Popovers

Jan 20th, 2012 by Jessie

popovers

We seem to always have milk, butter and eggs in the house. Add the staples like flour and salt, and we have all the ingredients needed for popovers. This is a great alternative for me because I’m not big into breakfast, so it seems like a natural substitution for eggs and toast (although admittedly less nutritious). These are really simple to make and also great for those who don’t like to eat right upon waking (again, me). I have made these about 15 times. One Saturday winter morning a few years back, I tried substituting whole wheat flour which resulted in a puck-like hardness. Of course Peter and I couldn’t just throw them away, so obviously we opted for throwing them out the third story window of my old apartment onto the street below, trying to get them in the path of tire tracks. We definitely made it a couple of times, and I’ll say it was so satisfying hearing those little dough rocks pop under a wheel. I still remember how hard we were laughing, pointing at the bit of steam rising off of the flattened pieces after the fact.

These are really easy to make, but require some patience. The milk and eggs  have to sit out for half an hour to get closer to room temperature, and total cooking time is about 40 minutes. I believe that aside from the room-temperature liquids, the key is never opening the oven as they are cooking. I have known this from the first time I ever tried making popovers, but even still I’m tempted to take a peek in the middle of baking, almost every single time.

Ingredients:
1 cup of milk (I used nonfat and this was fine, though a lot of recipes call for at least 1%)
2 eggs
1 cup of flour
a little over 1/2 tsp salt
1 tablespoon butter, melted

Directions:
1). Preheat the oven to 375 degrees.
2). In a medium bowl, whisk together the milk and the eggs. Let this sit for half an hour (more if you can handle it).
3). In a smaller bowl, whisk together the flour and the salt.
4). Because that third step only took you a few minutes, go do something. Work, read, watch terrible daytime television.
5). Grease a muffin tin (one with 9 cups, ideally) with the vegetable oil. Pop these in the oven for about 3-5 minutes. You just want to warm up the tin for a while.
6). Slowly add the flour mixture to the milk and eggs, whisking the whole time.
7). Take out the tin, add the popover batter to the cups (I fill it almost all the way to the top).
8). Bake for 30-40 minutes until they look golden brown and puffy. Remember never open the oven door!
9). Eat all of them because you can’t really save these. Eggs at room temperature = sketchy. Popovers in the refrigerator = grossss.

And of course, if you want some cheap, innocent fun, make them with whole wheat flour.

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‘Twas the Night Before Christmas, and Everyone Had a Heart Attack.

Dec 23rd, 2011 by Jessie

eggnog2

Here’s how the conversation went:
Mom: What are you doing tonight?
Me: Oh, we’re going to watch a TV show and drink a bourbon and eggnog. We made the eggnog last night and it has to sit in the fridge for a day before we have it. So we’ll see. I’m pretty excited.
Mom: Oh, yeah, your Dad and I were going to make that once back in the day but we saw what was in it and the dietitian in me couldn’t bring ourselves to do it!
Me: Yeah, I know it’s not  healthy, but you know, we’re having one glass, and we just wanted to see what it’s all about.
Mom: Just take a Statin beforehand! [Laughs]
Me: [Not laughing] Well I was not worried until now so thank you.

It’s all very sweet. She loves my heart. I’m so happy that it’s been ingrained in my head over the years to watch for this stuff and buy the light eggnog and take care of my body. This was probably a night when I was feeling a little tired and fiery and all I wanted to do was pour a shot of bourbon in a glass, top it with some homemade and extremely fatty eggnog, grate a little nutmeg on it, sit down and fat out on the couch. Well, that kind of sounds like every night. So maybe she does have something to worry about. [Winking].

We originally cut this recipe in half and it served just a little bit under six people.

Ingredients:
4 cups milk (we used nonfat)
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract (and 2 more teaspoons later)
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
12 egg yolks
1 1/2 cups sugar
4 cups cream (we used whipping cream, but here’s a good breakdown of fat percentage in different kinds)
1/2 teaspoon nutmeg

Directions:
Combine the milk, cloves 1/2 teaspoon of vanilla and the cinnamon in a saucepan and heat it over low for about five minutes or until it comes to a boil. Combine the egg yolks and sugar in a large bowl. Whisk this together until it’s a bit lighter in texture and looks like a really beautiful light yellow (I really wish this would be tasty because it looks delicious at this point). Pour this mixture into the saucepan and cook over medium heat stirring constantly for about five minutes or until it’s a little thicker. You’re basically cooking the eggs, so they aren’t raw. Just make sure it does not boil. Strain out the cloves and set it aside on the stove. Go do something for about an hour so it can cool down.

