Two weeks ago I told you the story of a much-improved burger:

Back to the Zak

Today, there’s an abbreviated version in the Seattle Times:

Second Helping: Zak’s reacts, with juicy results

Now, as long as the universe is paying attention and taking burger tips from me, I have a few more requests. First of all, slotted head screws. What is up with these things? The screwdriver always falls out. Let’s ban them. Next, those corkscrews with the wings that fly up…

On second thought, maybe I’ll stick to burgers.

It’s been quiet around the Roots and Grubs corral because I’ve been working on two long posts simultaneously. They should both appear this weekend.

Last night I made Crunchy Shrimp, also knows as sesame-orange shrimp, from an old issue of Everyday Food. Shrimp is America’s most popular seafood, so there’s a ton of misinformation about it, possibly pushed by unscrupulous shrimp-brokers. Okay, I have no evidence for that, but “unscrupulous shrimp brokers” conjures up a great image, doesn’t it?

The worst shrimp myth is that all shrimp are the same. The second worst shrimp myth is that “black tiger” shrimp are the best kind. So here’s a two-minute shrimp primer. If it helps, picture me as a guy dressed up in a six-foot shrimp costume and making hilarious jokes about how “jumbo shrimp” is an oxymoron.

* Fresh shrimp, as in never-frozen, is extremely rare outside the gulf region. Occasionally we get it in Seattle at Mutual Fish, flown in from the gulf. It’s worth buying and cooking it the same day, if you see it.

* Since nearly all shrimp is frozen at sea, you should buy it frozen, too, and defrost it at home. Until a few years ago this meant buying a solid block of frozen shrimp in ice. Luckily, this is no longer the case, and you can get excellent individually quick-frozen (IQF) shrimp in one- or two-pound plastic bags.

* Generally, the best species of shrimp are Mexican and Gulf Whites. If what you’re buying isn’t labeled “black tiger,” it’s probably some kind of white shrimp and should be fine. Not that black tiger are necessarily bad; the whites are just better.

* Look at the ingredients on the bag. It should read “shrimp, salt.” Don’t buy shrimp preserved with sodium tripolyphosphate (STP). It’s gross. The easiest way to avoid it is to buy shrimp at Whole Foods or another place that is dogmatically against preservatives.

* Peel-on shrimp have more flavor. And peeling shrimp is really fun, one of the most enjoyable menial kitchen tasks. Of course, I say this never having worked in a restaurant. I’m sure if I’d been nicknamed “shrimp guy” at some point I’d feel different. Actually, there are many good reasons not to be nicknamed “shrimp guy.”

* Frozen shrimp can be quickly defrosted in the sink. Toss them in a colander and run cold water over them for ten minutes, rearranging them occasionally. Then peel.

Finally, don’t overcook your shrimp. I tend to buy shrimp in the 21-25 or 26-30 size (meaning number of shrimp per pound), and they cook fully in two or three minutes at the absolute most.

Last week on Top Chef, Harold made *tom kha goong* (Thai coconut milk and shrimp soup) to be reheated the next day in the microwave. He put the shrimp in raw, figuring the hot broth would cook them sufficiently when reheated. The gamble paid off–he was at the winners’ table at the end of the show, although Tiffani and her escolar dish took the crown.

Tiffani is so mean!

People who don’t drink a lot of wine (that’s me) often wonder what to buy for cooking wine. For two reasons, I recommend buying six-ounce bottles of Australian wine, which come in four-packs for about $7.

The first reason is that, like most inexpensive Australian wine, it’s unexciting but not bad at all–perfect for cooking. And the small format means you won’t end up wasting any if you only need one glass to drink and one for the sauce.

The second reason is that the bottles have funny names. Usually I buy Hardy’s Stamp of Australia. They call their little bottles “Maties.” Today, however, they were out of the Hardy’s shiraz, so I bought Alice White.

Alice White’s bottles are called “Lil’ [sic] Joeys.” I can’t *wait* to say to Laurie, “Could you go to the QFC and pick me up some Lil’ Joeys?”

This month I’m co-teaching a food writing class to a group of young people aged 12 to 17 at [826 Seattle](http://www.826seattle.org/). We had our first class last night, and it went very well–much better than I’d feared. One exercise that was a hit: I brought in five weird fruits (kumquats were the most normal) and had the students describe them, then use their descriptions to write a paragraph extolling the virtues–or lack thereof–of the fruit. For example:

> The hideous cherimoya, or custard apple, has a disgustingly green skin and a mushy banana-like appearance on the inside. The soft middle is surprisingly sweet and juicy. It also has a banana smoothie smell.

Later we had the students write about a memorable meal, and got some great responses, which I hope to get permission to print next week. For now, here’s what I wrote. Thinking about it now, the chronology is probably somewhat off, but whatever.

> Things started looking up when I made it into the basement.

> When I was 11, my family moved into a house with a basement. Actually, the old house had a basement, too, but it was dank and terrifying, most notable for mold and furnace noises. The new basement had windows and wall-to-wall carpeting.

> But my room was upstairs. Pretty much every week I’d ask if I could move into the basement. Finally, when I was 16, my parents relented. Oh, the basement had one more thing: a door to the back yard. My first night in the basement, I snuck out and took the car. Destination: Taco Bell.

> The Taco Bell was ten minutes from home, and at the time they had my all-time favorite fast food product: the wild big beef taco. The “wild” part referred to a viscous bright-red hot sauce, and the Big Beef part meant that it was like a regular taco that had been pulled at each end until it doubled in length. They were 99 cents each, and I ordered three of them.

> I was worried that the guy at the drive-through would know that I was sneaking out, which was ridiculous, since at that time of night the drive-thru was a parade of pimply 16-year-old boys. If they were especially lucky, they might have a girl in the car with them. I was never so lucky. The girls always ordered bean burritos.

> I rushed home, turned on David Letterman, and tore open a taco like it was a Harvard acceptance letter. Crunch. Oh, yes. The basement was worth the wait.

> I still live ten minutes from a Taco Bell, but the Wild Big Beef Taco was discontinued long ago. It’s probably just as well. I don’t know if my wife would understand if I came home in the middle of the night stained with sauce.