Hot Knives

'Cheese In Quotes' Pâté

Mon, 08 Feb 2010 13:03:24 -0800

It's true we'll never be big believers in vegan "cheese." You know, the velveeta-like pizza and quesadilla goop? Its mostly oil and flavored science to help it "melt." We'll take a splash of good olive oil and freshly ground spices over that any day, thank you very much. But, we are still keen on protein-laden pâté and spreads that can compliment, or even replace, a funky fromage. Think Euro charcuterie rather than Kraft singles... So, last weekend, as we prepared a deeply beer-friendly cheese plate for our Greatest Sips book launch party, we looked for a vegan equivalent. We decided to hone a cashew "cheese" recipe we've followed a couple times from Charlie Trotter's "Raw," an excellent vegan-raw "cook" book. Trotter's "cashew cheese" is a simple, creamy spread that doesn't involve a dehydrator or his typical 20-steps. But we also find the flavor to be a little simple as a result. So, to pump up the 'stank' factor, we played a little fast and loose with the fermentation directions and added a secret ingredient that, by now, dear readers you should have sitting around anyway. The result is a creamy, velvety spread that comes close to the fat and funk of a farmstead cheese, though it really can't be called an imitation. Served with lunchmeat style habanero seitan and kraut-relish, our guests loved it, though some didn't much care for the "cheese" reference. Okay, okay, it's pâté. Now, if only we had a vegan impression of that other classic cheese plate protein -- a terrine of foie gras. Hmm, stay tuned...

Raw Cashew Pâté (Serves 20)

3 cups raw cashew pieces 3 cups filtered water 1/2 cup Rejuvelac 2 Tbs. sauerkraut brine (red cabbage preferred) 1 Tbs. kosher salt 2 Tbs. peppercorns 1 1/2 Tbs. Brewer's yeast 1 tsp. dried rosemary 1 tsp. fennel pollen (optional) 1. Soak the cashews in filtered water for at least 12 hours, covering the bowl with a cloth. 2. Puree into a paste: Drain cashews and add to a food processor. Pulse cashews for several minutes, pouring in the Rejuvelac slowly. Then pour in the kraut juice. Once mixture is creamy and fully mixed, spoon it into a fine mesh strainer and rest the strainer in a large bowl, covered with a cloth. 3. Store the cashew mixture in a warm place, like your oven, for 16 hours. If your kitchen isn't particularly warm, try turning the oven on warm for 10 minutes every 3-4 hours to trap in heat, but make sure not to cook the stuff. 4. Once the mixture smells yeasty, you're ready to finish flavoring and shaping it. Remove from strainer into a clean bowl. Add 1 Tbs. of Brewer's yeast and the salt to taste. Then mix with a spoon. Prepare a sturdy cutting board with wax paper and choose 3 ring molds or tea cups to use for shaping the cheese. Spray each cup with a bit of canola or olive oil spray to prevent sticking. Spray the wax paper as well. Divide mixture into 3 portions (about 1 cup each) and pack tightly into cup. 5. Turn the three cups onto the wax paper-lined cutting board and sit like this stored in the fridge for at least 24 hours. 6. Now, the spread should hold its shape. Tap the cup to loosen the Pâté and top with garnish of chopped peppercorns, rosemary, fennel pollen and remaining Brewer's yeast. Beverage: Firestone's Velvet Merkin Soundtrack: Stereolab's "Velvet Water"

Stoned Ensemble

Tue, 02 Feb 2010 08:45:00 -0800

The Communal and unified nature of the American brewing scene shouldn't be anything new to you. (Buy Our Book.) New, rowdy breweries are equipped with the obsolete machines of Elder breweries past, and Macro-Micro breweries are always evolving into new paternal forms: from distilling to distributing other fellow ale houses' suds. But the pinnacle of this new school of collaboration rests in grand old Escondido, in the vast fortress of our first love: Stone Brewing. Along with countless forays into expanding the expression of beer-madness, the dudes at Stone are in their third year of organized collaborative brewing and the results have been building in Rad. Engaging in Hands-Across-The-Pond style brewing, and even embarking on something as official and nerdy as a "Brewer Exchange Program," the Juxtaposition series presents the boys who always wanted to ruin your taste buds with a new set of potential hurdles to demolish. The process they've coined consists of a tryptic of current brewing baddies. Past projects, and current ones for that matter, pretty much read like a roll call of the best and brightest brewers on the planet. The 'witches round the fire' situation that ensues from such a meeting of minds produces some pretty blazing results. In the case of 2009's Black Pilsner, the three-way offspring becomes a veritable ubermensch. Pilsner, lets face it, is a fairly tired style. Yeah, when pressed to we can tell the difference between PBR and Czechvar but being deeply into Pilsner is like insisting that Barry Manilow is still a total ruler, or that a Wham! Reunion deserves closer inspection given the current economic climate -- tepid and silly. This Juxtaposition bottle was pried from the depths of the Rock n' Roll 7-11 in Highland Park. Upon popping, a veritable palette of hops exited the wee bottle (there were 9 hop additions during the brewing). In the glass, this beer looks like the antithesis of Pilsner: black, velvety, dense. Swilling brings about a whole new feeling, not unlike the first time you shower stoned. "Wow," you might say, "this feels really goddamn good!" And it does. And it tastes like pineapples. It tastes like hop candy, it tastes like the lightest, hoppiest, stout that you could imagine in all your beer dreams, like some amalgam of Black Flag and Pliny, and something else, like a perfect waxed cup of your best seven-year-old soda fountain cocktail with an inappropriate name (we called them 'Suicides'). And then its over. Flavor upon flavor, in unyielding nonsensical throbs for seven to 17 seconds and then... your mouth is clean. Did you just brush your teeth? Where's my car... This is aged magic in a bottle; a damn near perfect collaboration of three genies that comes out tasting like something you've never tasted before (or maybe never liked before). Find this before its gone; or covet the success of those who beat you to the punch. Soundtrack: Mi Ami "Dreamers" Dairy Pairy: Brebis Roussinere -- a raw washed rind hard aged sheep's cheese from way too high in the mountains.

