Drunk French Toast Sticks with Beer Blood Orange Syrup. Win at breakfast.
Breakfast being the most important meal has nothing to do with nurtition. It’s not about blood sugar, or enriched whole grains or jumpstarting your metabolism. It’s emotional.
Breakfast is important because of who we eat it with. The people who live in your house, the out of town guest, the friend who is worth getting up early and meeting at that overcrowded brunch place in Silverlake.
It’s OK if breakfast takes a while, and it’s OK if it doesn’t. This takes about 20 minutes, leaving you more time for coffee and conversation. Serve it with a side of eggs, or a side of beer mimosa. Dunk the sticks in your latte.
Lick the syrup off your fingers, or the other guys fingers, or your plate.
You should probably stop licking things.
Breakfast will always be my favorite meal. I can share a mid-day coffee or a late night dinner with anyone, but if you find a seat at my breakfast table, especially before I’ve showered, then you know you’ve really made my inner circle. Breakfast means you’re really important.
Drunk French Toast Sticks with Beer Blood Orange Syrup
One loaf Italian breador Texas Toast, cut into thick slices
1 ½cuphalf & half
1cupbrown ale
2/3cupbrown sugar
1tspsalt
1tspvanilla extract
4eggs
3tbsunsalted butter
Syrup:
1blood orange
1cupwhite sugar
½cupbeer
1tbscornstarch
pinchsalt
Instructions
Preheat the oven to 200. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper or tin foil sprayed with cooking spray.
In a large bowl whisk together the half & half, beer, brown sugar, salt, vanilla extract and eggs until well combined.
Melt the butter in a large skillet over medium-high heat.
One at a time dunk the bread sticks in the mixture until well saturated. Remove and allow excess to drain off.
Cook until golden brown on all sides. Place French toast sticks on the baking sheet in the oven when you finish the rest of the French toast sticks to keep warm until serving.
Zest the orange with a microplane. Juice the orange.
In a pot over medium heat whisk together the sugar, beer, cornstarch, salt, orange juice and zest. Bring to a boil, boil for three minutes without stirring. Remove from heat, allow to cool (syrup with thicken as it cools).
I see the man I married when I was 22 sitting at a pub table. He’s now my ex-husband. It’s just the two of us in a shitty pub in an industrial part of Seattle. He has this look on his face that I know he’s trying to hide, he’s trying to play it cool but he looks like the rabbit I found when I was a kid. A water soaked rabbit that was trying to hide, trapped in the corner of the pig pen after it had fallen into the water trough. The mud and water saturated bunny looked at me as if to say, “Don’t hurt me, I don’t know how I got here.” Chris has that look now, he’s trying to hide it. I know that look because I have it too when I see him, “Don’t hurt me. I don’t know how we got here.”
It’s always a little awkward when we start, because we know each other to core of who we are, but the past months have made us strangers. Like an old toy in new clothes. I know how he smells when he wakes up still drunk from the night before, I know why he hates Paul Bunyan, I know the sound his feet make in the shower, but I have no idea what he’s done for most of the past 11 months outside of a vague schedule and frequent text photos when he has our daughter.
I sit down across from him, smile, we start the awkward small talk until the beers we have ordered have soften the edges. We do this about once a month. Have drinks before I have to go grab Tater from Preschool. It’s our way of checking in, staying connected, reminding ourselves that there is still love, care and concern here, even in the midst of the storm of chaos that is divorce. No matter how much the riptide of emotions try to toss me around, I always push myself back to the core truths: I love him. I can’t be married to him anymore. He’s my daughters father. He’s a great father. Only good can come from us remaining real friends.
We talk about mutual friends, our families, our jobs, and then the talk wanders into dating. It’s the most raw of all the subjects, the wound still open, we approach gingerly, like it’s a live bomb that only just a nudge will explode.
We talk for a while, small steps toward the bomb, both trying to be careful, respectful. The situation with his girlfriend is complicated, it’s ten months of a rollercoaster neither of us were ready for. I’m finally ready to be honest. “I want you be happy. I do. I wasn’t ever able to be assertive, to push you to be the man you can be. If you can have that with some else, I want that. I really do. But it drives me fucking crazy. Seriously, it drives me nuts. I hate it even though I want it for you.” He laughs.
“That!” he says, “Yes. That’s how I feel. I want you to have someone who can give you what I didn’t. But I fucking hate it.” The words lift a weight off me. A crushing pillar of pain is lifted off my guts. For the first time I actually am ready to meet a new girl in his life. It feels like a rusted lock has finally broken free and the door can be opened.
We laugh, talk about meeting each others new people. “I’m not ready to meet him,” he says about the new guy in my life. I soften. I can see it in his face, this is fucking hard. It’s hard for me, but it’s much harder for him. He can have some time. He can have some space. Tater doesn’t need to meet anyone new just yet. I’ll wait until the look of a scared wet bunny fades a bit, for both of us.
Drunken Winter Farro Blood Orange Salad with Stout Balsamic Glaze
Winter citrus is like a promise. A reminder that spring is almost here. It’s not the standard beige winter produce, it’s bright and bold and completely unlike anything else that grows this time of year. For the few weeks that blood oranges gift us with their presence, I can’t stop buying them. I slice open the orange rinds to expose the deep ruby flesh, squeeze until I get every last drop of the juice that tastes like a collaboration between a raspberry and a naval orange. The color always gets it. It’s gorgeous, deep and stunning. I always make cocktails, like this one. I always figure out how to bake a blood orange dessert, and I eat it raw, my teeth pulling the segments free from the white pith. Every drop of juice that’s left I save in ice cube trays. For later, when the winter has passed and the rest of the world has moved on to peaches and apricots.
