Cake and Commerce

Taza Chocolate: Bean-to-Bar Revolution by Way of Tradition

There's something important and almost mystical about the experience of unwrapping a bar of Taza Stone Ground Organic Chocolate. First there's the paper - thick, textured, and brightly colored. Then there's the silver foil, hand creased and protectively wrapped around the bar. Even the disks of Chocolate Mexicano, Taza's version of Mexican drinking chocolate,wrapped in translucent paper and sealed with a sticker, make their own remarkable snap and crinkle when unwrapped.

And all that - the look and feel, the treat for eyes and hands and ears - is nothing compared to the engagement of the senses in smelling and eating Taza Chocolate.

The aroma, intoxicatingly bright, floral  and nutty, has an irresistable draw. Then, at first bite there's surprise:  the bar is grittier than most, with a sand-and-velvet texture that melts on the tongue. There's something almost primal about the flavor - it is chocolate, absolutely, but magnified by up-front acidity, fruit and citrus, coffee and nutty notes, a hint of bitterness and a round, sustained and mellow finish. One bite, one square, two squares are not enough. Happily, there are 3 ounces to a bar (2.7 to a Mexicano). Satiety is an option.

Method and tradition and ethics. And stone grinding, the way its been done in Mexico for generations.

That's what sets apart Taza from other bean-to-bar manufacturers (vs conventional chocolate manufacturers, many of whom are simply 'remelters' - companies that melt down cacao liquor and combine it with fat, usually cocoa butter but not always).  Like other bean-to-bar manufacturers, Taza controls the entire process, from sourcing to roasting to grinding to refining to bar. But when it comes to production, Taza stands out for its adherence to a tradition that few are familiar with but that produces a remarkable bar of chocolate.

Until I returned to Boston in January, hat in hand, my life in boxes stacked neatly in a storage facility, I had no idea that Taza existed. A trip to a local Whole Foods yielded my first bar, which both thrilled and confused me. It was nothing like the chocolate I was used to, the silken old timey French chocolate rumored to be conched (mechanically smoothed and refined) for 24 to 36 hours. It was gritty. It was inelegant. It was, however, more elemental than anything I had tasted before. It was chocolate ne plus ultra with a heady scent and even headier flavor. At $6.50 a bar, I knew there was a story behind it. So I started asking around.

The first thing I heard: Taza is made locally, in Somerville, MA, by hand.  Hand made? Seriously? How much chocolate can you make per batch when you are doing it by hand? Next thing: they use millstones. Millstones? Like those at the grist mill in the town where I grew up? And they don't conche chocolate. Not at all. How was that even possible? Did anyone I know know them? Not really. So I was stuck.

By chance I happened upon a Taza chocolate tasting in a natural foods market on a Saturday afternoon. I tasted all their samples - the slightly bitter and very assertive 80%, the 70% bar (pictured above), and all four Mexican Bars: the salted almond (truly remarkable), the cinnamon, the vanilla and the guajillo chili. By the end of the tasting I had the name of Taza's head of marketing and the resolve to ask him for a visit.

The name was vaguely familiar but I couldn't place it. I emailed him. And didn't hear back. I've never been a fan of cold-calling (I'm not particularly good at it) and my intro, which I'll paraphrase as, "Hi! I'm Linsey! I blog! So you want me to come over and see your place and blog about you? Say yes!" wasn't particularly effective. So I figured I'd have to get in some other way.

Around the same time I started working on a project in Somerville with a Thai Restaurant. I was responsible for creating a drinks menu that reflected the Thai food menu. Through a Somerville community relations liaison I connected with Adam Lantheaume, The Boston Shaker, a craft cocktail evangelist and artist who helped me with some ideas. Adam, it turns out, works closely with Taza, and was working on creating chocolate cocktails with them. I started following both Adam and Taza on Twitter and read an exchange between them about creating chocolate syrup. I did a quick chocolate experiment and posted the results to Twitter. And then I blogged about it.

With that I secured an invite to visit Taza. I couldn't have been more excited. And I don't get excited about much these days.

On a Tuesday afternoon Aaron, the head of marketing, contacted me to tell me they were going to be grinding beans later that afternoon and that I should plan on being there. I quickly finished up whatever I needed to get done that day and headed into the city. 

Since late 2006, Taza has been located, improbably or probably, in a large industrial building in the middle of a industrial part of town that houses scrapyards, technology, and more than a few office buildings. Taza is just one of many businesses located at 561 Windsor.

Around the corner was a banner and then a sign and then the office. I was downright giddy!

Aaron met me at the office and took me on a tour of the facility, which consists of three cavernous rooms: the office, the roasting and winnowing room, and the chocolate manufacturing room. We started in the basement roasting room.

I've worked in chocolate before but I'm no expert. In my last job I was responsible for a chocolate manufacturing project in which we made soy-free, dairy-free chocolate for the allergy-friendly market. We used a machine called the ChocoEasy, a German-made machine that is the chocolate world equivalent of a super-automatic espresso maker (think Dunkin' Donuts or Starbucks before they went back to hand-making their drinks). You load up the machine with chocolate liquor, cocoa butter, sugar and flavor and, depending on the size of the sugar particles and the desired results, pump it out into a tempering machine 4-12 hours later. The ChocoEasy mixes, conches, and refines at the touch of a button.

Taza is the antithesis of the modern chocolate operation. There's nothing glossy or high-tech about it except maybe for the computers they use to track operations and communicate with the outside world.

Taza's return to tradition - specifically Mexican tradition - is refreshing and inspiring. Everything is low-tech and bears the imprint of the human touch. As I learned from Aaron, the head of marketing and my guide for the afternoon of my visit, Taza's equipment is antique, renewed and repeatedly rebuilt by the mechanically-inclined hands of Alex, one of the founders, and Mike, the head chocolate maker and production manager.

The entire process begins even before the first bean hits the roaster. The beans, purchased by direct trade from a 100-member certified organic, sustainable cooperative in the Dominican Republic that Taza has helped to finance and grow, are fermented (about 6 days total) and dried (7-10 days) to Taza's specifications to meet grading requirements (the beans are graded before and after drying). Instead of drying on concrete, which can cause the exchange of undesirable flavors and substances, Taza's beans are dried on a screen mounted on wood. Of the total beans grown by the cooperative, Taza selects beans from 30% of the farms in the cooperative and pays a premium well above both the commodity market AND Fair Trade; the remaining 70% is sold on the open market. In an unusual move, Taza pays FOB farm prices, meaning they take ownership of the beans at the farm and cover the cost of trucking the beans to the airport and then from the airport to Boston; most products change hands at a port, usually the port nearest the farmer/supplier.

(From May to late September, the rainy season, exports from the Dominican Republic come to a halt. By that point Taza has built up inventory and can last, without further purchase of beans, until the season starts up again).

Once the beans arrive by plane in 70 kilo bags (that's 154 lbs) packed 17 bags to a shipper, they are picked up by Mike and Aaron and brought back to the plant for roasting, grinding, and finishing.

The Taza logo graces the wall of the roasting room.

The beans start in the roaster, a cherry red antique Barth "Sirocco" rotary spherical roaster, which was found and rebuilt in Italy. The roasting times and temperatures are documented on a Roast Profile Log. Taza prefers a slightly less roasted bean than most, as less roasting brings out more of the subtleties and characteristics of their superior quality beans.

My pictures don't do it justice.

(Apparently quite a few coffee roasters use this machine as well, as do some nut roasters - it just needs to be reconfigured for those products).

The chaff, which is produced in far less volume than the chaff from roasted coffee, is vented outside, where it biodegrades:

Once the beans have been roasted and cooled (there's a vented "cooling" unit at the base of the roaster), they are moved to the winnower, which removes shells and breaks the beans into varying sized nibs. It sorts sizes by use of mesh "screens" with varying sized holes that are each at a slight angle. Gravity and vibration moves the nibs from screen to screen.

Here Aaron shows me the shells, which are used as cocoa mulch by gardeners:

The Carle & Montanari winnower (please excuse the terrible photos - my eye struggled with this), also antique, also refubished, was found in a defunct candy plant in the Dominican Republic. To get it out of the building, its legs had to be sawed off and then welded back on once it was outside. Aaron told me it took 4 men 4 days to move it from the third floor down to the first floor.

Beans are moved into the machine by a sort of elevator:

Once broken, sized, sorted and separated, the roasted nibs are loaded into pails and carted up to the upstairs production room. They are now ready to be made into chocolate.

Walking into the production room reminds me of walking into a large art studio, except where there would be works of inedible art stacked on shelves, there is chocolate.

Chocolate inventory:

And samples ready to go

And beautiful ingredients, like these tubs of vanilla beans and sachets of fragrant, red-hot cinnamon sticks grown by the biodynamic Villa Vanilla in Costa Rica:

Nibs are kept in a large covered bucket and moved from the basement to the production room on carts

Notice the tattoo on Aaron's arm? The pig, divided into primal parts?

I noticed it immediately and realized I had seen it before. On him. A number of years earlier at a food show.  After the exchange of some information I realized I had met Aaron before, when he was still a cheesemonger in NYC. He even had the exact same job I had at the exact same company a few years after I left. We knew a lot of the same cheese people (and have 7 Facebook friends in common, all former colleagues). It was rather surreal. He had recently moved to Boston when his girlfriend started her Ph.D in sociology and had only recently switched from cheese to chocolate. Hey, as long as it is fermented, it is all in play.

Anyway, after we managed to get all the 'what did you think of x' stuff out of the way, he continued the tour.

Aaron showed me the first Molino, a platform-mounted antique Mexican chocolate grinding mill painted cherry red to match the rest of the machines.

The machine is powered by a flywheel that has been modernized with a belt and a motor.

Here's the motor:

The nibs are ground by two millstones, which are purchased in Oaxaca City, Mexico and hand-dressed (grooves cut etc) by Alex, who learned the craft from a molinaro in Oaxaca. The stones can easily be lifted and replaced. Taza keeps a few extra on hand:

Once chocolate passes through the first molino, it goes into a holding tank where it is mixed with sugar (the Mexicano are equal parts sugar and nibs) and possibly cocoa butter if Taza is making bars. If it is for a Mexicano round, it is then passed through a second molino and then formed into 1.35 oz disks. If it is a flavored Mexicano bar, the flavor is ground with the beans in Molino 1 - whole vanilla beans or cinnamon or almonds are added to the nibs as they pass through the millstones. Chili, which leaves strong, lingering flavor on the equipment it touches, is added in powder form to the chocolate once it is ground and in the holding tank, to eliminate any possibility of ending up in other products.

Soy lecithin is never added to the chocolate. There are no added emulsifiers at all in Taza chocolate.

Here's the second molino. The chocolate that has already passed through Molino 1 is now poured into Molino 2. My arrows show the path of the chocolate through the machine:

It is now moved to the tempering machine. Chocolate must be tempered - cooled by a process of agitation to approximately 82 degrees farenheit so that, when it is warmed up to 88-90 degrees farenheit,and poured into a mold and cooled, it forms a hard mass that breaks with a characteristic 'snap'. And doesn't leave chocolate on your fingers, unless you want it to.

Once the chocolate is tempered, it can be deposited into molds. Taza uses a very interestingly engineered donut depositor that pours just the right amount of chocolate into the molds to make about 50 bars/minute. Rumor has it they're actually trading it in for a custom-built depositor.

The round Mexicano molds look like this:

Once the mold has been vibrated for a bit to force any air bubbles out, they are set on a speed rack and tucked into an alcove where they are cooled and set. When the chocolate has set completely, the disks will pop out of the mold and have a gloriously shiny sheen.

The (all-stone ground) process for the Chocolate Mexicano Bars is: Roasted Nibs -> Molino 1 -> Holding Tank -> Molino 2 -> Tempering -> Moulding ->Wrapping

When they're wrapped, they look like this (the boxes are hand-letterpressed by next door neighbors Albertine Press):

Taza's chocolate bars are slightly more refined. Instead of running through Molino 2, they run through a refiner, which produces a finer grind than the molino.

