The winter ale of our discontent

You may recall that the weekend after the election I headed out to visit my friends Matt and Amanda near Charlottesville, VA. While I was officially there for the Homebrew for Hunger event, we also got to brewing our first collaborative ale. When planning our first co-brewed beer in the months leading up to the election, we'd thought to call it Across the Aisle Ale or somesuch. You see, though Matt is a card-carrying Republican, and I am obviously not one, we could agree on a few things:
1) Trump is a jerk
2) Beer is awesome
3) After a handful of years of friendship and beer drinking it was about time we brewed something together

By the time I arrived in Barboursville in early November, we had decided to rename the beer: The Winter Ale of our Discontent was born. It was to be a winter warmer-style beer, with cinnamon, nutmeg, and vanilla bean, and featuring honey from both DC and VA. Yum, eh?

It was a lot of fun, and marked my first time getting to play with tools that are part of the next level of homebrewing. First, we got our wort going on a serious propane stove on the back deck:

Once cooled, we added yeast and aerated our brew with a stirring spoon drill attachment:

I totally want one of those now. Then we waited a couple of months for it to ferment to perfection.

The cold and rainy Saturday before the inauguration of He Who is Orange and Shall Not Be Named, Matt and Amanda came for a visit, with TWAOOD in tow:

After a few beers and some snacks, it was time to break out the bottling equipment. Things went quickly, thanks to Jess and Ben who joined us for bottling... and dinner and cocktails out, but who's keeping track?:

It's going to be a rough winter -- who am I kidding, it's going to be a rough FOUR YEARS -- but at least I've got a few 6-packs of homebrewed winter warmer to get me through the first bit. Cheers to collaboration beers!!

The sweet life

Though I knew a gluten-induced backache would result, I could not resist the chance to make a batch of sweet potato gnocchi with my cousin's family while visiting Charlottesville for a few days. Lord, do I adore gnocchi. The tender, pillowy deliciousness.... Ohhhh....

The recipe is actually one that my lovely Foodprints intern, Emily, passed along recently. (I am not too proud a supervisor to turn down the offer of a taste when offered during our lunch break, and after that I simply *had* to try making it myself.) It didn't sound too complicated, but gnocchi are notoriously finicky and labor intensive, what with the boiling and mashing, and most experienced cooks know that there is a very thin line between light & delicious vs. dense & floury pasta.

Thankfully, Jenna was game, and young Lukas even helped to grate the cheese (and make some cookies, a few of which made it to dessert). Cousin Laith helped with the dishes and pouring me a glass of wine -- always welcome contributions. It was a great group recipe, and easier than we'd feared. Nice when things work out that way, eh?

Sweet Potato Gnocchi
It's adapted from this recipe, but with less microwaving and pointless ricotta straining.... (Oh, we did strain the ricotta for 2 hours, which yielded a total of about 4 drops of liquid. Not worth it, but it gave me a chance to slow-roast the spuds.) The irresistible brown butter, sage, and balsamic sauce remains intact, however.

Ingredients

2 lbs sweet potatoes (about 2 medium) 

1 (12-oz.) container fresh ricotta

1 cup grated Parmesan cheese

2 tsp salt

2 cups all-purpose flour, plus more for dusting

8 TBSP (1 stick) unsalted butter

1 handful of loosely packed fresh sage leaves (got some in your garden??)

3 TBSP balsamic vinegar

1/2 tsp salt

1/4 tsp black pepper

Additional parmesan cheese, for serving

Directions

Preheat oven to 400F. Scrub and dry the sweet potatoes, then prick them all over with a fork. Place the sweet potatoes on a foil-lined cookie sheet and roast until fork-tender (about 1 hour). Cool, then peel and mash potatoes.

Line a baking sheet with parchment paper and dust it with flour. You'll want this near your work surface when you start making the gnocchi.

Transfer 3 cups of the mashed sweet potatoes to a large bowl. Add the ricotta, stirring until thoroughly combined, then stir in 1 cup parmesan cheese and 2 tsp salt.

Start adding the flour, 1/2 cup at a time, mixing with your hands until a soft dough forms. Shape the dough into a large ball.

