomized the term “Fifty Shades of Gray”—but with none of its sexiness. The supermarket had gray walls. Gray floors. A gray ceiling. On its gray shelves were gray cans sporting gray labels. Those labels said things like “Meat,” “Gruel,” or “Arguably, a Vegetable.” The store had no natural light. No color. No joy. The only fresh products I recall seeing were the ones scurrying underfoot across the floor.

This bold assumption, Comrades, is wrong.  Aldi provides a bright, attractive, exceedingly pleasant, uber-efficient supermarket experience. I know this, because I’ve been shopping there for years. So let me provide some “Aldi Truths” to bring the naysayers out of the Cold War.

  • GIVE THEM NO QUARTER! No, wait! Actually, you’ll need a quarter. Aldi shopping carts are chained together in a corral. To take a cart, you must first insert a quarter in order to unlock it. But don’t worry, because you’ll get your damn quarter back when you return the cart. And you WILL return the cart. Why? Because—odd as it may seem—the prospect of forfeiting 25 cents provides enough motivation to dissuade even the most lazy Aldi shopper from abandoning his cart in the parking lot…within striking distance of my new Volvo. And in the unlikely event that a cart is abandoned, another Aldi shopper will pounce immediately and pocket a two-bits windfall. No abandoned carts means there’s no need for Aldi to hire extra staff to retrieve them. This keeps Aldi’s staffing needs lean and its overhead costs low.

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  • YOU’LL SAVE A BUNDLE. According to a 2011 New York Times article, analysts estimate that Aldi prices are 20 percent lower than those of competitors like Wal-Mart. Aldi officials claim that the savings are closer to 45 percent. I don’t know which figure is correct, but I do know this. Before becoming an Aldi convert, I did my grocery shopping at Sam’s Club—where I would typically spend $240 per week to feed my family of six. My grocery bills at Aldi now range from $100 to $140 per week. You do the math.  You just might save enough money to buy a new Volvo.
  • THE SELECTION IS SMALL, BUT IT’S BIG ENOUGH. A typical Aldi carries approximately 1,500 popular, high-turnover items. Competing large supermarkets may carry 25,000 items. A superstore, 100,000! So…you won’t find 16 different brands of peanut butter at Aldi, or 46 colors and textures of toilet paper. But who needs a smorgasbord of toilet paper?! You may think that you do, but you don’t. You really don’t. I distinctly remember the first time I entered an Aldi. I looked around and thought, “Jesus! This joint will barely make a dent in my shopping list.” But by the time I rolled into the check-out register, I had knocked-off 90% of my list. Aldi also carries a nice selection of organic products, gluten-free items, and fresh meats and produce. You’ll often find a smattering of interesting German imports, like krauts, marzipan cakes, and funky sausages. And as if that weren’t enough, Aldi frequently surprises (and delights!) by offering limited term specialty items. Last week, two lobster tails (for $12!) appeared in the freezer aisle. The week before, I noticed the debut of vegetarian samosas. So, fear not, Gentle Eater…for shopping at Aldi will not result in death from either malnutrition or boredom.

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  • THE PRODUCTS TRULY ARE GOOD QUALITY. 95% of the products that Aldi offers are private labelled. This, admittedly, takes some getting used to. But the quality of those products is top-notch. I’ve eaten my way across the store and back, and (quite honestly) have found only one product that I didn’t like—the organic peanut butter…it needs more salt! And, again, private-labelling means that low-to-no marketing costs are passed-on to the consumer. Aldi is a super-secretive organization, but I suspect that many of their products are contract manufactured by the same companies that make the major, highly-marketed brands that we know and love. Why do I think this? Because my kids never complain that they are eating private labelled Aldi products. To be honest, I don’t think they even notice.

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  • WHAT’S WITH ALL THE BAR CODES? Aldi’s product packaging is peppered with multiple, long bar codes. I’m talking obnoxiously long bar codes on all (or nearly all) sides. This is to increase check-out speed. These bar codes on growth hormones allow Aldi cashiers to whiz product off the belt, past the scanner, and into the cart at Mach 3 without ever missing a beat. Which leads us to…

