Fellow Twin Citizens are probably familiar with Surly’s CynicAle, a saison/farmhouse style ale available year-round from Surly. Cynic will always occupy a special place in my heart: it was the first Surly beer I ever tried, one adventurous afternoon at Common Roots when I was taken in by its name’s affinity for my natural disposition. Cynic is the most approachable of Surly’s regular offerings, not having the bitter roastiness of Bender or Furious’s hop bludgeoning. This is also one of Martha’s favorite beers, and she is far more discerning than I.

For those of you not so lucky as to live within Surly’s distribution range, Cynic is a very full-flavored ale; as the beer hits the tongue it fills one’s mouth with bananas and cloves and maybe a hint of vanilla. As the initial banana blast dies down, a solid malty backbone makes itself known and and other spices appear, most notably cinnamon, which burns slightly. As the beer finishes, it snaps with some hop dryness, but this is by no means a hoppy beer. Compared to other saisons, Cynic is — like many of Surly’s beers — much bigger; the banana and spice flavors are prominent on the tongue and easy to identify, and the malt and hops are distinct and recognizable.

In the past when I have done pairings on this blog I generally planned them pretty carefully: starting from Garrett Oliver’s masterful Brewmaster’s Table I would pick a beer I could  find locally and plan to make whatever food Oliver suggested to go with it. Tonight’s pairing, however, was pure serendipity. On a recent trip to The Four Firkins, Martha insisted that we pick up a four-pack of Cynic. I was already planning on making Moroccan Chicken, a culturally inauthentic but nevertheless tasty recipe from Cook’s Illustrated. As I got to thinking about the richly spiced chicken in fragrant broth and the four cans of spicy, fragrant Cynic sitting in my fridge something clicked and a pairing was born.

Moroccan chicken — an adaptation of traditional Moroccan tagines for American kitchens — is made by cutting a whole chicken into eight pieces (a task I achieved effortlessly with my new boning knife — my latest kitchen obsession) and browning them in olive oil. Next, onions are sautéed with a few pieces of lemon peel, then garlic, paprika, cumin, cayenne, coriander and cinnamon go in the pot. Broth and honey are added to deglaze and form a braising liquid, then the chicken thighs and legs are added in, followed by large discs of carrot and the chicken breasts. The whole thing simmers away for 15 minutes, at which point the chicken is removed and olives are added. After five minutes of boiling to thicken the sauce, the chicken returns  to the pot accompanied by cilantro, lemon juice, and a paste of lemon zest and garlic. The result is a dish of strong spice and garlic, with notes of citrus and sweetness from carrots and honey balanced by bitter olives. Served over cous cous it is very satisfying, warming fare that takes little time to prepare. Doesn’t get much better than that.

Doesn’t get much better, that is, unless you happen to have a can of Cynic on hand. At this point I had built the pairing up so much in my mind that there wasn’t much chance I wouldn’t say it worked, but honestly — honestly! — this was a great combination. At the most basic level, any food that is spicy (spicy-hot) is great with beer as the beer’s carbonation helps lift the burn from your tongue, readying your palate for more food. But the specific spice flavors in Cynic — especially the cinnamon — were matched by those in the stew in such a way that they blended together beautifully, a seamless union of drink and food. The citrus in the dish, which is subtle and muted, was nicely picked up by the citrusy hops present at the end of a drink of Cynic; as the hops hit, they provided an invitation to explore the citrus in the stew more fully. So too the hops’ bitterness countered the sweetness of honey and carrots in the stew.

When pairing food and beer, selecting similar flavor profiles can be risky since the flavors in one might overpower or distort the same flavors in the other. But in the case of Surly Cynic and Moroccan Chicken, the flavors were in near perfect proportion to each other; each bite of this stew made me want another drink of Cynic, each drink of Cynic another bite of stew.

As January comes to a close, it’s really starting to feel like 2010. This weekend, while less activity filled than, say, our cross country ski marathon, was well enjoyed. On Saturday morning I was inspired by Bon Appétite to prepare crêpes for breakfast. With only one so bad it had to go straight to the trash (that was #3, one and two came out just fine), I am no longer afraid of this thin egg pancake with a French accent. Bon Appétite may be right, “crêpes are a cinch, with no special… pan required.” We enjoyed ours with a mix of cheeses inside (gruyère was the clear favorite) along with chopped cilantro and green onions and the occasional splash of chipotle Tabasco. If you’d like to try your hand at the recipe, hop over to Bon Appétite’s website. Don’t worry if you don’t have buckwheat at home; not about to run out on a Saturday morning, I used a mix of rye and whole wheat flours instead.

Martha: café con leche, largo de leche (left). Tom: tinto (right).

See you in February!

In mid-nineteenth century Italy, as power passed from one faction to another fighting to control the unification of the country, many lower-class people — ever ignored by political elites — resorted to brigantaggio, or brigandage, both as a means of securing a living and a form of resistance against occupiers foreign and domestic. In the United States today, the brevity of the Wikipedia article alone suggests the extent to which this movement has been forgotten. But where memory fades, food can preserve, and as we are talking about Italy it is only appropriate that the memory of the brigantaggio be preserved in its very own pasta shape: cappellacci dei briganti (brigands’ hats).

