September 2008 Archives

The new collaboration brew by San Diego saints Stone and Alesmith and Denmark droogie Mikkeller -- a surprisingly gentle triple-like Belgian-ish beer without a name -- raises more questions than it does answers. For starters, was it brewed in SD or the EU? Did the three brewers meet at one location with their respective suitcases of yeasts and malts, or was this "collaboration" really more of an inspiration? No way to know.

What we do know is that this bevvie is a departure, or maybe an arrival, for all three parties. If we're to believe the 12 oz. bottle's emotional scribble by Denmark golden boy Mikkel Bjergso, this beer is a tribute of sorts to the brewing inspiration he got from drinking American beers years ago. He writes about how his first love was yellow and fizzy, until his local pub started carrying west coast hard-asses like Stone and Alesmith. Depending on who you talk to, Mikkeller's brewing has surpassed his masters, tackling all sorts of styles and taking up the mantle of in-your-face brewing.

That makes this beer all the more surprising. Visually, they have the "yellow and fizzy" down pat. Speaking viscosity, the stuff is light, cool and slips off the tongue more like a red-white-and-blue lager: What starts like a true triple finishes like a Michelob. Which is not to say that it tastes like one. We picked up a yeasty biscuit appertif resemblance and a Budweiser-sweet notes on top of deep Belgian buggies that spring forth carbonation.

At the end of the day, we're to believe that this beer is the product of America's sphere of influence, that Bjergso was so inspired by American know-how that he picked up home-brewing. And that may be true. But it's funny how things go both ways: this "collaboration" is far more nuanced and gentle than anything we would have expected from a heavy-weight triumvarate that involves SD heavies like Alesmith and Stone. We were more ready for this kind of bottle description: "Stone brought some really fucking dank hops and Alesmith brought some really fucking heavy malts and Mikkeller brought some really fucking wild yeasts, and we fucked everything up, blah, blah, blah." And instead we're left with a gently bubbling nod toward tradition with a little new-American light shone on the old and tired and we're left scratching our heads.

Dairy pairy: Mt. Townsend's Sea Stack, a runny, ashed cow's milk
Soundtrack: Questions Mark and the Mysterions's "Ninety-six Tears"

We love to love our tomatoes. When we find plump beauties at our favorite farmer's stand we begin a slow but brief affair, one of pampering, seduction and ultimately consumption. Like any fruit, tomatoes are best when they are ripe so we like to lay ours down to rest for a few days sometime a whole week before admiring their simple wiles with olive oil and a little salt.

For this recipe, we wanted to capture the undeniably aphrodesiacical flavor of a perfectly ripe tomato and set it against other flavors that undeniably represent the sweetness of a summer day: basil and watermelon. When you try this out at home do yourself a favor and let your tomatoes lay out at room temperature until they are just starting to soften. You'll be happy you did. We were so happy with the results that we batched out three-dozen servings and served them at the opening of our recent opus: a six course menu of salad inspired fare for our favorite ladies.

4 Momotaro tomatoes
1/4-cup kalamata olive oil
1 seedless watermelon
Sea salt to taste
1 bunch opal (purple) basil
Cheese Cloth

1. Quarter your ripe tomatoes, and blend them until smooth with a blender or immersion blender.

2. Line a fine mesh strainer with cheesecloth, and place over a mixing bowl. Dump the puree'd tomatoes in the strainer and let the flavor drip away. If the liquid stops flowing through, take a spoon and gently scrape the skin and seed particles from the strainer.

3. Whisk in the olive oil in a slow and steady stream. Salt the mixture to your liking, making sure that the salt level doesn't overshadow the sweetness of the tomato.

4. Make a 1/4" dice of the watermelon, one or two small cubes per person.

5. Serve in a Miso spoon: 1/2 spoonful of tomato puree, a few cubes of watermelon, and a small snippet of opal basil.

Beverage: Saison Dupont's Avril
Soundtrack: Soundgarden's Spoonman. (yes we did)

The long foggy mornings of late are some of the few and brief signs that the seasons are changing in California. The Fall, known throughout the rest of our country as a time of foliage fireworks and chilling temperatures, typically means little more in LA than change is coming in vegatable patches and fruit trees. It's a time when our earthen denizens decide to take a break for a while, when we turn our attention to the vast networks of squash patches and winter green fields in anticipation of the holidays.

While the leaves on the palm trees never fade orange and red, we can always affect ourselves via our dinner plates and soup tureens. Here's a little ditty that will prove comforting on the closest thing we have to cold fall nights in LA.

1 kabocha squash
3 cups water
1 Tbs. vegeterian boullion
¼ cup sherry
2 tbs. sherry vinegar, plus extra

1. Split the Kabocha in two using a heavier knife and much care. When you cleave it in twain, use a metal spoon to scrape out the seeds and snot that usually appear in the center of pumpkin like things. If you're feeling industrious, scrub all the snot from the seeds and save them for roasting.

