Carniwhore Burgers

Okay, okay, so I completely stole this recipe idea, at least certain elements of it. If you fancy a SRS recipe, not just my fast-as-fuck 'snack' version, you can get your drool on here:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/bookshark/sets/72157624856923391/

Now that my plagiarism has been exposed, I can get on with the usual bullshit. Heres what ya need:

Before I start, the only thing I didn't buy myself was the meat, because for some weird reason, we had... an entire slaughterhouse worth of minced beef in the fridge. I have no idea how much, weight-wise, I used, I just thrust my hand into the gigantic bowl of ungulate remains and pulled out a pawful.

I'm sure I've done a burger recipe before, so just... any prep involved in making burger patty, follow my old instructions. Be sure to use your hands to break up the meat and mix things into it, I can never stress that enough. Get bloody.

By now I'm goddamn sick of typing anything to do with chopping veg. Just fucking do it, right? Finely dice a red chilli if you fancy a dinner that's gonna kick your ass.
Also, cut off some pretty decent chunks of feta, for reasons that will become clear later/are already clear if you read the link above.

For something a bit weird, I decided it'd be a good idea to add a pretty serious amount of chilli powder, as well as powdered ginger, into my pattys. I know, ginger, I'm weird, I get it. It wasn't through any real desire to taste it in the burger (I couldn't in the end), just another excuse to experience the smell. Goddamn, that smell...

Anyway, where was I? So your meat is seasoned and mixed, your veg is chopped, your feta is primed.

Fire up your frying pan, splash in your oil, and seperate your meat into two decent sized pattys. Smash it flat with your fists, if you've had a particularly stressful day, or even if you haven't because pounding dead flesh is always fun. And surprisingly no, that's not a necrophilia joke, you sick fuck.

Once the meat is good and spread out, take your chunks of feta, place them on one side of the flattened patty and sprinkle in your red pepper and add in a fucktonne more chillis, powder and general spiciness, and fold the other side of the patty over on top of all of that, to seal it within. If you're worried the meat will just crumble and all your ingredients will spill out, lightly coat it with a mixture of a single whisked egg, milk and flour.

Lift these meaty beautys into your frying pan, and... well, just wait for 'em to fry, dumbass. They might take a little longer than your average burger because they're thicker, what with having 'layers' and all. So leave them in a good long while, and cut one through the middle to check it's all thoroughly cooked before serving.

The feta melts and gets all gorgeously gooey in the centre, it's honestly fucking amazing. I bought enough of it, and we have enough mince to ensure this is gonna be the only meal I eat for a week. Funnily enough, I am more than okay with that.

Since for once I didn't come up with my OWN clever post title, I'll settle for a clip vaguely related to it, in name alone.

Carnivore were a thrash band outta Brooklyn, featuring the late, great Peter Steele.
I know this is a food blog, but just listen to this track! The segue from all-out thrash, to the gloomy gothic doom mid-section, back through to thrash with an almost-crust-like vocal delivery... most bands still can't touch this prime late-80's stuff. RIP Pete.

Whisky Leech

I've had the idea for this particularly night of amber alchemy for months now, the bottles have been sitting on top of my speakers for just as long, and for some reason it's taken me this long to get around to drinking 'em. I'm almost ashamed of myself. Yeah, you read that right, I'm ashamed because I'm not ENOUGH of a drunken useless wreck.

I bought these four miniatures all the way back in summer last year from one of Glasgow's whisky specialist shops, while out hunting for a bottle of Makers Mark at a price that wouldn't bankrupt me.

I don't pretend to actually KNOW anything about whisky, except that I really like it, and that it keeps my voice in good (for that read 'broken, hoarse and scratchy') shape. Therefore, my purchasing decisions were based on aesthetics alone. Yeah, I'm the kind of shallow cunt that fancy packaging was made for. I liked the labels of three of the bottles, and the tiny bottle of Dalmore was an impulse buy due to it's status as the smallest bottle of whisky in the world.

I may as well start with the Dalmore, as there's not really enough in there to 'appreciate the taste' once I've worked my way through the other bottles and gotten slightly sloppy in my judgement. Here's a picture to give you an idea of just how tiny this bottle is:

So when poured, or rather, dripped into my glass, the amount of whisky barely even covers the surface of the bottom of the glass. When I tried to carefully sip it, I drank the whole damn bottle in less than a sip. Hmmm. Definitely more of a novelty item than something bought for the actual contents. It was a pretty standard single malt, not as dry as most that i've tried, I'd really need to slug back a decent sized glass to get a real idea though.

Next I'll try... the Sheep Dip. Sniffing this before tasting is a weird one, it has a real grassy smell, y'know, like actual freshly cut grass. Maybe it's just my screwy sense of smell, but I'm kinda hesitant to try a whisky that might aggravate my hayfever, as opposed to make my eyes water with the flare of burning nostrils. Ah well, here goes nothin'!
...There it is! The smell is goddamn deceptive, this definitely has a good warm kick to it. Again, not very different to most other scotch single malts, but my inability to taste any huge difference is probably down to my own philistine tastebuds, rather than any fault on the part of whisky itself.
Hmmm... the more I have of this, the smoother it goes down. I know, I know, fuckin' duh, right? But I've had nowhere near enough to dull my senses. Not yet, anyway.

My mistrust of green-bottled alchohol is a mystery even to myself, but still, it's with a slight sense of foreboding that I break the seal of the terribly-titled 'Black Bottle'. Come on, you can fucking SEE it's not really a black bottle! Fucks sake.
Anyhow, yet again the odour of the booze is absolutely NO clue as to how it might taste. I kinda like the warning sign when you raise a glass to your lips, that tingle you feel, the need to close your eyes and brace for contact. Upon first sip this definitely has more of that familiar warmth, and a slight sting in it's tail. Definitely better than I expected, considering the secondary-colour involved in it's packaging.
A few sips later, I still dig it. Damn good whisky!

Last, but... well, I don't know if it's least, I ain't tried it yet. That good ol' warmth in my throat might be slightly affecting my brain by this point. Just slightly.
I bought this bottle, Bailie Nicol Jarvie, mainly because it resembles like... some sort of medical label, it's far from your stereotypical whisky bottle in appearance at least, it looks almost like something you would find on an apothecaries' shelf. Which as regular readers may notice, fulfils my traditional 'refer to something medieval or historical within every fucking post' quotient.
Anyway, I'm actually pretty excited to try this one, if only to see if it fulfils the high hopes this packaging nerd has placed upon it. Moment of truth...

Oh fuck yes! One of the rare occaisions in life where my built-up hopes are not dashed all to hell. This totally lives up to ...well, the self-imposed hype.
It has it all, the sting as it touches my lips, the smooth warmth when swallowed, a real... would firey be a word you'd use to describe whisky? Fuck it, I'm gonna go with firey. If I can get a decent sized bottle of this, I'll be a very happy man.

Because I'm a fucking wimp, I've not finished any of these bottles, not tonight at least, but I think the Bailie Nicol Jarvie may not last much longer... definitely a new favourite.

Warning: drinking too much whisky makes your voice sound like this...