Rooftop Gourmet

If there was one word that could sum up the evening of December 31, 2011 it would be indulgence.

My wife and I held a dinner party for seven of our closest friends on New Year’s Eve to celebrate the end of what was probably the busiest year of our lives.

When it came to menu planning, I may have gotten a little bit carried away, but as the clock struck midnight, and we all sat at the table, exhausted, clutching our elastic waistbands and simultaneously picking at cheese and coconut cake, it was totally worth the effort. Everyone was happy, thankful, and over-indulged.

There’s something calming and comforting, spending the night with great food, close friends, and delicious wines rather than fighting crowds for cheap Champagne at a bar  or baring the elements in Times Square. Let’s just say that we really ended 2011 with a bang… or was that the sound of someones belt buckle popping off?

Here is a copy of the New Years Eve menu:

First Course:

Assorted Cheeses From Around the World

Foie Gras Mousee’

Marinated Olives

Duck Liver & Black Truffle Terrine

Caviar

Second Course:

Crispy Braised Pork Belly, Carrot Puree’, Pickled Apples

Third Course:

Island Creek Oysters 2 Ways

Classic Baked Rockafeller

Freshly Shucked with Ossetra Caviar, Creme Fraiche’, Tarragon

Fourth Course:

Baked Escargot Gratin; Garlic-Parsley Butter, Warm Baguette

Fifth Course:

Raviolo Uovo

Wild Mushrooms, Thyme-Butter, Parmigiano-Reggiano, White Truffle Oil

Sixth Course:

Sliced Beef Tenderloin with two Sauces;

Classic Bordelaise’ & Creamy Horseradish-Tarragon Sauce

Pommes Puree’, Roasted Butternut Squash & Raw Kale Salad

Seventh Course:

Double Coconut Cake

I get cold sweats just typing that up again! Thankfully, I received a ton of help from some of my favorite vendors and friends. I spent the last week of the year brainstorming, prepping, and and anxiously awaiting our event. Each course represents one of my all-time favorite foods, whether it is in its natural state, prepared classically, or with a new and exciting twist. Thanks to Wasiks Cheese Shop in Wellesley (http://www.wasiks.com/), I had more cheese in my 900 square foot condo than the entire country of Switzerland.

Everything you could possibly imagine, from sharp and nutty Gruyere to oozy gooey, buttery Triple Creme. I also had a pound of Foie Gras Mousse’ that I picked up from the Butcher Shop in the South End. It was so rich but light and airy at the same time.

We spread it like butter on slices of a fresh baguette and let the goose liver melt in our mouths. The texture was like whipped butter and when combined with a few crumbles of the pungent, blue cheese it was heaven in a single bite (That last phrase will most likely become repetitive throughout this whole post). After we grazed the cheese boards, everyone sat down at the table that my wife so wonderfully decorated with white roses and printed menu cards. I brought out the first course which shows off my love for the ever-so versatile pig.

I had braised pieces of fatty pork belly in winter spiced ale, soy and aromatics until it was completely tender, about 3 hours. Right before I served it, I crisped up the outsides of the pork belly in a skillet and served it atop a silky carrot puree. The bright orange color of the puree was a beautiful contrast with the rustic hunk of pig.

For a slight pop of acidity, I used my melon-baller to release little balls of granny smith apples, in which I pickled with cinnamon sticks, and cloves to infuse a wintery spice. It gave the oversized cube of bacon a familiar companion of applesauce and cinnamon aromas and flavors that it’s used to. The juicy belly meat, woven in between layers of succulent fat seemed to dissolve in my mouth. The sweet carrots and sharp pickles were exactly what the belly needed to help balance out the dish.

It was a perfect first bite to lead into an even more extravagant meal. The next course required some serious grunt work. A dinner party set to the theme of indulgence wouldn’t be complete without some fresh oysters. We picked up two dozen of one of my favorite varieties, Island Creek oysters from Duxbury, MA. They always seem to be the perfect size, not too small and not intimidatingly large.

