Over the Top!


Our kitchen reeks of fermenty cabbage and biceps ache just from watching the arm jousting this weekend. But it was all vurth it — The first ever ‘Over the Top Oktoberfest’ vas wunderbar.
The weather obliged: 75 degrees and sunny, with heady wisps of Hefeweizen clouds and a harvest moon waiting to pounce. DJ Dusseldork and Wonder von Popsicle made the entire crowd swoon for Hasslehoff. And the beer was strong: our recent La Folie obsession meant we guzzled the sour brew like wine.
Andrew and Keiko, who were running the arm sport tournament, built an efficient (and fair) machine of weight class rounds. By the end of the afternoon, the entire bar of 100 people seemed to be standing on patio furniture to see heavily favored competitor Scott Bird win the last battle of the day. So what was for eating anyway?

Krauthaus Menu

Beer brats: We were dunking vegan brats in a boiling vat of smoked beer (1 part leftover marinade, 2 parts fresh porter from the keg, plus apple cider vinegar) and grilling them to order, hung on a small wheat bun, swiveled with habañero-mustard and topped with a choice of kraut. Let’s talk (tofu) turkey, because Alex toiled hard for a perfect technique: each brat got dunked in the beer reduction to start, thrown on the grill for char marks, then dunked again before sitting until order, whereupon, it got dunked a third time! The result was the most inebriated, smokey and juicy vegan brat you’ll have in your life.
Kraut came in red and green: “Borscht Blast” of fermented garlic, beets, purple cabbage and cabernet with caraway seeds; and green a sweet garden mix of grated carrot, green cabbage, red bell pepper and dill seeds.
Potato salat: What else but red farmers market potatoes par-boiled in salt water and tossed with diced celery, parsley, cornichons, crispy shallot-tofu-apple stuffing and finished on the plate with a sprinkle of handmade purple potato chips (crunch) and a squirt of vegan Russian dressing.
Beer pops: that classic German monk brew, Franziskaner, got sweetened up with a touch of lemon-clove syrup. Frozen orgasm style.
Although we were out of our 80 or so beer brats in just a few hours, we kept serving until the kraut was almost gone. That was 12 cabbages people! And truth be told, it was that kraut that stole the show. We can’t do that justice here, look for the recipes later this week.
Hefeweizen Popsicles
(Makes 8)
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1 Half-liter bottle of Franziskaner
2 lemons (1/4 cup juice)
1/2 cup water
1/2 cup sugar
1/2 tsp ground clove
1. Empty the beer into a pot, with enough room for the bubbles to fizz, and place it on medium heat. Bring to a slight boil (about 10 minutes). Turn it off and set aside.
2. Prepare a simple syrup: First zest and squeeze lemons, combining the juice and zest. You should have about a 1/4 cup, adjust as needed. Combine this zesty juice and water in a small sauce pot on high heat. Let it hit a boil and then slowly whisk in your sugar. Whisk for 1 minute, then turn off the heat and set aside. Add clove and stir again.
3. Wait for both mixtures to return to roughly room temp (about 20 min) before pouring into popsicle molds. The best way is to fill each popsicle mold three-fourths to the top then top it off with lemon syrup. Stir with a spoon handle.
4. Place carefully in the freezer and let sit for 24 hours.

