Smokin’ Leek Hash

Posted on October 7, 2008 by Hot Knives

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This will not top the soup that quasi-inspired it, let’s get that outta the way right quick. That’d be the leek hash and pea soup with almond butter we had ladled for us tableside at Melisse in Santa Monica on a recent spat of pricey visits that we made for celebration’s sake and to write up their formidable vegetarian tasting menu.
But that vision of blackened leek in a creamy soup recently came back to us, as if regurgitated in a food dream. The hallucination was powerful. So when the weather dipped this week, spitting out mist and rain drops on the way to a morning farmers market, we sprung for some beautiful baby-sized leeks with soup in mind.
First, leeks were roasted and some new potatoes were braised in a bath of stock and imperial stout and the two got added together and blended with a secret cream replacement (fresh chevre) and for chunkage, we sautéd carrots, leek ends, shallots and garlic. We gobbled it on a covered porch, served with a fresh crouton of whole grain farm bread slathered with more goat cheese. And whatever beer you didn’t use for braising works as a liquid warmer.


Cream of Leek Hash
(Serves 10-12)

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2 leeks
2 cloves garlic
6 red-skinned potatoes
3 cups vegetable stock
1/2 cup stout
2 oz. fresh chevre
2 Tbs. olive oil
1 carrot
2 shallot
1/2 white onion
2 cloves garlic
1 small bulb ginger
1 tsp. cayenne
1 Tbs. sea salt
fresh ground pepper
1/4 cup fresh dill
1. Cut and clean your leek. On a oiled roasting sheet, splay out the leek and press garlic over the pan trying to evenly distribute it. Roast in the oven at 375 degrees until green edges get slightly crisp and black, about 10 minutes.
2. Half or quarter your taters, depending on size, and place in a deep roasting pan. Add 1/2 cup of stock and 1/2 cup of stout. Cover with foil and place in the oven for about 20 minutes or until thoroughly tender.
3. Remove both leeks and potatoes and add to a deep soup pot. Cover with the remaining veggie stock and bring to a near boil.
4. Meanwhile, neatly dice your other veggies into cubes (think of their shape like small pieces of ham) and toss in a pan on medium heat with oil, ginger sliced into thin spheres and cayenne. Season and toss in dill for a second and then remove from heat.
5. Once large pot has near a boil, get crazy with an immersion blender. Pulse until creamy and then add fresh chevre. Continue to blend until consistent. Add 2-3 tbs. of water as needed. Consistency should be airy and easy to ladle. Combine the sautéd veggies and return to heat for a few minutes. Garnish with bread and leek ends.
Beverage: Black Flag Imperial Stout
Soundtrack: Godspeed You Black Emperor’s “Blaise Bailey Finnegan III”

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Baked Nizz-Salad Cups

Posted on October 5, 2008 by Hot Knives

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We did not pull this name outta nowhere: The Frogs sometimes refer to their national salad as Insalata Nizzarda, more popularly known as the nicoise. The mother of all deconstructed salads. The Foucault of lettuce. With its cold, charred peppers, slim haricot vert, plump, briny olives. plus a starch and a protein to boot. We’re huge fans of composed salads if you couldn’t tell.
So we pulled one of the so-so ingredients out of this nicoise (potato)and used it instead as a vessel to make it party food. A familiar scheme at this point. We piped in a Dijon mustard and filled the potato with a small-chop mix of nicoise olives, shallots, roasted red bells, capers and thyme dressed lightly with, olive oil, white balsamic and ripped tarragon. And on top, for garnish, one thin green bean. The result is a room tempish salad bite that hits all the nizz notes without being obvious.

Nicoise Salad Bites
(Makes 10-12)

