Everyday Gourmet. William Maltese

you’re a fan of bullfighting (which I am)...and if you’ve the time and money to spare (as I once did) to go to Mexico and follow the bullfights for a whole season, between November and April, selecting from among the fights occurring every Sunday afternoon in over 220 of that country’s bullrings (which it was once my good fortune to do)...then, by chance, you may eventually meet enough fellow aficionados (as I did) to get invited to one or more of the country’s bull-breeding ranches.

      The Mexican state of Tlaxcala has been the center of Mexican bullfighting ever since Cortes and his fellow conquistadors stopped off there on their way to conquer the Aztec in Tenochtitlan, and is home to over forty “ganaderias”, including the country’s most famous ranch, Ganaderia La Laguna de Terrenate, established (with cows from Tepeyahualco and a breeding bull from Ibarra) in 1908; the ranch has produced more bulls for the Plaza de Toros in Mexico City than any other supplier.

      It’s a fascinating experience for those who have only been to U.S. ranches to learn how all of the bulls on Mexican gandarias are never approached on foot lest they become too accustomed to seeing people that way—before a matador does just that in the bullring.

      Interesting, too, is watching the tientas in the corridas of the gandarias where full-grown bulls aren’t usually “put to the cape”, rather heifers, since it’s the ongoing belief of most breeders that the bravery of the mothers determine the bravery of their offspring.

      Usually following a tienta, there’s a meal to be enjoyed, and it was during one of these that I first became acquainted with the dish that follows.

      Corrida Frittata

      7 eggs

      2 TSP milk (for the diet-conscious, skim works for me)

      ½ tsp salt

      ¼ tsp fresh ground pepper

      2 TSP olive oil

      1 lb asparagus, trimmed and cut into ½-inch pieces

      ½ Roma tomato, sliced

      Pinch of salt

      3 oz Fontina Cheese, diced

      Preheat broiler.

      Whisk eggs, milk, salt, and pepper together in bowl. Set aside.

      Heat oil in a 10-inch oven-proof skillet, preferable nonstick, over medium heat. Sauté the asparagus until crisp-tender, about 2 minutes. Turn heat to medium-high.

      Add diced tomatoes and a pinch of salt and sauté for 2 more minutes.

      Add egg mixture and cook until eggs start to set. Reduce heat to medium-low.

      Sprinkle cheese on top and cook for about 2 more minutes, until frittata is almost set (top will still be a bit runny).

      Put skillet under broiler and broil until top is set and golden brown, about 5 minutes.

      Remove from broiler and let stand for 2 minutes.

      Garnish with the tomato slices.

      Serves 6.

      This is nicely accompanied by a salad of strawberries, bleu-cheese crumbles, and candied walnuts, on a bed of romaine lettuce, tossed in huckleberry vinaigrette...with crisp garlic toast strips on the side.

      NOTE: Egg dishes, such as this one, usually have me serving crisp, dry white wines in accompaniment (from Mexico or otherwise), and I’ve successfully paired this with Rieslings, even Chardonnays, as well as, most preferably, various Champagnes and/or Sparkling Wines. Then, again, there are some people, and that may well be you and any number of your guests, who simply don’t think any wine goes well with asparagus.

      YES, IT’S CHICKEN, BUT...

      I was at the train station, waiting to embark for the three-hour ride to the ancient once-lost-now-found Incan mountain retreat of Machu Picchu, Peru. It was pre-dawn, only because the sun hadn’t yet made its official appearance by actually topping the snowy high-Andean peaks in the East, only just beginning to paintbrush that horizon with a faint shade of blushing pink.

      That my point of departure was Cuzco, a city with more than a quarter-million people, made the accompanying sounds of unseen crowing roosters, all in herald of the upcoming dawn, genuinely incongruous, especially to this city boy who wasn’t used to any barnyard sounds occurring—morning, noon, or night—in U.S. cities of far less population.

      Once on board the train that began its series of switch-backs that would take us up one side of the mountainous bowl enclosing Cuzco, even to a higher elevation than the city’s 11,000+ feet, then slide us down the other side to the still-lofty Incan Citadel, at 8,000 feet, I could look out the window and get up-close views of many Peruvian shanties with backyards whose hard-packed dirt provided occasional views of chickens...which made my traveling companion genuinely ecstatic.

      “God, do you know how long it’s been since I’ve seen a free-range chicken?” she said, more than once. “I’ve not seen one since I was a kid back on the farm. And, let me tell you, there is no comparison to eating one when it’s in a contest with one of those hormone-laden mutations we get in our local U.S. grocery stores.”

      In fact, she had me so convinced of what I’d been missing, that when I, later, noticed there was chicken on the menu of our hotel in Machu Picchu, I made specific inquiry of the chef, who assured me the chicken in question was, indeed, free-range; we ordered it. Only to find ourselves served up with probably the toughest bird I’d ever eaten, or, for that matter, have eaten since. All of that free-ranging in a country where every morsel of food had to be fought over, even in competition with the local human population, had left our poor bird nothing more than muscle, sinew, gristle, and bones.

      Of course, since then, having been able to access free-ranging chickens that have actually existed within environments where food for them is plentiful, I’ve come to realize that my companion on that train to Machu Picchu hadn’t been wrong when saying that they DO taste differently (aka better) than their store-bought counterparts, especially to food purists.

      In fact, it was just one such free-range chicken, literally chased down on a privately owned South Pacific atoll, killed, gutted, and plucked for an evening roast on a beach bonfire that provided my first sampling of Beer-Butt chicken, the recipe for which follows. Not that a free-range chicken is required. Frankly, I’ve had consistently great results, since, with the mass-produced plump fryers I’ve picked up at local U.S. grocery stores.

      Beer-Butt Chicken

      Prepare rub:

      1 TBS Paprika

      1 TBS Garlic salt

      1 TBS Onion powder

      1 TBS Salt

      1 TBS Pepper

      Cayenne Pepper, to taste (optional)

      Set rub aside.

      1 can of beer (12 oz)

      1 chicken (approximately 4 lb)

      Olive oil

      2 c of wood chips (preferably hickory, or cherry), soaked for 1 hour in water (or beer), then drained.

      Pop the beer-can tab. Dump ½ of the beer over the wood chips. Use a church-key opener to make 2 additional holes in the top of the can. Set can and its remaining beer aside.

      Remove giblets from chicken body cavity and save them for some other time. Remove and discard whatever excess skin and fat you find inside the chicken cavities. Rinse the chicken, inside and out, under cold running water. Drain. Blot dry, inside and out.

      Sprinkle some of the rub inside the chicken body and neck cavities.

      Drizzle the olive oil over the outside of the bird to coat the skin.

      Sprinkle rub over the outside of the chicken. (If you have remaining rub, funnel it through one of the holes in the beer-can lid, not being concerned by any resulting foam).

      Hold the chicken upright, and sit its body’s cavity firmly down and over the