Oktoberfest Beer Champ: Ayinger

Corona and Guinness are almost parodies of themselves at this point. They're brands and beacons for bastardized beer-swilling holidays, which makes sense if you're trying to impress investors. Come springtime, every collar-popped frat boy will be helpless to resist those snazzy beer displays depicting bikini-clad leprechauns and sombrero chicks con cerveza, brah.

Oktoberfest is another foreign holiday ripe for co-opting. But since Munich breweries roll out the good stuff in the Fall, there's obviously more to this than getting product placement in bars. There's a a bunch of recognizable, smaller breweries doing what the mecha-breweries can't imitate (well). Sam Adams has been pushing theirs pretty hard, but lederhosen and lager in a British colony still doesn't compute. I decided to conduct my own 'scientific' study, with four beers chosen by myself and a couple of beer stewards: two from Germany (Ayinger and Paulaner) and two domestics (Heater Allen and Bayern). Sorry moneybags, due to budgetary constraints, the sample size isn't larger. But the result?

First Place: Ayinger Oktober Fest-Marzen (Aying, Germany) 8.5/10

This was the last beer tasted, but immediately I knew this is what the others were striving for. Though imported, it didn't taste like it had been sitting on a shelf for months. The malty notes had a complexity and freshness that you get only when you have a beer in Bavaria. And a perfect example of how to hop a German beer.

Second Place: Heater Allen Bob-toberfest (McMinnville, Oregon) 8/10

I've been impressed by every beer from Rick Allen's one-man, lager-only operation. This one was exceptional, and surprising in how dead-on it was to the German style. I was convinced this was the winner of my brief experiment until I tried Ayinger. Very similar, but it was lacking some its dimension. Still...

Third Place: Paulaner Oktoberfest Ur-Marzen (Munich, Germany) 7/10

Slightly less malty and complex than the previous two. It had that green-glass whiff of Becks, which is selling it short. It's still a good example of the style, and the closest thing to the holiday's patron saint.

Fourth Place: Bayern Oktoberfest (Missoula, Montana) 5/10

Loved for being one of the few domestic breweries to focus on German Lagers, Bayern came highly recommended. But the moment I poured it into a glass, I couldn't understand what the hell they were thinking. It was almost as dark as a Black Butte, which is at least 3 times darker than Oktoberfest should be. After tasting it, you're not sure what style it's more suited to be. A weak dunkel? Or a wasted opportunity?

I realize there are other great examples out there. Suggestions?

The People's Cut: Hanger Steak

I hesitate to even write this, for fear of exposing my BBQ secret. But I care about you, my five readers, and I don't want your precious, dirty money to be wasted yet again.

If there was justice in this world, Radiohead would be making U2 money, universal health care would be a birthright, and the lowly Hanger Steak would be worth more per pound than tenderloin. True, they're not interchangeable in the beef world, but there's so much less Hanger on the cow (one 1-1.5 lb loin). And if you ask the French, a butcher, or a French butcher, they'll tell you it's probably the most flavorful cut.

The problem is tenderloin has been fetishised to the point of absurdity, especially in this country. Older generations held it as a bourgeois indulgence for special occasions, the pinnacle of all charred flesh at a chophouse. It's not recession proof, however, as I've seen prices drop by as much as $8/lb. Even still, it's waaaay overpriced.

When citing the best examples of food in this world, more often than not it's street-level fare. If it contains meat, chances are good it's the cheap cuts. Food opportunism, I guess... the magic happens when you're forced to make something really good out of the forgotten bits. Here in America, the Hanger slipped through the cracks for no good reason though.

It's considered a 'butchers cut', mostly because they know what's up, and we generally don't. It has long fibrous tissue with a little fat in between, similar to Flank or Skirt steak. It sits at the belly of the cow, near the kidneys; the result is a rich, deep, beefy flavor. Each steak is perfectly portioned for the average person. By weight, it's a great bang for your buck... no bone or gristle waste. In other words, your efforts to cut expenses with cheap, dry, flavorless Round-Steak? Fail. If you prefer the taste, double-fail.

It's perfect if you want something fast to throw on the grill. I put a dry rub on it and cook it medium rare or rare. With a good sear on all three sides, it's tender and juicy. The bold flavor is strong enough to handle rubs with cumin, ancho powder or smoked paprika. I've had them sliced into tacos, but they're often served bistro-style with pommes frites. Either way, you're set.

The secret is probably out though, as prices have risen a buck or two recently. I've noticed many Portland restaurants use Hangers if there's only one steak option on the menu. Still, they cost a third as much as tenderloin, half as much as Flat Iron and Rib-eye, and often much cheaper than Sirloin and New Yorks. Enjoy the people's cut while you can...

