Last year, our friend Joel moved to Berlin. We expected him to quickly burrow into to the city’s party circuit and be appointed the American diplomat to Berlin’s hottest clubs. We did NOT expect him to become a line-cook at one. Lo and behold, our former roomie and ex-bandmate is slaving at the haute, German kitchen of a rooftop warehouse party palace. When he mentioned his first menu contribution – an asparagus salad special – we got jealous.

Berlin in spring is heaven. The entire city splays out on park blankets half-nude drinking giant pilsners. And then there’s the asparagus: Earthy, white and green pornographic spears that the Germans host an entire phallic holiday around.

To rekindle our Berlin fantasies, and to pay homage to our favorite Krautrock DJ-turned-line-cook, this week we assembled the ideal spring sauce: Asparagus Remoulade. A creamy lather of fat mixed with zingy mustard and the vegetal crunch of chopped asparagus. But, what do you smear an entire pint of Asparagus Remoulade on?

A 2-foot-by-3-foot pretzel, naturlich. For weeks we’ve seen this pretzel monstrosity in the bakery aisle of an Atwater boutique market and we jumped at an excuse to splurge. The thing is just calling out to be slathered in sauce, stacked with veggie meats and cheeses, pickles and consumed on an oversized picnic blanket. Below are the basics for whatever sized pretzel bread – or laugenbrotchen – you’re working with. Grab a pils, break out the Neu, and take your pants off. Genau!

Asparagus Remoulade
(Makes 1 and 1/4 cups)

1 bunch asparagus spears (thin)
3/4 cup Veganaise
1/4 cup whole grain mustard
1 teaspoon sea salt
plenty of black pepper
(dill garnish)

1. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Slice off completely, or peel, the woody ends of your spears. Once boiling, toss in spears and cook like this for 4-5 minutes. Then strain and submerge in ice water to cool.
2. Mix veganaise and mustard together in a bowl. Add salt and pepper.
3. Finely chop the asparagus into round bits and add this to the mustard-mayo. Stir and refrigerate for at least 2 hours, or up to 2 days, before using.

Pretzel Sandwich
pretzel bread (size does matter)
asparagus remoulade
seitan slices
slices of Emmenthaler (or vegan Swiss)
sliced red onion
sliced kosher pickles
chopped fresh dill

1) Buy a giant pretzel. Genau!

2) Carefully slice the giant pretzel in half: Stand it on its side and slit the outer diameter with a serrated knife, slowly rotating it counterclockwise. Once complete, slit the inner sections of the pretzel knot by sticking your knife all the way through the already sliced outer piece and sawing through the center as well.

3) Slather both sides of the bread with remoulade. Then stack it high with seitan, Emmenthaler, pickles, and red onion slices. Garnish with fresh dill and press the bread together.

4) Transport it in one piece on a large cutting board. Cut it up into pieces when you’re stationary.

Beverage: Great Divide, Nomad Pilsner
Soundtrack: Iggy Pop, Sixteen

We’ve received gifts from breweries a precious few times in our blogging (and now booking) career, and getting a free case of ales from Founders Brewing Company felt like winning some kind of holy lottery. After purchasing Salad Daze, Founders’ new marketing wizard (Sarah) decided to send us a packet of frankinsense, myrrh and the holiest of holies: whiskey barrel aged stout. We are still over the moon about it.

Fictional Blog Reader: But wait, why is it that I can only have Founders if I have homies who’ll smuggle it back from the Midwest or engage in semi-illegal ebay situations? Isn’t Kentucky Breakfast stout, like, illegal? Does this mean that Founders is coming to California?!

Us: Well friend, its cool that you defy federalism, yes – selling beer across state lines in the mail is illegal, but you can skirt it!

We like to think that the (legal) liquid missive we received from the Midwest is the precursor to an ale based land-bridge that we will singlehandedly help to build.

Sadly, we can’t buy Founders in California. Yet. Founders is kinda like the Stone Brewing for the rest of the country, in that they’re a larger micro brewery making beers that don’t appeal to the meek mouth’d. Unlike the Southern Lords, Founders growth has not included rapid country-wide expansion and while we’re bummed that there’s a void on our side, we deeply respect the concept of intentionally limited expansion. Think of them as mindful imperialists.

