Foodbuzz 24, 24, 24: Out of This Nettle, We Grasp This Dinner

Spring has officially sprung, and I was so tickled to take my first little stroll down to the forested wetlands at the nearby Reed College campus during an early break in the vernal rains. This time of year is my chance to shake the last of the doldrums of the wan winter pallor, to ditch some of the root vegetable stodge and to taste the first bosky flush of the equinox.

I was delighted, then, that my proposal to prepare a nettle-based dinner was sponsored by Foodbuzz. Having spontaneously submitted my idea as a sudden burst of inspiration, I'm thrilled that our friends at Foodbuzz wanted to help me share it with the food blogging community for the March 24, 24, 24 event.

(from left) Me, Carolyn and Greta

Although I am a botanist by training (and the trade pays the bills), I take so much pleasure in my city life when I'm off the clock. I love going out to fancy dinners with Scott, going out for a movie or to see a favorite band. But I especially love putting on some hot pink lipstick, a skirt and heels and hitting the bars with my similarly city-loving girlfriends. My girls like good food, but don't necessarily love the idea of grubbing around in the swamp to pick their ingredients.


Stinging nettles (Urtica dioica) grow in swampy places and riparian corridors along streams throughout North America, Europe, Asia and northern Africa. They resemble a mint, though they're in their own botanical family (the Urticaceae). They're easily identified by their pairs of deltoid (slightly triangular), dentate leaves (opposite-decussate in orientation) with fine spines covering the stems and leaves. In the Pacific Northwest, March is when they first poke their little heads out of the alder and cottonwood duff in search of spring's first warming sun. This time of year, too, is when they are at their most tender and nutritious. Nettles are an excellent source of protein, iron and vitamins C and A.


True to their moniker, they do pack a potent sting, delivered mercilessly by the fine, silicate trichomes which act as tiny syringes. The sting comes from the combination of histamine, serotonin and formic acid (similar to the venom injected by stinging and biting formicine ants). The pain is a sharp, tingling sting, and on my skin, leaves small white bumps with reddish swelling. To avoid this, always wear gloves when picking, use a salad spinner and tongs to wash, then blanch the greens in salted water to neutralize the venom before eating.

Rather than haphazardly add nettles to ordinary foods to bolster their nutritional content, I really wanted to showcase the nettles as a primary flavor in a variety of dishes. I put together a menu that would spotlight the stinging nettle in myriad ways:

nässelsoppa (Scandinavian nettle soup) with dill and chive crème fraîche
mixed greens with Granny Smith apples, crumbled smoked fontina and honey-nettle vinaigrette
lamb steak and pan-roasted baby potatoes with nettle pesto
nettle gratin with Pecorino and nutmeg cream

While I prepped dinner, we enjoyed a light cocktail that I created and named the Caddisfly Nymph (after the little water bug upon which salmon and trout feed, and an indicator of healthy streams): 6 oz of Prosecco with a half ounce of elderflower syrup (sold as Flädersaft at Ikea) and a tiny splash of Peychaud bitters (for pinkness and herbal twang). It's flora and girlishness in a glass.

Nässelsoppa is a traditional Scandinavian nettle soup, though I tweaked it slightly by adding cream to the freshly-made chicken stock for richness and body. I sauteed onions and garlic in cultured butter until softened and translucent, added the nettles and chicken stock and simmered until tender (about 15 minutes). I added a glug of heavy cream and some chopped fresh dill, ran the immersion blender through it until smooth, and then returned it to the stove until warmed through. Salt and pepper to taste, then top with crème fraîche mixed with minced chives.

The salad followed the standard formula: mixed greens + fruit+ cheese (tart Granny Smith apples and crumbled smoked fontina from Willamette Valley Cheese Company). The vinaigrette was a loose pistou of nettles, honey, walnut oil, balsamic and sherry vinegars, minced shallot and Dijon mustard. A crunch of salt and pepper finished the salad.

The main was a grilled lamb leg steak (my favorite cut - less commitment than a whole leg and a cinch to cook) and pan-roasted baby Yukon golds smeared liberally with a thick pesto of nettles, garlic, olive oil, pumpkin seeds and the last nub of Manchego (the nuttiness of which nicely complements the smoky earthiness of the nettles).

The gratin was made by layering the blanched nettles into a buttered casserole, then pouring on some hot cream and milk, a generous scratching of fresh nutmeg and then a thick layer of Pecorino Romano. I covered the crock loosely with aluminum foil for the first 45 minutes then browned, uncovered, for the final 20 or so minutes. Rich, creamy, nutty - it was perfect with the meat and potatoes and will be delicious served over pasta as a leftovers lunch.

