STROUD'S: FRIED CHICKEN DOWN HOME STYLE IN KANSAS CITY

Last time I wrote about Kansas City, I got into a bit of trouble for not making the distinction between Kansas City, MO and Kansas City, Kansas. OK, well I am back now and to be perfectly clear, I am in Kansas City, MO. Got it? Good.

Let’s continue. I am here for a repeat of one of the happiest experiences of the EAT MY GLOBE trip, working with the incomparable Burn Rate team at The American Royal BBQ competition. You want to know how big this event is? Let me just say that when I received an e-mail from the team leader saying “Guys we have 1000lbs of donated pork” I knew that I had a colon cleansing in my very near future.

That event begins with today’s set up and I arrived yesterday from L.A to meet my dear friend, Mark Cordes, who has provided a roof over my head on the last few visits to this rather endearing city. On previous visits on business, Mark and his then colleagues would take me out to dinner. It was always a bit of a disappointment because we would end up going to ersatz versions of European places. “A great Italian” or a “cute little French place” While their generosity was appreciated, the food was never that good, quite bad in fact sometimes if truth be told.

Then one day Mark suggested we try somewhere local and took me to Stroud’s. What can I tell you? Things were never quite the same between us again. Any man who could introduce me to a place that did fried chicken this delicious was always going to be a friend of mine. Stroud’s was a revalation. The sort of place that many Americans are often snobbish about or even worse apologetic about. It was a truly down home restaurant that served stupidly large portions of really delicious food.

It had been over four years since I last went. BB in blog speak “Before Blog” and in the intervening time, the original Stroud’s location had closed to be replaced by a freeway. It re-opened shortly afterwards on the fringes of a strip mall and I was concerned that it may have lost a lot of the charm, which made it special. I need not have worried. As we walked in, the honk-tonk playing of the piano man was just as it had been before. The perky waitresses were all present and correct and the tables were filled with noisy customers.

If the décor and atmosphere were immediately familiar, so was the food. While waiting for another friend to join us, we shared a half order of “mix-up” a combination of deep fried gizzards and chicken livers. The half order would only be enough to feed about six people and gives you some indication of the amount of food to arrive later in the meal.

The notional nod to health passed with the added salad plate and then we were on to the main courses. Mark’s order was two juicy pork chops, one grilled and one “chicken fried” and came served with creamy mashed potatoes and gravy made, as far as I can tell, from pouring half a vat of cream into the juices of the pan in which the chop was cooked. My own order was “Stroud’s Family Style Chicken Dinner” three portions of some of the best fried chicken you are ever likely to try anywhere along with cottage fries and green beans cooked with ham hocks. The chicken was beautifully moist once you crunched through the outer coating. I am told by Mark, it is because they pressure cook it first before pan frying in shortening. Kevin our companion went with “chicken fingers” three equally impressive strips of breast meat in the same coating.

We were already exuding meat sweats by this time and the sides were being pretty much left intact. That is until the arrival of the hot cinnamon rolls that Mark and Kevin had been waiting for. They tore into them ripping the soft rolls apart letting burst of cinnamon steam fill our booth. Americans have this love of cinnamon I never quite understand. The smell of it is almost the first smell you get when you land at an airport as you see people tucking into those dreadful Cinnabon rolls that are sold from concessions and contain about a million calories each. I don’t get it, and I didn’t get these rolls. I ate half of one and then went back to my chicken, which I most certainly did get. They know their schtick at Stroud’s and at the sign of a first let up in our eating our server appeared with boxes for us to take away our leftovers. It was at least 80% of what we had been served given that the portions were so enormous. We paid our bill which was about $30 each and included tip and a few beers.

You are not going to, well in fact you probably physically couldn’t, eat this sort of food on a regular basis. But, as a treat on a visit to the Mid-West, Stroud’s is a must visit. As I said Americans are often very apologetic about their own food, but Stroud’s serves to remind you that they have absolutely nothing to be apologetic about. Stroud's also serves some of the best fried chicken I have ever tasted.

Now bring on the ‘Q

THE AMERICAN ROYAL: THANK ‘Q KANSAS (ER, CITY MISSOURI)

Well, first of all, I have to be a tiny bit careful in this post to be sure that any of you who read the blog and the few of you who may care, know that Kansas City is, of course, in Missouri and not in Kansas.

Apparently, in my post below about Michael Smith I did not make this abundantly clear and so managed to cheese off a few people from said region who sent me irate e-mails.

