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