A couple updates

A couple months ago, I wrote about our experience taking the Coldwater Cru to Russian River Brewing for their Sour and Barrel-aged Beer Symposium. The beer was described as "sick" and young. Yvan de Baets of Brasserie de la Senne explained that in approximately three months, the slickness brought about by the pediococcus would disappear and the flavors would shine.

He was right. We uncapped a couple of bottles recently and were pleasantly surprised to discover that the sourness and oakiness of the beer shone. It was all the proof we needed to begin planning for more of these, and it's exciting to think about a barrel-aging room in the brewery.


**********************

As we move closer and closer to having the business plan finalized and ready for potential investors, we've begun to circle back around to questions of identity and branding. One question in particular that has been coming up is which beers to call our flagship brews. Piloting on the Brew-Magic, we've been able to get at least six recipes down that we're happy with, but obviously that is too many beers to lead with. Four is the max. Two might be even better.

But what to do when you like all of the beers, and they could all be great year-round drinkers? What beers do you lead with? Do you lead with the beers that are closer to commonly enjoyed styles? Or do you hit the market with beers that push the envelope? Ultimately, we're trying to find the right balance between popular styles (IPAs) and rustic styles that are more in keeping with our more creative brewing interests.

That said, dear reader, what are your favorite styles? What beers do you seek out AND return to? Let's hear it.

Swallowtail

I attended a funeral for a nine-year old the other day. Even writing that sentence stalls me out for the next thought.

Abbie was a sweet and feisty kid. She devoured hot dogs, strawberries, cherries, cherry tomatoes, salmon, mac and cheese, steak, you name it. She was tall for her age, or at least she was before the cancer hit. She swam like a fish, and her dad and I reveled in tossing the kids in the pool through the summer. That's where we saw them most of the time, the pool, since the girls attended different elementary schools and life had a bad habit of keeping all of us busy through the rest of the year. If I have a single regret after Abbie's passing, it is that I let the busy-ness of life keep us too far apart from them between September and May.

So, yeah... I attended a funeral for a nine-year old the other day. Word of a mass in her abdomen came at the end of the summer two years ago. We had a last Sunday dinner at the pool the week before she was due for the next round of tests and surgery. It was a blustery September afternoon two weeks after Labor Day, and I was determined to close out the pool season despite the weather. Abbie and her parents came, as did a few other families. The kids played, getting wet and cold one last time for the season, and then plowed through hot dogs, pork chops, salads, fruit and who knows what else. Abbie had been introduced to her therapy dog, and we all knew things didn't look good. It didn't seem to matter, though. She was as feisty and strong as always.

A week later, the news was that she had stage IV Rhabdomyosarcoma Embryonal. Stage IV. Those words stop me as much as the first sentence.

Abbie's strength rushed behind her as she fought a tough battle that fall, winter and spring. The surgeries went well, though. The cancer had done damage, but hadn't gone as far as it could have. The chemo brutalized her body. There were tough times, and we saw them occasionally. But a year ago, the kid attended Abbie's eighth birthday party. She was pale and had lost her hair, but the spunk was knocking that damn cancer out of her body. You could see it. And when pool season hit again, she had had the chance to ring the bell at the cancer clinic signaling the end of her treatments. She was clear, and by the end of the summer, the chemo port had been removed and she'd been able to swim again.

She demolished more strawberries. More cherries and tomatoes. Cupcakes at the kid's birthday party. And we all looked at her as the miracle kid. She really was. And her energy and spirit were a gift to everyone around her.

A few weeks later, though, the tide turned. On a routine check-up, they discovered part of her lung had collapsed. Within two weeks, the tumor they found was putting out 200 ml of fluid or more a day. It was almost exactly a year after the first surgery. And this time the cancer was back with a vengeance. The kid and I visited her in the pediatric ICU one evening to say hi. Abbie was groggy but insistent that we stay and talk to her, even though the nurses made us promise to make it a short visit.