Kitchen Contraband

Mon, 25 Jan 2010 12:05:00 -0800

The other day we came home to a care package from a dear buddy who's been traipsing through distant Chinese cities. We sliced through the wrinkled, brown-bag wrapping. Three small plastic baggies of nubby brown husks and fine orange powder fell to the kitchen counter. The stash was mostly whole, unadulterated and, presumably, illegal Sichuan peppercorns. Let us explain, officer! Yes, sichuan pepper became illegal the same year as LSD - back in 1968, the FDA banned it because of fears it would infect our citrus with a rare canker disease. That ban was lifted because the stuff imported to the U.S. is now treated with a blast of bacteria-hating 160-degrees heat. Not this stuff: there were no signs that the spices we were holding had ever been near a customs officer, let alone a sterilization blaster. Kitchen contraband. Score! So what exactly are Sichuan peppercorns? Funny thing is, they are not related to black pepper or hot chilies at all. The spice is actually the outer seed pod of a tiny low-hanging fruit that Chinese and Tibetan cooks have been working with for centuries. Known for a mild and anesthetic heat that makes your mouth numb in large enough quantities, the stuff powers hot pots and sizzling woks. Even though the spicy cuisine that gives these little balls their name is synanomous with "searing pain," don't expect Sichuan peppercorns to spice up your cooking. Prepare for the opposite, in fact. Sichuan pepper numbs your buds. Think the gummy numbness of high-powered cocaine rubbed sloppily on your teeth and lips. Throughout the week, we've experimented with the best way to harness this weird fruit. We cracked it raw on salad and brussels sprouts. We threw it into sauerkraut. And toasted its dust for hot nuts. But far and away the best way to cook up with this shit is to purely infuse your oil. The first thing we learned is that the citrusy, perfume it gives off only comes out in food if you toast Sichuan peppercorns. Here's a play by play of how to get numb. 4 Tbs. Sichuan peppercorns 4 Tbs. grapeseed or canola oil fine mesh strainer or coffee filter 1. Toast Place the whole peppercorns in a saute pan on medium-high heat. Once you smoke, lower to medium and toss every minute for about 5 minutes. Do not burn. Once fragrant and well toastes, remove from heat and rest for a few minutes. 2. Grind Dump peppercorns into a mortar and pestle and pulverize for one minute, until just coarser than a dust. If chopping by hand, set peppercorns on a cutting board and chop well. 3. Infuse Put the fine peppercorn dust back into the pan, return to a medium heat and drizzle in the oil. Let cook for another 3 minutes or until you see tiny bubbles where the oil is frying the pepper. Remove from heat and let sit 5 minutes to fully steep. 4. Strain Place snugly a coffee grinder into the lip of a small bowl or jar and slowly scrape out pepper oil into the filter. It should slowly drip a mostly clear liquid, catching the pepper grounds. 5. Use Use 2-3 tablespoons of this frying oil in recipes in place of normal olive oil.

