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At Beer and Iron, we’re here to rescue comfort food from the ordinary – armed with a trusty cast iron pot, a bottle of beer, and a whole lot of rustic charm. We blend bold flavors, real-life stories, and a dash of kitchen mischief to serve up meals that are as fun to make as they are to eat. We’ll bring honest cooking, hearty laughs, and recipes that’ll have you saying, “I can totally make that!” Whether you’re cooking over a campfire or your kitchen stove, we’re all about turning everyday meals into legendary bites, with a little help from our favorite brew and the timeless magic of cast iron.
This is the spirit of Beer and Iron (pun intended).
Adding beer to a recipe brings a host of culinary perks – it boosts flavor, improves texture, and adds an inviting aroma, all thanks to beer’s unique blend of alcohol, water, sugars, acids, and those signature bitter notes. Honestly, it’s the secret ingredient that’ll have your meal brewing with deliciousness!
Beer and Iron moves past the traditional Irish Beef and Guinness Stew. We’ll transform all kinds of dishes with beer as an ingredient to bring out those bold flavors, tender textures, and just add a little palate pleasing magic to each bite. Whether it’s a splash of a smooth porter in your stew, a dash of bock in your bread, or a generous pour of marzen in your marinade, beer’s unique mix of ingredients works wonders beyond what you’d expect. So, get ready to see your favorite comfort foods take on new life, all thanks to a humble bottle of brew and the magic of your trusty cast iron pot.
Episode #5 - Beer-Brined Chicken and Chorizo No-Rice Paella
00:00:00 Sulae: Welcome to Beer and Iron, where we talk about real cast iron cooking and share recipes with beer as an ingredient. Grab a beer, set that cast iron on the heat, and prepare to flip your expectations. We're serving up tales and recipes that are well seasoned and never half baked. This is where the good stories live. I'm Sulae, Tale Spinner and Sizzle Sage, here to share a story and cook a meal that'll make your skillet blush. Who would have thought fate would be leaning against my neighbor's garbage can? Rusted, gunky, and feral enough to qualify for its own true crime podcast! This thing wasn't just dirty, it was coated in what I can only describe as carbonized sins. Massive, rugged, unbothered, and most importantly, Destiny. It's a regular weekday morning and I'm shuffling outside in my bare feet and Temu flip flops, coffee cooling in one hand, dragging the trash bins to the curb while trying to avoid another HOA letter about approved receptacle storage protocols. I mean, who writes those things? I just want to get the trash out and get back inside before a Bertha Binwatcher logs another infraction in her HOA diary. Leaning against the bin like a drunken heavyweight was a seventeen inch cast iron skillet so grimy it looked prehistoric. Chunks of ancient grease clung to it like guilty secrets; rusted like a nineteen seventy Volkswagen Beetle left in a barn full of character, full of neglect, and absolutely begging for a comeback story. The emotion hit me like a hangover I didn't earn. Envy, greed, and maybe straight up lust. Definitely gluttony. Whatever deadly sin I was committing... and I was battling four for seven. The one thing was clear I needed both prayer and that skillet in my life. Coffee in hand, I did a quick burglar sweep of the cul de sac. Nobody. Not a soul to witness my impending moral compromise. "No way that's real cast iron." I lied to myself, sipping what now is officially iced coffee. People don't throw away cast iron. They pass cast iron down in their wills. I nudged it with my flip flop clad toe and whispered, "Are... Are, you cast iron?" The sound echoed through my bones like a church bell, announcing a very specific calling. It wobbled on one side of its dual handles, almost nodding. "Yes." I took another distracted sip of coffee and then tossed the rest into the lawn like a man abandoning his old life. "It is! It is cast iron!" My brain immediately launched into the defense attorney mode, crafting excuses for the petty theft I was already committed