They have striking minerality and freshness with a plump body, and a rather salty finish that I can’t get enough of. With the first dozen, we decided to bake in the classic Rockafeller style. I topped each bivalve with crispy bacon, sautéed spinach, shredded Gruyere cheese, heavy cream, Pernot, and fresh lemon juice. After a few minutes in the broiler, the cheese has melted and the contents of the deep, metallic shell was bubbling away. The rich, creamy and nutty topping had an underlying hint of anise aroma from the evaporated, French liquor.

Trying to shoot them back without making loud, and obnoxious, “mmmmmmm”, sounds was a real feat. In the meantime, I shucked the other dozen and served them on ice with a dollop of creme fraiche, a spoonful of Ossetra caviar, and a sprig of fresh tarragon. In my opinion, this could have been my favorite bite of the evening. It was simple, luxurious, and gratifying; not to mention the balance of flavors really just worked well together. As the last oyster shell was tossed into the garbage, the smell from the next course had already permitted throughout the entire house. I had a baking dish in the oven, littered with baby snails that were all bubbling away in a homemade garlic-parsley butter and topped with breadcrumbs and Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese.

Thankfully, the couples at dinner weren’t on a first date, because this butter was garlicky! We plated this course family-style and all of us dove in with chewy bread to soak up the cheesy butter. The snails were delicate and tender, offering earthy, mushroomy flavors as they swam in the bright green butter.

The oysters and snails course was paired with some Grand Cru Chablis from William Fevre that was crisp and refreshing. Notes of butterscotch, baked apples and puff pastry came off the initial wave of aroma, but the wine was perfectly balanced, clean, and crisp on the finish. Just when everyone thought that the night was dying down, we hit them with the next course which is hands down, one of my favorite pasta dishes I have ever eaten. Thanks to Leigh from Nella Pasta (http://www.nellapasta.com/), this single Raviolo was freaking amazing!

Raviolo Uovo is only one ravioli, filled with a creamy ricotta filling and a fresh egg yolk. Leigh put some serious time and effort into not only making the homemade pasta, but shopping for the highest quality local ingredients. She rolled out the pasta into thin sheets and filled the massive ravioli with a piped, local ricotta mixture that was studded with chopped black truffles. A well was formed in the cheese and she carefully dropped in these gigantic, farm-fresh egg yolks that were so bright and orange that they glimmered through the thin sheet of pasta on top.

Leigh expressed her frustration with the delicacy of the yolks and how they kept popping on her wedding ring, and ended up thrown across the kitchen. Finally, she managed to keep ten ravioli in great shape for the walk over. We gingerly simmered the pasta for a mere minute before sautéing and basting them in a thyme-brown butter sauce. We served the Uovo on a plate with some roasted wild mushrooms and freshly grated Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese, finished with an abnormal dowsing of white truffle oil.

My knees began to buckle while plating due to ingestion of sensual truffle fumes. We all anxiously awaited the”ta-da”,  moment where one of our forks pierced the raviolo, displaying a slow, oozing of the poached egg yolk onto the plate. It was one of the sexiest moments and bites I have ever witnessed in all my days of cooking and eating. We managed to capture the “money-shot” of the fatty yolk swirling on the plate with beads of truffle oil floating atop the surface.

I served this pasta course with a magnum of 2004 Marchesi di Barolo Cannubi Barolo that I had been decanting for over 5 hours. It opened up beautifully and displayed delicate aromas of fresh violets, cherries, and spice. The tannins in the young Nebbiolo cut through the creamy egg yolk and the truffles and Barolo were reunited again. Believe it or not, we were ready for our final savory course of the night… and making good time thanks to our impromptu dishwashers. I had made two different sauces for the beef tenderloin the night before. One was a traditional bordelaise sauce that started off by making one of the most intense beef stocks ever. I roasted pounds and pounds of bones and made a homemade stock for an entire 24 hours, periodically skimming the fat and impurities from the surface.

Then I combined the rich stock with the reduction of two bottles of dry red wine. As the sauce slowly reduced, it thickened and intensified. The other sauce I made was a simple cream sauce with freshly grated horseradish root and sliced tarragon. The balance of spicy and savory was an interesting accompaniment to the tender beef. I simply seared the five-pound roast and rolled in on my cutting board through handfuls of smashed, whole black peppercorns. As it roasted in the oven, it gave us a chance to digest and have a little fun with my new toy that I bought for the evening… a porron!

