Slice of Lemon » Family

A study in Beef Jerky

senayatulla — Thu, 02 Sep 2010 22:19:48 +0000

A few weeks ago, while at the local halal store, The Boss and I found Beef Jerky.

Halal Beef Jerky.

As in, OH-MY-GOD-I-HAVEN’T-EATEN-BEEF-JERKY-SINCE-I-WAS-TEN-YEARS-OLD(!) Beef Jerky. I nearly shed a tear.

I started eating halal, or zabiha meat my sophomore year in high school, which essentially eliminated All Things Delicious from my diet until slightly later in life when more Muslim manufacturers started making food, snack and candy items that fell within the Islamic dietary laws. As more companies overseas started shipping halal products to the U.S., and as more U.S. companies started catering to the local demand, eating halal essentially meant you could have anything you wanted, as long as you looked for it in the right places. Of course, I realize that not all Muslims follow the dietary guidelines that I follow, so for some of you Beef Jerky is like, SO 1993, and you’re less excited about my find then you were when you found out that your little sister had been stealing your training bras and wearing them to fifth grade.

(Sorry, Uzma!)

But Beef jerky was a major part of my life growing up, and finding it now isn’t only about getting to eat something I once loved, it’s also a flash back to my childhood. I still remember going to K-Mart with my mom, and grabbing a couple of Slim Jims, or a pack of Beef Jerky each time we got to the check-out.

HA!

My momma used ta take me ta Kay-Mart where I’d get me some new skewl supplahs, and some Sleem Jeeems and eat ‘em like ma hero Macho Man.

OOOHHH YYEEEAAA.

And you better believe I SNAPPED my way through many-a-Slim Jim while wiggling the fingers on both my hands, and trying to perfect the vibrato in my voice to match Macho Man’s, but only a few of you will probably understand and appreciate that reference.

OOOHHH YYEEEAAA.

So the Boss and I picked up the beef jerky, and I proceeded to tweet about it, and I even e-mailed a friend. This is what we found.

We took it out of the package, and though not completely reminiscent of my childhood, it was still Beef Jerky! so that was good enough for us. But then, something amazing happened. My mom was recently on a trip to the Gulf, and upon her return she mailed The Boss and me a care package full of goodies. Including MORE BEEF JERKY. Only this time it was something more familiar to us.

“Jack Link’s!?!?” The Boss shouted, as he sprinted into the living room, and ripped the bag out of my hand. “I used to eat this when I was little! But this isn’t halal.”

“Of course it is,” I said, snatching it back. “Why would my mom send us something that wasn’t halal?”

The Boss grabbed the packet of Beef Jerky out of my hand again, and furiously flipped the package over, in search of the ONE confirmation word we were looking for. There were ingredients written in Arabic, English, Chinese and Japanese, but nothing that said…

“HALAL!!!!”

The Boss found it.

BINGO.

THANK YOUUUU, New Zealand!

We ripped open the bag, and the moment my teeth sank into THIS jerky, angels sang. The clouds parted and light flooded our apartment. Now that our home has been suddenly filled with Beef Jerky, I found it appropriate to do a comparative study.

Let’s begin.

Left: Jack Link’s Beef Jerky.
Right: Halal Jerky Beef Jerky.

As you can see both companies take quite a different approach to their jerky.

Halal Jerky Beef Jerky

Pros:

-Bigger pieces
-The first halal beef jerky I ever met
-Spicy

Cons:

-A little too tough/dry
-The heavy flavor makes the jerky seem forced
-Extra fat makes chewing a bit of a chore

Jack Link’s Beef Jerky

Pros:

-Thicker cut of meat provides better texture
-Smaller pieces are easy to eat, making for a better snack food
-Softer pieces make chewing less strenuous

Cons:

-Bag had more air in it than jerky
-If jerky were just a tad bit drier, it would feel more like the jerky from my childhood
-Some pieces were a bit on the fluorescent pink side, which made me nervous

In Conclusion: Jack Link’s Beef Jerky is our winner. The Halal Jerky’s take on Beef Jerky was a bit over-spiced, and too dry, and excess fat made me feel like I was swallowing tiny pieces of bubble gum as I ate. I’m not sure if Jack Link’s Beef Jerky is halal everywhere, but now that The Boss and I have been made aware of its existence, we plan on going to the local non-halal grocery stores to take a look around, and ask our local halal grocers to order it. Of course you could always visit the company’s Web site, and shoot them a note to find out more about where to find products that fit your specific needs.