I discovered this shape while browsing through Oretta Zanini de Vita’s excellent Encyclopedia of Pasta, published last year in English by the University of California Press, which I received from Martha for Christmas. After introductory essays covering the significance of pasta in Italy and the methodology of her research, Zanini jumps into a comprehensive, alphabetically organized listing of pasta shapes, both home and factory-made. Many of the descriptions are accompanied by sketches, although as this is not a cookbook — something the author and translator both insist upon — the level of detail provided is generally insufficient to reproduce the pasta at home. Cappellacci dei briganti did feature a sketch, however, as well as the following description of how to make them:

The flour is sifted onto a wooden board and kneaded long and vigorously with a few eggs, water, and salt. The dough, which should be firm and smooth, is left to rest, then rolled out with a rolling pin into a very thin sheet. An inverted liqueur glass is used to cut small disks from the sheet. Each disk is wrapped into a cone around the tip of an index finger and the edge sealed, then one side is folded back like the brim of a hat. They are air dried and then boiled in plenty of salted water. (64)

Between the distinctive sketch and the intriguing history, I couldn’t help but try to make some brigands’ hats at home.

I started by making my all-purpose pasta dough, using a technique from Cook’s Illustrated. First, I put two cups of flour in the food processor and pulsed it a few times to distribute the flour evenly. I then added three eggs and allowed the machine to run until the mixture was granulated. To finish the dough I add water teaspoon by teaspoon with the processor on until it comes together in a single mass. Then I kneaded the dough a few times, shaped it into a ball, and let it rest in the refrigerator for a half hour. I suspect this method, utilizing a food processor instead of a hundred-year-old flour-soaked board, would be upsetting to Zanini and her sources, but it’s a clean and fast way to produce reliable pasta dough.

When the dough had rested long enough to be workable, it was ready to be divided in quarters and passed through the pasta machine (another gift from Martha, from a few years ago). Using a small wine glass, I cut circles out of the thin sheets of pasta.

The next step, which sounded so easy in the description from the Encylcopedia, required quite a bit of trial and error. Eventually I figured out exactly where to put my index finger — slightly off from the center to get a slanted cone — and how much of the dough needed to be folded over itself in a triangle to form the cone. This is definitely a place where fifty years of pasta-making experience — as opposed to 5 minutes of reading a book — would have paid off.

With a slightly off-center cone to work with, folding the brim of the hat was more straight-forward. The long part of the cone is simply folded up. The only trick to this was initiating the folds with the piece of pasta upside-down; trying to do it from the side resulted in a slightly crushed hat. Although I suppose in the line of duty, a brigand’s hat might get a little out of sorts.

After using all my dough to fill two sheet pans with hats, I boiled them for just under five minutes.

Anybody a little familiar with the Italian ways of pasta knows that at least as important as its shape is the sauce it’s served with. For cappellacci, nothing but a lamb ragú will do. Luckily, Clancey’s was able to provide a beautiful piece of lamb for a slow braise in a sauce consisting mainly of tomatoes canned during the height of the season last August — which tasted mercifully of summer and not botulism.

Though the brigands of Italy are long defeated and perhaps even forgotten, their hats — transformed into pasta and covered in a delicious ragú — deserve to live on.

We visited the Art Shanty Projects at Medicine Lake this afternoon with Hailey. Despite the rain and perhaps because today is the WARMEST DAY OF THE YEAR at thirty-six degrees, we enjoyed our first visit to the shanties. Having come prepared (thanks to Mel) with art to share, all three of us exchanged art at the Ice Art Swap Shanty. Tom took home an antler-themed picture frame, I found a set of notecards, and Hailey traded for a piece of pottery.

Our favorite was Tiny Shanty, the smallest three story mansion on the ice where visitors can create tiny art and enjoy tiny tea time courtesy of the tiny wood stove’s tiny log fire.

Thanks to Scott and Caly for welcoming us to their tiny home. Check out Tiny Shanty’s gallery for more pictures or the Projects’ flickr page.

Yesterday marked one year from the first post on marthaandtom.com. What better way to celebrate than Simple, Good and Tasty’s dinner tonight at Brasa? Alex Roberts and his crew whipped up a sumptuous — and seemingly endless — feast of comforting local food, served family-style. (If you haven’t yet tried Brasa in St. Paul or Northeast Minneapolis, do!) Plenty of good food can be prepared with local ingredients even in the midst of Minnesota January, when everything is frozen three-times over. Just when we thought we couldn’t eat any more — Chef Roberts was generous with seconds and thirds — Brasa surprised us with three desserts.

Not a bad way to kick off another year of faithful blogging.

Thank you for reading.

Thank you for your comments.

Have some cake!

Click the image to see this photo set on Flickr.

