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Into Brooklyn we went a couple of nights ago in search of some sick jazz and some sick brews.  We found both. 

First hitting up the microbrew haven, Mission Dolores, we came across one of the more interesting beer styles out there:  Gose (this particular one was Gosilla from NY’s own, Barrier Brewing Company in Oceanside).  An old style originating in Leipzig, Germany, its an unfiltered wheat beer made from 50%-60% malted wheat, giving it a hazy color and a whallop of crispness…but the best part?  They add salt and coriander.  Low in alcohol (the Gosilla is 3.8%) and zippy in its tang, they are frankly delicious.  (I must credit Chris Lehault of IDrunkThat, who first introduced me to the style a couple of years ago). 

After that, we were on to an unnamed club where Jon Lundbom and the Big Five Chord were shredding up some serious riffs.  Jon is an importer for B. United International and possibly one of the geekiest of the geekiest beer geeks I know.  He’s back and forth between NYC and Belgium, Germany and Austria so much that its become a morning commute to him.  Little did I know, he also does some virtuosic stylings on the guitar.  The Big Five Chord has been described as “punk jazz” (whatever that means) and are known to unleash Merle Haggard tunes that are just too cool for school.

At said unnamed club, the owner gave a nod to Philly in his beer fridge, by offering up some selections from Philadelphia Brewing Company (the Newbold IPA is pictured).  Since these are not distributed here, my guess is they were lovingly carted across state lines in the trunk of his car.  And for that little bit of illicitness, we thank you.

The other day, while crushing the exercise bike at my grimy Queens gym—our little foray through Europe packed on 20 pounds of food and drink goodness; do you have any idea how many calories Czech Ghoulash topped off with a liter of Dark Lager packs on?? So shed the blubber, I must—I stumbled upon my newest quest: to devour Queens.

Here’s the story: I found a mangy July issue of New York magazine featuring a list of the top 20 restaurants in Queens (a borough in which 60% of the inhabitants are born outside the United States). What this means, other than my neighborhood is an awesome calico of races and cultures, is that it plays host to the damn finest variety of ethnic food you can find in the country. The embarrassing part—because I’ve lived in Queens for 9 years and I work in the food & wine business—is I hadn’t been to any of them. Shame on me.

So, I decided to do something about it. I contacted Chris, a good friend and fellow Queens resident who works as a lawyer and moonlights as a ridiculously talented cook (his Bánh mì is out of this world….and don’t even get me started on his Georgia-inspired BBQ). Would he be willing to start working through this list with me? Diving into the shadows of Flushing and Corona Park to get his grub on? Damn right he would. The weekly outings have begun.

Non-descript. But inside lies a parade of pork goodness...

First stop: Han Joo Korean BBQ. Located in the Murray Hill section of Queens, one enters the throbbing, pulsing beat of Chinatown (the Chinatown in Queens is one of the biggest in the country, dwarfing the one in Manhattan). It’s a vibrant neighborhood and I immediately felt the wall of the Queens-I-know dissolve, and we were transported to the streets of Beijing or Seoul. There, on a small side street, we found Han Joo.

A rather non-descript decor, Han Joo is composed of walls literally made of particle board with a large, flatscreen playing non-stop Korean TV shows. Each table has a silver bowl/gas burner in the center and a ceiling hood directly above it. You know what that means–the cooking will take place in front of our slobbering gobs. Hell yeah.

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While walking around the farmhouse brewery built by Sidy Hannsen’s grandfather, I stumbled upon this pile of half-labelled Geuze.

Hannsen’s Artisanaal has two employees: John and Sidy Hanssen.  These bottles are hand-labelled, the beer is hand-bottled and hand-made.  A lot of hands have been all over this place.  By the looks of it, a machine hasn’t ever been introduced to this place.

That’s the kind of beer I dream of, the kind of beer I defend whole-heartedly and the kind of beer producers you should be supporting.  Now, go forth into your weekend and drink the good juice. That’s my Friday soapbox.

"Let me guess. Randall sent you, didn't he?"

Le Pousseur (100% Syrah), Bonny Doon Vineyard, 2008, Central Coast
(13.5% abv)

There is something transporting about this wine, like being wrapped up in a harlot’s velvet shawl.

