For many, beer is an acquired taste, and I am no different. My early drinking days were spent guzzling whatever I could find just as long as it didn't make me go blind. As my tastes became more discerning, and my self-destructive tendencies subsided, I began gravitating first to mixed drinks, than to spirits, and finally arrived at whisky. It took many attempts before beer began to grow on me, but once I began to appreciate the subtleties of a nice craft brew there was no stopping it.
A beer review with me and the regulars would be a tricky one, though. April would likely end up in the ER, and Kenny's review would read: 'The first tasted like ick, the second tasted like yuck.' I could do a solo review, but how entertaining would it be to read the opinions of just one part-time beer snob? Isn't drinking alone one of the signs of alcoholism? No, I would need help.
In true crossover fashion we began by exchanging power-packed blows and witty banter, before my good friend Mari over at Endless Craving and I joined forces to pursue our common goal. Her offering: Midas Touch from Dogfish Head's Ancient Ales series, my own offering: Samuel Adams' Thirteenth Hour.
We began with the lighter of the two, the Midas Touch. Pouring the beer produced an ample head that persisted to the very end. The color was a very light amber, even slightly yellow, likely from the saffron added during brewing. The smell was sweet and fruity, more like a wine than a beer or even mead. Taking my first sip I was a little surprised at its mild flavor. It is very light, and not at all bitter, like a Pilsner sans the hops. The aftertaste is where this ale became interesting though. The finish is very long and the saffron makes itself known with a nice weighty savory sensation that spreads over the tongue. I suspect this flavor would compliment a spicy curry very nicely.
We then moved on to the Thirteenth Hour. The first thing that you cannot help but notice is the bottle, with its wide base that tapers to the top it almost resembles a bell, and it is corked like a champagne bottle. Like champagne, it also emits a loud POP when opened, which startled some of the bystanders. The beer indentifies itself as a Belgian style stout, and it is apparent immediately in the pour: it is very dark and produces a nice thick head. The smell is impossible to mistake, roasted coffee and hints of chocolate. The taste does not stray from this impression, it tastes very toasty and coffee-like. To my surprise the ale was not very bitter, lacking the 'mouth full of pennies' taste non-stout fans often complain about. After the initial taste of coffee subsides a bit one gets the other subtler flavors: chocolate, oak, and a wine-like fruitiness. It finished just a bit sour, but this does not ruin the experience, rather it just adds another level to the overall profile. The Sam Adams site suggests pairing it with spicy foods, but I would drink this with a dessert myself.
If I had to choose, I would say I preferred the Thirteenth Hour, but the Midas touch was also very enjoyable and quite unique. I would suggest trying both of these to any beer fan.
I would like to give my thanks to Mari for helping out this week, check out Endless Craving for her restaurant reviews and other food musings.
These days it seems like you can't hang around the local supermarket swinging a baguette without hitting a Celiac anymore. I think we all know at least a few people with gluten intolerances: friends, family members, random passersby in the grocery store. So, with my loved ones in mind, and as an apology to those who got a little too close to me as I practiced my bread kata in the bakery aisle, I agreed to a series of mini-reviews of various gluten-free food options. Today I start my court-ordered community service with a couple gluten-free pasta options and a couple chocolate desserts.
First up was De Boles' spaghetti style corn pasta. We had heard from April's mother, who has been eating gluten-free for many years, that corn pastas were pretty gross, so my hopes were not high. Right off the bat, the bright yellow color is slightly off-putting, but this is to be expected from corn flour.
One benefit to cooking it was that it does not stick together, making stirring it unnecessary, but the benefit ends there. It takes much longer for corn pasta to soften up when added to water, leaving the ends of your spaghetti sticking out of the top of the pot longer, making cooking it evenly more difficult. This also makes the cooking time a bit longer than wheat pasta, but only by about 2-3 minutes. It seems that the corn pasta went from being under-done to over-done very quickly, as it was still fairly hard in the middle at 9 minutes, but a little soggy at its full 10.
Opting for simplicity, so as not to cover the flavor of the pasta itself, I served the pasta with only an olive oil and garlic sauce. The corn pasta did not 'drink up' the sauce as readily as a wheat pasta does, and left a pool of oil in the bottom of the bowl. The flavor was unremarkable, giving only a brief taste of corn meal that quickly receded. The texture was mealy, and had little bite to it. I don't know that I would call it gross, but it wasn't very pleasant. If I had no other option, though, I could see eating it on occasion.