Lightly flour your work surface and divide the dough into six equal portions. Take one portion and gently roll and stretch it on your work surface or between your hands until it's about 20 inches in length (about the length of a standard cookie sheet).

Cut the dough into 1-inch pieces to form each gnocchi (each "rope" should yield about 20 gnocchi). Using the back of a fork, press each gnocchi into the tines to form indentations (which will soak up the delicious sauce you're about to make), then transfer them to the floured baking sheet. Repeat the rolling and cutting process with the remaining five pieces of dough.

Prior to cooking the gnocchi, make the brown butter sauce... Melt the butter in a medium saucepan over medium heat, stirring occasionally. Cook the butter until the foam subsides and it begins to turn a golden brown color, about 3 minutes. Turn off the heat and add the sage leaves, allowing them to cook for 1 minute. Remove the brown butter from the heat and stir in the balsamic vinegar, salt, and pepper.

When you're ready to cook the gnocchi, bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Add a portion of the gnocchi to the boiling water, stir, and then let the gnocchi cook until they float back up to the top, about 1 minute.

Remove the gnocchi with a slotted spoon to a serving bowl. Repeat the cooking process with the remaining gnocchi and toss your delicious little orange morsels with the prepared brown butter sauce. Garnish with Parmesan cheese and serve.

Note: uncooked gnocchi will keep in the fridge for a few days, or in the freezer for a few months. If you can resist eating them all that first meal, that is.

Oh those? Well, since we were having a glutenous extravaganza, I figured I might as well make some ice cream sandwiches -- featuring cinnamon ice cream from nearby Kirt's Ice Cream and freshly baked chocolate chip oatmeal cookies -- for dessert. Not a bad way to end a wonderful visit with family and friends!

True Grits

So about a month ago, I was at a fantastic talk on craft distilling at the American History Museum. While there, I met Sam and Steve, who work at the gristmill and distillery at historic Mount Vernon. We got to talking about whiskey and cornmeal, and I told them about the 5th grade FoodPrints lesson I recently taught about food and the early American colonists. (Okay, so my 5th grade classes did NOT include a whiskey discussion, but we did grind our own flour for making waffles, and did shake cream into homemade butter. I kept hoping that nobody would ask what settlers used all of those inedible apples for....)

About a cocktail and a half into our museum chat, I found myself kindly invited out to see the mill and distillery in action. So last weekend, I went. My fellow Slow Food DC board members oohed and ahhed, as I did, at local grain being ground by a giant water wheel contraption and our first president's whiskey recipe being made at the (ahem, only legal) woodfire-powered distillery. We even got to sample some of the rare rye whiskey. (Don't worry, I wasn't driving.)

I was beside myself when Sam handed me a bag of the pancake mix (that Steve had raved about), a bag of cornmeal (also roundly praised), and, my favorite, a bag of stone ground grits. I used the cornmeal to make a batch of cornbread with 5th graders this past Friday, and then whipped up another batch of cornbread for our Slow Food DC annual potluck yesterday -- both were delightedly devoured, and the slow foodies remarked on the lovely flavor and texture. But let me tell you what I've been daydreaming about for the past 36 hours: the DELICIOUS shrimp and grits I made for a dinner party with my friends Sheffy, Aimee, and Griffin on Friday night. Oh, lord, it was a good meal. For your mouth-watering pleasure, I offer you this recipe, adapted from Saveur....

Irresistible Shrimp and Grits

Ingredients

• 1 cup George Washington's Gristmill grits (seriously, they're the best!)
• 4½ cups chicken broth
• Olive oil
• 2 slices thick-cut bacon, chopped
• 1 lb. medium shrimp (about 30), peeled and deveined
• Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
• 2 TBSP butter
• 1-2 handfuls shiitake mushrooms, washed, patted dry, then thinly sliced (I like the ones from North Cove Mushrooms, at the Dupont farmers' market)
• 2 garlic cloves, finely chopped
• ¾ cup grated cheddar
• ¼ cup freshly shaved parmesan
• 4 scallions, thinly sliced

Directions

In a medium cast iron pot, bring 4 cups chicken stock to a boil over high heat. Reduce heat to low and whisk in grits. Cook, whisking frequently, until grits are tender and creamy, 30–40 minutes. Open the wine....

