Kentucky Derby Trifecta: Hot Browns, Mint Juleps, and My Old Kentucky Home

If you're not from Kentucky and/or don't give a damn about horse racing, the first Saturday in May probably means nothing to you. However, for Kentuckians, this day marks a time-honored event more sacred than holy communion, more celebrated than Christmas, and more anticipated than your 21st birthday:

Derby.

This is a special time of year when Louisvillians set aside their differences and come together in a collective consciousness of gut-splitting, joyful debauchery that can only be achieved via the delicate balance of horse race handicapping, gaudy hats, and bourbon-induced headaches. As I've mentioned before, I'm from Louisville, and so am one of the blessed ones who knows the true level of exorbitant bliss spewing from all corners of the city during Derby. And I get to scoff at the rest of the quiet, unknowing world for missing out. Sad for you.

This can actually be seen in billboard form around Louisville during Derby season.

Anyway, onto gastronomy. Derby Day is one of the only times, like ever, I wish I was somewhere other than Portland, so I (obviously) start to seep nostalgia from my pores when it comes around and I force my friends to choke down as much bourbon as possible and eat my Kentucky food. When I start to wax philosophic about the sacrosanctity of true Kentucky cuisine, the obvious thing that comes to mind is the Hot Brown. If you don't know what I'm talking about, the Hot Brown is a dish created by the chef at the famous Brown Hotel in Louisville back in the 1920s. It's called an open-faced turkey sandwich, but most Hot Browns you come across in Louisville are more of a bubbly, cheesy explosion than anything resembling a sandwich. The true origin and recipe can be found on the Brown Hotel's website. The other thing about the Hot Brown is that, save for the Brown Hotel's original recipe, everyone has their own version of it. So, being from Louisville, I say that a true Kentucky Hot Brown is the one you decide to make yourself after having sampled them in at least 5 different Louisville eateries. Oh, and it has to have criss-crossed bacon strips on top.

OK, so that's a little bit lax. To be a Hot Brown, you must have bread, turkey, Mornay sauce, bacon, and a broiler. Then you can get creative. My recipe was a combination of the Brown, another legendary Louisville hot spot called Lynn's Paradise Cafe, and my own personal Kentucky elitism. Lynn's is known for it's exorbitant portions and over-the-top, well, everything, so of course they make a good, gut-busting Hot Brown.

Here's my recipe:
-thick slices of sourdough bread
-sliced roast turkey (or deli turkey, if that's all you can get)
-sharp cheddar Mornay sauce (recipe below)
-peppered bacon strips
-grated Parm
-sliced tomatoes

Sharp Cheddar Mornay Sauce:
A Mornay sauce is essentially a classic béchamel with melted cheese in it. So, make a roux of equal parts flour and butter, then add 3 cups of 2% milk and stir to thicken. To that, add a large handful of grated sharp white cheddar cheese and a smaller handful of grated Parm. (I can't remember the exact measurements of the cheese, so just keep tasting it.) Season with S&P, a pinch of nutmeg, and cayenne pepper to taste.

Assembly:
Place slices of bread on a baking sheet or in a baking dish, top with a hefty portion of turkey, then completely smother it with Mornay sauce. Place a few tomato slices in the dish/pan as well. Top "sandwich" with some more grated Parm and place under a broiler until the sauce is slightly browned and bubbling over with gooey, oily extravagance. Remove from broiler and top with crossed slices of crisp bacon, sprinkle with more Parm and chopped parsley, and serve with tomatoes on the side.

This is a knife-and-fork sangwich, y'all.

Now, drinks! You can't experience Derby without a mint julep, so I'm here to tell you how to make it the right way.

Derby Mint Julep:
-Early Times Kentucky bourbon (the official bourbon of the Kentucky Derby)
-mint-infused simple syrup
-crushed ice
-tall, thin glasses
-fresh mint sprigs

Make your simple syrup (boil 1.5-2 parts sugar to 1 part water until sugar dissolves), then add mint leaves and allow to cool for at least an hour or overnight. Fill your glass with crushed ice, pretty much to the top. Cubed will not do. Pour in about a shot of bourbon, top with mint syrup, and throw in some mint leaves. Now...this part is important...vigorously stir and rile up the entire cocktail until the outside of the glass gets icy from the condensation. Add a nice, big mint sprig and serve immediately. This is exactly how they're served at the Derby, so you know it's the right way.

