Crock pot pulled pork and a secret ingredient

Here is the post I promised on Sunday, the one that called for BBQ sauce.

Before I go into lengthy descriptions I just wanted to say this recipe is for my friend Y.

Why you ask?

First of all she just got her first Le Creuset for her birthday so I am psyched that my next few posts involve my beloved, appropriately pumpkin-colored crock pot.

Second of all, the girl grew up in Houston so I thought a real Southern, meaty dish served with BBQ sauce couldn't be more appropriate.

Third, the girl loves Coke.

Coke? What does Coke have to do with it?

Butt

Ok, so let me start from the beginning.

Several moons ago, and I mean several, that same girl was pregnant with a baby who is almost two now. She and her husband and first child were visiting in us in Milan and I bought a six pack of caffeine-free Coke for her to drink while we enjoyed a glass of wine or beer or whatever is was we were drinking. Well, a few of those cans were still lurking in a corner of my kitchen until recently. I usually don't keep soft drinks in the house, soda is a rare treat for my kids. But lately they had started noticing those red and gold cans. Asking about them, hinting they wanted some. A lot. I had to get rid of them.

Fast forward to  a few days ago, when I was rightly so, gawking at pictures on Foodgawker of pulled pork sandwiches. I had been reading recipes for pulled pork long before I got my Le Creuset last year. I had some friends coming over for dinner and I decided the time had come. I came across quite a few recipes that used Coke as one of the main ingredients to make this delicacy. I realized it wasn't authentic, and I have to admit it sounded a little revolting at first but the more I thought about it the more it made sense. I was sure the Coke would tenderize the meat fabulously, and realized the sugar and other aromas would somehow work. Plus, it would be a great way to get rid of those cans. So that is how I killed my proverbial pig birds with one stone.

Shoulder

The result was melt-in-your-mouth, flavorful meat that I served alongside white polenta (which I in turn served again with leftovers grilled) and doused in the home made barbecue sauce. I certainly made for a different meal here in the Old Continent and a succulent one if I may add. Whatever you do, make lots so you can enjoy left overs, perhaps one of those sandwiches that triggered this whole post.

Also, need I add that this is the perfect meal to prepare when you have a lot of other things going on and you want a great result without too much effort?

Adapted from food.com

Ingredients

about 2kg pork roast (I got one piece shoulder and one piece butt)

2 pressed garlic cloves

3 small onions sliced thinly

1/4 tsp black pepper, freshly ground

1/4 tsp Pimenton de la Vera (or cayenne pepper), ground

1 tsp liquid smoke

3 cans of Coca-Cola (or enough to cover the meat; if it doesn't turn the pieces a few times)

a pinch of salt 

barbecue sauce 

Soften the onions in some oil in the crock pot. Place the meat in the pot, add in the garlic, pepper and Pimenton de la Vera, the liquid smoke and the Coca-Cola. Set the meat on low heat and cook for 8-10 hours. When ready, remove from the pot, remove bones and trim fat. Use a fork to begin pulling the pork apart. You can serve the barbecue sauce mixed in. I preferred to serve it with a little of the cooking liquid mixed in to keep it moist and drizzled the sauce on top.

The result was delicious, exactly how I imagined it, although I might add a little salt next time I make it (so I included it in the ingredients - you know, to contrast the sweetness). Of the two pieces I preferred the shoulder as it is a fattier cut (which made it more tender) with a more complex flavor, but both were fall-apart soft.

Lemon & anchovy pork (or veal) meatballs

What a perfect Sunday.

We got up after a good night's sleep, had a nice breakfast and went to visit the new Museo del Novecento, which was inaugurated a few months ago right in the central Piazza Duomo of Milan. Since Milan was appointed to host the Expo 2015, there has been a feeling of change, renovation and excitement in the air. The city, whose skyline is currently crane-infested like a miniature Berlin, is undergoing a long-needed makeover.

In this mindframe, the museum offered free entrance to its collections of Twentieth Century Italian art for two months, but we of course waited until the second-to-last day (and last Sunday and right in the midst of Fashion week may I add) to try to go. This is the first real attempt we have made to go to an art museum since our second child was born.