A porron is a vessel commonly seen in tapas’ bars throughout Spain. It looks like a wine decanter with a spout, and it is filled with wine that eventually gets poured directly into your mouth from very high level. The thin stream gives you just enough time to swallow and allows for pinpoint accuracy when poured from several feet in the air. Here is a video that demonstrates how the porron is used: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bCqCp1ot15A. Needless to say, we managed to keep the wine out of our clothes and our carpet, and my wife was able to take a deep breath. I pulled the roast from the oven at the perfect time, and allowed the juices to redistribute before slicing it into pieces. We served it medium rare with a creamy pommes puree’, both sauces, and a roasted butternut squash and raw kale salad with chopped hazelnuts.

We figured that we needed something fresh and green to serve after all these overly rich dishes. You could cut the tenderloin of beef with a fork it was so tender and juicy. I typically prefer cuts of meat that aren’t as lean, but with the two sauces, the flavor was still booming. For the grand finale, we popped a 3.0 Liter bottle of 2006 Ladera Howell Mountain Cabernet Sauvignon to serve with the beef. For the time it took me to pop the oversized cork on this monster, the wine better be damn good.

It was loaded with powerful blackberry, cherry, and cassis up front, and more developed, richer flavors of vanilla, toasty oak, and creamy coffee on the finish. By this time, we didn’t think anyone would be ready for dessert, but we were wrong. I ordered the double coconut cake from Sportello down the street and when we picked this thing up we didn’t realize that it weighed about twenty pounds. I’m not a big dessert guy, but whenever we eat at Sportello, I have to end the night with a sliver; it’s just that good. The shredded, toasty coconut isn’t just flaked on the outside of the frosting, but baked into each layer of cake as well. We sat around, reminiscing about the meal we just conquered, sipping on Pretty Things, St. Botolph’s Old Town Brown Ale fresh from the keg, and small glasses of 12yr old Pappy Van Winkle Bourbon.

At midnight we popped a few bottles of the 2003 Roderer Estates L’Ermitage Brut and washed back some of the leftover caviar and cheese as if we couldn’t get enough, knowing that 2012 was the start to diets and healthy lifestyles. We lasted long into the night playing silly games, picking at leftovers, and enjoying each others company. I hope that 2012 is filled with even more great food, family and friends. Happy New Year to everyone!

Introducing the trendy dish of season! Pumpkin Mac & Cheese. It’s literally everywhere these days and every chef, blog, magazine, and cooking show wants to put their own spin on it; and that’s exactly what I did. I have to admit, whoever was the true Pumpkin Mac & Cheese originator was pretty brilliant.

Not only did they take one of the most iconic American, home-cooked dishes, throw in some seasonal flare, and make it unique, but they captured the culinary worlds’ attention and caused a massive, gooey, cheesy, pumpkin-y phenomenon. It’s just plain hard to read the words, “Pumpkin Macaroni & Cheese” and not stop in your tracks. The two things have never gone together before yet both sound so damn good together.

With the artisanal, gourmet mac & cheese craze still booming, and the pumpkin beer obsession on the rise, this combination of flavors, texture and spices is nothing shy of genius. I know that I am not alone when I say that when I first saw a recipe for this, I said to myself, “why the f@*# didn’t I think of that”! Okay… I’m jealous, but my stomach is now extremely full and I am completely satisfied.

I went out to buy two medium sized pumpkins because the ones that we used to decorate our front doorstep got smashed. Surprise… welcome to city living.

All I did was slice them into six equal parts, removed the seeds and guts, and roast them at 400 degrees until they were completely tender. I threw the bright orange, steamy flesh into the food processor and pulsed away until I was left with my homemade pumpkin puree.

If you’re too lazy to do this, just grab a few cans from the grocery store, and if you’re really lazy, just ask someone else to open the cans for you. I promise you that the “from scratch” method produces a much tastier and healthier pumpkin flavor.

