The Ideal Cold Weather Drink

As is my wont, I was inclined to open with a quip about the temperature. I could have remarked in passing that a positive number on the thermometer was balmy for a Wisconsin January. Maybe a timely and relevant reference to Mortal Kombat was in order; between Sub-Zero and the "Toasty!" guy, that would be the stuff of comedy legend. But as I arrived home, my skin burning and head aching due to the temperature outside, I couldn't. It was just too damned cold.

I needed to warm up, and nothing does that more quickly or efficiently than the right beverage.

Like any good Madisonian, my thoughts turned immediately to beer, and on a bitterly cold day, there's no style I'd rather drink than that tsarist favorite, the Imperial stout. Regularly available choices from Wisconsin brewers are limited, but Amherst's Central Waters Brewing Co. makes a tasty iteration of the Impy in their Satin Solstice. From California, North Coast's Old Rasputin is even better. Full of roasty malts, chocolate, espresso, and a warming 9% ABV, you won't even mind the execrations of the Mad Monk emanating from your bottle. Best of all, this beer doesn't only ward off a chill, but also provides immunity to shooting, stabbing, poisoning, and drowning in the Neva.

The only problem with beer--along with perennial not-particularly-known-for-its-coziness favorite, wine--is that it's not warm. Even if you're a beer geek enjoying your stout at cellar temperatures, you'll notice that fifty-five degrees is substantially cooler than you'd like to be after having just escaped the Wendigo's icy grasp. More realistically, and almost certainly in my case, you'd be pulling the bottle out of the fridge, and unwilling to wait for it to warm up before you do. So my ideal cold weather drink would be warm to begin with.

There's that old standby in coffee. It's warm, rich, and roasted, but it's already pulling double duty as an after dinner sip and as an early morning Herbert West reagent. Besides, it's harder to lapse into a peaceful sleep in front of the fireplace when you're hopped up on caffeine like a subarctic Juan Valdez. (To be sure, a spike of whiskey will help with the fireplace problem, but only serves to highlight the drink's breakfast status.)

Spot of tea? It's warm, I guess. But c'mon. Tea? Not until we get something like St. Paul's TeaSource, at least. Even then, coffee and beer are going to be tough competition for the choicest pu-erhs. Chai, full of spicy, milky goodness comes closer, but the twisted horror of turning to a nigh equatorial South Asian beverage after stepping out of the negative twenty wind chill is too sickly ironic for even my decadent tastes.

No, as we so often do, I turned to that paragon of knowledge regarding all things comforting: Mom. Mom certainly wouldn't have been pouring us coffee or tea as we struggled out of our snow pants, and she sure as hell wouldn't have been serving up mulled wine or hot sake. No, Mom knew that winter's cruel grip was no match for that unsung St. Bernard of the beverage world, that rare breed which Quetzalcoatl called hot chocolate. While cognac dazzles on the slopes and Champagne mingles in the lodge, hot chocolate is out there every cold day, bringing marshmallowy warmth to children on leave from their snow forts.

Just be sure to make your own. This version is really easy, insanely rich, and my take on the sort of chocolate Camus, Sartre, and associates could have ordered at Les Deux Magots, if only they'd remembered their own mothers better. (That's right, Meursault, I went there.) Hopefully it will remind you of the Swiss Miss that kept you warm after those snowball fights, but taste way, way better.

The Ideal Cold Weather Drink (serves four people of average coolness, or one very cold person)
2/3 cup heavy cream
2/3 cup whole milk
1/4 cup sugar (consider more if you've decided to throw caution to the wind and use pure cacao)
5 oz. bittersweet chocolate or pure cacao, chopped (the more cacao the better, at least 60%)

Stirring, bring the first three ingredients to a bare boil. This isn't rocket surgery. Integrate the sugar, don't scald the milk. Then, over gentler heat (use a double broiler if you want--I won't tell) whisk in the chocolate until it's warm and fully incorporated. (That's warm. Not boiling. Don't boil it. You've been warned.)

