Sour Hour

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Being immense fans of Artisan Ales, the very best small batch beer distributor in LA, and Friends with it’s owner/front man Kevin, we were both flattered and flabbergasted at a chance to have first crack at a new bottle. There has been a lot of buzz about incoming releases from newcomers to the Sour Hour, a place where heavyweights like Russian River and Jolly Pumpkin hold court, and Kevin had promised us a newbie that would both surprise and satisfy our recent obsession with intentionally infected libations.
When the bottle arrived, the surprise was palpable. With the exception of a slightly funky keg of Stock Porter swilled with secret glee at a neighborhood beer bar, the thought of Telegraph Brewing taking the plunge into the vague and mysterious world of bacterial brewing was far from the forefront of our thoughts.
Telegraph Brewing Co.’s beers tend towards the subtle and complex; Wheat Reserve is no exception. Other releases, the Witte, the aforementioned Porter (both unintentionally sour or untarnished in a bottle), bespeak a commitment to clarity. The beers, while not overwhelmingly alluring on paper are always remarkably rewarding in the glass. Like the reverberating choral formula of Neu-American Cuisine, high ingrediants+unfussed preparation=perfect commitment to flavor, the Telegraph beers have a focused taste that, while unfettered and seemingly “simple,” bespeaks a kind of perfection. Like some of the best Lambic and Geuze from the old country, the amount of flavor residing in this 750 could stand up to kings of both grape and grain giving you almost as much to contemplate as guzzle.
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Wow (an actual tasting note).
Wheat Reserve has a super tart onset that knocks your taste buds back a bit. Unlike its inspirators, the slight stomach acid tinge and urea are absent, in their place citrus (many many kinds). Juice, oils and pith all collaborate to make the gentles war on your palate. The bitterness is barely so, and soon a swell of grain extinguishes what flames once were. A finish that bespeaks our sourdough starter, aged cheve, and preserved lemons: an absolutists’ conception of a glorious fermentation hydra.
There’s vanilla and oak like those most pompous of Chardonnays. The rocks and dirt of a good Sancerre? Present. Clean firm bubbles pop and are gone with a slight tingle all the way down the gullet. The feeling lasts on your tongue past the uvula and stops parallel to your lungs.
Has Telegraph made the stateside equivalent of Cantillon? Hell no. But this bottle marks the ascension of a brewing style that still remains somewhat arcane to most of our giant country, and the solidification of Telegraph as a personal fave.
What is more pertinent than comparing rotten apples (i.e. Wheat Reserve to Belgian Lambic and Geuze), is the notion that ales of this caliber and character can play chicken with the wine world fairly unflinchingly; a notion that is at once awesome and somewhat unimportant.
Will the American beer movement gain notoriety for discovering and creating a better doppelganger for Champagne, albeit one superior in complexity and drinkability but fractionally comparable in price? Of course not. Again, the point isn’t that beer triumph over wine in the eyes of the many; the point is that we already know that it does in the minds of the few. With small batch beers like Telegraph’s Wheat Reserve, we’re glad that its only the few of us that know: its our little secret.
Dairy Pairy: Pyrénées D’argental; raw cow’s milk from The Mountains.
Soundtrack: Gang of Four “Damaged Goods”

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Hot Lasagna

Hard to believe but it’d been years (years!) since either of us had eaten, let alone crafted, a hot lasagna. Something about boiling those flat noodles and stuffing them with plain jane veggies seems a) mundane and b) inappropriate for young dudes to make, like wearing your mom’s stockings when she’s not home or something.
But when we had a recent Sunday where we had nothing to do but hit the farmer’s market and tinker with sauces, and some vegan house guests coming for dinner, we dived hard into mommy territory. The end result was a two layer sauce-pan just edgy enough while still having that piping hot, comfort going on. First came a creamy Italian wedding bean layer, somewhere between pesto and ricotta, by subbing in some thick tahini for the cheese. Next came more pasta and all the veggies stacked like cake icing.
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Sesame-Pesto