to. "Obviously trash. Look at it. Who'd want this filthy disaster?" A curl of a smile tugged at my lips as I bent down to grab the free handle. The smile slipped off my face when the mental mismatch landed... ME! The "who." I wanted this filthy disaster. Whatever this pan was, it didn't matter. It had crash landed at my flip flop and brightened a morning otherwise doomed to trash duty, followed by eight hours of Outlook calendar "Tetris." I let my wholesome Jiminy Cricket argue with the Pinocchio side of my personality while I ignored them both, hoisted the beast by one handle. and began the lopsided shuffle back up the driveway, leaning hard to the right like a drunken pirate counterbalancing thirty pounds of rusted guilt. Look. The Blue Fairy came! No, it's not yours. It's nobody's. It's curbside treasure. It was near the trash, not in the trash. Close enough. Just buy a new one. But this one's free. Nothing's free, kid. This one's special. I'll clean the naughty bits, and then it'll have a story to tell. By the time I clanked into the garage and set it down with a relieved grunt. The debate seemed to have gone quiet. Just when I started getting excited about what I'd found. What's a conscience? What's a conscience? I'll tell ya! A conscience is that still small voice people won't listen to. But look. The Blue Fairy came. See? And it's... it's... it's real! It's real cast iron! And one day, I'm gonna be a real boy. A fine conscience I turned out to be. I hit the garage door button and watched it rumble shut behind me. Like I was hiding evidence. In the dimming light. I flipped the beast over and over, squinting for any clue about its maker. Nothing. Not a logo, not a gate mark. Not even a faint whisper of a foundry stamp. I still had no idea what this pan was, but I knew exactly where to turn. Now, any normal person would hop online, fall into a three hour YouTube rabbit hole, and let some aggressively bearded man named "SkilletShaman87" explain the mysteries of cast iron. But I've seen those Facebook groups. It's a lawless wasteland of snark and judgment where people argue about seasoning oil like it's constitutional law. Mention soap and three moderators will faint. So instead, I turned to something far more reliable: Beer and Iron's Highly Questionable, Spiritually Chaotic, Absolutely Unendorsed Field Guide: 10 Ways to Identify Cast Iron Found in the Wild.
00:05:41 Sulae: Test #1 The Smell Test. Start with a deep inhale like a hungover bloodhound searching for last night's mistakes. No licking. Were not that feral yet. Cast iron doesn't lie. If it smells like bacon, ghosts and campfire trauma that mix of pork fat and charred oak, you're holding pure American vintage. If it smells like mothballs and despair, something like attic chemicals and a metal rust undertone like wet pennies after a NAFTA rain, it's probably a cheap import. If it smells like Teen Spirit and begs for a lye bath and three coats of Crisco, that's just a neglected pan asking for redemption.
00:06:23 Sulae: Test #2 - The Knuckle Wrap. Ball up your fist and give the cooking surface a solid rap like you're knock, knock, knockin on heaven's door for cast iron enlightenment. Whatever the sound it makes, it's the pan's acoustic confession. If it rings like church bells on a crisp Sunday morning... bright, clean, and harmonic, you've struck Wagner gold! Reliable. Musical. And the sweet spot between Griswold's perfection and Lodge's grunt. If it sounds like your uncle's Thanksgiving opinions a deep, stubborn thud that lands heavy and lingers that there is a modern Lodge, a blue collar pan that absorbs heat in the same way your uncle absorbs grudges. If it sings like an angelic choir, a high, clean, crystalline sound... That's Griswold royalty! Handle it with reverence. If it warbles, cracks, or sounds like a dying smoke alarm, that structural damage set it down gently before you inherit the... "You break it - You bought it" policy. Trust the knuckle wrap. Church bells equals buy now. Thud equals haggle hard. Angelic choir that equals mortgage the house! And nothing says quintessential collector like knuckle rapping a stack of pans while humming Black Hole Sun.
