Saturday, December 26, 2009
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Bon Voyage
For any of you who read this I am pleased to introduced the new and improved tastyCHOMP! You’ll now be able to find me at www.tastychomp.com.
The site was designed by my good pal Joe Hayden and will take the place of this blogspot site.
As you know, I’ll be traveling cross-country, sampling goodies from throughout the county. MegWhyte is keeping a blog about the trip called The Oregon Trail and I’ll be writing up my goodies at www.tastychomp.com, as well as an article here and there for Ale Street News and BeersofLegend.com.
Check up on us from time to time as I’m sure we’ll encounter some ridiculous things. I’ve already been to a Goat race and the best beer bar in the country so we’ll see how it goes!
Cheers and thanks for reading,
Justin
A list of places we plan on hitting up:
-New York
-Toronto, Canada
-Ann Arbor, MI
-Chicago, IL
-Milwaukee, WI
-St. Louis, MO
-Lexington, KY
-Memphis and Nashville, TN
-New Orleans, LA (We’ll be here for a week! Come Visit!)
-Houston, TX
-Austin, TX
-Big Bend National Park, TX
-Tucson, AZ
-Sand Diego, CA
-Las Vegas, NV
-San Francisco, CA
-Seattle, WA
-PORTLAND, OR!
The site was designed by my good pal Joe Hayden and will take the place of this blogspot site.
As you know, I’ll be traveling cross-country, sampling goodies from throughout the county. MegWhyte is keeping a blog about the trip called The Oregon Trail and I’ll be writing up my goodies at www.tastychomp.com, as well as an article here and there for Ale Street News and BeersofLegend.com.
Check up on us from time to time as I’m sure we’ll encounter some ridiculous things. I’ve already been to a Goat race and the best beer bar in the country so we’ll see how it goes!
Cheers and thanks for reading,
Justin
A list of places we plan on hitting up:
-New York
-Toronto, Canada
-Ann Arbor, MI
-Chicago, IL
-Milwaukee, WI
-St. Louis, MO
-Lexington, KY
-Memphis and Nashville, TN
-New Orleans, LA (We’ll be here for a week! Come Visit!)
-Houston, TX
-Austin, TX
-Big Bend National Park, TX
-Tucson, AZ
-Sand Diego, CA
-Las Vegas, NV
-San Francisco, CA
-Seattle, WA
-PORTLAND, OR!
Great Beer in Unlikely Places
Last week I ventured to the middle-of-nowhere Maine in search of good beer. Two gentlemen I met at the Bock Fest/Goat Race told me about a Belgian beer bar that I absolutely needed to try. Unfortunately, the bar was hiding in the woods in Lovell, Maine, home of little except for trees and well…more trees.
Normally when told of far-off places, I would scribble down the name and hope one day to try the place out. Something about these guys told me I should actively search this place out; the two were running around the festival with high-tech recording equipment documenting the Goat Race. After a few heats, I started chatting with the fellow holding the boom mic.
“Jonathan,” he told me when I inquired his name. “We’re filming for a website we just started called Beers of Legend.”
After chatting for a bit I told the BOL guys about my cross-country trip and they immediately started naming must-try bars and breweries. Since I was staying in Maine for a few days, the Belgian beer haven in Lovell would be perfect.
The bar is called Ebenezer’s Pub. You wouldn’t think anything of it from the outside but Ebenezer’s is considered the top Belgian beer bar in the country. Beer Advocate has crowned Ebenezer’s the best in 2007 and 2008 and after my experience there, I just might agree with them.
From the outside the bar isn’t pretty. It is next to a golf course and located on a small, gravel road. The owners, Chris and Jen, live in the adjacent house and although they weren’t there when I visited (I needed to get an interview with Chris for BOL) everyone I met had glowing compliments for them. I wouldn’t deny them either; Ebenezer’s Pub seems like a labor of love and no one except for the most faithful beer evangelists could keep a place like that running.
After introducing myself to Hanna—quite possibly the friendliest bartender I’ve ever met—I began to peruse the menu. Page after page was full of delicious, rare and hard-to-find brews. The 35-tap draft system was about 90% Belgian beer and the four-door fridge stocked everything from Trappist masterpieces to eclectic Belgian Gueuze. I cannot say how far my eyes popped out of their sockets but I probably studied the menu for a good twenty-minutes. Luckily, Hanna was more than willing to answer any questions.
I started the evening with a 2006 Cantillon Kriek. Cantillon is one of the most admired Gueuze/Lambic producers in Belgian and while some of the best bars in the country might have one Cantillon beer on tap, Ebenezer’s has six, not to mention about ten different varieties in bottles. The Kriek was a rosy creation the color of mashed berries, tart and dry as a desert. It was only a sample of what was in store.
Without going on and on about the delicious brews I tried—and there were many—I’ll skip straight to the claim to fame: De Struise Black Albert.
De Stuise is a small brewery started by two brothers in Belgium in 2003. The brewers have amassed many credentials in a short time and although the do not export much to the US, they decided to brew a specialty beer for Chris and Ebenezer’s in honor of a Belgian Beer Festival he invited them too. The result: Black Albert, a Belgian Royal Stout that some say is the best beer in America.
After the meal Hanna brought out two glasses of Black Albert and the appearance of the drink alone is enough to make a beer-lover’s eyes misty; Black Albert is darker than black, with a viscosity rivaled only by motor oil and a dense, tan head. The aroma is strong, with all the expected caramel and roasted espresso notes. The taste, however, is anything but ordinary. For all of its brawn, Black Albert is extremely light on the palate. The beer is incredibly smooth, with a pleasant tinge of alcohol and a toasted, slightly bitter aftertaste that refuses to quit. Without dragging on, it was a knock out.
After a few more samples, Hanna introduced us to Frank, the bar manager, who gave us a tour of the place. After questioning him about some of his favorite brews, Frank agreed to show us Chris and Jen’s basement, a frigid, stone room that doubled as the beer cellar.
Although the bar itself was impressive, the cellar was like walking into a Smithsonian-museum of fine beer. Wall to wall were stacked kegs of the finest American brews, crowded next to storied Belgians. Shelves were stocked with cases of hard-to-find Americans, sometimes with several cases from different years.
Frank showed us some of his favorite stashes while I stumbled around bewildered, dumbstruck by the rarity of some of the bottles before me. Despite the reverence Frank held for the beers, I had to laugh when I saw the modest futon he sleeps in after working late shifts. On the floor next to his makeshift bed were a few half emptied chalices of delicious Belgian brews.
“I should really clean that up,” Frank said as I motioned to his collection of nightcaps.
After the tour we bid farewell and made our way back to civilization. Hanna promised Chris would get in touch with me for the interview when he could; he is currently opening up a Belgian café in Brunswick, Maine with the De Struise brewers. The place will be a fully functioning brewpub with a selection akin to Ebenezer’s but with the added bonus of fresh De Struise brewed beer.
The lure of the Pannepot café was almost enough to keep me on the East Coast for a while but I figure I can find some more gems hidden throughout the country. As I digested my mussels and savored the last sips of Black Albert, I made a mental note to follow up on any out of the way suggestions. You never know where some of the best beer in the country will show up.
Friday, May 8, 2009
Beers of the North Country
Over the past several days I’ve been relaxing up in Maine, figuring out the cross-country trip and hitting up some breweries. Recently, I’ve stopped in at the Portsmouth Brewery and Restaurant in New Hampshire, Gritty McDuff’s Brewpub and the Allagash Brewery in Portland, Maine.
All of them were great, but Allagash was the only one of the bunch that only brews beer. If you have never tried any of the brews Rob Todd makes at Allagash, please rush out now and buy a bottle. The small brewery—with 18 employees and distributing in 18 states—creates fine Belgian style ales. Best known for their White Ale, a Belgian style wheat beer, Allagash makes some truly delicious and surprising brews.
When I went to the brewery I was fortunate enough to pick up a bottle of Gargamel, a supremely limited edition sour ale. Gargamel came out yesterday and despite people driving up from all over (our tour guide told us about a fellow who left NYC at midnight the night before the beer’s release) the brewery had a strict two-beer limit.
After our urging, our tour guide popped open two bottles of Gargamel for the group to try. The beer is wrapped in paper and carefully labeled. It pours a rosy-red and has a strong raspberry nose. A truly beautiful beer, Gargamel is absolutely delicious! Tart and refreshing, Gargamel has the piquant bite of a perfectly balanced sour ale. If you get the chance, try it immediately. If you can’t find a bottle, pick up any Allagash brew (I’m partial to the Dubbel) and enjoy the complex, Belgian flavors straight out of Maine.
Kentucky Derby? I'll watch the Goat Race!
As I drove towards Phoenixville, Pennsylvania there was a constant drizzle of rain dampening my hopes about the Sly Fox Bock Fest and Goat Race. I have never been to a goat race before, but I assumed it was an outdoor affair and worried the event would be canceled.
