Hot Knives

Sweet But Stupid

2010-03-06T22:07:21Z

It might be good for you, but we hate the taste of glycyrrhizin. In high school, we used to taste it at night, right before bed, brushing with the lights out. It's a natural derivative of licorice root, found in the light purple-y tubes of Tom's of Maine brand toothpaste mom started buying. We knew it as "Fennel death flavored" cuz it's kind of horrible. Think stiff, chemically enhanced potpourri in your grandmother's shitter. We only bring it up because we had a bad flashback to this natural toothpaste while drinking beer. These things shouldn't go together, right? The beer in question, Alagash Fluxus, is cool and clean looking. It's label looks like it's printed on linen -- an off-white pant suit to be more exact -- and it's decorated with hand-drawn flowers. Fluxus is latin, of course, for "flow" or "continuous change," which the label points out helpfully like a Scientific botany field guide to California flowers. Or like a tube of yuppie toothpaste might. Or a swiftly dropped reference in a bossanova pop song about personal growth. Theoretically, this name makes sense because it's a seasonal recipe that Allagash's brewers play with each time they brew it. This year's Fluxus sounded compelling and wholesome, it's brewed with sweet potato and black pepper. Not a bad flavor for a sweetly Belgian-via-East Coast saison-style brew. We started wishing we'd had it around Thanksgiving. But we got bad vibes right off the bat. The head just wouldn't quit when we first popped this bottle, which you can see looking closely at our beers in the foie gras video. Thick creamy foam on top of more bubbles. The hue and texture was perfect, buxom, completely gorgeous. But off camera we marveled at the pure cane rum kick of this weird, chemically brew. Sometimes we think beers fall into upper and downer categories. This was definitely an upper -- a 'run-tell-them-on-the-mountain' type of sativa drunk. We got giddy lapping up this blinding, sweet amber sap. Halfway through one of us realized what taste was tripping us up: the tooth paste. Sweet but root-like, the peppery plant taste nearly hidden behind big golden bangs of saccharine. Cute and strong, this beer had appealing qualities; it just didn't speak our language. Dairy Pairy: Delice Des Cremiers, a soft, bloomy triple creme Soundtrack: Vampire Weekend's "California English"

Cheesy Communique from Alex

2010-03-01T17:53:37Z

While I fiddle devices way beyond my mechanical capabilities (power converters, seat backs, tray tables), check out Part One of a recent "lecture" I gave at a local bookstore as an envoy of Nicole's Gourmet Foods. Evan hid in the bookshelves to chronicle the speech, which was part of the store's "Expert Series." (SNAP!) Reporting from a tin can 30,000 feet above the frigid shark infested waters of the Atlantic ocean - soon I will descend into a deep scotch and Diazepam induced slumber, ending (if I'm lucky) at 7.00 am tomorrow morning in Paris. Yeah, France. I am embarking on my first international business trip. I'll be accompanied by other top minds in my field (cheese): Adam Moskowitz, our patron and the controller of literally all awesome edibles that enter America from Europe, Sarah Zabrowski, a former foot soldier of Murray's cheese, the all seeing all knowing Brad Dube (who runs a swat team specialty cheese distribution company in NYC), a current sub lord of Formaggio Kitchen, and new friends from Bedford Cheese, a very highly regarded house of caseus in Brooklyn, as well as Kate Arding, the founder of Culture Magazine. Heavy hitters. I guess this means I rule? We're headed first to the Salon Du Fromage (exactly what it sounds like: the biggest cheese show in Europe), a visit to Adam's facilities on the other side of the pond (i.e. where everything leaves on its way to America), and then off to Switzerland to (gasp) visit 15 cheese producers. Real farm and farmstead heavies (no industrial factory farms here.) In the mountains. In Switzerland. I will watch cheeses that I've known and loved be made. I will smell the cellars where they age. I will (god willing) take innumerable Facebook photos with alpine livestock. In the meantime, here's some more gabbing about the cheeses that should be on your next cheese plate. I'm going to ready my proverbial elephant gun for the cheese safari and take a nap before we land in the shit. You will see it all. - a