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Fat Lips

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In the beginning of our love affair with suds, the known universe was limited to whatever our shoulder tapping foraging produced. Back then most of our decision making was determined by whatever 12 packs were stacked high with $8.99 price tags front and center.
Fat Tire, the flagship beer from New Belgian Brewing Co., was a common buy and a welcome bargain bin find. When our elder friends finally scored fakies, trips to more specialized beer destinations produced Trappist ales and fancy accompanying goblets. A drunken realization of New Belgian’s bottle-cap design led to the great epiphany of drinking the Fort Collins micro brews in glasses branded by Chimay and Unibroue; $8.99 never tasted so good.
As our taste in beer grew, we grew away from New Belgian. Occasional six packs were bought, but the special release bombers and cork-tops that our eyes were trained to find never appeared from Fort Collins. We just assumed they didn’t exist…
As is the case on the rarest of occasions: we were wrong. New Belgium not only makes a grip of ales we’ve never seen in California, but they have been making sour beers for years — apparently even before the Great American Beer Festival recognized the style as a category in their annual ale orgy.
La Folie is a both a sign of the times, and a sign of all time. Aged in French oak for one to three years, blended and bottle conditioned just like its Flemish forefathers, this red ale bleeds…red. Tart and plucky in all its woody tannic glory, little carbonation produces a whole lot of lightness. A weird lightness; the kind that betrays the mind into guzzling something far from the yellow end of the color-wheel in 90-degree heat. The yeasts and age make for cherry and rhubarb overtones that digress into a malty whiskey mash, the perfect alcoholic accompaniment to the dog days of summer.
Awesome disclosure: New Belgian’s brew master’s is a former Rodenbach heavyweight, giving an even further validity to La Folie. Don’t call it a clone: this beer manages to bridge the gap between Rodenbach and Duchess de Bourgogne, while maintaining a very accessible drinkability that begs for better distribution (please). The ‘Lips of Faith’ series is a glimpse of what has been going on in the cellars of one of the fastest growing Micro breweries of the past 20 years. Hopefully we’ll see some more of these bottles in L.A.
The crusade against Corona has a new free-lance: keep limes at a distance. Under the influence of La Folie, the green might make you see red.
Dairy Pairy: Brebirousse D’argental; runny washed rind sheep’s milk cheese that tastes like a barn.
Soundtrack: Dinosaur Jr.’s Feel the Pain

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Krautfest 2009

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In Deutschland, Oktoberfest starts off with a bang: At noon on the festival’s opening day, the reigning mayor of Munich taps the first keg and officially proclaims ‘It is tapped,” over a 12-gun salute and the “beer corpses” start piling up. That is partying.
In their spirit, Hot Knives and friends are throwing what we call ‘Over the Top Oktoberfest’ this coming Sunday, Oct. 4 at Verdugo bar. There will be an arm wrestling tournament on the back patio tables with both men’s and women’s heats. There will be an onslaught of Black Forest boogie and autobahn disco from an amazing line-up of vinyl wizards. And yes, there will be vegan German food.
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In a land famous for its pork knuckle what could possibly be vegan, right? Well, we’ve been home-fermenting gallons of different flavors of sauerkraut, for starters. We’re whipping up an infamous kartoffelsalat. We are calling our veggie beer brats Rauchwursts (you’ll need some German to figure out why) and of course we’ll also be serving… Hefeweizen popsicles. Recipes forthcoming too.
The bar happens to have Craftsman Oktoberfest on tap right now, as well as a rare selection of Berliner weisse fixings, including genuine Woodruff and raspberry syrups (if you’re like that.)
The shindig’s free, just like in Munich. But bring cash for the food and do some push-ups in the morning if you plan on competing in the day’s arm sport contest.
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If for whatever shitty reason, you can’t or don’t want to come, you have another option!
In celebration of L.A. Beer Week (which runs Oct. 15-24) the Bavarian princes behind Verduo bar are throwing an honest-to-god Oktoberfest garden throw-down at the Descanso Gardens on the last day, Oct. 24. Think of it as the opposite of Munich’s elected officials screaming “It’s tapped.” Except instead of all the pomp, you’ll have 70 American and Belgian brewers who could prolly kick Deutschland’s ass in a hop war. And it’s set in the gorgeous 5-acre Rosarium. You need to buy ticket’s ASAP we’re told. We’ve seen the list of brewers who will be pouring at this thing, talk about beer corpses by the end of it. See you there!

