Tag Archives: viking.English food

Svaneke Mørk Guld

30 Nov

I made a sort of shepherd’s pie tonight. Except the meat didn’t thaw in time, so I made it out of vegetables and some chopped-up Danish sausage. I used red wine and stout for the gravy and I put mature Cheddar in the mash. It was warming, savory, and rich. It was nice.

And it was especially nice with Svaneke Mørk Guld. Mørk Guld means “dark gold,” and that is a fair description of its color, though “Rusten Kobber” may be a slightly more accurate name. As a lager, yeast aromatics are low, so the nose is mostly caramel, rum, and apple turnover, which also provide the keystones to the beer’s flavor. Light and airy carbonation, an odd twang of medicinal alcohol, and a snap of grassy hops balance out the malts to keep things drinkable.

Hisashiburi.

6 Sep

wedding

Wow, what a month it’s been. My entire August was gobbled up by the wedding – which was a rousing success, by the way! And now I can (hopefully) get my visa. Yaaaaay!

But I’ve neglected the blog, and indeed, I’ve neglected the sort of activities for which the blog exists. A lack of both time and money has precluded extravagances in culinary tourism, not to mention any creative endeavors aside from making invitations and placecards. Even so, August has seen several newsworthy discoveries and exploits on the viking front. Before I recommence posting proper, here is a recap of the past four weeks’ more interesting items:

earlscourtbeermenu

  • August began with the Great British Beer Festival, where I sampled a dozen or so excellent and almost-excellent ales from around the UK and around the world. I also tried the East London specialty, jellied eels, which sound, look, and taste like something from a Roald Dahl story.eelsBut the real revelation was the selection of beers from Italy, of all places. Like the brewers of Japan and America, whose beer cultures aren’t mired in “traditions” like those of England, Belgium, and Germany, Italian brewers adopt a playful, experimental attitude and a love of the local. I am convinced that Italy is the next frontier in craft brewing. Consider the three bottles I picked up at the festival: Shangrila Fumé, a strong amber ale brewed with spices and peat-smoked whisky malts; Barley BB10, a barleywine made from the reduction of a prized local wine; and Verdi Imperial Stout, infused with the heat of chili peppers. I plan to crack these open soon and have them with Italian cheese – stay tuned for tasting notes.
    beermapitalianbeer
  • I am a professional food writer! I’ve now reviewed two restaurants and one pub for View London, and I will be writing more for them in the future.breelouise
  • Speaking of restaurants, I’ve been to a few recently that I must recommend. Head to Abeno or Abeno Too for perfect Osaka-style okonomiyaki and miscellaneous izakaya fare that’s only slightly overpriced. Sakura and Tokyo Diner are also wonderfully Japanese, both embracing the whole universe of Japanese cooking from katsukarē to mentaiko. Tokyo Diner in particular is fantastic – modest yet superlative, and dirt cheap. Cans of Kirin and Asahi are only £1.90!leongsA bit further into Chinatown is Leong’s Legends, a Taiwanese-Chinese joint where the service is brusque but the food is special. You must try the xiao long bao (soup dumplings), but let them cool a bit before tucking in or you’ll scald your mouth something awful. Finally, we were pleasantly surprised with Anatolian Flame, a place we hungrily stumbled into after viewing some flats in northwest London. The service was charming and the charcoal-grilled Turkish food was excellent, such as the relentlessly juicy and flavorful  lamb kebab with tomatoes served on a whole grilled eggplant with dill cream.
  • I’m still going to the awesome, free life study sessions at Beach Blanket Babylon Shoreditch, and I wrote about it for a contest (which I lost) on Trazzler. If you’re in London and even a little bit arty, check it out. And if you’re not sure about the whole drawing thing, you can still enjoy a cocktail or two.
  • I just finished reading Hops and Glory, a surprisingly non-geeky (alright, it’s a little geeky) book about the history of India Pale Ale. Author Pete Brown weaves meticulous historical research together with a spirited personal travelogue as he drags a keg of IPA on a journey from England to India that approximates the sea route along which the original ales were shipped. The book is peppered with sharp gastropolitical commentary and enlightening factoids, and in some places is actually suspenseful – not what I expected from a book about beer. Highly recommended to beer geeks, history buffs, or fans of good travel writing.

