Cold drink of water, such a sweet surprise, put a smile to your face 10-miles wide… Whoawwwww!

Tonight we buckled down with some fresh groceries and even fresher ideas for the May wedding we’re catering for our friends Matt and Laura. It’s the first training session of many. And the results were kickin’. So kicking in fact that we’re humming that Warrant song. No wedding metaphor intended!

All night, swing it!

Cherry Tarts

1/2 lbs. dehydrated cherries
1 cup Ruby port
2 Tbs. raspberry jam
25 vegan baby tart shells
25 sprigs fresh mint
1 small cantaloupe, halved

1. First, whet your appetite with a swig of port. Pour the rest on top of your cherries in a medium saucepan, along with raspberry jam, and let cook uncovered for about 20 minutes. Stir well.

2. Pre-heat your oven to 375 degrees.

3. Lay out tart shells on a baking sheet. Fill each about three-fourths full and stick in oven for 15-18 minutes.

4. Top each cup with a small melon bowl, by scooping a ripe melon with a teaspoon, like you are scooping ice cream. Garnish with a sprig of mint.

Beverage: Unibrou Quelque Chose
Soundtrack: Warrant’s “Cherry Pie”

When Hot Knives first began reviewing beers, we bought new bottles quickly and often, mostly bombers on pocket change. The closest thing to “aging” those beers was the sloshing around they did on the bike ride home from the liquor store.

Then the small, but reliable, checks started coming in from the weekly beer column we call “Hip Hops,” which gets reprinted occasionally here and there. Beer money! As a result, the reviews have matured a bit — we splurge on less frequent shopping sprees and tote around geeky bound diaries to take notes — and with it, our holding policy has changed too. Nearly a year ago, we decided we wanted to try cellaring our beers, by saving certain bottles for a set period of time at (mostly) friendly temperatures. We got another push to do the project when our Internet friends at 1000 Beers embarked on their own ambitious mission of burning through unfamiliar craft brews one at a time. Now we’re upping the ante.

Thanks partly to those checks we have been able to amass a small but respectable collection, around 75 bottles that run the gamut from oily 13 percent ABV malt sludge to wild yeast Belgians. And few in the collection have been popped. Instead we have buried them dutifully in our basements and living room cabinets. The goal: Gather 99 bottles for aging and only begin popping them one at a time as we replace ‘em with something else.

Once we hit that 99-bottle mark, the next mission is to build, or buy, a proper 50-degree beer chamber. Until then, we have plans to house them in a wooden chest the size of a casket inside a walk-in fridge. To get ready for that we recently unearthed the bottles we’ve been storing. We took inventory and began drooling. Wanna see what we have aging? Take a peek at the video.

At the premier performance of the cataclysmically cool collaboration of Bodycity and Glasser, we happened upon the perfect accompaniment to outdoor fire-cooking: Norwegian Wood. Not to be confused with blond Viking fuel for fire, this ale is mahogany colored gas for the grill master.

Like many of the boutique ales coming out of the Nordic lands, Norwegian wood is steeped in tradition that stands in stark comparison to the brews of its countrymen. Over 90% of the beers brewed in Denmark and Norway are bland pilsners, but as Black Metal is to NorPop, so are breweries like Haand Bryygeriet to Carlsberg. According to the importer, the Hand Brewery consists of four old timers who brew in their spare time.

Norwood is based on traditional Norwegian farmhouse ales; kilned over open flames and spiced with juniper twigs and berries. As we learned when researching Aecht Schlenkerla Rauchbier, many ales were once quite smoky on account of wood fire cooking of wort, but the tradition has died off significantly in deference to the mild and chuggable.

These smoked suds are a solid match for grill side swilling, especially in the not yet sweltering afternoons of spring. Norwood is solid indoors and out; as an evening workday ender, or over lighter fluid soaked mesquite coals. The smokiness lingers in your mouth and the malts leave a lasting sweetness that finishes with a slight bitter tinge from hand-harvested juniper. Don’t look to hard for the mediciny Christmas flavors of wreaths; the berries and twigs are used exactly as coriander and orange are in Belgian ales: they contribute to the roundness of the beer's flavor without standing out. Serve at just colder than room temp-a fifteen-minute ice down in your cooler if you’re in a park-and all the flavors of woods and fires will really sing.

