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.

Sauerkraut Watch, Day 16

More than two weeks have passed since the rosy-looking kraut went into the basement to quietly ferment away. Every time I go down there, I'm reminded I threw in two heads of garlic and one red onion for shits and giggles. It smells like a sweaty Oktoberfest down there.

This whole time, only two small patches of mold materialized. Skimmed with a sieve a couple of times, but really nothing to get. I wondered if I used too much salt, all eyeballed (of course). It was time to throw this baby into the pool to find out what it's made of.

So on Wednesday I pulled out a quart mason jar's worth and tossed it in the fridge. Last night I grilled off two Widmer hefeweizen brats from New Seasons... overcooked them (of course), but they got nice and crispy, and managed to stay moist inside. I didn't even bother with a bun, or a side of mustard (what??), just wanted the brat and kraut to duke it out. It turns out they play well together. There's a background harmony of spice in both - a nutmeg-y, complex, rich sausage vs. acidic, briny vegetables and occasional flurry of caraway or cumin. I was skeptical about the juniper berries, but they added something. Maybe a dry, slightly medicinal presence, but worth it... and nice to know I could use them for something other than turkey brines at Thanksgiving.

I love this stuff. The cabbage, carrot and beets are soft but slightly crunchy. Their mass is already sour sauer and vinegar-y, but I can't wait to see what it's like in the coming weeks. This week, think I'll use some in crock-pot sauerbraten. Oh yeah. BYOS.*

*bring your own spaetzle

Necessary Hot Sauce, Part Four: Sriracha

I debated whether to even bother with this post. It's like standing in a town square, under the clock tower, and yelling the time to anyone who can hear. It's just redundant, given the public adoration for this new American legend.

I say American because the sriacha we know and love is different than what's available in Thailand or Vietnam. The Huy Fong Tướng Ớt (huh?) Sriracha, aka "Rooster Sauce" or "Cock Sauce", is made in Los Angeles, and is thicker and less sweet than its namesake. A staple amongst food carts, pho soup storefronts, and Thai joints, this stuff has become iconic. Recently, the NY Times gave it the feature treatment, and rightly so. Read it.

Being thicker and less sweet has its advantages. In my mind, its concentrated, thick-hot body lends itself to cooking more often than as a garnish (a little bit goes a loooong way). I've used it as a soup base, in hot wings, BBQ sauce, vinegarettes, or mixed with other condiments. Sriracha-mayo is an American sushi standard. Spiked ketchup with sriracha is a revelation. Endless are the possibilities. Cock Sauce is a story of hope and possibility in America! Cue the anthem and fireworks!

My only beef with the Rooster is that it's laden with preservatives. But hey, that beautiful red-orange hue can't keep itself together without the help of sodium bisulfite or artificial colors, and there's none of the latter. So there's that.

Given its popularity and concentrated nature, it's surprising sriracha isn't more expensive. If you don't have at least a small bottle in your fridge, there's no hope for you, And don't expect me to eat at your house, TV dinner guy.

Do it: Salmon Skin

Seriously, wipe that look off your face, you need to get over yourself. You don't know what you're missing.

Apologies to my Pescetarian friends who love the stuff, but crispy salmon skin is the pork rind of the sea. If you like salmon, you owe it to yourself. And when you come to your senses, you'll kidney-punch yourself for throwing it out all these years. You. Jerk.

For the curious and uninitiated, your first stop should be your favorite sushi joint to have the textbook application: ask the knowing man behind the counter for a crispy salmon skin hand roll. Sticky rice, salmon skin and maybe some rice vinegar, wasabi or sriracha-mayo in a wrapped cone of nori seaweed. It's simple and humble, and you can't reconcile that with what's going on in your mouth.

The three main ingredients may be the single best trio of complementary textures and tastes. The nori acts like a taut sausage casing (again, sorry about the pork comparisons), and the soft vinegar-y rice is the ideal foil for the rich, crunchy, fishy rinds. Made spicy, it's perfect. Add julienned cucumber, carrots, ginger, or pickled anything and you've got worthwhile variations of perfect. Replicate this at home, even poorly, and it will still taste fantastic.

Consider the source of your flavor. The omega-3 fatty layer under salmon skin is thickest on a mild King/Chinook, but I almost prefer the affordable and intense flavor of Sockeye and Coho/Silver. Hell, cheap Keta and Pink will get you through. If possible, buy wild-caught, lest ye want more fat-soluble toxins in yer crispy skin.

