On First Avenue, in Manhattan’s East Village, lies a little sliver of German sausage paradise…and, oh, the beer list…the sweet, sweet beer list.  From Currywurst to Bratwurst, and a few side routes into such hearty, meaty delights as Veal Loaf (Leberkaese) and Lamb Sausage, Wechsler’s transports one to Berlin instantly upon crossing its threshold.

The illustrious Currywurst: Bratwurst drenched in a curry-spiced ketchup (pic courtesy of RealCheapEats.com)

As you enter, it seems there is only a small bar outfitted with a massive draft beer tower and a small grill.  But walk ten more feet inside and a tiny lair opens up with wooden tables and stools, the walls festooned with old German beer posters and random kitsch.  Overall, there must be about 24 seats crammed into what feels like a dark, wooden doll’s house cum secret meeting place for German beer lovers.  The only thing missing is the thick plumes of cigarette smoke and tables laden with pewter-lidded beer steins.

The tasty, meat-focused menu aside, the beer list is a haven of German delights.  From Kolsch to Weiss to Eisbock, they’ve got em all.  After snuggling into a tall glass of Reissdorf Kolsch, my eyes soon fixated on something truly special:  the Schneider Weisse Tap X Mein Nelson Sauvin.  Not one to normally mess around with experimental stuff, Bräuhaus G. Schneider & Sohn–one of the most classic Bavarian Weiss producers–used Nelson Sauvin hops from New Zealand. Adding a tropical fruit, peppery note to their traditional banana, clove and orange peel flavored Weisse beer, they’ve created something very tasty.

You gotta love the hole-in-the-walls you find in this city.  Beer chapels don’t need to be grand in size…this Bavarian doll house will suffice.

The “Lux Cider,” by Dean Hurst of Sidebern’s (Tampa, FL)

Yesterday, on a fine November day in Brooklyn— as the temperature soared to nearly 70 degrees and our sun-deprived flesh once again met it’s warm rays— twelve competitors stepped behind the bar of the Clover Club to do battle.

Brandishing their Sherry-filled libation armaments, they let loose for a panel of esteemed judges and a crowd of industry spirit-hounds in a frenzy of jiggering, shaking and stirring.  Culled from dozens of submissions from around the country, these twelve talented mixologists were selected to vie for the title of Winner of the 2011 Vinos de Jerez Cocktail Competition and an all-expense paid trip to Jerez—not to mention, bragging rights for life and a fleet of trucks filled with Spanish olives.

Each bartender was required to present their cocktail to the judging panel then return to the backstage area where they would batch it out for the crowd of onlookers. The panel of esteemed judges was composed of the following:

• Dale DeGroff, King Cocktail/Author
• David Wondrich, Author/Historian
• Julie Reiner, Proprietor, Flatiron Lounge, Lani Kai, Clover Club
• Jacques Bezuidenhout, Winner, 2005 Vinos de Jerez Cocktail Competition
• Andy Seymour, Sherry Ambassador, aka wine geek
• Steven Olson, aka wine geek

These were the valiant warriors who traveled from near and far to present their concoction to the panel…and the world:

• Reza Esmaili, Ananas Consulting, San Francisco, CA – “España en Emerica,” Pedro Ximénez
• Brad Farran, Clover Club, Brooklyn, NY – “Midnight to Six,” Palo Cortado
• Mike Henderson, Colt & Gray, Denver, CO – “The Spaniard,” Fino
• Brendan Dorr, B&O American Brasserie, Baltimore, MD – “The Cádizian,” Oloroso Dulce
• Dean Hurst, Sidebern’s, Tampa, FL – “Lux Cider,” Dry Amontillado
• Ted Kilgore, Taste by Niche, St. Louis, MO – “El Maestro,” Oloroso
• Franky Marshall, Clover Club, Brooklyn, NY – “Mas Que Ayer (More Than Yesterday,)” Dry Amontillado
• Lucas Paya, ThinkFoodGroup (The Bazaar, LA) – “Spanish Golden Ale,” Amontillado
• Stephanie Schneider, Huckleberry Bar, Brooklyn, NY – “Perfect Lepanto,” Moscatel
• Kelley Slagle, Terroir Tribeca, New York, NY – “Cherry Cocktail,” Fino, Amontillado, Palo Cortado, Oloroso & Pedro Ximénez
• Carlo Splendorini, Michael Mina Restaurants, San Francisco, CA – “Ponente,” Oloroso
• Owen Thomson, ThinkFoodGroup (Café Atlantico, DC) – “Highland Games,” Pedro Ximénez

And the gladiator left standing to take home the prize?  Brendan Dorr of B&O American Brasserie in Baltimore, MD. 