Soundtrack: Woods “Family Creeps”
Dairy Pairy: Montcabrer: an Ash Ripened Goats milk cheese from outside Barcelona.

It’s been kind of slow posting here at Hot Knives this week — all apologies — but we’ve had a couple things about ready to boil over. First and foremost, we’re happy to say that the First 6th Annual Grilled Cheese Invitational was announced this weekend to the eating public! Like last year, and the year before, we are entered in the three main sammy categories. If you’re not familiar with L.A.’s annual grilled cheese contest, familiarize yourself by watching the above award-winning documentary on the cheesiness. It's an oldie but goodie so we're reposting... And save the date for this year’s event whether you intend to register, judge or just taste!

In 2006, Hot Knives walked away with two trophies for our concoctions. Then last year, the desert sandwich award slipped through our greasy grasp, but we still managed to snag the Judges Award.

And that’s not the only thing that’s been on our mind; we have a couple other major pots on the backburner that are worth mentioning. In May, we’re catering the San Diego wedding of our e-friends Matt and Laura (of Existential Media) and we have some stupendously meta plans for blogging the whole thing from start to finish, in collaboration with their wedding blog. Look soon for the online tasting menu. (We’re still figuring out the post-modern fruit salad and how to make hundreds of vegan wedding cupcakes.)

Also, in the not-quite-announceable category — Hot Knives is collaborating with one of our favorite beer caves — Red Wine Liquors — on a couple beer tastings in the next months; we have been asked to perform a live radio cooking show as part of a monthly art gallery currated by our friend Julie Lequin; and we will be featured guests on a new glossy, green-living cable show in months to come, more on that soon.

There are two kinds of weekend breakfasts: the kind where you’re either up late enough, or hungover enough, that garlicky guacamole sounds A-OK, and the kind where you have to make do with a slice of avocado and a couple twists of black pepper. This past weekend we fell somewhere in between. We wanted morning guac that didn’t taste like lunch exactly. We settled on a fusion sauce that ended up making one of the squishier breakfast tacos ever: a fennel infused avocado whip, slightly sweet from being braised in liquor. You can spice-poach a couple cage-free farmers market eggs for an ovarian indulgence, but frankly the potatoes, favas and green whip make a fest on their own.

A.M. Tacos

(Serves 2)

3 Tbs. olive oil
4 cloves garlic, peeled
1 shallot, peeled
4 small potatoes
1/4 cup parsley, chopped
1/4 cup fresh fava beans
2 organic, cage-free eggs (optional)
4 corn tortillas
tomatoes for garnish
salt and pepper to taste

1. Start by cooking up some potatoes as a base for your tacos. Either bring a small pot of salted water to boil and add taters for 8 mins, or nuke ‘em in the microwave for about 2:35. Then heat olive oil in a skillet and add chopped garlic, shallot and potato. Stir and let cook for about 15 minutes or until crisping and browning. Add parsley and keep warm while the rest cooks.

2. Peel fava beans from their pod. Bring a small pot of salted water to boil. Add favas for about 4-5 minutes, or until tender enough to remove the second skin. Peel by holding between thumb and forefinger and gently tugging at outer shell. Set aside.

Avo Whip

1 fennel bulb
4 Tbs. vermouth
2 avocados
2 Tbs. olive oil
1 lemon
2 Tbs. parsley, chopped

3. Whip morning guacamole starting with roasting a fennel bulb. Heat oven to 375 degrees. In a shallow pan place fennel bulb, sliced in half, with open folds face down. Top with vermouth (white wine or sherry works too) and braise for 15-20 minutes or until all liquid evaporates and face down gets slightly crisped black. Remove. In a mixing bowl combine fennel bulb and excess juices, avocado, olive oil, zest the lemon and juice half of it into bowl as well. Add chopped parsley and mix with a handheld mixer or else use a food processor. Blend until thoroughly whipped.

