The Joe Head cake, created for an art director at Campbell-Ewald

Sometime over the summer, I got a little ahead of myself and had an “audition” at a local, well-known bakery just to have the experience and see what happened.  I’d say it was an ambitious move on my part, because up until my recent decision to take culinary courses at OCC in Farmington, I was a self-taught baker and kind of took pride in the fact that I knew enough to have gotten a little baking business started.  However, I found out that wasn’t quite enough to work in a bakery.

For one thing, I couldn’t do buttercream roses, which is a staple in traditional bakeries such as the one I found myself in that summer morning.  I’d never been asked to, I explained to the owner, who quickly showed me how to do one and then pretty much dismissed me for the day.  I went home, having learned my lesson and looked forward to my next class at OCC, which was to cover basic cake decorating skills.

Oh, if only that bakery ad had been after I took this course.  After five weeks I had made not only buttercream roses, but royal icing flowers galore.  I was also happy to discover that I had actually figured out how to do some things correctly on my own, but there were still a lot of neat tricks that I learned in that brief time.  It was fun, and exciting to gain new and practical knowledge that I could apply to my business.

But there were a couple of things during this course that didn’t really fly with me. The class, I soon discovered, was meant to teach traditional ideas – as in things you’d find at your typical market or corner bakery.  Stuff your mother or grandmother would fawn over, like pastel roses with trailing vines, and perhaps some delicately piped garlands.  I think it was the garlands that upset me.  They’re so…I don’t know, 1955.  For some reason, they irritated me like Steve Allen and his completely unfunny sense of humor.  I believe they make me want to punch someone.

There were also some things the chef instructor commented on regarding my work that I just didn’t agree with.  Colors, she insisted, had to be on the intense side – reds the color of tacky nail polish, blues the shade of a gumball.  Yes, all appropriate on children’s cakes and the like, but not my style at all.  I complained to my commercial interior designer husband one afternoon about theses outlandish expectations, and he responded with some good advice:  Take what they teach you, and make it your own.

I took his words to heart.   Once I got through the damn course with its garish greens and over-stimulated oranges, I’d use my new skills to further my designs and hopefully make myself more noticeable in the market and, ideally, successful in what I do.  And I know I ain’t gonna get rich from it, but anyone who has a creative outlet knows the joy of being in that zone and just letting what’s inside come out and have a day in the sun.  And that, I know, is something they can’t teach.

150 West, by Kerry Gluckman of K. Evan Designs

I keep asking myself….”Why me”?

Why would a group of professional chefs and dedicated food snobs ask me to be a member of their secret society? I am not a particularly accomplished chef, (although I make a mean omelet). And while I do have a fairly discerning palette, so do many others. I have eaten in some fine and not-so-fine restaurants but that hardly makes me special. So I guess it must be the fact that I’ve spent the last 25 years as a commercial interior designer and have designed and overseen the construction of some 75-plus restaurants and food service projects. Some of these projects you may have heard about: Zingermans Roadhouse (Ann Arbor), Copper Canyon (Southfield), Rocky’s Rotisserie (Novi), Edamame Sushi (Madison Heights) and The Stage & Co. in West Bloomfield, just to name a few.

My focus is not where the food is being prepared but rather where it is being consumed, otherwise referred to as ”the front of the house”. That is where my unique perspective comes into play and that, I believe, is why I have been shown the secret handshake and taken the vows.

I recently had the pleasure of participating in two Rogue Estate dinner parties, one at the home of good friend and fellow Rogue Ian Malbon and most recently at my own home as it was my wife’s turn to host and lead the preparations. Both evenings were memorable for the food consumed, beverages sipped and level of banter overheard. Chefs, it seems, are a bawdy and profane group. And I mean that as a positive -it was very entertaining!

It was at the last event that I was asked to participate and thus offer my first blog to Rogue Estate.

My Restaurant Philosophy

I have a fairly simple criteria for judging restaurants: Is the price paid for your meal a pleasure to pay or a burden?