And now I’m off to the motherland for six weeks, where I will fork over nearly a grand to the British consulate in order to get my visa. Blogging shall continue while I’m there, and before long I’ll be able to post about trips around the UK and the rest of Europe!

A Good Burger is Hard to Find

21 May pienburger

kewpees

In my mind, there are two kinds of burgers. First there are what I would call “burger joint” burgers, burgers that are basic and uncomplicated, without a lot of fussy toppings or hoo-hah over ingredients. The Californian chain In-N-Out makes a textbook example of a good burger joint burger; secret menu aside, it’s just nice, juicy beef that’s gone just a bit black on the griddle, fresh vegetables, special sauce, and plastic cheese melted intimately into the patty’s every dimple and crevasse. Back in Los Angeles, In-N-Out was my old standard, but I especially loved Pasadena’s Pie ‘N’ Burger (good pie there, too) and Westwood’s Apple Pan (which also has good pie). Of course, my all-time favorite burger joint is probably the venerable and perpetually crowded Kewpee’s, a Racine institution beloved for its simple yet mystifyingly delicious cheeseburgers and bemoaned for its crappy six o’clock closing time.

innout

The other kind of burger is the gourmet burger. These burgers are complicated, fancy, and often as tasty and flavorful as they are pretentious and difficult to eat, all gussied up with exotic toppings or ingredients. Sometimes gourmet burgers are pretty simple, but they achieve “gourmet” status by using things like aged cheddar from Vermont, aged beef from Scotland or Japan, and ciabatta buns from some local bakery. Others just pile on the fixins: avocados, artisanal bacon, blue cheeses, washed-rind cheeses, weird aiolis, relishes and chutneys, greens and microgreens, pestos, wasabi, herb and spice blends, Spanish and Italian charcuterie, pineapple, ostrich, buffalo, moose, and roasted peppers are the stuff of gourmet burgers. Lately, chefs in Tokyo and New York have been upping the ante by using ridiculously luxurious ingredients like foie gras, black truffles, and gold leaf to make burgers so posh they’re more like absurdist objects of social commentary than actual food.

If I sound cynical about gourmet burgers, it’s because I am. Too often gourmet burger chefs seem to use exciting ingredients as nothing more than razzle dazzle to distract from the fact that they fundamentally do not know how to cook a burger – which is surprisingly difficult. I myself will own up to being a terrible burger chef. My burgers always turn out too dry, or else they are so moist they just fall apart; I have a tendency to choose the wrong bun and cheese; and my topping-to-meat ratio is usually off. The only thing I’m good at is making sauces for my burgers, but that’s cheating. There is a certain alchemy to a good burger that I don’t understand, and that’s part of why I really love I good burger joint burger. I think the secret is in the way the textures come together; the supple meat, the gooey cheese, the crisp lettuce and onions and the crunchy-soft lightly toasted bun have to strike a harmony that’s difficult to orchestrate. Good ingredients are important, but skilled preparation is probably more so.

applepanpienburger

Many gourmet burger restaurants neglect to master the basics of good burger making, and without the basics, no amount of month-old Aussie beef or chipotle salsa will redeem you. The other day I was in Camden with time to kill before a ska show; I was looking for the BYOB Latin American restaurant Guanabana, but I couldn’t find it and eventually stumbled upon Haché, a posh burger restaurant that’s had quite a lot of good buzz. Most reviews I read claimed it was one of the best burgers in London if not the best. This review on TimeOut caught my eye in particular:

What surprised me was the number of rather glam foreigners, including an American couple who we got chatting to. Turned out they were local but the guy, a self-confessed burgerholic was ecstatic about Hache, saying they served the best burgers he’s had anywhere.