00:07:55 Sulae: Test #3 - The Professional Therapy Session. Bring it to your therapist and let them project onto the pan like it's part of your family tree. If they say, "This represents generational trauma." Well then, it's Lodge; every man's workhorse. It's rough textured, affordable, dependable, and carrying the weight of mass produced expectations like a middle child who never got enough praise. If they say, "This represents generational wealth." Then it's Griswold. It's polished and smooth with heirloom energy, the kind of pan passed down like old money and a monogrammed apron. If they say, "This represents avoidance." Then it's a Wagner. It's quiet, but an excellent vintage piece, forever overshadowed by flashier rivals. People dodge committing to it because it's not quite Griswold, which is exactly why it deserves therapy too.
00:08:50 Sulae: Test #4 - The Rock Concert Energy Check. Crank up some music while you cook and see what kind of energy your pan brings to the show. Every skillet has a genre. If it vibes hardest to classic rock and rolls with every riff, you've got vintage American iron. It's seasoned, soulful, and built for guitar solos. If it head bangs to heavy metal and handles screaming hot temperatures that there is modern Lodge! A mosh pit survivor tough, loud, and impossible to kill. If it prefers smooth jazz and flinches with sudden temperature changes. That's enameled Le Creuset. It's elegant, high maintenance, and absolutely not invited to this concert unless it brought Bière de Garde. If it sits there quietly judging your playlist, it's probably a brand new clearance rack IKEA piece. Silently wondering why you just didn't buy stainless steel instead.
00:09:56 Sulae: Test #5 - The Conspiracy theorist Consultation. Show the pan to your sister's husband, the one with the tinfoil hat and the strong opinions about cookware surveillance. If he says, they don't make 'em like this anymore because of the globalists!" You're probably holding vintage Griswold or Wagner. Old school quality he's convinced was outlawed. If he says, "This one's been tracking my sear patterns. Look at that factory pebbling!" That is modern Lodge. Rugged, reliable, and apparently part of data collection schemes. If he really goes off on the deep end and claims, "The rust, it's actually protective nanobots." It's just old and needs a good scrubbing. No government agency is involved despite his PowerPoint.
00:10:42 Sulae: Test #6 - The Psychic Medium Reading. Take it to a spiritual advisor and let them commune with whatever's clinging to that skillet. If they channel grandma and she hollers, Tell them to stop using soap. Damn it!" You're holding a well-seasoned heirloom with opinions stronger than its polymerized layers. If the ghost flat out refused to haunt it, just a hard spectral. "NOPE!" It's likely because there's not a single ancestral seer mark in sight. The pan is so new it still smells like the foundry's hopes and dreams. Spirits. Take one, look at it and go, "Hard pass. I'm not possessing anything that hasn't suffered yet!" If you hear a faint whisper of "Erie, Pennsylvania," drifting up from the handle like a Victorian seance, congratulations! You've got Griswold royalty reaching across the veil. Somewhere, a 1920's housewife rattles her chains and says, "Listen here, sugar. Never you mind those newfangled sprays and gimmicks. You heat that pan, thin as a flapper's eyebrow and black as midnight gin, wipe a whisper of lard, heat her till she shines like prohibition moonlight. And then wipe again until she's as dry as a speakeasy after a raid." That that there is pure cast iron aristocracy reaching across the veil! To remind you that real seasoning includes a dash of ancestral pride. If the medium just smells bacon and gets hungry, well, then that pan is just universally loved. No drama, no ghost. Just breakfast.
00:12:23 Sulae: Test #7 - The Barfight Potential. Imagine using it in self-defense. Purely hypothetical, like a tavern brawl and a fantasy novel. If it's light enough to wield with one hand while texting and feels like a lightweight poser, you're probably holding vintage Wagner. If you'd actually feel bad about denting someone's noggin with it because it's just too beautiful, then you may have polished Griswold, and that's just too classy for violence. If you think, "yeah, this could take a beating and keep on cooking!" Well, that's Lodge, the blue collar brawler of the cast iron world. Now, if it feels like you're swinging Thor's hammer, it's likely a heavyweight champion from Asia, forged for heroic quests rather than delicate wrists.
