B is for Brooklyn {and beer}

brooklyn, ny

Last night, on north 11th street in Brooklyn, Brooklyn Brewery released the latest in their Brooklyn Brewmasters Reserve Series, Cookie Jar Porter, a smooth malty brew rich with the familiar flavors of oats and raisin. I'm not sure what I enjoyed more, the taste on tap or the actual cookies they were inspired by {from Feed Your Soul Bakery}. Both were DE-licious. The truth is I never met an oat I didn't like. If you're not careful, I'm likely to put oats into parts of your meal you never dreamed possible. But I still believe they they are most at home on the sweet side. Last month I dreamed up an oatmeal bark with a dark chocolate coating, layered it with bananas and an oatmeal-infused cream fool-style and called it Fool of Oats. Get it? Full of Oats? Anyway, the Food Network Magazine, where it appeared in the current issue, called it a parfait. Call it what you like, you can get the recipe here.

Oats aside, my favorite part of the the Brooklyn Brewery is their collectables -- bottles that date back to when Brooklyn brewed the world. Brooklyn was once home to almost 50 breweries, the first of which made its home there in 1822. Sadly, the industry went flat by 1976, when every brewery, including the 11 on a 12-stretch block from Bushwick to Williamsburg called Brewer's Row, had closed. But local brewers like Brooklyn Brewery, Six Point Craft Ales and Kelso of Brooklyn are giving the borough and its beer culture a welcome revival. And with all those grains {oats, wheat, barley}, that's a revival even the most health conscious among us can get behind.

Drizzle & Dazzle

{Handmade Christmas, part xi}

If you've been struck with the post-gift-giving blues, fear not. Gift giving goes on until the stroke of midnight on January 31, giving you a perfect opportunity to bring something dazzling to new year's cocktail parties, like cranberry syrup for mixing up sophisticated kir royales.

the syrup: mix 2 cups water + 2 cups sugar + 1 cup cranberries in a small sauce pan. Bring to a boil. Reduce to a simmer and cook just until sugar dissolves. Turn off the heat, cover and let stand until cool. Cranberries will soften and color the syrup, but hold their shape.

the bottle: From our favorite raw tupelo honey, a Christmas past gift to us.

the ribbon: Thank You ribbon, by Midori, who also make personalized ribbon.

the cork: From the best bottle of red we drank this month.

Incidentally, this syrup is also lovely drizzled over waffles or pancakes, which would make a delicious post-Fête feast as well.

Spot of Tea

{Handmade Christmas, part viii}

Good morning! I like to start the day with tea. You?

Chances are someone you know does too, and they'd be delighted to get a little hand-sewn satchel of mint or lemon verbena leaves from your very own garden or windowsill. I clipped these bunches from mine just before the snow fell and plan to give them fresh for potent tea, but you can dry them out in a single layer on a lined tray overnight.

This satchel is inspired by The French General, one of my favorite stores for stickers, ribbons, aprons and linens, and the team behind my favorite sewing book, Home Sewn. They sell their signature fabrics here, but if you don't sew, or have a sick machine like me, a paper coffee bag will work just as well.

Christmas Merrymaking

u.e.s., new york

On Tuesday of last week, I got this invitation in the mail from The Brothers Clark.

The Brothers Clark, who are these fine gentlemen, I wondered?

From the tone of their invite, I imaged a set something like the Mast Brothers, strikingly stylish and certainly suave entertainers. I set my calendar with the inscribed details: a Recession Reception in their finely appointed Upper East Side Apartment; attire of the black tie variety, "though we highly encourage you to explore your own variation of this theme, pocket watches, monocles, power ties, Park Avenue gold digger get ups and anything that says I couldn't care less about my neighbor's foreclosure."

And then it came to me, these are the devilish brothers, Frankie and Johnny, youngest of a brood of Clarks that began with my friend Katie, and worked its way through the Irish name book {Mary Katherine, Kelly Frances, and so on} until all six were birthed and baptised accordingly.

In past years, the Clarks have gathered in a wing of the Waldorf Astoria with Grandfather Clark {aka, Big Al} presiding over the bar, and opened their doors for friends one and all to join their festivities. After a few holiday cocktails, we would ensemble on foot to one of the city's fine steak houses and animate three or four table with raucous Irish cheer. On one such occasion, I found myself at the infamous Sparks, and as I followed my hosts through a doorway made narrow by rows of Paddys, I heard a priest call out every Clark by name, blessing us each in the sign of the cross as we crossed his path.

The Brothers Clark Recession Reception, in their post-collegiately appointed east midtown apartment, was a different variety of family fun {no 22-ounce steaks, creamed spinach or mashed poetaytoes, as ordered by the family patriarch; no blessings from the family priest} marking our time and age as our own. But as any clever hosts knows, when one is serving merriment with whit and charm, one needn't pomp and circumstance.

Slàinte!