June 2008 Archives

In the next installment of our introspective equipment analysis, we're detailing the knives that make both of us tick, because we believe the easiest first step to good cooking is sharp knives. If you're weary of shiny, sharpened steel, believe this: You will cut yourself worse on a dull knife. First we'll take a look at Evan's arsenal. We'll show off Alex's preferred weapons later this week...

Though we rarely do so on the Internet, we have to explain the double entendre of the name 'Hot Knives' all the time (most recently to my boss). Obvious perhaps in its drug vehicle reference, it loosely derives from one unfortunate experience I had with an old roommate misusing my knives.

The first serious blade I was gifted came from a guy I worked the line with in a coffee-shop bistro. Doug was a 30-something ex-marine (with black forefingers from chain smoking in the brig and everything) and a one-time banker who hated his life until he went to culinary school. So it was a sweet gesture when Doug gave me a simple, wood-handle Japanese vegetable and fish knife. One morning, when I woke up to a particularly messy house-party aftermath I found it a charred and stuck in a tree. My roommate had used it to smoke hash, burning the blade into a gasoline-colored mess. Around this time Alex and I pledged to take better care of our cooking instruments. Since then, I've invested in a concise collection of cutters that I feel does the trick without going over board.

Think of the 10-inch as your inevitable 'Holy shit, this squash is huge' kinda knife, something that will cut through enormous things and stay sharp with some minor pamperin'. My 10-inch is a relatively bare bones Wustoff Grand Prix II. A straight shooter with a very negligible angle on it, this monster feels like you could carve a ham hock with it, but has the precision to slice garlic if you're too lazy to reach for a different tool. The textured black plastic handle welcomes athletic chopping and hacking both. As my 'driver,' in golf terminology, I find myself puling it out for two reasons: items that demand a little dominating, or to impress guests.

Technically 26-centimeters, I'm pretty sure this roughly translates to 7 inches. It's the classic Japanese-style sushi blade for slicing, dicing and mincing. So it makes sense that Alex and I both swear by these more manageable, all purpose steels. Consistently ranked in the top of the charts as far as knife geekiness and consumer reports-style testing, Global makes some of the best knives on the market. And this size is where they really shine. Stainless steel, including the dot-perforated handle for grippiness, this Santoku knife is easily the go-to in my kitchen. All purpose and easy to forget you're holding.

There are dozens of knife sizes in between the 10 and the 3-inch, but I see them mostly as window dressing. Besides a serrated knife, which is essential if you're baking at all, I really only use the above instruments. The only time I reach for something else is when I'm dealing with minutia, little tasks, like slicing exceptionally tiny garlic cloves or whittling out walnuts from their shell. That's where the 8-centimeter Wustoff classic comes in handy. It's the only knife in my collection with the standard, black coated handle with the 3-dot design. It's hooked tip is great for wiggling free avocado flesh or burning through the smaller sized shallots. It's also easy on the knife-skills challenged who prefer its appearance of safety.

To be continued...

It's unofficially the doldrums of summer, when things like job performance and precise maneuverings of time and space take back seat to the more important goals of porch sitting and pool seeking. And coming in a close third - cold beer sipping. Traditionally this activity should be done from an icy, sweating can.

Alas, it's been nearly half a decade since either of us drank beer from cans on any regular basis. That was when a beer run for Olympia was the closest thing to a summer vacation we had and we swigged enough Tecate to build a 1-story pyramid out of Tecate cans in the backyard. But a couple years ago when we got deep in good beer, that swill no longer sufficed, so we said 'goodbye aluminum' and 'hello 750 ml bottle.' We didn't look back either. But when one of our local liquor stores started carrying beers from Colorado's Oskar Blues, the only craft beer brewery we know that cans their beers, we realized we deeply missed the experience of closing our lips around the cool, tinny mouth of a beer can. Suddenly it seemed like such a simple summer pleasure we had been missing out on. So we bought a six-pack of the brewery's flagship brew, Dale's Pale Ale, and "porched it."

