Brew x 2

Two beers. Two recipes (well, two with beers. Three recipes total!). A bonus beer at the end. People.

This was a delicious night.

If you’ve never cooked with beer, these are pretty good recipes to try. It’s all simple, more about technique than precise measurements (just my style…I could never be a baker), with lots of room for tweaking and improvisation.

Let us begin.

Recipe #1: Magic Piggy in a Hat #9

It’s a pork roast. In case that didn’t come across in the title. And it’s roasted in a bath of Magic Hat’s original brew, #9!

Hiding in the shadows….come into the light, my dear….

There we are. I thought the tangy, apricoty #9 would match fabulously with juicy pork. And it did.

So here’s what you do:

Make a make-shift no-clean roasting pan because you forgot to buy a disposable one by wrapping layers of tinfoil around an 8×8 baking dish (it won’t work. You’ll still have to clean up).

Pour about….~3/4 of the beer in the bottom of the pan. Add spices. I used garlic, oregano, cayenne, ground roasted coriander, (I think?) marjoram, and these guys:

(mustard seed) because I never use mustard seed! The bottle had literally never been opened before (it came with our spice rack). So I thought I’d give ’em a whirl.

Yum. But I don’t recommend drinking it at this point. But at this point I DO recommend putting the piggy in the pan.

And sprinkle some more spices on top. Note: if you have cats, bury this twine DEEP in the trashcan after removing from pork post-cooking. If it’s at all smell-able, they will dig it out during the night, eat part of the meshy encasement, then throw it up all over the pants you left on the floor whilst you sleep unaware.

FYI.

Then you put it in the oven at 325 for about an hour and 20 minutes, hour and a half. Even though this pork roast said “self-basting” (I didn’t believe it; it doesn’t even have arms!), I recommend basting a few times during the cooking process.

I also recommend drinking the rest of that beer. And taking awkward photos of yourself doing so.

And while that’s cooking, you can start on recipe #2!

Recipe #2: Okra and Tomatoes Stewed in Woody Creek Water

The star of this show is this yummy witbier from local Frederick, MD (birthplace of the one and only Dan Prestwich, by the way!) brewery Flying Dog.

Not sure what Flying Dog’s availability is outside this area, but if you can’t get your hands on it, any medium-bodied witbeer will work. But if you CAN get your hands on some Flying Dog, I highly recommend it, because they’re awesome.

“Good people drink good beer.” -Hunter S. Thompson

Their slogan is short and to the point as well: “Good Beer. No Shit.”

That says it all. I gave Dan a hoodie with that slogan on it for Christmas!

Anyhow, here’s how you stew okra and tomatoes in beer. Actually, stewing okra was a totally new thing to me in general; I had to look up how to do it. I’ve only ever pan-cooked okra in olive oil before. But this was super easy + super delicious.

First, you chop chop chop your okra:

It won’t be as great as that one guy’s okra at the farmer’s market, that’s so firm and fresh that he’ll slice out samples to eat raw, but as you haven’t been to the farmer’s market and it’s not quite summer yet, Harris Teeter okra will have to do.

Then you chop chop chop your tomatoes:

These really were “Nature Sweet.”

SO fresh and delicious, and just bursting with perfect ripeness.

Then you take the okra and tomatoes (no amounts…just however much looks like it could feed a small army. Of hippos. Because this girl right here can eat a pound of okra just by herself), toss them in a pot, and add….~2/3 of a bottle of beer? And some tomato juice (who knows how much…wing it!)

Bring to a boil.

Reduce heat and simmer uncovered until liquid is aaaalllll but reduced (~30 minutes), stirring a few times (more towards the end, to prevent sticking). I think I threw some garlic in too? I don’t remember. Feel to run with it, babies!

And feel free to drink the rest of that beer too. But don’t bother with trying to take more photos of yourself. None of them will even be remotely postable on your blog.

But DO bother to make this next dish while the oinky’s roasting and the ‘maters and okra are simmering. DO DO DO BOTHER! It’s awesome.

Recipe #3: Beer-less (But Delicious) Spicy-Sweet Mashed Sweet Potatoes

Is this little bugger a sprout, or just some sort of potato hair??

Welp, I don’t know, but I just cut it off and went on my merry way. And no one died!!

Microwave it for 10 minutes until the skin basically falls off. Put it in a bowl. Add a few spoonfuls of cream cheese, a little apple juice to moisten things up (won’t need much…sweet potatoes are so much more naturally soft and fluffy than regular potatoes!), some cinnamon, a tiiiiny bit of cayenne, and this:

This stuff is my new favorite condiment. Sorry non-Virginian readers (if there are any of you out there), you’ll probably never get to taste this. Unless you make a very long journey to Fort Valley, VA (or Mount Jackson, where we bought it from, about 12 miles south of Fort Valley). That’s watcha get for not living in this awesome state! It’s so perfectly sweet and smokey and just the right amount of spicy. I applied liberal amounts to the sweet potato mash, and it totally MADE this dish!