Drunken Winter Farro Blood Orange Salad with Stout Balsamic Glaze
Add the farro, beer, water and salt to a pot over high heat, bring to a boil. Reduce heat to medium-low to maintain a low simmer. Add the lid at a vent. Allow to simmer for 20 minutes or until cooked but still chewy. Drain off any remaining liquid. Allow to cool.
In a pot over medium heat add the balsamic, honey and stout beer, simmer until reduced to a syrup, stirring occasionally, about 15 minutes.
In a large bowl add the arugula, blood orange segments, goat cheese, pecans and cooled farro, toss to combine.
Chocolate Stout Peanut Butter Cups. Three Ingredients, crazy good.
Let’s agree to make stuff this year. Because you and I, we like that. We like getting our hands and our kitchens dirty, ignoring the dishes that are starting to pile up as the vision we have for our edible creation taking shape. We like that sort of thing.
Of course we know that we can buy stuff at the store, but that isn’t the point. We want to make it ourselves, fill it with beer, and hand it over with a big stupid smile on our face. It’s almost Valentines day, which I loath for reasons I’ll keep to myself, but if I was going to get all gifty, I’d make something. And I’d probably fill it with beer.
My first Valentines Day post ever was my most controversial yet, and the one that has earned me the most hate mail. I suppose that if you compare and contrast blow jobs and shoe shopping, that happens. I stand by every word, now more than ever. This year, I’m too weary to be quite so feisty, I’ll just settle for filling chocolate cups with beer infused peanut butter.
I know what you’re thinking, you want to use a peanut butter stout. I can see where you’d think that, but I’m going to ask you to reconsider. The flavors are too similar and will end up getting lost. Pick a contrasting flavor that will stand out, like a smoked porter or an espresso stout. I chose the latter. This gorgeous Survival Stout by Hopworks was perfect, rich roasty flavors and sexy espresso finish. You’ll be glad you have so much leftover once you beer up a bowl of peanut butter.
8wt ozabout 1 ½ cups dark chocolate (60% cocoa content)
1cupcreamy peanut butter
1/3cupstout or porterespresso or smoked work best
Instructions
Add the chocolate to a microwave safe dish. Microwave on high for 30 seconds, stir and repeat until melted.
Line a mini muffin tin with mini muffin papers.
Add about 2 teaspoons of chocolate to the muffin papers (about 1/3 full). Use the back of a spoon to “paint” the sides of the mini muffin papers, making sure to cover the entire paper, but keep the walls thin,leaving more room for filling.
Chill until the chocolate has set, about ten minutes.
In a small bowl stir together the peanut butter and stout until well combined.
Fill the chocolate cups with peanut butter mixture until just below the top.
Add a small amount of melted chocolate to the top of the peanut butter, making sure to cover the entire mound of peanut butter, smoothing to make a flat top.
Chill until set, about ten minutes. Keep chilled until ready to serve.
I started this blog before my daughter turned one. I wasn’t sure what it was, a craft blog, a food blog, a lifeline? The dark secret is that I’d started it after a particularly terrible conversation with my husband at the time about my job. Including my commute to my Beverly Hills office I was away from my baby ten hours a day, 5 days a week. I hated that. I’d never wanted to be a stay at home mom, but I needed more time with my baby. Could I work part-time? Just for a while? Could we make that work? The conversation didn’t go well. I’d ended the night crying myself to sleep, not an uncommon occurrence in the 12 years I was married. I started the blog as a way to give myself options, as a way to have more control over my life. And, in reality, as a way to ignore that emotional cancer that had been killing my marriage for years.
I’ve talked about the man I married on this blog. About how wonderful he is, what a great dad he is, how talented he is. All those things are true, I believe them more today, 3 months after the divorce is final, than I ever have. I needed to, I needed to remember that he was a human, a man I love, a man who is the father of my baby girl, a man who is also hurting. I needed to remember those things, see him for all of who he is, it helped me stay sane during the worst year of my life.
After all, I was never going to be this girl. I was never going to be divorced, an unmarried mom, I wasn’t. We were the perfect couple. We met when I was 16, became fast friends, started dating when I was in college, married before the University diploma arrived in the mail. It all looked so charmed from the outside. Living in LA, we traveled a lot, we hung out with celebrities and went to the fun parties. We never once fought in public, never. We laughed a lot, our deep friendship was instantly apparent. But then there were the moments we wouldn’t talk about, those dark nights that once the light of morning shone in the bedroom we’d pretend didn’t happen. We were both in denial about the poison that was taking over. And no one saw it. Not one. Least of all us.
Then came Tater, our perfect little girl with her beautiful smile and her tomboy ways. She made the picture even more perfect. It also made the problems bigger, harder to ignore. It gave the poison a foothold. Still, no one knew. Both of us still trying desperately to turn away from the truth, ignore it and hide in the few shadows there were left to hide in.
The thing no one tells you about divorce is how traumatic it is. How, in some ways, it’s worse than a death. It’s a grief wound that seems to constantly reopen. And no one shows up to your door with a casserole or sends flowers when you get divorced. Of all the friends I had in Los Angeles, not one person called to see if I was ok. Not one. No one knows what to do, what to say, how to act, so they leave. You’re alone. I have a sister who is so amazingly supportive, loving, and non-judgmental I wonder how people survive this without someone like her. I have a mom who is pure love, who calls to check in on me at just the right moments. And I have Chris. I still have him as a support.
