tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-61012237166194643032024-03-13T11:17:23.674-07:00Rowley's Whiskey ForgeThe archives of a sporadic discussion about drinks, food, and the making thereofMatthew Rowleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00613982533349459637noreply@blogger.comBlogger573125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6101223716619464303.post-31769051946154387082014-05-21T10:19:00.000-07:002014-05-21T10:19:21.360-07:00Closing ShopThough it wasn’t always the case, I am an early riser. As I have done on thousands of mornings, I am nursing my second cup of tea and have answered the most pressing emails before sunlight has even hit the roof. At this early hour, fifteen or twenty minutes might pass between each stray car and truck that trundles by our old California craftsman home. This quiet lull is my favorite part of the day. Even the cat can’t be bothered to get out of bed. Soon, though, when the New Yorkers wake, I’ll start putting in calls to the East Coast and begin the day in earnest. <br />
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Yet today is different. Today I’m throwing a tarp over the Whiskey Forge and closing up shop. Regular readers — bless you, every one — will not be surprised. You will have seen this coming. The posts have grown more sporadic than they’d ever been and, although I have plenty to write about, the time it takes to research, write, edit and put up good, original, quality content simply isn’t there. I will not write insipid posts about the top five drinks you simply <i>must</i> have in Brooklyn, fifteen things you didn’t know about absinthe, the seven best breakfasts in Palm Springs, America’s ten best microdstilleries, or other such noise blogs churn out when they’re clawing for attention — or circling the drain.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHa1s3W0acfrwJ-_SzDliH70erw0S-ic2aVFNSHGpyza8Ix4PLla_hZGozgZkwga7CWh3SrE7QQiDY4aP9XfG-JEmIXTmMrBY3Yqls6YEoeIQOdib_sc-OxWefpBeWDyptCUpkVwwbjQA/s1600/We+Thank+You+Heald+illustration+from+The+Saloon+in+the+Home.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHa1s3W0acfrwJ-_SzDliH70erw0S-ic2aVFNSHGpyza8Ix4PLla_hZGozgZkwga7CWh3SrE7QQiDY4aP9XfG-JEmIXTmMrBY3Yqls6YEoeIQOdib_sc-OxWefpBeWDyptCUpkVwwbjQA/s1600/We+Thank+You+Heald+illustration+from+The+Saloon+in+the+Home.png" height="220" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">John Held Jr illustration for the 1930 book<br /><i>The Saloon in the Home or A Garland of Rumblossoms</i></td></tr>
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I’d love to tell you about the trips I’ve taken to Germany, to the UK, and around North America to bars, distilleries, and spirits and cocktail competitions. How awesome would it be to share news about great music, books, and films? Curated information about cool stuff from an actual curator! [Well, a retired one, anyway.] The food and drinks I’ve downed in the last six months alone are more than any person deserves. <br />
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But those will have to wait.<br />
<br />
While I’ve had great success professionally, the last year has been trying personally. Several friends have died. One took a dive off a building and ate the sidewalk, leaving his widow bereft, his children fatherless, and me swirling in a stew of anger, contempt, and, ultimately, acceptance. Although much of my professional writing involves — and will continue to involve — alcohol, a <a href="http://matthew-rowley.blogspot.com/2014/04/raising-glass-to-johannes-van-dam-who.html" target="_blank">gout</a> diagnosis made me realize that my nights of excess that elide into morning are, for the most part, behind me. Not long ago, I participated in an intervention for someone I love very much. It remains a heartbreaking mystery to me how alcohol is an enjoyable pastime for most people while it lays waste to the lives of others.<br />
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Work continues. There are book chapters to write and edit for others. I’ve joined the editorial board of David Wondrich’s forthcoming <i>Oxford Companion to Spirits and Cocktails</i>. I continue to write for magazines, give public talks, chime in on radio and television, and consult on the occasional script. Work travel over the next few months will take me around the United States and probably Scotland, Germany again, London, perhaps Cuba. Not sure about that one, but there will be distilleries nearly everywhere I go. An aggressive publishing schedule for a new book has put an end to most socializing. When I looked for things to cut from my schedule, movies and weeknight drinking were easy. Then dinners with friends got the axe, as did non-essential travel, video games, and writing in coffee shops (which is so often a writer’s dodge for doing actual work). Facebook? Yeah, you’ll find me there, but don't bother: in truth I barely engage. You might have better luck on Twitter where I am <a href="https://twitter.com/mbrowley" target="_blank">@mbrowley</a>.<br />
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What was left to cut? The Whiskey Forge, of course.<br />
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At the end of the day, I’m an historian and writer, not a blogger. The Whiskey Forge has been a side project since 2008, but I’ve never accepted paid ads, never took money for writing about anything, never tried to monetize the thing in any way. All on purpose. By design, it is not a revenue stream. With no interns, no assistants, and no staff of any kind — not even a bar back — the blog needs to be put aside. <br />
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Not permanently, but — for now. I’ve spoken with colleagues about launching again once things get more settled. By the end of the year, there may well be a revitalized Whiskey Forge. But not today. <br />
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So. Not goodbye, but <i>auf Wiedersehen. </i>We'll meet again.<br />
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Matthew Rowleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00613982533349459637noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6101223716619464303.post-39696124062442473412014-04-21T10:54:00.000-07:002014-04-21T10:54:09.489-07:00Raising a Glass to Johannes van Dam, Who Taught Me How to Handle Gout<div style="text-align: right;">
"Jesus, Jesus, allmächtiger Gott, </div>
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ai, ai, ai, </div>
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sei vorsichtig, Alois! </div>
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Das Zipperl!"
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~ Ludwig Bemelmans</div>
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<i>Hotel Splendid</i></div>
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While otherwise in good health, I have developed gout, a sort of arthritis caused when uric acid crystalizes in joints. Although the condition has a genetic component, certain foods can aggravate it. Drinking alcohol to excess is almost certain to bring an attack. Mine is the classic version: a hot, swollen joint in my big toe. Fortunately, the attacks are infrequent, but when they strike, the pain is exquisite. Even a breeze could bring agony on those days. The writer Ludwig Bemelmans (1898-1962) describes the condition in a paragraph that might as well be describing me: <br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Grandfather had several times a year attacks of very painful gout, which in Bavaria is called Zipperl. Much of the time, one or the other of his legs was wrapped in cotton and elephantine bandages. If people came near it, even Mother, he chased them away with his stick saying: "Ah, ah, ah" in an ecstasy of pain and widening his eyes as if he saw something very beautiful far away. Then he would rise up in his seat, while his voice changed to a whimpering "Jesus, Jesus, Jesus."
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKGcr-fbTSEISf2OtwEug3RicFXMM-Vh8WCNTCfMPA-J5DyroOaY97zw_Y9kQ7nkxnNuPPzsIQpNHa9r-uG4HiJ6Io_Bw_6D6qFCso4Fr6GmDUzhfXQtUn5pCztVcySPatVhYadmX0-Fc/s1600/Johannes+van+Dam.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKGcr-fbTSEISf2OtwEug3RicFXMM-Vh8WCNTCfMPA-J5DyroOaY97zw_Y9kQ7nkxnNuPPzsIQpNHa9r-uG4HiJ6Io_Bw_6D6qFCso4Fr6GmDUzhfXQtUn5pCztVcySPatVhYadmX0-Fc/s1600/Johannes+van+Dam.jpg" height="325" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Johannes van Dam<br />Photo: Harry Meijer <a href="http://www.harrymeijer.com/">www.harrymeijer.com</a></td></tr>
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My old friend Johannes van Dam coached me on how to deal with gout and what prescriptions to ask of my doctor. Johannes, an indefatigable food writer who dominated Amsterdam’s dining scene for decades, suffered from the affliction as well. When I used to visit the city — “our cosmopolitan village,” he called it — the two of us would eat all over town: bakeries, restaurants, cheese shops and butchers, markets, cafes, Indonesian and Chinese restaurants…wherever there was good food to be had. Forget American restaurant critics who traveled incognito; even the postman on the street would hail him by name. Now and then, we had tea or hot chocolate and simply watched movies at his flat above the Athenaeum bookstore in the center of town. Like my own home, his was packed with thousands of books dealing with food and drink.<br />
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It was he who told me about allopurinol to prevent an attack of gout and colchicine if one struck anyway. I learned also that a shot of Torodal (ketorolac tromethamine) on the first day of an attack can turn me from a bed-ridden invalid to a hobbling, cursing cripple. A vast improvement, believe it or not. Sadly, Johannes was struck by a heart attack the day we were to have dinner together in Amsterdam last year. While my travel companions hit coffee shops and the Van Gogh Museum the next day, I sat with van Dam in hospital. A friend of his, another well-known Dutch writer, came by to chat as well. On hearing that I was an American food historian, he made a slight jab. “Well, I suppose you must write about hot dogs and hamburgers, such things as that.” “No,” my old friend interjected before I could say a word, “He is a serious scholar; he is the American Johannes van Dam.” A lie, of course, but it was kind of him to say so. <br />
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Walking him down to the hospital’s newsstand, I shook his hand in the lobby and turned away, knowing it was the last we’d see each other. Van Dam, the man who taught me to love Amsterdam as if it were my own hometown, died not long after. "I know you love a stiff drink," he once told me, "but it has its problems and gout is one of them." Nevertheless, I'll raise a glass to Johannes van Dam. Just one.<br />
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Gout. <i>Feh</i>. Seems I may have it for life. If only the same could be said of old friends.<br />
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<b>Note:</b><br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>In 2011, Van Dam and veteran barman Philip Duff each weighed in on the origins of the Dutch eggnog <i><a href="http://matthew-rowley.blogspot.com/2011/12/throat-rippers-neck-oil-and-dose-of.html">advocaat</a>. </i>Summertime is coming. Certainly not advocaat weather, but why not <a href="http://matthew-rowley.blogspot.com/2011/12/drinking-advocaat.html">bookmark the recipe I use</a> and bust it out once the weather turns cold? </li>
<li>The University of Amsterdam has awarded, the past two years, the Johannes van Dam Prize "given annually in recognition of an author’s extraordinary achievements in communicating gastronomical knowledge." Claudia Roden received the first prize, <a href="http://www.bijzonderecollecties.uva.nl/en/what-s-on/news/content/news/2013/12/harold-mcgee.html">Harold McGee the second</a>. </li>
</ul>
Matthew Rowleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00613982533349459637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6101223716619464303.post-87977163363200847852014-04-11T14:17:00.001-07:002014-04-11T15:03:34.788-07:00Duties of a Bartender (1884)George Winter’s short book <i>How to Mix Drinks: Bar Keepers’ Handbook</i> was published in New York around 1884. It leans heavily on the work of the celebrated bartender, Jerry Thomas, who died just a year later in the same city. It was Winter, though, I thought of on a recent evening in Kansas City. After downing my first Boulevard (a local favorite) at a bar, I ordered a second. The bartender popped the cap off the second bottle and, while I was momentarily distracted in the business of shaking loose an ardent admirer, he poured the ale into the same glass. Hm. Tacky. Not send-it-back tacky — and I probably would not have cared in a dive — but it was an amateur’s mistake in a fairly swanky place.<br />
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Winter’s book came to mind for its ruminations on the duties of a bartender. “Under no circumstances,” he wrote, “should a stained or dripping glass be handed out to a customer or used in mixing a drink…” It's a maxim as true in 2014 as it was in the years before Wilhem II was crowned Emperor of Germany and king of Prussia.<br />
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Here’s the rest of Winter's<br />
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<b><i>Duties of a Bartender</i></b></blockquote>
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<i>Probably in no other branch of business is the person in charge brought so constantly in contact with people of every class and disposition, as is the bartender, and he should therefore be an intelligent man and a good judge of human nature. He should be at all times polite and attentive to customers, and present a neat and cheerful appearance, having a pleasant look and word for each one who favors him with his custom.<br /> </i><i><br /></i><i>It is the great aim of a successful bartender to make as many friends and to control as much trade as possible, and the surest way of doing this is to pay the closest attention to the wants of patrons and making such an impression upon the mind of the customer, through furnishing a good article of the liquor called for, as well as serving in such a gentlemanly and artistic manner, as that he will remember the place, call again himself and recommend it to his friends.<br /> </i><i><br /></i><i>A bartender, like an actor, should never show that he is feeling unwell or in a bad humor, as it is calculated to make a bad impression on the patrons, who are to him what the public is to the actor. In short, he should sympathize with those who are not feeling well, appear jolly to those who are apparently light-hearted, and in general use good judgment in his conversation with all with whom he comes in contact while in the discharge of his duties.<br /> </i><i><br /></i><i>With these few words on the general attributes of a good bartender, we will enter upon the details of his business.</i> </blockquote>
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<i> </i><i>Glasses of all the various kinds should be arranged on the bench so that they will be handy when wanted. When a man steps up to the bar the bartender should at once present himself before him, and, producing a glass of ice water upon the counter, ask the customer in a polite and pleasant tone of voice what kind of liquor he wishes.<br /> </i><i><br /></i><i>All mixed drinks should be made in full view of the purchaser, and such skill and dexterity should be used in handling the bottles, glasses, etc., as will gain the admiration of the customer and establish the bartender as an expert in his profession.<br /> </i><i><br /></i><i>Under no circumstances should a stained or dripping glass be handed out to a customer or used in mixing a drink, and it is always advisable to have a number of glasses about two-thirds filled with water and ice on the bench ready for use at any time, but the customer should not be expected to pour out the water from a pitcher as is sometimes done.
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Matthew Rowleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00613982533349459637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6101223716619464303.post-66111248904946493202014-04-09T16:18:00.000-07:002014-04-09T16:22:16.045-07:00Quaffing from the Tomato Tin<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A gentleman of the tin can brigade</td></tr>
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In the summer of 1889, the <i>St. Paul Daily Globe</i> in Minnesota published a tongue-in-cheek study of drinkers in bars — the self-important society man with his elegantly curved arm, the lady who drinks Champagne, the man about town with the latest gossip and news of the freshest scandals, the regular who drinks alone because he likes it and does so in silence, the “posers” who blow foam off their lagers…and this guy, the vaguely Irish, slightly simian tough who pinches stale beer dregs in a keg and…well, read on. <br />
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<i>But peerless as she is and tempting as is the sight of beauty and wine, the lady thinks the liquid she is about to taste not with half so tumultuous and pleasurable anticipations as the gentleman of the tin-can brigade as he makes a fat find of stale beer in the discarded keg in front of the saloonist's door. Already provided with a cigar stump from the gutter, he has now made a discovery that to him is more than jewels and fine raiment. There is enough of the flat extract of hops in the keg to fill the can, and ecstasy— yes, unspeakable joy— is imprinted on his features. He has a withering contempt for cold victuals now, and he would scoff at champagne. Safely to the nearest alley will he hie him, and there alone and unaided will he engine in a Bacchanalian revelry that will not cease till the tin vessel is emptied thrice and again. He will attempt no style in drinking. He will simply hoist the can with both hands, and not until it has been replenished and drained many times will he sleep, to be awakened rudely by the policeman, who will hammer the soles of his feet with the stinging club.
