Tuesday, November 29, 2011

Damages arising from or related to competition (42USC2459f-1)

I was going to put off trying new dishes until after the holidays because I was planning to bake a lot of Christmas cookies, which would mean more than enough time in the kitchen for a month. But then TJ announced that he wanted to make empanadas, so I thought I might as well get the ingredients so we could make them together.

As it turned out, though, our recipes were completely different. My dough included masa and cornmeal, meaning my empanadas would be fried, whereas TJ wanted to bake his empanadas, so he used a wheat-based dough. And in typical TJ fashion, he had no recipe for the empanada fillings; he just wanted to improvise three types: beef, cheese and onion, and spinach and cheese. I wanted to be authentic, even though I don't really like some of the typical Argentinian ingredients. Then again, the most traditional recipe that I found on Food Network was from an Italian.

I didn't even bother to document the mixing of my dough, because it was so easy. It kind of reminded me of the homemade Play-Doh my mom and I used to make when I was a kid. After I made the dough, I realized that we were out of red peppers, so I decided to delay my empanadas for a day, which was a good idea because I didn't even want to look at empanada dough after helping TJ roll his out. The downside was, my dough dried out overnight, but I was able to re-hydrate it just by wetting my hands before rolling each of the 10 sections of dough.
After I bought some more red peppers and roasted them for 15 minutes in the oven, I was ready to make the filling. Having some peas left over from a tuna-noodle casserole the previous week, I substituted those for half of the raisins, which I don't really enjoy. (Incidentally, the casserole was the first I had ever made; being from the Midwest, TJ and I have a extraordinarily strong aversion to tuna-noodle casserole. But I found a recipe that seemed a little more interesting, and I added some local interpretations, like crushed tortilla chips instead of bread crumbs. TJ admitted that it was pretty good and that he would've liked it even more if I would've called it a cassoulet instead.)
The spices, scallions, and peppers elevated the main filling for the empanadas to its final form, so I gathered the other stuffings: hard-boiled eggs and pitted olives, two other ingredients that aren't exactly up my alley. But I was curious to see how they would hold up when the empanadas were fried, so I stuck to the classic combination.
I was actually most worried about rolling out the shells, especially after the battle with TJ's dough. For whatever reason, perhaps the decision to substitute some lard for butter, it was difficult to get his shells big enough without them flaking or cracking. I managed to get two or three shells for TJ, but after having to redo one three or four times, I handed over the rolling pin. My shells were a lot more forgiving; if they did split, I could suture them back together with some water and a pinch. One success from the first round of rolling that I did hold over to the second round was TJ's technique of sizing the circles with a saucer.
Maybe I wasn't exactly a rolling expert, though, because I ended up with only seven empanadas, when the recipe seemed to imply there would be ten. Even if there had been ten shells to stuff, there still would've been a lot of extra filling. Later in the week, we loaded it into pita bread smeared with hummus in an attempt to experience shawarma again.
Since I assisted TJ with the rolling duties for his empanadas, I called him to be fry cook for mine. (I'm still a little gun-shy after getting splattered with oil in the face while making samosas.) Unfortunately, I had already gotten the oil too hot, so the first batch came out a little browner than desired.
Burnt or not, the empanadas were pretty darn delicious, even though I cringed every time I bit into an olive. TJ ate three, proving that they were at least as good as the tuna-noodle casserole. I have to say, though, that the casserole wins in my book; clearly, I exhibit the convenience of the Midwestern housewife better than the finesse of the Argentinian ama de casa.

Friday, November 25, 2011

Proclamations making Thanksgiving Day a holiday (4USC4)

Despite two generous invitations to Thanksgiving dinners, TJ and I decided to escape to the States to celebrate the first North American feast. We thought it would be a good opportunity to enjoy a near-empty campground. But actually, I talked to one state beach campground that was booked then got nervous waiting to hear back about openings from another, so I decided to reserve a spot at a nearby county campground, Sweetwater Regional Park.

