Accidental Hedonist

If there is any subtext to 99 Drams of Whiskey (now found at your favorite bookseller), it is this: Any knowledge of whiskey is secondary to the environment in which you taste it. A bottle of Jim Beam white consumed with several friends at a barbecue is far more relevant, in my opinion, than bottle of 1991 Glenrothes consumed in a nondescript environment by oneself.

In other words, if you are sitting taking notes on your drink when you could be hanging with friends, or listening to your favorite album, or sitting on the back porch watching the sunset, then you’re doing it wrong.

This, by the way, is the subtext of Hans Offringa’s books on the topic A Taste of Whisky and Whisky & Jazz. His beautiful books evoke, not just a sense of place, but almost a sense of purpose. Whether it’s having several different chefs explain the thought processes of creating a menu based off of different whiskies, or detailing why which whisky goes best with which jazz legend, what Hans does is expand the whisky world beyond that of Scotch clubs and whisky forums. What he is telling the readers is that Whisky isn’t to be tasted as much as it’s to be enjoyed.

This is how it should be. Because when one gets right down to it, whisky is a tool, a device used make our lives just a little better. But oh, what a device it is.

Mr. Offringa’s books are chock full of brilliant photography that help define the sense of his purpose. The glossy veneer of the book, and the beautiful graphics within practically dare you to not leave the book on your coffee table. Admittedly I am a fan of any book which allows me to point at pictures and say “I’ve been there!”, so take my praises of glossy photos with a bit of salt.

If you’re looking for another whiskey book, let me highly recommend both A Taste of Whisky and Whisky & Jazz.

There’s an interesting story behind this poem, but I’ll think I’ll leave that to tomorrow’s post. All you need to know for now is that Ninkasi was a Sumerian goddess of alcohol, specifically beer and brewing. It was written around 1800 BCE on a clay tablet.

Hymn to Ninkasi

Borne of the flowing water,
Tenderly cared for by the Ninhursag,
Borne of the flowing water,
Tenderly cared for by the Ninhursag,

Having founded your town by the sacred lake,
She finished its great walls for you,
Ninkasi, having founded your town by the sacred lake,
She finished it’s walls for you,

Your father is Enki, Lord Nidimmud,
Your mother is Ninti, the queen of the sacred lake.
Ninkasi, your father is Enki, Lord Nidimmud,
Your mother is Ninti, the queen of the sacred lake.

You are the one who handles the dough [and] with a big shovel,
Mixing in a pit, the bappir with sweet aromatics,
Ninkasi, you are the one who handles the dough [and] with a big shovel,
Mixing in a pit, the bappir with [date] – honey,

You are the one who bakes the bappir in the big oven,
Puts in order the piles of hulled grains,
Ninkasi, you are the one who bakes the bappir in the big oven,
Puts in order the piles of hulled grains,

You are the one who waters the malt set on the ground,
The noble dogs keep away even the potentates,
Ninkasi, you are the one who waters the malt set on the ground,
The noble dogs keep away even the potentates,

You are the one who soaks the malt in a jar,
The waves rise, the waves fall.
Ninkasi, you are the one who soaks the malt in a jar,
The waves rise, the waves fall.

You are the one who spreads the cooked mash on large reed mats,
Coolness overcomes,
Ninkasi, you are the one who spreads the cooked mash on large reed mats,
Coolness overcomes,

You are the one who holds with both hands the great sweet wort,
Brewing [it] with honey [and] wine
(You the sweet wort to the vessel)
Ninkasi, (…)(You the sweet wort to the vessel)

The filtering vat, which makes a pleasant sound,
You place appropriately on a large collector vat.
Ninkasi, the filtering vat, which makes a pleasant sound,
You place appropriately on a large collector vat.

When you pour out the filtered beer of the collector vat,
It is [like] the onrush of Tigris and Euphrates.
Ninkasi, you are the one who pours out the filtered beer of the collector vat,
It is [like] the onrush of Tigris and Euphrates.

While I stir up a batch of dough for tamales, the pork stewing in the crock pot, smells of cooking fill the air, all of my senses are engaged. My hands move air into the dough, insuring that it will have a light fluffy texture after steaming. My nose tells me I put just the right amount of chipotle peppers in with the pork cheeks, while my ears let me dance to the sound of light bubbling as I let it reduce to a thick stew. A little taste here and there reminds me why I use freshly rendered lard for the perfect tamales, while I craft the crowning touch, a slice of jalapeno to peak out from the dough.

The joy of making a dish doesn’t end with those sensual, pleasing parts. It continues as I smell them steaming and taste them completed. And then, and then I get to the good part. After scarfing all that I can consume, I sit down in front of my computer and reminisce about what I just made. It sounds silly, to enjoy them and then immediately move to thinking about them, but for me the joy comes from every aspect, the cerebral rehashing included. That allows me really delve into what it was that made these good (or bad, in some cases), what it was that enhanced the dish and what detracted, how much I liked it and how much I want to share it with the world.

Lucky for me, as a blogger, I do have the opportunity to share it with the world, and I have very much enjoyed being able to enjoy my thoughts on food with everyone from the platform of Accidental Hedonist. This is my final post, but you can always find me, as well as the recipe for the tamales at www.thegastrognome.wordpress.com.

