Resurrection and Beer Science

No updates since December?!  Not a single new post in 9 months?  What the hell kind of a blog is this?  Is Hopflower officially defunct?  No.  I’m just lazy.  Hey, I drink a lot of beer, what do you want from me?  But I have had a new surge of inspiration lately and I’ve decided to start things up again. Wheels are in motion, balls are rolling, etc.  Get excited.

Let me give you a little insight into the magic that will be flooding your blog feed soon.  My goal remains the same: cooking great food with great beer.  The golden rule rings true here: you’re not supposed to cook with a wine you wouldn’t drink, and the same goes for beer.  To some it might seem a shame to use fine craft beer for cooking but, believe me, I am not going thirsty.  In fact, I’ve got more beer than I know what to do with.  You may notice a disproportionate ratio of recipes containing Stone beers in the upcoming posts.  This is because I have recently left my soul-crushing administration job to enter the employ of Stone Brewing Co.  So my easy access to these awesome beers make them the ideal candidates for my cooking adventures.  Honestly, though, I’d probably be using a lot of Stone beers anyway.  They’re local and they are absolutely amazing (I’m not just kissing ass here–I honestly LOVE these beers. This is literally a dream job for me).  If you’re going to try any of these recipes at home, feel free to substitute your favorite craft brew within the same style.  You’ll get different results, but it’ll probably be just as good.  If you are a Stone fan, though, go for it! (Again, this isn’t a paid advertisement or anything.  Just proselytizing for one of my passions).

Ok, now for a little bit of beer science.  If you remember any of our previous posts, you’ll recall the many, MANY issues we had cooking with IPAs (India Pale Ales).  No matter what we did, they just made our food inedibly bitter.  I think I’ve figured it out.  A combination of homebrewing and my time at Stone has unlocked a key someplace in my mind.  When you add hops to a brew at the start of a boil, you literally boil away all the essential oils that have those lovely, citrusy, piney aromas and flavors.  What you’re left with is bitterness.  This is essential in brewing as that bitterness counteracts the sweetness of the malts.  However, finished beer has already obtained its bitterness.  When you boil finished beer, you are then converting all the finishing hops, those that have retained their essential oils, into bitterness.  So I think we’ve just been heating IPAs too high and for too long.  I will try not to make the same mistakes again and hopefully I will have newfound success cooking with hoppy brews!

Ok, that’s enough for now.  This post has gone on too long.  Oh, wait!  Perhaps you’d like to know what I am drinking while writing.  I am enjoying a Dogfish Head Palo Santo Marron, an unfiltered brown ale brewed in Palo Santo wood brewing vessels.  It’s cherry black, nearly opaque, and has notes of chocolate, vanilla, and caramel.  The mouthfeel is viscous and almost creamy.  ABV is 12%.  Damn good.  And I’m drinking it out of a mason jar.  Because that is what craft brewing is all about.  It’s punk rock.  It’s about doing what you want.  And my fine, gourmet snack to go along with it?  An aged cheese?  Dried fruits and nuts?  Bittersweet, organic chocolate?  Nah.  I’m noshing on some Funyuns.  That’s right.  Punk rock.

3 B: A Boozy Bath For Your Greens

Last night some friends and I had plans to visit another friend’s newly purchased townhouse.  As usual, dinner was on the agenda; I take full advantage of any and all opportunities to eat.  However, as it is Christmas week and the main focus of the evening was touring Luz’s new digs, not displaying our culinary prowess, we decided to keep it simple.  We ordered up some pizza, made some herbed potato wedges, had a salad, and broke into a tray of holiday goodies Luz had received as a gift.  I was on salad duty and, while I was relieved at the simplicity of my task, I was disappointed at my inability to incorporate beer into it.  So far, my friends have suffered my hoppy cooking endeavors with a smile but somehow I thought they wouldn’t take as kindly to me pouring porter all over our greens.