Meanwhile, heat oil in a medium/large skillet over medium heat. Add bacon and cook, stirring occasionally, until crisp, about 10 minutes. Using a slotted spoon, transfer bacon to a paper towel–lined plate; set aside. Reserve cooking fat in skillet.

Season shrimp with salt and pepper. Over medium-high heat, add shrimp to skillet and cook, turning once, until bright pink, about 2 minutes. Transfer shrimp with a slotted spoon to a dish that you can keep warm in a 200F oven. It's probably time to get another glass of wine....

Lower burner heat to medium, then add mushrooms to skillet and cook, stirring occasionally, until tender (about 5 minutes), then add garlic and cook until fragrant (about 1 minute).

Raise heat to high, add remaining 1/2 cup of chicken broth, and scrape bottom of skillet with a wooden spoon. Cook until broth reduces by half (about 3 minutes).

Return shrimp to skillet along with remaining butter and cook, stirring frequently, until sauce thickens, (about 1 minute).

Stir 1 TBSP butter into grits, along with parmesan. Sprinkle cheddar on top, then use a blowtorch (if you're Griffin) or a creme brulee torch (if you're fainthearted like me) to melt the cheese. Have a fire extinguisher nearby. And make sure at least one person is sober enough to use it.

Divide grits between 4 bowls; top each with shrimp and sauce. Garnish each bowl with bacon and scallions. You can also have lemon wedges and hot sauce for garnishes, but I forgot those. (I blame the delicious wine Sheffy and his wife brought.)

I've yet to try out the pancake mix -- haven't had an overnight guest in a number of months, and haven't had a pancake-worthy one in longer than that -- but maybe I'll bring some with me when I head to Charlottesville to visit friends and family in a few weeks. Seriously, who wouldn't love a guest who brings her own pancake mix?

I'll trade you!

Who would have thought that spicy beer mustard would have been one of the most popular items at the Alexandria Food Swap this past weekend?

Truth be told: seven or eight excited foodies left the Friendship Firehouse with 4oz jars of really the spiciest mustard I've made to date -- this time with a bottle of Great Lakes' Dortmuder Gold and balsamic vinegar -- but I made out like a bandit! Homemade pretzels, apple fruit roll-ups, a good sized bottle of amaretto (and no idea what to use it for), peach lavender jam, chocolate covered coconut and almond clusters, rosemary popover mix, rhubarb butter, a new kombucha starter, and my favorite: dehydrated fruit and seed crackers. Yum. A girl could get used to this!

Thanks to my friend, Shelu, for organizing the homemade food extravaganza (and making those divine almond joys).

Kiss the cook

Whoever started making those kitschy "Kiss the Cook" aprons was a genius. Not that I own one. I don't think I deserve one...yet.

Seriously, tell me you have never had such a good meal that you wanted to kiss the chef. No? You need to get out more. Cook smooching is generally only a problem if a) you are out to dinner with your boyfriend, and/or b) the chef is a total stranger. (I'm sure there are other situations, but these are the top two.) I have talked my way back into the kitchen and personally thanked the head chef only twice over the course of my life -- both times during a solo trip through eastern France in 2006. The first was the chef at a nondescript bistro in Grenoble who made a rabbit stew and then a chocolate mousse that brought tears to my eyes (and warranted its own meal-recounting postcard home to dad), and the other was the genius behind the lavender creme brulee at a tiny restaurant that I fear I might not be able to find again in a village I couldn't name offhand, somewhere between Paris and Marseille (better dig up that old travel journal). I am proud to say that I restrained myself both times, planting a chaste peck on each cheek -- it was France, after all -- while mumbling mangled magnifiques and merci beaucoups. The chefs seemed somewhat startled, but pleased. (I'd have done the same at Alice Waters' place if the chef who'd made the candied orange peel ice cream with caramel sauce hadn't left for the day.)