You’ll want to make this with more than one potato though. I think we both would have preferred ~10 pounds of this, funneled directly into our mouths.

Now then, somewhere around this time you’ll have a steaming pot full of this:

And a gorgeous, juicy roast that looks like this:

Holy. Oinks.

Honestly, I was too busy digging in to take a nice pretty final presentation photo of my plate, so no climactic beautiful dinner plate pic. But it was deeelicious.

And the icing on the cake?

This guy to pair with my plate:

I had the signature house brew of Monk’s Cafe for the first time a few years ago when Dan and I took our first vacation together, to Philadelphia, around Christmastime. It was my first introduction to sour ales, and I was completely, utterly in love. With the beer and with my man 😉 But I had never again been able to find it here in VA after that first taste.

And then, just like an old flame reappearing when you least expect it in the same aisle as you in the grocery store, it appeared on a little shelf in the Harris Teeter. And we were reunited.

Then:

(I was but a baby! Also no idea what I’m drinking or if it’s the sour ale or not, but that’s Monk’s Cafe)

And now:

So perfectly lactic and sour, with a sweet finish. My unicorn beer. Along with Innis & Gunn (which I had in Canada in 2006, but which is only available on this side of the pond in Canada & New England, it seems)

A perfect finish.

Go make all these recipes now. They will knock your socks off. Then, if you have access to the Hyde Park H-T, go buy some Monk’s Cafe sour Flemish ale. And have yourself a ball.

Cheers!

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Toasty Roasty

I’ll keep this post short and sweet, just like its subject matter.

+

Saranac’s new limited release Caramel Porter, and a toasted marshmallow. I’ve never been as huge a fan of Saranac as other brands; I usually buy the mix-pack when I need a good variety of beers on hand and I see it at the store, but none of their individual varieties has ever tickled my fancy so much that I’d seek it out on its own in a six-pack. Until now, that is. Saranac, I sincerely hope you decide to turn this limited release into a permanent release, because this will prevent me from having to stockpile it in closets and under beds in my house for fear of a Caramel Porter nuclear winter where none is available ever again.

It’s wonderful, and it’s exactly what it tastes like: a porter- all roasty and toasty and thick- with caramel running through it like that river on the label.

And with this roasty toasty beer, I highly recommend you nosh on a roasty toasty marshmallow. Its flavors echo and intensify the taste of the beer immensely: those crispy, singed sugars on the ends; the soft, toasted amber of the sides; the oozing, melty inside- all the perfect food-incarnation of the deep sweetness, bitter roast, and warming ooey-gooeyness of the porter.

Please consume immediately on a cold winter’s evening. Or afternoon. Or hell, for breakfast. Even if you have to toast your marshmallow on the gas burners of your apartment stove.

And please please please- for all of our sake- keep making Caramel Porter, Saranac.

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A Brew-ti-ful Bounty

Happy Thanksgiving everyone! I know most of you are probably sleeping off your tryptophan-induced comas/hangovers right now, but for those of you who are up and want a little light reading to help your gravy and pumpkin pie digest, I will share with you my contribution to my family’s Thanksgiving feast this year: Dubbel pumpernickel chanterelle stuffing.

It tastes just as delicious and unusual as it sounds. There were a few skeptics at first, but everyone was converted (as evidenced by the plates of seconds, and thirds) a few forkfuls in. I drew inspiration from a couple sources (The Homebrew Chef’s recipe for duck and porcini mushroom stuffing and this recipe from Whole Foods for mushroom stuffing) making some changes because I wasn’t cooking any meat and because of ingredient availability, and also winging the amount of butter (no oil) and stock.

It was somewhat of a long process- exacerbated, I’m sure, by the fact that I was documenting every step for the blog-but completely and utterly worth it. In fact, there’s something I love about long, involved recipes on the holidays, when you’re up at the crack of dawn and sharing the sunrise with only those others dedicated (or assigned) to cooking up part of the impending feast. You’ve got hours ahead of you, watching the day change around you as you chop, stir, broil, and bake with a leisurely dedication, so that bellies may be warmed and taste buds tantalized in the backdrop of the gaggle of loved ones that will come together to bask in each other’s company while sampling food and drink.

Now then. From the beginning…

You start with a round of pumpernickel bread. Pumpernickel was the only bread round left at our local grocery when I went to pick some up, so I thought, “Heck…I’ll go with it.” Pumpernickel has a deep, hearty flavor that I thought might work well with the earthy mushrooms and dark, full Dubbel. Anyhow, you first lay the slices out exposed the night before to stale them up a bit. The goal isn’t to make rocks out of them, but to get them just dry enough to stand up to all the beer, butter, and stock you’ll pour over them later.

Frying pans may be used for bread storage if pan space is limited and counter space is nonexistant.

Then, once you’re ready to start cooking, you tear the bread up into little bits and place in a large bowl.

Next, you’ll chop your veggies: two yellow onions, one leek, two stalks of celery, and one elephant garlic clove (I imagine 4-8 garlic cloves, depending on how much you like, would suffice if you used regular garlic).