Thanks to the Monday holiday, Tom and I have today, tomorrow, and Monday off. This time last year we were headed to Red Wing, MN; this year we’ll be exploring the Twin Cities. With a couple of pairs of rented skis, the plan to stay in town is shaping up pretty well. We’ve light-breakfasted (on granola), skied, and brunched already. We’ll see where the afternoon takes us….

Ever since, oh, January 2nd I’ve been on an organization and cleaning binge. Perhaps the rest of you find yourself in this new-year-cleaning mode as well? If you don’t have the itch to clean, don’t feel bad—I don’t mean to say our place is in perfect order. Given the de-decoration that occurred on January 6 and the distance and darkness of our storage area where holiday décor is stored year round, I’ve yet to deal with a certain number of boxes of ornaments and lights. As they say, no one is perfect. On the other hand, our linen closet is pristine, as is the office area and every surface including windowsills and (!) kitchen cabinets. With all this in mind, I’ve been thinking back to some organization aids found on our visit to one of the fall craft fairs at the Midtown Global Market. There we found St. Paul-based online retailers Olive and Myrtle who carry, among other things, Beehive SoftBowls by MIO. Exploring MIO’s own web site today, I found some other fun treasures. Here are a couple of highlights, including the bowls themselves, which are definitely on my wish list.

Incidentally, Olive and Myrtle also carries one of my favorite gifts from Tom, a game called Pandabo made entirely of bamboo. It’s a bit like Jenga, a bit like Pick up Sticks, and a lot of fun. Tom picked up the game here in Linden Hills at Wonderment, but it’s good to know it’s also available online.

Images: MIOculture.com, Olive and Myrtle

For Christmas my parents gave everyone in the family a bag or tub (depending on family size) of homemade granola. They used the same recipe my Mom worked with when I was growing up. I remember eating Mom’s granola from cereal-boxed shaped Tupperware containers alternately atop a bowlful of yogurt or served with milk. Having received my granola in a bag, I decided I needed such a container for ours too. I didn’t go as far as to have a Tupperware party, but one of the first things I did after returning home from Christmas was to purchase a Sistema cereal box from the Container Store to house my granola. Since then I’ve been enjoying breakfasts of granola with homemade yogurt (thanks to Tom). Yesterday I noticed we were almost out of granola, so I called home for the recipe and decided to dive in and learn to make it myself.

With only a minor variation or two, the recipe comes from The More with Less Cookbook by Doris Janzen Longacre (1976). The book is (still!) available and is described (on Amazon.com) as a gathering of:

500 recipes from Mennonite kitchens that tell us how to eat better and consume less of the world’s limited food resources. All recipes have been tested by professional home economists. This cookbook is written for those who care about their own health and the food needs of others in the world.

The recipe makes about 2–3 quarts of granola. The recipe is very basic (measure, mix, bake), but I’m going to have to train my nose to sense the granola’s doneness. The batch I put together today has the right taste and texture, but there’s a little burn in there too. The hardest part for some, depending on your access to high-quality bulk foods, may be sourcing the ingredients. Unsweetened coconut, if not available at your standard supermarket, can be found in health food stores. Wheat germ will be in the refrigerated section if it’s available in your grocery’s bulk foods and can otherwise be found sold by Bob’s Red Mill or jarred in the cereal or baking section. (The Wedge was out of bulk wheat germ, so I went with a bag from Bob’s Red Mill which I am now storing in a Ball jar in the fridge. I plan to start secretly adding it to everything.) Be sure to look for raw nuts and seeds in all cases.

Set the oven to 325º

Mix in Large bowl:

• 1/2 to 1 cup shredded, unsweetened coconut
• 4 cups old fashioned oatmeal (ideally not quickoats)
• 1 cup hulled, raw sunflower seeds
• 1 cup wheat germ
• 1/4 to 1/2 cup sesame seeds
• 1 cup slivered almonds
• 1 Tablespoon cinnamon

Bring to a boil:

• 1 cup honey
• 1/2 cup canola oil

Pour honey mixture over dry ingredients and mix thoroughly.

Grease two cookie sheets and, dividing the mixture in half, spread the granola evenly across the sheets. Jelly roll pans will work best as you’ll avoid spilling any of the grains when stirring the mixture in the oven.

Bake for a total of 30 minutes, stirring every 10 minutes and watching carefully in the last 10 minutes to avoid any burning (as I said I may have caused a bit of burning today, but no matter!).

Every Christmas my father prepares buñuelos for the family on the mornings of the 24, 25, and 26 so that all can have their share—no matter their arrival time. A round Colombian cheese bread, buñuelos are made from corn starch, shredded queso campesino, milk, and a little salt and sugar (we first mentioned them here). They are made from a very wet dough, as you’ll see below, and fried to perfection. The dough-balls turn naturally in the hot (but not too hot) oil, and can be helped along with the tap of a chopstick or the end of a wooden spoon. They’ll be firm to the touch when ready to be removed from the oil, and are best eaten warm. As kids we’d sometimes have them with peanut butter and milk. As a lover of sausage biscuits, this year another idea occurred to me…

Enjoyed for the first time today, “Buñuelo Sliders” proved to be a very repetible experiment.

Update: For the recipe, see comments below.