Bezyaitstvo's Revenge: Crepe Success

(Sorry, couldn't help myself.)

Because once I just knew I could salvage the frankenblin recipe I tried this morning, I went ahead and tweaked the proportions, made another batch, and got very different (much improved) results.

Original recipe:
1/2 cup skim milk
2/3 cup water
1/4 cup butter, melted
2 tablespoons vanilla extract
1 cup all-purpose flour
1 tablespoon white sugar
1/4 teaspoon salt

What I did (approximately):
2/3 cup milk
1 3/4 cup water
2.5 tablespoons butter, melted (1/4 cup is 4)
1 cup flour
1 tablespoon sugar
1/2 teaspoon salt

Basically all I did was decrease the butter and increase the other liquids, especially the water, and man, what a difference! The batter was much runnier, which it's supposed to be for a thin blin-crepe-thing, and in fact if I did it again I might put in even more water. They still cooked fast and flipped quickly, and I still think I overgreased the pan-- I have this bizarre fear that they're going to stick to the pan and tear apart, even though that hasn't even come close to happening once. Because the batter is thinner it spreads out in the pan very nicely, and I've also perfected my ladling wrist so that they come out pretty damn circular every time (seriously, use a ladle, not a spoon-- huge difference, both in shape and how they cook).

Because they were thinner they were much more flexible, like actual blini, so I was able to fold them over and make nice little sandwiches for my father and I. Same deal as last time-- slather in horseradish, put on some swiss and turkey or roast beef, cook in pan till cheese is gooey. MUCH better-- the overpowering stick-to-the-roof-of-your-mouth quality is totally gone, and the blin frames its contents instead of dominating it.

so I still have to work on aesthetics with these, Constantinople wasn't built in a day

In my opinion it wasn't "chewy", which is a complaint I've heard about eggless pancake-things, and while I haven't tried these with eggs yet, I'm not sure why I'd bother (when I get around to making real buckwheat blini, of course, that's another story).

My long suffering father is used to me inflicting the results of my kitchen experiments on him, and because he is kind he always pretends to like what I plate up, but I could tell he actually liked these-- when I told him there were more in the kitchen he didn't even wait for me to leave to get up to fetch more. Cheap, fun, quick, simple, delicious, very customizable-- what more could you want? Definitely going in my regular rotation.

Bezyaitstvo: the heretical blinwich

Got a ridiculous craving for blini this morning and decided to try my hand (I've never made them before, somehow). Unfortunately, we had no eggs, so I went with this "eggless crepe" recipe-- a far cry from my intention, but when you get a drunk desire to cook at 5am, well, you cook.

I skipped the vanilla extract but otherwise followed it as written. I think that the batter was much too thick and I definitely consistently overgreased the pan (I was using a "vegetable oil spray" instead of actual vegetable oil, which probably didn't help), but all things considered, as a first attempt, things went okay. 

I'm not sure what the point of eggless crepes are, since they're still not vegan, but if you're wondering whether they're edible-- most certainly! Mine came out very thick in that stick-to-the-roof-of-your-mouth way; I'll find out once I buy eggs whether their addition would've prevented that. Because the batter was so thick it was a huge pain to get it to spread thinly enough in the pan, which meant the pseudo-blini-crepes were thicker and had a smaller diameter than is ideal. They also didn't fold the way they should-- I put some peach jam into one and folded it over for my father, and while it didn't break in half, it did crack pretty ugly.

I ended up making myself a little breakfast sandwich with 'em, since they were all relatively small: spread a decent amount of horseradish sauce on one side, put on a couple slices of deli sliced turkey and a slice of swiss cheese, top with another horseradish'd "blin", cook in pan on medium heat til cheese is melty and the turkey warm (flip if you think the bottom blin is getting overcooked), and voila-- incredibly filling breakfast.

heretical blinwich

So, again, far from ideal, but if all you've got is flour, butter, and milk, you've got a lot more than you think!

Here is a legitimately interesting rundown of ways to substitute eggs in various recipes-- worth reading just to give you a better sense of the many different functions eggs serve in different dishes, even if you have no interest in cooking without them.

Never trust a skinny tie

Been back on Long Island for about a month now, and have come to the deeply frustrating conclusion that there are no good bars within a half-hour of my parents' house. Despite this, I decided to go bar hopping with a friend of mine from high school in Port Jefferson on Saturday--I figured a nice area like Port Jeff must have at least one or two joints with a decent selection of something.

I'm not going to name the bar I'm about to complain about, because I don't want to be one of those bitchy Yelp people, and when all's said and done, I got what I ordered, and didn't pay nearly what I should have for it. But my experience there really... funny? disappointing? Another excuse for me to write about alcohol?

