Showing posts with label DRAFT Magazine. Show all posts
Showing posts with label DRAFT Magazine. Show all posts

Wednesday, December 3, 2014

The anatomy of a vintage beer list

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Nobody blinks at a wine menu with a 2009 cabernet, but a beer list with five-year-old brew? In a proper cellar, “old beer” transforms into liquid that’s smoother and more cohesive than it was out of the tank—and it’s priced on par with wine. Kevin Mahan, managing partner of Gramercy Tavern in Manhattan, began stocking vintage beer in 2006, back when beer cellaring was virtually unheard of; today, his list is one of just a few expertly curated ones around the country. They’re rare pours (he aims to score two cases of Bourbon County releases from Goose Island, and just a sixer from far-flung brewers like Belgium’s Hanssens Artisanaal), and once they’re gone, they’re gone for good. Here, Mahan dissects his menu.


1. “It’s difficult to get a range of light to dark on a vintage list; it’s almost an after-dinner beer list. But this has darker notes and is still light on the palate.”


2. “The 750s are harder to sell; you have to find someone to get on the ride with you.”


3. “We age several barleywines, but this one’s special: At first, it can be a little sweet, but everything comes together with age.”


4. “This goes great with our chocolate desserts, particularly one in the tavern we call the Chocolate Bar.”


5. “At this point, there’s some significant bottle variation. I’ll open some tonight, and if the first two are good, we’ll keep it on the menu; if not, we’ll keep it in our back pocket to see if it improves with time.”


6. “It’s not something I’ll age forever. I expect it to mellow out. Hop-heads might say I’m killing this beer; I won’t argue that I’m changing what the customer will experience, but it’s an experiment.”


7. “We have the current version on our regular beer list, so this is one I like to serve side-by-side with a fresh bottle.”


8. “If we bought a beer three years ago, we sell it at the standard markup for what we bought it at three years ago. We roll in the price of storage as the cost of doing business; I don’t transfer that to the customer. I’m trying to attract people to this list.”


When good beer goes bad: Aging beer is equal parts art and science; it’s the cellarers’ best guess how long a beer should nap… and sometimes they guess wrong. If you can barely choke down your brew, the vintage might be past its prime. Mahan’s advice? Speak up. “If it’s just an off bottle, I might open up another one; if a customer took a chance on vintage beer and just didn’t like it, I’ll recommend a different beer,” Mahan says. “Either way, it should just come off the check.” If you’re too shy to say something, expect your server to make a move. “If you ordered a vintage beer and aren’t drinking it, you’ve pushed it aside, or you’re already asking for something else, we’ll notice: We’re trained to sense when you don’t like something, and we’ll fix it.”






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Tuesday, December 2, 2014

You’ve got ale!

This season, deliver some beer cheer; these holiday cards have our stamp of approval.


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1. $4.50, hartfordprints.com

2. $4, maconyork.com

3. $30 for 10, http://ift.tt/1yF5tgj

4. $4, daniellelaurenti.com

5. $5, mcbittersons.com

6. $3, http://ift.tt/1yF5tgn

7. $16 for 10, snowandgraham.com

8. $4, http://ift.tt/1yF5sJl






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Tuesday, November 25, 2014

The best airport breakfasts

Rick Bayless' Bacon Mollete at Tortas Frontera

Rick Bayless’ Bacon Mollete



Best case scenario: You breeze through security with time to spare. More likely: Snow and sleet leave you stranded. Don’t waste time screaming at a gate agent; instead, enjoy the most important meal of the day at these better-than-fast-food airport outposts.


Chicago O’Hare // Tortas Frontera

Terminals 1, 3 and 5 sell breakfast sandwiches the Rick Bayless way—that is, locally driven, authentically Mexican and in the vein of his iconic downtown Frontera Grill. The airport offshoot puts out a.m. tortas (griddle-baked sandwiches on bolillo or telera bread) and molletes (open-faced versions) that show off the chef’s geniously unfussy flavor compositions: There’s a hearty egg-chorizo torta, and molletes wearing fig spread atop smoked pork, or pecans and peanut butter over caramelized plantains. A yogurt bar puts flavor combos in your hands: Choose plain or Greek yogurt, honey or cajeta caramel, house granola or compote—or pile on the whole enchilada.


