May 2007 Archives

We tend to steer clear from the grey sponge that is eggplant, mostly because we think the freaky veggie is unusually over-represented in the vegetarian recipes written by most meat eaters. They’re one step away from a portabella mushroom. Which is to say: We are probably playa hating on the eggplant for no good reason.

This week we got over it and roasted up some baby eggplants for a garlicky baba ganoush. Like hummus, but meaner. And so much cuter.

Baby Eggy Ganoush

10-12 baby eggplants
1/2 cup extra virgin olive oil
5 cloves garlic
1 Tbs. sea salt
1/2 cup flat leaf parsley
1/2 cup tahini
1 Tbs lemon juice
1 Tbs. smoked paprika
1 Tbs. cumin

1. Pre-heat oven to 400 degrees.

2. Cut off eggplant tops, slice in half and toss in a pan with olive oil. Add whole cloves of garlic. Season with salt and pepper and throw in the oven for 45 minutes.

3. Remove eggplants once darkly browned. Pell if desired. Add to food processor or blender with remaining oil and garlic. Add all other ingredients and pulse well. Add more salt to taste.

4. If mixture seems too dry, add more tahini and/or olive oil but taste it first

Beverage: Los Abbey’s Judgement Day
Soundtrack: Ministry’s Land of Rape and Honey

By Meagan Yellott

There’s no better way to complete a weekend than to fill your home-zone full to the brim with the sweet, spicy smells of baking zucchini bread. It caps off that feeling of creative accomplishment, makes the perfect porch-sitting dessert and helps to buffer the shock of a Monday morning by providing the perfect accompaniment to that first cup of workin’-week coffee. The following recipe makes two loaves. Eat one slice by slice and share the other with your friends.

MeGee’s Zukanna Bread

3 under ripe bananas
1/4 cup soy milk
2 cups granulated sugar
1 cup vegetable oil
2 Tbs. vanilla
3 1/2 cups white flour
1 1/2 teaspoons baking soda
3/4 teaspoon baking powder
1 1/2 teaspoon salt
2 to 3 teaspoons cinnamon
1 tsp. all-spice
1 tsp nutmeg
3 cups grated zucchini
1/2 cup walnut pieces
1/2 cup semi-sweet chocolate or carob chips

1. Pre-heat oven to 350 degrees.

2. Liquefy the bananas with soy milk by blending in a food processor or blender. Then combine in a large bowl with sugar, oil and vanilla.

3. Combine the flour, baking soda, baking powder, salt, cinnamon, all-spice and nutmeg in a separate bowl, using a fork to sift and distribute evenly.

4. Slowly add dry ingredients to the wet ingredients. Stir well. The mix should be slightly thicker than pancake batter, but sufficiently wet enough to pour. If it seems to dry mix in a bit more soy milk. If too soupy, add a touch more flour.

5. Stir in grated zucchini, walnuts and chocolate. Pour into two slightly greased bread pans and bake for 50-60 minutes. The loaves should rise and turn golden on top. They’re done when you can fork the center and pull it out with no batter goo.

Beverage: Iced Earl Grey
Soundtrack: Nobody and Mystic Chords of Memory’s Tree Colored See

Lagunitas Undercover Investigation Shut Down Ale

It probably wasn’t until late in high school that we really, truly grasped the concept of a paradox — the most famous of which may be the lie paradox popularly coined as “this sentence is false.” It’s gnarly stuff. Well, in beer philosophy the most puzzling paradox is that of the ESB or Extra Special Bitter. And we may not have fully grasped it yet, but we think we’re close after a recent weekend spent studying the seasonal, limited-release of Lagunitas’ Undercover Shut Down Ale. It’s an ESB and it’s a sweet beer.

