Tasting Notes: Little. Yellow. Different.

Despite conventional wisdom, not all pilsners are created equal. The problem—the real problem, is that in our post-prohibition America, pilsners have turned beer into a despicable four-letter word. When you think about an American Pilsner, what comes to mind? Budweiser? Coors? Miller Lite? I live in Texas, so naturally Lone Star pops up amongst those other yellow, fizzy, adjunct-laden concoctions that are being passed off poorly as beer.

Really though. Bud, Miller, Coors. These are poor examples of what a good pilsner can be. When it comes to beer, you can basically break it down to two categories: ales and lagers. This is dependent on yeast type. Top fermenting, warmer temp loving ale yeast—which produces off-flavors that complement the beer depending on the intended style, and bottom fermenting, cold temp capable lager yeast. The pilsner lager has been around since the 1840's, ever since some Bavarian started combining new lagering techniques (keeping beer cool in caves for long periods of time) and paler malts. The result was a clean tasting, clear, refreshing brew. Thanks Plzen.

Fast forward to today. Sure, you can go and get a Pilsner Urquell and experience what a green bottled, poorly handled pils tastes like, or you can have one of the big beer industry's little, yellow, canned darlings. If so, you're drinking an adjunct-grain-laden soda. Big industry beers are full of corn and rice. Despite their ability to make this shit the same every time, it is hardly beer and would definitely not fly under the Rheinheitsgebot. Beer is supposed to be water, yeast, hops, and barley malt. It is only a matter of time before beer starts having soy added to it, and then it's just a short wait for the vitamin fortification. Well, probably not. Healthy bums anyone? Not on Bud's watch.

Oskar Blues' Mama's Little Yella Pils takes a stab at the old, adjunct free style of brewing pilsner in this canned brew. This beer is refreshing and easy to drink, like most of this brewery's beers, and when poured out of its can, it resembles the many fine pilsners of the world: yellow, crystal clear, with a lacy white head. What isn't like the many fine pilsners of the world is the taste. I found it refreshing, sure, but far too sweet. Where was the hop bitterness that comes with a good Bavarian-style pilsner? Lost. Lost to the New World I suppose. This beer is good, but it kinda falls flat for me. I like the hoppy bite of the pilsner (think Live Oak Pilz). I'll buy this. I'll drink it. I'll have it on a hot day. But, realistically, I could just save a few bucks, buy a Lone Star sixer and be done with it. Truth be told, I'm an ale guy anyway. If I'm going to be shelling out ten bucks for a six pack in this economy, I may as well get my money's worth and buy the Dale's Pale Ale.

Gilded Recession pt. 4

When laughing in the face of starving millions while eating and drinking like Bacchus, it's only a matter of time until you pay the piper. I thought it would be the food police. I figured they were on to me. There was no doubt in my mind. The sad reality was that my financial state had hit critical condition. I had been having cash woes since before I flew off into the sunrise to see Phish. That weekend only exacerbated the problem. Chicken and waffles and scotch be damned. 

Decadence and depravity are to blame. I was in the hole. Leonard Cohen, bard and sage he may be, is also to blame. As is my landlord, the entire Phish organization, butter, and the byproduct of yeast and sugar. And the Dali Lama. The conspiracy runs to the top. 

People came in town. We had some drinks. Put it on my tab. We go to the thing. Parking sucks, the free whiskey sucks; the music is good. We go to parkside. I eat marrow, and raw meat. Bearded weirdos come out to revel, feast. Cheese plates and bloody marys. I fall asleep on the couch, my guests go on without me.  

Fail. 

Echo and the Bunnymen

Deceit lies at every turn.

Rillette please.

What a fluke.

Tata.

See ya tamarrow.

To make up for the economic woes and fees, we go to UCHI. For some reason everyone has gift cards, making it near impossible to give away our spare. The food is good, but doesn't live up to the hype. This has more to do with the hype than the food. The food was really good. Very high quality fish. I feel like I can't go ten feet without hearing someone mentioning Mr. Cole. He deserves some accolades, yet he slowly approaching Bob Schneider-dom. This clouds judgements. 

Me so hungry.

Maters. Panko. Green. 

End over endo.

What angry villagers use to accost those who have transgressed upon them.

There is redemption, even solace in a plate of food that costs less than three fidy a person. Thanks to staff discounts, free boxes and pantries, you made the day. What better way to fill the gap of time between poetry reading identical twins and hillbillies with animatronic-animal-rock-band-fetishes than a home cooked meal wrought with care?

Seared butterfish and blood orange gastrique with kale and herbed quinoa.

$7 for a meal for two.

Back on top, I remember the view. I find the bar, order a drink. Oh, and I'll take a white for Tyson.