Here's the stone refiner:

The chocolate moves via the belt into a tub and then either to a tank for holding or directly into the tempering machine to made into bars. Depending on the percentage of cocoa liquor in the bar, there is more or less cocoa butter added to it. Taza currently buys their cocoa butter but are planning to possibly make their own in the near future.

The current (all-stone ground) process for bars is: Roasted Nibs -> Molino 1 -> Holding Tank -> Refiner -> Tempering -> Moulding -> Wrapping

The organic sugar Taza uses is produced by the Green Cane Project in Brazil, one of the largest and most biodiverse and sustainable sugar cane plantations in the world. All of the spent cane is used to fuel the plant and the town nearest the plant. The sugar itself has a lovely golden hue.

The bars are then tempered and deposited into bar molds. Here the molds wait, clean, for their next mission:

Once the bars are set, they are hand wrapped twice: the first time they are foil wrapped, the second time they receive an outer wrapping that contains the label.

Here's how the bars are queued up for wrapping.

Two women, Stephanie and Sarah, hand measure, stamp and wrap every item that comes off the line. Here they are packaging chocolate-coated nibs:

Taza is currently testing out mini-bars for coffeehouses and other establishments serving coffee and other treats (and for anyone else who appreciates mini). They're adorable:

Along with the bars, nibs, chocolate-covered almonds, chocolate covered nibs and Mexicano disks, Taza also sells wholesale to restaurants and bakeries: 

They're packed to order. The Linkery, a farm-to-table restaurant in San Diego, uses quite a bit of Taza's chocolate:

With my tour ostensibly done, Aaron left me to observe and photograph Kellie, the assistant chocolate maker, running a 300 lb batch of chocolate, starting with 150 lbs of roasted nibs. Kellie began her life at Taza wrapping chocolate. When the assistant left for another job, she took his spot.

Mike, the head chocolate maker and former professional skydiver, had to warm up the molino with a hand-held warmer. The cooled chocolate (from the last batch) caused the wheels to stick together, making operations impossible until the chocolate was melted off the millstones:

Once the millstones were separated again, Kellie began grinding the beans:

The chocolate is pushed past a rare earth magnet (the grill-like protrusion in the above and below photos) that pulls out the rare stray stone or piece of metal in the unlikely event it makes it past the roasting and winnowing processes:

The beans are then forced by gravity between the millstones, which spit out finely ground beans resembling what we think of as chocolate: chocolate liquor and cocoa butter. The arrow points to the place where the chocolate emerges: right between the two millstones.

The chocolate then flows down a conveyor belt into a holding tank:

Once the batch is completed, Kellie cleans off the conveyor belt and the inside of the molino with a dough scraper:

Because the grinding started so late in the day, Kellie would be letting the chocolate hold in the tank overnight. The next day they would turn the batch in their new Guajillo Chili Chocolate Mexicano. I sampled a finished round. It was delicious - and not too spicy.

Once a year Taza holds an open house for all their friends, family and fans. To keep track of all their comings and goings, their blog and Twitter feed are good places to start. Or stalk.

There are numerous bean-to-bar boutique chocolate manufacturers in the US, but none occupy quite the same space as Taza. There is no waste produced by their operation: everything, including cacao chaff and shell is reused or recycled or returned to the earth. Employees bike or walk to work. Taza goes out of its way to source sustainably and pay a premium for products that are produced in keeping with the founders' ethics.

The results - a fruity, brightly acidic bar that is chocolate at its most primal and bold - are a revelation. With trailblazers like ScharffenBerger now owned by Hershey and reduced to a shadow of what it once was  and other bean-to-bar companies producing elegant but undistinctive chocolate (each conched to conventional smoothness) relative newcomers like Taza are taking the lead in creating truly original - for some, polarizing - chocolate.

And everyone should take notice.

To read co-founder Alex Whitmore's recent piece in the Atlantic Food Blog on Mexican Chocolate, click here.

Public Radio Kitchen, WBUR Boston's amazing food blog, linked to this post on 4/16/2009. Check them out!

Dairy-free Chocolate Syrup - three ingredients, so simple

When I moved back to Boston after 4 years in Chicago I had to reset my food knowledge base. I had a vague sense of what I liked, but I no longer knew where I wanted to eat or what I wanted to eat. Every venture out to a store or down the street for a drive was a safari of discovery. I had no idea that locally, food artisans were producing amazing products that I had never knew existed until I saw them and wondered, 'what is this?' And then, upon tasting, thought, 'I need to meet these people'.

So I did what I did when I was in Chicago, one of the friendliest major cities in the world: I reached out to the artisans. But I had forgotten something about my people, the New Englanders: in general, New Englanders are wary of strangers. Glad to know you like what they do, but distanced and possibly slightly suspicious unless they know you.

Unsurprisingly, I heard nothing in reply.

So I hit the reset button and started over. Tabla rasa.

One of the small miracles of local deliciousness I experienced and was astonished by was Taza Chocolate's Mexican Chocolate Salted Almond round. It was remarkable. It had a slightly gritty texture (they use Mexican stone grinders called molinos to make the chocolate) and a bright acidic chocolate flavor that was beautifully offset by finely ground  - and slightly salty -toasted almonds. Soy-free (soy-free!!! hear that soy allergy sufferers - Taza is soy free!) direct-sourced and organic, the chocolate is earthy and aromatic. And potent. One night, after eating an entire bar at four in the afternoon, I found myself unable to sleep until nearly 5 in the morning. The theobromine corsing through my veins kept me powerfully and cleanly awake. Though a bit rattled the next afternoon when I finally woke up, I wanted to blog about this Taza chocolate. And take pictures.

Casting aside my pride, I pleaded with Taza via Twitter (again that scourge!) to let me visit them with my camera. I told them I'd be unobtrusive. I'd not bother a soul. They wouldn't have to entertain me. I promised!

Not effective. They were busy and had no time or capacity for a visit. Ah well, at least they responded.

Fast forward to yesterday. I've been working on the beverage menu for a Thai restaurant in Somerville and by chance started getting help from someone called The Boston Shaker. Or rather, his business is called The Boston Shaker. He is called Adam.

So Adam was helping me build cocktails (he made the first version of a drink I had never seen before, the Thai version of the Michelada). I knew he knew the folks at Taza, but I didn't know him well enough to ask him to ask them to...well, you know.

And by chance, reading Taza's Tweets on Twitter (I can't believe I even wrote that phrase), I came upon a discussion of chocolate syrup.

(Yep, I'm getting to the point of this post. FINALLY).

Seems they were trying to make a chocolate syrup using Taza's chocolate for a home-made chocolate creme de menthe liqueur that Adam The Boston Shaker is planning to serve at a Taza/Grand (it is a chic design boutique in Somerville) event this coming weekend. Success had been elusive. I thought about it for a moment, and using the semi-sweet chocolate I keep at home for icing, I made a cream-free ganache using simple syrup. It was simple and effective.

I presented it to Adam when we met again to discuss cocktails for the Thai Restaurant. We made another batch of the syrup together using about an ounce and a half of Taza chocolate. What is interesting about the Taza chocolate syrup is that it isn't completely smooth - because they use the whole bean in their chocolate making, there are flecks of beans in the syrup, insoluble pieces of nib that serve to remind of the chocolate's origins.

Last night - via Twitter, of course - Adam let me know that the liqueur worked beautifully. And I think, just maybe, I may be getting to visit Taza with my camera. I'll stand in a corner and just observe. I promise!

Cake & Commerce's Chocolate Syrup

Chocolate Syrup is a great, long-lasting addition to your refrigerator. It can be used to sauce up ice cream, though it isn't nearly as rich as chocolate fudge. It can be used in chocolate cocktails. It can be combined with soda water to make an egg cream. It can be eaten right off the spoon for a quick pick me up.  Combine it with almond or rice milk for a vegan chocolate milk experience. Or used as an ingredient.

• 1 Cup Simple Syrup* (or, if you prefer, 2/3 C Agave Syrup + 1/3 C water)
• 3 oz Taza 80% Chocolate (if you don't use Taza, make sure you use a very dark chocolate)
• 1/8 t salt

*To make the simple syrup, combine 1 C water with 1 C sugar in a saucepan and stir until dissolved. Heat until simmering. Remove from heat and set aside OR use immediately in this recipe

Break the chocolate into small pieces and place in a metal bowl along with the salt. Pour just-off-the-boil simple syrup over the chocolate and stir until melted.

The chocolate will not yet be completely emulsified.

Using a blender or a hand blender, mix the syrup/chocolate for about 10 seconds. Pour into an airtight container and allow to cool. Cover and store in the refrigerator.

Keeps for several weeks - there's not much in it that will spoil.

To make the syrup thicker, add more chocolate OR  add more sugar to the simple syrup (or remove the water from the agave mixture).

Let me know how it works for you.

O.N.C.E. - A locavore (more or less) dinner in the middle of Winter

It's amazing how a cover of tablecloths, wine glasses, plates, glowing candles and the night can do to change the ambiance of a space. In a non-descript Thai restaurant in the middle of Union Square in Somerville, MA that was shut down for the night, locavore and private chef JJ Gonson* of Cuisine en Locale, staged a $50 per person, 10-course banquet on a snowy Sunday night to a capacity crowd. She calls these meals "O.N.C.E." - One Night Culinary Events. She plans the menu and sends and email out to her list and posts about it on her blog. Guests are treated to one of JJ's wholesome, extravagant meals, usually for a bargain price. Each dinner has a different theme - this one focused on the dead of winter, one of the more challenging times of the year for executing culinary variety and artistry. She had planned two seatings - a buffet for families and a more formal sit-down plated meal for adults.

When she told me about the event, I wanted desperately to attend. My current state of unemployment makes that virtually impossible, so instead I worked for JJ as her front-of-the-house 'manager' - which in my case meant awkwardly greeting guests, fumbling attempts to count and recount diners, forgetting courses for an entire table, and trying to keep everyone's water glass full.

It took hours to get to this point, though, half of which I missed by sleeping through the night. Overnight, JJ and her team labored to prepare many of the courses, from the delicate lobster ravioli that took 6 hours from start to finish, to a hearty country pate with star-shaped pastry dough. By the time I arrived at the Cuisine en Locale base camp about 5 hours before the first seating, the prep kitchen was empty of life and the bags and pans and bins were full and waiting to be taken to the Thai restaurant for the evening's meal. The only hint of what was to come was contained in a notebook, with a list of 'to-dos':

Lining the walls were the bags and pans and bins:

I wandered around for a few minutes, peeked in a pantry, looked at the refrigerator and tapped my fingers before JJ showed up. I had made a stop for Shaw Farm Dairy ice cream (read the ingredients carefully before you buy - not all flavors are all-natural) and milk for her and wanted to make sure I picked up a few things before heading to the restaurant to set it up for the dinner.

JJ showed off her racks of lamb, which she had acquired from Stillman's:

I helped her portion out her ravioli into bags:

She showed me her pate, too - apparently she's been really into making forcemeats since her return from Paris a few months back. This one was made in celebration of Pork Day - it was made with pork liver and loin and a few other cuts. I didn't try any (as I do not partake of the four-legged beast) but friends reported it was delicious.

After checking out JJ's prep, I ran over the restaurant and began rearranging tables (my apologies to anyone who felt squished that night - we didn't have much space to work with). Within an hour JJ and her team arrived with the prep and started planning out the sequence of their meal. Here's what they ended up with:

To the best of her ability, JJ sourced local ingredients for the dinner, as she does for all of her cooking. Grains remain a challenge for those of us in Massachusetts - there's not much here at all, and what there is is hard to find. So JJ used Texas rice and Italian pasta and Midwestern wheat flour. She threw in a bit of Florida citrus - from a small grove, of course. Otherwise, most of the ingredients were local - cheese, vegetables, lamb, apples, cranberries, squash, pork, lobster, seaweed.

Before the crowds arrived, JJ set to work in the borrowed kitchen. The team wears brown - that's the official un-uniform of Cuisine en locale. I didn't know this ahead of time and by chance I was decked out, head-to-toe, in brown. JJ thought it was serendipity. Which is was to an extent. Truthfully, half my winter wardrobe is brown, so there was a 50% chance that I would be wearing brown.