I was initially going to make a dessert (not using nettles - this isn't Iron Chef for fuck's sake), but Greta had cardamom molten chocolate cakes with ginger-rum ice cream waiting for us at her place, and who can really argue with that? No one, that's who.

I hope you live near some wet woods or a soft streambank. If you don't, then maybe you'll be inspired to take a drive to the country for a free taste of fecundity and nature's produce section. Don't be afraid to get your feet wet, and you might find yourself a tasty dinner.

Rumple Minze hot chocolate

I got your Holiday Cheer right here. Ghirardelli Double Chocolate cocoa with Rumple Minze peppermint schnapps and marshmallows. Serve with Trader Joe's Dark Chocolate-Covered Peppermint Joe Joe's for dunking. They taste like a cross between Girl Scouts Thin MInts and Oreos, with crushed candy cane on top.


This tastes like the holidays.

Edelweiss Sausage & Delicatessen

My great-grandparents, Elizabeth Heagel Arndt and Johann Arndt, immigrated to Portland from the Norka colony near Saratov, Russia in 1910.

So, I think I've mentioned once or twice that I'm a (fucking) German girl, and while I generally use that as an excuse for my penchant for dairy products and cured meats, thick beer and boorish behavior, I've never really told you my family's story. Here it is in a nutshell.

In the late 18oos, many Germans immigrated to the Americas not from Germany, but from near the city of Saratov, Russia, where they had followed their beloved Catherine II (the Great) in the 1760s. She implored Germans to come to Russia in her Manifesto, which promised resource-rich land, political freedom and religious autonomy to anyone who would come to settle the rugged landscape of Russia. This was opened to all Europeans, but it was primarily Germans who took her up on it. Within a few years, there were 101 German-speaking colonies settled along the Volga River.

These so-called Volga Germans lived happily near the city of Saratov until the 1870s, when the Russian government instituted a series of reforms that were intended to unify the Russian republic. Unfortunately, this came with forced military service, the requirement of Russian-only spoken language and crippling taxes (sound familiar?), which spurred another mass migration, this time mostly to Brazil, Argentina, Canada, and the United States. Many of the Volga Germans that came to the US went to the Mid West, but a large number of families eventually settled in Portland, Oregon. Mine was one of them. If you'd like to read more about the Volga Germans in Portland and elsewhere, the Center for Volga German Studies has a very informative website.

Even though I'm a third-generation American and speak more Russian than German (to the chagrin of my father), I swell with a strange nationalistic pride when I talk about German specialties. When I step into a place like Edelweiss, I feel like I'm among my People.

* * *

Edelweiss is one of those locals-only gems that I'm frankly loathe to even tell you about, let alone glowingly review. I mean, next time you're in Portland you'll be all, "What the fuck, Heather. I want a Reuben with pastrami so tender and moist that it disintegrates the moment it touches my lips. I want brats that snap between my teeth, sending meaty juices and spicy mustard dripping down my chin. I want to wash these down with fragrant German beers that I've never even heard of. Hook a nigga up."

And I'll sigh a weighty sigh and begrudgingly, I will be obliged to take you there, because I couldn't keep my damn mouth shut and now you know about it.

In the back corner of an unassuming little deli located on a residential street behind an AM/PM, there's a treasure. A little lunch counter that serves up bratwurst and sammiches for a few bucks, with your choice of sides. You always order the German potato salad, because you just do. A beer? Why not, how about just a mug (it's a little early for a whole pint, wouldn't want to raise any eyebrows). Then take your ticket and grab a seat.

You can just fetch yourself a beer from the fridge, or have a mug from the tap.

I'm a complete xenophile, so of course I get a major hard-on for shit like foreign beers. I like how the one on the far left looks like it says "Burnonator". Like what Trogdor is to the countryside, the peasants and all the peoples in the thatched-roof cottages.

Paulaner Salvator Doppelbock? In the daytime? Don't mind if I do!

While you wait for a stout, smiling woman in an apron to bring your plate, why not do a little shopping? This is my secret source for European cultured butter (they were out of French this time, so I picked some Dutch butter). I will admit, I totally buy packaged spaetzle. If you could get real German spaetzle, wouldn't you consider it too? The Eurobake breads (best rye ever!) are also available at the Russian market up the street on Foster Rd.

The dairy products and chocolates all feature toe-headed Aryan youths smiling fiendishly toward the Vaterland. I'm a blue-eyed devil and it makes me nervous.