Over the months since, I kept tabs on her progress through the caringbridge.org site they used to communicate with family and friends. They went through every possible chemo treatment and multiple surgeries. The cancer ravaged her body, but she kept fighting back through a Make-a-Wish Disney cruise, through a trip to New York, through hospitalizations. We weren't there at the end, but she had asked her friends to come visit the day after the doctors decided there was no further medical intervention. they gave her a manicure as she wore an oxygen mask and couldn't speak. That night, she let go and passed away in her parents' arms, listening to her favorite songs by Justin Bieber.

The kid asked about her often as we got word of the worsening struggles. I made mental notes that we should see them more, take them things, do something. But time and the busy-ness of life and job transitions always got in the way. I kick myself a bit for letting that happen. Scratch that. I kick myself a lot for letting that happen. The kid and I talked about it, and she is glad she got to see Abbie before things really trailed off, when that spunk will stay in the memory rather than tubes and medication and pain. I worry that this reaction skirts the grief I want her to feel, but the night after the funeral and the celebration at Abbie's school, the kid climbed on my lap and fell asleep.

And it occurred to me that maybe the kid's reactions weren't so much detachment as fear. She's seen a lot in her years, from divorce to my shooting to her mom and me struggling to iron out our parenting relationship to Abbie's death. I suspect she has learned a lot, and that some of these lessons will take years to sort out. Lord knows I'm still sorting out my own lessons — including the one about not letting the mundanity life get in the way of important things.

So yeah... I attended a funeral for a nine-year old the other day. At the end of the funeral, the kids were given butterflies to release. Each had a monarch in an envelope, and Abbie's parents were given a swallowtail to release. The monarchs flitted through the church courtyard, but the swallowtail landed on Jeff's hand and stayed there for a long time. After a couple of pictures were taken, the yellow swallowtail launched itself up and flew out of the courtyard and over the roof. That afternoon, Abbie's school closed down for a celebration of her life. Everyone had their nails painted, there was a dance party in the gymnasium, the yard was full of moon bounces, the kids got snow cones and popcorn, and a little after 3:00, while the school choir sang "Hallelujah," the kids released hundreds of purple, pink, and white balloons into the sky and chanted her name. the boy who had broken down in tears when he tried to speak at the funeral earlier, who was Abbie's earliest friend as a baby, found his voice and the microphone and thanked the entire school for making her life wonderful.

Abbie is gone now, but she touched more lives than anyone can count. And that means she'll live on forever.

slipping, redux

A little over six months ago, I wrote about what happens when a restaurant starts slipping. For places you count on, it starts with a meal or a part of a meal that just isn't as good as it used to be. You let it slide because the kitchen has always been good; maybe they're just having an off night. The chef isn't there. The staff changed. Whatever. You go back because you count on the next meal being as good as the ones you've had before.

Except it isn't. That next meal might even be worse. Or just continuing in the same, mediocre vein you saw in the last one. Or maybe the staff just isn't as enthusiastic as they'd always been.

For us, it finally happened with a long-time favorite. The rumbling started when news that the chef-owner had sold his stake and was moving on to another project. This guy has a track record of leaving restaurants, though, and they always seem to survive — and continue to do well. So, yeah. No big deal, right?

At least, it's no big deal when the kitchen sends out standards that are just as good as they were and adds a new dish or two that gives you hope. But what about when the opposite happens? Because it has. First, there was the standard appetizer/entrée item that L always gets — a set of seafood cakes — that came out less flavorful and with more breading than before, and the new entrée I ordered that was less than impressive. We gave them a pass, though, because that's what you do when you love the restaurant and they've always come through for you in the past.

Until the next meal. Until that beet salad that suddenly has pickled onions and peakéd micro-greens. Until the roast duck that comes out as tough as a state fair turkey leg. Until the mussels that are simply inedible — poor quality, and served in a bland, gloppy marinara sauce rather than a light tomato brodo. Until the bored staff spends too long in the kitchen hanging out, and the food takes almost an hour to arrive. On a slow night.

Nope. That's the point when you say Our favorite restaurant has slipped. We may not be back. And you hope the owners take notice and kick the kitchen back into gear.

What would you do?