In the hour before service began, Henry and I jumped in the car and hit a few stores looking for simple tablecloths to cover the Formica tables. Attractive natural-fiber tablecloths were prohibitively expensive, so we settled for some rather ugly light blue polyester cloths that were met with JJ's stinging disapproval. "I'll never use them again," she sighed as I forced them on her at the end of the night.

The first seating - which began while the sun was still in the sky - was a simple camp-style buffet for families: mac 'n cheese, sauteed cabbage, some squash. It was a simple way to start out the evening, requiring only minimal prep and service.

For dessert, JJ served up a massive apple grumble- a combination of apple chunks, cranberries, oats, and sugar. She paired it with Shaw Farm Ice cream.

At 6 pm the dining room cleared and we reset it for our 7 pm seating. We cleaned, moved tables (again), redecorated the tables. JJ and crew - which included her right hand Bonnie, Arun the engineer, Darius, and Eddie the dishwashin' machine, set to work getting prepping the formal meal.

Arun and Darius slicing bread for the pate course.

When JJ's guests started arriving at seven, I went into disorganized hostess mode. I had counted the number of tables incorrectly and was short three seats. Luckily, one table pulled a no-call/no-show and we were able to accommodate everyone. The restaurant took on an air of civility as wine glasses were brought to tables and wine was uncorked.

(That's my friend Alex on the far left. Hi Alex!)

The first course came out quickly once the seating was worked out. One of JJ's signatures is a filled savory profiterole. Don't call them gougeres!

I missed photographing the soup course - it was a fragrant  vegan seaweed soup. Likewise I missed the pate course, though I did capture it whole. Before JJ cut into it, she had me present it to every table and explain what it was. Of the 37 guests, only 3 passed on it. The rest cleaned their plates.

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, JJ, Bonnie, Arun and Darius plated up the next course - a raw salad with pea sprouts, sunchokes & beets with an umeboshi dressing.

Next up - lobster ravioli. JJ made these ravioli as pure as could be - just lobster, seasoning, and essence of lobster, made from a lobster stock and reduced to almost nothing. She sauced it with a little butternut squash and vanilla essence:

This ravioli, was, from the perspective of time, effort, and ingredients, may have been the highlight of the meal. She had a few left over and I was able to indulge in one. It was packed full of lobster flavor.

The lobster was followed by an intermezzo - a simple grapefruit and fresh mint palate cleanser. It was refreshingly acidic.

Next up: Stillman's lamb. JJ made a rub of various nuts - pistachio and almonds, I think, with plenty of salt and pepper. Though I didn't taste the lamb (again, no four legged animals), I did sample the rub, which was just perfect. She served it alongside a sunchoke and arborio risotto and a beach plum-Grand Marnier sauce.

JJ single-handedly portioned out the lamb, chop by chop:

The team garnished:

And the guests enjoyed:

The third-to-last course was a duo of cooked salads - one based on sweet potato, the other kale:

During this course, JJ asked her guests if they wanted to keep going. They had already eaten 8 courses. A unanimous "MORE" was the response. So JJ complied.

Next up: Mac 'n Cheese, made with local Gouda and cheddar, and scented with truffle oil:

At this point, JJ and Bonnie and Eddie were starting to feel the burn and were exhausted. It was nearly 11 pm, 4 hours since the diners first sat down.  My shoes were beginning to torture my feet - I hadn't sported heels in months and my 4" heels were wearing the balls of my feet into achy lumps. I had been serving and clearing every course, along with John, and making sure no one went thirsty. The water filter was in back of the kitchen, so there was a lot of lap running between courses.

Finally dessert arrived - plated apple grumble with Shaw Farm Dairy ice cream. I noticed not a drop was left in bowls when I cleared the tables for the last time.

By 11:30 the room was empty.

By 12:30 am the room was returned to its normal, pre-O.N.C.E. state. There wasn't a trace of locavore left.

To find out more about JJ Gonson and her food, check out her website and sign up for her events announcements: http://www.enlocale.com/

To read about a diner's experience of O.N.C.E, check out The Basil Queen's Blog.

To read another diner's perspective, check out Richard's post.

*full disclosure: I've known JJ for about 23 years, as her sister Claudia is my closest friend.

The tourists were there, even before Bourdain: Hot Doug's, Chicago IL

If you watch Anthony Bourdain, you probably saw his recent episode that took him to Chicago. One of his stops was Hot Doug's, the encased meat emporium, and one of my favorite places to grab lunch before I left town last month.

For those who haven't been to Chicago, don't read the New York Times, missed the episode, or just live under a rock, Hot Doug's is perhaps the finest Hot Dog joint in North America. Doug Sohn, the proprietor, takes your order, day-in, day-out, rain or shine. If he's not there, Hot Doug's is closed because the whole team is probably on vacation. Sometimes in France.

Doug designs his specialty sausages, which range from wild game to more (relatively) tame variants on pork, beef, poultry, lamb and sometimes shrimp. The menu can change daily, and acolytes check the menu online before heading down for what is at least a 15 minute wait to order at the counter. On weekends, holidays, vacation days and during the summer, the lines are usually much longer. I've waited about 45 minutes on a summer weekday. Vacation frees up the schedules of the student set, who can eat fresh cut fries and a dog for around $5. I've never gotten out of Hot Doug's for less than $12 - the premium priced sausages are in the $7.50 range and I always want to share a second one, just for curiosity's sake.

Though I've never ordered more than 2 sausages at Doug's, I've seen customers order every single sausage on the menu and make their way through each of them, usually in the name of a birthday or a special visit to Chicago. On Friday and Saturday, Doug pulls out the duck fat and fries up some of the best frites I've ever had for $3.50 - delightful duck fat fries cut thinner than his regular fries.

Incidentally, an act of civil disobedience on Doug's part helped knock down the ban on Foie Gras in the city of Chicago.

If they can find it, tourists love Hot Doug's. They photograph everything. The Hot Doug's sign in front:

Their hot dogs and sausages:

And their friends, posing with Doug. Actually, I'm the tourist in this case. That's my friend Jenny. She's been a regular at Hot Doug's since he opened his first location, which burned down years ago. He spent his time off at Wrigley Field, catching up with the Cubs.

This is my friend Drex, slurping down a fountain drink. We're waiting for our order. The wait is seldom longer than 5 minutes.

The clientele at Hot Doug's is diverse and all are welcomed. Those who dawdle at the counter get a sharp reprimand from Doug, unless he's trying to slow the crowd so that no one is left without a table.

At lunch time the place fills up with workers from the slot machine manufacturer across the street, Waste Management, and other not-too-out-of-the-way offices. After school the place is packed with the loud-talking, space-hogging high school set. In between just about everyone and their grandmother shows up, cash in hand. Hot Doug's is cash only.

Doug has two menus - the specials and the regular menu. In the above picture, the regular menu is  on the right. The ever-changing specials include the Celebrity Sausage (you have to be tuned into local news to get all of the jokes), the Game of the Day, and the Specials board. The day I took these pictures (obviously not during the winter) the specials were especially interesting:

I ordered the Cognac and Bacon Pheasant Sausage that day. It was lovely. Foie Gras Mousse? Oh yes.:

Doug sometimes makes statements about demographics with his encased meats:

Yep, Chicago has become a much more ethnically diverse city since the advent of the Hot Doug. And how delicious it is.

I was there on a Friday and, of course, ordered the duck fat fries. Saturated fat? Yes please.

And the fries:

Here's a Chicago-style dog (well, actually it is a chicken sausage, my standby "Dave Kingman") with everything PLUS giardiniera, a spicy relish made from carrots, peppers, cauliflower and hot peppers. Notice the pickle spear and the tomatoes? Mmmmm. Salad!

Jenny ordered a Thai Chicken dog with satay and fried onions that day:

This is a jalapeno-smoked chicken sausage with mole and cotija cheese:

This is a ribeye sausage with chimichurri...

Mmmm. These pictures get my tummy rumbling and make me miss Hot Doug's.

I think there's a seat for you, whenever it is you get to Chicago:

Hot Doug's

3324 N California Ave
Chicago, IL 60618
(773) 279-9550

www.hotdougs.com

Why Starbucks *doesn't* suck (bear with me) - a discussion of consumer awareness and coffee quality

...not coffee ethics or history or sustainability or economics. Just put that to rest. The social, moral, and economic debate around coffee consumption and production, though vital and necessary to a complete understanding of the importance of the world's 2nd most valuable legally traded commodity, is beyond the scope of what I would like to discuss, which is something more fundamental to coffee consumption: consumer awareness.

OK?

I don't actually drink Starbucks coffee. But there are many sides to the Starbucks story. Some good, some bad. I'd like to talk about a minor part of one of the good sides.

I remember when most coffee sucked. Do you?

If you've read this blog you know I roast my own coffee, or go out of my way to drink coffee from places like Intelligentsia, Stumptown, Blue Bottle, Gimme! Coffee, Terroir, Rancho Aloha, Sweet Maria's, and my local roaster, Karma. I try to buy coffee that has been direct sourced (or "direct traded") as it goes beyond Fair Trade in offering an above c-market price to growers.

But I do not believe Starbucks sucks, at least not as much as I used to. In fact, every time I drink a Cup of Excellence coffee or enjoy beans from Sweet Maria's, I thank Starbucks. You see, indirectly (great example here) and directly, Starbucks dramatically grew consumer awareness of coffee that led to the availability of great beans in the US and beyond - from a multitude of sources, including Fair Trade and direct trade -  great beans that, in their procurement, offer better prices to farmers and better quality to consumers.*

Notice I said "consumer awareness" not "coffee quality" or "cafe experience" - neither of those last two points would be entirely true, at least not for many urban areas of the US. Prior to the arrival of Starbucks on the national scene, there were indeed individuals around the country making their mark in specialty coffee - importing, roasting, wholesaling, retailing. But they were isolated and small and were, with the exception of some regional players, focused on local markets. Starbucks, as they plowed their way south and east and beyond, indoctrinated the nation - the entire nation - in the belief of the goodness of the $2 cup of coffee  and taught people - at least superficially - what a great cup of coffee should be. They had pamphlets and whole roasted beans and an always changing roster of drip coffees (along with the ubiquitous espresso-based specialty drink, which outsold drip coffee significantly and still does, blech). They eased the consumer into the idea that there was more than just 'light' or 'dark' coffee (though all Starbucks coffee is, without doubt, dark) and conditioned the consumer to accept higher prices for quality cups.

Now bear with me again. I'm going to tell you a little about foodservice coffee, a world in which I worked from 2004 to early 2006. This is kind of boring and technical, but again, Starbucks needs to be recognized for the impact they had on foodservice. A very positive impact.

In foodservice - a world most consumers have little awareness though they participate in it almost daily at work, in restaurants, even at small cafes - big roasters like Sara Lee (Superior Coffee along with a host of other brands), Kraft (Maxwell House), and even distributor brands (Sysco, US Foodservice etc)) that previously dominated the coffee business, were forced to improve their game to compete with Starbucks for institutional, chain, and 'down the street' (independent) customers. In 2000 "gourmet" and "specialty coffee" was still a nice-to-have, not a must-have. By 2005 it was game over for those who chose not to enter the specialty coffee business. Starbucks, and, to a lesser extent many new regional roasters (spurred on by the increasing awareness and demand for high-end coffee), that had previously been inconsequential, were now both taking a bigger piece of the pie and growing the pie to accommodate more specialty players. While institutional roasters were consolidating (for example, in 2008, Sara Lee threw in the specialty coffee towel when they sold their delivery coffee business to Farmers Brothers, a large foodservice coffee distributor), the specialty coffee market, thanks to Starbucks, was growing and fragmenting. There was more opportunity for better quality roasters and less for the traditional players who didn't want to change with the times. Players like McDonalds and Dunkin' Donuts had to change their game to stay competitive. Bring on the coffee wars.