E = HK Drunk

2010-02-23T16:30:00Z

One of our first forays into real beer, and wastoid-ly groping for words to describe it, was an IPA tasting we did for a newspaper in 2005. We plucked a range of California pales (Stone, Marin County Brewing etc.) from a liquor store and stayed at the office late one night taking rudimentary notes about what we thought we tasted. Of course, it turned into a hop face-off with us quickly proclaiming the hoppiest beer of the bunch (Moylan's Hopsickle) the winner. Because to the untrained beer punk -- and we were certainly that, undertaking this "tasting" with our intern buddy "Kluthe," who sported a navel orange Mohawk and plaid suspenders -- India Pale Ales can pose a problem; the beer equivalent to what in the music world we've heard described as "The Ministry Problem." The Minstry Problem: noun, used to describe the unfortunate situation of many proto-industrial-metal bands best typified by the band Ministry during the mid '90s in which every new album is expected to be faster and louder than the last to push the proverbial envelope, resulting in indulgent, sample-heavy metal that, put simply, sucked after 1996. Beer has this too! Call it the Triple IPA Problem. Its when brewers, especially our West Coast stars feel the need to make every IPA hoppier and more extreme then the next (see Port Brewing). And although we happen to love almost unapproachable beers, we'll agree there is a line, somewhere, that just doesn't need to be crossed. We kept this in mind when we reserved a bottle of limited edition Exponential Hoppiness this month from Red Carpet in Glendale. And we were absolutely thinking about it when we popped the bottle by ourselves on a low-key Super Bowl Sunday that didn't involve TV or chili or anything except sitting at the window writing. Was this triple IPA going to be metal as fuck? It's right there on the bottle: Alpine starts with "multiple kettle hop additions, where each addition is literally double the previous... exponentially, get it? That's the beginning. Then there's the use of what's called a "hop back," which is like a brewers' version of sawing off a PVC pipe and smacking you. Seriously, it's a stainless steel pipe that holds hop leaves and lets hot brewing beer pass through it like water for hot tea. Then there's two dry-hopping sessions. Oh yeah, almost forgot, and then they toss in several "body-bag" sized sacks filled with hop flowers and oak chips at the end. Which is why we were surprised to swill a juice cup of this beer and not double over poisoned by hop fumes, but instead be dotted with a sweet, rosy hop-water cologne. The head was nice, nothing unusual, slightly thin, lager-ish foam. The body color too seemed far from menacing: not evil red or wood colored like we've seen before. No, this beer does the darnedest thing. It takes hops in several stages and forms and melds them into a friendly, sweet flowery tonic that reminded us more of rosewater and orange blossom than Extreme Beer's sacramental herb. Each tiny glass, we liked it more. Low-hanging hop berries, slightly skunky grass clippings. There's a bitter tinge, of course, but it tastes more like booze dripping from oak trees with oversized hop leaves. In fact, looking out on our empty street on Super Bowl Sunday holding this, we felt something that made no sense: despite the $20, 11 percent alcohol beer in our hand, we felt saved from the excesses of 24-packs, the indulgences of 12-leg food buckets, 7-layer dips and the hegemony of stupid games. Dairy Pairy: Challerhocker; a dense crunchy raw cow's milk cheese from Toggenburg. Soundtrack: Ministry, "Stigmata"

Faux Gras Challenge

2010-02-16T15:58:21Z

We'd heard the rumors -- that PETA was moving to our veggie-friendly Echo Park hood, building office space in an old furniture store -- but didn't pay much mind until recently. When we started investigating though, we found something way juicier. Ever heard of the "Fine Faux Gras Challenge?" PETA is hosting a recipe competition that will pay $10,000 to the creator of the most "palatable" and best imitation fake duck liver. The contest is open until next month. And the rules seemed loosey goosey. The guidelines even said that the recipe merely has to be "vegetarian." Now this was a contest we could jam hard, we thought. While we love cooking vegan -- the culinary challenge of it, immense health benefits, good of the world, yada yada yada -- we kinda hate most vegan cooking. We like vegetables in their natural shape. And fake meats from scratch. We'd prefer to eat a pan-seared abalone mushroom than a Textured Vegetable Protein "tuna salad." And we'd rather whip together a faux foie gras dripping with the unctious pleasures of butter fat than vegetable oil. So what did we do? Watch the video to find out. And make the recipe to taste it yourself. As for the contest? Lets just say we found new meaning to the phrase "faux pas" so we decided to eat our entry ourselves and call it a day.