Catching up, sort of

For the record, I really want to write a post about different hops, malts, yeasts, and all the other random cool facts I've been learning lately. But that requires time. Time that I don't seem to have. In the meantime, I'll lean back a little more toward food.

As any regular or occasional reader of this blog knows, I like to push the locavore idea. A lot. But as I will quietly (and guiltily) admit, I am not always great at following my own advice when it comes to sticking to local production and seasonality. In fact, as I look back at what I purchase and cook and consume, I follow the seasonal doctrine far less than it seems like I should. Truth is, I just haven't found the balance between what I want to have around and what is available. And I'm lousy at preserving things for use out of season.

Since market season is kicking in around here, my pledge is this: to the best of my ability, produce that we prepare over the next several months (and perhaps longer) will be grown in season and locally when possible. My inspiration for this has been the kale and carrots I've purchased over the past couple of weeks. They reminded me what it was like to have food that had real flavor and real connection to soil near us. The next impetus was actually working on a friend's farm (more on this in another post); I hope to do this more in coming weeks and have a better appreciation for what connects us to what sustains us. The final push was using a rutabaga in tonight's red curry. It was a last minute whim, and one I'm glad for. The flavor was delicious, and it was nice to take a step or two out of my box. Moreover, it was good to see the kid eat it and enjoy it.

So... if I can be good about it... and find the time amidst work, parenting, trying to start a business, and life in general... stay tuned for a balance between posts about beer and posts about seasonal eating and connections to where and how food is grown in the region. Hell, maybe I'll even get into canning and pickling. If all goes well, this may even connect to how the ingredients for beer can be produced locally. So, yeah... stay tuned.

Cheers!

A follow-up note on the Coldwater Cru

Russian River Brewing hosted a crowd of brewers for a symposium on sour and barrel-aged beers last week. I had the pleasure of being there, and we contributed the Coldwater Cru. It was one of a dizzying array of beers offered to a crowd that pushed 250 and spilled between the fermenters and barrel-aging areas. Food was provided by Sean Paxton, the homebrew chef himself. The list of breweries with representatives there was truly stellar, from giants like Garrett Oliver from Brooklyn and the Russian River crew down to a couple of ne'er-do-well startups.

There were good beers — stellar beers — and rare beers. New Glarus was there with some interesting bottles, and Allagash brought a run of their coolship bottles. Cantillon and Brasserie de la Senne were there with some treats not easily found in the states. There were some bad beers — a lesson that even good breweries can make mistakes, and a lesson that not every beer should be soured or aged. In general, though, it was an incredibly educational and inspirational experience.

Our Coldwater Cru fared pretty well. I say pretty well because we discovered inconsistencies in the bottles. Some were progressing better than others. In general, we discovered that the beer was sick, however. And we discovered that this is a good thing. At the shortest version, it meant that the beer hadn't had enough time to convert the various yeasts and bacteria into a finished product. Sick meant that it was still young, and that it was still evolving. It would be one thing to hear this from homebrewers, but we heard it from one of the top voices in Belgian beer — Yvan de Baets, a specialist in sours and ales. He carefully explained that the flavor profile was ideal and outlined what the beer would go through as the "sickness" cleaned up. And he started pouring it for everyone around us and extolling its virtues. This was, shall we say, a very proud moment.

In the end, we headed back to the hotel with a mind-blowing array of names and faces — and a realization that it is possible to drink too much sour beer at one time.

Beer, the stale truth

Perhaps the most interesting and informative seminar I attended at last week's Craft Brewers Conference was on draft-line management. The basic message came down to this: most of you are drinking beer that doesn't taste as it should. There are a variety of reasons for this, but you can be reasonably assured that the draft beer we're drinking at most bars and restaurants in the States is not being served the way the brewer intended. Whether the beer is too old, under-carbonated, or poured through bad lines, finding a place that will do its best to avoid the problems isn't easy.