Here in England, American endorsements don’t mean much to me, except for when it comes to Mexican food and burgers – I just think Americans have a better frame of reference to judge them by than most Brits. But after eating at Haché, I thought: what a sad, unobserved life this “burgerholic” must have lead back in the States if he never found any burgers better than the unbelievably pretentious offerings at this pathetic wannabe of a restaurant.

I ordered the “All-Day Breakfast Burger,” which is topped with a portobello mushroom, back bacon, and a fried egg. A clever, tasty-sounding idea, I thought. But the beef – the “finest aged 100% prime Scotch hachéd steak” – was dry! This is completely unacceptable. A good burger should be lusciously fatty and juicy even when well-done; mine was medium and it was frankly no juicier than a squeezed-out sponge, and I expected a lot more flavor from the “prime Scotch steak” it was made from.

The toppings didn’t help matters. The mushroom was a nice accent (it was far more moist and flavorful than the actual patty), and the egg was perfectly cooked so that the yolk was creamy but not too runny. But the bacon – usually a sort of Band-Aid for blandness – only made things worse. It was terribly undercooked, all tough and chewy and not even a little bit crispy. The ciabatta roll it was on was soft yet sturdy, but toasting it would have added a much-needed extra dimension of texture.

Service was good and I can’t complain about the vaguely arty bistro-like atmosphere, but what matters is the burger. And for all the pomp and pride in its marketing, the burger was a dire disappointment.

lambmerguez

But I’m not anti-gourmet burger in general. When a gourmet burger is good, it’s really good – I like them just as much as any good burger joint burger. In New York, I had an awesome lamb merguez burger at BLT, drippingly juicy and flavorful, scented with cumin and nicely offset by a mint-cilantro cucumber relish. And here in London, there is perhaps no chain restaurant I enjoy more than GBK – Gourmet Burger Kitchen.

GBK also boasts high-quality beef – “Aberdeen-Angus Scotch beef,” no less – but they actually make good burgers out of it rather than just using it for bragging rights. Many of their burgers are old standards, like the pesto burger, the avocado bacon burger, the Cajun burger, etc., but you don’t need to get too fancy or different to make a great burger. In-N-Out and Pie ‘N’ Burger use basically the exact same formula, but both shops’ end products are delicious and unique in their own subtle way.

My favorite burger at GBK is the relatively simple, very delicious garlic mayo burger. The robust beef throbs with moisture and flavor, matched by a cool, creamy mayo that seethes with the hot, delicious stink of raw garlic. It’s the kind of burger that leaves you wanting more even as you finish your meal feeling unhealthily stuffed – and the smell comes out of your pores for hours afterwards. Sadly, I’ve yet to find a good burger joint burger in London – there must be one out there somewhere – but for now I am quite content befouling my breath and expanding my ass at GBK, truly gourmet not only in name.

The Market Porter

16 May

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My recent “Viking Five” was quite a difficult one to narrow down, and to be honest there are a few other styles that are probably just as good with food as the ones I chose. Hefeweizens come to mind, as do witbiers, tripels, oatmeal stouts, altbiers, and pilsners. But if I had to choose just one candidate for honorable mention, it would probably have to be porter.

The humble porter is often overshadowed by its mutant commie cousin, Baltic porter, and by its stocky younger brother, stout, a style derivative of porter in form as well as name: stouts started off as “stout porters” back in the day. Don’t get me wrong, I love stouts, and they’re good with food, too – especially desserts and red meat – but porters, which are just a shade lighter in color and flavor, cover more ground than stouts. Here’s a Venn diagram to illustrate, because hey, I can’t remember the last time I made a Venn diagram, so why the hell not?

venn

I don’t drink a lot of porters, partly because I’m a sucker for the up-front bitter chocolate and coffee flavors of many stouts, but also because there is something of a dearth of porters on the market. In America, they are increasingly common, but even though London is the birthplace of the style, they are notably hard to find here.