Next up was Ancient Harvest Quinoa Spaghetti. I was very curious about this one. Quinoa has become a big staple in my diet; I love the flavor, the nutritional benefits, and how easy it is to cook.
In short, this was like night and day. The color was a more appetizing light yellow, and looked much more like wheat pasta. It behaved much more like wheat pasta in every way, softening quickly in the water, having a more predictable cooking time, and eagerly soaking up the sauce. The texture was superior as well, with far less of the mealy mouth feel than the corn. The slight grassy flavor of quinoa was present, but not overpowering.
Moving on to dessert I first tried Udi's Gluten Free Double Chocolate Muffins. The muffin was a light reddish brown, reminiscent of Dutch-process cocoa, and didn't smell too overpoweringly chocolaty. This was somewhat deceptive, however, as the chocolate was quite pronounced, and the texture was rich and similar to a fudge brownie. All this richness was not overpowering, though, due to a bright lemony flavor from the inclusion of sugared lemon zest. Aside from the distinctive chew that is evident in baked goods that use xantham gum for their structure, one might not know it was gluten free. I thought it was quite good for a gluten free product.
Lastly, we had Amy's Organic Chocolate Cake. This treat boasts to be not only gluten free, but also is dairy free and vegan. I would have preferred it to be soy free, a trait the muffins had, but you can't have it all. The color was much darker than that of the muffins, and it had a very rich chocolate aroma that was punctuated by a strong vanilla extract smell. It was also sticky to the touch, leading me to expect a decadent chocolate experience. Like the muffins, my initial expectations were wrong, as the taste was severely lacking: the promising aroma of chocolate was deceiving, and the vanilla extract tasted of poor quality. The texture was gritty, and much less chewy than expected. This one was very disappointing.
The winners here were clear. If you are in the market for a gluten-free pasta option, or even just want a healthy and interesting wheat pasta alternative, consider giving quinoa pasta a shot. And for dessert, you could do a lot worse than Udi's Double Chocolate Muffins.
I love trying foods and beverages that have fallen out of style. Maybe it's the feeling of delving into the past to find what forgotten treasures lie abandoned in the deep recesses of our history; like some culinary Indiana Jones. Or, is it the puzzle of it that interests me so? Why are these treats no longer commonplace? Are the ingredients scarcer, is the method of production no longer viable, or have our tastes really evolved so much that they are no longer desirable? Or am I just being contrary, like so much hipster, and enjoying these things simply because they are no longer in fashion? Regardless, I loves me some old-timey drinks.
For those unfamiliar with the process, sodas used to get their fizz the same way beer or sparkling wine does, not from the addition of carbonated water, but from fermentation. Yeast is added to the brew, and allowed to do its thing, which is to eat up sugars and produce alcohol and gas. In the case of sodas, though, the fermentation is cut off very early, preserving much of the sweetness while allowing only a very small amount of alcohol to be produced. This of course makes for a very different kind of drink than the sodas we enjoy today, most of which (though not all) contain not even this miniscule amount of alcohol.
I have tried a number of old style beverages in the past. I have gone so far as to make my own celery soda syrup, which is much better than it sounds. I even brewed my own ginger ale completely from scratch, an endeavor that was far less successful, as I think I allowed it to ferment a tad too long, and it tasted rather strongly of alcohol. This failure did, however, give me a good reference point for what to expect of classic brewed sodas. So, upon seeing six of Fentimans offerings at one of my local supermarkets, I couldn't wait to try them.
Curiosity Cola - We started off with quite a doozy on this one. The cola had the strongest alcoholic scent, similar to a whisky and cola, with a strong ginger smell as well. The taste was likewise gingery, and not unlike the bubble-gummy flavor of champagne soda. This was not one of my favorites.
Victorian Lemonade - Perhaps it was just the bottle I had, but I was initially assaulted by a skunky smell upon giving this one my precursory whiff. The taste, however, was a bit more pleasant, though the skunkiness persisted. Still the dry, sour flavor wasn't too bad, and would be nice as a drink mixer I think. It reminded me a little of a Mike's Hard Lemonade, with far less alcohol and much less sweet. Not bad.
Ginger Beer - As a huge fan of ginger beer I had high hopes for this one. The aroma was quite heady, and I happily inhaled deeply several times. The smell was slightly deceptive, however, as the ginger flavor was much milder than I expected. Perhaps I am just used to Jamaican ginger beers which tend to be sinus-searingly strong, but this one had only a slight kick to it. It is on the dry side, something I quite like, especially in ginger ales and beers. It was definitely superior to my own failed attempt. This was among my favorites and I highly suggest it.
