I Hereby Disqualify Myself from the Olympic Pizza Luge Team

A Very Special Mailbag

QUICK HATERADE ANNOUNCEMENT: One of these newsletters (the mouse tape one) was selected for this year’s Best American Food Writing anthology! Please address me as Liz Cook, Best American in the future. The book comes out this fall, and you can pre-order it here. I don’t make any money from sales, so there’s zero pressure from me to buy it, but it’ll probably help you discover other food writers you might like.

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Welcome back to a very special edition of the Haterade Mailbag! It’s my birthday today, so I got you a gift. I don’t want to spoil the surprise, but it’s over 2,000 words and you can’t return it.

Let’s get after it.

David:

I personally love a smash burger but don’t understand why people insist you need to mash them down on the grill. My much easier solution is slamming them down between parchment sheets with a big cast iron pan before griddling. Same style, less mess concern problems and no need for heavy spatulas. My question is, is there some scientific maillardesque reason for smashing them on the grill and not before?

I appreciate your skepticism, David, because “is it worth it?” is a question that we don’t engage with honestly enough. I will not do the Alton Brown Rant again, but I think a lot of food media is pretty bad at weighing the marginal benefits vs. costs for home cooks. It is OK—wonderful, in fact!—if most of your home-cooked meals are simply Good instead of life-changing.

I do think it’s important for people to be able to make informed decisions about where and when to cut corners, though. So I called in an expert witness in the form of Jacob Kruger, the chef behind Cosmo Burger, my favorite smashburger spot in KC.

“Trust me,” Kruger said, “if there was a way to lessen the amount of stress on the arms and wrists of my staff and myself from pressing less on a hot grill, I’m looking for it.”

Kruger confirmed that the griddle smash is primarily important for creating as much surface area for browning as possible. A pre-smashed patty will still have plenty of surface area, of course, but it’s not going to have quite as many contact points with the griddle as something that was custom-fused to it. But Kruger highlighted another drawback I hadn’t considered when it comes to the pursuit of Peak Crust: patty size.

“I’ve found that the burger patties tend to shrink a bit in size without pressing them on the grill,” he told me. “You’ll still lose a little size on the patty when smashing them directly, but based on tests of my own, they shrink less and cook faster when smashed on the grill. Also, it makes it easier to press the patty edges down to create crisp edges on the burger.”

By way of illustration, he submitted this photo, which compares some pre-smashed patties (on the left) with some griddle-smashed ones (on the right):

Left to right: pre-smashed patty, pre-smashed patty with a little extra flattening on the grill, grill-smashed patty x2.

The good news: the pre-smash method yields a perfectly acceptable burger.

The bad news: if you seek Smashburger Transcendence, you should probably smash à la minute.

Michael:

What's something fun I should add to my home bar? I have your usual base liquors — bourbon, scotch, rum, gin, tequila — and I have a yellow chartreuse, elderflower liqueur and blood-orange liqueur that serve me well when I feel fancy. Drop a bottle on me!

I’m going to give you the ~Basic but Correct~ answer first. Based on what you’ve already got on hand, your next bottle should probably be an amaro, and it should probably be Campari. This is admittedly a boring pick, but it’s also a practical one: Campari is widely available, plays well with the bottles you already have, and is seasonally appropriate. As much as I like, say, Amaro Sfumato, every drink I make with it reminds me of being in a snow-capped cabin in the North Woods.

Campari, on the other hand, tastes like striding into the scorching summer sun after freezing your ass off in industrial air conditioning. It has a breezy, syrup-spiked bitterness and a lurid, carnival-glass hue. And it’s surprisingly versatile: you could shake it up with mezcal, lime juice, and your yellow chartreuse for a Naked and Famous; mix it with your rum and some pineapple juice for a Jungle Bird; or cut it with some of your blood-orange liqueur and Prosecco for a pretty saucy spritz.

But because it’s summer—and because I believe drinking is a form of synesthesia—I’m going to go a step further and suggest you use your Campari in an Americano—the cocktail, not the coffee. An Americano is functionally a negroni with club soda instead of gin, which means it’s lighter, crisper, and won’t get you instantly zooted.

My favorite vermouth for an Americano is Punt e Mes, which is raisin-y and a bit bitter, but you can use any sweet vermouth you have on hand. I am going to be difficult, though, and ask that you use a vermouth that hasn’t been sitting on your bar at room temperature for over a year (no judgment; just keep the next bottle in the fridge).

