BRATBASA!
Ellie
I think the pinkness of the bratbasa should have tipped me off that it was not going to taste remotely like chorizo.
One thing I love about visiting home is that I have access to a kitchen. Also, both my parents work and they can do nothing to stop me from using up all the flour, ahahaha. That said, sometimes my kitchen excursions don't go exactly as planned. I'm probably the only person you will ever meet who has been attacked by an espresso maker. Also, my attempt at rice pilaf turned into some horrifying mixture of savory rice pudding and risotto. I’d show you a picture of that extravaganza, but damned if I know how to get a picture off my phone and onto my computer.
Anyway, given that traumatic event, I probably should have thought twice about making mofongo, a complicated Puerto Rican dish involving plantains and chorizo. For one thing, do you know how hard it is to get a decent form of either ingredient in Pennsylvania? The plantains I found were way too dry, and the chorizo, well...
Meet bratbasa.
That picture looks so inappropriate. Anyway, bratbasa was the only thing I could think to call this because it's sort of halfway between bratwurst and kielbasa. Both of which, if you know anything about processed pig parts, are German sausages. That's what I get for buying my fake-Spanish sausage from a German sausage company, I guess.
The plantains were too dry, even after I fried them in oil, so I mashed them down as best I could and sort of fried them up with the bratbasa. It was like a tofu scramble, but with nothing that even resembled tofu. Or mofongo, for that matter.
Doesn't that look appetizing. I think the pinkness of the bratbasa should have tipped me off that it was not going to taste remotely like chorizo. In other news, I never get tired of saying bratbasa. I've tried to figure out what it sounds like. My first thought was a secondary Superman villain, Brat Basa. My dad suggested a small foreign village, and my sister said a foreign exchange student. So I guess there's been no consensus except to say it's something foreign and very strange.
Here you see me, attacking the BratBasa scramble with tongs. Note the awkward facial expression, because I was so concerned about how the mutant thing was going to turn out. Also notice the first of many reasons that I hate my camera: the flash is way too bright, or sometimes does nothing.
At this point I decided there was no way the bratbasa scramble was going to roll up into little balls, the way you’re supposed to with mofongo. Besides, it was so far from mofongo that it didn't really matter anymore. So I just beat the mysterious sausage down and browned both sides of the bratbasa scramble pancake and said the hell with it.
Here it is, browned. I think there are onions and cilantro in there, too, but I don’t really remember. Either way, it was pretty bland, except for the half-bratwurst, half-kielbasa taste.
I'll get you next time, Brat Basa. Next time.
