Smoked Egg Salad Sandwich & Budvar Czech Pilsner

I live in a house divided by eggs.  There's those who love them (Sarah) and those who definitely do not (that's me).  Don't get me wrong.  Eggs as an ingredient are brilliant.  They make soufflés rise and give breakfast real meaning.  A poached egg over short rib hash?  Absolutely!  Soft boiled, halved and floating in a Tonkatsu ramen broth?  Of course!  A Scotch Egg?  No question there and also the topic of a future post.  But the idea of a plain hard boiled egg (or worse - *gag - a deviled egg!) is something I've never been able to stomach.

Biscuits and Hot Link Gravy & Appreciation Pils

I miss diner food.  There I've said it.  It's not at all the thing I anticipated missing - I'd prefer my homesickness to be a bit more highbrow - but I do.  I miss grease, hash browns, the miracle that is corned beef, cheap ketchup and absurd breakfast skillets with seven different kinds of meat.

I also miss grease.

And grease.

(Although, this just in: Danes sometimes smear pork lard on their toast which is as good as grease and, obviously, one thousand percent genius).

American diners boast a special kind of cuisine. Hovering over the sweet spot of junk food and home cooking, good diner food can both fill you up and make you hate yourself for hours after.  It also cures hangovers.  And diets.  Back in our roaring twenties, Sarah and I enjoyed a lot of diner meals, mostly at our favorite spot on Lincoln Avenue in Chicago.  It had sticky pleather booths, burned coffee and a mustachioed owner who affably slapped your backs on your way in and out.  Sadly, it's closed now but memories of our indulgent brunches/late night, post pub eating extravaganzas, still linger.  Sarah usually got a skillet, always with ham, never with green peppers and I always, ALWAYS got the biscuits and gravy.

Texas Smørrebrød & Warpigs Lazurite IPA

And ... I'm back!  Back and slightly bug-eyed over the fact that it's been six months since the last post.  Yep, six months.  Man, nothing derails one's blogging momentum like an international move.  Oh, and opening a new restaurant.  That takes some time also.

*Insert sheepish shrug here.

It's been worth it, though.  Sarah and I are happily settled in our new home, a somewhat sparsely furnished but very cozy three room flat in Copenhagen's Vesterbro neighborhood and I'm proud to say that Warpigs - that's the new restaurant -  is off to a great start!

Chili Chocolate Tart With Spiced Cashews & Darkness

I've been absent the last few weeks.  I have a good excuse - Sarah and I packed up our entire loft,

stuffed it into one tiny storage unit and then wrestled 6 large suitcases across the country on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving (aka the most hellacious travel day of the year).  It was kind of a bear with one semi embarrassing freakout involving me and a loose luggage cart wheel but we did it and landed happily in California with most of our sanity intact.  The downside of course, is that between madly cramming our lives into boxes and bidding adieu to our city, blogging kinda took the backseat.  

Not to worry, though ... We're back!  And we're back with dessert.  And chiles! And chocolate!

Texan Eggs Cocotte & All Day IPA

If you read last week's post you might remember that I cooked up a mighty batch of chili.  Rich, smokey, bean-less Texas chili, laden with a whole mess of peppers and spiked with chorizo and bacon.  We had our friend Paul over and he and I proceeded to eat like we'd never seen food before.  Still, even post voracity, there was still a ton of chili left over.  Like half the pot.  I sent Paul home with a to-go bag that he, quite brilliantly, had the good sense to cook with eggs the next morning.  It inspired me - the thought of chili for breakfast - and I set to making my own chili eggs. 

My version is something in between shakshouka (a Middle Eastern specialty of eggs cooked in spicy tomato sauce), ouefs en cocotte á la créme (French for eggs baked in cream and also French for amazing) and Chilaquiles (the Mexican classic which, if you've never had before, you absolutely should - here's a great and traditional recipe).  So this dish is a little bit of a culture cluster but it's also a really solid breakfast. 

Texas "Red" & Indian Brown Ale

As some of you may have heard, Sarah and I are on the cusp of a pretty big change.  If you read the Smoked Beef Brisket Benedict post you might recall that I had some important guests visiting from the far off land of Denmark about a month ago.  In actuality, those guests were the fine folks from Mikkeller (yes, that Mikkeller!) who were in town on business and, among other things, interviewing me for the barbecue chef position at Warpigs, the soon-to-be legendary collaboration brewery they are launching with the equally fine folks at 3 Floyds.  Well friends, I am very pleased to announce that I was offered and have accepted that barbecue chef position which means that Sarah and I are soon moving to Denmark!  That's right, in the very near future, The Beer and Food Project will set up post in the exciting city of Copenhagen where I will help to lead the introduction of American style barbecue to the Danish people.  Pretty damn exciting!