4. If doing it non-vegan, prepare a bath for poaching your egg: 3 cups of water, 1 bay leaf, salt and pepper, 1 Tbs. of cider vinegar. Bring to a rolling boil, crack egg and let poach for about 5 or 6 minutes. Using a slotted spoon, bring egg to surface and inspect for cooked yolkage.

5. Serve with heated corn tortillas on bottom, potatoes, whipped avo, poached egg and finally fava beans on top.

Beverage: Cooper’s Sparkling Ale
Soundtrack: Lloyd & Michael’s “When the Morning Comes”

Happy Green Day! We celebrated last St. Patrick’s Day with a bang, it was a Sunday after all, so rolling out of bed into a glass of Harp lager and frying off an Irish breakfast special was a lot easier. Still, we feel so guilty having nothing quirkier to recommend to peeps than Arthur Guinness’ tried but true frothy extra stout and a tumbler of piss-warm Jameson. It’s tradition, and great, but we’re hardly traditionalists.

So, when we stumbled upon a couple Bay Area attempts at widening the ‘Green Day’ beer options, we nabbed them: an Irish Red Ale from Marin County, and a Dry Irish Stout from Moylan’s. Both seemed perfectly timed to the holiday without screaming “gimmick.” Ironically the same brew master presides over both too. And considering it’s the same ruffian who is responsible for a couple of the best West Coast-Irish hybrids —the iconic “Kilt Lifter” and a lucky charm of an Imperial Stout — we hoped we could suggest a couple new St. Patty’s Day beers to y’all!

The results were thirst quenching and mildly inebriating, but not quite a success.

St. Brendan's Irish Red and Dragoon's Dry Stout

On first pop, the Red Ale is a nice orange beard hue. Its bubbsies hang a few seconds longer than normal, and the aroma is hoppy and a little lager-esque. A slight sour-kick at first taste quickly retreats to a more bland, general mouth slickness. Emotions conjured up include: warmth and security, boredom, and a general aura of calmness. We decided this was more of an all-day chugger to accompany a ploughman sandwich spread or something. We popped the other one.

As for the Dry Irish Stout, which we paired with grainy biscuit crackers a small, piping hot plate of French-Moroccan tagine, we were similarly non-plused but satisfied (see video above). In the end, both of these were noble replacements for the holy trio of Guinness, Harp and Jameson. But certainly not for the serious red-faced celebrant.

In the spirit of the first weeks of spring, that seasonal shred of time that all locavores, even us in L.A. share, here comes the asparagus. It's crack to Barbara Kingsolver and we agree. Here we nearly sliced the spears spider web thin and dressed 'em down for a cold salad.

Chilled Asparagus Salad

(Serves 4-6)

1 lbs. asparagus, thin
5 Thai chiles (red)
3 Tbs. extra virgin olive oil
2 Tbs. red wine vinegar
1 tsp Dijon mustrad
1 shallot, peeled
Kosher salt to taste
1 tsp fresh ground pepper

1. To parboil the asparagus: bring a large pot of water (about 4 cups) to a boil, salt until it tastes like sea water, trim the spears from the bottom by 1 inch, rinse and dunk in water. Let spears cook for roughly 15 seconds, remove and immediately rinse under cool water or dunk in an ice bath to stop from over-cooking.

2. Drain asparagus and pat dry. Cut each spear in half, or in thirds as needed, to create sleek, thin asparagus noodles. Put cut asparagus in a large metal bowl. Slice the red chiles into similarly sized threads and add. Toss with oil, vinegar and a dab of Dijon. Stir until thoroughly coated. (Dressing should be light.)

3. Mince your shallot and add as well. Chill all together in the fridge for one hour and serve cold.

Beverage: Koshihikari Echigo Japanese Lager
Soundtrack: Brian Eno’s “Big Ship”

Reserved for the swankest occasions, the tea party is a gilded gift of spring. We go goo-goo over few party precepts like the garden soiree (it's a celebration) that's all finger treats and fragrant spirits and such. Fragfile toasts, like "To accomplishing the winter, friend! To birthing the spring, traveler!"

Or in this case, a Happy Birthday to Hot Knives accomplice, Lake Sharp.