Disclaimer: This is a bar snob post. I am going to sound very pretentious. I'm particularly judgmental of sub-par bartending because it's a dream of mine to pour someday, so it irritates me when I see others do it worse than I think I could. I didn't tip the guy badly, if it makes you feel any better.

It was around 9:45pm on a Saturday night when we walked in. The place seemed like your typical not-quite-sports-bar: heavily lacquered wood framed by television screens and bar stools; nothing very distinctive.

My friend and I grab a seat at the bar, and I get up to see what they've got-- given the decor my expectations weren't very high, and I don't mind a simple bar, but sometimes places can surprise you. First thing I notice: about fifteen different flavored vodkas (and we're talking Smirnoff Raspberry Twist, here, not a respectable Van Gogh); not very encouraging. Then I see a bunch of whiskeys I don't recognize and quickly realize it's because they're all Irish (sorry, Jameson fans). Beyond that it's all your typical stuff. I'm trying to decide whether I want to settle for a Jack and (diet) coke or the bland IPA they've got on tap when two things catch my eye: on a lower shelf, cloaked in shadow, sit bottles of Pernod and St Germain. My standards for this bar immediately go up-- no one would carry stock they don't know how to serve, right?

It's pretty crowded so there are three guys behind the bar: two of them are dressed casually in ill-fitting polos and shorts, but the third was wearing a dress shirt, skinny tie, and proper trousers-- he's the one who took our orders. "Awesome," I thought, "we got the guy who knows what he's doing."

My friend orders a beer and I ask for a Pernod rocks. The beer he gets right away, but he spends about two-and-a-half minutes scanning the shelves trying to find the Pernod (I thought it'd be pretty obnoxious for me to point it out to him). When he finally finds it, he grabs a rocks glass, shovels in some crushed ice, and then completely fills it with Pernod-- way more than I was expecting to get, and not how I imagine it's typically served, but what the hell, I wasn't about to complain about that, and I wasn't really expecting proper ice at that kind of bar.

Normally when bar-hopping I like to switch after one drink, but I couldn't leave before having something with the St Germain.

"Could I have a gin and tonic with St Germain?"

"You want a single or a double?"

"Uh... double, sure."

"What kind of gin do you want, rack?"

And that's when I knew this guy had no idea what St Germain was. Personally, if I'd been tending and someone asked for that, I'd probably suggest a couple of our top brands, but certainly wouldn't assume they wanted the absolute worst thing we carried. For those unfamiliar with bar lingo, "well" or "rack" booze is the default you'll get served if you don't specify a preference, and usually means the stuff that's too cheap to display; they're often literally kept beneath the bar, hence the names.

St Germain and the kind of gin one one ought actually mix it with.

St Germain is a relatively expensive, high quality (notoriously delicious) liqueur, so a patron ordering that probably doesn't want to ruin it with a crap base liquor. They're also probably looking for some balance in their cocktail, so while I'm an alcoholic and will never shy away from a double, it was a pretty strange question to ask, especially because I'm a relatively petite young woman, and he'd just given me heaven-only-knows how many shots of Pernod (although maybe once he saw how I knocked that back he made some [correct] assumptions).

Still, because I am awkward as hell and didn't want to waste his time while I mulled over my gin options, I agreed to the rack gin. I also kind of figured it couldn't have been that bad. Hoo boy.

He grabs one of the mason jars they serve their beers and mixed drinks in (a cute touch, I'll grant), scoops in some ice, pulls a bottle of gin I have never before seen in my life from beneath the bar, pours in about two-and-a-half shots, and just about tops it off with tonic. Then he stares dumbly at the shelves behind him again for about two minutes before giving up and going into the back to find someone who actually does know where the St Germain is (again I was too awkward to just point it out for him). For all I know he didn't even know what it looked like. He pours maybe 3/4 oz on the top, squeezes a lime wedge over it, shoves it on the rim, throws in a bendy straw, and without giving it so much as a swish pushes it across the bar to me.

A lot of that I could forgive given the nature of the bar, but between not stirring it even once and the straw I sincerely had to keep my mouth from gaping. Who puts a straw in any kind of high ball? And what kind of bartender is in such a rush they can't stir a damn drink, especially when he's making it directly in front of the patron? I also found the lime distracting given the elderflower, but some folks will take a lime with their St Germain g&ts, so I can't really complain about that.

The rack gin was so flavorless that it let the elderflower really take the lead, which I didn't mind at all, so it did work out, but for goodness sake, bar owners: don't stock shit your staff doesn't understand.

He only charged me $8 for each of the drinks, which is actually a phenomenal deal, all things considered-- I don't know whether he was being nice or really had no idea what he'd served me, but, like I said, I tipped him well. I wouldn't have been half as nitpicky if they hadn't carried such nice things! I guess they just bought them to look nice on the shelf. A dangerous game, my friends.