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<i>St. Paul Daily Globe</i></div>
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July 28, 1889
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Reminds me of the juice served at certain lowbrow bars — either as punishment or prize — consisting of all the spills that accumulate in bar mats, a sickly prank juice of commingled whiskey, energy drinks, cordials, vodka, shot slops, deflated beer foam, melted ice, and whatever else didn't stay in the glass. </div>
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<b>Goes well with:</b></div>
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<ul>
<li>George Ade's 1931 musings on <i><a href="http://matthew-rowley.blogspot.com/2008/02/depth-of-drink.html">The Depth of a Drink</a></i>.</li>
<li>Paul M. Angle on <i><a href="http://matthew-rowley.blogspot.com/2008/11/barkeepers-favorite-weapon.html">The Barkeeper's Favorite Weapon</a>.</i> </li>
<li>Sometimes <a href="http://matthew-rowley.blogspot.com/2011/02/thats-my-hammer.html">writers have favorite weapons</a> too. </li>
<li>Speaking of prank juice, <a href="http://matthew-rowley.blogspot.com/2013/11/tabasco-sauce-in-applejack.html">Tabasco in the applejack has a long history</a>...</li>
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Matthew Rowleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00613982533349459637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6101223716619464303.post-18392043638711956702014-02-19T08:03:00.001-08:002014-02-19T11:38:20.317-08:00Bierocks, Beer Rocks, Berrocks I made the mistake of posting a food photo on Facebook last month without explaining how to make the things. Yesterday several friends took notice and asked for the recipe. For those who cannot do without bierocks, here’s that recipe. Bie-what? Yeah, we had that conversation at home. Between a Midwesterner and a native Californian, it went something like this:
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"What are they?" <br />
"Bierocks." <br />
"What?" <br />
"Bierocks." <br />
"They're what?" <br />
"German bao." <br />
<br />
"Oh!"<br />
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Coastal Californians, of course, have more intimate knowledge of dim sum dumplings such as <i><a href="http://matthew-rowley.blogspot.com/2010/10/bookshelf-asian-dumplings.html">xiaolongbao</a></i> than they do of Midwestern comfort food, so appealing to a bao sensibility was simply a fast way to get at the heart of the meaning. I could have just as easily called them Kansas empanadas. Bierocks, brought to the American Midwest by 19th century Mennonite immigrants, are stuffed rolls that fit in the palm of your hand.<br />
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Norma Jost Voth writes in <i>Mennonite Foods and Folkways from South Russia</i> (volume 1):<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Bierocks<i>, among Molotschna Mennonites, were bread pockets amply filled with a mixture of ground beef and cabbage. A little like a hamburger sandwich, they made a hearty meal, were conveniently served hot or cold and made ideal traveling companions for trips or picnics...The word </i>Bierock<i> is related to the Turkish word </i>berok<i> or </i>boerek<i>. Today, in the Crimean city of Simferopol (where Russian Mennonites went to school or went shopping) they are called </i>cherbureki<i> and sold on the street.</i></blockquote>
Also spelled beer rocks or berrocks, the word is also a cognate of piroshki, pierogi, pirogi, and the dozens of other spellings for those thick, filled dumplings popular in Polish families, and are similar to Russian, Ukrainian, and other central and eastern European dumplings. These, however, are a bit bigger and baked rather than simmered and pan-fried. In the American Midwestern states of Kansas, Nebraska, and Missouri, even larger versions are sometimes known as runzas (because, wags that we were in college, we figured a meal of the low-grade examples from our dorm’s cafeteria would deliver a nearly immediate, and perhaps fatal, case of the runs).<br />
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No worries. These shouldn’t cause such gastronomic distress — unless you gorge a dozen or so. Then you deserve it. In fact, I am under orders to make more “German bao.” The recipe below is one I adapted, slightly, from Bruce Aidells and Dennis Kelly’s good book, <i>Real Beer and Good Eats</i>. The filling is classic: cabbage, onions, and sausage. It is, however, a versatile recipe and practically begs to be tweaked. Some variants I like: (1) Make a pseudo-Reuben by swapping out 2 cups of rye flour for 2 of all purpose flour, add some caraway to the dough, and use sauerkraut, pastrami, and Swiss cheese (deli Swiss is fine or class it up with a nice Comte or cave-aged Emmenthal), (2) Use any or all of mushrooms, fried onions, spinach, or Swiss chard as fillings. (3) Try roast pork, garlic, broccoli raab, and sharp provolone. You get the idea. Keep the stuffing moist and fully enclosed when you make the buns and you should have no problems. <br />
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<b>Bierocks</b><br />
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<b>Filling</b><br />
1½ pounds/680 g fresh sage or smoked sausage, removed from the casings <br />
1 cup/300g onion, diced small <br />
4 cups/300g shredded cabbage<br />
1 Tbl fresh minced garlic (or 1 tsp powdered)<br />
1 tsp salt<br />
1 tsp dried onion powder<br />
½ tsp pimento/smoked paprika<br />
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<b>Dough</b><br />
⅓ cup/75g sugar<br />
½ tsp salt<br />
1 package (1 ounce) active dry yeast <br />
1½ cups/350ml warm cooking water (at about 100° F.) from the potatoes<br />
⅔ cup/150g butter, softened<br />
2 eggs<br />
1 cup/265g warm mashed potatoes (at about 100° F.) <br />
7—7½ cups/about 900g all-purpose flour<br />
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<b>To make the filling:</b> Fry the sausage over medium heat 3-5 minutes to render some of the fat. Pour off the fat, and add the onion, cabbage, salt, and spices. Cover and cook for 10 minutes, or until the cabbage has wilted. Set aside to cool while you prepare the dough.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>To make the dough:</b> Dissolve the sugar, salt, and yeast in the warm potato water. Proof in a warm spot (80-100<span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 14.654545783996582px;">°</span>F/27-38<span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 14.654545783996582px;">°</span>C.) until the mixture becomes bubbly, about 5-10 minutes. Pour into a large mixing bowl. Blend in the butter, eggs, mashed potatoes, and 7 cups of the flour.<br />
<br />
Knead on a floured surface until the dough becomes elastic and easy to work, about 5-10 minutes. Add the remaining flour if needed. Place the dough in a large oiled bowl and cover loosely with plastic wrap. Let rise in a warm spot for 45 minutes to 1 hour until the dough doubles in size.<br />
<br />
After it has risen, punch down the dough and form into 24 equal balls. Pat the balls into ½-inch-thick rounds, about 2 inches in diameter. Place about ¼ cup of the filling in the middle of each round. Form the dough around the filling to make round rolls. Pinch the seams together and place, seam-side down, on a baking sheet. Put in a warm spot and let the rolls rise for 20-40 minutes. It the surface of the dough has dried out, brush lightly with water.<br />
<br />
Heat the oven to 375<span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 14.654545783996582px;">°</span>F/175<span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 14.654545783996582px;">°</span>C. Bake the rolls for 20-25 minutes or until the beer rocks have a nice golden color and a mouth-watering aroma. The rolls freeze well.<br />
<br />
Makes 24 rolls, 3-4” diameter.<br />
<br />
Adapted from Bruce Aidells and Dennis Kelly (1992) <i>Real Beer and Good Eats: The Rebirth of America's Beer and Food Traditions</i>.<br />
<br />
<b>Goes well with:</b><br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>Aidells and Kelly's book can be had for <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Real-Beer-And-Good-Eats/dp/0394582675" target="_blank">ridiculously little money</a> on Amazon. </li>
<li>Speaking of homey Midwestern foods, it's still cold and wet in huge swaths of the US; try some <a href="http://matthew-rowley.blogspot.com/2011/10/bacon-dumplings-for-wicked-hangover.html">German bacon dumplings</a> or homemade <a href="http://matthew-rowley.blogspot.com/2010/10/cold-rainy-weather-yields-homemade.html">egg noodles</a> to take the chill off. </li>
<li>Norma Jost Voth's <i>Mennonite Foods and Folkways from South Russia</i> is not quite as cheap or common as <i>Real Beer and Good Eats</i>, but it should be easy enough to track down copies in the US and Canada. Volume one can be found <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Mennonite-Foods-Folkways-South-Russia/dp/156148136X/ref=pd_sim_sbs_b_2?ie=UTF8&refRID=1BPSQ6J7HCXW2CZWZA3G" target="_blank">here</a> and volume two <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Mennonite-Foods-Folkways-South-Russia/dp/1561481378/ref=pd_sim_sbs_b_1?ie=UTF8&refRID=14VCCYRZX0G32SX3XCSF" target="_blank">here</a>.</li>
<li>Finally, if you just can't bring yourself to make dough from scratch, you could — <i>in extremis </i>— pop open a tube of ready-to-bake biscuits, stuff them, and bake them off as above. It's ok: I've cooked drunk before, too. Tart them up at least a little, though; an egg glaze, maybe, sprinkled with flaky salt, <a href="http://matthew-rowley.blogspot.com/2013/09/a-bit-of-seed-cake.html">caraway seeds</a>, or a blend of cumin and smoked paprika. </li>
</ul>
Matthew Rowleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00613982533349459637noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6101223716619464303.post-77435805186770128312014-01-28T09:34:00.001-08:002014-01-28T09:34:13.434-08:00My New Book: Drugstore Whiskey, Pharmacy GinYou've heard of bathtub gin, sure. Everyone has. The stuff has become shorthand for the legendary horrors of Prohibition-era drinking. But what was it? No, for real: what <i>was</i> that stuff — and was it <i>always</i> a horror? <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VcDy8HEg1QY" target="_blank">Where did it come from? Where did it go?</a><br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB-VewmpS4Kj9YRYlkeqg6_qsfwdtLsfpjMft4p2VOjTZuSzpIM2U_6aZJEu-_jHysgAgre5JzTi7AtqLw0GxJ0FrK26iFWIHFwFfp-sdAryFMoyL-80hY-k-kl2KyPkcr32NEmvHcskM/s1600/Viereck+Snapshot+Drugstore+Whiskey+Pharmacy+Gin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB-VewmpS4Kj9YRYlkeqg6_qsfwdtLsfpjMft4p2VOjTZuSzpIM2U_6aZJEu-_jHysgAgre5JzTi7AtqLw0GxJ0FrK26iFWIHFwFfp-sdAryFMoyL-80hY-k-kl2KyPkcr32NEmvHcskM/s1600/Viereck+Snapshot+Drugstore+Whiskey+Pharmacy+Gin.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A peek inside. <br />
Kornschärfe: It schärfes the Korn.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Though it may seem as if the action has slowed around here, the truth is that behind the scenes at the Whiskey Forge has been hectic as I've been writing for various magazines, traveling, giving talks around the country, and getting elbow-deep in several book projects. This morning, I woke to a tweet from <i>Bitters</i> author Brad Thomas Parsons congratulating me on the announcements for one of those books.<br />
<br />
Here's the deal: I have a contract with Countryman Press, a branch of W.W. Norton, for a new book tentatively called <i>Drugstore Whiskey, Pharmacy Gin</i> that will hit the shelves in 2015. <a href="http://eater.com/archives/2014/01/28/book-deals-nc-chef-katie-button-booze-writer-matthew-rowley.php" target="_blank">Eater</a> reports "<span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">Veteran booze writer and author </span><strong style="background-color: white; border: 0px; font-family: georgia; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px;">Matthew Rowley</strong><span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"> is at it again, this time turning his attentions to the recipes of the Prohibition bootleggers." Publishers Marketplace <a href="http://www.publishersmarketplace.com/deals/" target="_blank">gives a little more</a>:</span><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Author and historian Matthew Rowley (<i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Moonshine-Drinking-Historical-Knee-Slappers-Recoverin/dp/1579906486" target="_blank">Moonshine!</a></i>, 2007) continues his exploration of illicit alcohol and cocktail culture in <i>Drugstore Whiskey, Pharmacy Gin: Making It and Faking It with 200 Secret Booze Recipes from the Height of Prohibition</i>. Using high-resolution images from a secret 1920’s manuscript, Rowley examines the traditions, ingredients, and cultural context of Prohibition bootlegging with extensive annotations and over 200 recipes. Sold to Ann Treistman at Countryman Press by Lisa Ekus of The Lisa Ekus Group. Publication Fall 2015.</blockquote>
If you've come to any of my talks over the last six months or so, you already know a bit about this since I've been using some of the material when kicking around notions of Prohibition-era urban moonshine. Years ago, I was given a gift: a 1920's manuscript hidden within what looked like a book of poetry. It wasn't. Rather, the book held page after page of handwritten recipes — in English, German, and occasional Latin — for gins, genevers, absinthes, whiskeys, rums, brandies, and dozens of spirits and cordials, essences and extracts, all tied to New York City at the height of Prohibition. Some recipes are for genuine articles. Others hail from an earlier era, a time when traditional beverages relied on herbs and spices for their flavors. Still others depend on 19th century advances in applied chemistry simply to fake some spirits and "enhance" others.<br />
<br />
It'll be cool. Even most bartenders hip to vintage drinks haven't seen anything quite like this.Matthew Rowleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00613982533349459637noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6101223716619464303.post-91047386552000482912014-01-17T14:08:00.000-08:002014-01-17T14:54:37.627-08:00Okolehao, Historic and Modern <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8l_EQPFPfSqcnQ94gulEFiUFs3RqS3GFTYHoh4NAjU1ZOlrzek9Rmp_EasnYgK8Ytaq-jIfLfLqkelFUon5sz3SQ6tH8JmJ9hOfKNKd9el2wBOPbLpClqN1J7I4-qz-IrCb-Rhq3fvaM/s1600/Okolehao+Cocktail+Rosa+1912.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8l_EQPFPfSqcnQ94gulEFiUFs3RqS3GFTYHoh4NAjU1ZOlrzek9Rmp_EasnYgK8Ytaq-jIfLfLqkelFUon5sz3SQ6tH8JmJ9hOfKNKd9el2wBOPbLpClqN1J7I4-qz-IrCb-Rhq3fvaM/s1600/Okolehao+Cocktail+Rosa+1912.jpg" height="292" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Many drinkers prefer it to gin (1912 ad)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
One week in September of 1886, the Deputy Sheriff in Maui rounded up fourteen men the <i>Honolulu Daily Bulletin</i> called “illicit dealers in the ardent.” <i>The ardent</i> in this case was <i>okolehao</i>, the Hawaiian analog of mainland moonshines. Early journalists called it <i>white mule </i>and <i>Hawaiian whiskey</i> — although it wasn’t really whiskey. Not yet. That came later.<br />
<br />
A handful of cocktail recipes calling for <i>okolehao</i> show up in the historical record. If you read <a href="http://matthew-rowley.blogspot.com/2010/12/rejoice-o-ye-boozehounds-beachbum.html">Jeff "Beachbum" Berry’s</a> books on tiki drinks, however, you will learn, perhaps with disappointment, that <i>okolehao</i> is extinct. Berry suggests a few substitutions — he proposed Martinique rum at first, but later recommended bourbon or rye — and there’s a reason. We'll circle back around to that. He wasn’t wrong; when he wrote the books, <i>oke, </i>as some call it,<i> </i>had fallen from production. <br />
<br />
Like a lot of other discarded spirits these days, <i>okolehao</i> is back. In fact, in the summer of 2013, attendees of my standing room only talk on moonshine at <a href="http://matthew-rowley.blogspot.com/2013/07/sweet-spirit-of-cats-afighting-its.html">Tiki Oasis</a> in San Diego sampled a twist on a whiskey sour made with a modern take on the old spirit: 100-proof <i>okolehao</i> from Island Distillers in Honolulu. It’s a cane and <i>ti</i>-root distillate that's earthy, vegetal, and a little funky. <br />
<br />
<b>Hawaiian Moonshine</b><br />
<br />
Distillation seems to have come to Hawaii in the 1790’s. I say “seems to” not because the date is uncertain, but because Hawaiians seem not to have distilled spirits at all until then. That changed when William Stevenson, an escaped convict from Australia, used rendering pots from a whaling ship as the boiler for a rudimentary still. The iron pots were said to resemble a woman’s plump backside and the nickname “iron bottom” stuck. In the local language, “iron bottom” was "okolehao" and the stuff eventually became nearly as popular as the bit of anatomy that inspired it.<br />
<br />
Like moonshines in general, <i>okolehao</i> didn’t have a single recipe. There were as many ways to make it as there were stills and distillers. Any single batch might contain distillates of taro, rice, honey, corn, bran, sweet potatoes, kiawe beans, molasses, breadfruit — whatever was nearby and cheap and could be fermented. If pineapples were cheap, it had pineapples in it. If white table sugar were cheap, then that’s what distillers used.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik-c3599NdkRaFjgtzfsdD81S60HTU2ed0cyqWhvu23UPPp7Sf475cForvWMb9ROXE7kIo8YU9B1t2h3q3Kh9y7O_XUpcWwArJRaTbcQFOxtanThU-l7hqkXu3vwouDhC9_EFy9Ijh1XM/s1600/ti+plant+low+res.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik-c3599NdkRaFjgtzfsdD81S60HTU2ed0cyqWhvu23UPPp7Sf475cForvWMb9ROXE7kIo8YU9B1t2h3q3Kh9y7O_XUpcWwArJRaTbcQFOxtanThU-l7hqkXu3vwouDhC9_EFy9Ijh1XM/s1600/ti+plant+low+res.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Ti</i> plant, courtesy of Dave Flintstone,<br />
Island Distillers</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
But one thing held this island mule together in a way that mainland moonshines, in their diversity, did not and do not have — a single, defining, ingredient: <i>ti</i>. From the day Stevenson made that first batch until now, regardless of other ingredients it may contain, <i>ti</i> is at the heart of Hawaiian moonshine. For countless visitors over the last century, taking home a bottle of <i>okolehao</i> — or at least taking one as far back as the ship where it was emptied before next landfall — was a reminder of their time in that Pacific paradise. <br />
<br />
<i>Ti </i>shrubs grow throughout Hawaii. It is also called <i>ki</i> especially in 19th century accounts. The botanical name is <i>Cordyline fruticosa</i> and historical accounts boast of “inexhaustible” supplies. The leaves have medicinal and decorative uses, but the big, starchy root is what is what we’re interested in.<br />
<br />
On mature plants, these roots are huge; they can grow to 25 kilos or more, bigger than a lot of dogs. Dave Flintstone, distiller at Island Distillers, says that when harvesters select plants for his <i>okolehao</i>, they look for those with a central stalk about the thickness of a man’s wrist.<br />
<br />