Congrats, fine sir, and may the gates of Jerez open for you with the gusto shown only to that of visiting royalty.

Kelley Slagle threads her charm needle through the eye of the judging panel

Over the course of two hours, I poured eight different hard ciders from around the world and circled back to illustrate how the New York cider producers fit into the cider world at large.

Here’s what we tasted:

1. Warwick Valley Winery, Doc’s Draft Hard Apple Cider, New York (4.5% abv)
2. Sarasola Sydre, Natural Apple Cidre, Basque Region, Spain (6.0% abv)
3. Westons, Stowford Press Export, England (6.0% abv)
4. Etienne Dupont, Cidre Bouché Brut du Normandie, 2009, France (5.0% abv)
5. Farnum Hill, Extra Dry Sparkling, New Hampshire (7.5% abv)
6. J.K.’s Scrumpy, Farmhouse Organic Hard Cider, Michigan (6% abv)
7. Eve’s Cidery, Northern Spy, New York (10% abv)
8. Warwick Valley Winery, Doc’s Draft Framboise, New York (5.5% abv)

I’ve written a few geeky posts on cider in the past, so if you’re so inclined to dig deeper into the apple’s core, check these out:

• “NY Cider Week: Flood the Torpedoes” NY Cork Report (10/11/11)
• “A Cider Laboratory in a Chocolate Factory” (3/2/11)
• “Ciders: How do you Like Them Apples?” (11/6/09)

And for those of you in New York, starting this Sunday, you’re in for a treat.  Throughout the state, you’ll be able to sink your teeth into this awesome (yet oft misunderstood) beverage.  Check out this list for participating bars, restaurants and events.

No worms allowed (seriously)

NY Times, cheese danish, sunny patio in Astoria and the first Frappe I’ve had since we left Greece. I heart New York.

What lies at the end of a rainbow? This pot o' crabs.

Within minutes, I felt the sweat beading up on my brow.  Twenty minutes in, my sinuses began to eradicate themselves of all fluids.  I was a sweaty, sniveling mess…but the smile on my face was apparent.  We were now tit-deep in the spicy broth of Sichuan Ma La cuisine.

For stop #3, we made our way to the College Point neighborhood of Queens to Little Pepper.  We were not there for the mismatched paintings on the walls— seemingly acquired at random from the $1 sale bin at the flea market.  We were not there for the basic table and chairs acquired from the back recesses of the Bowery restaurant supply stores.  We were not there for the Chinese television program being shown above the register.  Nope.  We were there for the spice.  We were there to send our palate through the flavor gauntlet, to hit it with so much heat we wouldn’t whistle for weeks.  And we weren’t disappointed…

Under a bright, neon glow lies the awning of Little Pepper

Little Pepper is bright, clean and (according to long-term fans), an upgrade from its previous location in a dingy Flushing basement.  But once the food hits your mouth, the atmosphere fades away and you’re focusing only on the food.  Stay on target!  Stay on target!  Because this food is spicy.  Known as Ma La, this is Sichuan-peppercorn crack rock for heat (and flavor) junkies.  But don’t be frightened, my friend.  This is the not the kind of heat akin to a wildfire hitting your mouth as soon as the first bite hits.  You will not be immediately reaching for a cool glass of milk.  Nope.  It’s a different sensation; it creeps up on you.  Smooth, slow and steady.  Like a peppercorn/chile seduction leading to a fierce romp.

Shayna's reaction to us possibly ordering "Spicy Intestines"

First glance of the menu, our eyes immediately moved to the “Griddle” section, which included two items that immediately stood out: Spicy Intestines and Spicy Crab.  While the former seemed intriguing….well, sort of…we opted for the crabs.  And for just under $30, a massive, piping hot pot of crabs hit the table.  There, in a spicy broth, along with what must have been pounds of lotus root and shreds of peppers, were the crabs.  Simply hacked in half, they were served fully shelled and numbered between eight and ten in total.  When I asked the waiter the best way to eat them, he replied, “Americans are usually squeamish about bones and shells.  I guess you just have to use your hands.”  From then on, it was a melee of hands and faces covered in spicy juice.