Take this example.  Tribute, one of my all time favorite restaurants which is sadly now defunct was an ornately designed monument to gastronomy and was very, very pricy. However, both times my wife and I dined there we had amazing meals. The food, service and decor were of an extremely high caliber and paying $150.00-$200.00 for our meal did not offend me in the least.  Conversely, I clearly recall walking out of Morton’s Steakhouse in Southfield before even being served. In a boring, pedestrian and clichéd setting, it took over ten minutes for the waiter to even stop by, water our table and take our drink orders.  By then, we were getting antsy. He then proceeded to take another ten minutes to bring us our drinks, which were totally incorrect and had to be returned. It was at this point I asked the hostess for another server and while we waited many more minutes for our new waiter to arrive we glanced at the menu and saw the entrée prices ranging from $40.00 to $75.00. It was at this point, with a high degree of negativity in the air, that we got up and excused ourselves, much to the chagrin of the flustered hostess She made valiant attempts to get us to stay, even at one point offering us her first born but alas, it was too late! Our evening was already ruined before it even began. Whatever we would have paid would have been too much!

As a designer I like high quality design, but that alone cannot save a place with poor food and poor service. With that said, a “dump” with excellent food and service can survive and even thrive……go figure. Restaurant gestalt is a delicate balance between atmosphere, service and food preparation, and if any one of these elements are out of whack the entire endeavor can come tumbling down.   A great example is my all time favorite Detroit restaurant, Roma Café in the Eastern Market. It’s an unremarkable looking place, and looks as if it was decorated by somebody’s grandmother in the 1950’s.  However, with excellent food, service and prices (not to mention singing waiters), I have eaten there many times and have never been disappointed.

To summarize, no matter how good a restaurant looks, if the food sucks word will get out and people will not come.  Good food trumps all else!

In the coming months I hope to share some restaurant reviews, general thoughts on design and other restaurant related insights with you and my fellow Rogue Estate members.

Until then I bid you adieu.

Kerry Gluckman

In the classic French use for the word (derived from “chief”, by the way), it refers specifically to the leader of a professional kitchen. Not even the other cooks in the same kitchen fit this title, only the boss. The other cooks (again, in the classic French brigade system) all have their own titles. Garde manger, saucier, patisier, ect.. Time has changed the meaning, however. I’m not sure I’m comfortable with that. I do think the definition could be expanded to include dedicated professionals. Those of us that consciously try to become better at what we do everyday, and have been doing it for longer than 10 years or so. Formal education, i.e. college/culinary school, doesn’t always help, either. I’ve met more than a couple kids right outa culinary school that were nearly worthless in a restaurant kitchen. This seems to be a person to person occurrence, however. Everyone takes away something different from schooling, and some that go to culinary school only go because they think it’ll be, pardon the pun, a cakewalk. The industry shakes these people off pretty quickly, however, when they get into the real world and are confronted with the stress, working conditions, hours, and the band of not-so-merry mercenaries they have to work with. Regardless, this is a title that I have worked very hard to attain. I’ve earned my stripes, done my time, paid my dues, and it wasn’t easy. Several times I was ready to walk away from professional cooking and not look back, but this is all I know. Anyway, I could never survive the regular 9-5 Officespace world. That would end very poorly, to say the least…

In my mind (and this might just be me, but I doubt it) “chef” is a title that is earned through hard work, dedication, blood, sweat, tears, and countless burns. I get shivers, and somewhat agitated, when I hear someone say they are a chef that doesn’t even work in a kitchen. It also makes me want to slap the piss out of someone that calls them self a chef and follows it with “I work at Red Lobster”. You’re not a chef, dude, your a cook…. and there’s nothing wrong with that! Just accept it! You’re a cook! Don’t try to make yourself feel better by pasting a title on yourself that you didn’t earn. I find it demeaning to my efforts and hard work when the word chef is thrown around lightly. I don’t go around calling myself a doctor just because I have a decent knowledge of human anatomy, and you’re not a chef!

I HAVE encountered a few that I let slide on this issue, however. The rest of the guys here at R.E. for instance. Currently there are only two of us that cook professionally. The others get a pass, and not just because I can tolerate being in the same room with them for longer than 10 minutes, but because they are very dedicated and have great intuition regarding food and drink. My knee-jerk reaction is still to cringe when I hear it, though.

