Friends & Family - Woodberry Kitchen

Wood Oven Roasted Oysters.

The Friends & Family Meal. I've heard about them, read about them, but I've never been invited to one. Until now.

Just what is this "F&F Meal" anyway? It's the meal (sometimes series of meals) that a restaurant hosts just before their official opening. It's designed to identify problem spots and work out the kinks of a new kitchen, bar, dining room and everyone working in the restaurant. The meals are comped by the house and everyone goes to town.

Last nights' Friends & Family Meal went from 5pm to 10pm. I arrived just before 9pm and the main dining room was packed with about 60 people filling the tables and crowding around the bar. The nice thing about this meal is that you know most of the people there and even though my "date" got sick and couldn't make it, there were plenty of friends to eat, drink and be merry with.

After a bit of mingling, Susan and I sat at the bar to sample the kitchens' offerings. Amy would jump in and out while handling the many details that arise when running a working restaurant and Luisa would join us a bit later.

Fried Hominy with Chile Mayo.

The menu is what's described as "Farm to Table" and the approach is a bit different. On the menu are a list of "snacks" designed to be immediate starters. Mini dishes that whet the appetite without actually being appetizers. Think of them as something instead of bread. From there, you can enjoy a variety of prepared oysters or some small cold or warm plates, or perhaps a salad. Once those smaller portions were out the way comes the supper dishes. A bit heartier and more filling.

Of course, we didn't follow the prescription. We just ordered relatively haphazardly - ordering whatever we thought was interesting.

First round: Wood Oven Roasted Oysters topped with bacon. Served on a bed of rock salt, the oysters were briny and had the taste of the ocean. Roasted just right, the oysters had a touch of heat and the bacon was pliable but crisp. Susan loved them but since I'm not a big fan of cooked oysters, I found them to be okay. Perhaps a bit too salty. Bring on the raw oysters because that's what I prefer.

Next round brought us the Fried Hominy with a chile mayonnaise dipping sauce. Reminiscent of CornNuts, the fried hominy, of course, had that rich corn flavor that was lightly fried and properly salted. The dipping sauce matched well but I found the hominy enjoyable enough that I couldn't resist eating it on its' own.

Raw Oysters, Iced on the Half Shell.

Round Three: Raw Oysters Iced on the Half Shell. Again, briny with the strong taste of ocean. As though your mouth was sucking down the ocean itself - which, for whatever reason, seemed odd to me. Perhaps it's just that I'm used to an oyster without such a strong connection to its' origins. However, they rocked. Served with some cocktail sauce, wedge of lemon and mignonette - I prefered the simple preparation of lemon with cocktail sauce while Susan preferred the mignonette. Unlike the many other places I've eaten where the oysters have flown far enough to earn frequent flier points, these tasted like they were pulled off the river bed that morning.

By this point, we're well into our meal and the next round brought something a bit more home-y. A deviled egg course made from Amy's grandmothers' recipe. A taste of Pennsylvania Dutch tradition piped through a pastry bag for a slight fanciness. Creamy, smooth and topped with slivers of chipped ham - what's not to love about deviled eggs? Bravo to them for putting it on a menu.

Amy Grandmothers' Deviled Eggs with Chipped Ham

We never made it to the Salads or Cold Plates, although Susan reported that someone else had tried the Various Beets and lov ed it. Roasted Buchanan Valley Pears and Adolescent Lettuces sound interesting and will have to be a point of interest for future visits.

The next round brought us Chips & Dip - three varieties of potato (yukon gold, sweet and blue), sliced thin, deep fried and served with an onion dip. Classic party food with a serious twist. The sweet potatoes were the favorite with the yukons a close second. The blue potatoes we had were more of the skin and a bit tougher. The chips were perfectly fried, slightly translucent (in the case of the Yukons) and stayed properly crisp.

Chips & Dip.

The nice thing about dining with Susan is that she's not afraid of anything. That's a plus. Whatever comes our way, it's going in our mouths. Good or bad. Right or wrong. Time to see what it tastes like. That which doesn't kill us, makes our tummies fuller. I had asked Rebecca if she wanted to come and join us but she had some weak excuses about a "happy hour", but she's too finicky an eater for this crowd so it was better that she wasn't there. Of course, the one person who I wanted to bring lives 2,000 miles to the south, making these kinds of excursions difficult and sporadic at best.

By far our favorite round, the Griddled Scallops with gold rice and special sauce rocked the house. So damn good, I had to get up and tell the kitchen just how much we loved them. Plump and perfectly griddled to a crispy caramel on the outside. Moist and succulent on the inside. Served with a rice that was just slightly crisp in spots an a lightly sweet sauce that was absolutely sublime. Not overpowering like so many sauces. This one was light, just below the radar and a perfect compliment to the sweetness of the scallops. It was almost as though you didn't know it was there. It was that complimentary. It was perfection.

Griddled Scallops with Gold Rice and Special Sauce - perfection.

Next round: Little Lamb Meatballs ina red pepper sauce with fried sage. Served in a little cast iron dish, these meatballs came straight out of the wood-fired brick oven and were piping hot. Once cooled sufficiently so as not to burn your mouth, these were lovely little bites. Slightly tangy. I actually only had one since the dishes were flying at us now and wasn't able to give the meatballs much attention.