After workers unearth them, the roots are baked in underground ovens called <i>imus</i>. If you are familiar with how tequila is made, you’ll see the resemblance to how agave hearts — the <i>piñas</i> — are roasted in kilns or ovens. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQmEB90N8AkYepTjqCUHkmDToKSekj0lZi5MYA2C14mOScy3qpT5oFBkYcGdJ4FBdOijP5zFbAwAqxu74hghdRbDz7JK6m1jIBWmMAvBbQnnTaYg9droq0-WAfAxTagVsReu-wNMCs6ZI/s1600/fresh+ti+root+2+low+res.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQmEB90N8AkYepTjqCUHkmDToKSekj0lZi5MYA2C14mOScy3qpT5oFBkYcGdJ4FBdOijP5zFbAwAqxu74hghdRbDz7JK6m1jIBWmMAvBbQnnTaYg9droq0-WAfAxTagVsReu-wNMCs6ZI/s1600/fresh+ti+root+2+low+res.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Freshly unearthed <i>ti</i> root, <br />
courtesy of Dave Flintstone, Island Distillers</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
In each case, starches convert to sugars under heat and the whole thing is crushed and fermented. Distillers run the low-alcohol <i>ti</i> root wash through stills to concentrate the ethanol but collect those compounds that give <i>okolehao</i> its characteristic funky taste and distinctive smell. <br />
<br />
In fact, <i>okolehao</i>’s smell could be a problem for distillers, haulers, and customers. That distinctive aroma often tipped off law enforcement to nearby stills and mash tubs, or confirmed that a container had held <i>okolehao</i> and not, for instance, whiskey or water. When caught red-handed in towns with their illicit cargo, Hawaiian bootleggers often smashed the glass demijohns they used to transport their haul to the ground in attempts to destroy damning evidence. This dodge was so common that during the 1920’s, one catty journalist suggested that officers should be issued sponges so they could mop up evidence and squeeze it into vials before it trickled away.<br />
<br />
When police did capture <i>okolehao</i>, though, it had a habit of transforming in evidence holding rooms. Old reports note that quantities of the local moonshine remained the same, but in storage, the proof sometimes mysteriously would go down. Any kid who’s drunk her parents’ liquor and topped off the bottles with water knows exactly what happened in those police storage units; somebody inside was pilfering the hooch.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSgWqu6s6VuCVs22bGirItUBdZwnBPzicKw2okrG0ZU0Seu5Gr21S9NHXS4m-yNLLgvmHH67VCtytqPs-94QnEOJhikfFGCdQkzjhXgY3_R04F6CTSgrCYTIpHnnBAJ-GldDlHai1zMbo/s1600/Edward_Griffin_Hitchcock+1890s.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSgWqu6s6VuCVs22bGirItUBdZwnBPzicKw2okrG0ZU0Seu5Gr21S9NHXS4m-yNLLgvmHH67VCtytqPs-94QnEOJhikfFGCdQkzjhXgY3_R04F6CTSgrCYTIpHnnBAJ-GldDlHai1zMbo/s1600/Edward_Griffin_Hitchcock+1890s.jpg" height="200" width="170" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Holy Terror Hitchcock:<br />
not a fan of the <i>oke</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It worked in reverse, too. Not only did hooch disappear, it sometimes showed up where it did not belong. In the mid-1890’s, the Marshal in charge of enforcing laws in the short-lived Republic of Hawaii was Edward Griffin Hitchcock. Known as “Holy Terror” Hitchcock, he was the top law enforcement officer in the islands. The nickname “Holy Terror” came from his efficiency in rounding up criminals, but the moniker was also a poke at his family; his father had been a missionary and the younger Hitchcock kept ties to Hawaii's missionary community.<br />
<br />
In 1894, Marshal Hitchcock issued a letter to owners and managers of every place in the islands that sold liquor. In it, he schooled them on Hawaiian law and reminded them of the fines that could be levied on any person who sold adulterated liquor.<br />
<br />
The adulteration in this case was <i>okolehao</i>. Rumors were going around that saloon keepers had been stretching their stocks of imported liquor with the local moonshine. The <i>Hawaiian Star</i> newspaper explained the next day that<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Okolehao is very cheap and, containing such a large per cent of alcohol, can be employed in the preparation of drinks to immense pecuniary advantage. It was at one time, if not now, used in the preparation of wine. An extract was imported to which diluted okolehao was added in such quantities as to bring the alcoholic property up very high.</i></blockquote>
So what we have is a wine extract coming from California that’s got very little, if any, alcohol in it. Local merchants would add <i>okolehao</i> and water. Give it a stir and what've you got? Wine! Adding both high-proof <i>okolehao</i> and water to imported whiskey — maybe with caramel to bring back a semblance of barrel-aging — was a way to cheat customers and squeeze more profit out of every drink sold. <br />
<br />
Swapping out moonshine for legal liquor is underhanded and illegal. And it is a trick that is still done in some bars — especially for customers too drunk to notice that their vodka is more white mule than Grey Goose.<br />
<br />
Despite those early reports of “inexhaustible” supplies of <i>ti</i> plants, harvesting them is hard work. That’s why, since the 19th century, other sugars went into the mash: pineapple, refined white sugar, cane juice, rice — again, the stuff that was nearby and cheap. Very early on, <i>ti</i> became something distillers added <u>to</u> the mash rather than something they fermented <u>as</u> the mash. <br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipAQfZr2NBt2C51FFwtTq8A2d5kR1xnvdVxm20zjt6-kc4eiNMSGAo1n_tk9YKgQW7hD6gLK61t240DPd6IUPvZ5nb5RnJYBbyMnfjiHqKoB3M5C-RNO3svLDIs8_E1YzGnsSe5gFcvAI/s1600/Island+Distillers+Hawaiian+Moonshine.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipAQfZr2NBt2C51FFwtTq8A2d5kR1xnvdVxm20zjt6-kc4eiNMSGAo1n_tk9YKgQW7hD6gLK61t240DPd6IUPvZ5nb5RnJYBbyMnfjiHqKoB3M5C-RNO3svLDIs8_E1YzGnsSe5gFcvAI/s1600/Island+Distillers+Hawaiian+Moonshine.jpg" height="320" width="168" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.800000190734863px; text-align: center;">From Island Distillers,<br />
a 100-proof modern take<br />
on Hawaiian moonshine</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Authentic <i>okolehaos</i>, in other words, have long been made from less than 100% pure <i>ti</i> root. Some were pure, but not all. When I asked Flintstone why he didn’t make a 100% <i>ti</i> root distillate, he said that, though economics factored into it, the primary reason is that modern palates would find it too harsh and unpleasant, making it too hard of a sell.<br />
<br />
And that brings us around to Jeff Berry’s recommendation to use bourbon or rye when there’s no <i>okolehao</i>. The first legal, commercial producer of <i>ti</i>-root <i>okolehao</i> was E. H. Edwards. In 1906, he imported a 200-gallon still to Kona specifically to make it. His business ultimately failed because the product was inconsistent, but he did make enough to put in barrels and ship to a bonded warehouse in Honolulu where it aged and took on color from the barrels.<br />
<br />
You probably wouldn't mistake one for the other, but Edwards’ spirits started looking, smelling, and tasting — at least a bit — like whiskey. When his company was bought out, the new owners continued the practice; bonded, barrel-aged <i>okolehao</i> became common until Prohibition, when all beverage alcohol became illegal.<br />
<br />
By the mid-twentieth century conditions had changed. O<i>kolehao</i> was legal again and popular both with tourists and US military stationed in Hawaii. By the 1960’s, however, <i>okolehao</i> had ceased being a blend of <i>ti</i> root and other sugars fermented and distilled on the islands, but was instead whiskey imported from the mainland and flavored with <i>ti</i> extract or <i>ti</i> roots simply ground and steeped in the whiskey to give it the "authentic" taste. This is why, when mixing drinks from recipes that call for <i>okolehao</i> but date from the 1960’s, Beachbum Berry says to use bourbon or rye. Minus the funk of <i>ti</i>, that’s pretty much what midcentury <i>okolehao</i> was — at least the commercial stuff. <br />
<br />
Hats off to Dave Flintstone for helping to resurrect local, high-proof wet goods.<br />
<br />
<b>Goes well with:</b><br />
<ul>
<li><i>Okolehao</i>, naturally. Pick up a stoneware bottle of the 100-proof cane-and-<i>ti</i> distillate when you're in Hawaii or track down distiller Dave Flintstone through his distillery's site, <a href="http://www.islanddistillers.com/" target="_blank">Island Distillers</a> to have a supply shipped.</li>
<li><i><a href="http://matthew-rowley.blogspot.com/2013/11/swipes-pruno-of-territorial-hawaii.html">Swipes, the Pruno of Territorial Hawaii</a></i>. Not all the beverages of old Hawaii were something you'd want to drink. By all accounts, swipes were a scourge that made many a sailor regret his stopover to the Hawaiian islands en route to the Philippines. </li>
<li>Visiting sailors and desperate drinkers aren't the only ones to his the sauce in Hawaii. In 1911, the <i>Hawaiian Star</i> printed <a href="http://matthew-rowley.blogspot.com/2013/07/not-curl-was-left-okolehao-and-hogs-of.html">a tall tale of feral hogs getting into a batch of okolehao</a>.</li>
</ul>
Matthew Rowleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00613982533349459637noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6101223716619464303.post-69024196519769719072013-12-31T12:23:00.001-08:002013-12-31T12:24:48.153-08:00Smoked Bacon, Apple, and Cabbage <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju5fGUVde0lVMeY3idFxz-fK1Zvd9vJ22u_2DynmZNHyuhBw0massKtoI5MiM4r4SHwCSyuJTD8I5_apjPq8U50n9WzkOgoXRjZ7_xFy1O2e512gpwBVLdxRszaCacSnWBueobw87OwY4/s1600/Bacon+apple+cabbage+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="176" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju5fGUVde0lVMeY3idFxz-fK1Zvd9vJ22u_2DynmZNHyuhBw0massKtoI5MiM4r4SHwCSyuJTD8I5_apjPq8U50n9WzkOgoXRjZ7_xFy1O2e512gpwBVLdxRszaCacSnWBueobw87OwY4/s320/Bacon+apple+cabbage+2.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">BC: Before Cabbage</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
This time of year, the pantry is loaded and the fridge is full. We’re working our way through it all, but we’ve had our fill of rich dishes and heavy meals. My last hurrah will be a huge pot of grillades we’ll cook off this afternoon for a New Year’s breakfast tomorrow. Otherwise we’re winding down the holiday season and have started picking at leftovers rather than cooking many full meals — carving off a few ounces of smoked ham for hash, sandwiches, or snacks; killing off the gravlax, tucking into roasted sweet potatoes from two nights ago; using the last bits from open bottles and jars.<br />
<br />
A fridge purge, in other words. Good to do a few times a year, anyway, but eating up everything in what's been a fridge full of rotating food makes me feel — just a bit — virtuous. Either that, or I'm a sensitive about how much money we tend to blow on the holiday feasting and it's time to reel in the spending.<br />
<br />
Part of the purge did involve a bit of cooking, but a hot dish of pork and apples — and a few other odds and ends lying about the place — was quick and barely any work at all. The juniper berries give it a whiff of gin; just the thing for a chilly night.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNdcJRbAQfUEH3jjn7mrwSDu_r6K_7perNIxLJVqJZ4vOnNUEZ_-VhiV4Bx5P-_xZEnsWZqKs04_oQ5Stl5RqgMmeGaGyMJvxEZD8OIqxXUXGHwj5kkrbP-OEh1rG1HLAu2ll1INyPYdY/s1600/Bacon+apple+cabbage+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="167" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNdcJRbAQfUEH3jjn7mrwSDu_r6K_7perNIxLJVqJZ4vOnNUEZ_-VhiV4Bx5P-_xZEnsWZqKs04_oQ5Stl5RqgMmeGaGyMJvxEZD8OIqxXUXGHwj5kkrbP-OEh1rG1HLAu2ll1INyPYdY/s320/Bacon+apple+cabbage+1.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">AD: Already Done</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<b>Smoked Bacon, Apple, and Cabbage</b> </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
8-12 oz smoked bacon, sliced and cut into finger-width pieces<br />
1 green/white cabbage, cored and sliced coarsely<br />
1 onion, peeled and chopped<br />
2 cooking apples, cored and cut into slices or small chunks </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Seasonings </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
6-8 juniper berries, crushed<br />
1 tsp sea salt<br />
2 <a href="http://matthew-rowley.blogspot.com/2012/11/a-quick-look-at-long-pepper.html">long peppers</a>, crushed (or 1 tsp black pepper)<br />
1 tsp dried thyme<br />
2 Tbl red wine vinegar<br />
1 Tbl brown sugar<br />
a knifepoint of ground mace or a few gratings of nutmeg </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Heat the oven at 350°F/180°C. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
In a heavy cast-iron pot with a lid (I use a big-ass Le Creuset), cook the bacon over medium heat until browned and just lightly crisped at the edges. Add the onion and cook until it softens. Add the apple chunks and stir them around until they’ve got a bit of color, then stir in the seasonings and the cabbage. Add the remaining ingredients and cover. Pop it in the oven and cook 30-45 minutes until the apples are cooked through, the cabbage is softened, and the whole thing is piping hot.</blockquote>
<br />
<b>Goes well with:</b><br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>If you've got a bit of country sausage languishing in the fridge or freezer, <a href="http://matthew-rowley.blogspot.com/2013/09/sausage-biscuits-for-party.html">these biscuits</a> ain't a half-bad way to use it up.</li>
<li>Bacon jam. Some make it with coffee, but that's unspeakably nasty. Try it that way if nasty is your bag, but otherwise, <a href="http://matthew-rowley.blogspot.com/2012/11/homemade-bacon-jam-with-apple-cider.html">my version with apple cider</a> and a restrained amount of maple syrup is the one you want. </li>
<li><a href="http://matthew-rowley.blogspot.com/2011/10/bacon-dumplings-for-wicked-hangover.html">Bacon dumplings for a wicked hangover</a>. Don't delay. Make them today. Your future self may thank you tomorrow morning. </li>
<li>Those grillades we're making today? <a href="http://matthew-rowley.blogspot.com/2012/04/weekend-grillades-and-grits.html">A recipe I tweaked from New Orleans chef John Besh</a>. Eight pounds of pork shoulder that will go into the pot this afternoon...and will be gone by this time tomorrow.</li>
<li>Although we didn't make noodles for this one, a batch of <a href="http://matthew-rowley.blogspot.com/2010/10/cold-rainy-weather-yields-homemade.html">homemade German egg noodles</a> would've been a solid side. </li>
</ul>
Matthew Rowleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00613982533349459637noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6101223716619464303.post-67307292790107462262013-12-11T09:32:00.000-08:002013-12-11T12:05:42.152-08:00Home Fires: The State of Home Distilling in the US<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT484nN2WJMhp9gStBwLTn8lBNPjzWf8esDp7y9oUTOIw7_QP2ddpgMHq4mtbXRXRJCcVKOtvuuUQMoOuwKAJKI_hKXhau4D57-9r6spfq2_jL7wP1zVqlPZHBUbqjehmoOwwznL5QC_I/s1600/Whisky+Advocate+cover+Fall+2013.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT484nN2WJMhp9gStBwLTn8lBNPjzWf8esDp7y9oUTOIw7_QP2ddpgMHq4mtbXRXRJCcVKOtvuuUQMoOuwKAJKI_hKXhau4D57-9r6spfq2_jL7wP1zVqlPZHBUbqjehmoOwwznL5QC_I/s320/Whisky+Advocate+cover+Fall+2013.jpg" width="263" /></a></div>
Lew Bryson, editor at <i>Whisky Advocate</i>, asked me write about the current state of affairs for home distilling in the United States. A blanket federal ban on the practice is in place, but a few states are bucking those laws with more permissive laws and regulations of their own. Regardless of the laws, <i>sub rosa</i> distillers from the East Coast to the West are making an awful lot of homemade liquor for themselves, their families, and friends. No, I didn't forget you, Alaska. In fact, I'd be surprised if we don't see a new reality show called something like <i>Alaska Bootleggers</i> or <i>Ice Road Moonshiners</i> in the near future. From the Fall 2013 issue of <i>Whisky Advocate</i>, here's a piece originally titled <i>Home Fires</i>.<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Casual observers often assume that home distilling, like wine making or beer brewing, is legal in America. Zymurgy Bob knows better. According to federal law, distilleries are never permissible in homes. His advice? “Do everything you can to reduce your visibility to the law,” he exhorts. “Conceal what you are doing.” The pseudonymous author of <i>Making Fine Spirits</i>, a guide to building and operating home-scale stills, closes his introductory chapter with modern home distilling’s most ironclad commandment: <i>Thou Shalt Not Sell</i>. </span><br />
<span style="color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Alcohol distillation in the United States is highly regulated and federal judicial code is uniformly severe with those who skirt the rules. Once federal prosecutors bring charges against a suspect for illicit distillation, they are forbidden by law from dropping the case without express written permission from the Attorney General. If found guilty, violators could face up to five years in prison and be fined $10,000. Because illicit distillation, the argument goes, is a tax dodge, those who defraud the United States of tax revenue through such clandestine distilling shall forfeit (not <i>may</i> or <i>might</i> — <i>shall</i> forfeit) the land on which the distillery is located as well as equipment used to make spirits and all personal property in the building and yard.</span><br />
<span style="color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Running off a few liters of whiskey or ultra-pure vodka in the basement may seem a harmless pastime to some, but are they perverse enough to risk losing homes, land, and nearly all their possessions by actually firing up a still?</span><br />
<span style="color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">For thousands of Americans, the answer is <i>yes</i>. Across the country, hobbyists buy and build small stills for making spirits in secret. Profit is beside the point; these distillers do not sell their products. Compared to the output of Chivas or Beam, their covert batches of gin, rum, seasonal brandies, whiskey, and <i>hausgemacht</i> absinthe are miniscule. Tuthilltown Spirits alone loses more in angel’s share than what most hobbyists produce in a year. Their enthusiasm, however, burns no less brighter than that of professional — and legal — craft practioners.</span><br />
<span style="color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">One California hobbyist, Navy Frank, grows wormwood in his yard and keeps glass jugs of homemade spirits in his dining room. Home distilling, as Frank describes it, is a facet of a larger DIY ethos. “It’s a maker mentality that drives people to make homemade cheese or beer or build something with their own hands or garden. There’s all this wonderful cross-pollination. If you sketched the connections of what people like us get excited about, they would form the most overlapping Venn diagram ever.” </span><br />
<span style="color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Frank — not his real name — is a Navy veteran and an engineer by trade. In his cellar he makes rum, neutral spirits, absinthe, honey distillates, and a peated single malt. “That’s probably my favorite, but after sharing, and sampling, and more sharing, I’m down to just one bottle.” His modular distillery system uses three separate pots that can be rigged with different heads and condensers that vary with what, and how much, he is making. The largest boiler could hold a child. The smallest, no bigger than a rice cooker, is for extracting botanical essences.</span><br />