Last weekend, we whipped up cold pasta salads and celery root remulaude, but the biggest seller was finger sandwiches. We did a take on cucumber, but WITH crust, and with a Chilean pevre of oil and garlic, and a quasi-untraditional one with fresh Japanese hot-house tomatoes and lemon zest mayoanaise. And served it all garden-side with difficult teas, cheap champagne, challenging Mexican pineapple beer juice and olives cured in salt in Alex's basement. Chop Chop!

Chilean Cucumber

1 loaf wheat bread
2 Persian cucumbers
1/4 quarter cup extra virgin olive oil
1/2 bunch cilantro, chopped
6 cloves garlic, minced or pressed
1 tsp. salt

1. Slice your loaf of bread length-wise. Place face up for stacking.

2. Wash your cucumbers and cut into thin slices. Lay cuke slices onto one side of the loaf.

3. Fix Pevre spread by combining oil, chopped cilantro, pressed or minced garlic and salt into a mixing bowl.

4. Spoon pevre onto the other side of the bread, spreading evenly. Press together and cut into 1-inch wide finger sandwiches.

Tomato-Mayo

1 loaf sourdough bread
2 large tomatoes
1 egg yolk
3/4 cup olive oil
1/2 Tbs. Dijon mustard
kosher salt to taste
1 lemon

1. Slice your loaf of bread length-wise. Place face up for stacking.

2. Wash and cut your tomatoes into thin slices. Lay tomatoes onto one side of the bread.

3. Whip up the lemon mayo by beating one egg yolk with the olive oil in a mixing bowl. Then add mustard and salt. Whip well. Finally, zest a lemon using a grater or micro-plane into the bowl. Then juice said lemon. Finish with another touch of olive oil, lemon-infused, or regular.

Beverage: North Coast's Merry Prankster
Soundtrack: Flaming Lips “She Don’t Use Jelly”

Sometimes kooky fusion combos are better, more soulful, when improvised on the spot rather than pre-meditated. This one was borne from us being too tired, lazy, brain-dead and starving on a weekday night to be pithy or political with our pairings.

Falatkas are, you guessed it, a cross between falafel and latkes. Shredded potato and zucchini are veggier than the dry-mouth grains and smushy garbanzos, but toasted cumin just happens to make anything taste like pure falafel. Rather than mess with a condiment that embodied the already weird pairing — like an apple-tsaziki sauce — we slopped together a red-pear mustard that surprised even us. We served these crispy critters on a bed of Israeli couscous and dry mixed greens with a drizzle of pomegranate molasses, but if you have the resources you could also pop ‘em in a pita. Or a bagel? See, we always go too far.

Falafel-ish Latkes

(Serves two)

2 small zucchini
2 small potatoes
1 tsp. kosher salt
1 Tbs. fresh cumin seeds
1/2 cup rye bread crumbs, fine (optional)
1/2 white onion
2 cups grapeseed oil (canola works)

1. Wash zucchini and potatoes. Shred both with the finest side of a grater to achieve matchstick pieces of each, but keep the two separate. Place grated zucchini in a colander and sprinkle with kosher salt. Let sit for about five minutes (this will bring out moisture and make the zuke super easy to compress).

2. In a large mixing bowl, combine potatoes and zucchini and cumin. Add bread crumbs if desired for extra bulk — it is not needed, however, as the zucchini makes it very workable patties as is.

3. Form mixture into small patties and set on a plate.

4. Heat frying oil in a small wok or medium sized frying pan. Once very hot (drop a cumin seed in, it should immediately sizzle) fry one or two patties at a time. Pat dry and cool on paper towels before serving.

Pear Mustard

(Makes 2/3 cup)

1 red pear, mostly ripe
2 shallots
1/4 cup Pedro Jiminez vinegar, or sherry vinegar
2 Tbs. sugar
1 Tbs. Dijon
sea salt and black pepper to taste

1.Partly peel your pear and slice into small chunks. Peel and dice your shallots. Add both to small saucepan and then place on medium heat.

2. Once they start to release liquids, about 5 or 6 minutes, add the vinegar and let reduce by half. Add sugar, salt and pepper and continue cooking on medium heat for another 5 minutes before tossing in mustard to finish. Stir and serve slightly chunky.