For my macaroni and cheese, (which wasn’t really macaroni at all) I used an orecchiette pasta which in Italian means “little ears”. Every time I cook with orecchiette I can’t help myself from grabbing one of the baby ears and re-creating my favorite scene from Reservoir Dogs , screaming into the little dried pasta, “Hey… what’s goin on? Can you hear that”?

As the pasta water was coming to a boil, I diced up some applewood-smoked ham to give the macaroni & cheese some extra flavor.

I started to make a roux, which is equal parts butter and flour, whisked together in order to thicken my cheese sauce. I essentially made a pumpkin Mornay sauce which is a classic French Bechemel with the addition of shredded cheese, and of course pumpkin puree.

I specifically chose four different cheeses for flavor, balance, and texture. I used a classic Gruyere because of its impeccable melting quality and nutty flavor. I used a bright orange Vermont Cheddar for its color, and its sharp flavor. I used a smoked Mozzarella for the intense smoky flavor which I thought would work nicely with the pumpkin and the autumn spices, and lastly a creamy, fresh goat cheese for a tart punch.

All of the cheeses were slowly whisked into the Bechemel creating a thick, ultra-rich, cheesy euphoria. I finished the sauce with some minced sage, nutmeg, cinnamon, salt and pepper.

I had a hard time keeping my fingers and utensils out of the sauce and trust me… it didn’t suck.

I poured the sauce all over the top of the al dente pasta and stirred it around with the smoked ham. It got spooned into individual and group-sized ramekins and then covered with homemade breadcrumbs.

I took some old bread, and pulverized it in the food processor with fresh sage and some nutmeg. A little melted butter brought the crumbs together into a golden, aromatic crust for the mac & cheese. Roughly thirty minutes in the oven, and the breadcrumbs were toasty and the cheese sauce was bubbling away.

I served this American classic with arguably one of the most exciting and popular grape varietals of the times; Argentinian Malbec. The 2010 Altos las Hormigas Malbec comes from Mendoza Argentina. In 1995 Alberto Antonini, a well-known Italian winemaker took a trip to visit the major viticultural areas of Argentina. He returned powerfully impressed by the potential of Malbec in the Mendoza region. Later that year he purchased 216 hectares of vineyards and Altos las Hormigas was born.

The project has turned into a huge success and his Malbecs are some of the best in South America. This one is a deep violet, purple color and rich with peppery spices. The wine is full-bodied and marries well with the “pumpkin” spices of the dish and the sweet pumpkin flavor in the pasta.

The bold wine has notes of mocha and coconut in the finish and is actually equally as rich as the cheesy pasta. The crunchy breadcrumbs add a contrast in texture and buttery flavor to the velvety orecchiette. I love how present the actual pumpkin flavor was in the dish and how well the smoky cheese and ham complimented the cinnamon and nutmeg.

As I expected from the very beginning, the person who came up with this idea is brilliant and should be awarded for his or her ingenuity and creativity. Happy Thanksgiving everyone.

I apologize for the long hiatus in between posts. I have been so busy getting ready for my wedding and I feel like we have something going on every night of the week. Most of our dinners now are healthy, simple, and quick…most of the time too quick to even pull out the camera.

I made this “Fat Elvis” sandwich the week after I got back from my bachelor party in Vegas. Let me tell you…this baby can cure a three-day Sin City hangover!

It all started with a fresh loaf of sourdough and some freshly ground peanut butter. I recently started using the “grind yourself” machine at Whole Foods, which transforms a handful of peanuts, hazelnuts, or almonds into the richest butter ever.

I spread a layer of peanut butter on one side of the bread so thick, it would shut up a barking dog for weeks. The next layer was a sliced banana, perfectly ripe and mushy followed by a few girthy, slabs of crispy bacon.

To top everything off, I spread some some raw honey from Honey Gardens, in Vermont on the other side of the bread. I toasted the sandwich in a buttered skillet the way you would for a grilled cheese and watched as the innards warmed, and oozed out of the sides.

If it wasn’t for the tall pint of beer to wash each bite down, this would have been a one-hour sandwich. Every bite was rich and indulgent. The classic peanut butter and banana combo was flirting with the smoky, savory bacon and the honey added just the slightest touch of sweetness.