<span style="color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I mention a New York distiller who created a flavor library of over 200 botanical extracts, including angelica seed and rare agarwood. “Oh,” he smiles. “Ramón!” Despite the continent between them, the two distillers know each other through online hobbyist groups. In this, they are typical. Hobbyists regularly turn to online forums such as <a href="http://groups.yahoo.com/neo/groups/Distillers/conversations/messages?o=1" target="_blank">Yahoo Distillers</a> and <a href="http://www.artisan-distiller.org/" target="_blank">Artisan Distiller</a> for guidance. Like Frank and Bob, Ramón prefers a pseudonym, but because he works in the distilling industry, his concern goes deeper than their straightforward desire to avoid legal attention. While it’s not uncommon for craft distillers to have learned the basics of their trade at home, and even continue to refine it there, the majority who do so will not admit that on the record. Like them, Ramón assumes investors, concerned that federal liquor violations could ruin a licensed distillery, might jettison a partner or employee accused of illicit distilling. “If TTB keeps making it easier to open distilleries,” he muses, “then maybe the hobby side of the equation could finally become legal. I’d happily pay for a permit to make ten gallons or twenty each year for myself. I bet 90 percent of home distillers would do the same.” </span><br />
<span style="color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">While it’s true that several hundred American craft distilleries have opened in the last decade, the Alcohol and Tobacco Tax and Trade Bureau (TTB) does not issue permits for home distilling for any price. Some states, though, allow noncommercial production to varying degrees. Alaska, for instance, excludes “private” manufacture of spirits from its alcohol control laws...except in quantities that exceed federal limits. In other words, Alaska allows zero liters for home distillers. <a href="http://moga.mo.gov/statutes/C300-399/3110000055.HTM" target="_blank">Missouri is more explicit</a>, asserting that “No person at least twenty-one years of age shall be required to obtain a license to manufacture intoxicating liquor...for personal or family use.” Such use in the Show Me State, it may be noted, is up to 200 gallons per year. Go, Missouri. <a href="http://www.azliquor.gov/faq/distillery.cfm" target="_blank">Arizona expressly permits</a> personal distilling of spirits such as brandy or whiskey if owners register their rigs with the state’s Department of Liquor Licenses and Control. According to DLLC, however, none has done so.</span><br />
<span style="color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Mike McCaw, distillery consultant and publisher of Zymurgy Bob’s book, argues that as governments are forced to examine all spending, “We may, just <i>may</i>, be at a political inflection point where [legalizing home distilling] could happen...it is simply not cost effective to chase down people with ten gallon stills.” Bob himself is less sanguine. Speaking by phone on his book tour, he says that pursuing people with ten gallon stills “does make sense if they’re selling it and there is tax evasion going on. And that is one of the main points of the whole “do not sell” prohibition. There is no money and so no tax being evaded there.” </span><br />
<span style="color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“I hope — I <i>hope</i> — that’s giving me a margin of safety.”</span><br />
<span style="color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #666666; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I hope so, too. Good luck, Bob. </span><br />
<br />
<b>Goes well with:</b><br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>First things first. If you have legal questions about distilling in your country, state, or province, please get in touch with consultants and/or attorneys who know your local laws. The <a href="http://adiforums.com/index.php?act=idx" target="_blank">discussion forum of the American Distilling Institute</a> is a good place to start. In the UK, check in with the <a href="http://thecda.co.uk/" target="_blank">Craft Distillers Alliance</a>. </li>
<li>The business about unregistered distilleries and distilling with intent to defraud leading to forfeiting one's property in the United States is addressed 26 USC § 5615. The full text is <a href="http://www.law.cornell.edu/uscode/text/26/5615" target="_blank">here</a>. </li>
<li>Zymgurgy Bob's book, <i>Making Fine Spirits</i>, is available <a href="http://www.amphora-society.com/Making-Fine-Spirits-using-simple-easy-to-build-gear-by-Zymurgy-Bob_p_29.html" target="_blank">here</a>. Mike McCaw, distillery consultant, still designer, and publisher of Bob's book, can be reached through <a href="http://www.amphora-society.com/" target="_blank">The Amphora Society</a>. </li>
<li><i>Whisky Advocate</i> magazine is <a href="http://whiskyadvocate.com/" target="_blank">here</a>. An earlier piece I did on white whiskey — and what to do with it — for the magazine is <a href="http://matthew-rowley.blogspot.com/2012/11/whisky-advocate-runs-feature-story-on.html">here</a>. </li>
<li><i><a href="http://matthew-rowley.blogspot.com/2011/08/even-ten-dollar-whore-sneered-at-me.html">Even the Ten Dollar Whore Sneered at Me</a></i>, in which a New Orleans...ahm... independent contractor disapproves of me.</li>
</ul>
Matthew Rowleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00613982533349459637noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6101223716619464303.post-66090814900890400802013-12-07T11:19:00.000-08:002013-12-07T12:12:33.583-08:00Bookshelf: The Big Con<div style="text-align: right;">
<i>Never be untidy or drink with a savage. </i></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<i>There is nothing worse than drinking </i></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<i>when you are trying to tie up a
mark. </i></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<i>You've got to have your nut about you all the time. </i></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<i>You need what little sense you've got to trim him—and </i></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<i>if
you had any sense at all, </i></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<i>you wouldn't be a grifter.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
~ anonymous roper in David W. Maurer's <i>The Big Con</i></div>
<br />
Today, we've got something on the fringes of saloon culture and the sporting life. I've spent uncounted hours — years, even — in the company of criminals. Moonshiners, mostly, but thieves, embezzlers, enforcers, bad cops, and felons of various stripes. One connected mook I knew in Philadelphia had $80,000 stolen from his closet and didn't report it because, well, it wasn't the sort of stash one wanted to explain to the 5-0. After nearly three decades of hearing and hearing about cons, the patter of confidence games, scams, and rip-offs spike in the conversational landscape like flashes of lightning.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD-fKEL_Knm98X4fRtO0oRp2G0Sg-rtYeJRqNfSXqdz-8115GUnKUoWB2L52ZG_9H_rF2WOZHxxzY-Rb6Q1mH4OQTSceywJQUpS79L7YCf-U852WXQaDy5lCm9mC6vq1PHSyNU1HarngE/s1600/The+Big+Con.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD-fKEL_Knm98X4fRtO0oRp2G0Sg-rtYeJRqNfSXqdz-8115GUnKUoWB2L52ZG_9H_rF2WOZHxxzY-Rb6Q1mH4OQTSceywJQUpS79L7YCf-U852WXQaDy5lCm9mC6vq1PHSyNU1HarngE/s320/The+Big+Con.jpg" width="207" /></a>Short cons, designed to separate a person from the money he is carrying on him, seem particularly obvious. In fact, on my recent trip to Puerto Vallarta, the short con was ubiquitous; vendors, waiters, taxi drivers, fixers, and others tried to shave a bit of trim from tourists. Here, someone "forgets" to give the right change, there someone else pads the bill with an entree nobody ordered. For the locals, it must be like shooting fish in a barrel. The short con is not always a terrible thing. In New Orleans, if a little kid bets you a dollar that he can tell you where you got your shoes, take the bet, lose a buck, and walk away with everyone smiling. A con, sure, but also a dollar's worth of entertainment.<br />
<br />
Then there's the big con. Almost nobody walks away from a big con with a smile. In 1940, University of Kentucky linguist David W. Maurer published <i>The Big Con, </i>his study of confidence men, suave criminals who, from the late nineteenth to early twentieth centuries, bilked marks out of enormous amounts of money. By the time Maurer wrote his book, this particular style of grift was already in its decline. Nominally concerning the language of these mostly nonviolent criminals who gained the confidence of newly-made millionaires, well-to-do farmers, wealthy businessmen, and others who could get their hands on lumps of cash, the book is simply fun reading.<br />
<br />
Maurer introduces grifters such as the Yellow Kid, Crawfish Bob, Limehouse Chapppie, the Big Alabama Kid, Slobbering Bob, the Postal Kid, Queer-pusher Nick, the Hashhouse Kid, Fifth Avenue Fred, the Indiana Wonder, the Jew Kid, Tear-off Arthur, Devil's Island Eddie, and the High Ass Kid. You'll learn about the blow-off, the cackle-bladder, the wire, the rag, the pay-off, and a whole lot more of the language you might expect to hear around Prohibition-era saloons, joints, and hangouts.<br />
<br />
In the world of criminals of the period, con men were talked about as the aristocrats of crime. Insidemen who maintained big stores (fake betting parlors, brokerages, and gambling dens where mark were fleeced one right after the other) traveled widely, stayed at the finest hotels, dined well, dressed impeccably, sometimes had drivers and avoided socializing with 'lesser' criminals such as second-story men, pickpockets, and heavy racket types who resorted to violence. They leveraged and worked with crooked cops, hoteliers, circus managers, train conductors, detectives, judges, district attorneys, and saloonkeepers. They almost never worked their home town or anyone who lived in the town in which they operated. Rather, they worked over travelers on ocean liners and, especially, trains.<br />
<br />
Writes Maurer:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>The ease with which people make traveling acquaintances may account for the great number of marks which are roped on trains or ships. When a mark is off his home ground, he is no longer so sure of himself; he likes to impress important-looking strangers; he has the leisure to become expansive, and he likes to feel that he is recognized as a good fellow. The natural barrier to friendships come down. He idles away time chatting and smoking in a way he would not do at home. And the roper knows how to play upon the festive note which is always latent in a traveler away from home.</i></blockquote>
Cities such as New York, Denver, Chicago, and New Orleans had hundreds of ropers working the trains feeding the city. When they found a mark they felt could be taken for $10,000, $50,000, or more, the roper befriended the 'savage' and brought him into town to meet the insideman who would propose a sure-fire way to make money...illegally.<br />
<br />
And the whole con hangs on that. Con men felt that they could never cheat an honest man because he wouldn't take the bait of a crooked way to make a killing by, say, delaying the results of a horse race by a few minutes to place a bet with the help of a disgruntled wire operator. But, writes Maurer, the first world war "brought a crop of millionaires and sub-millionaires whose purses swelled out of all proportion to their knowledge of investments. As soon not these men had made the money slightly on the shady side and to them the rag and the pay-off [two types of con games] appeared as very logical methods of taking profit." These were the marks on whom con men preyed.<br />
<br />
If you've enjoyed movies such as <i>Dirty Rotten Scoundrels</i>, David Mamet's <i>House of Cards</i>, <i>The Sting</i>, and — especially — <i>The Grifters</i>, do yourself a favor and check out Maurer's book. Nicholas Cage in <i>Matchstick Men</i> is a lesser contribution to the genre, but even bits of <i>Django Unchained</i> seem lifted from its pages. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/The-Big-Con-Story-Confidence/dp/0385495382" target="_blank">It's back in print</a> with a forward by Luc Sante from Random House's Anchor Books imprint.<br />
<br />
<b>Goes well with:</b><br />
<ul>
<li>Gene Siskel's and Roger Ebert's takes on the 1990 film <i>The Grifters</i>. </li>
</ul>
<div>
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Matthew Rowleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00613982533349459637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6101223716619464303.post-27951720507791183212013-12-02T11:43:00.000-08:002013-12-03T09:53:18.223-08:00John Egerton (1935 -2013)<div class="tr_bq">
When news of John Egerton’s death came last week, I was moments away from meeting friends camped out on a Puerto Vallarta beach. I left the condo stunned, numbly descended a long and treacherous staircase the regulars dubbed The Exorcist Stairs and made my way to their group mere feet from the surf. Sitting under a palapa with a bucket of ice and beers with my toes in the sand should have been the start of a fantastic week. Instead, heartache spread from my chest, down my arms, and settled into my very bones. I was sick with sorrow.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyHVjEsDsNzV8pcPD6MlyNl2V7nZTKO4wbM-v5U9niEhTAh4UeSrwCC1VMhOape90HGyWzFBite7UayzPVqCITkneO8mdlruA__b2654Cg7ZlMk0ZRWcVD2KotNz27Fb3VaFDZwzi6ayk/s1600/sfa_Founder-John_Egerton1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyHVjEsDsNzV8pcPD6MlyNl2V7nZTKO4wbM-v5U9niEhTAh4UeSrwCC1VMhOape90HGyWzFBite7UayzPVqCITkneO8mdlruA__b2654Cg7ZlMk0ZRWcVD2KotNz27Fb3VaFDZwzi6ayk/s400/sfa_Founder-John_Egerton1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What's in that glass, John Egerton? Tea? (Photo <a href="http://www.southernfoodways.org/interview/john-egerton/" target="_blank">from the SFA's site</a>)</td></tr>
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John was co-founder of the Southern Foodways Alliance at the University of Mississippi and in the group’s early years I served with him on its board. John Egerton was good. He was kind. He was fiercely smart, deeply self-deprecating, and possessed of a burning sense of justice. When he wrote and spoke about the American South with such affection, he didn't shy from pointing out its flaws...and sometimes a way forward from its tangled and occasionally painful past.<br />
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Without John, there may not have been an SFA. If there had been no SFA, I might never have met people who became some of my great friends and favorite sidekicks. The might never have been a <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Moonshine-Drinking-Historical-Knee-Slappers-Recoverin/dp/1579906486/ref=cm_cr_pr_pb_t" target="_blank">moonshine book</a> which I wrote primarily at the insistence of author <a href="http://ronnilundy.com/" target="_blank">Ronni Lundy</a>, another SFA co-founder. The ripples of Egerton's touch continue even today when I listen to music I know only because a friend from North Carolina stayed with us in July and relentlessly plied us with new tunes on Spotify. The friend? Dean McCord, <a href="https://twitter.com/VarmintBites" target="_blank">VarmintBites</a> on Twitter and a current SFA board member. Dozens of others have made my life better, people I know mostly through our connections to this singular gentleman.<br />
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Last summer, <a href="http://matthew-rowley.blogspot.com/2012/06/bookshelf-john-egertons-southern-food.html">I wrote</a> about his book <i>Southern Food</i> and included an anecdote about his power as a storyteller. I have so many fond memories of John Egerton, but this — after a long bus ride and too much whiskey for everyone — is one of my favorites.<br />
<blockquote>
<i>In the summer of 2004, I threw a small get-together in Birmingham, Alabama. I was on the board of the Southern Foodways Alliance then, a group dedicated, in a nutshell, to celebrating the food and drink of the changing American South and the people who made it. Maybe a hundred of us were there for a small conference. After two long bus rides that day, the group was beat, so I invited a handful to come up to my hotel suite for restorative drinks and food once they'd recovered from the sun, the bourbon, and the rides.</i></blockquote>
<blockquote>
<i>One of those was historian John Egerton.</i> </blockquote>
<blockquote>
<i>A few restaurateurs showed up. Several editors from papers, magazines, and broadcast news were there. Bartenders and writers rounded out the group. A half-dozen different conversations rose and fell until one voice—one kindly, avuncular voice—dominated the room: Egerton's.</i> </blockquote>
<blockquote>
<i>Egerton is a charmer with a ready smile and (almost) always a kind word to say. He so mesmerized this group of experts with his tales that they soon gathered around him in a loose semicircle on the floor and spilled onto beds and chairs, absorbing warmth from the Promethean fire of his insight and wisdom.</i></blockquote>
The hole he left is gut-wrenching, but John Egerton helped to bring together uncounted strangers and make them friends. I like to think he'd chalk that up as a win.Matthew Rowleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00613982533349459637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6101223716619464303.post-55098903705662597182013-12-01T09:58:00.000-08:002013-12-01T10:00:18.000-08:00Squayrill Stoo<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container tr_bq" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdUbAmy0JGD7V8muKC1QJOu0RyT3iEh1bkHh3V-MzjWpAml3ELv58z9AOQFpWhmkbx3-9Y5qpyEzFw7MwDRiLOY0kpYA0UbAZvayC2b5h9X24O2zOq_MkDYN5JIU4O8wGl9iUaTC1ZNCc/s1600/Squirrel+Stew.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdUbAmy0JGD7V8muKC1QJOu0RyT3iEh1bkHh3V-MzjWpAml3ELv58z9AOQFpWhmkbx3-9Y5qpyEzFw7MwDRiLOY0kpYA0UbAZvayC2b5h9X24O2zOq_MkDYN5JIU4O8wGl9iUaTC1ZNCc/s400/Squirrel+Stew.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Accretion of Squirrelly Evidence</td></tr>
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Our neighbor has been feeding the squirrels. Now, I like our neighbor and have no beef with squirrels...in the abstract. Watching them frolic in the park has always given me a smile and I've bottle-raised scads of Midwestern grey squirrels <a href="http://matthew-rowley.blogspot.com/2012/11/our-creeping-ruralism.html">back in my days as a nature center volunteer</a>.<br />
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These days, however, I own a home and the footing is far less certain for those little red-tailed beasts. The current crop of chattering rodents raids the garden, gets under the eaves, and digs holes all over the yard. They're not nearly so charming when they turn destructive. Yet they come to gorge themselves on peanuts laid out just over the fence by our well-meaning neighbor. As they feast, they drop spent shells over the ground. The shells don't particularly bother me. Easy enough to shovel up every week or so, but the destruction is getting out of hand and if they start chewing on wiring, we could have some serious safety problems.<br />
