BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

If you aren’t from – or in my case, intimately familiar with since I live here – the Saint Louis area, you are probably not going to have any idea what I am talking about. Most likely, the only other way you would have a clue about this is if you happened to have seen a documentary on PBS back in 2003 called “Sandwiches You Will Like,” and even then you might be scratching your head…Unless you happen to remember the segment on the “St. Paul Sandwich.”

For those of you who still haven’t any clue what I am on about, please allow me to explain.

Among foods that hail from St. Louis – and some that even remain totally unique to STL – such as Toasted Ravioli, Gooey Butter Cake, Slingers, etc, there is a delicacy known as the “St. Paul Sandwich“. Now, the thing about this sandwich is that it has absolutely NOTHING to do with St. Paul, Minnesota as one would surmise from its name. Why it has this name no one really knows. How it got invented – Well, that’s a mystery too…Either way, it is a creation hailing from St. Louis, Missouri, and for some reason remaining here almost exclusively – though rumor has it you can now obtain one in San Francisco. (I cannot say this is a true fact as I have not been to SF to attempt finding one)… Anyhow, the St. Paul is something you get from a Chinese restaurant…Yeah, a Chinese restaurant. Obviously, we are talking Americanized Chinese food here, but what the hell – it’s a St. Paul Sandwich by the Gods!

So, what exactly IS a St. Paul Sandwich? Simple, really – it is an egg foo young patty (flavor of choice – beef, chicken, whatever) sans gravy. It is then placed between two slices of plain, white sandwich bread – To be PROPER, the bread should in fact be Wonder Bread–, since Wonder is big here and we have a local Wonder factory/bakery and all – anyway, add to that, at the bare minimum, dill pickle slices (not sweet, must be dill) and a bit of mayo. Some restaurants will embellish with sliced tomato and a bit of lettuce as well, which is always nice.

So there you have it… The St. Paul Sandwich – Saint Louis comfort food. A veritable bit of perfection between two slices. Good for what ails ya’. Happiness on bread. Lunch. Dinner. A late night snack..The whole nine yards…

“But, Murv…” you say as you pause with a confused expression on your face before launching into the crux of your question. “The title of this blog is The St. Storm Sandwich, not The Saint Paul Sandwich. What gives?”

You are correct…That IS the title…Why? Because, like all of my other characters, Detective Benjamin Storm has a mind of his own, and while he likes St. Pauls, he prefers to put a bit of a twist on them (as does this author…) Therefore, I present to you…

The Saint Storm Sandwich

Obviously, you have to start with Egg Foo Young Patties sans gravy, your flavor of choice (Ben prefers beef and sometimes pork. The author, on the other hand, is fond of vegetable EFY. The tricky part here is that the author happens to be an accomplished cook, whereas Ben’s expertise in the kitchen extends about as far as making a grilled cheese sandwich using aluminum foil and a steam iron. Therefore, the author makes his own egg foo young. Ben, on the other hand, picks his up from Happy Wok Express [see: Never Burn A Witch]. He simply orders it without the gravy then takes them home and assembles the sandwich himself. Although, being a regular at the Happy Wok, he has convinced them to keep the non-standard ingredients in the walk-in, and they have been known to make the sandwiches for him at times.)

INGREDIENTS:

Egg Foo Young Patty, no gravy, flavor of choice

Two slices of dark rye bread (NOTE: Author prefers a nice multi-grain instead, although the rye is a nice change of pace at times.)

Horseradish-Sharp Cheddar Cheese Spread

Salad Dressing (Ben and Author both prefer Spin Blend, another midwestern product…)

Thinly sliced tomato

Dill pickle slices

Crispy fried bacon strips

PREPARATION:

Toast bread. Place a thin layer of salad dressing on one slice and a generous layer of horseradish-cheese spread on the other. Layer EFY patty, tomato, pickles, and several strips of bacon on top of first bread slice. If you are especially hungry, double the number of EFY patties, pickles, tomato, and bacon then repeat layer. Top with second bread slice. Enjoy with a cold beer.

Special Note: Double-decker St. Storms are usually reserved for when you are drunk and cannot comprehend that your mouth probably won’t fit around it. Generally, author will eat one (1) regular St. Storm. Ben, however, usually consumes a bare minumum of three (3).

So, there you have it… No, I’m not kidding. If you don’t have access to decent EFY like Ben, and you are proficient in the kitchen, I’ll be happy to pass along my personal recipe for the “egg foo” itself.

More to come…

Murv

…And an E…BOOZE RUN!

Okay, so I’m not so good with songs, but that was the best I could do with the word booze since the song BEER RUN was going through my head.

