Unboxing, The New Thrill: Yo Mama’s Foods

How I miss food events!  The lunches, the museum openings, the Fancy Food Show!  Miles of smiles, isles of samples!

Here’s a substitute thrill that, like so much else in this plague year, will have to serve; a capsule sample of what’s lost, and, one hopes, what’s to come again.  I’ve never watched an unboxing video, but I experience a frisson when I get a box of product sent by a company also missing the old days of face-to-face (table-to-mouth!) interactions.  Recently, Yo Mama’s sent along two pasta sauces and two dressings from their product line.

Partially Unpacked, Carefully Wrapped
Ready For My Close-Up!

How do their products stand out from all the other sauces on the market?  Well, they claim to contain “no artificial anything,” and “no gums, no fillers, no preservatives,” and the sauces boast “no added sugar.” The lists of contents on their labels bear this out.  I could pronounce every last one of them. 

And how do they taste?  Very nice.  Fresh.  The low carb and sugar content make them good choices for folks looking for those characteristics.  I cooked a batch of meatballs in the Basil sauce and used the Marinara over plain pasta, topped with cheese.  Both meals were greatly enhanced by the sauces.

Basil Sauce and Ricotta Meatballs

On to the two dressings.  The Honey Balsamic is concentrated, tangy, sweet but not too sweet, and overall a real winner.  The Yo Mama folks suggest using it as a marinade as well as salad dressing, so I duly anointed some salmon fillets and sweet potatoes before broiling them.

Ready to Broil
Salmon and Sweets – Sweet!

Delicious!  Next, I tried it on broiled Romanesco cauliflower and shrimp.

Romanesco and Shrimp

Another winner!  In fact, I started being parsimonious with the remaining contents of the bottle, lest it disappear too soon.  I can report that the Balsamic blends beautifully with both yogurt and coconut milk to produce a dipping sauce and salad dressing I looked forward to consuming for several meals.

Lastly, I cracked the bottle of Asian Sesame dressing and marinade.  It is almost as good as the Balsamic, mixes just as well with the two creamy stretchers, and goes down a treat with avocado toast

Don’t Hate Me, It’s Delicious!

and with an individual goat cheese tart from the Olney Farmers Market

Open (Yo Mouth), Sesame!

as well as many other things!  It is, in fact, a great way to add zing to any meal that might need it.

In short, the dressings are winners no matter what your diet concerns (as long as you notice the servings are measured in tablespoons); the sauces are perfectly pleasant and a benefit to those who are looking for healthy, “keto” and “paleo” certified foods.

Yo Mama’s Foods website has a map showing their distributors, and they will gladly fulfill mail orders.

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Mysteries of Bucatini

The question of the hour is: where has all the bucatini gone?  The pandemic shelves are bare of toilet paper, bleach, and …bucatini??  Apparently so.  This article, “What the Hole Is Going On? The very real, totally bizarre bucatini shortage of 2020,” by Rachel Handler in Grub Street delves into the situation in great, and highly amusing, detail.

Now, I admit I was totally unaware of this problem, not having had occasion to buy pasta in a  supermarket for a few months.  I have several boxes of my preferred dried shapes in my pantry (bucatini not among them), and when I have the urge for fresh pasta, I head out to the Olney Farmers Market to patronize our new fresh pasta and cheese vendor.

At the Open Hand booth, John Wood offers a changing variety of shaped and stuffed pastas, all made by hand, and fresh cheeses such as mozzarella, ricotta, and burrata.  A former restaurant chef, he is now exploring new avenues of income due to the pandemic.  This past Sunday, sure enough, he had bucatini on offer.

Chef John Wood with an Open Hand
Bucatini, Upper Left

He had seen the article.  I asked him if it’s really harder to make bucatini than other extruded shapes.  He gave me a resounding “No!”  You don’t need to go to extra trouble to form the hole, he said.  The shape of the die and the pressure setting have to be right, and it’s just like making other long shapes.  That excuse is bogus!