Beverage: Flying Dog’s Barley wine-style ale
Soundtrack: Kinski’s “Alpine Static”

Parmigiano-Reggiano is an unyielding behemoth of a cheese.

The eighty-eight pound monster you see above is two and a half years old, and took approximately 550 liters (145 gallons) of raw milk to produce. Portioning one of the Kings of cheese takes skill and time, both of which have been compacted for your viewing pleasure.

After sitting out at room temperature for 18 hours, the Parmigiano is ready for prepping. A blue-green mold (the true sign of a healthy wheel) covering the entire cheese will have formed during the two-year-old's time in trasit. This must be scrubbed off. Then the rind is rubbed with extra virgin olive oil, to give the wheel a lustery shine.

Then you quarter it, eighth it, and take a break.

Guest cameos (Alex’s minions of Darkness): Jason, Constance, Gerry, and Janine.

At its inception, Imperial Stout was a savage concoction. The Russian Czars’ thirst for stouts could not be quenched and English and Irish producers couldn’t produce beer that would survive the brutal cold of a month long trip to St. Petersburg. Their answer was a beer that could withstand any voyage; a brew so high in alcohol that it would not spoil, and so flavorful from roasted malts that it would still taste amazing in the event that it did. Imagine bulging barrels of viscous beer the color of crude oil hefted deftly one after another by British maritime brutes. Cargo hulls full of alcoholic ballast destined for the dead city of the Eastern Lords…

Black Flag Imperial Stout evokes the evil spirit of its English ancestor. The head churns in your glass like the dark version of the foam from which Aphrodite emerged; it’s fluffy and thick, but has a caramel tint that precludes something less than loving. Your tongue, relieved of saliva, almost ventures down your gullet with the black torrent leaving a long finish that starts by coating your uvula with hooch molasses. The generous hops quickly segue way into lasting coffee notes that are more fruity than chocolaty, almost behaving like a lighter roasted coffee with the viscosity and kick of a super short shot of espresso The boozy flavors linger in-between your teeth so vividly that chewing seems more than reasonable. Don’t bite your tongue.

Yeah, all Imperial stouts exhibit these flavors and feelings, but whereas Stone’s or Avery’s (both of which we revere) are like a charged Black Metal Ballad brutalizing your mouth in quick jolting blows, Black Flag inverts the temporal field of your palate. The sound of steeling a knife goes from a quick Shikkk to a long lulling sine wave of metal on metal. The Brewers of Black flag emerge from the New Mexican desert like skeletal Bedouin, hauling earthen kegs northwest to an undead sock hop at some brew-court in Portland where zombie hipsters wink sunken eyes and sip frothy mugs of fuckyeah.

Black Flag is the session stout for stout fiends. This bottle could easily find a permanent place in your fridge or in your burgeoning beer cellar for beginners. You might find yourself drinking way too much, turning your teeth black and making you talk like some kind of scurvy ridden ex-member of Christian death. But would that really be so bad?

Dairy Pairy: Ditcheat Cheddar
Soundtrack: Danzig III
Find it: Red Carpet

Forget to make that reservation at the new organic small-plate izikaya cocktail raw food bistro for Valentine’s Day? Get stuck with a 4:45 seating time? You know, there’s no shame in cooking, for one another. Like Adam and Eve sharing the apple tarte tatin of knowledge, or whatever.

For this V-Day — and the two-year anniversary of this blog! — we wanted to dip our dirty fingers into a dessert menu by doing something both savory and sweet, romantic and rowdy, something indulgent enough that we would make it for sweeties as a St. V present (naked) but something simple enough that you could it eat by yourself, (also naked). We set upon a wacky take on “sticky rice”: sticky rice with sweet, tempura-fried baby beets. The recipe is a little time consuming, not a lot, so you can spend most of your time cuddling.