And what else had changed? Students. Students who didn't use to care - they were too busy slurping down Coke and Pepsi and the like - suddenly wanted better coffee...and ethically sourced coffee at that. Students began to demand Fair Trade coffee thanks to efforts on college campuses - efforts that would have been meaningless had coffee consumption not increased among young people, a formerly stagnant and declining coffee demographic now on the increase thanks in large part to the ubiquity of the Starbucks presence (who, incidentally, were petitioned for many years by Fair Trade until they acquiesced and, somewhat reluctantly, added it to the menu).

(Just a small rant about Fair trade: Though I don't think Fair Trade goes far enough to improve the lives of farmers (their guaranteed price for coffee, about $.25 above C market prices, doesn't make enough of an impact on overall quality of life for farmers receiving the 'subsidy', though it is, of course, better than the C market price they would otherwise get), large institutional roasters had to add Fair Trade to hold on to business with universities.)

But enough of that. The point is that over the last 15 years, as Starbucks has made its march across the world, it brought some good as it scorched the earth and sowed salt into the land...sowing, perhaps, the seeds of its own eventual destruction.

*The fundamental issue of price control has not been resolved during the period of unprecedented growth in coffee consumption; pricing has, in fact, spiraled downward, leaving many farmers poorer than ever. Hence ethical purchasing and awareness of sourcing is more important than ever.

For an incredibly informative read about the state of the coffee industry today and how specialty coffee, which is now about 20% of the total coffee market, has both helped and hurt coffee farmers, check out this blog entry at Chemically Imbalanced. There's no easy solution to the problem of coffee farming and poverty and this story points out exactly why. This conference, which is summarized in the article, is trying to address some of the moral, ethical, and social issues around coffee production and consumption.

Gemelli Bakers: Going Slow in State College, PA

For years the goal of my drives from Chicago to Boston was to make the fastest time possible with the fewest stops, usually at a dingy gas station on the side of the highway, nose held, senses on high alert. Unless stopped by a zealous and bored Ohio highway patrol, I could make it in 14 hours, 3.5 tanks of gas, innumerable snacks, and a guilty fast food stop, which I then promptly struck from the official record of the trip. The Indiana and Ohio portions were particularly onerous - long, flat and dull with costly tolls;  corn fields cut with industrial parks. Pennsylvania was the home stretch, curves and straightaways, mountains and valleys for hundreds of miles.

When Sarah (a high school friend) and Ben (her academic husband) moved their family (Ava and Ruben) to State College this past summer, I finally had a sensible stopping place where I could break up my trip. The first couple visits were brief and vaguely alarming; I wasn't used to a college town and the welter of students following a Penn State victory, the nocturnal calls of drunken students making their way past the house to fraternity row, and the warm beacon of Hooter's welcoming me when I reached town center.

This week, as I made my way from Chicago to Boston for perhaps the last time, I stopped in State College for a four day sojourn - I needed to decompress from my move and spend some quality time with my friends. I was sleepy and unmotivated - I found myself sleeping late and napping at random intervals. I busied myself by washing dishes, watching videos I'd downloaded and walking the dog. Sarah and I met for lunch during the weekdays - she works from home and would take a break to hang out without the kids.

The first full day I was there Sarah took me to one of State College's treasures - a tiny artisan bakery called Gemelli Bakers.

It was, improbably, located up the street from an alley lined with state college flags. I felt a bit like Dorothy upon stepping out of her house and finding herself in Oz.

Once I stepped in to Gemelli Bakery, I was immediately at ease - the warmth of the oven coupled with the smell of fresh baked bread were familiar and comforting. It was the smallest bakery I'd ever set foot in - the oven was about 10 feet from the door and all of the fixtures were on wheels so that they could be moved during production. The space was both claustrophobic and open - big picture windows brought plenty of light into the space. I've heard many spaces described as jewel boxes. Gemelli truly is one.

The owner, Tony Sapia, is a State College legend. He owns several restaurants and bars and is as much a craftsman as he is a mini-mogul. He opened up the bakery late summer 2007 after running a successful wholesale business out of his restaurant next door. The shop, which used to be a bottle shop, was used for storage for several years before Tony turned it into Gemelli, named for his twin sons.

I visited twice, and each time he was there, waiting on customers, chatting up the regulars, and patiently answering questions from obtrusive bloggers (cough).

When we stopped in on Thursday night, just before close, Tony was tending the ovens as the last loaves of Challah were baking (he's the only certified Kosher baker in PA, and does a brisk sabbath and holiday business). Furniture was rolled to the side of the shop to allow for easier cleaning.

The next time we stopped in, on Friday morning, the shelves were stacked with fresh bread and as I took pictures a continuous stream of customers kept Tony busy, moving from shelf to shelf to cash register.

The old school cash register:

And the breads:

The bread is as good as it looks - rich tasting, great crumb, wonderful texture, terrific crust. We gobbled up both loaves we purchased in record time. And the challah was still toothsome and tender two days after we bought it.

For the curious, Tony makes his list of ingredients available. Predictably, he pulls no punches - the breads are natural and made with minimal ingredients.

Gemelli also sells a small selection of pastries, cupcakes and cookies - baked in the restaurant's ovens rather than in Gemelli's certified kosher deck ovens. We purchased a few cookies - delicious. The apple galette looked great.

And the cookies, oh the cookies:

Gemelli Bakers also sells their bread year-round at the farmers' market.

Gemelli Bakers
129 S Pugh St
State College, PA 16801
(814) 234-8946

They keep slightly odd hours, so call ahead.

90 Miles Cuban Cafe: temporarily not on hiatus for excellent Cuban sandwiches

Mmmm. Maduros - sweet plaintains.

On a snowy Saturday, I met up with Nancy, a fellow BritCom  addict (she's clued me in on several occasions on the latest must-see shows from the other side of the pond), for a lunch of pressed Cuban sandwiches and maduros, tostones, and yuca frita at a four-month-old Cuban joint a stone's throw from my old vet ('old' because I fired them after they misdiagnosed my dog's Lyme disease. Uh huh. Holistic cat doctor (??!!) refused to test my dog. And gave her anti-inflammatories, which did nothing but mask Lula's degenerating joints).

 

90 Miles Cuban Cafe, named for the distance between Cuba and Florida, is a matchbox sized space with counter service and bar stool seating along three walls. The mural on the outside wall shows two young boys pulling a car, representing Cuba, into Chicago (you can make out the outlines of Chicago skyscrapers). As Alberto the owner explained to me, "we're bringing real Cuban food to Chicago."

Nancy was a little late to arrive, as a driver on her unplowed side street got stuck in the snow and had to be pushed out. I occupied my time taking photos, sipping an excellent cafe con leche, chatting on the phone with my mom (rude I know), and talking to Alberto about his restaurant, which has been full-stop busy since opening in September.

I arrived just before lunch rush. Alberto was getting things ready and his wife, Christine, was in back. They have kitchen help, deft hands that pump out authentic sandwiches (white bread only) and delicious sides. At night they serve dinners - but only until 8 pm.

The walls are covered in Cuban-themed ephemera - old envelopes mailed from pre-Revolutionary Cuba, old men's magazines, postcards, newspapers - it was easy to pass time by reading.

Nancy arrived, we ordered, and within minutes our small patch of bar space was covered in baskets of Cuban treats.

Nancy had a croqueta sandwich - ham, ham and more ham, with a ham croqueta thrown in for good measure (you can see it squished remnants near the bottom piece of bread):

I ordered an item they were debuting that day - a turkey sandwich made in the style of a 'proper' Cuban sandwich - roast turkey and turkey ham (or was it pastrami? No matter, it was delicious) with cheese, mustard and pickles. Yes, I broke my gluten-free diet for this deal with the sandwich devil. And I have no regrets.

There were the tostones, the 'savory' fried plantains with garlic (vs sweet ripe plaintains in the first picture, above):

And yuca frita - fried yuca with a nice, oily garlicky mojo:

As a bonus, Alberto brought us an empanada. I don't eat beef, but I tried the dough, which was flaky and rich. Nancy ate as much as she had room for.

It was a delicious, reasonably-priced meal. Though I can't comment on authenticity (most Cuban joints don't have the breadth and depth of sandwich options that 90 Miles does - there's chicken and vegetarian options - even a cheese sandwich! - along with the usual variants on ham, pork and beef) I loved everything I ate. I'll definitely go back before I leave Chicago.

90 Miles Cuban Cafe
3101 N Clybourn Ave
Chicago, IL 60618
(773) 248-2822

Mmmm Zukay: Live cultures, spicy salsa and savory relish

I'd never been to Expo East, the trade show for all things organic and natural that you'd find in the grocery section of Whole Foods, until a couple weeks ago when work gave me the excuse I had been waiting for to check out the show in Boston.

Though our company had a booth, I spent a great deal of time walking the show, getting to know the competitors (and their products) and meeting people who were selling interesting (to me) products.

Past the casseroles filled with tikka masala and pad Thai, beyond the vegan marshmallow booth, across from one of the dozens of snack chip and functional water companies (think Vitamin Water, but all-natural and corn syrup-free), I found Scott Gryzbek (an ex-consumer packaged goods marketer MBA) and his wife Cathy (a geologist) selling their lacto-fermentedsalsas and relishes along with their company controller (ohh, nice title) Tonyalee at the Zukay booth.

Scott and Cathy:

Tonyalee and Cathy:

[For those who do not want to click the above lacto-fermentation link: What is lacto-fermentation? In a sentence, it is the fermentation that gives sauerkraut its sourness through growth of beneficial bacteria that, when consumed, promotes the growth of beneficial bacteria in our digestive tracts. Lacto-fermentation creates dairy-free probiotics -- and who doesn't want more probiotics in their lives?]

"Zukay" is their Anglicization of the abbreviated Japanese word for pickled - "zuke" (vs otsukemono or tsuke). Although their products are not related to Japanese pickles, Zukay seemed a fitting name for their young company. Their products - two lacto-fermented salsas, one hot, one not and two relishes, one garlic dill one horseradish dill - are delicious and sour and healthy and unusual. By taking something familiar and putting a genuinely healthy spin on it, they're made something I've never seen before.

So while I danced around their booth with joy (I tend to get overenthusiastic about things I like) I asked them where their idea came from. As I had suspected, they too had fallen under the spell of Sally Fallon and the Weston A Price Foundation (which she founded) from reading her book Nourishing Traditions.  Fallon promotes the consumption of traditional, real foods - processed foods with new or engineered ingredients have no place in her world. Fermented foods figure prominently in her recommendations and recipes. Anyone who likes kimchi or sauerkraut or kvass already knows how great these foods taste; the added probiotic benefits are less known outside of the cultures and countries where the unpasteurized versions (how can you tell? they must be refrigerated, or, at the very least, kept cool in a root cellar, to be raw and alive) are readily available and consumed on a regular basis.

But I am getting away from my main point - Zukay's products. I mentioned how tasty they were - the relishes are so good they can be eaten on their own instead of as a condiment. Sure, for now their products aren't organic, but the vegetables they use are grown locally in Lancaster County, PA, where the relishes and salsas are produced (they also have a ketchup, but they didn't bring any to the show. Sigh. I love ketchup). The hot salsa is actually hot - and sour. For those who dislike sourness, the flavor can be disguised a bit by the addition (at home) of a little fresh chopped cilantro and a squeeze of lime juice. The relishes are chock full o' cukes, have a good amount of garlic, and aren't too heavy on the dill (which works for me  - I'm not a huge dill fan). The one with horseradish isn't too hot, either.

Attendees at the trade show also seemed to like Zukay's products - it was one of the top 5 innovative new products at the show. Though it didn't take top honors, it is one of the most inspiring new products I had. The day I arrived home, I went to the farmers' market and started fermenting my own treats - a hot pepper and carrot condiment, a celeriac slaw, and a traditional slaw with added turnips and kale. The house smells rather rank and will continue to until I finally am satisfied with them and store them in the refrigerator. For those wanting a less noisome experience at home, there's always Zukay.

Greylock Gin, treasure of the Berkshires in Sheffield, MA

Poking about a local liquor emporium, hands full of beer and a bottle of Pinot Gris for my mom, I found a display of gin, vodka and rum from a distiller I had never heard of before: Berkshire Mountain Distillers of Sheffield, MA. I am a lover of gin, and lately I've been digging the distillates coming out of North Shore Distillery just north of Chicago, which has fancy bottles and even fancier "artisan" blends in limited editions. I've also become a fan, in theory only, of St. George Spirits of Alameda, CA, as I have yet to sample their wares. I dream.