You will cry so hard at those onions they’ll give you a headache, even while wearing sunglasses (which you will discard when you realize that you can’t see the onions you’re chopping, and onion-tears are preferable to slicing-your-finger-off tears).

The aftermath.

Then you chop your fresh herbs: thyme and sage. I winged these amounts too, but you should have piles approximately the size of those shown here. Perhaps…three little bunches of sage and 8-10 sprig-clusters of thyme (leaves shimmied off the branches)?

Next, you bring in the special guest of this stuffing: Dubbel!

I used Maredsous Brune from Brouwerij Duvel Moortgat NV in Breendonk-Puurs, Belgium. Any Dubbel would work well, as The Homebrew Chef describes, with its rich, malty flavor bringing out the earthiness of mushrooms (and in his case, the richness of the duck, but in my case, the heartiness of the pumpernickel). However, I chose this one specifically because Total Wine described it as having notes of figs, dark fruit, bread, and some other things of that nature that sounded like it would match my pumpernickel perfectly.

Measure out 2 cups of your Dubbel.

Then take of lots of artsy still lifes.

These two cups will be mixed with one cup of chicken, beef, or veggie stock in a saucepan on the stove. You’ll then heat it until it just starts to boil, then turn off the heat and add in 1 ounce (that’s two half-ounce little packets) of dried chanterelle mushrooms.

Just let these sit and re-hydrate (and mix flavors with the beer/stock) while you do the next few things.

At this point, it is completely acceptable to give yourself a little pour of the leftover Dubbel at 10:30 in the morning. After all, you don’t have to go to work- or even to the feast for several hours- and you can’t waste what you paid $11 a bottle for. All the while ignoring the filthy stovetop.

It is also acceptable at this point to break into the leftover fried rice from last night’s hibachi dinner. Because of all your baking, your breakfast so far has consisted mostly of nibbles you have nabbed from the dishes you’ve used (rule #1 of holiday baking: no dish or utensil may be placed in the sink before being licked clean of its delicious coating). This is to say your breakfast has consisted of a piece of bread with cheese, bourbon dessert sauce, peanut butter cookie crumbles, and some odd stray vegetables.

Moving on. Now, you sautee!

You dump those veggies into a large pot or Dutch oven (I would’ve used the Dutch oven, but did NOT feel like dealing with the involved process of scrubbing it soapless then oven-drying it, especially with all the other dishes I’d already made, and Dan wasn’t awake to do it) with four tablespoons of butter, and sautee for about 8 minutes. Add salt or pepper if you want. I wasn’t sure if the herbs would get totally overcooked/wilted/burnt/destroyed if I sauteed them the whole time, so I added them in halfway through, but you really could add them from the beginning.

After this is done, you’ll then add all the veggies and herbs, along with the mushrooms and all the beer/stock in the pot, to your bread bowl and stir it all up.

You’ll hopefully invest in a bigger bowl than I did. Stirring got really difficult at this point. But look at how nummy those close-ups look!

And the beautiful curve of that chanterelle.

Then, optionally, do as I did and add a glug more of each the beer and the stock, just to ensure enough moisture.

Then you take some more butter, rub a 13×9 casserole dish with it, and pour it all into the pan.

Dot with some more butter on top, and into the oven at 350 for 45 minutes. Then ta-da, you’ll get this:

Devour. Share with others, but make sure to package up the leftovers for yourself.

This really did turn out every bit as fantastic as I’d hoped my tinkering would. The dark, hearty, rich flavors of the pumpernickel, mushrooms, and Dubbel worked well together, though each was dark, hearty, and rich in a different way (the pumpernickel more tangy-malty from the caraway seeds, the Dubbel sweet-malty, and the mushrooms more earthy).

Click here if you want to see the recipe in printable form! Well, more printable than this (i.e., written out, and without pictures. I still haven’t figured out how to just make it load a clean PDF for you). Let me know if you like this feature- I’m thinking of going back and making printable recipe pages for other recipes I’ve posted here, as well as others in the future.

And happy Thanksgiving! Hope everyone’s was filled with large quantities of seasonal food, people you like and who like you in return, and indulging with reckless abandon.

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Harmony

Last night’s drinking and dining situation made me feel like this:

(source)

You’ll see why.

Yesterday after work, I was in Total Wine picking up some Thanksgiving selections, and thought I’d pick myself up something to crack open that night. So I grabbed this baby:

Because I am a sucker for a) saisons, b) hops, and c) the unusual. As well as the new, and this was certainly a new one to me. I’d had De Proef Brouwerij’s Reinart Flemish Wild Ale and Zoetzuur Flemish Ale before, and was a fan of both of them. This one sounded right up my alley as well. Dirk Naudts of De Proef Brouwerij is known for experimentation, and with this ale, he teamed up with Tomme Arthur of The Lost Abbey (“Inspired Beers for Sinners and Saints Alike”) in San Diego, CA. The Old World openly embraced the hand of the New World, and vice versa, to produce a saison aggressively hopped with American pale ale varietals and fermented with traditional Belgian brettanomyces yeasts.