I married Chris when I was 22, spent my 20’s with him, bought a house, had a baby, moved six times with him. He is, and always will be, one of my closest friends. How did we do it? I wonder sometimes, looking back at the past year, how we managed this. When every part of who you are is screaming at you to wage war on the person you are divorcing, when you know it would be easier to slide down into a pit of hate and anger, we didn’t. We’ve gone through this together. He’s been loving, patient, kind. We’ve tried to be good to each other, respect each other, support each other. It’s sucked. It’s been the hardest thing that I’ve ever done, and it’s one of the things that I’m most proud of. I’m proud that we managed to divorce well. Anyone can be good to a spouse, but can you be good to the person who has left you? Nothing will show your true colors like divorce. Chris has proven to be a man of character. I’m grateful for him. The hurt is still raw, the grief is still present daily, and we are still going through this, but we are doing it together. He’s a good man, he’s a wonderful dad. Let’s be honest here, he was particularity horrible at the husband stuff, but the other stuff he’s incredible at. I’ve clung to that. That my daughter has a great dad, that I still have a family, one that in some ways is more whole than it ever has been, more honest than I ever though it could be, we are just a family that lives in two different houses.
So how am I now? I’m a lot of things. I’m happy in ways I never have been. I’m also more devastated than I ever thought I could be. I’m fulfilled in ways that I haven’t ever been in my life before now, and I’m ashamed in other ways. I’m broken and I’m healed. It’s a process.
How is Tater? She, thankfully, is doing the best of the three of us. She is loved well. We have both become better parents through this. She gets a better version of mom, and of dad. We still see each other at least once a week, we try to have dinner or breakfast and check in with each other. We’ve done this ever since I moved out. Sometimes it seems unbearably hard, sometimes it’s wonderful, but it’s always worth it. We even spent the holidays together, Thanksgiving at my sisters, Christmas eve at Chris’ house, and Christmas at my place.
How is Chris? He’s a lot of things too. Mostly, he’s growing. As a man, a partner, a parent. He’s honest with himself. I’m proud of him. I’m glad he’s the father of my daughter. And I’ll spend my life telling Tater how great her daddy is.
How to Make The Creamiest Baked Mac N Cheese: Gouda CheddThe Creamiest Baked Mac N Cheesear Beer Mac. Perfectly cheesy and creamy every time!
For something so seemingly simple, it’s easy to get this wrong. It’s easy to end up with dried up pan of overcooked noodles in a curdled sauce. It’s easy to spend too much time and too much money on something that you just want to toss in the trash. I’ve devised a plan, a set of rules to make sure you don’t have to endure that tragedy again. I’ve got your back.
1. Cheese choice. Expensive cheese is great, it’s my spirit animal. But it’s best eaten in it’s natural state. Save the cheese, and your money, and go with cheddar. White cheddar melts better than the yellow/orange versions giving you a creamier sauce. I also use a bit of gouda, not crazy expensive, and melts beautifully. I also dig a smoked version for a little kick.
2. Roux + cornstarch = a must. You can’t get a creamy sauce without a solid roux backbone. The flour expands in your sauce to hold it together and gives it weight and thickness. The cornstarch holds the beer in place and keeps it creamy and prevents it from separating.
3. Cook dry noodles in the cheese sauce. Don’t boil them first. Just drop your dry noodles into your sauce. The starch from the noodles with thicken the sauce and the cheese will inject flavor into the noodles. But only cook them about half way, they will continue to cook in the oven.
4. Undercook. Twice. First, undercook the noodles on the stove top. You’ll be cooking them again in the oven so you just want to give them a small head start. Second, don’t over bake in the oven or you’ll dry out the sauce.
You don’t really have anything to cook, you’re just browning the panko. Some recipes will tell you to bake for 45 minutes, all this does is turn the cheese to a solid and dry your sauce. Some people like that. Some people want to be able to cut a square of mac n cheese and place it on the plate beside the BBQ’d ribs.
If you don’t want that, if you want scoopable mac n cheese, don’t bake it too long. Just brown the panko and take it out of the oven.
5. Size matters. Look for large elbow macaroni, not those little guys. The big ones are better at trapping that creamy sauce.
You’re ready. You can do this. You’ll have the best mac n cheese on the block and it’s up to you if you want to share your secrets. Or just make them wonder how you do it.
In a large pot or Dutch oven, melt the butter. Sprinkle with flour and cornstarch, whisk until a paste forms.
Add milk and beer and bring to a simmer.
Sprinkle with mustard powder, chili powder, salt and pepper.
Slowly add the cheese in, about ¼ cup at a time, whisking until well combined before adding more. Reserve about 1 cup of cheese for the topping (a mixture of both cheeses).
Add the dry noodles to the cheese sauce, allowing to cook until just before al dente, not cooked through, stirring occasionally. This will take about 8 minutes.
Pour into a 4 qt baking dish in an even layer.
Top with remaining cheese. Toss panko with melted butter until well coated. Sprinkle panko evenly on the top of the macaroni.
Bake at 400 until panko has browned, about 15 minutes.
Beer Braised Pulled Pork Sliders with Chipotle Beer Cheese Sauce. Perfect football food!
I get to do things. Fun things, cool things. This still feels new to me, these fun cool things. I spent years working with grubby, incredible, wonderful, difficult, heartbreaking kids in South Central LA.
Then I worked behind a desk, in the pencil skirts and stilettos that I couldn’t wear in Compton, working with elderly Holocaust survivors in Beverly Hills. I social worked my way through most of Los Angeles.
Now I get to work on TV shows, and I go to Vegas for awards dinners, and cook on the news. There are times when I feel selfish, for walking away from the good work to do the fun work.
But those feelings don’t last long. I’m so grateful for what I do now that I can’t sully that with feelings of guilt. I’m lucky. I’m excited. I cooked on the news again Wednesday, I made football food, talked about beer, and made a few jokes.
It’s the same in a way, social work and beer cooking. I’m solving problems. Beer cheese sauce separates? let me help you with that. Not sure how to tell if that beer is bitter or not? I’ve got the answer. Social work was solving problems and answering questions. I do that now too, although I’m not sure I’m saving anyone’s life.