At this point you should be able to fill four or five demitasses, preferably referred to as "tiny little coffee cups" for homeyness. Or you could fill one big cup and drink it yourself, which would be pretty great, too. Go nuts and add a sprinkle of fleur de sel or kosher salt on top. You know you want to.

Drink. Warm. Good.

In a word? Ideal.

Restaurant Review: Brasserie V

No, that's not a five, and it's certainly not a cinq. Instead, it's one of the most appealing new restaurants--with one of the best bars--to come to Madison in quite some time. The sandwiches from Relish are still there, for the most part, and they're still mostly good. That said, they're no longer really the point. The shop has instead become, as the name and location would imply, a Wisconsin brasserie with a serious focus on imported beer.

Belgian aficionados will find a lot to love at Brasserie V. V's focus is Belgian beers, of which there are over a dozen to try on a given evening, and genre fans will appreciate that each is served in an appropriate glass. On our visits, we particularly enjoyed the Delirium Nocturnum, a dark, fruity, complex beer that went well with our dinners, and the ruby-colored St. Bernardus Prior 8, a sweet, very drinkable dubbel. The domestic portion of the beer list wasn't an afterthought, featuring a broad range of excellent selections, and while the wine list likely won't be winning any awards, it too was well-constructed.

An excellent introduction to the restaurant came in the form of the gentleman tending bar on our first visit; he seemed genuinely happy to discuss the beer selection with us, and clearly knew and cared about his product. This level of service was unfortunately inconsistent. While, on a busy evening, a server was enthusiastic, helpful, and friendly, her colleague at the bar took over ten minutes to ask for our drink orders as we sat waiting for a table.

On one evening, an appetizer of almond stuffed dates, wrapped in bacon and baked under brown sugar, came dangerously close to the abyss but proved successful. They seemed too sweet at first, but the fatty, smoky bacon and the accompaniment of bitter frisée provided welcome contrasts, and taken together brought a depth of flavor to the plate. Along with the almonds, the frisée proved a pleasant textural counterpoint as well. Without these choices, the dish could have easily become a sugary mush; with them, it proves a good match to a fruity Belgian beer.

The frites, on the other hand, were a minor disappointment, in an especially unfortunate turn for a self-styled brasserie with a Belgian emphasis. While they had flavor and were accompanied by the requisite aïolis (with and without red pepper), they were on one visit too thick, too soggy, and over-spiced. While they were happily crisper on another evening, the result was still a lesser counterpart to the crisp, classic frites one expects from a traditional European brasserie, and that one finds in Madison at Sardine.

Entrées were largely what one would hope for from a brasserie focused more on Wisconsin than its transatlantic roots: rustic and unpretentious, but well-crafted and seasonally appropriate.

A duck breast with cherry pan sauce did not remotely resemble one of Homaro Cantu or Wylie Dufresne's newest creations. It did, however, do everything right. The sauce was flavorful, the skin nicely crisped, and the breast a perfect medium rare. To be sure, it didn't innovate, nor was it the most flawless piece of duck I've ever tasted. Instead, it was what one expects from a brasserie: a properly cooked and properly seasoned classic with a few touches--the Duvel braised cabbage side, for example--that made it the restaurant's own. It was a good, simple dish, and a bargain at $16.

Vegetable risotto, likewise, could have been an easy throwaway, but it was well conceived and well executed. The rice was creamy, the sweet beets, distinctive parsnips, and other vegetables properly cooked, and the resulting texture pleasant. This was another simple, seasonal, and successful selection, and a vegetarian dish that more Madison restaurants could seek to emulate.

A mussel special, unfortunately, failed to leave an impression. The portion was colossal--even in Wisconsin, this is not obligatory--and the spicy chorizo broth was unremarkable and out of place on the menu. While there was nothing offensive about the transplanted mollusks, they were entirely forgettable.