Now, for drinkers accustomed to pouring bottled beers into proper glassware, the act of simply cracking a can and tilting it in the direction of one's face can be startling, even disturbing or liberating. Thankfully, the beer locked inside immediately registers as bitter, hop-intense and floral. We've seen some pool-goers nearly choke because they were expecting the watery feel of High Life. Dale's Pale is close to an Anchor Steam ale, hoppy but not an IPA; stingy but not quite an ESB. There's very little head, obviously, otherwise it'd foam out the top of your can, and a soda-like spritzing of bubbles that congregate nicely on the rim of the can after a couple sips. When it does, you'll notice a gentle reddish blonde hue in the beer, unimaginable compared to most fizzy yellow cans. But don't get too curious, that's half the can's mystique. And definitely don't make the stubborn mistake of pouring Dale's into a glass; it's not the same. You are paying for the experience of cold metal in your hand.

Dairy Pairy: Fiscalini's raw milk bandage-wrapped cheddar
Soundtrack: Black Sabbath's "Iron Man"

Consistent with our ingredient credo, when it comes to kitchen equipment we have a penchant for the finer things and a love for the thrifty. In our homes we have some pretty upper-middle-top-of-the-line items, as well as some that we found in chain stores, some second-hand. With few exceptions we love our instruments as much as we love salt, booze, fennel and flames.

Due to some consistent requests from you readers out there, we've decided to start posting about our favorite and most used kitchen devices; our 'batteries de cuisine.' We hope you'll get a kick out of our seeing our treasure; maybe we can help you build your own arsenal.

"Bessie" is Alex's Cast Iron skillet. With a 12" diameter and weighing in around 8 pounds, this pan is probably the most structurally sound thing he owns. Bought with gift certificate money at Crate and Barrel (thanks Dad) the Lodge (the best brand) skillet has been involved in many HK recipes, and was the cooking surface that recently aided in our ascent to the pantheon of Grilled Cheese glory. It is ideal for all manner of scrambles, hashes, sauteed greens and fried egg dishes, if one is so inclined.

The blessing of Cast Iron is a life that could span multiple generations. These things could outlive their owners (Alex hopes his will) if you treat them with love and care. But just because the thing weighs as much a human head doesn't mean it's invincible. Follow these tips and you're pan will live to see you making your grandkids' pancakes. If you're into that...

The thing to remember about a cast iron is that for it to really rule you must have a good seasoning; a term reffering to the non-stick glory of a good cast iron surface. Here's some tips:

1. Seasoning the Iron is pretty easy. Barely cover the bottom of the pan with grapeseed or canola oil and bake for half an hour in your oven at 350 degrees.

2. After 30 minutes, turn off the oven and let the pan cool off. Wipe out excess oil with a paper towel.

3. Don't ever soak the pan if it's dirty: gently clean it with hot water and minimal soap. The soap can flavor the pan, the soaking will kill the seasoning.

4. Use gentler scrubbies, never use steel wool; it'll ruin your seasoning.

5. After cleaning, dry with a clean towel and rub in a little oil (we use olive oil) to keep your battle axe greased.

6. Avoid cooking super acidic things like tomatoes or things braised in wine or vinegar as these can also spoil your seasoning. (As noted below, DO cook with lots of oil each time, your seasoning will not on its own form a non-stick surface.)

Happy searing, toasting, frying and sautéing!

Like in other walks of life, the young beer punk can be an insufferably snobby dolt, who swears by the harshest beers and flicks off more moderate brews. We know because that was us - still is, kinda.

As underage beer geeks, we gave Ommegang ales like Hennepin the brush off. Back then the means of production for our livers' stunting was, well, stunted. We would do a fly-by perusal of the beer aisles at known haunts of strong ale, and then spend a good couple of hours lurking in the parking lot chain smoking and hunting for a willing, trustworthy shoulder to tap for help. We had to drink whatever we could get out of stores like Jubilation Spirits, but when our second-hand buyer returned with Saison it felt like a waste of time. We wanted hops, tons of malts, and booze percentages that surpassed ten. We wanted something that tasted like the long wait; we wanted obliterators of our taste buds, dullers of our teenage minds...