(Makes about 2 cups)
2 cups fresh basil
1/2 cup olive oil
1/4 cup pine nuts
2 Tbs. tahini sauce
black pepper and salt to taste
1. Blanche your basil to keep it looking green: Bring a large pot of salted water to a rolling boil and fill a large bowl with ice water. Dunk the bail in boiling water for 5 seconds, immediately fishing it out with tongs. Cool in ice bath and let sit for 1 minute. Remove and set aside in your oil.
2. In a small sauté pan on medium heat, toast your pine nuts. Be mindful, these suckers burn quickly, so toss them in the pan every 30 seconds until they start to turn brown. Remove from heat and let cool.
3. In a food processor, or using a handheld mixer, blend basil, oil and nuts. Add tahini and a tablespoon of water if needed to help blend. You want a creamy consistency. Season as you go.
E-Z Marinara
1 Tbs. fennel seeds
1 red onion, peeled and diced
6 cloves garlic, minced
2 Tbs. olive oil
1/2 cup red wine
28 oz. can whole tomatoes in sauce
15 oz. tomato sauce
salt and pepper to taste
1. Start by toasting your aromatics. Place a large pot on high heat and add your fennel seeds with diced onion, minced garlic. Let toast for 2-3 minutes, stirring with a wooden spoon to keep from sticking. Once slightly brown add olive oil and toss.
2. Add red wine and let reduce by about half for about 8 minutes.
3. Strain your sauce so you can chop the tomatoes. Add them too and lower heat. Let simmer for about 20 minutes, stirring occasionally. Season with salt and pepper as desired.
Hot Lasagna
1 eggplant
2 carrots
2 red bell peppers
4 zucchini
3 Tbs olive oil
12 lasagna pasta noodles
1 can white beans
6-8 sun-dried tomato pieces
1 Tbs. paprika
2 heads broccoli
1. Pre-heat oven to 400 degrees.
2. Peel the eggplant to remove purple skin and slice into 1-centimeter round slices. Slice the carrots and zucchini on a bias, about as thin as the eggplant. De-seed your peppers and slice into long strips about 1-inch wide. Toss all the veggies with olive oil, salt and pepper.
3. Grease up a couple roasting dishes and add the veggies. Roast in oven for 20 minutes or until just starting to brown. Remove from oven and set aside.
4. Now cook your pasta so you can assemble the lasagna. Bring a pot of lightly salted water to a boil, add a teaspoon of olive oil and drop in pasta, gently folding it into the water as it softens. Then make an ice bath for shocking it once its cooked. You’re gonna wanna go light so the noodles are al dente: cook about 8 minutes. Remove, strain and drop in ice water. Let sit one minute then remove.
5. Par-boil your broccoli by boiling a second pot of salted water and dunking heads for 2-3 minutes. Remove and sit in same ice bath to cool. Once cool, chop up florets into a fine powder of broccoli, tossing the stems.
6. Grease, with olive oil, another 8 x 11 roasting pan. Place first of three pasta noodle layers, four should fit perfectly.
7. Make bean mixture for your first lasagna layer: In a bowl, combine strained white beans and chopped sun-dried tomato. Toss with more olive oil and paprika. Spoon the whole bean mix and spread evenly. Top with the sesame pesto and broccoli.
8. Lay your second layer of pasta noodles. Top that with a thin layer of marinara sauce. Then top with the rest of the veggies: eggplant, zukes, carrots and bell peppers.
9. Top it with the third layer of noodles and the rest of the sauce, evenly distributed. Place foil on the top of the pan and slide in the oven on 400 degrees for another 20 minutes. Remove and eat. Phew!
Beverage: Craftsman’s Cabarnale (brewed with grape must)
Soundtrack: The Cure’s “Hot! Hot! Hot!”