I am willing to believe, though, that the manufacturers have cut back on making their less popular shapes in order to get enough product on the shelves.  Home cooking has apparently encouraged an increased consumption of pasta, and shortages must be averted by ensuring enough production of the sorts of pasta that the hoi polloi will be satisfied with.  This does not include the rather more rarified shapes, such as bucatini.

Another theory explored in the Grub Street article postulated that people are using them to replace banned plastic straws in drinks.  This seems pretty far-out to me; the pasta would get soggy and gross before your drink was gone, and as a rep from the National Pasta Association pointed out, it might be unsafe to consume raw pasta.  I got the distinct impression this theory was presented tube-in-cheek.

Then there was a rabbit-hole involving the FDA, nutrition standards regulations, a complaint against one pasta manufacturer, ramen noodles, and FOIA requests.  Even with a background in standardization work, I have to admit that my eyes started glazing over as I read.

But that is not the point of bucatini.  The point of bucatini is the eating of it.  I cooked up some of John’s product and applied a nice sweet-pepper tomato sauce and grated, aged Gouda cheese.  Rachel Handler claims that it’s the most sexy of pastas and even “self-aware,” as its bouncy texture gives it an ability to interact with the eater.  I wouldn’t go that far, and admittedly, Ms. Handler was referencing the dried version, not the fresh; but John’s had a very satisfactory chew and ability to deliver sauce without being overwhelmed (due to the hole). It’s even (dare I admit?) slurpable.

Ready to Cook
Ready to Eat

So I hope the bucatini shortage will soon be resolved for those without access to an excellent, local farmers market (yes, even in the dead of winter).  Meanwhile, buon appetito!  

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Three Odd Things, The Holiday Edition: Perversity, Mystery Pumpkins, and the War on Christmas

It’s been awhile since I posted a collection of odd things, not because I haven’t noticed any, but other stuff had higher priorities.  Lots of occasions have been cancelled or reformatted lately, and I have been recovering slowly from a traumatic event in my  personal life.  So, a combination of horrendous public and private circumstances have conspired to slow the content generation of Catillation.  I have missed writing, but I will try to be better soon.  I have a backlog I’d like to reduce.

These things popped up within days of each other, and with suspicious proximity, as well.  So here they are:

The Perversion of a Perfectly Legitimate Citrus Fruit

Here’s a fine display of Buddha’s Hand Citron in the Olney Harris Teeter.  I sometimes yield to temptation and indulge in one of these seasonal oddities, even though they are relatively expensive.  My last experiment with one resulted in a small amount of mediocre candied peel and a kitchen that needed more cleaning than I had expended in the previous month.  It might have been more successful if I hadn’t waited so long it use it, after I had spent a week or so admiring it on my table!  I mean, they are truly weird, no getting around it.

Perfectly Ordinary Buddha’s Hands

As I contemplated buying another one, I turned over the tag attached to one.  AIEEE!! I had been handling, not a fruit, but GOBLIN FINGERS!!!

Oh, My! Goblin Fingers!

Now if this was a tie-in to Hallowe’en, it was a little late – and I can hardly see these replacing pumpkins as the Official Hallowe’en Vegetation. An example of egregious over-marketing, IMHO.

The Great Pumpkin Mystery of Sandy Spring

And speaking of pumpkins, these appeared, out of nowhere, in front of Sherwood High School and disappeared in the same manner the next day.  No context.  No clues.  No sign: “Please look after these gourds.”

The Mysterious Appearing and Disappearing Pumpkins of Sherwood High

If anyone has any information about this situation, please leave a comment!

Victims of the War on Christmas

The last odd thing has actually been proliferating for some time, and creates more fields of carnage each year.  Poor deflated corpses lie strewn across the lawns of the suburbs during the hours of daylight, only to spring up, revived, at dusk.  I attribute this phenomenon to the ever-expanding Christmas season colliding with Hallowe’en and creating a race of vampire Santas and snowmen.  They wither in daylight and are revitalized by the light of the moon.

Carnage Claus

Or are the homeowners just trying to economize on running the air compressors? 