So, maybe the term could stand to be re-defined, but it’s still gonna be a touchy subject with me. Then again, there are a lot of those…

Jack

“Pickled WHAT?” I grabbed the mouse and dragged the video back a minute to watch again. Pickled grapes. My mind reeled. I’d never even conceived a thought of such a thing. How would it work? What would it taste like? I watched the remainder of the episode hoping for a clue. Afterhours is pretty light on technique, so the mystery remained. I began searching and found few mentions, but one site looked reputable and offered a basic recipe.

A shopping list made, and off to the produce market. I was in luck, they had 5 varieties of grapes, including black grapes which I’d never tasted before. Back to the kitchen and ready to work, I decided on straying from the path of the base recipe immediately, as it looked a bit tame for my tastes. After a few hours, I had five jars filled with five variations. Below are the recipes for my two favorites.

For both recpies, mix ingredients and bring just to a boil in a saucepan, then remove from heat. allow the pickling solution to cool before adding it to the jars. This will prevent your grapes from wrinkling and losing their crunch. Use a pairing knife to slice the caps off the grapes for a clean appearance and add as many as possible to a mason jar without crushing. any grapes will do – however I found that the seedless reds held their crunch best and presented the most appealing color. Pour the cooled pickling solution to fill the jar, cap tightly and refrigerate for no less than 24 hours, preferably longer. I found my test subjects were best after 72 hours. Each recipe will fill 1 mason jar loaded with average sized grapes.

Pickled Grapes – Rogue Estate Method #1

This batch was light, sweet with a hint of the mustard’s tartness.

• 40-60 grapes, washed, plucked and capped
• 1 c White Wine Vinegar
• 3/4 c Water
• 1 c Sugar
• 1 Cinnamon Stick
• 1 tsp Black Pepper
• 1 tsp Brown Mustard Seeds
• 1 tsp Allspice Powder
• 1 Arbol Pepper (dried)
• 6 Juniper Berries

Pickled Grapes – Rogue Estate Method #3

These are slightly sweeter than #1, with a subtle warmth in their finish thanks to the Aleppo.

• 40-60 Grapes, washed, plucked and capped.
• 1/2 c White Wine Vinegar
• 1/2 c Red Wine Vinegar
• 1 c water
• 1 c Sugar
• 1/2 tsp Salt
• 1 tsp Aleppo Pepper
• 10 Juniper Berries
• 10 Allspice Pods

As with any of the recipes published on the Rogue Estate, we welcome your variations and pairings in the comments.

Enjoy,

-///

Let me start by saying just because they’re dried doesn’t mean they last forever. That jar of tarragon sitting in the back of the cupboard that you got from mom 10 years ago should be thrown out…. In restaurants we go through these jars pretty quick, but at home they tend to sit around for a while. Any dried herb that’s been sitting on your spice rack for six months or more is pretty much garbage. Spices last a bit longer, but more than a year old, pitch it.

The best approach to these very different forms is primarily in the timing, when to use them in a recipe to get the best results. Using both dry and fresh herbs of the same variety in the same recipe can create multiple layers of flavor from the same plant. For instance, a pizza sauce with oregano, or a marinara with basil will be greatly enhanced by using both forms. For my examples I’ll be citing mostly sauce making processes, as this is the best application for dried herbs. Dried herbs are generally best used in the begining of the cooking process, while fresh is usually the last thing added to a sauce.

Some herbs lend themselves to being dried better than others. Tarragon, basil, and oregano are the best of the dried herb family. They all get a woody character from the drying process. Please do me a personal favor and NEVER buy dried parsley! There’s no flavor left in parsley after it’s been dried unless you dry it yourself and use it immediately, in which case what was the point in drying it to begin with? Just use fresh! Seriously! Don’t make me hunt you down!

