The Last of Us II and the Avignon Quintet

I am about to turn sixty-nine years old. I started playing video games with coin-op Pong in the early seventies. Since then I have owned every major home video game system, played all of the big-studio games, and completed hundreds of smaller games. Last night while I slept, my PS4 downloaded my pre-order of The Last of Us II. This morning, a few hours after it became available, I turned on my PS4 and started the story.

The Last of Us II is a sequel to The Last of Us, a zombie shooter with a heavy emphasis on stealth. That is my cup of tea. I am not overly concerned with zombies, but I like shooters. I like it when my shooters are peppered with environmental puzzles and have a heavy stealth element. Which is not to say I don’t enjoy others. Last year’s Control, was magnificent. Since finishing it, my video game itch has remained unscratched and I rest high hopes on The Last of Us II, largely because I enjoyed The Last of Us a lot.

I feel a little guilty about playing, writing about, and thinking about video games. Two tabs over on Google docs, where I am writing this review, I have a partially completed review of Lawrence Durrell’s Avignon Quintet. Reading the minor works of Durrell is hoity-toity intellectual — shooting zombies, not so much. I don’t read the lesser-known works of Durrell because I want to be better educated or more well-rounded. I am too old for that sort of thing. I do it because I love to sit in a chair and experience his prose. 

The novels I write are detective novels. The investigator is a lawyer, not a detective, but the novels use the detective novel formula.  A couple of my fans — and a couple is really all there are — have opined that my books are genre-busting, but that is not because I object to the formula, but rather because I am incapable of applying it correctly. My novels are not designed to teach, or address social issues, or make the reader a better person for having read them. They are written to entertain. 

I play video games, and listen to music, and read books, and even cook because that is how I entertain myself. Each art form has its own charms, but beginning a new big-studio video game is a pleasure different from anything else. There is the question: Will I be drawn in? If so, I will have from twelve to forty hours of delight or even obsession while I drive toward is completion. Unlike music or movies, a major video game is a long-form sort of artistic endeavor. The anticipation combined with dread I feel at the start of one is similar to how I feel in the first chapter of a long novel — or set of novels, such as the Avignon Quintet.  I don’t know yet whether The Last of Us II will suck me in, but it is a possibility.

Maybe my detective novels and the video games I play are not meant to lead us to a better society, but they do take place in society — or in video games, some sort of society — and thus they raise and reflect social issues. In The Last of Us II, I am currently killing zombies — or “infected” as they are called — in the character of a young gay woman traveling with her female partner. This differs significantly from the muscle-bound zombie killers I have played many times in the past. Women in video games are no longer scantily clad buxom fodder for adolescent wet dreams. I like the change, but don’t give it a lot of thought. I am there to kill zombies and solve puzzles. I don’t much care who carries the digital shotgun.

Being in the middle of both of them, I don’t know whether I will end up liking either of them. Both have garnered a fair number of bad reviews, as well as good ones. If I finish either, I will let you know what I think.

The Holders of Helmut Street is available

This morning the latest Leopold Larson book became available on Amazon. It has taken an awfully long time, but it is finally done. At the moment, the Kindle version and the print version are not linked at Amazon, but that will remedy itself in a few days if I am patient.

A Disquisition on the Hamburger

I like to eat hamburgers. I am not alone. Google tells me that Americans eat fifty billion — yes billion with a “b” — hamburgers a year.

Not only do I like hamburgers, but I also think more about the minutiae of food, cooking, and flavor than should any person who doesn’t have to make a living in restaurants. In my house I don’t do all of the cooking, but if the dish involves beef, I get the job. I grill beef, barbecue it, sous vide it, saute it, braise it, pressure cook it, reverse sear it and stew it. I buy prime beef from Costco and beef marrow bones from a giant Asian grocery store. Preparing beef is one of my favorite pastimes and my beef dishes bring relatives — even the ones who don’t particularly like me — salivating to my house.

Beef has a rich but subtle taste. Although people don’t tend to think so, chicken is a stronger flavor. If you don’t believe me, make broth. The taste of chicken leaches easily from bones and meat into water where it becomes a satisfying winter cure for all cold-weather illnesses. Flavorful beef broth takes a lot of beef and costs a lot to make. Commercial chicken broths can be passable. Commercial beef broths are worthless. The flavor of beef may be subtle, but it is rich, satisfying, and addictive. Thus, all those hamburgers.