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The Obscure Object of My Desire: Huitlacoche Found

In the middle of August in the middle of the week, I ran out of field-grown tomatoes.  Not wanting to wait until the farmers market on Sunday, I went over to Sandy Spring Gardens, where Tom Farquhar raises organic vegetables on a farm a 15-minute walk from my house.

Tom was out in the field, just finishing up with a harrow, and had a problem with his corn crop.  “I have a row infested with corn smut – huitlacoche,” he told me.  He was unhappy; I was delighted.  Cooking fresh huitlacoche has long been on my bucket list, but it’s scarcer in my neighborhood than Aztec pyramids.  Until now.

Tom and Strange Fruit
Closeup on the Scary-Looking Stuff

Tom gave me some.  I have to admit it looked a little daunting.  Had he tried it? He had, but did not consider the dish a success.  He knew it was considered a delicacy in Mexico, but allowed that it might be an acquired taste.

Huitlacoche Picked Off Cob

It looks scary – a fungus that distorts the corn kernels into big grey blobs  –  but I had been assured it is delicious. And it is, when properly cooked.  I first relied on Mr. Google for a recipe, and found one for a sauce with onions, garlic and chilies, cooked for 20 minutes and mashed “like potatoes.”  It resulted in an unappetizing-looking black mass and tasted about the same as it looked.

Ick.

I thought it would be better if diluted, so I mixed in some of the uninfected corn kernels and served it with pasta.

Second Try

Still unsatisfactory.

I resorted to the good old-fashioned research method: searching through my cookbook collection.  I know I have at least one Diana Kennedy book somewhere, but I couldn’t find it.  (This is where I have to admit that my house is far less organized than it might be.)   But of course I have others, which I joyfully located, and found a clue in Mary Sue Milliken and Susan Feniger’s Mesa Mexicana.  They incorporated huitlacoche into a quesadilla recipe, and guess what?  The huitlacoche was cooked for a total of two minutes and thirty seconds.

That was the magic!  Just barely cooking (or even just warming up) the stuff was all it needed.  I added it, just before serving, to a batch of NYT Cooking’s Spicy Corn and Coconut Soup, made using the unaffected corn kernels and broth simmered with the cobs.

Success!

It was excellent!  It imparted a slightly sweet, ethereally mushroom-y component to the soup.  My daughter, a less adventurous eater than myself, agreed.  (She also averred that she only decided to try the huitlacoche after I assured her that I had been eating it for several days, “and you’re not dead.” Thanks for that vote of confidence, kid!)

I now have several pouches of huitlacoche in my freezer.  I look forward to adding it to a few more meals.  I might even make those quesadillas from Mesa Mexicana.

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Heirloom Yogurt: Feeding My Habit

A few days ago I made my seventy-first consecutive batch of yogurt.  It all started in 2016, when I attended a workshop in yogurt-making as part of the biennial Les Dames D’Escoffier Symposium.  The technique I learned there was way better than I had remembered from my fleeting fling with an electric yogurt maker back in the 1970’s.

These briefly popular, but entirely superfluous, appliances rank right up there with bread-makers and popcorn-poppers as a single use, counter space-wasting fad.  Four little cups sat in a base that provided continuous, low heat.  One put milk and starter in each at bedtime, and, presto! In the morning, it would be yogurt!

The problem (and the secret), then as now, was obtaining a starter which would successfully propagate a culture over indefinite batches.  Supermarket yogurt was only good for a few iterations before it petered out.  No wonder I lost interest in making my own!  I went back to macramé, pickling and kitchen-table winemaking.

This was where the first benediction of the workshop was bestowed: a gift of Stonyman Gourmet Farmer’s mother culture.  Stonyman sells green and aged cheese at farmers markets around Washington, DC.  Their yogurt contains a community of diverse bacteria in contrast to the two or three strains active in the product you find in your supermarket.  This allows it to grow happily through batch after batch.  I believe it adapts and changes, acquiring a unique character profile; a terroir, if you will.  Mine has changed over time, becoming creamier and sweeter, while retaining the distinctive tang of a fermented product.