Old beer comes in a few varieties. An old IPA will begin to lose its hops. Other beers begin to taste like cardboard or paper. This happens because most beers are made to be tasted fresh, as I've commented on in other posts. Most beers — even the yellow fizzy ones — are a fine-tuned balance of hops and malt. As they age, the balance changes. In most cases, this is not a desirable change, and it often happens because a distributor or retailer has simply held onto a keg or bottles for too long. You can also find the change in bottled beer. Over the past week, I heard more than a few tales of brewery owners who found beer that was past its prime in a store and bought it — just to keep the bottles from changing someone's opinion of the beer. More's the pity that an awful lot of distributors, bars and restaurants may not go to the same trouble.

Under-carbonated beer is an even more common phenomenon. Think of that sports bar where they pour a beer full to the rim of the pint glass. The beer is under-carbonated. I guarantee it. Beer should naturally have a head unless it's a low-carbonated barrel- or bottle-conditioned beer. The primary criminal in these cases is the gas used to pump the beer. Check the row of taps at the sports bar (or wherever you got that beer that had no head and lost what fizz it had) and you'll probably see a stout tap. Stouts are generally poured with a mix of nitrogen and carbon dioxide, producing that low-carbonated, velvety texture you associate with the style. Unfortunately, a lot of bars and restaurants run the same gas through their entire run of taps rather than separating the nitro taps from the CO2 taps. Test a bottled beer against the same beer poured off these taps, and you'll see the difference.

You could perform a comparable test between a bottled beer and one poured off dirty lines. If a bar or restaurant does not clean its draft lines, the lines begin to build up a residue. The residue will begin to add off-flavors like butter, sour or green apple to a beer. Likewise, if the restaurant doesn't cover its taps between closing and opening, bacteria and wild yeasts can collect in the taps and create some pretty funky flavors. This can also cause the infamous foaming taps, the ones you see making bartenders work to pour full beers without a glass full of foam. I recently asked a local pub how often they cleaned their lines. Mind you, this is a place that should know better. The bartender shrugged and said it was maybe every few months. The answer explained every complaint I'd heard about their beer.

To people in the brewing business, this isn't earth-shattering breaking news. My guess is that it remains a dirty little secret that bars and restaurants foist on the rest of us, though. After all, why would they want you to know that their cost-saving measures mean the product you drink isn't what the brewer intended?

Random thoughts

After two years of living with cats, I have to say that the Monty Python boys were certainly onto something with this one:

The Language of Beer

The other day, a few of us were sitting outdoors at one of the few sidewalk spots in Carytown. It was a gorgeous Friday afternoon — a little sultry for mid-March, but otherwise the sort of afternoon that brings everyone out to stroll. L and a friend had gotten a bottle of rosé and a cheese plate. I had an Avery DuganA. This particular restaurant is the sort of place where the taps rotate regularly, and the draft and bottle selection is a reliable mix of domestic and international craft beers. They also don’t carry any brands from the Big 3 — and very few of the more common imported beers.Walk in there, and you won’t be able to order a Bud or a Miller Lite. They like it this way, and so do the rest of us craft beer elitists. [Insert a tongue-in-cheek tone.]

Occasionally their decision (a decision shared by a few other places in town) causes a bit of a hiccup in business. I’ve heard people order a Bud or a Miller or what-have-you only to be told that the restaurant doesn’t carry those beers. I have also heard these same customers incredulously question the bartender. Why wouldn’t they? The response varies based on the personality of the bartender and how difficult the customer has been. In general, though, they’re very good about redirecting customers to beers they might like — a pilsner or a kölsch in place of a Bud, for instance.

On this stellar afternoon where I happened to be sitting outdoors rather than at the bar, I heard a waiter take a very different approach. When a customer ordered a Coors Light — a surprise order since he seemed to have been there before — the waiter patiently said they didn’t have Coors Light, but they had a nice light-bodied beer on draft, if he’d like that. The customer said sure, that’d be fine.

I watched as the waiter brought him a North Coast Scrimshaw Pilsner. The man seemed pleased and after a little while ordered another. He also never asked what he was drinking.

My first instinct would have been to tell him what he was drinking. Perhaps he’d want to order it again. Or perhaps he just wanted a beer. A fizzy, yellow beer. And that’s where my instinct to educate him — to geek out about the beer — would have been wrong. Sometimes people just want an uncomplicated beer, uncomplicated by names and hop descriptions and grain bills, and the farther I go into the craft and artisanal beer movement, the more I think the simplicity of just having a beer gets forgotten.

