To Brew or Not to Brew (24 page)

This is similar to the cake Kurt was trying to perfect, although he would have baked his from scratch.

1 box chocolate cake mix, plus ingredients to prepare (or bake from scratch)

2 20-oz. cans tart pitted cherries

1 cup sugar

¼ cup cornstarch

1½ tsp. vanilla

3 cups whipping cream

⅓ cup confectioner's sugar

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Grease and flour two 9-inch round cake pans.

Prepare cake mix according to directions on box. Pour
batter into prepared pans. Bake according to package directions. Cool in pans on wire racks for 10 minutes, then remove from pans and cool completely. Drain cherries, reserving ½ cup liquid. Combine reserved liquid, cherries, sugar, and cornstarch in saucepan. Cook over low heat, stirring constantly, until thickened. Stir in vanilla. Split each cake layer in two lengthwise (so you have four), then crumble one layer and set aside.

Make frosting: Beat 3 cups cold whipping cream and ⅓ cup confectioner's sugar in a chilled bowl at high speed until stiff peaks form. Set aside 1½ cups for decorating.

Place first layer on a plate. Spread 1 cup frosting over cake. Top with ¾ cup cherry mixture. Repeat with second layer. Top with third layer. Frost sides of cake with remaining frosting, then pat crumbs around sides. Put reserved frosting into a decorating bag with a star tip and pipe around top and bottom edges of cake. Place remaining cherry filling onto top of cake.

Refrigerate until serving time.

This is the appetizer that wowed everyone at the Allegheny Brew House.

JAKE'S FILLING:

1 cup cooked shredded chicken (or 1 can chunk chicken)

⅓ cup Frank's RedHot sauce

1 8-oz. package cream cheese

½ cup ranch dressing

¾ cup shredded cheddar cheese

Heat chicken and hot sauce in saucepan. Stir in cream cheese and ranch dressing and heat until cream cheese is melted and mixture is hot. Mix in cheddar cheese and cook until cheese is melted and mixture is hot and bubbly.

BASIC PIEROGI DOUGH

(Makes 12 to 15)

2 cups flour

1 tsp. salt

1 egg

½ cup sour cream

¼ cup butter, softened

Mix flour and salt. Beat egg, then add to flour mixture. Add sour cream and butter and work until dough loses stickiness. Wrap dough in plastic wrap and refrigerate at least 30 minutes, or overnight.

Boil water in large pot. Roll dough on floured surface to ⅛-inch thick. Using a large glass or a cookie cutter (3- to 4-inch diameter), cut dough into circles. Place 1 Tbsp. filling on each circle. Wet edges of circles, fold, and seal completely using fingers or tines of a fork.

Place pierogies in boiling water. When they float to the top, remove with slotted spoon and drain. (At this point, they can be frozen until later, if desired. Place in boiling water again to defrost.)

Heat 2 Tbsp. canola oil in a nonstick pan. Add pierogies and brown on each side. Drain on paper towels.

Arrange on a plate and serve with ranch dressing for
dipping.

Keep reading for a special preview of Joyce Tremel's next Brewing Trouble Mystery . . .

TANGLED UP IN BREW

Coming soon from Berkley Prime
Crime!

I
looked at the printout in my hand one more time, then checked the number spray painted on the gravel in the formerly empty lot in Pittsburgh's Strip District. “Thirty-eight. This is it,” I said to Jake Lambert, my assistant and chef—and more importantly, my boyfriend.

Jake dropped the poles and tent parts he'd lugged from his truck. “Thank goodness. I was starting to think they skipped us.” He swiped at his forehead with the back of his hand. It was only nine in the morning and already the temperature had hit eighty. Not unusual for a mid-July day, and we'd dressed for the heat. Jake wore khaki shorts and a white tank top, while I opted for my ancient denim cutoffs and teal tank.

It had taken us twenty minutes to find the designated spot where we were to set up our tent for the inaugural Three
Rivers Brews and Burgers Festival. My brewpub, the Allegheny Brew House, was one of the fifty breweries and brew pubs invited to participate in what everyone hoped would be an annual event. There would be prizes for the best beers and for the best burger creation. I was entering three beers in the competition—a chocolate stout, an IPA, and my newly developed citrus ale.

So far, Jake was keeping his burger recipe top secret. Even my friend, Candy Sczypinski, who owned the Cupcakes N'at bakery next door to the brewpub couldn't get it out of him. And Candy had an uncanny knack for learning everyone's secrets. Her information network rivaled the NSA's. Maybe it was the fact she looked like Mrs. Santa Claus—if Mrs. Claus was a devout Steelers fan, that is. In any case, she'd never failed to get the scoop on anything going on in our Lawrenceville neighborhood—until now.

Jake stuck his hands into the front pockets of his shorts. “Do you want me to start setting up?”