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  • THE CHECK-OUT PROTOCOL. There is a check-out protocol at Aldi. And while it’s not as intimidating as ordering a bowl of Mulligatawny from the Soup Nazi, it is taken seriously by employees and customers alike. First, you don’t dally while placing the contents of your cart onto the check-out conveyer belt. Why? Because once the Aldi cashier grabs the first of your items from the belt, you will enter a time warp. An Aldi cashier will grab, swipe, and dump $100 worth of groceries into your cart faster than it takes you to pull the debit card (Note: Aldi doesn’t take credit cards) from your wallet. Notice that I said he will dump the groceries into *your* cart. This, also, is part of the check-out protocol. Once you’ve unloaded your items onto the belt, you’ll push your empty cart to the end of the counter—where the cashier will either maneuver it around to abut the end of the counter, or he will move it aside because he has already grabbed and positioned the last customer’s cart. He does this because…
  • THERE IS NO BAGGING AT THE REGISTER! No, no, no! The cashier won’t bag your groceries at the register. A pimply-faced, 17 year old clerk won’t bag your groceries at the register. And you won’t bag your groceries at the register. What you *will* do, however, is take your receipt and proceed to “The Shelf!”
  • ALL HAIL THE MIGHTY SHELF! As you leave the check-out lane, you will encounter a deep, waist-high shelf running the length of the wall leading to the exit door. This is where you will bag your cart full of disheveled, freshly paid-for groceries. Again, this is done for purposes of efficiency. Bagging groceries at the register is a common (and annoying!) bottleneck in the typical supermarket machine. Aldi doesn’t do bottlenecks. Plus, you probably needed the exercise. There’s one more thing that you need to know about bagging groceries at Aldi…

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  • BRING YOUR OWN BAGS! That’s right. Aldi doesn’t give out bags. You’re free to grab an empty box or carton if you find one lying around, but most Aldi shoppers come armed with a stack of eco-friendly, re-usable nylon bags for this purpose. Those bags often sport a Trader Joe’s logo, which is a bit ironic—since Trader Joe’s was founded by the brother of Aldi’s founder.

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[Authors Note:  Despite my clear passion for Aldi (and the fact that I live in the town where it is headquartered), please be advised that I don’t work for Aldi.  Although…that’s certainly not for lack of trying.  😉 ]

DeTRAGLIA, ON WRITING GOOD…I MEAN, WELL.

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I suspect that more people have mastered advanced calculus than good writing skills.

I’m not talking about writing novels or epic poems. I’m talking about every day, real world writing.

I’m talking about business letters. Personal emails. Explanatory memos. And don’t even get me started on Facebook posts and Yelp reviews!

The ability to write well will improve all aspects of a person’s life—whether professional, social, or romantic. It’s a skill that may seem hard at first, but it’s really not so hard. Writing well is like swimming well. It just takes mindfulness and practice. And once good writing skills become ingrained as “muscle memory,” they (like swimming) will feel effortless for the rest of your life.

I’ve been in a writing-intensive profession for twenty years, and have amassed a toolbox full of tips, tricks, and go-to techniques that have served me well. I share them with you, Gentle Writer, in the bullet points below.

  • KISS (Keep It Short & Simple): Readers have short attention spans. They don’t want to blow too much time or energy reading (or understanding!) what’s in the document handed to them. Your document should coddle the reader’s inherent sloth by being as brief and idiot-proof as possible.
  • ABC, 123: I am a huge fan of bullet-pointed lists. Hell, you’re in the middle of one right now! A bullet-pointed list is an effective way of breaking a long, dense hunk of text into non-intimidating, easy-to-swallow, easy-to-follow, bite-sized pieces. Think about it. Would you rather read David Letterman’s “Top Ten List” as a three inch tall paragraph? Or as ten numbered bullet-points? I think history has answered that question for us.
  • SMALL WORDS ARE BETTER THAN LONG WORDS: This point is indubitable. It’s also true. Using small words will make any sentence more comprehensible. It will also make it more clear.  Remember…big words are for dumb people that are trying to sound smart.
  • TWO SHORT SENTENCES ARE BETTER THAN ONE LONG SENTENCE: Hey…nobody loves commas and semi-colons more than I do. But if that comma or semi-colon is in the middle of a sentence, replacing it with a period—thereby breaking it into two shorter sentences—will oftentimes make it easier to swallow. Which brings me to my next point…
  • IF YOU NEED TO READ A SENTENCE TWICE TO UNDERSTAND IT, THEN YOU NEED TO RE-WRITE IT: And oftentimes, breaking that sentence into two smaller ones is just what the doctor ordered.  Good, hard, diligent editing.  It’s what separates Hemingway from that insufferable Facebook friend that you hid last week.
  • TWO SHORT PARAGRAPHS ARE BETTER THAN ONE LONG PARAGRAPH: Go back and read the opening paragraphs of this post. See what I did there? Huh?  Huh?  See what I did?!
  • DON’T TRY TO WRITE LIKE A LAWYER: Even lawyers don’t write like lawyers anymore! At least, the good ones don’t. Good lawyers opt for plain English when writing letters, memos, or even contracts. Think about it. A crystal-clear contract is unlikely to go to court. Why? Because it’s crystal clear, dammit! There’s nothing to argue about!!! Crystal-clear is where you want to be. That said, not all lawyers are good lawyers. Strictly for infotainment purposes, I’ve reproduced below a portion of a document that I recently received from a country lawyer based in an unnamed southern state. I swear to god…this ain’t no joke.