While tasting the void – they that do not yet exist – we happened upon a new concept (that was known but unspoken until now): The “West Coast Bias.” Don’t get us wrong: these are awesome IPAs (for Michigan), there’s just a certain stack of chips on our occidental shoulders about the style that makes us skeptical of the Other. In our analysis, and in the words of Ryan Sweeney, the Founders IPAs have a particular attention to balance that places them on the Eastern side of the issue. If balance is the most problematic part of a solid beer lets not even call it a critisim – just a nod to different strokes. We’re more Black Flag than Minor Threat. Its cool.

In the end, Malts beat out Hops. We all agreed we would all have black teeth and breathing problems if the three stouts we were sent were available in our great state. The West Coast Bias gets lost in all that darkness…

Someday, somehow, Sarah – your beer will be sold here.

Top ranking:

Breakfast stout: Clean coffee flavors jumped out of the thick darkness. We all agreed we could drink this a little too regularly if given access.

KBS: Kentucky. Breakfst. Stout. The myth maintained itself. This is widely regarded as one of the best beers in the world, and we agree. Heavy coffee stout brewed with chocolate and aged in burbon barrells for a calender year. Amazing on paper — much better in our mouth (collectively speaking — its not like we were sitting around frenching each other).

Imperial: A real head turner; this made us all question our loyalty to other Czarist style stouts. Scaring us a little, as we’ve never doubted the superiority of Rasputin…until now (quiet – he’ll HEAR us).

Nemesis: This seasonal strong ale clearly cleaved towards a Barleywine, but the flavors were much more distinct. We could all picture the harder hitting hops when the beer was “fresh” but their fading over time contributed to something special: balance. Biterness, booze and bite were all part of the deal, but they were all so tempered with eachother we almost didn’t notice the high alchohol content.

Devil Dancer: Our top pick of the IPAs—devil dancer tasted exactly like those strawberry candies wrapped in strawberry looking wrappers. Sacerine but not too much so, the familiar flavors of giant IPA gone awry were thankfully absent. No wet dog, no grain alchochol, but also not as much specificity as we would’ve liked.

Double Trouble: A resoundingly balanced Imperial IPA where cereal, weed, citrus, and a distinct lady underarm funk all played almost too nicely together. Clearly perfection is nothing to complain about – this beer is pretty fucking awesome – but this specimen sparked the discovery of the West Coast Bias.

Centenial: the key to this little bruiser is the lack of filtration. The oily mouth feel of unmitigated dryhopping was awesome and made a lasting impression during the whole tasting. A solid, funky, mouthfeel.

It’s Raw Week here at Hot Knives, you know like the Discovery channel’s “Shark Week.” We dusted off the Dehydrator and started soaking legumes like weirdos. But even our inner Hippy is a snack freak. And one substance above all others is the crack of snacks: Cool Ranch.

Ranch is nasty. In a good way. It’s the combo of lots of fat with a slightly sour buttermilk-citrus zing, speckled with herbs and spices. We’ve found it’s addictive on onion rings, zucchini sticks and the like, even though eating too much of it makes you question your life decisions. Our friends in Portland refer to this basic precept as getting “ranch cramps.”

Last summer we routinely made the real thing, a dairy doozey, for all sorts of recipe play. This week, we found a way to whip it up using just vegan pantry staples and fresh produce. Paired with a crudite of crisp veggies and homemade raw crackers, we’re skeptical we can even attain ranch cramps on such a healthy diet. But maybe if we drink the whole batch in one sitting…

Raw Ranch
(Makes about 2 cups)

1 cup raw cashews
1 1/2 cup filtered water
1 cup almond milk (unsweetened)
3 tablespoons apple cider vinegar
juice of half a lemon
1/4 cup grapeseed oil
1 tablespoon paprika
1 teaspoon cayenne
1/4 cup chives (minced)
1/4 cup parsley (minced)
1/4 cup dill (minced)
1 tablespoon nutritional yeast
Lots of sea salt and black pepper to taste

1. Combine the cashews with water in a plastic or glass container, then cover the with plastic wrap. Let soak for at least 6 hours, or as long as 24 hours, on the counter.

2. Once ready to make, drain the cashews over the sink and remove all excess water. Cashews should have nearly doubled in volume yielding you 2 cups soaked cashews. Add cashews to food processor along with half the almond milk and half the cider vinegar. Puree for one minute while you measure your oil and squeeze your lemon juice.