The Dogfish Head “Namaste” is a Belgian style ale brewed with coriander, orange peel, and lemongrass. It’s quite cloudy and unfiltered but packed with flavor. The added spices and flavors were simply background notes that contributed complexity rather than masking the true flavor of the beer itself.

It was a refreshing pint to help wash down the “Fat Elvis” and great closure to an unbelievable weekend.

It’s been two years since I’ve started blogging, and I’ve sworn that I’ll never turn into “one of them”. My biggest pet peeve in the entire world: a food or wine blogger that uses his or her “blog factor” to gain special attention, free meals & drinks, or more importantly… reviews a restaurant that they have no business reviewing in the first place. They strut in (or probably call ahead), and announce their IP address to the hostess, like she gives a crap. Perked up at the table, they scan the menu for something that they recognize. After silently attempting to pronounce the word, “Valpolicella”, they order a glass of the house Pinot Grigio with a big shit-eating grin on their face and then Tweet about how bad it was. Fresh and creative menus confuse the hell out of them, forcing safe orders such as Grilled Chicken Caesar Salad. Then they have the audacity to shred and nitpick the poor salad apart because the portion size didn’t live up to massive dog bowl they  devoured at the Olive Garden the week before. Most of these food bloggers don’t even eat seafood because it’s too “fishy”. Don’t even get me started on that one. Just because you’ve recently DVR’d an episode of Iron Chef America, doesn’t make you Jeffrey Steingarten and give you the authority to criticize the texture of your Barramundi skin. Order a few dozen, cook a few yourself, then come talk to me. Oh yeah, and put away your damn cameras when you’re at the table. I don’t care whether you’re just trying to look important, or that you really believe that your mom, aunts, and sister-in-law really think that the food looks delicious when amateurly snapped in a dim-lit dining room.

That being said… I was so impressed with my dining experience tonight, that I felt compelled to write about it. Maybe it was to alert other Southie foodies, maybe it was a way to give certain South End and Cambridge eateries a heads up that I won’t be by as frequently, or maybe it was just so that I could get that first paragraph off of my chest. For whatever it’s worth, I’m proud to be a South Boston resident and when friends and family come in from out of town, now I don’t have to take them over the East Berkeley Street bridge for dinner. Local 149 has taken over the late Farragut House on P Street and has promised to change the way Southie eats and drinks. A promise that I’ve heard way too many times before , only to get my heart broken over a plate of crummy, deep-fried, God-knows-what and a warm glass of Woodbridge Chardonnay. Open for merely a week, I urged myself to stay away. Let them work out the kinks, don’t get your hopes up, and it’s too good to be true, I told myself countless times. This past Sunday, the snow melted, the weather was ideal and I was starving; I couldn’t wait any longer. I literally got down on my hands and knees inside of my Telegraph Hill condo and prayed to the food gods not to disappoint me again. We casually walked down East Sixth Street through the heart of South Boston’s old neighborhood in search for this new food joint. As we approached, we noticed the harmony between old homes, with kelly green, formica countertops and thirty-seven porcelain figurines covered in dust in the window sills, and the new homes, with fresh construction and an Audi SUV parked out front. People have said that a place like Local 149 would never last in a neighborhood like this but I have reason to believe otherwise.

We walked in and the place was hopping like a Sunday afternoon at the Beer Garden. Yuppies everywhere! The space was beautiful. A casual yet sophisticated area with a stainless steel bar, copper ceilings, and large black chalkboards everywhere. I noticed the daily specials written on the wall. If you ever saw the word, “littlenecks” written in chalk on the wall of the Playwright it was probably a derogatory rant on the inside of a bathroom stall. Here, it’s just one of the fresh, raw bar items that rotate on and off of the menu. We parked ourselves at the bar and started to look around. The first thing that I noticed was the bartender infront of us, hand-shaving ice for a cocktail, casually sticking a clean, plastic straw into the shaker, licking it, and throwing it away. The look on his face said, “yup…perfectly balanced”. This guy meant business. When was the last time you ordered a cocktail in Southie and the bartender actually cared about how it tasted? It was then that I realized that it was 6:45pm on a Sunday in South Boston, and I was ordering a pint of Pretty Things “St. Botolph’s Town” Brown Ale served in a snifter and sitting next to a couple wearing tweed blazers who are regulars at Cragie on Main. Somewhere in Southie, an iron worker named Brian O’Sullivan just threw up in his mouth. Coming from the wine business, I appreciated the quality, and value of the “by the glass” options. There were also a few eclectic, lesser-known varietals as opposed to the typical dirt cheap options marked up through the roof because it’s the only Merlot on the menu. Here’s a quick tip: If there’s a wine on the list that you don’t recognize… it’s probably there because someone really likes it and wants you to give it a shot. The wine here is great, but it clearly plays second fiddle to the suds. This is a craft beer lovers paradise! I was overwhelmed by all of the options so I left my decision up to the bartender, John who expertly matched my appetizer with a tall pint of Sierra Nevada’s Spring Glissade Golden Bock.