Although the other state beach ended up having a few spare sites, the choice turned out to be wise, because TJ didn't get off work early, as we were hoping, so we arrived at this nearby campground after dark. If we had driven further up the coast, we definitely would have been pitching the tent in the pitch black. Instead, I was able to manage by our neighbor's kerosene light while TJ braved the last-minute grocery-store crowds to score some firewood.

The firewood was an essential ingredient in all of our Thanksgiving dishes. With a fire ring instead of a oven, I left TJ in charge of the menu. He selected a surprisingly cheap Cornish game hen as a turkey substitute. A little dubious of his open-flame roasting skills, I made him buy sausages as a back-up. So while the fire settled into coals, TJ sliced peppers and onions for Plan B.
Considering how skillfully he removed the backbone from the hen, using only a Swiss army knife, I should have never doubted TJ's ability to prepare the perfect bird. I was especially impressed by how little he mangled the meat with his Macgyver skills; I surely would've made a fowl mess.
With the backbone removed, the hen could been flattened into the grilling basket, a holdover from my family's history of camping -- and the first of my limited contributions to the cooking process.
To avoid getting ash on the hen, we did use the fire pit's grate to suspend it above the coals. Still worried about undercooked poultry, I added my second input to the dinner, by suggesting that we cover the basket with foil and hold it down with a skillet from a camp kit.
As it turned out, the hen was heating up just fine, because of TJ's fire-building finesse. But since we had them, we threw the sausages and potatoes (in foil at top left) on the flame as well. The sausage was made of pork, so I guess it was like having both ham and turkey at Thanksgiving.
While TJ monitored the fire, I lent my final assistance to the cornucopian picnic: setting the table to ensure that all essential condiments, plastic silverware, and alcoholic accoutrements were within easy reach of my proficient chef.
The last step before the hen made it to the table was to baste it, with a mixture of stock, balsamic vinegar, spices, and Madeira wine. I get half-credit for the wine: I was the one who decided it would go well with the main meat, but TJ was the who determined it would work even better in the sauce.
About the only item missing from our spread was dessert, but amazingly, right as we started cooking, our neighbor brought over a small loaf of pumpkin bread to wish us a Happy Thanksgiving. Maybe it was because I was longing for pumpkin pie, but my slice made for a most moist and delicious final course.
Surprisingly, even with our limited dishes, we packed a pair of sausages and half a hen in the cooler. We might have eaten them later that day, but check-out time was 1 p.m., so we tooled around in SoCal a while before we returned to Mexico, with time to spare for a trip to the gym. After a spin on the elliptical, I didn't want to succumb to tryptophan again, so I settled on only one more slice of pumpkin bread. To reward TJ for his succulent success, I have generously offered to be in charge of the bill of fare for tonight: leftovers.

Tuesday, November 15, 2011

Brewers procuring beer from other brewers (26USC5413)

As is typical with our spontaneous planning, we managed to schedule our trip to the Pacific Northwest during a time when we might have enjoyed staying near home: the opening weekend of San Diego Beer Week. Unfortunately, the vacation did not serendipitously coordinate with similar beer weeks in that region either; Seattle Beer Week and Vancouver Craft Beer Week both are in May.

Then, I unknowingly committed us to a social function during the closing weekend of San Diego Beer Week. Incidentally, that occasion involved much beer (see below), but nonetheless, I felt I should make an effort to get us to at least one event for the actual Beer Week, so I enrolled us in Beer University: Intro to San Diego Craft Beer, hosted by Stone Brewing Co.
The evening was hosted by Ken Wright, who taught us -- tongue fully in cheek -- how to participate in a high-class beer tasting, which he said can require more focus than a wine tasting, because the fermentation process of making beer produces 400 to 800 esters, or chemical compounds, each of which can contribute to the overall impact of the brew. This more than doubles the typical 200 to 300 esters created during the fermentation of wine.
Nonetheless, the majority of the tasting process is similar. You consider the style to make comparisons with previous samples you might have sipped. Before you taste, you identify the color and inhale the aroma as an indication of what kind of flavors might be included. While you taste, you try to distinguish a mouth feel from the carbonation and the sweet or savory hints from all those esters. Of course, the end of the tasting diverges: You never ever chuck the remains into a bucket; you either chug that backwash or share it with a chum. I can tell you, I followed his advice to a T, never leaving a fallen soldier as I evaluated the eight craft beers with his criteria. I even learned some interesting information as I swilled:

Style: Kölsch (Ale)
Color: Traditional yellow
Aroma: Nothing distinct
Carbonation: Champagne-like bubbles
Taste: Tart with very little hops
Lesson: A Kölsch beer is named after Köln, or Cologne, in the south of Germany; its rival brew is Altbier, produced primarily in the northern German city of Düsseldorf.

Style: Cream Ale
Color: Copper
Aroma: Vanilla
Carbonation: Flat cream soda
Taste: Frosted Flakes
Lesson: A true cream ale must include maize as one of its ingredients; brewing with grain other than barley and hops is challenging because the mash can become dense, making the fermentation process more difficult.

Style: Milk Stout (Ale)
Color: Dark brown
Aroma: Sour milk
Carbonation: Only an edge of foam
Taste: Bite of whey
Lesson: Milk is one of the ingredients, so this beer is not tolerated well by the lactose-intolerant.

Style: India Pale Ale
Color: Almost amber
Aroma: Nose-clearing hops
Carbonation: Very foamy with lots of bubbles
Taste: Fruity mousse
Lesson: The "India" part of this type of ale refers to where it was shipped; the variety began with a British brewer whose beer was found to improve after the long journey to the colony.

Style: Belgian Strong Dark Ale
Color: Nearly black
Aroma: Berries
Carbonation: Nearly foamless
Taste: Brandy-like Kriek
Lesson: When tasting beers, you should never spit, like with wine, because some of the complex flavors, like the sour of the cherries in this beer, will never be detected by the taste buds at the back of the tongue if you don't swallow.

Style: Imperial India Pale Ale
Color: Copper
Aroma: Soap
Carbonation: Big head that faded fast
Taste: More bitter and tart than fruity
Lesson: The double of this style of beer refers to double the amount of hops and sugars being included in the brew, resulting in double the ABV (alcohol by volume); this one topped out at 10.1%.

Style: Imperial Stout
Color: Thick brown
Aroma: Smoky
Carbonation: Tan foam
Taste: Rye bread
Lesson: Hess is a nanobrewery, which means its entire system capacity is 3.5 barrels, as opposed to a microbrewery, which means it produces less than 15,000 barrels a year.

Style: Belgian Ale
Color: Burgundy
Aroma: Spicy market
Carbonation: Few bubbles but tingly on the lip
Taste: Wine with chile
Lesson: This series of beer is designed to be drunk after aging; like wine, beer should be stored in a dry, dark, and cool place, but unlike wine, it should be stored vertically, unless you want to lick it off the floor after it explodes.

We concluded San Diego Beer Week with our own form of Beer University: a reunion of Bobcats from Ohio University, ranked this year as the number one party school in the United States, according to a survey by The Princeton Review. The co-presidents of Bobcats in LA organize an annual attempt to replicate the Court Street Shuffle, and we shuttled off to Hermosa Beach to join in the scuttlebutt.
Our bar-crawl itinerary consisted of six stops, the highlight of which probably was the fourth, The Poop Deck (above left), where quite a few pitchers were sacrificed to somewhat pitiful rounds of flip cup (above right). The follow-up bar was Fat Face Fenner's Fishack (below), where the organizers had arranged for $3 Sam Adams drafts; they were no 25-cent drafts, but then again, Sam Adams is lots better than Natty Light.
The draft deal was worth retreating to after we were refused admission to the final stop, a sure sign of the shuffle's authenticity if ever there was one. Of course, by this time, participants were beginning to literally crawl, and they started slinking out into the night without saying goodbyes. TJ and I had a long walk to our hotel, even further than to South Green, so we stopped off at The Mermaid to fortify ourselves with fatty foods. Credit is probably due to the distance from Hermosa Beach to Redondo Beach, where we stayed, for my hangover-free morning. And when it comes to our self-styled beer week, that was definitely something I hadn't planned on.