More memorable by far was the cheese board, featuring a Manchego alongside offerings by Hook's and Uplands, as well as nuts, olives, and bread. Serving Hook's bold ten-year cheddar alongside an appropriately hard-hitting beer list was a wise move for a Wisconsin brasserie, and the board would be excellent as a close to a meal or snack at the bar.

In many ways, the delicious, straightforward cheese board was indicative of what was best about the restaurant. What Brasserie V may lack in innovation, it makes up for in simple craft, with a passion for fine beer and good, local flavors. What is fast developing into a Monroe Street fixture could, with a bit more focus and a few minor tweaks, become one of the best casual restaurants in the city.

Brasserie V
1923 Monroe Street; (608) 255-8500
**
Price: $$
Atmosphere: Dark, woody, and masculine, with a prominent bar. Moderate to loud noise level.
Beverages: Serious, thoughtful beer list with a strong emphasis on Belgians. Surprisingly well conceived wine list, too, with many selections available by the glass or bottle.
Suggestions: Belgian beer, sandwiches, and Wisconsin fare. Regional dishes are generally better than those drawn from farther afield.
Hours: Opens at 10 a.m. daily. Closes at 11 p.m Monday through Thursday, 12 a.m Friday and Saturday, and 5 p.m. Sunday.
Reservations: Not accepted.
What ratings mean: Stars indicate overall impressions of a restaurant, rated from zero to four, with price taken into account. Zero stars indicate a restaurant that is not recommended, while four stars indicate an outstanding restaurant, worthy of at least regional attention.
Prices range from $ to $$.

Halloween Recipes That Don't Suck

Halloween, which I gratuitously consider to last the entire month of October, is one of my favorite times of year. The weather is crisp and temperate, there's cider and chocolate on the table, and murder and mayhem in the air. It's the perfect time to picnic in the graveyard, ignore your nascent food blog for two weeks, or go hitchhiking, only to off the unsuspecting fools who picked you up.

Alternately, you could invite friends over for a Halloween dinner party, complete with horrifying amuses-gueules, nightmarishly macabre microgreens, and diabolical vampire squab.

But let's face it. The vast majority of Halloween recipes and dinner party ideas suck. We're talking Sandra Lee's Gummy Worm Cupcakes suck. Don't believe me? Click here, here, or (if you dare) here.

While autumn offers some great seasonal cuisine, it tends to be associated with Thanksgiving, which is only horrifying if you're on the smallpox end of Manifest Destiny. As such, the sad truth is that most Halloween ideas stray into idiotically themed items evocative of a child's party or a drunken housewife's "tablescape." And while I enjoy an awful pun as much as anyone, goulash (unless comprised of actual ghouls) and deviled eggs (unless obtained via an actual contract with Satan) are a little too Rachaelian in their inane cutesiness.

Still, I won't pass out on an opportunity for food and the macabre to meet. Preferably at my place. As such, I've put together a Halloween menu that should be elegant enough to please my guests, cheap enough to make for a crowd, and diabolical enough not to be mistaken for anything remotely thankful. (The candy course is not optional.)

A Halloween Menu That Mercifully Avoids Descriptors Like Ghoulish or Frighteningly Delicious
Soup:
Pumpkin Chestnut Bisque (Zach Beaver, Peter Schears Restaurant, San Diego)
(Serves 50)

1 (6-pound) can pure pumpkin
5 cups water
1/4 cup cinnamon
3 tablespoons nutmeg
1 1/2 pounds brown sugar
1/2 cup honey
1/2 pound chestnuts, peeled and roasted in oven at 350 degrees until golden brown
1 quart heavy cream

Mix pumpkin, water, spices, sugar and honey in large stockpot. In saucepan, bring heavy cream to light boil. Add roasted chestnuts. After simmering for 5 minutes, put mixture into food processor and puree until it becomes a paste. Combine chestnut paste with pumpkin mixture and simmer for 20 to 25 minutes.

