Want to read the rest then do so at KCET's Food Blog.
Showing posts with label blue palms. Show all posts
Showing posts with label blue palms. Show all posts
Wednesday, August 13, 2014
Beer Fest: Go Weird or Go Home
Want to read the rest then do so at KCET's Food Blog.
Wednesday, August 14, 2013
Beer Prudence
A kid in a candy shop isn't just a cliche, it's pretty much meaningless. Kids have no sense, after all, and if one was let loose at some confectioner he'd probably eat himself sick in the first ten minutes, indiscriminately stuffing his ever-slickening gob with whatever solidified sugar he lay his hands on. It wouldn't be a pretty sight, and it wouldn't be in the dictionary next to restraint.
So a beer festival isn't anything like that, especially one like Blue Palms Brew House's 5th Anniversary, held this past Sunday in Hollywood (so much in Hollywood you had a perfect shot up Gower to the famed hillside sign itself). It was one of those "you get a wristband with little attached tickets, and with each 5 oz. taste, you lose one of them, from 10 to 0" dealies, which might not sound like a lot, but when most of the beers are of the hearty variety in both hopiness and alcohol (this was not a session ale fest in the slightest), you end up not minding too to much. Since Chryss and I were both drinking, that gave us tastes at 20 beers, so that helped, for here's the 20 we did down (in alpha order):
Alesmith Speedway Stout with Vietnamese Coffee on cask
Almanac Farmer's Reserve #2 American Wild Ale
Alpine Nelson (Golden Rye IPA)
Alpine 19/10 O'Brien's Anniversary IPA
Avery Uncle Jacob's Stout
Ballast Point Lenzo Lollipop (Oak Aged Sculpin IPA)
Bell's Two Hearted Ale (IPA)
Bruery White Chocolate
Craftsman Curiosity Red Saison
Drake's What She's Having (American Strong Ale)
Founder's Double Trouble DIPA
Founder's Devil Dancer DIPA
Golden Road Buffalo Trace Barrel Aged 2012
Great Lakes Lake Erie Monster DIPA
Monkey's Paw Oatmeal Pale with Lychee Fruit on cask
Rhinegeist Cool Truth IPA
Russian River Sanctification (Sour Brown Ale Aged in Pinot Noir Barrels with Sour Cherries)
Stone 17th Anniversary Gotterdammerung IPA
Stone Pale Ale with Ginger
Strand Black Sand DIPA
That's one crazy good list. If we had to pick favorites, I'd say that Alesmith Speedway Stout, partially because the unusual Vietnamese coffee made it even more exotic/caffeinated than usual and partially because having it on cask upped its creaminess (it didn't need to be too cold or too carbonated). That Bruery White Chocolate I almost didn't get back from Chryss when she got her sip of it. Here's what the Bruery says about it, to which I can only add, "How balanced!" and "Cowabunga!"--"The primary component of our White Oak ale is a 100% barrel aged wheat wine that we affectionately refer to as White Oak Sap. Essentially a 'summer' barley-wine style ale, but made with a wheat heavy grain base, White Oak Sap is aged in used bourbon barrels for nearly a year and comes out rich in flavors of coconut, honey, caramel and vanilla. To compliment the already rich flavors of the beer, we've added cacao nibs and vanilla beans to give this beer the delicate flavor of white chocolate...hence the name."
As for all those IPAs ans DIPAs--choosing among them is like picking a favorite child and then drinking it and smacking your lips, and no one wants to see that. This is a food blog, mostly, after all.
UPDATE: I forgot to mention the great band at the event, The Firkins, who, as their name might suggest, know a thing or two about drinking. We're talking songs like "Angel's Share" and "Pliny the Younger." Smart, talented, fun!