So aside from barbecue - which has pretty much occupied most of my culinary brain for the last month - for nostalgic reasons, I've also been spending some goodbye time with the foods I find to be distinctly "Chicago." Chili is definitely one of them.  Technically it didn't originate in Chicago (like barbecue, it's mostly associated with Texas) but Chicagoans LOVE their chili.  It's the food of Sunday football games and family get togethers and most every Chicago person I know has their own "best" version.   I'm no different and like my chili making counterparts, I'll cockily assert that mine rivals most others.  The difference between them and me, perhaps, is that I'm actually willing to share it here.

Smoked Tonkotsu Ramen with Seared Pork Belly & Arctic Panzer Wolf

Alongside a good portion of the eating public, I've recently developed an infatuation with ramen.  It's not very original - everyone is obsessed with it right now - but it's something I'm taking seriously. Maybe it's because High Five Ramen (arguably the city's bet) opened up just blocks from my house.  Maybe because on my last trip to NYC I discovered the glory that is Totto Ramen, a tiny basement restaurant with 12 seats that Sarah and I waited an hour and a half - in the rain, sans umbrellas - to get in to.  Or Maybe it's because the wisdom of Japan rings true … That ramen, with it's warm, silken broth and curly noodles is the ultimate comfort food.   Whatever the reason, with the onset of Fall, it's become our go-to Sunday wind down treat and this week I decided to make my own.

Smoked Tomato and Fennel Cocktail Sauce & Totally Naked

This weekend was kind of a bummer.  The glorious Fall that Chicago had just started to enjoy took a hit with some temperatures in the lower forties.  Like 42 degrees.  Yeah.  In case you're keeping track, that's only 10 degrees above freezing and it's the first week of October.  My reaction was to complain (A LOT) and then, as I do every year at the first sign of cold, go into complete panic mode and barbecue and smoke every possible item in our fridge and freezer because I know the days of outdoor cooking are quickly dwindling.   Sarah (the Californian aka the person who grew up with the ability to barbecue year round) always laughs at me and equates my behavior to a squirrel storing nuts.  Not the manliest of comparisons but if it means she'll cheerfully eat smoked apples in a pie (as she gamely did last year), I'll take the hit.  

Smoked Brisket Benedict & White Oak Jai Alai

Two very exciting things happened this week.  The first was that I had some distinguished beer guests visit from Denmark.  I'll keep their identities under wraps for now but if you know anything about the craft beer world, you probably guessed at the mention of "distinguished" and "beer" and "Denmark" … and you're probably damned impressed!  I know I was!  I'd promised them a barbecue feast and in my unbridled enthusiasm procured a slightly enormous, fifteen pound brisket.  Of course fifteen pounds is far more than any four men could consume in one sitting (even hungry ones and even those of hearty viking descent) but I was excited and thus went a tad overboard.  So, home came the mighty piece of meat were it smoked for a solid twelve hours and was shared with my new friends alongside baked beans, good camaraderie and whiskey sours.  It was a terrific afternoon that I felt truly privileged to host and though we got through a respectable amount of the meat, at meal's end there was plenty left over.

Beer Pickles: A Bonus Post

If you read this blog regularly, you know that I'm a big fan of fat.  Fat from meat, that is.  It's the stuff that makes a sausage a sausage and it's what distinguishes a 'meh' steak from one that is extraordinary.  Fans of the boneless, skinless chicken breast irk me and frankly I think they're kidding themselves when they allege that their fatless, boring breasts have as much flavor as those with the skin intact.  And I would argue that across the board discerning carnivores agree.  There's a reason bacon holds strong as one of America's favorite foods and that delicacies like patés and terrines are so beloved … it's because fat is amazing!

The Purist's Burger & Anchor Steam

And so we've arrived … the first burger post!  If you take burgers as seriously as I do, this is kind of a big deal.  What can one say about the burger?  They are beloved in America and perhaps one of the few foods we can rightfully claim as our own.  They aren't the fanciest of foods but they are inarguably some of the most satisfying.  Their ingredients are humble - meat, cheese, bread - but somehow together these modest components equate to a kind of culinary magic.  Biting into a good burger is quite literally food for the soul. 