00:13:11 Sulae: Test #8 - The First Date Confessional. Your three drinks in, conversations flowing, and you decide to drop the bomb. "By the way, I collect vintage cast iron." If they say, "Oh, like Griswold. Eerie number eight. Spider-in-web logo, dead center, smooth glass like bottom, full heat ring, not a pit or warp in sight!" Immediate green flag. This isn't just knowledge, it's foreplay with foundry marks. Propose on the spot. This person is probably a subreddit lurker, flea market ninja, or heirloom hoarder! Definitely soulmate material. Your future kids will fight over the number eight large block. Marry them before someone else snags this rare find. If their response is, "You know, I think my ex has a Lodge skillet." Maybe yellow flag. Nod politely and smile through the mild disappointment. They're in the ballpark. Lodge is the reliable Toyota Camry of cast iron. It'll get you there and won't complain about being left on the burner too long. While you argue about whose turn it is to do the dishes. Likely a casual user; probably seasons with Crisco and calls it good. Potential for growth. Date number two idea introduce them to electrolysis cleaning and watch for the spark. Who knows, one day they may help fund your future vintage cast iron habit. Now if their response is, "Wait! What? What is cast iron?" Definite red flag!! Abort mission! Fake a phone call from your sick cat. Pay the tab and Buckeye - Bullet out of there like you just heard, "Dishwasher safe!!" This is non-stick Teflon territory. Probably thinks seasoning only means salt and pepper. Incompatible lifestyles. You'll be stripping rust at 2:00am while they're microwaving sad meals. Run before they suggest dishwasher cycles or soap. True love starts with shared patina appreciation.
00:15:10 Sulae: Test #9 - The Political Rally Pan Toss. Strap on your MAGA chef's hat or Bernie kitchen mittens. Dealer's choice. And hoist that mystery skillet high above the crowd like you're leading a chant, and watch the reactions roll in. If it's admired as working class heritage by good ol' boys and trucker hats, or if a fella in Carhartts nods approvingly and yells, "That there is real American iron!" You've got Wagner Wear - the blue collar contender. Solid quality without the hype. The Ron Paul of vintage cast iron. Plenty of loyal fans, but forever in the shadow of flashier names. If it receives rhetoric from the Antiestablishment crowd and gets dismissed as elitist cookware. "Look at that fancy machined smooth bottom! Probably cost more than their Tesla. Just another coastal liberal pan for avocado toast warriors." You may have classic Griswold. If a rowdy supporter grabs it, flips it over, and tries to use it as a megaphone by yelling through the bowl for amplification. "Let's go Brandon! Let's go! Brandon!!" Or, "Tax the rich!! The rich! Tax the rich!" You've almost certainly found modern Lodge, a rough, pebbly textured pan made in America; an affordable everyman pan that just wants to get loud and feed the masses. Pro tip here: don't attend opposing rallies with the same pan seasoning transfers drama faster than cable news! Cook unity cornbread afterward, smooth release for the elites, crispy edges for the heartland... and maybe fry some bacon in it. Yeah, some bacon. The great equalizer. Nothing unites the classes or loosens dichotomies like crispy pork fat.
00:17:01 Sulae: Test #10 - The Social Media Clapback - Snap a well-lit photo. "Caption it innocently like, "just restored this beauty! Thoughts?" and post it. If you get 200 comments arguing about seasoning oil, using all caps, shouting "CRISCO OR GO HOME!" Or, "Anyone using avocado oil is why we can't have nice things!" You may have found Griswold. Collectors will descend upon it like vultures, offering to buy it sight unseen. If you get 200 comments arguing about politics that start innocently with, "Nice Lodge," followed by a few post drops such as, "Still made in USA, unlike that imported junk!" Buckle up for a full blown red versus blue meltdown with flags, eagles, and at least one relative getting blocked. You found classic modern Lodge, dependable American made, and somehow always at the center of a culture war. If you get zero comments or even a single thumbs up, except maybe the pity like from your mom and your post vanishes into the algorithm void faster than a cat video with bad lighting. That's Walmart Ozark Trail, the pan equivalent of shouting into a canyon and hearing only your own echo. Pro tip never post without emotional armor. Cast iron folks are more opinionated than every other food tribe combined. But hey. Engagement is engagement, right?