As I said, dried herbs are best used at the begining of the preparation. Keep in mind that the flavor is much more intense than fresh and it’s easy to overdo it, which will also leave whatever you’re cooking with a gritty mouth feel. With most herbs the ratio to keep in mind is 3 or 4 to 1. Meaning 3 or 4 times more fresh than dry should be used to get the same intensity. The flavor left in dried herbs is primarily in the oils in the leaves so toasting them breifly in the oil or fat used in the first steps of flavor layering is the way to go. When I make marinara, the first thing I do is saute my onions low and slow WITH a bit of dried basil and half as much dried oregano and also a pinch of crushed red pepper. When you go to add the dry herbs pinch them tightly between your fingers while you’re sprinkling them into whatever it is you’re cooking. This grinding motion will help release those oils.

Fresh herbs are used in a completely different way, and it’s much more difficult to over use fresh (think of tabouley, almost entirely chopped parsley). When I was training on the pasta station at my first fine dining restaurant the sous chef told me, “don’t be affraid to use a lot” when refering to adding the herbs to the pasta right before plating the dish. I was more concerned at the time with the fact that prepping the fresh herbs was the biggest time sink when setting up my mise en place, so conservation was more what I was thinking! The less I use, the more time I have to set up the rest of my station because I don’t have to prep as much! Now, years later, I understand that it is time well spent.

For sauces the fresh herbs are always the last thing that goes in. The more you cook a fresh herb the duller it’s flavor gets, so a thirty second steep is generally the best approach to release the flavor and aroma and preserve that bright freshness. For marinades fresh is the ONLY thing I’ll use. If you coat a piece of meat with a marinade utilizing dried herbs the finished dish usually ends up with a mouth feel akin to chewing on lawnmower clippings. But if that’s your thing….

Some fresh herbs need to be treated with care so not to bruise them during preparation. Parsley you can chop until it’s almost powder, but basil needs a lighter touch, like a chiffonade, gentle rough chop, or just tearing it apart with your fingers. Because fresh basil is so supple it will bruise and brown and be generally unappealing if treated too roughly, and be sure to use the sharpest knife in the kitchen when (and if) you cut it to make sure you don’t just crush it. The general rule of thumb is ANY greens or herbs with soft leaves should be treated gently or it will bruise and turn brown. This rule applies to the softer lettuces and spinach as well as fresh basil.

Storing fresh herbs is something I should also cover. Basically the leaves are still alive, still “breathing” and metabolizing so putting them in a ziplock bag is the worst thing you can do! Get a very damp (almost dripping, but not quite) paper towel and wrap small bundles of the herbs with it. Store these in a container with a tight fitting, but not air tight lid and keep them in the humid part of the ‘fridge. You’ll be surprised how long some fresh herbs will last this way. At work we had a batch of fresh shiso leaves last a month one time!

If you have any questions or there is something you’d like me to elaborate on, just ask in the comments. Until next time, live well and eat better!

Jack

http://www.epicurious.com/articlesguides/seasonalcooking/farmtotable/visualguidefreshherbs?mbid=epilf

http://ger-nis.com/recipes/fresh_herb_guide

Part of this air is the complexity of offerings, and inconsistency in labeling.  Part of it is the “ritual” of ordering wine in a restaurant. You’ve probably been there at one time.  Once you get past the seemingly monumental decision of choosing a wine for the table, next are all the other little decisions–What do I do with the cork?  Why is the waiter only pouring a little for me?  Can I send it back if I don’t like it?  Do I have to swirl my glass?  Why? What are people looking for when they take a big sniff first?  How do I know if the wine is supposed to taste like this?  All of it can be just too stressful for the less-than-curious drinker.  (Incidentally there are tons of useful beginner’s guides out there, including this unfortunately named one: http://www.2basnob.com/ordering-wine.html)

This leads me to my point–that final bastion of pretension, the epitome of elitist wine practices, the foo-fooiest of the shi-shi things to do…DECANTING!

Nodding in agreement? I did too, years ago. Take a deep breath and let me see if I can change your mind.

There are two very simple and logical reasons to decant some wines.

• To eliminate sediment from an unfiltered, or especially mature bottle
• To allow the wine to make contact with air, which can improve the taste of some wines by “softening” them, or letting them “open up”.