So, just for the record, I have been in Kansas City, which is not Kansas, but Missouri. OK? Happy now?

Good, so let’s continue shall we?

The real reason I was in this part of the good old US of Stateside was to join a team called Burn Rate who were in the Open Competition at The American Royal BBQ.

Now, when we think of BBQ in the UK, it conjours up an image of a limp sausage, some supermarket burgers and perhaps a piece of shrivelled chicken or two being tossed on a grill in damp weather only to be retrieved a while later when the outside is charred beyond recognition and the inside remains health frighteningly raw.

BBQ in the USA is a whole ‘nother business. A business that drives people from enjoyment to the borders of obsession as they debate which is best, pork or beef, which kind of rub to use and what kind of sauce is best served with the finished product.

In much of the country it is the hog who holds sway. In Texas, Beef is unsurprisingly king while in some parts of Kentucky, they will swear that mutton works a treat. Saucing too is a serious matter with the Carolinas using, to many people’s distaste, a vinegar sauce while the rest will use a sweeter sauce with molasses or brown sugar. Even in the Carolinas they can’t agree with some using mustard and others using tomatoes.

For a Brit to dive into this world is a pretty dangerous affair, so it was just as well that I had as my guide, my good chum, Mr Mark Cordes.

Now Mark is one of those wholesome John “boy” Walton types who says “neat” and “gosh darn it” without any sense of irony and he exudes hospitality from every pore. Enough even for him to not only offer to put me up for a few days but to persuade his team mates that a plump, balding half Welsh, half Bengali boy with his best years behind him could be a useful addition to the team.

Suckers, they fell for it.

You will be able to read a full report on EAT MY GLOBE when I can get around to it, but I thought you may like to see some pictures of the event which is now the biggest of its kind anywhere in the world. Over 100 teams compete in the “Invitational” event for which, to enter, you have to have won a grand championship at an affiliated event in the last year. In the “Open” event, over 500 teams take part.

There are some team names glorious names too with my particular favourites being, The MAster Basters, Motley 'Q and, best of all, Morning Wood. There was even, believe it or not, a Biritsh team comprised of two chefs and master butcher from the UK who fly over and rent a smoker much to the bemusement of the locals who peer curiously at their letters of support from the offices of Her Majesty and Her Majesty's Prime Minister

Teams range from the small scale operations with a handful of Weber smokers and a small trailer to multi million dollar affairs run by people who spend their entire lives on the road travelling from competition to competition making a healthy living from the crazy business that is ‘Q

My team, Burn Rate is run by 11 guys who take their BBQ incredibly seriously but not to the extent that they forget to have a good time and I was thrilled when they allowed me to join them and even more so when I saw how much meat they had planned to cook.

To give you some mid boggling statistics, this team alone cooked up 600Lbs of Pork Butt, Brisket, Ribs and Chicken in three days. In the event as a whole, it is estimated that nearly 400,000lbs of meat will be cooked and consumed. Add this to the side dishes of beans, slaw, salads etc and you will be able to understand just what ‘Q means to people in this part of the world.

The meat is all prepared in smokers at between 200o and 250o with some cuts like the 5lb cuts of brisket taking anything up to 12 hours to cook through and to gain a smoke ring of colour through the meat. Before going in, they are rubbed with secret spice mixes of the “ I could tell you, but I would have to…etc” variety. Even the kids get involved, donning surgical gloves and rubbing spice mix into the slabs o ribs without a care in the world.

Each night of the event, teams invite family, friends and sponsors to join them for parties, they try hard to outdo each other with live bands and other attractions and they turn into wild nights from which Kansas City only recovers from about three weeks before the next year’s event.

The booze flows in rivers, and some of the participants found it all a bit too much and took the opportunity to fashion rudimentary sleeping arrangements from convinient hay bales while others took the chance to kick back with a beer and watch a local college football game.

On my last night as the final party was winding down, I had to take my leave to get ready for an early morning flight to Chicago. Each member of the team, who had made my experience so memorable by their hospitality, individually, invited me back for next year’s American Royal, the one after that and every one after that.

They are already in the diary. Wild hogs wouldn’t keep me away.

MICHAEL SMITH, KANSAS CITY: THE MAKING OF AN AMERICAN MENU

OK, boys and girls, let’s play a little game shall we?

Let’s create our very own menu for a mid range to high end “American” restaurant.