My fears were washed away once I tried to enter the Sly Fox Brewhouse and Eatery; the parking lot was packed to capacity and cops in ponchos were turning people away.
Despite the weather, there were hundreds of individuals walking the grounds with pints in hand. Once I saw a dozen goats wandering around and chomping at stray bundles of grass, I knew I was in the right place.
The Sly Fox Brewhouse was established in 1995 and their beers have won numerous awards and medals since. Sly Fox is still a small-scale craft brewery, distributing only Pennsylvania and its neighboring States. In 2002, Brian O’Reilly became Master Brewer at Sly Fox and founded the annual Bock Fest and Goat race at the Phoenixville Brewery.
“The first year he did this there were about twenty people and a few goats,” a Pennsylvania-native and former Tröegs brewer told me. Seven years later, there has been a visible spike in attendance. I was standing in a rainy parking lot surrounded by over fifteen hundred goat race-loving, polka-dancing bock enthusiasts. When he was not announcing the goat races, Brian O’Reilly was swamped with questions and congratulations from friends and fans.
O’Reilly was constantly busy, and with good reason. Besides the athletic goats, the plump knockwursts and the Oompah band, the Bock Fest displayed five deliciously authentic German-style brews. Sly Fox Helles, Weisse, Pils, Slacker Bock and—the star of the evening—Maibock were generously being poured to the beer loving throngs.
The Sly Fox brews are straightforward interpretations of these styles. The Helles pours light gold with clean, crisp flavors; the Pils is a bone dry beer, well-balanced but with enough bite to snap you into attention; the Slacker bock is no loafer, with a dark amber-brown hue and a complex, malty body.
Despite the abundance of good beers available in the tents, the beer everyone was waiting for was the Maibock. The spring beer is brewed every year at Sly Fox but is not poured until after the goat race. The winning goat lends his or her name to Maibock and the goat’s racer gets to tap the first firkin of the stuff.
This year’s lucky goat was a small black specimen with a white tuft on his head named Dax. Easily winning all of his heats, Dax’s victory meant the Maibock could start flowing into the empty glasses of the thirsty Sly Fox enthusiasts. O’Reilly and Dax’s racer Karl Lorah quickly rationed the first keg as Fest-goers lined up to sample the fresh Dax Maibock and congratulate the winning critter.
The unveiling of the Maibock is a much-anticipated event in Sly Fox country. The beer is a quintessential Maibock, brimming with the clean and sprightly flavors of spring. Pouring a deep orange-amber with a voluminous white head, Dax Maibock is malty with a sweet nose and full of enough flavor to please the most discriminating bock fan.
Despite the finish of this year’s goat racing, the crowds lingered and drank down the rest of the German offerings. As goats with names like Baby Brie, Darwin and Mr. Stupid shuffled around looking for post race snacks, beer fans clinked glasses and looked forward to the rain-free, sunny days of summer. The rain continued steadily, but the fresh Maibock seemed to keep everyone in high-spirits.
“They’re not playing baseball in this rain,” exclaimed O’Reilly, referring to the postponed Phillies’ game, “but we’re racing goats!”
After a few hours at the Sly Fox Bock Fest and Goat Race, I seriously considered advocating goat racing as America’s new pastime. Fortunately, I was handed another Maibock before I got too lost in my thoughts and wandered off in search of another wurst.
My fears were washed away once I tried to enter the Sly Fox Brewhouse and Eatery; the parking lot was packed to capacity and cops in ponchos were turning people away.
Despite the weather, there were hundreds of individuals walking the grounds with pints in hand. Once I saw a dozen goats wandering around and chomping at stray bundles of grass, I knew I was in the right place.
The Sly Fox Brewhouse was established in 1995 and their beers have won numerous awards and medals since. Sly Fox is still a small-scale craft brewery, distributing only Pennsylvania and its neighboring States. In 2002, Brian O’Reilly became Master Brewer at Sly Fox and founded the annual Bock Fest and Goat race at the Phoenixville Brewery.
“The first year he did this there were about twenty people and a few goats,” a Pennsylvania-native and former Tröegs brewer told me. Seven years later, there has been a visible spike in attendance. I was standing in a rainy parking lot surrounded by over fifteen hundred goat race-loving, polka-dancing bock enthusiasts. When he was not announcing the goat races, Brian O’Reilly was swamped with questions and congratulations from friends and fans.
O’Reilly was constantly busy, and with good reason. Besides the athletic goats, the plump knockwursts and the Oompah band, the Bock Fest displayed five deliciously authentic German-style brews. Sly Fox Helles, Weisse, Pils, Slacker Bock and—the star of the evening—Maibock were generously being poured to the beer loving throngs.
The Sly Fox brews are straightforward interpretations of these styles. The Helles pours light gold with clean, crisp flavors; the Pils is a bone dry beer, well-balanced but with enough bite to snap you into attention; the Slacker bock is no loafer, with a dark amber-brown hue and a complex, malty body.
Despite the abundance of good beers available in the tents, the beer everyone was waiting for was the Maibock. The spring beer is brewed every year at Sly Fox but is not poured until after the goat race. The winning goat lends his or her name to Maibock and the goat’s racer gets to tap the first firkin of the stuff.
This year’s lucky goat was a small black specimen with a white tuft on his head named Dax. Easily winning all of his heats, Dax’s victory meant the Maibock could start flowing into the empty glasses of the thirsty Sly Fox enthusiasts. O’Reilly and Dax’s racer Karl Lorah quickly rationed the first keg as Fest-goers lined up to sample the fresh Dax Maibock and congratulate the winning critter.
The unveiling of the Maibock is a much-anticipated event in Sly Fox country. The beer is a quintessential Maibock, brimming with the clean and sprightly flavors of spring. Pouring a deep orange-amber with a voluminous white head, Dax Maibock is malty with a sweet nose and full of enough flavor to please the most discriminating bock fan.
Despite the finish of this year’s goat racing, the crowds lingered and drank down the rest of the German offerings. As goats with names like Baby Brie, Darwin and Mr. Stupid shuffled around looking for post race snacks, beer fans clinked glasses and looked forward to the rain-free, sunny days of summer. The rain continued steadily, but the fresh Maibock seemed to keep everyone in high-spirits.
“They’re not playing baseball in this rain,” exclaimed O’Reilly, referring to the postponed Phillies’ game, “but we’re racing goats!”
After a few hours at the Sly Fox Bock Fest and Goat Race, I seriously considered advocating goat racing as America’s new pastime. Fortunately, I was handed another Maibock before I got too lost in my thoughts and wandered off in search of another wurst.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
At least the beer is good…
Before hitting the road on my way to Oregon I stopped by CitiField, the new home of my Mets, to personally sample the new beer selection. I’ve written earlier about the “Taste of the City” area behind center field—the Danny Meyer created food Mecca for baseball fans with a palate—and I decided to get out there and try the goods for myself.
Although this wasn’t my first trip to CitiField, it was the first time I got to the ballpark early enough to check out the new digs. After an initial tour, I made my way to center field for some specially made Brooklyn brews.
Beer #1: Blanche De Queens
Location: Box Frites
Created to complement a crispy pile of Belgian style frites, this witbier is great way to start a ballgame. There is nothing out of the ordinary about this wit—cloudy with your typical citrus, coriander and spice flavors are there—but everything comes together in a deliciously balanced, tart and refreshing brew.
Beer #2: Shackmeister Ale
Location: Shack Shake (both the CitiField and NYC locations)
This amber, American style pale confused me at first; I was expecting a huge flavor bomb to go with the famous burgers but was left baffled after a few sips. Once I took a bite of my Shack Shake burger, however, I understood completely: this beer is supposed to be second fiddle.
Shackmeister is a strong hoppy smelling brew, but has an almost thin mouth feel. The thinness doesn’t carry over to the flavor since this bubbly beverage is balanced and full bodied. The direct, subtle flavors perfectly cut through the rich, juicy meat and allow you to enjoy each burger as if you bit into it the first time. I especially loved the way the beer cleansed my palate after chomping on the crispy, burnt edges of my patty.
Beer #3: Sabroso Ale
Location: El Verano Taqueria
I’d tasted this brew at a previous game at CitiField and was blow away by how bold it was. The beer pours a dark golden-bronze with a fluffy white head that even the CitiField wind can’t blow away. Full of aromatic hops, the brew is sharp and has a pleasant, lingering bite.
I snacked on some elote corn (corn on the cob rubbed with a thick mayo, queso blanco and chile) and the Sabroso did a great job of keeping the heat at bay. This would be my go to beer at CitiField if it weren’t for the final beer I tried.
Beer #4: Blue Smoke Ale
Location: Blue Smoke (both Citifield and NYC location)
After researching a bit it seems that Blue Smoke Ale is a combination of two Brooklyn beers. Whatever it may be, the beer is the heaviest of the specialty brews available and sports a deep reddish-hued and stark white head. The brew is also has the biggest balls of the available Brooklyn beers which probably has to do with standing up to the spicy-tang of the Blue Smoke barbecue sauce.