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Dux Confit

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Last week, after a leisurely French breakfast of pastries, pastis and a mushroom duxelles omelette with fries, we strolled the grounds of the famed Santa Monica farmers market like hunters and gatherers on an a.m. liquor buzz. Predictably the mushroom stand caught our eyes. We circled ’round and grasped at beautiful fungi while joking with the shroom guy.
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New farmers market concept: elaborate food stands that give shoppers the impression of foraging for wild mushrooms yourselves — a Portobello cap here, a shitake stem there, bending down and unearthing lobster mushrooms from under the table…
Ludicrous ideas aside, we purchased half a pound each of fresh chanterelles (it is fall, people!) and scurried home. First on the menu? In a bout of lunch box paranoia, Evan flipped with fear that the mushrooms would shrivel in the fridge and miss their peak. So we minced the beauties and made a mushroom duxelles – classic French (say it ‘duke-sell’) for olive oil preserved mushrooms roasted with shallots and wine.
Nearly a tapenade, the stuff worked on vegan bruschetta and on top of the gorgeous spinach and pine nut pasta handrolls left over from Elf Café.
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Chanterelle Duxelles
(Makes 2 1/2 cups)
1/2 pound fresh chanterelles
1 cup minced crimini
2 shallots, peeled
1 cup extra virgin olive oil
1/2 cup red wine
1 Tbs. cream sherry
Salt and pepper to taste
1. Slice and then roughly mince your ‘shrooms. You want something between thick confetti and a dice. Mince the shallots too.
2. Put a non-stick skillet on medium-high heat, add about a tablespoon of olive oil (for ultimate naughtiness, use French butter) and start cooking off the mushrooms and shallots in three batches (so not to steam the mushrooms, the idea is to steal their liquid and replace it with wine and oil): Add one-third of the mixture and sauté for about 10 minutes or until much of the moisture has cooked off. Set aside on a plate and repeat until all the mushrooms are sauted.
3. Combine all together back on high heat and add wine and sherry. Let cook off completely, then season with salt and pepper.
4. Let cool and then empty into a glass or ceramic dish for storing (up to one week). Cover the mixture with the rest of your olive oil or until submerged.
Beverage: Cantillon St. Lamvinus
Soundtrack: Feist’s “Mushaboom”

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‘Grains Gone Wild!’ Brussels

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When it was founded in 1900, the Cantillon Brewery was just one of hundreds of breweries in the capital of Belgium churning out the stanky, wild yeast beers that Belgium’s become famous for. Today it’s the last traditional brewery in Brussels.
So on a recent sojourn through England, France and the Netherlands (guzzling pints and quizzing beer store owners along the way of course, more of that to come) we had to pull off in Brussels to see the white pearly gates where our favorite sour beers come from. We were not let down.