3. With the food processor still running, slowly drizzle in the oil and lemon juice. Mixture should form a silky smooth paste. Now slowly add the remaining half of the almond milk and cider vin (If you’re looking for a thicker texture, don’t add all of this. If you want a loose dressing for salads, add all of it and then some. Adjust as desired.). Add about a teaspoon of sea salt. Process until you have a thoroughly mixed liquid, the consistency of heavy cream.

4. Using a spatula, remove the liquid into a large mixing bowl. Add the minced herbs, yeast, paprika and cayenne. Fold in the new flavors with a spatula, or beat it with a whisk. Taste and add sea salt and lots of black pepper as desired.

5. Reserve in the fridge until you’re ready to serve.

Raw Crackers
(Makes two dozen)
Requires a dehydrator. We agree with the Raw Food Community that these are the best.

2 cups whole flax seed (raw)
2 1/2 cups filtered water
2 handfuls green kale leaves (about 1 cup)
4 tablespoons tamari
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 tablespoon agave syrup
1 shallot (minced)
3 cloves garlic (minced)
1 handful purple kale leaves (optional)
1/2 cup minced parsley, cilantro and dill
1 teaspoon sea salt

1. Combine flax seeds with water in a glass or plastic container, cover with plastic and let sit for 6-10 hours on the counter.

2. By now the soaked flax should resemble puddy — or egg whites with seeds in ‘em. Dump half of the flax into a food processor. Add half the kale, half the tamari, half the agave. Puree the mixture for about a minute slowly drizzling in half the olive oil. Then remove to a large mixing bowl. Repeat with the remaining flax, kale, tamari and oil. Combine in the bowl.

3. To the bowl, add the minced garlic and shallot. Finely chop the purple kale and add along with the minced herbs. Sprinkle salt and stir to combine.

4. Spread the flax mixture carefully and evenly onto 2 dehydrator sheet trays, forming a perfect square. (If you only have porous sheets, you can cover with plastic wrap and spray with canola oil to keep from sticking.)

5. Dehydrate at 105 degrees for 6 hours.

6. After 6 hours, remove the trays and carefully lift the cracker dough to remove plastic wrap (discard it) and flip the dough. Return to dehydrator for at least 10-12 hours.

7. After it’s done, cut into desired shapes. Toss in a large bowl with additional seasoning as desired. We like extra sea salt, nutritional yeast, onion powder and paprika (about 1 teaspoon of each).

8. Serve with vegetable crudite and ranch dip.

Beverage: St.Louis Gueuze Fond Tradition
Soundtrack: “Raw Ramp,” T-Rex

Some people, when they’re let down by the food all around them, they go on Yelp and moan about it. Why not get even? When we felt hunger pangs for a late-night falafel sandwich in our corner of Los Angeles – where no falafel exists – we reached for the fry oil.

Our one-night restaurant window we called El Falafel (only at Elf) made us feel a whole lot better. And selling out in only a couple hours, we think it made others feel good too. Deep thanks to all the chickpea cravers who came out for a sandwich. Bear hugs for Elf Cafe for partnering with us. Kisses to Eden for her basil soda. And our deepest deep-fried apologies to the handful of you bar flies who stumbled over late from Los Globos on an empty stomach as we were taking the lights down. (You will be rewarded in falafel.)

We thought it only fair to share our secrets for your home use. It took a whole month of falafel tests, before we settled on what is certainly the Alexandrian ideal of a falafel sandwich: warm pita, harissa, hummus, cabbage salad, a muffaletta-style relish, sliced pickles, tahini sauce, and piping hot falafel balls. The precise falafel batter recipe we used is a cherished family secret of Elf Cafe’s chef-owner Scott Zweizen, whose Polish grandmother years ago passed it down via a tattered piece of paper. But a pretty close approximation is below.

Now, what else is the neighborhood missing?

Pickle Relish
(Makes several cups)

2 cups green olives (pitted)
2 cups pickled turnip slices
2 raw carrots (peeled)
1 bunch parsley

1. Dice the olives, pickled turnip and raw carrots into uniformly small cubes like a pickled confetti. Toss together in a bowl. Finely chop the parsley and add. Season to taste.