And it couldn’t be easier.  Yogurt-making doesn’t require sterilization, just ordinary cleanliness; no post-packing processing, just refrigeration; no rigid feeding or usage deadlines, just a little forethought to assure your current batch still has a half-cup left for your next one.  You can even freeze some starter if you can’t make a new batch right away.

Over the past four years, I have honed the process until I can have a new batch incubating, from start to finish, in twenty minutes.  I make two, 2-lb (32 oz.) containers every three weeks, on average, depending on how fast I use it.  I reuse the same Trader Joe’s European-style yogurt containers.  I used to buy it religiously to mix with my morning cereal, except when Trader Joe’s supply chain didn’t deliver – one of the incentives for making my own, by the way.  Oh, and that the cost of making it (depending on the price of milk) is roughly half that of buying it.

The only specialized equipment I use is an instant-read thermometer.  The Thermapen came recommended by Executive Chef Susan Delbert of the National Press Club, and I find it useful for many other things, such as gauging the internal temperature of cuts of meat.

The Thermapen Makes Gauging the Proper Temperature Easy

In a large saucepan, I heat ½ gallon of whole milk to 180° F, then pop it into a cold water/ice bath until it’s cooled down to 110-115°.

I add the tempered starter culture, swaddle the pot in dish towels and place it in my oven with the light on overnight.  That’s just enough warmth to maintain the perfect fermenting temperature.

Tucked Up for the Night

In the morning, it goes into the refrigerator for a few hours, then I pack it into the TJ”s containers.

Thickened Nicely

That’s it!  It’s perfect for cereal (I eat it with Kashi Crunch mixed with fresh fruit), and all your other yogurt needs.  Of course, you could strain it to make Greek-style yogurt, or let it sit longer in the strainer (I use my Melitta-style drip-coffee setup for this) to make fresh yogurt cheese.

We baby boomers have a long history of do-it-yourself projects the newer generations are just discovering.  Many of them are only interesting for a little while, but some are worthy of continuing effort.  Yogurt-making is one of the latter.  I’m glad to rediscover it, and not just as a quarantine distraction.

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From Noma to Noma, The Long Way Around

Review of Hungry: Eating, Road-Tripping, and Risking It All with the Greatest Chef in the World, by Jeff Gordinier.

For anyone wondering if gonzo journalism died with Tom Wolfe, here is a book for you.  Imagine a Kool-aid acid trip through Wonderland, but focused on tracking down exotic local ingredients and cooking them in new and exciting ways.

For four years, Jeff Gordinier committed to joining the posse of Chef Rene Redzepi as they travelled the world in search of an elusive grail: authentic, hyper-local cuisine based on any and all sourced and scrounged components.

If you are reading this review, you have doubtless heard of Noma, Chef Rene’s restaurant in Copenhagen, often described as the best restaurant in the world.  At the height of its fame, he closed it and embarked on a world-wide odyssey in search of…what?  Even he wasn’t sure, but Gordinier tries his best to describe the process and ultimate resolution: a new version of Noma, still in Copenhagen, on a brownfield site on the border of Christiania, the partially autonomous community originally settled by hippies in the 1970’s (Mr. Wolfe, phone home).

The first incarnation of Noma was known for creative use of local ingredients, especially from the coast, and methods such as fermentation of everything that didn’t run away fast enough.  It gave rise to the New Nordic school of cuisine; reservations were available only months in advance, and the tab for the prix fixe menu was in “if you have to ask…” territory.

But Chef Rene was unsatisfied.  A wildly popular restaurant in Denmark, and world renown, was not enough for him.  He sensed that there must be something else, out in the wide world, that he could cook and be gratified.  He embarked on a four-year adventure to discover it.

Along the way, he marked his path with a series of pop-ups on three continents.  The first was in Tokyo, and the second in Sydney, but there’s only a passing mention of the Japanese adventure in Hungry, since Gordinier did not join the merry band until after that enterprise closed.

Ditto for Australia, but Gordinier makes an effort to find and interview one of Noma Australia’s suppliers of foraged ingredients.  The description of some of the dishes on the menu is both tantalizing and terrifying: “Clams, served at room temperature instead of being chilled, underneath a crispy amber scrim of dried crocodile fat.  Porridge of wattleseed with saltbrush…Wattleseed, when plucked unripe, contained enough poison to kill you…it had to be aged, like cheese.”  Noma Australia’s waiting list had thirty thousand names on it.  Thirty thousand folks willing to trust that Redzepi wouldn’t feed them unripe wattleseed.