But first a quick beer geek refresher: What are we talking about when we talk about lambics?
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Americans know the style best in the form of Lindeman’s, a line of sweet-and-sour beers in pretty, pastoral lollipop flavors (apple, raspberry, cherry, and they’re great for popsicles you’re recall). So it’s tempting to think of them as fruit beers. But the definition is actually simple. Lambics are natural beer. Lambics are brewed from traditional ingredients like wheat, malted barley and hops. The big difference is that the brewers rather than inject selected yeast strains into the mix simply let nature do its thing, by sitting it in open vats that collect the natural yeast from the air.
So lambics are spontaneously fermented beers, which give it a complex and often radically tart taste. The fruit twist is just to make many of them more palatable. Geuze, the other notoriously mysterious Belgian beer, is simply a mixture or compound of selected lambics of different vintages. The Cantillon geuze for instance, is a 1-yar lambic, 2-year lambic and 3-year lambic blended.
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Now, Cantillon’s beers have been Hot Knives favorites for a while. Still, the words “spontaneously fermented” printed on the label did not paint a very detailed picture of where this stuff was flowing from. Do these dudes just sit the stuff in buckets in some pastoral Belgian farm? Or are they beer scientists measuring bacteria levels in Petri dishes? We were dying to see the open vats whose loins have birthed many a long night drinking session.
Lucky for us (and anyone backpacking in Europe) the brewery is in a residential neighborhood 10 minutes from the central train station, and is open 9-5 most days except Sunday.
Unassuming outside, the place is even more charming inside. Stacks of clean, empty glass bottles line one side of the hallways. Filled and labeled bottles sit aging on the other. Tiny chalkboards propped up next to each batch remind the brewers how long they’ve been sitting there, if the dust isn’t enough. In fact, cobwebs crisscross everything (the brewery lets spiders keep other critters away from its vast open tanks.)
After taking in a wall of photos that describes the mashing process – where crushed cereals are cooked and hopped for flavor – we meandered back to the hop boilers where the magic of booze creation actually happens. One tidbit we learned along the way: Cantillon uses three times the hop quantities of a normal Euro beer for conservation purposes, so they use mostly dried hops that have been aged for three years in their granary, for a less bitter taste.
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After cooking the wheat, malted barley and hops to extract all the sugars, they pull the stuff up to the brewery’s attic where it sits in what’s called a cooling tun, using open windows and lots of surface area to chill it out. The wort sits here overnight grabbing natural fauna from the neighborhood, about 87 different micro-organisms (among them, the famed Brettanomyces bruxellensis and Brettanomyces lambicus).
Now, the wort is pumped into oak and chestnut barrels and aged for months. The first 3 days are the most violent, with the wild yeast and sugar literally slam-dancing inside, and can actually make casks explode like bombs. So, the brewery actually leaves a hole in the side of each barrel and lets it overflow with the carbonation. When it subsides during the first week, they stuff it with a cork.
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A year later, it gets filtered and bottled as a pure lambic. Or it might get muddled with local cherries, apricots, or raspberries. Or, if it’s especially barnyardy and kick-ass, it could be picked to be one layer in an expensive geuze. And if it’s really lucky, it’ll then get shipped in a crate to America, where we can exchange a 20-dollar bill for it. We like to think we saw a bottle lining the hallways that will one day end up in our beer cave.
Speaking of price tag, we saw a new reason why we will never begrudge spending $20 on a Cantillon beer, ever. Not only does the brewery lose 20% of their beer sticking to the traditional method (all that violent, carbo barrel eruptions are BEER after all), the brewery is still family run after 99 years. In fact, this year is their centennial! That felt like the most momentous thing we’d heard of while walking the grounds. No better reason to go seek a Cantillon Iris or a Lou Pepe lambic, two of our obsessions.
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Better yet, buy yourself a ticket to Brussels.

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Fruit Salad

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Since the city is still inordinately hot due to it’s smoldering reality, we’ve been more than a little averse to turning on the oven. The mere though of cooking anything, while usually a welcome and blissful notion this week seems like some kind of seventh ring of hell type punishment. Instead we’re opting for cold preparations of anything powerful enough to stand on its own, receiving little more than a cutting and a garnishing.
We’re nearing the end of the stone-fruit season, and tomatoes are really rocking, so why not throw them together? Just like throwing a little salt on your desert, these two fruits offer flavors and textures that compliment and contrast to each-other; both are acidic, both are (or should be) sweet, and both have a lusty oozy nature that prompts slurping and licking. IT was only a matter of time before they ended up on the cutting board together. Are peach soups and tomato cobblers in the not so distant future?
We’ll see…when it’s a little more realistic to turn on any kind of flame.
Momotoro and Yellow Nectarine Salad
(serves 2)

1 ripe Momotoro tomato
1 ripe yellow nectarine
2 cups of Arugula
3 Tbs. Olive oil
Pinch of Salt
Pinch of Pepper
1. Wash your fruits and greens.
2. Core the nectarine carefully so as to not crush its flesh. One way is to score the fruit all the way to its pit as if you were going to cut it in quarters. Then run a paring knife gently around the outside of the pit.
3. Slice the nectarine and tomato nice and neat.
4. Toss the Arugula with 2 Tbs. of olive oil.
5. Assemble your slices all pretty like. Garnish with dressed Arugula. Then drizzle the remaining oil on the fruits. Sprinkle with salt and pepper.
6. That’s it.