Entree:
Gamberoni alla Diavola (adopted from Mussels alla Diavola, Gourmet)

12 garlic cloves, minced (about 1/3 cup)
1 1/2 teaspoons dried hot red pepper flakes
1/2 cup olive oil
1 tablespoon butter
1 (28-ounce) can whole tomatoes in puree
2 tablespoons tomato paste
2 teaspoons dried oregano, crumbled
1 1/2 tablespoon fresh basil, chiffonade
1/4 cup drained bottled capers (about 1 1/4 ounces)
1/2 cup kalamata or other brine-cured black olives (about 3 ounces), pitted and chopped
1/3 cup dry red wine
1/2 pound dried sun-dried tomato linguine
1/2 pound squid ink linguine
3 large shrimp, cleaned
Chives, for garnish

Season shrimp and cook in butter and two tablespoons oil. Remove shrimp and add remaining oil, garlic and red pepper flakes in oil in a deep 12-inch heavy skillet over moderate heat, stirring, until fragrant but not browned, about 2 more minutes. Add tomatoes with puree, tomato paste, herbs, capers, olives, and wine and simmer, uncovered, stirring occasionally and breaking up tomatoes, until sauce is thick, about 15 minutes.

Cook linguine in a 6 to 8-quart pot of boiling salted water until al dente, then drain in a colander.

Serve linguine with shrimp and sauce, and garnish with chives.

Dessert:
Pumpkin Creme Brulee (CIA, via Gourmet)
1 quart heavy cream
2 vanilla beans (split)
5 ounces sugar
20 egg yolks (beaten)
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon allspice
1/4 teaspoon powdered ginger

1 pint pumpkin purée

1 pint (or as needed) sugar (for tops)

Combine the heavy cream, vanilla, and half the sugar, bring to a boil.

Combine the egg yolks and remaining sugar.

Add 1/3 of the hot liquid to the egg mixture, stir constantly.

Add the egg yolk mixture to the remaining hot cream, stir constantly. Stir in the cinnamon, allspice, and ginger.

Fold in the pumpkin purée.

Fill buttered oval ramekins 7/8 full, place in a waterbath.

Bake in a 325°F (160°C) oven until just barely set, cool 30 minutes, chill overnight.

Cover the surface of each custard with 1/8-inch of sugar, set ramekins in a hotel pan, surround with ice.

Carmelize sugar under the broiler or with a torch

Candy:
Old-Fashioned Peanut Brittle (Bon Appetit)
3 cups sugar
2 cups water
3/4 cup light corn syrup
3/4 cup dark corn syrup
4 cups coarsely chopped salted roasted peanuts
2 tablespoons (1/4 stick) unsalted butter
1 tablespoon baking soda
1 teaspoon vanilla extract

Butter 2 heavy large baking sheets. Stir first 4 ingredients in heavy large saucepan over medium heat until sugar dissolves. Increase heat to high and boil without stirring until candy thermometer registers 260°F., about 40 minutes. Reduce heat to medium-low. Mix in peanuts and butter and cook until thermometer registers 295°F., stirring constantly, about 15 minutes. Add baking soda and vanilla and stir briskly (mixture will foam up). Immediately pour out onto prepared baking sheets, dividing evenly. Spread out brittle as thinly as possible. Let stand until cold and hard. Break brittle into pieces.

Beverages:
Those in dire need of extremely overt theme can find it in the beverage department. Appropriate beers include Dogfish Head's Punkin' Ale, and Rogue's Dead Guy Ale, a decent German-style Maibock. Skip the sub-$10 wines that tend to pop up around this time of year and investigate the year-long evil Zinfandel market--Bonny Doon's Cardinal Zin is pleasant at around $20, and 7 Deadly Zins is big, fruity, and drinkable at around $14.


Please. Be Dario Argento, not Uwe Boll. Choose passion and artistry over the mediocrity of the lowest common denominator. The next time you watch a bobblehead on television form a mummy out of cheese or cut a bat from a slice of Wonder Bread, flip over to Soylent Green or get in the kitchen. You can do better.