Check Out Our Beer Book

Wed, 13 Jan 2010 13:32:47 -0800

In the six years since starting Hot Knives, the conduits of our medium have been many: internet (duh), video, independent newspapers, radio, catering, hanging out, bike rides, beer tastings and various other bamboozley boons. Its time to add another notch to the gun. We bring you "Greatest Sips." Our first fully-fledged book containing 21 of our favorite pieces of beer writing in the history of our blogging, and drinking, careers. Printed one at a time by our friends up north at Publication Studios, this book-length zine comes with a radical Hot Knives bookmark and a secret URL where you can hear songs to go with each of these beers! Courtesy of our rad partners at State's Rights Records! Would Be Hater: "But wait... Can't I just look at past entries and save my hard earned cash amid the crumbling of modern capitalism?" Us: "Yawn." No no no people, don't debase yourself with the ideology of the now ubiquitous free downloader. This is the chance to have and hold our deranged beer writing - think Sufi love poems meet druggy brain farts - in your hands, whether on the toilet or curled up in bed. Rip off our cheese pairings. Give it to your boyfriend for Valentine's Day (bros are easy). Just remember that the fate of the printed word, while easily replicated and distributed in cyberspace via clicks and drags, is a precious commodity; its physical reproduction a potentially dying art. For years, we've been your humble guides in a world of bubbles and foam, bitterness and darkness. Now we can reside tactilely in your pocket or satchel on trips to bars and beer stores! When you reach the limits of your 3G network, or when you drop your phone in the ocean! Inspirational beer prose and wholly legit beer-and-cheese pairings at the flip of a page? We're the App for that! "Greatest Sips" can be purchased here at www.publicationstudio.biz/books/

Brain Dead Guy Ale

Wed, 30 Dec 2009 07:45:00 -0800

Driving shotgun this summer on the sleek roads around the Isle of Mann, we took note of the beautiful, deep-purple gobs of what looked like heather that infiltrate that island. From the roads, the mossy underbrush looked like the lovely lavender buds of wild heather that are Scotland's second most famous grass. (After peet moss, of course, in all its smoky glory.) Fraoch anniversary ale by Williams Bros Brewing Co. combines these two most sacred weeds to mind-scrambling results: an 11-percent ABV ale brewed with heather tips and matured in sherry casks used to age single-malt Speyside Scotch. This is the 20th anniversary version of their normal Fraoch brew, which reportedly is based on a beer that drove a Gaelic king to throw himself off a cliff after an English lord tortured his son looking for the recipe. Since we didn't make it north to Scotland, this rare, revered and suicide inducing Gruit-style beer would suffice. It was a gift from a chef friend who took a recent business trip to New York. We'd never heard of it before. Famous last words. This bottle was curious. For on thing, it's green glass, which you don't see in serious beers. And with the recent American fixation with aging our strong ales in bourbon barrels, this seemed so in tune with our modern American desires. When we slashed its gold-foil cap sleeve with a fish knife we were greeted by a cheap-o plastic cork. As we "uhhhhh'ed" at these incongruent signals of sheer luxury and cost-cutting dereliction, we forgot to let the beer sit to help settle the fairy dust sediment. We slam-toasted our goblets. "Fraoch (pronounced "frucccccccck" in our slo-mo skulls). Tastes. Gooooood." Booze up front and lingering behind, the Scotch peetiness was subdued. The cereal malt flavors were crisp and sticky. Stinging nettle, honey, and malted barley clusters. The heather bobbed in our cereal bowls like museli dust. (Is there heather in my teeth?) We were drinking faster now, with places to go later. The crystalized lemon notes quickly melted into a caramel swirl. Two hours later, in a well-lit art gallery, our brains were throbbing in slow bursts. Gabbing around warm apple cider before taking part in a free-form jazzercise, we felt sluggish. The pain was muted but distinct. Talking became hard. A squishy, wet mushroom seemed to bloom behind our left eyelobes. Time stood still with a snickerdoodle in our hand. Then the exercises started. Yoga mats and a wood floor felt hard and unfriendly. Motown boogies had the group of dancers leading us in sock-hop style movements that tugged on our floppy heads. The lights were shrieking. We could taste herbal bitterness on our breath. Finally, in a measure of God's love, the moving stopped and the dancers let us stoop to a shavasana floor rest. Lights turned off. We closed our eyes and saw a deep deep purple in the back of our brains, spinning like flowers on the side of the road. Dairy Pairy: Valentina by La Estrella Creamery: An altitude defying faux-Gruyere. Soundtrack: Sonic Youth, "Bull in the Heather"