After fiddling with the remote and trying to tame the music volume, Amy's dinner arrived. A little something off the menu. A large hamburger patty topped with grated cheese over a bed of greens. Looked pretty good but didn't have any. A little bit earlier, Nelson had ordered the Hamburger on a Roll. That looked good too with a nice red interior and a bag of French fries. The fries were interesting. Very thinly sliced and short, they reminded me of those Durkee Shoestring Potatoes you buy at the grocery store in cans. A real throwback to youth and a wonderful way to play on peoples' memories - without that gross greasiness you get from eating the stuff in the can.

Little Lamb Meatballs with red pepper sauce and fried sage.

For the next course, we decided to go for a Supper plate and ordered the Cast Iron Ribeye (medium) and asked the kitchen to slice it so all of us could sample. The steak came out very nicely but a bit more on the well side of medium. But the rich flavor of the ribeye was still there and quite enjoyable. I'm not a big fan of potatoes au gratin in general so it's always a tough sell to me. That said, the potatoes were properly done. Thinly sliced to a delicate texture and layered with cheese. It's a tasty accompaniment but I prefer rice over just about anything else so my personal bias starts to show when it comes to potatoes. However, I'm sure that those who prefer potatoes over rice would love the gratin. The steak sauce served with the ribeye was mildly sweet and very reminiscent to the sauce served at Peter Luger's in Brooklyn.

Amy's off-the-menu Hamburger Salad.

A free meal is a tempting mistress and I was certainly tempted to try other thiings on the menu but gluttony is a sin and it would have been wildly scandalous to continue beyond the limits of our stomachs. But all was not over, there was still dessert to be sampled.

The dessert menu offered three items and since there were three of us, three desserts it would be. Both the pear cobbler and apple dessert with vanilla ice cream were solid performers, however the standout of the three was the fig ball (can't remember the actual name). A large, round ball of something fig, it exploded with butter on the palate. Delicious. All three of us agreed that it was the dessert to have. So good, it needs further exploration.

Cast Iron Ribeye with cheddar potato gratin and house steak sauce.

Artifact Coffee barista Marietta was on hand to prepare for me a dark and lovely cappuccino with monk's head foam. I didn't get a picture of it, but it was pretty darn good for a coffeeshop and absolutely smashing for a restaurant (the difference being that most restaurants serve absolute swill as "coffee"). Dark chocolate notes and a nice finish. It was really good up until the point that I started concentrating on holding my pinky up while drinking and ended up pouring some cappuccino down my shirt. Good thing I wear black.

My view from the bar.

All that food, what about drink? The bar is well-stocked with both spirits, wines and soft drinks. Personally, I'm no longer a big drinker so I didn't get a chance to drink as much as everyone else. I stayed with the house-made sparkling water and imported Mexican Coca-Cola. The wine list looks pretty good and if you do go, I heartily recommend the Laurel Glen Cabernet Sauvignon. At ninety-eight dollars a bottle, it's the priciest on the menu, but I had the chance to sample it earlier in the week at the staff wine tasting and it absolutely rocked. Fruit, black currant, body - delicious and highly recommended.

Pear Cobbler with creme pouring sauce.

Lingering around after service always affords a special glimpse into the workings of a restaurant. How does everyone interact? Do they like each other? Who's sleeping with whom? It's still early so the intrigue hasn't built to a fervor. Yet. Everyone's still calculating their moves, building their "sea legs."

So, do I recommend the Woodberry Kitchen? Well, of course I do. As someone who tries various restaurants and writes about those experiences, this one is pretty different - the owners are good friends which, of course, I cannot separate from a potential bias in favor of the restaurant. Heck, I smoked the chipotles, sourced the Coke and have some equipment on loan - of course I think the food is good. But really, just as with the other posts, it's up to you to visit for yourselves and decide if this is just a fluff piece or typical of this blog. I think you'll find the latter as well as a good meal made with great local ingredients at Woodberry Kitchen.

The fig ball dessert - amazing.

Apple Cobbler with vanilla ice cream.

Most of the Woodberry Kitchen Family on opening day.

Woodberry Kitchen
2010 Clipper Park Road
Baltimore, Maryland
410-464-8000
www.woodberrykitchen.com

Running For The Border

Perhaps it's part of my own indulgence, although I'm telling everyone that it's part of our attempt to rid The Spro's menu of all HFCS (high fructose corn syrup) products, but our first order of "Mexican Coke" arrived today.

After a number of failed attempts to connect with the local distributor of the fabled "Mexican Coke", I finally met with a representative and placed an order: 12 cases of Mexican Coke and two cases each of Jarritos Tamarindo, Jarritos Mandarina, Jarritos Limones, Jamaican Ginger Beer, Sidral Mundet and one case of Senorial Sangria.

While I've always been a fan of the Tamarindo soda and The Spro has always carried the Mandarina, it's the Coke that I've been secretly lusting after. It's that crisp zing that only cane sugar can provide that makes Coke worthwhile. Combine that with the lively phosphoric acid and eliminate the heavy coating that comes from the HFCS and you've got a Coke worth drinking again.

And I'm stoked.

So the tally goes: four cases for The Spro, seven cases for Woodberry Kitchen and one case for the fridge at home - for papi chulo.

BTW, if anyone local wants a case, let me know. It's $30 for 24.

Smokin' & Chillin'

Organic red jalapeno peppers ready to smoke.

I spent the weekend smoking some organic red jalapeno peppers from One Straw Farm this weekend and turning them into authentic Mexican-style, direct from Hunt Valley, chipotle chiles. It was a side project I did for Spike and Woodberry Kitchen. One case of peppers created about 20 liters (by volume) of chipotles.