Texas Cherry Sour, Kansas City Belgian Quad and Farmhouse Ale Alabama White: An Ode to Barbecue Sauce

Back in the early 2000s I was a young (ish) chef touring with Hell's Kitchen, a catering company that cooked for bands and musical acts on their road tours.  It was a rowdy time defined by extreme hours, crazy cooking conditions - and even crazier musicians - great music and a general sense of wildness.  What can I say … it was rock and roll!  Tours typically involved coast-to-coast travel which meant I had the unique opportunity to see and experience most of the USA by tour bus.  In 2005 I was out with the heavy metal band Slipknot who had a show booked in Kansas City.  We had already been through much of the South including Oklahoma and Texas where I'd become pretty much obsessed with barbecue so anticipating the famous sweet and tangy slow smoked meats of Kansas City had me pretty excited.

Some of the more seasoned roadies had raved about Arthur Bryant's so at precisely 10am that's where I found myself (*note: generally the thought of barbecue as breakfast isn't so appealing but when you're cooking breakfast, lunch and dinner for a bunch of musicians with erratic eating schedules, you eat when you can).   How can I describe Arthur Bryant's?  Brick facade, a rusty awning and signage that looks original.  It is a humble establishment with a simple, no nonsense ordering counter, artificial lighting and well worn formica tables.   It has the assured attitude I have since witnessed in many of the other great barbecue joints … we don't have to be pretty because our meat is AMAZING!  This is true and frankly I find something comforting about a restaurant who has eschewed aesthetics in favor of the devotion to making great food.

I ordered the largest portion of burt ends they offered and sat for over an hour, leisurely enjoying the perfect bark (the char) and the thick, sweet molasses, tomato-y sauce they are so famous for.  It was a meal to remember and an experience all carnivores should have at least once in their lifetimes.  To this day, I count that sauce as some of the best I've ever had.

Roasted Artichoke Hearts and Fingerling Potatoes with Oregano Pistou & Eliot Ness

Almost 10 years ago I made my very first trip out to the wilds of Redwood Valley, California to meet Sarah's family.  Our relationship was in its fledgling stages and I was determined to make a good - no great - first impression!  Two days in things were going well and I, buoyed by this success, volunteered to make dinner.  Steve, Sarah's Dad, has an incredible heirloom vegetable garden that I had been itching to cook from and so I proposed a meal centered around what we could abundantly harvest from it.  "Do you like artichokes? I have lots of beautiful artichokes!" Steve offered cheerfully.  Sure!  I loved artichokes.   The only problematic part was that I had zero clue as to what an artichoke plant looked like.  Yep, embarrassing as it may be, after nearly a decade spent cooking in professional kitchens, I had yet to encounter an artichoke in its natural habitat.  So is the fate of some young city chefs.  I certainly wasn't going to let Steve know that, though!  So, eager to impress and with vegetable clippers in hand, I marched out to the garden hell bent on returning with artichokes.

Vanilla Bean and Sea Salt Beignets with Ginger Peach Compote & Cross of Gold Golden Ale

Last week I bought a crate - yes, an entire crate - of peaches from the farmers market.  It was an impulse buy ignited by the fact that we arrived late to the market and all I could seem to notice were other market goers happily strolling by, their fine peaches already claimed and brimming over the tops of their shopping bags.    Also, because Sarah had just purchased a beautiful looking peach and brown butter crepe, which she refused to share (but let me smell) and then proceeded to sit and leisurely eat while I sweated it out in the peach stand line alone.  So much for farmer's market solidarity.

So, determined to make my own, better, more delicious peach crepe (take that Sarah) we ended up wrestling an entire crate of plump Red Havens home on the El.  I ate one en route and we donated two to the homeless and very boisterous gentlewoman who frequents our block.  Still there wasn't enough room in the fridge to house them all.  We had peach smoothies for breakfast three days in a row, grilled a bunch with pork chops, tossed them in arugula salads and froze some more for future smoothies.  By Monday there were, amazingly, only five left and I had them slated for a dessert.