No joke, it was the messiest meal of my life (other than my infant days where I would just dive face-first into whatever appeared in front of my never-satiated gob).  But you gotta give over to it.  As there is only a tiny amount of meat in each crab, you got to get fierce.  And there are no bibs or shell crackers to be seen.  It’s man-on-crab action.  Legs are torn from torso.  Fingers dig through shell like a pig roots in dirt.  For the last ten minutes, my dining companions threw in the towel and simply watched me, stunned.  I had given over.  My sinuses were running like a faucet, my eyes burned with glee, I was going for it.  In heat heaven.

Just before the heat made vision near impossible

And as Budweiser was the only beer option available, I embraced the cool bottles of salvation like a baby does its teet.  The waiter couldn’t bring them fast enough.  Come on, man!  I’m dying over here!  Look at me.  I’m a sweaty mess, now get me my bottle of mass-produced swill!  And stat!  I’ve never been so excited to see that white and red label coming my way…

While the crab was the dish I will remember most, we also had some other tasty dishes.  Here’s the final line up:

• Sliced Pork Belly with Chili-Garlic sauce
• Steamed Chicken with Special Chili sauce
• Spicy Cold Noodle
• Griddle Cooked Crab
• Beef with Hot and Spicy sauce with Cumin

Enough spice on one table to kill a small horse

For stop number two, we drove into Flushing to visit Fu Run restaurant.  The tasty cuisine of this Chinatown outpost comes from an area in the far-away reaches of Northeastern China called Dongbei (formerly known as Manchuria).  We came curious.  And we came hungry.

Duck Feet here! Get your Duck Feet here! Step right up, son.

We pulled up in front of the windowed facade topped with the bright yellow, neon sign and I felt like it wasn’t enough.  We can’t just get out of the car, go into the restaurant, eat our faces off and then load back in the minivan.  That’s sort of fraudulent; we are here to experience a new side of Queens, a deeper layer to the borough I call home.  And so, we strolled down the surrounding streets before entering.  The streets were abuzz with people of all race and creed.  Shops with countless jars of herbs and spices abutted open kitchens with various roasted meats hanging by hooks over steaming woks.  For the first time in my life, I considered purchasing a whole roast duck to just gnaw on in the backseat like a savage.  I was transfixed by the smells and the sight of perfectly browned flesh.  This has to be equivalent to the plumes of cotton candy I craved as a kid.

An essential companion on your journey

After making an eventful loop, we ended up inside our destination restaurant.  A fluorescent-lit affair, Fu Run was near jumping with only a handful of open tables.  The obligatory TV played next to a lone single beer tap, which I would later find poured only Budweiser (no thanks, I’ll stick to the bottles of Tsingtao).

Our eyes dotted over a diverse landscape of vittles (pork stomach, anyone?) and landed on the prize we came for: the Muslim Lamb Chop.  Clocking in at a whopping $21.95, it is easily the most expensive item on the menu.  Undettered by mere monetary matters, we ordered it, along with a serving of, iced vegetables with green bean jelly and dumplings filled with sauerkraut.

Oh mercy, you are straight from heaven, aren't you?

When this lamb monstrosity of goodness hit the table, we were wowed.  Dear Lord, I thought, there is so much spice on that thing the chef must be having a laugh.  Literally covered and then covered again, and then hit with one more heap just to be sure, the Muslim lamb chop (which is actually a slab of lamb ribs) is like nothing I had ever seen before.  Seasoned with cumin, white and black sesame seeds and then red chili, the ribs are slow braised, then seasoned again, dipped into the fryer and seasoned again.  Did I mention the seasoning?

What defies the mind is that they are delicious and in no way OVER seasoned.  They are tender, fatty, fall off the bone perfection.  We guzzled our Tsingtao like happy children and ate like victorious traders on the ancient spice roads.  All around, I began to notice each table seemed to have a plate of these ribs on the table.  I asked our server about this.  “Oh yes,” she said, “ever since the NY Times wrote about it (and a variety of others I have seen), they fly out of the kitchen.  We usually run out by ten pm”.

My suggestion?  Get thee to Fu Run early before they run out.  Better yet, get there early before they cash the world of its cumin supply…

Fu Run, 40-09 Prince St, Flushing, NY 11354
(718) 321-1363

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.