Eliminating sediment
If you have an unfiltered wine (often an uncommon red wine, and it usually says “unfiltered” on the label) decanting is one way to make sure you don’t get sediment in your glass. Sediment is usually composed of grape skins or solids, and sometimes clear crystals, called tartrates. All of these are harmless, but bothersome if the wine was stored and handled properly. Many decanters have been designed to allow a drinker to pour the bottle into the decanter, then slowly pour from the decanter into a glass, using its thin, beautiful, expensive crystal neck to trap the sediment. At home, I’ve sometimes used a tea strainer or fine mesh strainer to accomplish the same thing, with less dish washing to do.

Contact with air
I have to say upfront that a few experts disagree about this. There are some who say contact with air actually starts to degrade the wine giving you flavors that the winemaker never intended. But many more agree that a bottle that’s been decanted and given a little time to open can transform the flavors in a good way. I won’t get into the science of it because I don’t really care about the science of it. I just know that it works. I find that many European wines, especially Italian and Spanish reds benefit from an open-air rest. And the container doesn’t really matter.

A fast vertical drop to maximize air contact.

At our Rogue’s Estate Pizza Party, I hauled along a pretty familiar quality Chianti, and grabbed the nearest vessel when I walked in. Bob’s beautiful orange plastic pitcher was perfect. After an hour the wine had given up most of the unwelcome astringency and tannin’s allowing the Sangiovese’s cherry flavors to present more obviously, and to let some of the more subtle cedar notes out. Bob’s sweet marinara and the smokey Vidalia onions really brought the wine to life, and vice versa.

Are you someone who likes Cali and Aussie reds, but find most French, Italian, and Spanish reds too harsh? As an experiment, you owe it to yourself to dump ‘em in a pitcher, and let them think for an hour about what they’ve done to you in the past.

Tasting notes:

2006 Ruffino Riserva Ducale Chianti Classico

A tart Italian grandmother (not your own) right out of the bottle, she gets so much more lovely with exposure to air. Classic cherry and red berry flavors, with a nice cedar backbone and little pepper at the back of the tongue. About $20.

Other experiments for the Rogue Estate Pizza Party that weren’t quite what I hoped they would be:

Grüner Veltliner Hugo 2008

Originally picked to pair with the artichoke and garlic pie, this classic citrus Summer sipper just felt out of place with all the smoke, dough, and a cloudy sky.  Granny Smith Apples, lime, and celery leaf.  About $12.

Round Barn Black Currant Dessert Wine (Michigan)

Chosen to pair with a peach and rhubarb roasted dessert pie, this was intended to be a study in complementary tangy, sweet flavors, but Jack’s coffee stout won out with contrasting flavors. Redgardless, I love this little Starburst of a dessert wine, mostly because I adore black currants.  About $24.

Good things come to those who breathe.

- Ian

I think it said something like “We must talk of a certain matter which is of interest to you” and it was from my former co-worker and longtime foodie friend, Ian.  I expected instructions to follow involving a discreet location and knocking out the shave-and-a-haircut code in a darkened doorway.  But no such luck. 

Instead, it was an invitation to join forces with those who were as passionate about finding the perfect morel mushroom as I was.  Menus would be discussed, a theme finalized and I would participate with a dessert and another entrée if I had time. Who was I to pass up such an opportunity?  Besides, I’d heard there was going to be longanisa, so I had to come.

For those of you who don’t know what that is, it’s the Filipino equivalent to a Smoky Link, but tastier.   I had introduced my friend Ian to it many years ago at a barbecue, and it became his personal mission to come up with other uses for the beloved Filipino sausage.  I was intrigued to see what he was going to do with it this time.

I was also intrigued by what the evening was going to bring.  The menu looked extraordinary enough, and I was hoping to be able to pull my weight amongst the individuals that had been described to me.  I mean, I cook, and I do it well, but making food for people I hadn’t met whose palates I wasn’t familiar with seemed a bit scary.  But like all new adventures, I went for it.  Because sometimes, you just have to consider the possibilities and say damn the torpedoes.