Now you can have a kick ass Derby party and your friends will think you're authentic. And if you want to be like a real Louisvillian, try to be pretty drunk by the actual running of the Derby so you can stand in your living room and sing "My Old Kentucky Home" without feeling self-conscious. Other things you can say/yell to appear authentic:

-I think I left my hat at the Oaks.
-My exacta box was off by one damn horse!
-Did we make out at O'Shea's last night?
-Man, now Derby is so far away...
-Go baby go!!!!!

Complete the trifecta with Jerry Garcia Band's "Run for the Roses."

P.S. I apologize that there are no real Ameliorated health properties to these recipes, but I might remind you that the endorphins released during times of pleasure contribute to mental and physical well-being, and so, it's important to let loose every now and then. So go and ahead and do it up for Derby. For your health.

Happy Hour Cupcakes

They say that cooking is an art, but baking is a science. Well, this is certainly true and while I think I can throw together a nice dinner pretty well with my limited education in food, baking is certainly a different story. My latest culinary marathon was truly a grueling one because of this whole food science business. I was asked to make some cookies to help my favorite carpet slinger woo designers all over Portland into buying his product, so of course instead of just saying yes, I decided I had better make it a whole lot more involved. After much consideration, along with the knowledge that people in PDX have a thing for little tiny cupcakes (i.e. Cupcake Jones and Saint Cupcake), that's exactly where I ended up: in the capital of Mini Cupcake Country.

The bounty was to be distributed on a Friday, most likely in the afternoon, and what is everyone in an office thinking on a Friday afternoon? That's right, happy hour. Especially in Portland, where we are so happy we have happy hour twice a day. Seriously, we do. And now I give you, Happy Hour Cupcakes!

Ingredient Army

I decided on four flavors, (which I would later come to regret, as this required a hell of a lot of work), all based on some of my favorite cocktails. There would be two vanilla based cupcake flavors, and two chocolate. So here they are:

Meyer Lemon Drop

Bourbon & Ginger


Spanish Coffee

Rubinator

Meyer Lemon Drop: I chose this because the lemon drop is a pretty popular, easily recognizable drink, and I really wanted to incorporated a sugared rim into one of the cupcakes. For the cake I figured I had better get back to basics and choose a truly classic vanilla cupcake, so for that I had to use the recipe from Magnolia Bakery in NYC, which basically put the cupcake on the map. (Or at least on Page Six.) You can find that recipe here. To make it a little lemony, I just added a bit of lemon juice in place of some of the milk, and some fresh lemon zest. Warning, do not over bake these guys. I did it and I'm now kicking myself. If you are making mini cupcakes like I did, the bake time is less than what is listed in the recipe. After they cooled, I rolled the edges in a little water and then in a mixture of organic evaporated cane sugar and Meyer lemon zest. (Just like the sugared rim on a lemon drop glass! Get it?!) The frosting was a classic buttercream, but I added a good bit a fresh Meyer lemon juice, which really kicked the flavor into lemon land. Yum! These were actually my favorite of the bunch.

Bourbon & Ginger: I had to do this because bourbon and ginger is my favorite drink of all time. (Remember the Kentucky thing? And the ginger thing? There it is.) I will make these again because they weren't quite spot on, but they still tasted like a good cupcake...just not B&G enough. I used the same vanilla cupcake recipe, but instead of lemon juice I added 1/4 cup of Reed's Extra Ginger Brew (the best, in my opinion) and 1/4 of good Kentucky bourbon.* I also added about a tsp of grated fresh ginger, and about a tsp of ground ginger. While they were baking, I reduced some bourbon and ginger ale on the stove. After the cupcakes came out, I poked them with toothpicks and drizzled a bit of the reduced B&G over them, to keep them moist and bourbony good. They were topped with a basic cream cheese frosting, kicked up with about a tbs of bourbon. Oh, and of course I used pure bourbon vanilla in the cakes and the frosting. I topped them with chopped up all natural ginger candy, also from Reed's. (You can find Reed's at any nice grocery store, and even some not-so-nice ones. I got mine at New Seasons, but unfortunately for those of you outside of Portland, you don't get to experience this blissful store. Sorry.)