The brew has a smooth, full body with a vibrant carbonation. I enjoyed it with an underwhelming pulled pork sandwich (I should have gotten the ribs) and can only imagine how good this beer is when paired with a heaping plate of bbq. This beer is by far my favorite offering at “Taste of the City”.
Manifest Destiny
Keep your eyes out for a brand new tastyCHOMP website! I’ve retired from my job as a waiter and will be hitting the road seeking some of the country’s most delicious brews and chomps!
I’m going to be moving to Portland, Oregon so while I’m fulfilling my Manifest Destiny I will be writing a few articles for Ale Street news (more info on that to come!) and possibly conducting a few interviews. The new site should be ready to go within a week so keep checking back for updates!
Cheers!
I’m going to be moving to Portland, Oregon so while I’m fulfilling my Manifest Destiny I will be writing a few articles for Ale Street news (more info on that to come!) and possibly conducting a few interviews. The new site should be ready to go within a week so keep checking back for updates!
Cheers!
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Ale Street Nights: Belgian Night in NYC
Check out the review of the Ale Street: Belgian Night in NYC.
Saturday, April 25, 2009
The Oregon Trail
On May 2nd I am leaving my New York and setting out on an adventure to find my future. The plan is simple: pack guitars, cooking supplies, bicycles, clothes, camera and girlfriend into car and go.
The end destination is Portland, Oregon and the end goal is to find a deliciously awesome place to live where I can work in a brewery and learn a few things. Although I have a bunch of stops planned (Various NY towns, my friend’s dairy farm, the Goat races in Phoenixville, PA, Portland, ME, Chicago, Memphis, New Orleans, Big Bend National Park etc) I am still looking for suggestions from other interesting places to check out.
I plan on documenting my beer and food adventures here, so if you have any recommendations, please pass them on. I need all the help I can get in fulfilling my manifest destiny so pass on the wisdom!
The end destination is Portland, Oregon and the end goal is to find a deliciously awesome place to live where I can work in a brewery and learn a few things. Although I have a bunch of stops planned (Various NY towns, my friend’s dairy farm, the Goat races in Phoenixville, PA, Portland, ME, Chicago, Memphis, New Orleans, Big Bend National Park etc) I am still looking for suggestions from other interesting places to check out.
I plan on documenting my beer and food adventures here, so if you have any recommendations, please pass them on. I need all the help I can get in fulfilling my manifest destiny so pass on the wisdom!
Monday, April 20, 2009
Belgian Night in NYC and the World's Rarest Beer
Last Saturday I had the opportunity to host my first ever beer event with Ale Street News and CityDusk. Ale Street Nights: Belgian Night In NYC was a celebration of beer, friends, and more obnoxiously delicious beer.
The event consisted of a pair of beers at The Hop Devil Grill Lounge on St. Marks in the East Village followed by three pours, mussels and frites at the East Village Tavern on Ave C at 10th Street. Simple enough, right?
Wrong. I quickly found out that event planning in NYC is a huge pain in the ass. Besides booking venues and setting prices, there is that little aspect of advertising and getting people to go! Despite my best efforts I couldn’t convince many friends to shell out for fine beers and shellfish, so luckily Tony and Jack at Ale Street News decided the sponsor the event and we brought in a nice little crew of beer lovers.
Fast-forward past pitches, negotiations, write-ups and advertising and settle on last Saturday evening.
It was a beautiful day in NYC and I am settled into a bar stool at the Hop Devil sipping a Delirium Tremens. I’m taking my time with the ferocious pink elephant but getting nervous; I am expecting twelve people plus five or so friends of Ale Street and none have shown up yet; it is a quarter past the designated start date.
Waiting.
Drinking.
Waiting.
Drinking some more.
…Finally! An older couple shows up and I pounce, offering drink tickets, wristbands and some beer suggestions. The woman turns out to be the aunt of boss at CityDusk and we chat more about him than beer. Not a problem for me, at least people are showing up.
Fast-forward to twenty minutes later.
A whole slew of individuals show up including casual beer fans and Ale Street writers. I feel relieved, kill my beer and order a surprisingly thin tasting Victory Saison. People start chatting among themselves, Tony and Jack show up and the party is in full swing. Everyone is introduced and I start describing the evening. Tony gets up and gives a spiel about Belgium and Belgian beers and we round up the crew and head over to the East Village Tavern.
Before I get any further, I need to talk about EVT for a bit. I never got the chance to venture to this American craft brew haven before but I was speaking to the manager, Bill Mackin, on the phone constantly for the past several weeks. We started discussing the event, then got to just chatting about brewers, breweries and obscure and rare beers. I am nowhere near as knowledgeable about beers as Bill (or any of the people associated with Ale Street for that matter—I’m young, what can I say) but Bill took an immediate liking to me. We planned a stellar line-up for the evening—Goose Island’s Pere Jacques, Avery’s Salvation and Keegan’s Four Philosophers—and decided on a deliciously Belgian dinner of mussels and frites.
Once everyone got to EVT Jack handed out beer goggles and demanded, “We walk in there and own the place.” We snapped a few pictures as confused bar patrons sitting in the outdoor patio looked on and headed in to start the shenanigans.
Fast-forward to two hours and a few beers later.
I have beer goggles perched on my head, there is a plate of empty mollusk shells on the table and people are telling me anecdotes about Belgian café restrooms and beatnik cross country trips. I am in my glory; I have a glass of Four Philosophers in hand, a plate of Belgian chocolates and people are thanking me for a great evening. I’ve been chatting with the owner of EVT about hard-to-find beers and future NYC beer bars when Tony comes up to me and says brought the Holy Grail of beers; my jaw drops as he pulls out the nondescript, yellow-capped bottle of Westvleteren 12.
Just in case you have a life and don’t read about beer for fun, Westvelern 12 is the rarest beer in the world. Out of seven Trappist breweries, two (Chimay and Orval) are easily found in the US, three (Achel, Westmalle and Konningshoeven) can be found most times, one (Rochfort) is a much trickier to locate and the final brew (Westvleteren, also known as the Holy Grail of beer) is damn near impossible. Westvleteren is without a doubt the rarest of the Trappist brews. Garret Oliver, head brewer at Brooklyn Brewery says that “Westvleteren’s beers are available only from a drive-up hatch at the abbey gates or from the café In De Vrede, across the street. Even then, not all the beers are sold at any given time.”
When Tony went to Belgium in March, Westvleteren was not available at the brewery. After his fruitless pleading with the monks, he managed to purchase a few bottles at a larger café somewhere else. Luckily for me, I was able to sample the ambrosia without buying a plane ticket to Belgium and begging the monks at the monastery.
To shortly sum up a night up delicious debauchery, the first ever Ale Street Night was a complete success. I got to meet a lot of very interesting and knowledgeable people and drink some great and rare beers. Best of all, there is a chance I can write for Ale Street while I make my way across the country in my quest to taste great beer, have a great time and fulfill my manifest destiny. Cheers to that!
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Belgium, Boston and Beer Wars
Three Things to Mention:
Friday, April 10, 2009
Who the hell wants to go to Delaware?
“Delaware!? What’s in Delaware?”
This is the typical response I received after inviting my friends on a four and a half hour trip to our nation’s first state. After their intrigue/astonishment/disgust would pass (most people I know have an innate distrust of states that are not New York) I would inform them that Rehoboth Delaware is home to the Dogfish Head Brewery, purveyor of the nation’s most unique and interesting beers. After months of trying to get anyone to join me on my beerventure, a good friend of mine agreed to make the trip.
Until recently I’ve been more curious about the exotic ingredients and obscure recipes used by head brewer Sam Calagione than actually drinking the stuff. I started to change my tune after I heard Sam speak during a beer and cheese pairing at last year’s American Craft Beer festival in Boston. More recently, a beer dinner at the Park Slope restaurant Palo Santo turned me on the amazing affinity Dogfish brews have for food. A trip to the source of all these unique flavors was unavoidable.
After sitting in three states worth of traffic, we arrived at Dogfish Head with twenty minutes to spare before the tour began. While my friend sought out the restrooms I settled down at the bar and was about to speak with a waitress when I saw Sam Calagione stomping around in a large barrel in a small back room.
“An Indian IPA,” the waitress told me. “Made with curry, cumin and all sorts of Indian spices.”
Whoa. Already my mind was blown. Dogfish really blurs the already indistinguishable line between food and beer. I made a mental note to keep track of this IPA and asked the waitress where the tour starts. She sadly informed me that I was seated at the Restaurant and Brewpub, not the brewery itself. Besides the distillery upstairs the only brews being made there were small batches of possible future styles. After scribbling down a few directions and waiting for my friend to finish relieving himself, we backtracked our way to the actual brewery located in Milton.
