December 2009 Archives

Driving shotgun this summer on the sleek roads around the Isle of Mann, we took note of the beautiful, deep-purple gobs of what looked like heather that infiltrate that island. From the roads, the mossy underbrush looked like the lovely lavender buds of wild heather that are Scotland's second most famous grass. (After peet moss, of course, in all its smoky glory.)

Fraoch anniversary ale by Williams Bros Brewing Co. combines these two most sacred weeds to mind-scrambling results: an 11-percent ABV ale brewed with heather tips and matured in sherry casks used to age single-malt Speyside Scotch. This is the 20th anniversary version of their normal Fraoch brew, which reportedly is based on a beer that drove a Gaelic king to throw himself off a cliff after an English lord tortured his son looking for the recipe. Since we didn't make it north to Scotland, this rare, revered and suicide inducing Gruit-style beer would suffice. It was a gift from a chef friend who took a recent business trip to New York. We'd never heard of it before. Famous last words.

This bottle was curious. For on thing, it's green glass, which you don't see in serious beers. And with the recent American fixation with aging our strong ales in bourbon barrels, this seemed so in tune with our modern American desires.

When we slashed its gold-foil cap sleeve with a fish knife we were greeted by a cheap-o plastic cork. As we "uhhhhh'ed" at these incongruent signals of sheer luxury and cost-cutting dereliction, we forgot to let the beer sit to help settle the fairy dust sediment.

We slam-toasted our goblets. "Fraoch (pronounced "frucccccccck" in our slo-mo skulls). Tastes. Gooooood."

Booze up front and lingering behind, the Scotch peetiness was subdued. The cereal malt flavors were crisp and sticky. Stinging nettle, honey, and malted barley clusters. The heather bobbed in our cereal bowls like museli dust. (Is there heather in my teeth?) We were drinking faster now, with places to go later. The crystalized lemon notes quickly melted into a caramel swirl.

Two hours later, in a well-lit art gallery, our brains were throbbing in slow bursts. Gabbing around warm apple cider before taking part in a free-form jazzercise, we felt sluggish. The pain was muted but distinct. Talking became hard. A squishy, wet mushroom seemed to bloom behind our left eyelobes. Time stood still with a snickerdoodle in our hand. Then the exercises started. Yoga mats and a wood floor felt hard and unfriendly. Motown boogies had the group of dancers leading us in sock-hop style movements that tugged on our floppy heads. The lights were shrieking. We could taste herbal bitterness on our breath.

Finally, in a measure of God's love, the moving stopped and the dancers let us stoop to a shavasana floor rest. Lights turned off. We closed our eyes and saw a deep deep purple in the back of our brains, spinning like flowers on the side of the road.

Dairy Pairy: Valentina by La Estrella Creamery: An altitude defying faux-Gruyere.
Soundtrack: Sonic Youth, "Bull in the Heather"

Worshipper or non-believer, you got to respect the holy substances of the high holidays: frankincence, myrrh, and fatty carbohydrates! The latter, which encompasses staples like mash potatoes, stuffing, and even figgy pudding, is far more humble than all that bling that Baby Jesus got delivered.

This season, we've been obsessing over a new Christmas carb: call it yuletide risotto.

Spiked with a few eggnog spices like fresh nutmeg, and creamified with unsweetened pumpkin, this pumpkin risotto can be a side dish or an entrée -- stuff whole squashes with it.

This actually came in quite handy over Thanksgiving, when one of us was airlifted in to help cook an 18-family member feast and had to come up with a veg option that even jerky teens would gobble. We made a pot of this risotto and stuffed braised Portobello mushrooms with it, topped by smoked mozzarella. The reaction? We barely even got one ourselves after the carnivores were done clearing the plates!

Even better is that if you by some weird chance are left with too much the next day, it's even better as arancini. That would be deep-fried risotto balls. Without further ado, not one but two holiday dinner saviors...

Pumpkin Risotto

(Serves 10)

1 Tbs. olive oil
2 Tbs. unsalted butter (optional)
1 white onion
1 shallot
1 zucchini
1 yellow squash
10-12 fresh sage leaves
2 cups Arborio rice
3 1/2 cups Riesling, or other sweet white wine
1 Tbs. red chili flakes
1 tsp. turmeric
1 tsp. nutmeg
1/2 tsp cinnamon
4 cups vegetable stock
1 15-oz can of 100% pumpkin (unsweetend)
Kosher salt to taste

1. Place a large pot on high heat and lube with oil, followed by butter. Peel and finely chop your onion; mince the shallot. Once butter has melted, toss onion and shallot into the pot and stir.

2. Cut zucchini and yellow squash in half and chop finely. Add them and cook all veggies until onion becomes transparent, about five minutes.

3. Roll the fresh sage into a cigarette and chiffonade them, adding that to the pot along with the Arborio rice. Start to a regiment of vigorous stirring at this point: stirring for 20 seconds and resting for 10 seconds. Cook this way for another two minutes and then splash with the white wine, making sure the wine nearly covers the veggie and rice mixture. Continue stirring frequently for 5 minutes.