Spanish Coffee: This was a must because Portland freakin' loves Spanish Coffee. I can't say for sure because life before Portland is sort of becoming a blur to me, but I don't think I had ever even heard of Spanish Coffee before I moved here. Maybe it's because of all the great coffee in Portland, or maybe it's just because the dark, rainy days of winter are really not good for anything other than sitting inside with a nice flaming cup of alcoholic coffee. Either way, they're quite the thing around here. Though almost every bar has it's own Spanish Coffee method, the place that made it famous is Huber's, the oldest restaurant in the city, which specializes in delectable Spanish Coffee and turkey. Yeah, weird, right? Anyway, I used their recipe as my inspiration for the cupcake. The chocolate cake recipe actually came from Ina Garten, which you can see here. The addition of some extra coffee grounds really gave the cakes a nice coffee flavor, without being overpowering. Another warning: the batter is extremely runny and you will probably think you did something wrong, but they bake up nicely. Just don't overfill the pan. They were topped with a cinnamon buttercream and dusted with cinnamon and freshly grated nutmeg, just like they do at Huber's. (They also serve the coffee on fire at Huber's, but that didn't really go over so well with the cupcakes.)

Rubinator: This is another local favorite from McMenamins, which is probably the most unique pub/theater/hotel chain on earth. Among the hundreds of things the McMenamins properties do, they brew their own beers, which include the Terminator Stout and the Ruby Ale. It's not on the menu, but if you ask for a "Rubinator," you'll get a blend of the Terminator and the Ruby. It's kind of like a black and tan, but the Ruby Ale has a hint of raspberry to it, so it's more exotic. So, this cupcake was a chocolate stout cake recipe that I sort of fudged (no pun intended) from a few different sources. One that I kind of used is here. The raspberry part was the raspberry cream cheese frosting, which was a basic cream cheese frosting recipe combined with mascerated raspberries pressed through a strainer to get rid of the seeds. I was very pleased with this frosting, as it turned a beautiful pink color without any food coloring whatsoever. And the fresh raspberry taste was really perfect. I topped these with a bit of shaved organic dark chocolate. These seemed to be the favorite of the bunch, which I honestly think has to do with the visual aspect; they just looked so pretty! (They did taste quite good, too...)

So, while I'm not a baker, I'd say with the help of some really good recipes and a little creativity (and an affinity for things that celebrate drinking), the Happy Hour Cupcakes were a great success. I even got a catering request out of the deal! And hopefully, lots and lots of carpet will be sold. The moral of this entry is, if you want to get someone to do something, make them cute little cupcakes. And if you really want things to work in your favor, make the cupcakes somehow related to drinking. Yeah!

Cupcake Army

*A note about bourbon, since I am from Kentucky. Bourbon is only bourbon if it's from Kentucky. All bourbons are whiskeys, but not all whiskeys are bourbons. Just like champagne is only sparkling wine unless it comes from the Champagne region of France. Don't let anyone try to tell you that Jack Daniels is bourbon. It's not.

Gilty Pleasures and a Fallen Soufflé

No, I didn't spell that wrong.

I know Valentine's Day has gotten sort of a bad rap over the years, what with the whole "Hallmark Holiday" commercialization thing, but I'm actually going to defend it this time. I don't dig the pressure people feel to buy flowers or find a date, but, if nothing else, it gives us an excuse to spread the love, and that's not such a bad thing. Oh, and it usually also somehow involves indulgent, decadent eating...

My Valentine's Day extravaganza started on Friday the 13th, which, as it turns out, can be quite a lovely day. My always-thinking-ahead sweetie decided it best to beat the crowds and go out the night before the big day, so after some organic IPA at the HUB (that's another story), we pulled up to the swanky, seductive, not-sure-if-it's-a-restaurant-or-a-strip-bar, Gilt Club on NW Broadway for a guilty dining experience.

First of all, if you're not familiar with the PDX scene, this place screams Portland. The walls are swaddled in hedonistic red fabrics and leathers that glow in the low, Sinatra-esque light oozing from vintage-style chandeliers. Not a table sat unoccupied, and the milieu was ever-so-Stumptown in its variety of colorful patrons. (Dress code?!? This is my formal attire!) To our left was a long table of posh, high healed 30-somethings on what looked like an extended happy hour, not to be outdone by the modest, collared shirt couple dining quietly to our right, and of course, the flannel-wearing, messy-haired threesome at the back wall, all sitting slightly to one side so as not to look too interested in any one thing...or to sit directly on their bike locks. (The awkward mélange of "cool" that keeps the heart of Portland beating to its own drum is one of the most endearing qualities of the city.)