Much more of the book is dedicated to the planning and standing up of the Tulum pop-up.  Expeditions to a dirt-road village in Merida to discover the secret of perfect tortillas, free-form roaming through open-air markets, hiring the best local ingredient scrounger and location spotter, and a last-minute fiscal crisis make for a gripping read for any foodie.

At the end of the book and the odyssey, the culmination of the enterprise is revealed: the debut of the new Noma.  Back in Copenhagen, Chef Rene is as happy as he can be, given that nothing is ever perfect, even the best restaurant in the world.  But the wild ride it took to get there proves once again that the journey is at least as important as the destination.

Hungry: Eating, Road-Tripping, and Risking It All with the Greatest Chef in the World, by Jeff Gordinier, Penguin Random House, New York, 2019.

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Soup of the Evening, Beautiful Soup

I didn’t manage to experience (immersively!) the installation by the conceptual artist Rirkrit Tiravanija at the Hirshhorn last summer, but I did arrange a visit to Glenstone before the end of its similar exhibit.  It closes April 5, so there’s still time to immerse yourself.

A Sign at the Arrival Hall is a Tip-off: Why We’re There

In the large room holding FEAR EATS THE SOUL, the walls are covered with a growing collection of graffiti, slowly obscuring the enormous, eponymous stenciled exhibit name.  The middle of the room holds two enclosures, one with a small display of everyday objects coated in silvery palladium glaze, and one with a working silk-screening studio.

The studio produces tee shirts custom-made to order for visitors, with a choice of absurdist phrases provided by the artist and available for purchase.  In order to fully immerse myself in the experience, I ordered one with BRING ON THE LOBSTERS printed in big capital letters.  Why that particular phrase?  Because it was vaguely food-themed, and reminded me of the Lobster Quadrille in Alice in Wonderland.  

Barry Poses With Lobster Shirt

And speaking of the Mock Turtle, the element of this exhibit that fetched me out to Glenstone on this day was actually happening at the other end of the cavernous room: tables with big pots of soup, being handed out to visitors by servers who were a lot cheerier than the messages on their aprons.  One read, for instance, THE DAYS OF THIS SOCIETY ARE NUMBERED. (But to be fair, another read SOUP FEEDS THE SOUL.)  We were then encouraged to sit at picnic tables and eat, and share.  I dutifully did so.

It was vegetarian corn soup with lentils and carrots.  There were bowls of cheese to be added at one’s discretion.  The portions were small.  This soup was not meant as nourishment but as symbolism, in keeping with the rest of the exhibit.

While, spoonful by spoonful, the soup became immersed in me, I engaged my fellow art lovers in conversation.  I started by asking them to critique the soup.  “it’s all right – I’ve had better,” said Lou Ellen.  Judith opined that the soup was interesting but the exhibit did not appeal to her.  To Holly, the soup was nicely spicy, and grows on you as you eat.

We did go on to discuss some aspects of politics and world affairs, springboarded by the exhibit topics – so I guess the immersive aspect was indeed accomplished.

I was a little off my stride, as photography was forbidden inside the galleries.  I would have liked to include a few images of the soup and ambiance, but even when I promised not to include any of the graffiti or other art, the word was NO.

As I managed to get off a shot of the anteroom to the exhibit with a neon sign reading either SOUP or NO SOUP depending on, well, you can probably figure that out for yourself, I was  stopped by a friendly but firm gallery attendant.  She assured me the sign was part of the art, and off limits.  Since the differential of contrast has washed out the message in this picture, I think it’s OK to include it here.

Soup or No Soup, There Is No Try

Since the soup was conceptual and not so well reified as lunch, we adjourned to the Café for something more filling, and an actual image of people eating.