Mango Molé Braised Pork Ribs & Old Guardian Barley Wine

My sister in-law's mother, Petra, is a native Oaxacan and makes some of the most incredible molé I've ever had.  Rich and velvety and layered with flavors upon flavors, it's like the culinary equivalent of gold.  Every year she makes the trip from her home in Mexico to California to visit relatives and every year a brick of her prized molé makes the journey with her.  That's right, she actually carries the brick onto the plane and travels with it tucked protectively into her carry-on baggage.  Take note my friends because THAT is true dedication to one's culinary craft!

And every year Sarah and I beg and plead with my sister in-law to save just a sliver of that brick for our annual visit to California.  On the occasion a sliver is saved, we savor it with the respect it deserves, musing at its complex notes. Then, a couple years ago, I the got the offer most chefs would kill for (and the offer I'd been not so subtly hinting at from my first bite of that molé) ... A cooking lesson with Petra herself and the chance to learn the secrets of traditional molé making!  Score!

Roasted Beet, Citrus and Whipped Feta Salad and Lagunitas Little Sumpin' Sumpin'

As it sometimes happens, Sarah and I did a little stress eating this last week.  We were both under the looming shadow of stressful deadlines and working elbow-to-elbow within the confines of our loft which, typically plenty spacious, can end up feeling like pretty tight quarters when we're both feeling anxious.   To temper the mood, I fed us.  It's what I do in times of disharmony.  Cook, eat and cook some more.  It began with last Monday's brunch, continued with duck ravioli on Tuesday, lamb burgers on Wednesday, Thursday we sought comfort at Tete (which is awesome, by the way - if you haven't been, GO!) and Friday - inspired by Tete - I made seafood sausages (which are also awesome and will be highlighted in this blog at some point).  The weekend was a blur of work and almond butter sandwiches (plus the last scrapings of that Rhubarb Beer Jelly) so by the time Monday rolled around, we were both feeling a little guilty and craving a light cleansing meal.

Smoked Beef Short Rib Hash with Fried Egg & Third Coast Beer

With regards to brunch, Monday mornings are kind of a big deal at our house.  While most of Chicago does their best brunching on Sunday, industry folk usually look to Mondays because, well, we're the ones cooking the eggs on the weekends.  This tradition holds true for Sarah and me and we like our Monday mornings to be pajama clad, leisurely, full of indulgent food and, of course, beer.  It's like a lazy Sunday for the rest of you, just a day later.

Proscuitto, Ricotta, Fig and Watercress Beer Bread Tartine & Ovila Saison

Humans have been topping bread with all sorts of foods, both simple and extravagant, since the Middle Ages.  It seems most every culture has adopted some form of open faced sandwich.  Italy gave us crostini, Denmark the smørrebrød.  And the French - those clever French, who do everything "food" so well - gave us the ever perfected Tartine!

In the late 15th century, thick slabs of bread called "tranches" (or "trenches") were used as the vessel for serving food.  An edible plate of sorts.  Piled with meat, cheese or whatever the meal might be, the bread soaked in the juices and flavors of that meal, preserving its memory.  It was then enjoyed (or donated to the family hound or neighborhood beggar) as a delectable end to the meal.  Thus the tartine was born!   Boy, those French really do know how to eat well!

Fresh Ricotta Cheese: A Bonus Post

What do we know about ricotta cheese?  We know it originated in Sicily and has become something of a staple in many Italian dishes.  We know it's often made from cow's milk (in America, at least) and has a pleasant, mild flavor.  And we know that this gentle mildness makes it very versatile and a wonderful partner to a great variety of foods, sweet and savory alike.

What many might not know about ricotta, is that it's seriously easy to make!  With a little time, a few good ingredients and minimal effort, it's kind of a snap.  And worth learning how to make because once you've had homemade ricotta, the store bought variety is going to seem really sub par (and that's putting it kindly).

Kielbasa With Pickled Summer Vegetables & Penrose P-2 Belgian Pale

Last summer I bought myself a smoker.  An impulse buy that came after procuring a beautiful piece of pork belly (destined to become smokey bacon) and immediately feeling frustrated about not being able to smoke at home.  Enough was enough - I needed smoke!  I careened into the nearest Home Depot and bought a Brinkmann Sportsman Charcoal Smoker.   In all honesty, it's not the king of smokers (one day I WILL get a Big Green Egg) but for small, compact city living, it does the job.  If you have this model or something similar just be sure you monitor the temperature closely so as not to get too much direct heat.  200-215 degrees F is ideal.