HELLO. Tamalehawk may have abandoned his post here, but he lives on...Find him devouring Twitter under the handle @tamalehawk and blogging at www.bitcity.tumblr.com.

The Lurk

Digging through the archives, Tamalehawk stumbled onto these little guys, and immediately realized he still had a nearly full container of forgotten funfetti frosting in the fridge. He had high hopes for it at one point...as a waffle topping, a pretzel stick dip, bagel varnish, maybe a carrot coating. In the end, he couldn't bring himself to finish the forboding fortress of fat.

He's thankful that it comes in a can, because the effort of getting a spoon from the drawer was at times the only thing that saved him from these monstrous machinations.

Stirred Up

The frigid climes incline Tamalehawk to master all manners of emergensoup. This garlic chickpea soup hit some kind of spot, a spot created by the steady stream of cold air that tends to blast through the floorboards of his nest and directly into his soul. This version involved chickpeas, shallots, a shredded potato, garlic, curry, cumin, coriander, and probably some other things along with the chicken broth. Simmer and then puree carelessly with an immersion blender, flecking your entire shirt with soup shrapnel while half-watching a demented version of Babes in Toyland with Keanu Reeves on TV.

If anyone has any ideas for soups that can be hastily assembled and pack the kind of serious flavor that challenges the swirling Chicago winds, please fire away. Extra points if it can chase away the flicker of shame Tamalehawk gets for not leaving his nest for an entire weekend.

Reporting For Duty

The second holiday highlight came entirely from Ladyhawk's wingtips. Tamalehawk needed only to sit back and bask in the wafting fragrance of these triple ginger cookies. Fresh, dried, and candied ginger combine like old partners in crime reuniting for one last mission, in this case the mission being to make Tamalehawk eat three before they even made it to the cooling rack. The verdict: dense, chewy, and addictive, like a good detective novel.

What else. Oh, Tamalehawk finally made it out to Kuma's for a vaunted burger after basically everyone in the world has already eaten there. Thanks to his brother, that is one less thing he should be openly ridiculed about. It was, as promised, incredibly memorable and he really felt like the blaring metal was a critical part of the experience. Definitely a Chicago staple.

Alight, Heavier

Tamalehawk wishes to thank you all for your patience during his accidental holiday hiatus. He looks forward to tending to the temperamental tirades this new year, full of hope that it will be replete with things to angrily eat. He has a lot of ground to make up for, so let's get started.

One of his bigger triumphs recently was this coconut cream pie, consisting of a trifecta of carefully composed cocomponents: a coconut pastry cream base, a coconut whipped cream, and toasted coconut topping. Hemmed inside a frozen crust because let's not get carried away here. This recipe was not hard at all and really delivered in a way that makes you proud, and not timid, about eating it for breakfast out of a coffee mug.

Diving In

Though this eggplant parmesan is a distant memory at this point, it is by no means forgotten. This caused Tamalehawk to reconsider his long-standing indifference towards the eggplant. Turns out, when sliced real thin, breaded, and fried, you get something all together delicious. He layered the golden planks in a casserole dish and parmesaned the hell out of them.

Also important to mention: the signature bean salsa of a gracious avocet, rife with diced mangos and a flurry of curry. After the bread ran out, Tamalehawk couldn't find a plane with enough surface area to inhale the terrific dip at the desired rate; thankfully there was an unfrosted sugar cookie nearby that was up to the task.

Against The Wall

Tamalehawk's endless quest for dessert forced his wing in the kitchen again, and after fifteen manic minutes of preparation and fifteen more in the oven, he had made what he had to admit were pretty terrific profiteroles. His first pâte à choux proved not too tricky, and he plans to ensnare a pair of éclairs soon enough.

Since it was late and way past any watchable Bravo show, he skipped the custard filling this time and instead opted for a frantic baptism in an emergency ganache made in the microwave with some chocolate, a pat of butter for sheen, and cream. He ate three in a blink and polished off the rest of the ganache with a spoon because why waste that?

Help Wanted

Guys, it's chili season. The time of the year when Tamalehawk is confronted by his love/hate relationship with the one-pot wonder. He loves to make it but is rarely impressed by what the traditional compositions have to offer. Meat? Spices? Beans? He gets it. Sure, the myriad toppings offer a needed reprieve, but can't this American classic add a few more dimensions to its flavor profile? Even Googling "weird chili recipes" didn't yield the bounty of breakthroughs he was hoping for. Maybe the internet is a fad after all.