Sunday, March 18, 2012
All's Well That Eats Well
One of the great attractions/frustrations about writing about food for me is it's all about capturing a moment as it vanishes. You probably know the kind of person who bitches about plunking down too much cash for a meal as it's so temporary a pleasure--they'd rather buy something they can keep around for awhile (and the added pounds of a large meal doesn't count). Obviously this is true for writing about many of the arts--you can brag about but never relive watching Baryshnikov dance Twyla Tharp's Push Comes to Shove at ABT in 1976, and any video is a tragic falling off; you can listen to all the Velvet Underground recordings you want, but nothing will match when Mo Tucker came out and sang "Pale Blue Eyes" as an encore at that Lou Reed/John Cale Songs for 'Drella show at BAM in 1989*--but a photo of a great meal doesn't come close to capturing a plate of food. And somehow I opt to scribble about food (and note I pick a term I don't even do anymore, since all my composing is at the keyboard, as a way to acknowledge time's passing), hoping to knock some sense out of words.
This desire to capture, hold on, share, only grows when a restaurant closes its doors and the option to at least revisit totally slips away. (As for that revisiting, that's its own tortured issue, for instance, how the usually Platonically perfect burger at Father's Office might seem not enough medium and too rare on one visit, with the grilled onions and arugula piled too high so it all actually becomes, and these are her actual words, the spongy, slimy, greasy thing Irene Virbila laments, admitting she's in the minority. How can that happen? Thank god the fries were still perfection.) Such is the case, recently, with a minor key gem that shut down in January, Kobachi Izakaya, which was in the inauspicious shopping center at the foot of the 154 on State Street. While there were windows, the space always seemed like a basement, and that didn't add to its charm, despite the colorful Japanese-themed murals. But what was good there was the value, and the sweet older woman who tended to run service like you were having a meal at her home, and if you ordered mackerel, she'd ask if you'd had it before, warning you how fishy it was, and how she wouldn't cook it at home as it would stink up the kitchen. But I did order it, every time, a fish proud to be a fish, the skin crisped and adding some crunchy texture, and then so so much flavor. They had great special meals, too, where you seemed to get every possible Japanese food item in one combo for about $15, from miso to California roll to some green salad that featured actual good greens and a sesame dressing that sang.
Our last visit there was a sad one, though, as things had changed. The space was always somewhat a market, but they decided it should now be market first, restaurant second, and that meant all the dining was pushed off to the second room that was even more cellar-like. The menu was cut, too, which made some sense since it originally was huge, especially for a small place, but it was as if a blind person took a cleaver to it. And then the help that night, a poor young man, admitting it was his second night on the job, earnestly fumbling, slow, and apologizing. I felt sorry for him, of course, as he meant well, but a dish of pity isn't my favorite amuse bouche. When I heard they closed, it came as little surprise, as the last visit didn't even seem like the same place.
And sometimes the place is all important, despite what really bright chefs/entrepreneurs say. Such is the case with the recent closing of the Tar Pit in Los Angeles. Here's what the LA Weekly wrote about the closing: "Outfitted with Art Deco stylized palm trees, a Kold-Draft double-stacked ice machine and a pizza oven, The Tar Pit also had lots of fancy restaurant equipment that was already on wheels. Thus, says [owner Mark] Peel, they are simply going to roll out the contents of the place and move it down the street -- or across town or wherever they find someplace that suits them. Literally, a moveable feast, as it were."
I can't be so sure. A huge part of the success of Tar Pit was the way it managed Deco-retro so effortlessly, the room the perfect size, broken up in booths that led to intimacy but they were still low enough you could give the room a full scan, all the way to the elegant bar. Mirrors made everything a bit larger, made the low but not dim light sparkle. You just felt better looking stepping in the door, and not too many rooms do that (at least for me). Sure, you can move the help, if they all don't get snapped up, and they tended to wait effortlessly while dressing the swank part, too--that's one reason to dine in a town full of actors and actresses, after all, as many play te role of server impeccably, especially when they get to dress the part. No doubt the food can be replicated elsewhere, even the delightful ears and ears pun of orrechiette with pig ears (so finally julienned they ended up like porky pasta themselves) and pork cheeks or the clams casino nailed without any quotation marks in sight. But that room, I'll miss that room. And then Peel actually needs to open again somewhere, too. (My ever clever wife jumped on his quote, "I've even thought about the Westside," kidding he meant Santa Barbara's, where we live. Paradise can't get that perfect.)