Before I answered, a model-thin woman with an auburn ponytail and carrying a clipboard came up to us. She was dressed a little less casually than we were, in white capris and a navy and white cotton blouse. She reached out her hand. “Ginger Alvarado. You must be Maxine O'Hara. We spoke on the phone.”

I shook her outstretched hand. “Call me Max. It's nice to finally meet you in person.” I introduced her to Jake.

“The hockey player, right?” she said.

“Retired.” Jake smiled although I was sure he knew the inevitable question was coming.

“Aren't you a little young for that?”

“It just leaves me more time for my second career.” It
had become his standard answer even though it wasn't the reason he'd had to quit a few years early.

“I'm looking forward to tasting whatever masterpiece you've come up with.” Ginger turned to me. “And tasting your beer. I've heard a lot of good things about your pub.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I'm happy to hear that.”

Ginger slid a paper from her clipboard and passed it to me. “These are some general suggestions on getting your tent up and situated today. You can pull your vehicle up to unload, but move it to the lot next door when you're finished. If you're going to tap your kegs today, I don't recommend leaving them here overnight. We've hired some off-duty Pittsburgh Police officers, but only for the festival itself. Definitely don't leave anything valuable in your tent.” She pointed to an area behind us. “Most of the temporary electric you'll need is set up and by the end of the day we should have all of it in place.”

“Jake, the kitchen is over there.” She pointed to a large white tent at the far end of the lot. “There are twenty-five chefs registered for the contest, so you'll all be sharing the prep space under the tent. There are plenty of both charcoal and propane grills surrounding the tent thanks to some generous donors. The burger tasting will begin at noon, and the field will be whittled down to five finalists by four o'clock. From that five, three will compete next weekend in the final. The beer judging will be ongoing since there are so many brewers, and everyone attending the festival will get a scorecard to mark their favorites so they can vote online in addition to scoring by our three judges.”

Ginger glanced at her clipboard. “Feel free to roam around and meet the other vendors. I know you probably
know some of them, but there are quite a few from out of town. Give them a real Pittsburgh welcome. If you need anything, my cell phone number is at the bottom of the page.”

After she moved on to the next brewer who had arrived, Jake turned to me. “I'm a little nervous about the competition.”

“Maybe if you tell me about your burger, I can help you decide whether or not to back out.”

Jake grinned, showing the dimple I liked so much. “Oh, no you don't. I know what you're trying to do.”

I gave him my most innocent look. “I'm not trying to do anything. I just want to help my most trusted employee make the proper decision.”

“Right.” He laughed and a curl of Irish stout–colored hair slipped onto his forehead and I reached up and pushed it back. Not an easy feat since at six foot three, he was a foot taller than me. He rested his hands on my shoulders. “I thought Nicole was your most trusted employee,” he said.

Nicole was my part-time hostess-waitress-bartender, recently promoted to manager. I was leaving the pub in her capable hands while we were at the festival. “She is. But you're a close second,” I teased. “So. About this burger . . .”

Jake ruffled my hair just like he did when we were kids and took a step back. “I'm not falling for it, O'Hara. You'll have to wait to be awed by my creation like everyone else.”

I finger-combed my short black pixie into place. “Did anyone ever tell you how mean you are?”

“All the time.” He leaned over and picked up one of the metal tent poles. “Any idea how we put this thing together?”

*   *   *

A
n hour later we had the ten-foot-by-ten-foot canopy tent up and Jake's truck unloaded. We had a banquet size folding table that I covered with a white paper tablecloth. We weren't bringing the kegs until tomorrow—the first day of the festival, but I brought several large coolers filled with ice and growlers. There was a good chance the brewers would want to sample each other's products. At least that was what usually happened at these things. I also opened a package of plastic cups and placed them on top of the table.

I stood back to admire my handiwork. Many of the other vendors had arrived by that time, and the previously empty lot looked like a sea of white canopies. The only color was the Pittsburgh skyline and the bright yellow David McCullough bridge (which everyone still called the Sixteenth Street Bridge) in the background. I definitely needed to find something to make my booth stand out, but I wasn't sure what. I had brought a printed list of my beers with me, but that wasn't enough. At the very least, I needed to make a colorful poster board with the list and put it in front of the tent.

Jake had already gone to check out the kitchen, so I decided to make the rounds and talk to the other brewers. I'd waved to a few while we were setting up and I really looked forward to talking shop with them. Since the brewpub opened two months ago, I'd been too busy to do much else. Not that I was complaining. I was thrilled the pub was a hit so far.

The spot beside us was still vacant, so I strolled over to the next one where Dave Shipley was having a tug-of-war
with the tent canopy as he tried to slip it over the metal corner. As I reached him, the opposite side of his tent swayed and I grabbed it and pulled. The tension was just enough for Dave to attach his end.