4 small potatoes
4 green beans
2 red bell peppers
1/4 cup Nicoise olives
2 shallots, peeled
1 Tbs. capers
4 sprigs thyme
1 Tbs. olive oil
1 tsp. white balsamic
2 sprigs tarragon
1 Tbs. Dijon mustard
Salt and pepper to taste
1. Make your potatoes into cups. Cut the rounded curve off of all sides of each, so you have a potato rectangle, and lay on its side. Then slice into three equal pieces, the width of a small sushi roll. With a teaspoon, spoon out the middle.
2. Take all of your potato cups and put ’em in a saucepan, fill it with warm water and place on high heat. Toss in a tsp. of salt. When the water hits a rapid boil, the potatoes should be done. Fork one to be sure. Before removing, toss in your green beans for 1 minute just to blanche. Remove all and drain, gently. Rinse with cold water.
3. Mix your chopped salad. First char your peppers and de-skin ’em. Dice all the fixings smaller than seems necessary (it will need to be fine to fit into your petite potato cup) and dress with oil and vinegar and herbs. Let sit for at least 20 minutes to marry the flavors. Meanwhile, pre-heat the oven to 350 degrees.
4. On a lightly oiled sheet pan, lay out your potatoes. Sprinkle with salt and pepper and roast for about 12 minutes or until slightly brown. Remove and let cool.
5. Spoon, or pipe using a pastry bag, a touch of Dijon to each potato. Then cram a Tbs. of filling into the tater. Garnish with a slice of halved green bean.
Beverage: Saison Dupont’s Avril
Soundtrack: Stereolab’s Refried Ectoplasm

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S’mora Muhammara

Posted on October 1, 2008 by Hot Knives

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One of us had our first taste of muhammara — the nutty pink paste of walnuts and charred bell peppers — on a dashing date with a gorgeous lady friend. The other one of us tried muhammara for the first time just two hours later eating take-out remnants from that date, out of a grease-stained Styrofoam container. We don’t know whose experience was better.
Like most dips, muhammara gets better when it sits. And this week, we whipped up enough that it sat and sat and sat. Why so much? Smoked muhammara on pita crisps with pomegranate seeds is one of the seasonal appetizers we’re planning for an October wedding catering gig, so we’re dealing with school cafeteria-sized portions, in hopes of getting our multiplication right for shopping. Our advice: Even if you’re making this for your own dashing date, make enough to pack for lunches with a coupla falafel balls or tahini rice.

Muhammara
(Makes about 3 cups)

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3 red bell peppers
1 1/2 cups walnuts
2 Tbs. pomegranate molasses
3 Tbs. olive oil
1 Tbs. smoked paprika
1 tsp. aleppo pepper
whole wheat pita bread
1 Tbs. pomegranate seeds
1. Crank the flames on your stovetop and place each red bell pepper on direct heat to char the skin. As the pepper skin gets black turn with tongs until evenly roasted. Now place peppers in a brown bag and close. As it cools the skin will separate and should be easy to scrub off by rubbing between your fingers.
2. Dump the walnuts in a frying pan on high heat and toast until brown, not black, for about 3 minutes. Remove and let cool.
3. Meanwhile, if desired, roast off some eggplant slices. Start by slicing into thin rounds and salting on a plate. Let sit 10 minutes so extra moisture is drawn out. Then add to your frying pan and on high heat cook for about minutes with a touch of olive oil.
4. Remove pepper skins once cool and chop off pepper tops. Add to a blender or cuisinart with the walnuts. Add pom molassess, olive oil, spices and pulse until thoroughly pink and a consistent puree. Season to taste.
5. Bake or toast pita and cut into chip-sized pieces. Top pita with a dollop of muhammara and garnish with two pomegranate seeds each.
Soundtrack: Selda’s “Selda”
Beverage: Avery’s Maharaja Imperial IPA

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Beer Of Influence

Posted on September 28, 2008 by Hot Knives

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The new collaboration brew by San Diego saints Stone and Alesmith and Denmark droogie Mikkeller — a surprisingly gentle triple-like Belgian-ish beer without a name — raises more questions than it does answers. For starters, was it brewed in SD or the EU? Did the three brewers meet at one location with their respective suitcases of yeasts and malts, or was this “collaboration” really more of an inspiration? No way to know.
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What we do know is that this bevvie is a departure, or maybe an arrival, for all three parties. If we’re to believe the 12 oz. bottle’s emotional scribble by Denmark golden boy Mikkel Bjergso, this beer is a tribute of sorts to the brewing inspiration he got from drinking American beers years ago. He writes about how his first love was yellow and fizzy, until his local pub started carrying west coast hard-asses like Stone and Alesmith. Depending on who you talk to, Mikkeller’s brewing has surpassed his masters, tackling all sorts of styles and taking up the mantle of in-your-face brewing.
That makes this beer all the more surprising. Visually, they have the “yellow and fizzy” down pat. Speaking viscosity, the stuff is light, cool and slips off the tongue more like a red-white-and-blue lager: What starts like a true triple finishes like a Michelob. Which is not to say that it tastes like one. We picked up a yeasty biscuit appertif resemblance and a Budweiser-sweet notes on top of deep Belgian buggies that spring forth carbonation.
At the end of the day, we’re to believe that this beer is the product of America’s sphere of influence, that Bjergso was so inspired by American know-how that he picked up home-brewing. And that may be true. But it’s funny how things go both ways: this “collaboration” is far more nuanced and gentle than anything we would have expected from a heavy-weight triumvarate that involves SD heavies like Alesmith and Stone. We were more ready for this kind of bottle description: “Stone brought some really fucking dank hops and Alesmith brought some really fucking heavy malts and Mikkeller brought some really fucking wild yeasts, and we fucked everything up, blah, blah, blah.” And instead we’re left with a gently bubbling nod toward tradition with a little new-American light shone on the old and tired and we’re left scratching our heads.
Dairy pairy: Mt. Townsend’s Sea Stack, a runny, ashed cow’s milk
Soundtrack: Questions Mark and the Mysterions’s “Ninety-six Tears”