Ohthankgod! She brought the food, just when I was certain I would chew my arm off.

Everyone always orders the brats, but my money's on the Reuben. It's the best I've ever had in this town - house-cured pastrami, tangy thousand island and sauerkraut, and creamy melted Swiss cheese all nestled lovingly on toasted rye. This is the goods, right here. I couldn't finish my sammich, or my German potato salad (served warm, with a creamy bacon vinaigrette and minced chives), but I made a heroic effort. The beer alone was like eating a slice of bread, so who can blame me?

You know what, I've changed my mind. Next time you're in Portland, don't email me or call. And certainly don't expect me to take you to Edelweiss. This secret is staying safe with me.

Cherry galettes with black pepper-Kirschwasser glaze

Is there any better taste of summer than sweet bing cherries? You're giving me that look, aren't you. The "It's not summer yet, Heather, not in your neck of the woods. Fuck you smilin' about?" look.

Okay, sigh, I bought off-season produce from California. Sue me.

How could I resist? We won't have succulent chin-dripper stone fruits in Oregon for at least two months (especially if it never stops raining), and I want them now, dammit! Besides, I know what to do with a sassy little bag of cherries. Oh, do I ever.

I bake some galettes.

Galettes with black pepper-Kirschwasser glaze.

Some of you in the Forty and Fabulous set remember Kirsch as that cherry brandy that you add to fondue to let the cheese melt without clumpy into a greasy wad - this is the same stuff. Kirschwasser ("cherry water" in German) is just a double-distilled brandy made of mashed cherries, that is clear for lack of aging in wood. Portland's own Clear Creek Distillery make one that is really superb.

Since I wanted to maintain the sanguine color of cherries, I knew I'd need to add a bit of acid to the glaze, so I used the juice from my last blood orange (killing two red birds with one stone). I also added a splash of Bokbunjajoo for sweetness (and to add to the color). For the record, Bokbunjajoo tastes exactly like Loganberry Manischewitz and is to be avoided at all costs, even if you are a Korean celebrating Passover. It was a terrible err in judgment whilst wandering the booze aisle at Fubonn, and I hope that you will all learn from my mistake.

You might remember that I am afraid of pastry, and in fact can only brave a galette because they are expected to be fugly (rustic, I mean rustic). Yes, I ventured into some unsteady waters with that first experiment with savory-sweet dessert, and baby, I came out swimming. This time I went a little more aggressive with the pepper since I had the intrepid sweetness of cherry acting as the backbone.


Cherry galettes with black pepper-Kirschwasser glaze
This would probably be great with Rainier cherries or even plums. I'm totally making them with plums in a few months. Makes 4 galettes.

Prepare the pastry dough:
1.5 c AP flour
2 pinches salt
3 tbsp sugar
8 tbsp (one stick) cold butter
~like 5 or 6 tbsp ice water

Whisk together the dry ingredients. In a food processor (or with a pastry cutter) cut the butter into the flour mixture until it resembles coarse meal with pea-sized nubs of butter. Sprinkle in the ice water and stir together (or pulse a couple times) until the dough starts to come together. Turn out onto a lightly floured surface and mush the dough together into a ball. Quarter the dough and wrap each in plastic wrap. Fridge for an hour or freezer for 20-30 minutes until the dough resembles modeling clay in texture.

Prepare the fruit:
2 oz. (an airline bottle) Kirschwasser
2 tbsp blood orange juice (or 1 tsp lemon juice)
2 tbsp Bokbunjajoo (or other cloying red booze - I guess sloe gin would work), or omit
2 tbsp sugar

Simmer down to a syrup (thick enough to be brushed without making pastry soggy).

~6 c bing cherries, pitted and halved (this was like 8 handfuls)
1/2 tsp fresh-ground black pepper
1 tbsp sugar
pinch Chinese 5 spice

Toss fruit together with other ingredients.

Pull the dough out of the chiller and turn out onto a lightly floured surface. Roll out as thin as is praticable - you should get each ball to about 10" in diameter. Arrange the cherries fastidiously all concave-up as pictured (you think I'm just being fussy, but this will be crucial for pooling the juice and glaze). Brush the glaze over the fruit and give each galette another crack of pepper. Fold over the edges of the dough rustically (if you want perfection then you'd be making a tarte and not a galette). Brush the dough with some milk or cream and sprinkle a pinch of sugar over the top.