Beverage:
Ska Brewing’s Mexican Logger
Soundtrack: John Fahey’s Seachanges and Ceolecanths

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Black Hole Sun

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Los Angeles is on fire (again). Ash flakes on our windshields in the morning. Fire fighter worship on the airwaves. 747s filled with flame retardant goop swooping overhead. While some people pick up the pieces, we’re huddled close to our floor fans, exploiting weird and roomy sun tones for beer photography.
Chances are slim that Belgian wizard brewer Mikkeller knew it was spewing out the perfect black beer for a 38 percent contained wildfire. But their coffee stout, Black Hole, was an eery specter of what it must be like choking on extinguished flame.
Whether it’s the time traveled or intended, no bubbles survive in this bottle (which by the way is, inadvisably green). In place of any head is a wisp of smoke signals. We trickled this beer into an 8 ounce glass and thought of a sad soccer mother crumbling into a chair at her neighborhood Starbucks in the Glendale hills, fanning the putrid stank, trying desperately to pretend it’s a normal morning.
Like the chain’s ice coffee and espresso shots this stout is bitter. Medicinal throat coat syrup, except the prune-death tonic black looks like a cigar stump was extinguished in it. There’s little chocolate here. And though it looks rich, it’s all smoke and no fire. Burnt drugs for dessert.
While somewhat displeasing, even distressing tasting, Mikeller has a stone cold answer to their more popular Beer Geek breakfast stout in this one. Just don’t slide it to any returning heroes from the blaze. They might have flashbacks.

Dairy Pairy:
Gamonedo; a smoked surface bluing freak from Asturias.
Soundtrack: Soundgarden…duh.
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Summer ‘Tan