But just as I was about to pack up my lettuce and tomatoes and commit to a beer free evening, I had a brainwave.  Salad dressing!  I could create a beer salad dressing!  And that is just what I did:

3 B Dressing (Buttermilk, Beer, and Bacon)
3/4 c. buttermilk
1/2 c. sour cream
4 Tbsp. beer of choice (I used Sam Adams’ Holiday Porter, left over from the winter pack Vanessa was kind enough to leave at my house)
1/2 tsp. apple cider vinegar
1/4 tsp. salt
1/4 tsp. pepper
1/4 tsp. parsley
1/2 tsp. crushed oregano
2-3 strips bacon, fried and crumbled very fine
Splash of your favorite hot sauce
Combine all ingredients in a cruet and mix well.  Chill before serving.

The dressing had a very smooth, beer flavor, with the familiar tang of ranch.  The bacon added just a hint of smokiness and texture.  When I make this again, I might add a touch of smoked paprika to emphasize the bacony qualities.  The dressing was a bit thin; maybe adding a little cornstarch would thicken it up without affecting the flavor?  I will definitely be giving that a shot next time too.  Still, I’d say this was a success.  And while the dressing was nice on the salad, it was actually even better to dip the pizza into!  Remember, pizza just isn’t pizza without a frosty beer to wash it down, so put all these elements together and you have yourself the perfect, quick and easy, weeknight meal.  Enjoy!

Do Martians Dream of Green Beer?

Experience has taught me that a holiday season spent without at least one gathering of friends is a holiday season wasted.  They offer a buffer against the emotional strain that inevitably accompanies family events.  Plus, they’re just so much fun; your Aunt Phyllis may not see the humor in dressing up in the most horrendous Christmas sweater you can find and parading around in public (she does it because it’s stylish), but your best buds do.

This year’s holiday extravaganza was themed around the classic 1964 film “Santa Claus Conquers the Martians,” and was hosted by yours truly.  Guests were invited to dress in their Christmas finest and, as it was a potluck (there’s that beautiful word again), to bring Martian related eats.  Since we started this blogging endeavor, Vanessa and I have both used every opportunity for food making and sharing to try our hand at beer cooking and this party was no exception.  The offerings included Vanessa’s Beer-Battered Martian Spears (beer-battered asparagus), and my soon-to-be-famous IPA UFOs (orange-scented sugar cookies with IPA buttercream).  Even our friends got into the mix; our lovely ladyfriend, Sarah, made vegan ice cream flavored with Delirium Noel.

The spread was impressive and was accompanied by another of Vanessa’s contributions, a variety twelve pack of Sam Adams’ holiday brews.  These range from the good (Old Fezziwig Ale, a nice strong brown), to the mediocre (Coastal Wheat, a fairly generic wheat beer), to the outright bad (Cranberry Lambic, a weird, pseudo-lambic with a medicinal flavor).  Still, even the most unpalatable of beers are tolerated a bit more leniently when you’re tasting among good friends (and you have the chronically funny soundtrack of Mystery Science Theater’s Joel, Tom Servo, and Crow riffing in the background).

All in all, this was an amazingly fun evening.  And I think my IPA buttercream marks our first successful use of an IPA in cooking!  YAY!  I’ll reveal my secret in the recipe below…

Beer-Battered Asparagus
1-2 lbs. asparagus
1 1/2 c. flour
1/2 tsp. salt
1/3 tsp. pepper
1/2 tsp. paprika
1/2 bottle of beer (more if you prefer a thinner batter.  Pretty much anything will do here; Vanessa went with Sam Adams’ Boston Lager from the aforementioned holiday pack.)
Canola or peanut oil for frying
Rinse asparagus and snap of the woody ends. In a large, resealable plastic bag, combine the flour, salt, pepper, and paprika; seal and shake to combine.  Add asparagus spears to bag, seal, and shake to ensure they all get a light dusting.  Remove the asparagus and pour the dry ingredients into a wide mixing bowl or shallow baking pan.  Add beer to flour mixture and whisk until you have a thin batter.  In a deep pot, heat 3″ of oil over medium-high heat.  After a few minutes, spoon a drop of batter into the oil; it is hot enough when it rises bubbling to the top.  A few at a time, drop the asparagus spears into the batter, coat quickly, remove and transfer (very carefully!) into the hot oil.  Have a plate lined with paper towels handy.  The asparagus only need about a minute or so to brown.  Remove with tongs as soon as they have taken on  golden color and floated to the top.  Transfer to paper towel lined plate and allow excess oil to drain.  Sprinkle with sea salt and enjoy warm.  Vanessa served these with a meyer lemon and basil aioli (or, as I dubbed it, pureed Martian guts).