Yuletide Grool

Fri, 25 Dec 2009 08:00:00 -0800

Worshipper or non-believer, you got to respect the holy substances of the high holidays: frankincence, myrrh, and fatty carbohydrates! The latter, which encompasses staples like mash potatoes, stuffing, and even figgy pudding, is far more humble than all that bling that Baby Jesus got delivered. This season, we've been obsessing over a new Christmas carb: call it yuletide risotto. Spiked with a few eggnog spices like fresh nutmeg, and creamified with unsweetened pumpkin, this pumpkin risotto can be a side dish or an entrée -- stuff whole squashes with it. This actually came in quite handy over Thanksgiving, when one of us was airlifted in to help cook an 18-family member feast and had to come up with a veg option that even jerky teens would gobble. We made a pot of this risotto and stuffed braised Portobello mushrooms with it, topped by smoked mozzarella. The reaction? We barely even got one ourselves after the carnivores were done clearing the plates! Even better is that if you by some weird chance are left with too much the next day, it's even better as arancini. That would be deep-fried risotto balls. Without further ado, not one but two holiday dinner saviors... Pumpkin Risotto (Serves 10) 1 Tbs. olive oil 2 Tbs. unsalted butter (optional) 1 white onion 1 shallot 1 zucchini 1 yellow squash 10-12 fresh sage leaves 2 cups Arborio rice 3 1/2 cups Riesling, or other sweet white wine 1 Tbs. red chili flakes 1 tsp. turmeric 1 tsp. nutmeg 1/2 tsp cinnamon 4 cups vegetable stock 1 15-oz can of 100% pumpkin (unsweetend) Kosher salt to taste 1. Place a large pot on high heat and lube with oil, followed by butter. Peel and finely chop your onion; mince the shallot. Once butter has melted, toss onion and shallot into the pot and stir. 2. Cut zucchini and yellow squash in half and chop finely. Add them and cook all veggies until onion becomes transparent, about five minutes. 3. Roll the fresh sage into a cigarette and chiffonade them, adding that to the pot along with the Arborio rice. Start to a regiment of vigorous stirring at this point: stirring for 20 seconds and resting for 10 seconds. Cook this way for another two minutes and then splash with the white wine, making sure the wine nearly covers the veggie and rice mixture. Continue stirring frequently for 5 minutes. 4. Once the wine has cooked down add the chili flakes, turmeric, nutmeg and cinnamon. Stir. 5. Add broth in four installments: 1 cup of stock and stir until the rice has absorbed the liquid. 6. Repeat step 5 several times. On the last addition of stock, also add the canned pumpkin. 7. Once the Arborio rice kernels are starting to lose their individual identity, you are done. Remove from heat and let sit. Salt to your taste and -- you guessed it -- stir! Pumpkin Risotto Balls (Makes 30-40) This is a classic way to use leftover risotto. We've done porcini mushroom balls for a wedding, but this slightly sweet and spicy risotto is more potent because the flavors all pop in just one bite. The idea is to create a cheesy, molten core so this dish is no longer vegan. Fontal works great because its mild and melty. The ideal cheese will become a string of goo connecting you r mouth to your hand. 4 cups leftover risotto 8 oz. Fontal, or other melty cheese 1 1/2 cups plain bread crumbs 2 liters canola oil 1. Remove the risotto from the fridge about 30 minutes before so its not too frigid. Meanwhile, put a large pot (for frying) on high heat with your canola oil. 2. Prepare your cheese by slicing the block into finger-width slices. Quarter these so you're left with a bite-size chunk of cheese. 3. Place breadcrumbs in a shallow bowl or plate and start assembling your arancini balls. Take about 2 Tbs. of risotto and gently mash it flat. Stick a cheese chunk in the middle of the rice patty, and mold it into a ball so the cheese forms the center nucleus. Roll each ball into a perfect orb and coat well in breadcrumbs. 4. Make as many as you desire and start frying. (First drop a breadcrumb into the oil to test its temperature. You want a hefty sizzle.) Very carefully drop 4 or 5 balls at a time using a "spider" or other metal instrument, like a slotted spoon, to fish them out. Prod the balls to keep from sticking in one corner of the pot. Let fry for about 3-4 minutes or until the exterior is more than golden brown. 5. Remove and rest on a paper towel for a minute or two before eating. Beverage:Goose Island's Christmas special ale Soundtrack: Smashing Pumpkins, "Cherub Rock"

Shopping Mall Kryptonite

Mon, 21 Dec 2009 08:15:00 -0800

Maxed out your plastic? Got nothing in the gift idea department? Or maybe you just would rather spend three hours doing something sweet, like roasting oats to your favorite gospel record, than wandering an outdoor "lifestyle center" like a zombie? That's the case for Alex, who only started giving Christmas gifts a couple years ago and can barely keep from covering himself in fake blood, putting on handcuffs and gluing a dollar-bill over his mouth when he gets near a shopping mall. True story... This year, Alex and Lake came up with a list of perishable presents they could cook and gift to their loved ones: a handmade fruit-and-oat granola, a smoky maple spice rub, Thai-flavored salt and mulled maple syrup. And Evan has been itching to make jars of red-and-green escabeche for months. So we made a CSR (container store run) all hunkered down on a recent L.A. winter morning (a brisk 74 degrees) and set to mixing, caning, mulling, mixing and toasting. For those who are behind on gifts, consider these idea-sparkers.

