Short Short Series #2

Drifting

by Brent Warren III

“It won’t be long now,” said Jimmy.  If the currents held, they’d hit the Keys before they ran out of water.  The food was gone.  He wasn’t sure if Freddy had much time.

                He took a small sip of water and then held the jug to Freddy’s lips.  “Take a sip, buddy,” he said.  Freddy moaned and tried to sip, but his lips barely parted and most of the water ran down his chin.

                Jimmy set the jug down and then looked at Freddy’s gut shot.  It was beginning to fester and stink.  “It’s not bad,” he lied.  Freddy rolled his head to the right, resting it on the gunwale. “We’ll be hitting the Keys soon, Freddy, and they’ll find us.  Just hang in there a little longer.  Okay?”  Freddy didn’t move.

                Jimmy took the strip of shirt he had used as a bandage and rinsed it over the side of the dingy.  He squeezed it as dry as he could and then laid it back over the wound. Freddy moaned, lifted his head, and the let it fall again.  “Sorry, buddy.  I know the salt stings, but salt water’s good for wounds,” Jimmy said.

                He sat back, across from Freddy, and sighed.  Looking out, he saw nothing but green and blue and wisps of white.  It was midday he figured.  They’d been on the water for two days and had two, maybe three, left if their luck held out.  Freddy looked badly.

                “I wonder if the Cap’n made it?” he asked.  He looked at Freddy for a sign but he got nothing.  “Where do you suppose those bastards come from anyway?  They just appeared outta the dark and started shootin.  They didn’t even board us or take the boat.  Couldna been the coast guard.  It makes no damn sense,” he said, twisting a piece of loose twine around his finger.  He threw it down.  “Hell, it don’t matter anyhow now,” he said.

                He looked at Freddy, looked for the slow rise and fall of his chest.  He didn’t see it.

                “Damn!” he said.

                He bent over Freddy’s body and listened.  Nothing.  He searched Freddy’s pockets, retrieving his wallet, a flask, and a few coins.  He flipped through the wallet and pulled out a picture of a young woman and a little boy.  “I let Sally know what happened,” he said.

                He put the wallet in his pocket and buttoned it and then took a swig from the flask before he put it in his back pocket.  He pulled Freddy’s body up against the gunwale and then grabbed his legs and lifted the body up and over.  The dead weight splashed as the dingy pulled away.

                Jimmy sat back against the gunwale and watched the horizon as he drifted northeast.  Maybe I’ll make it in less than two days now, he thought.

                 

Short Short Series #1

Larry

by Brent Warren III

He woke up depressed.  He needed to get out of bed, but he had no desire.  He hit the snooze button and stared at the ceiling until the alarm rang again.  “Alright, damn it!” he said, hitting the clock.

He pulled himself up, and swung his legs out of the bed.  Slouching over his beer belly, he dragged his hands through his thinning white hair and then sighed.  He stood and walked to his bathroom.  After taking his daily shit, he stood before the mirror.

           His jowls, he noticed, had started to sag more.  The bags under his eyes had grown noticeably darker and pronounced as he slept less and less each year.  “This fucking blows,” he said to himself.  He scratched his ass and then went back to his bedroom.

           He grabbed a clean white polo from his chest drawer and then put on the pants he’d worn the last three days.  He cinched the belt tight and buckled it, letting the excess end flop loose because the leather loop and fallen off long ago.  He didn’t care.  And then, just because he liked them, he put on his red suspenders.  He’d been told by his coworker, a young girl who spent most of her time perusing fashion magazines, that he shouldn’t wear the suspenders because they accentuated his beer belly. “It’s unattractive,” she said.

           “Fuck you,” he replied.

           Dressed, he ate his dry toast and drank his reheated coffee from the day before.  He read a tattered copy of Bukowski, one of many he’d borrowed from the bookstore.  That was the only real perk of working there as far as he was concerned.

           He finished his breakfast, cleaned the dishes, and then left for work.

Sitting in his old 98’ Oldsmobile in the bookstore parking lot, he stared at the front door, watching his young coworker dance to the tune from her little, white earbuds.  He sighed.

           What’s the point, he thought.  A seventy-year-old man still working as a clerk in a bookstore.  What a fucking joke, he thought.

           He started the car, hesitated, and said, “Fuck it!”

           He pulled out of the parking lot, turned left, and drove to the nearest bar.

To Grill or Not to Grill

For most, meats and grills go hand in hand.  There is no other way to cook a tender filet mignon, a thick pork chop, or a juicy t-bone, right?  Not entirely.  While there are many reasons to grill meats (the smokey flavor and the aesthetics of the criss-cross pattern come to mind), it is not the only choice.  

    Like most male Americans, my introduction to cooking consisted of a steak and a grill.  And for years, including my college days spent working as a line cook under trained chefs in restaurants, that was the only way I thought proper to cook a steak. Then one day, long after I’d left the restaurant business, I received as a gift James Peterson’s Essentials of Cooking and my perception of cooking meats--as well as cooking in general--changed forever.

Peterson’s book, as the title implies, teaches cooking techniques that all trained chefs know, but that many home cooks may not.  From it I learned such techniques as how to make a bouquet garni, how to truss a bird, how to make chicken stock, and how to make mayonnaise--simple techniques that ironically I never learned while working as a line cook.  The technique that I have employed countless times since I learned to do it properly is sautéing meat, my preferred method these days for cooking steaks or pork tenderloin medallions.

So what makes me a convert?  There are several factors: sautéing is not dependent on the weather; it provides an even temperature across the surface of the meat; it quickly sears the meat, thereby trapping the juices in the meat rather than letting them fall into the grill; and, finally, the remaining drippings in the pan serve as a base for a variety of quick and easy sauces.

The process is simple. Start by sprinkling the steaks or pork tenderloin (cut into one and half inch medallions) with kosher salt and pepper and let them warm up to room temperature.  Heat a tablespoon or two of olive oil in a heavy bottomed, stainless steel sauté pan over moderately high heat until the oil begins to shimmer.  Add the meat and brown on both sides--don’t flip it repeatedly; let it cook a few minutes on one side, and then flip and cook until done.  Once it is cooked to your liking, remove and keep warm--I usually put the meat on a plate and cover it loosely with foil.  Now here is the fun part: the sauce.  I tend to favor a wine sauce (red for meats and white for chicken).  If there is an excess of fat in the pan, pour that out.  Then, if desired, add diced onions, garlic, or mushrooms for added flavor and sauté them until they’re soft.  Next, deglaze the pan with a ¼ to ½ cup of wine--make sure the wine or whatever liquid you use is at least room temperature or warmer, otherwise you risk warping your pan--and scrape up all the drippings stuck to the pan.  Let the wine simmer down till only a little remains and then add ¾ to 1 cup of chicken or beef broth and simmer until it becomes syrupy.  Finally, add a little cold butter to thicken the sauce, season to taste, and pour over the meat.

            So the next time the weather is bad, you run out of gas or charcoal, or you just feel like trying something besides grilling, sauté.