Thursday, November 10, 2011

Social ... well-being of the Pacific Northwest (16USC839)

When TJ suggested that we take a sojourn to the Pacific Northwest, my first thought was of the many days that I would have to be chilled to the bone by damp, windy weather. But after a long weekend of mostly sunny days, I've decided that the area's cloudy and wet reputation is a product of the rest of the country's insecurity.

According to the National Climatic Data Center, the weather in the area is not much different than most other major U.S. cities. For example, by calculating the percentage of probable annual sunshine, you would find that there likely will be 157 bright days a year in Seattle, compared to 204 in the other Washington, in D.C. The average number of days with precipitation in Seattle is 151 days, compared to 112 days in Washington.

Yes, Seattle falls a little short, but it is not nearly as far behind as the rest of the country would have you think. Indeed, the difference is exaggerated because the Pacific Northwest is simply better in basically every other category besides climate.
First, you can't beat the hotel views. We're not exactly luxury travelers, but nonetheless, we had watery vistas from our low-budget accommodations in Seattle and Vancouver: the Puget Sound from the Moore Hotel and the Burrard Inlet from the Patricia Hotel.
And if you do brave the not-so-terrible weather, you have so many options for transportation. A delightfully high number of bikes were lined up at the public market in Seattle. The shoreline view was spectacular on the train from Seattle to Vancouver, part of Amtrak's Cascades line, whose other terminus is Eugene, Oregon. Towering Mt. Rainier was entirely visible on the ferry from Seattle to Bainbridge Island. We were sheltered from a hailstorm (the only truly poor weather-related moment of our trip) as we crossed from downtown Vancouver to its North Shore on the efficient and cozy "seabus."
With all that movement, you usually need to stop for some sustenance, and the Pacific Northwest is packed with delicacy-filled markets. In Seattle, we perused the Pike Place Market, where a marching band was playing in support of the Sounders soccer team, and stopped by the huge Uwajimaya supermarket, where the variety of seafood was matched only by the diversity of produce. In Vancouver, the Lonsdale Quay Market was a great lunch spot next to the seabus terminal, and the Granville Island Public Market was the perfect place to sample some local smoked salmon.
And where there are good markets, there is good food. TJ and I shared perhaps the best macaroni and cheese ever at Beecher's and the best Russian pastries at Piroshky Bakery, both part of Pike Place Market. We continued on our fresh-fish kick by ordering from the locavore menu (salmon pizza for TJ and shellfish bowl for me) at Chuckanut Brewery. The Bellingham brewery won best small brewing company at the Great American Beer Festival this year, but perhaps only because Granville Island Brewing, out of Vancouver, isn't in the States; its consistent offerings included the highly drinkable Kitsilano Maple Cream Ale and Lions Winter Ale.
We sampled so many great microbrews, we stopped keeping track of them. Besides the beers themselves, the bars offered a most alluring atmosphere. Lowell's, where they filmed parts of Sleepless in Seattle, looked out over the waterfront beneath the Pike Place Market. A few blocks away, the Diller Room, which was once a speakeasy, makes a perfect pit stop if you want to grab a drink before you catch a ferry to Bremerton.
Eating is an excellent pastime, but the area's Scandinavian and Native American heritage has resulted in even more outstanding local traditions. We heated our pores to a epidermal perfection at the Finnish-style Hastings Steam & Sauna in Vancouver; because of an early-bird special, we got a private room for $14 a person. Fully cleansed, we were energized for an invigorating stroll through Stanley Park, home to a fine display of public art, a collection of totem poles created by the First Nations.
Lest you still disagree with the obvious preeminence of the Pacific Northwest, perhaps the big picture will erase your doubts. Very few cities can compete with the skyline of Seattle, with plenty of piers pointing toward its iconic space needle, and Vancouver, with the Stanley Park seawall weaving past hundreds of high-rises.