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.

Our server was wonderfully accommodating; most likely being sent over to us immediately after noting the Caucasians entering the front door (we were the only non-Koreans in the place –another sign we were on to something authentic). She helped us decide on the do ya ji combination, a pork belly-focused onslaught. We ordered that and some thinly sliced duck to accompany it.

A taste of South Korea to cleanse the palate

The first thing to arrive were beers from Hite, a South Korean brewery—it was either that or some Soju to start the meal. The Hite it was– I mean, why would we drink Heineken (one of the other choices) when we can go for the regional juice?

That’s when the condiments started arriving. And by started, I mean it was practically a five-act ballet, as numerous people arrived at the table from different directions (was there a hatch in the floor?), each dropping off a small white plate or bowl with pickled vegetables, spicy peppers, powders, red bean concoctions and assorted lettuces.

A quartz crystal slab was brought to the table, piping hot and right out of the oven. A knob was activated and a flame burst into action underneath it. That’s when the pork belly parade started. Fat strips, thin strips, marinated, dusted with spice, and just naked in all its glory. Then the duck came. The Kimchi came. They showed us the proper condiment arrangement—dip the meat in sesame oil, follow with soy powder, roll into a lettuce piece and then load that thing with condiments. Oh those condiments.  Spicy, sour, sweet, crunchy, savory. Gulp, gulp, gulp, salivate, salivate, salivate. Wow.

Pork belly! Pork belly! We all scream for pork belly!

We had a number of devoted grill masters attend to our tabletop quartz slab. They moved in and out, each slapping down a new component to toss around on the rock until cooked to perfection. This must be what Bruce Wayne feels like to have Alfred feeding him at each meal…except Alfred was a woman. And not wearing a tux. And not giving snarky, veiled advice about upcoming missions…but I digress.

The Kimchi was a stand-out. Granted I’m not versed in its ways, but I often find it’s funk overpowering; here it had a grilled flavor that was hypnotic.  The meal was fantastic. The beer was surprisingly malty. Easy, clean drinking. I would prefer a bit of hops for a bitter, cleansing dismount but I was merely giddy to experience a taste of Korean BBQ at it’s most authentic.  First stop: down. And looking forward to number two.

Next time, I start with the Soju, though, to properly prime the belly…

The aftermath...

Han Joo, 41-06 149th Pl, Flushing, NY 11355
(718) 359-6888

Bev sporting a swine necklace (Photo by Jeremy Liebman)

His gaze tightened, his cheek twitched as a surge of energy shot through his body.  In a moment, he was off.

Through the side door of our dining room, farmer and sustainable agriculture guru, Bev Eggleston, charged like a bull out of the gate in Pamplona.  A man had stolen a pig leg out of his truck.  And he wasn’t gonna take that shit.

While not about wine, beer or spirits (although Paul Grieco was preparing to lead the staff through a tasting of a 1999 Nikolaihof Riesling), I feel inclined to relay the events of today…

(Quick background: in the world of fine dining, Bev Eggleston is a superstar.  A farmer from Virginia, Bev created EcoFriendly Foods with a mission to unite other farmers under the banner of raising pasture-fed animals.  His meats can be found on top menus all over the city.  Not only that, he’s one hell of a guy.  And he sources our pigs for the pig roasts held every Tuesday night at Hearth, where I hang my hat).

So…there we are.  5:30 pm.  Bev has parked his truck on First Avenue outside of the dining room door.  As our staff is gathered for pre-shift, he begins to softly preach the gospel of small, ethical farming.  Meanwhile, just outside the window, a lone, shady character in a blue t-shirt starts to case his truck.  Sniffing around for vulnerability, his eyes lock on to its booty.  He reaches in, pulls out a raw pig leg and tries to casually walk away.  BUT…don’t fuck with a farmer’s animals.  They have an instinct, a connection akin to a mama and her babies, and Bev felt a disturbance in the force.

Within moments, they were both running down First Avenue.  With the pig leg now precariously balanced on his shoulder, the terrified culprit’s eyes bulged out.  “Holy shit, who is this crazy madmen wearing a butcher’s apron and shouting at me with a Southerner’s drawl?”  His pace quickened.  But Bev was faster and more determined.  He would have chased this unsuspecting cad all the way back to the rolling hills of Virginia.

Call in the whole squad. A pig leg is on the loose.