Taco Time: Most Important Meal of the Day

I own a shirt that states: I heart breakfast tacos. Of course it is supposed to read I love breakfast tacos, but in the parlance of our times heart is sufficient. This is a true statement. I do, very much, love the breakfast taco. Not the breakfast burrito, or even the sausage biscuit can compare. Being from Austin, Texas, I could rightfully assume the title of Breakfast Taco Aficionado, however, that may be a step down the path to being absorbed into the hipster rank and file. 

We could sit here and argue who makes the best breakfast taco in town, yet I tend to find such conversations pointless, therefore I will not waste more than this sentence's worth of your time on the topic. Besides, entire blogs are devoted to this, and you can go read them your damned self. I have a few favorites around town, yet always love to make my own at home. 

The migas taco, that enigmatic, deconstructed taco within a taco, is by far one of the most widely disputed taco in the circles that I run in. Tortillas, or tortilla chips? Cheese in the migas, or on the taco? I really heart migas. I go back and forth on the tortilla-tortilla chip tip, and find that both have merit. I am just now realizing how long it has been since I've actually made migas, so maybe I should shut up about them. Perhaps once my garden starts producing chiles and tomatoes, I'll make a batch and actually post a recipe. As you've probably surmised by now, we here at the Bearded Weirdo can't be bothered by posting recipes, leaving that up to other kind folks out there in the ether. 

Friday, prior to what would be day of galavanting around downtown at the thing, Blackberry Shortcake and I ate some breakfast tacos at my house. These were simple tacos made from mostly local ingredients: Margarita's corn torts, Richardson Family pork sausage, Alexander Farms eggs, and Austin Spice Company salsa. The only non-local item was the cheese, which was from Vermont. I like Vermont. You should go when you get the chance. 

These tacos were all made to order, and wrapped in foil to keep them hot until we were ready to eat. Blackberry Shortcake tends to be a bit more of a purist when it comes to her breakfast tacos, so she got two egg tacos. I was feeling a bit more hungry, so I went with the egg, sausage and cheese variety. As jarred salsas go, I really like the Austin Spice Company's Smoky Hill Hot. It may not be as fresh as homemade, or even Ana's Salsa, but the flavor is nice and the heat is present but not overwhelming. 

His.

Hers.

Good jar of salsa.

Saturday, we went to Taqueria Alayna's on Manor. I really like their tacos, and their special green sauce. The Shortcake had a migas taco, and an egg and bacon job. I went for the migas taco, a bean-bacon-cheese, and a chorizo-potato-egg and cheese taco. When we returned home to chow down on these, Blackberry was shocked to find that her bacon and egg taco was more like five or six tacos; a folded pile of pillowy eggs gently enveloping hunks of bacon that was more or less resting on a tortilla that had no chance of wrapping around its contents. I devoured mine in no time, and sat sipping Peaberry Reserve while starring out the window in a meaty daze. 

Unfortunately my love of Alayna's was not shared by Miss Shortcake who is a Taco Deli fan. I have only had one experience with Taco Deli, but not at Taco Deli, just a delivered taco that was rather delicious. They have a similar sauce to the green sauce at both Alayna's and La Guera's–some kind of emulsion that does not have avocado in it, but looks like it does–which I thought that it was just as good, which says a lot. I will have to go to this mystery taco land and educate my self in their ways before making a decision on whether or not they are superior to my beloved magic taco window.

Gilded Recession pt. 1

Austin is one of the top ten best cities to "weather the recession" in according to Forbes magazine. A falling unemployment rate, as well as low median home prices, have landed us on this list, along with three other Texas metroplexes: San Antonio, Houston, and Dallas-Fort Worth. To date, only a few of my friends have been affected by the economic slow down, mostly those who work on the front of the house side of restaurants.

For others, it's business as usual. Wheatsville is growing strongly, which is extremely positive as we head into the final stages of our expansion project. Dan, or GM–and my boss–recently returned from a NCGA conference in New Orleans, where he learned that many co-ops around the country are experiencing a slow down to single digit growth, which is still positive, yet may be harmful to those in the midst of renovations or other projects. We are bucking that trend, so far, maintaining double digit sales growth, and a positive attitude that our owners will shop with us more as times get hard, and we are better suited to meet their needs than the big chain stores.

Even the wine business is doing well. Despite a bit of a lull around the New Year, things seem to be going okay, or so I have presumptuously surmised. Shaddley, wine rep extraordinaire–who is currently touring around France for winning a contest at his work–seems to be doing well, despite the fears being touted by Washington, and the rest of our country. Maybe Texas should secede? We'd be all right. Anyway, we had intended to do our first dinner club on Friday the thirteenth, but due to a change in plans, and then another, I went down to North Buda, to cook for Shaddley and YogaMarketingBrownieGirl. He was in the mood for steaks and fingerling potatoes. He had some big wines open, and that was the driving force behind the meal.