Last night I baked off 1 lb. of skin from poached Sockeye filets, spread flat over an oiled cookie sheet. You can fry them up in a pan too (Deep fry? Overkill, but hell yes. Don't burn). I dusted them with cracked pepper and Nanami Togarashi, but 'naked' skin is always good too. When sufficiently crispy, I served it on sticky rice with some shrimp kimchi and a dash of rice vinegar. The kimchi was a nice surprise. Unfortunately, my greed made this hand-roll feel like a japanese burrito. Watch out, poor photo:

This is just the start of beautiful beginnings. Think of the Italian, French, Latin and Spanish applications for pork rinds of the sea chicharron del mar. Hello, salmon skin carbonara! When you're telling your grandkids about it, be sure to credit the source...

Whole grains + crack = DKB "Sin Dawg"

Maybe a crack joke isn't the best way to reference baked goods from (now) clean n' sober Dave. Still it's apt, even if I don't see how cin goes sin here. Sin Dawg is perfect, and sneaky about it too.

I mean, look at those lumps o' dough. The industrial food-raised part of your brain is running hot, trying to compute this madness. Visible seeds and grains, sharing a matrix with a cinnamon sugar ribbon?? No no no...

But if you know anything about Dave's Killer Bread, whole grains and fiber can taste really good. I prefer under processed grains, so maybe I'm not the best judge. But by all accounts, DKB (and Naturebake too) has an army of converts, both likely and unlikely. They're local and they generally do a great service to bring good food to more people, so good on 'em.

Recently at a family gathering, a package of Sin Dawg was devoured in minutes and moaned about for hours. Sure they like their food, but natural foodies they are not. It would have been surprising, but the Dawg is a moist, grounded decadence. Fruity sweetness balanced by something substantial enough to remind you it's still there. And you come to love it, just the way it is.

Until it becomes widely available with the rest of the DKB line, this won't be more than Christmas morning fodder (Dave, HINT). Still, finding a new tradition is rare, so there's that. Find it at the Healthy Bread Store, or at the Portland and Beaverton Farmers Markets.

Necessary Steak Sauce Hot Sauce, Part Three: Pickapeppa

If you don't already know, Pickapeppa is clearly the shit.

You can argue it's not really a hot sauce, but somehow it ends up in that same corner of your fridge door. Right next to the Aardvark and Crystal, of course.

For all you single school teachers on holiday in Jamaica *wink*, don't mistake this as an 'exotic' version of A1 or HP steak sauce back home. It's more like a cliffsnotes on the flavors of slow-cooked Caribbean meats. The sweet sour notes play out through aged, carmelized fruit and vegetables... think raisins, mangoes, vinegar, tamarind, peppers, tomatos, onions, spices, etc aged in oak for a year. It's thick, slightly smoky and bold, but it's not going to burn your face off. These flavors are naturally a great foil for pork and chicken -- baked, smoked, grilled low or braised.

Apparently it's also popular with cream cheese as a dip. Sure, OK, sounds good to me. I'd rather mix it with a good, full-fat greek yogurt to top fish tacos or coat grilled chicken. And if you work it into a recipe for grilled pork tenderloin or braised pork butt/shoulder, I couldn't blame you for that. It's that awesome.

The downside of embracing Pickapeppa as your savior is that you naturally long for their other sauces, all hard to find unless you shop online. Mango chutney, jerk sauce, hot pepper sauce, gingery spicy mango sauce?? Oh, fuck me.

As far as the original is concerned, get it. Find it at the usual suspects. Or your friendly food service supplier... peep this beauty:

Necessary Hot Sauce, Part Two: Secret Aardvark

Sometimes you feel like a nut. Sometimes you don't. Sometimes, when you're staring at standard breakfast fare with a bloody mary in hand, you need seductive heat. That sad looking bottle of green Tabasco with crusty residue under the cap isn't going to whisper in your ear.

That crap may look good at 2am, but there's an odd squeeze bottle of Secret Aardvark on the table and there's really no reason to slum it today. Not when you get sweet hotness of habenero, enhanced with the flavors of carrot, roasted tomato, onion and spices.

It's unusual, and probably the only habenero sauce I can think of to encroach on condiment status. I've had it in bloody marys, mixed in yogurt or guacamole dips, on flatiron steak, on fish tacos, and other fare. It may be the most versatile hot sauce in my stable. Yeah, so I have a "stable" of hot sauce, piss off.

Not only is it so damn good, it's local with a snowball of a cult following around here. Their amazing, drunken black bean sauce might also deserve cult status (marinate and bake some chicken hindquarters and you'll understand).

Get it. Find it at New Seasons, Zupans, or any Portland breakfast joint worth its salt.