Lo and behold, a van of police officers sat parked a couple of blocks away.  The site of a small, emaciated man running for his life while awkwardly toting an animal’s appendage must have been humorous.  Add to that, the sight of Bev’s twice-as-large frame closing in on him like a greyhound does a mechanical rabbit, and it’s safe to say that the jokes our flowing at the precinct tonight.

It was over before it started.  Possibly toting a load in his pants, the culprit sheepishly stood in front of a phalanx of six officers.  Ten feet away, Bev leaned on the fence smoking a cigarette.  He had retrieved his pig leg.  All was well.

And if to confirm his integrity, Bev let him go.  No charges would be pressed.  He would, however, take a glass of Riesling to calm himself.

Welcome to NYC, where raw animal parts will get yanked from your car faster than you can say, “Hey, that’s my pig leg!”

Tomorrow, we return to NYC after 93 days in Europe.  Along the way, we have met countless inspiring artisans making wine, beer and spirits in the name of craftsmanship. They toil away in nooks around the world, battling the forces of mega, multi-national companies looking to stamp them out.

We are returning with thousands of pictures, hours of video and countless stories of the people that create from their soul and give up everything to do so. They are not rich, they are not famous. They are authentic, they are driven and they can inspire us all.

Over the coming months, we will be telling their stories. Through pictures, videos and writing, we will do our best to honor them: The brewer who continued on after his wife’s death in the brewery. The couple that chose their family’s business over having children, the winemaker who was nearly mauled to death by a wild boar.  And this is only the tip of the iceberg.

Keep an eye here on the site for the latest stories and below are two short videos we managed to make on the road.  All the best and thanks for your support! We’re super excited.

• Paris: In the Shadow of Quasimodo
• Nicolas Joly (Biodynamics: Nature’s Quaalude)

In a stunning reversal, Paul Grieco sends a Riesling acid-stinger into David Flaherty's hop-filled grill

The knives are being sharpened.  The glasses polished.  The joints taped up.  And the shit-talking practiced.

On Monday, March 14th at 7:00 pm, 28 guests will sit down to a communal table at Hearth restaurant where history will be made.  And YOU can be there to determine which beverage reigns supreme in it’s food-pairing prowess.

Ladies and gentlemen, we’re proud to announce: Hearth’s
Beer vs Wine Dinner: A Cage Match of Matching Abilities.

Beer and wine greats like Founders, Rudi Pichler, Birrifico Bruton and Hermann Wiemer will be uncorked and uncapped.  The menu is epic —Housemade Merguez Sausage, Spicy Mayan Prawns and Beef Tartar with Quail Egg — and worthy of a moment of warrior’s reflection.

With an arsenal of some of my favorite beers in my holster, I’ll meet wine-wunderkind Paul Grieco and his vinous weapons in a battle where you’ll decide which is the ultimate food pairing: grape or grain (full menu below).

Sink your teeth into this:

For more information or to reserve seats,
call Hearth at 646.602.1300

Go on...you know you want to eat the apple.

There was a duel this weekend between two artists. They came armed to the teeth with ammunition.

It was an epic battle fought in honor of the sacred apple. They, at times, swung for the fences; they danced; they harmonized; and, by the end, they had given all. The carnage of dirty dishes and empty bottles filled the arena.

In one corner: Farnum Hill Ciders. In the other: Chef Rachael Mamane of the Bonhomie Supper Club. It was not a battle to the death. It was a battle for synergy. And they were victorious.  This last Saturday and Sunday, Farnum Hill hosted two cider dinners at a quirky loft in Brooklyn (photo slideshow below).

Farnum Hill is, perhaps, the most maniacally authentic makers of hard apple cider in the country. With laser-sharp focus, their goal is to perfect the art of transferring the solid apple into it’s liquid expression.  Growing a huge range of rare apples (click HERE for a guide)—and like great winemakers—their focus is in the vineyard. Man’s job after that? Stay the hell out of the way, and let the apples speak for themselves.

In the other corner, Chef Rachael Mamane.  A recent transplant from Seattle —and the world of Microsoft; a fact reflected in her meticulously planned menu —Rachael’s home is now a funky loft in Brooklyn in a former chocolate factory.  Ohhh, that spectacular loft…replete with a wooden swing hanging near the dinner table and a huge wall of windows.