So it didn’t really dawn on me that porters are awesome with food until I chanced upon a porter at – where else? – the Market Porter in Borough Market. The Market Porter is a haven for ale aficionados, with at least a baker’s dozen of casked beers to choose from at any given time. Most of these beers come from British microbreweries and encompass a range of obscure styles, like dark milds, real lagers, oyster stouts, and fruit beers. The clientele, mostly suits taking long lunches, culinary tourists, and CAMRA members, are jovial and unpretentious, as are the beer-savvy barkeeps. The inside is austere and plastered with ale paraphrenalia, while the façade, though cluttered with smokers, is impressively decked out with pretty flowers and ivies hanging from the second floor.

It’s a great pub in and of itself, but its location in Borough Market is what really makes it a personal favorite. You can grab a pint in a plastic nonic, then hungrily wander off into the stalls to try your beer with all manner of fantastic fare on offer in the market proper: Thai green seafood curry, Middle Eastern confections, British venison burgers, Toulousean cassoulet, Swiss cheeses, Spanish charcuterie, and the list goes on.

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This is exactly what I did with my pint of Wickwar’s toffee-sweet, moderately hopped, satiny smooth Station Porter. It was brilliant by itself, and seemed to meld effortlessly with just about everything I ate with it. Its buttery character and roasted sweetness found a happy home in the cozy cheese and potatoes of Raclette. Its caramel notes and lightly spicy hops linked up nearly perfectly with the peppery pork fat of a chorizo and arugula sandwich. It brought forth hidden mocha and dark fruit notes for an encounter with a chocolate-covered raisin and shortbread bar. The only thing it didn’t work with was a Cornish oyster on the half shell, but overall I was extremely pleased to have such a versatile brew in my hand as I perused the market. The porter, and the Market Porter, are indeed very lovely companions to food.

The Market Porter
9 Stoney Street
Borough Market
London
SE1 9AA
020 7407 2495

Monday to Friday: 06:00-08:30 and 11:00-23:00
Saturday: 12:00-23:00
Sunday: 12:00-22:30

Viking Five: Beer Styles to Pair with Food

9 May

When I was in high school, my American history teacher told me that the way to get girls is to learn what wines go with what foods. Kind of a weird thing to tell a student in retrospect, but at any rate, I never really did figure out the intricate art of wine and food pairing. So I had to find other ways to impress girls, like by trimming my sideburns, getting good grades, and tracking down Young’s Double Chocolate Stout and authentic English Stilton in Japan. Hey, what can I say? Being irresistibly sexy is in my blood – after all, my mother’s maiden name is Casanova! (Great – now you all know the answer to the security question for my online bank account.)

I digress. The fact is that wine is daunting to me, not to mention expensive, so I focused my geekery on something more accessible: beer. The diversity of flavors in beer far outreaches that of wine, which facilitates pairing to a certain extent, but that diversity can also lead to complexities that interact with food in unexpected ways. While beer makes it easy to find pretty good matches for food, finding a really transcendent match, a perfect harmony that alchemizes into that wonderful “third flavor,” is mostly a matter of trial and error. Plus, what you may expect to be an excellent pairing may turn out badly when weird, hidden background flavors, often from yeast and hops, come to the fore and clash with food.