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Cookery is always about sharing, borrowing… yeah, even stealing. The first time we made seitan burgers we had no qualms lifting the recipe (more or less, give or take some smoked salt) from a more tested source. We flipped a barely smudged ‘Real Food Daily’ cookbook, that one in a long line of old housemates had left behind, landing on the page for seitan.
Sure, we ended up injecting it with molasses-slicked barbecue sauce while piling it onto the grill. But at its core, this was still a recipe we ‘learned.’
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When, earlier this month, we wiggled our way onto the BBQ grill at Verdugo Bar, (L.A.’s best new hope for rivaling San Fran’s infamous Zeitgeist beer garden) we saw the chance to innovate our seitan standard. The big idea was to forego the bun for a baguette. Some of the best fake meat in our minds, after all, is the gooey duck banh mi on the menu at Vinh Loi Tofu.
So curry seitan it was. Now, we wanted something that behaved essentially the same as our go-to, just lighter, more of a summer seitan. Coriander (ground and fresh) helps that. And a small fistful of turmeric powder stains the stuff unnaturally gold, hinting ‘chicken’, not ‘burger’. Finally, we shrank the oil usage slightly and cooked it a little less to stay juicy. While this recipe can still use some play, we’ve now made 8 loaves of the stuff. Now, you steal it.
Curry Seitan
(Makes 1 loaf)
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Wet
4 cups vegetable stock
1 bunch cilantro (stems only)
1/2 cup canola oil
1/2 cup soy sauce
2 Tbs. olive oil
Dry
3 cups gluten flour
1. 5 cups pastry flour
4 Tbs. turmeric powder
3 Tbs. ground coriander
2 Tbs. ground cumin
1 Tbs. ground lemongrass
1 Tbs. cayenne pepper
1 Tbs. kosher salt
2 cups cilantro leaves
1 Tbs. fresh black pepper
Canola oil spray
1. Start by making 4 cups of cilantro-steeped stock. We suggest using 4 cups filtered water blended with bullion on high heat for 5 minutes. (Broth from the box also works, there’s no need to make your own stock for this.) In a large pot, place broth on medium heat. Line up the cilantro stems and finely mince so you have about 1/2 cup. Toss half in the broth, and set the other half aside to add directly to the seitan. Let it reach a boil then turn off and cool for 20 minutes.
2. Pre-heat the oven to 375 degrees.
3. Prepare your counter space by laying out all the necessary dry ingredients, a measuring cup (1 cup), 2 large mixing bowls, a towel, a bread pan, aluminum foil, wax paper, olive oil and canola spray.
4. Now mix the dry ingredients in one bowl: the flour, the spices and salt. Finally grind the fresh cilantro coarsely in a mortar and pestle or with a knife (a clean coffee grinder also works) and toss that in too.
5. In the second bowl, measure out the wet ingredients: stock, canola oil and soy sauce. Whisk well.
6. Slowly pour about half the wet ingredients into the dry bowl and mix roughly with your hands. Flick off goo bits and towel dry hands. Pour in the rest of the liquid, saving a tablespoon or so just in case. (You want a gloopy bread batter that sticks together if you try to flip it in the bowl but can also be easily pulled apart.) Add last bit unless it seems too wet.
7. Break off enough wax paper to line your bread pan. Spray the sides of the pan with a touch of canola, then lay it down. Spray even more on the top side of the wax paper to keep seitan from sticking. Grind a decent teaspoon or so of fresh black pepper.
8. You’re ready to dump-slide the seitan blob into your lined bread pan. Coat with a touch of olive oil on top, more black pepper and seal with aluminum foil.
9. Finally make a double-boiler by simply filling a large roasting dish one-third full with water and place the seitan loaf inside. This will gently bake the fucker. Put the whole thing in the oven and bake for 1 hour and 20 minutes.
10. When your timer blows up, pull loaf out and uncover. Check doneness by poking with a fork. You want it to still be pliable and soft but slightly browned. Stick it in for 10 more minutes for color and remove. Turn bread over to separate loaf from wax paper (gentle) and slice to serve, sear or reheat!
Beverage: Eagle Rock Brewery’s Special Wheat
Soundtrack: Meat Beat Manifesto’s “Subliminal Sandwich”

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Vegan BBQ: Easy Sauces

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Can you freeze beer? Can fungus be made to taste like Deep South pulled pork? These were just a few of the tricky chemistry questions Hot Knives tackled this month in throwing our first installment of a roving kitchen we call Gnosh Pit.
The answer? An unequivocal, obviously inebriated “Fuck yes.”

For two Sundays we took over the back patio of the Verdugo bar. We transformed the grill cubicle that’s built into the back fence into our short-order window serving vegan Banh mi sandwiches, BBQ mushroom buns, fresh hand-cut potato chips, kimchi coleslaw and Lmbic popsicles. We told people to bring board games and sunscreen. We made a 6-hour playlist of summer songs.
And people showed up! Maybe too many people the second week… We got a few bummed out dudes and some old codgers who flipped out when we ran out of food earlier than expected. (All apologies, bros). But all in all, by most accounts, a great success. The food came out just right. The sun came out. The beer list was outrageous.
So how do you freeze beer? How to ‘pull’ shrooms? It’s easy sauce. If you showed up late last Sunday and missed the Pit. Here’s your chance to gnosh in your kitchen…

Lambic Pops
(Makes 12)

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1 bottle Lambic (750 ml)
1/2 cup grape juice
12 popsicle molds
1. Reduce your Lambic just slightly, to kill carbonation: Empty the Lambic into a large soup pot, making sure to milk of every last sud, and put the pot on medium heat until the beer hits a foamy boil. Stir and turn off heat. Let the beer cool and foam subside, about 20-30 minutes. (Not sure why this helps, but we conducted experiments, and it does).
2. Add the grape juice and stir well.
3. Using a measuring cup or other vessel with a spout, pour the mixture into your popsicle molds. Transfer to the freeze and let sit for at least 14-16 hours.
4. To remove, gently warm for one minute with your hand or dip each mold in room temp water, to prevent from cracking.
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Photo and good vibes thanks to Quarrygirl.com