That said, this batch was more memorable than most of his efforts, with the essential Worcestershire elevating the whole affair. A slow simmer in his cast iron pot made some complexities occur, and that was a promising start to what promises to be a long winter. So what else? What should he toss into the mix? Don't make him make a huge mistake and wind up wordlessly dumping a whole steaming pot into a snow drift.

New Dawn

Tamalehawk asked the eternal question: Why eat pancakes for breakfast when you could eat chocolate-chip corncakes with pistachio pudding? He wakes up on the weekends visibly troubled by the endless potential buried in that first meal of the day. He doesn't want to let it slip through his wings with by succumbing to a regular bowl of cereal or toast. When the coffee starts brewing, it's like a race against himself in a fight against his stomach.

Which is difficult when you waste three eggs trying not to break the yolk for your daughter who would probably be just as happy eating petrified Cheerios from under the buffet. Thankfully, he only needed one egg, some straggling chips, and some leftover pistachio pudding from an emergency dessert the night before. Verdict: totally devoured, proving once again the power of the world's greatest nut.

Rise To The Top

Tamalehawk is aware that nearly every photo is woefully devoted to Gene's these days. He can't help the fact that their pork and beef exceeds his carnivorous needs both in quality, price, and atmosphere. Shifting gears to inspect the beef end of the spectrum, he finally found the ground chuck of his dreams: fine grind, deep red hue, and even marbling.

With a last-minute solo grocery flight and several beaks to feed, Tamalehawk heeded some sage advice for a family recipe on how to turn ground beef into a mobile dinner device. Shape some crescent rolls into a greased muffin pan and bake until you see that familiar shade of delicious. Stuff a reasonable amount of browned and seasoned ground round into your golden crescent rolls, melt your cheddar, and eat it out of wing like you might an apple, surveying your kitchen kingdom with a knowing nod.

Low and Slow

The account of Gene's mounting bounty recounted, here in the form of fork-tender boneless pork shoulder, traded at the deflated rate of a mere $2.99 a pound. This is prime meat for carnitas, though this time Tamalehawk seared it and braised it in a bacon-tomato broth with some garlic and sherry vinegar for three hours.

In the waning minutes he realized he could make a polenta foundation for the pork monolith. It turns out you just need a cup of cornmeal and a quart of liquid to make it happen, and some butter, cheese, and salt to make it worth eating. Tamalehawk stole some of the braising liquid. Make sure to grab the pot lid bare-winged, recoil in silent pain, and stalk around your kitchen in maddeningly concentric circles while football noises from the TV mask your palpable hunger-rage.

The Sojourn

For the second trip to Gene's, Tamalehawk was determined to approach the butcher counter with a modicum of restraint, poise, and strategy. He started by securing some links, Polish and Italian, and completed his pork quatrefoil with an enormous pork shoulder and ground pork. He likes pork.

He bought like forty other things and finally somehow left the store in one piece. That night, the Polish feast included pirogies, potato pancakes, sausage, and red cabbage. Each a victory alone and when towered together onto a single forkful. Do yourself a favor and don't ever not be standing in Gene's buying wingloads of delicacies. The cannoli delivers too - he was going to save it for dessert but remembered that is a stupid expectation and ate it immediately.

Eat To Forget

So when you're eating dinner at ten o'clock because you just got back from an awkward and contentious condo association meeting in the bowels of your building's bleak basement, Tamalehawk recommends reaching for the seriously serous splendor of a soft-boiled egg. Cook the egg in boiling water for about five minutes while you slice and fry your toast soldiers in a buttered non-stick pan. Sprinkle with smoked paprika and sea salt or don't but do, then eat until the last hour of your life is erased from your memory.

Expert cooking tip: Don't keep accidentally brushing your feathers against the side of the pan over and over again as you flip the soldiers in the burning hot pan because you're too lazy to get some kind of utensil.

Another Realm

So on Wednesday, Tamalehawk made these tortas for dinner and they were what he'd call a success. He got the chorizo, torta bread, and chihuahua cheese from Edgewater and forgot about four other things he would have put on them but all in all, a very satisfying dinner. He even toasted the bread in the pan of lingering chorizo grease, creating a crunchy orange crust that made him pause for a moment of silent reflection on the power of fat.