The good news is one paradise has, as the temporarily shuttered Blue Palms in Hollywood is back open as of yesterday. I've penned my ode to Blue Palms before, so when it got caught in the landlord mess that took the Music Box down, I had to admit I cried a few tears into my beer, saddened for the suds and sausages I now could never have. It's great that they're back, and here's hoping for good.
In the meantime, though, I found a more than reasonable substitute, if one in a neighborhood I don't get too in LA much, but there I go proving my point by calling Burbank LA (I have to admit I'm not sure citizens of which place would feel more offended). That's Tony's Darts Away, another beer and sausage place that's willing to make vegans happy (no surprise as it's part of the Mohawk Bend and Golden Road Brewery empire, and I think you can call something an empire once its canned beer is everywhere at Whole Foods). Laid-back, walls lined with beer books, no darts it seems but a pool table, the place one Monday afternoon was a wonderland of good beer listed as IPA and Not-IPA, so you know it knows Californian brewers all to well. As I tend to IPA out following my Declaration of Independence-promised pursuit of hoppiness, I figured perusing the "not" page of the list couldn't hurt as a way to expand my horizons. A Bruery Humulus Lager made that easy, billed an Imperial Pilsner which just might be the Bruery's way to continue their claim they'll never make an IPA. For this had hops you almost had to beat off with a stick, but it was more convenient and yummy to do so with your tongue and its tastebuds. Still, it was lager-y enough--a bit lighter without being light--that it lured me toward an afternoon of drinking it and only it. And trying to cab back to Santa Barbara from Burbank.
As for the food, that was fine, my Tailgate Dog a smoked pork brat topped with brown mustard, griddled onions, and sauerkraut, very straightforward and unfussy as it should be. Those going for the vegan versions where similarly pleased. The housemade potato chips were crisp; the sweet potato fries in a honey-maple-chipotle glaze and crushed almonds were a bit too sweet for my liking (they're sweet potatoes to begin with, after all), but the almonds didn't hurt. Nor did the second beer, a High Water Blind Spot Winter Ale, a bit nutty itself, with caramel and vanilla notes too--no Humulus, but better for dessert anyway.
Now I'm left trying to come up with reasons to get to Burbank (why, the Norton Simon is very nice, especially its contribution to Pacific Standard Time, the show Proof: The Rise of Printmaking in Southern California--you've got till April 2).
*Yes, both actual memories of mine, and you can hate me for it, sure.
This desire to capture, hold on, share, only grows when a restaurant closes its doors and the option to at least revisit totally slips away. (As for that revisiting, that's its own tortured issue, for instance, how the usually Platonically perfect burger at Father's Office might seem not enough medium and too rare on one visit, with the grilled onions and arugula piled too high so it all actually becomes, and these are her actual words, the spongy, slimy, greasy thing Irene Virbila laments, admitting she's in the minority. How can that happen? Thank god the fries were still perfection.) Such is the case, recently, with a minor key gem that shut down in January, Kobachi Izakaya, which was in the inauspicious shopping center at the foot of the 154 on State Street. While there were windows, the space always seemed like a basement, and that didn't add to its charm, despite the colorful Japanese-themed murals. But what was good there was the value, and the sweet older woman who tended to run service like you were having a meal at her home, and if you ordered mackerel, she'd ask if you'd had it before, warning you how fishy it was, and how she wouldn't cook it at home as it would stink up the kitchen. But I did order it, every time, a fish proud to be a fish, the skin crisped and adding some crunchy texture, and then so so much flavor. They had great special meals, too, where you seemed to get every possible Japanese food item in one combo for about $15, from miso to California roll to some green salad that featured actual good greens and a sesame dressing that sang.