Necessary Hot Sauce, Part One: Crystal

Like mustard, salt, vinegar and oils, it's nice to have all your bases covered when it comes to hot sauce. I can think of at least four categories of sauce to have on hand, all very different.

Recognize that the elephant in the room is Tabasco, the face for its Louisiana brethren. And really, let's just get this out there, Tabasco sucks. I want to love this iconic sauce, but the flavor feels flat and sour to me. If I'm making a Oregon dover sole po' boy with homemade bay shrimp slaw, it's Crystal Hot Sauce or bust.

It's a little thinner and less hot than original Tabasco, but it just tastes right. This isn't the sauce you reach for when pitched in a macho Scoville-off, this is your trusty sauce-by-default. Everyman hot sauce and priced as such. We shouldn't even be talking about it this much...

Get it. They persevered and eventually rebuilt from Katrina, for chrissakes!

Raw sauerkraut... let's do this

I stumbled onto this book recently and just thumbing through it for a minute (sorry, I promise to buy it later) left an impression on me. This isn't just some earth mother's idea of a Saturday night, this is the foundation of food. This is peasant food that has roots in every corner of the globe. Though not a raw foodie in the least, it was high time I acknowledged this.

In Portland, you can find small jars of 'raw' fermented kraut and sea veggies at New Seasons or any of the food co-ops. I tried a couple and loved them; there's a slight, bright effervescence to balance the sour. Contrast this with canned/jarred kraut or pickles and it may be hard to go back... most industrial food companies have outsourced even this to India, and the product is dead and left without many nutrients it could have had. This pickling travesty is a topic for another post on another day.

Being the enterprising sort, I decided this is a food exercise I should probably learn to master. We're not canning here, this is simply open air, raw fermentation in a large container. I've spent hours brewing beer, how 'effing hard could this be? Until I'm able to pry that old antique crock away from my mom, I had to do with a large Anchor Hocking jar (2-4 gallons?) sans lid.

Here's a list of what I used, based on suggestions found in the book and on various websites. Note that I went 'red' on this batch, with plenty of non-cabbage accouterments.

3 heads OG green cabbage - cored, rough shred
2 heads OG red cabbage - cored, rough shred
1 OG red onion - diced
2 heads OG garlic - sliced
3 large carrots - coarsely grated
2 large OG red beets - coarsely grated
8-10 tbsp Real Salt (mined mineral rich salt)
2 tbsp cumin seed - toasted
2 tbsp caraway seed - toasted
1-2 tbsp celery seed
3/4 cup juniper berries - crushed
1 tbsp cracked pepper
1-2 qts filtered water

Mix the ingredients in a large bowl and place in the crock a little at a time, packing and macerating as you go. I read somewhere that a sanitized wooden baseball bat works well, but hell, I've got these two awesome fists of fury at my disposal. And they're FREE.

Once the cabbage mix is salted, it starts letting go of its water in a big way. Place a plate over the pressed mass with some kind of weight (and keep the whole thing covered with a t-shirt or towel). I used an old glass juice container filled with water, but it probably needs to be heavier. Whatever the means, the idea is to keep the kraut well under the fluid in its anaerobic state, fermenting away and creating a probiotic wonderfood while you skim the occasional slime off the surface. Yum!

So it sits in my cool, dark basement-- an optimal and unobtrusive spot-- until it's ready (days? weeks? how will I know?). Until then I'll ponder my sausage choices for the kraut (read: any) and post more pictures as this rosy baby comes alive...

**Update 7/25/09 1:52pm- Think I forgot to mention 2 tbsp of white miso paste was added to kickstart the probiotic process.

Welcome to the first day of class

If you're like most Portlanders Americans humans, you don't have adequate resources for mindlessly dropping dough, letting other people cook, entertain and think for you all the time. Maybe you (pretend to?) have just two nickels to rub together, maybe you've got taste and a little ingenuity going for you. If you geek on the good, this might be for you.

If we're being honest, this is also about trade-offs. I tend to forgo the unnecessary so I can get some things organic, local, or natural... at least the ingredients that provide the building blocks for better food. In the verdant Northwest, theres always some good beer, wine, produce, or chow to tempt us. My job allows me the opportunity to demo packaged and unprepared food-n-drink for free or at a discount... and I get abundant peer and public opinions to supplement what I learn. Occasionally, this isn't about just food, it's the pursuit of worthwhile leisure and whatever slack that entails.

This is trial and error, this is learn-from-my-mistakes, this is glorious discovery... this is FUN. I hope.

Enjoy