Almost all beef dishes require that the beef at some point be browned. Browning of food is caused by the Maillard reaction — that process in which at certain temperatures amino acids interact with sugars. The Maillard reaction creates flavors that humans love. Take a salty strip of greasy pork, give it a heavy dose of the Maillard reaction and you have bacon. Subject a couple of slices of bread to the reaction and you have toast. The famously delicious BLT is little more than a Maillard explosion in your mouth.

The flavors produced when dry beef browns on hot metal are particularly tasty. When faced with tough beef intended for braising or stewing, cooks brown the meat and deglaze the pan before sending it into the liquid. The brown stuff, whether on the surface of the meat or stuck to the pan, infuses the cooking liquid with Maillard deliciousness. With a tender cut — like a ribeye steak — a cook can use several ways to bring the internal temperature of the meat up to the 130 degree eating temperature. What makes or breaks the steak is not how the cook gets it to the correct internal temperature but how well the cook develops a salty crust, a crust obtained by carefully managing the Maillard reaction.

The challenge in cooking beef arises out of the disconnect between good flavor and good texture. The flavorful cuts are tough, and the tender cuts are flavorless. Shank meat has a rich beef flavor. So does ox-tail, chuck, and brisket, but these flavorful cuts have to be smoked, sous vide’d, or braised for hours before they become tender enough to eat. A tenderloin is as tender as butter right off the grill or out of the oven, but I serve tenderloin with horseradish or a flavorful pan sauce because the meat itself doesn’t taste very beefy. As the beef guy in my house, I am always working with the trade-off between chewability and flavor.

So how does one get both great beef flavor and chewability from a hunk of meat — preferably a cheap hunk of meat — when you want to quickly grill it? The answer is simple. We pre-chew it, and call this mechanically pre-chewed meat “hamburger.” By machine-chewing the beef before we cook it, the full flavor of those tough cuts emerges in a chewable form without the time involved in smoking, stewing and braising. If you then form the ground meat into reasonably thin patties, you have two convenient surfaces to give the Maillard treatment. Flavor plus tenderness plus browning equal deliciousness. And that is why Americans eat fifty billion hamburgers every year.

I think that about ten minutes after mankind discovered the tastiness of the hamburger, somebody suggested it would taste better if we added cheese and lettuce and tomato and ketchup and mustard and bacon and a fried egg and mushrooms and jalapeno peppers and a lot of other things. The people who came up with these additions were all correct. Almost anything tastes good on a hamburger.

The bad news is that as the hamburger became covered in condiments, vegetables, cheeses and everything else in the pantry, cooks lost sight of the beef. Hamburger was not being made from the most flavorful cuts but rather from whatever part of the cow that was left over. Another bad thing happened. In order to reduce the burden of storing hamburger, commercial butchers compressed the pre-chewed meat into molds. Then home cooks and burger joints squeezed the meat again into hard round disks that would not fall apart on the griddle. The result of all this squeezing and compressing was pre-chewed meat nearly as unyielding to teeth as the beef had been prior to being ground. Instead of a tender patty of flavorful beef that fell apart in your mouth, we had a tough flavorless disk which was only good as a browned protein foundation for creative add-ons.

Here there was a hamburger fork in the road. The Maillard reaction produces so much flavor that any sort of browned protein is going to make a passable foundation for a sandwich. Burger makers had no need to squeeze out real beef flavor when they had bacon and mushrooms and blue cheese to carry the dish. Most burger joints and most home cooks took this fork.

I did not.

I like burgers from McDonald’s, Burger King, Red Robin, Five Guys, In and Out Burger and the grill at my church picnic. I eat and enjoy burgers at all these places. However, in my home, I go back to what made hamburgers so enticing in the first place — great beef flavor, perfect browning, and fall-apart tenderness.

I grind my own hamburger. I do it using the meat grinder accessory on my Kitchenaid mixer. It works fine for me. I produce my best burgers when I throw them on a griddle within a few hours of grinding the meat. My hamburger is made primarily from chuck, but I kick up the beef flavor with the addition of shank, rib or brisket. I even like a little sirloin in the mix. I shoot for at least a twenty-percent fat content and add beef fat to the grinding mix to get there. When shopping for ribeye’s I am alert for the marbling — that lattice of fat that runs through the body of the meat. When making hamburger I can control the marbling. Beef fat is delicious and I like a lot of it in my burger.