After it’s cooled, add in the cream, 2 teaspoons vanilla and the nutmeg. You can choose to add booze here (2 1/2 cups of bourbon or rum), or leave it as is. Refrigerate overnight. Peter and I did not add alcohol before refrigerating because we wanted to taste it plain. We eventually poured one shot of bourbon in a small rocks glass, poured the eggnog in to fill, and grated a small amount of nutmeg on top.

AND we are still alive and kicking.

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Orange You Glad You Know?

Dec 13th, 2011 by Jessie

peeled oranges

Over the Thanksgiving weekend, it felt like Peter and I inadvertently used about half of our wedding presents. It was exciting to finally put some to use as we slowly get some energy back (which is an ironic statement as we spent most of Saturday on our asses and didn’t shower until 6:30pm). We have this new obsession and we’ve finally started doing something about it instead of just talking about how fun it might be to try. We’ve been enjoying artisanal cocktails a lot lately, and we feel like we want to be a little more involved in the craft instead of just simply drinking them. There’s such a rich history surrounding these drinks, and it’s really interesting to talk to a well-informed bartender about what you’re actually drinking. A rise in this trend around here (which I think took much too long to reach the northwest) got us thinking about creating bitters and seeing if we are any good at it. We’ve done a ton of reading on the subject and we’ve collected our goods to get going, which has taken us much longer than we originally had thought. We have strange roots and plants from Mexico and China, a good collection of half gallon mason jars, little 4 oz eyedropper bottles for storage and I’ve apparently already made this endeavor a huge success in my head because I have a few ideas rumbling around about the design of the label and packaging options.

halves

One of the first things we learned was that we would need to dry our own orange peels. All the options available for purchase seem to include a lot of the pith, which would apparently turn your starting mixture into some sort of gelatin. We didn’t want to take any chances, so we went to the store and purchased 30 oranges (!). This would apparently yield us 8 oz of dried peels (it got us 6 oz). So we sat on the couch (as we had done all day) and peeled oranges, which instantly made the whole house smell like some slightly better version of Citrasolv. Leland had no interest and sequestered himself to the bedroom, as citrus is not the best olfactory experience for cats and the food dehydrator sitting in the middle of the dining room table was a big white orb of a thing that had suddenly appeared and wouldn’t stop making noise.

juice

It is bad enough that a variety of orange is subjected to the fate of being called Navel; on top of it all, they are really not good for juicing. When I have casually mentioned this I get a response that implies I should have already known that.  The juice was great hours after we made it. I added just a bit of agave syrup to tone down the tartness a little bit and that was all. We were feeling so good about it that we bottled up a bunch to give away. The next morning, we decided to use a questionable bottle of champagne and our fresh orange juice for a homemade mimosa. We were feeling resourceful and smart. We poured a large glass and tasted that the previously delicious juice was completely bitter. It’s scientifically confusing to me. I looked it up and apparently this is somewhat common knowledge and caused by a substance called limonin. After 24 hours, the juice of the Navel orange is no good. Here’s a bit of writing on the subject, which weeks ago would have been a bit of a snore, but it is now honestly fascinating. I also learned after the fact that the skin is thickest on this variety, which ultimately is probably what we didn’t want. It’s all a big experiment, and I know it’s not the first thing we’ll learn in this process. This small error likely happened because we didn’t do a test between different varieties, but I cannot be too surprised. Why would we test out drying multiple varieties of oranges if we can’t even get off the couch?

peels

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The Noonoonans*

Oct 14th, 2011 by Jessie

faces

I am hungry again.

PHEW.