The cover’s cool, which is kinda rare for this brewery’s bottles (chill out on the canine motifs already!) but even better the beer color is rich as shit; a dark shade of gold, glittery, and crisp-looking despite a hint of opaque depth. The head is a decent 1-inch but gives way nice and easy for quick guzzling. Now, the thing that boggles the beer brain about ESBs is that the stuff isn’t really supposed to be as hop-bitter as you’d be led to believe. The style is actually supposed to achieve rare balance between acrid bitterness and super toasty malts and or slightly sugary burn flavors. The idyllic note is more like a beer version of bittersweet chocolate. It’s a tall order for some American brewers who go ape-shit with the bitter, which is why some of the typical standouts lean more toward an Extra Bitter.

Undercover Shut Down is a classy ESB in that the “extra” truly modifies the “special” not the “bitter.” It’s drinkable and not that crazy. It could actually use a little more fizz to propel it a little further from the standard Lagunitas sweet note. But it hits more than one spot on the tongue, keeping an entire pint thoroughly interesting. There’s something to be said about this kind of balance, especially if you’re knocking back three of them in a row while manning an outdoor grill like we were. Instead of malt-sugar sting or hoppy burp breath, this concoction lends a nice yin-yang drunk that is undeniably special and yet not abnormal at all.

Dairy Pairy: Ossou Iraty
Soundtrack: Jonny Cash's version of “Mr. Kiss Kiss Bang Bang”

Our sixth shout-out in a series of shout-outs to standout beer collections in the city of Los Angeles. And next stop on the Great L.A. Beer Run, slated to take place sometime in the next couple weeks.

If you’re not familiar with Glendale, CA, some quick context is in order: Home to the largest Armenian population outside of Armenia, Glendale is its own city just outside Northeast L.A. before North Hollywood, nestled next to the mountains of the Angeles National Forest. It sticks out with its mini Financial District high-rises and hillside villas. It’s all about mall shopping, pimping seriously expensive styles and aggressive SUV driving. It’s not generally a place we would subject ourselves to (unless we’re under the influence on a Whole Foods shopping spree or fiending for a veggie sub from Mario’s).

But when we first caught wind, about a year ago, of this liquor and cigar store in Glendale that had a fridge-only, collector’s selection of upscale beers, we grabbed our plastic and our Gucci beer bags and hit Glenoaks Blvd.

Always the ghetto car in a modest parking lot of beamers and convertibles, we feel a little out of our element walking through the automatic sliding doors of Red Carpet Wine. The predominant feel about the place is a strong snooty wine vibe — harsh at times, depending on how many tan George Hamilton-looking fuckers are sipping bordeauxs in boat shoes — but the staff is generally congenial and you’ll get a “hello” as you pass the register.

About 70 percent of the long rectangular store is comprised of wine shelves, mazes of pricey Napa and French labels (meant to be immediately stuck in a cellar). The far side of the store is a long library of liquors, including an intimidating selection of whiskeys that we haven’t even been able to brave much because of prices (like amazing 30-year-old, small batch scotches from distilleries that no longer exist).

And there, past the long wine-tasting booth, sits an L-shaped fridge section, usually devoid of many customers because clearly they do more business in wine and liquor. Of all the beer places we’ve charted so far, Red Carpet probably offers the least amount of space (7-11 excluded). There are 2 fridges for Belgians, 1 for English, 1 for German, a small row or two of Scottish brews and the obligatory 2 for American microbrews. Further toward the back there are a number of mainstream crap beers, can’t tell you how many but too many. Around the L-shaped corner, in fact the most prominent area of the beer section is a shameless display for the high-end Budweiser magnum bottles, the Sam Adamses of the world etc. Almost nothing comes in 6-packs.

But in between this blasé beer fodder — that clearly sells among wine aficionados who probably grab Heineken Dark for their football parties, thinking they got the good shit — is a boutique-sized smattering of great bottles. The Belgians are well represented here, they have both important standards like all of Le Choufe’s offerings and harder-to-find specials like clay-pot mustard jar-looking farmhouse Belgians. What’s more, you can grab most of the 750ml Belgian bottles for a steal, $8.99 in many cases.

The American shelf is well proportioned too, with strong showings from Alesmith, Moylan’s, the Lost Abbey series and Victory. This was easily the first beer store in L.A. that carried the much-respected Port Brewing beers, including Old Viscosity. When the brewers’ came up for a tasting party they just left a case of beer, or so one clerk claimed.

