Beer & Chocolate!

I don’t normally spend Sunday afternoon drinking beer unless its football season. Admittedly, making an exception to this rule didn’t require too much agonizing deliberation, roughly 30 seconds. I received an invitation to a beer and chocolate pairing called Dionicess IV. Reasonably assured they knew what they were doing because there had been three Dionicesses previously, and that it is relatively impossible to ruin beer and/or chocolate, I confidently RSVP’d for two.

Whereas you might find this an uncomfortable matching of two clashing flavors, I’ve washed down enough chocolate bars with beer to know it can be one of the most richly satisfying moments in life. Snickers bars and Reece’s Peanut Butter cups have the effect of leaving me with an almost unquenchable thirst, something only a frigid Tecate can address.

Yet, while the mundane act of eating chocolate and beer is not uncommon, the deliberate act of pairing two disparate items and concentrating on the flavors is a more engrossing and rare experience. In the past few years, beer advocates have launched tastings and pairings to provide a more approachable alternative to wine events, and, of course, sell more beer.

It took place at The Side Bar, a demure, narrow space decorated with Middle Eastern influences, amber studded tea lights, pillows, and a long bench stretching the length of the room. It was surprisingly comfortable.



The sponsor beer was Stone Brewing, and I am familiar with most of their brews. They tend to run bold and dark, all with their own complexities. Stone produces drinkable, deeply flavorful beer…best appreciated in moderation due to moderately higher alcohol content than other beers, and they come in larger bottles.

Our host and organizer was Gev Kazanchyan (pronounced “Kazanchyan”). He was energetic and passionate not just about beer, but also the proceeds would be going to a charitable cause, Real Medicine Foundation. Once everyone was seated, he gave a brief introduction and a brief history and influences of Mignon Chocolate and what they had made for us.



The specific ingredients were kept on a mystery card so we could try to guess the individual flavors on our own, with or without the beer. The procession went in order of increasing intensity of flavor. Similar to a wine tasting, the lighter, less combative flavors go first, the bolder aggressive ones tromp in later.

All the selections were ales, starting with a Red Ale, moving to an India Pale Ale, Imperial Ale, the ubiquitous Arrogant Bastard Ale, Oaked Arrogant Bastard, and finally a smoked porter – my favorite of the group. I guess that one wasn't an ale, so I retract the claim that they "all" were.



The chocolates were as rich and complex as Richard Branson. They were also fairly consistent in their eclecticism. While each successive beer had a stronger flavor and potentially more alcohol, the chocolates were each individually bold with their particular flavors. For example, our first pairing was the red ale, having a crisp, round and acrid fruity afterbite, paired with a dark chocolate enveloped candied orange peel. While each had a bite on their own, together they blended nicely to create an almost muted texture, so that each offset the other. That was probably the biggest surprise of the tasting, as two sharps usually make a sharper, not generally complimentary.



Some of the more creative fillings in the chocolate were Limoncello Ganache with lime sea salt, a bold lavender ganache that threw everyone off but me, since I had made lavender ice cream a week earlier, orange peel and saffron, and caramel-espresso sea salt. In this context, little crackles of salt lend a buttery feel to the chocolate, not an offsetting bite of sodium.

Rather than break down each impression of the pairings, I would encourage you to try experimenting yourselves with different flavors and textures combined with beer. Porters, Scottish and English Ales, Belgian Ales and hefeweizen all have sweet undertones and complexities that can’t be found in lighter color lagers. IPAs and similar ales have a characteristic bite of hops. Stouts run smoky and coffee influenced.

Then, go crazy. Stick to premium chocolates, although they don’t even have to be as complex as the one’s we tasted. The pairing alone with unlock hidden flavors just by interaction. If you, however, have access to more complex varieties, by all means, knock yourself out. You really can’t go wrong, but you can go very right if you hit the right combination.



As a member of the food press, I was offered a seating gratis, but regular enthusiasts paid $29 and up per person. All proceeds were donated to the Real Medicine Foundation, which is a non-profit organization that sets up medical services and clinics in impoverished communities, and areas that have been devastated by disasters, man-made or natural. It was refreshing to see an event created to fulfill multiple purposes, and in this case everybody benefited.