I’ll always be a person who wants to help, wants to add to your table, wants to make your life better because we came in contact. Even if the only thing you gained from me is a slider recipe or a desire to visit Fremont Brewing. Beer social work is much easier, and I’m fine with bringing my work home with me now.
Beer Braised Pulled Pork Sliders with Chipotle Beer Cheese Sauce
In a small bowl stir together the salt, brown sugar onion powder, chili powder, cumin, pepper, smoked paprika and mustard powder together until combined, set aside.
Take out your pork and stab 6, 2-inch deep holes fairly evenly spaced through the meat. Push a clove of garlic into each hole until no longer visible.
Rub the entire surface of the meat with the spice mixture, using it all.
In a large Dutch oven, heat the olive oil until very hot. Sear all surfaces of the meat, even the sides, until browned. The entire process will probably take about 10-15 minutes. Pour the beer over the meat, cover and reduce heat to medium-low. Cook for about 3 hours, turning the meat over about every 30 minutes, until the meat is tender and falling apart.
Once the meat is tender remove from heat, use two forks to shred into pieces while still in the pot (or remove, shred and return to pot). Return to the pot to heat and allow to simmer for about 5 minutes. Remove the meat from the pot and discard the liquid.
Add all cheese sauce ingredients to a blender or food processor. Process on high until very well blended, about 5-8 minutes.
Transfer contents to a saucepan over medium high heat. Whisk rapidly and continuously until thickened, about 5 minutes.
Salt and pepper to taste.
Fill slider buns with pork, top with cheese sauce, serve warm.
Beer Crab Cake Balls, incredibly delicious and adictive. Perfect for game day!
We can’t over think this one. We wont.
Because if we did we would think about deep-frying, get nervous about it, wonder if people actually like crab and deep fried things as much as we do, worry about the friend who pretends to be gluten free and the guy who’s a vegetarian. And then we’d miss out on the best appetizer we’ve ever made for a football party. And that would be horrible. An actual real life First World tragedy.
Because this needs to be made for the Super Bowl. It’s crab, which can be proudly claimed with strong possession by both Seattle and New England. And so can great beer. And apparently great football teams. And amazing women (Just trust me). It’s a dish that doesn’t take sides, but it knows who’s going to win. It’s the city with the best beer. And the best women. Obviously.
Stir together the panko, flour, old bay, baking powder and cayenne in a large bowl.
Add the beer, green onions, eggs and yolk, sour cream, mustard, and hot sauce, stir until combined.
Gently fold in crab meat.
Cover and chill for 30 minutes.
Prepare the oil by adding about 3 inches of oil to a pot over high heat. Add a deep fry thermometer to the side, adjusting heat to keep oil at 350 degrees.
Using a cookie scoop, roll batter into balls about the size of golf balls.
Deep fry until golden brown, about 5 minutes. Transfer to a wire rack set over a baking sheet until drained, about 1 minute.
Short Rib Black Bean Beer Chili, SO GOOD. It’s eat-it-out-of-the-pot-before-anyone-else-can-have-any good.
The only food that really comforts me is the food I make myself. The food I serve to people I love, even just one person, in my small kitchen, over an exchanging of words that are hard to speak. I don’t want to order a pizza, I want to make bread, watch it rise, smell it baking and know that I did it. I don’t want take-out in little white containers, I want a slow cooked bowl of short ribs that I can both laugh and cry over with someone who looks into my heart and likes what he sees. Sure, I love a big steamy bowl of Ramen, or perfectly creamy pile of baked Mac n Cheese, but it doesn’t comfort the same way as when I lose myself in the process of making it. I’ll look for recipes that take a while, that give me the excuse to stay in my kitchen for a few hours, recipes that aren’t hard but take some time to bring out the best of what they can do. That’s comfort food. A beer and a few pint glasses doesn’t hurt the situation either.
2dried ancho chili podstem and seeds removed, torn into pieces
2chipotle chilies in adobo
12ouncescoffee stout
2cupsbeef broth
2cans black beansdrained
½cupcilantrochopped
1cupshredded cheddar cheese
Instructions
Preheat the oven to 325.
Heat the olive oil in a large Dutch oven.
Sprinkle the ribs with salt and pepper on all sides. Sear ribs in the pan until golden brown, remove from the pan, set aside.
Low heat to medium, add the onions, cooking until starting to caramelize, about 15 minutes.
Add the onions, tomato paste, onion powder, garlic powder, cumin, smoked paprika, dried chili pod, chipotles and ¼ cup beer to a blender or food processor. Process until smooth.
Return the pot to heat, add the remaining beer, scraping to deglaze the pot.
Stir in the broth, chili paste mixture from the blender and beans. Add the ribs back in the pot.
Cover and cook in the oven for 3 hours or until the ribs are tender and falling off the bone.
Using two forks shred the ribs, remove any large pieces of fat and the bones.
Baked Buttermilk Beer Popcorn Chicken with Honey Beer Dipping Sauce. So easy and even freezer friendly!
When I was 22 I worked at a locked down level 14 facility that housed juvenile delinquents. I was only there to work with one. A baby faced 12-year-old named Tyrell with dark chocolate skin and big brown eyes. His sweet spirit and quiet voice made it impossible for me to believe that this was the kid that had been locked up in Baby Jail for 6 months due to assault, then moved to locked down half-way house before he could go back into foster care. He was just way too gentle.
Filling out the initial forms I asked him about himself. I asked him to pick three words that described himself. He didn’t hesitate, "Male. Athletic. Japanese." He might not have thought twice but I did, he was clearly African-American.
"Umm…Japanese?"
"Oh. Yeah. I’ve been in foster care since birth and no one knows who my bio parents are. So it’s possible. I could be Japanese. It’s possible. And I feel Japanese. konichiwa!" The last word was accompanied by an exaggerated bow.