Well, readers, I bid you adieu from my Thursday guest blogger post. I’ve really had a great time here with the whole AH crew – fellow writers, Kate, and all the readers.

The best part of writing here has been has been finding my food voice. When I joined Daily Blender early last year, I was part of a business channel, so I adapted the content to really focus on just the food and beverage news. Celebs, industry happenings, recalls – all kinds of things, as long as it was just news.

Here at Accidental Hedonist, the format is a bit different however, and I was a little uneasy when I began. I tried a few restaurant reviews, I tried a few travel pieces. In the end, I found that I received the most response from posts where I just went with the voice that was most comfortable. The voice that’s just me.

As a visitor to this weekend’s Aspen Food & Wine Classic, I realized that cooking is really the same way. Everyone has a personal interest, utilizing equipment, recipes, and ingredients that are valuable to them as individuals. Some of a small fan base, some have a fan base of thousands, but most are doing what they’re doing because they love it – because it fulfills something within them, because it’s the voice that’s most comfortable, because it’s just them.

Thank you, Kate, for giving me the opportunity to find my voice.

I put this for informational purposes only, as part of the research into beer. These equations, created by the late Professor Paul Mangelsdorf of Harvard, seek to explain the evolutionary road to beer and brewing.

1. Cereal + Heat = Production of popped or parched cereals
2. Cereal + Heat + Water = Production of gruel or porridge
3. Cereal + Heat (and/or grinding) + Water + Heat = Production of unleavened bread
4. Cereal + Heat (and/or grinding) + Water + Yeast + Heat = Production of leavened bread
5. Cereal + Water (+ Sprouting) + Drying + Grinding + Water + Yeast = Production of Beer

One point here: There is one hypothesis flying about that beer occurred prior to bread making in the history of food. While there is no evidence that can either support nor deny this hypothesis, Professor Mangelsdorf’s “equation” above does demonstrate that making beer is slightly more complicated than making unleavened AND leavened bread. While this does not prove with certainty that unleavened bread nor leavened bread was made before beer, it does, I think, put the onus on the “Beer first” crowd to make their case more thoroughly.

Sad to say, but this is the end of my gig with Accidental Hedonist. I want to thank Kate for giving me this opportunity. It’s been a fun six months, and I’ve really enjoyed writing for this audience. Feel free to join me over at Food & Fire, where I’ll continue posting about both live fire cooking and my growing number of gluten-free recipes.

Tri-tip is a little-known cut of beef that all too often ends up being turned into stew meat or hamburger. Too bad, because it?s an inexpensive, tasty roast that’s easy to prepare on the grill.

The muscle is triangular in shape (hence, tri-tip). It’s cut from the bottom of the sirloin, so it has that rich flavor while still being pretty lean.

You can cut it into steaks and grill it hot and fast, but I like it the way the vaqueros in California prepared it – seasoned simply and cooked slowly over a smoky fire, then sliced thinly against the grain.

1 tri-tip roast, between 1-1/2 and 2-1/2 pounds
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 tablespoon kosher salt
2 tablespoons minced garlic
2 tablespoons ground black pepper

Coat the roast with the olive oil. Combine the salt, garlic, and black pepper and rub into the meat. Put roast back in the refrigerator for at least an hour.

Set your grill up for an indirect cook at medium-high heat (about 350°F). Toss in a couple of small chunks of smoking wood (red oak is traditional) to the coals or smoker box. Put the roast on away from the heat and close the lid.

Cook the tri-tip for about an hour, turning every 15 minutes, until the internal temperature reaches 135°F. This is the lovely land of medium rare. Because the roast is so lean, cooking it beyond this point will just make it tough.

Here it is sliced for serving – tender and tasty. Save the juices to spoon over the meat when serving.

There is a distinct difference between a Trappist Beer and an Abbey beer. Trappist beers, if memory serves, mean that monks play some part in either the production or oversight of the brewing of the beer. Abbey beers simply mean that a particular Abbey has licensed their name to a type of beer. Maredsous is an Abbey beer, and they lend their name to 3 different types of beer.

The one picture (and hence, the one reviewed) is Maredsous 8, a Dubbel.

Appearance: A deep Mahogany with a nice of-white head that lasts. And when it does dissipate, it leaves quite a nice bit of Belgian lace.

Aroma: Sweetness hits first, but lightly. Deep savory fruits seem to be present, such as figs and raisins. A very interesting aroma.

Taste: Malty, with a hit of acid in the back. The fruity aromas translate very well into the taste, with complex fruit flavors with a hint of caramel. If I were judging, I ding this a bit for having v. little hops, as their should be some readily apparent. Although the hops are there, one could argue they should be there moreso.

But as I don’t mind when hops are missing, I’ll let it slide, a bit.

Mouthfeel: Body isn’t as deep as a porter, but not as light as a pale ale. Sort of in between. Light carbonation is there to support the flavor of the beer, rather than overwhelm it. Quite nice.

Drinkability: Probably the second most favorite beer I’ve ever tasted. Complex without being overpowering, and the grain takes precendent with hops almost no where to be found. This? This is the beer I was looking for when I said “There’s gotta be something other than lagers.”

Overall: A