For the full SUMMER ITALIAN APERITIF EXPERIENCE, I recommend sipping your Americano from a big, sweaty glass with a lot of ice cubes rattling around while you watch a Fellini movie. I tried this a couple weeks ago with La Strada, and now I am in love with Giulietta Masina.

If I were on any dating apps, this would be the only thing on my profile.

I also promised you a ~Fun but Incorrect~ answer. That answer is that you should buy Italicus—a clear Italian bergamot-flavored liqueur that’s very sweet and slightly citrus-y. I tried it for the first time a couple of months ago, and now I have The Hunger. Italicus is not a cocktail workhorse. It is a silly little sportscar that will only accept premium fuel. But I love it all the same.

Jay:

In your professional opinion, why aren’t more people buying into pouring amaros over pizza into their mouths?

Because no one wants to eat wet pizza, Jay.

This is the second time Jay, a Local Bar Owner, has tried to goad me into writing about an amaro pizza luge. It’s exactly what you think it is: degenerate service industry shit funneling a shot of amaro down a slice of pizza and into your pelican mouth.

Theoretically, I should be all for it. I like pizza. I like amari. I like experiences that rob me of my dignity.

But it also seems like the culinary equivalent of mixing all of the paint colors together. It ought to make a rainbow; instead, it makes a shitstain.

I took the bait.

I toted a few bottles of amaro over to a friend’s house and my friend Ryan recorded the attempt. Jay suggested a starter pairing—a slice of pepperoni and a shot of Cynar 70—so I tried that first.

It did…not go especially well. I am sharing this video with you as a public service even though I look and sound like a haggard eel.¹ You can skip ahead to the last two seconds for the verdict.

To give the luge a fair shake, I tried another run later in the evening with Amaro Sfumato and a slice of sausage. The results were mostly the same, with one notable difference.² The amaro loosened the little sausage nuggets, like rapids on stone, and sent them careening down the pizza toward my face. When I was done with the luge, I had to eat the pizza, which was now tepid and wet.

♫ When the meat hits your chin like a shit-eating grin, that’s amaro ♬
♫ When it drips down the pie and it lands in your eye, that’s amaro ♬

I give the experience 2/5 stars.

Eric:

What should I (a moderately skilled home chef) cook when Kansas City's forecast is "Venus" for the foreseeable future? I made a ragu earlier this week, and just standing in the kitchen with the burners going made me start sweating.

It’s 98° F in Kansas City while I’m writing this, and I can’t imagine eating a ragu, let alone making one. In the swamp-ass days of the summer, I don’t want to eat anything that will “stick to my ribs.” I want to eat something that will make me forget I have ribs, let alone the hot, sweaty flesh tube surrounding them. I want to eat and exist on the Ethereal Plane. What this means practically is that I crave foods that pack a huge flavor punch without feeling heavy: think dishes with a lot of acid and herbs and spice.

The first dish I would suggest is larb, because it ticks all of those boxes: fish sauce, lime juice, garlic, chilis, a cup of fresh herbs. You only need to turn the stove on long enough to crisp up some ground pork (or beef or mushrooms). Recipes abound, but if you’ve never made it before, Melissa Clark has a good beginner’s guide that emphasizes the dish’s flexibility (though contra Melissa, I would urge you not to forgo the toasted rice powder).

I also like to grill tofu planks (marinated in tuba vinegar) and serve them with a rice noodle salad. Rice noodles are an ideal Summer Starch, because you don’t even have to boil water to prepare them—you can soak the noodles in hot tap water for 20 minutes and then flash fry them in a wok or a saute pan for just a couple of minutes with your veggies and sauce. If you want a more specific suggestion: make yourself some sapie.³

Finally, you can do what I’m doing now that tomato season has begun: eat a lot of tomato and mayonnaise sandwiches. I know there are people out there who hate mayo, but they should not be appeased. In July and August, there is nothing better than a couple slices of soft homemade sandwich bread lacquered with mayo and stacked with thick slices of summer tomatoes dotted with flaky sea salt.

Mary:

Why do lemons mold but limes shrivel? Or is that just me?

In my kitchen, both lemons and limes turn into rock-hard boluses if left to their own devices. But I’m sure you’re not alone, Mary, and I have some thoughts about what could be going on here.

First, lemons have both a higher sugar content and a higher sugar-to-acid ratio than limes. Limes can be as much as 8 percent citric acid by weight, whereas lemons average closer to 5 percent. Both of those factors make Lemon Conditions more favorable for mold (relatively speaking).