2. Set your oven at 400. Place the squash face down in a roasting pan and add the water, boullion, sherry and vinegar. Cover the whole shebang with aluminium foil and place in the oven. After about 30 minutes, check the squash by stabbing it with a fork. If the utensil penetrates the thick skin with ease, then the squash is done.

3. Remove both halves of the squash from the roasting pan, and carefully remove the skin. Its best to keep the squash face down on a cutting board and slice the skin away as if you were skinning a melon.

4. Place the meat of the squash in a mixing bowl and mash with a fork or a potato masher. Slowly mix in ¾ of the remaining braising liquid until the mixture is more liquid than solid.

5. Transfer the squash to a blender, a food processor, or grab your immersion blender. Add one cup of water and puree the squash until it is nice and smooth. Salt to taste and add another splash of sherry vinegar and a good many grinds of fresh pepper. Transfer the finished puree to a pot, and keep warm on a low heat until ready. Stir occationally to prevent burning.

1Tbs Olive Oil
8 scallion greens
8 oz tempeh,
2 medium knob o ginger
3 tsp. tuxedo sesame
2 tsp. maple syrup
½ tsp. smoked salt
1 tsp. soy sauce
6 ea baby summer squash

5. Chop the scallions, tempeh and ginger in as small a dice as you can muster, and saute on medium heat for a good ten minutes. The goal is to get the tempeh a nice crispy texture, so leave this mixture in the pan a little longer than you might think prudent.

6. When the tempeh and the ginger are starting to brown, add the sesame seeds. When the seeds are begining to become fragrent, add the maple syrup and the soy sauce and cook until the liquids have been absorbed. Finish with salt.

7. Slice eash baby squash in half width-wise and gently scoop out the center with a melon baller. Toss the halved and scooped squash in a hot and dry pan and cover. After the squash begin to sizzle a bit, add a little splash of water to the pan and cover agian. When the water is gone,the squash are ready.

8. Assemble the dish by placing a sprinkle fo the tempeh crumble at the bottom of six bowls. Add one cup of the Kabocha puree. Float steamed baby squash halves stuffed with more of the crumble in the soup and garnish with fresh thyme.

Beverage: The Bruery's Saison Rue
Soundtrack: Pavement, Gold Soundz

Pulse. Mix. Blend. By any other name, Cuisinart-ing an ingredient -- known to some as 'cuisin' the juice' -- is one of the most crucial kitchen skills that gets overlooked by the kind of cheapskates that we typically run with.

Knives? Sure. Cutting boards, measuring cups, oven mitt or even cast-iron skillets: most hip, ragamuffin households can justify investing a couple cool Andrew Jacksons in these kind of tools or at least scavenging for solid hand-me-downs. But an immersion blender? handheld mixer? a Cuisinart on a stick? Both of us have independently of one another braved the William-Sonoma showroom to buy one.

The handheld mixed might not seem particularly essential, but it is. Just look at our last dozen recipes; we guarantee half of them rely on pulsing, or mixing, or blending. Lately it's been stuff like toasted nuts and homemade grilled salsas. The implement was damn near indispensable for our last wedding menu. In the last week alone, here are a couple un-blogged foods we pureed the shit out of with one: tomatillo-agave nectar salsa, kombocha-ginger squash soup, black bean-habanero hummus.

And we've owned two different brands, so first a product warning and then the payload, product placement: the Russell Hobbs hand mixer served us well in dressings, soups and sorbets. RIP Russell, but you have to admit you kinda pussed out on us. "Russel" joined Alex's arsenal about 2 years ago on his birthday. Impulse buy. And at $100, not a cheap one either. But for almost a year Russell was our go-to guy. Sleek and aerodynamic, this mixer has super sharp steel blades and 3-speeds for versatility. We got a lot of pureed soups out of him. Then his speed button came off. We spent the last few months of Russell's life cautiously poking our finger into the hole where his rubber button was ripping, always a little scared that we'd get shocked by touching our skin directly on the electronic gizmo behind the magic. Last week, Russell passed out while blending a Japanese green-house, heirloom tomato into a summer tomato water.

The upshot is that Evan has since welcomed the Cuisinart CSB-77 into his cupboard. At $49, this guys is way less sticker-shockfull to the skimping hippy. This handheld mixer is one speed fits all so there's less flex, but the things is so far (knock on wood) more trusty and enduring. Since it's a Cuisinart it also comes with rad attachments, most importantly an actual food processor that snaps on. Any time you see shredded nuts, you know how we're doing it.

Maybe wait until that big overtime check comes in or whatever, but if you're fan of textures, do yourself a favor and splurge on a handheld mix'a. There is only one downside, you can't really hotknife the things.

"When things go wrong and will not come right,
Though you do the best you can,
When life looks black as the hour of night -
A PINT OF PLAIN IS YOUR ONLY MAN."

Flann O'brian's eponymous ode to stout has been playing in our minds like a Joe Strummer ballad on repeat. The end of the summer brings strong sun in LA, strong storms in the south, and a need for something curative amidst the anxiety of our time.

