When Surly Hell was released last week, I prepared myself for what would be my one opportunity to try it (it sold out very quickly) by reading up on the style.  ’Hell’ is German for ‘light’ or ‘pale’, and according to my sage for all things beer, Garrett Oliver, the Helles style was developed as the Bavarian answer to the popularity of Bohemian pilsner. Traditional Bavarian lager was dark and with deeper flavor, Hellesbier was pale, golden and crisp. I found Surly Hell to fit the bill for this style exactly. While it was not a particularly unique beer, it was an excellent one — refreshing and actually quite fun to drink. It’s a shame the production was so limited.

But even if I’ll never get to drink it again, Surly Hell got me interested in Helles beers. On my most recent trip to the Four Firkins, the Helles Schlenkerla Lagerbier caught my eye. When I mentioned to the clerk that I was interested in this beer after trying Hell, he told me that this would be totally different. As it turns out, the Schlenkerla Brewery in Bamberg, the brewer of the Helles in question, is famous for a different beer: smokebeer. Smokebeer is made by smoking the barley malt before brewing. While the Helles I was in the process of buying is not smoked, it’s made with the same equipment as smokebeer, so it has a lot of residual smokiness. I’m not one to be dissuaded at the cash register: smoky Helles it was.

Trying the beer, I can’t say I agree with the clerk about it being totally different from Hell. The underlying beer was quite similar: crisp and sprightly, light-bodied and refreshing. But then there was the smoke. Even though the beer was not smoked, the smoke flavor was fairly strong; a bit like the flavor you got from smelling burning alder or cedar as you smoke a trout (for example). The flavor was not so strong as to drown out everything else that was going on with the beer, but the flavor of smoke was unmistakably there.

What to eat with this golden smoky beer? Barbecue, obviously. But what if you don’t have a grill? Well, then you need to get creative. I was looking for something that would match the smoke in the beer, but, lacking the capacity to actually make smoke, I thought a deep roasting might do the trick. I cut summer squash, zucchini and eggplant from the farmers’ market into large chunks, salted them and let them sit in the colander for an hour to exude some water. I then added a coarsely chopped onion and tossed everything in oil, salt and pepper. I placed everything on a half-sheet pan in the oven for about a half an hour until the vegetables were deeply browned and starting to burn. B

Once the roasted vegetables had cooled slightly, I tossed them with cooked quinoa, big chunks of heirloom tomatoes (these tomatoes were so good off the vine that it seemed a shame to roast them; that would be a good option for improving inferior tomatoes), minced parsley and a lemon vinaigrette (lemon juice, garlic, olive oil, salt and pepper). I thought the zippiness of the beer would be complimented by a lemony salad. And since Helles is so light and refreshing, I had some leeway to make the salad richer, which I accomplished with 4 oz of crumbled goat cheese that immediately became melted goat cheese.

For all the thought that went into constructing the salad around the beer, this pairing was a dud. I thought the Helles aspects of the beer worked well with the pockets of fresh tomato in the salad, the acid of the lemon juice, and as relief from the rich goat cheese. But there was nothing in the salad that could do anything with the beer’s smoke. Roasted vegetables, as much as I might want them to, do not taste smoky — they taste sweet. Perhaps grilling the vegetables over charcoal would fix this problem, but for me that is not an option. After trying the beer, the choice of barbecue seemed so obvious: drinking this beer would be like adding liquid smoke to the barbecue sauce; there would be total continuity between the food and the beer. In fact it’s hard to imagine a more perfect pairing.

As for the salad, I don’t think the idea of pairing with a traditional Helles is a bad one; it was the smoke that was so off-putting. Perhaps if they make another batch of Surly Hell I’ll make this salad again to celebrate.

This was a good beer and a good salad, they just weren’t very good together. Such is the magic of pairings.

I hate to toot my own horn, but I did an awesome job going through all my produce from the farmers’ market last week.  Between pickling, trying new recipes, and actually eating all our leftovers, by the end of the week our fridge, even our vegetable drawer, was looking empty. We even had to go to the grocery store for dinner Friday night since there was nothing left to eat in the house.