In other news, I've decided that if I can't be a bartender, I'd be a great mystery drinker. Hire me to assess your bar! I'll do it for free if you catch my tab.

Toxicological Anthropology

Came across this while digging around the internet for something the other day-- it's an article on childhood alcoholism from the Revue Internationale de Médecine et de Chirurgie, translated from the French in No 1, Vol 40 of the Pacific Medical Journal, published in January 1897, available for your perusal online here.

M. Lancereaux, at a recent meeting of the Academy of Medicine, reported two very important observations showing the pernicious influence of alcoholism in children upon their development. One case was that of a girl between thirteen and fourteen years of age, whose parents were drunkards, and who had been accustomed to drink half a litre of wine daily ever since she was three years old. She had the appearance of a child of eight years. ... The other case was likewise that of a daughter of alcoholic parents. ... From an early age she had habitually drunk wine diluted with water, from her seventh year she was accustomed to drink chartreuse and other liquors, "to fortify her stomach." ...she showed manifest signs of a neuritis with atrophy of the lower extremities. Laboratory experiments upon the young of rabbits have fully confirmed this action of alcohol upon the growth, and this special effect should be remembered and included with the influences of alcoholism upon the increase of crime, idiocy, and insanity.

I've often said that if I couldn't have been a Russian and East European Studies major, I would've gone to the American studies department because it's the only place I could imagine writing a senior thesis on what I've dubbed "tobacco anthropology". As I get older I find this fascination with the cultures, norms, etc, that grow up around poisons extending very thoroughly to alcohol. 

I was trying to think of a name for the study of histories, mythologies, and cultures surrounding popular poisons but didn't get much farther than toxicology, which quite stupidly has already been claimed by something much less interesting. I also came to the unfortunate realization that if I went around calling myself an amateur toxicologist people would get all kinds of wrong ideas.

In any case, I come bearing tidings of yet another new diversion of mine, somewhat related to the above: the Drunk Shoe. It's a very simple project, and the idea wasn't even my own: pair up alcohol and shoes, take a picture. It's been a lot of fun for me thus far, so I hope you check it out.

The glare on this one drives me mad (working with a very...low tech set-up), but I  do love that owl.

With a pint of Green Chartreuse, ain't nothin seem right

"There's a reason there so few photos of Marlissa and me," she said. "For Marlissa, the explanation is fascinating, but sad, too. For me, though, it's just ego plain and simple. I'm a proud old broad who can't stand the way she looks, especially when compared to the way I used to look. Ego, pride."

More?

 She wagged her eyes and took a sip of her drink--chartreuse and soda, an exotic liqueur unfamiliar to me. "Name a conceit. I delude myself that it's okay because I admit that I'm vain. I haven't reached the age where my body only embarrasses others. Why advertise what you've lost and can never recover?"

- Dark Light

It is a novel, I confess, I have not read (and am not sure I have any interest in reading), but I couldn't keep this passage to myself once I came across it earlier today.

I am still alive-- I won't promise to write for you soon, much as I'd like to, because it seems that for me to make such a vow is to assure several weeks of unbecoming silence. In the meantime do visit my latest diversion the telephone's out of cigarettes, which I can promise is full to bursting with all manner of oddity and spectacle such as inspire your humble bloggess.

In which pretension takes many forms

1. I finally gave in and started myself a tumblr.

2. I realized that all the creaky nuts and bolts in my brain that start turning when I cook also rev up when reading about proper cocktails. I fear, o my brothers, that I am becoming a liquor snob. To that end, here's my current bar (limited, of course, by my budget):

• Jack Daniels Tennessee Whiskey
• Ruskova Vodka
• Green Chartreuse
• Leroux Creme de Cacao
• Paolo Lazzaroni & Figli Maraschino
• Kraken Black Rum
• Kahlua*

Some cocktails I've enjoyed with that bizarre collection of bottles (NB: when I mean juice, I write juice; if not assume the real thing):

The Final Ward

Courtesy of Phil Ward at Death & Co, a bar I almost had the pleasure of visiting a few weeks ago when I was in the East Village. Rye, green chartreuse, maraschino, and lemon juice-- had to sub in Jack for the rye, and while it was still incredibly delicious, the sweetness of the Jack was really too much. Still, one of the best cocktails I've had recently-- go for it.

Pago Pago

What it's supposed to be: gold rum, pineapple, lime juice, green chartreuse, white creme de cacao.

What I drank: that, with regular creme de cacao instead (was lucky enough to be with a friend who had some gold rum on hand at the time).

I am always pretty skeptical of creme de cacao and bought it only because I've heard it can work wonders with chartreuse, so expect some experimentation on that front. This one, at least, was pretty good.