Meyer Lemon and Basil Aioli
1/2 c. mayonnaise
2 cloves garlic, minced
Small handful of basil leaves
Zest and  juice from one meyer lemon
Salt and pepper
In the bowl of a food processor, combine mayo, garlic, basil, zest, and juice.  Process until smooth.  Season to taste with salt and pepper.

Orange-Scented Sugar Cookies
We all have a favorite sugar cookie recipe; I won’t force mine upon you.  But all I do to make ‘em orange scented is add 1/2 to 1 teaspoon of orange extract.  You can do this substitution in your own recipe.  Or just leave ‘em plain and sugary if you want!  I’m not your momma; I ain’t gonna tell you what to do.  Except for that you absolutely should frost your cookies with this:

IPA Buttercream
1/4 c. butter
Pinch of salt
2 c. sifted powdered sugar
3 Tbsp. cream
1/4 tsp. vanilla
12 oz. IPA of choice (I used Stone, you know, because it’s awesome)
Honey
Whip butter with an electric mixer until light and fluffy.  Gradually add 1 cup powdered sugar, salt, cream, and vanilla while mixing.  Add the rest of the sugar and beat until well combined and airy.  Ok, now for the IPA secret: reduce it!  Pour IPA into a medium sized saucepan.  Bring to a boil over medium-high heat and then reduce to medium-low and simmer until reduced significantly.  Add a  squeeze of honey and mix.  The mixture should be an amber colored syrup.  Allow syrup to cool to room temperature.  Add the syrup by the tablespoon to the frosting, mixing and tasting after each addition.  Stop when the frosting has a nice, light beer flavor and hasn’t yet taken on the bitterness of the hops.  Add food coloring if you’d like to fancy it up a bit.  Oh, and sprinkles.  Sprinkles make everything better.

Round 2…..Tapout.

If you live in San Diego you know how much rain we got last week, Monday especially. Enough rain to flood parking garages, fill storm drains and cause innumerable accidents.  Oh, California drivers, how naive we really are. I spent the better part of Monday afternoon switching out bowls of water from under the leak in my ceiling—the one that drips right onto my bed, the only piece of furniture in my teensy, weensy studio. Yep, the same leak that’s been “fixed” the past two years in a row. Apparently, the roof (someone else’s deck) “just can’t take that much water“.  Needless to say, I’d pretty much had it by dinnertime and was looking for something simple and warm to cook.  Earthy potatoes and sweet, melting leeks sounded divine.  And I was excited to use a technique fairly new to me—braising!

For the beer, I thought something light and local would be nice: Ballast Point’s Big Eye IPA.  The citrus notes and medium hops of this local San Diego brew would compliment the onion flavors and brighten up the starchy potatoes.  It seems, however, that I again discounted the powerful bitterness of the hops….and they always say cook with something you enjoy drinking!  Hmph.  Once again, the bitterness of the hops overwhelmed the dish. The beer was still a wonderful braising liquid, the potatoes and leeks creamy and smooth with still a bit of texture by the end. Had I gone with something lighter, an amber or maybe a light porter, or perhaps had I used half water or stock and half beer, I think that would have made a significant difference.

So, class, what have we learned so far?  IPAs might be too hoppy for savory cooking.  In limited quantities, maybe a couple tablespoons, I can see their potential for floral, fruity notes, but anything much more is going to really emphasize the bitter qualities in the brew.

I think next I’ll move into the porters/stouts/ambers arena, and give them a try before I return to anything too hop-forward.  On the up side, this means the door’s wide open to desserts!  Also, I might have to sneak in a quick loaf of beer bread on the side.  See my sister’s post on the easiest recipe since toast here, using Left Hand Brewing Company’s Milk Stout.