Following the shark signs into an industrial looking complex surrounded by townhouses, we found the entrance to the brewery. Dogfish is undergoing an extraordinary amount of renovation and expansion in order to better meet the demand for their beer. While they make it twenty-five of the fifty states, Dogfish is meeting only half of the demand for their brews. The renovations are intended to increase production and create a more welcoming environment for beer lovers that include an on-site restaurant and bocce courts.
Once the tour was finished and I stood in admiration of the 10,000 gallon palo santo tank, a loopy, bespectled fellow began pouring us beers and chatting. After a few samplings that included a delicious mix of 90-Minute IPA and Palo Santo, he poured me a Midus Touch (a mead/beer recreated from the remnants of a drinking vessel excavated from the tomb of Midus) and began describing his late night culinary creations and a skit he acts out with a buddy called “Whose Got the Munchies?” After listening in disbelief about a few of his “recipes” we finished up our samples and ventured back to the restaurant.
A seat at the bar of the Dogfish Head Brewings & Eats Pub is probably the best way to really understand what Dogfish Head is all about. I have gotten a sense of Sam’s personality from hearing him speak and seeing him personally pour beers on several occasions, but the atmosphere of camaraderie and fun that permeates the restaurant and his beers is unmatched by any other brewery I have visited. Over the course of a long, indulgent evening of eating and drinking, I was able to speak at length with current Dogfish brewers who rebuked my remarks about their homemade spirits looking “sketchy”, local homebrewers who helped Sam and company found the brewery and a couple of out-of-towners who just came to check out the beers. Every single person I met had nothing but good things to say about Dogfish and the sense of community the brewery has brought together. The first Thursday of the month brings together a Brew Club that has been meeting for over fifteen years and the individuals with whom I chatted gave me insight into the heart and soul of Dogfish Head: delicious and drinkable fun. It really is a motley crew of creative professional brewers, casual drinkers and locals who want to enjoy a fresh pint, mingle and joke around. After a bottle of beer based on an ancient Chinese recipe, a couple of free rounds and one too many pizzas, we closed down the bar and went to walk off the lasting effects of 120-Minutes IPA.
This is the typical response I received after inviting my friends on a four and a half hour trip to our nation’s first state. After their intrigue/astonishment/disgust would pass (most people I know have an innate distrust of states that are not New York) I would inform them that Rehoboth Delaware is home to the Dogfish Head Brewery, purveyor of the nation’s most unique and interesting beers. After months of trying to get anyone to join me on my beerventure, a good friend of mine agreed to make the trip.
Until recently I’ve been more curious about the exotic ingredients and obscure recipes used by head brewer Sam Calagione than actually drinking the stuff. I started to change my tune after I heard Sam speak during a beer and cheese pairing at last year’s American Craft Beer festival in Boston. More recently, a beer dinner at the Park Slope restaurant Palo Santo turned me on the amazing affinity Dogfish brews have for food. A trip to the source of all these unique flavors was unavoidable.
After sitting in three states worth of traffic, we arrived at Dogfish Head with twenty minutes to spare before the tour began. While my friend sought out the restrooms I settled down at the bar and was about to speak with a waitress when I saw Sam Calagione stomping around in a large barrel in a small back room.
“An Indian IPA,” the waitress told me. “Made with curry, cumin and all sorts of Indian spices.”
Whoa. Already my mind was blown. Dogfish really blurs the already indistinguishable line between food and beer. I made a mental note to keep track of this IPA and asked the waitress where the tour starts. She sadly informed me that I was seated at the Restaurant and Brewpub, not the brewery itself. Besides the distillery upstairs the only brews being made there were small batches of possible future styles. After scribbling down a few directions and waiting for my friend to finish relieving himself, we backtracked our way to the actual brewery located in Milton.
Following the shark signs into an industrial looking complex surrounded by townhouses, we found the entrance to the brewery. Dogfish is undergoing an extraordinary amount of renovation and expansion in order to better meet the demand for their beer. While they make it twenty-five of the fifty states, Dogfish is meeting only half of the demand for their brews. The renovations are intended to increase production and create a more welcoming environment for beer lovers that include an on-site restaurant and bocce courts.
Once the tour was finished and I stood in admiration of the 10,000 gallon palo santo tank, a loopy, bespectled fellow began pouring us beers and chatting. After a few samplings that included a delicious mix of 90-Minute IPA and Palo Santo, he poured me a Midus Touch (a mead/beer recreated from the remnants of a drinking vessel excavated from the tomb of Midus) and began describing his late night culinary creations and a skit he acts out with a buddy called “Whose Got the Munchies?” After listening in disbelief about a few of his “recipes” we finished up our samples and ventured back to the restaurant.
A seat at the bar of the Dogfish Head Brewings & Eats Pub is probably the best way to really understand what Dogfish Head is all about. I have gotten a sense of Sam’s personality from hearing him speak and seeing him personally pour beers on several occasions, but the atmosphere of camaraderie and fun that permeates the restaurant and his beers is unmatched by any other brewery I have visited. Over the course of a long, indulgent evening of eating and drinking, I was able to speak at length with current Dogfish brewers who rebuked my remarks about their homemade spirits looking “sketchy”, local homebrewers who helped Sam and company found the brewery and a couple of out-of-towners who just came to check out the beers. Every single person I met had nothing but good things to say about Dogfish and the sense of community the brewery has brought together. The first Thursday of the month brings together a Brew Club that has been meeting for over fifteen years and the individuals with whom I chatted gave me insight into the heart and soul of Dogfish Head: delicious and drinkable fun. It really is a motley crew of creative professional brewers, casual drinkers and locals who want to enjoy a fresh pint, mingle and joke around. After a bottle of beer based on an ancient Chinese recipe, a couple of free rounds and one too many pizzas, we closed down the bar and went to walk off the lasting effects of 120-Minutes IPA.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Looking for a night out?
| Belgian Night in NYC Saturday,April 18, 2009 05:00pm - 08:00pm Price: $55 |
Join CityDusk and Ale Street News for a little taste of Belgium without leaving the city!
Who: CityDusk and Ale Street News When: Saturday, April 18, 2009 5-8pm Where: Meet at Hop Devil Grill/Belgian Room: 129 St. Marks Place
Our night begins at 5pm at the Hop Devil Grill/Belgian Room on St. Marks. We will meet up with Justin Lloyd, our host for the evening, and cozy up to the bar, relax and enjoy the tastes of Antwerp and Brussels via a couple of Belgian and Belgian-American beers.
After we whet our appetites from one of the 30 top-notch brews on tap, we'll head over to East Village Tavern on Avenue C at 6pm. Once inside, the fine folks from Ale Street News will fill our heads with stories from their annual trips to Belgium and fill our glasses with more delicious suds. While we discuss the finer points of our ales, the chef at East Village Tavern will prepare us Belgium's most famous dish-mussels and frites. We can wile away the time like true Walloons, sipping beer after beer and digging into heaping bowls of mussels. Once the last glass has been emptied, we will end the night with one of Belgium's ridiculously delicious chocolates and venture into the streets of New York City, stuffed, happy and pretty tipsy.
Ticket Price: $55 Total Value at Hop Devil/Belgian Room w/tax+tip = $20 Total Value at East Village Tavern w/tax+tip = $50 Ale Street News tales & tutorials = CityDusk original |
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Screw K-Rod! Which Way to Shake Shack?
Being a Mets fan, you can imagine how excited I am for Citi Field to open. Unlike the diehard Shea Stadium fans that constantly pummel me with anti-Citi Field diatribes, I am looking forward to the new ballpark. After weeks of articles describing every nook and cranny of Citi Field and its cuisine, I came across this article investigating the food economics of the park.
Whether or not the Mets will give me another miserable season, I can be happy knowing that the price for a beer will be significantly less. A can of Bud is down from $7.50 to $6, a drop 20%.
Thankfully, there will be more than Bud available. In fact, there will be many beers exclusive to Citi Field. Most notably represented will be Brooklyn Brewery. In addition to the Brooklyn-made Shackmeister beer available at Shake Shack, Garret and his boys have created special brews for Blue Smoke (Blue Smoke’s Original Ale), El Verano Taqueria (Sabroso Ale) and from what I hear there will be a Witbier for the Frites stand.
At least if the Mets blow it again I can drown my sorrows on sight.
Whether or not the Mets will give me another miserable season, I can be happy knowing that the price for a beer will be significantly less. A can of Bud is down from $7.50 to $6, a drop 20%.
Thankfully, there will be more than Bud available. In fact, there will be many beers exclusive to Citi Field. Most notably represented will be Brooklyn Brewery. In addition to the Brooklyn-made Shackmeister beer available at Shake Shack, Garret and his boys have created special brews for Blue Smoke (Blue Smoke’s Original Ale), El Verano Taqueria (Sabroso Ale) and from what I hear there will be a Witbier for the Frites stand.