German Food for the Hinterland Soul

Those who have driven past the St. Johns Bridge and Forrest Park on Hwy 30 in Portland may be familiar with the well marked Germantown Road "exit". Maybe you've even taken it, twisting and turning through the forrested West Hills. It leads to the fertile farmland settled by my father's family and many others from central Europe, who came here after the turn of the century.

They got the hell out of Germany just before Hitler hopped aboard the crazy-train and made it a war zone. Officially, this Lutheran clan just wanted to flee the growing tension and give the American dream a shot. But a few of us have reason to think we're more Luther-Jew, and maybe their flight was really out of necessity and foresight.

The area was settled by some remarkably adaptable people who learned quickly to become jack-of-all-trades. All hardy, sturdy, independent and resourceful people. A fair share of really good and rough characters alike. Portland is, after all, a port town... if you lived in those times you probably logged, cut lumber, loaded ships with logs and lumber, or helped build those ships. I think many in my family did all of the above at some point, but they were more entrepreneurial and stubborn to do just one thing. They farmed, built barns and mended fences, sold produce to downtown hotels and sailors of outgoing ships , became neighborhood experts in animal husbandry and veterinary medicine. Bargained, bartered and haggled every step of the way, from what I'm told.

But quietly, and without fanfare, they knew their food and how to cook it. Because they were resourceful living off the land, they were naturally deft at creating hearty and healthy comfort food from what they had living just above the poverty line... not unique in any culture. There's a lineage here, however diluted at this point, to all the great peasant foods that inspired recognized cuisine. These days you have to be a "foodie" to see it, but back then they were just called people. They had fresh goat milk and cheese, farm eggs, wild game, hooch, sauerkraut, pork belly, homemade bread and fruit preserves, etc etc. They probably didn't realize how rich they really were. I do, and these days I'm trying to glean what I can from my aunt.

At family picnics and holiday gatherings, we always joke depreciatively about the Germany-size spread of foods (At least five protein options and a dozen starches, dontcha know), but I've learned this is actually a serious point of pride. If you're in charge of potato salad, pray you don't find a way to fuck it up. If you're bringing the customary Christmas Eve crabs (Oregon Dungeness, natch), you'd better not buy less than six. And make sure that fondue is made from scratch, or else. Thankfully, no one brings peppermint schnapps anymore. Hello, Canadian Club whiskey!

As the world shrinks in the internet and immigration age, it's easier to recognize what binds and separates our food traditions. We may not know it, but we're taking something old and something new, foreign and familar, and making something wholely our own. We're doing what every immigrant has been forced to do when living in a strange land. I don't see the point decrying the extremes, or trying to stop the inevitable in vain. Do what you can to preserve tried and true traditions, but understand much of what we're nostalgic for (or not) is a product of its time and place.

Who am i kidding? I'm drinking pilsner and making sauerbraten this week...

Your Food Hang-Ups

Sometimes I think there are some food taste divides that are difficult to reconcile. It would be hard to be close with someone who doesn't love olive oil, garlic, BBQ, chili peppers, coffee, beer, French bread, onion, fresh fruit, bacon, mustard, avocado, dark chocolate, or taco-truck tacos. If I thought about it for another five minutes, I could name another dozen. Kind of a dick, you're thinking.

But to me, you'd be a dick for prioritizing fleeting and superficial things over something as essential and bonding as food. Having a drink and breaking bread with people who appreciate similar foods. Does it get any better than that?? Maybe if you take no interest in cooking, or prefer not to know how food magically ends up on your plate.

I have too much pride to be that passive about food, or any necessity for that matter. Get your hands dirty, plant some vegetables in the summer. And get your kids to do it, even if you don't like to. No excuses. We all need to value food a little more and stop seeing it as a joyless, on-the-run fuel.

Though I can count my readers on my hands, I know you're got some opinionated shit to get out there... So what is it that you appreciate? What hang-ups are irreconcilable for you?

On the clock: Sour Dills

With the crock free from kraut, it was begging for some pickling cukes just coming into season. Spicy Garlic Sour Dills came to mind, and the plan was set to action. A friend and co-worker hooked me up with a bag of green and yellow cucumbers, culled at the end of his farmer's market shift (thank you). Later I finally found some more green cukes to fill the crock.

The problem was, I couldn't find fresh dill flowers or grape leaves to save my life. At the last moment I happened upon some dill heads at the store. But the grape leaves, a necessary ingredient to keep the pickles crisp, were still the last pieces to get. My old neighbor has a giant grape vine taking over his property line, including a four-story poplar tree in his back yard. Days ago I asked him if I could grab a few leaves for pickles, but that was days ago. His memory and eyesight ain't what they used to be, so yeah, getting shot in the ass with rock salt came to mind. Eventually, I talked myself over there.