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Tommy Gun Tomatillos

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This weekend, on a testosterone-heavy desert camping sojourn, our friend Spencer enlightened us regarding a high-school epiphany he once had: that Salsa Verde Doritos and a 20-ounce Coca-Cola are the “perfect combination” of flavors.
We’re still not entirely sure what this means. But the comment did inspire us, when perusing the produce aisle of the Yucca Valley Vons, to embark on our own salsa verde fantasy. We bought a bag of ripe tomatillos, just starting to poke through their green husks, and lugged them out to the Joshua Tree desert clubhouse we rented for the weekend. Once properly drunk and hungry we gave these suckers a spin on the grill.
Tossed with good olive oil and grilled until they started popping, we blended our tomatillos with blackened peppers and onion and a touch of blood orange juice. The result was a pleasantly familiar tart sauce somewhere between salsa and roasted green chile. We slathered the stuff on corn chips and ladled it onto steaming campfire beans. Having nothing close to corn syrup in our possession we tried our salsa verde instead with a couple finer beverages… Scotch. One-year-aged Jolly Pumpkin Bam Biere. And Tequila reposado from a bottle shaped like a Tommy gun.

Salsa Verde
(Makes 2 cups)

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8-10 tomatillos
2 Pasilla peppers
1 red onion
1 jalapeno
1 Tbs. extra virgin olive oil
Sea salt and black pepper to taste
1 bunch cilantro (about 1 cup)
4-5 cloves garlic, peeled
1 blood orange
1. Crank your outdoor grill to high.
2. In a large mixing bowl combine tomatillos, peppers, onion and jalapenos and toss well with olive oil. Once grill is hot, throw all the veggies on and close the lid. Check every 3-4 minutes and turn as needed.
3. Remove tomatillos one by one as they burst over the heat. Make sure to scoop them, up, gently, before they lose their juice. Remove the rest of your veggies as they finish roasting and throw everything back into the mixing bowl.
4. Blend everything together with a handheld mixer or in a cuisinart. Add raw garlic, cilantro, fresh juice from a blood orange (one lime works too) and more salt if needed. Continue pulsing until smooth, with no chunks. Serve with chips.
Beverage: Jolly Pumpkin’s Bam Biere
Soundtrack: Dinosaur Jr.’s “Green Mind”

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Sweet Treat Beans

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Our buddy Kevin looks like a frugal dude. We were fooled. When Kevin, a small Pasadena craft beer distributor, was up in Portland he splurged on an unrivaled flute of aged brews from one of his connections, Hair of the Dog Brewing. He purchased one bottle of every single batch of Doggie Claws, their special release barleywine… going back to 2001. Vertical tasting!
That would be where you sit down and let a vintage of alcohol from each recent year of your life slide down your gullet. And you take notes on what it tastes like. Well, in our case we got so psyched about whipping up and eating sweet treats that complimented these aged varietals of Doggie Claws that we kinda forgot to take notes.
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2001 was placid and plain, whereas 2002 still rippled with decent, gold-flecked carbonation, ’03 and ’04 both ruled like honey dripping from a King’s scepter onto grapes. 2005 was straight-up mead in a bottle. Then…2006, no…
Oops. We remembered the recipes though! The real sustenance for this night-long tasting was a pot ‘o sweet beans. We long braised some gorgeous Scarlet Runner beans Alex scored in a stew of spicy soy, brown sugar, maple sugar. and whiskey. Though we usually eschew sugar, this beer called for something cloying. We used a slow cooker and pretended like this was our Doggie Claws. It took two days to make. We’re not gonna age ’em though.
Braised Sweet Beans
(Serves 10-12)
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2 lbs. Scarlet Runner beans
3 cups water
2 carrots
2 jalapenos (raw or pickled)
1 white onion
1 stalk celery
1 Tbs. olive oil
3 Tbs. brown sugar
1 tsp. red chile
1 tsp. coriander
2 shots bourbon whiskey
1/4 cup tamari
2 Tbs. maple syrup
1. Dump your beans in a large mixing bowl and cover with water. Place a plate on top and let sit overnight.
2. Finely chop the carrot, jalapeno, celery and onion. Toss into a hot sauté pan with olive oil and keep on medium heat. Saute for 3 or 4 minutes, stirring. Add spices and cook one more minute. Remove from heat.
3. Combine the drained beans with your sautéed veggies in a slow cooker. Top with water and the shots of whiskey. Turn on cooker for 8 hours.
4. Once beans are firm but not crunchy, add maple syrup and kosher salt to taste. Serve beans with rice or by themselves.
5. If you’re not using a slow cooker: Place drained beans in a large pot and cover with water. Place pot on high heat and bring to a rolling boil, then turn off and drain. Put beans in the same pot again for a second go-around, this time more gentle, combining with the sautéed veggies. Top with water and shots of whiskey and bring to a boil on medium heat and let simmer for at least one hour. Beans should be firm but not crunchy.
Beverage: Hair of the Dog’s Doggie Claws, 2004
Soundtrack: Iggy Pop’s “I wanna Be Your Dog”