Newark Liberty International // Garden State Diner

This Jersey-style diner serves up hearty bites and a healthy dose of kitsch, like the classic car balanced above the entrance. The menu’s got a dozen-plus omelets and playful faves like Pancakes Elvis (peanut butter and banana, naturally). For genuine N.J. flavor, go for Frankie’s Eggs Benedict: two eggs, poached to wobbly perfection over a slab of grilled Taylor ham—a processed cross between Canadian bacon and fried bologna—on a toasty, open-faced English muffin, smothered in creamy hollandaise. Wash it down with a shake like the Orange Creamsicle: vanilla ice cream and orange juice whipped into creamy harmony. Need a different kind of pick-me-up? The full bar opens at 9 a.m.


Phoenix Sky Harbor // Barrio Café Por Avion

If you didn’t make it to the real Barrio Café, a Phoenix institution run by twice-James-Beard-nominated chef Silvana Salcida Esparza, you can still taste Southwest sabor at its colorful Terminal 4 outpost. You’ll avoid all airport blasé with massively portioned spicy egg dishes, like a simple sammy with huevos done up your way and topped with cheese, chorizo and salsa. Or, opt for the sombrero-sized Arizona Burrito brimming with sweet ’n’ spicy green chile pork and gooey cheese crowned with a pair of fried eggs. Sip French-pressed coffee, or opt for a kicky Michelada made with a Mexican brew. Missed breakfast? Try any dish with the famous Cochinita Pibil.


BEFORE YOU BOARD… Get one last sip at these airport spinoffs of beloved breweries: 1. Stone Brewing, San Diego International // 2. New Belgium Hub, Denver International // 3. Bell’s Brewery, Gerald R. Ford International (Grand Rapids, Mich.) // 4. Cigar City Brewing, Tampa International // 5. Laurelwood Brewing, Portland International






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Monday, November 24, 2014

The everything-under-$60 beer lover’s gift guide

Pasta artisans at NYC’s Sfoglini dry out spent grains from Bronx Brewery’s pale ale, mill them, sift them, then mix the flour into earthy, rich, radiator-shaped pasta that just begs for Bolognese. $8, sfoglini.com Recycled beer bottles become Sprout Bottle Gardens, kits of seeds, soil and fertilizer that bloom into mini-terrariums of flowers (lavender, marigold) and herbs (basil, sage). $29, sproutbottle.com This beery riff on the children’s classic replaces the old lady whispering “hush” with a bear named Charlie and sweet malted barley. Even with a brewing-science primer at the back, the book’s totally kid-appropriate. $17, bailiwickpress.com A splash of SweetWater brew anoints every Alcoholwicks candle; the pale ale version smells like an orange grove, flower shop and taproom rolled into one. $13, brownbagsoap.com California’s Boujie Baking Co. updates sweet, salty brittle with Redwood Curtain IPA. $7, boujiebakingco.com Offer guests a bite and a beer in six languages with cheery sampler plates. $25 for 6, crateandbarrel.com This roomy tote can hold two six-packs (or just your gym clothes). $22, popchartlab.com Nothing wrong with the old Douglas fir, but a beer-bottle tree's much merrier, no? $50, northernbrewer.com Get a beer novice started (or restock a geek) with Spiegelau’s Tasting Kit—one IPA, lager, pilsner and wheat beer glass each. $50, spiegelau.com DropCatch’s ingenious beer carrier folds flat—perfect for slipping into a suitcase, or under the front seat. $50, dropandcatch.com They’re not your grandpa’s sock hops: Any beer lover will get a kick out of this fun footwear. $10, zoraab.com Hand-brewed or hand-picked, a mix-six is the ultimate bespoke gift; skip the wrapping paper and tie on an oversize letterpress tag. $3, paperplatespress.com A sack of Soberdough, a bottle of beer and 45 minutes gets you soft, fresh (and vegan!) beer bread. Bake a loaf of Cinnful Raisin for breakfast, Green Chile Cheddar for dinner, and six other flavors whenever your tummy’s rumbling. $8, soberdough.com We're longtime fans of JB's Best BBQ sauces (crafted with beer from Jackie O's); the brand-new Blazin' Bacon flavor is our latest obsession. $5, jbsauces.com Soap made with brew brings new meaning to shower beer: View our favorite beer bars here. Lunchbox by day, beer carrier by night, Mountainsmith's The Sixer cooler schleps your stuff for hikes, tailgates and office commutes. $22, mountainsmith.com The jerky makers at Righteous Felon teamed with Victory Brewing to infuse beefy goodness with Storm King Stout. $8, victorybeer.com Mom will be so proud when you use Scrabble coasters to protect the table AND use your noggin! $22, burkedecor.com Clever-up your kitchen cleaning with a catchy, beer-themed towel. $7, corkpops.com The Homebrewer’s Lab Book is like a captain’s log for beer makers: Two pages for each brew help beer chefs catalog all the details of homemade hooch from ingredients to brewing temps to tasting notes. Coordinating you-write-’em labels give up to 40 bottles a graphic edge. from $13, chroniclebooks.com Upgrade your glass jug to a Miir Growler; double-walled stainless steel keeps draft-only brew cold and carbonated for up to 24 hours sans fridge. $59, miir.com