Ahi Tuna? Check.

Alaskan Halibut? You betcha

Chilean Sea Bass? You want it, we got it

Strip Steak? New York or Kansas?

Fingerling potatoes and heirloom tomatoes? What do you think?

Some dessert with peanut butter involved? Of course.

And there, dear reader, you have on the plate the fixings for just about every menu you will encounter in decent end dining across the USA.

Sure, they will add in the occasional twist in the cooking and the odd name of a farm to show that the provenance is local, but otherwise eating in a mid range American restaurant can be a bit of a dispiriting event. Particularly if they have spent more time describing it than cooking it.

It is, of course, no different in the UK where we have our own particular breed of Identikit menu, primarily borrowing from decent gastro pubs and the brilliance of Fergus Henderson.

I am in Kansas City MO on the latest stage of EAT MY GLOBE and, in about twenty four hours I shall be up to my eyes in butt (pork that is) which is ironic given that many would argue I spent the last twenty odd years kissing it (corporate that is) and, as a thank you to the poor unfortunate who is putting a roof over my head, I offered to take him to dinner.

His choice? Michael Smith’s eponymous new restaurant.

Now, in the UK the name of Michael Smith may not mean a lot, but in the US and particularly in the Midwest, it means a heck of a lot. He was the first winner (I think) of a James Beard award from this region and his previous places, The American Restaurant and 40 Sardines have acquired almost legendary status.

His new place has taken over the site from a previous restaurant called ZIN which ticked all the boxes above, gave a decent meal that disappeared from the memory as quickly as it did from the colon and, when I checked up online for the menu of the new place, that pale shadow of dread came over me as the new occupant appeared to do the same.

However, we carried on regardless and when we arrived for our 8p reservation the place was buzzing as any new restaurant ( open for just over two months ) by a well regarded chef should be.

First surprise, the menu had entirely changed the evening before as their intention to follow seasonal trends brought them to the Autumn/Winter portion of the calendar.

Still, just in case you were a little bit worried for me, there were still plenty of the usual suspects on there so as not to scare the locals. Ahi Tuna, Sea bass etc etc.

The difference here being twofold.

One, there are enough things on the new menu that, while not raising much of an eyebrow in Europe may prompt a few questions in the world of plaid shirts, chinos and tasselled loafers such as sweetbreads, braised rabbit and red deer scallopino and, secondly, local sourcing is not used as an artifice but seems to be worn as a badge of pride and followed through as much as Kansas’ location and climate will allow.

Unsurprisingly, we chose some of the more unusual dishes and first courses, appearing in a bit of a hurry, showed the real difference in this restaurant to so many of its contemporaries. This chef can cook. Michael Smith, who as all chefs who have the level of chutzpah to put their name above the door should be, was in the kitchen and you could tell by the attention given to three generous chunks of God’s good veal thymus cooked perfectly and served with a “chickpea panisse, raisin and olive vinaigrette and a salad of small radicchio leaves”

Equally impressive was a starter of braised rabbit which came with some powerful chanterelles and potato gnocchi and had the meat falling of the bone in pleasing shreds.

Main courses, which also appeared a little to quickly were slightly less impressive but still worth the effort. The Scallopino, which was expensive ( let us not forget it was a little deer – see what I did there? Please yourselves) lacked any discernable gaminess but was tasty enough and set off well by a barley “risotto”

Better was an ‘eight hour pork roast” which still retained some bite and a sliver of crispy fat as it sat on a mound of pleasingly crunchy green onion risotto.

Desserts, made by the gloriously named Mike Bump, were trumpeted but, in reality, brought us back to identikit land. A chocolate tart topped with bananas and, there you go, some peanut butter only being saved from complete indifference by the clever addition of some candied jabanero chilli and a short bread of blackberries taking more time to dissect than to eat.

The wine list deserves special mention both for its content ( long on new world) and its pricing ( bottles from $18) which allowed us to try a half bottle of NZ Sauvignon Blanc and a Pinot from Tasmania, both of which did the job for which they were made, for under $50.

With a tip for service the bill came to $200 which is expensive by local standards but well below average for a meal of this quality back in London.

Smith may be a common name and there may be some common ingredients involved, but a man of Michael Smith’s background makes sure that this is not a by the numbers restaurant.

It is unlikely if many of the people reading this blog will ever find themselves in Kansas. But, if you do, Michael Smith’s is definitely worth a try