Smothers - Snacks: adventures in food, aisle by aisle

For Germy and Fa

Contents

Ever since I was a little kid in the way-up northern California town of Ferndale, Ive been the guy who always had something to say... no matter what the subject matter. Whether its how to hitch a trailer or how to make the perfect spaghetti carbonara. I like to think I know a lot about a lot, and Im definitely not shy to let people know. Its no secret that I got it from my dad, Jim, whos got something to say on just about every topic. He knows his stuff and, well, I like to think I do too. So for my entire life, Ive been spitting out advice and everyday truths to people... some wanted, some not so much. But at the end of the day, I think Ive got things to say and I appreciate people listening... at least most of the time.

And as you might guess, theres no subject matter that fires me up more than food. Its im- portant. Its everything to us. Its the common thread that unites us all. And next to my family, theres nothing I care about more than food and cooking. So Ive been known to spit some serious knowledge on the topic to just about anyone who will listen.

When my business partner and I first opened Johnny Garlics in Santa Rosa in 1996, I was a one-man marketing machine. We were truly bootstrapping it, and we didnt have the luxury of a big marketing and PR budget. Actually, we didnt have a budget at all. So in the very beginning, Id beg, borrow, and steal to get a little extra mojo for my little restaurant. Luckily, we were right next door to the local radio station, so Id run over and bribe the DJs to get some airtime. Id stuff them full of Cajun Chicken Alfredo until they cut me off of the mic, and it was a win-win for us both. Over that time, I really learned to love the radio as a medium, as a voice, and for what it could do for my business.... I seemed to have a knack for it too. Of course, I had no idea what would happen a handful of years later.

Cut to about ten years later and Ive been pushed into this Food Network competition called the Food Network Star . While I didnt want to try out, my buddy Mustard finally talked me into it, and low and behold, I made the finals. Well, at this point, its go-big-or-go-home time, so I decided to get the word out to get the win... and I went straight to the radio. It was my time to really blow it up... to talk some smack... show my skills... spout off some of my knowledge on food and cooking. And here comes Marcy Smothers. Wow . What a spitfire. Shes spouting her Snacks in my face from the moment we hit the air. Smacking me down on everything from my vocabulary to my food knowledge. And I loved every minute of it. We clicked immediately, and when the opportunity arose, we jumped right into a show together, and Ive got to say, it was one of the most rewarding experiences Ive ever had. I still hope that someday we can pick it up together again, but to be honest, shes doing more than fine without me.

All my krew have nicknames, and Marcy is no exception. I call her Marcinator because she is part woman and part machine. Ive never seen her in a situation she cant handle. Shes in it to win it, no matter what she does. I dont know anyone else that can take a plot of dirt at Sonoma Raceway, trick it out for the NASCAR race with Astroturf, plasma TVs, and an outdoor kitchen, then recite drivers statistics while pouring wine for her guests. Shes the real deal. Its no surprise to me that she knocked it out of the ballpark with her first book.

When Marcy talks about food, I listen. Her passion for knowledge and sharing is not only enriching, its highly entertaining. She may not let you get a word in edgewise, but what she has to say about food is definitely worth absorbing. Shes a natural storyteller, and it really comes across in this book.

When it comes to food and cooking, there are a lot of tidbits of information, or what Marcy calls SNACKS, that are old wives tales. Or incomplete truths. Or straight-up untruths. But when Marcy gives you the 411, you can bet its right on the money.

She researches and explores constantlyshe just cant get enough. A couple times a month we go hiking with our friends in Sonoma County, and from the moment we step out of the truck until the final descent, shes sharing her foodie-isms, and Ive got to say, I cant get enough either.

Ive written three cookbooks now and read about a thousand others. Its not so easy to find a new and unique take on the world of food and cooking, but if I can personally make but one suggestion to you, do yourself a favor and read Marcys SNACKS.... Your kitchen will be all the better for it.

Love, Peace & Taco Grease,

Guy

Others may be able to let people get away with calling red meat sauce Bolognese, but not me. Im compelled to explain that in MarcyTown a Bolognese sauce is not red, but a pale pinkish brown, more accurately called a ragu, and uses a small amount of tomato paste, not tomato sauce.

It may border on annoying, but I am someone who tells people everything I know. I love to eat, I love to cook, I love to read, and I love to share what I have learned. My best friend, Nancy, casually explains to those not previously subjected to my rapid-fire fun facts, Thats just Marcy. She does this to us all the time.

Could you stand by silently in the produce aisle if an unsuspecting shopper was pulling a leaf from the crown of a pineapple? Not me. Ripeness cant be determined that waythats not reliable. It is not unsolicited advice if its helpful advice, right?

When I was growing up, my mother didnt cook, and my parents went out to eat often by themselves. It was probably because of my fatigue with frozen dinners that I started cooking for myself when I was twelve. At first it was simple things like hamburger patties with Lawrys garlic salt and Tater Tots. By the time I was fourteen, I made a decent chicken parmesan. It was about this time that I set the kitchen on fire while I was pan-frying a steak. Its still a family joke, because I did as instructed by my parents in an emergency. I walked calmly and slowly upstairs to tell them. It didnt occur to me to turn off the burner before I reported the mishap. Needless to say, the flames leaped from the pan to the cabinets. I was issued the worst possible punishment: grounded for a monthfrom cooking.

My fond food memories come from my grandmother. She considered cooking a chore, yet she always had dinner on the table precisely at 6:00 P.M. Her fare was uncomplicated and simple: one protein (usually broiled chicken), one starch (sweet potato or rice), one vegetable (broccoli or peas), and always a crisp iceberg salad dressed with Wesson Oil, Regina red wine vinegar, and Salad Supreme. I cant tell you what a luxury it was to have a meal prepared for me by someone I loved so dearly.

As much as I have always enjoyed food, Ive had a complicated relationship with it too. In college I was anorexic, obsessively fasting and counting calories. I didnt count just my calories. I counted the calories of anyone who ate with me, and let me tell you, thats not the type of chitchat that gets you asked out on a second date. I really wasnt a candidate for starvation anyway, so I started eating more healthfully, ultimately becoming a vegetablist my term for someone who strives to make veggies 50 percent of their daily diet.