Mandarin and Seville Orange Jigger - I am no fan of orange sodas, but this one is a nice exception. The smell was very tart and reminded me immediately of a screwdriver. The taste was equally tart, and not at all sweet. It tasted like a mimosa made with a cheap sparkling wine, but in a good way. This is another that would make a good drink mixer, though it's still enjoyable on its own.
Dandelion and Burdock - This is the one I was most looking forward to trying, as I had no idea what it would taste like. I have had dandelion wine, and steamed dandelion greens, but never burdock. It smelled very similar to a grape soda, tea, and most oddly, a bit like cough syrup. The flavor was very complex, but reminded me most of horehound candy and tea. This was not only the most interesting and complex of the lot, but also hands-down our favorite. Try this one.
Cherry Tree Cola - There is no subtlety with this one, the cherry smell hits hard, like a cherry hard candy left to melt in the sun. The flavor is much the same, so strong that it tastes artificial. It's viscous body and overall sweetness reminded me of cherry syrup. Again, this would be a nice mixer, but I couldn't think of having more than a sip on its own.
Overall, I enjoyed Fentimans line of Botanically Brewed Beverages, even the ones I wouldn't race out to buy again. I feel an additional shout-out is in order regarding the Dandelion and Burdock, which I give my whole-hearted endorsement to. I imagine I will be having the occasional uncontrollable craving for one from now on. All of these flavors are well worth trying, and I hope to have the opportunity to try the remaining Rose Lemonade and Shandy flavors listed on their site.
Micro-regional cuisine has been a fascination of mine ever since I first learned that every other country in the world aside from the United States thinks pumpkin pie is disgusting. Sure, I knew that other countries had their exclusive odd foods that were pleasing only to the palates of their own people: Australia's Vegemite, Japan's natto, France's butter and chocolate on bread (yup, that's a thing, and better than you may think); but it was quite an eye-opener to find to that one of my own beloved childhood foods was amongst them.
How could something as delicious as pumpkin pie be so reviled everywhere else? How do any of these foods manage to be so loved so strongly by so few? Do we learn to love these foods, or are we genetically wired to? Nature or nurture? Soon I was seeking out every example of such foods I could find to try to satisfy my insatiable curiosity.
Somehow in my quest to subject my own taste buds to every instance of "they love it in 'X'... but you wouldn't like it", I had neglected one from just a few scant miles to the south: Pennsylvania's scrapple. Scrapple, for those unfamiliar with it, is a Pennsylvania Dutch invention that utilizes the left-over bits of pig that many would just discard. The little scraps of meat too small to be used in anything else, as well as the pig's organs are combined with spices and corn meal, and then formed into a loaf. Typically you then slice this loaf and pan-fry it.
This sounded like the perfect subject for the blog, so after a couple weeks of soda and fast food, I suggested we try some scrapple. To try to assuage the other's fears a bit, I extolled on its historical significance. "It is perhaps the first pork product invented in America!", I exclaimed. "It was a very popular dish back in the day, but has fallen out of favor.", I continued, appealing to their sympathies. April relented, but Kenny remained firm. "It's perfectly traditional to have it with ketchup.", I offered finally. In the end he accepted the challenge.
Simply finding some scrapple turned out to be a little more difficult than I anticipated. I knew I had seen vacuum-packed varieties in grocery stores in the past, but I had hoped to find a local butcher or deli that had fresher options. This proved futile, though. After several attempts, I finally found a supermarket that still carried 'pork mush'. Out of other options I picked up a block of Hatfield brand lean scrapple, and prepared to fry it up.
Unwrapping the Scrapple, I was immediately reminded of chicken liver pâté' in both its smell and appearance. It smelled faintly of iron from the organ meat, and it was fairly firm to the touch. My trusty chef's knife made quick work of it, as I sliced it into quarter-inch thick slices . As the scrapple fried the iron smell was quickly overcome by the rich savory aroma of the pork, and smelled not at all unlike simple pork sausage. After 10 minutes on each side I plated them up with some hash browns and eggs; opting for a restaurant-style vertical presentation for laughs, and served my nervous comrades.
Now, perhaps this is due to the particular brand of scrapple I had found, but there is little to say about the flavor itself. It tastes much like it smelled, similar to pork sausage: savory and salty, but with the addition of a slight iron taste from the offal. The texture was soft, like pâté', but delightfully crispy on the outside. It was fantastic dipped in the runny yolk from my eggs as well. All in all I enjoyed it greatly, and would even order it instead of bacon or sausage as a breakfast meat occasionally. I would like to try some other brands to see how they differ, assuming I can find them.
