I'm honestly the worst food blogger ever. I rarely post recipes, and I’m not here to sell you stuff. Mostly, this blog is about what it's like to become a food blogger after burning out from years of relentless adulting. Now, that’s not to say I’m not doing food-related things in the background. I am, but in an effort to keep my “brand” (Your Honor! I object. Counsel is douchey. Sustained.) true to my intent, I need to create a consistent, repeatable product. I haven’t turned my back on my past completely—after all, I’ve contributed to the wealth of a lot of people with my work. I’m just doing it for myself now.

Eventually, I will sell things on this site, but only when I feel those products are actually worth selling. I have this old-fashioned notion that products should be valuable and desirable. I know that's not how mass marketing usually works, but I’m a bit of a throwback. I like to believe I’m not so desperate for “fuck you” money that I’d stoop to the usual tactics, like a) scaring you into buying my stuff, b) convincing you it’ll fill some void, or c) letting you think owning it makes you better than those who don’t.

If I ever do go down that road, I promise it’ll be satirical, and I’ll be mocking myself. That’s what I do. Oh! Speaking of which—let’s talk about good ideas gone bad. Specifically, my own.

I saw this video online and thought, "My God, that’s a beautiful sandwich." Lately, I seem to have a thing for sandwiches. I really hope it doesn’t devolve into, "Holy shit, look at that salad. Da-ammn!" (We add extra syllables down here in the South.)

It was one of those outdoorsy, Eastern European videos that appeals to the primal part of me that wants to grunt and hit things with sticks. The sandwich was so simple and well-executed – packet braised beef shanks on a split, rustic roll - I had to make one myself. Indoors, of course. Outside’s where God keeps all the flying insects. I also had to put my own spin on it—gotta do the food blog thing.

See? It’s a food blog about food blogging. I’m so fucking “meta”—whatever that means.

So, my plan for the sandwich was to recreate it, then enhance it. I loved the idea of spreading roasted garlic on the bread with marrow; that’s pure magic. But I wanted more. I also didn’t feel like making my own bread, so I decided to use ciabatta rolls from my local HEB. I wanted to add some cheese too—not so much for flavor, but to act as an adhesive for the half-dozen tender chunks of braised beef shank I’d be stacking on there. Oh, and I wanted onion.

Talking it over with my wife, I explained the sandwich’s rustic vibe and mentioned adding cheese as a binder. She suggested a nice, sharp cheddar, which I thought sounded perfect. But as the conversation went on, we forgot all about functionality, and I ended up choosing Stilton. It’s sticky when warm, and I just like it. It’s my favorite moldy cheese. In hindsight, it was a terrible choice—way too strong. Oh, well. Live and learn. As it turned out, Stilton was out of my budget, so I had to go with gorgonzola crumbles. That might have worked if I'd grabbed the Dolce, but somehow, I picked up the sharpest, funkiest crumbles in the store. Oops.

I also swapped out the ciabatta for some really nice onion rolls from HEB’s bakery. While not the best choice for this sandwich, they were way too thin - I had to use two per sandwich, I’ll definitely buy them again. So good.

So here was the plan: braise the shanks in brown stock with garlic, onions, fresh rosemary, and thyme. When the shanks were ready, I’d spread the garlic, onions, and marrow on the buns, add the cheese, broil until toasty and melty, layer on the shank meat, snap a few photos, and eat the masterpiece. Here’s what actually happened.

One of the feral cats that calls our backyard home had kittens. For reasons unknown, she decided to move them from the fern bed to a spot between our A/C condenser unit and the outer wall of our living room. That gap of about a foot would’ve been a good choice if not for the fact that half of it is occupied by an air conditioner. I assume she moved them there because the weather was cool that day and the A/C wasn’t running.

Because of Mama Kitty’s relocation efforts, we didn’t use the A/C for almost a week. The lack of cooling seriously limited my ability to use the oven for braising or broiling. A more sober man might have moved the whole operation outside. We’ll never know.

Enter another variable: two Real Ale Brewing Black Quads on an empty stomach.

I’m 5'11" and pushing 280 pounds (a situation I plan to address soon, I think). You’d think I could handle two of these on an empty stomach, but you’d be wrong. Very wrong.

But wait, there’s more. While making the sandwich, I was also whipping up a batch of curried chicken salad for my wife as a backup in case the experimental sandwich didn’t pan out. That was probably my only good decision of the day—except that the timing got messy.

When I’m cooking, I have to keep busy, or I’ll start messing with things that don’t need to be messed with. Usually, I do dishes or prep something else. Back in the day, I’d take a smoke break, but those days are gone. So, I figured I could finish the chicken salad while waiting on the braise. But thanks to the heat, the A/C usurping cat larva, and my diminished mental faculties, the braise got rushed, and it all went downhill from there.

“How the hell am I going to toast the cheese?” I wondered. “Wait, don’t you have an old Bernzomatic in the garage you haven’t seen since you moved in 12 years ago?” My beer-addled brain was right. I did have a bernzomatic in the garage and it still had propane in it!

Then it had another thought. It was right the first time, so I trusted it again. “What if, instead of fancy plating, you just go with paper plates? That’s your thing, right? Product over packaging, warts and all? Oh! And you know what else? There’s a lot of liquid left in the pan…”, because I pulled it too fucking early, “…maybe you could make a sauce with the pot liquor, marrow, garlic, and onions, then dip the rolls in and toast them, barria taco style. That’d be amazing.”

It wasn’t amazing. It was stupid. And messy. I hate messy food.

I will be making this sandwich again, I must redeem myself - those shinless cattle cry out for justice! It’ll be different, though.

I have a plan.