I am hungry for a lot of things. I want to eat a lot of food that I make myself, I want to redo my website, I want to hang out with my friends voraciously, somehow all at the same time, and for weeks. I want to get into some deep conversations over some new whiskey cocktails. I want to combine some revival, some newness, with a touch of the best of the old. I want it to rain here in Seattle, sooner than it normally would.

invite

Peter and I were married in early September. We were busy for months prior. As months turned to weeks it was more intense, and as weeks turned to days, there was a lull of weird silence, and then it all started up again. Over the course of these months, we learned so much. We learned more about our friends, how we deal with more stress than either of us has ever had, what being truly busy actually meant, and what honestly really mattered. Many a time, we would come to the conclusion that as long as we ended up married by the end of the day on September third, we had done a good job, and nothing else was as important. (We did).

married

The weeks prior to our wedding, we were both very weird when it came to food. We never really felt like eating, and when we did, we were never really satisfied. It was strange that we both felt the same (but oddly consoling). We wanted comfort food, but then didn’t eat a lot of it and always felt everything was a little bland, boring, or just uninspiring. We went out to eat a lot at many of our favorite places just to get out of the house, and of course brought the conversations we would have had in the house to where we were. There was a neverending conversation of the same things, but they had to be covered again and again. There really were a few days in there where I thought I would never have an appetite again. It was ridiculous. I was worried I would be bored with food, with making meals to eat, eating because I had to, stop creating and wanting to learn. We would get a lot of partially pre-made foods and add a touch of something here or there that took no more than twenty minutes so we could go to bed early, then woke up and we were tired anyway. Not to be totally depressing, these weeks were very exciting and we couldn’t stop talking about all of it because we simply didn’t want to.

The day of the wedding, Peter and I were, of course, exhausted. I am pretty sure this is normal, but it sucked anyway. We apparently broke a million laws by sleeping in the same bed on Friday night and seeing each other the morning of the wedding day, but it was so nice and probably really one of the best moments in the whole day. Around 10:00 am, my bridesmaids, photographer, hairdresser and mom showed up. I think it was around then that internally my body went “f*ck”. I had one quarter of a mimosa and a third of a bagel with lox before I felt like I was going to puke a little bit. This was a new and odd sensation for me. When I’m overwhelmed or nervous, usually I get a really bad headache, but this day I felt totally barfy. So I obtained some smoothies, tums and saltines. I looked over my vows and put them down, closed my eyes, opened them, walked around, changed, changed again, drank two whole Nalgenes of water, told myself I was dumb.

Eating was kind of out of the question, which was just so stupid. I was frustrated. I heard that Peter ate a sandwich and I was jealous and massively grossed out at the same time. It was annoying and weird. On the outside I felt really good and really excited to get to my party. I tried a banana.

It was a truly very lovely summer day here, a tad too hot for Peter in his three-piece suit, and pretty much just right for me. We had a small ceremony and then a larger reception, where we welcomed guests from many different eras in our lives, older and younger, people we just met to people we have known forever. Our ceremony was as perfect as we could have ever asked for; we didn’t fumble over our words or vows, drop our rings or pass out. It may have been a little too perfect. Nothing really went wrong aside from the fact that during some transportation of my wedding dress, the string to the corset was gone. No big. :|

dress

I thought I would get married in jeans and a glitzy little robe with the word “Bride” on it – something that I thought I would never wear but was surprisingly happy and proud to have.

robe

We found ribbon from the woman who owned the home on the property where our wedding would take place.

ribbon

Relief.

ready

Veraci pizza catered the wedding and I think one of the best decisions we made during the crazy planning time was to add the caprese salad in the mix towards the last minute because I totally shoved my face with that when the ceremony ended, and it was about all I ate that evening.

pizza

pizza2

pizza3

We had Mac and Jack’s beer in a keg.

keg

We had big old galvanized buckets with wine, sparkling spring waters and true Mexican coke.

water

wine

We had lawn games.

croquet

We had vintage umbrellas from Bella Umbrella.

umbrellas

umbrellas2

We had old jars collected from antique stores months prior, filled with flowers from local companies (booyah, Mom, for all the work on this).

flowers1

flowers2

flowers3

flowers4

We had friends helping us with these flowers, with the setup of the tent, with everything, even the ceremony.

mark

tom

We had family.

dad

We had friends.

girls

We had champion speeches.

peter

We had moments of “this went too fast”.

dadme

We had success.

certificate

This was a time of our lives that was so crazy and so stressful nearly bringing me to a few moments where I thought maybe I should talk to a therapist. Humans are strange, though. I know I had these feelings, but now I somehow, magically, surprisingly feel like I would actually like to do it all again (except for the barf part). I would feel that again, because it was all so good, really. It’s neat (and probably survival) that our bodies allow us to remember the best over the worst, the pleasure of the whole experience more than the pain of certain moments.