I had never smoked chiles before so much of this was experimentation. Not enough smoking and drying and the interior would be too moist and rot. Too much smoke and the pepper would blacken, turn brittle and be completely destroyed. Finding just the right medium turned out to be quite a task.

The case of peppers from One Straw Farms.

Through trial and error, I discovered that the optimum chipotle could be produced at roughly 220 degrees Farhenheit in about eight hours. That was on Friday. In the rain. On Sunday, the same parameters developed chipotles that were too dry and brittle. It was a beautiful, sunny day and I had miscalculated and forgotten to take the weather and humidity into account in the drying process. Mistake.

But in the end, we ended up with some really nice chipotle chiles that will be making their way into one of your dishes at Woodberry Kitchen soon.

As for the other peppers that were deemed "well done"? I stemmed them and ground them for chipotle powder. And promptly wiped my eye and forehead after working with the powder...

The finished chipotles ready for delivery.

Moon Over My Short Ribs, Tul

The short ribs, Sang Style, ready to eat.

I was back at it today with the short ribs from Springfield Farms. Marinated them briefly in the Sang Moon Kal-bi recipe and tossed them into the smoker for about six hours while I went about my business.

They turned out okay. Again, the cut is too thick for such a short marinade that I'm thinking an overnight marinade might be better. The meat was good but the flavor didn't really penetrate. However, the slow smoke created a rich texture and wonderful aromatic. The meat was stringy and fell apart beautifully.

But more experimentation is required.

Facing A Brave New World

They say that all good things must come to an end.

For the past five and a half years, I've been keeping a mistress. A not so secret mistress. Sixty-six months. And now it looks as though it will have to end.

That mistress has been my steady companion through thick and thin. Feast and famine. Friends and foes. Good times and bad. After such a long time, it's tough to let it go. But let it go I must.

CapitolSwell and I went down to Les Halles last night for a typical outing in DC. The air was cool but very comfortable to sit outside. The patio was crowded and we ordered some of our usual dishes: macaroni and cheese, steak tartare and the favorite, onglet a l'echalote.

Usually this is a meal to get excited over, but this time things fell flat. We discussed this over dinner. Was there a problem with the food? Does it taste different? I don't think so, but maybe it does. Whatever the case, the food was different to me. It wasn't that rich burst of flavor, those wonderful textures. Okay, maybe there was a bit too much proscuitto and bacon in the mac 'n cheese and maybe we were spoiled about a year ago when they ran out of baguettes and had to bake some fresh. But there was more to it than that - even the onglet was flat.

A few months ago, we dragged Spike down to Les Halles and you could tell afterwards that he wasn't thrilled. I didn't understand then but I think now, I do.

After pondering just why the food wasn't as good as before all the way home, overnight and throughout the day, I finally came to realize just what had happened. Les Halles hadn't changed. They still offered the same French brasserie fare I came to love many years ago and still did that food consistently. The difference was that I had changed. My understanding and expectations of food had changed. I have been eating better quality foods and my body could now discern the difference and it was ruining my relationship with my favorite restaurant.

But one just cannot go back. I've tasted new delights and am now ruined forever. How can one go back to commercial, corn-fed meats after romancing grass-fed, free-range? It's impossible.

And so I now must bid a fond, if reluctant adieu to my longtime mistress, Les Halles.

I now face a Brave New World...

La Concha a Woodberry

Enjoying a concha from La Flor de Puebla with coffee from Tulsa's DoubleShot Coffee on the darkened bar at Woodberry Kitchen.

Man of La Concha, Otra Vez

Conchas a la Bimbo.

In my continuing search to find authentic Conchas in America, like the ones I had in Mexico City, I ventured down to Riverdale, Maryland because I had heard about the conchas from a bakery there called La Flor de Puebla.

During my visit, I stopped off at the local Mexican market and grabbed the conchas they had in stock and decided that we would have a "Concha Shootout" at The Spro, so I gathered all the conchas I could find.

And the conchas came from all over the place. We had conchas from Rasita Bakery in Kensington, Panaderia El Latino in Washington DC, El Amigo Bakery of Annapolis, the aforementioned La Flor de Puebla, and Mexico's ubiquitious baker: Bimbo.

The conchas wait being eaten.

The terms of the shootout were simple: just which one tasted best. On it's own and with coffee. For the coffee, we had the very nice Panama Carmen Estate from Hines Public Market Coffee prepared the way I like it - in a French press.

In the end, there wasn't much science to the evaluation. Strictly subjective. Unfortunately, I found the conchas from El Amigo and El Latino to be too dry and not sweet enough for my tastes. The concha from Rasita had a nice, mellow sweet flavor and a soft, fluffy texture. The bread was quite yellow in color, but still quite enjoyable. The Bimbo concha was about what you could expect from a major, nationwide baker - nothing too exciting. Lots of preservatives and just a middle of the road kind of flavor.

The carnage after.

For me, the winner was the concha from La Flor de Puebla. Soft, light, airy, lightly sweet. Delicious. Delicate. Not quite as good at the one I had at Bondy in Polanco, but definitely in the right direction. It's a refreshing treat.

Now, if only if La Puebla wasn't so far from my house...

The Not So Big Tummy and The Angry Pozole

French fries comprises the first course at Taqueria Tres Reyes.

I was in Riverdale, Maryland today in search of Conchas. It's an exhausting search that makes one hungry and I figured that there must be something tasty in the area people call "Little Mexico."

Which is how I found my way to Taqueria Tres Reyes - driving along Kenilworth Road, spotting it to the left and hitting a U-turn to get there.