4. Once the wine has cooked down add the chili flakes, turmeric, nutmeg and cinnamon. Stir.

5. Add broth in four installments: 1 cup of stock and stir until the rice has absorbed the liquid.

6. Repeat step 5 several times. On the last addition of stock, also add the canned pumpkin.

7. Once the Arborio rice kernels are starting to lose their individual identity, you are done. Remove from heat and let sit. Salt to your taste and -- you guessed it -- stir!

Pumpkin Risotto Balls
(Makes 30-40)

This is a classic way to use leftover risotto. We've done porcini mushroom balls for a wedding, but this slightly sweet and spicy risotto is more potent because the flavors all pop in just one bite.

The idea is to create a cheesy, molten core so this dish is no longer vegan. Fontal works great because its mild and melty. The ideal cheese will become a string of goo connecting you r mouth to your hand.

4 cups leftover risotto
8 oz. Fontal, or other melty cheese
1 1/2 cups plain bread crumbs
2 liters canola oil

1. Remove the risotto from the fridge about 30 minutes before so its not too frigid. Meanwhile, put a large pot (for frying) on high heat with your canola oil.

2. Prepare your cheese by slicing the block into finger-width slices. Quarter these so you're left with a bite-size chunk of cheese.

3. Place breadcrumbs in a shallow bowl or plate and start assembling your arancini balls. Take about 2 Tbs. of risotto and gently mash it flat. Stick a cheese chunk in the middle of the rice patty, and mold it into a ball so the cheese forms the center nucleus. Roll each ball into a perfect orb and coat well in breadcrumbs.

4. Make as many as you desire and start frying. (First drop a breadcrumb into the oil to test its temperature. You want a hefty sizzle.) Very carefully drop 4 or 5 balls at a time using a "spider" or other metal instrument, like a slotted spoon, to fish them out. Prod the balls to keep from sticking in one corner of the pot. Let fry for about 3-4 minutes or until the exterior is more than golden brown.

5. Remove and rest on a paper towel for a minute or two before eating.

Beverage:Goose Island's Christmas special ale
Soundtrack: Smashing Pumpkins, "Cherub Rock"

Maxed out your plastic? Got nothing in the gift idea department? Or maybe you just would rather spend three hours doing something sweet, like roasting oats to your favorite gospel record, than wandering an outdoor "lifestyle center" like a zombie?

That's the case for Alex, who only started giving Christmas gifts a couple years ago and can barely keep from covering himself in fake blood, putting on handcuffs and gluing a dollar-bill over his mouth when he gets near a shopping mall. True story...

This year, Alex and Lake came up with a list of perishable presents they could cook and gift to their loved ones: a handmade fruit-and-oat granola, a smoky maple spice rub, Thai-flavored salt and mulled maple syrup. And Evan has been itching to make jars of red-and-green escabeche for months. So we made a CSR (container store run) all hunkered down on a recent L.A. winter morning (a brisk 74 degrees) and set to mixing, caning, mulling, mixing and toasting. For those who are behind on gifts, consider these idea-sparkers.

Sometimes we have a helluva time trying to keep fresh herbs from the ravishes of death. Death by waterlog, or freezer-burn, or simply old age. We profess a tendency to neglect them in the fridge until it's almost too late.

But one of the best ways to keep the reaper at bay, when it comes to your herbs anyway, is to give them a second chance. As dip. Pulsed with garlic, good quality oil, and a flick of lemon usually does the trick. Not being slaves to tradition, we're quick to call just about anything treated this way as "pesto." Even if basil is nowhere to be found and you choose to exclude the parmesan reggiano.

Recently, we were gifted a couple pounds of pine nuts (what with Chinese tariffs driving the price of pignon sky-high, this was a grateful windfall) so our minds were set on using these oily little morsels to help preserve whatever herbs we were close to killing. Some withering spinach and forlorn sage leaves stared back at us from the crisper. Voila! Sage and spinach spread. Nutty and musty, the gunk went wonderfully on Yukon gold gnocchi and equally well by itself on croutons. Just don't be tempted to toss more sage into the mix or you'll end up with one skunky dip.

Winter Pesto
(Makes about 4 cups)

2 1/2 cups pine nuts
1 1/3 cup extra virgin olive oil
2 cups spinach leaves
1 shallot, chopped
6 fresh sage leaves
4 cloves garlic
1 Tbs. nutritional yeast
1/2 tsp. fresh grated nutmeg
Zest of one lemon

1. Place the pine nuts in a blender or food processor. Add one cup of olive oil and a splash of water, if needed, to move the mixture. Puree for a minute. Roughly cop the spinach and add to the mix. Pulse again.

2. Finally toss in sage, garlic, nutritional yeast, garlic, shallot and the last bit of oil. Keep pulsing. Grate fresh nutmeg and lemon zest into the blender. Add salt and pepper to taste. Pulse a final time and remove with a spatula.