A decade later our taste buds have grown sharper and our denial of the delicate and yeasty has faded with our love of drinking in a gutter. Punk rock or not, there's something undeniably wise about exploring the less in-your-face beers to find ones that pass muster. Some with history and soul have already won us over. But American takes on tradition are a harder sell.

In the case of Hennepin - Ommegang Brewery's tribute to Father Louis Hennepin, the Belgian explorer who found Niagara Falls, we respectfully acknowledge that we may have been a little brazen, even brash. The stuff is simple and subtle, yes, but pretty damn tasteful. Impressive foamy head falls out of this 750ml bottle like a steady pummel of white water rapids. As if stuck in an undercurrent, the asterisk-shaped yeast pebbles float suspended in your glass. Hoppier than we remember, this 7.5 % ABV brew also packs a clean, sugar-free dessert bent, like a not-so-spicy ginger snap lemon bar. Less strong than we'd prefer, but perfect for fun, foamy beer mustaches at barbecues, Hennepin falls safely in the 'Suds We Like to Chug' category.
(Beer goggles by Molly)

Dairy Pairy: Banon (de Chalais), a leaf wrapped, brandy dipped, cow's milk.
Soundtrack: The Ramone's Blitzkrieg Bop

When we got knee-deep in the nitty gritty of planning how we were going to pull off our recent wedding catering gig, we quickly realized the difference between making some big-ass salads and nourishing a nuptial celebration: a proper wedding cake. Not being known for our sweet teeth, or sweet knives, we had to decide whether to shop out such an intimidating item or tackle it head-on. We wavered.

In the end, the Hot Knives wedding team's 'stay-legit' subcommittee realized what a shitty proposition it was to rely on a San Diego vegan baker to seal the matrimonial deal for us. So we got to researching and everyone involved liked the idea of cute little cakettes instead of a full fledged wedding cake. So we dug up a solid vegan cupcake recipe and added a few Hot Knives twists in flavor and our own shiv of decoration. The cake is vegan, the frosting's vegan. Both are sugary as hell and cute as a button of peyote. This recipe makes a dozen; we made 100. Wedding guests chewed on the cuties, while the bride and groom shoved an intense multi-tiered cupcake masterpiece. Full debriefing on that menu later this week.

1 cup soy milk
1 tsp apple cider vinegar
3/4 cup granulated sugar
1/3 cup canola oil
1 tsp almond extract
1/2 teaspoon almond extract
1 1/3 cup all-purpose flour
3/4 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1/4 teaspoon salt

1. Preheat oven to 350°F and line a 12-cupped muffin pan with foil cupcake liners.

2. First you are going to actually "curdle" your soymilk, to make "buttermilk." In a mixing bowl gently mix the soymilk and vinegar, and set aside for three to five minutes. After those mintes are up, vigourously beat the mixture with a whisk until your bowl resembles a bubble bath--frothy and thick. Slowly add the oil in a steady stream while beating, and then add the extract.

3. In a separate bowl, sift together the flour, baking soda, baking powder, sugar, and salt. If you don't own a sifter, no biggie: simply put two colanders together and pour powder stuffs in increments, making jerky motions to evenly sift. Then add these sifted dry ingredients to the wet ingrediants and gently fold together until no lumps remain.

4. Pour batter into liners, filling 3/4 of the way. Bake 18 to 20 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean. Transfer to a cooling rack and let cool completely. When cool frost and decorate.

1 cup non-hydrogenated shortening
3 1/2 cups powdered sugar, sifted if clumpy
1/4 cup plain soy milk
1 1/2 tsp tangerine oil
12 nasturtium flowers
1/8 cup candied ginger

1. Place a 1-cup stick of vegetable shortening in a mixing bowl and place over the oven for 5 minutes to let soften. Then add sugar and beat with a whisk. If the shortening is still too cold, use a potato masher to workt he mixture into a paste, then whip out your whip and mix until smooth.

2. Slowly add soymilk, whisking until creamy and even. Add tangerine oil in 1⁄2 tsp increments and continue whisking. Frosting should turn a subtle beige-orange color and taste like fresh tangerine.