The setting is classic American Hispanic. About forty Hispanic (presumably Mexican) workers hanging out by the corner in what is growing to be an American ritual - hanging out until someone comes along to offer you daywork. At first, it's slightly unnerving, until you realize what's going on, then it's old hat.

Taqueria Tres Reyes is a down home kind of joint. It's nothing fancy. It looks like it used to be some other kind of fast-food eatery in a previous life - perhaps a drive-inn, perhaps a burger joint. Whatever the case may be, it's old and kinda rundown and the exhaust hoods in the kitchen look like they're from the 1930s.

The Angry Pozole accompanied by some radishes and fried tortillas.

Of course, I'm not here to worry about the decor, which is Formica-chic, I'm here to try the food. But before anyone can eat the food, they have to experience the service, which is almost atrocious. Besides myself and the one white guy eating with some friends, everyone else is (presumably) Mexican, ranging from the rough and tumble general worker to pseudo-suburban type, but the girl behind the counter takes the cake.

She's curt, brash and I think she's also rude, but I can't be sure because she's speaking to me only in Spanish.

And my Spanish sucks.

But there's the attitude. The "hurry the fuck up and order you pinche puto" kind of attitude. And she's got it. In spades.

However, this is my world and she's just living in it so I'm not going to let her spoil the fun. The attitude? It's part of the flavor because, I notice later, she's rude to everyone. As she goes along asking me if I want ketchup with my fries or the order to here or to take my Coke now, I'm barely keeping up with her Spanish and make rudimentary "Si" to keep the pace. I also feign that I'm preoccupied with other things on my mind, which means I'm not really listening and it doesn't seem out of place that I don't understand her right away. Of course, the truth is that I'm paying close attention to what she's saying and it's taking me that long to recognize the words I do know and decipher the rest by filling in the blanks with wild guesses.

Finally, that pain is completed and I sit and wait. And wait. And wait. When I sit, the taqueria is pretty full and by the time my pozole arrives, I'll only be one of two people left. Not too long into my wait, the french fries arrive. They're the typical wide-cut, frozen Simplot kind of fries and while I find processed foods detestable, I can enjoy these fries since they're crisp. The ketchup provided as a side is cheap and watery but since I don't usually like ketchup on my fries, no worries. Hit them with a bit of salt and all is good. Not fantastic, mind you. But good.

After quite a bit longer, my fries are gone and I'm still waiting.

After still yet more time, my pozole arrives and it's angry. Unlike the pozole I've had at other places, this one is huge. I mean freakin' humongous. No wonder it costs nine dollars. It's huge but looks freshly made. The soup is a deep, angry red that's just off the boil which means it's searingly hot - the way a good soup should be served. After some careful sips, the broth is deep and rich. It's heavy on the chiles and the cumin which gives it that deep, smoky character. It's good. Damn good. Rich in a way I haven't experienced with pozole. The flavors are multilayered and so are the textures. The pork is soft and stringy while the rest of the bowl is chock full of hominy. Hominy that looks like it exploded. Any thicker with hominy and you might think you were eating a soupy Mexican bowl of grits. Chunky grits, that is.

Once the bowl has landed, I Thank The Lord that I didn't order a couple of tacos as a side dish. That would have been suicide. The bowl is too much. Way too much for this tummy to finish. I work and work on the dish. I'm sweating. I'm struggling. I'm huffing and puffing and it's blowing my doors down. I can't finish it. I am defeated by this angry pozole.

But it was good.


Taqueria Tres Reyes
5403 Kenilworth Avenue
Riverdale, MD 20737
301-779-6060

DoubleShot Through The Heart And You're To Blame

The filmmaker behind The Perfect Cappuccino, Amy Ferraris, was in town the other week for a family wedding and we ended up touring around some of Baltimore's famous centers of good food, namely The Spro and Belvedere Square. During our day together, we chatted about the many different personalities in the industry that she's met while making her documentary and the lively Brian Franklin from DoubleShot Coffee in Tulsa, Oklahoma came up.

Brian is the vocal owner of DoubleShot and host of the AACafe Podcast who went up against the behemoth Starbucks in a David vs Goliath type of shootout when Starbucks wanted to stop them from using the word "doubleshot", alleging that it was an infringement on their trademark. Brian won.

Amy suggested that I try Brian's coffee and offered to contact him on my behalf. It was a nice gesture because I hate asking fellow industry types for samples of their coffee. I'm embarrassed, really. I had met Brian for the first time during this years' SCAA Conference in Long Beach, but it wasn't the first time I'd heard of him.

I first heard about Brian while he was talking smack about the Portafilter.net Podcast that I co-host. His AACafe Podcast had the same complaint that many others in "the biz" have: it's too damn long. Waaah!

Granted our podcasts can run up to two and a half hours in length, but it's like a morning drive radio show - you don't have to listen to it in one sitting. Listen to it in bites and pieces, on the way to work and before you know it, the show's over until next time.

But I digress.

Two pounds of coffee, a package of Nissin Ramen and two DoubleShot Coffee stickers arrived today. We tore into the Kenyan coffee right away, pressing out two 48z press pots of the stuff. Really nice vanilla and woodsy notes. Planning on using the coffee for tomorrow's Concha Tasting. The espresso will end up in our guest grinder for free sampling to all comers until its' all gone. With the espresso, I'm getting some definite hints dried cherry.

Thanks Brian for the coffee!