Falafel Balls
(Makes 20-24)

1 and 1/4 cup dried garbanzo beans
(2 cups if using canned… for shame)
1 cup garbazno flour
6 cloves garlic, minced
half a red onion, roughly chopped
juice of 2 lemons
1/4 cup tahini
1 cup fresh parsley, chopped
1 cup fresh cilantro, chopped
1/4 cup olive oil
1/4 cup water (as needed)
1 tablespoon sea salt
1/2 tablespoon black pepper
2 tablespoons urfa pepper (optional)
1 cup fresh mint, roughly chopped
3-4 cups oil for frying (sunflower, grapeseed etc.)

1. To cook them beans perfectly: Start with 1 and 1/4 cup dried beans. Soak for 1-2 hours in water, covered, sitting on the counter. Then strain, rinse and place in a pot covered with 6 cups water. Cook on medium heat until you reach a rumble, turn to simmer and cook for 1 hour. When beans feel slightly crunchy but cooked, (should not be popping their skins), remove and drain and set aside.

2. In a food processor, quickly pulse the onion, garlic, parsley, cilantro and two-thirds of the cooked beans together, but leave chunky. Add lemon juice, tahini, olive oil and water (as needed to help it move) and pulse briefly again.

3. Empty this mixture into a large mixing bowl and add the roughly chopped mint, garbanzo flour, the rest of the whole beans (give ‘em a rough chop), salt, pepper, urfa and stir with a spatula. Cover and set in the fridge for as little as 30 minutes or as long as overnight.

4. To fry: Heat a heavy-bottomed vessel with at least three-inches of oil, enough room to fry several at a time. (If you have a thermometer, use it. Let the oil reach 350 degrees before starting to fry.) Use a small ice cream scooper or other utensil of choice to formulate about 1 tablespoon of batter into a consistent round or oval shape. Drop one at first to test it out.

5. Fry 2-4 balls at a time depending on what you can manage without dropping the temperature of the oil. Balls should fry for 2 minutes and come out crispy, dark-brown with a moist but gooey interior. Repeat until you have enough for your sandwiches.

6. Assemble in this order: Warm pita gets a slick of hummus and harissa, lay down 3-4 balls. Sprinkle with relish; top with cabbage slaw; squirt with tahini sauce and wedge two pickle slices on the side. Fold bread like a soft taco.

Beverage: Green Flash, Rayon Vert
Soundtrack: Selda, “Selda”

Falafel sandwiches. As perfect a street food as you’re likely to find; a time-tested vegetarian staple for people of the Levant and drunk guys alike.

New York’s got it. So does Berlin, Paris and Amsterdam. You can buy freshly fried herb-balls tucked into drippy bread from a late-night cart, stand or window in every most every city. Not our parts of LA, we’re loathe to admit. Demand falafel! We’re worth it, we deserve it!

Hot Knives has been on a hell-bent quest to remedy this – a one-month journey to perfect recipes and find The Chosen toppings. (Like some people self-improve by signing up for boot camp, we’ve been meeting late at night to try different blends of frying oils.) Backed by our friend Scott Zweizen and his sea-scroll-old recipes for perfectly spiced falafel balls, we’ve got it.

We ‘re starting with but a single night in Echo Park. Hot Knives and Elf Cafe bring you el Falafel. Here’s the deal: You bring cash, we hit you with the best falafel sandwich we think you’ll get in the city limits. You gobble on the street, repeat, leave. No linen, no silver, no menu. Don’t pass us by either. We will serve you faaalaaafel saaandwiches even if we have to chase you down in an American Apparel dressing room, interrupt your laundry day at Lucy’s, or rip you from your espresso. You can call it a pop-up; we call it a temporary autonomous eating zone.

WHAT: Faaaalafel saaandwiches

WHEN: Tue., Feb. 28

WHAT TIME: 10PM – 2:30 AM

WHERE: late-night window of Elf Cafe, 2135 Sunset Blvd.

HOW: Cash only!

We clearly show a great preference to cooking with alcohol over our second favorite drug, caffiene, and its carrier, coffee. This is a perplexing fact because we imbibe coffee over beer in overly unfair ratios. We drink coffee all day (really, at all times, right now too) every day, yet it rarely shows up in our recipes. Of course, one of the best things about coffee is its ability to stand on its own and, like beer, it can be a tricky ingredient to ultilize in the kitchen.