Sherry, Cashew & Parsnip Faux Gras Parfait (Makes two 8-ounce jars)

3 parsnips 1 cup raw cashews 3 cups cream sherry 8 oz. unsalted butter* 2 tsp. ground white pepper 1 gram agar agar** 3 tsp. sea salt *You want the highest butterfat percentage possible. IF you cannot find Beurremont 83%, go for Vermont Butter And Creamery, or Plugra. **Agar agar can be found in many forms; the cheapest is in aerated sticks, stocked at most Asian groceries. Powdered agar is waaaay easier to work with but costs 10 times as much. 1. Pre-heat your oven to 400 degrees. Slice the parsnips in half lengthwise and place them skin side down in a roasting dish. Add 4 Tbs. (2 oz.) butter, 1 tsp. of salt and 1/2 cups of sherry. Seal the roasting dish with aluminum foil and roast for about 25 minutes. 2. Heat a medium sized skillet on medium heat and add the cashews. Toss often to ensure even cooking. When the nuts start to brown add 2 Tbs. Butter. When the butter starts to brown, turn off the heat and set the nuts aside to finish cooking, they will absorb most of the brown butter. When they have cooled, pulverize them in a food processor as fine as you can. 3. Check the parsnips: you want them to be easily penetrable with a fork at their thickest point. If they're not there yet, return to the oven and keep roasting. Check them every 10 minutes until they are 'fall apart tender.' 4. When the parsnips are done and cooled, carefully scrape all their flesh into a bowl. Add 4 Tbs. more butter and let the heat from the parsnips melt the butter a little. Mash the butter into the parsnips, and add all the white pepper and the remaining 2 tsp. of salt. 5. Combine the butter-parsnip mash and the cashew pieces with 1/2 cup of sherry using an immersion blender or in a stand blender. Blend until smooth--this will be hard and laborious. You want the texture to be smooth enough for all the ingredients to be incorporated, but have the thickness of a pliable batter. When its super smooth, taste and adjust salt levels if need be. 6. Now make your sherry gelee: Pulverize the agar either by crushing it or by chopping it, as finely as possible. Add the agar to 3/4 cup sherry in a saute pan and heat on a medium heat. The sherry needs to get close to boiling in order to melt the agar and gel properly, but you do not want to boil off the liquid. 7. Clarify the butter: While the sherry heats, prepare a double boiler by placing a metal bowl over a small sauce pot of boiling water. Add the remaining butter and melt. When the butter is totally melted, skim off the layer of scum on the top and gently spoon everything except the water at the bottom of the buttery pool into a bowl. When using high butterfat butter, there will be very little water at the bottom of your bowl. Keep the melted butter warm. 8. Separate your Faux Gras slop into two French terrines, or mason jars. Make sure to leave at least 2 fingers of space at the top of each jar. Smooth the top of each puree into a flat landscape with a spatula as best you can, and wipe the inside sides of each jar clean with paper towels. 9. Pour half the clarified butter on top of each Faux Gras puree, and place immediately in the freezer. The butter will harden and create a flat surface for the Sherry gel to live on. 10. Whisk the agar into the sherry, if the mixture starts to boil turn it down, until there are no lumps and the liquid is smooth. Remove the sherry gel from the heat and let it cool for one minute, then divide evenly between your two jars. Place the jars in the fridge to finish gelling. 11. To serve, bring the Faux Gras up to room temperature, and garnish with sea salt and ground black pepper. Serve on crusty bread, and feel the anti-burn. Beverage: Russian River's Temptation Soundtrack: Pictureplane's "Cyclical, Cyclical (Atlantis)"