Bake for 10 minutes, then brush more glaze over the fruit. Another ten minutes, and brush some glaze. Then bake another 5-10 more minutes or until the pastry is golden brown. Brush once more and cool on a rack. Serve warm with black walnut ice cream, thundershowers and Nude.

The extension of a verdant heart

Good lord it is fucking hot out! Way too hot to cook. I ordered pizza, and am tapping my foot impatiently while I wait. I did have energy to make a cocktail, though.

Bärenjager iced tea

2 oz Bärenjager honey liqueur
1 oz whiskey
1 oz. lemon juice
8 oz. iced tea

Combine in a glass of ice.

Here are just a few images of the garden that takes up my time and money these days.

My sweet (and eternally hot, I might add) mother-in-law Linda sent me these pretty Japanese bird bells as a "just cuz" gift. I hung them in the Russian olive tree in my front yard.
Thanks again, Linda - I absolutely love them!

My azalea kicks so much ass this time of year, although it almost got too hot today. This color is so luscious I could just eat it with a scoop of ice cream.

I love this Lewisia cotyledon. It's a native of southern Oregon and flourishes in the oppressive heat of the rock garden.

That rhododendron is completely garish this time of year, but the Anna's hummingbirds love it. This afternoon, after that fat old sun crept across the roof to the other side of the house, I carved out a path of hazelnut shells to the herb garden . The birds are going to have a heyday picking out the little nubs of nutmeat.

Bärenjäger Toddy

Sometime when I'm at the liquor store I like to pick up something I've never had before. This usually ends in tragedy, but sometimes I strike gold. This is one of those times.

Have you ever seen this before? It's a honey liqueur, and it's delicious. It really tastes like cuddly pot of honey that was left out to turn to booze on a summer afternoon. It tastes like clover blossoms and French kisses with blond bees. The bottle has a handy belt strap on the back.

Since winter is almost over (godspeed, vernal equinox!), I figured I'd enjoy one last taste of winter and make a hot toddy. I know, it runs completely contrary to the imagery I put in your head in the preceding paragraph, but cut me a little slack. I love hot toddies. Anything that consists of bourbon, honey and lemon is alright by me.

Bärenjäger Toddy

1 glug Bärenjäger honey liqueur
1 glug good bourbon
1 oz. fresh-squeezed lemon juice, plus a wedge to garnish
2 oz. boiling water

Pour each of these things into your favorite mug. My favorite mug actually has Deery Lou on it, but it's in the dishwasher right now. I'll find out tomorrow if I'll ever drink it again.


In other news, since I have been hit with a couple more memes (seriously, people, stop the insanity), I decided I'm going to double-dip and select the same five victims for both. Judy smacked me with the E is for Excellent award (I was really hoping the E was for Epilepsy, but alas), for whom I am supposed to select five more recipients. And Núria blasted me with the monstrosity of Name a Million Earnest Things About Yourself, This Time With Feeling. Another five victims.

I don't want to play along, but I noticed that when I mock these things or protest, nice people stop reading my blog. The hell am I supposed to do? This isn't LiveJournal, for fuck's sake. Can't you people see that?

So I am making a compromise. I will answer the stupid questions and pick five more people. But this time, I implore you, I beseech you, DO NOT PICK ME FOR ANY MORE MEMES. For the love of god. If you don't listen, I will be forced to think of more synonyms for begging, and who wants that? No one, that's who.

Sigh.


What were you doing 10 years ago?

I was living in a shitty apartment, growing ever less enamored of my then stoner-artist boyfriend (who did not become the Hubz) and in my third year of forestry school. I think that's the year I started eating seafood after 8 or so years of vegetarianism. And looking forward to my thirties.

What were you doing 1 year ago?

Pretty much this, I just wasn't talking about it.

Five snacks you enjoy

Korean ramen with extra sesame oil and cayenne sprinkled on top
Cinnamon Chex with skim milk
Baby garlic dill pickles (or cornichons)
Toast with butter and marmalade
Imitation crab, chunk-style, straight from the package

5 Things you would do if you were a millionaire

1. Open a supper club. You know those places that have family-style communal tables, prix-fixe menu, dinner only (maybe brunch on Sundays). Simpatica (one of my favorite restaurants) is this style, and I love sitting with other patrons chatting about each course. This is the only kind of restaurant I can see myself cooking in.

2. Donate $100,000 to Planned Parenthood and $100,000 to the Nature Conservancy.

3. Live in Japan for a year or twelve. One week is not long enough.

4. Buy a huge old Victorian and remodel it to be completely green. Like Platinum LEED Rating green. I've always wanted to live in a really old house with three or four floors and little creepy stairways hidden in closets. I'd like to go completely solar for my electricity.