Not much for English ales, we keep meaning to pay more attention to the British — including the Scottish varieties — beers, of which there are many.

On more than one trip here, we’ve gotten in the way of a particularly laid-back, Hawain-shirt-wearing employee as he’s carrying bottles to the back. He always comes back to talk shop and offer recommendations as needed. Coincidentally, the big guys’ name is HK, which we took as some kind of sign. On our last visit, he revealed himself as a true beer dudes’ beer dude by recommending we go to a competitor’s store sometime to check out their walk-in beer cellars.

As for the other staff, the vibe is heavy on the professional connoisseur vibe. They can be curt, but it’s only fitting. Our only gripe: Our buddy Mike Meanstreatz, not known for wearing dockers, no longer will go with us because they gave him shit for his scruffy look. Not cool guys.

Staff: These people live and breath beverages, that and cigar smoke, but definitely pay more attention to grapes.
Refrigeration: All of it.
Split Six Packs: Nope, but hardly any six-packs.
Belgians: There could be more, but what they do carry is better than average.
Microbrews: Standard American micros with a West Coast leaning.
Special Powers: Only the sleekest, the cream of the crop, in most categories. Heavy farmhouse styles.
Achilles' Heel: Not much variation, few seasonal surprises.
Location: Here.

This recipe is safe for work.

Every Friday, Evan’s co-workers take turns bringing a breakfast spread. We have a list on a bulletin board and an email system whereby you’re reminded kindly that it’s your week. Also, you are given the option of not participating (though really, how is that an option?)

One time the accountant brought a quiche and some Sunny D, another time 30 breakfast burritos (one no meat!) got dumped on the staff kitchen counter. But mostly, everyone goes with the safe standard of two-dozen bagels from the admittedly premium New York-style Brooklyn Bagels down the street, some light whipped cream cheese and some onion, tomato and smoked salmon lox.

Recently, I got the reminder email and so we decided to challenge the status quo a bit with some mildly spicy, greasy A.M. Mexican food — shaved veggie chilequilles with rice, beans and roasted salsa from scratch. It’s a platter that doesn’t require a full recipe run down here, but we thought it’d be a perfect time to detail how to make easy red chile sauce for enchiladas, hash or burrito drownings. This sauce mirrors the kind you can buy for a buck or two in cans, but it has more of a bite, a wonderful “from-the-ground” rustic spice to it. It’s also dirt-cheap and you save the can. Obviously, the further from the Southwest you are, the harder it is to find reliable dried red chile (like cayenne but redder and richer and less spicy) that doesn’t suck. But if you know someone in California, Arizona, New Mexico, Texas or Colorado, we’re sure you can figure something out.

Red Chile Sauce

1/4 canola oil
4 cloves garlic, minced
1/4 white onion, chopped
4 Tbs. all purpose flour
1/4 cup dried red chile
2 cups vegetable stock (warmed in microwave)
2 Tbs. sea salt
2 bay leaves

1. Heat a medium saucepan with the oil on high. Add the garlic and onion. Cook and stir for 5 minutes.

2. If it seems like the onion has used up or absorbed much of the oil, add another tablespoon or two before adding the flour slowly while you stir with a wooden spoon. This will make the oil and flour clump together in a rue.

3. Then add the red chile and let the clumpy mixture toast for 1-2 minutes before dumping in the broth. Once the sauce is up to a rolling boil, if it still seems thin (check the consistency of the sauce by running finger along wet wooden spoon) add 2 more Tbs. of flour while whisking thoroughly. Once it cools it will also thicken a bit.

4. Season and let simmer for 20 minutes.

The old-school Romans made the simple pasta dish, carbonara, with three main ingredients: freshly milled black pepper, un-smoked baby pig's cheek and raw egg. We love black pepper, but thought we'd do without the baby pig. We also forewent the standard cheese and raw egg for this recipe, so we're using the term "carbonara" loosely. Think of this more as an easy-fix, Italian-scented pile-up of good-for-you comfort food.