The evening produced a variety of “firsts”.  All of us ate or drank something we’d never had before, and after feasting we concluded that the evening was a huge success.  Now, had I decided that I wanted to live a safe and uneventful life and decline Ian’s invitation to join the Rogue Estate for an evening of food, camaraderie and boozing, then I would have missed several opportunities.  I wouldn’t have tasted two beers that I enjoyed immensely (and that I can still taste if I think on it hard enough), or goyoza with pea sprouts and crab, or softshell crab cooked over pecan wood.  Oh, and let’s not forget the longanisa, skewered with shrimp and green onion and barbecued to perfection.  Meat candy, I believe my husband called it.

So, here’s to more “firsts”.  And I hope you, the reader, will be inspired to experience some as well.  Taking a chance can prove quite delicious.

For the “guts”:

1/2 pound of shrimp, peeled, shells reserved and roughly chopped into bite-size pieces

3/4 pound of Red Snapper fillet cut into 3/4 inch cubes

14 oz. dry Udon

2 oz. Celery heart sliced thin on a bias

2 oz. Leek white, sliced thin

3 oz. baby heirloom Carrots of mixed color or standard baby Carrots, sliced thin on a bias

2 oz. Scallion, sliced thin

2 oz. (3 spears) Asparagus, sliced thin on a bias

1/2 cup Sake or Dry White Vermouth

For the broth:

2 quarts water

2 oz. or 56 grams shaved Katsuo (bonito) or 2 tablespoons instant Dashi

a 4inch length of Konbu, wiped clean

1 cup light Mirin

1/2 cup Soy Sauce

Juice of 1 Lemon

Juice of 1 Lime

6 thin slices of fresh Ginger

1 teaspoon minced Garlic

reserved Shrimp shells

To start:

Add the water to a large pot with the Konbu and bring to a simmer. In another large pot bring 3 quarts of salted water (it should taste like sea water) to a boil. Once the Konbu has come to a simmer, add the rest of the broth ingredients and bring back to a simmer. Allow this to steep on low heat for 20-30 minutes and strain, return the liquid to the pot and discard the solids (or make a “second Dashi” by steeping the solids again with the addition of another 1/2 oz. of Katsuobushi, and chill or freeze for use within a month).

Coat the bottom of a large saute pan with a small amount of soy or canola oil and place over medium heat. Once heated, add the Leeks, Celery and Carrots and lightly salt, cook over medium heat until the carrots are soft but not thoroughly cooked. Deglaze with the Sake and reduce until the pan is almost dry. At this point add half the Dashi stock to the pan and bring back to a simmer.

While that comes back up to a simmer, your other pot of salted water should be boiling. Add the Udon to the water and cook until the Udon is just past el dente. Strain and rinse the noodles under hot water if serving right away, or under cold water to reserve for later use and lightly oil the noodles for storage. All the while keeping an eye on the broth to make sure it doesn’t come to a full boil.

To finish:

Divide the noodles among 4-5 bowls. Add the Shrimp, Red Snapper, and Asparagus to the simmering broth and bring back to a simmer, then kill the heat. Allow this to steep for 3-4 minutes to cook the meats, they won’t take long and if cooked on high heat the Shrimp will get rubbery and the fish will fall apart. Divide this evenly into the bowls containing the noodles, top off with a little more of the left over Dashi stock if the noodles aren’t almost fully submerged. Sprinkle a generous amount of sliced scallions over the top of each bowl and serve with chopsticks. Place a small bowl of Chili/Garlic paste in the center of the table with a small spoon for guests to use at their discretion. I used Shiso leaves to garnish for the picture, but that’s optional, or Lime leaves would be a good substitute.

If the three soup recipes I’ve posted weren’t a clue, I am a huge fan of soups, especially Asian soups, and this one came out great. The key is in not overcooking anything so their natural flavors shine through bright and clear.

I have a few other great soups in my repertoire, so expect to see those eventually. Until next time, live well and eat better!

Jack

I was not disappointed. It claims to have roasted Soba in it, but that seems to be a supporting character to the 6 different malts and the 4 different hops used in this wonderfully nutty and crisp offering. Nutty and slightly sweet right up front, pleasant floral hoppiness in the middle, bright and well balanced clean bitter/sweet finish, with a mild nose of pure Caramel and Carafa malts and a faint smokiness. You barely notice the 30 IBU and at 36 degrees Lovibond the color is a gorgeous deep, rich, nutty, reddish brown. The slightly mild carbonation makes the medium bodied mouth feel that much smoother.