This certainly isn’t the end of the discussion, but I have started to realize that we need a balance in the craft beer world. We need a balance for people who just want a beer — a desert island beer — and a way for them to know that there are more than dark and light varieties without losing them in the intricacies of barrel-aging or food pairing. In a manner, we need to create a broader language that brings even that man at the sidewalk restaurant and the waiter serving him into the fold, without losing the beauty of a cold beer on a hot day.

Cru

After six or so months of brewing on the Brew-Magic, we have hit a good rhythm, and by and large, we have our process nailed down. It's exciting to see recipes coming together and hear the feedback. What is also exciting is taking the beer we first brewed in the current brewing space and playing with it.

This particular beer is a soured Belgian-style ale. The ABV clocks in just shy of 10%, and it was fermented with both Brett and Saccharomyces (non-brewers should stay tuned for a further explanation of these wild yeasts in another post). The recipe was loosely based on the Abbaye de Bon Saint-Chien BFM and another beer that shall remain un-named. The beer was brewed in September and has rested until now. Three weeks ago, we dosed half of the beer with toasted French oak that had been soaked in Chambourcin from a friend's winery in Loudoun County. The beer's sour character jived beautifully with the oak flavor and the light fruit flavors of the young Chambourcin. The result as we bottled the first couple cases last week was already moving to another level. I'm excited to see what this beer does as it continues to age and what happens when we run it again.

And that, my friends, is our first running of the Grand Cru.

Fun Salad Moment

Despite some rather temperate weather in Richmond, I've been sticking with flavors and textures that are comforting and winter-like — even salads. A recent addition to the repertoire has been a beet salad with toasted almonds and goat cheese. On their own, all the ingredients are terrific, but put together they sing like a chorus in the groove.


The real star of the show is the almonds, though. I start with a hot, dry pan and add the almonds mixed with some coarse salt, a touch of cumin, and chili. I let them toast for a few minutes over a medium flame and then add a touch of olive oil to coat them. The flame should go down, and the almonds toast until brown. The flavors will meld and provide the perfect complement to the beets, greens, goat cheese and a drizzle of balsamic.


In the end, it will be one of the simplest and best salads you've ever had, almost a meal-like compliment to roast chicken or salumi and cheeses.

On the aging of beer...

After delivering our second batch of beer a little over a month ago, I realized that some of our friends who have been tasting the different beers were holding on to bottles that were almost four months old — and older now. As we delivered the latest beers, we tasted the last set and discovered that they were starting to lose their character. This is nothing unusual for unfiltered, unpasteurized beers, but the closer I get to the business, the more I learn about what makes things work — and fail. I've heard of brewers tracking down beer on shelves after it's passing its prime, and I'm close to doing that myself.

What happens to the beer? The hops begin to fade, first of all. When hops fade, any flaws in malt character become more obvious. Styles tend to lose their differentiation. Any other flaws in production — infections, unsuccessful malt bills, and more — become glaring. We're not necessarily talking about skunked beer here, just beer that isn't as good as it should be. In general, the beer just goes bad.

When I try to explain this to non-brewers, I get glazed-over looks. I guess we're trained to believe that most things are immutable and will last as long as a processed cheese single. But the truth is that craft beer can be as delicate as good bread, ice cream or vegetables. These things go bad after a while, and so will beer.

Not every beer, though. Non-beer-geeks may know that some of us cellar bottles for months or years. These are beers with yeast that will keep working and ABVs that give them a decent shelf-life. These beers may have been aged in oak casks. They may have had grape must added. They may have interesting additives like honey or herbs with flavors that will evolve over time. In short, these are beers made to age. Think about a young Sauvignon Blanc versus an oak-aged Meritage, and you'll get the idea.

Fresh craft beer isn't made to age, however. Drink it as you get it, and you'll be happier. Oh, and it's beer. Good beer, hopefully.

Brewing, on the road.