The result? Well, as you may expect, it’s a hoppy saison! It’s a pretty tasty one at that. The hops are citrusy, with a hint of cedar. The yeasts are present, though not as in-your-face as the hops, and to me, tangible yeasts always give a beer a thicker body and a hint of breadiness, which nicely balanced the pucker of those hops. They also give the beer the signature tartness of a saison, but (at least on my first tasting), this brew seemed less earthy and tangy than I’m used to saisons being.

I was drinking out of a small glass, however, which required a refill, and the bottle had been sitting out for 15 or 20 minutes by the time I went for a second pour.

The flavors of the Belgian yeasts seem to really come into their own once the beer warms a bit, and the signature earthiness of the style seems to raise its voice more, to inch toward the front of the class.

Perhaps my choice of dinner, chewed while I sipped on this, was partially to blame as well for me missing some of the finer points the first go-round. You see, I made crab-and-leek-stuffed portobellos, paired with asparagus and my last-minute, wait-this-plate-doesn’t-have-a-carb! side, buttered bread.

The buttered bread went nicely with the creaminess of the yeast-feel (that body-boosting effect I talked about tangible yeast imparting), but nothing about the meal particularly matched the tartness or tang (except maybe some spice in the Old Bay on the crab). However, I think the portobello, while delectable, might have been the main problem. It’s so earthy and rich that it may have overwhelmed the beer. Instead, you need something light and tangy- and perhaps salty- to match the tang of the yeast, and buttery to match the yeast-thickened-body and balance the hops. Total Wine recommended pairing this with blue cheese, and while I’m allergic to blue cheese and could never experience that, I think some sort of cheese would be appropriate. White Stilton? Goat? Port Salut?

Even if the meal didn’t match the beer perfectly in taste, it matched it in metaphor: just as someone brewing beer regionally (as tradition and historical circumstances would mandate) would not have access to both Belgian yeasts and American hops, nor would someone foraging for mushrooms in the woods typically also have access to seafood. Old World meets New World, forest meets the ocean. Perfect harmony.

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Otherworldly

At least, that’s what the name of this beer would have you believe:

This is, of course, “Otro Mundo,” which translates roughly to “Other World” (if my high school Spanish serves me correctly). It was the last of our gift beers from Jason & Laura, along with RJ Rockers’ Fish Paralyzer, Rogue Mocha Stout, and Chimay red (which paired magnificently with an delicious deer curry dish I made, but the pictures of it all came out horribly, so no post on that one, unfortunately). Otro Mundo is a red ale produced in Santa Fe, Argentina by Otro Mundo Brewing Company. Both Dan and I enjoyed this beer.

Yeah I’m drinking my beer out of an O’Mara’s Irish Cream glass. It almost looks like a Manhattan like that.

Dan sampled this a minute or two before I did, and the first words out of his mouth about it were, “Does this smell like yogurt to you?” Now, I don’t know if I’d have had that same impression had I smelled it without his influence, but after he said it, I could certainly see (or smell) what he meant: it had that ferment-y, lactic, slightly sweet yogurty smell to it. Which was by no means unpleasant- it was just very unique.

The beer was quite interesting. It had all the flavors you’d expect from a red ale, with a wild, tangy taste similar to a sour ale or saison. But unlike sour ales, which tend to taste slightly fruity or cherry-like, and unlike saisons, which tend to taste dry and champaigne-like or earthy, this tasted malty. It was sour AND sweet, that particular malt-imparted sweet that gives it a heaviness and a lacing of caramel.

And while we didn’t pair this with a meal, it did taste great with the salty-sweetness of peanut butter in these Reese’s Pieces:

Until next time, happy munching and sipping!

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White Chicken Farmhouse Weissebier Chili

Oh yes. It’s that time of year again. It’s brisk. Downright cold, even (compared to the brutal, recently-passed summer). People go into hibernation mode. They crave warm, hearty foods. Enter: chili!

Now, I’ll tell you how I got there in a second. First, let me tell you about Dan and my history with chili. It’s pretty much our specialty dish. We would cook it almost much every time we met up at my family’s cabin in Lebanon Church (the halfway point between Harrisonburg and Arlington) when we were doing the long-distance thing while I was still in college. It warmed us many a cold night up there, ladled into bowls and topped with sour cream, and many a cool morning after, piled onto eggs. We perfected a recipe all our own, that involved ground beef, diced tomatoes, dark kidney beans, peppers (both bell and habanero), onions, a secret blend of southwestern spices, and our key ingredient: a little bit of cinnamon and brown sugar. We’d let that thing simmer for hours and it only got better the next day.