———

This is not a sponsored review. It is simply a comparison of dried meat, which I hope will help you make informed decisions regarding what type of jerky to feed your family. Issues of such grave importance should not be taken lightly. Thank you for your time.

Riding with FIL: The untold story

senayatulla — Mon, 23 Aug 2010 23:10:12 +0000

A few days before I left Connecticut to return to L.A., FIL and I decided to go on a bike ride together. We both wanted to get in some cardio, but because my knee had been acting up again, we opted for something a little lower impact.

HA.

HA. HA.

That’s funny now that I look back on it.

NOTHING WITH FIL IS EVER LOW IMPACT.

And I should know that by now.

But that’s exactly why I never miss an opportunity to work out with him. Despite the fact that he’s a little more than twice my age, and had heart surgery a few years ago, this guy is a solid workout buddy. Like me, he’s competitive and he doesn’t like to lose.

Since the weather on the east coast was brutally hot and humid while I was visiting, I only packed workout clothes for indoor workouts, which, per the clothing guidelines I follow for my faith, weren’t appropriate for outdoor use. I did happen to have a pair of running pants, and thankfully The Boss’s mama had done like three tons of The Boss’s laundry so I grabbed one of his long-sleeve T-shirts, and waited for FIL downstairs in the dining room.

Now, before I continue, let me explain something about FIL. He’s a hustler. Plain and simple. Every time I visit my in-laws, FIL and I embark on some sort of physical activity together, and without fail, every time, I am defeated. Once, as we headed out the door for a three and a half mile run together, FIL was all Oh, I’m an old man, go ahead and run ahead if I slow down, you’re so young, and blah, blah, blah.

Yes, I get it. You’re older than me. But what FIL failed to mention was that he also runs five miles almost every day, clocking in at solid 10-minute splits. Sometimes slightly faster. Before FIL and I parted to get changed, I asked him if he was a biker. You know, like does he gear up and hit the country roads regularly.

“Why are you smiling like that?” I asked.

“Just go get ready.”

“No, seriously. I know you. I know how you are.”

“I’m not like anything,” he said, a smirk now plastered to his face. “We’ll leave in 30 minutes.”

So, I’m waiting for FIL in the dining room, when in walks a man in a PROFESSIONAL SPANDEX LANCE ARMSTRONG CYCLING SUIT, smirk in tow.

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME RIGHT NOW?!?!” I shouted.

“What?”

“What? What do you mean WHAT? You’re in a unitard!”

But he just smiled. A smile that said, You have no idea who I am, Young Buck. Also, my legs look killer in these tights.

So Lance got the mountain bike, and I got a road bike, and off we went. Because this was FIL, I assumed we’d ride, five, I don’t know, maybe six miles. Yet again, my nativity got the best of me. This was FIL after all, and anything less than Ride-until-your-triceps-bleed-and-your-toenails-fall-off would have been uncivilized.

When we finally stopped to hydrate, he goes, “Okay, nine miles down, six more to go. How are you feeling?”

I’m sorry, what? Oh, I must have misheard you. I thought you said NINE and SIX but that can’t be right because I think that adds up to FIFTEEN.

“I’m feeling good,” I said. “Wait, we just rode how far? How far are we going?” I was doubting my addition.

“It’s a 15-mile loop,” he said, as he took a swig of his G2.

But FIL knows me, too. And he knows that I’m a bit of a stickler. I’m obsessively competitive with myself, and I never start something I’m not going to finish. He knew I would mentally pound my chest, and drool all the way up those hills that were so steep they were stupid, if I had to. So he tested the waters.

“Unless you want to turn back,” he taunted.

“No, I’m okay,” I said, wiping the sweat that had fallen into my eyes. “We can do your loop.”

We rode for about another 20 minutes through some beautiful farm land, and down stretches of road covered in breathtaking canopies of green. We rode past tobacco farms, and a racehorse breeding farm, and cow pastures, and on the home stretch, the final three miles, as is FIL’s signature move, he started to sprint. But just before we made it home, in an unorthodox move, FIL slowed down, and then stopped. He was a few hundred yards ahead of me, and when I reached him, he crossed the street, and we rode the rest of the way home together.

But don’t be fooled by his soft side. I’m sure the next time I visit, he’ll take me to an Iron Man, but only after telling me we’re going to a marshmallow-eating contest.