Thank county fairs.
Actually, we should first thank the complicated history — from semi-formal teas to pre-sliced bread, from World War II to the Baby Boom — that made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches a staple of American life. And then we should give a nod to the food trucks with sputtering grease vats along the midway.
You see, entrepreneurial chefs working the fair circuit fry just about everything, including the salty-sweet PB&J. So when Alex and Tim O’Meara were pondering dessert items for O’Meara Bros. Brewing Company before it opened a few years ago, they turned to the idea of dipping home comfort in a beer batter.
“It was so good — a cross between funnel cakes and peanut butter and jelly” Tim O’Meara said, recalling when they first tested the dish.
No wonder the deep fried PB&J remains the restaurant’s most popular dessert. The malty, beer batter shell shatters, giving way to that welcome embrace of silken peanut butter, its faint traces of salt and sturdy earthiness contending with the charming, nectarous cushion of strawberry jelly. The soft tug of grain from common sliced bread offers a calming backdrop to as chirpy sweetness fences the more stoic element.
But dancing above is that state fair element — the whirl from a dusting of powdered sugar and that rich, bittersweet drizzle of chocolate.
To achieve this, chef Jerry Phillips and his crew use a simple batter of rice flour, O’Meara’s blonde ale and salt, forming the crust for the sandwich.
Rice flour, with the spirited bubbling of the beer, creates a light batter that does not interfere with the warmth and comfort of PB&J. It just adds that flair of late summer, tinny music and carnival rides.
“It seems like the best things are simple,” O’Meara observed. “You get a little of the beer, a little of the county fair taste.”
The ale buffers that malty aspect found both in the outer shell and the bread within. Its natural sweetness carries an earthy note that reins the sugary jelly and lifts the hearty peanut butter. It also offers a little citrus zest, enough to create a bitter trace.
And then there’s the hand of an experienced chef, who runs with the O’Meara brothers’ original notion.
“I don’t know what he’s doing,” O’Meara said with a laugh. “It’s somehow lighter, fluffier.”
So — tater tots to start, peanut butter and jelly to finish. The crunch of foods deep fried to a friendly crispiness. The Lakeport brewpub celebrates comfort, in grown up form.
O’Meara admits that, as a child of six or so, he thought a restaurant with a menu of afternoon snacks would be a winning idea. And for a time, O’Meara Bros. featured a grilled cheese sandwich of the week.
“Nostalgia?” O’Meara pondered. “It’s just one of those fun items.”
And somehow it is comforting to know that, with that order of pan seared salmon and pint of craft beer, you can finish with a reminder of home, August nights and the deep fried spirit of midway at the fair.