I have calmed down a bit in my older, wiser days. Really the chef kissing was always simply meant as a sincere expression of thanks for a particularly inspired meal, anyway. The reason it is on my mind is because I have recently been privy to not one but TWO stellar, kiss-worthy meals of late, both courtesy of my favorite dining (and cuddling) companion. Since we are both lovers of well-crafted food and language, we've drafted a few love letters in belated thanks to those who wooed our tastebuds so artfully while supporting local farms so devotedly.

This one is for the the culinary geniuses at Arlington's The Green Pig, to whom I should have written a love letter on the spot:

Shall I compare thee to the trout and farro?

Butternut mouthfuls doused in maple butter:

Such flavors shake the tastebuds til tomorrow,

Each morsel we’d recount and later mutter:

Almost too rich, that snail and mushroom toast!

Can’t recollect who scarfed the last pork taco,

Or which tidbit of salad we’d loved most,

Were hardly ready for dessert that followed,

But the eternal wisdom of our waitress

Led us right to the butterscotch concoction

Not even Death shall rob mem’ries of th’ garnish:

That chocolate, those pecans defy description.

So long as tongues can taste or eyes can see,

So will that dinner be recalled with glee.

And to the crew at Brooklyn's Applewood, where we had my official birthday feast, an experience that inspired the comment-card-turned-epistle-of-undying-gratitude left with the tip, we offer this:

My boyfriend’s eyes are fixed on the last bite

Of that chocolate pistachio torte of bliss

As I sip the last of our brandy flight

And daydream of another meal like this.

I’ve tasted duck before, but none this way:

Such tender meat and crispy, golden skin

With silky collards and parsnip puree,

Washed down by yet another sip of Zin.

But first, the holy trinity of cheese –

“Artisanal,” they said, sheep, goat, and bleu –

And a magenta cocktail, “Brighton Beets,”

And flaky pike which we could not eschew.

E’en so, by heaven, the scallops were the best. 

No, wait, the duck! No, cheese! We must retest….

(It may or may not be true that I had to hustle us out of there before Kenton snuck back to the kitchen to kiss the chef at Applewood.)

A town called Arlington

The other night, as we scarfed lentil soup (and a crazy carrot and buttermilk salad that may warrant its own blogpost sometime), my friend Jeff looked across the dinner table at me with a sad face and confessed to a fear that I was going to abandon DC for Arlington. Let me assure you, friends and readers, that while I have been spending quite a bit of time wandering around Clarendon with my paramour in recent months, I am still A DC Girl. I will admit that I have come to love a few Courthouse-area coffeehouses and eating establishments, and maybe I even checked out the "hoppy hour" at the hip but unassuming Rabbit once or twice in the past week, but that's not enough to make me want to move there.

I am not cool with the rationale that instigated the separation of the former southwest corner from DC proper back in the 19th Century, but "separate but equal" ain't such a bad thing when it comes to car and bicycle lanes. Yes, this town could show the District a few things.

It's a solid street ride with aggressive traffic, narrow lanes, parked cars galore, and rarely a bike lane to be found the whole way West through my beloved city, but the instant I cross the Key Bridge into Virginia -- bam! -- instant, dedicated bike trails and bike lanes the whole way. Aside from the hills, this place is a cyclist's dream! God bless the Custis Trail, which avoids the mile and a half straight of uphill riding through Rosslyn. (The time a few weeks ago when we cut through Rosslyn was, I believe, the night Kenton vowed he would give up smoking. It is entirely possible that I will have to make a follow-up music video purely about biking up those hills.) After trying out a few different routes in recent weeks, it now takes Ollie and me less than 45 minutes door to door from my apartment to get to my gentleman friend's place in Arlington.

THANK YOU, whomever had the foresight to design such a bike-friendly town. For sure the DDOT could take a page or three out of Arlington's city planning book. Okay, fine, it's not that there's no progress to make DC more bikeable. I mean, there are Share the Road signs... that motorists patently ignore. And the 14th Street bike lanes are more continuous than they used to be a few years ago... not that the delivery trucks parked in them have changed in the interim. There's a dedicated bike boulevard along the iconic stretch of Pennsylvania Avenue from the White House to The Capitol... clogged with tourists on Segways. Okay, um, let's see... Well, we are getting a much-needed cycle-track tomorrow -- finally -- after many months of foot dragging and stops and starts. Ah, a nice 12-block, East-West stretch of protected riding in the heart of the business district. So help me, I'd better not see yet more SUVs parked in this dedicated bike lane.