I wonder if you’ve noticed a different tendency in the lemons you’ve picked up this summer, though. Summer citrus is more likely to dry out than mold, in part because the fruit harvested in the June–August months has a much thinner cuticle (the outermost layer of the rind) with less of those friendly CUTICULAR WAXES that keep moisture in.

So how do you stop citrus from unmaking itself? A lot of it depends on how you store it. The optimal storage temp for most citrus fruits is an impractical 55° F—quite a bit cooler than room temperature, and quite a bit warmer than your average fridge. If I were rich and fancy enough to own a wine fridge, which is usually set right at 55° F, I would use it to store lemons and limes. But I am not rich and fancy, and so I store them in the Peasant Fridge, where they will still last much longer than on the counter.

Airflow and relative humidity are your other big considerations here. If your limes tend to shrivel and turn-rock hard? Try keeping them in a sealed plastic bag to preserve humidity.

If your lemons tend to mold? Store ‘em in a mesh bag (or no bag) and give the fruits a little turn every day or so to improve airflow.

Kayla:

Did you know there's a beer out there with your same name? There's probably a couple but I stumbled upon this gem a few months ago at this beer shop down the road. Photo attached as evidence.

Ben:

Hello it's not really a question I just thought you should be aware of the existence of this product that you share a name with

In hindsight, I should have picked a more obscure name for this newsletter. Something like “Lemon Conditions,” or “Peasant Fridge.” A few months ago, I found a cannabis strain called “Haterade” at a Seattle dispensary, so it’s safe to say that I won’t be registering a trademark any time soon.

If I’m going to share a brand name with anything, though, I’m glad that it’s beer and weed. The Haterade ethos is basically horseshoe theory applied to taste. Yes, it is important to Know Better and Do Better, but it is also important to be a little shit-eating gremlin who is fun at parties.

Anyway, if any local brewers would like to collaborate on a Haterade of their own, hit me up. Haterade the Beer should taste like Purplesaurus Rex and have the ABV of Steel Reserve. The can design should be modeled after the movie poster for Fitzcarraldo. I am very easy to work with.

Jason:

Have you considered doing some kind of Haterade meet-up to support local or new restaurants? I hate going to stuff, but I would go to that.

No! Is that something anyone else wants? I have been transparent about the dangers of meeting me, but perhaps you perverts would like to meet each other. Let me know if a Haterade Hang is of interest, and I’ll figure something out.

Fleur:

Sometimes I wake up at 3AM and there's this random robin bird singing like there's no tomorrow. Do you think animals suffer from insomnia like we do? Or are they just shy?

I have a similar robin in my neighborhood, and I have made much less charitable assumptions about his behavior. I’ve long suspected that he was tweeting (heh) a sort of bird version of Internet hustle discourse. “RISE AND GRIND, MOTHERFUCKERS. #gettheworm.”

But I found a different answer from Wild Birds Unlimited that I much prefer:

A completely different theory is that “early bird” singing has little to do with the effects of heat, humidity or wind but has everything to do with proving how strong male birds are. The way to impress the females and to scare away your competition, in the bird world, is to be big, strong and vigorous. It is thought that the better you can sing during the most challenging time of the day, the better mate and more challenging competitor you will be.

So to answer your question, Fleur: I think it’s less that animals are like us and more that we’re like them. We’re living through one of the most challenging times of our lives, and we’re still here singing.

Stay Big, Strong, and Vigorous, my dudes.

That’s it for now! This letter is already reaching a “no one will make it this far” word count (if you’re reading this, you win a prize), so I’m going to call it and save a few of your other excellent questions for a follow-up mailbag next week. If you’ve got other Qs that need As, sound off in the comments.

If you like this post, smash that Share button! It helps new people find Haterade and makes me feel special. And if you’d like to support the Haterade Fund to Buy Liz a Lemon Fridge, you can do so here: Venmo | PayPal

1. It is safe to say that Haterade is in no danger of pivoting to video.

2. I had slightly better luck holding the slice upside down, so that the crust was by my mouth and I could better contain the deluge. Granted, this is the opposite of how funnels are supposed to work, but most funnels are not floppy and coated in grease.

3. As the recipe I linked highlights, sapie is really more of a class of dishes than a specific recipe, so don’t be deterred if you don’t live somewhere with a good international market—you can make your own version with the substitutions that you need. If you live in KC and want to make this, sawtooth coriander and laksa leaf/rau răm are both available at Hung Vuong in the River Market (they were not labeled the last time I was in, so be prepared to ask someone for help if you don’t recognize them).