However, one thing we had never made was white chicken chili. So, for the sake of doing something new last night, I decided to make this. I loosely based it on this recipe, with some changes. I used corn instead of zucchini, completely disregarded the measurements for the spices because it seemed WAY too under-seasoned, added in a few extra seasonings like paprika and garlic powder (in addition to the fresh garlic already in there), didn’t rinse my beans (that stuff that coats them = starch + sodium.  Starch + sodium = delicious), and replaced one of the three cups of chicken stock with a cup of this guy:

Now now, that’s a pretty pose, but we can’t see your branding. Look up a little bit.

There we go. Now the whole world can see you are the Heinnieweisse Weissebier Farmhouse Ale from Butternuts Beer and Ale in Garrattsville, NY (well, they can’t see the brewery info, but I looked it up). I chose this beer for two reasons: a) it was a flavorful but light-colored/bodied beer that seemed to fit the white-chicken-chili ethos, and b) you could buy individual cans of it from the Euro Mart on Wilson Blvd. that I stopped in at on my walk, so I wouldn’t have to carry a whole six-pack home.

Of course, I bought two cans: one to cook with, and one to sample while I was cooking. And I have to say, I was thoroughly impressed! This is the first beer I’ve ever had from a can that actually tasted as good as beer from bottles. I know canned beers are making a comeback nowadays, and with advances in canning technology and materials, there is supposed to be no difference in quality between cans and bottles, save for those that arise out of our own prejudices. But I have to say, either my prejudices must be awful strong or that claim is just not the truth. I’d previously tried another beer from this brewery, the Porkslap Pale Ale, which I ordered at GalaxyHut purely because of the funny name. Meh. I didn’t think it was very flavorful. My next experience with a canned craft brew was Old Chub, a Scotch ale from Oskar Blues. It was good, because come on, you can’t make a Scotch ale without it having flavor. But I just didn’t think it had the body or the heft of a bottled Scotch ale.

But this beer actually tasted comparable to a hefeweizen or farmhouse ale that comes from a bottle. It’s actually kind of an interesting taste: both hefeweizen AND farmhouse ale? Wheaty, yeasty, AND wild-saison-y tasting? Yes, please. I’d like another. And I’d like one for my chili too!

Oh. And of course. I forgot one other modification I made to the recipe. Dan’s aviator glasses are a requirement for chopping that onion that goes in there, as they cover a large proportion of my face and provide the best tear-guard I’ve found to date.

I have to say, this was a pretty good recipe. I let it simmer longer than usual, in an attempt to get it to boil down more, but then conceded to the fact that it’s not a thick, tomato-ey chili like we’re used to having. It’s more a soupy chili. And that’s OK. I also stirred a good amount of sour cream into my bowl, and topped it with crushed tortilla chips.

Blue corn all the way! Times these chips by about five (I’d already eaten some of it, and kept adding more as I went along).

Click here if you want a more printer-friendly version of the recipe. A warning: this will make A LOT of chili. We both had hearty portions, and the leftovers just barely fit into a very large container. But I’m betting this is easily freezable, and can be pulled out at a moment’s notice to warm your soul (and stomach) on a cold night and be enjoyed with a nice farmhouse ale.

Cheers!

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DIY Oktoberfest

While in an ideal world, I would have loved to have been here this weekend:

(source)

Eating plates of this:

(source)

Drinking this:

(source)

And partying it up with these guys:

(source)

I could not. My post-surgery-ed state and my inability to walk very far, coupled with the fact that the Capitol City Brewing Company Oktoberfest, while awesome-looking, was very popular and there was already a line to get in by the time we considered going, COUPLED AGAIN with the fact that I do not live in Bavaria, made me reconsider my Oktoberfesting options.

I say, if you cannot bring yourself to Oktoberfest, bring Oktoberfest into your home! So thus I did. Beginning with this guy:

How could you not want to drink with this guy??

He’s so jolly and avuncular and kind! He even seems to be taking the fact that his beer stein looks empty in stride. Anyhow, this merry monk graces the label of Franziskaner Hefe-Weisse all the way from Germany. I wanted something authentically Bavarian to kick off Oktoberfest, and I’m glad I chose this one. It was, in a word (or two), frankly delicious.

It was incredibly thick and yeasty, with a head that just wouldn’t die: just like I like my hefeweizens. It also tasted EXACTLY like banana bread. Even more so than I thought Wells Banana Bread Beer did when I tasted it! The overwhelming banana taste, coupled with the thick, wheaty body and the foam of the head, along with a tiny whiff of lemon and a little touch of almost milky sweetness from the yeast that reminded me of the smoothness of walnuts, made it exactly like drinking a liquid loaf of the stuff. Amazing.

It also paired well with our distinctly non-Bavarian (but still delicious!) appetizer of duck mousse with truffles spread on mini toasts. There was no real thought put into this, but they were both tasty together. Maybe the unique richness of each was able to stand up to the other.

Then it was time for the main affair. First up to bat: carrots cooked with a little help from this guy!