BBQ Bun
(Makes 4-6)

2 cups commercial BBQ sauce
1 cup “Frank’s Red Hot” hot sauce
1 cup IPA (we used Anderson Valley)
1 lbs. oyster mushrooms
2 Tbs. olive oil
1 tsp. sea salt
Pinch of fresh black pepper
1 tsp. fresh black pepper
2 white onions
hamburger buns
1. Start by making an easy cheater’s BBQ sauce: Choose your favorite commercial sauce (something without corn syrup or too much sugar, please) and throw it in a sauce pot. Dilute it with vinegary hot sauce (we like Frank’s) so that its one-part hot sauce, two parts BBQ sauce. Top it off with a cup of pale ale, stir, and bring it to a bubble on high heat and then remove. Done.
2. Pre-heat the oven to 400 degrees. Rip the oyster mushrooms into manageable thin strips. (Think pulled pork.) Place on a sheet pan and toss well with olive oil, salt and pepper. Roast for 10-12 minutes, or until mushrooms deflate and outer ones are crisped and brown. Remove and let sit.
3. In a skillet or cast iron, caramelize the onions. Slice into thin half-moons. (Leave a tablespoon or so raw onion for garnish.) Add to an already hot pan with 1 Tbs. olive oil and stir well, letting brown. Remove.
4. In a bowl, combine mushrooms and onion. Add sauce and toss.
5. Gently warm the buns. Serve with a garnish of white onion.
Beverage: Lagunitas’ Little Sumthin’ Sunthin’
Soundtrack: Sparklehorse’s “Knives of Summertime”

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Silver Bullet

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Type Silver Bullet into your favorite search engine and (awesomely enough) it takes more than a few pages of vibrators, monster fighting advice, and Healthcare freak-outs to get to the Coors website.
While the old dogs at Bubble and Fizz somehow haven’t managed to bend the internet to capitalize on perhaps the catchiest of beer nicknames, they have created a pretty sweet can. Innovation of the country’s biggest baddest low calorie macro-brew has taken to the certification of optimal drinking temperature–something to keep in mind when consuming such specific ale–via a color changing can.
While the idea of can design based on a reverse facsimile of our favorite tee shirt from yesteryear; it seems pretty silly to reinvent the wheel for such a square beer.
The Can Revolution bears better fruits closer to the coast. Uncommon Brewers, based in Santa Cruz, does not have cans that change color when cold, and while their can design is pretty slick, what’s inside is the point of sale.
Siamese Twin Ale, a current guzzling fave, coalesces the Belgian tradition of brewing with spices and the base elements of an awesome Thai curry by adding kaffir lime leaves and lemongrass to the wort while brewing. The sweeter flavors of a high alcohol ale, bolstered by the hints of citrus and spice result in a dubbel unlike any other we’ve ever tasted. Whatever weight this beer actually has gives way quickly to brevity and buoyancy; both dangerous characteristics for a 16 oz can of 8.5%.
As the can claims, this beer is both unpasteurized and unfiltered, which explains its cellaring potential (aged cans?!) as well as the strange sedimet that slicks your glass after the last sips. There is a definitive taste of culture (bacterial) that develops as the beer warms from frigid to tepid, refreshing to funky.
With beers like this there can be no truncation of temperature, no optimal phase where color coded neo-aluminium determines drinking. Open it ice cold, and let it mature in your glass if you can’t stand to let it sit for half a year.
This Silver Bullet might not get you off or solve the healthcare problem, but it just might help you fight some monsters.
Dairy Pairy: Caruchon–a brine washed brick of ewe’s milk.
Soundtrack: Fela Kuti’s “Gentleman”

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