We went to the 'Ville earlier in the day, bought some provisions, including some beautiful locally grown organic brussels sprouts courtesy of Montesino Ranch in Wimberly, fingerlings, bacon, and some beautiful Niman Ranch strip loin steaks. I loaded him up with some other goods that were at my house, some backyard lettuce, aioli that I'd made earlier in the day, and a container of rabbit confit. I eventually made my way down to North Buda.

Once again, this meal was inspired by Shaddley's open wines, and his lust for steak, bacon, something 'garlicky', and fingerling potatoes. For me, that was an easy enough starting point. Big wines, and bacon! Steak and potatoes! I had this. Shaddley wanted to grill the steaks, and alas, grilling is not my strong suit, yet! I left that aspect of this meal to him. The wines we would be drinking that evening were a 2004 Haut-Carles Fronsac from Bordeaux, and a 2005 Pellegrini Milestone from Sonoma.

Oh, happy meat, happy soul!

We got to work. The steaks were seasoned, and seared off; the rabbit confit removed from its protective shroud of duck fat; dressings were made, brussels and fingerlings blanched, as we approached dinner time. I had a secret for the night up my sleeve, and my hosts were unaware of the madness that was brewing in my evil mind. They looked at me strangely as I started to heat up some heavy cream.

"What's that for?"

"This, oh, nothing, do you have any liqueur?"

"Yeah, Kaluha, or Cognac?"

"Cognac."

Ready for the grill, time to see Paul Wall.

As we neared dinner time, we had been drinking some other non-dinner-focused wines, helping to loosen us up, which would be a saving grace for the gastronomical madness that was about to ensue that weekend. The brussels were sauteed in some bacon drippings and finished with bacon; the fingerlings were pan roasted in duck fat, and tossed with some thyme, and parsley. The salad was dressed with a simple blood orange vinaigrette, garnished with rabbit confit, bacon and blood oranges; the steaks, wrapped in bacon, hit the grill to finish. Go time. I find it difficult to get good pictures in these cat's house, but we got a few! After a few minutes on the grill, and a bit of time to rest, the steaks were ready, so we plated up the food, smothered the steaks in the aioli, which over time covered the entire plate, complimenting all the sides with goodness of garlic.

We ate, we drank. The Bordeaux stood out; flavors of dark, ripe fruits, rounded out with that familiar taste of rich soil that I love in French wine, it was as if a child had served me a blackberry mudpie smoothie, and I couldn't get enough. Both wines held up to the richness of the steak, bacon, and duck fat, cleansing my palate and leaving me thirsty for more. The salad was a beacon of hope, full of acidity, sweet citrus notes, and rich rabbit confit. We finished up, opened another bottle, did dishes and sat down.

Confit, bacon, and blood orange... a good way to dress up that backyard lettuce.

. Roasted fingerlings are evil... Photo courtesy of the Scots

After a brief rest, I asked who was ready for dessert. They looked at me, crazed, perverse, and depraved; I knew they were ready. Chocolate and cheese is not just a great Ween album, this combination was our dessert that evening. Out came the Cognac ganache, three years aged sharp Canadian cheddar, and St. Andres triple cream brie. Shaddley, feeling inspired, pulled out a delicious dessert wine; a serious treat worthy of royalty. The 2000 Royal Tokaji, a Hungarian dessert wine, which had a beautiful golden color, a bouquet of apricot, wild flowers and a touch of orange peel. The mouthfeel was like thinned honey, viscous, and sweet. It was times to get our hands dirty, time to make truffles. YogaMarketingBrownieGirl and I got in to it, shaping our little chocolate friends before they were rolled in cocoa powder.

Mwuahahahaha!!!

Truffles are so rich, and delicious, that you need some seriously powerful cheese to help you slow your roll or else quickly you'll quickly fade into the depths of a food coma. Or at least that's what happens to me. After we finished this amazing combination of items, we sat around and drank a little more. Soon, I was nodding out like a mid-seventies Jerry after smoking some China white. Full, content, and drunk on life, I went to bed. 

To be continued...

Teach a Man to Fish

I have been and avid angler for most of my life. Many of my best childhood memories involve fishing with my parents and friends. Being half Bahamian helped. My mother loved to catch and cook fish. She didn't care if they were regulation size, only if they could fit in the pan. Two weekends back, the Woo and I traveled out to Roundtop to fish on the ranch that my Uncle Fuji lives on. It's his brother's ranch, Doug, who is the CEO of El Paso Oil and Gas, and former COO of Haliburton. He lives in Houston and rarely makes it out there, so Fuji takes care of the place.