You enter the room somewhat willingly, thinking you know what you’re in store for, wanting to keep it light and fun, only to find your mind and emotions wrapped up in a deeper draw and the feeling of hot attraction coursing through your veins. This courtesan is much bigger than you can handle. You run from the room, only to get outside, take in a breath of fresh air and decide you MUST return.

This is not the type of wine I was expecting to feel this way about. Call it “single vineyard snobbery,” if you will, but I lowered my expectations when I read “Central Coast Syrah.” It could be from anywhere there–the Central Coast is a huge place. But then again, these grapes are in the able hands of Randall Grahm…and he knows his Syrah.  It’s going to be something authentic.

The color of the Bonny Doon Le Pousseur 2008 is near opaque, pouring a dark, purplish red. On the nose, a haunting, deep aroma of black berries, spicy brambles and a note of black cherry cream. I was drawn so deeply in, I found my nostrils a bit stung by the heat of the alcohol. But it only proved to spur me on…

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Booker’s Bourbon, Dolin Sweet Vermouth, Angostura Bitters.  Oh hells yeah.  The weekend begins.

PUMPKIN: Trick or Treat, punk. YOU: But it's August! PUMPKIN: Deal wit it

There are certain sign posts that mark the passage of the seasons.  The first smoke billowing forth from the chimneys, the first leaf you see falling from the trees, the first flower you see resiliently climbing forth from the sidewalk cracks on 12th street, or the first snowflake you see falling from the sky, silhouetted by a street light.

For me, one of my favorite bookmarks of time, one of those indicators that you know the page is about to turn, are pumpkin beers.  (To be honest, though, its frickin August 12th!  Should these quintessential beers be hitting the shelfs NOW?!  Is the beer industry making a statement on global weather change?).

Smuttynose Pumpkin Ale 2011: first on the shelf

But come they have.  Last week, I looked on bewildered by what I was seeing: Smuttynose Pumpkin Ale was on the shelf at my local grocery.  Today, I bought a six-pack.

Pumpkin Ales are tricky (for those long-time readers of my blog, you may recall I first wrote about them when I brewed my own: Praise the Gourd).  To get the balance right between capturing the flavor of the pumpkin while finding harmony with the fall spices is crucial.  This year, I can’t say I love Smuttynose’s latest release, though, a few years ago, they were my favorite.  (Each year I seek out as many as I can; I feel it tells us a lot about the brewer).  Smuttynose’s 2011 is good, and I’m confident it will be in my top 10, but it leaves something lacking in the malt department.

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There’s a lot of shite on YouTube, Vimeo, Blip.tv or (fill in the blank).  We all know this.  We all love this.

I have a new column.  I’ll troll through the garbage for you and post my favorites, thereby raising these beautiful kernels forth from the mountains of rotting, brain-numbing fluff in the noble name of video artistry.

And YOU can get involved too (I know you be spending precious hours of your life looking at stupid stuff on the internet).  If its wine, beer or spirits related—and you feel it meets the criteria of something that enriches your soul’s joy—pass the links on to me at GrapesandGrainsNYC@gmail.com and write “Silly Video Salute” in the subject line.

Your ticket to the top: Pretty Things Jack D'Or Saison and Bortolotti Lagrein Spumante Rosato Brut

If you look around at the wine, beer and spirits media, the “Summer Drinking Recommendations” are ubiquitous.

They’re like Ray Bans and Katy Perry songs–turn to the left, you got em.  Step out of the subway?  Bam!  Two people wearing Ray Bans greet you at the top of the stairs.

Ahh shit! Biebs is rockin the Bans?! Now, I GOTS to get me some!

And walk into any bar, store, gym, club, hot dog hut, nail salon, barber shop, BMW dealership, emergency room, animal pound, tattoo parlor, yoga studio or McDonald’s and you’ll either hear “Firework,” “Last Friday Night (T.G.I.F)” or “Extraterrestrial“.  Its a sickness, people!  We’re being brainwashed!  At any moment, Katy will step forward with her strategies for balancing the budget and finding harmony between the Democrats and the Tea Party…and by God, it will work!