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Summer Spooning

Posted on September 25, 2008 by Hot Knives

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We love to love our tomatoes. When we find plump beauties at our favorite farmer’s stand we begin a slow but brief affair, one of pampering, seduction and ultimately consumption. Like any fruit, tomatoes are best when they are ripe so we like to lay ours down to rest for a few days sometime a whole week before admiring their simple wiles with olive oil and a little salt.
For this recipe, we wanted to capture the undeniably aphrodesiacical flavor of a perfectly ripe tomato and set it against other flavors that undeniably represent the sweetness of a summer day: basil and watermelon. When you try this out at home do yourself a favor and let your tomatoes lay out at room temperature until they are just starting to soften. You’ll be happy you did. We were so happy with the results that we batched out three-dozen servings and served them at the opening of our recent opus: a six course menu of salad inspired fare for our favorite ladies.

Tomato and Watermelon Spoon
(Makes 30 servings)

4 Momotaro tomatoes
1/4-cup kalamata olive oil
1 seedless watermelon
Sea salt to taste
1 bunch opal (purple) basil
Cheese Cloth
1. Quarter your ripe tomatoes, and blend them until smooth with a blender or immersion blender.
2. Line a fine mesh strainer with cheesecloth, and place over a mixing bowl. Dump the puree’d tomatoes in the strainer and let the flavor drip away. If the liquid stops flowing through, take a spoon and gently scrape the skin and seed particles from the strainer.
3. Whisk in the olive oil in a slow and steady stream. Salt the mixture to your liking, making sure that the salt level doesn’t overshadow the sweetness of the tomato.
4. Make a 1/4″ dice of the watermelon, one or two small cubes per person.
5. Serve in a Miso spoon: 1/2 spoonful of tomato puree, a few cubes of watermelon, and a small snippet of opal basil.
Beverage: Saison Dupont’s Avril
Soundtrack: Soundgarden’s Spoonman. (yes we did)
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Kabocha Cream

Posted on September 15, 2008 by Hot Knives

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The long foggy mornings of late are some of the few and brief signs that the seasons are changing in California. The Fall, known throughout the rest of our country as a time of foliage fireworks and chilling temperatures, typically means little more in LA than change is coming in vegatable patches and fruit trees. It’s a time when our earthen denizens decide to take a break for a while, when we turn our attention to the vast networks of squash patches and winter green fields in anticipation of the holidays.
While the leaves on the palm trees never fade orange and red, we can always affect ourselves via our dinner plates and soup tureens. Here’s a little ditty that will prove comforting on the closest thing we have to cold fall nights in LA.

Braised Kabocha Puree

1 kabocha squash
3 cups water
1 Tbs. vegeterian boullion
¼ cup sherry
2 tbs. sherry vinegar, plus extra
1. Split the Kabocha in two using a heavier knife and much care. When you cleave it in twain, use a metal spoon to scrape out the seeds and snot that usually appear in the center of pumpkin like things. If you’re feeling industrious, scrub all the snot from the seeds and save them for roasting.
2. Set your oven at 400. Place the squash face down in a roasting pan and add the water, boullion, sherry and vinegar. Cover the whole shebang with aluminium foil and place in the oven. After about 30 minutes, check the squash by stabbing it with a fork. If the utensil penetrates the thick skin with ease, then the squash is done.
3. Remove both halves of the squash from the roasting pan, and carefully remove the skin. Its best to keep the squash face down on a cutting board and slice the skin away as if you were skinning a melon.
4. Place the meat of the squash in a mixing bowl and mash with a fork or a potato masher. Slowly mix in ¾ of the remaining braising liquid until the mixture is more liquid than solid.
5. Transfer the squash to a blender, a food processor, or grab your immersion blender. Add one cup of water and puree the squash until it is nice and smooth. Salt to taste and add another splash of sherry vinegar and a good many grinds of fresh pepper. Transfer the finished puree to a pot, and keep warm on a low heat until ready. Stir occationally to prevent burning.