Sticky Sweet Baby Fried Beets

2-3 Red baby beets
1 cup tempura flour
3 dried vanilla beans (or 1/2 tsp. vanilla extract, if you must)
1/2 cup white sushi rice
1/2 cup warm water
1 1/2 cup coconut milk
1/2 tsp. cardamom
3 Tbs. sugar
2 pinches salt
2 cups vegetable oil

1. Bring a small saucepan of water to boil for the beets. Chop their leaves off at the stem and snip off any tails so that the beet as close to heart shaped as possible.

2. Once water is boiling, drop them in for about 8 minutes or until slightly tender to a fork jab. Remove and cool under water or in an ice bath.

3. Skin the beets by running the edge of a spoon gently along the rough skin. The beets will naturally look a little like hearts, embellish by cutting a “V” in the flat top. Then place beet down on cutting board and make 4 or 5 slices, about 1 centimeter thick. If needed, chip away to make top curved and heart-like.

4. Fix sticky rice. We used a super easy microwave method repped by a Thai convenience website. Start by soaking your rice in warm water for at least 10 minutes. Then simply cover bowl with a plate and nuke for 2 1/2 minutes. Remove, stir, and repeat. Rice should be translucent and, um, sticky. But fully cooked. Let sit while you prepare the coconut milk.

5. Bring c-milk to medium temp in a small sauté pan. Add cardamom and stir well. Once nearing a boil remove from heat and add sugar and salt. Stir. Mix 3/4 cup of the coconut milk into sticky rice and stir thoroughly, setting aside the rest for the tempura mixture and a sauce garnish.

6. Mix tempura batter: add tempura flour to large mixing bowl, and scoop out vanilla bean using a spoon. (If using vanilla extract wait until you add your liquid, then add extract.) Combine 1/2 cup of the coconut milk to make a thick slurry of a batter. Vanilla beans should be visible.

7. Bring about 2 cups of canola oil up to high, fryin’ temperature in a small or medium wok — high heat for close to ten minutes. Once dangerously hot, batter the baby beets, letting excess batter drip off, and quickly fry them, about 1-2 minutes each. Remove, blot gently and rest on paper towels. Sprinkle with a pinch of sugar while still hot.

8. Garnish using two sauces using the remainder of the coconut milk: mix half of the cream with finely diced beets to make a pink sauce and keep half plain white.

9. To garnish: Use a 1 or 2-inch biscuit or cookie cutter, or similarly shaped circular item and stuff it tightly with the sticky rice forming a rice cake; top with a Tbs. of pink sauce. Place 2 beet hearts on top of that. Add a splash of white coconut sauce with the remainder of diced beets for contrast.

10. Serve and kiss.

Beverage: De Proef’s Primitive Ale
Soundtrack: Al Green’s “Let’s Stay Together”

A few years ago we witnessed a close friend be deeply moved by fresh cheese. We had recently visited one of our favorite sandwich stops, Mario’s in Glendale, and happened to have perused their deli case. Along with innumerable cured beef and pork products from and inspired by Italy, there were literally six kinds of feta in huge buckets of brine. We settled on the one from Bulgaria. When we got back to the giant and grimy communal kitchen of college years she took a bite, knowing immediately it was from where she was born. While our eyes rolled in the backs of our heads, tasting the seriousness of a cheese our minds equated with superficial salty crumbles in pre-packed salads, Yoanna cried.

Following on the heels of another bright bite from earlier this week, we present another stupefying hors d'oevre. We wanted to have something to play on the same high beam color-Field with our last post while utilizing the other end of the flavor spectrum. These little tidbits are piquant and snippy. At first your mouth feels slightly shocked, then all the sweet and sour of brined cheese, strong citrus and flowers make your feet move. Party food at its best: it just might make you tear up.

Ingrediants

8 oz ewe's milk feta (Bulgarian is best)
1 Tbs. Super Blue Lavender
1 Tbs. Extra Virgin olive oil
10-15 kumquats
1/2 Tsp. freshly ground black pepper
1 Korean Cucumber

1. Cube the feta, as best you can. If the cheese allows it, cut it into 1/4" cubes.

2. In a mixing bowl, gently toss the cheese with the Lavender, the oil, and the Pepper, let stand for at least 45 mintes.

3. Slice the Kumquats along their horizontal axis; one of the fruit should yield around five slices. Add the fruit to the mixing bowl and gently toss to combine with the cheese.