We started with the chalkboard special, the Cajun chicken wings which were lightly battered and served in a copper bowl with a small side of homemade ranch dressing. I was happy to see that the breading was minimal unlike other bar wings, and it even contained a hint of cinnamon which I thought was pretty cool. The outside was crisped to perfection while the meat was juicy and tender. Not your typical, previously frozen, deep-fryer ready chicken drummies that come in a plastic Hefty bag. From there, we moved onto an assortment of local charcuterie and cheeses that were served on a wooden Lazy Susan with house made pickles and other accoutrements. My grandfather is from Parma, Italy and I purposely won’t bring him here to taste the Johnson County Prosciutto in fear that he will be ashamed of his heritage. The fire-engine red deli slicer in the corner tipped me off that the cured meats were going to be served paper thin and the Champlain Organic Triple Creme from Vermont melted in my mouth with just the right amount of funky, buttery tang. While our second round was being poured, we sucked down half a dozen littlenecks that were shucked infront of us.

I loosened my belt and took a deep breath before ordering the Grass Fed Ground Sirloin Burger with Caerphilly Cheddar, Pickled Green Tomatoes, and Cherry Wood Smoked Bacon. I have to admit, I was pretty nervous because I am extremely picky when it comes to burgers and I knew that this could make or break my outlook for the Local 149. The bartender passed my first test by recommending that it be served Medium-Rare to which I responded with “rare please”. You know that a chef takes pride in the quality of his beef when he suggests that his burgers be purple in the middle. My second test was passed when the burger arrived and no one asked me if I wanted any ketchup. Why would you want to smear fake tomatoes all over your burger unless you wanted to mask the flavor of what you’re actually eating. The patty was very gently hand packed, well seasoned, and was tender to the bite. Halfway though, I actually shed a tear. This was far from your typical frozen patty that oozes grey boogers while it steams on the griddle. I held in my fingertips the last bite for a solid two minutes, hoping that it would never end. But it had to. It was time to leave. As we walked home, Siobhan strutted a good ten feet ahead of me because she was sick and tired of hearing me talk about how good the meal was. I think that I speak for all the foodies in South Boston when I say… “It’s about time!”. Watch out Pan Fried Pork Chop with Toasted Spaetzle, Mustard and Local Honey… I’m coming for your ass!

A couple of weeks ago, my friend sent me a fresh copy of the Sriracha Cookbook because of our shared addiction to the fiery condiment.

Sriracha, pronounced see-RAH-chah, is a seaside town in the Chonburi province of Thailand that is known for its tropical beach landscape, exotic tiger zoo, delectable seafood restaurants, and an affinity for hot chili pastes. The most famous is the Nam prik Sriracha which is a glowing red paste consisting of nothing more than piquant peppers, garlic, vinegar, sugar, and salt.

Once they began bottling the Sriracha, it boosted its popularity and spread to other countries such as Vietnam, which was a key step to starting its voyage to becoming an American obsession. In the late 1970′s, a man named David Tran came to America from Vietnam as a refugee seeking asylum from the post-war regime. He boarded a crowded Taiwanese freighter named Huy Fong and started his journey to America, months before arriving in Boston.