While the venue is called the Gilt Club, referring (I assume) to the chic setting of the place (metaphorically "covered in gold"), there is certainly an element of guilty extravagance that accompanies that notion, and the menu shamelessly reflected just that. Certain words in each description were flaunted in bold type, namely oysters, fois gras, pâté, soufflé, manchego, oxtail, and frites. Now, even if you don't know or care much about food, you have to admit that oysters, fois gras, and the French word for "fried" invokes at least a hint of the adrenaline that usually accompanies unabashed luxury. My handsome date, never concerned in the slightest with his "manhood" when he orders the vegetarian dish, opted for the fallen fingerling potato soufflé and a glass of Barbera. While I was intrigued by a number of menu items, I went with the server's recommendation (always at least worth asking, in my opinion), and ordered the southern fried quail with onion and bacon bread pudding and a warm mustard vinaigrette. And since I was getting down and dirty with my dinner, I washed that down with the infamous Moscow Mule: vodka, house made ginger beer, lime, ginger zest, and a splash of soda...served in a copper mug.* What? I'm being indulgent, remember?

OK, so now for the nitty gritty of it all. The ambiance was perfect, my date was smokin', my cocktail was buzzing with sweet, tart, and zingy goodness...and my dinner was...well, pretty good. I know, I know! Oh how I wanted to tell my man and you and the world that this was the best, most gaudily delicious noshing experience I could imagine, that I barely lived to tell about it, that I almost just keeled over in sheer satiated bliss! But alas, my loyalty is to the sacredness of food, and I have to say that it wasn't the best part of the evening. I liked the theory, really...but creativity has to be followed up with execution because while we may all be superficial first-impression hound dogs only after a pretty plate...the lasting relationships are always based on tasty, lip-smacking satisfaction. Southern fried quail is a risky endeavor, in my book. Quail is a lean, delicate little bird, traditionally served medium-rare to keep him tender and flavorful. OK, I'm from the South (spent a lot of my childhood in Kentucky), so I can appreciate a good deep fry. While the batter and fried-ness may have slightly overwhelmed the little guy, it did keep him moist and filled me up nicely. I'm not sure that the idea was executed exactly as intended, but I'll say I ate it all and didn't mind too much doing so. My biggest disappointment was the bread pudding, which may have something to do with the fact that I almost chose the dish because of it. Sure, there are plenty of bread pudding schools of thought: dense and homogeneous, moist and chunky, or even an ooey-gooey mess of mush that melts in your mouth. Well, maybe it was the savory flavors or the large, ham-like chunks of bacon, but to me, this bread pudding was more like a little lost breakfast quiche. The texture was overwhelmingly eggy and really filled out that heavy, salty mouth feel that left my meal begging for a crisp green salad or a mini treadmill. Interestingly enough, the star of the dish was the warm mustard vinaigrette. The dollop of sauce swooshed abundantly across the plate, proving to be maybe the only element of the dinner that chose function and flavor over looks. It was a thick, creamy vinaigrette (we are still in Guiltville, mind you), complete with whole grain mustard for a nice texture contrast, and exploding with the tangy roundness that the rest of the meal needed. So thank you, warm mustard vinaigrette, thank you. You are the little vinaigrette that saved the meal...the dreaded curve-breaker of the class. (Though I doubt you'll be making a lot of friends at the bus stop.)

My honey's soufflé was similar: beautifully advertised, strikingly presented, and unexceptionally executed. To me, the appeal of a soufflé is its light, airy, angelic texture. This one was actually described as a "fallen soufflé," so maybe the irony was on us, but it just came across as dry. And for the price on the menu, some fallen whipped potatoes better be pretty friggin' fabulous. And they weren't.

However! (Yes, of course there's a however.) I'm still smitten with the sultry atmosphere and theory of the Gilt Club. I think you'd be best served to go for the drinks and the lush ambiance than for the meal of a lifetime, but all-in-all it was a worthy experience. The menu really was fun and played into the theme accurately, the service was friendly, the drinks were delicious, and the environment was just what a hip young couple would want on a romantic Friday the 13th. Or a quiet older couple. Or an angst-ridden group of hipsters. Or a Pearl District office party. Or me. (Which means, yes, I'd gladly go back, but this time I think I'll try the pork loin with apple and bacon relish, or maybe the burger with secret sauce.)


*Note: I have a strange attraction to all things ginger, the words "house made" and drinks served in copper mugs. Or mason jars. This will most likely come up again in a later posting, so just learn to expect it. And love it.