Winter Sage Pesto

Tue, 15 Dec 2009 09:55:00 -0800

Sometimes we have a helluva time trying to keep fresh herbs from the ravishes of death. Death by waterlog, or freezer-burn, or simply old age. We profess a tendency to neglect them in the fridge until it's almost too late. But one of the best ways to keep the reaper at bay, when it comes to your herbs anyway, is to give them a second chance. As dip. Pulsed with garlic, good quality oil, and a flick of lemon usually does the trick. Not being slaves to tradition, we're quick to call just about anything treated this way as "pesto." Even if basil is nowhere to be found and you choose to exclude the parmesan reggiano. Recently, we were gifted a couple pounds of pine nuts (what with Chinese tariffs driving the price of pignon sky-high, this was a grateful windfall) so our minds were set on using these oily little morsels to help preserve whatever herbs we were close to killing. Some withering spinach and forlorn sage leaves stared back at us from the crisper. Voila! Sage and spinach spread. Nutty and musty, the gunk went wonderfully on Yukon gold gnocchi and equally well by itself on croutons. Just don't be tempted to toss more sage into the mix or you'll end up with one skunky dip. Winter Pesto (Makes about 4 cups) 2 1/2 cups pine nuts 1 1/3 cup extra virgin olive oil 2 cups spinach leaves 1 shallot, chopped 6 fresh sage leaves 4 cloves garlic 1 Tbs. nutritional yeast 1/2 tsp. fresh grated nutmeg Zest of one lemon 1. Place the pine nuts in a blender or food processor. Add one cup of olive oil and a splash of water, if needed, to move the mixture. Puree for a minute. Roughly cop the spinach and add to the mix. Pulse again. 2. Finally toss in sage, garlic, nutritional yeast, garlic, shallot and the last bit of oil. Keep pulsing. Grate fresh nutmeg and lemon zest into the blender. Add salt and pepper to taste. Pulse a final time and remove with a spatula. Beverage: Stone Special Collaboration Holiday Ale Soundtrack: The Misfits, "Death Comes Ripping"

Double Barrel Action

Wed, 09 Dec 2009 08:55:00 -0800

Before a 63-year-old schoolteacher named Annie Taylor went over Niagara Falls in a barrel, nobody believed it could be done. But the hard-ass opportunist outfitted a barrel with a mattress, reinforced it with some steel and had some friends (can they be called friends if they're pushing her down Niagara?) pressurize her coffin once she climbed inside, using a bicycle pump. She lived. We only bring it up because it sounds remarkably like what Marble Brewing's Reserve Ale tastes like. Hell, Daniel and Ted, head brewers of the Albuquerque brewery might as well have climbed into a wooden death trap themselves, the way this beer tastes. It is strong and sweet and destructive. Even the beer snobs who usually go all goo-goo-eyed over "American strong ales" (Arrtogrant Bastard, Angel's Share etc.) thought it tasted too much like bourbon. It's a 9-percent ale aged in bourbon barrels for the purpose of cellaring. Too much like bourbon? Are you fucking kidding us? Popped and poured, the beer is placid like a lake of Maker's Mark. Its slightly see-through and tinted deep red with the faintest white clinging to its surface. Swirl it hard and you'll inspire the most meager of foams, more like a white patch on the nose of an angry red mare than the head of any beer we've seen. The nose can only be described as an evil version of that ABV-perfume that wafts off of fragrant ice wines and ruby ports. Cane sugar and danger. Smell it long enough and you detect a Jack Daniel's brand breath spray. Or an Old Overholt deoderant. Now, it's worth noting that we have flirted with bourbon barrel-aged beers for years but were unaware that the technique could bring us this close to actually drinking bourbon-flavored beer. Putting your lips to a glass of Marble Reserve tastes like everything that is good about America. Specifically, chopped lumber, bent with fire and scorched for flavor, steeped with bourbon for years, and then used to discolor and flavor a strong beer. Why wouldn't we want to taste this all the time? Sweet and nearly hot with alcohol burn, we imaged putting our faces directly into spitting whiskey mash pots. Or letting a cowboy soak their boots in Old Rip Van Winkle and proceed to grind us in the face. Do we like that? We're buying more and aging it for our birthdays. What do you think? Dairy Pairy: Trappe Echourgnac, aged cow's milk washed in walnut liquor Soundtrack: Las Vegas Club's "Whiskey Flats"