When I make burgers I form the patties gently. I need them firm enough to hold together while cooking, yet loose enough to fall apart in your mouth. This takes a bit of practice and putting the patties in the refrigerator after forming them helps. Sometimes I go small, three-ounce patties on small buns — almost sliders. Sometimes I go as big as six ounces but never bigger. Beyond that, the balance of crust to interior gets out of whack.

I do grilling on my patio. Over the years my patio has seen nearly every conceivable outdoor cooking device. My current darling is the PK360, a monster of two-zone cooking. It can reverse sear a ribeye to Saturday night perfection. However, when I cook hamburgers I pull out the griddle from my old Weber gas grill and lay it over the grates of the PK360. Hamburgers deserve a griddle so that the beef fat, rather than dripping into the coals and starting flare-ups, pools around the meat. The burgers cook in their own sizzling fat.

I season my burgers with salt and pepper just before they go on the griddle and brown them almost to the point of burning. There is no need to leave the inside of the burger medium rare. We do that to steaks to prevent toughness. My burgers are pre-chewed. They will not be tough. Let them sit on the griddle in their own juices until the exterior is a deep brown. Despite what I said earlier about add-ons, I like a slice of Boars Head yellow American cheese on my burger — just one — applied at the end and left on until thoroughly melted.

The burger buns should be soft. The rule of sandwiches is that hard fillings need a hard bun and soft fillings need a soft one. My burgers are tender, and the buns should be as well. If you make your own buns, make potato buns. Potato in the buns keeps them tender. If you buy them, don’t fall for the idea that some high-quality crusty bun will help. The crunchy bread will compete with the beef patty. I brown soft buns lightly on the griddle, give them a swipe of mayonnaise for an oil barrier against the beef juices that will come flowing out of the patty, and serve.

Your guests may clamor for mustard and ketchup and onion, but force them to try what you have made. After the first bite, they will remember how delightful beef can be, and the requests for condiments will end.

I understand that the vast bulk of the fifty billion hamburgers eaten in America are “fast food,” and my hamburgers are the opposite of fast food. They are not, however, as impractical as they might seem at first glance. I usually grind about thirty ounces of hamburger at a time and make five six-ounce patties. My wife and I eat a couple on the day the meat is ground. I freeze the other three, vacuum sealing the patties after they are partially frozen so they hold shape. Thereafter, I can fry one up using the same technique one uses to cook commercially prepared frozen patties. The results are not as good as on the first day, but close, and a world apart from their factory-produced brethren.

Often when I go to a restaurant my friends are loath to order a hamburger, the consensus being that hamburgers are only on the menu for those diners too timid to try something adventurous. To a certain extent, I share that prejudice. However, if you want to test the cook to see if he or she is truly paying attention to the food being served, order that hamburger. You will learn things, both good and bad, about the quality of what is going on in the kitchen.

The point of all this, I guess, is that the hamburger patty is a remarkable invention. It can be the canvas on which to apply a myriad of ingredients and flavors, or it can be a soloist and carry the load alone. We need to respect and appreciate its greatness. If you haven’t let the beef be the soloist in a while, perhaps it is time you remembered how enticing the flavor of browned beef can be. Make yourself a good hamburger.

Progress on my new book – The Guardian

People who enjoyed The Duke of Morrison Street have been harassing me for some time to finish my sequel. I am two thirds through the first draft and my working name for it is The Guardian. I am writing this post as a way of spurring me on to finish it.

I was at a poetry reading and presentation yesterday by David Whyte. I was there because Cheri, my wife, asked me to go. At one point in the presentation Mr. Whyte made us turn to a neighbor in the crowd and discuss why we were there. I  ended up talking to a young woman who was working on her first book but was troubled with writers block. I said, as I often have, that what helped me was realizing that writing was done with my fingers, not my mind of my imagination. If my fingers are not on the keyboard, I am not writing.

Now I need to take a little of my own advice and get the fingers on the keyboard for the sequel to the Duke of Morrison Street.