So we’re slowly getting back into it, and we are hungry again. There are nights when warming up some soup and making grilled cheese sounds like about all we could handle, but maybe we’d use some really good cheese and make our own soup. Maybe we’d add some heirloom tomatoes. Maybe we’d make our own bread.

We are beginning. We are together. We have good, important responsibilities and new promises.

rings

I am different. I married Peter (nee-nur, nee-nur). This is what has joyously consumed me for the better part of a year. This is what has mattered. I often think about how if everyone just knew what I knew about him, how he’s always so good, so kind, so deeply wanting to always do the best thing, I would be featured somewhere on some cover on some magazine about the richest person in the world.

mypeter


*Credit goes to Peter Ehinger (the name) and Kenny Howard (the inspiration). Please no suing.

Thank you, Hannah Marie Schmale, for taking our pictures, for being so serious about this while making us laugh real laughs and for being lighthearted and happy in all your times of life.

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It’s All About The Journey

Aug 1st, 2011 by Jessie

fish and chips - ours

I never took a picture of the amazing fish and chips Peter and I made at my parents’ house last year. It’s sad because I can’t stop thinking about how good they were, especially with the salty, slightly effervescent white wine we had to go along with the whole thing. It was a greasy, really messy and delicious night. So the natural thing to do in a situation like that is to just do it again. We had to have friends over, of course, to save us from eating too many fries and if in the case everything turned out amazing, we could have some witnesses. Some important things about our two friends that joined us:

1). They are getting married in five days.
2). I truly believe they were made for one another.
3). They brought many wines to taste for their wedding.
4).  One of them grew up in England, so there was basically a professional available to assist us.
5). Bathroom humor is never out of the question.

fish and chips - 360
(Fish and chips from Local 360, seasonal, as it should be).

One of the keys to making good fish and chips is definitely an oil thermometer. If you don’t have one of these, there’s a good chance everything can come out a little soggy. Of course, knowing this got me stressed out, even though we did have a thermometer and the professional in the room. Peter often reminds me he’s my rock. I have the tendency to get a little hot and maybe more uptight and over think a lot (I make myself sound like a gem). Peter holds true to his word and really is able to calm me down. Effing up a batch of fish and chips is no big deal, really in the giant scheme of all things, but it was important to me to make them good, especially when halibut costs a million dollars a pound. Boiling, rolling oil is also totally scary (obvious). If I had the option of wearing an impermeable body suit I would have. I think mostly it’s because when I was younger, I was making potstickers and ended up accidentally mixing a teeny bit of water in oil, and ten minutes later I had at least a dozen red circles all over my face, which is just awesome for a 16-year old. All in all, hot oil terrifies me. So I wrapped a dish towel around my arm and very carefully dropped the battered fish into the oil. It was totally fine! No splatters or anything. It also helped that the professional was occasionally yelling from the couch that he was available for help if we needed it. I’m sure he sensed my tension.

fish and chips - fish
(Fish and chips from Fish, in Sausalito, California, one of the best culinary experiences I have ever had. Vacation, beer from a mason jar, repose, sun, boats, water, food).

Another trick that works wonders for the fries is a paper grocery bag. The fries have to be fried twice for the right texture and crispness. When they are removed from the oil, instead of draining each spoonful on a paper towel-lined rack, throw them into a paper bag and jostle them around a bit. It gets a lot of the grease off and makes sure they are all just sort of evenly de-oiled and such. The second time around, it’s really easy to salt them when you’re rustling them all around like that.

The thing about fish and chips for me is that I really think the cheap stuff is kind of the best. It’s either that or I have horrible taste in fish and chips. I mean, maybe it’s like cheeseburgers. I kind of think the somewhat flat, simple kinds with American cheese are really pretty amazing, over those monolithic flavor bursts costing over $15 reviewed in the Seattle Met practically every summer. So, not that I started this off with a glowing review or anything, but the halibut fish and chips at Lockspot Cafe are my favorite as it stands. They are simple, beer-battered, light, and have this savory salty taste that I haven’t found anywhere else. That’s the other thing. They must be beer-battered. None of this panko stuff. Simple, light beer is probably the best. Peter and I made ours from a recipe from Cook’s Illustrated, almost solely because it was a recipe for beer-battered, and the fact they prefaced the recipe with this really helped:

“For our fish and chips recipe, we wanted to find a batter that would not only protect the fish as it cooked but would also provide it with a nicely crisp contrast. A wet batter made with beer proved to be the most effective way to coat and protect the fish. What was the best way to keep the coating crisp for our best fish and chips recipe? The answer was a 3:1 ratio of flour to cornstarch, along with a teaspoon of baking powder. A final layer of flour over the battered fish kept the coating in place as the fish fried.”