5. I'd build a conservatory with a swimming pool inside so I can swim in the same place as I grow citrus trees, vanilla orchids and heirloom tomatoes. And I want a pet heron to do my bidding. He can live in the conservatory when it's too cold outside.

5 bad habits

I rarely floss my teeth, I belch, I cuss, I blow off going to the gym more than I go, and I talk shit about people behind their backs.

5 things you like doing

Drinking, eating, cooking, writing, watching E! True Hollywood Stories

5 things I would never wear again

An army jacket, long johns as outerwear, Birkenstocks, tie-dye, patchouli

5 favorite toys

My Wii, my camera, my propane torch, my chef's knife, my USB turntable



I changed my mind. I don't want to pick any people to pass this on. I have a feeling I won't need to, since the people I would pick will get picked by others anyway. And besides, you can't get to know people by forcing them to answer forced, insipid questions like life is a Sign-In, Sign-Out book from 4th grade.

Pulled Pork Sammies with Kohlrabi Slaw

We had Sus and Shin over for dinner last night. We love those guys, especially since they brought that little squishy stress-toy of theirs (oh, right - they're called babies - my bad). Sage is the cutest little happa you've ever seen. He makes little cooing, gurgling noises and smells like sweet cream butter. I want.

I made pulled pork, my first try. It was exactly how I wanted it to turn out. I love it when I get my way! I also made my newly-invented kohlrabi-arugula slaw (I like to call it Rocket Slaw) to go on top, some Carolina-style barbecue sauce, some German potato salad for a little starch, and a pitcher of Lynchburg lemonade to tipple.

Hey, you might not realize this, but it's kinda awkward to take snaps of dinner when you have guests over. Especially if it's more than one guest, one of whom is an infant. So while I did take quite a few pics, they are mostly blurry because I didn't think it was good hostessing to set the light box up on the dinner table. So fucking sue me.

Also, I found out that you can get reasonably good pulled pork even if you were too busy getting drunk and playing Rock Band the night before to remember to get the dry rub going 8 hours in advance. Win.

Pulled Pork
Serves 4 adults generously, but no babies.

2-3 pounds of pork butt

Dry Rub
1/2 c brown sugar
1 tbsp salt
1 tbsp smoked Spanish paprika
1 tsp cumin
1 tsp mustard powder
1 tsp garlic powder
1 tsp dried thyme
1/2 tsp Chinese five spice
cracked black pepper

Combine these things and rub the mix all over the pork butt. I mean really rub it in good. I cut little slashes all over the meat so I could shove more rub in. Fridge the thing for at least 4 hours (this is all the time I had - overnight would've been preferable). Pull pork out of the fridge an hour before cooking time.

Preheat oven to 250oF. Brown the meat on all sides to get some nice Maillard flavor - the sugar in the rub will burn a little while it caramelizes, but I think this adds a nice depth of flavor. Cover and roast for ~75-90 minutes per pound (my 2.74-lb. butt was done in 4 hours), flipping the meat every hour or so. On the last flip the meat will fall completely apart in your tongs and that's how you know it's ready.

In the meanwhile, you can make some kohlrabi-rocket slaw and sauce to go on the sammies with the meat.

Kohlrabi-Rocket Slaw
Okay, so the photos came out really blurry and unusable. I'll try to get good ones later. Just imagine you're looking at very green cole slaw. Raw kohlrabi tastes like a sweet, mild radish, and it's lovely.

I got a good one after all - uber close-up money-shot. Yes, folks, that's a raisin.

Dressing
3 tbsp mayo (I use low fat)
1/3 c white balsamic vinegar (rice vinegar would work)
a splash of cream
1 tsp. dijon mustard
2 tbsp honey
fat pinch salt
some cracks of pepper

Slaw
4 baby (or one adult) kohlrabi, scrubbed - you only need to peel it if using full-size kohlrabi
half a bunch of arugula, rinsed scrupulously (I think it makes about 1.5 cups when minced up)
1/2 c flatleaf parsley
2 tbsp dried cranberries or golden raisins

In a large bowl, combine the dressing ingredients. Yes, the cream will curdle a bit in the vinegar, but the honey and dijon will emulsify things so don't freak out. You can fiddle with this to taste, but I like a sweet, vinegary slaw, and the kohlrabi and rocket are peppery enough to stand up to it.