With very little money, Tran made his way out to the West Coast, and began making his version of chili paste in Chinatown, Los Angeles. He started a business called Huy Fong Foods and began selling his bottled chili paste to local restaurants and Asian markets in the area. The flashy red squeeze bottle adorned with a giant rooster to represent Tran’s zodiac sign, and a bright green top started to catch consumers’ eyes and by 1987, Tran’s Sriracha sauce had outgrown its Chinatown outpost.

At under $3 for a 17-ounce bottle, the hot sauce was an easy sell to tourists and visitors in L.A, that shortly took it home to show their friends. Surprisingly, the now famous Sriracha”rooster sauce” has never been advertised but has become a household name and a pantry staple, with production now exceeding 14 million bottles a year.

Once you taste it, there’s no wonder why it has such a massive cult following. It wakes up your taste buds without being overbearingly spicy. As the foundation of Thai cuisine has traditionally been focused on the delicate harmony of the four senses: spicy, salty, sour, and sweet; the Sriracha sauce is nothing short of just that. Now that I’m rifling through about a bottle a month for my own consumption, I decided to attempt making my own, homemade Sriracha.

Although I don’t recommend messing with perfection, the homemade version is rather gratifying once all said is done, because you can adjust the seasoning to your own personal preferences. From start to finish, it’s a week long process so don’t expect to rush home from the market and taste your own Sriracha tonight. I started off by slicing the tops off about two dozen Fresno chilies (red jalapenos) and peeling six cloves of garlic. I tossed them all into the food processor along with 2Tbs of garlic powder, 2Tbs of granulated sugar, 1Tbs of salt, and 1Tbs of light brown sugar.

I pulsed the machine until a coarse puree formed and the natural juices and liquids from the peppers were released. I transferred the mixture into a glass jar and left it on the counter at room temperature for one week. During this time, the mixture is sort of pickling and sort of fermenting, allowing all of the flavors to bind together to their maximum potential. After seven days of mouth watering anticipation, dump the mixture into a sauce pot with a 1/2 cup of distilled white vinegar and bring it to a boil. I simmered the mixture for about 5 minutes and then pureed everything in the blender until a smooth texture formed.

Once the sauce cooled, I poured it into a glass jar and sealed it tightly. My mission was finally complete. Homemade Sriracha will last up to six months in the fridge but I guarantee you that you’ll never be able to make a batch large enough for it to ever last that long.

I wanted to create a unique recipe using my homemade Sriracha that wasn’t in the cookbook, so I made a spoof on southern classic, shrimp and grits.

I started by making some rich and creamy polenta that was spiked with fresh, roasted corn. I figured that the sweetness of the corn would help balance the heat from the Sriracha. I roasted four ears in the oven and then sliced the kernals from the cobs before adding them to the food processor with my polenta.

I tossed in some milk and a handful of Parmasean cheese to get the polenta to a creamy consistency that I was looking for.

After peeling, and de-veining the jumbo shrimp, easily the most tedious kitchen task in the history of kitchen tasks, I flash sauteed them in a hot pan that I used to simulate a wok (probably the only kitchen tool that I can think of that isn’t in my kitchen).

In merely seconds, the crustaceans turned from a loose opaque color to a bright, juicy pink. During that transformation, I added a few heaping spoonfuls of my homemade Sriracha to the pan and tossed the shrimp around in the fiery sauce, which immediately clung to the shrimp. I served the shrimp in the center of a big mound of the creamy, roasted corn polenta and I topped them with a fresh salad of thinly sliced, sugar snap peas, sesame seeds, and sesame oil. The cool and refreshing, raw salad was a great contrast in temperature and texture from the polenta and the three components worked together in harmony.

I decided to serve a white wine with the dish as opposed to a red because I find that strong tannins in red wines typically clash with spicy foods. A fruity white is a much better match so I opened a bottle of the 2007 Mer Soleil Silver which is an unoaked Chardonnay from Santa Lucia Highlands, California. Despite the lack of oak, which usually gives a wine body and weight, this Chardonnay was naturally viscus and creamy.

It displayed aromas and flavors of ripe nectarine, tangerine and peach along with a zesty, spice finish. It was a perfect wine to celebrate one of America’s newest, most popular condiments and what sounds like a very interesting town in Thailand.