'Cheese In Quotes' Pâté

2010-02-08T21:03:24Z

It's true we'll never be big believers in vegan "cheese." You know, the velveeta-like pizza and quesadilla goop? Its mostly oil and flavored science to help it "melt." We'll take a splash of good olive oil and freshly ground spices over that any day, thank you very much. But, we are still keen on protein-laden pâté and spreads that can compliment, or even replace, a funky fromage. Think Euro charcuterie rather than Kraft singles... So, last weekend, as we prepared a deeply beer-friendly cheese plate for our Greatest Sips book launch party, we looked for a vegan equivalent. We decided to hone a cashew "cheese" recipe we've followed a couple times from Charlie Trotter's "Raw," an excellent vegan-raw "cook" book. Trotter's "cashew cheese" is a simple, creamy spread that doesn't involve a dehydrator or his typical 20-steps. But we also find the flavor to be a little simple as a result. So, to pump up the 'stank' factor, we played a little fast and loose with the fermentation directions and added a secret ingredient that, by now, dear readers you should have sitting around anyway. The result is a creamy, velvety spread that comes close to the fat and funk of a farmstead cheese, though it really can't be called an imitation. Served with lunchmeat style habanero seitan and kraut-relish, our guests loved it, though some didn't much care for the "cheese" reference. Okay, okay, it's pâté. Now, if only we had a vegan impression of that other classic cheese plate protein -- a terrine of foie gras. Hmm, stay tuned...

Raw Cashew Pâté (Serves 20)

3 cups raw cashew pieces 3 cups filtered water 1/2 cup Rejuvelac 2 Tbs. sauerkraut brine (red cabbage preferred) 1 Tbs. kosher salt 2 Tbs. peppercorns 1 1/2 Tbs. Brewer's yeast 1 tsp. dried rosemary 1 tsp. fennel pollen (optional) 1. Soak the cashews in filtered water for at least 12 hours, covering the bowl with a cloth. 2. Puree into a paste: Drain cashews and add to a food processor. Pulse cashews for several minutes, pouring in the Rejuvelac slowly. Then pour in the kraut juice. Once mixture is creamy and fully mixed, spoon it into a fine mesh strainer and rest the strainer in a large bowl, covered with a cloth. 3. Store the cashew mixture in a warm place, like your oven, for 16 hours. If your kitchen isn't particularly warm, try turning the oven on warm for 10 minutes every 3-4 hours to trap in heat, but make sure not to cook the stuff. 4. Once the mixture smells yeasty, you're ready to finish flavoring and shaping it. Remove from strainer into a clean bowl. Add 1 Tbs. of Brewer's yeast and the salt to taste. Then mix with a spoon. Prepare a sturdy cutting board with wax paper and choose 3 ring molds or tea cups to use for shaping the cheese. Spray each cup with a bit of canola or olive oil spray to prevent sticking. Spray the wax paper as well. Divide mixture into 3 portions (about 1 cup each) and pack tightly into cup. 5. Turn the three cups onto the wax paper-lined cutting board and sit like this stored in the fridge for at least 24 hours. 6. Now, the spread should hold its shape. Tap the cup to loosen the Pâté and top with garnish of chopped peppercorns, rosemary, fennel pollen and remaining Brewer's yeast. Beverage: Firestone's Velvet Merkin Soundtrack: Stereolab's "Velvet Water"