But you can better your chances for finding a perfect match by choosing a beer in the right style, and there are certain styles that simply seem to work better with food than others. These are typically straightforward, balanced beers with medium carbonation and alcohol, a sturdy malt base and enough complexity to play with the nuances of good food. In other words, they stand up to food without overpowering it.

lemerle

Saison

Saisons were originally brewed as refreshing beers for farmhands in Belgium, fermented and casked in autumn or winter and then stored for almost a year to be quaffed at the end of the summer harvest. They were meant to be simple thirst-slakers, but their unusual, sometimes wild yeasts and abundance of aromatic hops (which were used as a preservative) makes them exceptionally complex, while also very light on the palate. Once considered an endangered style, craft brewers in Belgium and the United States have revived the style, delighting in its versatility. Saisons are typically dry yet quite fruity, tangy from the use of wheat, and often lively with citric and grassy hops, but not overly bitter. Rustic yeast strains used in saisons engender a wide range of flavors, often lending a musty or earthy character. In general, saisons have a flavor profile that can be compared to white wine or champange, and they work similarly when it comes to food, but the complexities provided by saison yeast makes them surprisingly versatile. They are excellent with chicken, fish and shellfish (including some sushi), pasta dishes and anything tomato-based, all manner of vegetables, Thai curries, washed-rind and goat cheeses, and sandwiches. Modern Japanese food, a jumble of fresh vegetables, seafood, and fatty meat, is also perfect for saison.

Commercial examples: Saison Dupont, Fantôme Saison, Ommegang Hennepin, North Coast La Merle.

Flanders Red Ale

If saisons can be thought of as beer’s answer to white wines, then the distinctive red ales of Flanders are (in some ways) its answer to red wine. Flanders red ales use a unique type of red malt that gives them their striking color, ranging from bold rouge to deep, shadowy maroon. But what’s even more interesting about Flanders reds is that they are fermented with exotic microorganisms in tandem with typical brewer’s yeast. This is usually something in the Lactobacillus genus of bacteria – the fermenting agent in most yogurts, cheeses, and pickles – or the even odder Brettanomyces, a yeast infamous for causing wine spoilage. The result is a refreshingly sour beer, which is made even sourer by an oak aging process that dries up residual sugars. Flanders reds are also devastatingly complex, with buoyant flavors of cranberries, stone fruit, and grapes balanced out by earthy, hefty notes of tobacco, port, and tannic oak. They link up with tomatoes beautifully, making them great with Italian fare, and their sweet-and-sour funk also strikes a chord with sharp blue cheeses as well as goat cheese. They’re also perfect for shellfish, lending a juicy zip to enhance lobster, crab, and shrimp. Flanders reds are also remarkably tasty with dark meat and game, providing a tangy counterpoint to the richness of duck, pork, lamb, venison, and even foie gras. Particularly fruity Flanders reds will also work with dessert – they’re really good with chocolate ice cream.

Commercial examples: Rodenbach Grand Cru, Duchesse de Bourgogne, Monk’s Café Flemish Red, New Belgium La Folie.

shepherdslandlord

English Pale Ale

The key feature of English pale ales that make them so nice with food is their delicately bitter, herbal hops. Except in the case of very strong cheeses and very spicy or sweet food, an abundance of hops in beer makes food pairing difficult. Their sharp, lingering bitterness interferes with all but the boldest of dishes, which is great in some situations – IPAs are great with barbecue and all manner of Indian, Szechuan, and Cajun cuisine – but in general, lots of hops do not make for a versatile beer. To better your chances of finding a good pairing, reach for English pale ales, which deliver the lovely, leafy aroma and flavor of British noble hops, with only enough residual bitterness to balance out the delicious caramel, toffee, roasted nut, and fresh bread flavors of the malts. Typically, English ale yeast also adds subtle fruity and earthy notes to the mix, providing complexity that more often than not enhances food. If you can, drink your English beer from a cask; the live yeast, mild carbonation, and warmer serving temperature draw out sweetness and hidden flavors. Naturally, the caramelized malts and herbal top notes of English pale ales are great with hearty British standards like shepherd’s pie, steak and ale pie, sausage and mash, haggis, full English breakfast, Sunday roast, fish and chips, and ploughman’s lunch – they’re beautiful with British hard cheeses as well as many blues. They’re great with vegetables, especially if you roast them, and they love garlic and onions – try them with pasta and pizza and milder Chinese and Indian food.