Carbonara de Polenta

(Serves two)
2 carrots
2 zucchinis
1 Tbs. sea salt
1/2 tube of polenta
2 Tbs. canola oil
4 strips fake bacon

Sauce
4 strips roasted red pepper
1/4 cup vegan mayonnaise
4 cloves garlic
1 Tbs. fresh black pepper
1 Tbs. sea salt
2 Tbs. extra virgin olive oil
2 Tbs water

1. Prepare sauce by combining all sauce ingredients and pulsing in a food processor or whisking well. Set aside.

2. Bring a large pot of salted water to boil. Peel the carrots and zucchinis into long noodley strands using a vegetable peeler. Once water is boiling, dunk the strands for 30 seconds, so still crunchy but noticeably blanched. Place in ice bath or under cold water. Set aside.

3. Cut polenta into 1/2-inch round slabs and toss in a non-stick skillet, on high heat with canola oil. Saute for 5 minutes or until slightly mushy. Season to taste, remove and set aside. Then crisp the fake bacon in same pan.

4. In a deep plate, position the veggie noodles and top with a layer of polenta, then bacon, polenta and more bacon. Top with pink sauce.

Beverage: Port Brewing's Sharkbite Red
Soundtrack: Billy Joel's The Stranger

At the risk of over reminiscing, suffice it to say that we do brunch a lot (a lot) and rarely does it turn out as picture perfect as the recent Urban Honking feast in Portland two weeks ago. Diners ranged from small babies in Easter hats to scummy folk punks, all sucking down asparagus appetizers with a gorgeous 4-part brunch plate.

We’ll recreate the recipes here for you now, but don’t expect the vibe to translate. Unless you invite 25 of your closest friends and bro-down hard with this food. Thanks again to Claire L. Evans and Mikey who made it happen and had the foresight to grab a camera. Video footage follows...

Wild Forest Tofu

Tofu Scramble
1 block tofu, extra firm
1/4 cup olive oil
5 cloves garlic, minced
6 shitake mushrooms
1/2 basket of crimini mushrooms
6 sprigs thyme
1 leek, cleaned and chopped
1 bunch celery leaves (optional)
2 Tbs. Bragg’s or soy sauce

Truffle Salad Topping
1 cup arugula
1 Tbs. whole grain mustard
2 Tbs. apple cider vinegar
2 Tbs. white truffle-infused olive oil
salt and pepper to taste
1 beet
1 Oregon truffle

1. Press your tofu.

2. Briefly sauté the mushrooms to bring out woodsy flavors: Slice shitakes in thin slices; quarter the criminis. Heat a large pan with 1 Tbs. of olive oil and the 5 cloves of garlic. Once hot, add mushrooms and thyme, and cook for 3-4 minutes or until starting to get juicy. Salt and pepper to taste. Set aside.

3. Using the same pan, add half the remaining oil and sauté the leek and celery tops. Unwrap your tofu and slice into big slabs.

4. Once leek is translucent, add the tofu and use a wooden spoon to scramble into mush. Season with Bragg’s or soy and let cook 8-10 minutes or until tofu is slightly brown.

5. Whip together the salad dressing of mustard, apple cider vinegar, truffle oil, salt and pepper. Toss the arugula and set aside.

6. Once scramble is fully cooked, add mushrooms again for last minute.

7. Slice beet and truffles super thin. Plate the scramble and top with dressed arugula. Then place one beet shaving and one truffle shaving on top.

Beer Braised Soyrizo Chili

4 Tbs. extra virgin olive oil
2 leeks, cleaned quartered and sliced
4 heads green garlic, chopped
2 stalks celery, minced
4 ripe Roma tomatoes, chopped
12 oz. Deschutes Black Butte Porter
2 cans great northern beans, drained
1 tube Soyrizo
¼ cup ketchup
1 Tsp. ground cumin
2 Tbs. salt
2 Tbs. ground pepper

1. In a larger pot, heat the olive oil on medium heat. Add the aromatics and vegetables in waves: first add the leeks until they begin to wilt, then the green garlic until it wilts, until you’ve added the tomatoes. You should sped around 15 minutes sautéing.