The draw of a 'local' Massachusetts potable suckered me in, and I picked up a bottle of the gin for $28. Debuting in early May in Western Mass, Berkshire Mountain Distillers' wares are finally making it into limited distribution across New England, and only New England.

The website (and the back label) describe the gin as one in the style of London Dry Gin:

"Berkshire Mountain Distillers’ Greylock Gin is hand crafted in small batches at the Berkshire’s first legal distillery since prohibition. Our proprietary blend of botanicals, packed into a gin head suspended over a pot still, infuses the distillate with its unique essence. We use this time honored and labor intensive method to bring you a London dry style gin of exceptional quality."

I like the Greylock Gin a lot - in a side-by-side with Tanqueray (its all we had in the house), the gin was smooth, bright, clear, slightly herbaceous with subtle anise and strong juniper flavors. The finish was pleasant and clean tasting. Though I'm a Hendrick's fan (I love the cucumber flavor...mmm), the Greylock Gin mixes beautifully and cleanly in cocktails. I've been obsessively making one cocktail over the last few nights. Though I didn't realize it at the time (I was using whatever I found in the fridge) it is a variation on the Foghorn. Given the inclusion of orange bitters, I suppose this drink could be called the Orange Foghorn or the Greylock Foghorn.

Greylock Foghorn

3 dashes Fee Bros Orange Bitters to line the glass

1 squeeze lime juice (about 1 t)

1 measure Greylock Gin

1-2 measures of Journey Ginger Brew or Ginger Beer

Lime wedges to garnish

Ice as desired

Admittedly, the recipe does mask the Greylock Gin quite a bit, but damn, it's a yummy cocktail. And you already know how to make a gin & tonic, so if it is Greylock Gin you want to taste, make one of those.

Flour Bakery + Cafe, Boston MA with Glenn

The scene at Flour Bakery + Cafe on a Sunday morning can be summed up with a single photograph:

Chaos. Unmanaged, unmannered get-out-of-my-way Boston-style chaos.

There's a reason for this.

Reason 1: There's nothing quite like Flour, a fun and hip baked-goods heavy cafe developed and run by pastry chef Joanne Chang et al, in the South End, or, for that matter, in any other part of Boston, except in the Fort Point Channel area, which has its own Flour location.

Reason 2: On Sundays, Flour rolls out the specials - brioche donuts filled with vanilla creme or raspberry, maybe a red velvet cake, perhaps something else they've decided to do at the last minute. The donuts are good, but not quite as fabulous as those that came out of the Bouchon Bakery kitchen in NYC until they stopped making them. But since New York is so far away, and Bouchon no longer makes Boston Creme brioche donuts, these darling, very hand-made looking donuts are the best thing going in the high-end donut category in Boston.

Reason 3: Flour opens up much earlier than the surrounding brunch joints, so those who rise early have a single point of breakfast focus.

Reason 4: They don't manage the line very well at Flour. "Very well" is actually an overstatement. "Not at all" would be more accurate.

Fussing about chaos and lines aside, I had a wonderful cakey and donuty and sandwichy three-coffee breakfast there early-ish Sunday morning with my college classmate Glenn, who was visiting from the easily more foodie San Francisco (as it happens, Joanne Chang is also a classmate, but I never knew her at school, nor did Glenn).

Glenn, like me, travels with his camera (though you can't see, he's photographing our baked goods):

Here's what he was photographing: a sticky bun, a vanilla creme donut and our "we make it only every two weeks" uber-moist red velvet cake with buttercream:

The sticky buns were tasty. Best around? Maybe yes, maybe no, depends on how you like the texture of your dough. If you are more of a laminated dough type, they're not satisfying at all. But for those who love brioche, the recipe is spot-on. The recipe lives here.

Eventually it will be in her cookbook, which she is still testing recipes for.

Apparently there was some kind of celebrity chef contesty thing around sticky buns, but I can't stand celebrity chefs, so I'll just leave that for you to research if you care.

We also ordered egg sandwiches. The sandwiches were composed of a square of warm baked egg magic (egg and milk or half/half, baked in a pan, sliced), our choice of turkey, ham or bacon (I went with turkey), melted cheese, ripe tomatoes and greens on a brioche (what else) bun. They were heavenly. There was chew, there was velvet (egg souffle-like layer), there was salt, there was melt. Only thing missing was crunch, but I was okay without it.

While Glenn and I caught up and chatted about an old friend (the story is the stuff of the Lifetime Network, not really appropriate to repeat here), the line grew and grew and ebbed and grew again. Tables turned, we downed three coffees, and sensing it was time to go (no one pressed us to leave, but the unabating crowds were hint enough) we made our way out the door and down the street for a long walk amongst the South End's brownstones.

Flour Bakery + Cafe

1595 Washington St

Boston, MA, 02118

(617) 267-4300

urbanbelly, Chicago IL: "Pan-Asian" through the personal lens of Chef Bill Kim

A photographer from RedEye capturing a few 'candids' for the paper

In the middle of a residential area in an unremarkable strip mall on Chicago's near northwest side, Chicagoans Bill and Yvonne Kim, along with Bill's brother Mike, have just opened up urbanbelly, a casual 40-seat BYOB storefront restaurant focusing on the flavors of East and Southeast Asia as filtered through Bill's experiences cooking at fine restaurants throughout the US.

To call urbanbelly "Pan-Asian" and to stop there is to miss something very important: urbanbelly isn't a typical Pan-Asian restaurant. There's no attempt on the chef's part to replicate authentically the dishes of a large and diverse region of the world. Rather he takes ideas, methods, and preparations from Korean, Chinese, Japanese, Thai and Vietnamese cuisines and combines them with his own unique culinary sensibility from years spent in, among other places, the kitchens at Charlie Trotter's and Susanna Foo, as well as at his own place in Doylestown, PA. It is a deeply personal style of cooking and cuisine.

The restaurant has four tables, each with seating for ten. This view, above, is exactly what you would see were you walking in the door on a late afternoon in the summer, as the windows face west. Before you sit, you order your lunch/snack/dinner at the counter at the back of the restaurant, take a number and then find a seat.

When the restaurant is busy, as it has been and inevitably will become more so as soon as the restaurant is discovered (it has only been open a week), Yvonne Kim breaks into crowd control and management, something I don't think she really had to deal with for the 6 years she worked front of the house at the Michelin-starred Restaurant Daniel in New York.

Chef Bill has a view of the restaurant from his window by the counter, where he expedites all the orders.

His wife Yvonne is running around the front of the house, greeting everyone and making sure guests have water and silverware and chopsticks and know how to order. She's got a lot of energy. She has to. She's working at least 12 hours a day 6 days a week.

What I'm going to tell you next is absurd and almost embarrassing: I've been to urbanbelly 5 times since they opened 5 days ago. Why? I've been craving the food Chef Bill makes all my life. I was raised on dim sum Sundays and Japanese cuisine and added Vietnamese, Thai and Korean cuisines to my diet when I was in college. Chef Bill's cuisine hits almost every comfort zone in my brain and belly and I feel deeply satisfied after a meal there. The menu is limited - right now there are (luckily) only 15 items on the menu and I've tried every single one. I've loved 13 of the 15 dishes I've tasted - that's an 86.7% hit rate, great by any measure. And I'll admit - the two dishes that I won't order again weren't failures, I just generally don't enjoy (to my palate) overly sweet sauces. I find they dominate the rest of the dish too much.

Between my last visit on Thursday with a gang of hungry eaters and my visit tonight (!!!) with Evan Debacle and the great camera, we managed to get a few photos of some of my favorite things to eat there.

And now...the menu in photos:

#11 Udon: Shrimp, Vietnamese Coriander and Sweet Chili Lime Broth $13

See the small brown balls garnishing the dish? House-made fish balls those are. Mmmm.

#12 Urbanbelly Ramen: Pork Belly, Shiitake and Pho Broth  $13

Did you ever see Tampopo? This is precisely the dish you want by your side when you take in a bit of Juzo Itami. Sure the broth isn't a ramen broth, but the pho spices are subtle, vibrant, and addictive.

#13 Somen: Mussels, Chinese Black Beans and Young Coconut Broth $11

I love shellfish. I love coconut. And I love this dish. 

#18 Wrinkle Beans $4

Photo by Evan.

They're beans, fried until wrinkly but not crunchy. Not too spicy. But flavored just right.The beans change depending on what is available.

#19 Chinese Eggplant with Thai Basil $5

This has been far and away one of the most universally loved dishes at urbanbelly. The eggplant is cooked perfectly - it is tender yet soft and melts in the mouth. The flavor is bright and acidic and slightly sweet and savory. The crunchy fried shallots add a nice counterpoint and the fresh herb brings out the fragrance of the dish.

#16 Seasonal kimchi $4

It changes from day to day. Today it was made from nappa cabbage, I think.

#2 Lamb and Brandy Dumplings $8

Photo by Evan

Steamed lamb dumplings with brandy and edamame. The filling was more subtle than other dumplings on the menu. They're good, but not quite as show stopping as the other dumplings.

#4 Duck and Pho Dumplings $8

Photo by Evan

Rich, crisp wontons filled with Duck spiced with star anise, cinnamon, ginger, cardamom and a host of other things I can't even begin to guess are a crunchy, meaty treat that I've sampled 4 of the 5 times I've visited. Not one for fried dumplings, I find these delicious. But I love duck.

#9 Phat Rice $9

This is rice with the works. Short Rib, pork belly, pineapple, scallion, pea shoots and Thai basil have never tasted so good together. The first few times I tried it, it was either too salty or too limey. Today is was perfect. One of the best versions of fried rice I've tasted.

#5 Pork & Cilantro Dumplings $7

Do you know why these dumplings are so good? Because they come with a garnish of wrinkle beans, that's why. I have yet to taste these, but my pork-loving friends tell me that the cilantro is the perfect counterpoint to the pork.

I think the most common misconception of urbanbelly given its location and style of service and type of cuisine, will be that it is trying to be authentically Asian, whatever that means. I think to some that means 'cheap'. To others that means 'just like my momma made'. It isn't the case on either count. The food is gorgeous, made from great ingredients and carries a price that reflects that quality and effort. Perhaps Chef Bill and Yvonne need to call out their effort a little more to manage expectations a little better. Then again, if they don't, there's more for me and my friends.

urbanbelly / Urban Belly
3053 N California Ave
Chicago,IL 60618
(773) 583-0500

Pasticceria Natalina revisted - dessert porn!

About 8 months ago I finally posted a small entry on one of my favorite Chicago bakeries - Pasticceria Natalina. At the time I didn't have any great pictures of their pastry and felt that the report didn't really do justice to the work their shop is producing.

I went back the other day and Nick and Natalie had some great pastries and cookies in the shop to photograph. Of course, I can't remember the names of any of them, but I think the pictures pretty much speak for themselves.

And in case you are wondering, they do taste as good as they look. Probably better.

Puff pastry filled with cream

Napoleon filled with pastry cream and sponge cake

Mandarin Cake

Tiny lemon tiralli cookies

Puff Pastry topped with sheeps' milk ricotta

Torrone with pistachios and almonds

Chocolate and pistachio

Puff pastry filled with sheeps' milk ricotta

Marzipan cake with candied peel

Cookies!

Not all the cakes are available all the time. You'll just have to take your chances when you go in.

Pasticceria Natalina
5406 N Clark Street
Chicago, IL 60640
(773) 989-0662

Chaos Theory Cakes, Chicago: it may sound like lunch, but it is most definitely dessert

Cupcakes are so ubiquitous these days, it is hard to get excited about them. They're everywhere, in red velvet and chocolate and vanilla and praline and pecan fudge and butter brickle and hot tamale and Coca-Cola and root beer and hot mulled cider and coffee and mocha and latte and on and on and on...if it is sweet, it is a cupcake. But not so at Chaos Theory Cakes, the all-grown-up-and-ready-for-my-closeup brainchild of Michelle Garcia, the baker and pastry chef behind the all-organic Bleeding Heart Bakery, where if it is savory, it most definitely must be dessert.