I Gotz Lotz 2 Say

What a whirlwind trip around the globe. I was biking the ragged paths of Bangladesh, hitchhiking through the dense interior of Tibet, had a drink in Christchurch, paddled my way through the maze of Micronesia, drank Kava with Fijian tribal leaders, married two or three of them, then bribed my way back to the States.

In my backpack and neoprene lifting belt were the most exotic spices and herbs from the most hostile and inaccessible parts of the world. Places sane people do not travel, except my extended layover in Halifax due to an uncooperative Zamboni.

Then, I woke up.

Right now, shaken and relentlessly paranoid about Our Collapsing Civilization, I travel vicariously through food. I cruise through Veracruz on a seafood Diablo burrito. I grab a rickshaw and creak my way down Yakitori Yokocho, beer and unmarked cigarettes in my fist every time I close my eyes and dive into a steamy bowl of ramen. I find sad refuge in a pile of smoky BBQ, knowing I'm only hiding from reality. A night of pork and dry rub only keeps the demons away so long. The next morning I wake up with gristle on my lips, crippled with guilt, bloated from a variety of sauces that are now indistinguishable from one another.

Last night, I felt in control. I was king of the world. I could name each sauce and it's region. I could tell you whether it was vinegary North Carolina simmer, hearty Texas beef slather, surprisingly complex Tennessee smoke or demure Kansas City glaze that respectfully defers to the dry rub.

This morning, all I could remember was ketchup.

Did someone forget to turn out the lights?

I was walking through this abandoned gallery of food sentiment, kicking around some plastic wrapping and crumbled up lists of Must Eats and Need To's, and felt a little nostalgic. It's not like I don't eat anymore. I eat as much if not more than I used to.

I think I stopped writing about food because I started competing with myself to eat as much as I could experience, and write about the experience as much as I could. I always enjoy eating, but the enjoyment was diminished by the technical obligation of archiving every dining experience. Between frantic note taking, smuggling tripods in my sock, and taking one frustrating underexposed and blurry picture after another, I stopped.

Blog is such a marginalizing word, it has become a demotivating factor. Not that any writer needs excuses to not write that day. When the word blogger became synonymous with "bullshit" and "amateur" I wanted as hard as I could to separate myself from that title. That, and 'Foodie'.

So I've been concentrating on writing commentaries for Off-Ramp, where I've been dubbed the first Noir Food Commentator. I agree with the basic sentiment of the title, although Culinary Renegade describes me more accurately and succinctly.

Finally, Vindication

I was reading something Sarah wrote over at The Delicious Life. She wrote it a while ago, but the irony of reading an article about Food Blogging Burnout (one of the signs is not reading food blogs with regularity), made me chuckle then nod affirmitively. So she was addressing me telepathically.

Dan and I decided to shelve Gastrologica, The Podcast, for now. Our reasons are well-documented, all revolving around conflicting schedules. I think the run of audio Gastro was a good one, and now I have an anthology with a beginning and an end...unlike U2, who just won't go away.

That doesn't mean I've been idle. I have been working to develop a direction to take Gastrologica, and it would seem that video is the next evolutionary step. In other words, I'm going to take more traditional routes to build an audience.

Podcasting is a great technology that allows widespread distribution of free speech. Vox populi finally has a viable soapbox, but the arena is oversaturated. Like most speculative content, a podcast is developed at the expense of the producer and is difficult to monetize in a way that would support an active lifestyle.

I made a conscious decision earlier this year that I wouldn't contribute to other commercial outlets without getting compensated. I stopped posting restaurant reviews on other sites, and unintentionally ignored Gastrologica, the Online Magazine.

As it turns out, posting to other sites wasn't a complete waste of time. A lovely woman was reading my review of The Fisherman's Outlet while waiting at that very place for a friend. The friend happened to work for KPCC.

Because of her introduction, I was able to land a gig writing food commentaries for a show called Off-Ramp. It airs on NPR Radio, 89.3, Saturdays at noon.