In this case the stout is indeed an antidote to the heat of the end. Restless from hard work, lamenting the terrifying fervor of the RNC: sitting down with a glass of something dark and heavy is the very bailiwick of we. Here we fight fire with fire, the heavy with weight, darkness with dark beer. The crude color at Captain Stout, while reminiscent of more brutal elements, is the cup of alcoholic soup that every big kid needs at the finish line of a long day of racing.

Historically the roots of what is known and defined as stout are contested. Argument aside, we all know that heavy handfuls of roasted malts yields something sweet and creamy, something origionally drank by the workers as a drug, an uplifter and, in a pinch, a meal. In its early formulas, what we call stout is what past drinkers called "plain."

Alpine Beer Company's Captain Stout is just the thing to sweeten the sour of heart. A lighter bodied stout, it is far from plain. Once in your glass a utopian vision of a quick fade to black occurs; all that is plain is replaced by the hue of the Captain. Budweiser darkens, Heineken blushes brown, and the fizz of the macro brew thickens to a velvety froth. The malts in the Captain stand above all else, evoking both the morning smile of a cup of Joe and the evening relish of a little chocolate somethin'-somethin.' This is a rich stout in nuance, one not overwrought with handfuls of hops and too many ingredients. A return from the now ubiquitous and seemingly cheapened cry of the celebrity chef to "let the components speak for themselves," in Alpine's bottles they actually do.

After the mellow buzz from a pint of the Captain, Flann's refrain reveals itself not as the ramblings of a desperate drunk hunched over a fleet of empty glasses but a quiet reminder of the curative aspects of our favorite elixir. Alpine's slogan "Drink Alpine Beer or Go To Bed!" seals the deal. Finish the bottle and sit up straight. Roll back your shoulders and thank your now drank homie for soothing what ales you (pun intended), and go smile at someone for fucks sake! Stay out of Bed!

Dairy Pairy: Lord of the Hundreds, a hard raw sheep milk from the UK.
Soundtrack: Toots and Maytals' "Pomps and Pride"

Talk about mangia, mangia, mangia, mannnn. On a recent herby Sunday afternoon, we popped a bomber of ale and picked some fresh basil and got the hankering for a sloppy trough of pasta. You know, the kind that clings to the corners of your open-wound of a mouth or the stained bib on your naked body. And you can't recreate that with just some vegan primavera. Now, neither of us at Hot Knives has ever watched a full episode of the Sopranos, but we know all about Sonny, Fredo and Michael Corleone, and face it, sometimes even a surly vegan wants to leave a horses' head in some bastard's bed and celebrate with a puckery pappardelle. This vegan bolognese dishes it out...

Here we salvaged some leftover pulsed walnut "dust" that was sitting in the fridge and coated garden-fresh, sliced vegetables with the nut crumbs and krunk I-talian spices. Sauted up in just a tad more olive oil than you might think prudent, the nuts toast and then glop, sucking in tomato sauce, not unlike a ground beef bolognese. Not fake meat, just real fat, errr, phat?

1/4 cup walnuts
1 zucchini
1/2 red onion
1 tsp. red pepper flakes
2 cloves garlic
1/4 cup olive oil
1 tsp. fennel seed
1 Tbs. balsamic vinegar
1/2 cup marinara of choice
1/2 packet of spaghetti
1/4 cup fresh basil leaves

1. In a hot sauté pan, toast your walnuts, toss them with a pinch of salt, no oil, for about 5 minutes or until toasty but not black. Now bust up yer walnuts in a cuisinart, blender or with a hammer. You want a fine dust. Set aside.

2. Heat marinara in a microwave or on the stove.

3. Bring a large pot of water to boil. Once rolling, add your spaghetti and let cook 6-7 minutes to al dente while the veggies get cooked. When done, drain and rinse and set aside.

4. Slice up the zuke into thick matchsticks and the onion into thin half moons. In a large mixing bowl, douse the veggies with ground walnuts and about half the olive oil and mix by hand. Add red pepper flakes and pressed garlic and keep mixing.

5. Add the rest of the olive oil to a large pan and put it on high. Toss in fennel seed and toast for 1 minute. Once hot toss in veggie mixture and sauté for about 5-8 minutes or until veggies are tender and the nut dust is starting to get brown and crunchy.

6. With your spoon push the nutty veggies to one side of the pan and keep the empty side of the pan over the flame and add balsamic vinegar to cook off whatever gook you've left caked to the bottom of the pan. Let it cook down for 1 more minute and then remove from heat.

7. In a large mixing bowl, combine lukewarm pasta with hot marinara, fresh basil leaves, and, finally, most of the nut-veggie mixture, leaving a small fistful for garnish topping.

Beverage: Vertical Epic 7.07.07 (Belgian aged in Red WIne Barrels)
Soundtrack: Billy Joel's "Scenes From an Italian Restaurant"