The Cafe is the Place for Lunch

There were other photo-ops scattered around the grounds, as always at this masterfully designed intermingling of building and landscape design.  Even if any specific exhibit may disappoint, the overall effect is to lift the spirit and inspire a sense almost of transcendence.

Main Pavilions Loom Over Meadow
This Statue Resembles the Glazed Objects in the Unphotographable Exhibit
A Leaf Caught Mid-Fall

 And I finally got a close-up view of Split-Rocker.  It’s bigger than it looks from the main path, and well worth the uphill trudge.

Approaching Split-Rocker: About Tree Height
And Close-up, With Humans for Scale
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So Much Art! So Little Time.

Last year saw a surfeit of wonderful art exhibits at Washington’s museums.  For two at the National Gallery of Art, I can happily report on elements of food and cooking. 

The Life of Animals in Japanese Art ran from June 2 to August 18, 2019. 

Alas, this exhibit has already closed, but if you saw it, you know that it had a wonderful collection of art objects, all depicting animals or animal-like characteristics, ranging from religious themes, armor, pop art, clothing, and more, from Hokusai to Kusama to Issey Miyake.

The press breakfast for this exhibit featured some nods to Japan, in honor of the sponsors and diplomatic guests: green tea muffins, rice with a choice of toppings, toast with red bean paste.

The Sort-of Japanese Breakfast

During the tour, NGA Director Kaywin Feldman and the Japanese Ambassador admired the giant warrior god.

Director Feldman and Japanese Dignitaries

This wonderfully lifelike crab decorated the centerpiece of a serving-ware display.  The octopus box has its own winsome charm.

Seafood on Display

There were other examples of serving dishes, these chargers among them.  Full disclosure: My zodiac sign is a tiger.

They Both Look Ready to Charge

There were several depictions of the moon rabbit legend, pounding rice for the Moon Goddess.

The Rabbit on the Moon

Still open, I promise, is Alonso Berruguete: First Sculptor of Renaissance Spain, through February 17, 2020.  While I found nothing food-related to report in the exhibit, I’m delighted to relay that the Garden Café is presenting a selection of dishes “inspired by the cuisine of Renaissance Spain.”  Cheeses, meats and desserts are on offer, and mains include a delicious oven-roasted chicken paella curated by Executive Chef Christopher Curtis.  (Paella for breakfast? Why not?)

Chef Chris Continues to Turn Out Delicious Dishes

More information about Chef Chris can be found in my previous article: The Apple, the Coffeepot, the Chef, and the Artist.

Meat, Cheese and Churros

Many culturally-connected Spanish citizens were present at the press event.  I compared notes with Maria about the churros with chocolate sauce, so this is not just my opinion: the sauce was too thin!  But we agreed that the paella, meats, and cheeses were first-rate.

And the exhibit is spectacular.  The first room, filled with paintings, drawings and sculpture, only hints at the splendor of the second.  It’s filled with sculped, gilded figures from the retablo mayor (high altarpiece) of the church of San Benito el Real in Valladolid, Spain, lent by that city’s Museo Nacional de Escultura.   Pictures cannot do it justice – you should go see it, and take in the gilded splendor of the massed figures for yourself.

Exhibit Curators With Director Feldman, and Eavesdroppers
A Corner of the Retablo Room
The Flight into Egypt
Abraham and Issac
Two Pensive Figures
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We All Scream for Jeni’s: Two More Splendid Ice Cream Shops to Open

The first Jeni’s Splendid Ice Creams Scoop Shop in our area opened in October, 2017, at 17th and U St. NW.  I was at the opening, but for some inexplicable reason neglected to post about the event.  Now, I have an opportunity to atone for my negligence by reporting on some great news: there will be two (two!) scoop shops opening on the same day next week!

One will be in Bethesda, the other in Alexandria.  Fans are invited to celebrate the Bethesda scoop shop grand opening on Thursday, December 19 from 7-11 p.m. at 4918 Elm St., Bethesda, with free ice cream for all and swag for the first 50 in line.

The Old Town Alexandria scoop shop grand opening is on the same day from 7-11 p.m. at 102 S Patrick St., Alexandria, VA, 22314. Free ice cream for all and swag for the first 50 in line, plus, Jeni herself will be there.