There's more than a bit of trendiness about a concept - the savory dessert- so oft discussed in restaurant reviews, pastry chef-glorifying periodicals (about a 5 star chef, I recall reading, about 8 years ago, 'pastry chef x uses more salt than sugar in his desserts') and general discussion. But don't dismiss Chaos Theory as another follower. They're definitely doing something different - wholistically, the package is unlike any other shop I've visited in the US. It is an all-organic, fantastical, riotous carnival of colors and flavors and textures and ideas that lead to only one place: the mind of Michelle Garcia. Sure, other chefs in the US and around the world are exploring the same territory, but not with the singular vision and passion of Chaos Theory Cakes.

The entry level dessert for the less adventurous is the cupcake. The day I went I tried the curry, chocolate, and cardamom cupcake, which I adored. One of my favorite flavors of Vosges chocolate is the Naga bar, made with chocolate, coconut and curry. This cupcake was the angel-soft version, and I really enjoyed the uber-fudgy icing.

Though I didn't try it (I'm not an eater of the bacon, at least not yet), the bacon and chocolate cupcake looks equally good. Yes, that's a bacon garnish. I'm told it is even more tasty. Ah.

What I loved about my visit to Chaos Theory is the immediate and unrelenting attack on my senses the moment I pushed open the door on a hot August afternoon. Music. Color. Aroma. Flavor.  After politely asking if I could take photos for the blog (how could I help myself) I started snapping everything in sight. It was just so fun.

A couple of the murals:

Cake and mural:

The seating and the murals:

The marshmallows (and 2-for-1 cupcake experiments):

Tons of candy-colored, festive cakes:

And the darned nicest shopgal I've ever met, doing some cleaning before the rush hits. She was incredibly nice, incredibly helpful, and all around obliging:

The pastries are wild. The shop essentially has five categories of baked sweets: cream puffs, cakes, cupcakes, tarts, and mousse cakes. The mousse cakes seem to have the most unique flavors, like this one:

What is it exactly? Take a gander:

There's also the Avocado Cake:

There's the mango cake with jalapeno:

I didn't try any of these savory cakes, they're a little large for a solo eater and I'm currently on a financial austerity plan. Watching my wallet, as they say. But they were fascinating to me and I've heard tell that they are quite tasty. Alas, no pictures, as they were safely tucked into a refrigerated case that reflected copious light and created unsightly glare. Trust me, they were fanciful and fun. I was pretty much able to only get a decent picture of one - the Oaxaca Cake:

I wasn't able to get a picture of the tarts, but I did bring home one of the Chocolate S'mores tarts, which is made with a rich chocolately ganache, really good meringue, and a crisp graham cracker tart shell. E and I both enjoyed it and I found myself sneaking bites when he wasn't looking.

The prices here are high, reflecting two (major) things: the cost of organic commodities right now (they're high) and the amount of labor going into each dessert (not insignificant). Some will balk at paying $6 for a small tart and $3.75 for a cupcake, but as on occasional treat it is well worth the money.  Good, real ingredients aren't cheap. To frame it differently, if you were in a good restaurant, you'd gladly pay $6 for a large tart, and you'd be getting off easy with a $3.75 cupcake.

Chaos Theory Cakes
2931 N Lincoln Ave
Chicago, IL 60686
(773) 281-2353

Roadside Food Stands along the Hana Highway in Maui

Every guidebook, website, and person I've spoken to about Maui has mentioned the Road to Hana as one of the most beautiful drives they've taken in the Hawaiian Islands. A few places mention - usually briefly and without detail - the many roadside stands dotting the 20 miles or so between the start of the windy, slow-moving road and the town of Hana. One guide I read stated that it would behoove me, the tourist, to stop at as many stands as possible without specifically mentioning where or what they sold.

The drive itself was pretty, but after the first few 160 degree turns I grew bored with the driving. Since I was the only one in the car, I couldn't exactly turn over responsibilities to someone else. My desire to get to Hana outweighed my desire to stop driving. And there was that promise of tasty treats along the road that had me in its thrall. I took to taking pictures with my right hand as I drove with my left to keep myself entertained. I passed the same four models of car over and over - tourist rentals seemed to be largely Jeeps, Mustangs, Uplanders and Ford Focuses (or is it Foci?).

After passing numerous fresh coconut stands (they'll machete them for you) and fresh banana bread places, I finally stopped for a BBQ joint that promised real, mesquite-smoked Kalua Pig - slow roasted Hawaiian pork - in taco form. And sweet island corn. I'm a sucker for corn.

I'm not a pork eater, but the barbecue looked great:

I wandered over to the sweet corn kiosk, little more than a kettle on a portable candy stove. The corn was, as promised, incredibly sweet and delicious. At $2.50 a piece, if it was anything but it was going to be a let down.

He thought I asked for two pieces, so I ate both. It was to be last hot food I ate for the next 24 hours. Oops. Had I known that, I would have had the fish tacos, too. The squeeze bottle on the left is full of melted butter. Mmmmm.

They were also selling green bananas there. Bananas grow everywhere along the road. If you look up as you near Hana, you'll see bananas hanging over the road. I didn't get a picture of the banana trees but I did get one of the individual green bananas for sale:

Corn downed, I got back in the car and headed to Hana. I stopped to take a look at one stand's banana bread:

I don't know if it was the best as I didn't feeling like shelling out $7 for a mini loaf or stopping at each roadside stand to make a fair comparison. So I'll take the judges' word for it.

After driving a little longer, I turned on to a road that promised a state park with black sand beaches. Along the road, I found two unattended fruit stands selling passion fruit and bananas. I was able to stop the car and get a decent photo (turns out taking photos by simply holding up the camera, pointing it out the window, and hoping it looks okay doesn't really work). I didn't pick up any fruit - I didn't have much of an appetite.

At the beach, parked in front of a graveyard, was a shave ice truck. Shave Ice is a Hawaiian staple - a huge cone of shaved ice drowned in the customer's choice of syrup flavors. There are the typical fruit flavors (raspberry, cherry)  and then the typical Hawaiian tropical fruit flavors (passion fruit, lychee, pineapple, li hing mui (dried licorice spiced plum), coconut, lime, etc). I usually go for a combination of lychee and passion fruit.

After the park I headed back to the airport to make my flight back to New York. Since I had plenty of time, I stopped for one final booth I had seen on my way to Hana - an ice cream stand.

The booth - and the road - was eerily quiet at 4 pm, when I stopped in for a gelato. Lisa, who runs the stand, spends half her year in Maui and half her year in Maine.

 She had worked at Ono Gelato Companyin Paia, about 15 miles down the road, and decided to give a gelato stand a try. Lisa has the best - and, truly, only - gelato stand on the road to Hana. And has exclusive rights to sell Ono Gelato on the highway.

The operation is pretty low tech. Ice cream is kept cold with ice packs in styrofoam under a Sponge Bob blanket. Somehow it manages to stay at almost the perfect temperature most of the day.

Signage is low-fi, with adorably clunky handwritten lettering.

A cone is $6 - but it is a huge waffle cone and Lisa will give you up to three flavors. I chose Baci (chocolate and hazelnut), Acai, and Pineapple. She had run out of a few other flavors by the time I arrived. I have a photo but it isn't incredibly appealing - the tropical heat melted the gelato almost as quickly as I could eat it. It was so delicious I decided to track down the Ono store on my drive back.

Ono is owned by three Canadians who moved to Maui from Victoria, British Columbia. Stefano, one of the partners, is a third generation Gelataio from Turino. In Canada, the team operated a European-style cafe. They opened up Ono in December 2007 and in the process of creating their green vision for their shop, have used Ono as a platform to support local organic and sustainable businesses. While Ono does use Italian-made bases for their dairy gelato flavors, they do use local fruit as much as possible in their dairy-free flavors. They also use organic milk and organic Maui sugar in their products. And the results are delicious. Usually I despise gelateria that use bases, mixes, or flavors, but Ono is great. The gelato is fresh and smooth and has a velvety texture. Flavors are bright and distinguished. I love Ono. Even if it is $4.95 for a small dish.

If I could do it all over again, I wouldn't change my approach to the Road to Hana. Light on the sights, heavy on the nibbles. And winding up at Ono. Yeah, that's five hours well spent.

B&R Artisan Bread, Framingham MA

In an obscure strip mall that I remember from early childhood as having one of the only KFCs within a 10 mile radius of our house, Michael Rhoads and his wife Jen have opened up one of the finest bread bakeries in Boston. Yes, Boston. Technically it is 20 miles from Boston, but I don't know of another bakery in the Hub producing bread as good as his.

Commercial rents are high in Boston. Commercial/Retail rents in the burbs are significantly less. So Michael ended up setting up shop 20 miles from most of his wholesale customers, which include restaurants, shops, and clubs. While he may not have a huge following in Framingham  (he's been there for over two years and Framingham is better known for its sizeable Brazilian population than for its food artisans) his 50 or so daily walk-in customers know they're extremely lucky to have him in the neighborhood.

Although I went to culinary school with Michael, I didn't officially meet him until after I finished when he started spending time with my roommate, who was also in culinary school with us. I knew him to be a baker - before culinary school, he had been building wood-fired ovens around the country and had already developed a reputation as a great baker.

I didn't see much of Michael after my roommate situation dissolved (long, sad story), though I popped into Sel de la Terre, where he was working, and chatted with him briefly about what he was doing (baking, mostly). I think that was sometime around early 2001.

Flash-forward seven years. Mom and I are sitting in a locavore-friendly restaurant in Cambridge having some of the best bread I've had in years (Chicago, sadly, doesn't have bread that even comes close to this). We ask the owner of the restaurant, who also happens to be our server, where the bread is from. "Oh," she says, "Its made by my husband's best friend. B&R - they have a bakery and retail space in Framingham."

Shocked that someone opened up a great bakery so close to my mom's house, I immediately get to googling when I get home. For the last two years there had been an artisan bakery almost in my mom's backyard, and we were only now figuring it out.

I stopped in on Michael the next day. After checking each other out with some uncertainty (I think we both looked rather different...or, at least he did, with some very chic oversized googly glasses perched on his nose), we shook hands. "Yeah, I thought I recognized you," he said, charitably.

We chatted a little about business, bakeries in Chicago (he had heard from Baker's Guild members that there was still lots of opportunity in Chicago), being one's own boss, long hours, and his new son who was no longer so new. I asked him if I could come back the next day to take photos. He agreed.

I arrived mid-morning the next day to take pictures. Michael was out and his wife didn't know that I was coming in. I didn't want to be obtrusive and take pictures in the bakery (had Michael been around I would have asked). I took as many photos as I could of the bread that was on display and the equipment in the front room.

B&R Artisan Bread
151 Cochituate Road
Framingham, MA 01701
(508) 370-7730

Three Stone Hearth: a (r)evolution in eating

For the last 16 months, out of a crowded Berkeley kitchen leased from a social services facility, Larry Wisch (the kitchen's "Fermenter") and his partners Porsche Combash, Misa Koketsu, Jessica Prentice, and Catherine Spanger at Three Stone Hearth have been preparing and selling sustainably sourced and produced foods based on the ideas originated by Weston A. Price, the "Charles Darwin" of nutrition science. Although Price was a dentist, his interest in diverse cultures around the world (he referred to the people he studied as 'primitives'), diet and dental health led him to the conclusion that 'native' (local, pre-modern) diets, rather than modern diets, were better for the formation of the palate, teeth, and ultimately, health. In 1939 he published Nutrition and Physical Degeneration, which linked modern methods of agriculture and food production to disease. Michael Pollan has helped to introduce a generation to the teachings of Weston A Price in his books Omnivore's Dilemma and In Defense of Food, and many, including the five owners of Three Stone Hearth, are putting theory into practice.

Once a week customers line up to pick up yellow bins full of glass mason jars stuffed with rich stews and soups, lactofermented vegetables (think sauerkraut), and all nature of fermented drinks. When customers return to pick up their weekly bin, they return the used mason jars and bottles so that Three Hearth Kitchen can reuse them.