Keeping with my standard policy and style, I've already received a few complaints.

http://gastrologica.com/complaints.mp3 <-----this is my first audio trophy.

I finally get paid to write things people will complain about. I've made it!

That's Not Yo Gazpacho

This isn't your grandmother's gazpacho, especially if you're not Andalusian.

I love gazpacho made with heirloom tomatoes. Heirlooms are colorful and charismatic, each one having its own vivid personality. Some are sprightly red, and have a good disposition and like to jump rope. Some look like a mad scientist injected squid ink before mating them with a pumpkin. Others are swirled purple, borderline pornographic, but friendly. Finally, some of the larger cultivars look downright cantankerous.

As such, they are widely considered to be horrifically ugly, scaring the more fragile consumers. Many people probably think they're from stockpiles that have been sitting around Chernobyl for the last 30 years. But they would be wrong.

Don't be fooled by their unkempt appearance. Heirlooms may look like prime candidates for the Tomato Special Olympics but they are intelligent fruits, with blue-blood heritages. Ok, I'm overstating the case.

The idea behind heirlooms is to preserve the unadulterated look and taste of the cultivar, or family line for that particular tomato. They are not hybrids, and rely on open pollentation to be considered true heirlooms. In contrast, mainstream tomatoes like Romas, Hothouse or Beefsteak are bred for the purposes of looking appealing to the consumer's eye, not the greatest advancement of unique flavor.

We all know what happens when you do that. You get a middle-of-the-bell-curve product that neither sucks, nor excels. Remember how weird you felt when you first learned the tomato is a fruit? How about Rock Hudson?

Had you eaten an heirloom, you would have quickly accepted them as fruit. Many heirlooms have a rich and tangy sweetness, similar to grape tomatoes. That sweetness has been bred out of mainstream tomatoes, for the most part.

So, that's why I prefer the heirlooms if they are available. If they are not, use the Hothouse or vine ripened tomato. I avoid Romas and Beefsteaks, as I find them rather meaty, and are more appropriate for a salsa, rather than a gazpacho.

By the lengthy setup I devoted to exotic tomatoes, you probably think the rest of the ingredients will be some eclectic carnival of textures and flavors. Sort of. I like a bright gazpacho, nothing too complex. I want the central flavor to be the tomatoes, and everything else should augment it, not obscure it. The key to working with a vegetable based dish is to not overshoot the goal by incorporating too many flavors.

For example, I never order a pizza with everything. The intent gets lost under the vast pile of junk that suffocates the pizza. If you do it right, you'll have several beautifully orchestrated flavors that would harmonize like the Three Tenors. If you botch the proportions, it will be like the Galludet Choir.

So, I use a proportion of six medium sized heirlooms to two cucumbers. Once you've covered those two, you are free to go ape shit. Just keep it to a controlled ape shit.

Traditionally, gazpacho is for lazy goons. It has only about seven ingredients and they didn't even bother cooking it. It is still coveted for that reason. The remaining ingredients would be onion, garlic, vinegar, olive oil, and pepper of some kind.

How you can get creative with that is mix up the cultivars. There are dozens of onion and pepper varieties that will allow for varying levels of spice and sweetness. Just remember balance. You don't want it tasting like sherbet.

Texture is another subjective quality. You can make a fine dice out of everything, like a pico de gallo. You can blend it smooth like a vichyssoise.

Or you can do both, as I did.

For this, I used:

6 different heirloom cultivars

2 cucumbers, seeded

1 yellow bell pepper

1 red bell pepper

1 shotglass of chopped parsley

1 large shallot

sea salt

Blend the tomatoes, shallots and cucumbers for a long time until you get a smooth puree. It should have a lot of air incorporated to it, evidenced by the blanching of the original color of the vegetables. Salt to taste while it is blending, and if you're technique is bad, watch your ceiling turn into a Jackson Pollock painting.

Meanwhile, fine dice the yellow pepper, red pepper and parsley, this is what people will use to garnish. Hard boiled egg is also traditional, but I didn't serve it.