This was a recipe for karotten im bier (found here), and it’s essentially what it sounds like: carrots in beer! Basically, you boil the carrots in dark beer, a little sugar, and a little salt, until they’re cooked. Like so:

As always, I made a few changes to the original recipe. I used baby carrots instead of regular ones, because that’s what we already had. And thus I’m not sure if the proportions are actually correct, as I just dumped what was left of the bag in. I also added the sugar and salt in the beginning, figuring it would be more flavorful if cooked with the carrots, and also didn’t measure this; just threw in some pinches (since the proportions were already off). Finally, I also had no idea how long it would take the carrots to cook, since the recipe didn’t indicate, but I figured it was probably going to be a long time if left uncovered, and I didn’t want the rest of the meal getting cold while the carrots cooked. So I covered them.

However, I think this may have been one of my downfalls. By covering it, the Guinness cooked down to a very small amount of syrup (aka, not enough volume or liquidness for boiling), so I kept having to add more in. In the end, they didn’t turn out great…I loved the idea of the goopy Guinness reduction they were covered in, but the taste was way too overwhelming and bitter. Part of that may also be that I used Guinness Extra Stout instead of regular Guinness (unknowingly), and I don’t really like the Extra Stout. I think it tastes just like the carrots did: too overwhelming and bitter, but not in a good way like an IPA (you all know I like my hops). It tastes kind of like charcoal to me. I actually ended up replacing half my carrots with a salad, though Dan ate all of his.  Must try this with regular (tasty) Guinness sometime!

No matter though! The rest of the meal was redeeming. Next up to the plate is the tuber that no German meal would be complete without: the potato! I wanted to make some sort of authentic German potato dumplings, but I decided to take the easy route with this one and make a simple mashed potato dish with garlic, chives, cream cheese, milk, and butter.  I could this make ahead of time, so as to save my more impressive culinary efforts for a more involved main dish. Nothing beats a good mashed ‘tater though!

Then came the piece de resistance: weinerschnitzel! I dredged veal scallopine cutlets in flour, dipped them in egg, then rolled them in breadcrumbs, and into the pan with hot oil they went. Then to a drain on a plate:

Mmmmm. Overall, these were pretty good. I think the oil needed to be hotter though, because the veal cooked a bit faster than the coating could fry, leaving it a bit chewy (and the breading a little fally-offy in some parts, though I got better at it as I went along). And, with the recipe calling for no seasonings, I wanted some sort of whipped garlic dipping sauce or perhaps a nice horseradish cream to go with it. Though that could be my American palate screaming out to be assaulted with seasonings. Anyhow, our unventilated apartment now smells like fried veal and probably will for days to come. Score!

Of course, the Oktoberfest meal wouldn’t be complete without another Oktoberfest beer! This time it was from Old Dominion, a brewery whose namesake is the moniker of our home state of Virginia, but which is actually located in Dover, Delaware. I am pleased to present to you: Dominion Oktoberfest!

This was an extremely flavorful Oktoberfest beer- possibly the most flavorful I’ve had yet this season. Very full and round and toasty, with all the wonderful tastes an Oktoberfest beer/Märzen should have: biscuits, malts, toffee, caramel. It’s very bready, with a touch of sweetness…sort of like a sweet bun of some sort. But here’s the twist: there’s a very present hop taste as well. It’s got a bitterness that (maybe because of association with its color) reminds me of a copper penny taste….but in the most delicious way possible. There’s something woody or piney about it too; perhaps those are the hop tastes I am sensing. Something natural to it. In any case, very delicious! A great beer to sip as the sun goes down:

Happy Oktoberfest everyone!

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Tumbler Tomato Sauce

You may recall (if you’ve been a long-time Iambs and Ales fan- hi all two of you!- and have a really good memory) my review sometime back of Sierra Nevada’s fall seasonal, the nut brown ale Tumbler.

It was quite tasty. But I never ended up cooking with it! Until recently, that is. I stumbled upon a really intriguing website, in which I stumbled upon a really intriguing recipe. Homebrew Chef is a fantastic resource for finding some creative ways to use beer in cooking. A lot of the recipes are pretty involved, and are meant to serve a crowd, but the recipe for Tomato Brown Ale Sauce caught my eye. It’s actually meant to be made as part of a recipe for eggplant napoleons, but the sauce part itself seemed to be a good one to cook for just Dan and I to serve over pasta: the ingredient list was short, the preparations fairly easy, and pasta leftovers are always manageable (or easily freezable).

I won’t re-post the entire recipe, because you can go over and see it on the Homebrew Chef’s website (and I’m all about giving the original creator their due page-views!) But I’ll illustrate what I did, and explain some substitutions I made. Apologies in advance for the horrible photography in this post: it was one of those nights where the lighting was horrible, and I just COULD NOT manage to work around it for some reason. I’ll do better next time.