But with the recent visit of our fave vegan baker (Portland’s ever crushable Jac Delorey) we decided to embark on some test runs of a first great departure point for Caffeinated Cookery: the coffee cake. Coffee Cake, by definition, rarely has actual coffee incorporated into it and is rather meant to accompany your cup-o-joe. We begged to differ. Armed with a pound of Handsome Coffee Roaster’s Don Medardo from Santa Barbara (Honduras) and a fistfull of Kapow Bars that Jac smuggled down from the Northwest, we hit the batter and won.

This recipie is definitivly not vegan. Actually, the vegan version that resulted from our face-off is also quite crushable it just needs some coaxing. We might’ve been a little too hungover and not amped on beans enough to pull off the right counterpart, but we think a simple switcheroo of soaked flax seeds for eggs, veganaise for sour cream makes a pretty awesome facsimilie of this fluffy bean bomb. The end result had plenty of depth from the extract-like power of the Kapow, while exhibiting sweet caramel-y, smokey bitterness form the extra addition of the coffee. While this cake totally fit the traditional mold, it had a Cafe Au Lait vibe that was destictively caffinated and gave us the shakes. In a Good way. Expect us to slip coffee into everything in 2012.

Tip: When baking with coffee treat your beans properly and be gentle. Slow extraction using a chemex is ideal, and if you let the brew come down to room temperature, you’ll tease out a lot more flavor than if you use it when its hot.

Cake
1 and 1/2 sticks unsalted butter (room temp)
1 Kapow! coffee bar
3 good eggs
3/4 cup white sugar
1 teaspoon homemade vanilla extract
2 and 1/2 cup all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon sea salt

Topping
1/2 stick unsalted butter (room temp)
plus 2 tablespoons butter for greasing
1 cup walnut pieces (raw)
3/4 cup brown sugar
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1 teaspoon vanilla salt
1 teaspoon choice coffee grounds
a slosh of brewed coffee

1. Brew a pot of coffee to drink throughout the process.

2. Measure out the flour, sea salt and baking soda and then sift together into a large bowl. Set ‘em aside. Pre-heat your oven to 350 degrees.

3. Double-boil your bar: Sit a non-plastic mixing bowl on top of a sauce pot filled with a couple cups of water and place on medium heat. Once approaching a low boil, break the bar into pieces and drop into the bowl. Whisk to create a coffee syrup. Turn heat off and let stay warm until ready to use.

4. In another large bowl, beat/mash/fork the room temp butter with your white sugar (gently heat the butter if it’s still chilled). Slowly crack one egg at a time into this and whisk thoroughly. Ditto the vanilla extract. Add the coffee syrup too (warm but not hot). Finally, add the dry ingredients to this one-third at a time, alternating with scoops of sour cream, until all is combined as a smooth batter. Add a generous slosh of brewed coffee from your mug (about 1/4 cup to loosen the batter) and stir.

4. Mix the topping: Mash together the brown sugar with the remaining half stick of butter. Chop the walnut pieces into rough chunks and mix them in to form a crumble. Add cinnamon, vanilla salt and coffee grounds.

5. Use a spring form pan (8-10 inch diameter) to bake. Generously grease the pan with an extra tablespoon of butter or spray oil. Dust the pan with a teaspoon or so of flour to help from sticking. Pour your batter into the pan and smooth the top with a spatula. Add the crumble on top. Slice your remaining tablespoon of butter into 5 pieces. Plunk on top of cake.

6. Slide cake into the oven and cook for about 25 minutes on 350. Spin the cake and cook for another 20 to 25 minutes, until firm but only slightly brown on top.

Beverage: Mikkeller Beer Geek Brunch Weasel
Soundtrack: “Jump in the Line” Harry Bellafonte

Lodged somewhere deep in our pink fleshy cavities sit the remnants of our holiday partying: sugar, stuffing, gravy, fresh truffles, chocolates bobbing in a sea of buttered rum, and a regretful amount of palm-oil-agave frosting from a batch of pumpkin latte cupcakes. You too? For good reason, the first week in this foul new year of our lard 2012, we were desperately seeking the restart button in our stomachs.

We found the button on our juicer.