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It occurred to me that peanut-raised squirrels might —like hogs finished on acorns, peanuts, or chestnuts — be delicious. Smoked is, of course, one way to go, but with so little fat on them, they'd need wrapping in bacon or some other basting arrangement. Stewed squirrel has always been popular in parts of the American South. Brunswick stew, though mostly made with chicken these days, was often made with squirrel — and is a great accompaniment to pulled pork barbecue. A bit more than I want to tackle today, though.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI2aLPjmGhlDpITOgXOsnukOF9jCX-fdaCTTqoLuzhrl2a4yzf4ic4sVBnx6zXa0DrWLlRZ1oKGpwgShfFwCCiHeBk0gNoFzDax1ensikzNTaViqCC6b4_z9E7kaXNWu4UtjBPZTJzQw8/s1600/Bittle+en'+T'ing-+Gullah+Cooking+with+Maum+Chrish.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI2aLPjmGhlDpITOgXOsnukOF9jCX-fdaCTTqoLuzhrl2a4yzf4ic4sVBnx6zXa0DrWLlRZ1oKGpwgShfFwCCiHeBk0gNoFzDax1ensikzNTaViqCC6b4_z9E7kaXNWu4UtjBPZTJzQw8/s320/Bittle+en'+T'ing-+Gullah+Cooking+with+Maum+Chrish.jpeg" width="209" /></a></div>
With that in mind, I pulled out a South Carolina recipe for 'squayrill stoo' or, rather, squirrel stew. The unusual spelling stems from the fact that the recipe is from a book of Gullah cooking called <i>Bittle en' T'ing: Gullah Cooking with Maum Chrish'</i> by Virginia Mixson Geraty. The Gullah are an African American people who have long lived in coastal South Carolina and Georgia — heavy on the "African." Gullah speak a creole language derived from Sierra Leone Krio, tell African folktales, make African handicrafts, and are largely descended from slave laborers who worked on rice plantations in the area.<br />
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Here's Geraty's take on what to do with the little buggers — first in Gullah, then in standard American English. Remember to sabe de tail fuh de mens weh on dem hat.<br />
<blockquote>
<b><i>Squayrill Stoo (Squirrel Stew)</i></b> </blockquote>
<blockquote>
<i>Tek cyah wen de squayrill skin. Nail de hide up fun dry fuh mek colluh. Sabe de tail fuh de mens weh on dem hat.</i></blockquote>
<blockquote>
<i>Clean de squayrill en' rub'um wid pot-salt en' peppuh. Dreedge'um wid flowuh en' browng'um een bakin greese. Sametime chop uh laa'ge onyun en' pit'um 'long de squayrill. Kibbuhr'um wid watuh, pit uh lead 'pun de pot, en' set'um back fuh cook tell de squayrill meat tenduh en' de graby t'ick.</i></blockquote>
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<i>One squayrill specify fuh mek stoo fuh fo' head.</i></blockquote>
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<i>Maum says:</i></blockquote>
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<i>Be careful when you skin the squirrel. Nail the hide up to dry for a collar. It makes a nice fur piece. Save the squirrel's tail for a man to wear on his hat.</i> </blockquote>
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<i>Clean the squirrel and rub it with salt and pepper. Dredge it with flour and brown it in bacon drippings.</i> </blockquote>
<blockquote>
<i>While the squirrel is browning, chop a large onion and have it ready to put in the pot. Add enough water to cover the squirrel, and add the onion. Put a lid on the pot and set it back on the range to cook until the meat is tender and the gravy is thick.</i></blockquote>
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<i>One squirrel will make enough stew for four people.</i></blockquote>
<b style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Vollkorn; line-height: 16.363636016845703px;">Goes well with:</b><br />
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<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.25em; padding: 0px;"><a href="http://matthew-rowley.blogspot.com/2008/08/possum-up-guava-tree.html" style="color: #77cc11; text-decoration: none;"><i>Possum up a Guava Tree</i></a>, a look at one of our nocturnal visitors — and recipes to deal with him.</li>
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<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.25em; padding: 0px;"><a href="http://matthew-rowley.blogspot.com/2010/11/gedorrtes-hundefleisch-swiss-recipe-for.html" style="color: #77cc11; text-decoration: none;"><i>Gedörrtes Hundefleisch: A Swiss Recipe for Dogmeat</i></a> — I don't always eat dog meat, but when I do, I want to make damn sure the cook knows how to prepare it.</li>
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Matthew Rowleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00613982533349459637noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6101223716619464303.post-43413780845250891302013-11-19T12:59:00.001-08:002013-11-19T18:01:54.642-08:00San Diego Bartender Challenge<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUvWuWaajMxKj6Sy0tMy342_RrinD_wEiZ4WJ_9WptKc4MTJpQp2vYrecRPrd6t6ur1-r17odA92ghemPYD50Th3ForF68HQFNW1ywjoyA5ZwQJn6VxcFq0BXmhDnWO077QCorfMA_eq4/s1600/El+Dorardo+4th+Annual+Bartender+Challenge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUvWuWaajMxKj6Sy0tMy342_RrinD_wEiZ4WJ_9WptKc4MTJpQp2vYrecRPrd6t6ur1-r17odA92ghemPYD50Th3ForF68HQFNW1ywjoyA5ZwQJn6VxcFq0BXmhDnWO077QCorfMA_eq4/s400/El+Dorardo+4th+Annual+Bartender+Challenge.jpg" width="257" /></a></div>
Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, children of all ages: be advised that tonight and tonight only, a cohort of San Diego bartenders are going <i>mano a mano</i> in the fourth annual Bartender Challenge.<br />
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Held each year at El Dorado cocktail lounge, the challenge pits bartenders making drinks against each other in elimination bouts until only one remains, a champion bestowed with $200 in walking around money, the coveted Otis Buffalo Memorial Trophy, and a bottle of Buffalo Trace bourbon.<br />
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The twist? Each round a new secret ingredient, <i>Iron Chef</i> style, is introduced to the mix. Bartenders mix a drink on the fly using the secret ingredient and an arsenal of bitters, modifiers, juices, garnishes, and whatnot in four minutes.<br />
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Come on down; the Bartender Challenge is always a fun time and a chance to meet up with staff from some of the city's great watering holes in one place. I'll be there, taking a rare weeknight break from a handful of book projects while projecting the mien of a sober and stoic judge.<br />
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For the first few rounds, anyway. Judging cocktails is thirsty work.<br />
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<b>2013 Competing Bartenders:</b><br />
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Sarah Ellis — <a href="http://jaynesgastropub.com/" target="_blank">Jayne's Gastropub</a><br />
Ryan Kuntz — <a href="http://eldoradobar.com/" target="_blank">El Dorado</a><br />
Leigh Lacap — <a href="http://www.craft-commerce.com/" target="_blank">Craft & Commerce</a><br />
Eric Johnson — <a href="http://www.sycamoreden.com/" target="_blank">Sycamore Den</a><br />
Hass Mahmood — <a href="http://lionssharesd.com/" target="_blank">Lion's Share</a><br />
Anthony Schmidt — <a href="http://www.nobleexperimentsd.com/" target="_blank">Noble Experiement</a> (2 Time Champ)<br />
Christian Siglin — <a href="http://www.bankershillsd.com/" target="_blank">Banker's Hill Bar & Restaurant </a>(Defending Champ)<br />
Christy Spinella — <a href="http://politeprovisions.com/" target="_blank">Polite Provisions</a><br />
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<b>And the judges:</b><br />
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Trevor Easter — West Coast Brand Ambassador for Beefeater/Plymouth Gins<br />
Lindsay Nader — Brand Ambassador for Absolut Spirits<br />
Brooke Arthur — Brand Ambassador for House Spirits Distillery<br />
Levi Walker — Craft spirits manager at Young’s Market Company<br />
Matthew Rowley — Oh, hey, that’s me. Historian and author.<br />
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<b>Details</b><br />
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Fourth Annual Bartender Challenge<br />
7pm Tuesday, November 19th 2013<br />
El Dorado Cocktail Lounge<br />
1030 Broadway<br />
San Diego, CA 92101<br />
<a href="http://eldoradobar.com/">http://eldoradobar.com</a><br />
<br />Matthew Rowleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00613982533349459637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6101223716619464303.post-51031392673377396642013-11-12T07:20:00.000-08:002013-11-12T13:53:00.400-08:00Tabasco Sauce in the ApplejackAll but the most degenerate boozers reach for some drinks before others. Nothing wrong with having our favorites, although the punctilious zealotry of the martini and mint julep crowds can get overbearing. Throw all the juices, syrups, tinctures, spices, and whatnot at the modern bartender's command into the equation and folks can get downright obsessive about what works in their cups and what doesn't. "Any guy who'd put rye in a mint julep and crush the leaves," wrote opinionated Kentucky bullshitter <a href="http://matthew-rowley.blogspot.com/2012/04/maine-julep.html">Irvin S. Cobb</a>, "would put scorpions in a baby's bed." Exaggeration. Probably. Who knows? Cobb lied like it was his job. <i>Because</i> it was his job. But scorpions, though? Best to keep that old corn guzzler away from babies and not chance it.<br />
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Hot sauce is where I usually put on the brakes when it comes to cocktails. All things being equal, a dose of cayenne, chipotle, or tabasco peppers in the glass will generally make me pass. The heat's no problem. In fact, we bust out homemade hot sauces for weekend breakfasts and weeknight dinners often. On a hot day, a round or three of <i><a href="http://matthew-rowley.blogspot.com/2011/02/bookshelf-tex-mex-cookbooks-of-robb.html">micheladas</a> </i>hits the spot. When the temptation to mix chiles and liquor occasionally does strike, it's liable to take the guise of a Snapper, that vastly superior Bloody Mary cousin that replaces vodka with gin. We've used Cholula to good effect in a Caesar-type concoction titrated with the barest volume of absinthe. A <i>sangrita</i> with blanco tequila is not the worst option for daytime drinking. The common element? Tomato. Paired with and tempered by tomato, hot sauce might — just <i>might</i> — bring a drink together, but otherwise in most drinks the stuff is just gimmicky, an exercise in machismo, in how much heat one can handle. </div>
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Or it's a prank. </div>
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Back in Philadelphia, cheesemonger friends collected the oily drippings from fifty- and hundred-pound aging provolone cheeses in eight-ounce plastic tubs. After weeks or even months, they'd label the cloudy, yellowish — and pungent — accumulation <i>Prank Juice</i>. At some point, some jackass who needed taking down a peg was going to swallow that nightmare fluid. </div>
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Hot sauce in so many drinks is kin to that South Philly prank juice. And the joke is old, old, old. From 1904 to 1908, cartoonist H.C. Greening penned a comic that featured Uncle George Washington Bings, Esquire, a literary descendant of cannonball-riding Baron Münchhausen and forefather of 1960's blowhard <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mF0DDIQIsSY" target="_blank">Commander McBragg</a>. In the strips, Bings was a small-town braggart, forever telling tall tales about his exploits around the world. The <i>Los Angeles Herald </i>ran a six panel strip in 1905 which Bings belittles a fire-eater to villagers sitting around a bar's pot-bellied stove. "Why," he claims, "I could make that bluff look like a December frost." As he warms up to some choice braggadocio, the mischievous bartender dashes hot sauce in his applejack.<br />
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His reaction? Just about what you'd expect from anyone who'd been given a well-deserved dose of prank juice.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Too small? Click it!</td></tr>
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<b>Goes well with:</b><br />
<ul>
<li>Allan Holtz's thumbnail on Greening and Uncle George Washington Bings in <i><a href="http://strippersguide.blogspot.com/2010/06/obscurity-of-day-uncle-george.html" target="_blank">Stripper's Guide</a></i>.</li>
<li><i>Clam Squeezin's, Absinthe, and the Bloody Fairy Cocktail — </i>that <a href="http://matthew-rowley.blogspot.com/2008/08/clam-squeezins-absinthe-and-bloody.html">Cholula thing</a> I mentioned.</li>
<li><a href="http://matthew-rowley.blogspot.com/2013/07/applejack-in-church-lemonade.html">Applejack in the church lemonade</a>? Sure, why not?</li>
<li>More apples. I wrote a piece on American apple spirits (including applejack, cider royal/cider oil, apple-based absinthe, and more) for <i>Distiller</i> magazine last Summer. <a href="http://matthew-rowley.blogspot.com/2012/08/american-apple-spirits.html">Here it is.</a></li>
<li>More properly meant for mixing with pulled and chopped pork, the North Carolina barbecue sauce we make around here is not much more than vinegar and ground chiles. Nevertheless, it's great on eggs, red beans, and even the occasional gumbo. You're on your own if you put it in drinks. Here's the <a href="http://matthew-rowley.blogspot.com/2010/11/north-carolina-barbecue-sauce.html">complete recipe</a>. </li>
<li>Historically, saloonkeepers and bootleggers might add hot chiles to alcohol to give the liquids a kick or bite and mask the taste of poorly made or adulterated beverages such as the <a href="http://matthew-rowley.blogspot.com/2013/11/swipes-pruno-of-territorial-hawaii.html">swipes</a> of 19th century Hawaii.</li>
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Matthew Rowleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00613982533349459637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6101223716619464303.post-4736722236503290032013-11-07T10:28:00.000-08:002013-11-07T10:29:19.874-08:00Ivan Orkin on Hanjuku Tamago, Half-cooked Ramen Eggs<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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As I mentioned, I like buying things — whether they are kitchen tools, boots, whiskey, brandy, meals, or even writing gear — from artisans who pursue ideals with single-minded focus. In particular, I’ll revisit cooks and chefs who obsess over details. I’ve never visited one of Ivan Orkin’s restaurants, but when he dedicated the bulk of his recent book <i>Ivan Ramen</i> to the proper preparation of one single bowl of shio ramen (at least, the way he makes it), it was as if I’d stumbled across a lost cousin.<br />
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Orkin, a New Yorker who founded the small Tokyo noodle soup joint Ivan Ramen in 2007, has made a name for himself not just as a curiosity — a <i>gaijin</i> who makes ramen — but as a cook and restaurateur who makes proper Japanese noodle soup with meticulous attention to technique and ingredients. His book opens with a short biography and is sprinkled with a few interviews of ramen enthusiasts, then dives into recipes, over 40 pages of which detail the construction of a bowl of <i>shio</i> (“salt”) ramen. Forty. One bowl of noodles. Makes Julia Child’s recipes seem terse. <br />
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That’s not to say that the recipe for making the bowl of ramen as he makes it in his shop is difficult. Aside from the logistical obstacles a cook in London, Munich, or St. Louis might have finding the exact same chicken or flour, the recipe is straightforward; it’s long because Orkin gives the recipes for rendering chicken fat, for stock, for noodles, for making sofrito and <i>shio tare</i> (the mélange of salt, sofrito, and water that gives a salty flavor to Orkin's “salt” ramen).<br />
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And then there are eggs. Some weeks, I’ll slurp down three or four bowls of ramen and, when they are an option, I’ll include cooked eggs either in the bowl or on the side. Shops rarely get the eggs right. Often, they are so overcooked that a greenish-grey ring with more than just a whiff of dog farts surrounds the yolk. You shouldn’t even use those for egg salad or deviled eggs. Maybe for feeding the dog before letting her out of the night. But there’s another way to do eggs: <i>hanjuku tamago</i>, eggs with softly set whites and semi-liquid yolks.<br />
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Now these are eggs worth making.<br />
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David Chang in his <i>Momofuku</i> cookbook recommends cooking eggs at 5 minutes and ten seconds exactly. Orkin takes slightly longer in his Tokyo shop: six minutes and ten seconds. Get a timer if you don’t have one. Try these eggs. Find a time that works for your elevation, the size of eggs you use, and the degree of gooeyness you like in your yolk. Six minutes works for me about 200 feet above sea level in San Diego.<br />
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“My search for perfect eggs, Orkin writes in <i>Ivan Ramen</i>, “took me to innumerable egg farms.”<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>After an extensive search, I found one that tasted great, had the most brilliant orange yolks, and peeled easily. (Believe me, when you have to peel two hundred eggs a day, that's an important criterion.) Then I spent almost as much time figuring out how to cook the eggs properly as I did perfecting the noodles. But I've got it now: punch a pinhole in the bottom, boil for 6 minutes and 10 seconds, stirring gently for the first 2 minutes, then ice immediately. Once they're cool, the eggs are peeled and soaked in a light </i>shoyu tare<i>...Sliced in half and served at room temperature atop the ramen, the eggs are a perfect supporting cast member for the soup and noodles, adding an extra touch of color and unctuousness to the bowl.<br />
</i><i><br /></i><i><b>Hanjuku Tamago, Half-Cooked Eggs for Ramen</b></i> </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Calibri12"><i>75 grams (2½ ounces) fresh ginger,
chopped coarsely<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Calibri12"><i>6 room-temperature fresh large eggs<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Calibri12"><i>1 liter (1 quart) water<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<!--EndFragment--></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Simmer the sake and mirin in a saucepan over medium-high heat for 2 minutes to cook off a bit of the alcohol. Reduce the heat to low, then add the soy sauce, sugar, garlic, and ginger and simmer and stir for 10 minutes. Let come to room temperature; you can store the mixture in the refrigerator for up to a week.</i></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Bring a large pot of water to a boil. You want a big pot so that when the eggs go in, the temperature won't drop too drastically, and the water will quickly come back to a boil.</i><i><br /></i><i>Poke a small hole in the bottom (larger end) of each egg with a pushpin.</i></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Gently slide the eggs into the boiling water. Start your timer. Stir for the first 2 minutes. Prepare a large bowl of ice water to shock the eggs.</i></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>The total cooking time for a large egg in Tokyo is 6 minutes and 10 seconds. You might decide to adjust that time depending on the size of your eggs, how many you're cooking, or what the chickens were thinking about when they laid them.</i></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Remove the eggs after 6 minutes and 10 seconds, and immediately place them in the ice bath. Stir until there are no pockets of hot water.</i> </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>In a large bowl, combine the shoyu tare with the liter of water. When the eggs are cooled completely—after about 15 minutes—peel and soak them in the seasoning liquid for 2 hours in the refrigerator. The eggs will hold in the soak for 3 days.</i></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>When it comes time to slice the eggs and add them to the ramen, a taut nylon fishing line gets the job done without losing any of the precious yolk.</i></blockquote>