At least if the Mets blow it again I can drown my sorrows on sight.
Viejito Old Ale
Once I start brewing again I am going to create an Old Ale or Barleywine called Viejito Old Ale. It will be big, hairy and delicious, just like my grandfather’s current beard.
Hopefully Viejito will be able to induce that glasses-falling-off-face look.
Hopefully Viejito will be able to induce that glasses-falling-off-face look.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
For One Second...Put Down the Fork
After work today I cracked open a bottle of Oatmeal stout and started chomping down a few oatmeal chocolate chips cookies that were sent my way as a gift. I’ve been reading Michael Pollan’s The Omnivore’s Dilemma lately and came across a line that I find very poignant:
“The pleasures of the table begin with eating…but they can end up anywhere human talk cares to go. In the same way the raw becomes cooked, eating becomes dining.”
There is a very distinct difference between eating and dining; one satisfies a physical need while the other satisfies a social one. Although eating—and being full—can be understood rather easily, there is no scale to measure the pleasure that a good meal and good company can bring.
Perhaps it was because I was dining on my cookies and beer alone, but this line really hit home. I see far too many people shoveling down food just to satisfy their bodily cravings without enjoying the presence of the person sitting across the table. Enjoy your company, people. Take a second to think about feeding more than your stomach.
“The pleasures of the table begin with eating…but they can end up anywhere human talk cares to go. In the same way the raw becomes cooked, eating becomes dining.”
There is a very distinct difference between eating and dining; one satisfies a physical need while the other satisfies a social one. Although eating—and being full—can be understood rather easily, there is no scale to measure the pleasure that a good meal and good company can bring.
Perhaps it was because I was dining on my cookies and beer alone, but this line really hit home. I see far too many people shoveling down food just to satisfy their bodily cravings without enjoying the presence of the person sitting across the table. Enjoy your company, people. Take a second to think about feeding more than your stomach.
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Save the Date
Mark your calendars for Saturday, April 18th for a Night in Belgium, NYC style! I’ll post more details in the next few days but I can tell you it will involve several delicious beers, a few mussels and a chocolate or two!
Friday, March 27, 2009
Some literature to go with your pint
Next time you are at your local bar, grab a copy of the April/May Yankee Brew News. Located on page 4 is a letter I wrote to the editors about the intrepid young individuals (i.e. young studs like myself) working within the beer industry.
This is what editor Gregg Glaser had to say:
“Justin: Many thanks for this. The publishers and I loved what you wrote. Sorry about the lack of NYC 20-somethings in the last issue’s feature story. If you or others like you had come to our attention as we researched the story, we would have definitely included New Yorkers. Keep up your beer evangelism in NYC and stay in touch with your endeavors. And thanks for the kind words about Yankee Brew News. Cheers – Gregg”
Also, keep April 25th free on your calendar. I’ll be hosting a Belgian beer event with Ale Street News. I’ll post details as soon as I can.
This is what editor Gregg Glaser had to say:
“Justin: Many thanks for this. The publishers and I loved what you wrote. Sorry about the lack of NYC 20-somethings in the last issue’s feature story. If you or others like you had come to our attention as we researched the story, we would have definitely included New Yorkers. Keep up your beer evangelism in NYC and stay in touch with your endeavors. And thanks for the kind words about Yankee Brew News. Cheers – Gregg”
Also, keep April 25th free on your calendar. I’ll be hosting a Belgian beer event with Ale Street News. I’ll post details as soon as I can.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Boston Kicks Cask
Yesterday I attended the first day of the New England Cask Ale Exhibition (NERAX) and drank my imperial body weight in British BItters. Today is the unleashing of Dogfish Head’s 75-minutes IPA in select bars in the North East. Fortunately for me, Boston knows how to get down with the cask. Cheers!
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Good Beer, Better Swine
My mouth began watering while I sat on the train. As I raced passed the rundown buildings of Jamaica and dirty alleys of East New York, visions of chunky little pigs played in my mind. In my head the swine, fat and happy, sipped on local beers while skipping towards Park Slope in Brooklyn. The reason for their exodus was a Heritage Game and Beer dinner put on by the Palo Santo restaurant, a place where not long ago, I attended a dinner hosted by Garret Oliver from the Brooklyn Brewery. Palo Santo chef Jacques Gautier later told me that the Brooklyn Brewery dinner was all about the beer. The Heritage Game dinner was all for the meat. Thus my little piggies happily marched on.
As I passed through the dark curtains that serve as the restaurant’s entrance, the hostess ushered my friend and I to a table in the back room. After sitting down and calming my salivating tongue with a sip of water, our waitress Lindsey came over and poured us two tall glasses of Brooklyner Weisse Beer. So far so good, I thought to myself. The banana tartness of the weisse was the same beer the Mr. Gautier started the previous beer dinner with, and the refreshing wheat brew served as a sensory reminder of the feast that was to come.
Before the first dish graced my taste buds, a gentleman from the Heritage Foods spoke for all of three minutes. The man seemed to be in his late thirties, with an obvious love for wholesome food and distaste for public speaking. He quickly compared the natural foodists in northeastern states like Maine and the locavoires of Brooklyn to the “Republican Bush Party.” He spoke of organizing farmers and creating a Sysco like marketing efficiency for their goods. The others in the restaurant neither nodded in agreement or frowned in disapproval; Instead, they gazed on, waiting for an explanation.
Despite his off-putting analogies and awkward demeanor, the fellow from Heritage was able to get a few messages through loud and clear. “Heritage Foods is dedicated to getting wholesome food to every American,” he said. He went on to tell of our country’s elementary schools, colleges and government institutions serving only the lowest passable quality of grub—commodity foods. He spoke of Heritage Foods slaughtering 150 pigs every week and making sure that every part is eaten, not only the short ribs and choice cuts. In defense of his anti-locavoire comments, he stated that consumers must respect terroir. While it is great that communities focus on local goods, sometime it is best to purchase cheese from Wisconsin, apples from New York and spirits from Kentucky. Interesting stuff.
After digesting the speech, I sipped on my weisse. A few beers later Jacques himself whisked the first plate to my table. I may not be a sought after restaurateur, but I can tell you when the chef is in the dining room schlepping plates and chatting with customers, that is a chef who gives a damn. The first dish was an array of New York state beef offal tacos; four miniatures tortillas served as the eating vessel for heart, kidney, liver and tongue. Each was garnished with guacamole and a few sprigs of cilantro. “Normally,” Jacques said, “these meats are ground together for tacos or hotdogs. I want to allow people to try what each part has to offer.” The bite-sized tacos showcased the intricate and often bold flavors of various organ meats. The plate was not only tasty, but thought provoking as well.
Throughout the evening, we were lucky enough to have Jacques dropping off plates and giving us the story behind them. A dish with a slow cooked Berkshire pork and Red Wattle pork was meant to demonstrate the idiosyncratic flavors of the different breeds. A lemon aioli served not only as an interesting dipping sauce for the roasts, but also an avenue for the citrus tinged Brooklyn Local 1 to travel between the two flavors.
All of the dishes were executed with a restrained flair but it was not until the roasted pork loin that I nearly jumped onto my table and chanted praise to the chef. A roasted loin of Tamworth pork was plated with a mixture of green beans, olives, pecans and a hint of mint. The dish was accompanied by a glass of Dogfish Head Raisin D’etra, a dark brown behemoth of a beer; possessing raisiny sweetness that just begs for some salty treats to be thrown its way. The pork was succulent, hugged by a ring of rich fat and studded with a slightly crunch salt skin. The olives seemed completely out of place—like a Russian ballerina who shows up at a break-dance competition but stays to perform her routine anyway—but once they were pushed aside the toasted nuttiness of the pecans perfectly melded with the pork and the beer. Each bite brought me to hog heaven and the Dogfish Head not only lavished my taste buds with its initial malty flavors but cleansed my palate with its mellow hop bite, allowing each salty epiphany to reoccur with every forkful.
The final item on the menu was a lard cake. Although this might not sound too appealing, it turned out to be a large hunk of corn bread with rosemary ice cream and a sorrel reduction. Sorrel, Lindsey told me, is a red Carribean flower sometimes used for jams and preserves. The sorrel was reduced to syrupy goo that added much needed tartness to the cakey, rich bread and the oily herbs of the ice cream. Very much like the Brooklyn dinner several months earlier, the dessert beer was the ribbon that tied the final plate together. For this dinner Dogfish Head Palo Santo was chosen.
Funnily enough, the Palo Santo of the beer references the same wood as the restaurant. Instead of fragrant incense, however, Sam Calagione uses the wood to create giant cask in which he ages his potent concoction. Palo Santo is a dark, viscous drink with a thin, cappuccino colored head. The lacing dissipates quickly but the drink has much to taste than to look at. Palo Santo smells sweet and oily, but after a sip, the drink coats your tongue like a rich chocolate. Seconds later, the 12% beer evaporates from your tongue, leaving you feeling refreshed and lively. Although it starts like a sugary espresso, Palo Santo ends like a dry champagne, leaving your tongue begging for another helping of rosemary ice cream and lard cake.