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Texas Tea

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Our tinted Suburban pulled into the reputed ghost town of Terlingua, Texas at 4:20 on Super Bowl Sunday, which did not explain why the faded general store offered one long row of shaded, splintered benches occupied by sleeping dogs and old ranchers gripping warm bottles of yellow beer. Not Steelers fans!
A pretty but leather-faced proprietor gabbed with town ladies at the register about remedies for blisters and we buzzed through the Lonestar flags, 3-ounce cowboy shotglasses, and alien abduction souvenirs, for the beer fridge in a back room. A single iced six-pack of Shiner Bohemian Black Lager sat lonely in the the display case. Shiner — boring, trusty Texas trademark. But black lager? Hot Knives rolled the dice.
Hours later in the dead of night a disco dance party boomed over the canyon, from the porch of a ranch inn at the end of town, luring neighbors: bearded construction workers and acid casualty novelists bumped together. Finally, the beer came out.
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The Hot Knives Beer Team practiced an old set of skills: opening bottles on rocks. We tipped to 45 degrees, wedged cap under a crevice. Brought our left hands down on the top. With the woofer-bliss nearby, we hardly noticed that the glass lip of the bottle had crushed into a disfiguring, jagged twist. On the first mouth pull, there was a warm trickle: There will be blood! The bottle sliced a stigmata-style hole in our palm. The balmy black lager slipped down mixing with the bloodstream, hitting the lit-up brown dirt with strange, dry plops caking into mud. No sink meant drinking this way, with red blood around the black label and slow, careful sips from the broken glass. Fearful every second that some god damn hippie carpenter wigging out to the band would smash into our drinking arm sending the glass hazard into our gaping maws.
Deep breath… slow sip. Under navy-blue star-heavy sky, tugging on a dark beer felt right, like kicking up dirt by scuffing the tips of a comfy pair of cowboy boots. Slight hint of choco-nutty-toffee, but mostly just a subtle taste of toast. Thick challa slices with hazelnut butter. The end taste was a watery, not-quite-satisfying coffee popsicle. Or like the remnants of an iced coffee, when you drink everything but driplets and the ice melts into a light brown rainwater.
Half done with this beer, we walked into the ranch bathroom and washed with soap and water to get the blood crust and dirty spit (someone swore saliva would close the wound) from our skin. Back in the thunderous night, with people running by with common Shiner Bock, we felt free, slugging hard like real Texas titans.

Dairy Pairy:
Qudarello di Bufala, a Taleggio made from the milk of a water Bufalo.
Soundtrack: Yacht’s “I’m in Love With a Ripper”