Here’s the whole recipe you can view if you’ve got an account with them.  Otherwise, the above tip combined with almost any beer-battered fish and chips recipe should work. The only real thing we changed about this recipe was that we used a dark amber ale versus a light beer, which was tasty but I do think the crap beer is the best for this. At least it is good for something. The best part about trying to find the best fish and chips is that we get to eat a lot of them, which is always fun, together, washed down with a slightly sparkling white wine or a nice lager. It’s really all about the journey, and makes the end so much more enjoyable.

Congratulations, Sara and Kenny in finding your perfect fish.

sara & kenny
(Photo by Saskia M. Photography)

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You Know You Hate Makin’ Salad

May 27th, 2011 by Jessie

homeroom

Peter and I found ourselves in a situation recently where we were sitting at a table with five plates of macaroni and cheese in front of us.  This was a great moment in my life.  We were with another couple, and so yes, we ordered three kinds.  We had to try more than two.  I’m so happy that there is a restaurant that decided a business could be created and successful using the two best ingredients on earth.  Ever since I read about Homeroom, I knew I had to try it, and it could not be a long time until that happened.  Unfortunately for me, the restaurant was located in San Francisco.  Fortunately for me, San Francisco is not that hard to get to, I happen to love that city and my Grandma is there.  So Peter and I found ourselves in the Bay Area over this last weekend, and we went to get some freakin’ mac and cheese.  I must have mentioned it at least five times.

“I don’t really care what we do today, I just want to get that mac and cheese at some point.”
“We will.”

“So what night works to go to the mac and cheese place?”
“We will figure it out.”

“Hey Grandma, do you want to come get mac and cheese with us?”
“Is it just mac and cheese?”
“As far as I know.”
“Hmm, no, I mean I like it but I don’t want it to be the main course of my meal.”

Tsk, tsk, Grandma.

cheesy!

It was awesome.  We tried (from top to bottom) the Trailer mac (cheddar cheese and hot dogs), the Exchange Student (sharp pecorino and black peppercorns) and of course, the Classic.  I seriously have a thing for just plain old, classic stove top mac and cheese.  YES, it was stove top – reassuring me that my prediction on that being some of the best mac and cheese to exist is true.  Homeroom will bake your mac and cheese, though, if you prefer it that way.  Everyone who is into mac and cheese understands there are a million kinds, and there is no discrimination.  This place has options of toppings; no breadcrumbs, buttered breadcrumbs, even potato chips in place of breadcrumbs (!).

mmmbeers

Next time I probably would get the smaller version called Little Mac with a side salad, mostly so I wouldn’t feel a little like I could die at the very end, but for this first time, there was no holding back.  When the conversation of what to have for dinner rolls around, Peter and I end up always discussing whether or not to have a  salad with high-fat meals.  I mean the idea is that if you have a salad, you’ll get a little bit of the health benefits, and ideally you’ll eat less of the high-fat, unhealthy parts.  Well,  often times we DO get and make a salad and then we eat the normal amounts we usually would of the crappy (delicious) features of the meal and then to me the salad is just extra calories I probably should just put toward the other parts.  Ahhh.  I know this is wrong and not the mentality I should have at all, but it does happen.  During this little dinner debate, Peter and I are almost always reminded of the nearly ancient meme in which the sadly tragic Vince acquaints us all with the Slap Chop, which will undoubtedly help making salad less of a chore.  I guess that’s not really the issue, although I do appreciate his enthusiasm.  Actually, I’m not sure I appreciate it at all.  But I sure do appreciate that video.  And mac and cheese.  A lot.