Flower Kraut

Sat, 05 Dec 2009 12:55:00 -0800

Sauerkraut - which we boys love for its gut health and wild fermentation properties - has fulfilled far more utilitarian purposes. Case in point: We learned recently that Evan's grandfather grew up with big tubs of kraut aging on the back porch. It was the only salad his big fam could keep during long winters in Utah. Grandpa remembers the process of making kraut like this: layer of cabbage, layer of salt, layer of cabbage, more salt. At near freezing temps, the stuff could go for months. It made meat or bread or a potato a meal. And it cost nearly nothing. Unable to let our recent love for the stuff go, we keep playing with new flavors. Our recent batch won "best yet" by all accounts. A mixture of sliced fennel and green cabbage, we spritzed it with fennel seed, peppercorns, a touch of vinegar and the dill-like flowery tips of fennel stalks. So how does our new-agey version stand up to the old-school tubs? We had the grave pleasure of driving a batch up for an ailing grandpa to sample. The jar came out, sniffed and passed around the lunch table - a hurried spread of lunch meats. He cleaned his plate, poking at the fennel seeds left behind. "Pretty good," he said, "though I never cared for the stuff in the first place." We will take that. Fennel Sauerkraut 1 fennel bulb 1 green cabbage 1/2 white onion 4 cloves garlic 4 Tbs. kosher salt 2 Tbs. black peppercorns 2 Tbs. white wine vinegar 1 tsp. fennel seeds 1/4 cup fennel fronds (garnish) 1. Use a mandolin and a large mixing bowl to slice the fennel and cabbage for salting: Start by cutting the fennel bulb in half, remove the stalks. Quarter the cabbage and remove (and discard) the core. Now, slice both on the mandolin in two batches. Do half the fennel and half the cabbage. Slice a quarter of the red onion on the mando, and pulverize half the garlic with a garlic press. Sprinkle half the salt on all of the above. Scrunch mixture until fully mixed and depleted in size. Toss in peppercorns. Transfer the mixture to your aging vessel (ceramic is best.) 2. Repeat with second half. 3. Press the mix down hard, making sure its covered with the brine liquid. Place the kraut vessel somewhere in your kitchen where its out of the way and at constant room temperature. Age for 1-2 weeks. Taste it everyday. Don't be afraid of any scum that forms on top of the brine; scoop it off and discard. As long as the veggies stay totally submerged, there's no way they'll spoil. 4. When the kraut reaches a funk level you like, finish by tossing with splash of vinegar and the fennel seeds. Serve with a nice garnish of chopped fennel fronds. Beverage: Lindeman's Cuvee Rene Soundtrack: The Cure, "A Strange Day"

Tank Tour: Craftsman

Tue, 24 Nov 2009 08:40:00 -0800

The first beer we tried by Craftsman Brewing Co. was an icy pint glass of the citrus oil-fizz that is the Orange Grove ale. We got foam mustaches off two rounds in the dank, back room of a now-defunct German pub we bellied up to in college. The revelation that beer this good was being brewed in a suburb of Los Angeles was sublime. Since then, Craftsman's wilder beers have slowly popped into our lives. First there was Craftman's Heavenly Hefe. Then we discovered the seasonal White Triple Sage and mind-puckering red wine experience that is Cabernale. There were special releases along the way too, like one malt monstrosity called Beer Mountain. Lately, we've been tripping hard to Craftsman's sour experiments -- Summer's End Sour and Edgar Ale aged in oak barrels. Last spring we dropped by the Pasadena brewery to humbly ask if we could buy entire kegs for events. (See, Craftsman does not sell bottles retail). Founder and brewmaster Mark Jilg said 'of course,' and would we mind cooking up some food for his mom's church fundraiser next weekend? Sure! Ever since, we've considered Mark one of the most compelling beer heads we've met. What started as a home-brew hobby, on the side of his full-time job at Jet Propulsion Laboratories, has become a slowly expanding, but far from corporate, beer business. From his 2,500-square-foot brewing facility wedged in the back of a North Pasadena business park, Mark has created a zigzag of tanks and barrels strewn with the machine guts, hoses and nuts and bolts that spew wild yeast beers, traditional lagers and volatile, beer-style-negating concoctions. To get a sense of Mark's beer philosophy, his mad scientist approach to running his brewery and his plans for expansion (set to double in coming months!) we swung by the brewery and talked shop followed by gingham beer picnic of sour beers -- his own, and aged bottles from our beer collection. Come on in -- the beer is just fine!

Our Cock Sauce

Tue, 17 Nov 2009 09:45:00 -0800

Now that our homemade KniQuil killed the germs, we need something to keep 'em dormant. Enter our own concoction of this infamous hot sauce. And minus the sodium bisulfate! The first time we contemplated making our own cock sauce (you know, Sriracha, "Rooster" sauce, whatever you wanna call it) was a couple years ago. Thanks to a surge in popularity the maker of the sweet and tangy green-top squeeze bottle was undergoing a bit of a supply-and-demand problem. Yup, the Rosemead, CA factory was behind on orders. It got so bad, event planners in Texas were calling L.A. distributors for pallets of the stuff. Alex fielded one of those calls from a poor fucking Texan willing to pay twice the price! Terrified of running out ourselves, we played with a fresh red chile recipe - essentially red jalapeños and vinegar - and came across something we thought came close, a nuclear orange puree. In retrospect, we were kidding ourselves. That sweet tang... not sugar. Although there's a bunch of palm sugar added to this tradish Thai compound, the real thang is aged for several days to let the chili and garlic actually ferment until bubbly. With our newfound obsession with fermenting wild things in our kitchen, we gave it another go. Head to head with the "real stuff," nearly indistinguishable.