I personally suggest giving this one a shot. Even if you are put off by offal, the taste is much milder than one would expect, and adds a nice depth to the overall flavor. It may not replace bacon in too many hearts, but it deserves a place on the breakfast table once-in-a-while.
 A tower of Pepsi Next-- co-starring Will's thumb. I have something of a love/hate relationship with soda. I require enough caffeine to get me through the day to give an elephant the jitters, and the sheer volume would make even the likes of Hunter S. Thompson or Charlie Sheen nod their heads in respect. Sometimes my beloved coffee or various caffeinated treats are just not available or feasible options . In those dark times sodas help keep the monkey off my back.
I do try to avoid soda, however, for health reasons. Over the last year and a half I have lost over one hundred pounds. I feel better, look better, and want to stay this way; so I avoid any unnecessary calories in my drinks. The obvious solution would seem to be to switch to diet sodas; but on top of disliking the flavor, artificial sweeteners pose a host of heath issues of their own. Still, caffeine is a hell of a drug, and daddy needs his fix.
I have tried a number of diet sodas, and found few that manage to be palatable. When we decided to review two new options that appeared on the over-saturated soft drink market, I did not have high hopes. The first was Pepsi's newest offering: Pepsi Next.
I have always been more of a Coke guy than a Pepsi guy. The darker caramel flavor of Coke, with its highly carbonated bite always appealed to me more than Pepsi's mild flavor and carbonation. I admit, though, that I am fond of Pepsi MAX, if only because the excessive number of ingredients help mask the flavor of its artificial sweeteners.
When I first laid eyes upon Pepsi Next and saw its boast of containing less sugar and only 60 calories my interest was piqued. I thought for a moment that Pepsi had released a dry cola, something missing from the main-stream market. Alas, no. Pepsi Next uses a combination of high fructose corn syrup, aspartame, and sucralose for its sweeteners.
Before even tasting the drink, the artificial sweeteners are immediately apparent in the nose; as well as in the telltale fizziness of the drink. Upon first tasting the drink one gets a rather strong hit of vanilla, and it does seem slightly less sweet than other diets. I was somewhat pleased at first, but as the drink lingered its viscosity betrayed it. The sweetness soon gives way to the bitterness so associated with the aftertaste of artificial sweeteners, and the thickness of the drink assures that one will be tasting it long after the sweetness of the corn syrup is a memory.
We had discussed a palate cleanser before the tasting session started, but had agreed it was likely not necessary. We were wrong. A quick swish of ginger ale (ginger being a well known palate cleanser), followed by some water and a short wait cleared the way for the Dr Pepper Ten.
I rather like regular Dr Pepper, it's a nice departure from the standard cola flavors that are so ubiquitous. I am no fan of their normal diet offering though, and I hoped that Dr Pepper Ten would give me a better low calorie option.
The bouquet was immediately reminiscent of cough syrup: sickly sweet, and with a weird chemical scent. Similarly to Pepsi Next, Dr Pepper Ten had a less sweet initial flavor than it's normal diet does. Other than the initial obfuscation of the sweetener, though, it initially tasted exactly like the diet. This grace period was short, though. While the unpleasant aftertaste of the Pepsi Next creeps up on you, Dr Pepper Ten's simply attacks with a full frontal assault. The medicinal taste hinted at earlier in the smell makes itself known with a vengeance, and can best be described as tannic, like a bad red wine or very bitter tea. I felt as though I had been chewing on a bit of varnished wood. I discarded the remains of my cup after just two sips.
The Pepsi Next might be worth a taste, though I fail to see the appeal of a soda with 60 calories per serving. If you want to save calories go with a full diet, or better yet, water or tea. As for Dr Pepper Ten, I cannot recommend it. I personally look forward to seeing these two go the way of New Coke and Crystal Pepsi.
I have always steered away from fast-food fish sandwiches. This is not at all due to an aversion to fish, but rather my intense love of seafood. Why, I thought, suffer through those nasty little frozen fish squares that plague cafeterias and TV dinners everywhere, when tastier options abound for the eater willing to take even the first step off the most beaten of paths? Fried haddock and chips, broiled whole fish (head intact please, those are the best parts), crab-stuffed flounder fillets, sushi and sashimi; all regularly available at numerous locally owned restaurants and diners.