3. Pick nasturtium leaves into bite-size, manageable sections. Chop candied ginger into 1-centimeter cubes.

4. Use a pastry bag or a steady handed spatula to frost cool cupcakes and top each with 2 nasturtium leaves and about 5 or 6 ginger cubes.

Beverage: Green Flash Imperial IPA
Soundtrack: The Raveonettes' "Chain Gang of Love"

While last summer was all about textured soy marinated in Miller High Life, this June grilling season has started off a little more au natural. We wanted to come up with some sort of vegan equivalent to that street vendor staple bell pepper and grilled onion smothered hot dogs wrapped in bacon. It all started with a simple search term: "vegetarian sausage casings."

To our chagrin, that turned up little more than crazed vegan Internet gossip trying to track down such a product. (Apparently, such casings do exist, but they're only available to commercial buyers in industrial numbers and the idea of storing 10,000 vegetarian sausage casings was not appealing.) Instead we came up with another idea: use a grilled chile for the casing! And it worked, sort of. For a meaty filling, we mixed up a slow beer-infused onion mushroom and chorizo-spiced stuffing, held together by the magic of risotto. Though starchy for sure, the veggie rice mixture makes for a pillowy hot dog replacement. Experiments to find the perfect stuffing are on-going.

2 Tbs. olive oil
1 white onion
1/2 cup crimini mushrooms
1 cup Arborio rice
1 Tbs. cumin seeds
1 tsp fennel seeds
1 tsp. ground coriander
1 tsp. paprika
1/2 tsp cayenne pepper
1 cup beer (pale ale)
2 1/2 cups vegetable stock
2 canned tomatoes, diced
2 cloves garlic, peeled
1/2 lbs. oyster mushrooms
1/2 Tbs. smoked salt
1 tsp black pepper
1/2 red onion
1 tsp. soy sauce
1 tsp. balsamic vinegar

4 green chiles, Anaheim or Fresno
4 large hot dug buns

1. In a sauce pan, add olive oil and put on medium heat. Finely chop onion and slice mushrooms and add to the oil to sauté, stirring, until translucent, about 5 minutes. Add the arboro rice and stir for a few minutes to toast.

2. Pre-heat your oven to 400 degrees.

3. While toasting rice, add spices starting with the cumin seeds and fennel seeds so they toast as well. Stir well and continue adding coriander, paprika and cayenne. Now add the beer and continue stirring every 30 seconds. Once beer has completely been absorbed, slowly add vegetable stock in 1/4-cup increments as it absorbs, while stirring. Near the end, add diced canned tomatoes. This should take about 10 minutes.

4. While waiting for risotto to fully cook, roast off your oyster mushrooms. Tear large ones into bite-sized pieces and set them on a pan sprayed lightly with oil. Season with smoked salt and black pepper and roast in oven until deflated and slightly crispy on edges, about 15 minutes.

5. Once risotto rice is sticky and nearly overcooked, remove from heat. In a large bowl, combine roasted oyster mushrooms, chopped red onion, soy sauce and vinegar. Test consistency by making burger-shaped patties. They should hold together well when you toss in the air (careful).

6. Now, fire-roast your chiles to remove the skin. Make an ice bath with 3 cups of water and some ice. Cut off pepper top, remove seeds gently and place pepper on a stovetop burner on high flame. Turn with tongs every minute to evenly black each side, then dunk the charred pepper in ice bath. Wait one minute and then scrape off skin with your fingers. Repeat and your pepper casings are done!

7. Finish by stuffing chiles with mushroom-meat risotto. To ensure they won't be too big for a hot dog bun, slice off part of the chile: Make a lengthwise cut to on side, stopping short of the point so the pepper is one long rectangle with a tip. Now put your knife down about 1-cm inside the pepper and slice again, removing a 1-cm section, making the pepper smaller. Take a full handful of risotto stuffing, then put half back. With the remaining portion, form a long cylinder in your hands, then plop into the pepper and curl it back into its original shape. Pat gently until the mixture sticks to pepper skin and you have an enclosed package.

8. Spray generously with oil before putting on the grill. Keep sliced fold from opening by gently position with tongs. Grill about 5-7 minutes or until grill marks are satisfactory. Place in a warm bun, garnish with desired fixings (we liked grain mustard and vegan mayo).