My friend and I were quietly contemplating the last helpings of food as Jacques came over and offered us some more beers. He poured a few rounds and enlightened us to his theories on food and the beverages that accompany them. Jacques is an energetic man with a shaved head and speaks of food and the animals he serves the way others talk about church or their grandchildren; the man loves what he does. We sipped a few more Palo Santos while we paid our bill and paid thanks to Jacques. He gave us a few restaurant suggestions in the neighborhood and invited us back for a tasting menu one day. A bit tipsy and fat as the porkers in my daydreams, I shook hands with the chef and made my to home, being sure to stop at the 4th Ave Pub on the way to the train.
As I passed through the dark curtains that serve as the restaurant’s entrance, the hostess ushered my friend and I to a table in the back room. After sitting down and calming my salivating tongue with a sip of water, our waitress Lindsey came over and poured us two tall glasses of Brooklyner Weisse Beer. So far so good, I thought to myself. The banana tartness of the weisse was the same beer the Mr. Gautier started the previous beer dinner with, and the refreshing wheat brew served as a sensory reminder of the feast that was to come.
Before the first dish graced my taste buds, a gentleman from the Heritage Foods spoke for all of three minutes. The man seemed to be in his late thirties, with an obvious love for wholesome food and distaste for public speaking. He quickly compared the natural foodists in northeastern states like Maine and the locavoires of Brooklyn to the “Republican Bush Party.” He spoke of organizing farmers and creating a Sysco like marketing efficiency for their goods. The others in the restaurant neither nodded in agreement or frowned in disapproval; Instead, they gazed on, waiting for an explanation.
Despite his off-putting analogies and awkward demeanor, the fellow from Heritage was able to get a few messages through loud and clear. “Heritage Foods is dedicated to getting wholesome food to every American,” he said. He went on to tell of our country’s elementary schools, colleges and government institutions serving only the lowest passable quality of grub—commodity foods. He spoke of Heritage Foods slaughtering 150 pigs every week and making sure that every part is eaten, not only the short ribs and choice cuts. In defense of his anti-locavoire comments, he stated that consumers must respect terroir. While it is great that communities focus on local goods, sometime it is best to purchase cheese from Wisconsin, apples from New York and spirits from Kentucky. Interesting stuff.
After digesting the speech, I sipped on my weisse. A few beers later Jacques himself whisked the first plate to my table. I may not be a sought after restaurateur, but I can tell you when the chef is in the dining room schlepping plates and chatting with customers, that is a chef who gives a damn. The first dish was an array of New York state beef offal tacos; four miniatures tortillas served as the eating vessel for heart, kidney, liver and tongue. Each was garnished with guacamole and a few sprigs of cilantro. “Normally,” Jacques said, “these meats are ground together for tacos or hotdogs. I want to allow people to try what each part has to offer.” The bite-sized tacos showcased the intricate and often bold flavors of various organ meats. The plate was not only tasty, but thought provoking as well.
Throughout the evening, we were lucky enough to have Jacques dropping off plates and giving us the story behind them. A dish with a slow cooked Berkshire pork and Red Wattle pork was meant to demonstrate the idiosyncratic flavors of the different breeds. A lemon aioli served not only as an interesting dipping sauce for the roasts, but also an avenue for the citrus tinged Brooklyn Local 1 to travel between the two flavors.
All of the dishes were executed with a restrained flair but it was not until the roasted pork loin that I nearly jumped onto my table and chanted praise to the chef. A roasted loin of Tamworth pork was plated with a mixture of green beans, olives, pecans and a hint of mint. The dish was accompanied by a glass of Dogfish Head Raisin D’etra, a dark brown behemoth of a beer; possessing raisiny sweetness that just begs for some salty treats to be thrown its way. The pork was succulent, hugged by a ring of rich fat and studded with a slightly crunch salt skin. The olives seemed completely out of place—like a Russian ballerina who shows up at a break-dance competition but stays to perform her routine anyway—but once they were pushed aside the toasted nuttiness of the pecans perfectly melded with the pork and the beer. Each bite brought me to hog heaven and the Dogfish Head not only lavished my taste buds with its initial malty flavors but cleansed my palate with its mellow hop bite, allowing each salty epiphany to reoccur with every forkful.
The final item on the menu was a lard cake. Although this might not sound too appealing, it turned out to be a large hunk of corn bread with rosemary ice cream and a sorrel reduction. Sorrel, Lindsey told me, is a red Carribean flower sometimes used for jams and preserves. The sorrel was reduced to syrupy goo that added much needed tartness to the cakey, rich bread and the oily herbs of the ice cream. Very much like the Brooklyn dinner several months earlier, the dessert beer was the ribbon that tied the final plate together. For this dinner Dogfish Head Palo Santo was chosen.
Funnily enough, the Palo Santo of the beer references the same wood as the restaurant. Instead of fragrant incense, however, Sam Calagione uses the wood to create giant cask in which he ages his potent concoction. Palo Santo is a dark, viscous drink with a thin, cappuccino colored head. The lacing dissipates quickly but the drink has much to taste than to look at. Palo Santo smells sweet and oily, but after a sip, the drink coats your tongue like a rich chocolate. Seconds later, the 12% beer evaporates from your tongue, leaving you feeling refreshed and lively. Although it starts like a sugary espresso, Palo Santo ends like a dry champagne, leaving your tongue begging for another helping of rosemary ice cream and lard cake.
My friend and I were quietly contemplating the last helpings of food as Jacques came over and offered us some more beers. He poured a few rounds and enlightened us to his theories on food and the beverages that accompany them. Jacques is an energetic man with a shaved head and speaks of food and the animals he serves the way others talk about church or their grandchildren; the man loves what he does. We sipped a few more Palo Santos while we paid our bill and paid thanks to Jacques. He gave us a few restaurant suggestions in the neighborhood and invited us back for a tasting menu one day. A bit tipsy and fat as the porkers in my daydreams, I shook hands with the chef and made my to home, being sure to stop at the 4th Ave Pub on the way to the train.
Friday, March 20, 2009
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Fishy Cash Slips Away From These Geniuses
I was leafing through the New York Post during my lunch break and opened up to a page featuring Mario Batali’s rotund, red face. Apparently, two masked gunmen broke into Esca, his Italian seafood place on West 43rd known for its way with raw fish. All they stole was an envelope full of paper receipts, despite going to the coat closet where over fifteen-grand in cash was stashed a day before.
The break-in happened at 2:30 in the morning and the only employee left in the restaurant was unharmed. Now this two shotgun-welding geniuses have a ton of worthless paper and the police investigating an inside job. If I were a theif, I would have just run into the place at 8pm and five-finger discounted a few plates of crudo. At least then the venture would have been worth it.
The break-in happened at 2:30 in the morning and the only employee left in the restaurant was unharmed. Now this two shotgun-welding geniuses have a ton of worthless paper and the police investigating an inside job. If I were a theif, I would have just run into the place at 8pm and five-finger discounted a few plates of crudo. At least then the venture would have been worth it.
Monday, March 16, 2009
Brady is a dickhead
While wandering through downtown Boston last week I stumbled into an old used bookstore. I made my way between the dangerously leaning stacks to aisle 3A, the food and cooking section. After a few painful minutes crouched down near the floor, I came upon the book Beer by Michael Jackson for only ten bucks! Jackpot!
(I know what you’re thinking and no, it’s not the King of Pop. This is Michael Jackson from the world of beer. The King of Hops if you will.)
Picture one of those skinny, hardcover books you read as a child to learn about dinosaurs or outer space and you have Beer in a nutshell. The book is stuffed with large, easy to read font, step-by-step descriptions of the beer making process and pictures of just about everything. It is idiot proof. Instead of discovering the life cycles of a black hole, little children could easily learn how to brew a barely wine with this book. I, however, will pour over it with more fervor than a law student and keep it as a handy reference book, conveniently having it on my person at all times.
Content with my find, I went to pay for my treasure. After leaving the cash register, I flipped to the front cover and found this inscription:
Brady, I don’t know who you are, but your father seems like an awesome fellow and I can’t believe you sold this book! Next time I’m I Boston I hope to find you in a lame sports bar chugging Bud Light so I can kick your ass.
(I know what you’re thinking and no, it’s not the King of Pop. This is Michael Jackson from the world of beer. The King of Hops if you will.)
Picture one of those skinny, hardcover books you read as a child to learn about dinosaurs or outer space and you have Beer in a nutshell. The book is stuffed with large, easy to read font, step-by-step descriptions of the beer making process and pictures of just about everything. It is idiot proof. Instead of discovering the life cycles of a black hole, little children could easily learn how to brew a barely wine with this book. I, however, will pour over it with more fervor than a law student and keep it as a handy reference book, conveniently having it on my person at all times.