So, that’s my long-winded way of saying that its time to throw my hat in the ring.  Keep it simple: there are two things to drink this summer.  Two things to bring to a baby shower.  Two things that will please any crowd, any refined drinker.  Two things that will make you cool.  Two things that will get you laid:  Saison and Sparkling.

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(I took this picture on June 13, 2011 at 12:52 pm)

The town of Piesport lies in the Mittlemosel subregion of the Mosel wine region in Germany (you can see the white chapel at the town’s center in the far-left side of the picture).  Here, the Mosel river’s walls rise up to 200 meters (700 feet) in some places and are made of grey slate. Standing in the vineyards is like standing on a pile of broken, fractured rocks.  All around, it’s as if millions of chalkboards were smashed and scattered over the hillsides.  Seeing the vines rise from the rocks is surreal, as your mind can’t quite understand why there is little to no visible dirt.  It’s a mindfuck of the most beautiful caliber. 
 

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Lambrucha, Vanberg & DeWulf, New York, (brewed and bottled at De Troch, Wambeek, Belgium)
3.5% abv

Touted as the “first time two living yeast drinks have been brought together in one bottle,” Lambrucha is a yeast-lovers paradise.  (Not to mention, possibly one of the most soothing beer trips one can take the old GI tract on).  35,000,000 living yeast cells?  Yes, please.  So throw your gut-shredding Big Mac in the trash and take this beauty out for a test-drive instead.

Although I’ve never tried Kombucha before—I think we all have that one friend, however, that swears by the stuff after a Bikram yoga class and a couple of songs on the sitar— it is a fascinating beverage.  Brewed for over a thousand years in Central Asia, its an effervescent, tart drink made by pitching yeast into tea and letting it ferment.

Lambic, on the other hand, is the oldest, continuously-brewed beer in the world.  So you might say Lambrucha is a perfect, yeast-filled marriage waiting to happen.  Together, under the watchful eye of Don Feinberg (founder of Belgian beer importer, Vanberg & DeWulf), the two elixirs become something mightier than their individual parts.

A blend of 60% Lambic and 40% Kombucha, Lambrucha has a nose of lemons, apple cider and pears.  Slightly effervescent, the Kombucha mellows out the tartness of the Lambic, giving it a silkier, fuller mouthfeel.  You can taste the individual characteristics of both the players, yet, see how together, they form a certain harmony.

The punk rock, aggressive tones of the Lambic attend a traditional Yoga class for a bit of meditation, and end up dancing effortlessly with a partner from a far-away land.

Darth Budweiser: “If he could be turned, he would be a powerful ally”.

Now that I’ve returned from drinking my way through the vineyards and breweries of Europe, I am back in the role of ‘beer buyer’ for a restaurant group (currently with three locations, soon to be four).  In fact, its one of my favorite duties.  Sort of like a baseball card collection kept at three different homes.

Within a week or so of landing in Paris in early June, I heard the news that microbrewery Goose Island was bought out by Anheuser Busch—who  themselves are now owned by multi-national, mega-conglomerate, InBev—as my secret spy radio was tuned to the Craft Beer Resistance’s all-points bulletin.

(This logo now owned by Budweiser)

I guess I wasn’t all that surprised, as AB had been distributing the Goose’s beers for quite some time—I was a bit taken aback when I first attempted to purchase their beers.  “Wait, so you mean we need to fill a credit application out with Anheuser-Busch to buy Goose Island?? Do I need to purchase a Darth Vader helmet, as well?”

Greg Hall, the talented Chicago brewmaster who nurtured Goose Island to success, had paid me a visit a few months before.  He was a funny, down to earth, passionate guy; not to mention, his Belgian-line of beers like Sofie and Pere Jacques were tasty, well-made creations.  I was eager to have them on my list.  So, I got over the whole Budweiser distribution thing and focused on carrying as much of their small-batch stuff as I could.  I figured, sure, I’ll swim with the sharks, but I’ll carry a sharp spear for protection.

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Tonight, I finally caught up on my Tour de France 2011 footage.  Watching Cadel Evans fly by the Arc De Triomphe on the way to becoming the first Australian to win the Tour was a moving sight.

(It was further enhanced by a couple of German friends left over from the Summer of Riesling concert:  Trocken, Keller, 2010, Rheinhessen  and Schloss Johannisberg, 2009, Rheingau).

