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?