"It’s definitely possible," I smiled at how completely endearing it was.
I made a deal with him. If he agreed to work with me on anger management skills, on Fridays I’d bring him something to explore his Japanese culture. He was thrilled. We tried out Origami, we went through an English-Japanese dictionary to learn words, we played mahjong and drew Japanese cartoons. Then we came to the idea of food. I explained different dishes, each of which were met by a horrified expressions. "I only been eating group home food. I never heard of none of that." Despite his completely institutionalized palate, he wanted to try some japanese flavors. After a lengthy discussion we decided to just try some sauces, sampled with his favorite food: chicken nuggets.
The following week I brought him 16 chicken nuggets along with Ponzu sauce, Wasabi mayonnaise, Hoisin sauce, taberu rayu, and a variety of other condiments. He wasn’t impressed. Other than the hoisin, he didn’t sample any more than once. He was disappointed that his taste buds rejected the idea that his relatives were from Japan, "Well," he sighed, "Maybe I’m only half Japanese."
Baked Buttermilk Beer Popcorn Chicken with Honey Beer Dipping Sauce
Cover with buttermilk and 1 cup beer, stir gently to combine. Cover and refrigerate for 1 hour and up to 8.
Prepare a baking sheet by covering with aluminum foil and dizzling with an even layer of 2 tablespoons olive oil.
Preheat oven to 425.
In a small bowl stir together the flour, panko, garlic powder, salt and pepper.
One at a time remove the chicken cubes from the buttermilk, toss in the panko mixture until well coated. Gently dip back in the butter milk mixture and then toss again in the panko mixture.
Place on a prepared baking sheet.
Spray gently with olive oil spray.
Bake for 10 minutes. Turn the chicken pieces over, bake until cooked through about an additional 10 minutes.
In a small bowl stir together the remaining 2 tablespoons beer, ¼ cup honey and garlic chili sauce.
Serve the chicken bites with sauce on the side.
Notes
These freeze well. Just cook them completely, allow them to cool and then transfer to a gallon sized freezer zip lock bag. Freeze for up to three weeks.
Once ready to eat, cook for 15 minutes in a preheated 350 degree oven or until warmed through.
I use the Chili Garlic Sauce from Huy Fong foods, it can be found in most supermarkets in the Asian foods section (affiliate link).
I also use this Olive Oil Sprayer, it’s perfect if you want to avoid using cooking spray. (affiliate links)
Stout Harissa Chicken Thighs. Crazy good one pot chicken.
Let’s talk about an interesting question. A specifically head-tilt inducing question I’ve been asked a few dozen times over the past few months, "How do I get people to try craft beer?"
My furrowed-brow-blank-stared response is usually as simple as, "Why wouldn’t they?" The logic for trying something new is simple: To see if you like it. The request to sample anything isn’t a contractual obligation to fall in love, we don’t want you to propose to beer, to have babies with beer, we are asking for a first date. A quick meet over coffee at a strip mall Starbucks to see if there are sparks. A few sips of a flight of diverse beers to see if something strikes your fancy. Hate hoppy beers? Lots of people do, try a Belgian or a white ale. Can’t get past that stale Miller Light from college? Neither can we, it’s not what we serve here. Saying you don’t like beer based on a few run-ins with off balanced brews a few years ago is like saying you hate California and won’t visit Napa Valley because you didn’t like the traffic in Anaheim when you went to Disneyland when you were 7.
Beer is broader that most people realize with a flavor database that is arguably larger than any other alcoholic beverage on the market. A few tactics to try? Sure, let’s talk strategy. Peer pressure? We all know from 8th grade health class and high school parties that it works like magic, use it to your advantage. Shame and guilt! I grew up with Catholic grandparents and can attest to the effectiveness of this approach. Tease them and call them afraid? If Marty McFly taught us anything it’s that being called a chicken will get people to take on any dare regardless of personal consequences.
We do need to delve a little deeper in this discussion. Why do you want this specific human to fall in love with your adult beverage of choice? Because you want a brewery buddy for on location beer mecca visitation? Do you want someone to talk to about beer? Or are you just being bossy and controlling? Once you isolate your reasons for wanting to push beer on others, you’re at a better jumping off point for negotiations (unless you’re being bossy, then you just have to let it go). Regardless of the outcome, we still have to respect the fact that some people just don’t like any beer. Which isn’t always a bad thing. More for us, right?
8dried guajillo chilesstem and seeds removed, broken into pieces
2dried ancho chiliesstem and seeds removed, broken into pieces
1cuproom temperature stout or porter
1cupwarm water
3clovesgarlicgrated with a microplane
2tablespoonsolive oil
1tablespoonlemon juice
1teaspoonground coriander
½teaspooncaraway seeds
½teaspooncumin
For the Chicken:
6chicken thighsbone in, skin on
salt and pepper
1tbsolive oil
½white onionchopped (about 1 cup)
1can14.5 wt oz diced tomatoes
½cupstout beer
2tbschopped flat leaf parsley
Instructions
Make the Harissa:
In a small bowl add the guajillo chilies and ancho chilies. Pour the beer and the water over the chilies. Use a heavy object such as a coffee mug to make sure the chilies are submerged. Allow to sit at room temperature for one hour. Drain the chilies reserving 2 tablespoon soaking liquid.
Add the chilies, 2 tablespoons soaking liquid, garlic, olive oil, lemon juice, coriander, caraway and cumin to a food processor. Process until the mixture is a paste. Harissa can be made up to a week ahead of time and the flavors develop over time. Make at least one day ahead if possible, store in the refrigerator in an airtight container until ready to use.
Make the chicken:
Salt and pepper the chicken on all sides.
Heat olive oil in a cast iron skillet until very hot, add the chicken, skin side down. Cook until skin has browned, turn over and brown on the other side. Remove from pan (chicken will not be cooked through).