Finally on Wednesday, I assembled the following:

12 washed, unsprayed grape leaves (lining the crock bottom)

10 heads- fresh OG dill flowers

2 heads- OG garlic- peeled, cloves cut in half

1/2 bulb - fresh OG onion, cut into coarse, long pieces

1/2 cup- black peppercorns

1/4 cup- allspice berries

1/4 cup- mustard seed

1/2 cup- whole clove

1/4 cup- coriander seed

1- cinnamon stick

10 bay leaves

1/4 cup- crushed red peppers

3/4 cup- Kosher salt

1+ gallon filtered water

8lbs+(?)- OG green and yellow pickling cucumbers

As much as I wish I had a real crock, it's nice to be able to watch all these ingredients take shape. Though this picture was taken Wednesday, the mixture has already become cloudy and murky. But that's exactly what you want from sour pickles.

So why sours? Because they're real pickles. And nobody does them here and I'm fucking tired of hearing New York transplants complain about the state of bagels, pizza and dills here in Portland. I'm doing my part, now shut up... This will take a few weeks.

Beer You Should Try Right Now - local summer lager

At this point, we're on the backside of summer and it's getting away fast. I'm starting to feel a little tenseness in people, probably because we get pissy in August at the prospect of not getting through half our summer to-do list. Maybe this is an Oregon phenomena, born out of our climate and all the seasonal disorders that come with it.

Hopefully you had the sense to at least drink some of the great beers produced for the heat of summer. If no, it's not too late! Sometimes it's easy to overlook those lighter old-world beers when you live in the land of high gravity, but trust me, you'll miss the opportunity to cleanse your bitter palate.

When Portland was melting and dripping through a two-week "Xtreme Heatwave 2009!" last month, not one person was craving a double IPA. No, not even those d-bags who declare "I'm a hop head" to barely-interested women. I love my hops as much as the next douchebag, but it was not the time to feel remorseful about a beer decision. It was, however, the perfect time to actually try those dusty lagers we've all wondered about. So exotic!

The catch is, Spaten, Urquell, Paulaner and Einbecker taste alive in the homeland and shitty here in the states. Meanwhile, decent domestic lagers are limited on the hop n' ale-obsessed West Coast. But it seems like token lagers are showing up more frequently at the bigger microbreweries, so there's hope. Full Sail deserves credit for knocking LTD, Session and Session Black out of the park.

Since I'm partial to local beers, it seemed logical for me to finally try the Pils and IsarWeizen from Heater Allen Brewing, out of McMinnville. Don't-call-it-"Heather" Allen is actually Rick Allen, a one-man, lager-only operation using only German 2-row malt... I knew there was a niche for this, but had no idea this many people would flip for an unpopular style in the NW. I was getting tired of every beer steward and beer fetishist asking what I thought of them. Or begging me to try.

And now I'm not sure why the hell I waited until a heatwave. Both beers (from the bottle) were the closest things to true bohemian beer I've had since Munich and Vienna. The pils had a light balance of biscuit-y yeast and pale malt tones, never would it cling to your mouth on a sweltering day. It wasn't complicated, it was just everything you wanted from a fresh, handmade pilsner. Then again, maybe my taste has been blunted by too many uber-hopped IPAs and stouts. I dunno.

The IsarWeizen was stunningly good on the hottest day. Apparently based on a Munich wheat beer, it tastes like a hefe and a wit/weiss made hay. As much as I'm over wheat beer and dislike white, this was amazing. It was fresh and quenching, yet the golden, unfiltered body had presence. It's like a bucket of cold water on your ale-drinking ways. I'm buying a few more 22's before Allen moves on to a fall seasonal. If you grab some, drink what you can now... they're not meant to be saved and aged.

There are darker and heavier options from Allen, and hoppier ales from any number of brewers, but really, what's the point of avoiding local, seasonal beers at the time they should be enjoyed? You wouldn't turn down a chef who's excited about his haul of fresh food harvested that day, would you?

Sauerkraut Watch, Day 30

Pins and needles, right? The month has dragged by as you fret for my rosy veggies to emerge edible?

Last night I decided to try it again and package the rest. The flavors of the vegetables and toasted spices have opened up, gelling better than two weeks ago. The sour tartness is more pronounced, more effervescent. The punch of the red onion and garlic has toned down slightly. The texture is still slightly squeaky and crunchy, though the act of repacking into jars will mitigate that. My only regret is using Real Salt rather than sea or kosher... some of the trace minerals haven't dissolved past the gritty, sandy stage. Overall, I think it turned out pretty freaking good. Can't wait to try it on a good frankfurter or a fish taco.