This beer would pair well with any mushroom based dish, grilled or roasted red meats or pork, spiced duck, dark berries, Butterkase and aged White Cheddar cheeses, and chocolate.

Rogue brewery has rarely disappointed me, though sometimes they do tend to get a little out there, but this may be one of they’re most well rounded libations yet. It goes for around $7 – $8 for a 22oz. bottle, but it’s money well spent for a beer enthusiast.

The next beer is from Goose Island in Chicago, their 2009 Bourbon County Stout. This special run beer was surprising, to say the least. Goose Island makes good beer, but not usually mind-blowing. They’ve outdone themselves with this one. As the name implies, they age this stout in used Bourbon barrels, infusing the beer with the nose and flavor of that sweet, caramel heavy Kentucky whiskey. The nose hits you first, Bourbon, held up by the black barley scent typical of the style. Satin smooth mouth feel, and sweet Bourbon flavor right up front, bitterness from the heavily roasted malts in the middle, finishing with a heavy sweetness, hoppy bitterness, and the smell of Bourbon yet again as the fumes rise up through your nasal passages from the back of your throat. The heavy bitterness from both the black barley and the hops is well balanced by the sweetness. Lightly carbonated and almost syrupy with a whopping 13% alcohol, this sweet stout is purely a desert beer.

Heavy, very sweet, but wildly complex, this beer would pair well with creme brulee, chocolates flavored with Raspberries, ganache, balsamic vinegar, peaches, granny smith apples, bleu and very sharp goat cheeses (Humboldt Fog comes to mind), or anything with enough balls and acidity to stand up to it. I wouldn’t pair this with citrus, though. While citrus does have the acidity, citrus flavors are pretty mild and would get overpowered leaving you with just the acid cutting through. This is, however, a pricey one at around $14 per 22oz. bottle, but it’s a rare treat for fans of the style, and fans of good Bourbon alike. 22 ounces is hard to get through on your own due to how heavy and sweet it is, so have a friend help you or serve it in small snifters after or during desert at a dinner party.

I will endeavor to bring you new beer reviews in between my recipes, commentaries and rantings as I encounter inspiring new malty goodness. Until next I post, live well and drink better!

Jack

http://www.rogue.com/

http://www.gooseisland.com/

Then I had a third thought…in the last year I’ve had a brief infatuation with Cabernet Franc.  I tend to like the harsh little rude grapes that usually only get used in blends to add tannins, or body, or acid.  Cab Franc is one of those little rudies.  It comes on with a tart black cherry and raspberry flavor, but then puckers you up, all the time smelling like roses and violets.  A vicious little fighter that can slam duck fat to the floor, then do a dance-off with citrus.

So I packed two for dinner.  I was interested in a new world/old world face-off.

In this corner, Beaucanon Estate:

Beaucanon Estate 2005 Cabernet Franc.

A little over-oaked I thought, it had a Cabernet Sauvignon nose, but opened to a lot of interesting flavors not typical in California reds.  A deep dark color, with hints of amber at the rim speaking to age and oak. about $27. The beer aficianados in the group (who I did not know had a “thing” against Cali reds) were mildly surprised.

And in this corner, Breton’s Trinch!  (“trinch” = “clink” in French, like you’re toasting):

Breton Trinch! Cabernet Franc.

The Loire region in France is an area that produces almost exclusively Cabernet Franc as its red option (the whites are many and legendary).  The Trinch! was not as interesting on the nose initially, but like most French reds, was MADE for food.  I’m not sure if this was oaked or stored in stainless, but wood was a very light touch in comparison. The younger Trinch! had a faint purple tone, almost blue at the rim.  Violets covered the nose initially with a faint rose aroma, a satisfying black cherry taste, and a longer finish.  Paired with the honey-orange duck it cleaned the palette like cranberry with turkey.  About $20.

The judges call? Drink the Californian while cooking, but save the French contender for a mouthful of duck-fat…which is where the real Battle Royale is taking place.