After his brave rides up the L’Alpe d’Huez and the Col du Galibier, Cadel should have have cracked a bottle of one of these at the summit to share with the local marmots.  Marmots love a good acid-bomb.

Crikey! I could have sworn I had another meter before I hit that wall!

I was saddened to read that powerhouse Australian winery, Mollydooker, lost over $1,000,000 worth of their 2010 Velvet Glove Shiraz.  And in a forklift accident, no less (462 cases fell 20 feet while being loaded onto a ship).

Australian fine wine needs all the help it can get and this bonehead move isn’t helping the cause.  The American people needed this wine. Our shores have been saturated with cheap Australian swill like Yellow Tail and Black Opal for too long (check out the article I wrote last year about the sinking state of Australian wine).

There is a power balance at play here in the universe.  And while most of us will rarely buy this wine (it retails around $199/bottle), I rest easy knowing that the resistance has punched through enemy lines and has met American cellars firsthand.  The castle may be run by the Wal-Mart wineries like Yellow Tail (in 2005, they sold over 7.5 million cases in the US alone through outlets like Costco) but at least the shelves could be peppered with valiant warriors to offset them.  This year, they didn’t even get off the dock.

Mollydooker winemaker, Sparky Marquis

Mollydooker winemaker, Sparky Marquis, at least had a good sense of humor after hearing 1/3 of his entire years production (462 cases) was destroyed.  He said, “When they opened up the container they said it was like a murder scene.  But it smelled phenomenal.”

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We didn’t bring many souvenirs back from our foray into Europe.  When you’re mostly on foot and with only a backpack, you ain’t gonna be one of those beer geeks that load up on a bounty of beer and check it as cargo.

But we did bring a few things back.  One of them was this Geuze Jelly.  After we spent the morning at Hanssens Artisinaal in the countryside of Belgium, Sidy Hanssen thrust this into our hand: homemade jelly made from their Geuze (a blend of 1-3 year old Lambic).  I knew right away that this would be appreciated by one man and one man only: Jonathan Moxey.  The current head of BrewYork, otherwise known as the “Grand Poobah”, Jonathan is a homebrewer and regular gourmand of the good shit.  Be it BBQ, smoked meats or rare Belgian brews, he is your man.  So, I toted this jar overseas for him.

I suggest an artisanal, 25-grain wheat bread, as opposed to a smear on a slice of Wonder Bread.  This jam deserves it; and so does Jonathan. Happy birthday, Poobah.

As we made our way to Belgium, I asked the geekiest of my beer geek friends what breweries to visit.  There was a resounding answer: “Cantillon.”  In fact, one of my friends said, “If you don’t go to Cantillon, I will personally kick you in the nuts.”

In the heart of Brussels, lies Cantillon brewery.  In a part of town where you’re more likely to find immigrant Muslim communities and enough road construction to make driving up on the place nigh impossible, the Cantillon family has been producing Lambic there since 1900.  Today, it is done almost exactly as it was at the turn of last century.

Now, in fact, a museum, stepping into the brewery is like stepping back in time.  And because Lambic production involves spontaneous fermentation—where the unfermented beer is left in open vessels to allow it to be exposed to wild yeast and bacteria—the atmosphere between the walls, inside the walls, and even the walls themselves are contributors in the innoculation of the wort.

This is true terroir in beer, people.   And that is not a silly trifle.  This is the ONLY spot on the earth where the beer can taste this way, act this way and evolve this way.  Move the brewery two blocks away, and all will change.

Jean Van Roy, myself and a shit-ton of spiders

We were fortunate to meet brewmaster Jean Van Roy (the son-in-law of the last Cantillon) at a beer event at Birrificio Baladin in Piedmont the previous month.  When I mentioned we would be in Belgium at the end of June, he told us to contact him.  Four weeks later, we opened the front door to the brewery and stepped back in time.  And when I left the brewery later that day, my perceptions on beer had changed.  This is a family doing things the traditional way.  More hours, more heartache, less certainty.  But with a product so built on artisan craftsmanship that the mere mention of the word “shortcut” will get you strung up in a spider web for dinner.  In fact, I will be forever haunted by a spider I saw there that was the size of a baby’s fist.

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