Beverage: Dale's Pale Ale
Soundtrack: Stereolab's Emperor Tomato Ketchup

After a long hiatus from grains and greens we felt the need to clean out our closets and get back on the fiber horse. The heat of the summer and the impending peril of innumerable events, social obligations, and overtime often keep us from hearty meals. When time is of the essence, sometimes a snack attack is the only source of sustenance solace...

Here's a little ditty to help slow down the clock and regain focus on proper meal time pleasure. We'd been eyeing a bag of Farro, an ancient heirloom grain that used to feed the Legionnaires, and had just procured an unholy (both in cost and quantity) amount of sweet pea sprouts. The grain salad plus green salad vision was almost instantaneous; the sweet crunchiness of the sprouts floating atop a chewy pile of unhulled grain. We rounded out the fiber bomb with some stovetop grilled squash grown by a favorite farmer dusted with some Raz Al Hanout recently procured from Morocco.

1 cup Farro
4 cups water
½ cup hulled sunflower seeds
2 large shallots, diced
2 Tbs. Extra Virgin Olive oil
1 Tsp. sea salt
1 Tbs. ground pepper

1. Bring water to a oil in a pot and add Farro. Cook approximately 15 minutes, or until the grain doesn't seem dry in the middle: not too soft, but tender.

2. In a cast iron skillet (or a nonstick pan) toast the shallots and the sunflower seeds dry (no oil) on medium heat for about 13 minutes. Stir frequently. When the shallots are beginning to brown, and a sticky film is starting to accumulate in the pan, add the salt and one Tbs. of oil.

3. When the Farro is slightly teder, drain and cool immediately in a collander with cold water and/or ice. Now, add the Farro to the seeds and shallots and cook for another 5 minutes until the grains are slightly crunchy. Finish with the remaining oil and the pepper and remove from heat

1 Red Pepper
1 Yellow Summer Squash
4 Scallions
1 Tsp Raz Al Hanout
1 Tsp. Smoked Paprika
1 Tbs. Extra Virgin Olive Oil

4. Portion the red peppers by slicing off the face of each side of the vegetable. Rub with olive oil and smoked paprika

5. Slice the squash similarly, by laying it on its side and making long ¼" slices. Rub with olive oil and Raz al Hanout.

6. Trim off the outermost layer of the scallions, ans snip their greens short 1" from the top.
Using a grill or a nonstick pan, sear veggies on both sized with high heat and a little oil. All you need do is color each side of each veggie---they'll finish cooking by the time you eat them.

1 cup pea sprouts
Juice of one Lemon
1 Tbs. Saba
2 Tbs. Extra Virgin Olive Oil

7. Wash the pea sprouts in cold water.

8. Combine the Saba and lemon juice in a bowl and whisk in the olive oil in a steady stream.

9. Toss the salad with the vinaigrette.

10. Top a portion of the cooked Farro with a hefty pinch of pea sprouts, and flank with grilled veggies and the hot sauce of your choice.

Beverage: Los Abbey's Inferno Ale
Soundtrack: Brian Eno's Baby's On Fire

As we understand it, the tendency for Belgian beers to have Satanic names is something of a tradition. Amidst the aftermath of a 1919 no spirits in pubs law, brewing the liquid gold was brought out of the barns of Abbeys and into the realm of the secular. Perhaps to poke fun at the fathers of suds (you know, Monks), many brewers gave their golden ales names that bespoke he that is called One: Duvel (means devil), Satan, Beelzebub, Lucifer, etc. These beers were meant to fulfill the true and timeless creed of quality ale: they never fill you up and rarely let you down. Spicy, dry, and strong enough to steer you or your drinking partner towards doing the devil's business, strong golden ales pray on the playful side of Satan.