Ivan Orkin with Chris Ying, forward by David Chang (2013)<br />
<i>Ivan Ramen: Love, Obsession, and Recipes from Tokyo’s Most Unlikely Noodle Joint</i><br />
224 pages (hardback)<br />
Ten Speed Press<br />
ISBN: 978-1-6077-466-7<br />
$29.99
<br />
<br />
<b>Goes well with:</b><br />
<ul>
<li>Ivan Orkin is on Twitter. <a href="https://twitter.com/ivanramen" target="_blank">Check him out</a>. </li>
<li><i><a href="http://matthew-rowley.blogspot.com/2013/11/tampopo.html">Tampopo</a></i>, Jûzô Itami’s 1985 "noodle western" that seemingly every ramen enthusiast (including Orkin and yours truly) know and love.</li>
<li>Mark Robinson's <a href="http://matthew-rowley.blogspot.com/2011/06/bookshelf-izakaya-japanese-pub-cookbook.html" style="font-style: italic;">Izakaya: The Japanese Pub Cookbook</a> and its recipe for pu-erh glazed walnuts.</li>
<li>Chris Bunting's great guide to shops, pubs, breweries, distilleries, and drinking customs of Japan, <i><a href="http://matthew-rowley.blogspot.com/2011/07/bookshelf-drinking-in-japan.html">Drinking Japan</a></i>. </li>
<li>How else do we like using eggs around here? In <a href="http://matthew-rowley.blogspot.com/2013/04/homemade-marshmallow-creme.html">homemade marshmallow creme</a>, in <a href="http://matthew-rowley.blogspot.com/2011/12/drinking-advocaat.html">Dutch <i>advocaat</i></a> (by way of San Diego), maybe a dish of <i><a href="http://matthew-rowley.blogspot.com/2010/03/eggs-william-s-burroughs-wait-what.html">Eggs, William S. Burroughs</a></i>, and pickled as either <a href="http://matthew-rowley.blogspot.com/2008/05/bar-food-pennsylvania-dutch-pickled.html">Pennsylvania Dutch bar eggs</a> or <a href="http://matthew-rowley.blogspot.com/2009/06/bread-and-butter-bar-eggs.html">bread-and-butter pickled eggs</a>. </li>
</ul>
Matthew Rowleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00613982533349459637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6101223716619464303.post-45082763102176945542013-11-05T11:51:00.000-08:002013-11-05T11:51:29.010-08:00TampopoSince the early 1990’s, I must have seen writer/director Jûzô Itami’s 1985 film <i>Tampopo</i> a dozen times. Just recently, I watched it again on a flight from Berlin to London. Like John Kennedy Toole’s <i>A Confederacy of Dunces</i>, it is a touchstone for me, something to revisit every few years, a work of humor, love, and obsession. Several vignettes ostensibly unrelated to the main plot nevertheless touch on it and its themes. One of my favorites involves a shopkeeper and his troublesome visitor...<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/38m-wnbHPLA" width="560"></iframe><br />
<br />
Until that trip from Berlin. I had not fully appreciated how much the film had grown to inform and shape some of my own values. In it, the truck driver Goro meets Tampopo, a widowed mother who serves mediocre noodle soup in her small shop. Goro and a growing cohort of accomplices embark on a mission to turn Tampopo’s shop into the very best ramen joint around. An old ramen master joins, a canny chauffeur wise in the way of noodles, and a contractor with a secret. Competitors are tricked into revealing their methods and outright spying goes down. Along the way, viewers gain insight into what may make a proper bowl of Japanese noodle soup. <br />
<br />
Ramen, as central as it is to the plot, is also a red herring. The movie is a celebration of the dish, sure, but more so it’s about single-minded pursuit of an ideal and that's something I can get behind. My taste is simple; I buy good things. There’s little point in laying out hard-earned money for cheap tools, clothes, food, furniture, or gear of any kind. Not everything has to be deluxe all the time, and I appreciate good value and the occasional quick-and-dirty fix to a problem, but in general I patronize artisans, distillers, designers, and cooks who buy into the pursuit of ideals, too, people and firms with tightly focused skills, whether that’s in barbecue, <i>spätzle</i>, blankets, knives, boots, whiskey, rum, or even paper and pens.<br />
<br />
Over the next six to eight weeks, I’ll be kicking out ideas for holiday gifts. Not for me, mind you; I’ve already got most of this stuff. Rather, they will be things I’ve used and like — some booze, some books, a bit of gear and kit, a few ingredients worth having around.<br />
<br />
First up: <i>Tampopo</i>. <a href="http://dvd.netflix.com/Movie/Tampopo/1025140?strkid=1032896096_0_0&strackid=b31353765b91e06_0_srl&trkid=222336" target="_blank">Netflix has it as a DVD</a> or you can score a copy of an all-regions, letter-boxed release with English subtitles through <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Tampopo-Ken-Watanabe/dp/6305154880/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1383679066&sr=8-3&keywords=tampopo" target="_blank">Amazon</a>. Matthew Rowleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00613982533349459637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6101223716619464303.post-79700198588923835082013-11-04T16:04:00.001-08:002013-11-04T16:05:09.279-08:00Southern Foodways Short Film Grants AnnouncedA note came over the transom today from the <a href="http://www.southernfoodways.org/" target="_blank">Southern Foodways Alliance</a> announcing grants of $750 for professional, amateur, and student filmmakers to make short films related to food and drink of the American South. Notice the theme of inclusion and exclusion at the Southern table. Maybe something on bourbon, moonshine, or mountain tonics?<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidmtVOHXNhO-64CuDkphPyhqqCjhgVPb0nrMzrgU6uXlLELGCmNh2pBcY_cWN8YN2s78whc44ukQWQ_jNFOnDKgwJcr4DkD3lt8ADBREPQRq2l2lOQZesKgF1qY_HGWIt2Fwsx5ybtfZY/s1600/old-school-camera.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidmtVOHXNhO-64CuDkphPyhqqCjhgVPb0nrMzrgU6uXlLELGCmNh2pBcY_cWN8YN2s78whc44ukQWQ_jNFOnDKgwJcr4DkD3lt8ADBREPQRq2l2lOQZesKgF1qY_HGWIt2Fwsx5ybtfZY/s1600/old-school-camera.png" /></a></div>
Although I was a board member of the SFA for several years, I'm not actively involved in this project, just passing on the news. Here're the details from the SFA, including contact information:<br />
<br />
<i>The SFA wants to hire you to make a short, web-ready film (2–5 minutes) about Southern food and drink for our Greenhouse Films series.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Visit our <a href="http://cts.vresp.com/c/?SouthernFoodwaysAlli/9e78b24839/0771930427/7650fa74f8" target="_blank">film</a> and <a href="http://cts.vresp.com/c/?SouthernFoodwaysAlli/9e78b24839/0771930427/a14bea9c2b" target="_blank">oral history archives</a> to get an idea of the sort of documentary work we already do. We are interested in commissioning films that highlight under-represented people and places. This is especially true as we move into 2014, when SFA programming marks the 50th anniversary of the Civil Rights Act of 1964 and examines inclusion and exclusion at the Southern table.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Appropriate lenses through which to explore this theme include, but are not limited to:</i><br />
<ul>
<li><i>Race relations </i></li>
<li><i>Sexuality/gender</i></li>
<li><i>The role of new minorities in the evolving landscape of Southern foodways</i></li>
<li><i>Nutrition and food access, especially as they relate to socio-economic class </i></li>
</ul>
<i>This call is open to professional, amateur, and student filmmakers of all ages and backgrounds. Greenhouse films carry a stipend of $750. Filmmakers whose ideas are accepted will be paid $250 upon delivery of satisfactory proof of concept, and receive the remaining $500 upon delivery of a finished film of 2–5 minutes. We are unable to offer any equipment, technological assistance, or travel expenses beyond the $750 total.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>**A satisfactory proof of concept will include ONE of the following:</i><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<ul>
<li><i>Trailer of 30 seconds to 1 minute, specific to your proposed SFA project.</i></li>
</ul>
<i>OR</i><br />
<ul>
<li><i>Description of your proposed SFA project, accompanied by a previously completed short film that demonstrates your capabilities.</i></li>
</ul>
</blockquote>
<i>Please begin by sending us a brief e-mail introducing yourself and your project. Do not “blind submit” large files or links to file-sharing sites without contacting us first.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Applications are due by Monday, December 2. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>SFA staff will choose projects based on director’s technical skills, narrative ability, and promise of topic. Successful applicants will be notified by December 16. SFA will work with accepted Greenhouse filmmakers to determine a reasonably prompt timeline for production.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>To apply, please write Sara Camp Arnold at <a href="mailto:saracamp@southernfoodways.org">saracamp@southernfoodways.org</a>.</i>Matthew Rowleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00613982533349459637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6101223716619464303.post-4790435836326660052013-11-02T15:51:00.000-07:002013-11-03T08:11:01.112-08:00Bookshelf: Pitt Cue Co.: The Cookbook<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOlj191NC01nsrhGBUyn52o1AlRPkgDLAY9usC-gdBEO0KOanbEbhrA2LxUS29evGGdjWu2wj3oj1O_XpebI1QMuwzgv2iqTNf7GpS9pSsRMYg3k9it3IXG4nA5TyKvJ-SligFY8LEzpM/s1600/Pitt+Cue+Co+Cookbook+Cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOlj191NC01nsrhGBUyn52o1AlRPkgDLAY9usC-gdBEO0KOanbEbhrA2LxUS29evGGdjWu2wj3oj1O_XpebI1QMuwzgv2iqTNf7GpS9pSsRMYg3k9it3IXG4nA5TyKvJ-SligFY8LEzpM/s320/Pitt+Cue+Co+Cookbook+Cover.jpg" width="249" /></a>“Can I ask you,” the clerk pressed, “as one American to another, why on Earth would you buy a British barbecue book?” For the past thirty minutes, I’d been pulling down books from the shelves of the Notting Hill bookstore where she worked and had set aside the lurid orange/red cookbook from the local Pitt Cue Co. on my ‘maybe’ stack. “Why waste your money? I mean, how are the Brits going to do barbecue better than anything than we can get back home?” <br />
<br />
She had a point. When one thinks of the great barbecue centers of the world, Kansas City comes to mind. Austin. Memphis. Charlotte. American places, all. Pitt Cue, on the other hand, is a thirty-seat joint smack dab in central London; seat of an erstwhile Empire, sure, but cultural backwoods when it comes to barbecue.<br />
<br />
Yet here’s the thing; you can find some good ‘cue in the backwoods.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLQvlKF061oBuZb7vRDne46SyM_6bsqyr4tJs46s0emTliJTu29tTjPhno3L55CmaNEXN_lYtm85vfsC-ap_8De6olNXndowbxIcXhs5ZScXA4ZYKYemuoh6KyVe5z67OlH0SNF_lfTzY/s1600/Pickled+Hot+Dogs+Pitt+Cue.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLQvlKF061oBuZb7vRDne46SyM_6bsqyr4tJs46s0emTliJTu29tTjPhno3L55CmaNEXN_lYtm85vfsC-ap_8De6olNXndowbxIcXhs5ZScXA4ZYKYemuoh6KyVe5z67OlH0SNF_lfTzY/s320/Pickled+Hot+Dogs+Pitt+Cue.jpeg" width="209" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pickled Hot Dogs</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The authors of the book — restaurateurs Tom Adams, Jamie Berger, Simon Anderson and Richard Turner — capture the spirit of barbecue better than some places I’ve sampled it in California, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, and, yes, even places like Texas, Georgia, and Kentucky where they know good ‘cue. The reason the book interested me — and why I bought it a few days later at another store — is that they start with a strong framework and adapt it to local tastes and ingredients. These guys know full well that good barbecue involves smoke and long, low cooking. <br />
<br />
Recipes include pulled pig’s head crubeens (normally made only pigs’ trotters and not smoked or nearly so spiced), Buffalo pigs’ tails with Stilton sauce, porger sausage (made with bacon, pork belly, dry-aged beef rib-eye, and pork shoulder), duck giblet sausages, mutton ribs, crumbed pigs’ cheeks, habanero pigs’ ears, mashed potatoes tricked out various ways (with whipped bone marrow, burnt ends, or lardo and rosemary), and plenty of pickles, slaws, and sides.<br />
<br />
The recipes in the Pitt Cue Co. cookbook may not be what old-timers expect of smoked meats in the bastions of American barbecue, but many techniques and flavors will be familiar to Americans, even if the details are not quite what we’d expect. Avid eaters will find a lot to like — and you boozers will notice that the boys aren’t shy about lashing whiskey and other spirits around with someone approaching abandon. The drinks chapter alone is 37 pages. Recipes for ‘sweet stuff’ call for bourbon, Pimm’s No. 1 (used both in a sorbet and in a meringue-and-fruit Pimm’s Mess), and Grand Marnier. In a nod to the wine jellies once so popular in the UK — but sticking with the pig and whiskey themes — there’s an old-fashioned jelly, made old-fashioned not with wine but with the ingredients one would find in an Old Fashioned cocktail.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqFjPtPBrKYAN218QnDzp-goguRsNfxpyOGcx_TefFl6yPBgPhl9jnHtCwdxc9AIhJvqKefYTfb7bnbtSJ5_LjZc8ds_wbGSlMVG2BespDFGJ198Axe8N8ZpAUCo4OwLrw1mpXIp1G9mc/s1600/Pitt+Cue+Co+Pork+Scratchings.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqFjPtPBrKYAN218QnDzp-goguRsNfxpyOGcx_TefFl6yPBgPhl9jnHtCwdxc9AIhJvqKefYTfb7bnbtSJ5_LjZc8ds_wbGSlMVG2BespDFGJ198Axe8N8ZpAUCo4OwLrw1mpXIp1G9mc/s320/Pitt+Cue+Co+Pork+Scratchings.jpeg" style="cursor: move;" width="222" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fennel Cured Scratchings</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The only caveat — and this is not a negative, just a bit of a heads up — is that the Pitt Cue Co. book, while drafted for home cooks, is very much a product of a kitchen geared for commercial cooking. Many recipes link to each other and rely on precursor sauces, condiments, or other preparations. What looks like a fairly straightforward recipe may, in fact, call for prunes soaked in whiskey for a month or brine from pomegranate pickles or for chicken, hot sauces, deviled pigs’ trotters, barbecue rubs and sauces, etc.. All it means is that you’ll want to read each recipe all the way through before starting it…but you do that anyway, right?<br />
<br />
The next time you tackle a pork shoulder for sausage making, don't you dare toss out that skin. Use it in the sausage, drop chunks of it into baked beans, or season it and roll it into a tight cylinder, cook it, slice it, and deep-fry it for a quick bar snack or appetizer. From <i>Pitt Cue Co.: The Cookbook</i>, here’s crunchy, salted pork skin with the faint Italian-sausage nip of fennel. The only change I'd make it to include a bit of crushed red pepper (such as Aleppo) in the dry cure.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<b><i>Fennel Cured Scratchings</i></b></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>250 g pork skin, from a whole skinned pork shoulder<br /> </i><i>15 g Dry Cure (see below)</i><br />
<i> </i><i>Oil for deep-frying</i> </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i></i><i></i><i>Sprinkle both sides of the skin with the dry cure, then roll up the skin into a sausage (like an <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Arctic_roll" target="_blank">Arctic roll)</a> so that the fat side remains on the inside. Place the sausage on a long length of clingfilm and roll it up very tightly. Tie off each end so that the roll is watertight and leave in the fridge for at least 24 hours.</i> </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i></i><i></i><i>Bring a medium pan of water to a gentle simmer and add the roll of skin. Weight it down with a heatproof plate and simmer over a low heat for 1 hour, until the roll is squidgy and soft to touch. Remove from the pan and leave to cool, then refrigerate until you are ready to cook.</i> </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i></i><i></i><i>Unwrap the skin from the clingfilm and slice the roll of skin into 5mm rings. Heat the oil to 180°C in a deep-fat fryer or large saucepan and fry the rings for 4-5 minutes, or until golden and crispy. The scratchings should not need seasoning.</i></blockquote>
For the dry rub, the authors suggest a 50:50 mix of Maldon sea salt and smoked Maldon sea salt. While we like using flaky Maldon salt, there’s no particular need to search out that and only that salt if it means paying exorbitant import prices. In the US, plain kosher salt is fine — and if you can get your hands on good smoked salt, do as they say and work it in as half the quantity. This version omits the 150 grams of brown/molasses sugar called for in their regular dry rub.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i><b>Pitt Cue Co. Dry Cure</b> </i></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>1 kilo/2.2 lbs salt</i><br />
<i>10g cracked black pepper</i><br />
<i>1 star anise, finely ground</i><br />
<i><b></b></i><br />
<i>10 g fennel seeds, toasted and crushed</i></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Mix all ingredients in a bowl until they are thoroughly combined.</i></blockquote>
Tom Adams, Jamie Berger, Simon Anderson and Richard H. Turner (2013)<br />
<i>Pitt Cue Co.: The Cookbook </i><br />
288 pages (hardback)<br />
Mitchell Beazley <br />
ISBN: 1845337565<br />
£20.00<br />
<br />
Available from <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Pitt-Cue-Co-Cookbook-Restaurant/dp/1845337565/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1383432464&sr=8-1&keywords=pitt+cue" target="_blank">Amazon.co.uk</a>, <a href="http://www.waterstones.com/waterstonesweb/products/tom+adams/jamie+berger/simon+anderson/richard+h-+turner/pitt+cue+co-+the+cookbook/9455221/" target="_blank">Waterstones</a>, or <a href="http://www.booksforcooks.com/find_us.html" target="_blank">Books for Cooks</a>.Matthew Rowleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00613982533349459637noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6101223716619464303.post-23020486160039625342013-11-01T09:51:00.000-07:002013-11-01T13:28:27.164-07:00Swipes, the Pruno of Territorial Hawaii<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-g1MwCu1difs2yxyvhq7yFVHkvhqmYUrUOliEP49XoLAbYjGgMaTniaCg6kPI0pZ_-DYra6FSlKvaf2PkfOoCqfZF7HdMnGrXWj38ZtSsdXtvzyGjxMXMCG3rZODNnu6gJUS2jpcsLC0/s1600/Hawaiian+Swipes+1900.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-g1MwCu1difs2yxyvhq7yFVHkvhqmYUrUOliEP49XoLAbYjGgMaTniaCg6kPI0pZ_-DYra6FSlKvaf2PkfOoCqfZF7HdMnGrXWj38ZtSsdXtvzyGjxMXMCG3rZODNnu6gJUS2jpcsLC0/s640/Hawaiian+Swipes+1900.jpg" width="238" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Honolulu's Queer Dope"<br />
Omaha Daily Bee<br />
30 September 1900</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Swipes may sound like some modern cleaning product, but, in fact, the term refers to a style of intoxicating drinks from mid- to late-nineteenth century Hawaii. We are fortunate, perhaps, that swipes seem extinct.<br />