Below, jars of Russian Beef Soup are lined up just after they've been sealed in jars and cooled. Three Stone Hearth publishes a weekly menu that customers order from.

Here's the cooler, lined with jars - in a day, the cooler will be filled with the yellow bins ready for customer pick up:

In the back room, Larry keeps large, imported crocks built for fermenting vegetables - and for making fermented drinks:

A milk crate filled with coolers, including root beer coolers:

Larry shows off a jar of Kvass, a ruby red tonic made from fermented beets with a little bit of sauerkraut juice - when Larry has extra.

We stood around a table in the Black Room as Larry opened up the jar of kvass. This was the second beverage he served us - the first was a lightly fermented soda made from douglas fir essence and whey (that's what he's pouring in the photo above). Delicate with a hint of the forest, it was the perfect precursor to the salty, acidic kvass, said to be an excellent liver cleanser.

According to Larry, Three Stone Hearth's goal is not to be a large, profit-making entity (which would, invariably, force them into many of the conventions of industrial food production that they are trying to avoid), but to teach people from around the country to practice similar sustainable food purchasing, preparation and distribution (as a community supported kitchen they rely on volunteers for everything from picking up cheese to working in the kitchen). The idea is that as interest in this kind of food grows, the demand for farms that are producing truly sustainable meat, eggs, dairy, produce, and fruit will increase, and more farms will begin farming in this way, and people will have more access to good, real food - food that nourishes the soul and the body in equal measure. It is a noble goal - and something I ardently hope will happen.

This post is part of the Food Renegade's Fight Back Friday, April 3, 2009

Crema Coffee & Bakery, Portland, OR

Douglas introduced me to Crema. It's his neighborhood cafe. I'm really, really jealous.

I didn't try the cupcake, piled high with buttercream.

As I waited in line for my cappuccino (super dry, two shots of espresso), baked goods, fresh from the oven, were put on display.

I didn't try these either.

Yeah, I was tempted. But I'm gluten free, so I eat with my eyes. Gawd that's cliched.

So I just waited for my coffee with everyone else.

Stumptown Coffee Roasters

I almost left Portland for the second time without stopping in at Stumptown Coffee Roasters, the best boutique roaster in the Northwest and, arguably, the country. The final day of my visit, my friend Chelsey mentioned that she had written an article for Rolling Stone's Hot Issue about Stumptown and had spent the day there cupping coffees and learning about their business. Moments after hearing about her experiences, I checked the NY Times and found an article, published two days earlier, on boutique roasters, including Stumptown (and their related non-profit, Bikes to Rwanda, which provides bicycles to Rwandan coffee farmers and workers to assist them in their work - check out their blog).

It was 3 pm. My flight wasn't until 10 pm. I had plenty of time to go to Stumptown. I decided to go to the Belmont Street location because I could try the espresso and go next door to the annex and try their Clover machine, which makes French-press style coffee, automatically, one cup at a time.

The variety of roasted beans available on a daily basis is staggering:

I usually don't like to buy roasted coffee - I prefer to do it myself at home with my I-Roast 2. But Stumptown roasts exactly as I like it - not too dark, so the bitterness is virtually absent.

So I purchased a half pound of Nicaraguan Las Golindrinas Estate, the coffee I read about in the New York Times. It was the #1 Nicaraguan Cup of Excellence winner this past year and it retails for $80/lb! The estate has only been in existence since 1977 and today is only 90 hectares. They only had 14 bags for sale in the auction this year, which Stumptown won (and paid about $100,000 for). The Jury awarded it nearly 95 points (fantastic) and described it with the following attributes:

Jury Descriptions: multi dimensional (24), sweet (22), extremely aromatic (24), crisp bright lively and round acidity (22), citrus (15), chocolate (10), buttery finish (15), long sweet lingering aftertaste (20), rich body (10), mango, vanilla, cherry, jasmine flowers, green apple, peach, grapes, blackberry, cantaloupe, effervescent, rounded, honey, very clean

I'm a sucker for the Cup of Excellence winners:

It is one of the smoothest, most delicious cups of coffee I have ever had. I look forward to drinking another cup tomorrow. Incredible. Everything the jury said, maybe better.

The five-group head Kees Van Der Westen espresso machine (I've seen smaller versions at Vivace in Seattle and Metropolis in Chicago) was amazing.

I bought a double espresso. Of course I took a picture before I drank it:

Great crema, a little messily pulled. The crema was as good as any I've had anywhere. Lasted a long, long time. The flavor was super-smooth.

Great espresso? Oh yes.

My next stop was the annex, just two doors down from the main shop. The annex is an interesting concept. They sell only French-press style coffee, from the Clover machine. They also use the space for cuppings that are free and open to the public. Just don't wear perfume. Or clove oil.

The walls of the annex are lined with coffee beans in glass jars, a sight that usually freaks me out (exposure to light is not good for coffee beans). But it looked like they had only enough stock to last a few days...or so I assured myself (note: the lids aren't really air-tight, so the beans do oxidize and change over time, even if not discernible to most).

I was too late to attend one of their cuppings (they have them twice a day). I didn't really know what to get, so I ordered a few cups of coffee and watched Megan use the Clover. It looks pretty clunky but makes a great cup of coffee:

I had a cup from a micro lot from El Injerto, a Guatemalan estate that previously took #1 in the Cup of Excellence judging. It was very good. I had a couple others - a Colombian #1 Cup of Excellence from La Esperanza that was delicious and one other that I just can't recall. This chart, from the Cup of Excellent website, shows the COE Auction winners and how much they paid.

Megan thoughtfully wrote on each of my cups so that I would remember which was which. They were great - each so different, but each was delicious as it cooled.

By the end of my day I had consumed nearly 2 cups of drip coffee and two espressos. Yeah, I was wired. My only regret was not going earlier in the day so I could have tried even more.

Update 3/26/08: The New York Times reported today that Stumptown has stopped using the Clover machine after Starbucks bought the company. I don't blame them. Given Starbucks' inability to roast coffee properly (ie not to burn the hell out of it), the Clover is now reduced to a novelty, there for status but little else, as the coffee it produces at Starbucks (using that badly roasted coffee) tastes terrible. I wouldn't want to be associated with that either.

Land's Sake: Community Supported Agriculture in Weston, MA

Across from the Field School in Weston, MA, where I attended my first deliciously addictive flea market, is an unusual sight in such a posh and exclusive suburb: Land's Sake, a non-profit farm that offers both CSA shares (basically a vegetable subscription program) on 25 acres of prime real estate.

I love this place for its rustic simplicity. There isn't an over-abundance of produce, but what they do have is very very good: honey made on the farm from hives that you can see from the road, wonderful heirloom tomatoes, interesting varieties of patty pan squash, corn from a neighboring farm, pick your own berries and flowers, and any number of other tasty things brought from the ground in season.

The farm stand is exactly what I imagine every farm stand should look like:

And almost every view has a pastoral background that takes you right out of the 'burbs and into the country:

Every summer, middle school students can come to the farm and learn about the stewardship of the land. It is just one of many really interesting program focused on bringing sustainable agriculture (and responsible eating, albeit indirectly) to the masses. At least those masses who have parents that care about these sorts of things.

I was particularly fond of the patty pan squash they had this year:

The tomatoes were rather modest in selection compared to Verrill, but every bit as lovely:

Verrill Farm, Concord MA

In 1996 I attempted to bike to Verrill Farm, a small farm market and supplier of high-end produce to many Boston area restaurants, from my home in Cambridge, MA. Although only 12 miles away, I was bedeviled by the hills and by my less than adequate biking skills. It wasn't that I couldn't stay on the bike - I just wasn't in shape. At the end of the exhausting late spring ride, we were rewarded with a trip to some of Verrill's asparagus fields, which happened to be located in the town where I grew up. The fields were on on the driving route between my house and my high school. Although I had driven by them for over two years, twice a day, sometimes more, I had never noticed their existence. They had been hiding in plain sight. Today, whenever I drive past, I always look to see if the asparagus is still growing there.

I grew up with Verrill Farm. Back in elementary school, they took us there to see the cows and visit a working dairy farm. Back then Verrill was a dairy, but like most small family-owned New England Dairies, they couldn't compete. Instead of closing the farm and sub-dividing the farmland (they couldn't anyway because it was protected agricultural land per a 1982 arrangement), Verrill turned to agriculture. In high school, I stopped there for pick your own vegetables and berries.  In those days there was only a small rustic shack. In 1990 they sold the herd and started plans for the farm stand that stands there today:

In the Summer, Verrill is the go-to place for an incredible variety of heirloom tomatoes:

And  of course they win prizes for their efforts:

These happen to be my favorite tomatoes:

I think they're called Matt's Sweet Cherry Tomatoes, though I'm not sure. They're tiny and taste like golden sugar.

My family is also a big fan of the corn they grow at Verrill. They always have at least four varieties for sale - the prices ain't cheap, but the corn is always great:

And -- happiness -- located a mere 30 minutes from Boston is a source of the precious Mirai corn variety. Thank you Farmer Verrill!

Raw Milk Resources: Finding a local farmer near you

Today I received a newsletter with a link to the most fantastic website that will thrill cheesemakers and raw milk enthusiasts alike - a listing of local farmers who are selling raw milk in the form of either shares in a cow or actual raw milk. Farmers list out what they have, and it is up to you to get in touch and get your milk. I wish I had this list years ago.

Portland Farmers Market, June 2007

Late spring is an incredible time to go to the farmers market in Portland. I went on a Saturday morning, the first in June, and was blown away not only by the produce but by the artisan food products, from bakery to cheese to pizza to bread to jam. The only disappointment was coffee - someone, not Stumptown, was selling just the most mediocre brew.

I took a lot of photos. Here are just a few from that day:

Mad for Joe Dressner

I'm crazy for Joe Dressner and his impeccable taste and the wines he brings to the US through his company, Louis/Dressner Selections. I adore the wines he and team select and I actually do look for his import label on the back of bottles when I'm at the wine store. Sometimes I just ask the staff if they carry the portfolio. As a fan of 'traditional' winemaking, I have found that wines with the Joe Dressner stamp of approval do indeed please my palate and provide a great value. The product is 'real wine,' and is made traditionally with wild yeasts, is hand harvested, non-filtered using natural viticulture. The website explains it better than I ever could. It is chock full of great information about Dressner's favorite winegrowing areas as well as a well-argued case for bucking the price tyranny of the AOC in France.

I learned about Joe Dressner wines when I was asked, four years ago, to work a wine tasting at Chambers Street Wine in New York. I matched cheeses with a selection of Louis/Dressner wines served by the shop staff. It was incredible, eye opening, and the wines, Savennieres (chenin blanc) and Chinon (cabernet franc), were revelations.  Not only were they were delicious, but they also reflected the terroir of the Loire valley. Better yet, they were less expensive than wines of similar quality from California, and, to my palate, better by several standard deviations than anything in the same price range from California.

In trying to locate a reliable source of Louis/Dressner Selections wine in Chicago, I did a search and stumbled on to Joe Dressner's Blog, written by the man himself on his cell phone, his blackberry and possibly his computer whenever he pauses long enough to sit down. He spends a lot of time in France, and peppers his blog with references to dinners that made him sick, temper tantrums he's had, and his dislike for the average US wine industry macher. His blog tracks his haircuts, his transatlantic voyages on discount airlines, the transatlantic voyages of people he works with, and random apologies for not blogging more often. My recent favorite entry? It had to be this one. Remember: Joe Dressner does not have peeps.

Although he claims that the site's point is "unabashed self-promotion", Joe Dressner is no PR man. His unfiltered and uncensored rants are a pleasure to read, much as his wine selections are a joy to drink.

In Chicagoland, Sam's carries some of the portfolio.

http://www.joedressner.com/

Article from Gastronomica on Joe Dressner and his approach to wine.

Is there good cheese in Australia?

There’s got to be more to Australian cheese than King Island Dairy and the crap that I tasted – but declined to sell – when I was still cheesemongering at Artisanal in NYC. At least that’s what I told myself when I set out to visit my first cheese shop in Melbourne’s Docklands district just after Christmas.