boner

Homeroom 510 Mac & Cheese on Urbanspoon

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Revel

May 3rd, 2011 by Jessie

food

I have felt extremely lazy lately.  It’s as if all I can do after working all day is get immediately into my pajamas, pour myself a glass of wine and sit on the couch all evening.  However, I have been working out like a champ, so I don’t feel as guilty as I know I potentially could.  So Peter and I lately haven’t wanted to cook at all, and have been going out so much more than we should but it allows for delicious and spontaneous experiences.  A couple Sundays ago, we were driving across the Ballard bridge, coming home from a bunch of errands, and just wanted to sit somewhere and have everyone else do everything for us.  We are lucky we can do that on a whim.  We decided upon Revel.  We had been there once before with our friends, and we felt as if we needed to give it another shot.  They had just opened and it felt a little like we were part of the revving up process.  There was a bit of ironing to do, and we tried to understand that.  That first time we went, we sat in the adjacent bar, Quoin for a while waiting for our table.  This is another example of a place where you can get a special handcrafted cocktail.  There is of course in most of these bars a menu from which to choose, but a lot of the bartenders that work in such joints have a much greater skill than memorizing a selected list, and in fact have probably created most of the drinks.  This is why it’s always fun to convey to them what you like to drink and you can have a custom drink made for your palate (for example, I say, “I like citrus, not too sweet.  I’m trying to get into gin.”).  I would like to think this is enjoyable to hear, even if it’s a bustling Saturday night.  I ordered the Valley Forge, so I could taste applejack, of course because it reminded me of Dolly Parton’s song aptly named “Applejack” (side note: that song is exhausting to sing karaoke to -  I was completely out of breath at the end.  I still don’t really get it).

dough

This last time we went, we sat at the counter in the middle of the restaurant.  Peter and I feel strongly that these seats in any restaurant are the best.  Usually, the bar or counter is near all of the action, or at least relatively close to one of the employees, so if one of the goals of the evening is to see some sights, make some conversation or learn about the establishment, it’s the place to be.  This time, we saw the dough being prepared for the noodles; such a fun thing to see and great to know they are made from scratch in-house.  I am so spoiled on noodles now that we can make them at home and have access to fresh noodles all across the city.  This recipe looked easy as I think there were only three ingredients – and of course, as detailed in one of our previous posts, noodle dough is so much more incredibly forgiving.  One of my favorite dishes at Revel is the five-spiced duck meat ball noodle bowl.  We had a chance to try so many things on this menu at our first visit (sharing is the best), that we knew exactly what we wanted.  The short rib dumplings are also incredibly tasty.

blood

Everything on the menu is served with a few different sauces to try, ranging in flavors from sweet to spicy to tangy.  It adds a little interactivity to the meal that’s quite fun.  Peter thinks that picture up there I took looks like blood and told me not to use it.  I quite like it.  It’s not blood.  I’m using it.  Plus, I look like an idiot most times in all restaurants we go to because I’m the annoying, nerdo taking pictures of our meal, on an IPHONE no less, so I try to get it done swiftly and if I like it, it’s here.  I really don’t like so much being that person as it is embarrassing, but I really am trying to get over it.  And then our server saw me trying to take all these pictures (shoot), borrowed my phone and did the honors, which I didn’t mind one bit, being on the other side and all.

pj

Revel on Urbanspoon

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The Dray

Apr 22nd, 2011 by Jessie

yum

The first time we went to The Dray I thought, “wow there are a lot of squirrel things around here”.  The second time we decided to go I thought, “there really are a LOT of squirrel things”.  Their logo is a squirrel.  There’s wood all over the place, which I really love (warm, crafted, shiny).  Behind the bar, there’s a handmade steel branch of a tree, winding around behind the taps.  The taps are made to look like they have a wood texture.  The third time we show up, we are drinking a beer at the bar and after a short lull of silence Peter says, “oh, okay, so a dray is a squirrel’s nest”.  Wow.  Good job there.  I would honestly still just go on and on wondering about why there were so many cute rodent references and why the whole bathroom was painted like some sort of park scene with swirly trees all over the place (and a squirrel, of course).

taps

I am so proud to live in a city where there is great beer around almost every corner and where great beer is really important.  I appreciate that.  The Dray always has interchangeable, hefty local taps and the locals know about the taps.  The servers are more knowledgeable than they probably have to be; I loved overhearing the explanation of what a sour actually is and how it’s made.  I’m getting more into sours, and finding a place that has had different ones on tap consistently has really pleased me.  There’s a flavor in sour beers I can’t recognize that reminds me of a birthday party, a champagne toast or the look of a just-inflated balloon.  It’s some sort of special event, every time I take a sip.