Stoned Ensemble

2010-02-02T16:45:00Z

The Communal and unified nature of the American brewing scene shouldn't be anything new to you. (Buy Our Book.) New, rowdy breweries are equipped with the obsolete machines of Elder breweries past, and Macro-Micro breweries are always evolving into new paternal forms: from distilling to distributing other fellow ale houses' suds. But the pinnacle of this new school of collaboration rests in grand old Escondido, in the vast fortress of our first love: Stone Brewing. Along with countless forays into expanding the expression of beer-madness, the dudes at Stone are in their third year of organized collaborative brewing and the results have been building in Rad. Engaging in Hands-Across-The-Pond style brewing, and even embarking on something as official and nerdy as a "Brewer Exchange Program," the Juxtaposition series presents the boys who always wanted to ruin your taste buds with a new set of potential hurdles to demolish. The process they've coined consists of a tryptic of current brewing baddies. Past projects, and current ones for that matter, pretty much read like a roll call of the best and brightest brewers on the planet. The 'witches round the fire' situation that ensues from such a meeting of minds produces some pretty blazing results. In the case of 2009's Black Pilsner, the three-way offspring becomes a veritable ubermensch. Pilsner, lets face it, is a fairly tired style. Yeah, when pressed to we can tell the difference between PBR and Czechvar but being deeply into Pilsner is like insisting that Barry Manilow is still a total ruler, or that a Wham! Reunion deserves closer inspection given the current economic climate -- tepid and silly. This Juxtaposition bottle was pried from the depths of the Rock n' Roll 7-11 in Highland Park. Upon popping, a veritable palette of hops exited the wee bottle (there were 9 hop additions during the brewing). In the glass, this beer looks like the antithesis of Pilsner: black, velvety, dense. Swilling brings about a whole new feeling, not unlike the first time you shower stoned. "Wow," you might say, "this feels really goddamn good!" And it does. And it tastes like pineapples. It tastes like hop candy, it tastes like the lightest, hoppiest, stout that you could imagine in all your beer dreams, like some amalgam of Black Flag and Pliny, and something else, like a perfect waxed cup of your best seven-year-old soda fountain cocktail with an inappropriate name (we called them 'Suicides'). And then its over. Flavor upon flavor, in unyielding nonsensical throbs for seven to 17 seconds and then... your mouth is clean. Did you just brush your teeth? Where's my car... This is aged magic in a bottle; a damn near perfect collaboration of three genies that comes out tasting like something you've never tasted before (or maybe never liked before). Find this before its gone; or covet the success of those who beat you to the punch. Soundtrack: Mi Ami "Dreamers" Dairy Pairy: Brebis Roussinere -- a raw washed rind hard aged sheep's cheese from way too high in the mountains.

Kitchen Contraband

2010-01-25T20:05:00Z

The other day we came home to a care package from a dear buddy who's been traipsing through distant Chinese cities. We sliced through the wrinkled, brown-bag wrapping. Three small plastic baggies of nubby brown husks and fine orange powder fell to the kitchen counter. The stash was mostly whole, unadulterated and, presumably, illegal Sichuan peppercorns. Let us explain, officer! Yes, sichuan pepper became illegal the same year as LSD - back in 1968, the FDA banned it because of fears it would infect our citrus with a rare canker disease. That ban was lifted because the stuff imported to the U.S. is now treated with a blast of bacteria-hating 160-degrees heat. Not this stuff: there were no signs that the spices we were holding had ever been near a customs officer, let alone a sterilization blaster. Kitchen contraband. Score! So what exactly are Sichuan peppercorns? Funny thing is, they are not related to black pepper or hot chilies at all. The spice is actually the outer seed pod of a tiny low-hanging fruit that Chinese and Tibetan cooks have been working with for centuries. Known for a mild and anesthetic heat that makes your mouth numb in large enough quantities, the stuff powers hot pots and sizzling woks. Even though the spicy cuisine that gives these little balls their name is synanomous with "searing pain," don't expect Sichuan peppercorns to spice up your cooking. Prepare for the opposite, in fact. Sichuan pepper numbs your buds. Think the gummy numbness of high-powered cocaine rubbed sloppily on your teeth and lips. Throughout the week, we've experimented with the best way to harness this weird fruit. We cracked it raw on salad and brussels sprouts. We threw it into sauerkraut. And toasted its dust for hot nuts. But far and away the best way to cook up with this shit is to purely infuse your oil. The first thing we learned is that the citrusy, perfume it gives off only comes out in food if you toast Sichuan peppercorns. Here's a play by play of how to get numb. 4 Tbs. Sichuan peppercorns 4 Tbs. grapeseed or canola oil fine mesh strainer or coffee filter 1. Toast Place the whole peppercorns in a saute pan on medium-high heat. Once you smoke, lower to medium and toss every minute for about 5 minutes. Do not burn. Once fragrant and well toastes, remove from heat and rest for a few minutes. 2. Grind Dump peppercorns into a mortar and pestle and pulverize for one minute, until just coarser than a dust. If chopping by hand, set peppercorns on a cutting board and chop well. 3. Infuse Put the fine peppercorn dust back into the pan, return to a medium heat and drizzle in the oil. Let cook for another 3 minutes or until you see tiny bubbles where the oil is frying the pepper. Remove from heat and let sit 5 minutes to fully steep. 4. Strain Place snugly a coffee grinder into the lip of a small bowl or jar and slowly scrape out pepper oil into the filter. It should slowly drip a mostly clear liquid, catching the pepper grounds. 5. Use Use 2-3 tablespoons of this frying oil in recipes in place of normal olive oil.