The kid and I hit the road with my business partners yesterday to make a run up to Loudoun County. Our destination was Corcoran Vineyards outside Purcellville. Besides being good friends, the Corcorans have hooked up with a friend in Purcellville to open the first farm winery and brewery in Virginia.

When Jim Corcoran and I got to talking a few weeks ago, he mentioned that Kevin (their brewer) was going to be working on a Sabco Brew-Magic. My ears pricked up, particularly since Jim and I have been talking about my own move toward the business for well over a year now. Why not have them observe one of our brew sessions and have us shadow Kevin on his first brew session, I suggested. After all we've been brewing weekly on a Brew-Magic for more than six months. We could even step Kevin past some of the initial learning curves we discovered.

See, the trick about scaling up one's brewing is that it isn't just about numbers. The difference between a five gallon batch brewed using a DIY mash tun and a kettle on a turkey fryer and running a 12 to 15 gallon batch on a system like the Brew-Magic is night and day. Because the Sabco system is absurdly efficient, a grain bill may not directly scale. More complex grain bills may need to be simplified because you get so much more out of the grain, as well. The real change comes at the level of process. Cleaning processes move to whole new levels — and you go through a lot more soap and sanitizer. But the real process change I've observed is learning to let the system do the work for you. The Brew-Magic will take care of parts of the brewing process that even some production breweries don't have automated. It's a beautiful thing, when you let it do its job.

To that end, the experience on the Brew-Magic has taught all of us — my partners and the Corcoran's new brewer — a lot. And with each brew session, there seems to be another lesson. When (and if) we actually get our plan off the ground, the experience of brewing on this system will have been invaluable. I see this more after watching Kevin work today and realizing how far we've come in the past six months.

************

Above and beyond, however, what about the beer? We tasted Kevin's kolsch and stout. Both were clean and solid. The stout had a nice roast with a fairly light body. The kolsch had a slightly sweeter flavor profile than I usually expect with a kolsch. His APA which we brewed today had a nice hop character and good color coming out of the boil kettle. they should all be nice, sessionable ales.

Ribs, ribs, ribs...

Last night, I made my first go at doing ribs in the oven. I've been a strict wood-fired guy in the past. Soaked chips, cider drip pan, and all. Last summer, I made my peace with a gas grill. Last night, I made my peace with doing ribs in the convection oven.

The ribs in question were the pork ribs Trader Joe's sells. They aren't ideal since they're not from one of my local producers or butchers, but I tend to trust TJ's products. It was a little under three pounds — perfect for the kid and me and some leftovers. When it came time to prepare them, I mixed up a quick dry rub with flaked sea salt, smoked paprika, sweet paprika, cumin, parsley, cracked pepper, and sugar. I was satisfied with the rub, though I might try brown sugar next time to add a little extra caramelization.

I heated the oven to 300 degrees, applied the rub, and wrapped the ribs in foil. After twenty minutes, I raised the heat to 350, and then to 375 after another half hour. To keep them from drying out, I mixed up a quick mop sauce of cider vinegar, garlic mustard and bourbon. I mopped this on every fifteen minutes after the first half hour. After an hour, I opened the foil to let the skin begin to form on the ribs. Since I was working entirely on improvisation, I waited until it seemed like the ribs had also begun to develop a nice crust. At that point, I mopped on barbecue sauce for the last fifteen minutes.

The result? Stellar. The ribs were tender, and the combination of mop sauce, smoked paprika, and barbecue sauce gave them a good flavor. It wasn't quite as good as a few hours over a wood fire, but sometimes a craving requires improvisation.

Tuesday Tune

Thanks to my friend Kendra, this is now lurking in my head. Think of it as digital vinyl blasting back from your youth.

Getting my mojo back.

After a rather up and down, somewhat bizarre few weeks, I'm starting to feel my sea legs under me again. A few rocks have turned over for freelance work, and I'm hoping for a few more this week. I am finally moving toward having a web site to put together my work in one place. And I am starting to put words together again.