Juice is not our usual liquid lunch (despite the juice salad diet preaching we get from our web host K. Mikey Merrill). Anything that leaves our digestive tract as a liquid clear as vodka is not substantial enough to keep you alive (and sane) for very long. [Flashback dream harp sound effect] The first time we indulged a liquid diet was for college campus politics. It was 2001 and the U.S. was busy carpet-bombing Afghanistan and we didn’t know what else to do but to pay attention to our Islamic History professor’s speed rants, fashion makeshift protest drums out of plastic tubs, and sign a pledge to eat nothing but ice for 3 days in a sign of solidarity with the Middle East. We drank water on local cable news and laid around the quad, wasting instead of wasted. This ended, as most acts of liberal arts campus radicalism do, with us playing mean dorm room pranks on one another’s feeble, carb-starved brains, followed by a depraved taco trunk binge on our third night to celebrate our noble sense of right and wrong.

The only other time we’ve ever felt so hungry was suffering through the second day of the “Master Cleanse” during a birthday party at L.A.’s famed, red-and-white-tablecloth pizzeria Casa Bianca, meanwhile shards of the beautiful, buttery cornmeal crusted eggplant pie seemed to peck at our ocular cavities like a prison shiv. Yes, one half of Hot Knives has tried (and failed) at the Master Cleanse’s chic promise of de-toxifying your body through ritualistic lemonade drinking (you can guess which half but we’re not fessing up). You’d think chugging salt water would be right up our alley…

Keeping both these caloric deprivations in mind, this week we took a different approach to juicing our insides: a frilly meal combo of fruit nectar for breakfast and soup-like jungle juice for lunch. Did we go for weeks on this stuff? No. But we see the mental appeal of a good gut breather. Without weighing in on the science of gastro-colonic vanity, we will not begrudge (much) anyone the right to slam a tart concoction that helps you blow highlighter-colored fluid out of your body. But try this instead, it’ll right the tanker ship that is your appetite for 2012.

A.M. Juice

Our alternative to a questionable lemonade cleanser is a cornucopia of California citrus plus the earth-sugar of fresh carrot juice and spiced maple syrup. We could bathe in this stuff or pour it on cereal.

1 grapefruit
1 orange
1 mandarin
1 lemon
1 lime
1 bunch carrots, peeled (about 1 cup carrot juice)
1 tablespoon mulled maple syrup
1/2 teaspoon fleur de sel

Juice all the citrus, juice the carrots and combine with syrup and salt. Stir and drink. (If you don’t have a juicer, simply pulse the peeled carrots in a blender with some of the citrus juice and strain to remove pulp.)

Soundtrack: LCD Soundsystem,”Dance Yrself Clean”

Noon juice

Lunch beverage provides all the brainstem-tweaking flavor cues of a Thai coconut soup. Using coconut water, it’s like drinking a blood infusion with herbs.

2 cups pure coconut water
2 shoots lemongrass
1 small bulb ginger
1 sprig of mint
1 sprig of cilantro
1 sprig of Thai basil
1 small Thai chile (green)

Peel and slice the ginger, chop the chile, clean and pluck your herbs. (Keep large enough to strain later.) Combine with the coconut water in a pot. Take the lemongrass and slam hard on your cutting board to release oils. Slice into 8 long pieces and add to the pot. Bring to a boil, then turn down to simmer for 5 minutes. Remove from heat and let sit until cool. Put the juice with herbs in a jar and refrigerate overnight, or for several hours. Then strain and drink.

Soundtrack: Indian Jewelry, “Oceans”

So what are you doing for the Holidaze? Visiting the ‘rents? Cooking for your own family of Urban-Orphans? Party hopping from an ugly sweater face-off to some wicked Nogathon before you hit an awkward secret Santa swap-meet?

Don’t fret pets: we have answers to all of the above. As your official go too gurus of all things booze and food related, this time of year is when all our knife tips can be utilized to their wasted best. In the annuls of our exploits you’ll find everything you need to make the yule-tide break in the right direction and keep you from freaking yourself into some kind of stress induced end-of-the-year illness (but if that happens we’ve still got you covered).

Family Meal

Wether you’re feeding a group of bloggers, bringing a dish to a potluck, or supplying the only non-meat vittles at your family holiday spread, these festive go-tos will get you down the road.

“Stuffing”
Winter Sage Pesto
Belgian Onion Soup
Figgy Pudding

Fuck the Malls

Black Friday makes for an evil reference to a punishing stout — but the irony of its hapless application to a day of zombie like shopping gives us the shakes. Don’t feel bad that you didn’t fight the hordes to get good deals for your folks, make them something for Christ sakes.