I love going fishing out there. It's kinda cheating, I mean, it is a small, stocked, private lake so the chances that you will catch something tend to lean in your favor. The Woo hadn't been fishing in about twelve years, so it would be a treat to have him as my companion that day. This wouldn't be the first occasion where the Woo and I did something involving fish and him breaking some streak without it. A few years back, I cooked a meal of fresh fish for three of my good vegetarian friends who were wanting to reincorporate meat back into their diets. All three are full on omnivores now, and don't seem to be looking back. 

We got a little bit later of a start then we had planned, but with things like fishing that doesn't really matter. After a quick trip to Wheatsville for some Dale's Pale Ale, Lone Star tall boys–a must for any proper Texas fishing trip–tamari almonds, and coffee for Fuji, we headed east. Of course, any good day of fishing needs an anchoring meal to sustain such large men as they cast quarter ounce weights countless times with six foot sticks. Fortunately for us, Taqueria Alayna's was on the way out of town.

 

EAT HERE!

Located on Manor, Alayna's is home to the best, yes, best breakfast tacos in Austin proper. This joint is very discrete. It is just a window in a wall next to a laundry mat in a strip mall. The food is unreal; the salsa, divine. I got three tacos, and if you've ever been there, you probably think I'm insane, and I am, so glad we're on the same page here. Their migas taco is the best I've had, balancing out the egg and veg to tortilla ratio perfectly, for tacos with bacon they use huge hunks of bacon–the only kind for a really amazing breakfast taco in my opinion–and there is enough cheese to tie it all together. I fell in love that morning. It was perfect, my new love. My beautiful bean and bacon taco. I will know no other. The Woo had a chorizo taco that left his taco bag looking like it had been submerged in some unknown viscous fluid, covering the other tacos in it's rendered pork deliciousness.

After about an hour long drive out to the La Grange area, the Woo and I rolled up to Fuji's. After a brief round of salutations and introductions, we made our way down to the lake. It was a rather overcast day, but the temperature was nice; shorts and t-shirt weather. The lake is something like five acres, so there are plenty of places to try to fish, including a nice little lake on the other side of the culvert from the main lake. The last time I was out there it was the Fourth of July, and we had slain them over in the little lake. That's where I wanted to be. It wasn't long before we were catching both fish and a buzz. The beauty of Dale's Pale Ale is that it's a great beer in a can. Something that seems forbidden, but oh so right. The danger of Dale's is that it's a great beer in a can, which makes you want to drink it like that yellow fizzy stuff; fast enough to not let it get warm enough to actually taste it. Soon our stringer was looking like a meal or two.

Texas is great. 

The Woo casts.

We tried our luck over in the sluice, but no dice. They just weren't biting over there. On the way back to the dock from the sluice I found a PBR koozie that I had lost to the lake in July. Providence! Now I could drink a Lone Star tall boy with out the fear of tasting the swill. Life is beautiful. After a bit more fishing, we cleaned up our fish, filleting most of them, and went back up to Fuji's. He had retired a bit before us, and had fried up some catfish that he had caught while we were out. It was sweet and delicious, his batter impeccable. I totally envy his fish frying ability. He is a master angler, and has been fishing with me since I was just a boy. 

I'm on a dock!

A few days later, I decided it was time for me to cook my fish. Most of the fish went home with the Woo. I kept only one whole fish, the largest I caught, and planned on making one of my favorite, possibly even last meal worthy, dishes. Stewed Fish. This Bahamian stew is one the most amazing things to eat for breakfast. I know it sounds crazy to eat some fishy stew for breakfast, but it gives you energy all day. It is a fairly simple dish consisting of fried pieces of fish, a dark roux, potatoes, onions, bell pepper, a bit of thyme, salt and pepper. It is usually served with grits (hard or soft), or fresh bread and butter. I don't make this dish often, because access to good, whole fish isn't that great. Red snapper, whole for $17.99 a pound? F that. I'll wait and catch my own fish. Having done this it was time to rejoice. 

Plump and juicy?

Whole fish just tastes better. Bones do something, that I don't understand. They make the meat sweeter, the experience more visceral, naturally slowing down how fast you eat so you can carefully extract bones from your mouth. One thing–a very important thing–that I've learned from time spent in the Bahamas, is a best practice for chewing a mouthful of boned fish. We here in the States, mostly eat fillets, which doesn't really prepare us to handle even the most minor encounter with a bone. The trick is to chew fish cautiously in the front of the mouth, and force bones out with your tongue. You have to try it to really understand, but it works, trust me. If you just go chomping into some nice fish with the speed and intensity of a dog eating it's own vomit, then you may swallow a bone now and again. 

I would eat this for my last meal.