Slice the kohlrabi thinly, then chuck it into the food processor and pulse a few times until it's minced up. Dump this into the dressing bowl. Tear up the arugula and parsley and chuck it in the food processor, pulse a bit until it's chopped very fine and dump it into the bowl with the other stuff. Add the cranberries/raisins and stir. If you can let this sit for 15 or 20 minutes to let the flavors meld, it's better.

Carolina-style barbecue sauce

2/3 c apple cider vinegar
2/3 c white balsamic vinegar
1/4 c hot sauce (such as leftover Frank's Red Hot -Mango wing sauce from last weekend)
1 tsp dijon mustard
2 tbsp brown sugar
pinch salt
cracks of pepper

Blend and serve in a little bowl with a spoon for easy access (but no squirt-shirt-stain-disasters).

Assembly
Serve pork on soft buns, top with a spoonful of sauce, then a nice wad of slaw.

If I'd really been on my A-game, I'da made some barbecue beans and sweet potato fries to go with the sammiches, but I was tragically not. Next time. Instead, here's a nice cocktail recipe.

Lynchburg lemonade
Makes "some" cocktails. I don't know how big your glasses are.

5 -6 oz. fine Kentucky bourbon such as Maker's Mark
one liter of lemon Italian soda
one finger of Buddha's hand, sliced up into little finger-coins (or a couple lemon slices)

Stir these together and garnish with Buddha's hand/lemon.

Cin Cin, y'all!

Bela Lugosi's Dead

I hafta use up the rest of the buttermilk in the fridge before it goes bad. Wait, does buttermilk even go bad? It's already got cultures in it, right? That's neither here nor there - I made biscuits. Delicious, fluffy buttermilk biscuits.

I insist that the very best biscuits are baked in a cast-iron skillet all glued together so that each one is soft and fluffy as a little happy butter cloud. That way if you like a little flaky crumb, you can go for the edge, but if you prefer a biscuit unencumbered by crust you can shoot for the center pieces.

Buttermilk Biscuits, the Only Right Way
There are definitely many ways to make biscuits, but if you want impossibly gossamer biscuits such as these, you just can't fuck with the dough too much or you'll build up too much gluten. Makes a dozen biscuits.

2 c AP flour
2 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp baking soda
pinch salt
6 tbsp cold butter, cut into 1/2" cubes
3/4 c buttermilk

Preheat your oven to 450o F. In your handy-dandy food processor, pulse the dry ingredients together to combine. Add the butter and blitz until the mixture resembles coarse bread crumbs. Add the milk all at once and hold your finger on the pulse button for like 4 or 5 seconds until the dough comes together. Stop the instant it does! Turn that bitch out onto a floured surface.

Mush the dough just barely enough to get it into a ball. Don't even bother rolling the dough, just press and flatten gently with your fingers, eye-balling it to roughly the size of the skillet. This is important if you want to not fuck this up. Cut the dough into biscuits by pressing straight down with a scraper or a knife (don't saw back and forth) and lay it into the skillet. Brush the tops with a little melted butter or milk.

Bake for 12-15 minutes (it takes a bit longer when making it a big loaf like this), until the top is golden brown and crusty, or sounds a bit hollow to the tap of a fingernail.


These are nice with jams - I have blueberry, strawberry and apricot. As always, serve with copious amounts of sausages. (I'm a fucking German girl, verstanden?)


You're sitting there, wondering what the hell any of this has to do with Bauhaus, aren't you. So I was fixin' to serve up the brekkie, and I start pouring the bubbly into the glasses. Then I pull out the peach-orange juice numminess and I was telling Scott that this'll be like a Mimosa-lini. Or a Bella-mosa. Or a Bela Lugosa. (I like to come up with catchy names for my cocktails.) And then my handsome genius husband, says "well if you're gonna call it a Bela Lugosa you hafta put some blood orange in it." Oh fuck sake. Blood orange mimosa - why didn't I think of that!

Unfortunately, the sinister color of the blood orange was somewhat diluted by the sparkly, and didn't look as amazing as it sounded like it should've. It tasted nice, though. It's booze for breakfast!

Bela Lugosa
I know his name is Bela Lugosi, but Lugosi doesn't rhyme with mimosa, so there. This is a hybrid between a mimosa and a bellini. Serves 2.

8 oz. Prosecco (Trader Joe's has a $5 Prosecco that is very drinkable)
6 oz. peach-orange juice (Florida's Own makes a nice organic one that's 100% juice)
juice from one blood orange

Combine each of things and pour into a champagne flute or some other elegant, narrow glass. A test tube would be a propos.