With this blank canvas to fill, I think I might have overdone it this morning. It didn’t help that this week instead of my usual school-size backpack I wore my Duluth Pack — something about that giant backpack makes you want to fill it. And with the variety and quality of produce available this time of year, it’s pretty hard to resist. Especially when $3 trays are 2 for $5. But what am I going to do with all this?

The haul for this week was: 3 onions, 8# generic tomatoes, basil, cantaloupe, fennel, garlic, potatoes, salad turnips, poblanos, honey gold tomatoes, variety heirloom tomatoes, eggplant, zucchini and summer squash and radishes. The cantaloupes are new for me this week but Brett and Mary of Real Bread recommended them strongly.

I made sure to return to the Honey Creek Farm stand where last week we bought edamame and sun gold and heirloom tomatoes that made some of the best caprese and Greek salads of all time. More tomatoes, for eating raw, were a must and although there were no edamame this week, there was another interesting vegetable: salad turnips. Apparently these Japanese vegetables taste like a mild radish. Although I like my radishes sharp and spicy, I couldn’t turn down a new vegetable to try.

As for those eight pounds of tomatoes, I bought those with the idea that it is time for me to finally start putting up tomato sauce for the winter. I kick myself every year for failing to do so, so this is the year. I am planning on following Hank Shaw’s instructions for making and bottling the stuff. I figure 8# should give me 3 quart sized jars, a good start.

As for the rest, well, I have no idea. But hopefully I’ll come up with something before next Saturday when it’s time to load up again.

The Midtown Farmers’ Market has settled into that easy summer rhythm where each week there are some new vegetables, some that have been around for a while are gone, but mostly you can buy more of what was good the week before. So while the greens (spinach, kale) are somewhat less abundant (and, consequently, I didn’t have to spend two hours this morning washing greens), the potatoes and zucchini are bigger, the first eggplant are available, and broccoli has been joined by its old friend cauliflower.

Strawberries were even more abundant than last week, with several vendors to choose from. I don’t remember the name of the farm we bought this week’s strawberries from but it is the same people who I bought a lot of apples from last fall; they know very well that if they offer free samples the fruit will sell itself. It is tempting to turn this batch of strawberries into sorbet, but I am determined to do something else with them this week: perhaps strawberry shortcake.

Peas are still widely available, though perhaps getting a bit tougher and starchier. I got English shell peas this week instead of sugar snap peas, so Martha and I had a fun time shelling peas and chasing them around the floor of our apartment.

Martha enjoyed observing the architecture of each shell’s interior: four peas per side, each with a very small point of connection to the body of the shell. A late lunch is on its way; we’ll be finishing off last week’s vegetables with a stir fry of broccoli, onion, kohlrabi, and daikon.

The biggest problem with my last attempt to make the ciabatta recipe in the latest Cook’s Illustrated was that the dough was so wet that it was too hard to work with; more trouble than it was worth. This was mostly my fault since, not owning a stand mixer, I followed Peter Reinhart’s standard mixing style of a hand continuously dipped in water operating like a dough hook. The water prevents the dough from sticking to your hand but it also gets added to the dough, throwing off the water ratio.

This time I avoided adding water at all costs. I still don’t have a stand mixer but I decided a metal spoon and my bulging biceps could take care of the mixing. I ambitiously set my timer for ten minutes and started stirring. After six minutes had passed my arm told me it was time to stop. The dough was looking pretty good, not so sloppy looking as last time. I let it rise, folding it over itself twice at half-hour intervals.

Shaping the dough this time was easier; even though I know my gluten development was not what it would have been with a stand mixer, the dough was still springy enough to be easily shaped. Plenty of flour was still a must, but during shaping the dough more or less stayed where I put it.

The result was a bread that was almost identical to the last one, but a bit less of a hassle to make. This consistency is a testament to the quality of Cook’s Illustrated’s recipe development process. Check out the crumb:

Because of its chewy, substantial texture this is a great bread for sandwiches. I used my first loaf for a BET: Basil, Eggplant and Tomato, with melted provolone.