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10 practical tips for beer travelers

BeerTravel_graphic-2


The cold descends, and the scheming begins.


Maybe it’s that cyclical desire to escape the weather, like birds heading south. Maybe it’s the making of plans to revisit family and friends for the calendar’s mightiest eating-and-drinking holidays. Maybe it’s the temporarily limitless potential of the coming year. This desk calendar has one sheet left, and the next calendar is pristine, unmarked. Reality has yet to set parameters on vacation fantasies.


And it’s always possible, theoretically, that the money needed will appear in the bank account. If not, there is always the shoestring approach — the last-minute, budget booking somewhere unexpected, the trip that makes friends and colleagues jealous, the one that reminds you what it’s all about and makes you wonder why you don’t do it more often.


Or it could be simpler: that desire to escape the most stressful season.


Maybe it’s all of the above. I just know I get obsessed with hatching evil plans this time of year. Invariably, those plans incorporate, involve or flat-out revolve around beer.


Given that you are reading this, here, I reckon that you are—even if just once in a while—a fellow thirsty pilgrim. A Traveler Preoccupied by Beer. Welcome. Let’s share best practices.


Based on my own experiences and consultations with other beeronauts, here are 10 tips for planning the next mission:


1. Do your homework.


Anticipation. For some, this is nearly as much fun as the trip itself. Good planning takes time. Incentivize the online slog with a tall glass of something tasty. Then learn the lay of the land.


Hunting for airfare or hotel deals is no different than any other sort of trip. But proximity matters to a drinker; our monuments and museums are breweries and bars. Oh look honey, our hotel is right next to that world-class pub. With online mapping, you can plot out your own priorities and access them via smartphone. Any website with beer reviews—Ratebeer, TripAdvisor, whatever—can help identify and narrow down options.


Savvy beer-focused guidebooks are best of all. (Full disclosure: I wrote one.) As a bonus, a handy book can help free you from constantly checking electronic doodads—one of those things from which we may be trying to escape.


2. Plan non-beer stuff.


Really. Like, one thing, at least. It’s good for health of mind, body and relationships.


“Split your time,” says Richard Dinwoodie, co-owner of the Rake, a trailblazing beer bar near London’s Borough Market. “You know what your partner or other half is interested in. So find something you both can do.”


Recent example: In Brussels I booked a chocolate-making workshop for the family. Big hit. The kids loved it, and we took home a ton of chocolates we made ourselves. (And did the shop’s café happen to stock some great local beers? Yes. Yes it did.)


3. Make an itinerary.


This sounds anal. It doesn’t have to be. I was both frightened and impressed the first time a co-traveler emailed me his day-by-day, hour-by-hour schedule before our trip. Where’s the fun in that?


Then I saw how well it worked. Nearly every item is flexible or negotiable; the point is to do some mental labor ahead of time. Then you don’t have to think as much later.


