Tea Party


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

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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

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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”

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Fa-latkes

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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”

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Alex’s Weekly Workout


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.

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The Black One

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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.
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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

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Heart Beets

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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


(Serves 2)

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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”

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Lavender Feta Kumquats

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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

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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”

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Watermelon Radish Bites

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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

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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

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Liquid Smoke

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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

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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.

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Older Viscosity

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“Pop, phisss… utter vacuumed silence.” That is, essentially, the sound a bottle of Older Viscosity makes when you (finally) open it for a drinking. We like to think we could place it a line-up of recorded bottle-openings — much the same way those grating, accented halfwits from “Car Talk” would have you imitate the sound your engine is making it so they can diagnose it. In this case, the utter silence is not a symptom of something being wrong with your $20 bottle of premium, aged dark beer, however. It’s the sound of something horribly right.
This slim, beaker-shaped bottle from Port Brewing is their super-aged version of Old Viscosity — a champion all its own. The San Marcos brewers take different batches of the stuff and blend them in oak bourbon barrels, where it’s aged for a year, according to the brewery. The limited edition brew, released late last year, will likely disappear soon and (with luck) reappear later again this year. We recommend popping one of these bottles every 3,000 miles rather than servicing your car.
The pour comes out a velvety, black desert liquid, more like fossil fuel with a bubbly film than any dark beer we’ve seen. There’s almost no carbonation, few bubbles, negligible head: hence the utter silence. The sight kinda put fear in us, expecting a diesel-strength cask beer. But we were pleasantly surprised by how gentle and refined the 12% ABV beer tasted. Sipping it post-dinner, out of wine goblets in a sepia-toned living room, gave the concoction even more of a digestive vibe. Smelling, we imagined caramel apples, vanilla beans — real dangly ones, not a flavoring — and sweet tawny port. On our tongues, there was a milky, creamy, toffee taste that spread slowly, like dulce de leche spiked with whisky. And when we say milky, we mean like lactic acid, that comforting sticky build-up feel that makes milk and cookies good. Expecting motor oil, we got the chamomile tea of beers.
Dairy Pairy: Quenby Hall Stilton
Soundtrack: Nine Inch Nails’ Further Down the Spiral

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Cult of the Curry Carrot

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Quick preface: We bow low before the soup kitchen altar of our friend Astara, soup wizard-ess and ancient soul, who throws together far superior carrot creations than we by the mere flick of her pinky finger — her curry carrot soup and her herbed carrot puree are both criminally delicious. If we could join a white-robed,Nike-wearing cult to follow her soup into future worlds, we would. Instead, we attempted merging those two soups for a rosemary roasted carrot curry soup. It was great, an absolute success, but some how we doubt it will gain us any suicidal hippie followers any time soon.

Curry Carrot Soup

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(Serves 6)
1 1/2 lbs. white carrots (with stems!)
1/2 white onion
3 cloves garlic, peeled
1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil
1/8 cup fresh rosemary
4 cups vegetable stock
2 Tbs. curry powder of choice
kosher salt and fresh black pepper to taste
2 Tbs. fresh ginger
2-4 whole heirloom carrots for garnish
1. Pre-heat your oven on 350 degrees and get a large, shallow roasting pan. Cut your carrots into 2-inch pieces (save 4 stems for garnish) and your onion into rough half moons. Toss with oil in the pan. Add whole garlic cloves, rosemary and leftover carrot stems on top. Roast in the oven until crackly and slightly browning, about 30 minutes. Stir once halfway through.
2. While carrots are roasting bring 4 cups of stock to a gentle boil and keep on a simmer until you’re ready to use it. Take your four whole carrots you’ll use for garnish and stick them in stock for 1-2 minutes to slow blanche. Remove and rinse under cool water.
3. Once carrots are done, remove and let sit for a few minutes. Save the oil for drizzling later. Now add carrots, onion and garlic to stock and pulse with either a hand-held blender (get one!) or in a food processor by pulsing in two or three installments, as much as your blender will hold without scorching you. The consistency should be thoroughly smooth puree, with no chunks. Keep on a low heat.
4. Season with curry powder, salt and pepper. Rosemary should still be noticeable, which shouldn’t battle too strongly with the curry. Taste as you go.
5. In a small saute pan, toast the chopped ginger on high heat with little to no oil. Remove once brown and crunchy.
5. Serve in a shallow plate. To garnish, cut whole carrots in half lengthwise and again widthwise, place carrots of different color consecutively for contrast. Add stem tip for touch of green. Drizzle leftover olive oil and another kiss of curry powder on top. Lastly, a flick of toasted ginger.
Beverage: Avery’s Maharaja Double IPA
Soundtrack: Pavement’s “Carrot Rope”

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