Don't worry, Jeff: Ollie's not moving to Arlington. But with farmers' market season wrapping up for the winter, she will soon be exploring more of the bike trails around there on the weekends.

Chocolate-covered bacon

I'll bet this post gets a lot more google search hits than usual. Why? Because it is FREAKING DELICIOUS.

I will admit that most things taste better when either bacon or dark chocolate are involved. Using both is almost -- almost but not quite -- too much. Behold: Smith Meadows pastured bacon slathered in Green & Black's 80% dark chocolate.

This was the spectacular final course during the celebratory dinner I had with my friends Michelle and Forrest after helping out at the family farm part of last week in nearby Berryville, VA. After a long day of serious apple picking, chicken coop painting, egg gathering, sassafras hunting, and maybe just a little late afternoon napping, Michelle let me play with some truly beautiful ingredients in the kitchen. The homemade pasta and tomato-gin-bacon sauce were a great start, and the pickled veggies and (flat -- alas!) pumpkin beer were good complements, but the highlight of the meal was the dessert course... in three parts.

I am not big on dessert eating, certainly not in large quantities, but tell me honestly: if you had to choose between roasted-then-chocolate-dipped garlic cloves, just-baked apple pie, and bacon covered in dark chocolate, would you be able to not at least make a little sampler plate? It was divine, we agreed, as Forrest first regaled us with some points from his upcoming book -- if it is truly the intersection of The Princess Bride, The Ominvore's Dilemma, and A River Runs Through It like it sounds to be shaping up as, I will get myself in line for an autographed copy -- and then whipped out the guitar for an impromptu singalong. What a fun visit. Work hard, play hard, sing loud, eat well. My kind of people.

(I wonder if Michelle noticed that I gobbled up most of the leftover chocolate bacon as I carried snack supplies out to the truck at 5am to catch a ride back into the city with the farmers' market crew the next morning....)

Should you want to get some of your very own local, pastured bacon and endear yourself to friends and loved ones with a batch of chocolate-covered bacon, here's where you can get some of the good stuff.

Instructions: cook bacon, cool bacon, have a beer and rest a bit, dunk bacon in melted chocolate, chill to set chocolate, devour.

Go car free this Thursday!

Leave the car keys on the counter and break out that bike helmet. Or walking shoes. Or maybe take a look and see if you have a few bucks left on on your SmartTrip (TM) card. Go car free this Thursday. All the cool kids are doing it.

Car Free Day is apparently an international event meant to encourage us city folk to get around without cars. Activities are organized in various cities throughout the world in different ways, but with the common goal of taking cars off the streets. There are all kinds of reasons to be a part of a less individual-car-reliant culture: less traffic congestion, no parking issues, a greener environment, reduced gasoline consumption, getting in a bit of exercise or socializing instead of grumbling in your car alone while sitting in traffic. The list goes on. According to the website, Car Free Day includes celebrations in 1,500 cities in 40 countries. Certainly there are lots of partners in Northern VA, MD, and DC, so you don't need to live/work in DC proper to participate in our local activities.

Around the District, we have lots of options: in addition to walking or bicycling, we can take a commuter train, metro, bus. We can carpool. If you absolutely need a car for a long commute from home to work, try being a "slug" for a day and hop into the HOV lane for a change. (I can't help giggling every time I read a reference to slugging, which apparently originated in Springfield, VA. Mom and dad, I wonder if there will soon be a Slugging Museum down the street from you, heheh.) You can also arrange to telecommute for the day. Car Free Day is open to everyone in the DC metropolitan area, and even if you don't drive anyway you can still pledge to add your non-driving effort to the larger group's effort (and get some free pizza or a free bike in the process). To participate, all you need to do is fill out the pledge form, then go car free (or at least carpool, ya slug!) on Sept 22. Go on, do it.

p.s.- In the event that I don't see you in the bike lanes on Thursday, perhaps we'll see each other at WABA's 50 States ride this Saturday!