Anyway. Stewed fish. Unfortunately this batch fell a bit flat. I didn't darken the roux enough, causing both the color, and the taste to be just a bit off of what I was going for. Otherwise it was delicious, and had it been made for anyone but myself, no one would have been the wiser, as it often is with culinary mistakes. Sometimes, only you know, and as your guest say great things, you look down, shuffle some food around on your plate and think, "yeah, but I should have used more thyme..." Whatever, you learn, you move on; life is beautiful. So, now, I need to go fishing again and start over.

 

Tasting Notes: Dangling My Stash

I haven't cooked much food in the past few weeks. I have been fairly busy; life is moving faster than ever, pulling me along with it, rather than leading me. So are the way of things. I may not be cooking, but I have been drinking, which is similar to eating, right? This installment of Tasting Notes is once again focusing on beer from the land of Wisconsin. Soon I'll be out of these fine beverages, will no longer be able to tease you with tales of untouchable beers, and we'll be right back where we started. 

Original Gangsta.

New Glarus has been getting a lot of play on this blog lately. They should be fucking paying me. All the beers we will be discussing today are New Glarus offerings. Up first is Organic Revolution. Revolutionary indeed. This is an American craft brewed beer that sites the Reinheitsgebot as an inspiration on the label; a far cry from what American craft brewing is all about. New Glarus makes several "crazy" beers, and do them well, yet it is nice to see that they can brew a classy, simple beer perfectly. This beer only has four ingredients, just like those made under the German Beer Purity Law. Organic Wisconsin barley malts, Organic German Hallertau hops, yeast, and water. That's it. Simple, and delicious. The end result is a clean tasting, well balanced ale. The malt and hops are there to lend support to each other like people in AA, and probably do a better job. This is a beer that you would wow a homebrewer with, not some adventurous drinker looking for the next high gravity hop bomb; subtle and refined like Nabokov's prose. This beer is perfect, and it's organic. 

I was very drunk at the time...

I've been fortunate to be able to sample a fair amount of of New Glarus' Unplugged series. The beers in this line are fairly experimental, showcasing the opposite end of the brewing spectrum than something like the Organic Revolution. Recently, I sampled the Apple Ale. I thought that this would be more like a cider, but was astonished at the complexity of this fruity elixir. Apparently Daniel Carey starts with a brown ale base, and adds fresh pressed Wisconsin apple juice, resulting in an exceptionally clear, copper colored brew. Extremely clear. The nose on this beer is phenomenal; sweet, enticing, fresh apple notes hit you before your face even gets near the glass. The taste is a bit tart, but not Jolly Rancher tart; more like a pink lady than a granny smith. There is also a nice element of sourness, and a refreshing effervescence to the mouth feel that I would liken in similarity to kombucha. This is one of the finest fruit beers I've ever tasted, second only to one...

I would marry this beer. 

The New Glarus Wisconsin Belgian Red. I've alluded to the magnitude of this beer many times on this blog, but haven't reviewed it. This is the Death Star of beers, and I am Alderaan. This beer is very special to me. I can't recall the first time I had it, but I'm sure I enjoyed it more than the first time I had sex. If I had a car, I'd drive to Wisconsin and stock up on it right now. I have shared about twenty bottles of this with my people since 2007. Do you get what I'm saying here people? Hell would be a life without beers of this caliber. So what makes this beer so fucking special? Wisconsin barley, and Wisconsin cherries (a pound in every bottle). Why don't I live in Wisconsin? Anyway, I digress. The malt is present, but merely as a stage for the fruit flavor to play on. The cherry dominates the nose, and the flavor; the sourness helps to add acidity to what would be a sickly sweet syrup without it. The mouth feel is velvety like a nice Malbec, or tussin. The color makes me think of Dorothy and her fancy kicks, and leaves me wishing I could click my heels and be in Madison where this shit flows like water. This is the perfect, perfect, marriage of fruit and beer. I only have one of these left, and no longer have a connection to procure more. Who wants to take a road trip? We could be in Wisconsin in about nineteen hours. I'll pay for gas. 

Tasting Notes: IPA From the Land of Fried Cheese Curds

Two years ago I went to a co-op conference in La Crosse, Wisconsin--the city with the most bars per capita in America--and fell in love with the beers from that region. One brewery, New Glarus, shines above the rest. New Glarus' beers are crafted using mostly Wisconsin barley, and some feature other ingredients that are produced regionally, such as Door County cherries, and apples. I am very fortunate to have a friend and co-worker from Wisconsin, who has willingly shlepped trunk-loads of these fine beers back to Texas for me on several occasions. She recently went home for the Holidays, and sadly, this was my last chance to have her play courier, as she is moving back home in May. 