My experiences with Australian cheeses had been, until December, woeful and disappointing. I remember one importer bringing in more than a dozen cheeses for me and Daphne to taste and evaluate. Although they had been airfrieghted in and were, presumably, relatively fresh, some were ammoniated with slightly sticky rinds, while others were bland and no different from the mediocre cheeses we had in the US, at more than double the price. We took a pass on everything.

One of the lessons I took from my time working as a buyer is that there is often great cheese in the world, made by talented cheesemakers, that never makes it to US shores. Sometimes it is because the cheesemaker cannot or will not register with their own government and the FDA (see my entry for an explanation). Others are too small. And yet others just don't care or need US notice or recognition. Sometimes it is a combination of factors, sometimes it is the whim of the cheesemaker alone. And sometimes a cheese makes it in briefly, then disappears. Knowing this I was hopeful (but not overly optimistic) that I would find great cheese during my trip.

Turns out I could not have been more disappointed. A little web research helped explain why.

Australia has steadfastly refused to allow raw milk cheeses of any kind into the country until 1998, when aged Swiss cheeses like Sbrinz and Gruyere were allowed, and still prohibits cheesemakers from using raw milk in cheesemaking, even in aged cheeses.

Will Studd, who runs Calendar Cheese Company and is Australia’s cheese guru, infamously stated that the prohibition against raw milk cheesemaking in Australia was holding cheese quality back:

“I don't think any specialty cheese industry in the world has ever developed without raw milk because raw milk cheeses essentially reflect the area they come from”.

This statement is both true (raw milk cheeses do reflect the area they come from) and untrue (pasteurized cheeses, when made well, also reflect the area they come from). Australia has yet to develop great farmstead cheese, due not only to the ban on raw milk but, among other things (including poor cheesemaking), tight regulations on microbial count in the cheese aging process – a ban which limits the temperature a cheese can be ripened and aged at and slows the growth of the bacteria responsible for flavor in pasteurized and unpasteurized cheese.

               

The Sydney Morning Herald, in an article from 2004, quotes Laurie Jensen, the cheesemaker from Tarago River Cheese Company, who is ready to see the regulations lifted:

“"I'm very frustrated by it: we mature our cheese at anything from 12 to 20 degrees [celsius] and we've got this stupid storage regulation of 4 degrees," he says. "We've been grinding away for 20 years, and every time we turn the corner, we get belted. I'm not sure how you're supposed to build flavour into cheeses."

Milk quality and low-grade or homogeneous pasture, as well as lack of diversity in dairy animals may also contribute to poor cheese quality, contends the articles author, Matthew Evans. Australia has some glorious brush and countryside, not to mention a diverse climate packed with micro climates; is the implication that farmers are feeding their animals the same thing, grazing them on the same grasses, regardless of their location in the country? This seems more a flight of fancy than truth.

                  

Trying to understand why

               

In some countries in Europe, silage is used for feed during the winter – and the results are still tastier than 99% of the cheeses in Australia. I can’t believe it is only or largely the milk and pasture, although both do play vital roles in the creation and expression of terroir. Lack of cheesemaking expertise, limits on bacteria count, average milk, and high labor and feed costs can contribute to poor cheese in varying degrees. And bad cheesemaking may be the number one culprit.

As in the US, the size of Australia makes distribution a challenge for distributors and cheesemakers who want to get exposure for their product. A cheese made in Western Australia will be tough to move to a market in Sydney. Hot weather combined with expensive overland and air transportation add costs to the product similar to the markup on California cheeses in New York or Chicago. And as in the US before the artisan cheese boom (yes, there actually is one, it started around 1999) there isn’t much demand for domestically produced cheeses. It may be a chicken-or-the-egg question. Is poor cheese quality reason for the lack of demand, or is there no demand, thus no need or ability to improve quality?

In some ways, Australia’s attitude toward cheese (in general) reminds me of the US in the 1980s, when artisan goat cheese was first making an appearance in US restaurants with Laura Chenel’s cheese in California. Cheese was something people stored in plastic wrap singles, shelf-stable boxes, or bought shredded for pizza, but it was not something that we cared about. Goat cheese seemed to change all that. Soon the pleasantly acidic cheese was on the menus of "in" west coast restaurants, and worked its way across the country as it tracked to New York and back again.

                                                   

Even in the mid-90s, it was hard to find truly great artisan and farmhouse cheese in the US. And then something took hold in the late ‘90s. A generation of young cheesemakers began to come of age, taking their inspiration from home grown American cheesemakers such as Laura Chenel and Sally Jackson; the great UK cheese evangelist Randolph Hodgson at Neal’s Yard Dairy, and the small, unsung heroes of cheesemaking across Europe, coaxing terroir from their milk and using the centuries-old methods of their teachers and mentors in Europe.

There is obviously more to the story than I'm acknowledging, so much more - I don't mean to trivialize anyone's role in the development and growth of the US artisan cheese boom. The American Cheese Society, Whole Foods, a growing interest in the source of our food, the Slow Food movement, Zingerman's, and countless small retailers across the country helped fuel interest in artisan and farmhouse cheese. It is far too much to include in a blog entry on Australian cheese....

Contrasts in the US

The American cheese scene does get better every year but has much room for improvement. For every great new cheesemaker, there are 20 others making mediocre cheese. The last time I went to the American Cheese Society’s Festival of Cheeses, I was disappointed by the overall lack of quality, the ubiquity of flavored blocks of cheese, and the obvious omission of several great cheeses from the contest – either intentionally or unintentionally on the part of the cheesemaker. This is not to say there are no great cheesemakers in the States – there most certainly are, making (relatively) consistent cheese that can compete with the world’s best. I love Pleasant Ridge Reserve, Rogue Creamery’s blues, Cindy Major’s Vermont Shepherd, Mateo Kehler’s Winnemere, Cato Corner’s Drunk Monk, Love Tree’s Gabriel and Trade Lake Cedar, Winchester Extra Aged Gouda, Andante’s fresh goat, baton, and melange (see below for more on Andante), and many others I can’t recall as I write this. But there are dozens of other cheesemakers out there who are inconsistent or unremarkable and are propped up by their artisan or farmhouse or organic status, celebration in the local press, and romancing at the nearby farmers market. I think there is a place for this sort of local product…just not necessarily outside a 25 mile radius of their operation.

But I’m getting away from my focus – Australian Cheese.

My sister and I wandered around Melbourne, and after a little museum hopping, I suggested a walk out to the Docklands. What I really meant was that I wanted to go to Docklands and if I told her it was because I was trying to find a cheesemonger, she wouldn’t go for it. I abandoned her on a park bench and almost instantly bumped into The Wine and Cheese Providore – the holy grail.

The cheese section of the store was inside a cooler – yes, the same kind of cooler with the same kind of refrigeration/humidification unit that Murrays or Artisanal might have, except with a glass window in place of a wall. A sign on the door urged me to come in. None of the cheeses were behind glass or wrapped in plastic. Everything was out, either aging on wooden shelves or in neat piles and ready to buy. The cheeses with fleurie rinds were kept in a cooler, to control aging a little more. I was smitten!

Belinda Paterson, the cheesemonger at the Providore, led me through the Australian cheeses she had on hand. It didn't take long because there weren't many. The good ones were sold out and the rest weren't worth trying. There was not a single cheese from King Island Dairy -- those are carried by supermarkets and the stalls at Queen Victoria Market. Instead she gave me a list of 'must try' cheeses, and told me to head over to another part of town to see her old colleague Ryan Andrijich at Richmond Hill Cafe & Larder. On her list? Holy Goat's La Luna, Heidi Dairy's Tilsit, Gruyere, and Raclette, and Red Hill's Misty Valley.

Here's Belinda inside the cheese cave:

and here's another view of the cheese:

Can you spot the Australian cheese? There's just one in this picture.

So I was off to Richmond Hill Cafe and Larder. And sure enough, Ryan was there. Here he is, standing by the register just outside the cave:

The cheese room is gorgeous:

This view shows the construction of the room - and the shelves. Notice the wood? When we tried that at Artisanal the health department came down on us. So we used plastic...definitely not the same. I like that you can see the cafe through the window - it provides a sense of place and also gives diners something to look at other than the sidewalk or their dining companion.

Ryan confirmed what Belinda had said -- there wasn't much good cheese around, and the little good cheese available wasn't in stock because the Christmas holidays had wiped out the inventory. But there was French cheese to spare -- priced so many times higher than here in the US. He did have the Heidi Dairy cheeses -- they were just fine. But my feeling for them was tempered by the fact that similar cheeses from Switzerland were so much better, and priced lower. The novelty was that they were made in Australia, and were smaller than the originals on which they were modeled. For someone putting together a Australian-focused menu, they would be the perfect domestic melting cheese. For someone like me looking for a transcendent experience in the form of fermented milk, they were forgettable and irrelevant.

I grilled Ryan a little more about cheesemaking in Australia. He could name two cheesemakers who he thought were great - a woman from Western Australia whose name I cannot remember, and the two women from Holy Goat. And he didn't have any of their cheeses in stock.

When I came home I did a little more research on Holy Goat. I found this great article from Divine Online in which the author, Andrew Wood, takes Australia's cheesemakers to task. He writes:

There are too many so-called "specialist cheeses" produced in this country that are either stultifyingly bland and boring or wildly inconsistent to the point of being inedible.

Wood then goes on and describes how Carla and Ann-Marie learned their craft by working on organic farms in Europe and Ireland and from working for Gay Kervella in Western Australia (incidentally, Kervella's cheese as well as cheeses from Bruny Island, another acclaimed dairy, was and may still be available in the US via www.34-degrees.com ). They are completely in tune with the seasons and the land they work. They have 40 Saanen and British Alpine Goats, and will eventually milk up to 60 goats. That's not a lot of goat cheese. Harley Farms, where I spent a summer in 2002, milks nearly 250 goats, and even then easily sells out all their cheese). The two women employ traditional French 'soft curd' method of making cheese, ladling uncut curds into molds, which keeps them soft and supple, with a fine texture.

I will go back to Australia, and I will taste great Australian cheese. I will just have to plan better next time, and arrange to see some farms. I am optimistic that there is great Australian cheese, even if I have yet to taste it.

Shilling for the best coffee I've had all year

Bruce Corker grows amazing 100% organic coffee high up in the Kona district of Hawaii at his "estate", Rancho Aloha. Rich volcanic soils and a cool tropical climate gives the coffee unparalleled depth and smoothness. Growing great coffee was Corker's dream from the time he was a young Peace Corps volunteer in Colombia.

A month ago I received an email from the Corkers with the news that they had for sale the same Kona coffee that won a blue ribbon at the 2005 Gevalia (KRAFT!) sponsored Kona coffee contest.

Aloha Rancho Aloha Customer:

Since Rancho Aloha was chosen as Kona’s top coffee in the Gevalia Competition, we have received many requests for a roast as close as possible to the one used in the judging.

Working with Kona’s master roaster (who does all the roasting for the Gevalia Competition) we have developed a mild and flavorful offering that showcases Rancho Aloha’s special qualities.

If you have been waiting for this roast, please let us know right away as supply is limited. Our NEW “Prize-Winning Roast” in 8 oz. bags, whole bean, at $17.50 each, will be available beginning April 7, 2006.

We have not posted this on our website, so if you want the new roast through the website print “PRIZE-WINNING ROAST” and # of bags into the “phone” line on the website order form. Or you can order by telephone (808-322-9562) or send us an email. We look forward to hearing from you.

I've had this coffee and what can I say -- it is incredible and the highlight of my morning. One of my biggest complaints about the first batch of Ranch Aloha that I tasted was the roast -- too dark, no subtlety, almost burnt-bark tasting. This offering, by contrast, is one of the best roasted coffees that I have had - it is deep, chocolatey, nutty, rich, with a hint of minerality -- in a word, perfect. Yeah, it is $35/pound without including shipping, but if coffee makes you happy, and you don't roast your own, this is the must-try coffee (while it lasts). If you do roast your own, they also sell green coffee. Bruce's email is [email protected].