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Pickled Sunn

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Contrary to our belief, the Jerusalem Artichoke has absolutely nothing to do with the contested city home to various peoples of the book. It’s actually an American o.g. : a tuber that finds its roots from Nova Scotia all the way to Georgia. First eaten by a European in 1605, the artichoke tasting relative of the sunflower was sent back to the old country where it enjoyed relative popularity until it got upstaged by the potato. The Italian word for sunflower, Girasole, eventually morphed into Jerusalem and we’ve all been confused ever since.
Whenever we start seeing these guys (also known as sunchokes) at the market we go nuts, which often results in gross overbuying. This recipe is a great way to immediately deal with your self-control problems, and also a great introduction to pickling and preserving vegetables.
Why the hell did we decide to brine Sunchokes anyway? Unlike potatoes, Sunchokes are pretty great in all forms: baked, mashed, roasted, fried, etc. They’re also really good when raw, but they have a tendency to make you…er…fart. Alot.
Theoretically, after they’ve been cured a week, the savory and earthy taste of the sunchoke will be all punched up and awesome from sitting in the vinegar bath listed below. Hopefully they won’t be as explosive and we won’t get kicked out of bed…(stay tuned).
Pickled Sunchokes Part One: Brine
1 lbs. sunchokes (pick the firmest ones you can)
1/3 cup of kosher salt
4 cups of water
3 lemons juiced
1. In a large vessel, preferably a large glass jar, combine the water, salt and lemon juice and stir until the salt has dissolved.
2. Wash the sunchokes in cold water, and snip off any particularly dirty end bits.
3. Slice the sunchokes about 1/2″ thick. Keep the skin on.
4. Immediately place all sliced sunchokes in the brine (if you let them sit they will oxidize and discolor). Cover the vessel with plastic wrap and let sit on somewhere cool for 24 hours.
Pickled Sunchokes Part 2: Marinade
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4 cups apple cider vinegar
1 cup champagne vinegar
1 cup water
1/2 cup sugar
1 tsp. coriander seed
1 tsp. dill seed
1 tsp. fennel seed
1 tsp. mustard seed
1 tsp. whole black peppercorns
1 tsp. Aleppo pepper
1 small piece of fresh turmeric
OR
1 tsp. turmeric powder
5. Heat a large pot on high heat for three to five minutes. Add all the spices (not the sugar) and toast for 3-5 minutes, until the mustard seeds start to pop and the spices become fragrant. Peel your turmeric root (you can find em at Korean markets, they look like tiny orange ginger or weird stunted carrots).
6. Add all the liquids and the sugar, and stir to combine. Bring the mixture to a boil and remove from heat.
7. Drain and rinse your brined sunchokes in cold water. Jam them into a clean jar and carefully pour the hot vinegar over the chokes, making sure that you totally submerge the tubers in vinegar. Seal the jar and stick in the fridge.
8. Wait a week, and see what time, brine, and acid can do. If you have leftover marinade, which you probably will, strain out the spices and use for vinaigrettes.
Beverage: De Proef’s Flemish Primitive
Soundtrack: Desmond Decker’s “Mother Pepper”

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Hot Kniveçois

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We’ve said it before and we’ll say it again: composed salads are probably our favorite thing to make, even more favored to eat. This one is a bit of a mish mash of components; but they all reconcile in your mouth in a really radical way. Like the port city in France where the most popular and widespread composed salad has its origin, we’ve got a multitudinous culinary surrounding in Los Angeles. While The Niçoise Salad doesn’t necessarily extol the melting pot vibe of a maritime city center, this way off version highlights the slight Moroccan influence of Evan’s time spent at Elf Cafe, and the ever-inspiring tale of our favorite brand of Sriracha; a hot sauce made by a Vietnamese immigrant that now graces the world’s sundry shelves.
Lemon and Olive Roasted Potatoes
1 Idaho russet potato
1 onion
1 Meyer lemon
1/4 cup salt cured olives
1/8 cup Grapeseed Oil
2 Tbs. XVO
1. Preheat your oven to 500 degrees. Chop the potato and the onion into a 1/2 inch dice. Half and then quarter the lemon, and slice thin.
2. Heat the grapeseed oil in a nonstick sauté pan or a heavy cast iron skillet until it shimmers, then fry the potatoes until they get brown around the edges, about 10-15 minutes.
3. In a small roasting dish, combine the lemon, onions, olives, oil and potatoes and bake until the potatoes are thoroughly cooked, about another 20 minutes. Check the whole concoction after 7 minutes and stir to avoid sticking. When the potatoes are fall apart finished, remove from the heat and set aside.
Herb Salad
2 hearty romaine leaves, trimmed and cleaned.
10 stems of cilantro
8-10 stems of dill
5 stems of Thai basil, picked
6 stems of Shiso, picked
4 scallions, cleaned
1 Tbs. Arbequina XVO
2 Pinches of salt.
4. Pack all the herbs into one of the Romaine leaves, packing in the scallions last.
5. Sidle the second and third romaine leave against the first as if the lettuce was spooning, and slice as thin as you can.
6. Dress with the olive oil and salt and set aside.
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Sri-Natcha
(Makes about 1 cup)
10 red jalapenos (milder red chilies OK)
1 head garlic
1/8 cup canola oil
1 Tbs. agave nectar
1 tsp kosher salt
1/8 cup rice wine vinegar
1/8 cup water
7. Slice the chilies in half and remove all the seeds with a grapefruit
spoon. Toss ’em in a hot pan on high heat with the canola oil. Peel your garlic and throw about half the cloves in with the chilies so they’re partially submerged in the oil to roast. Cook for 10-15 minutes, stirring frequently and wearing something over your mouth.
8. Open your windows (seriously).
9. Once the chilies are soft and starting to blacken around the edges, they’re done. Add the agave to the pan and toss to coat. You wanna sweeten the chilies evenly and let it slightly caramelize on the high heat for 1-2 minutes. Be Careful: scalding hot sugar syrup will leave a nasty burn. Turn off the stovetop.
10. Combine chilies in a cuisinart or blender with the rest of the raw garlic, vinegar, water and salt. Pulse for several minutes until no chunks exist. You should be left with a pale red-pink sauce that slushes enough to bottle. If it’s too thick to blend don’t be afraid to slowly add another tablespoon or so of water (It will still be hot).
Soy Coated Sunflower Seeds
1/8 cup of sunflower seeds
1 Tsp. soy sauce
11. Heat a small non-stick pan on high heat, and add the sunflower seeds.
12. When the seeds start to release their oil, about 3-5 minutes, begin tossing regularly to toast evenly.
13. Add the soy when the sunflower seeds have turned golden and smell faintly of turkey. Cook the soy until its pretty much gone.
14. Arrange the salad thus: small pile of potatoes, topped with a nice pinch of greens, surrounded by a generous portion of the hot sauce, with a sprinkling of sunflower seeds for garnish.