Sriracha (Makes 1 1/2 cup)

1 lbs. Red Thai chiles (about 1 1/2 cups) 4 cloves Garlic 1 1/2 tsp. Kosher salt 2 Tbs. Agave nectar 1/4 cup Filtered water 1/4 cup White vinegar 1. Remove the stems from your chiles and roughly chop 'em up. Toss them in your blender or food processor (seeds and all). Peel and add garlic. Add salt. Add agave nectar (cane sugar works here too.) 2. Pulse the mixture for about 20 seconds, adding up to 1/4 cup filtered water if needed to help it move. 3. Transfer the mixture using a spatula into a glass vessel (we used a measuring cup) and cover it tightly with plastic wrap. Set aside somewhere warm, out of sight, and let ferment for 4 to 5 days. 4. Remove plastic and skim any discolored spots or fuzzy mold. Dump the fermented chili paste into a saucepot and place on medium heat. Add vinegar. Let the mixture hit a rolling boil and turn down to simmer. Let cook for about 5 minutes before turning off and letting it cool. 5. Return the mixture to a food processor and blend thoroughly one last time, about 2 minutes, or until the seeds are completely crushed and you've attained a beautiful, fiery red-orange consistency. 6. Place a fine mesh strainer over a jar, a measuring cup or other storage vessel and dump your puree into the strainer. Using a spatula, gently swipe the surface of the mesh to keep the puree filtering through. Once you're left with just a goopy pile of crushed fiber, you're done. Bottle and use as desired.

Peaches and Scream

Tue, 10 Nov 2009 08:22:43 -0800

File this under fashionably late. A few weeks ago, when Peach season was in its final throes, Alex's habañero plant was blossoming out of control. This left us, and those we love and live with, in a state of simultaneous joy and fear. How would all those orange monsters find their way into daily dishes? Would everything we make be punishingly hot for months? While we both have a penchant for all things brutally spicy, we decided to give our ladies (and our digestive tracts) a 'get out of jail free' card. We decided to tame the little orange baddies into something even the most ardent capsaicin-phobe can handle. The thing about all hot chilies, especially brutes like Habañero and Bhut Jolokia, is that beyond their ability to cause mind numbing pain, they have strong and sweet smelling perfumes that carry into their flavor. What are the two fool-proof ways to counteract the sweat-inducing, tongue burning poison? Lipids and sugars, dudes. If you've got steady hands and sharp knives, this recipe will produce a swell jam that has all the flavor of the habañero, and just enough of the bite to let you know that the peppers could, like if they wanted to, kick your ass. The flavor gets dangerous; then it goes away. Slather this jam on anything and everything; it's great as a cheese accompaniment, with bagels and cream cheese, on toast, mixed into cocktails or vinaigrettes, or as a topping for ice cream or any other desserts.

Habañero Peach Jam Makes 1 quart

4 lbs. fresh peaches 8 each fresh habañero peppers 2 cups of sugar 1/2 cup honey 2 lemons 1. Heat a large pot of water to boil, and set up a sizable ice bath (big bowl, ice water) next to the pot. 2. Cut an "X "in the bottom of each peach; don't go too deep. 3. In batches of three, blanch the peaches for about 2-3 minutes. Let the water lose its boil (we hope T. Keller isn't reading) and when it returns to a bubble remove the fruit. Ice them fools down! 4. Repeat step 3 until all the peaches are in the ice bath. 5. Steel your sharpest knife. 6. Unless you are confident that you will not stop slicing chilies to a) rub your eyes, b) piss, c) get intimate with yourself or another person, you might want to wear some latex gloves for this step. Gently wash the habañeros, and then slice off each section of the chilies trying to avoid the central nervous system, and the seeds. If you do this successfully, the jam will not be too hot. Remove all seeds. 7. Finely julienne and dice the chilies. 8. Gently peel away the skin from each peach, then pit and chop them. The peaches will hold a little of their shape; if you want a chunky jam chop roughly. We like a finer dice. 9. Juice the lemons and strain out the seeds. 10. Add all ingredients to a large pot and then turn up the heat to medium/high flame. Stir frequently and mind yer jam, you do not want it burned. Bring to a burbling simmer for about 15-20 minutes. Process however you want. If you don't feel like canning, just seal whatever you don't think you'll use in a week in a container and pop it in the freezer. Beverage: Dogfish Head's Festina Peche Soundtrack: Beck, "Peaches and Cream"

All Natural NyQuil

Thu, 05 Nov 2009 09:00:00 -0800

As much as you'll hear us brag that we never fall ill (largely due to copious amounts of garlic, onions and vitamin C) we do -- once in a blue moon -- get sick. And yes, we have chased the green dragon. NyQuil, DayQuil, other sorts of new fangled drugstore opiates in their generic versions. We will fess up. The stuff works! But not this year. When one of us woke up last week with a throat tickle that blossomed into a gnarly case of the flu, we took it on with fresh produce, organic sweeteners and thimbles of liquor. In place of Acetaminophen (pain and fever reliever), Dextromethorphan HBr (cough suppressant), and Doxylamine succinate (sleep aid) we used green chile, ginger, citric acid and booze -- all herbal, if subtler, forms of the chemical stuff. A couple shots, errr, doses, of the stuff is perfect for sitting on the couch in a sweatshirt and sweating out your germs. Take that Big Pharma!