Virginia is for food lovers

There are many things that might draw visitors toward western Virginia's food culture. I know I've mentioned Joel Salatin's famous operation (though my timing didn't align with any of the regular public tours of the famous pasture-raised meat farm in Swoope). I've written already about the amazing market development work that Appalachian Sustainable Development has been doing with farmers around Abingdon. I believe I've mentioned that Meadowview is something of a mecca for literary locavores due to Barbara Kingsolver's residence there. (Heck, the possibility of breathing some of the same air molecules as one of my all-time favorite authors would've been enough to draw me to the area.) I'd heard of the nonfiction account of her family's year of eating locally *before* the book was on Oprah, thank you, but it was only more recently that I learned of the dining establishment her husband helped start up in town. I am happy to report that while I didn't run into Ms. Kingsolver or her husband, co-author Steven Hopp, I did have a chance to experience one of their great gustatory legacies in the area. Twice.

My first night in town, Richard and Kathy treated me to dinner at The Harvest Table. As we nursed our beers on the patio and awaited our dinner plates at the almost exclusively locally sourced restaurant, I pored over the back of the menu. A number of farm names were printed with short descriptions and a listing of the ingredients contributed by each. Some of these very same farmers sold their wares at the market I'd been to earlier that day in Abingdon. I'd even met some of them! Talk about "know your farmer, know your food." I imagine I'm not the first tourist (or local) to seek out specific farms directly for ingredients after enjoying them as part of a meal here. It wasn't just one or two items on the menu, it was the whole thing. The restaurant, linked to the Meadowview Farmers' Guild, meant to show direct links between food, farmers, and eaters. They're playing my song.

The meal was darn good and I would have lingered much longer, but since it was the last shift before the place would close for the holiday weekend I didn't have much of an opportunity to badger... I mean chat with... the chef. While friendly enough, the staffmembers were clearly ready for the 4th of July weekend and ushered us out with a complimentary slice of chocolate cake and bottle of white wine. But my curiosity was far from sated.

Conveniently, the restaurant was open once again the following Tuesday afternoon, so of course Mike and I stopped in for lunch before heading out of town. (Yes, this was pure altruism on my part. I mean, it would be unfair for Mike not to experience food this good after he'd traveled all the way from DC for the weekend.) This time we sat at the bar overlooking the kitchen. As fate would have it, Chef Philip happened to overhear the two of us discussing the difference between heavy cream and whipping cream and struck up a conversation. Over the course of the next hour or so, Philip shared his views on the importance of direct relationships with farmers, a reconnection with seasonal eating, and the challenges of both. He openly admitted that the coffee and lemons and olive oil couldn't be locally sourced -- hey, I'm no purist, either, with these items -- but insisted that ingredients be purchased from local producers as much as possible. Sometimes working with smaller growers presents unique challenges when one is trying to supply a restaurant doing decent business, I learned. One has to be flexible. "I mean, some of these are older generation farmers," Philip shrugged. "They don't have computerized invoices, they don't know the exact number of blackberries in a pint. They grow the food -- good food -- and I do my best to make it work." And boy does he. I'm telling you, the lamb burrito was stellar, and the berry cobbler we gobbled for dessert nearly brought tears to my eyes. (That one's for you, dad.) Actually, I felt a bit sheepish leaving a cookmark with Philip -- I think he may have outdone my perfect tart crust. I'll have to try that berry cobbler again some day. You know, just to be sure.

Too soon, it seemed, Mike and I had to hit the road for Charlottesville -- he had kindly offered to give Ollie and me a lift on his way back toward DC -- but we left The Harvest Table with full bellies and happy hearts, knowing that our food dollars were supporting sustainability-minded farmers and a restaurant that helps to celebrate their everchanging seasonal bounty. Come to think of it, I think this state's tourism department is going to have to modify its tagline: Virginia is for *sustainable food* lovers.

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