2. Now add the beer and cook until it reduces by ½. Add the beans, Soyrizo, and ketchup. Cook for an additional 10 minutes and then incorporate the spices. Adjust the flavor with salt and additional ketchup if necessary.

3. Reduce heat to low and let bubble for an additional 15-20 minutes. Serve with crusty bread.

“Baked Potato”

8 baby potatoes
3 Tbs. vegan mayonnaise
1 Tsp. ground black pepper
1 Tsp. Finishing salt
1 Tsp. Smoked paprika
1 Tbs. bacos
1 sprig fresh dill
1 small bunch chives, minced

1. Scrub all your potatoes under cold running water. Look at your potato as if it were an egg. Slice the skin off of the length-wise edges on the left and the right sides of your theoretical ovum. Need another analogy? Make two slices on either side of the potato as to make the apex of parenthesis into plateaus, () = {}. Whatever.

2. Now, slice each potato in half right down the middle, as to make the now completely exposed face the “top” and the sliced face that you jut figured how to do the “bottom.” Using a metal measuring spoon (teaspoon size preferred), or a melon baller, gently scoop out a ½ sphere in the center of each potato’s “face/center.” Be careful to not dig too deep or your potato cups won’t hold much. Repeat until your 8 baby potatoes become 16 potato cups.

3. Now place all the potatoes in a large pot and cover with cold water. Salt the water liberally, and then turn the flame on high. When the water boils, your potatoes are done.

4. Mix the veganaise with the black pepper.

5. Using a spatula, or a pastry bag, fill each potato cup with the peppery mayo. Pick the tips off the dill so you have pretty little sprigs, and plant one firmly in each cup. Sprinkle each potato with chives, salt, paprika and bacos in the most artful manner you can muster.

Beverage: Rogue’s Imperial IPA
Soundtrack: Random dudes YouTubing U2 songs.

by Aubrey "Bobby Beers" White

A good Bloody Mary is hard to come by. Bartenders will begrudgingly mix you a shitty concoction of Mary-mix and vodka, glaring at you when you skimp on the tip. I've even been refused a Bloody Mary! Too much effort; too much sweat.

I am, thusly, beyond appreciative when I see a 'tender revel in the craft of the Bloody Mary. (Quick aside: Once a bored bartender was so stoked on my ordering a Mary that he gave it to me for free. Best Mary I've ever had).

I made a batch of Mary’s for brunch in Portland, on the aforementioned Hot Knives weekend bonanza. I’ve been asked to share the reppie here, just in time for a liquid breakfast on Mother’s Day.

I was working with Bloody Mary Mix — not ideal, but it served its purpose. I'd opt for V8 any day. But if you're using a mix, go for spicy and, in my humble opinion, avoid anything with clam juice. If you make it right, you may not even have room for breakfast.

Bobby Beers’ Bloody Mary

Serves 4 people

3 cups V8 Juice, chilled
1 cup premium vodka, chilled
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 squeezed lemon
1 Tbs. horseradish
1 handful of cornichons, finely chopped
2 Tbs. Tapatio hot sauce
salt and pepper to taste

1. Mix all ingredients in a large metal bowl.

2. Serve in a tall glass on ice and garnish with a celery stick each, a couple of whole cornichons, and a spoonful of capers.

Spring is essential; you gotta get refreshed, reborn. But because the seasons have been unnaturally fucked in Los Angeles, where the city’s been burning, it’s been hard to do here. So, last weekend we decided to celebrate the rites of spring elsewhere, and the extended Hot Knives family hopped a flight to Portland, Oregon, our homepage away from home — where the season of rebirth still means something.

It just so happened that shit was going down in a major way thanks to Urban Honking co-founder Jona Bechtolt. The multi-media music maker was celebrating his record release last weekend, with the party of the year: Yacht on a Yacht. So we knew that everyone involved in this little web community that we’ve wanted to meet would be in top form.