Add the onions, cook until lightly browned, about 5 minutes.
Add the beer, scraping to deglaze the pan. Stir in 1/3 cup harissa and tomatoes. Add the chicken back in the pan, skin side up.
Roast at 400 for 15-20 minutes or until the chicken is cooked through.
Remove from oven, preheat the broiler.
Place pan under the broiler until skin has crisped, about 2 minutes.
Remove from oven, sprinkle with parsley prior to serving.
Garlic Beer Butter Cod with Pale Ale Romesco. So easy and SO good. The Romesco is insanely amazing.
Cod needs to be made with butter. It needs the beautiful richness to pull itself up through the firm flesh of this gorgeous fish and have it’s way with the flavors. Cod needs to be seduced by the warm golden pool that’s melted beneath it. Cod’s underrated, overlooked as people reach past these thick white filets to grab a brilliantly pink salmon. The texture is just as good and the flavor is better, it’s more accessible, it makes you want another helping, even when you’ve finished the entire pan. A flavor mellow enough to tease you into begging for more, but strong enough to stand up to a bold romesco. Romesco is the touch that runs the perfect line between rough and gentle. It’s bold, warms, spicy, delicious and demands to be remembered in an effortless-cool sort of way. These two make the perfect partners, add in a beer and some good company and you never know where the night will take you.
Put the almonds in a pan over medium high heat. Pull the pan back and forth across the burner to toss the almonds until the almonds have lightly toasted, about 3 minutes (keep a close eye, they burn quickly).
Add the almonds, red pepper, garlic, tomato puree, parsley, beer, red pepper flakes, smoked paprika salt and pepper to a food processor. Process for about one minute, then slowly add the olive oil until well combined.
Dry the cod well then salt and pepper on each side.
Heat the butter over medium heat until melted, add the garlic and beer, stirring until slightly reduced and thickened (about 5 minutes) making sure to the heat isn’t too high or the garlic will burn.
Add the cod, cooking on each side until cod is cooked through, about 3 minutes per side.
Plate the fish with some of the beer butter drizzled around the fish.
Top each filet with 2 to 3 tablespoons of Romesco sauce.
Honey Hefeweizen Boule Loaf. Simple, easy and delicious. Perfect recipe for first time bakers!
Last year, with a camera crew in my face, I interviewed the head brewer at my favorite Los Angeles brewery. "All I am is a yeast wrangler. I don’t work for the brewery, I work for the yeast." He laughed until I asked him about the times when the yeast rears its stubborn head and won’t do what it’s told. He gritted his teeth and scratched the back of his large mass of curly hair as his laughed turned painful, "How about we don’t talk about those batches?"
Fair enough. Even without experiences with failed brewers yeast, I’ve felt the soul crushing defeat of bakers yeast that has a mind of its own. There are a few things you can do to show that yeast who’s boss. Make sure the yeast isn’t expired (expired yeast is actually dead, it won’t work), make sure the temperature is exactly where you need it (it’s different for rapid rise and regular yeast, it’ll say on the package what temp is best), and let it rise in a warm room.
Even with all these safeguards, sometimes yeast just wants to be an asshole and refuses to rise, it still happens to me every once in a while. It’s rare for me to have a failed loaf, and even with the occasional baking breakdown, it’s still worth it, it’s still an obsession I indulge in on a weekly basis. It’s still incredibly gratifying.
Other than scrapping it all and starting over, there is one trick I’ve learned to revive a dead loaf. Place about a tablespoon of water in a small bowl and heat to the correct temperature. Add a package of yeast and wait for it to get foamy (this is called proofing and should happen in a few minutes), stir into a paste. Knead the yeast paste into the dough and hope for the best. If that doesn’t work, throw it in the trash, cuss like a sailor, and go get pizza. You’ve earned it.
In the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with a dough hook add the flour and yeast, mix to combine.
Heat the beer to between 120 and 130F degrees.
Add the beer and the honey to the flour, beat on high until dough gathers around the hook and is no longer sticky, about 6 minutes.
Transfer the dough to a lightly oiled bowl, cover and allow to rise in a warm place until doubled in size, about 1 hour.
Place a baking stone in the oven, preheat for 30 minutes prior to baking.
Once the dough has risen, place a bread peel (or a sheet of parchment paper) on a flat surface, cover in cornmeal or semolina flour. Grab the dough in your heads, folding it into itself gently a few times, then form into a tight ball. Place on the peel (or parchment paper), allowing to rise for about 30 minutes.
Brush the top with egg wash, slash an “X” on top of the loaf using a sharp knife.
Transfer the dough to the pizza stone using either the peel or by simply placing the parchment paper on top of the heated stone (if you don’t own a bread stone, just place the parchment on top of a baking sheet and set that into the oven when you are ready to bake).
Bake at 400 until top is a dark golden brown and makes a hollow “thump” sound when tapped, about 30 minutes.
Allow to cool slightly before slicing.
Notes
*This recipe is for a very low IBU (low hop) beer. If all you have is a pale ale, IPA or hoppy wheat, use 3/4 cup beer and 3/4 cup hot water or the beer taste will be overpowering.
Apple Pie with Pale Ale Mascarpone Cream and Beer Pie Dough
There are always these things that I keep coming back to. Faded destroyed jeans, vintage rock t-shirts, Van Morrison, Old Rasputin, the first Back to the Future movie, apple pie. It was one of those recipes that always felt perfect, even when it wasn’t. Even when the edges of the crusts were brunt, or the filling was runny, or the apples turned mushy, it was still apple pie.
The tartness, the sugar, the cinnamon, the flaky crust, it was all there reminding me that it has been there all along. Through my lust for a complicated soufflé, my affair with Crème brûlée, that summer I was obsessed with pavlovas, apple pie has always been there. Always perfect, even when it’s not. Classic but never boring. Just as perfect at 8am as it is at midnight.