for peter

It’s good I have Peter around.  I remember when we were first dating and I was so impressed he knew so many little facts.  I would text him, “what is that thing called again over the letters with two dots?”  Yes, I’m admitting I forgot that word.  “An umlaut”.  I really felt behind.  Peter’s a smart guy.  He said the other night I was smarter than him and I almost spit out my wine.  Thanks for indulging me, Pete.  I guess he also puts up with what I’ll call my blonde moments, which I don’t really believe in at ALL and actually pretty much hate, but just for the sake of it being that most people understand what that is supposed to mean and because I have blonde  hair, I’ll use it.  This might have been one of those moments.  Does everyone know what a dray is?  What if squirrel things were all over the place?  There’s a bit of a conversation about the term.  It can be a squirrel’s nest, and can be spelled “drey”.  It can also mean a pack of squirrels.  Or a low, strong cart, a sledge or a sled.  Also, I don’t know what a sledge is.  Peter?

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It’s Like Running From Fire in a Dream, Only Different

Mar 25th, 2011 by Jessie

Hazlewood

Peter and I have recently had the pleasure of enjoying Hazlewood. We have lived in Ballard for a while now and are kicking ourselves a little bit for not taking more advantage of this little gem on Sundays. Sundays are cheap, and we get to sit at the bar and drink old fashioned, lost cocktails as well as new inspirations (Spring is a time for motivation), and we get to know the talented bartender Sara, who I would say is nothing less than a master of her craft. Also she’s funny. And has a great laugh. And I like her outfits, mostly because I could never pull them off.

First off, let me say that this little nook of a place is probably not really tucked away off of Market St., but it sure feels like it. Basically, it’s an architectural optical illusion. We were really looking for it one day and ended up staring at a tattoo joint (right next door). I’ve considered myself to be an observant person most my life, and for a few minutes this made me feel a little humbled. I’m sure that is the point. Not to humble patrons, but to be covert. If the point wasn’t to be a little elusive, that was quite a good accident. It’s charming, red velvet with hints of mysterious inside. There’s squid ink next to a leather bottle of something on the shelf at the bar. There are beautiful bottles of liquor, glowing red, bright purple and a lovely herbaceous green from the the votives placed behind them. There are amber colors and small spaces everywhere. It is obvious there is a purpose for everything.

Jars

We have met Sara twice. Both times we have sat at the bar and had the pleasure of watching her work, interact and create. She gets pretty busy. She still makes amazing cocktails and makes it feel like it’s slow, like it’s a five minute process for each drink, that everything needs to be perfect, that she is not affected by time and by people and by the demand for exactly what it is that she is doing. She comes off acting like she likes it, or at least is just fine by the pressure, even when it could feel like one of those dreams when you’re running away from your burning home, pulled back by some stupid, invisible set of overalls by some stupid, invisible force. Everyone knows what that’s like, right? Less dramatically, she is good at her job and appears to like it very much. Our goal is to try and go as many Sundays as possible, because after nine perfectly crafted cocktails, our bill was ridiculously low, and of course that is always a good thing. More importantly, we’re interested in what makes a good cocktail, how to do it, and why people are into it, aside from tasting amazing. I’m also trying to redefine my negative feelings about gin, which were not created by drinking too much of it one night in high school but because I simply have never cared for that juniper berry strength. I’m learning that it’s quite good with fresh ginger, or in an Aviation (I drank this the traditional way with crème de violette, a sort of soapy, very floral liquer that turned the drink a gray-purple and matched my fingernail polish). Peter and I have this small dream right now of creating our own bitters and being wildly successful at it, and we seem to have a partner here in the bartender at Hazlewood, who would graciously create cocktails based off of our flavor combinations, of which we have a list and will not tell, because obviously that list is going to make us famous. It’s mostly fun to find someone that is as excited as us by drink concoctions and the history, and the stories created while enjoying them.

Sara

(That is in fact an illustration of an exploded drink glass. She’s not afraid to admit mistakes).