Content with my find, I went to pay for my treasure. After leaving the cash register, I flipped to the front cover and found this inscription:
Brady, I don’t know who you are, but your father seems like an awesome fellow and I can’t believe you sold this book! Next time I’m I Boston I hope to find you in a lame sports bar chugging Bud Light so I can kick your ass.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
My afternoon with Sam Adams
When I walked into the brewery there was a small television crew filming a red-cheeked woman making coffee.
“What is going on?” I inquired of the gentleman handing out tickets for the Sam Adams brewery beer tour.
“Some woman brews her own coffee. A local station is doing some piece on local beverages, I don't really know. Want to go on a brewery tour?”
And so my afternoon began at the Samuel Adams brewery in Jamaica Plains, Massachusetts. I wandered around the lobby reading Prohibition time lines and perusing a collection of antique beer bottles until a girl in tight jeans and a pair of Uggs called the crowd to assembly.
“Free beer,” she shouted, hoping to elicit a response from the twenty or so people gathered in the annals of the Boston Beer Company building. She didn’t look like much, but after the tour and tasting, this little lady convinced me that the Boston Beer Company is the work place of my dreams.
After an exhaustive history of the company, a run down of the raw ingredients and brewing process and a few samples of fresh beer, my tour guide stood around with me for a half hour or so and answered every inane and geeky question I had. She started working at the brewery during her third year in college and knew nothing about beer. Now, she has a vast knowledge of the beverage and is beginning to brew at home, a habit encouraged by her employers. My afternoon at the brewery brought about a couple of revelations for me:
1) When fresh, Sam Adams lager is one of the crispest, most thirst quenching brews I’ve ever tasted. It tastes like freedom.
2) I need to find a job in a brewery.
“What is going on?” I inquired of the gentleman handing out tickets for the Sam Adams brewery beer tour.
“Some woman brews her own coffee. A local station is doing some piece on local beverages, I don't really know. Want to go on a brewery tour?”
And so my afternoon began at the Samuel Adams brewery in Jamaica Plains, Massachusetts. I wandered around the lobby reading Prohibition time lines and perusing a collection of antique beer bottles until a girl in tight jeans and a pair of Uggs called the crowd to assembly.
“Free beer,” she shouted, hoping to elicit a response from the twenty or so people gathered in the annals of the Boston Beer Company building. She didn’t look like much, but after the tour and tasting, this little lady convinced me that the Boston Beer Company is the work place of my dreams.
After an exhaustive history of the company, a run down of the raw ingredients and brewing process and a few samples of fresh beer, my tour guide stood around with me for a half hour or so and answered every inane and geeky question I had. She started working at the brewery during her third year in college and knew nothing about beer. Now, she has a vast knowledge of the beverage and is beginning to brew at home, a habit encouraged by her employers. My afternoon at the brewery brought about a couple of revelations for me:
1) When fresh, Sam Adams lager is one of the crispest, most thirst quenching brews I’ve ever tasted. It tastes like freedom.
2) I need to find a job in a brewery.
Monday, March 9, 2009
Local 2
Just in case you had something important to do, you may have not noticed the release of Brooklyn Breweries Local 2 last Friday. Although the beer has been available sporadically for about two weeks, Friday marked the official release date and coincided with a launch party at the brewery in Williamsburg.
The fiesta was rife with an eclectic mix of casual drinkers, local beer aficionados and a six-year-old child or two (Brooklyn Brewery is a family establishment after all). President Steve Hindy and brew master Garret Oliver were even present to speak although I got out of work late and wasn’t able to hear them. Despite my misfortune, I tasted the ambrosia and got to speak to Garret a bit about the long journey Local 2 took from idea to brew.
Local 2 is a much darker beverage than Local 1. It is brewed with dark sugars, local NY honey and a secret array of spices. It pours opaque with a tan, caramel colored head with a hint of spiciness in the aroma. It’s much heavier than Local 1, and has a pronounced chewy, almost bread like feel. Bubbling forth from my classy Brooklyn Brewery goblet, Local 2 is a sight to behold. Congrats to the brewery for another great beer! Definitely pick up a bottle when you can, there aren’t many American made 100% bottle fermented beers out there.
The fiesta was rife with an eclectic mix of casual drinkers, local beer aficionados and a six-year-old child or two (Brooklyn Brewery is a family establishment after all). President Steve Hindy and brew master Garret Oliver were even present to speak although I got out of work late and wasn’t able to hear them. Despite my misfortune, I tasted the ambrosia and got to speak to Garret a bit about the long journey Local 2 took from idea to brew.
Local 2 is a much darker beverage than Local 1. It is brewed with dark sugars, local NY honey and a secret array of spices. It pours opaque with a tan, caramel colored head with a hint of spiciness in the aroma. It’s much heavier than Local 1, and has a pronounced chewy, almost bread like feel. Bubbling forth from my classy Brooklyn Brewery goblet, Local 2 is a sight to behold. Congrats to the brewery for another great beer! Definitely pick up a bottle when you can, there aren’t many American made 100% bottle fermented beers out there.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Taste of Success
Last week I was a fly on the wall.
A friend of mine is a photographer and was working an event at the City Winery in downtown Manhattan. The event, called Taste of Success, was a fundraiser put on by StreetWise Partners, an organization aimed at coupling large corporations and low-income individuals. I didn’t know any of this information when my buddy invited me to attend, but once he said there would be free food and drink, I agreed hands down.
After entering the City Winery, I was instantly thrown off by the power ties and high heels circling the crowd. Clad with my finest shirt tucked into my Levi’s, I questioned how the young lady in the three-inch pumps made her through the snow mounds on Varick Street. She did know there was a blizzard outside, didn’t she? I was gazing at my ice-crusted boots as my friend pulled me to a table to help him with his camera.
“Do you know what this thing is all about?” I asked.
“Not a clue. I’m kind of doing this as a favor to my friend.”
“Well,” I began as a woman sauntered across the floor in a strapless number, snow capped cars visible through the windows “can at least I taste some of this stuff?”
“Sure. I’m going to take a bunch of shots. Just help yourself.”
With that I was off. I heaped my tiny plastic plate with prosciutto spring rolls, crepe lasagna and an assortment of other goodies. After several laps, I saw a young man pouring drinks with an ornate water fountain. I made my way past a few clean-cut bankers to investigate his mysterious drinks.
“Absinthe,” he replied after my inquiries. Immediately, thousands of little flash bulbs went off in my head: green fairies, hallucinations, that sketchy bar in Canada when I was 18. I sheepishly asked for drink and began to bombard him with questions.
A couple of glasses and some time later I learned a few things about the beverage. Absinthe is composed of three main ingredients: anise, fennel and wormwood. The wormwood is what people attribute to the hallucinations, but like most storied beverages, it is just a myth. The fabled Green Fairy can be written off as a writer’s muse or attributed to a French nurse who gained the moniker after administering the herbal alcohol to patients with stomach maladies. I inquired about lighting the stuff on fire before drinking—careful not to admit I happily did just that in a Canadian bar—only to be assured it was a bartender’s trick, suitable more for entertainment than drinking.
Having my fill of information I made more rounds. I sampled Creole Paella, colored black by a Caribbean mushroom called jon-jon; I ate hotdog looking concoction that turned out to be smoked codfish on a brioche; I even had Port and Champagne sorbet, a delicious mix of alcohol and science created by Wine Cellar Sorbets. When I asked the woman pushing the boozy dessert if they were looking to make a beer sorbet in the future, she told me that it was possible. They are currently working on cocktail sorbets like gin and tonic so beer probably wasn’t too far behind. I pondered the thought of an all-natural, Guinness Stout sorbet and made my way to the bar.
Standing behind several bottles in a quiet corner of the event was gentleman from the Brandy Library. He poured a few scotches throughout the night for various business types but I noticed no on really took any time to inquire about what they were drinking, focusing instead on the leggy power brokers sampling the Rosé wines. I walked through the crowd and started to ask him about Scotch. Immediately, he pulled up glasses and started pouring. I told him I was in journalism—beer journalism to be exact—and we began chatting in terms of casks, malted barley, nutrient rich water and such. A few suits came up and requested single-malts in gruff voices, flashing smiles to the ladies patiently waiting for them. After they stumbled off with another free drink, I continued my alcoholic education.
I was always curious about scotch and other whiskeys, and this guy really blew my mind. He covered geography, laws and other minutia. We chatted for over a half hour and after learning about the pairing potential of a highly smoked scotch and fudge brownies, I shook his hand and parted ways. He agreed to chat with me in the future about the prized beverage and even hook me up with more folks in the industry. Satisfied and smelling of peat smoke and booze, and pushed through some overly absinthed future CEO’s shouting about the stock markets and one night stands and searched out my pal.
Peanut Butter and Salmonella Sandwiches anyone?