She attacks her menus like General Patton would an army’s advance. Working tirelessly with local farmers, and burrowing into her ingredients as a sculptor does clay (even mastering how to fry a liquid cube), she put forth an incredible meal.  It honored the ingredients and danced with the ciders in the pale moonlight.  The Joker would have been proud.

Ten lucky souls relished—and ravished—a 5-course menu with cider pairings (menu below).  With first-hand commentary from Jessica Saturley, who has spent years working the Poverty Lane Orchards, we were off and running.  And for a few short hours, we got lost in food and drink that reflected the earth from which it came.

[[Show as slideshow]]

Bonhomie Supper Club
featuring
Farnum Hill Ciders

—

Amuse
Black Truffle Explosion
Wilted Lacinato | Raw-Milk Tomme
Extra Dry Still Cider

—

First
Sunchoke Tarragon Soup
Oaked Pheasant | Fried Cider Cube
Extra Dry Sparkling Cider

—

Second
Slow-Roasted Heritage Pork in Hay
Celery Root Fondant | Heirloom Bean Ragout
Farmhouse Cider

—

Shared
Sweet Onion Confit Fondue
Winter Accompaniments | Homemade Brioche
Kingston Black Cider

—

Dessert
Normandy Apple Cream Tart
Sparkling Cider Sorbet | Calvados Crème Fraiche
Semi-Dry Sparkling Cider

—

Housemade Chocolates

2001 Ashmead’s Kernel (unreleased)

Serge Hochar (pic courtesy of Wine Naturally)

At 9 am, I entered the restaurant to prepare for the trade tasting.  By 10 am, the stage was set.

17 guests, 10 wines each.  Without nary a cup of coffee in me, I banged out 170 tasting-size pours in about 20 minutes, maneuvering the decanters and the bottles through the maze of glassware à la an episode of Mission Impossible.

While possibly a new personal record, I was just happy to be a part of something much bigger.  Today at Hearth, we were honored to host one of the most revered winemakers in the biz, Serge Hochar, of Chateau Musar.

That's some serious energy on one table

Hailing from Lebanon, his name alone invokes gasps of reverence in even the stodgiest wine lovers.  Why?  Because he is passion, he is energy, he is a conduit for what nature is capable of when put in the right hands.  And because Chateau Musar, much like a grapevine fighting for life in difficult soil, has gone to often incredible lengths to make their wine.  War on your doorstep?  Pick the grapes.  Fight on.

The winery lies a mere 15 miles from Beirut—it’s grapes coming from the Bekaa Valley—and has seen much more than its fair share of conflict.  Lebanon is a tumultuous place, and experienced a brutal civil war that lasted from 1975-1992.  Throughout that time, and often with its employees in extreme danger, they continued to produce their wines, only missing the 1976 and the 1984 vintages.

The Musar reds are made from Cabernet, Cinsault, Carignan, Grenache and Mourvèdre.  The whites are made from Obaideh (a relative of Chardonnay) and Merwah (a relative of Sémillon).

There is an aliveness to his wines that make you stop and take note.  Each vintage is so different, so unique and with such personality.  Tasting through the wines is like visiting a school for gifted children, each one requiring you to stop and truly assess the brilliant individual you’re dealing with.

And listening to Serge (who has managed the estate since 1959) is a revelation.  Quickly bored with questions of weather variations or winemaking techniques, he’ll instead go off on tangents pondering life itself and how we harness our own energy, as well as that of our Earth and the vines in the ground.  He is a true inspiration.

Here’s what was poured:

1. Chateau Musar Red 2000
2. Chateau Musar Red 1998
3. Chateau Musar Red 1993
4. Chateau Musar Red 1983
5. Chateau Musar Red 1974
6. Chateau Musar Red 1964
7. Chateau Musar White 2003
8. Chateau Musar White 1993
9. Chateau Musar White 1980
10. Chateau Musar White 1975

The Grand Poobah always brings tasty treats for his subjects. (From left to right: Fred Navarette, Carolyn Edgecomb, Craige Moore, Jonathan Moxey, Lauren Moxey)

You better hydrate.  You best have a gang of food in your belly.  Your mind must be focused and your palate on-point.  Cause you’re going to get slaughtered…with a smile on your face.

Hold on to your hats, craft beer geeks, because the hurricane-force winds have finally died down, and BrewYork #7 has gone down in the record books.  For those of you who are avid readers of Grapes & Grains (have I told you lately that I love you?), you may have seen the final bottle list from BrewYork #5; or even watched the frighteningly beautiful video footage of BrewYork #4.