Had you in your hands, or under your control, directly or indirectly, at the time of service of these interrogatories, or at any time since, any money, rights, credits or other property whatsoever, belonging or due the said defendant in WRIT or in which it has or had any interest for the whole or for a part; and if yea, what is the nature, description and amount thereof, and is the same sufficient to pay or satisfy the full amount of said writ or if less, to what amount? – you being asked and required to make full disclosure in relation to the same.

This, my friends, is *not* a good lawyer. This is nonsense. And while I appreciate the time and energy he took to hand me a laughable example for this blog post, he could have just asked the following question and saved his client a billable hour: “Do you have any of the Defendant’s property or valuables in your possession or control? If so, please describe what they are and the value of each.” KISS, baby…KISS!

  • A BRIEF EXAMPLE CAN CLARIFY ANYTHING: This is especially useful when the document you are writing includes a formula or the description of a calculation. For an example of an example, please see the example in Part IV of my recent cocktail blog post.
  • TELL THE READER WHAT’S COMING AT THE BEGINNING: A well-written document should not read like an M. Night Shaymalan movie script (i.e., no surprises at the end). State your point up front, then use the rest of the document to flesh-out and/or support that point. “How do I love thee? Let me count the ways…”
  • PASSIVE VOICE SHOULD NOT BE USED: Oh, snap! What I meant to say was, “Don’t Use the Passive Voice.” The passive voice makes you sound bloated, meandering, and pompous. Instead, use the active voice. Active voice makes your point more clear, punchy, direct, and powerful. The difference between active voice and passive is like the difference between Bernie Sanders and Rick Perry. Here’s a (usually) effective trick to help distinguish between the two? Add the words “…by zombies” to the end of your sentence. If it makes sense, then you are probably using the passive voice (e.g., “The passive voice should not be used by zombies”). If it doesn’t, then good job! You are probably using the active voice (e.g., “Don’t use the passive voice by zombies.”).
  • LEARN AND MASTER THE RULES, THEN YOU CAN BREAK THEM ALL YOU WANT: Your high school English teacher taught you never to start a sentence with a conjunction. And she was right. But I do it all the time. And it’s Ok, because I learned and mastered the rules first.
  • MIND THOSE SUBJUNCTIVES AND ADVERBS: Elvis implored the world to “Love Me Tender.” And don’t get me wrong…I love Elvis as much as the next guy. But had he paid closer attention to Schoolhouse Rock (“Lolly’s, Lolly’s, Lolly’s”), he would have asked that you love him *tenderly.* And while you may claim “I wish I was in Dixie,” I (personally) wish I *were* in Dixie. Adverbs and the subjunctive tense…not so hard. Google them, get the hang of them, and your perceived IQ will jump at least ten points.
  • AND FINALLY: Remember…Superman does good. You do well.

LIZ RYAN’S HUMAN WORKPLACE: MY CURRENT FAVORITE PROFESSIONAL BLOG.

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I have a professional crush on Liz Ryan.

We’ve never met, but I’ve been following her delightfully subversive writing for more than a year.

Liz was a C-suite level Human Resources executive with a technology company, but is now a thought-leader and founder of an organization called Human Workplace. Her (and her organization’s) mission is nothing short of revolution: “To reinvent work for humans.”

Liz is a prolific blogger whose posts contain the most brilliant and counter-intuitive job search and career management advice that I’ve read.

Some of my favorites (of her hundreds of posts) include the following:

How to write a Human-voiced Resume
How to write a Pain Letter
Five signs you should be working for yourself
How to answer the five dumbest job interview questions
How to take charge of your career in 2016
Five job search truths nobody tells job seekers
The secret to job security
Five unmistakable signs that it’s time to quit your job
Better Ways to Get Hired
How to Cut your Job Search Time in Half
Ten Unmistakable Signs of a Bad Place to Work

Follow her on Twitter, LinkedIn, Facebook, and Forbes.