Tempeh Bacon in Squash Cups

1Tbs Olive Oil
8 scallion greens
8 oz tempeh,
2 medium knob o ginger
3 tsp. tuxedo sesame
2 tsp. maple syrup
½ tsp. smoked salt
1 tsp. soy sauce
6 ea baby summer squash
5. Chop the scallions, tempeh and ginger in as small a dice as you can muster, and saute on medium heat for a good ten minutes. The goal is to get the tempeh a nice crispy texture, so leave this mixture in the pan a little longer than you might think prudent.
6. When the tempeh and the ginger are starting to brown, add the sesame seeds. When the seeds are begining to become fragrent, add the maple syrup and the soy sauce and cook until the liquids have been absorbed. Finish with salt.
7. Slice eash baby squash in half width-wise and gently scoop out the center with a melon baller. Toss the halved and scooped squash in a hot and dry pan and cover. After the squash begin to sizzle a bit, add a little splash of water to the pan and cover agian. When the water is gone,the squash are ready.
8. Assemble the dish by placing a sprinkle fo the tempeh crumble at the bottom of six bowls. Add one cup of the Kabocha puree. Float steamed baby squash halves stuffed with more of the crumble in the soup and garnish with fresh thyme.
Beverage: The Bruery’s Saison Rue
Soundtrack: Pavement, Gold Soundz

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Immersion Blender

Posted on September 10, 2008 by Hot Knives

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Pulse. Mix. Blend. By any other name, Cuisinart-ing an ingredient — known to some as ‘cuisin’ the juice’ — is one of the most crucial kitchen skills that gets overlooked by the kind of cheapskates that we typically run with.
Knives? Sure. Cutting boards, measuring cups, oven mitt or even cast-iron skillets: most hip, ragamuffin households can justify investing a couple cool Andrew Jacksons in these kind of tools or at least scavenging for solid hand-me-downs. But an immersion blender? handheld mixer? a Cuisinart on a stick? Both of us have independently of one another braved the William-Sonoma showroom to buy one.
The handheld mixed might not seem particularly essential, but it is. Just look at our last dozen recipes; we guarantee half of them rely on pulsing, or mixing, or blending. Lately it’s been stuff like toasted nuts and homemade grilled salsas. The implement was damn near indispensable for our last wedding menu. In the last week alone, here are a couple un-blogged foods we pureed the shit out of with one: tomatillo-agave nectar salsa, kombocha-ginger squash soup, black bean-habanero hummus.
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And we’ve owned two different brands, so first a product warning and then the payload, product placement: the Russell Hobbs hand mixer served us well in dressings, soups and sorbets. RIP Russell, but you have to admit you kinda pussed out on us. “Russel” joined Alex’s arsenal about 2 years ago on his birthday. Impulse buy. And at $100, not a cheap one either. But for almost a year Russell was our go-to guy. Sleek and aerodynamic, this mixer has super sharp steel blades and 3-speeds for versatility. We got a lot of pureed soups out of him. Then his speed button came off. We spent the last few months of Russell’s life cautiously poking our finger into the hole where his rubber button was ripping, always a little scared that we’d get shocked by touching our skin directly on the electronic gizmo behind the magic. Last week, Russell passed out while blending a Japanese green-house, heirloom tomato into a summer tomato water.
The upshot is that Evan has since welcomed the Cuisinart CSB-77 into his cupboard. At $49, this guys is way less sticker-shockfull to the skimping hippy. This handheld mixer is one speed fits all so there’s less flex, but the things is so far (knock on wood) more trusty and enduring. Since it’s a Cuisinart it also comes with rad attachments, most importantly an actual food processor that snaps on. Any time you see shredded nuts, you know how we’re doing it.
Maybe wait until that big overtime check comes in or whatever, but if you’re fan of textures, do yourself a favor and splurge on a handheld mix’a. There is only one downside, you can’t really hotknife the things.

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The Workman’s Friend

Posted on September 6, 2008 by Hot Knives

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“When things go wrong and will not come right,
Though you do the best you can,
When life looks black as the hour of night –
A PINT OF PLAIN IS YOUR ONLY MAN.”