Our last visit there was a sad one, though, as things had changed. The space was always somewhat a market, but they decided it should now be market first, restaurant second, and that meant all the dining was pushed off to the second room that was even more cellar-like. The menu was cut, too, which made some sense since it originally was huge, especially for a small place, but it was as if a blind person took a cleaver to it. And then the help that night, a poor young man, admitting it was his second night on the job, earnestly fumbling, slow, and apologizing. I felt sorry for him, of course, as he meant well, but a dish of pity isn't my favorite amuse bouche. When I heard they closed, it came as little surprise, as the last visit didn't even seem like the same place.
And sometimes the place is all important, despite what really bright chefs/entrepreneurs say. Such is the case with the recent closing of the Tar Pit in Los Angeles. Here's what the LA Weekly wrote about the closing: "Outfitted with Art Deco stylized palm trees, a Kold-Draft double-stacked ice machine and a pizza oven, The Tar Pit also had lots of fancy restaurant equipment that was already on wheels. Thus, says [owner Mark] Peel, they are simply going to roll out the contents of the place and move it down the street -- or across town or wherever they find someplace that suits them. Literally, a moveable feast, as it were."
I can't be so sure. A huge part of the success of Tar Pit was the way it managed Deco-retro so effortlessly, the room the perfect size, broken up in booths that led to intimacy but they were still low enough you could give the room a full scan, all the way to the elegant bar. Mirrors made everything a bit larger, made the low but not dim light sparkle. You just felt better looking stepping in the door, and not too many rooms do that (at least for me). Sure, you can move the help, if they all don't get snapped up, and they tended to wait effortlessly while dressing the swank part, too--that's one reason to dine in a town full of actors and actresses, after all, as many play te role of server impeccably, especially when they get to dress the part. No doubt the food can be replicated elsewhere, even the delightful ears and ears pun of orrechiette with pig ears (so finally julienned they ended up like porky pasta themselves) and pork cheeks or the clams casino nailed without any quotation marks in sight. But that room, I'll miss that room. And then Peel actually needs to open again somewhere, too. (My ever clever wife jumped on his quote, "I've even thought about the Westside," kidding he meant Santa Barbara's, where we live. Paradise can't get that perfect.)
The good news is one paradise has, as the temporarily shuttered Blue Palms in Hollywood is back open as of yesterday. I've penned my ode to Blue Palms before, so when it got caught in the landlord mess that took the Music Box down, I had to admit I cried a few tears into my beer, saddened for the suds and sausages I now could never have. It's great that they're back, and here's hoping for good.
In the meantime, though, I found a more than reasonable substitute, if one in a neighborhood I don't get too in LA much, but there I go proving my point by calling Burbank LA (I have to admit I'm not sure citizens of which place would feel more offended). That's Tony's Darts Away, another beer and sausage place that's willing to make vegans happy (no surprise as it's part of the Mohawk Bend and Golden Road Brewery empire, and I think you can call something an empire once its canned beer is everywhere at Whole Foods). Laid-back, walls lined with beer books, no darts it seems but a pool table, the place one Monday afternoon was a wonderland of good beer listed as IPA and Not-IPA, so you know it knows Californian brewers all to well. As I tend to IPA out following my Declaration of Independence-promised pursuit of hoppiness, I figured perusing the "not" page of the list couldn't hurt as a way to expand my horizons. A Bruery Humulus Lager made that easy, billed an Imperial Pilsner which just might be the Bruery's way to continue their claim they'll never make an IPA. For this had hops you almost had to beat off with a stick, but it was more convenient and yummy to do so with your tongue and its tastebuds. Still, it was lager-y enough--a bit lighter without being light--that it lured me toward an afternoon of drinking it and only it. And trying to cab back to Santa Barbara from Burbank.