4. Serve two to three slices of kumquat on 1/4" thick slice of cucumber.

Beverage: Koshihikari Echigo
Soundtrack: Al Campbell and Lone Ranger "Take a Ride/Automatic"

On the eve of Super Bowl Sunday, we threw a Hot Knives dinner party. Jokes were made about making “nachos” out of Portuguese thistle rennet cheese and Egyptian fava beans, or terriyaki tofu burrito bites (shudder, barf). But without thinking about it, we really did stumble upon our own kind of couch-potato small plates menu of wintery finger foods. Football worthy, even Oscars material!

First up, a cold platter of thinly sliced “watermelon radishes” (named for their starbust pink coloration) topped with a dollop of turnip-horseradish mash and a small square of French butter and sea salt. Best of all, both this dish (below) and the second one (which is on the way) require next to no cooking, mostly just prep time and decoration geekiness. So you can spend quality time with your guests. Maybe even just turn the TV off.

Watermelon Radish Bites

1 turnip
1 small potato (a purple Peruvian would work awesomely)
3 Tbs. butter (or olive oil)
1 clove garlic, minced
1 tsp. horseradish (fresh, grated or even horseradish mustard works)
1/4 cup heavy cream
1/4 cup vegetable stock
salt and white pepper to taste
1 watermelon radish
2 Tbs. French butter (optional)

1. Bring a small saucepan to a rolling boil. De-stem your fugly turnip and and toss it in your water. Add potato and let both cook until just tender to a knife blade, about 7-8 minutes. Remove, rinse with cool water and set aside.

2. In the same saucepan, heat your butter or oil. Add garlic and horseradish for a quick sauté on medium heat. Add the potato and turnip and cook for five minutes while attempting to mash with a wooden spoon. Finish the job with a handheld mixer (seriously, buy one!).

3. Slice the radish into paper thin spheres or semi-circles and arrange on a platter to serve. Top with a dollop, about 1 tsp. of turnip mash, and a small chunk of fresh butter. Sprinkle each piece with a couple coarse grains of sea salt.

Beverage: Dogfish Head’s 120 Minute IPA
Soundtrack: Miles’ Davis, Sketches of Spain

After many successes and failures in beer cookery; we've determined what might just be the perfect cooking beer. Aecht Schlenkerla Rauchbier is a rustic brew with a long history of intensity. It's one of the few remaining breweries to exclusively utilize open flame drying techniques for roasting malts. For us, this technique poduces a beer that we enjoy reduced to sauce, instead of a means to getting sauced. In the past, we've worked our way through bottles almost grudgingly; not because the beer is bad but because the specificity and intensity of the flavors can verge on cloying.

The smokiness of Rauchbeer comes from the ancient technique of drying malts over open flames. While according to wikki, this technique used to be utilized by most brewers, its largely been replaced by kiln drying techniques which don’t require actual fire, thus no smoke. American versions have been made all across the states and taste more like a black lager with a little bit of smoke...Schlenkerla's brew tastes more like a stack of sourdough pancakes fried in butter on an ancient cast iron surface doused in tree blood from Vermont.

We'll be posting some recipes in the coming weeks with the 'ol Rauch, but we encourage you to hunt it down and play with it yourself. Because the bulk of the flavor in this beer resides in its maltiness, it won't turn bitter when subjected to prolonged cooking, and the smoke flavor really works wonders with just about any application you can think of.

Our Uses Thus Far

1. Baked Goods: substitute Rauchbeer for any liquid called for in any recipe. Use instead of water for breads, or sub out half your oil in a pancake recipe.

2. Cooking Greens: throw a 1/4 cup of smoke beer in with any sautéed kale, collards or chard after the pan gets hot. Cover the pan and the beer will steam the greens: it rules.

3. Starting soups: cover the browned beginnings of any soup, stew, or stock with Rauchbeer and reduce before you add water or veggie broth. This technique works wonders for beans.

Soundtrack: Dre, Snoop, Nate "Next Episode"
Diary Pairy: Idiazabal, a smoked raw sheep’s milk cheese from Navarra, Spain.