Alternatively, you can give the gift that keeps on giving: US. Buy, our, book!

Bring a Beer

Tying it all together is a special once a year beer release from Brasserie Dupont, one of the best and eldest breweries in Belgium: a brewery who’s Saison we’ve been drinking since we were sixteen. These bottles of beautification ship with the intended goal of making an appearance at your New Years bash but they generally hit the shelves in the latter part of November.

This is, perhaps, one of our favorite beers to drink. More topically: its our favorite beer to give. Avec Les Bon Vieux translates to “with our best wishes” and this bottle of bubbles literally brims with positive vibes. Sweet yeasty vibes coalesce with a dry hopped backbone into bright lemony flavors that linger and digress into dry lip smacking perfection. A dense head built of firm tiny bubbles protects this aged ale from oxidation and leaves ridiculous lacing on whatever goblet you decide to grace with its yellow glow. This is beer for any moment (so long as its celebratory). Universally friendly, this beer is the perfect match for both the heavy handed riffs on Americana that always appear in winter, and any spicy ethnic curveball that you might throw into the mix. Desserts? Cheese? Our best wishes work well there as well.

From our gullets, to yours: Best Wishes. 2012 is gonna rule.

You’re sick again? Us too! We’re pretty sure it’s an avian death bug, which the science blogs tell us has been carried from birds to humans through ferrets.

We feed colds and we feed the flu, doctors can go fuck themselves. The question is only what exactly to eat? Besides KniQuil.

Besides the obvious, “essential nutrients,” proteins and vitamin B, we swear by “fermented things.” So, like, wine, beer, bread kimchi and mold. But obviously if you feel like we feel right now, chugging wine followed by a baguette is not an option.

This week, we turned to miso. Yes, delicious rice mold. Live active cultures in the form of sweet soothing soup. Our friend Claire gave us an idea when she HeyTell’d us that she was eating eggplant soup with miso: Yeah, why not suspend the goodness of miso floaters in a roasted puree so that it can’t escape your spoon! Miso can be frustrating what with its slithery tendency to clump and plummet to the bottom of your bowl like a school of minnows. This solves that.

Quick Fix: Eggplant-Miso Porridge
Start by making broth, adding miso paste to hot water (several heaping tablespoons for about 2 quarts of water) and let it steep. Braise 4-5 small Japanese eggplants in a deep pot on the stove with some oil and additional miso paste (or miso butter… its insane). Let ‘em sear for a couple minutes then add a handful of purple cabbage leaves, some ginger, garlic, chiles and top with about half a cup of your broth, cover and simmer until eggplants are falling apart. Fish ‘em out and pulse the eggplants with as much remaining miso broth as will safely fit in your blender. Then return this eggplant-miso puree to your pot with the braised goodness, add salt or tamari. Stir and return to heat. Toss in half a cup of white rice and cook until the rice is done. If you ate it now, it’d just be soup. Wait an hour and reheat, you have a sludgy glutinous porridge. Serve with extra chiles, scallions, cock sauce, whatever else.

Beverage: Hitachino Nest Celebration Ale
Soundtrack: Psychic TV’s “Just Like Arcadia”

We’re no strangers to the 6-hour Thanksgiving dinner, as you know from our digestive musings from year to year. But this fall we’re answering the cries of those less fortunate who either have to work on Thanksgiving, or sit behind the wheel of a car for several hours to make it home for the holidays, or just don’t care to wash dishes after dinner.

To all of you sad sacks, we bring you the Thanksgiving Pop-Tart. A handheld, self-contained, no-fuss feast in hot pocket form. No, we didn’t?! Yes we did. And so can you!

This trick’s real easy: Make a simple pie dough and let it sit in the fridge to chill. Whip up some classic sides like mashed potatoes, green beans with almonds, roasted squash or pumpkin, and something sweet like sugared pecans. Roll out the dough into several rectangles roughly 3 x 5 inches. Gently stack a pastry strip with the timeline of a meal: entree, side dish, dessert. Then top with a second dough patch. To seal the deal, just crush the edges with a fork. Slide it into the oven.

Need the details? Lucky you. We’ll be demonstrating this T-Day trick at an awesome flea market we’re hosting in Hollywood this Sunday, Nov. 13., from 11am – 4pm. Anyone who brings a book to be signed or buys one at the event gets a free Thanksgiving Pop-Tart. Made by us, for you.