Beverage:
Saison Dupont
Soundtrack: Randy Newman’s Political Science

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(Scorched) Earth’s Finest

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Drive south along the San Diego shoreline in fall, spin inland toward the breweries of San Marcos and Escondido, grab a pint of double-hopped West Coast IPA at a beach-front pizzeria in Carlsbad and you’ll deeply comprehend why Southern California beer tingles: It is the epitome of nature in a bottle, from a place where nature means teal waves and blonde babes.
But jet due east to Lyons, Colo., on the same November day and Mother Nature is instead a heady beast of a lady spewing gray tundric dandruff all over the craggy mountain crevasses. She is pissed and throwing a horrific tantrum. That’s why it’s no surprise that Oskar Blues’ trademarked “Ten Fidy” alpine stout tastes like a bitch and then some. This is Colorado’s snow-scorched earth in a bottle–no, make that an aluminum can. And it tastes amazing.
Ten Fidy
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Dropped into a swirlable snifter, this tar-hued stout appears dead silent, devoid of any carbonation. But like any snowy field, stick your head down close and you’ll detect signs of life. Instead of ants, they’re tiny sud bubbles being pulled to the edge of the glass in a strange formation of thin foam the color of rust and decomposing leaves. Look any longer and the rising waft of coffee in a wet knapsack hits. Or faint blood-iron, like an old tractor left out of the shed long past Halloween. To the tongue, this stuff is brutal. There’s so much to taste, it’s a wonder it all registers: the tart and sour kick of jarred prunes, the sugary after-note that turns funky the closer it gets to your esophagus–similar to the slow realization that someone stuffed a lit cigarette butt in your half-finished beer. It’s malty and bitter and salty. It both pricks and dulls the senses. This is Mother Nature luring you into hibernation; the kind where you dream so long, when you wake in April (or maybe just the next morning), you feel like you were up and living the entire time.
Dairy Pairy: Stinking Bishop
Soundtrack: Smashing Pumpkin’s “Tales of a Scorched Earth”