Frankly, this gazpacho base is solid enough to carry many diced vegetables or garnishes, as long as the garnish doesn't overpower the soup. You could even crisp up chanterells or shittakes (I love how Google spell check suggested "shit takes" as a correction), for a nice texture contrast.

Go insane, I don't care.

Throw diced beets in there with raw ahi. Swizzle truffle oil on it.

Most people are weirded out by a chilled soup, without ever considering the refreshing benefits on a hot day. By mixing in some surprise elements, it just might convert a few die-hards to try a few spoonfulls. Perhaps they will like it enough to give sushi a try.

One step at a time.

Thinkin' 'bout Food

Well, you would assume a foodwriter would be thinking about food, but you can figure out for yourself I haven't put much effort into writing -let alone thinking- about food.

Until I found my new passion, and my new audience for culinary art. I'm not talking about my radio gig, I'm talking about many of the new friends I've met over the last few months who have become almost as close as family...and they're polite enough to tell me my cooking is superlative.

I'm truly humbled. So, I've actually been doing quite a lot of cooking. And a fair amount of writing, just not for Gastrologica.

Now it's time to blow off the keyboard and oil the spacebar, because I'm going to start posting with more regularity. I'm not shooting for daily posts. I want to reserve what I share with Gastro readers to significant thoughts about food and cooking...or at least something funny.

Daily posting would water down the quality and frankly burn me out before I got out of the gate. Writing about food inherently makes work out of eating, as well as preparing, meals. So, food becomes labor, which is a certified labor of love.

Some of the things I've been working on lately have been: osso buco (4 stars)
fried Old Amsterdam cheese crisps (19 stars)
grilled lamb with mushroom cream truffle sauce (4 stars)
macaroni and cheese (4 stars, for the kids)
vanilla cream crab on fried wonton crisps with sauteed Bartlett pears (34 stars).

For the first time, I will also pass along a wine recommendation. If you can afford it, pick up some Lindemans Cask 45 Cab Sav 2005. The 2006 is good, but the 2005 has a rich, buttery flavor with a mellow bite at the end. It costs as much as the GDP of Tanzania, about five dollars and fifty cents.

Go Meaten!

I realize when I say Go Meaten you may likely view me as a beer-guzzling cornpone blurting the contrarian position of embracing poor health, and eating meat solely for pleasure’s sake. Meaties -excuse me- Meataunds are viewed as consumptive libertines grinding our way through a limitless battlefield of dead animals and rended carcasses.

It is no secret that vegetarians and their vacuous cult brethren vegans shudder when a person asserts their love of meat or animal products. Chances are this is not you. If you are enjoying this site or any other food media outlet, then I’m most likely preaching to the choir.

Yet, someone besides Larry the Cable Guy has to counterbalance the discordant shriek of the Veggie mob. Everyone expects a Meataund to carry a shotgun and speak like Ted Nugent. This is because the Veggie contingent has done its best to politicize Meataunds.

They want to characterize us as gun-toting, truck driving NRA cowboys that vote for whatever Republican statue is running for office. Which is why it is so important for a moderate voice to champion our cause.

And that moderate voice is me. I’m addressing the Veggies and I want you Go Meaten.

It is vital to have a moderate voice because reasonable people rarely sound an alarmist note, pick up a sign, take to the streets, or get in someone’s face while they’re trying to get to work. Fringe elements like Veggies are eternally shoving pamphlets in our hands, scowling when we order a hamburger, and otherwise carry on a nauseatingly relentless campaign to convert the entire world to Veggies.

How many times have I sat with a Veggie friend (that I met in college, and yet still tolerate their intolerance), ordered eggs benedict only to watch their face contort with disgust as they self-righteously proclaim “I would never eat anything with a face. I would not use anything that exploits an animal,” or some similar quote they memorized off a bumper sticker.

Of course they aren't content to broadcast what they would do. The conversation inevitably becomes how I should give up meat, or try an alternative protein substitute.

That’s when I lose it. Friend or no, its bad enough to listen to someone proselytize how I should change my beliefs so I can enjoy salvation after I die. Now I have to listen to someone lecture me on how I should live before I die. If they had their way. Fundamentalists and Veggies would successfully vacuum every last atom of enjoyment out of life.