When she returned from her trip, I was stoked to see what kind of goodies I was getting this time. I had requested the usual booty of Wisconsin Belgian Reds, Raspberry Tarts, and any Bell's beer she could find. I was like little boy on Christmas when I came home and saw a New Glarus sampler twelve pack on my porch, nestled next to a box containing the sour beers, a six pack each of Bell's Two Hearted Ale, and Consecrator Dopplebock, as well as the most recent New Glarus Unplugged series - Apple Ale. This was a major score. 

For this edition of Tasting Notes, I'll be reviewing New Glarus' Hop Hearty IPA. I first had this beer in La Crosse at a party in a hotel room full of a wide spectrum of Co-operators. We had made a crazy, several hundred dollar beer run to the local co-op, buying them almost entirely out of their New Glarus stock. It was a great night. Flash forward two years to a chilly Texas 'winter' night, and a lone Flapjacks carefully selecting one beer to drink, and review. It was a tough decision, but Hop Hearty won out in the end. 

Rob Baran laying down the mack.

Best picture of Steven ever!

Rose Marie of Wheatsville Board Prez fame, and Dill Pickle's Steven admiring bottles of Stone Soup

This Wisconsin IPA is not bashful by any means; massive citrusy hops aroma dominate the nose, but the rich, caramel malt backbone stands up to the Cascade and East Kent Goldings dry hop additions with the grace of a career alcoholic. The alcohol content is average for a New World IPA, weighing in at 6.2% ABV, yet due to its deliciousness, you could regretfully kick back a few of these with ease. One of the things that I really like about this beer is the tasteful use of the ubiquitous Cascade hops. Unlike craft brewers from the West Coast, Daniel Carey doesn't overload the flavor of the beer with this hop variety, instead, I feel he utilizes its strengths of providing aroma and lingering bitterness. Think of any beer produced by Sierra Nevada to get an idea of the abuse of the Cascade hop. Their beers, although consistent and often even great, rely too heavily on this hops variety, diminishing any true variety in the flavor and aroma of their products. 

New Glarus wins for their simple, yet classy labels. 

Unfortunately, this whole post is just a tease. New Glarus does not distribute to Texas, but if you're really nice to me, I might share one with you, or at least let you smell it. Safe and happy drinking in '09; don't drink and drive, you might spill your beer.

Supper Underground

There seems to be a theme here at the Bearded Weirdo, one where I find inspiration from the pages of the New York Times. Two previous topics, and this, the third, were discovered due to some article that I read on the NYT website. The first being Dan Koeppel's Op-Ed on bananas, the second was the serendipitous discovery of the Duke of Cambridge in an article on eco-freindly gastro-tourism in London, and the third was being inspired to search for underground restaurants in Austin, because of this article on such dining events in New York.

This concept was not new to me. My ilk and I have been discussing doing something like this for years. I did my homework, finding that there were about three of these groups in Austin. I sought one out, the Supper Underground, joined the mailing list, and waited. I was unable to attend the September and October meals, and entered the lottery for the November dinner upon my return from London. To do this, you must reply to the invitation within the allotted time period, and be lucky enough to win a seat.

Of over one hundred and fifty entries, thirty people were selected, including one Bearded Weirdo. The undisclosed location for the event ended up being about five blocks from my house, which was convenient for me, and gave me time to clean up from the brunch I had hosted that morning. I was excited. I didn't know what to expect, who would be there, what we'd be dining on; I was outside of my massive comfort zone. As someone who has lived in and around Austin for most of my life, I have a hard time going anywhere (really) without running into people that I know, or that recognize me, so it's nice to find yourself in a posh North University home, surrounded by complete strangers. I ate dinner with an ad guy, two women who were really, really excited to be there, and the head of Travis County's Democratic Party. It was interesting. There I was, this produce guy, which in this circle was found to be more interesting than someone in politics?! Food-people. 

There were appetizers set out when I arrived, and wine was flowing freely. I was hesitant to take pictures for some reason, and there was a guy who was there to do just that, so there won't be any in this post (you can view the offish photos here). The appetizers consisted of little pieces of toast, some with an olive tapenade, others with some sort of livery patè. I was actually feeling somewhat shy, so I drank some wine, and wandered around the nicely decorated house-turned-restaurant-for-the-night. A glass in, and I was socially limber enough to approach and speak to a group of strangers. There was a nice diversity of age groups that night, which made things seem a bit more casual, than, say, everyone were blue-hairs talking about the McCain loss.

The hostess, Hannah, and her crew, were all dressed in whites, serving us wine until it was time to sit down. There was a brief introduction and welcome, and then service began. The first course was a curried apple and butternut squash soup. Butternut squash soup is almost cliche, but this was a fresh spin on this champion of fall American menus. The apples were a nice touch, lending tartness to the sweetness of the squash, which was accented wonderfully by the flavors of coriander and cumin. 