Anyway, onions in the pan with the oil:

Then, I was supposed to add mushrooms. However, I bought the ingredients to make this dish on a Thursday, and because of various opportunities for fun and socializing that kept popping up in the evenings, I didn’t actually end up making this until Saturday. By then, the mushrooms had turned to mush. Slimy mush. So instead, I added zucchini:

And spinach:

After those cooked, in went a boatload of garlic and then some beer:

After this, tomato puree (x2 of what is measured out in this picture), salt, and oregano (I always omit the pepper because I ran out one day and wasn’t enough of a fan to miss it enough to buy more, and have thus not had pepper since):

Then it simmered for about 40 minutes. And was served with penne and meatballs (yeah, the frozen kind, I was lazy. And had already spent money buying the sauce ingredients, so didn’t feel like buying ground beef when we already had the processed kind the freezer. We had also just gotten back from the special keg tapping at Galaxy Hut, had drank several high gravity ales, and were in no mood for wrestling with raw meat while hungry and slightly tipsy. So sue me). Like thus!

Mmmm. With a little freshly-shaved parmesan on top. Which um…replaced the fresh basil which I bought but totally forgot to top this with.

We both agreed on the final verdict on this recipe. I liked the incorporation of brown ale into the tomato sauce; the acidity of beer ALWAYS enhances the flavors of tomato in a positive way, and the earthy, nuttiness of the brown ale was a nice twist. However, we both think that mushrooms would have gone better than my subbed vegetables, and I can totally see why. It needed a rich, earthy vegetable to compliment and be enhanced by the brown ale flavor. Even eggplant would have worked a little better (like in the eggplant napoleons this sauce was originally intended for). I also think next time I’d simmer it a little longer; it was thick enough, but the beer tasted a little…well, beer-ish still, like the alcohol hadn’t completely cooked off like it’s supposed to, leaving only the concentrated flavors of the malts and hops.

I definitely want to try this again though, and see how good I can make it by getting it right!

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Saison du Buff Beer Bread

As you may or may not know, I am a big frequenter of food and cooking blogs along with beer blogs, and when I saw this recipe for garlic + herb beer bread on one my favorite food blogs some time ago, I knew I wanted to make it. I just never got around to it for some reason. But when I tried Dogfish Head’s new Saison du Buff, I knew I had the perfect beer for it.

Saison du Buff is, clearly, a saison (link for those who need a reference), with a very Simon-and-Garfunkle-ish twist: it’s brewed with parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme.

I have always been a fan of beers with ingredients or tastes that you wouldn’t normally think to put in your beer: I love smoked ales and lagers, am always eager to try beers brewed with cocoa or maple syrup or chai tea, love sour ales, would drink a bacon beer if there is one. I love palate-mash-ups of savory and sweet, sweet and smokey, sour and sweet, what have you. So this unusual beer was right up my alley- you don’t normally think to drink such savory herbs; they are reserved for turkey stuffing or…well, beer bread. Since I was a fan of the beer, and it shared many of the same ingredients the recipe called for, I knew it was the perfect beer with which to make this bread.

And the recipe is just about the easiest thing I’ve ever made. You first mix 3 cups flour and all the herbs and spices it calls for in a bowl.

I had to make some substitutions, but that’s part of the adventure of cooking: we only had 1 cup of all-purpose flour left, so I used 1 cup all-purpose and 2 cups bread flour. We didn’t have dill, so I used chives. And we didn’t have any fresh herbs (and I wasn’t going to go out and buy expensive packets of fresh herbs just for this recipe), so the ones that were supposed to be fresh were actually dried (and I didn’t bother to adjust the measurements- it was just really herby!). I also just heaped in some forkfulls of garlic, because in my experience, you don’t have to measure garlic: there can never be too much. And none of any of the ingredients were local, that I know of (it was the concept of the original recipe, but I didn’t worry too much about it here).

Anyhow, then you pour the bottle of beer in:

And you get this:

Then you swirl it all around, until you end up with a very thick batter like this:

Then you bake it in the oven at 375* for 45 minutes. And you get this:

Which you then cool in the pan on a rack for 10 minutes, then on it’s own for another 10 minutes (minimum…can be served at room temperature so it doesn’t really matter). Then you slice…and take lots of luscious bread pictures:

Then you serve it with something delicious. We went with giant meatballs:

And collards:

Yum.

Overall, I think it was a success. I’m not sure if my bread flour substitution had anything to do with it, but I would’ve liked it to be just a tad moister…maybe I’ll throw a little butter in next time. Overall, though, it was fluffy and delicious, and fantastic covered in a little of the tomato sauce from the meatballs. And will be eaten again for lunch tomorrow (or actually today, by the time I post this…I sometimes like to save posts to put up during the day when people are more likely to read it) along with a hot bowl of creamy tomato soup.

As a side note, I normally would have bought another bottle of the Saison du Buff to pair with dinner (we only had one left in the fridge). But when I went to Total Wine to get another bottle on Saturday, they were COMPLETELY SOLD OUT. And then the day of breadmaking I had a headache and was feeling really lazy and didn’t want to run out again, so I decided to just cook with it and leave the pairing for another time. I’m sure it would have been awesome though. The herbs in the beer (and the light body) would have gone well with the meatballs, which were heavy but had many of the same spices (like the bread).