And let’s be frank: We share interest in a beverage that hinders mental labor. Indeed, that is part of the attraction. Having a plan, however loose, can remove the need to make decisions at those times when we are least interested in such things.


And it helps to know the transit routes and schedules. Unless you’re driving.


4. Don’t drive.


Not if you can help it.


5. Pack smartly.


Some people pack for the weather. We pack for the bottles.


Advice varies but revolves around protecting those precious glass darlings for the trip home. Bring an extra bag; a hard-sided suitcase is best. Pack it with bubble wrap (it’s no fun shopping for bubble wrap when visiting foreign countries).


As Kansas City graphic designer and beer blogger Jim Wagner notes, “bottles fit in socks.” Coincidence? I add: Thicker ones are better.


“It keeps them from clanging around,” Wagner says. “Pack some small towels and plastic bags, for added insurance.”


Can all this be a pain in the ass? Yes. Especially if you hate checking luggage. But there is another way: Collect memories instead of bottles. Spend less time shopping and more time soaking in the atmosphere of interesting places. (Confession: I hate lugging bottles. Those beers rarely taste as good out of context, anyway. But they are fun to share later, and they do make nice gifts.)


6. Have a friend on the ground.


Weird how that Anthony Bourdain guy always has folks willing to show him around town. Seems to work for him.


“Phone ahead,” says Pete Brown, author of several books that, among other things, often incorporate international journeys and local brews. “Get in touch with someone, someone in that town. And you’ll see a completely different side of that town.”


Of course this is not always possible. But it’s nice if you can manage it. Beer is such a friendly medium. Odds are you’ll get to return the favor someday to your guide, or a friend of his. Or a friend of a friend.


Another alternative is to chat with locals who know.


“If you’re going to a beer festival and you are very interested in the local beer scene, go to the local bottle shops as soon as you get there,” says Dina Slavensky, a personal trainer and avid beer hunter originally from Chicago but now based in Edinburgh. “Others are going to have similar ideas, and if you wait until even a day into the festival, you might miss out on some fantastic buys.”


And any travel writer can tell you that tourist offices are great, underutilized resources—especially once they know your area of interest.


7. Drink lots of water.


Needs no explanation.


8. Eat food.


Really, you should not have to be told. But a proper meal in a restaurant with decent beers beats the desperate, late-night, street-fried… well, come to think of it, make time for both.


“Very often, it’s better to go to a bar or restaurant with a great selection of beer rather than a brew pub or brewery,” Wagner says. “Carmelo, the man who ran the bed-and-breakfast where we stayed in Brussels, implored my wife and me to ‘carpet our stomachs’ before embarking on a night of drinking. It’s good advice, traveling or not.”


Carpet your stomachs?


“I’m sure the phrase sounded better in French.”


9. Practice moderation, in moderation.


There is nothing quite like wondering, while gazing without much enthusiasm at a long-sought beer, whether it’s possible to develop gout from a single blowout weekend. Maybe hangovers are good for thoughtful reflection on the direction of your life. But they are piss-poor for fun holidays.


This also fits neatly with Nos. 2, 7 and 8, above. We seek balance in our beverages, why not seek it in our lives? It’s a nice idea.


10. Record.


A picture is worth a thousand words, they say. I would add: Notes are worth a thousand pictures.


If you’re the sharing the type, do it for others and contribute to social media. Or write a book. Add to the greater sum of human knowledge.


Even better, just do it for yourself.






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Friday, November 21, 2014

Sweet holiday (and everyday) beer desserts

Recipes by Jackie Dodd // Photography by Ed Rudolph // Styling by Marcella Capasso


The sweetest sign-off to your big feast is one of these six DIY desserts: They’re all easier than pie, all made with beer and all dangerously delicious additions to your holiday (or, hey, breakfast!) table.