But for all the new visitors, all you really need to know is that once a month, at a once-undisclosed location (but now at the cozy confines of New Jersey Brewing Company–thanks, Matt for the upgrade), we get it on.  It’s a right pissing contest of who can bring the rarer bottle, the tastier homebrew, the better brisket.  And the winner in all this?  Everyone.

This weekend was no exception.  Holy shit, the bottle list was insane.  Akin to looking into the sun during an eclipse.  Careful.   Look too hard and you’ll be blinded by the vortex of craft beer power.

Here’s a look–I advise numerous breaks to rest your eyes, take some breaths, say a few Rosarys and recenter:
(some of my favorites are in bold)

• Boulevard Brewing, Bourbon Barrel Quad
• Dogfish Head/Sierra Nevada, Life & Limb
• Surly, Smoke
• Flat Earth, Element 115
• Bell’s, 25th Anniversary Ale
• Summit, Imperial Pumpkin Porter
• New England Brewing Co., Imperial Stout Trooper 2010
  
• Cisco, Lady of the Woods
• Hopworks Urban Brewery, Rise Up Red
• Just Beer, Case of the IPA
• Homebrew: Pumpkin Ale
• Homebrew: Black Pepper Brown Ale
• Homebrew: IPA
• Berkshire Brewing Co., Lost Sailor IPA
• Rock Art Brewery, The Vermonster 100 IBU Ale
• Innis & Gunn, Lightly Oaked Blonde Ale
• Homebrew: Chocolate Milk Stout
• North Coast, Old Stock Cellar Reserve
• Weyerbacher, Riserva 2010
• New England Brewing Co., Ghandi Bot
• Cantillon, Lou Pepe Framboise 2007
• Boulder Brewing, Killer Penguin 2009
• Bell’s, Hopslam
• The Bruery, Old Richland
• Telegraph Brewing Co., White Ale
• Dogfish Head, Pangaea
• Fantome, Pissenlit
• Cigar City, Warmer Winter Winter Warmer 2009
  
• Cigar City, Improvisacion
• Brewdog/Mikkeller, I Hardcore You
• The Bruery, Saison Rue
• Dogfish Head/Stone/Victory, Saison du BUFF
  
  

  This ain't even the half of it...

• Flying Dog, Oak Aged Brett Gonzo
• Sam Adams, Triple Bock 1997
• Unibroue, Quelque Chose
• Sierra Nevada, Celebration 2001
• Brewdog/Stone, Bashah
• Bolero Snort, Wee Heifer’s Fruitcake
• Widmer Brothers, Barrel Aged Brrrbon
• Dogfish Head, Wrath of Pecant
• Founders, Nemesis
• Founders, Curmudgeon Ale
• Founders, KBS
• Sam Adams, Longshot Winners
• Terrapin, Wake & Bake
• Palmetto, Bocat
• Palmetto, Espresso Porter
• Moor, Peat Porter
• Moor, JJJ IPA
• Muskoka, Double Chocolate Cranberry Stout
• Lost Abbey, Judgment Day
• Avery, The Czar Russian Imperial Stout
• Odell Brewing Co, Woodcut No.4 Oak Aged Lager
• Cantillon, Kriek 100% Lambic
• Capt. Lawrence, Golden Delicious
• Goose Island, Vanilla Bourbon County Stout
• Surly, Coffee Bender
• Bellwether, King Baldwin Hard Cider
• Ithaca, Excelsior! Series Alphalpha
• Jolly Pumpkin, Noel De Calabaza
• Southern Tier, Series 3 Cuvée
• Dieu du Ciel!, Péché Mortel Imperial Coffee Stout
• Capt. Lawrence, Flaming Fury
• Brasserie à Vapeur, Vapeur de Bises
• Blue Point, Toxic Sludge
• Ommegang, Zuur
• Ten Dudes, Smoked Barleywine
• Ten Dudes, Cupcake Porter
• Ten Dudes, White Peach Sour Ale
• 

  ...and this? Mere child's play.

  Embrace the craft!

Nothing beats a trip back from the humming whir of slot machines than slipping into a warm embrace of a Tripel.  It’s Monday, kids.  Time to pour yourselves into the womb of Belgian Beer Blowout Ballzout Bonanza Night.