Different Is Good - Cinghiale

My older cousin, Ate Ellen has been in town this past week - "ate" being pronounced: "Ah-teh" and is the Filipino honorific used for older female cousins within a family. She's here visiting from the Philippines and has been hanging around the house, enjoying her vacation and doing as little as possible. She's also been advising me on certain Spanish-style traditions, so I don't muck things up with my American approach and mentality. To thank her, we went out to eat on her last night in town at the new Cinghiale-Osteria in the Harbor East project of Baltimore.

Freshly baked foccaccia with an excellent olive oil.

I'll be honest, while I had heard a few positive comments from friends who had gone down to Cinghiale in the first couple of weeks, I wasn't expecting much. There are many who expect great things because they love the sister restaurants: Charleston, Pazo and Petit Louis. I am not one of those people. I've found the sister restaurants to be lacking and I find the "it" scene at Pazo to be utterly detestable. I spent one too many years in the movie business and want none of that celebrity tomfoolery.

First of all, Cinghiale is a beautiful space. I've heard rumors of them spending four million on the place and it looks it. Beautiful craftsmanship in all of the details, from the tile to the boar's heads to the very sexy wine storage. I wish I toured the kitchen. We ate on the Enoteca side (by the bar) since it was nearly 10pm when we arrived but were offered the restaurants' entire menu. Nice.

On the left, califlower, tuna and roasted boar terrine. On the right, parma ham and fresh figs.

Cinghiale is different than other Baltimore Italian restaurants. I see it as a more rustic, country cooking rather than the southern-style red sauces that dominate much of the Italian landscape here. Not that southern is bad. It's just ubiquitous and expected - and I have to say that Cinghiale gave us the unexpected.

Overall, we were in new territory with Italian food and what better reason to order a little bit of this and a little bit of that when you don't know exactly what to order!

Il Fritto Misto - Crispy vegetables, Milanese stylle, brown butter & lemon. Heavenly.

Our first round started off with a variety of items, from marinated califlower to a tuna salad, roasted boar terrine, Parma ham and fresh sliced figs. The execution was nice but I found the flavors to be subtle and almost bland. Everything was well prepared, there were just no powerful flavors. The califlower was crisp and punchy in texture but mellow in flavor. Same for the tuna and terrine. The Parma ham was very thinly sliced and piled on the plate and the figs were beatifully fresh but lightly sweet.

The next round brought us the crispy vegetables and raw beef. The beef was decent. Thinly sliced and covered in an arugula olive oil puree. Again, the flavors were subtle and delicate. Well-executed, but nothing to fantasize about.

Il Carpaccio - raw beef, baby arugula, "EVOO", parmigiano.

The crispy vegetables or Il Fritto Misto took a departure. They were excellent. Fantastic. Probably the best course of the meal. Perfectly seasoned breading, perfectly fried and the flavors were delicate, multi-layered and intense. I will always remember the red bell pepper. It's flavor popped on my senses. Amazing. Sublime. I wanted more.

Seems that chef Stefano Frigero is moving the restaurant in a seasonal direction with more locally sourced ingredients. This is a good thing. And it's good to see our friends from Springfield Farm listed on the menu with their farm-raised rabbit. This time the rabbit is encased in tortellini. Like the other courses, it was delicate, nuanced but not bold. The rabbit was ground to a very pleasing texture that was crumbly without being that pasty mash so many other tortellini stuffings insist on being. Served in a light broth, it was pleasant.

Springfield Farm raised rabbit tortellini.

Next round kept us om pasta territory with sausage stuffed ravioli. Again, nothing bold. They were okay. Nothing memorable except for the execution. Wish I could say more but this was the "John Doe" of our meal.

Our meal ended with an order of the rice pudding with pears and a baked chocolate bar. I have to say that I loved this round. Second only to the fried veggies. Sweet without being overpowering. The rice cooked to the perfect texture that's not soft but not hard, the pudding creamy, the pears crispy and the chocolate the perfect accompaniment.

Sausage stuffed ravioli.

All in all, it was a good time at Cinghiale. It wasn't "the best" Italian meal I've ever eaten. It was well-done and wonderfully executed. The flavors, while not bold, were new and different in the city - which makes it a refreshing change. Because it's so different than other Baltimore Italian restaurants (and the sister restaurants as well), it can be a bit difficult to make sense out of Cinghiale. If you're looking for veal parmigiana or fettuccine alfredo then you're not going to like this place. But if you're looking for good food that's different and going to expand on your understanding of Italian cuisine, then Cinghiale is the place.

I know I will be going back just to see what's new.

Rice pudding, pears and a chocolate bar.

Cinghiale Osteria
822 Lancaster Street
Baltimore, MD 21202
410-547-8282
www.cinghiale-osteria.com

Baltimore's Best Wings?

An order of hot wings and fries.

Ever since I've known him, The Lerch has been exclaming how the best wings in Baltimore are at Kisling's Tavenr on Fleet Street in Canton. Heck, I hadn't heard of Kisling's until I met The Lerch, I was going to have to check it out.

After several years, I finally made it down to give them a try. On a Sunday evening.

Luckily, Sundays mean $5 wing night. Five bucks for a ten piece order that's normally about ten bucks. Fresh cut fries? Sure, that sounds good - and so does the $5 steamed shrimp special, but hold the cocktail sauce 'cause I'm trimming down on excess. Unluckily, they had run out of shrimp so I went with the steamed mussels.