Perfect with a cold beer, and even better made with one. Or both. Always both.
Apple Pie with Pale Ale Mascarpone Cream and Beer Pie Dough
1 ¼lbs2-3 large Honey Crisp (or Fuji) apples peeled and sliced
1 ¼lbs2-3 large Granny Smith apples peeled and sliced
½cupbrown sugar
½cupwhite sugar
¼cupflour
1tspVietnamese cinnamon
¼tspnutmeg
1tbsfresh lemon juice
1tbspale ale
3tablespoonsunsweetened apple sauce
Cream
8wt ounces mascarpone
1cuppowdered sugar
1tspvanilla extract
2tablespoonspale ale
Instructions
Make the crust:
Add 1 ½ cups of flour, salt and sugar to a food processor, pulse to combine. Add the butter and shortening, process until well combined and dough gathers around the blade.
Add the remaining flour and pulse 6-8 times or until all the flour has been coated.
Transfer to a bowl. Using a rubber spatula, stir in the beer until completely incorporated into the dough (don’t add the beer in the food processor or your dough will turn into a cracker). Dough will be very soft.
Lay two long sheets of plastic wrap on a flat surface.
Divide the dough evenly between the two sheets, Form into flat disks.
Wrap each disk tightly in plastic wrap, chill until firm, about 1 hour.
Make the filling:
Add the apples (about 8 cups total) to a large bowl. Sprinkle with brown sugar, flour, cinnamon, nutmeg, lemon juice, 1 tablespoon beer and apple sauce, toss until coated.
Roll out one of the pastry disks out on a lightly floured surface, line a 9-inch pie pan, trim off the excess.
Pour the filling into the prepared crust.
Roll out the remaining pie dough, cut with a small cookie cutter, layering the shapes over the filling. Brush with melted butter, sprinkle with sugar.
Place pie in the freezer for ten minutes while the oven preheats.
Heat the oven to 350 degrees.
Bake the pie at 350 for 40 minutes or until the pie is golden brown. Remove from oven and allow to cool for at least an hour before cutting.
In a small bowl combine the mascarpone, powdered sugar, vanilla and pale ale until well combined. Top the pie with cream prior to serving.
Slow Cooker Beer Brisket Sandwiches with Horseradish Sour Cream
I learned football on the field, the way you should. Of course I didn’t play on a tradition team, I’m a 5’7″ blonde girl that never weight much more than 127lbs. I did what girls with pent up aggression and a need to please grown ups did, I joined a powder puff league in college so that I could beat the crap out of other girls in a socially acceptable way. Take a bunch of WASPY white girls who have spent their lives being told to "act like good girls," strap them up with a waist belt of tear away nylon flags, throw a ball in the mix with a huge Samoan coach and watch them tear each other up with smiles on their faces.
The best part of my year on the field wasn’t the release of pent up rage, it was a deep understanding of the game. I finally understood that what looked like a bunch of giant millionaires fighting over small oval object was actually an extremely mental game. I learned the rules, the way the stadium smells at night, the victory of a first down, the reasons you should love the game.
These days my competitive nature seems more likely to manifest itself in the pot luck throw down that football gatherings seem to incite. I want to win at pot luck in a way that seems like it didn’t really occur to me that I was competing ("Oh, this? You like it! I’m so glad."). Sliders are great at that, effortless like the perfect pair of jeans and just as delicious.
For these sliders I used a beer from a brewery that is quickly becoming a favorite since my move to Seattle, Fremont Brewing. If you’re in Seattle, it’s a fantastic place to visit. But just know that if you do happened to plan your visit on a game day you will kindly asked to root for the Seahawks. Or maybe you could just stuff your trap full of sliders. Either way it’s a win.
Slow Cooker Beer Brisket Sandwiches with Horseradish Sour Cream
In a skillet over medium heat add the oil, butter and onions. Cook until lightly caramelized, about 15 minutes. Remove from pan, set aside.
Liberally salt and pepper the brisket on all sides.
Sear the brisket in the onion pan until browned on all sides. Add to a slow cooker. Top with onions and garlic, then add the beer, Worcestershire sauce and balsamic.
Cook on low for 6 to 8 hours or until fork tender.
Remove the brisket, thinly slice.
Drain the onions, transfer to a small bowl.
In a small bowl stir together the sour cream, horseradish, garlic powder and smoked paprika.
Fill the buns with brisket, onions and sour cream mixture.
Sriracha Bloody Beer with Chili Sugar Bacon + New Years Resolutions For Beer People
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We do this too often. Spinning a resolution in a sacrifice that will ultimately give way to our guilt over lack of follow through. It’s not your fault, it’s the resolution. You can spend all year giving up coffee, carbs, sugar, or sleeping in, but that’s not what we should focus on at the dawning of a brand new year. It’s not supposed to be torture, it’s meant for celebration. So don’t put yourself in a culinary time out, or throw yourself into a debt related guilt prison, give yourself a gift. Grow yourself and your interest. Save the torture and regret for Lent. If you’re a beer person, you’ve got some options. But you already knew that, you’re way more creative than those vodka soda people.
1. Get certified in beer. Make it a goal to study hard, read up, and earn yourself a Cicerone Certificate, which is a certification that proves to the world that you actually know beer. And if anyone questions you, you will now have the proof you need to silence your opposition.
2. Brew your own. If you’ve been wanting to try your hand at homebrewing, there is no better time to start. Buy a starter kit, join a homebrew club, and realize that your first batch will suck, possible explode in the fridge, and then the next one will suck less. If that doesn’t scare you off, then you’ll make a fantastic brewer someday. After you stop sucking at it (don’t worry, everyone sucks at first).