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Booze Infused

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Like discoveries in other experimental fields, the ones that happen in the kitchen are often rooted in mistakes. When way too many black peppercorns got dumped into hot oil for a pre-bean fry, it seemed they were lost. What to do with a pile of soggy greasy peppercorns?
We got to thinking about pepper and what it is: the aged berries from an epic spice tree originating in Indonesia. Black peppercorns are actually sun cured green peppercorns, and white ones are just black peppercorns that have been soaked, skinned and dried again.
While we didn’t follow through with the initial idea to make our own white pepper, we figured we could re-dry the soggy dudes in a low oven to revive them. The result ruled: the pepper reabsorbed the tasty oil and intensified its new and improved flavor. Ever vigilant for ways to put liquor we love back into the food we eat, we postulated that we could do the same with Bourbon, Mescal, and just about any other type of liquor.
The result is the same; by investing a pony of your favorite sauce, you can elevate the contents of your pepper mill to dizzying heights. You also will make your house smell like a distillery for an hour or two, and your roommates, if you have them, will be wandering round looking for phantom whiskey spills, but this technique will make soups, salads, fresh cheeses and eggs have that hair-of-the-dog flavor that you’ve been missing. Booze infusion is the new Umami!

Liquor’d Black Pepper
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Ingredients
3 Tsp. Whole Black Pepper
1 Shot Booze
Equipment
Small Sauce Pot
Baking Sheet
Parchment Paper
1. Heat the sauce pot on medium heat and lightly toast the pepper for 3 to 5 minutes.
2. Dump in your shot of booze. We’ve had great success with Bourbon, and Mescal but use whatever you like. The liquor should begin cooking off immediately, but you don’t want it to burn, so turn the heat as low as you can to keep the liquid bubbling.
3. When the liquid is completely evaporated and absorbed, turn off the heat. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper (do yourself a favor and go buy a roll its really indispensable) and spread the peppercorns out evenly.
4. Bake in a low oven, around 250 degrees, for thirty minutes. You want the pepper to be completely dry. During the infusion process the peppercorns will swell with liquid and loose their dried look, when they’ve dried completely they will look exactly as they did before you subjected them to a whiskey bath.
5. You’re done! Let the pepper cool and find something to put them on!
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The Beet & Pickle

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Peanut butter and pickle sandwiches make some people squirm. Not we! In fact, we’re always looking for other non-traditional applications for the succulent salty cylinders. This week we found one in real way!
We’d heard tell of a hipster taqueria here in Los Angeles that’s become infamous for its beef and pickle tacos. Now, we can’t speak to whether they’re any good, (we’ve heard they are). But the sheer thought of a crème-drenched and steaming corn tortilla speckled with crispity-crunchity pickle confetti made us happy. So this week we tried our hand at a taco of braised winter veggies and seeds topped with creamy, vegan mayo and, yep, kosher pickles.
Tastes like beef? No. Tastes like pickles? Hell yes.

Beet and Pickle Tacos
(Makes 9)

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3 portobello mushrooms
1 beet
1 turnip
1/2 white onion
3 cloves garlic
1 Tbs. canola oil
1/8 cup pepitas (pumpky seeds!)
1 tsp. ground cumin
1/4 cup soy sauce
2 chipotle peppers in adobo sauce
(or 1/4 cup enchilada sauce)
1/4 cup cilantro
3 pickles, finely chopped
mayonnaise (vegan or regular)
9 fresh corn tortillas
1. Chop your mushrooms, beet and turnip into 1-centimeter cubes. Finely chop the onion and mince your garlic. Heat a large skillet on high heat and add oil. Setting aside about half the onion for garnish later, throw your veggies into the pan and sauté for about 5 minutes. Add your pepitas once the veggies have gotten a good start, stir and cook until seeds are slightly toasted, about 3 minutes. Then add the ground cumin and soy sauce. Let cook for another 5 minutes so the soy sauce cooks off.
2. Once the veggies are tender (fork the beet, it should be soft) toss in your chopped chipotle in sauce (or enchilada sauce) and stir, lowering the heat to a simmer.
3. In the meantime, heat your corn tortillas on the griddle. Also chop your cilantro and pickles and toss with the rest of the chopped white onion.
4. Plate by smearing mayo on each tortilla followed by a twist of cracked black pepper. Add your veggie filling and topping with chopped pickle-garnish.
Beverage: Fantome Saison
Soundtrack: Juana Molina’s “Desordenado”

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