Beer Braised Potatoes and Leeks
Adapted heavily from the brilliant Mark Bittman’s, How to Cook Everything.

2 lbs fingerling potatoes (I used Weiser Family Farm’s French heirlooms)
3 med leeks
6 oz beer (I think we can safely say stay away from an IPA and try Ballast Point’s Calico Amber or Wahoo Wheat)

Rinse the potatoes and slice into 1/4″ thick coins. Cut the tops off your leeks and halve them lengthwise, then slice about 1/4″ thick. Rinse thoroughly in a colander or soak in a large bowl of water to remove any dirt or sand.  Over medium heat, warm a couple teaspoons of olive oil in a high-sided saucepan or frying pan with a lid.  Shake off the leeks and add them to the pan, cooking until they start to soften but don’t take on any color. Then add the potatoes and cook, turn up the heat slightly and cook for a few minutes until everything begins to brown a bit.  Add the beer and cover, stirring occasionally, about 15-20 minutes. Continue to add a little more beer or water if necessary.  When the potatoes are nice and fork-tender and the liquid has reduced almost completely, you’re done!  The potatoes should be very moist, with a beery sauce.  Serve with cheese or alongside a sausage link or even a simple green salad. And, of course, a nice frosty mug of your favorite brew.

Bringing Mince Pies Across the Pond…

There are many reasons why having a mate from another country is pretty awesome. There are the envy laden glares your friends give you every time your partner opens his or her mouth and out spills that lovely accent. There is the benefit of having extended friends and family on whose couches you can crash should you travel abroad. And there is, perhaps my favorite, the food. Sure, the Internet and cookbooks can provide you with a vast multitude of international recipes, but it is helpful to have someone near and dear who can verify authenticity and tell you it’s just like mum or nan used to make.

 Matt is my resident expert on all things British. During a recent conversation about Christmas, the associated nuisances, and pressures, he told me, “All I want for a happy Christmas is a mince pie and a cup of tea and I can’t get that in this bloody country!” (or something very similar). Enter Samantha: caterer to whims, defier of declaratives! I thought to myself, “well, mince pie can’t be too difficult. Plus, it’ll give me a reason to get a tart pan!” Any excuse to buy new bakeware…

 So, I set out to surprise the boy and ensure a Christmas free of miserly grumbling. I visited Shakespeare’s Corner Shoppe to buy the mince. I could make my own, I know, and next time I will. But I thought my first attempt at photo-worthy mini pies should be a little less complicated. I used Robertson’s brand mincemeat–but I’m getting ahead of myself. Mincemeat, for those who don’t know, is a marinated, spiced mixture of dried apples, currants, raisins, citrus peel, etc. It’s very rich, spicy, and wintery…very clovey. Its complexity pairs well with a plain shortcrust recipe (a 2:1 mixture of flour to fat).

My Shortcrust Recipe (makes a top and bottom crust for a 9 inch pie or for 12 mini pies)
2 cups flour
1 cup butter (really, just shy of 1 cup)
2 tsps baking soda
¾ tsp salt

Cut all the ingredients together until mixture resembles course crumbs. Add very cold water by the spoonful and knead together till dough forms a ball. Wrap in saran wrap and chill in the fridge for thirty minutes. Then dough is ready to roll out and use.

 Of course, this post wouldn’t be relevant to the theme of the blog without reference to beer. I reckoned that a stout would work nicely with the richness of the butter crust and the filling. I picked up some Guinness in order to test my theory.

Construction was simple enough: I rolled out the chilled dough, cutting out circular shapes for the crust tops and bottoms. I lined the tart pan with the bottom crust, filled them with about a tablespoon of mince, laid the second crust circle on top, and pressed the edges together with my forefinger. Then in an effort to incorporate the beer into the actual recipe, I brushed the tops with the Guinness (similarly to how one might brush a crust with milk or egg for extra shine). I baked the pies for 15 minutes at 400 F, popped em out of the pan to cool, and that was that.