Next up was the salad course. It was a simple salad, with dried cherries, stilton, pecans and a fig balsamic vinaigrette tossed with mixed greens. Nothing too fancy, but still a nice play of flavors. Stilton can be overpowering, and the cherries and the vinaigrette stood up to its intensity very well. The wine kept coming.

For the main course, we were served braised beef short ribs, over roasted garlic, spinach, mashed potatoes, and haricot vert covered in a mushroom demi glace. You could braise a boot and I'd eat it, which is not to discredit this tender and delicious short rib, but a good disclaimer about this forgiving cooking technique. Being fresh off my London romp, I found the mash to be ironic; I definitely did not think that I'd be served mash at this dinner. It was a good mash though, however, texturally, it wasn't the best foil for the tender beef. The perfectly sized green beans were nicely cooked, and provided the only textural variance in this nearly mushy course. 

Coffee was served, in French Presses, just before our dessert of chocolate, peppermint mousse. Served in coffee cups, with crushed peppermint candies on top, this dessert was light and fluffy, with a delicate peppermint flavor that supported, rather than overshadowed the richness of the chocolate. Delicious. Especially with some strong coffee, and wine.

Overall, I enjoyed this meal, and would go again, if selected. I found the food to be very solid, not too adventurous, yet not boring. The service was top notch, and they seem to really have their timing down. Consistently pulling off an event like this would be difficult, but they had their act together. If you are interested in trying to attend a Supper Underground dinner, go here, and register. The meal was $65 per person for four courses, and free booze. I felt that it was worth it, if not for the food, for the experience.

Tasting Notes: Sweet, Sweet Crude

At the beginning of the summer, I was more than pleased when the Oskar Blues line of beers made it to Texas. Having only tasted these treats from the mean streets of Lyons, Colorado, on a few chance occasions, the arrival of high quality, craft brewed, potent beers available in a specially made can, right in my own co-op, was a beautiful thing. 

Dale's Pale Ale quickly became my go to beer for the summer. This hop forward pale ale, weighing in at a nice 6.5% ABV, either made many an evening memorable, or hazily forgotten. Perfect for those long, hot, Austin nights. Gordon, the big, red, and sticky beer, hit hard at 8.7% ABV, only to be discontinued from our work beer selection due to slow movement. Sometimes consumers are dumb. I mustn't leave out our lovely friend, Old Chub. This Scotch Ale style can beer has a benevolent malt backbone that makes you go back for sip after sip, only to be backhanded by its dastardly well covered 8% ABV. Take all three on the river for a day of tubing, and you may find yourself throwing three British (and Irish) women around as they pitifully try and battle royale style wrestle you in the shallows. Spontaneous spectator water sports and snoozy car rides back from the sticks are definite side-effects to this potent combination of micro brewed beer and leisurely river activity. 

It's no secret that I have a love for the style of ale known as Imperial Stout. There are so many to choose from, some that shine like Venus in the night sky, and some that are just kinda, meh, like the kid that ate paste, and gave himself haircuts in your Kindergarten class. I was stoked when I found out that Oskar Blues had their own canned crude, only to be bummed that it wasn't available in our humble state. Until about a month ago.

 

This beer is really good. 

Ten Fidy, whose name has conflicting lore around it (previous statement removed due to being wrong) is a beast of an ale, and a grand representation of this style. It pours slow and thick like motor oil, and is crowned by a burnt toffee head that smells of roasted barley malt, molasses, and ripe dark fruit. The presence of flaked oats in the grain bill lends to the character of the creamy, milkshake-like body, and velvety mouthfeel. The roasted malt sweetness does a graceful job of masking the gracious 98 IBU's packed in this little can of wintery deliciousness. 

This beer is an animal, not for those with bopped collars and Daddy's old Land Rover. This stout is for the caber tossing, I-built-this-bike-myself, I-have-more-chest-hair-than-my-father, this-one-goes-to-eleven, ilk, weighing in at a massive 10% ABV. As the Professor soon found out, this is a beer to drink when you plan on staying somewhere for the night. Available in four packs, moderately priced at fine beer purveyors in Austin. Pick some up, and sleep where you fall today!

London Calling: Lost in the Supermarket

My final day in London found Sian and I on a pilgrimage to the Borough Market. The market was much like a food heaven, or amusement park, absent height restrictions or necessity of death. I enjoy a good farmers market, or even just a proper roadside farm stand. As a grocer, one comes to appreciate these things. Those places are destinations for sleepy Sunday afternoons. Borough Market, on the other hand, is like Mecca. You go there, and you worship every aspect of food; the craft behind it, the serving of it, the preparation of it, and eating it.