The recent peanut scare has put a spotlight on the safety of organic produce. A recent article has shed some light on aspects of the industry I’ve been skeptical of for a long time.
Throughout college I had to defend my badmouthing of certified organic foods and produce:
“But isn’t healthier for you?”
“It tastes better, doesn’t it?”
“They are more expensive but it’s worth it…right?”
My answer was always the same: it depends. While I have no problem with organics—I prefer my food as natural as possible—I’d repeatedly explained that it was the certification process, not the food I was against. My penchant for farmer’s markets and scrounging around my landlord’s garden was proof of my natural food obsession. However, when my friends would see my peppers and onions without that little green and white organic seal, the avalanche of accusations came.
After letting them in that the vegetables grown in my backyard were as organic as it got, I would describe how companies producing organic products had to pay for that holier-than-thou seal. In turn, the farms producing the ingredients for those products also had to pay. Despite the Department of Agriculture determining the standards for organic products, they had nothing to do with declaring the wares organic. This was left to various companies and officials who were paid by the producers looking to gain organic status.
“Wait a second,” they’d say, “the people who want the organic certification have to pay for it themselves?”
Exactly. Doesn’t that seem a little strange? Doesn’t that jeopardize the integrity of the system?
Another example was the Pennsylvanian farmers I dealt with on a weekly basis. These tiny operations didn’t have much money for anything, let alone organic seals. While I can’t be sure that every single one of them would adhere to the “no pesticides, no addictives, no hormones, no bull-shit” signs they would post over their stands, chatting with these people put my mind at ease about their agricultural practices. I’d much rather buy my produce from a local farmer without the seal thirty miles away than from a large, organic certified farm in California.
This isn’t to say that I go organic all the time. I’ve been known to eat an orange in the middle of March, but I do the best when I can. Buying organic isn’t all or nothing, but unless you do your part to be educated about you’re eating, you’re missing the point entirely.
Throughout college I had to defend my badmouthing of certified organic foods and produce:
“But isn’t healthier for you?”
“It tastes better, doesn’t it?”
“They are more expensive but it’s worth it…right?”
My answer was always the same: it depends. While I have no problem with organics—I prefer my food as natural as possible—I’d repeatedly explained that it was the certification process, not the food I was against. My penchant for farmer’s markets and scrounging around my landlord’s garden was proof of my natural food obsession. However, when my friends would see my peppers and onions without that little green and white organic seal, the avalanche of accusations came.
After letting them in that the vegetables grown in my backyard were as organic as it got, I would describe how companies producing organic products had to pay for that holier-than-thou seal. In turn, the farms producing the ingredients for those products also had to pay. Despite the Department of Agriculture determining the standards for organic products, they had nothing to do with declaring the wares organic. This was left to various companies and officials who were paid by the producers looking to gain organic status.
“Wait a second,” they’d say, “the people who want the organic certification have to pay for it themselves?”
Exactly. Doesn’t that seem a little strange? Doesn’t that jeopardize the integrity of the system?
Another example was the Pennsylvanian farmers I dealt with on a weekly basis. These tiny operations didn’t have much money for anything, let alone organic seals. While I can’t be sure that every single one of them would adhere to the “no pesticides, no addictives, no hormones, no bull-shit” signs they would post over their stands, chatting with these people put my mind at ease about their agricultural practices. I’d much rather buy my produce from a local farmer without the seal thirty miles away than from a large, organic certified farm in California.
This isn’t to say that I go organic all the time. I’ve been known to eat an orange in the middle of March, but I do the best when I can. Buying organic isn’t all or nothing, but unless you do your part to be educated about you’re eating, you’re missing the point entirely.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Let's Get Savory
Enough of the sweet stuff! Some brown rice seasoned with onion and chili, sun-dried tomatoes and chopped almonds. Toss a lovely little fried egg on top and cover with Parmesan just to keep it interesting.
Nothing says morning breath like spicy, runny yolks.
Nothing says morning breath like spicy, runny yolks.
Monday, March 2, 2009
Warm It Up
With more than a foot of snow on the ground the last thing I wanted to do was whip up some breakfast before rushing off to the restaurant. My groggy morning mind was trying to persuade me to whip together some of the same old for breakfast, but sheer will power—not to mention lack of bread and peanut butter, my morning staples—prevented me from doing so. Thus, in honor of the winter wonderland outside, I attempted to conjure up a toasty, SE Asian archipelago in my kitchen with some sweet coconut and ginger oatmeal.
P.S. It was delicious, but I still stepped into 12-inch mound of snow once I walked out of the door this morning.
P.S. It was delicious, but I still stepped into 12-inch mound of snow once I walked out of the door this morning.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Breakfast of Champions
Japanese Sencha.
Sometimes you just aren't that hungry in the morning.
Sometimes you just aren't that hungry in the morning....or sometimes you are still hurting from yesterday's hangover. Go figure.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Clean Up, Aisle 3
I’ve you’ve ever heard this SNL digital short then you know how I felt today about finding a bottle of Brooklyn Local 2 in Boston this afternoon. I stopped by the Publick House Provisions and spotted 3 bottles of the stuff sitting comfortably next to Local 1. The gentleman at the register informed me that 72 cases made their way to Boston yesterday and no one knows when they’ll receive more.
I was ecstatic, happily babbling as I paid for my bottle.
If you want to try the brew and, like me, live in NY where it is impossible to find, head over to Brooklyn Brewery this Friday for the official Local 2 Launch party. Brewmaster—and my culinary man crush—Garret Oliver will be there to talk beer for a bit.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Antisocial Eggs No More
After prepping up some Crème Brûlée last night in hopes to impress some friends for dinner tonight, I found myself with a bunch of eggs whites sitting solo in the fridge. Luckily, a bit of onion and garlic, chili, mushrooms and parsley came to their rescue. Some lemon squeezed on top and the lonely-no-more eggs happily made their way into my stomach.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Old Faithful: Peanut Butter and Bananas
This is my I’d rather spend time eating than cooking breakfast.
Toast, peanut butter, bananas, raisins, honey and some cinnamon-sugar to top it all off.
Nutty, sweet and delicious.
Toast, peanut butter, bananas, raisins, honey and some cinnamon-sugar to top it all off.
Nutty, sweet and delicious.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Fatcakes
Since today is National Pancake Day—the day before the intense fasting season for devout Christians, or just for whoever wants to celebrate Mardi Gras—I’ve decided to make…pancakes!
The recipe was created my Craig Claiborne in the mid-sixties for the New York Times. It consists of eggs, flour, milk and some butter, all of the things you shouldn’t eat on a fast. Whip everything together, toss in a bit of nutmeg or cinnamon and bake it for fifteen minutes. It's fluffy, crispy, dessert sweet and isn’t a bad way to end the day either. Topped with a dollop of strawberry jam I made over the summer, I’ll definitely be able to skip a few upcoming meals.
The recipe was created my Craig Claiborne in the mid-sixties for the New York Times. It consists of eggs, flour, milk and some butter, all of the things you shouldn’t eat on a fast. Whip everything together, toss in a bit of nutmeg or cinnamon and bake it for fifteen minutes. It's fluffy, crispy, dessert sweet and isn’t a bad way to end the day either. Topped with a dollop of strawberry jam I made over the summer, I’ll definitely be able to skip a few upcoming meals.
The Most Important Meal of the Day
For years I have been chanting the same mantra to various nonbelievers: “Eat your breakfast!” I preached the necessity of the morning meal to co-workers, friends, fellow-musicians, students, bosses and just about anyone I happened to pass in the early hours of the day. I know that the advice of some satiated do-gooder is the last thing a cranky sleepwalker wants to hear but I can never resist spreading the good news. It’s been proven multiple times that breakfast is good for you, so I am always baffled when people neglect to take advantage of this nutritious day starting habit.
Last week—while enjoying a hearty breakfast myself—I was reading a New York Times article about an alternative, savory look at breakfast. I’ve never had a problem experimenting with breakfast foods, but lately the time constraints of work have prevented me from changing things up as much as I like. As if a wise hand of culinary authority reached out of the paper and smacked the oatmeal out of my mouth, I knew I had to mix things up. I decided to take an early morning journey and document the trip, creating and sampling various breakfast ideas inspired from different cultures. If for nothing more than my own curiosity, I’ll keep a digital journal of my meals to see just how varied breakfast can be. Let’s see how this one goes.
Last week—while enjoying a hearty breakfast myself—I was reading a New York Times article about an alternative, savory look at breakfast. I’ve never had a problem experimenting with breakfast foods, but lately the time constraints of work have prevented me from changing things up as much as I like. As if a wise hand of culinary authority reached out of the paper and smacked the oatmeal out of my mouth, I knew I had to mix things up. I decided to take an early morning journey and document the trip, creating and sampling various breakfast ideas inspired from different cultures. If for nothing more than my own curiosity, I’ll keep a digital journal of my meals to see just how varied breakfast can be. Let’s see how this one goes.
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