00:18:29 Sulae: So after all those surefire ways to identify cast iron found in the wild, the thunk, the political rallies, the Victorian seance and the desperate squint for a ghost of a logo. My big identification reveal was nothing, not even a faint gate mark of hope. I still had zero clue what this beast was. Probably not a Griswold or a Wagner, but hey, I'm workshopping a tall tale about some off brand foundry in 1897 no one's ever heard of. Or if I'm feeling extra spicy, maybe it was forged by moonlighting Scandinavians who took a wrong turn at Greenland, their longship listed dangerously under the weight of this monster skillet, veered too far south, and somehow the pan washed up in an Idaho suburb a thousand years later. I didn't know its age, its value, or whether curbside cookware qualifies for legal adoption. But the origin story that was mine to invent and one thing rang clearer than that glorious roadside thunk. This skillet had chosen me. It wasn't trash. It was destiny. It was a quest! And quests don't start with cereal, they start with paella. What better way to christen a seventeen inch monster built with two sturdy handles, like it was meant to feed an army than with a paella! Problem. My wife and I have just started a diet. You know the kind. The one where your belt breathes a sigh of relief when you lose a few pounds and you don't have to lean over so far to see your toes. So being the home's culinary hero who serves the meals and usually suffers afterward, I took my beloved traditional paella recipe and gave it a glow up. Lighter. Low carb. Zero guilt. Behold! The Beer Brined Chicken and Chorizo No Rice and No Seafood Paella. Yeah, there's a lot of "no's" in the name, but trust me, by the time you plate this colorful, smoky, cheesy masterpiece, you'll be saying with a very enthusiastic "YES!" to guilt free seconds. Real Valencians may send me hate mail. "Ei! Quins yankis més babaus No sabeu qué es una paella. You don't know what a paella is!" But then again, I'm a guy from Louisiana who has a gumbo recipe that uses tomatoes. "Say it ain't so!" Don't matter none. One bite of this paella like meal, and your taste buds will swear you're in Spain. I'm going to just come out and tell y'all there's no rice here. Yep. We're going full rebel with cauliflower rice, beer brined chicken, spicy chorizo, and enough vegetables to make your doctor nod approvingly while your mouth is too busy being happy to care. A full printable recipe is over on beerandiron.com, so don't worry about writing this down while your hands are covered in chorizo grease or while you're white knuckling it down any number of American interstates at rush hour. Just listen, laugh, and I'll do the cooking for now.
00:21:29 Sulae: Step #1 of 8 - Brine the Chicken - Beer brined chicken is ideal, but optional. Make a quick beer brine, toss the chicken in, and let it sit for at least an hour. I have a method and recipe on beerandiron.com for brining and tenderizing chicken breasts. Two chicken breasts fit well, three will fit if you're feeling generous and they're not too big. By the time your chicken's nicely buzzed, your ingredients will be fully chopped, drained, and measured, and you'll be ready to roll. Chicken thighs are fine if you're skipping the brine.
00:22:02 Sulae: Step #2 of 8 - Prepare the Ingredients - While the chicken brines, get everything mise en place. So when the heat hits the pan, it's showtime and not scramble time. Prepare the ingredients while your chicken is in the brine. Slice a pound of chorizo into rounds. Chop two to three bell peppers. Chop an onion. Mince four to eight cloves of garlic. Chop and drain two or three tomatoes or a can or two of drained fire roasted tomatoes. Chop one to three leeks. We'll talk more about this in a bit. Set out two twenty ounce bags of cauliflower rice, and one ten ounce bag of frozen peas. Chop a fourth or a half cup of parsley. Dried works, too, if that's all you got. And when the chicken is finished brining, cut the chicken into bite size pieces. Saffron. It's expensive and dramatic for a reason. It's ancient and crimson threads that bleed slow, honeyed gold into the pan. A few strands do the work of a dozen spices. Aroma, color and that quiet, unmistakable lift. Use it sparingly. It's the seasoning that reads like a story. If you're seeking a more humble variant that still brings charm, message me and I'll guide you. Basically, if you need a more affordable choice for saffron, let me know. If you've got a mortar and pestle and you're feeling fancy, rough grind a half to a teaspoon of saffron and a teaspoon of pepper. Adjust both to taste and then add a teaspoon of salt, also to taste. If you don't have a mortar and pestle, just use ground black pepper and crush the saffron with your fingers. We'll just call it rustic.