Flann O’brian’s eponymous ode to stout has been playing in our minds like a Joe Strummer ballad on repeat. The end of the summer brings strong sun in LA, strong storms in the south, and a need for something curative amidst the anxiety of our time.
In this case the stout is indeed an antidote to the heat of the end. Restless from hard work, lamenting the terrifying fervor of the RNC: sitting down with a glass of something dark and heavy is the very bailiwick of we. Here we fight fire with fire, the heavy with weight, darkness with dark beer. The crude color at Captain Stout, while reminiscent of more brutal elements, is the cup of alcoholic soup that every big kid needs at the finish line of a long day of racing.
Historically the roots of what is known and defined as stout are contested. Argument aside, we all know that heavy handfuls of roasted malts yields something sweet and creamy, something origionally drank by the workers as a drug, an uplifter and, in a pinch, a meal. In its early formulas, what we call stout is what past drinkers called “plain.”
Alpine Beer Company’s Captain Stout is just the thing to sweeten the sour of heart. A lighter bodied stout, it is far from plain. Once in your glass a utopian vision of a quick fade to black occurs; all that is plain is replaced by the hue of the Captain. Budweiser darkens, Heineken blushes brown, and the fizz of the macro brew thickens to a velvety froth. The malts in the Captain stand above all else, evoking both the morning smile of a cup of Joe and the evening relish of a little chocolate somethin’-somethin.’ This is a rich stout in nuance, one not overwrought with handfuls of hops and too many ingredients. A return from the now ubiquitous and seemingly cheapened cry of the celebrity chef to “let the components speak for themselves,” in Alpine’s bottles they actually do.
After the mellow buzz from a pint of the Captain, Flann’s refrain reveals itself not as the ramblings of a desperate drunk hunched over a fleet of empty glasses but a quiet reminder of the curative aspects of our favorite elixir. Alpine’s slogan “Drink Alpine Beer or Go To Bed!” seals the deal. Finish the bottle and sit up straight. Roll back your shoulders and thank your now drank homie for soothing what ales you (pun intended), and go smile at someone for fucks sake! Stay out of Bed!
Dairy Pairy: Lord of the Hundreds, a hard raw sheep milk from the UK.
Soundtrack: Toots and Maytals’ “Pomps and Pride”

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Balla’Naise

Posted on September 2, 2008 by Hot Knives

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Talk about mangia, mangia, mangia, mannnn. On a recent herby Sunday afternoon, we popped a bomber of ale and picked some fresh basil and got the hankering for a sloppy trough of pasta. You know, the kind that clings to the corners of your open-wound of a mouth or the stained bib on your naked body. And you can’t recreate that with just some vegan primavera. Now, neither of us at Hot Knives has ever watched a full episode of the Sopranos, but we know all about Sonny, Fredo and Michael Corleone, and face it, sometimes even a surly vegan wants to leave a horses’ head in some bastard’s bed and celebrate with a puckery pappardelle. This vegan bolognese dishes it out…
Here we salvaged some leftover pulsed walnut “dust” that was sitting in the fridge and coated garden-fresh, sliced vegetables with the nut crumbs and krunk I-talian spices. Sauted up in just a tad more olive oil than you might think prudent, the nuts toast and then glop, sucking in tomato sauce, not unlike a ground beef bolognese. Not fake meat, just real fat, errr, phat?

Nut-Veg Bolognese
(Serves 2)

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1/4 cup walnuts
1 zucchini
1/2 red onion
1 tsp. red pepper flakes
2 cloves garlic
1/4 cup olive oil
1 tsp. fennel seed
1 Tbs. balsamic vinegar
1/2 cup marinara of choice
1/2 packet of spaghetti
1/4 cup fresh basil leaves
1. In a hot sauté pan, toast your walnuts, toss them with a pinch of salt, no oil, for about 5 minutes or until toasty but not black. Now bust up yer walnuts in a cuisinart, blender or with a hammer. You want a fine dust. Set aside.
2. Heat marinara in a microwave or on the stove.
3. Bring a large pot of water to boil. Once rolling, add your spaghetti and let cook 6-7 minutes to al dente while the veggies get cooked. When done, drain and rinse and set aside.
4. Slice up the zuke into thick matchsticks and the onion into thin half moons. In a large mixing bowl, douse the veggies with ground walnuts and about half the olive oil and mix by hand. Add red pepper flakes and pressed garlic and keep mixing.
5. Add the rest of the olive oil to a large pan and put it on high. Toss in fennel seed and toast for 1 minute. Once hot toss in veggie mixture and sauté for about 5-8 minutes or until veggies are tender and the nut dust is starting to get brown and crunchy.
6. With your spoon push the nutty veggies to one side of the pan and keep the empty side of the pan over the flame and add balsamic vinegar to cook off whatever gook you’ve left caked to the bottom of the pan. Let it cook down for 1 more minute and then remove from heat.
7. In a large mixing bowl, combine lukewarm pasta with hot marinara, fresh basil leaves, and, finally, most of the nut-veggie mixture, leaving a small fistful for garnish topping.
Beverage: Vertical Epic 7.07.07 (Belgian aged in Red WIne Barrels)
Soundtrack: Billy Joel’s “Scenes From an Italian Restaurant”