The remainder fit into 12 pint and two quart mason jars, which were promptly tossed into the fridge. I used the business end of a french rolling pin to really pack the jars, leaving a decent layer of protective kraut juice. Since I didn't use a water bath or pressure cooker, I'm slightly worried about botulism. Heh heh.... Well, that stuff in the store wouldn't say "Raw" if it had been through a commercial canning process right? Anyone? :::crickets:::

In an attempt to distract myself from potential liability, I decided to make a fancy-pants label for my pseudo-professional product. Laugh all you want, cynical prick, it's fun to dream. I've done this before when bottling my homebrewed IPAs and barleywines, but this time without the help of Adobe CS3. Evidently, MS Word and Avery labels require one to trick them into working as you want it. Jeebus.

So now it's time to pawn these jars o' botulism off on innocent co-workers ($5-a-pop sound right to you?). But then, what's next? Spicy dill pickle slices? White-guy kimchi? Whole dills? Pickled green beans? Hot-pickled carrots and cauliflower? Fermented hot sauce? Lawsuits?

Walla Walla is king. Eat a peach, Vidalia.

In the Northwest, the Walla Walla sweet onion has a spot on our food export Rushmore. Sure there are more than four noble busts on ours, but this is no watered-down pantheon of heavyweights. Somewhere amongst apples, hazelnuts, marionberries, salmon, peaches, Hood strawberries, hops, beer and wine (shall I go on?) lurks our favorite onion.

I'd be lying if I said I don't like Vidalias. But try some Burgerville Walla Walla sweet onion rings when they're in season. Good lord. It just isn't fair.

Burgerville doesn't screw this up. The batter looks and tastes like panko and cornmeal had a dark, crunchy lovechild. And somehow they've perfected keeping it on the rings... something 92% fail at. Batter-dipped doesn't come to mind, it's like the breading grew out of the onion itself. But this would be for naught if it weren't for thick, tender, sweet rings of a Walla. Vidalia simply suffers from girth-envy, mostly because this batter would overwhelm it.

I don't mean to talk shit to rightfully proud Georgians, it's just that I had Burgerville tonight and Walla Wallas are in the house. Not only the onion rings but the seasonal burger with grilled Wallas and horseradish. Oh, and a fresh Oregon raspberry shake.

I'm calling scoreboard on this one.

106 and Parm (or, "what to cook when you hit triple digits)

That was a riff on BET's 106 and Park, but you already knew that. For whatever reason, when I was forced to finally cook in my 106 degree kitchen yesterday, that's what came to mind.

But seriously, my kitchen feels like Hades. The fridge and freezer are laboring to keep things sanitary, certainly no time for open-door efforts to brainstorm a meal. The "cold" water crock dispenses water suitable for properly brewed tea... it is NOT refreshing. The cats run in just long enough to eat a few token kibbles and lap up some water... then retreat to the hardwood floor and melt. I mean, look at this worthless sack of fur and gristle:

And no, there is no A/C, asshole. For 346 days out of the year, I laugh at that notion. Right now I laugh at my arrogance, yet again. Screw that, I'll kick it (Laura Ingalls) Wilder-style and find a sod home... I'm not buying an A/C.

Sorry, I'm a little worked up. Everyone's a little crazy from the heat, I've noticed. Panicking on one hand, yet also serene in a surrendering sort of way. This is not the Portland we know and love.

So a sweaty BBQ is to be attended, and you're tired of being a defeatist. It's summertime, and you can do a lot worse than some variation of a black bean and corn salad. Bad breath, you say? Look, it's 106 degrees out and everyone's ass is like an equatorial jungle... nobody should care about a little onion and garlic. So here's what I threw together for last night's beat-the-heat festivities:

(In a large mixing bowl)
3- limes- juiced
1- OG red onion-diced
6- OG garlic cloves- minced
3- Jalapeños and/or cayenne peppers from the garden- diced
1- red bell pepper- diced
1- yellow bell pepper- diced
2- medium vine tomato- diced.
4 tbsp- extra virgin olive oil (I used a Spanish variety)
1 tbsp- sea salt
3 shots- Crystal Hot Sauce
2 tbsp- dried chili powder blend
1 tbsp- smoked paprika
1 tsp- cumin
1tsp- cracked pepper
1 bunch fresh cilantro- minced

I let that mixture mingle while the oil and acidic lime juice unleashed all those aromatic flavors. After awhile, I added:

4 ears- grilled corn on the cob (kernels removed of course)
2 ears- raw corn on the cob (kernels removed)
2 cans- black beans
4- avocados- 3/4" cubes

Unfortunately, I forgot to get picture proof of its existence. I'll just tell you it was beautiful, fresh summer comfort food to make and eat on a ridiculously hot night. With some sturdy tortilla chips or even a fork, it all made sense. Perfect food for a hazy orange night. Some variation of this classic salad should be in your summer rotation, it's that dependable. So why aren't you making this right now?

Ugh.

Cooking? Hell no. It's 106. I'm disconnecting the kitchen range.