<br />
An analogy for those who have spent time in the California penal system; swipes were the pruno of territorial Hawaii — by all accounts, low-alcohol brew made, at its best, from sweet potatoes, honey, sugar, molasses, bread fruit, and other produce or cane products brewers and bootleggers could get their hands on. The ingredients, however, were classic moonshine ingredients; anything fermentable, nearby, and cheap went into the pot. At its worst, the stuff was a toxic slop adulterated by unscrupulous bootleggers for desperate classes of drinkers.<br />
<br class="Apple-interchange-newline" />
A 1900 article on 'Honolulu's Queer Dope' (see right) reports that drinkers develop a "terrible thirst" but that the water they drink brings on fresh waves of intoxication. "It is said that four or five glasses of doctored swipes will keep a man drunk for two or three days if water is taken after awakening from the drunken sleep."<br />
<br />
I mention swipes because they wander into some of the territory normally reserved for the rhetorical excesses of moonshine opponents. The adulterations especially — the cayenne pepper, and kerosene, and whatnot — that were added to fake potency resonate with the adulterations attributed to moonshiners and bootleggers on the Mainland. The reputation of swipes parallels that of modern inner-city moonshine: only a fool or someone too poor to afford properly made alcohol would drink it.<br />
<br />
An 1899 article<i> </i>sets up swipes, garnished with the paternalism and racism of the time:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Swipes cause the police more trouble than all other police court factors put together. If you ask an experienced police court magistrate what the stuff is made of he will reply by asking you what it isn’t made of. In its purest state it is fermented from taro, rice, bread crust or anything else that contains starch. But fermentation from such materials is too slow a process to meet emergencies in which swipes are called on. The native in his domestic and primitive social life hasn't the forethought to set his taro fermenting against the time when he will be called on to extend hospitality to some chance visitor, or provide a luau for his neighbors who unexpectedly call.<br /> </i><i><br /></i><i>The emergency arises and to meet it he goes to some Chinaman or renegade Hawaiian who has descended to the degradation of avarice and for a quarter gets a generous bottle of as vile a compound as ever wrecked a sound constitution or deranged nervous system. To a basis of fermented taro has been added kerosene, cayenne pepper, fusel oil and methylated spirits, till [sic] an oblivion of intellect, accompanied by maniacal combativeness, quickly follows its use.</i> </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>It is a most disastrous drink, as many of the soldiers who stop here on their way to Manila and accepted the hospitality of chance native Hawaiian acquaintance found to their sorrow.</i></blockquote>
<div style="text-align: right;">
~ Omaha Daily Bee, 17 January, 1899
</div>
<br />
Normally, I like to share historical recipes. You'll understand if I skip it this time.<br />
<br />
<b>Goes well with:</b><br />
<ul>
<li>The 1900 article above mentions pineapple as a sometimes-ingredient of swipes. That's not what we use it for around here. More likely, we'll make <a href="http://matthew-rowley.blogspot.com/2010/03/from-pineapple-cups-to-pineapple.html">vinegar out of pineapple</a> (especially after using the hollowed-out fruit for tiki drink mugs) or <a href="http://matthew-rowley.blogspot.com/2008/09/instant-pineapple-pickle.html">pickle</a> them. </li>
<li>Visiting sailors and desperate drinkers aren't the only ones to his the sauce in Hawaii. In 1911, the <i>Hawaiian Star</i> printed a <a href="http://matthew-rowley.blogspot.com/2013/07/not-curl-was-left-okolehao-and-hogs-of.html">tall tale of feral hogs getting into a batch of the local moonshine </a>known as okolehao.</li>
<li>What's pruno? You don't know? Aren't you sweet? Eric Gillin <a href="http://www.blacktable.com/gillin030901.htm" target="_blank">explains</a>. </li>
</ul>
Matthew Rowleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00613982533349459637noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6101223716619464303.post-50348886731918854572013-10-27T10:53:00.000-07:002013-10-28T07:22:22.750-07:001950 Paraty Cocktail: An Old Style Dry Shake for an Old Style Cachaça<div class="tr_bq">
In 1723, Jacques Savary des Bruslons informed readers of his <i>Dictionnaire universel du commerce</i> that native Brazilians — before Europeans came on the scene — were the most robust of all men, seven feet tall, and at the age of 100, they were no more decrepit than Europeans aged merely 60 years. However, he noted, <i>ils ne vivaient que de maïs, d’oranges et de sucre </i>— they lived on maize, oranges, and sugar. French merchants made fortunes on that Brazilian sugar and, in the process, some developed a taste for a Brazilian cane spirit called <i>paraty</i> (par-a-CHEE). </div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib5wWihFehik3aivcm-uqO6mFIdUu2Df-K1wKk14A0K4Pk_SQ1eNGMuHQq6uJdl_mBd16K8oq69ixDVyeSvBYBeymXfKa1rmSt0-Z0t_Ss1xqVEOwdDd0CBmsL3kXzqqhcWix4xLHrThs/s1600/Ali+Bab+Gastronomie+Pratique.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib5wWihFehik3aivcm-uqO6mFIdUu2Df-K1wKk14A0K4Pk_SQ1eNGMuHQq6uJdl_mBd16K8oq69ixDVyeSvBYBeymXfKa1rmSt0-Z0t_Ss1xqVEOwdDd0CBmsL3kXzqqhcWix4xLHrThs/s320/Ali+Bab+Gastronomie+Pratique.jpg" width="226" /></a></div>
Over 225 years later, the 9th edition of Henri Babinski <i>Gastronomie Pratique</i> (1950), gives a recipe for a paraty cocktail "particularly appreciated in Brazil," but which is too strong, presumably, for more refined French palates. Paraty we would recognize today as cachaça and the technique he recommended for taming it as a variation on the dry shake so popular in recent years.<br />
<br />
The dry shake, as practiced today, is a straightforward technique used to emulsify egg whites in drinks. Some think it’s new; it’s not. First, some portion (and sometimes all) of the cocktail’s ingredients is put in a shaker with the egg white. Then the bartender seals the shaker, shakes hard to emulsify, then re-shakes with ice, and pours the drink in a glass. It may or may not be strained into the glass, depending on the drink — and the bartender. The result is a velvet-textured drink with a foamy head made of very fine bubbles.<br />
<br />
The technique Babinski (or Ali Bab, as he was known) recommends is different. Paraty — named for a colonial-era town of the same name in the state of Rio de Janeiro — was rough stuff for drinkers used to fine French brandies (though God knows some calvados could strip the paint off a barn door). It had what Ali Bab referred to as <i>l’odeur empyreumatique</i>, a “burned” smell, possibly from using direct-fire stills. <br />
<br />
As anyone who has ever truffled eggs in the shell, refined homemade wines, or cleared soup stock or boiled coffee knows, egg whites can be used to absorb odor and trap particulates in liquids for easy removal. This is the same idea. Mixing egg white with the “burned” spirit, then straining the mix before using it in a cocktail, helped to remove some of the objectionable odor — which, seemingly, native Brazilians did not mind, even those who lived to a hundred years and stood seven feet tall.<br />
<br />
Once softened and strained, the spirit was approachable for <i>goût francais</i> and could be blended with lemon juice, pineapple syrup, and bitters. <br />
<br />
Cachaça imported today in the United States and western Europe generally does not need such taming. Leblon, for instance, works just fine without the strained egg white treatment. Some of today’s moonshine, though, could benefit from a bit of last-minute polishing…<br />
<br />
From Ali Bab’s 1950 <i>Gastronomie Pratique</i>:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<b>Paraty Cocktail<br /> </b><br />
20 grams of paraty,<br />
10 grams of lemon juice,<br />
10 grams of syrup of pineapple,<br />
5 drops of Angostura bitters,<br />
1 egg white,<br />
Crushed ice,<br />
Zest of one lemon. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Mix the paraty and egg white in a glass, which has the effect of mitigating some of the paraty’s burned aroma: shake it all for a few minutes, then strain. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Put the strained paraty in a shaker with lemon juice, pineapple syrup, angostura bitters, crushed ice, shake to chill; pour into a cocktail glass, squeeze the lemon zest over the drink and serve with small straws.</blockquote>
And the original for those whose French is better than mine:<br />
<blockquote>
<i><b>Cocktail au paraty</b></i> </blockquote>
<blockquote>
<i>Le cocktail au paraty est particulièrement apprécié au Bresil. Sa composition intégrale nous semblerait trope forte. En voici une adaptation au goût francais. </i></blockquote>
<blockquote>
<i>Pour chaque personne, prenez:<br />20 grammes de paraty,<br />10 grammes de jus de citron,<br />10 grammes de sirop d’ananas,<br />5 gouttes de bitter angostura,<br />1 blanc d’oeuf,<br />Glace pilee,<br />Zeste d’un citron. </i></blockquote>
<blockquote>
<i>Reunissez dans un verre le paraty et le blanc d’oeuf, qui a pour effet de mitiger un peu l’odeur empyreumatique du paraty: agitez le tout pendant quelques minutes; filtrez. </i></blockquote>
<blockquote>
<i>Mette dans un shaker le paraty filtré, le jus de citron, le sirop d’ananas, le bitter angostura, de la glace pilée; secouez pour glacer; passes dans un verre à cocktail, ajoutez le jus du zeste d’un citron et servez avec des petites pailles. </i></blockquote>
<br />Matthew Rowleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00613982533349459637noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6101223716619464303.post-76068118174695231902013-10-23T10:40:00.001-07:002013-10-23T10:40:22.714-07:00Hot Cider, Fortified with Spiced Butter and RumWhen the sun bears down on Southern California, hot buttered drinks are alien, repulsive things. San Diegans in particular subsist on the simple pleasures of good beer and strong margaritas. Let the fog roll in or a chill come on, though, and our booze equilibrium shifts. We may not get snowdrifts or nor’easters here, but on windswept nights when fat drops of rain spank the windows and tree tips slap wetly against the house, hot rum is a certain prophylactic against the cold. <br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcVRp370xQVUBkZeyjty_4TUqrmXLKk0R9x4s5cLpVpql2RrRDMMnL_sZjYDHqm3v5ELe_18GYVKWV3JMepeg9VGjJ5-D8GsxNpp-ZfpDL7B8MsXt49cOvBsuVrO57lxa2gKrD-p9-f4Q/s1600/Mixed+Spice+Butter+for+Hot+Buttered+Rum.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcVRp370xQVUBkZeyjty_4TUqrmXLKk0R9x4s5cLpVpql2RrRDMMnL_sZjYDHqm3v5ELe_18GYVKWV3JMepeg9VGjJ5-D8GsxNpp-ZfpDL7B8MsXt49cOvBsuVrO57lxa2gKrD-p9-f4Q/s320/Mixed+Spice+Butter+for+Hot+Buttered+Rum.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Good size pats for hot rum</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Some folks make a simple, almost Puritanical, hot buttered rum: a tot of rum, topped with hot water, and garnished with a little pat of butter. I suppose that does keep the cold at bay, but its comfort is brutal and perfunctory. I like something more luxe, something actually <i>pleasant</i> to drink, something that makes me look at the bottom of an emptied mug and think '<i>Maybe one more...</i>' Adding a stick of cinnamon helps, but it still wants a bit more character. Nothing fancy, just…a bit more. For that something extra, I swap out water with spiced cider and flavor the butter with that old British baking standby, mixed spice.<br />
<br />
Mixed spice is similar to American pumpkin pie spice, but with coriander, mace, and cloves. We know all these notes; they're just arranged here differently. Mash a bit of it into unsalted butter with brown sugar and there's a spiced butter that is a nice touch on pancakes, waffles, English muffins — even bread and butter pudding. But let's not forget why we're here. We're doctoring rum with it. So let's get on with it.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<b>Mixed Spice</b></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
1 tablespoon each — allspice, cinnamon, and nutmeg (all ground)<br />2 teaspoons — mace (ground)<br />1 teaspoon each — cloves, coriander, and ginger (all ground)</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Blend together and store in an airtight container. </blockquote>
This will make more than you need for the butter. Tuck it into the cabinet and break it out for apple pies, puddings, gingerbread, braised pork, pumpkin stews, etc.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCRcRO3TjEnR2DiJOcpFajxDTL4f6VNyer5PGApu_FQn0ELyl_mhddGV3BFiHQaQHbwWaygCSV4BtBhIBb-2DzAqFRtMu9-EXS7wh5jUmLR0tdzih86JMVGIBNMnMWIjXd7gdrdFAxuHU/s1600/Mixed+Spice+Butter+Mash.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCRcRO3TjEnR2DiJOcpFajxDTL4f6VNyer5PGApu_FQn0ELyl_mhddGV3BFiHQaQHbwWaygCSV4BtBhIBb-2DzAqFRtMu9-EXS7wh5jUmLR0tdzih86JMVGIBNMnMWIjXd7gdrdFAxuHU/s320/Mixed+Spice+Butter+Mash.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ready to roll</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
For the spiced butter, it's almost ridiculous to think of what I do as a recipe. It's more of a guideline; weigh some quantity of butter, add half as much brown sugar, and mash in enough mixed spice with a fork or the back of a spoon to give it the intensity of flavor I like. For those who insist on proportions, try this:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<b>Mixed Spice Butter</b> </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
100 g unsalted butter<br />50g soft brown sugar<br />1 tsp mixed spice (above) </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Mash into a paste either by hand or in a mixer. Roll into a 5" log on parchment paper. Twist the ends in opposite directions, and store in the refrigerator. </blockquote>
]Now, then. The drink.<br />
<br />
<b>Hot Cider with Rum and Spiced Butter</b><br />
<br />
1 quart unfiltered apple cider (non-alcoholic, but hey, use the hard stuff if you prefer, drunkie)<br />
3 allspice berries, cracked (or a half-ounce of allspice dram)<br />
2 4" cinnamon sticks<br />
2 star anise<br />
2 cloves<br />
3-4 1" wide swathes of orange peel<br />
2 oz rum (Appleton 12 year, Barbancourt 8 year, or Rhum JM are nice)<br />
1 pencil-thick disc of mixed spice butter (above)<br />
<br />
Heat the apple cider, spices, and orange peel in a 2-quart pan and simmer gently15 minutes or so. Meanwhile, pour the rum into heat-proof glasses or ceramic mugs. Top off with hot spiced cider and slip a disc of mixed spice butter into each mug.<br />
<br />
Repeat until the cider is gone. Then go get more cider.<br />
<br />
<b>Goes well with:</b><br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>Know what else is good in cold weather? A big ol' mug of <a href="http://matthew-rowley.blogspot.com/2011/09/masala-chai.html">masala chai</a> or <a href="http://matthew-rowley.blogspot.com/2010/10/chartreuse-hot-chocolate.html">hot chocolate spiked with Chartreuse</a>. Still don't want butter in your hot booze drinks? May I suggest <a href="http://matthew-rowley.blogspot.com/2008/12/gift-of-negi.html">a negus</a>?</li>
<li><a href="http://matthew-rowley.blogspot.com/2008/10/pork-and-pumpkin-part-1.html">Half-slab pumpkin</a>, an on-the-fly roast of pumpkin slices, seasoned with a mix I usually use on pork ribs. Serve it — or not — with a side of <a href="http://matthew-rowley.blogspot.com/2010/10/cold-rainy-weather-yields-homemade.html">homemade German noodles</a>. </li>
<li>The mixed spice, tossed with sugar, would make a good dusting for <a href="http://matthew-rowley.blogspot.com/2011/12/pumpkin-and-ginger-doughnuts.html">pumpkin and ginger doughnuts</a>. </li>
<li>"<i>We’ve known each other nearly twenty years; I know what the boy likes to
put in his mouth. The look of surprise that leapt to his face at the
first sip was pretty much what I expected.</i>" Someone tries the <i><a href="http://matthew-rowley.blogspot.com/2011/11/champurrado-for-day-of-dead.html">champurrado</a></i> for the first time. </li>
<li>Halloween is coming. Why not try a <a href="http://matthew-rowley.blogspot.com/2009/10/happy-halloween.html">Skellington Bowl </a>with brandy, rum, and boiled cider?</li>
<li>Erick Castro's <i><a href="http://matthew-rowley.blogspot.com/2013/05/tiki-nights-at-polite-provisions.html">Cinnamon Wind</a></i> tiki cocktail with Appleton rum and Becherovka. </li>
</ul>
<br />
<br />Matthew Rowleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00613982533349459637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6101223716619464303.post-85706292262475352942013-10-18T14:13:00.002-07:002013-10-18T14:13:22.959-07:00Distiller Wanted: NevadaWhether you agree with the estimate of over 600 new distilleries either up and running or in the works from the American Distilling Institute or take the more conservative view from the Distilled Spirits Council of the United States (which puts the number a lot lower), there's no denying that the pace of American distilleries' growth is picking up. More are on the way and more state and local governments are cottoning to the notion that distilleries can be good for local economies.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQtfbS-Iwmcj2lulNI5WsAYWbI_KCwcLzsTfuyECnOllfSYN3bYmQt6VfGJkOw2EFxdlozLbQWvjBDA1eMm8XIZURyaMHujbiZHPSVLGwtUZi4nrIq5qv9w2tSrEGeeMDMtbgh1xWQazc/s1600/Minden+Flour+Milling+Company.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="315" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQtfbS-Iwmcj2lulNI5WsAYWbI_KCwcLzsTfuyECnOllfSYN3bYmQt6VfGJkOw2EFxdlozLbQWvjBDA1eMm8XIZURyaMHujbiZHPSVLGwtUZi4nrIq5qv9w2tSrEGeeMDMtbgh1xWQazc/s400/Minden+Flour+Milling+Company.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dramatic shot of the old flour mill for its 1978 <br />
National Register of Historic Places application </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Nevada is one of those places about to have a new distillery. Word has come that the San Francisco-based Bently Holdings will be converting an old mill — the Minden Flour Milling Company — into a new distillery called Nevada Heritage near Lake Tahoe. They'll need an experienced distiller.<br />
<br />
Details to follow, but first a reminder: I have no connection to the distillery, Bently Holdings, or the Bently family. I am merely passing on the info, so please don't send me a resume or ask details about the job; I won't be able to help. Use the contact details in the link below; they're the ones to ping with questions about this job.<br />
<br />
Now, then. Here's what the job announcement lays out. They're looking for someone with 5-10 years distilling or blending experience who holds a brewing and distilling MSc. certificate. Seems they'll want to make single malt whiskey, bourbon, absinthe, and gin. Furthermore,<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>The Master Distiller will be responsible for developing the Nevada Heritage collection, planning and executing distillation operations, overseeing production, and managing inventory. With support from Marketing and Sales teams, the Master Distiller will also showcase and advertise our spirits to raise brand awareness and build relationships with local and national media sources, all while complying with relevant federal, state and local regulations.