Natural "KniQuil" (One day's dose)

2 cups fresh mint leaves 1 cup water 1 cup agave nectar (sugar, honey work) 1 small ginger bulb 1 lemon 1 tsp. extra virgin olive oil 1 Tbs. roasted green chile 2 shots Pastis 2 shots Southern Comfort 1. Start off making a mint simple syrup. Pluck 35-40 mint leaves off their stems, this should yield about 2 cups of mint. Roughly chop half the mint (set half aside for later use) and add to a saucepot with 1 cup of water. Bring to a boil and let simmer for about 5-8 minutes. Remove from heat and strain the leaves out. Put just the mint tea back on a medium heat and wait until back to a full boil. Add agave nectar, mixing, and let cook 1 minute before removing. Set aside to cool. 2. Ready your other veggies for the blender. First peel the ginger and slice into matchsticks. Next, zest your lemon, place the zest into a small dish and cover with 1 tsp. of good quality olive oil. 3. Toss the ginger, green chile and remaining cup of fresh mint to the blender. Add lemon juice. Finally add half the mint syrup, setting the rest aside for garnish. Pulse thoroughly for up to a minute. (Note: If you do not have the luxury of having authentic green chile, try subbing in a roasted jalapeño. Remove the seeds and use half in place of green chile.) 4. Strain the mixture into a bowl. Use a spoon to slush it around, allowing it to pass through the sieve or fine mesh strainer. Now you have the fresh juice part of your elixer! Taste it with a spoon, if it seems too tart or spicy, add more mint syrup one teaspoon at a time. 5. Mix. The basic proportion is one-part juice to one-part pastis to one-part whiskey. For a single dose: measure out a tablespoon of each into a cocktail shaker. Add a teaspoon of lemon zest oil. Complete with 3 ice cubes and shake fervently. Pour into a shot glass or desert wine snifter.

Number 9, Number 9...

Sat, 31 Oct 2009 09:55:00 -0800

If you've never heard the infamous, backward, demonic tape loops that supposedly told Charles Manson to "rise up" and catalyze the race war by killing Angelenos, what are you waiting for? It's a revelation alright! The birth of sampling, creepy subliminal messages in pop, and essentially the first industrial-rock song. But for all its Satanic reputation, we believe the only thing truly mystical about "Revolution 9" is how such a scattered amalgamation -- real audio fusion -- could be born out of the mundane. Record execs talking about wine transforms into eery speaking in tongues. Ringo breathing, Paul strumming a lullaby, and the orchestral tune-up for "A Day in the Life" suddenly becomes some horrible apocalypse of sound at the hands of Yoko and John... a brutalizing police force, crying cows, songs in Swahili, fires burning, flappers laughing, babies breathing, sex and burping, goats bleeting, some weird, experimental psycho therapy sessions.... So, too, have the simple, mundane grains and yeasts of a SoCal brewer been twisted, looped, reverbed and reversed to produce what is unarguably a true fusion of beer styles: Stone's Vertical Epic 9. Stone calls it a "Belgian-style imperial porter," hinting at the 9% booze and its alluring black-brown hair dye color tone. But absent from such a wacky description is the utter surprise of what seems to us like a Double Hefe - chocolate-vanilla banana weed brownies made with Arrogant Bastard Ale, say. Smashed somewhere inside are stout notes, sweet ice cream float material, and authentic Dubbel characteristics. But notably absent, despite their own "Belgian" reference, is any of the cloying beet-sugar tickles that fatty trappists are known for. Perhaps its laying on the cutting room floor somewhere... Pouring quickly bucks a massive frothy head from this cheeky bitch. We inhaled rings of smoke and herb, but more like a smoking a clove-scented kretek mind you, than hitting your typical San Diego ganja-hop vaporizer. Diving in, there are sweets and spices (cumin candies) swirling around a steady, slightly oily mouth-feel of strong dark beer. Sitting at a half-lit dining room table, we took this bottle down in, oh, about 9 minutes. Staring into empty cups after, we looked for rewind singing "Can you take me back where I came from? Momma can you take me back?" Dairy Pairy: Torta La Serena, a raw gooey sheep's milk cheese from the outer reaches of Spain. Soundtrack: The Beatles, "Revolution 9"