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Pat’s Tap: Minnesota nice

Shakshuka at Pat's Tap / Danielle Gernes for DRAFT

Shakshuka at Pat’s Tap / Danielle Gernes for DRAFT



Right now in Minnesota, it’s that spectacular/brutal season when icicles dangling from trees glint sunlight like prisms, and frigid winds whip through every layer of clothing and dig into your bones. You’ll happily trade classy for cozy, and refined for rib-sticking. But at Pat’s Tap, you don’t really have to: Distinctive dishes are wrapped in the wool afghan of a warm eatery and comfort food, and the beer—no less than 120 of them in cans (plus 20 thoughtfully curated taps)—are the icing on the, well, ice.


Restaurateur Kim Bartmann stumbled on Pat’s back when it was a seedy locals’ dive bar called Casey’s; she stopped by for beers with her broomball teammates, and when it was up for sale, she decided to buy it, adding to her small collection of much-admired Twin Cites eateries. Pat’s holds on to the best parts of diveyness with low lighting and sweatshirt ease; a clever redesign spunked things up. When the hood was removed from the kitchen, Bartmann unearthed a ’50s-era pink poodle wallpaper; she commissioned an artist to recreate the print and plastered it throughout the space. She also discovered a small, rectangular addition toward the back of the bar, and knew immediately what would fit there: Skee ball machines.


“I love the Minnesota State Fair, and I need to be physically removed from the Skee ball machines,” she laughs. Four of them, all vintage, line the wall.


There are three reasons it’s called Pat’s Tap: 1. There was a bar called Pat’s Tap in Bartmann’s native Appleton, Wisc.; 2., It’s a palindrome; and 3., Most importantly, Pat is Bartmann’s mom. The Wall Street Journal-style illustration of Pat, a bespectacled, adorably wide-grinning lady is prominently placed on the menu. (Bartmann admits she didn’t tell her mom about the homage until the day Pat’s opened; she now gets a kick out of being the Pat.) There’s another, lesser-known nod to the restaurant’s matriarch, a simple condiment that accompanies the iceberg salad: “Until I did Pat’s, it would’ve been over my dead body I would serve ranch dressing,” Bartmann says. “But my mom loves ranch dressing, so she got ranch.”


It’s the kind of lightheartedness you need for a menu that deftly maneuvers between the comfortable (fish and chips, bangers and mash) and the unexpected (lamb gnocchi, vegetable curry), all elevated by thoughtful preparation. Most popular, the Big Cheeseburger is a girthier-than-your-mouth-can-handle patty of locally sourced Limousin beef, crowned with a quarter-inch slab of cheese caramelized on the grill. It’s a must-try as far as burgers go, but as far as everything goes, the shakshuka is among the most provocative plates. A traditional Middle Eastern dish, it starts with a layer of mint-speckled couscous, spicy roasted peppers in a thick tomato sauce topped with two perfectly poached eggs, surrounded by big, white crumbles of feta and sprinkled with cilantro.


But if you’re just stopping by for a beer and a bite, indulge in the other State Fair plug: cheese curds. Built with sturdy cheese from Ellsworth Creamery in Wisconsin, the perfectly chewy nuggets wear a flaky crisp and get a spicy kick from peppery house-made ketchup.


But back to the beers (all 130-plus of them): You won’t go wrong with a sampler from the tap selection (four healthy pours for a cool $10); on my visit, Pat’s was finishing off a keg of the Fitgers/Bent Paddle Smoked Rye collaboration; local and rare pours are a given here. The can list is accompanied by a “canifesto,” snappily explaining the benefits of aluminum: “Pat is a fan of skunks and other cute little critters, but not when they’re associated with a cold one.” The list’s breadth is credited, in part, to healthy competition with Philadelphia’s Percy Street Barbecue, which is also determined to offer the most canned beers in the country. Get past the pale lagers to see its impressively top-notch craft from ciders to Scotch ales, with a steep lean toward regional favorites like Surly, Big Wood and Third Street.


As it gets late, the buzzing spot can bump up to noisy, drowning out the sounds of Skee balls thunking and rolling on wood. But there’s no need to rush out in sub-zero temperatures just yet: Work off the hearty plates with a fair game or two, just like Pat would want you to.






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So it gose: When a forgotten beer style is still mostly forgotten at home

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Ritterguts Gose at Gosenschenke Ohne Bedenken / Joe Stange for DRAFT



Postmodern drinking is surreal at times. We drink these funny things disconnected from their moorings. We try to get to know them without having been to their homes. They have neither had us over for dinner nor showed us around town. We have not met the family. But we think we know them.