Lost Abbey's Inferno Ale stands in direct line to the transmission of Satanic dubbed beers that are more mellow than mean. Out of the bottle this Belgian Strong Pale style brew is fluffy and light, with a murky golden hue that leans towards the likes of North Coast's Prankster, or the hazy yeast peppered Kwak. The head bespeaks not the bubblings of Beelzebub's caldron, but the overflow from a kindergartner's post-nap bath: soapy bubbles piled on cappuccino like espuma. The mouth feel is light, the flavor mild. Rather than a progression of flavors and texture, Inferno captivates the tongue with a long steady note from first swill to after the swallow. While this is not a force-you-to-sip-it-slowly-with-friends ale, a la Avery's The Beast, this devil brew makes for a great food beer, complimenting grains and charred things especially well. A yeasty beer to be sure, Satan's spores have a soft savory ness to them that balances the sweetness of an 8.5% abv. Way less serious than the label implies, this is not some taste bud torturer: the Dark Lord likes to party!

Dairy Pairy: Gorwydd Caerphilly--an unpasteurised Welsh cow's milk cheese.
Soundtrack: Satan's Pilgrims' Que Honda!

If this feels like a dejavu, don't bother pinching yourself: you have seen this dish before, allbeit in different forms. Most recently, we came up with a take where tomato confit balanced delicately on a sliver of expertly carved hearts of palm. But the recipe you're looking at here is what happens when a great idea for a dish meets reality and you're forced to scramble to fix a problem. In this case the problem being that those cute little caprese spears we dreamt up for our San Diego wedding catering gig simply refused to stay in people's hands. (Not to mention our original stab at the recipe meant throwing away half of a can of hearts of palm, and when you're dealing in bulk, this sucks. ) Good thing we found this out a week before the wedding, and planned accordingly so that insanely nice tuxedoes were spared from Hot Knives goo.

To make the dish stick, we baked off a baguette of crostini rounds to be the dish's base. To act as a glue, we plopped down a puree that saved us from having to toss the extra hearts of palm. And then on top came the actual meat of hearts of palm and confit with garnish and a drizzle. From the clean plates, this dish was one of the biggest hits, but more on that later this week when we debrief the entire 14-course wedding menu. (Photo by Aubrey)

Caprese Bites w/ hearts of palm and tomato confit

(Makes about 30)

1 baguette (day old)
1 1/2 cups olive oil
2 tsp. sea salt
2 cups grape tomatoes
2-3 shallots
1 can hearts of palm
2 sprigs dill
4 sprigs basil
1/2 cup balsamic vinegar
2 cloves garlic, peeled
fresh black pepper to taste

1. Prepare your tomato confit (this can be done as far as one day in advance). Pre-heat your oven to 375 degrees. Wash and dump the grape tomatoes into a deep baking dish or bread pan. Add enough olive oil that the tomatoes are mostly submerged, about one cup. Thinly slice shallots, placing them over the tomatoes with salt and pepper. Roast in oven for roughly 30 minutes or until tomatoes are translucent.

2. Make the crostini: turn down the oven to 300 degrees and slice baguette into thin rounds, just less than 1-inch thick. (Most proper baguettes will yield about 30 slices.) Dab each round quickly with drops of olive oil and sea salt. Then bake on a sheet pan for 15 minutes, or until slightly brown.

3. To cut hearts of palm, go through the can and slice each heart of palm lengthwise so that you have two long semi-circle shaped rods. Then remove and set aside center piece to create a half-pipe. Cut each long half-pipe into two or three squares. This will be the section that gets splayed out on the crostini.

4. Recycle all the hearts of palm remnants into a blender.

5. Strain what you can of the oil from the tomato confit, gently so as not to burst the delicate tomatoes. Add that oil to the blender and pulse until creamy with dill and half the basil. Chiffonade the other half for garnish.

5. In a small saucepan put the balsamic vinegar on high heat and reduce by half. Once reduced, press garlic into pot and remove from heat, letting it cool for about one hour.

6. Construct crostini bites. Lay out crostini bread. Next comes a dollop of herbed hearts of palm puree the size of your ring finger. Follow it with a hearts of palm square. Then place a smaller dollop of puree, the size of your pinky on the square, to act as glue. Finally plop down two of the tomatoes. Finish with a careful drop of balsamic reduction and chiffonaded basil.

Beverage: Brasserie Dupont's Foret
Soundtrack: Stereolab's Space Age Bachelor Pad