While we wait for those, here are some pictures of the opening of the DC shop.

The Line Outside Snaked Around the Corner to U St.

The Line Outside Snaked Around the Corner to U St.

Inside, There Was Celebration

Inside, There Was Celebration

There's a Nice Place to Sit Upstairs

There’s a Nice Place to Sit Upstairs

It's Jeni! (On the Right)

It’s Jeni! (Center)

What It's All About

What It’s All About

Full details of next week’s two openings are here.

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Almost As Good As Dublin: Guinness Over The Moon Milk Stout and Stock Ale Aged in Bulleit Bourbon Barrels

NOTE: I had almost finished this article about Milk Stout when I got a second box-full o’goodness from Guinness: a sample of their new Stock Ale.  I decided to go with reviewing each of them separately, but serially.

 NOTE ALSO: They asked me to include #GIFTEDBYGUINNESS in this article.

Milk Stout

Was spending two weeks in Dublin a mistake?  Did it spoil me for anything less than super-fresh draft Guinness on every street corner?  Even in the Dublin Convention Center, we could relax with a pint (or a “glass,” which is what you ask for if, like me, that’s your limit: a half-pint).

I’d have to say probably yes, if I didn’t get a care package from our good friends at the Baltimore Guinness Open Gate Brewery in September.  They have released a new Milk Stout that drinks almost as smoothly as fresh Guinness classic (or at least my taste memory of it from a few months ago).

Milk Stout in Box

It is brewed with lactose, which results in a creaminess from milk sugar.  It doesn’t taste milky, though – there are hints of chocolate and coffee (although almost any stout boasts those taste notes), and it goes down very nicely if you are a hop-hater like me.  And it does have a very nice head, which Guinness considers a feature, not a bug.  I concur.

Quite a Head!

Quite a Head!

The press material suggests that it would make a good pairing with sweet desserts.  To reinforce this notion, they included two chocolate bars in the box – I assume they were there as publicity accessories, as they are not stout-flavored.  Still appreciated, as I think just as highly of chocolate as I do stout!

 

Milk Stout is available locally in stores and in the brewery, and nationally for a limited time.  It’s sold in six packs of 12 oz cans for a suggested price of $10.99.

Stock Ale

Barely a month after the Milk Stout box, here comes another sample!  This time it has a more elaborately-produced and somehow more “serious” aspect.  If the milk stout had a whiff of sweet/dessert airy frivolity to it, this Stock Ale is Serious Production Value Product.  (It’s also priced at about twice as much as the Milk Stout, which may be why there were only two bottles in that box.)

Only Two!

Only Two!

But let me tell you, this stuff is worth it.  It’s fabulous, and I’m not saying that just because they sent me a free sample.  If I can’t afford a ticket to Dublin again soon, I can compensate for it with this Stock Ale.

We drank it with roast beef sandwiches, which struck us as an appropriate pairing.  And it was!

The brewing method is an example of the synergy of a large parent company owning many boozy brands.  Diageo’s Bulleit Bourbon barrels are key to both the separately aged and brewed Diageo’s Guinness Barleywine and Imperial Stout, which are blended together to produce the Stock Ale.

It’s described as a “hearty and full-bodied beer” in the Guinness release, (I agree) with “notes of nutty chocolate, raisins, roasted barley and sweet dark fruit… aromas of vanilla, coffee, stone fruit and ripe berries.” These flavor lists generally make me feel a little inadequate as a taster.  I found a whiff of berries, and the brew to me is very chocolate-forward.  Not that that’s a bad thing.

It’s also 10% ABV, which I certainly felt after consuming just one.  As a person with a very low tolerance (see my limit above), I was glad I hadn’t planned anything other than relaxing after drinking!

 

Guinness Stock Ale Aged in Bulleit Bourbon Barrels is available on tap at the Guinness Open Gate Brewery in Baltimore and can be found on shelves at specialty beer stores across the U.S. in 4-packs of 11.2 oz bottles for a limited time beginning November 15th for a suggested retail price of $19.99.

 

 

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