Commercial examples: Fuller’s London Pride, Timothy Taylor Landlord, Hitachino Nest Japanese Classic Ale, Harviestoun Haggis Hunter.

chimay

Belgian Strong Dark Ale/Dubbel/Quadrupel

These three styles are grouped together because of their similar flavor profiles; they vary mainly in terms of the amount of dark malts used, and the extent to which those malts are fermented into alcohol. Belgian strong dark ales are very similar to dubbels; they contain about the same amount of alcohol, but Belgian strong dark ales tend towards somewhat darker flavors like prunes, molasses, raisins, and chocolate, while dubbels are somewhat lighter, with more dark bread, toffee, and caramel sweetness. Quadrupels, as the name suggests, are denser and stronger than dubbels, and their flavors are often quite fruity and spicy, often with a noticeable alcoholic warmth. In a sense, both dubbels and quadrupels are a type of Belgian strong dark ale, and at any rate, all three styles work in similar ways with food. They’re all highly malty, fruity, and boozy, and in many cases hop bitterness is low; they derive balance more from airy carbonation, high attenuation, sharp alcohol, and sometimes, herbs and spices. Many beers in these styles also have a very strong yeast profile that contributes mild to strong tartness along with spicy and earthy flavors. These are big beers that work well with big food: roast pork with prunes, Peking duck with plum sauce, well-marbled steak, cheeseburgers, lamb, stinky washed-rind and blue-veined cheeses, and any slow-cooked beef (short ribs, oxtail, brisket, etc.) all love a Belgian strong dark ale, as do hearty soups and stews, especially chili and cassoulet. Spicy food is well-suited to the sweet and strong yet dry character of these beers, especially dark, meaty dishes like lamb curries and mole. Sweet, rich quadrupels can even make for excellent dessert beers; many have a cocoa character and port-like fruitiness that matches cheesecakes, cream pies, tiramisu, and anything chocolate.

Commercial examples: Trappistes Rochefort 8, Chimay Blue, St. Bernardus 12, Gulden Draak.

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American and English Brown Ales

In many ways, brown ales are similar to Belgian strong dark ales. They have analogous flavors of caramel, toffee, and brown sugar, but they are lighter, in color, alcohol, and sweetness, and in the case of American brown ales, they are significantly hoppier. Brown ales have a beautifully nutty, toasty malt profile that may taste of almonds, peanuts, cracked wheat, honey or maple syrup at the lighter end of the spectrum, and cocoa, coffee beans, toffee, toast, raisins, and buckwheat at the darker end. Brown ales are definitely malt-forward brews, but they are also balanced; in English examples, balance is usually acheived by keeping the final gravity low and attenuation high, while American brewers often offset the sweetness by adding a touch more hops. Brown ales may seem simple, but often they are deceptively complex, and their mellow-yet-robust malts make them a very good choice with food. Their nuttiness matches well with all manner of nutty food, including squash, potatoes, parsnips, and alpine cheeses like Comte and Gruyere, as well as the buttery Dutch cheeses like Gouda and Edam, especially if they’ve been aged. The dark fruit notes and zesty hops of certain browns will also be right at home with stronger cheeses like Stilton and Camembert. You may also be surprised to find that brown ales are excellent with Thai food; think of peanuts as a topping to many Thai dishes. The dry yet fully caramelized character of brown ales is also excellent with grilled meat like barbecue and burgers, and sweeter examples will even be good with dessert, especially if it contains chocolate, nuts, or caramel.

Commercial examples: Samuel Smith Nut Brown Ale, Rogue Hazelnut Brown Nectar, Tyranena Rocky’s Revenge, Smuttynose Old Brown Dog.

Special thanks to fellow Beer Advocates for their input on this post and to Garrett Oliver for his indispensible beer pairing handbook, The Brewmaster’s Table.

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