 

Matt was impressed and said they were pretty spot on. I actually thought they were darn tasty too. I’d never tasted a mince pie and, while I imagine one would have a stronger appreciation for them if there was associated nostalgia (i.e. you were raised with them), the depth of flavor was something to experience. Unfortunately, I could not taste the beer on the tops. I think next time I will get more adventurous, perhaps using beer instead of water in the actual crust mixture. But the cute little pies did pair nicely with an ice cold Guinness, served in a frosty mug. Sure, tea may be more traditional–but, as I’ve said, traditional just ain’t my style. So go ahead and drink whatever you want with them, see if I care! Regardless, I am very excited to have a simple treat that looks fancy in my arsenal of holiday goodies.

Flights of Fancy, and Fallen Dreams

Let’s just go ahead and get it out of the way, shall we? I’m an inconsistent cook. Inconsistent, meaning the things I make are often delicious but unfortunately, just as often, they can be practically unpalatable. Sometimes it’s a poor recipe, sometimes my enthusiastic improvisations don’t work out, sometimes I just don’t pencil in enough time. My first beer cooking dish was one such fiasco.  Everything seemed to be going so well….until I added the beer.  That’s when it started to taste a little off. But I pushed through, adding a little more stock, a little more milk, mustard powder, paprika, a quick blend of the vegetables with my immersion blender and the final blessing of cheese.

It seemed like I couldn’t go wrong. I carefully selected the cheese: a white English cheddar from Venissimo, assertive but not overbearing. For the beer, I did a little research and chose a Chimay Premiere Red- an accessible Belgian Trappist Ale with a nice balance of fruit and hops. Perhaps I shouldn’t have mixed countries.  In the end, the soup had a wonderful texture and consistency but the strong, bitter elements of the beer combined with the cheese just didn’t work together at all. We ate most of it, but topped with lots of chives and helped along by a healthy hunk of bread.

Though it may not have turned out how I would have hoped, it’s a wonderful thing to be able to look back, reflect, and know how you will do things differently the next time.  I will try not to go so big, opting for a nice sharp commercial cheddar and maybe a Bass Ale, as the original recipe suggested.  I might even bulk out the base with some russet or red potatoes to help cut through the richness and give the beer a little cushion. Will I make this soup again? Absolutely. Maybe not anytime soon, but I’ll give it another shot. Live and learn in the kitchen.  And you know what? In the end, we opened a bottle of Mission Brewery’s Amber Ale and still counted ourselves extremely lucky.

(Note: photo was taken just before a lamp fell on the soup and beer.  So, sadly, this poor shot is the only one in existence.)

Cheddar Beer Soup
Adapted from Gourmet (with my suggestions in parentheses)
1 medium leek (white and pale green parts only), cut into 1/4-inch dice (1 cup)
1 medium carrot, cut into 1/4-inch dice (1 cup)
1 celery rib, cut into 1/4-inch dice (1 cup)
1 teaspoons finely chopped garlic
1 Turkish or 1/2 California bay leaf
1/4 stick (2 tbsp.) unsalted butter
4 tbsp. all-purpose flour
1 cup whole milk
1 cups low-sodium vegetable broth (more if you like a thinner soup or if your beer’s too heavy)
1 (12-oz) bottle ale (I’d skip heavy Belgians in favor of Bass or Harp or even a Sam Adams)
1 tsp. dry mustard
1 tsp. salt
1/4 tsp. black pepper
1/4 tsp. paprika or cayenne pepper
8 oz extra-sharp Cheddar (milder if your beer is quite strong), grated (1- 1/2 cups)
–Some crusty bread for dipping and eating, chive or green onion to top.

Rinse leeks in a colander or bowl of water to dislodge any dirt between the layers.

Melt the butter in a deep saucepan or cast iron pot. Cook leeks, carrots, celery, garlic, and bay leaf in butter over moderate heat, stirring occasionally, until vegetables begin to soften, but don’t brown, around15 minutes. Season with a little salt and fresh pepper. Reducing the heat to moderately low, sprinkle flour over vegetables, then cook, stirring occasionally, for 3 minutes, to help cook off some of the raw flour taste. Add milk, then broth, and finally beer, whisking continuously. Simmer, whisking occasionally, for an additional 5 minutes until soup begins to thicken. Stir in paprika, dry mustard, salt, and pepper. Discard bay leaf and carefully puree soup in batches in an upright blender or with an emersion blender.