Last week, though, something caught my attention. Wendy's was proudly advertising a panko-breaded cod fillet sandwich. I was surprised, to say the least. For those who may not know, most frozen fish sandwiches are made from pollock, haddock's far less tasty cousin; it's a trash fish. Cod, however, is more highly prized, and pricier. Further I always applaud this kind of transparency in food, especially in a fast-food joint. I decided it was worth a shot.
The Wendy's Premium Cod Fillet
I must say, for a fast-food fish sandwich, the Wendy's cod fillet wasn't half bad. Cod has never been my favorite white fish, tasting just a little too metallic to me. However, its slight sweetness, mild fishiness, and meatier texture make it a huge step up from most fast-food fishy fare. The sandwich was (thankfully) light on the tartar, so as not to walk all over the subtleties of the fish itself. The panko breading was nicely browned and crispy and the bun was lightly toasted and tasty. All in all I was pleasantly surprised.
Having had a fairly good experience at Wendy's I wondered if, perhaps, the other major fast-food places might deserve a chance. This called for a comparison of the "Big Three". Next up was McDonalds.
McDonald's Filet-O-Fish
Now this is the cafeteria-style fish sandwich I had been dreading: pale brown breading encased cheap pollock and formed into an unnaturally square shape. Globs of tartar oozed out. I steeled myself and bit in. I was confused at first; it wasn't good, to be sure, but wasn't as repulsive as I remembered these things to be. Could my taste buds be failing me? I feared I would have nothing to write about until I opened the second sandwich (I had opted for the two fish meal) and noticed the off- center orange cheese sticking out the side of the bun, like a tongue razzing me. The first sandwich had lacked the cheese.
Old food wisdom states that one shouldn't mix cheese and fish; and with the exceptions of the tuna melt and lox with a smear, I agree. Cheese, by definition, is spoiled milk, and lends this spoiled flavor to fish. Without cheese the sandwich was merely bad, with cheese it was disgusting. My hopes dashed, I solemnly headed out to my final stop of the "Big Three".
Burger King's BK Big Fish
Morale low, I unwrapped my Big Fish. It looked much like the McDonald's Filet-O-Fish, but, as the name would suggest, was considerably larger. Hoping this would lend itself to a better texture, I tucked in. Immediately all hopes for a finer texture were discarded; the fish was flaky, and even tough. If it were possible for fish to be gristly that would be the word I would use to describe it. Copious amounts of tartar helped mask the fish's flavor with its own, and made holding the filet between the buns a chore. I choked it down and was glad to be done.
The winner here is obvious, and should be no surprise. If you find yourself at a Wendy's with a craving for fish, give the cod filet a chance. Avoid the others, or at least ask them to omit the cheese, and to cut back on the tartar. Hopefully the other biggies will follow Wendy's lead on this one and offer some better fish options.
I must confess, both Doritos and Taco Bell are kind of guilty pleasures of mine. I get the odd craving for both every few months or so, then promptly remember why I don't need to eat them more often.
My initial reaction to the tacos was one of mild amusement. I hadn't seen any of the commercials for the product, so unwrapping them was my first visual exposure. Before me were three tacos that looked like someone had dumped the remnants of a spent Doritos bag on them, the powder clinging to the grease. They were even served in cute little holders that bore the Doritos logo, like a little bag. I chose to forgo any condiments and dug in.
The flavor was unremarkable, but tasty enough. It should be no shock that the flavor of nacho cheese pairs just fine with those of a Taco Supreme; sour cream, taco meat, tomato, more orange cheese. And eating one does evoke the Doritos experience, right down to the orange residue on your fingertips.
For me the Doritos Locos Taco was exactly what I was expecting: a standard taco shell that has been covered in Doritos dust. But does this make it a Doritos shell? To me it does not; the texture is a large part of what makes a Dorito what it is, and the texture is certainly not the same. This is almost certainly a necessity, as a chip would likely just shatter on the first bite, but this differing texture does effect the taste slightly. The flavor profile is indeed similar, but to me, it is not the promised 'taco wrapped in a Dorito'.
None the less the Doritos Locos Taco was enjoyable in its own way. It tasted fine, if a bit salty, and it satisfied my guilty pleasures for faux-Mexican food and neon orange cheese. As far as fast food novelties go it's inoffensive (it's no KFC Double Down, a novelty that offended not only the taste buds, but also one's sensibilities), but forgettable. Try it if the you are curious, the extra fifty cents is worth spending, if only once.
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