3. Go to a beer festival. There is no better way to connect with the craft beer community than to drink with us. Nearly every state has a Craft Beer Week, there are ale fests, stout fest, holiday beer fests, fresh hop fests, summer ale fests, (and on and on), in every state. Find one locally or go to a giant gathering of craft beer lovers from all over the world like The Great American Beer Festival.
4. Invest in glassware. You’ll be shocked at the flavor difference between your favorite beer when you drink it from shaker pint (or, god forbid, a mason jar) and when you sample it from a glass made specifically for that beer style. If you appreciate beer, and especially if you invest in good bottles, you’ll love serving it the proper way. Although the names of a few of these glasses are a bit suspect, I love the line of glassware from Crate & Barrel (my favorites: stout glass, half pints, IPA glass, wheat beer glass, craft beer glass).
6. A new brewery every month. Most cities have more than enough established breweries or new start ups to take care of twelve months of brewery hopping. Stop in, grab a flight, and don’t forget to chat up the staff, beer people are the friendliest kind.
Rim glasses with celery salt. Add all cocktail ingredients to a shaker half full of ice, swirl to combine. Strain into prepared glasses, garnish with celery and bacon skewer.
Twenty Minute Cinnamon Roll Beer Biscuits, plus the secret to the perfect cinnamon roll filling that doesn’t leak out the side once cut.
I’ve had a complicated year. One that began with life in one state and ended in another, literally and figuratively. A year of answering questions with "It’s complicated." Where I’m living, what I do for a living, my relationship status, my goals, it’s all been so complicated this year.
My goal for next year is simple. That’s it, just: simple. Live simply, dream simply, love simply. I’ve loved complicated food, complicated love, complicated life, but my heart feels at home when it’s simple. The joy and beauty of the perfect roast chicken, a love that comes from unfiltered devotion, a simple well made beer.
I’m trying to strip everything down to simple elements. Rebuild a life with solid blocks. learning recipes that use simple ingredients, simple techniques. Getting lost wandering around a city, rather than the pressure to make plans. Learning to forgive, and rebuild a relationship from scratch.
The way even a seasoned chef will screw up rice and scrambled eggs from time to time, simple is harder to learn than complicated. A smaller margin or error. But it’s worth it. I’ve done complicated and it left some deep scars. There is joy and healing in the journey towards pure and simple.
Twenty Minute Cinnamon Roll Beer Biscuits
The trick to making any cinnamon roll recipe with a lovely thick ribbon of cinnamon sugar that does not fall out the sides once it's cut is making a paste with softened butter, cinnamon, and sugar. It will stay in place and you won't lose a grain!
In a processor add flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt, and sugar.
Pulse to combine. Add the cold butter, process until well combined. Add to a large bowl.
Add the buttermilk and beer. Mix with a fork until just combined.
Add to a well-floured flat surface, pat into a rectangle. Using a cold rolling pin (preferably marble) gently roll into a large rectangle, about 3/4 inch in thickness, using as few strokes as possible.
In a medium sized bowl add the softened butter, brown sugar, white sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg and pinch of salt. Stir until a paste forms.
Spread the dough with the butter mixture. Starting at the long end, roll into a tight log. Cut 2-inch rounds, place in a baking dish.
Bake at 400 for 12 to 15 minutes or until the tops are golden brown.
Allow to cool.
Stir together the powdered sugar, buttermilk and vanilla until well combined. Serve the biscuits topped with icing.
If there is one type of book that I will always want in the print version, it’s a cookbook. I want to feel the pages, make my own notes, and someday pass it down to future generations. It becomes a conversation between decades, an engagement among generations, that connects people in a way that nothing other than food has the ability to do.
Maybe it’s the end of a brutal year that was illuminated by the writing of my second book, a lifeline to stability, that makes me want to defend the print cookbook. Maybe it’s the ghosts of the past that seem to haunt the holidays. Maybe it was a small moment over the weekend while standing in the middle of a book store in Portland and finding a note card written 50 years ago wedged in the middle of a antique Sunday Suppers cookbook. It doesn’t matter, I have an analog soul, I like things that I feel with my hands. I love the smell of old books. As much as I love innovation and the sexiness of new technology, my heart will always belong to what I can pass down, or what I can receive from those who have gone before me. Like old cookbooks and fried chicken recipes. Somethings are just made to be shared.
Fried Buttermilk Beer Chicken Salad with Sriracha Honey Vinaigrette
Arrange the chicken in an even layer in a large baking pan.
Sprinkle evenly with kosher salt, top with sliced onions.
In a small bowl whisk together the buttermilk, beer and sriracha, pour evenly over the chicken, cover and refrigerate for 8 to 24 hours.
In a medium sized bowl stir together the flour, brown sugar, chili powder, onion powder, salt, pepper, and cayenne.
One at a time remove the chicken pieces, dredge in the flour mixture then gently re-dip in the buttermilk/beer marinade and recoat with the flour mixture (double coating of the flour mixture will give you a crispier chicken), set on a wire rack that has been set over a baking sheet.
Allow the coated chicken to sit at room temperature for 10 to 15 minutes.
Preheat oven to 200.
Add the oil to a large pot until about 6 inches deep, heat to 350 degrees using a cooking thermometer clipped to the pan, adjust heat to maintain that temperature.
Working in batches fry the chicken until golden brown and cooked through (between 4 and 8 minutes each, depending on the thickness of the chicken)
Once each piece is done, place on a wire rack over a baking sheet in the oven to keep warm. Slice the chicken.
In a small bowl whisk together the honey, sriracha and vinegar. While whisking vigorously, slowly add the olive oil until well combined.
Add chopped lettuce, pomegranates, and avocado to a large bowl, toss to combine.
Top with burrata cheese and sliced fried chicken, drizzle with dressing.