Then on Thursday, Tamalehawk and associates headed to XOCO downtown for a mid-week lunch adventure. One thing Chicago superchef Rick Bayless does not do is mess around, and what he has created here is nothing short of a sandwich Valhalla. After a feeding frenzy of four tortas, guac, almond milk with freshly ground chocolate, and churros, Tamalehawk staggered out having forgotten all about Wednesday, and angry that any person would ever consider making a sandwich without Rick's strict supervision. Also, everyone, the churros. If the next thing you chew isn't one of these churros, then you should really retire your jaw because it has failed you.

The Search

Do you guys have any insane new ideas of what Tamalehawk can put into his risotto? For crying out loud, he is desperate for some kind of arborio revelation here. It isn't without a pronounced tinge of shame that he finds himself adding the same brigade of veg all the time. He is looking for a game-changer to make all the stirring and ladling worth it. Poblano lime? Peanut butter basil? Avocado tarragon? Blast his brain.

He did at least add lemon zest this time around, which lifted the whole endeavor up in a satisfying way. But he is hungry. And not just in the usual "eating a second full dinner at 9:45 at night so deal with that" kind of way - he is hungry for innovation.

A New Dawn

It's tough to discover modesty when photographing an enormous coiled homemade potato sausage, but Tamalehawk figured the best way to commemorate Gene's Sausage Shop opening in Lincoln Square was to portray in its natural state. Avert your eyes if such an abundance either grosses you out or makes you too hungry to live.

Tamalehawk and family visited Gene's Saturday night and was met with a crowd packed scapular to scapular for the rapt scavenging of the two-story butcher, bakery, deli, and international grocery monolith. Needless to say, it was a paradise of sorts, the kind of place Tamalehawk could spend a hundred bucks in the flap of a wing. Also, the phone number is 773-SAUSAGE, which wins all your childhood trophies and knocks over the display case.

Jacket Required

One genre that Tamalehawk carried back with him from England was the potato-as-entree "jacket potato," wherein a giant potato is bedecked with a melange of toppings and promptly torn apart in a savage fashion. He didn't have the more traditional British beans or tuna on hand, so he opted for the distinctly American practice of taking a vegetable and suffocating it in cheese sauce.

In other news, he was wondering if it eating increasingly smaller dinners in order to justify eating a larger dessert is a self-destructive habit or a stroke of genius. He's not sure when that switch started happening, whether incremental, or triggered by Halloween, or in preparation for the holidays, but it has become a hardship that Tamalehawk will bravely endure.

Further Adventures

Tamalehawk has long subjected the imposing Strangeloaf to deranged experimentation, ransacking cabinets and pillaging his fridge for more balance, texture, and flavor to finesse into the perplexing mess before crossing his feathers and hoping for the best.

This time around, Tamalehawk managed to add leftover black beans, tomato sauce, carrots, spinach, onions, and bread along with the ground turkey, egg, and melange of condiments. He achieved the density and moisture he was seeking, and was pleased that all things considered, it was a pretty healthy endeavor. He felt perfectly justified in devouring dessert.

Beyond the Grave

Enthralled by cauldron's sprawling haul, Tamalehawk celebrated Halloween by observing the annual tradition called Remembering Whether Or Not You Like Almond Joys. The verdict fell in the "strangely intrigued" column for the ersatz coconut candy, who's grainy, gelatinous center produce a texture that is somehow appealing in its revulsion.

All in all, Tamalehawk was comforted to see the haunted handouts haven't changed much since he stalked the streets as a plucky youngster - Reese's, Smarties, and Milk Duds - though he was surprised to see one neighbor was going old-school and sticking kids with Pixie sticks. Tamalehawk kind of admired the audacity of that dude's hardcore candy agenda before immediately throwing it away.

Second Chance

Tamalehawk realized recently that not everyone loves muffins. He traces the muffin's malignment to several odious origins; stale towers of bran grenades at Days Inn continental breakfast bars, pallid Plexiglas prisons in gas station kiosks, and bland blueberry turds in a wicker basket at an 8 AM corporate quarterly meetings. It's really no wonder the muffin has become so divisive.

If you ever want to experience what a muffin can and should taste like, head to Angel Food Bakery, where the sour cherry variety or occasional ginger pear pairing will make your whole face remember the muffin's potent potential. These are so good that it is not without a flash of anger that you will place a piece in your tiny child's outstretched wing.