"Pineapple Julep with Ginger"

Put this one in quotes because I'm not sure how fair it is to call this a julep, but hey, I had some ginger beer laying around I'd been meaning to get rid of, so why not? Bourbon (used Jack), simple syrup (skipped it), ginger beer, pineapple, and mint. I didn't have any mint, and man was I sad-- this is a perfectly passable summer drink as is, but I think the mint would've leveled it up.

The Black Pearl

This sounded fascinating right from the start: black rum, light rum, pineapple juice, balsamic reduction, and ginger beer. I wanted to try this just to see how the balsamic reduction fit in, but by the time I got to it (I was at a friend's showing off my new shaker that night) I was too lazy to whip some up. So, minus the balsamic,  and with gold instead of light, it's certainly tasty, but nothing particularly interesting, and I can think of better things to do with the Kraken. I do intend to mix it up proper at some point, though, so stay tuned.

With all that in mind, what do you suggest? I know, I know, I need to get my hands on some gin if I really want to mix with chartreuse, and probably pick up some blood orange bitters-- but if you have suggestions, fire away!

*I like Kahlua in espresso "martinis", sometimes. There, I said it. Your disdain has no power over me.

Founders Imperial Stout (Review)

I've always been more of a defender of book cover-judging than most, but especially when it comes to beer. The first beer I ever liked was North Coast's Russian Imperial Stout Old Rasputin, which I ordered solely because of its name. The double headed eagle on this gorgeous Founders Imperial Stout similarly heralds glad tidings.

Since the exquisite Cask Republic opened in New Haven in early 2011 I've been spending ever more of my bar budget (read: the contents of my wallet not earmarked for other poisons) on imperial IPAs, since they tend to have a lower price-to-ABV ratio than my beloved dark beers. Now that I'm back on Long Island for a bit, I visited the local beer distributor and picked up a pack of these babies, having had only the best experiences with Founders (the Dirty Bastard in particular comes to mind).

Like going back to vodka after a semester of bourbon, my very first sip reminded me why my heart lies far east of the Rhine*.

This stuff pours like motor oil-- some dark elixir of bitterness meted out in small vials during the reign of Richard III, flowing like an endless silk handkerchief from a felled magician's sleeve into the glass. I didn't have the proper glassware for it (something more akin to a brandy snifter is more appropriate), but I didn't mind, since the smaller circumference of the glass kept the head alive for quite a while. This thing is chewy and resilient; the head's got a deep caramel color to it and looks so solid I could float a wafer on it (actually, I probably could have).

With 90 IBUs this stout isn't for the faint of heart-- I've never had a beer so bitter I didn't like it, so I was in heaven. Have you ever had a really strong dark chocolate, like 70 or 80% cocoa? If you didn't like that, I'm not sure you'd like this. It's 10.5% ABV so if you're used to weaker beers, prepare yourself-- it goes down pretty easy, although as it warms up in the glass the ethanol does assert itself a little more. Beers like this should be served at what's called "cellar temperature" (50-55 degrees), so if you're looking for something to cool yourself off in these June days go find a pilsner or something (I've always found a nice maibock works well, personally).

Make sure you give this a proper smell (this is where the brandy snifter is helpful)-- as any wine or beer snob will tell you, scent strongly affects taste, so if you just go at it without acclimating your olfactories you're missing out.

There's not much carbonation here, in keeping with its overall weight, and this isn't a beer to rush through, or to accompany food. If you think Guinness is heavy, well, you're downright mistaken-- I can tackle a Guinness and a burger easily, but this one's gonna demand your full attention, and you won't be sorry to give it. Particularly toward the end it almost recalled some barleywines I've had in terms of mouth feel, so if you like a poppy beer this brew's not for you. If you like Guinness, you might still enjoy this beer, but be warned: dry and/or Irish stouts are lighter in about everything but color (lower ABV, less bitter, less heavy), so while I'll never sway anyone from trying an excellent beer, you might want to work your way up to this one.

In 2010 this beer took home the bronze for American-Style Imperial Stouts in the World Beer Cup, in case it's pedigree you're after. I read it described somewhere as "a contemplative beer", and I can't say I disagree-- it's a lot to take in, and while I've had more than one in a sitting before I wouldn't necessarily recommend it. The flavors and weight can get overpowering after a while, and now that I'm on my second six-pack of the stuff in two weeks I think it's best when balanced out by a nice simple ale, or even cider.

Happy drinking, folks-- maybe next time I won't review something horribly out-of-season.

PS: For those curious, I did graduate. Onward and upward, I suppose.

*"Russian Imperial Stouts" come from England. Also this is technically an American-Style Imperial Stout, but I won't say anything if you won't.