Kisling's is a tavern. It looks like a tavern. Wood here, wood there, some neon beer lights and several big screen TVs spewn about so that patrons can catch "the game." It's your typical Baltimore watering hole, except with a waitress that's actually cute, not to mention friendly (but not that friendly, not that I'm interested).

Things moved swiftly enough from there. More water, more iced tea and within ten minutes the fries arrived, followed by the wings. Not too much longer and the mussels arrived and I started to become self-conscious about all these plates on my table.

The fries looked pretty dark and I think this means that the oil they were fried in has had it. Time for new oil, please. The flavor was pleasant and the fries enjoyable. Just give me some salt and some wings and everything will be alright. I'm used to the French style of preparing mussels with white wine, butter, onions and garlic, so the steamed route is something new for me. Steamed mussels, even though they're steamed with onions, are a bit on the bland side. There's not much in steam to spice things up, but the soft onion wedges were nice to have.

But really, we're here for the wings and it's time to discuss how they were, which was okay. I don't know who said these were "The Best" in Baltimore, but that's pretty optimistic. The wings were good. They were tasty. But they were also on the thin side. Fried nicely and with just the right amount of hot sauce. I could eat another ten. But would I drive all the way into the city just for Kisling's wings? I can't say that I would. It's good, but Hooter's is closer.

Kisling's Tavern
2100 Fleet Street
Baltimore, MD 21231
410-327-5477

Ultimate Sandwich

In the DVD for the movie Spanglish, Thomas Keller shares the recipe for his "Ultimate Sandwich," the perfect thing for late-night eating with a beer. Something to whip up in the kitchen with what you have on hand.

I thought I'd give it a try using some of the stuff I liked best.

- Hand-sliced Country White bread, toasted
- Chihuahua cheese from Mexico, melted on the top slice
- Locally grown butter lettuce
- Two large eggs from Springfield Farms, fried over easy
- Free range bacon from Springfield Farms
- Locally grown, fresh tomato - three slices
- Hellman's Mayonnaise, spead generously on the bottom slice

By the way, that's also how I layered the ingredients. Served with heated Ketchup Potato Chips I imported from Canada and a bottle of Mexican Coke.

Not a bad way to spend a Sunday afternoon.

Ceviche

The Clan milling about before the main course at Ceviche.

On Saturday night, the Clan gathered to celebrate Rod, Christian and Emma's birthdays at Ceviche in Silver Spring, Maryland. As always, it was good to see and hang with old friends. I just wish we would choose better restaurants.

This is not to say that my friends don't know how to choose a restaurant, it means to say that I wish more restaurants served better quality food. Overall, the food was okay. It wasn't bad. But it wasn't good either. Just average, uninspired fare. But I'll give Ceviche the benefit of a doubt since it was a Saturday night, it was extremely busy, we were a group of sixteen and the fifty seat dining room was being served by one waiter and one runner.

Beef Empanada with fried plantains - the stuffing was very similar to the Filipino Empanada.

Ceviche is a "Latin restaurant" - one of those catchwords that's similar to "pan-Asian" and anything trying to encompass everything is going to stumble. And Ceviche stumbles.

First off, where was the pork? If this is comida Latina where did it go? There was no pork on the menu. At all. No pork in a pan-Latin restaurant. Unbelievable. The Virgin of Guadalupe is furious.

Otherwise, it was a little bit of this and a little bit of that. Some Peruvian, El Salvadorean, Mexican, Puerto Rican, Cuban, Argentinian, Spanish - there was something for everyone and nothing that stood out as a powerhouse. Actually, the most flavorful thing was the fried stuffed corn masa. That was pretty tasty.

The Ceviche - sadly, just perfunctory.

I could go on, but I won't. It might not be nice. Suffice to say that Ceviche is designed to cater to the benign masses working at Discovery Channel across the street. Those denizens who want a Latin twist from the hoardes of national chain restaurants downstairs. It's great if your experience with Latin food is Chili's, but perhaps not so great if you regularly eat at the various Peruvian, Mexican or other ethnic joints.

I'll let the pictures speak for themselves, but the highlights were the stuffing in the beef empanadas which, if they had peas, would have been almost exactly like the classic Filipino Empanada stuffing I grew up on. The tamal wrapped in banana leaf had a pleasant flavor that's reminisent of the Puerto Rican pasteles or the tamales from southern Mexico.

Fried Yucca - mas a meno.

The stuffed corn masa- pretty tasty.

The Tamal with chicken.

Black Beans and Rice.

Filet with chimichurri - nothing inspiring.

Chocolate Cupcake with Strawberry Icing - Hate to say it, but the best course of the meal was from CakeLove.

Ceviche Restaurant
921 Ellsworth Drive
Silver Spring, MD 20910
301-608-0081

Wagyu Me

Something Special Awaits.

Every once in a while, someone gives you a gift that hits the spot, literally.

Stopped by Woodberry Kitchen today to pick up some equipment that I had lent to Spike and Company over the past few weeks and there was a box there waiting for me. A thank you gift from Spike, Amy and the Woodberry Kitchen. It was an unnecessary gesture but one that I appreciate greatly.

It was a box from my favorite Los Angeled-based importer: ADiRECT USA INC.

Otherwise known as The Premium Wagyu.

A very exciting time indeed.

I had gone on and on in Wagyu The Dog about my experience eating real Kobe Beef in Hiratsuka, Japan. Now, the Wagyu was staring me in the face in all of it's A5 marbled glory. Both in beef chunks for skewering and an incredibly beautiful piece of ribeye. My favorite.