Hazlewood on Urbanspoon

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Homemade Soft Pretzels

Mar 14th, 2011 by Jessie

pretzel
This year marked the first that I actually really wanted to watch the Super Bowl (I had to google it to make sure it wasn’t one word…seriously).  I have a really good reason for this.  It’s not because I’m not into sports or watching them, because I am and I do, except for maybe golf, which seems to be only tolerable when I’m mildly hungover on a Sunday and I need something extremely quiet and relaxing in the background.  It’s all a personal thing, really; I have talked to so many people who like certain sports but don’t like watching them, who like watching them but don’t like playing them, etc., etc. etc.  Well I have never played football and I’ve never really watched it.  I didn’t know how many points a touchdown was until a year ago, really.  I didn’t know how the game was played.  But I started dating a pretty neat guy who did know these things and did enjoy watching it.  And if I wanted to ever see him on Sunday mornings for a few months, I kind of had to get into, it too.  To my surprise, I kind of ended up enjoying it (except on the mornings when I was tired or just irritable and I would notice that a guy down the bar drinking straight vodka at 9:30 am saying nothing all morning but “uuughhuguuuuuuuuuu” at the television understood a certain play and I just could not grasp it).  Peter, thanks for being a sport then, again, and always.

This post is not entirely about football, because there is a picture of a pretzel.  But it is an important introduction, because it explains why I had to make a really awesome snack on the first Super Bowl Sunday I have ever really been excited about.  I had found a recipe for this cheese dip that contained almost an abhorrent amount of cheese, sour cream and horseradish.  There were a few more ingredients in there, but that’s the gist.  It was to be served with homemade pretzel chips.  We thought that sounded like a fun project as we’ve never tried making any sort of pretzel at all.  Peter and I got all the ingredients together, went to my parents  house where the game would be watched, started to make these things, and realized half the instructions didn’t make sense.  There actually was a point where we were instructed to blanch a piece of dough in an 1/8 teaspoon of water.  I think we got into a mini fight about it, and then gave up on the pretzel chips.  Lame.  So we ended up almost going to the store fifty times before we realized we could ditch that plan because we had all the ingredients at our fingertips for homemade soft pretzels instead.

pretzel2

I can understand why, with the major cheese dip, the crunch of a pretzel chip would have been better.  But this was a great alternative, and really fun to make.  They are pretty easy, and the dough didn’t seem to me to be the kind really affected by too much or too little kneading, which is always the most difficult part in my mind.  We were actually surprised to see a pretty successful-looking little twisted piece of bread in the right shape and size when we were done.  I think I ended up eating more of the pretzel versus more of the dip, which in the end is really probably a good thing.  We made these from a recipe by Alton Brown, as it got majorly good reviews and quite a lot of them:

Ingredients:
1.5 c warm water (110 – 115 degrees)
1 tsp sugar
2 tsp kosher salt
1 package active dry yeast
4.5 c flour
4 T melted butter
vegetable oil
2/3 c baking soda
1 large egg yolk beaten with 1 T water

Directions:
Mix together the water, sugar and salt in the bowl of a stand mixer and sprinkle the yeast on top.  (I don’t think you really need a stand mixer for this, but I was at my parents house and I love using stand mixers, so I was of course all over that.)  Let it sit for 5 minutes.  It’s going to look really gross.  Add the flour and the butter and using the dough hook, mix on low speed until combined.  Change to medium speed and knead until the dough is smooth and pulls away from the side of the bowl (about 3 minutes).  It’s going to seem like a long time to be  kneading, but it turns out well, really.  Take the dough out of the bowl.  Clean the bowl and then oil it with the vegetable oil.  Put the dough back in the bowl, cover it with plastic wrap and put it in a warm place for about an hour.  It should double in size.  We turned the oven on really low, let it warm up, then turned it off and put the bowl in there.

Preheat the oven to 450°.  Line two baking sheets with parchment paper and brush them with some oil.  Boil up 10 cups of water and baking soda.  While you’re waiting for that to get really going, take your dough out and divide the big ball into 8 equal pieces.  Roll each one out into a 24″ long rope.  Now here’s where I could say, “Make a U-shape with the rope, holding the ends of the rope, cross them over each other and press onto the bottom of the U in order to form the shape of a pretzel”, OR I could just show you this diagram that I made, because really, those instructions didn’t make any sense to me.  Now they do, but when I was actually doing it, it was just annoying.  So here you go:

diagram

Now it’s time to put these in the boiling water for a little bit.  One at a time, dunk them in the boiling water for about 30 seconds.  Take them out (you can use a big flat spatula) and put them on the baking sheets.  Brush all the pretzels with the egg yolk and water mixture and sprinkle them with kosher salt.  Bake these for about 12- 15 minutes or until golden brown (ours took more like 20).  Move them to a wire rack to cool.  Eat with or without cheese dip.

Go Chiefs!

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