I’ve heard all the aruments before. Don't bother revving up your propaganda machine. I know you will frame your arguments in the most dishonest terms, like the hemp crowd...and don't think there isn't widespread crossover between the two.

Just as the hemp crowd uses the overriding cultural necessity of making rope as the foundation for legalizing marijuana, the Veggie cult is forever broadcasting the false argument that vegetarianism is the singular healthy lifestyle. The hidden message is that animals should be held in higher esteem than humans.

So Veggies, we have endured your shameful finger wagging for long enough. It’s time to sit back in your bean bag, take a hit of whatever it is you’re smoking, and listen to why a Meaten World is better.

1. If we relied solely on meat, we would cut illegal immigration to a fraction of what it is today. The amount of migrant workers it takes to harvest crops for US consumption is exponentially greater than the amount of hands it takes to man a ranch or slaughterhouse. With no vegetables, there would be no fields of illegal immigrants, taking jobs away from Americans who don’t want the jobs.

2. It would immediately reduce obesity by cutting out most all of the naturally occurring carbohydrates found laden in unhealthy vegetables, fruits and grains.

3. I don’t love this idea, but it would eradicate alcoholism. Without starches and grains, alcohol production would be negligible. Until they breed a cat that can be used in the fermentation process.

4. It would immediately handle the overpopulation of many wild game animals such as White Tail Deer. While many of you cringe at thought of eating Bambi (thank you, Walt Disney, for tainting venison for all time), left unchecked, White Tail breed faster than rabbits on infertility drugs. Their population can explode so rapidly that within two seasons there is not enough foliage to sustain them. Bucks fight each other for territory, and the scratching of bark with their antlers kills the trees. Your precious trees. Disease spreads throughout the scavengers who eat the meat.

5. Why target and brutalize an entire race of plant life? Veggies are complicit in genocide, as they singularly target their chlorolust on defenseless plants. At least animals can defend themselves.

6. Vegetables are treated in the cruelest manner. Stuck in the ground, enduring inhospitable weather during long winters with no shelter. Tortured in hothouses, many plants nearly suffocate in the tropical moisture and heat. As children, we played into this sick ideas as we were given mini-vegetable concentration camps, euphemistically called terrariums, so we could grow poor sprouts in captivity, only to watch them wither from lack of growing room.

No, a Meaten Planet is a vastly more desirable place to live. And you know why? Because it would never happen. Anyone who is predisposed to being a Meaten has such a passion for eating that they would never consider removing an entire food group from their menu. Meatens are reasonable enough, and secure enough to acknowledge their steak would be nothing without a potato, chicken without asparagus, or quail without a side of Harry Whittington.

Meatens recognize the radical incredulity of removing a vital source of nutrition. They realize that Veggies are not skinny because they are healthy, they are bony because of malnutrition. They remember the last time they had to nurse a Veggie co-worker for a half hour after getting a paper cut, because they were anaemic from lack of vitamin K.

On the contrary, Veggies would be content shipping all the animals to another planet where they would be safe…and useless.

Red Robin, and Others Like It

Red Robin is yet another institution that celebrates the banality of Average Desires.

Shakes.

Infinite Fries.

Several Cliche Burgers.

Wraps, for the dietarily unconscious who believe a wrap is healthier because the burger is wrapped in na'an bread.

Random shit nailed to a wall. It's true. If you nail random shit to a wall, like a 1963 sepia of five jubilant lesbians embracing after a marathon, or the high speed shot of a sailor reeling in a lungfish, rednecks and corporate drones will eat there. I have the paperwork to prove it.

RR ain't bad, it's just cut from the oily bowels of the same mountain that Applebee's, Bennigan's, Ruby Tuesday and T.G.I. Friday's were extracted from.

The food will technically sustain life, and on rare occasions might even deliver a couple milligrams of diversion from our sucky lives.

I'm writing about it because I've been condemned to eat there at least once a week, and I long for the release that death will bring.