All of us have heard how seriously the Japanese take their Kobe Beef. The beer, the massages - all that stuff. Whatever they do, it works but that's not enough.

Like a proper royal family, lineage is very important and they provide you with the documents to prove it.

Lurking inside that magical box is a envelope bursting at the seams, stuffed with all the documentation so that you know where your beef came from. It's the ultimate in traceability. Inside the envelope are the following:
- Packing List.
- Certificate of Authenticity (No. 198 and suitable for framing)
- Certificate of Authenticity (Cattle No. WA-1210440488)
- Certificate of Authenticity (Cattle No. WA-1211206212)
- Calf Registration (Kuroge Washu, Name: Akifuku, DOB 11/14/04)
- Calf Registration (Kuroge Washu, Name: Suiken7, DOB 10/25/04)

The Calf Registration paperwork shows the lineage of each calf for three generations and includes a noseprint of the calf for identification purposes, as well as some other interesting tidbits. For example, Akifuku was artificially inseminated on January 21, 2004 by Teruaki Fukumori.

Of course, there might be things you probably don't want to know. Like how, according to the lineage paperwork, Suiken7's "grandfather" Yasufuku, is also Suiken7's "great grandfather" in the same paternal line.

Perhaps Wagyu really does reflect the royal family lineage...

Whatever the case maybe, I think I'm going to frame one of the certificates. It's my first Wagyu and I need to commemorate the event. In the meantime, the cubes and ribeye are chilling nicely in the freezer.

And sometime in the not-too-distant-future, I shall ride the A5 Wave once again...

Finding Chiapas

130 pounds of Mexican goodness.

I've done it. I've finally done it. I've gone over the edge and purchased for myself green coffee to roast. At the behest of Jeff from Southern Skies Coffee, I called up Andrew at Vournas Coffee in California and ordered some coffee from Chiapas, Mexico. I picked it up today and it's now sitting in my garage awaiting that morning when I will take the time to fire up the Petroncini and give it a whirl.

Perhaps in a couple of years one of you will be drinking coffee from SpRoast Coffee Roasters of Somewhere in Maryland dot com.

Moon Over My Short Ribs

The grass-fed short ribs soaking it all in.

An Homage To Sang Moon

Sang was an old friend from high school years who came out to make it big in finance in Honolulu back in 1992. After hanging out for six months, applying to Bank of Hawaii, First Hawaiian Bank and some other places, he decided to go back to Baltimore and take care of the family business. By the time I moved back to Baltimore in 1996, he was well on his way to being the Dry Cleaning King of Mount Washington.

While shopping at Springfield Farm last weekend, I spied a somewhat unusual cut of beef short ribs. Instead of the usual American cut that uses the entire rib, and unlike the Korean cut that cuts thin slices across the ribs, this one was cubed and well-marbled. So much so that it looked too tempting to pass by. And I can be a weak man...

Tonight was the night and I decided to pay my respects to my old friend Sang by using the kalbi marinade recipe he shared with me many years ago. It's really quite simple and reminds me of simple times with friends grilling short ribs at Electric Beach on the Wai'anae coast as the sun hung low and the surfers were getting ready to come back in for the night.

The marinade itself is quite easy. Take a cup of sugar, fine chopped garlic, choppped green onions and some Coca-Cola, and you're good to go. If you really want to add a twist, some grated ginger and roasted sesame oil might be a nice touch. Otherwise, it's very simple. Dip the meat into the marinade, coat all sides and place in a pan. Wait one hour for the meat to absorb the flavor. Unlike most marinades, do not soak the meat in the bulk marinade. It's meant to be dipped and then set aside. Of course, it's okay to cover the meat with the remaining vegetable bits from the marinade and you can drizzle a bit more marinade over everything. That's okay - but no soaking!!!

In the pan and ready for action!

While you're doing this, you can get the fire going. It's always better to cook this over a wood or charcoal fire. The gas grills you see at yakiniku places will suffice, but a charcoal fire is better. And let's not even begin to discuss cooking on the stove in a pan or in the oven. Kill yourself now, please.

Once the coals and the grill is hot, place the ribs over the fire and let her rip. These cuts were so thick, I ended up carmelizing them on all sides for an even look. Typically with Korean style short ribs cut 1/4" across the bone, it's a quick sear on both sides and then eat with lots of rice. But for this adventure, a more thorough approach would be necessary.

Once the meat was seared on all six sides, I moved them to the far side of the grill away from the coals - the cool spot, where they would continue roasting for another fifteen minutes to cook all the way through. It's a common technique to use with just about any thick meat and the reason why you don't cover the entire grill with coals. Now pulled away from direct heat, the meat can finish to a beautiful medium.

Roasting to a perfect medium.

I regret that I don't have images of the finished ribs but sometimes I'm just a bit consumed with consuming and forget to take a picture. This was one of those times. The ribs were a bit on the tough side since they were so thick. I think that the marinate plus four hours in the smoker might make for an amazing experience. Perhaps next weekend.

Sang was killed nine years ago in some sort of freak accident I never understood then and still don't understand today. He was a good friend and has been sorely missed. He was one of the friends I always though we would grow rich together. He in the cleaning business, me in the movie business. So much has changed since then and every once in awhile I remember an old friend with the recipe he once shared.

And now I share it with you. Enjoy.

Bacon Fat Ribeye

The grass-fed, free-range ribeye lands on the bacon fat plancha.

My older cousin Ellen is visiting from the Philippines this week and it's been a nearly non-stop cooking excursion. Tonight's dinner was some crispy fried bangus or milkfish with a ribeye steak - a Filipino surf and turf of sorts.