Return soup to saucepan and add grated cheese a handful at a time, stirring constantly. Cook until cheese is melted, 3 to 4 minutes, being very careful not to boil the mixture.

Serve sprinkled with chives or croutons, or bacon. (Because everything is better with bacon—Samantha’s addition.)

Pairing notes: Though I made the soup with a Chimay, and we drank it with Mission Brewery’s Amber Ale, I would recommend pairing with the same ale you choose to cook.

A Very Happy Friendsgiving! Though not without its pitfalls…

Vans and I were pretty thrilled when we realized that we’d both be in town for Thanksgiving this year; often one or both of us is travelling up north a bit to the Land o’ Smog to celebrate with family.  But this year we decided to be a tad more eco-friendly, save some gas and carbon emissions, and stick close to home.  Plus, the possibility of a Thanksgiving potluck (potluck=the most beautiful word in the English language) was too tempting to pass up. 

We dubbed our celebration Friendsgiving and it was bravely hosted by our good buddy Dustin (thank goodness he offered because for as culinarily inclined as Vanessa and I are, we both have pitifully small kitchens).  Now, “traditional” is not something we do well around here.  We prefer to cross lines, push boundaries, hop fences, think outside of boxes, etc.  So we decided to put a spin on the traditional Thanksgiving menu, just to make it more in line with our quirky style.  There was nary a sweet potato in sight.

The Menu
Rosemary Roasted Chicken
Vegan Green Bean Casserole
Smashed Red Potatoes with Manchego Cheese
Cloved Orange Cranberry Sauce
Creamed Brussels Sprouts
Grape Stuffing
Cheddar Cranberry Herb Mini Muffins
Pecan Pumpkin Pie with Unsweetened Fresh Whipped Cream
Fat Tire Gravy (Beer gravy!  Sounds amazing, right?  You are sorely mistaken, my friend…)

For the most part, this meal was an incredible success.  The creamed brussels sprouts were the star of the dinner, as far as I am concerned.  Vanessa has completely changed my relationship with this vilified vegetable over the past year.  First, she roasted them for me and I fell in love.  Now, simmering them in cream and butter…geez!  There is nothing better.  Plus, then there was leftover heavy cream to whip up for the pie.   The cranberries were also amazing, thanks to Matt (our photographer extraordinaire).  He cooked them with brown sugar instead of white, and spiced them with perfect subtlety. 

But Friendsgiving also had some shortcomings.  The muffins were a tad dry.  Flavorful, but dry.  And we slightly underestimated the cooking time for the chicken (neither of us had ever roasted a chicken before).  I swear, the juices ran clear when Vans took it out of the oven, but wouldn’t you know the second we cut into it we’d be confronted with an unsettling pink tinge.  So dinner had to wait about forty-five minutes while the chicken moved closer to delicious and further from being alive. 

And then there was the gravy.  Oh dear, the gravy.  We realized after the second emergence of the chicken from the oven that we’d neglected to make that popular Thanksgiving staple.  We had pan juices, flour, butter…but how boring!  So we opened the fridge and spotted a lone bottle of Fat Tire, longing to contribute its deliciousness to the meal.  Aha!  Beer gravy!  It’s genius!  Note to reader: flour, butter, pan juices, and Fat Tire does not a gravy make.  Well, at least it didn’t for us.  Perhaps our proportions were off.  Maybe it needed to cook longer to let some of the alcohol burn off.  Who knows?  But what we ended up with was a beautiful gravy that looked stunning in the bowl and on our plates, but that tasted like bitter beer sludge.  That beer would have had a much more meaningful existence had one of us chosen to simply drink it alongside the meal.  Still, it is almost fortuitous that an early cooking-with-beer attempt should go so horribly wrong; that means the only direction to go is up!

All in all, dinner tasted pretty darn good.  And really, Friendsgiving is more about spending time with those awesome, important people in your life.  We didn’t call it Beergravygiving, and with good reason.