THE JERK.

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When I was completing my MBA at the University of Illinois more than a decade ago, I had a classmate named Bigby.

Bigby was from Jamaica . He was in his late 40’s to early 50’s. He had a house with sound/light system, dance floor and disco ball in the basement. And he LOVED to throw parties.

At one of Bigby’s parties, his wife (also Jamaican) walked in carrying a silver platter piled high with Jerk Pork.

Now…I had eaten Jerk Pork many times beforehand—including at a roadside stand in Ocho Rios , Jamaica —and liked it. But Bigby’s Jerk Pork was on a whole ‘nuther level. It was thick, dark and heavy with spice. It had a pungency that would send your nostrils into spasm. And it was hot enough to melt your contact lenses.

In short, it was a Jerk Pork that I’d remember on my death bed.

And like a complete moron, I FORGOT TO ASK FOR THE FRIGGIN’ RECIPE!!!

This unforgivable, life-ruining, lapse of reason has haunted me ever since. In short, it was a screw-up that I’d remember on my death bed.

But alas…teeter-totter of life has a miraculous way of leveling itself. “Spoon”—the woman at Acme Low Carb Tongue Depressors, Inc. whose office is next door to mine—recently emailed me a recipe for Jerk Pork that she claimed was barn-burner.

Last weekend, Agatha and I made the recipe. I still can’t believe it. It’s as good as Bigby’s.

Sing with me, bruhdahs!

Won’t you help to sing
These songs of freedom
Cause all I ever have
Redemption songs
Redemption songs.

JERK [FILL IN THE BLANK]

The Marinade:

4 Habanero or Scotch Bonnet chiles—do NOT remove seeds or ribs
4 cloves garlic
4 scallions
1-2 inch ginger
1 sprig thyme
¼ c. packed brown sugar
4 t. ground allspice
4 t. chile powder
2 t. cinnamon
2 t. nutmeg
¾ c. vegetable oil
¼ c. lime juice (fresh)
2/3 c. soy sauce
Black pepper

Step 1: Puree the above ingredients in a blender until smooth.
Step 2: Reserve ¼ c. of marinade for the Dipping Sauce (see below)

The Meat:

If grilling: Pork tenderloin; Pork chops; Chicken parts; and/or Skirt steak.
If smoking: Pork Boston Butt; Pork spare ribs; Pork baby back ribs; Beef brisket; Chicken (whole, split vertically).
Step 1: If you haven’t already, reserve ¼ c. of the marinade for Dipping Sauce.
Step 2: Marinade meat for 24 hours in the fridge.
Step 3: Grill or smoke the marinated meat.

The Dipping Sauce:

¼ c. of reserved Jerk Marinade
1 c. chicken stock or broth
Step 1: Whisk together ingredients in a sauce pan.
Step 2: Reduce on stovetop until thickened.

Update (October 30, 2016) — Slow Cooked Jerk Goat Stew:

The Chicago Cubs are in the World Series, and not doing very well.  So, in a civic-minded effort to break the Curse of the Billy Goat, we invited some Cubs fans/friends over for a lunch of Jerk Goat.  The butcher at the halal meat market (where I bought the goat) recommended braising the meat in a sauce, rather than grilling or roasting.  So I adapted the recipe above as follows:

Step 1:  Buy two goat legs (approximately 7 lbs total), each cut into three large hunks.

Step 2:  Triple the Jerk Marinade recipe above.

Step 3:  Marinade the goat for 24 hours as described above, and reserve the rest of the Jerk Marinade (which will be a lot) in the fridge.

Step 4:  Place goat hunks in large slow cooker.

Step 5:  Dilute the reserved Jerk Marinade with chicken broth and beer.  You will want the proportions to be 2 parts Jerk Marinade, 1 part chicken broth, and 1 part beer.

Step 6:  Pour the Marinade/broth/beer mixture into slow cooker until it covers the goat.  I also added chopped kale and peas, because my wife demands vegetables with her meal.

Step 7:  Set slow cooker to “low,” and cook for 12 hours.

Step 8:  Remove goat hunks from slow cooker, pull meat from the bones, and return meat to the slow cooker.

We served the Jerk Goat with basmati rice and a creamy cole slaw (to reset your tongue when the habanero burn encroaches).

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