</i></blockquote>
A more complete <a href="http://careers.bentlyholdings.com/apply/n76VQh/master-distiller.html" target="_blank">description of the post is here</a> with directions for submitting an application.Matthew Rowleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00613982533349459637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6101223716619464303.post-14830395481633959662013-10-17T06:47:00.000-07:002013-10-17T06:47:14.754-07:00I am ReturnedDropped off the radar for a bit. My apologies. I haven't been sick or <a href="http://matthew-rowley.blogspot.com/2008/03/lacking-in-finger-department.html">injured</a> or thrown in the towel on writing here; there's a more mundane explanation. For months, I've been meeting a series of deadlines that left little time for seeing friends or, frankly, writing for fun — which the Whiskey Forge definitely is. There've been talks, domestic and international travel, articles, book chapters, editing, press, and a new book in the works (yeah, it's about booze; no, I'm not quite ready to talk about it).<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsGZ_juPPCB0-UixmDDAQz2JkgUp-pqCekZaBodoKIJ1zvc2TLaRW7NwGrd1AoXrcaEq0orP2xNDFUl660HQb27bn3HeID3md_B4vcLutSQ2_6TQk0ECNP262tfcjAdxNCz-LL7Or5-UY/s1600/Cthulhu+Never+Forgets.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsGZ_juPPCB0-UixmDDAQz2JkgUp-pqCekZaBodoKIJ1zvc2TLaRW7NwGrd1AoXrcaEq0orP2xNDFUl660HQb27bn3HeID3md_B4vcLutSQ2_6TQk0ECNP262tfcjAdxNCz-LL7Or5-UY/s400/Cthulhu+Never+Forgets.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just off Brick Lane on Hanbury Street in London's East End, <br />Alexis Dias's mural depicts an elephant/octopus hybrid I like to call<br /><i>Cthulhu Never Forgets</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Monday night I returned from two weeks traveling to the UK and Germany. London is fantastic and Berlin incomparable — I visit both as often as feasible — but San Diego is glorious. My first morning here, I walked outside, turned my face to the sun, closed my eyes, and just luxuriated in the warmth and the sound of palm trees swaying in those gentle California breezes. In my first day back, I soaked up more sun than during a fortnight abroad. Miss the seasons? Eh. I do like Autumn, primarily for the chance to prepare cold-weather food and drink, and the near-eternal Spring of San Diego, but you can keep Summer and Winter. I'm hunkering down here for the next few months until this whole rain/ice/snow thing blows over.<br />
<br />
Well, except I'll be in Jalisco next month. I've heard there's a distillery or two there. Something about tequila...<br />
<br />
<b>Goes well with:</b><br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>Cthul-who? Cthulhu, the dread cosmic entity from the fiction of American horror writer H. P. Lovecraft. Seems to be enjoying unprecedented popularity over the last several years. Our nickname for the Buddha hand citron around here is the Cthulhu head citron. Regardless of what you call it, the stuff makes great candied peel for baking and the resulting syrup is good in cocktails. <a href="http://matthew-rowley.blogspot.com/2011/11/candied-buddhas-hand-citron.html">Here are directions for making a batch</a> from the freaky-looking fruit.</li>
<li>Want a Cthulhu tiki mug? Jonathan "Atari" Chaffin <a href="http://matthew-rowley.blogspot.com/2012/06/cthulhu-tiki-mug.html">launched a Kickstarter campaign</a> to fund the production of one. He is your man. </li>
</ul>
Matthew Rowleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00613982533349459637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6101223716619464303.post-22488227951581140812013-09-26T15:49:00.000-07:002013-09-26T15:49:23.336-07:00Dry Curaçao Ancienne Méthode<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeacG4MeofQaQf-oC2KuqEJT-cDB9ueRp-CglyKcg8ssQVF3Z0M_7PaXI0oK5RNbxHyEkpnHiSdvC5PyQJB8DjDishaw3lw7io7ZjYnNyt_TriyswnOpvMZ0SOB4yrw3TlYJ79b6vHfcw/s1600/Julius+Orange.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeacG4MeofQaQf-oC2KuqEJT-cDB9ueRp-CglyKcg8ssQVF3Z0M_7PaXI0oK5RNbxHyEkpnHiSdvC5PyQJB8DjDishaw3lw7io7ZjYnNyt_TriyswnOpvMZ0SOB4yrw3TlYJ79b6vHfcw/s400/Julius+Orange.jpg" width="260" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Brad Farran's Julius Orange</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="tr_bq">
We like orange liqueurs at the Whiskey Forge. For decades, we’ve relied on those two old stalwarts, Cointreau and Grand Marnier. Cointreau in particular is a workhorse around here. When Mandarine Napoleon showed up on local shelves, I added that to the rotation. Solerno, a blood orange liqueur, is an interesting twist; we like it in cobblers. But perhaps my favorite of the lot is Dry Curaçao Ancienne Méthode from Cognac Ferrand. </div>
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Ferrand’s curaçao, a blend of cognac, vanilla, and citrus peels, is based on a 19th century recipe and made in consultation with drinks historian, David Wondrich. The Floating Rum Shack gives the <a href="http://thefloatingrumshack.com/content/index.php/47-pierre-ferrand-dry-curacao-ancienne-methode" target="_blank">backstory</a> of how the brand came to be. We use it in punches, Mai Tais, with gin, with whiskey. It’s just a beautifully balanced, superbly well-done orange liqueur that’s earned a permanent place on our copper-topped dry sink.<br />
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New York bartender Brad Farran gave a recipe for Orange Jul…erm…Julius Orange in a <i>Wall Street Journal</i> <a href="http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10000872396390444025204577544942368388340.html?mod=googlenews_wsj" target="_blank">piece</a> last summer. I admit; the result is a lot like a boozy version of that shopping mall favorite.<br />
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<b><i>Julius Orange</i></b> </blockquote>
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<i>2 oz Pierre Ferrand Dry Curaçao Ancienne Méthode</i><br />
<i>½ oz Cruzan Single Barrel Rum</i><i>½ oz lemon juice</i><br />
<i>½ tsp vanilla syrup</i><br />
<i>½ tsp sugar cane syrup</i><br />
<i>1 dash orange bitters</i><br />
<i>½ oz heavy cream</i><br />
<i>Freshly grated nutmeg</i> </blockquote>
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<i>Combine liquid ingredients in a cocktail shaker, adding cream last. Shake hard with ice. Strain into a rocks glass over crushed ice. Garnish with nutmeg.</i></blockquote>
Something lighter, without the sugar and cream, is the Alabazam. I pinched the recipe from 19th century bartender <a href="http://matthew-rowley.blogspot.com/2009/08/reasons-why-men-drink.html">William “The Only William” Schmidt</a> and upped the curacao just a bit to really bring it forward. For the original, see his 1891 bartending manual, <i>The Flowing Bowl</i>.<br />
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<b><i>Alabazam</i></b> </blockquote>
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<i>2 oz brandy</i><br />
<i>.75 oz lemon juice</i><br />
<i>.5 oz Pierre Ferrand Dry Curaçao Ancienne Méthode</i><br />
<i>.25 oz simple syrup</i><br />
<i>Two dashes Angostura bitters</i><br />
<i>Soda water (Q or Fever Tree)</i></blockquote>
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<i>Fill a tall highball glass two-thirds with crushed ice. Shake all the ingredients except the soda water with ice. Strain into the serving glass, top with soda, and stir.</i></blockquote>
<b>Goes well with:</b><br />
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<ul>
<li>If Orange Julius-type drinks get you going, but you'd prefer one without the booze, try <a href="http://matthew-rowley.blogspot.com/2011/08/kenny-shopsin-orange-julius-and.html" target="_blank">Kenny Shopsin's take on them</a> with fresh orange juice, powdered egg whites, powdered sugar, and crushed ice.</li>
<li>That <a href="http://matthew-rowley.blogspot.com/2013/07/blood-orange-cobbler-with-lillet.html">cobbler with Solerno I mentioned</a>? It's very nice with Lillet, as served from time to time at San Diego's Polite Provisions. </li>
</ul>
Matthew Rowleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00613982533349459637noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6101223716619464303.post-15764288427328588712013-09-24T10:13:00.003-07:002013-11-03T08:19:56.046-08:00A Bit of Seed CakeKnock around old American and English cookbooks and household manuscripts for any length of time and you’ll come across recipe after recipe for seed cake. Not poppy seed cake, mind you; that still has adherents. Rather, I mean a decidedly more old-fashioned seed cake, dating to at least the 17th century, in which the nutty, musty, vaguely anise-like smack of caraway infuses the whole thing.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1bM6aChOSn6KRhwjUWcjz7Fqh-uY6jBEsaWzIMLW9OP19gb2Fp20Hfp22hRhTWck_duj92yAAR_6JsX68maf0XquB_kV5A883VW3RlvuTmmqKHwcpa_5p_CHnzuEaMEyMNh2zlJYrXOM/s1600/Seed+Cake.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1bM6aChOSn6KRhwjUWcjz7Fqh-uY6jBEsaWzIMLW9OP19gb2Fp20Hfp22hRhTWck_duj92yAAR_6JsX68maf0XquB_kV5A883VW3RlvuTmmqKHwcpa_5p_CHnzuEaMEyMNh2zlJYrXOM/s400/Seed+Cake.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
Yeah, yeah. You’ve had caraway in rye bread, maybe sauerkraut, goulash, or some cheeses. It’s integral to the taste of a Reuben sandwich, but those are all savory. It’s out of place in a sweet, right? Look, if you hate all those things, then skip seed cake; it might be caraway itself you don’t like. But if you do like them and just had never given any thought to sweetness and caraway, give it a try in cake.<br />
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Not just any cake, though. Not fancy, multi-tiered, extravagantly decorated cakes. Simple. In fact, the old recipes are essentially pound cakes with a small amount of caraway tossed in. I can’t quite emphasize that enough: a small amount. Poppy seed cakes sometimes call for so much of the blue-black seeds that they look as if someone dropped slices into a cinder pile. A caraway seed cake, on the other hand, should have a light scattering of seeds (fruits, really, but we call them seeds) peeking out of each slice. A teaspoon — at most one and a half — is enough to flavor a three-pound cake. <br />
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When I made a loaf yesterday, I overcooked it a bit when I was pulled away by a phone call from a UK distiller — the edges are a bit crusty, but the interior remains moist. Keep a closer eye on your cake than I did mine. And maybe turn off the phone.<br />
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Hundreds of recipes are available from the past several centuries, but contemporary chef Fergus Henderson of the London restaurant <a href="http://www.stjohnrestaurant.com/" target="_blank">St. John</a> has got a bit of reputation for his version which he pairs with a glass of Madeira. Me? I take mine with hot black tea.<br />
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<b><i>Seed Cake</i></b> </blockquote>
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<i>9 oz/260g soft unsalted butter</i><br />
<i>9 oz/260g caster sugar</i><br />
<i>1 teaspoon caraway seeds</i><br />
<i>5 eggs, beaten</i><br />
<i>11 oz flour, sieved</i><br />
<i>1 Tbl baking powder</i><br />
<i>¼ tsp salt</i><br />
<i>5 oz/150ml full-fat milk (or use 4 parts whole milk, one part heavy cream)</i> </blockquote>
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<i>Grease a 16 x 10 x 8cm loaf tin with butter and line the base and sides with baking parchment.</i> </blockquote>
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<i>Cream the butter, sugar and caraways together either with an electric mixer or in a bowl with a wooden spoon until they are white and fluffy. Gradually mix in the beaten eggs, adding them little by little to prevent curdling. Then sift in the flour and mix until incorporated. Lastly add the milk.</i> </blockquote>
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<i>Transfer the mixture to the prepared tin and bake in an oven preheated to 350°F/180°C/ for 45-50 minutes or until it is golden brown and a skewer inserted in the centre comes out</i></blockquote>
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~ From Fergus Henderson and Justin Piers Gallatly (2007) </div>
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<i>Beyond Nose to Tail: A Kind of British Cooking Part II
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<b>Goes well with:</b></div>
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<ul>
<li style="text-align: left;">Nigel Slater, another British writer, has a number of books out now. I've got UK editions of all of them. He's worth tracking down. Here was <a href="http://matthew-rowley.blogspot.com/2011/10/smooth-and-creamy-pate.html">my introduction to his writing</a> (and a recipe for chicken liver pâté). Why UK editions? When possible, I prefer them, especially since I use a combination of eyeballing ingredients and weighing them on a kitchen scale. American editions of books by metric-using authors, on the other hand, have such clunky, bizarre measurements: <i>2/3 cups plus 1 and one-half tablespoon of flour. </i>What? Did...did you mean 100 grams? Intolerance for making things harder and more complicated might be a carryover from <a href="http://matthew-rowley.blogspot.com/2011/09/on-licking-human-skull.html">my science background</a>.</li>
</ul>
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Matthew Rowleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00613982533349459637noreply@blogger.com2