00:23:41 Sulae: Step #3 of 8 - Preheat and Prep the Skillet - Preheat your oven to 350°F or 175°C. Yep, we're putting the paella in the oven, but we're not abandoning tradition. We're casting it in iron. We are starting on the stove top and we're going to finish in the oven. Now grab your biggest cast iron skillet and let's get ready. I'm rocking my seventeen inches of curbside destiny here. You got a fifteen incher? Still heroic. You got a twelve inch? Adorable. You'll be making a romantic paella for two. Light a candle, put on some smooth jazz. And cut back on the ingredients a bit. Unless you want peas cascading onto the floor and rolling under the stove like they're staging a jailbreak. Place the skillet over medium heat and before it gets hot, add your cauliflower rice. Both bags. Cold cauliflower rice in a cool cast iron skillet. Let them become friends and warm up together. It'll take a little time, but the sizzling will start sooner or later. A quick note about using a fifteen, seventeen, or even a twenty inch cast iron skillet on a standard stovetop. Expect hot areas and cooler areas regardless if it's cast iron. I use this to my advantage. Sear and sauté ingredients on the hot side, and then push those ingredients to the cooler half to stay warm, instead of removing those ingredients from the pan between cooking ingredients. For this recipe, I keep roughly half the skillet over the burner, and I let the other half hang off the heat as a warming area. Once everything is seared and sautéed, I center the pan and fold everything together into one glorious creation before placing the whole meal in the oven.
00:25:22 Sulae: Step #4 of 8 - Brown the Chicken in the Chorizo. While your cauliflower rice is heating up, cut the beer brined chicken into bite size pieces and slice the chorizo into rounds. You can dust the chicken with a little flour if you want, or just leave it as it is. Once the cauliflower rice is hot and on its way to being cooked, either push it to the far end of the skillet and cook the chicken over the direct heat, or scoop it into a nearby container to stay warm until we call its name again. Add just enough oil or butter to coat the bottom. We're not deep frying, we're just giving things a non-stick hug. Add the chicken and the chorizo to the pan and brown them. You want a light crust on the chicken and a nice toasted edge on the chorizo. Cook the chicken almost through, but not quite. It's going back in the oven later. Overcook it now and you'll make jerky. Work in batches if you need to.
00:26:16 Sulae: A poc a poc, filla meua. Slowly, slowly, my child. Patience. Once the chicken is golden and the chorizo is sizzling and proud, remove them and set them aside.
00:26:27 Sulae: Step #5 of 8 - Peppers, Leeks, and Aromatics. While the chicken is resting and looking proud, toss in your chopped onions and minced garlic. Sauté until the onions go translucent, not invisible, just honest. You know the vibe. Then push the sautéed onions and garlic to one side of the skillet, the side hanging off the direct heat. Your big skillet has some real estate. Use it. This is where we keep building our sofrito, the flavor base that makes the whole paella scene. No ho on the sofrito. Sorry. Inside joke. Slice the leek stems, the lower white leaf base into rounds, and then cut those rounds in half like little half moons. The leeks will unravel and form noodle like strands. The shorter they are, the more manageable they are. And yes, I do use the tougher dark green leek tops too, though this part is optional. Slice the greens into short, noodle like ribbons, and then cut those ribbons again into smaller pieces. If you leave the leek pieces too long, they'll dangle off your fork and give you a hot green slap to the chin while you try to eat your meal. Ask me how I know. Oh, just remember the upper greens are tougher and more fibrous. They're usually used in soups, stocks, and braises where they get a long simmer. I still use them here, but just be aware of the texture risk. Leeks come in all sizes, so the recipe calls for one to three leeks, chopped. Add as much as you dare, but keep in mind you still have chorizo, chicken, peas, and a whole bag of opinions to fit inside this pan. Somewhere during the sautéing of the leeks, add the chopped bell peppers. Any color will work. Make it rainbow. Make it stoplight. Make it festive. Sauté until the leeks. Darker greens go dark and sulky. And the peppers get friendly. That's your cue to move on to the next step.