On the food front, the prospect of late winter and spring has me thinking about what to make. I've had a lot of cooking errors this year, but there have been more than a few fun successes in the land of soup and Swedish meatballs. This past year has brought me closer than ever to understanding the chemistry and magic behind cooking. It's hard to quantify all that I've learned, but I understand the reactions of ingredients and cookware better than I ever have. (To wit, if you don't own a basic Lodge cast iron skillet, get one now and use it regularly.) With a little better time management, I even hope to begin writing more about the cooking adventures — particularly since it looks like our budget crunch will keep us eating at home even more than before.

On the beer front, there is much, much to think about for the coming months. Our weekly brewing rhythm has meant a good pattern of beers coming off. Our early issues with fermentation control and infection have been solved. We'll be helping some friends get up and running on their Brew-Magic and look forward to some good collaboration possibilities. Stay tuned for further details, and perhaps even an account of writing a viable business plan.

And in honor of winter and fun, there's always this...

Ch-ch-changes

As it turns out, the Stillwater Ales beers I'd considered using against the cassoulet course for the beer dinner weren't available in time. Why? One hadn't received Virginia ABC label approval (and I didn't realize I had a close enough connection to the ABC board to help the process), and the other hadn't made it on the truck for the week's shipment.

This left me in a bit of a quandary since I'd pinned the dinner around regional beers and needed something rich that could stand up to the chef's plan for the cassoulet. For a while I looked through a wide portfolio of other options, but availability or packaging (we could use bottles, but not a keg) nixed a bunch of options. For a several days, I tried to find a good alternative without turning to another Blue Mountain Brewing beer. In the end, though, their Evil 8 won out. It had just been released (a plus), and as a good, clean dubbel it would make a nice companion for a rich, rustic dish like the cassoulet.

I look forward to the day soon when Virginia has as rich and vital a brewing community as nearby states.

Cheers!

Going public

So there is a very big change happening in my life in the next two days... I will be leaving my current company. The end-result of this is yet to be seen, but the short-term plans include helping out some friends with art direction, design and copy freelance work (both web and print) and pushing at a business plan. At the same time, I will be looking at full-time jobs in the vein I've been in for years now, but the business plan is an important side note. The goal I and a couple partners have is to take the upsized homebrewing project legit and open a new brewery in Richmond in the next year.

To that end, I've got a fun little project set up for next week: a beer dinner on Sunday, January 16 at Ipanema.

When I was originally approached about it, I was excited to do it, but then I'll admit I was a little nervous. After all, I'm veggie-friendly but also a committed omnivore. What kinds of beers would not only pair with an interesting vegetarian winter menu but would also be distinctive enough to set the dinner apart from similar events in town. In the end, I opted to stay local with the beer choices, and the menu turned out to be this:

Course 1
Winter vegetable terrine, roasted mushroom pâté, and local cheeses
Foggy Ridge First Fruit Cider — This dry cider from Floyd, VA, with a touch of fruitiness will pair nicely with the local cheeses and rich terrine and pâté.

Course 2
Welsh rarebit with honey roasted radishes and walnuts
Tupper’s Keller Pils — While the first inkling was to go with a brown ale here, the dry taste of the pils should provide a nice contrast for the richness of the rarebit.

Course 3
Root vegetable cassoulet with black-eyed peas and winter greens
Stillwater Existent or Cellar Door — Existent is a deliciously hoppy black IPA fermented with a Belgian yeast, and Cellar Door is a classic saison flavored with a touch of white sage. There's an either/or here based on label approval for the Existent (VA ABC!).

Course 4
Churros with spiced chocolate, Orange/vanilla flan
Blue Mountain Dark Hollow — This is our coup of the evening. The Dark Hollow is traditionally only sold at the brewery, but the kind brewers at Blue Mountain have agreed to release a case for this event.

Kudos to Will at Ipanema for a terrific menu. More details and tickets here, if you're interested in joining us.

a new year, and a thousand things

It's fair to say that a thousand things have been keeping me from the blog and from writing. The pity is that this place has always been a good outlet, as well as a great communication tool. Perhaps that is to say that I haven't had a chance to vent and think through so many of the things that have been going on and put them in context — from food to beer to parenting to travel and life in general.