Originally the plan was to show up to cater the Yacht party, a 120-person vegan extravaganza. But due to some seriously unprofessional shenanigans on the part of the promoter our vegan banquet budget was slashed. We had to cancel. And while the prospect of a weekend party vacation in the City of Roses was still rad, we’d both gotten hyped on the notion of flying up with a mission, to get stressed, cook our hearts out and get drunk. So we were bummed. For a while it looked bleak.

Nevertheless, Hot Knives made it up to Portland for a Bacchanalian whirlwind. Our fast friend Mikey “made it happen” (his radical pet motto and mission in life) and organized a vegan donut tasting, a coffee face-off, a manly beer excursion and a massively successful Urban Honking brunch party, where Hot Knives got to whip up a 4-part plate for 25 hungry, hung-over people.

Early Saturday morning, we took a tour of the infamous downtown Portland farmers market, easily the best we’ve ever been to. Beside running into the master brewer for Hair of the Dog beers, we got to investigate some seriously fresh Oregon produce and come up with an intricate brunch menu on the fly. It was a nice test. There was basket after basket of fresh morels, ramps, curlicue ferns and hedgehog shrooms. But most were outside our budget. We zeroed in on the wild amounts of asparagus, fresh shitake mushrooms, Oregon truffles, spicy arugula and still-muddy baby potatoes.

So after sailing the mighty Willamette River on the Crystal Dolphin and watching Jona do his thing for hundreds of adoring fans, Hot Knives got to work and whipped up a monument to spring in the form of a meal. The asparagus went out as is, just blanched quickly and served alongside a vegan remoulade garnished with thyme flowers. The mushrooms ended up in a tofu forest scramble topped with arugula and white truffle salad. Baby potatoes became mini-baked potatoes dressed up in vegan sour cream, bacon bits and pyramid salt. Loaves of crackly French bread acted as bread bowls for a white bean, soy chorizo chili.

Judging from the aftermath of awesome documentation (always a given when dealing with the Ur-ho crowd), the meal was a success. Later this week we’ll post the recipes concerned, but it goes without saying that the food itself was secondary to the feeling. We saw some old friends, other old friends, and made a shit ton of new ones and generally were reminded what the point of cooking is, to us: to encourage friendship and add to a tangled web of vibe where everyone contributes what they can to a greater good. Thanks Portland!

By Guest Knife Mike Meanstreetz

This beer poem is the fourth installment of our on-going love letter to the best booze aisles in L.A. With the extended Hot Knives crew still recovering from a mad dash up to Portland this weekend we, this one is brought to you by Hot Knives’ friend and beer afficio-nah-do Mike Meanstreetz.

A jump without compass but for sun and mounting breeze, the pedal west to Santa Monica's Wine House was firsted along side my Korea Town roomy back before shipping off to the beer tariffed wastes of Australia. In those days we were quick convinced of a spinning magnetism between preoccupations of bicycles and ale, and sweaty brows furled above whet tongues in ponder of barley, yeast and hops ceaseless poetry. Bus strikes and a broken Volvo opened new trade routes in hawk-eyed cross city commutes.

A rare hair more trouble it was in finding new brews then, and thoroughly sought was every little shop and sip, braking for culturally suspect neighborhood markets all ways to and from, and on Sundays squinting pay phone cabled Beverly Hills directories vigil of opening hour. It was off the malty bearded breath of my roommate's fatherly co-worker freshly persuaded of a larger world than red and white, that we were cued to a locale he'd previously frequented in pursuit of the latter. To his rediscovery he found new favorites Schneider & Sohn's Aventinus Eisbock and the Belgian Gulden Draak well nestled amongst a myriad of other lands capped in sixes, bombers, half liters, 11.2s and 750s. The word was passed and to us it was a glorious tale, and with our mission lain before us we soon ten-sped west through the neighborhoods 'tweenst the crosses of Olympic and Normandie, and Pico and Sepulveda.