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When Irish Eyes Are Smiling…

As I’ve said before, though the name of this blog is “Iambs and Ales,” I certainly don’t limit the topics of my posts to ales. As evidenced in the last post, lagers as well have a place in my heart and in this blog.  But what really describes the scope of this blog more precisely is the tagline: “Where brews, eats, and words intersect.”  This raises the question then of what counts as a brew.  Beers do, obviously, but what about ciders?  I say sure!  Though they aren’t technically “brewed” (in cider production, the whole apple is pressed then the liquid is extracted, meaning it’s vinted instead of brewed), but I choose to include this style of drink in this blog for several reasons.  I feel that ciders play much the same role as beers in our culture of drinking: a carbonated drink with a comparatively lower alcohol content served cold and drank in all of the same situations as beer- on its own or with a meal, in a single instance in succession, allowed by its moderate ABV.

Just look at those gorgeous bubbles popping up and down the glass

Like I suspect is the case with many my age (at least where I grew up), my first exposure to cider was in a dorm room, around age 18, and it was Woodchuck.  Now, I’m not trying to put Woodchuck down at all.  It has its place, and there are people who love it.  But I immediately declared my dislike for cider, claiming it was too sweet for my distinctly un-girly tastes.  From then on, I lumped cider into that general category of alco-pop drinks like Mike’s Hard Lemonade and Smirnoff Ice.

Finally, sometime post-college, I was introduced to Original Sin and Strongbow ciders, and my re-education on the beverage began.  Those two ciders taught me that cider doesn’t have to be sickeningly sweet and cloying; it can be dry, and complex.  Then I was introduced to cider that came out of a shed.  And I realized I didn’t even know how deep the dry, complex rabbit hole of ciders went.

That’s why, on reading this post on Pete Brown’s beer blog, I knew I had to try Magners Irish Cider.  My explorations thus far in cider had led me to the conclusion that Etienne Dupont was my absolute favorite.  But after reading about Magners, I had to give it a chance to challenge my beloved Etienne Dupont.  So that’s why, after a long walk in 90-degree heat yesterday, the first thing I cracked open (well, after a bottle of seltzer) was that guy above.  And below:

Ignore the fact that it's in a Chimay glass.

And the fact that it's next to our Bavarian nutcracker, Ludwig. Magner's is Irish, not German, but I thought the picture was funny.

My initial impression of Magners was that it had all the qualities of cider that I like: it was dry, with the sweetness that was present tasting like it was there because the cider a product of apples, not because cider is a byproduct of an apple extract factory.  It was definitely good, and I’d definitely drink it again (and again and again).  But still, it lacked that certain quality that Etienne Dupont has that I can only qualify as rustic.  It’s a deep, earthy taste that fools my tongue and my nostrils into thinking I’m in a farmhouse somewhere, built of old wood upon fertile dirt.

That is, until I wandered into the kitchen with my glass and ate this:

Goat cheese!  And yes, that is a tub of goat cheese crumbles.  Sometimes, you want goat cheese and don’t happen to have a classy log or wedge.  Sometimes all you have are the crumbles, and you know what you do in that situation?  The only thing there is to do: reach your hand into the tub and grab a handful of crumbles.

And if you happen to be drinking a Magners, and have tastes similar to my own, you’ll be glad you did.  This is one of those magical pairings, only stumbled upon every so often and mostly at random, where the combination of food and drink results in a taste experience greater than the sum of its parts.  Past examples of this have included Sam Adams Black Lager and Raisin Bran Crunch (no, not drank at breakfast, drank while grabbing handfuls of pantry goods similar to the handful of goat cheese in this situation) and Blind Faith IPA and lentils (though this was cooking with; I can’t say that the actual pairing altered the taste, since the beer was already in the food).  When eaten in tandem, goat cheese and Magners Irish Cider achieve that magic.  For some chemical reason I don’t understand, I’m sure, the goat cheese gives the Magners that deep, earthy, rustic complexity it otherwise lacks.  It’s not exactly the same as Etienne Dupont, and you can still separate the two flavors of cider and cheese in your mouth…but wow.  It’s really something special.  You should run out and buy the provisions to try this immediately.

After the incredible success of this pairing, I tried it with the other cheese we had in the house- hickory smoked cheddar.  This one was somewhat less stellar.  I mean, it was good; the cheese was good, and the cider was good.  But the combination didn’t really fuse into something greater.  If I really reached for a unified taste, it tasted like…well, apples in a smokehouse.  Which was okay.  But nothing like the goat cheese.

Anyhow.  Magner’s: thumbs up, but I’ll probably keep going back to Etienne Dupont.  Magners + goat cheese, though: double thumbs up that fuse into one giant thumb up!

Keep checking back in the next few days, y’all- I (with the help of Dan) came up with a slew of great tasting ideas for potential blog posts, and seeing as there’s a Total Wine right down the street from where I work, I stocked up on the supplies to carry out them out, and I hope to document a few this weekend.

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