The first thing we saw, as we began to navigate the hurried, narrow passageways, was a giant paella pan full of delicious smelling paella. I have been weary of paella Stateside since my last encounter with the soupy saffron rice pilaf I was served at Saba in August. This was a redeeming image for me, I could see the crusty goodness with my very own eyes.

That is a huge pan.

This table was immediately followed by an oyster and Prosecco stand. Could there be a better way to get the stomach conditioned for a long walk through a magical wonderland of gastronomical delight? Probably not. I bought Sian and myself one massive oyster each, and a glass of bubbly. She'd never tried oysters, so this experience could have gone several ways. These were Scottish rock oysters, a variety I've never had; they seemed to be rather fresh, and massive. A little malt vinegar and a toast later, and they were down the hatch. Briny and delicious. I heart oysters. Sian... not so much.

Would this fly on Sixth St.?

Slurp.

Wardrobe malfunction.

Fear.

Unsure of the results...

From there, bubbly in hand, we made our way into the heart of the beast. It was throbbing with intensity; people shouting, chewing, laughing, drinking, and making deals, all creating some sort of supernatural hum. The next stop was at the terrine booth. The man behind the counter had a nice selection of terrines, from a variety of animals. There was a pork terrine that was done in the chunky, country style, that did not contain any offal, which, after some time, I was able to convince Sian to try. She was surprised that she actually liked it. It was very delicious, but, I'm sure she thought that there had to be some kind of guts in there, which made her apprehensive from the start.

Terrines are amazing.

We moved on, tasting fresh cheeses, and meats. Each cheese I tasted was amazing. A great representation of an old British skill. Stilton was everywhere, and there were even a few booths selling gruyeres and alpage style cheese. I love samples. I even had a smidge of some black pudding along the way. This was the only time that I saw any of it on my trip, otherwise, I would have eaten it somewhere... It was amazing. I don't get why we don't eat more blood and guts in this country. They're delicious! I'm not even joking, and I'm sure you, Dear Reader, will be hearing about my pursuits for gore in the future.

British Cheese is great.

More mushrooms than Dead tour.

Look at those brussels sprouts.

Meat from the land of Mad Cow.

Eventually, we stumbled upon a booth selling cider. I love the British ciders. I opted for the dry cider, and it was very, very, dry. It was convenient that my trip managed to correspond with the beginning of the cider season. I was fortunate to have a few over my time across the pond. There was a small beer store set up in the market, that had a great selection of craft beers on hand. Yay, beer!

Cider is easier to make than beer, or wine.

"Please buy my tofu..."

Why didn't I buy one of these?

Cheese never sleeps...

The fish mongers, and meat purveyors, were all selling what appeared to be high quality, super fresh product. There was an abnormal amount of ostrich meat around, which was interesting. I remember that being a fad here over a decade ago, but haven't seen it around in a while. Who knows? Maybe they like the climate.

Fresh diver scallops!

Monkfish are ugly.

Fresh fish.

So many olives.

Produce.

We walked around in circles for about an hour, before deciding that we should probably have lunch. I chose the paella with prawns, and Sian had some sort of Greek wrap thing, that was filled with feta, and lamb, I think. What ever it was, it was good. The paella was very nice; crusty, and full of flavor. The prawns were large, and tender, with a taste reminiscent of well prepared crawfish. Success...

The tin container made this classy.

What we needed was some booze to wash all this food down. Fortunately for us, there was a wine bar right there! La Cave. Despite having just stuffed ourselves on loads of high quality food and drink, we went for a five cheese cheese plate to compliment our bottle of Cabernet Franc. I used to be known for good judgement, but I may faltering these days...

Remember your failure in the cave...

I cannot find this wine on the interweb.

Cheese is the best dessert.

Cab Franc... You just don't see much of this guy around. My first experience with this grape was about three, maybe four years ago, when Shaddley, Mitchell and myself went out on a little Hill Country winery jaunt. We ended up at the Spicewoods Vineyards, where we had our third tasting of the day. I remember that this wine stood out to me, and I picked up a bottle. I saved it for a while, and cannot recall the particulars about when, how, with whom or what it was consumed.

Anyway, it is a very drinkable wine, with a far less heavy body than its offspring, the Cabernet Sauvignon, and a flavor profile that lends its flavors complimentarily to foods, rather than completely dominating them. Something you could have with a meal that didn't consist of heavy sauces and steak. I would like to find some more of this and drink it. Shadd? Get on this, if you aren't already. Please and thank you.

La Cave was a nice way to end the trip to the market. I felt content with what I'd seen that day: the love of the art of craft cuisine, each little booth representing specified skill sets executed with perfection and care. We sat and enjoyed our wine, ate our decadent triple cream bries, goat cheese and grapes; laughing in the face of the fleeting nature of time as it slipped into the abyss on this voyage that is life. Vacations are cool.