The last year crashed to a close with a car accident ($8K worth of damage to the Sportwagen, thanks to the woman who rear-ended the guy behind me), news of major changes in the professional arena, lots of lessons about beer and brewing and partnerships, lessons about homeownership, lessons about love and relationships and family, lessons about cooking and wine and life, and a healthy respect for the communities we carry with us and the power of an 8-year old to make you think differently about the world. The new year promises a start with lots of changes and lots of new things to consider and perhaps even old lessons to learn. As a friend put it last night, sometimes we don't see the writing on the walls, and it takes a cosmic slap in the face to realize what you're being told.

Two thousand and ten wasn't all bad by any means. In fact, it was quite good and wonderful at many moments, from Italy to Maine to some of the pieces of daily life. On balance, I'd even call it a pretty good year — a pretty good year with a lot to teach me. And now it's time to put some of that in motion.

I realize that I'm being vague here, but it's on purpose. I'll get to more detail as time permits and life necessitates. In the meantime, here are a few things to chew on:

• Never underestimate the comfort of a well-made frittata.


• Immersion blenders are wonderful tools, necessary even, but a good knife or two and a good cast-iron skillet will make your kitchen sing.


• Listen to the people around you. They love you and deserve to be heard.


• Simpler is better, from the ingredients in cooking to the grains in beer to the things that make us happy. Always use good ingredients, and only use as many as you actually need.


• Never forget to be creative. Or patient.


• Some beers and some meals can never be fixed.


• Kids keep growing up.


• A good beer logo does not require hop cones.

And there you have it. A little list to begin 2011. Cheers!

Losing my mojo

I haven't really lost my mojo, but I have struggled with cooking in recent months. For a while, I blamed this on the stove at the house we bought in late May. It was newer, better, and more powerful than anything I'd used before. Easy blame, right? Same with the grill. The chimney brought my cherished hardwood charcoal to a hotter fire sooner. But the truth is I'm just off my game.

When I pay attention as I did this evening, things come out brilliantly. A little late perhaps, but still good. Tonight's menu was simply chicken thighs and legs pan roasted with rice and steamed veggies. Seasoning on the chicken was simple — coarse-ground salt and pepper, parsley, and a touch of spanish paprika, squeeze of lemon. I used the cast-iron skillet and put a little butter in until it browned, added the chicken and sauteed until there was a nice brown crust on the skin. I turned it over and cooked the underside for a few minutes before transferring the skillet to a 375F oven.

Thirty minutes (and a Troeg's Scratch #34 Saison de Meuze) later, I had rice and steamed veggies ready to go, and the chicken had cooked to a beautiful, perfect, brown crackling skin. It was perfect, until the kid got halfway through and said she didn't really like the chicken very much. I was ready to start my rant of "you used to like this more than anything else" until I glanced over and realized the circles had crept in under her eyes.

In my effort to get my cooking mojo back (a success), I failed in my effort to feed the kid before tired set in. The thing is the creeping exhaustion is hard to predict. Some nights she can hold out until 8:30. Not last night.

I've spent a lot of time lately trying to find balance between everything I'm trying to do and being a dad and a partner to my fiancée. It's not always the easiest balance to achieve, and it takes a lot of mojo. Apparently, I need to work a little harder at it still.

*****************

The beer geek in me, however, wants to report that a Lake Placid UBU Ale matched nicely against the chicken, with its touch of smoke and lemon. It wasn't quite as successful a pairing as the L'Olmaia unfiltered wheat beer I tried several weeks ago, but a credible pairing nonetheless.

coming back, the nostalgia edition

I will be doing my best to revive this project amidst brewing, getting the house in order, parenting and the rest of life. In fact, I may just have to make it the Impolitic Project blog since the new house, the brewing venture, cooking, parenting, and more are all projects in their own right. In the meantime, food, beer, random thoughts, and perhaps even Friday Fun a day late...

Yes, I was a Billy Joel fan once upon a time, and this was always one of my favorites.


And this one too.


And going way back to the beginning of his career.