00:28:26 Sulae: Step #6 of 8 - The Big Reunion. Return the sliced chorizo, the brown chicken, and the cauliflower rice back to the pan. Add the drained chopped tomatoes, frozen peas, they'll thaw fast, I promise. And your ground saffron, salt, pepper mix. Mix everything together like you're conducting a colorful vegetable orchestra. Then key step here: Flatten it all out. Smooth out the top. No peaks, no proud chicken pieces sticking up like they're trying to escape. We want even cooking.
00:29:00 Sulae: Step #7 of 8 - Bake and Broil - Into the oven it goes. Bake until the biggest pieces of chicken hits 165°F or 75°C internally, and the center of the whole glorious meal reaches about 170°F to 190°F or 77°C to 88°C. Anything pushing toward the 190°F (88°C) side is getting a bit hot, so don't overcook the chicken. This usually takes 25 to 35 minutes depending on your oven's mood. When it's ready, pull it out and crank the oven to broil. And this is where we commit heresy. Sprinkle cheese on top. Yeah, cheese. Just enough to add flavor and give it a toasted top. You can add the fresh parsley here with the cheese. It'll darken in the oven. Or you can sprinkle the parsley afterwards like confetti for a brighter pop of color. Dealer's choice. Slide the skillet back under the broiler and do not walk away. I'm serious here. One minute it's golden perfection, and the next it's a charred crime scene. Watch it like it owes you money. When the cheese is toasted and the parsley is singing, pull it out and let it rest for a few minutes. It's been through a lot.
00:30:09 Sulae: Step #8 of 8 - Serve and Celebrate!! Serve it hot, straight from the skillet and family style. Pass the cold beer and maybe some crusty bread if you're feeling traditional. Or don't. We already threw out tradition... and a few calories out the window with the cauliflower rice. This dish is smoky, bright, a little cheesy, and deeply satisfying. It's not an authentic paella, but it's our paella. And honestly, it's doggone good.
00:30:40 Sulae: The leftovers keep in the fridge for about three days or freeze for a couple of months *probably,* I don't know. I'm guessing like the rest of the foodies; I've never made it that far. Reheat in the oven if you want that crispy edge back. It'll warm up at work without risking a break room seafood incident.
00:30:58 Sulae: So there you have it. Beer Brined Chicken and Chorizo No Rice Paella. A one pan wonder born from rebellion, cast iron love, and a slight fear of sogginess from cauliflower rice and undrained tomatoes. Go make it. Your skillet is waiting. And hey, if you try this, let me know.
00:31:18 Sulae: Especially if you used a 17-inch-er you found by someone's dumpster.
00:31:22 Sulae: You raccoon.
00:31:23 Sulae: You know you're my people.
00:31:25 Sulae: I've got a soft spot for those curb rescued pans. But you probably figured that out. Full recipe links in the show notes. Or just head over to beerandiron.com. And there you have it. Beer Brined Chicken Chorizo No Rice Paella. Officially released into the wild. May it bless your skillet, your taste buds, and your self-esteem. Now, y'all, don't be strangers. Let me know how yours turns out at beerandiron.com... triumphs, disasters, emotional breakthroughs, all of it. Around here we keep the tradition sizzling and the stories pouring. Because if Beer and Iron, we don't just raise the bar, we raise the bar tab. And we'll see you next time on beerandiron.com