Check Out Our Beer Book

2010-01-13T21:32:47Z

In the six years since starting Hot Knives, the conduits of our medium have been many: internet (duh), video, independent newspapers, radio, catering, hanging out, bike rides, beer tastings and various other bamboozley boons. Its time to add another notch to the gun. We bring you "Greatest Sips." Our first fully-fledged book containing 21 of our favorite pieces of beer writing in the history of our blogging, and drinking, careers. Printed one at a time by our friends up north at Publication Studios, this book-length zine comes with a radical Hot Knives bookmark and a secret URL where you can hear songs to go with each of these beers! Courtesy of our rad partners at State's Rights Records! Would Be Hater: "But wait... Can't I just look at past entries and save my hard earned cash amid the crumbling of modern capitalism?" Us: "Yawn." No no no people, don't debase yourself with the ideology of the now ubiquitous free downloader. This is the chance to have and hold our deranged beer writing - think Sufi love poems meet druggy brain farts - in your hands, whether on the toilet or curled up in bed. Rip off our cheese pairings. Give it to your boyfriend for Valentine's Day (bros are easy). Just remember that the fate of the printed word, while easily replicated and distributed in cyberspace via clicks and drags, is a precious commodity; its physical reproduction a potentially dying art. For years, we've been your humble guides in a world of bubbles and foam, bitterness and darkness. Now we can reside tactilely in your pocket or satchel on trips to bars and beer stores! When you reach the limits of your 3G network, or when you drop your phone in the ocean! Inspirational beer prose and wholly legit beer-and-cheese pairings at the flip of a page? We're the App for that! "Greatest Sips" can be purchased here at www.publicationstudio.biz/books/

Brain Dead Guy Ale

2009-12-30T15:45:00Z

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"

Yuletide Grool

2009-12-25T16:00:00Z

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"

Shopping Mall Kryptonite

2009-12-21T16:15:00Z

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.

Winter Sage Pesto

2009-12-15T17:55:00Z

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"

Double Barrel Action

2009-12-09T16:55:00Z

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"

Flower Kraut

2009-12-05T20:55:00Z

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"

Tank Tour: Craftsman

2009-11-24T16:40:00Z

The first beer we tried by Craftsman Brewing Co. was an icy pint glass of the citrus oil-fizz that is the Orange Grove ale. We got foam mustaches off two rounds in the dank, back room of a now-defunct German pub we bellied up to in college. The revelation that beer this good was being brewed in a suburb of Los Angeles was sublime. Since then, Craftsman's wilder beers have slowly popped into our lives. First there was Craftman's Heavenly Hefe. Then we discovered the seasonal White Triple Sage and mind-puckering red wine experience that is Cabernale. There were special releases along the way too, like one malt monstrosity called Beer Mountain. Lately, we've been tripping hard to Craftsman's sour experiments -- Summer's End Sour and Edgar Ale aged in oak barrels. Last spring we dropped by the Pasadena brewery to humbly ask if we could buy entire kegs for events. (See, Craftsman does not sell bottles retail). Founder and brewmaster Mark Jilg said 'of course,' and would we mind cooking up some food for his mom's church fundraiser next weekend? Sure! Ever since, we've considered Mark one of the most compelling beer heads we've met. What started as a home-brew hobby, on the side of his full-time job at Jet Propulsion Laboratories, has become a slowly expanding, but far from corporate, beer business. From his 2,500-square-foot brewing facility wedged in the back of a North Pasadena business park, Mark has created a zigzag of tanks and barrels strewn with the machine guts, hoses and nuts and bolts that spew wild yeast beers, traditional lagers and volatile, beer-style-negating concoctions. To get a sense of Mark's beer philosophy, his mad scientist approach to running his brewery and his plans for expansion (set to double in coming months!) we swung by the brewery and talked shop followed by gingham beer picnic of sour beers -- his own, and aged bottles from our beer collection. Come on in -- the beer is just fine!