Now, in reality I had intended to blog about Jane (aka The Bitch in the Box), because yes, I really do think Jane is kinda hot. Even if she is simply a box of electronic components with a sexy voice that sits on the dashboard and barks orders. (turn here, turn there, take the motorway, etc…)

But, Morrison beat me to it. Go figure. (But, what with Morrison getting on in years and not really being quick on the draw, I guess I should just let her have that one and call it good ) If you want to read about it, go here: Bitch In The Box.

So…Anyway, back to the Booze thing. What I am about to tell you is a little known secret about Morrison. She’s a bootlegger. Well, actually, I don’t suppose she’s a bootlegger in the strictest sense, but that’s what I like to call her. Why? Because it’s fun to pick on Morrison.

Anyhow, here’s the deal. New Hampshire has no sales tax. They also sell their booze in State owned and operated, discount liquor stores. So, wine and spirits are much cheaper there than in most other places throughout the US. Anywhere from a few bucks to even 20 bucks per bottle, depending on what you are buying.

So…Whenever we are on tour through New England, and have a need to pass through New Hampshire, or near New Hampshire, or within some secretly prescribed spitting distance radius (to which I am not privy) around New Hampshire, we go liquor shopping.

Not for just a couple of bottles, mind you.

Morrison fills a suitcase.

A big suitcase.

Really.

There have even been threats of leaving me and my luggage on the side of the road in order to fit the bounty into the vehicle.

I’m serious.

Now, lest you think wrongly and assume I am telling you Morrison is a drunk, let me dispel that. Morrison rarely drinks. I’ve known her for years and have seen her take maybe three drinks that entire time. She’s just not a drinker. No kidding.

Smoker? Well, that’s another story entirely, but she already lives in a place where cigarettes are cheap…And, of course, there is always the coffee.

(Yes, folks, that is REALLY just coffee in that cup…I know it for a fact. I’ve made enough of it for her when she’s stayed with us…Hell, I even have a 2 burner, 3 minute Bunn™ that I keep going at all times when she is here. Note, that when she is staying with us is the only time that piece of equipment actually sees action. We affectionately call it “The Morrison”. as in, “Hey, did you get The Morrison out of the basement? Morrison is gonna be here any minute,” and “Hold on while I fire up The Morrison. If she wakes up and there’s no coffee we’re all gonna get killed.”)

So, nope, Morrison is definitely not a drunk. But, she still fills a suitcase with assorted bottles of booze. You see, whenever we are going to be within the secret spitting distance of New Hampshire, Morrison’s husband and friends make out a list, check it twice, and then send her on a mission to return with good booze at discount prices. So ritualistic is this practice that I have now been on three separate “booze runs” with Morrison. It’s a good thing the folks in New Hampshire put several of these liquor stores right out on the highway near the state line. You almost have to wonder if they are doing that just to lure folks in.

Anyway, this tour we did a booze run. As usual, while Morrison was in the parking lot tossing things everywhere in order to fill the suitcase, I stood by with my diminutive personal stash– a bottle for me, and a nice bottle of Scotch as a gift for my wife.

Now, here’s the sad part of the story. And, it actually has nothing to do with Morrison, as amazing as that may seem.

I flew home on Saturday (6/2)…I had left behind my open bottle at Morrison’s place because I drink enough of their booze when I am on the road with her that I am sure I owed them at least that. Probably more. Unfortunately, I was so wiped out from the 15 days on the road, (yes, from the time on the road, not from the drinking) that by the time Saturday rolled around, my brain was firing on only one cylinder and it had a bent valve at that.

Yes…Without thinking, I put my wife’s gift– a rather expensive (even by New Hampshire discount standards) bottle of 16 year old, French Oak Cask Aged, Reserve, Glenlivet Single Malt Scotch– into my carry-on. I know better than this. I have logged more hours in the air than some flight attendants, so I know what I can and cannot take in a carry-on.

But, I did it anyway…Like I said, without thinking. Most likely because my brain simply wasn’t up to thinking.

So…At Dulles International airport, there is now a TSA official with a very nice bottle of Scotch. They told me they were going to throw it away, but I argued with them about that, insisting that at least ONE of them HAD to be a Scotch drinker, and that if they were going to confiscate it anyway, they needed to do me the kindness of keeping it as a gift, with my compliments, and raising a glass to me as they enjoyed it.

I’ll admit, it was my mistake stuffing it into the wrong suitcase…This certainly qualifies me for the idiot of the year award…

…But, if those TSA folks threw that bottle of Scotch in the trash, then I think I am in no danger of winning, because that would make them bigger idiots that me.

More to come…

Murv