On side street Cotner, cornering a 405 freeway entrance, the Wine House sits as broad as a supermarket, but upon entry is unassuming and welcome as the smell of cork, an ambiance befitting a booze shop well kept beneath a seemingly starred gourmet restaurant and tasting bar above. The glimmer of uncountable bottles prod a wander past front registers never kept shy of a smile or recognizing glance. An excitement in their stock since my first visit has yet to lull, for as new beers are brewed, the seasons change there too, spicing a familiar consonance to every visit. Glass glass glass 200 feet down the House's right a beer selection fortifies wee more than the two sides of a large aisle, and adjacent sits a cooler holding a rotating sampling taken from the aisle face's devotion to American micro brewing in 12 oz form. Nobly priced is a wince-free break of this region's 6's, its comparable prides represented in plenty and variety from each brewery. I've taken home North Coast's Old Stock Ale in three vintages side by side for the same price, markedly the lowest aound.

Also represented are wider lines from breweries hailing states if not entirely overlooked, then carried likely in limit. Here compatriots Deschuetes, He'Brew and Philly's Victory, with steady stock of their San Diego-like strong ales, and freshly hopped pils, with their more festive 750s shelved the other side of the aisle with others clustered a taller luster.

This section specifically populated bombers, Belgians and half liters, for me leaves the 6 pack an afterthought. The first time and place I had ever seen Pizza Port's brews sold north of my familial visits to Carlsbad, CA, I was quick struck by a lack of adequate bag capacity. Surely they not only carried standard 6's of coppery Shark Bite, 22's of the the more quaff-able than surf-able Wipe Out I.P.A., and the too-old too-young timeless too-bad of darkie Old Viscosity, but still in times good or worse the stock steadies three Belgian inspired 750's corked comfy a length of shelf up a tier, sitting next to the domestic exoticisms of Jolly Pumpkins, Allagashes, the foiled eschelon of Anvil, and all that our neighbors Unibrou have Zymurgically had to say. In the shade of the four or so rows beneath there lie the 22'd likes of Californians Moylan's, Lagunitas and Reaper, whose Sunday company so close to the beach decidedly ignores all suggestion of pause between holiday.

For seasonal big beers this is a heaven and safe haven as seemingly untappable as I have looted unquenchable. No slight at such brief mention of their unimpeachable vocabulary for the habitual recipes of breweries like Stone, but in the fore is the constant arrival of new seasonals as they come, with the Vertical Epic being their only gargyled offering priced more than four dollars, with the rest often dollars less than the going rate of the many other stops to end my day. It may be due to grapes' higher gravity in a stronghold so named that beers can be slow to move, signs more than fairly warning "last til next year!" These restless cases often enough are on sale next to classics already within elbow's reach. Multiple trippels, barley wines and double I.P.A.s may ask a moment of you in discerning which armful to compare. This seasonal sensibility carries over into the hearty effervescence of the Belgian lot with an unabashed attention to the more creative recipes of Le Choufe's innovative double I.P.A., the latelies of La Fantome and the Mad Brewer, and a fullness of all else you may so be regionally inclined to, with proper lean toward Trappists like Rochefort, Westmalle, and their cloistered kin. No shortage of the darker aled likes of Kwak and St. Bernadus, saisons like Moinnete, the Flemish sour and a singularly generous attention lambics.

Of differing nationality yet crafted in similar mastery are a Southernly handful of Italy's brews, to whose acquaintance I owe a befriended Wine Houser's discerning and generosity. During my Sunday visits I have often lingered for a talkative lunch break, and although never having eaten at the upstairs restaurant I've shared a snack of painfully procured crystal salts and an affordably unhurried press of oil over my first and last impression of the only radishes I'd dare brag about. A true witness to off the shelf black bean dip silty cousined of the hickory smoked, thoughtfully grained crackers, and cheeses to boot. As an address to worriers, there is still some German beer left, although invisible like minds and I have drank much of it and still suffer no restock.

Staff: I've missed you too.
Refrigeration: Yeah, but scratch that. They got a chilling chamber working down to the fifth minute!
Split Six Packs: A few shelves donated to the orphaned with their own price stickers to boot.
Belgians: Read the labels and learn the states and their capitols.
Microbrews: Almost, exclusively.
Special Powers: See 'chilling chamber' above
Achilles Heel: Traffic, for some.
Location: Here.