“Thanks, Max,” he said. “When the directions said pop-up, I didn't think I'd need help putting it up.”

“Are you here by yourself?” I held the pole while he secured it with a stake.

“Yep. I couldn't spare anyone today. The Pirates play tonight.” Dave owned Fourth Base, a popular brewpub on the North Shore between PNC Park and Heinz Field. It was a prime location—he got baseball fans in the summer and football fans in the winter. He brewed pretty good beer, too. He was one of the first brewers I met when I moved back to town and he'd been a big help when I had questions on starting up the brewery and the pub.

“What about tomorrow?” I said.

“Cindy and Tommy will be here.” Cindy was his wife and Tommy his eighteen-year-old son. “Tommy's gonna enter that burger thing.”

“That's great. I didn't know Tommy could cook.”

Dave's grin lit up his bearded face. “The kid's never cooked a thing in his life, but he's spent the last two weeks trying out different hamburgers on us. They're not bad, either. Except for the one he stuffed with hot jalapenos and pepper jack cheese, then topped with hot sauce. My mouth didn't cool off for days.”

I laughed. “I can imagine.”

He snapped open the legs on a folding table. “So, what's Jake come up with for the competition?”

“I wish I knew. He's keeping it top secret.”

“Must be something pretty good, then.”

We talked for a few more minutes until a white cargo van pulled up to the empty space between our tents. I fought the urge to groan aloud when the driver got out of the vehicle. Dave mumbled an expletive.

Dwayne Tunstall was the last person I'd expected to see here. On second thought, maybe I wasn't all that surprised. Dwayne had a habit of turning up where no one wanted him, which was pretty much everywhere he went. The man was a leech. He was well-known in the brewing community, and not in a good way.

Dwayne walked over to where we stood. “Well, if it isn't my two favorite brewers.”

“I wish I could say the same,” Dave said, ignoring the hand Dwayne had extended.

Twelve years of Catholic school had taught me if I couldn't say something nice to not say anything at all, so I stayed silent.

“I must say, I'm surprised to see you here, Maxine,” Dwayne said.

I gritted my teeth at his use of my given name. “It's Max. Only my grandmother called me Maxine.” And the nuns, but I left that out. “Why are you surprised? Where else would I be?”

Dwayne ran a hand through his sandy-colored mullet. Between the hairstyle, and the jeans and muscle shirt he wore, he looked like a wannabe Billy Ray Cyrus. I wondered where he found a barber who was stuck in the eighties. It was someone to be avoided at all costs.

“I figured you'd be keeping an eye on your pub,” Dwayne said. “Not to mention that you're new to this whole brewing
gig. Not like me. And Dave here. You don't have a snowball's chance of winning anything.”

“Max has a better shot than you do,” Dave said.

Dwayne laughed. “I'm going to be the one taking home that Golden Stein.”

“Who'd you steal the recipe from this time?” Dave snapped the legs open on his banquet table. “I know it wasn't mine. I learned my lesson the hard way.”

“I never stole anything. It was a coincidence.”

Dave straightened and put his hands on his hips. “You're a real piece of work. You expect me to believe you just happened to come up with the same beer right after you helped me brew a batch.” He shook his head and turned away.

Dwayne looked at me. “I suppose you'll take his side.”

I didn't say anything. I didn't have to.

“Fine. You just wait and see who wins the competition. Everyone will come flocking to my place. I guarantee it.” He strode to the back of his van, yanked open the door, and started unloading.

I wasn't about to let Dwayne or anyone else ruin my weekend. Hopefully I'd be so busy serving up samples I wouldn't even know he was here. I told Dave I'd see him later and moved on to visit some of the other brewers.

*   *   *

A
n hour later, Jake and I were sitting on folding chairs back in our booth and wondering what to do with ourselves. Occasionally another vendor stopped and one of us poured a sample, but otherwise we had nothing to do. There was no sense in both of us being bored, so I suggested to
Jake that he return to the pub and come back later in the day. He wouldn't hear of it.

Dwayne Tunstall had tried to engage me in conversation several times, asking questions about my brews. I'd tried my best to ignore him without success. I ended up answering his questions curtly without telling him much of anything.

Jake watched the exchange in silence, then finally said, “Maybe he wants to try a sample.”

“No, he doesn't,” I said.

Dwayne raised his hands in the air. “I know when I'm not wanted.” He spun on his heel, then turned back. “You're wrong about me, you know.”

I didn't say anything and he walked away.

“What was that all about?” Jake said. “Other than the guy's a little weird. He seemed harmless.”

“It's a long story.”

Jake reached into a cooler and lifted out two bottles of water. “It's not like I have anything else to do. It could even keep me from dying from boredom.”

I opened the bottle he passed to me and took a swig. “Hey, you had your chance to leave. You're stuck here now.”