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Author: Subject: meat cuts in Baja
flyfishinPam
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[*] posted on 11-14-2005 at 12:48 PM


Last night some friends came over with dinner to throw on the grill. They brought chuletas de res. These look like carne asada beef (same thickness) with bones and taste way better. From now on I'll be getting these instead of carne de res para asar!
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MrBillM
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[*] posted on 11-14-2005 at 02:26 PM
Different Cuts


This reminds me of a funny (to me) incident that occurred years ago to a friend of mine.

This friend sold his house At Alfonsina's in Gonzaga Bay after getting a divorce and moved over to the Ensenada area because his first passion was fishing and he was getting too old to take out his own boat. Arriving in Ensenada and buying a house a little inland, he started looking around for a younger girl friend (he was in his 60s at the time), starting with one in her early 30s and ending up with one in her teens.

One thing he missed from the U.S. was Good aged Beef Steaks. On one trip North for supplies and legal business, he stopped and bought two superb Spencer steaks. Thought about them all the way home. Took them in and showed them to his squeeze and said they would broil them that evening. While he was out working on his vehicle, the Gal chopped them up for Carne Asada. He said he almost cried. Different Culture.
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bajajudy
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[*] posted on 11-14-2005 at 06:13 PM


Bill and Senor A
Same thing happened to a friend of mine who owns a restaurant.
She did cry




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Oso
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[*] posted on 11-14-2005 at 06:44 PM


Not meat, but pasta. While I wouldn't attempt to impress Italians with it, one of the few edible things I learned to cook in my batchelor days was spaghetti. In the early days we were together, I would occasionally make it for my wife. Aside from no real ricotta, the wrong oregano and suspect parmesan, one of the most dissapointing things about our little village of Cuajimalpa was the fact that the closest thing I could get to spaghetti pasta was about 8" long "fideos". One day I was wandering around downtown Mexico City and stumbled upon a little store run by Italian immigrants. They had prosciutto and imported olive oil and lo and behold; REAL pasta almost 3' long (I think, memory fades). I bought a kilo and made my way home- not so simple. I had no car then, so it was jam-packed peseros, tranvias and third class chicken buses the 22 Km back up the mountain. I protected my precious pasta with my life, constantly worrying about slamming doors and fat co-passengers breaking it. Somehow I made it home with me and the pasta intact. I left it in the kitchen and went to see about assembling the other ingredients. When I returned, my visiting Mother-in-Law (a wonderful person, BTW) informed me that the "sopa de fideos" was ready. She had carefully broken all the pasta into 2" pieces and boiled them until mushy for soup.



All my childhood I wanted to be older. Now I\'m older and this chitn sucks.
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