As for the food, that was fine, my Tailgate Dog a smoked pork brat topped with brown mustard, griddled onions, and sauerkraut, very straightforward and unfussy as it should be. Those going for the vegan versions where similarly pleased. The housemade potato chips were crisp; the sweet potato fries in a honey-maple-chipotle glaze and crushed almonds were a bit too sweet for my liking (they're sweet potatoes to begin with, after all), but the almonds didn't hurt. Nor did the second beer, a High Water Blind Spot Winter Ale, a bit nutty itself, with caramel and vanilla notes too--no Humulus, but better for dessert anyway.
Now I'm left trying to come up with reasons to get to Burbank (why, the Norton Simon is very nice, especially its contribution to Pacific Standard Time, the show Proof: The Rise of Printmaking in Southern California--you've got till April 2).
*Yes, both actual memories of mine, and you can hate me for it, sure.
Monday, December 6, 2010
No Qualms about Blue Palms
Sometimes the secret to success is not setting your sights too high in the first place. Not every dining spot has to be Jar-rific or Lucques-licious (or come with the accompanying price tag). Sometimes you just need that place that's as comfortable as your favorite old pair of shoes (if not as smelly). Enter Blue Palms Brewhouse (not that they actually brew any of their own beer--the ones they sell under their name Firestone makes for them, as Firestone slowly takes over the world*), which also has one amazing plus going for it--it's actually in the same building that houses the Music Box at the Fonda in Hollywood. That means you park once, walk little, eat and drink and see a New Pornographers or a Grinderman or an Old 97's or a Gang of Four. Then hit the easy access from there highway ramp to the 101 and are back in Santa Barbara in no time, or what us Californians take as no time as all our amniotic sacs were actually automobiles. (I'm an honorary Californian not just because I've lived here for 16 years, but because I subscribe to the motto I Drive Therefore I Live.)
As for the Blue Palms, it's hard to miss the two big boards (see the photo) that let you know what the 24 beers +1 cask offering (sometimes) are at the moment. It's usually a lovely selection of craft brew, often heavy on LA-area brewers that even San Diego doesn't get. Or, is it luckily was last week, the offerings might reflect a recent brewery-themed night, so we got to enjoy a bunch of brews from Oscar Blues, including both their DIPAs--Gubna and Gordon's. (Hard to say which is better--Gubna is more mallet, Gordon's more subtle, in both taste and ABV.) But there were also seasonal faves, like Lagunitas Brown Shugga, a caramel delight of a seasonal beer that gets a lovely extra lift from being on draught--the bubbles help the shugga go down, you might say. Even better, prices are relatively moderate for the offerings, from $5.50 to $7.50 depending.
The food is fine, too, with burgers belled and whistled (still haven't tried the one cooked in duck fat with truffle oil), offerings for those decidedly non-carnivorous (from fish and chips with sustainable tilapia to blackened tofu), and then a sausage list that's seriously Wurstkuchian--there are even several vegan options. Plus, lobster mac 'n' cheese, sweet potato fries, all that good comfort food. Perfect for soaking up the mighty ABVs the big board offers.
I need to point out the help is usually great, too--they actually know the beers, which is good when you have to choose a mere 2 or 3 per visit, as you don't want to snooze during the Music Box show.
It's also interesting to use Blue Palms as a test of the emergency Yelp system. Generally I like Yelp, but I also think I've got a sense for what kind of user comments are the ones to value and what are poppycock. The Blue Palms ratings are a veritable textbook for how user-ratings can go wrong. For most of the people who don't like the place either complain it's not fancy (which it isn't trying to be--it comes off as a bar that's been a round, for all the good and bad that implies), or complain about it after saying they don't drink beer (these are the same people who hate rides and go to Disneyland and are so disappointed) or point out they have no taste by picking the least interesting beer of the 25, like a New Belgium product or something. I mean, if I told you I found New York City a let down and told you I only got to Staten Island, what would you think of me?
*In addition to their Firestone beers themselves, Firestone makes, as you probably know, the Humboldt Ales, plus beer for places as diverse as Blue Palms, Santa Barbara's Union Ale, and Paso Robles' Villa Creek.
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