Hundreds of American breweries have discovered gose—maybe your local micro is one of them. If not: Gose (say it: GO-zuh) is an old-fashioned, acidic wheat beer, typically orange and hazy, that gets subtle doses of salt and coriander.


It starts innocently, with a few American brewers looking to add variety to the menu, to offer you something new, or even to offer themselves something new; some brewers make obscure styles just to find out what they taste like.


Then, it turns out, people drink more than one. So a toy becomes a trend.


My theory about gose: It is a self-contained cycle of quench. We’re all familiar with the old bar trick of offering salty snacks so we drink more. Gose typically starts with a tangy, orangeade-like acidity, rolling through bready flavor and lively bubbles, fading into that light—it must be subtle—lingering salty note. You know what tastes really good then? Another gulp of that acidity.


Gose is the song that never ends. It’s weird.


It gets weirder: One day, I actually visit Leipzig, Germany. And I get the strong impression that not even Leipzig has discovered gose. Not really, not recently.


There are basically two places in Leipzig known for serving gose, and neither is in the old town center. One is about 25 minutes walk north of the main train station; the other is about 25 minutes south. The trip is faster if you skip the exercise and work out the transit.


Arriving at Leipzig station on a crisp fall day, I get curious, visit the station bar, and ask if they have gose. I know the answer, but I want to hear it.


“No,” says the barman, shaking his head dismissively. “It doesn’t sell.”


Then, as if on automatic, he tells me the two places in town known for gose. This is a practiced ritual, for the tourists who ask. I resist the temptation to tell him that there were, supposedly, about 80 gose pubs in Leipzig a century ago.


Now, there are basically two.


A beacon for Leipziger Gose, the house beer at Bayerischer Bahnhof / Joe Stange for DRAFT

A beacon for Leipziger Gose, the house beer at Bayerischer Bahnhof / Joe Stange for DRAFT



The one in the south is the Bayerischer Bahnhof, named for the train station and located in an immaculate neoclassical structure with an immaculate showpiece brew kit. It’s a sprawling brewpub that appears to get a healthy mix of locals and tourists, most of them—the day I visited—choosing the Leipziger Gose. It’s an easy beer to like: mildly tart, offering a distinct impression of orange juice and zest and only faint whispers of spice and salt.


I’d like to talk with the brewer about it, but he is in San Diego, visiting breweries there. Drinking IPAs, no doubt. Postmodernity strikes again.


Incidentally, Leipziger Gose is available in the U.S., imported by B. United. Ask your bottle shop or beer bar.


The Bahnhof is highly tourist- and family-friendly, with full-color menus, crayons for the kids—the works. It can feed you a jellied pork-knuckle, but it might not satisfy your jones for an old-fashioned boozer.


For that, head to the pub in the north. The famous Gosenschenke Ohne Bedenken—it means “without hesitation”—is the main outlet for Ritterguts Gose. The pub has a pleasant beer garden if weather allows, while the interior is all wood and warmth, accented by dusty model ships, stained glass and candlelight.


The acidity in the hazy, orange-amber Ritterguts is more noticeable, arguably more addictive, while the salt and spice remain relatively subtle. Its striking label features what appears to be a stovepipe-hatted Mr. Burns—Herr Ritterguts, we presume? This one is also available in America, imported by Shelton Brothers.


It may well be that Germany will rediscover its gose, and its zwickl, its zoigl, its Berliner weisse, in the same way that Belgium rediscovered its lambic and its saison.


But for now, we lament the lack of other goses to try in Leipzig, and other characterful pubs in which to try them. It is time to walk back to the center and perhaps take in a Bach concert, or drink a pils in the Auerbachs Keller, where Goethe drank, and where Faust rode out on a wine barrel.


And near there you may see an interesting thing.


In the window of a gourmet shop at Mädler passage, there are bottles of Ritterguts Gose on display—alongside high-priced Italian pale ales and German imperial stouts.


Strange times, these.






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