With one it worked fabulously: it was cute, people smiled and nudged each other, admiring the oh-so-perfect parents teaching their daughter to appreciate the arts and different cultures at a very young age. With two, not so much. There is a lot of crying, whining and snotty noses. The older child wants to sit in the stroller, the younger one wants out. Both want to be carried, jealousy ensues. Four hands touching and grabbing suddenly seem five times as many as two hands to control. And siblings have the tendency to egg each other on when bored or tired (remember sis?). Suddenly you are the pariah, the family that should keep those noisy, spoiled kids at home. Crowded museums and restaurants, the magic combination of many a relaxed week end as a couple, are now a recipe for disaster. Especially in a city where even being intellectual is a fashion, where your average museum dwellers are uber trendy couples, the we-do-not-want-children-especially-after-seeing-you-today kind.

Anyway, back to my story. We thought we would take advantage of our early mornings to get to the museum before the crowds. Who stands in piazza Duomo on a cold, grey Sunday morning before 10:00am? Everybody, apparently. When we got there, the line was so long it went all the way around the building and through the piazza, at least a 2 to 3 hour wait. Thank goodness a friend had told me strollers had precedence because it was one of the few times (including boarding planes) that I was happy to have a stroller to lug around. Surely enough, in a country where very little is tailored towards families and children, in we zipped under the astonished looks of the throngs of people standing behind the ropes.

The doorman warned us it would be crowded upstairs and it was, but it worked out well anyway. We spent a little over an hour walking through the building, just enough time to check out the architecture and some of the paintings. To discuss colours, materials and subjects with our daughter. To have her loudly point out every intimate detail of each and every painting or sculpture. As the tour continued, the childrens' interest and attention ebbed so we were glad to reach the large area on top where they could run around a little amidst the Fontana sculptures and the large windows overlooking the piazza. After this I started handing out hidden breadsticks and announced to my husband we had just enough time to escape, give or take five minutes if we let the kids push the buttons in the elevator. We succeeded and went for a nice lunch at the Panino Giusto right next door and then home just before the rain hit.

In the afternoon, as my little boy slept and dreamt of Boccioni and Pelizza da Volpedo and my daughter and husband drew at the kitchen table, I made these meatballs (or rather patties since I made them a little larger than usual). They are adapted from a Nigel Slater recipe I found on the blog 'Too Many Chefs' years ago. Every bite just melts in your mouth, with a nice citrusy punch and savory touch from the anchovies. They have become a favorite at our house. Why not make them a favorite at yours?

Wondee Siam, Thai to die

As you may have noticed, I usually do not post about restaurants and this is for two very simple reasons:

1) we don't go out as much as we did when we were a carefree couple without children, especially not to the kind of place you would be inspired to blog about, and when we do it is such a special occasion that we do not want to waste a precious moment.

2) the times I have been somewhere memorable and brought my camera it was a total failure. I try to avoid flash if possible (also, I hate disturbing other diners with the light) and when I do use it the results are of course terrible and the ones I take without are dark. Last but not least, I still feel uncomfortable constantly whipping out my camera in a nice restaurant. Any suggestions on how to get a better restaurant picture? Many of you do excellent jobs.

Wondee Siam, however, is a place that cannot go unmentioned or unphotographed.

It is nothing fancy and totally a place to go with the kids, although it isn't what you would call a family restaurant. If they hadn't recently redecorated I would still call it a hole in the wall, it is really small (keep in mind, if going with children, there is no room for a highchair or a stroller) and unpretentious. This is a place you go for the food, which is absolutely outstanding, so please promise me you will give it a try if you go to NY (but also promise to go to the original one, not the ones followed by numbers).

Pork, pork and more pork: fennel rubbed-pork tenderloin with fig sauce & pork chops a la Vera

Today I am posting what I had originally planned to post about yesterday, before being sidetracked by chocolate and butter and the way those brownies just melt in your mouth...I wish I had just one teeny one left to nibble on right now...oops, there I go again...sorry.

Rewind. 

Today's post is about meat, more precisely pork tenderloin.

Rewind again.

Remember the Sunday family lunch I wrote about the other day? Well, I knew exactly what I didn't want to make as a main course: no roasts, too obvious (mother-in-law territory). No chicken, made that last time my mother-in-law stayed with us. No foreign recipes (for those of you who didn't read that post, it is not that we don't like foreign food. I just always end up making it for F's family in the effort to prepare something different). No fish (we all just spent a lovely vacation on the island of Elba and had tons of fish). It had to be tasty, simple, yet not obvious. It needed a special touch. Wait... September = figs. Figs = prosciutto. Prosciutto = pork! That's it!