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Pickled Smoked Goat

Posted on August 29, 2008 by Hot Knives

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Sure, it sounds deceptively carnivorous and a little barnyardy, but this standout sandwich, which we concocted for our most recent grilled cheese experiment, deserves an arresting name. A more accurate description might be “chevre-salad-sammich.” See? Not as cool.
The above was the third sammy (the only goat cheese) in our four-cheese sammy series (collect the whole set!). Goat cheese goes famously well with sweet-tart fruits and fresh nuts, right? So we chose grapes and pistachios.. The grapes got a light pickling — kissed with vinegar for a day or two — while the nuts were toasted and blended into a fine dust. The real show stealer though was the cheese, naturally. Since Alex’s latest obsession has been Haystack creamery, a goat-only regional powerhouse out of Boulder, CO, we centered this creation around their smoked goat cheese. Haystack’s smokiness is rich, but controlled, more like hand-smoked nuts sprinkled on an otherwise snowy, rich cheese. Because the cheese comes from the mile high altitude of Colorado, the cheese is very smooth and rich-not nearly as acidic as chevre from France, and not crumbly or bland like so many American knockoffs.

Pickled Grapes

1 cup red grapes
2/3 cup white balsamic vinegar
1/3 cup water
1/8 cup granulated sugar
1 Tbs. Whole black peppercorns.
1 jar
1. In a small pot, combine the sugar, water, vinegar, and peppercorns, and bring to a light boil, stirring all the while to completely dissolve the sugar.
2. Wash and slice each grape, gingerly, in half. (This will help the brine penetrate the grape’s skin).
3. Place all the grapes in your jar, and pour the brine over the grapes, making sure the brine completely covers the fruit.
4. Let sit in the fridge for 1-3 days, keeping in mind that the longer it sits, the tarter the taste.

Smoked Goat Cheese Sammy
(Makes 2)

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1/4 cup pistachio nuts, shelled
2 oz. Haystack smoked chevre
4 slices brioche
2 Tbs. butter (room temperature)
2 Tsp. Agave nectar
Freshly ground black pepper
3. Toast your pistachios on medium heat in a frying pan for about 5 minutes, shaking often. Remove and cool. Place in a food processor mixer and pulse until it resembles a fine green powder. Set aside.
4. Butter your bread. Make sure you spread butter over the entire surface area of each slice–this is crucial to a successful grilled cheese. We like to butter the bread, and then stack the un-constructed sandwich butter side to butter side, so you can stuff the sandwich without buttering your cutting board.
4. Portion your goat cheese into 1-ounce portions, slicing with a string of fine dental floss to cut pristinely (no mint-flavored floss!) If you are eyeballing it, you want five or six quarter-sized circles. Place on brioche, adding the pickled grapes to the mix and gently press together.
5. Heat a wide, flat pan on medium heat for 1-2 minutes for grilling the sandwiches. Add a sliver of butter to grease (it should slowly sizzle). Now add sammies to pan. Flip after about 2-3 minutes or until the bread is golden, short of brown. Repeat.
6. Once cheese is starting to get gooey and bread is slightly browned you are going to add a crust of toasted pistachios and agave nectar. Drizzle agave on the side that’s facing up, and cake on about a tablespoon of the pistachio dust. Before flipping so nut-side is face down, lift sandwich and add more butter. Flip and repeat.
7. When the nut nuts have browned, remove from the pan and let rest for 25 seconds before cutting to let the cheese congeal. Garnish with pepper, and extra pistachio dust.
Beverage: Belhaven Wee Heavy
Soundtrack: Mountain Goats’ “See America Right”

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