The topic is meat jam.

Before embarking upon a long day of dissipation yesterday, which included brunch at Bank Street Brewhouse, cigars, sessionable ales, Habana Blues and a nightcap at Sergio's (no, I wasn't driving, just passengering), I devoted some time to research the menu for Tuesday's beer dinner at Harvest.

That's because (a) I'm eager to learn and diligent about such matters, seeing as (b) I'm not a natural-born foodie, and considering (c) my usual practice is to eat whatever is pushed before me, even if chocolate-covered grasshoppers have yet to tempt.

For instance, do you the difference between corned beef and pastrami?

Just thinking about it reminds me of our desperate need for a real deli hereabouts. At any rate, both are beef, both are brined, but corned beef is boiled, while pastrami is rubbed with pepper and herbs, smoked, and steamed. Tomorrow night, the pastrami is pork, and that's fine with me even if it veers from convention.

Which brings me to smoked rib jam.

Meat Jams: A Tri-Coastal Tasting

Meat, fat, sugar, fruit and time. These are the things that make up meat jams. There has been a recent fascination from this blog and others with the various flavors of rib jam made by Will Fleischman of Lockhart Smokehouse. My affection for this concoction had me seeking other meat jams, and I found a couple on opposite coasts.