Beverage: Stone Special Collaboration Holiday Ale
Soundtrack: The Misfits, "Death Comes Ripping"

Before a 63-year-old schoolteacher named Annie Taylor went over Niagara Falls in a barrel, nobody believed it could be done. But the hard-ass opportunist outfitted a barrel with a mattress, reinforced it with some steel and had some friends (can they be called friends if they're pushing her down Niagara?) pressurize her coffin once she climbed inside, using a bicycle pump. She lived.

We only bring it up because it sounds remarkably like what Marble Brewing's Reserve Ale tastes like. Hell, Daniel and Ted, head brewers of the Albuquerque brewery might as well have climbed into a wooden death trap themselves, the way this beer tastes. It is strong and sweet and destructive. Even the beer snobs who usually go all goo-goo-eyed over "American strong ales" (Arrtogrant Bastard, Angel's Share etc.) thought it tasted too much like bourbon. It's a 9-percent ale aged in bourbon barrels for the purpose of cellaring. Too much like bourbon? Are you fucking kidding us?

Popped and poured, the beer is placid like a lake of Maker's Mark. Its slightly see-through and tinted deep red with the faintest white clinging to its surface. Swirl it hard and you'll inspire the most meager of foams, more like a white patch on the nose of an angry red mare than the head of any beer we've seen. The nose can only be described as an evil version of that ABV-perfume that wafts off of fragrant ice wines and ruby ports. Cane sugar and danger. Smell it long enough and you detect a Jack Daniel's brand breath spray. Or an Old Overholt deoderant.

Now, it's worth noting that we have flirted with bourbon barrel-aged beers for years but were unaware that the technique could bring us this close to actually drinking bourbon-flavored beer.

Putting your lips to a glass of Marble Reserve tastes like everything that is good about America. Specifically, chopped lumber, bent with fire and scorched for flavor, steeped with bourbon for years, and then used to discolor and flavor a strong beer. Why wouldn't we want to taste this all the time? Sweet and nearly hot with alcohol burn, we imaged putting our faces directly into spitting whiskey mash pots. Or letting a cowboy soak their boots in Old Rip Van Winkle and proceed to grind us in the face.

Do we like that? We're buying more and aging it for our birthdays. What do you think?

Dairy Pairy: Trappe Echourgnac, aged cow's milk washed in walnut liquor
Soundtrack: Las Vegas Club's "Whiskey Flats"

Sauerkraut - which we boys love for its gut health and wild fermentation properties - has fulfilled far more utilitarian purposes.

Case in point: We learned recently that Evan's grandfather grew up with big tubs of kraut aging on the back porch. It was the only salad his big fam could keep during long winters in Utah. Grandpa remembers the process of making kraut like this: layer of cabbage, layer of salt, layer of cabbage, more salt. At near freezing temps, the stuff could go for months. It made meat or bread or a potato a meal. And it cost nearly nothing.

Unable to let our recent love for the stuff go, we keep playing with new flavors. Our recent batch won "best yet" by all accounts. A mixture of sliced fennel and green cabbage, we spritzed it with fennel seed, peppercorns, a touch of vinegar and the dill-like flowery tips of fennel stalks.

So how does our new-agey version stand up to the old-school tubs? We had the grave pleasure of driving a batch up for an ailing grandpa to sample. The jar came out, sniffed and passed around the lunch table - a hurried spread of lunch meats. He cleaned his plate, poking at the fennel seeds left behind. "Pretty good," he said, "though I never cared for the stuff in the first place." We will take that.

Fennel Sauerkraut

1 fennel bulb
1 green cabbage
1/2 white onion
4 cloves garlic
4 Tbs. kosher salt
2 Tbs. black peppercorns
2 Tbs. white wine vinegar
1 tsp. fennel seeds
1/4 cup fennel fronds (garnish)

1. Use a mandolin and a large mixing bowl to slice the fennel and cabbage for salting: Start by cutting the fennel bulb in half, remove the stalks. Quarter the cabbage and remove (and discard) the core. Now, slice both on the mandolin in two batches. Do half the fennel and half the cabbage. Slice a quarter of the red onion on the mando, and pulverize half the garlic with a garlic press. Sprinkle half the salt on all of the above. Scrunch mixture until fully mixed and depleted in size. Toss in peppercorns. Transfer the mixture to your aging vessel (ceramic is best.)

2. Repeat with second half.

3. Press the mix down hard, making sure its covered with the brine liquid. Place the kraut vessel somewhere in your kitchen where its out of the way and at constant room temperature. Age for 1-2 weeks. Taste it everyday. Don't be afraid of any scum that forms on top of the brine; scoop it off and discard. As long as the veggies stay totally submerged, there's no way they'll spoil.

4. When the kraut reaches a funk level you like, finish by tossing with splash of vinegar and the fennel seeds. Serve with a nice garnish of chopped fennel fronds.

Beverage: Lindeman's Cuvee Rene
Soundtrack: The Cure, "A Strange Day"