The portable plancha has been sitting outside lately and was in need of some care, so I lit up the charcoal grill, grabbed some bacon and went to town. After stoking the fire and burning down the coals to epic proportion, I dropped the portable plancha on top of the grill and let it heat up. Sprayed some PAM to coat the surface and layed the bacon to do its' magic.

Just like a cast iron skillet, the plancha needed to be seasoned. Just a little grease and a bit of heat and it's ready to go. By the time the bacon was laid, the surface had already turned a brown patina as the fire was just that hot.

The beautiful thing about bacon is that it renders out its' fats and those fats can be used for cooking at a later time. As the fats were pooling in the portable plancha, I began to fantasize about sizzling the ribeye on the portable plancha drenched in bacon fat.

Of course, I'm a purist when it comes to steaks. I prefer a little salt, a little pepper and a searing heat to make the most out of my meat. Especially since I'm using grass-fed, free-range beef that's got such a wonderful flavor on its' own, it's almost a shame to adulterate the flavor in any way.

So, I leave it up to my cousin to decide: on the grill over searing heat, or in the bacon fat on the portable plancha? She chose the plancha.

By this time, the portable plancha was nice and hot and the bacon fat was tempting to start smoking, so I had to work fast. Drop the steak onto the plancha and it starts to sizzle violently. Carmelize and turn over. Carmelize that side, but I'm noticing that it's not developing the nice crust I like so much. At the very end, I pull the portable plancha back and away from the coals and lay the steak directly onto the griddle grate over the fire.

The magic dance begins.

Once it lays, it explodes into flames as the bacon fat drips violently off the ribeye. Flames two feet high shoot off into space. Sizzle. Sizzle. Whoosh, another shot of flame. It's glorious.

Flip it over and the grate has left hash marks, damn you'd think I worked at Sizzler Steakhouse...

A few moments later and the flames continue their angry dance around the ribeye in an odd, but mystifying Lord of the Flies kind of way. Another moment passes and then: done. Pull the steak off the grill and onto a plate to stew in it's own juices for awhile.

Five minutes later, the steak, bangus and bacon are being served with hot, steamed rice, kim chee and an Argentinian Chimichurri for the steak made by Juan Manuel. It's a delicious meal and while the bacon fat produced some interesting results with the steak, I think I'd prefer it grilled simply with just salt and pepper.

Chocolate Cheapskates

Chocolate bar samples. What a joke.

I was cleaning out some of the drawers at The Spro today when I found these chocolate samples from a New York State chocolate company. They sent them to me to try out and consider carrying their rather expensive bars.

Now, I'm open to new and interesting products, it seems I'm always trying something new and I certainly can't carry everything so a company has to make an impression and this company made a poor one.

Note to potential vendors: if you're touting your "great quality" in a chocolate bar then how about sending the whole damn bar? What's with these two pieces of chocolate? I've got a staff to sample the product to and get their feedback. Plus this measly offering just makes your company look cheap. Damn cheap.

Further, I do expect follow-up phone calls to see what we thought of the product. However, if you're such a miserly company to only send these measly samples, don't call me six times to see what I thought. I thought poorly, that's what I thought. If you're going to be this cheap in our courtship phase, then how much abuse will I have to endure if we get into bed (so to speak)?

Suffice it to say that we passed on doing business.

Spain Loves Me

Every once in a while, a package comes to your door that you're just excited to see.

Today a package from the Spanish coffee grinder company, Compak, arrived today filled with goodies.

The Spro is one of the very few coffee shops in North America using the Compak K-10, a conical burr espresso grinder. I got ours after the 2006 SCAA Conference in Charlotte and have been working with it ever since. It's a great grinder and has easily replaced our Mazzer Major grinders as our primary espresso grinder. Even, consistent and fast - it's a solid performer and one that I like over the Mazzer Robur that so many of my friend prefer.

The K-10 is a spacey, curvy and good-looking grinder that works like a champ but has some lowpoints. Unlike the Mazzer, if you remove the dosing hopper cover, the K-10 loses it's curvature and sex-appeal. It just doesn't look as good naked - much like many females I have, ahem, known. But the true bane of the K-10 is it's bean hopper made out of a very stiff polycarbonate that is very prone to breakage. If I drop the Mazzer bean hopper, it bounces and flips around. If I drop the K-10s' hopper, it breaks. My first hopper broke and I super-glued it back together and got it to work for over a year.

Why didn't I just replace the hopper? Well, that's been the rub. Great grinder but no distribution in the United States. Which means that parts are hard to come by.

Happily, the guys at Compak are more than accommodating. When I brought my K-10 to Long Beach for the 2007 USBC, they gave me a hopper to use. Then when I saw Emilio in Tokyo for the World Barista Championship, he promised to send me another hopper and a new burr set for the grinder.

That box arrived today and inside was a DVD of the video they shot of my performance at the USBC. The same one that Chiarra told me she had seen. Hmmm, I wonder if I look good...

Thumb Numb and the Sandi Pop Paleta

My thumbs are numb and my fingers feel clogged.

I've spent the past thirty-six hours cooking, cooking, cooking. First it was pizza night at Woodberry Kitchen where I slow roasted my right hand in a six hundred degree oven. This morning it was setting fire to the smoker for my test run of a smoked, slow cooked carnitas. I spent the afternoon shopping for peppers, tortillas and other ingredients. Then I spent the evening firing up the grill to super high heat to grill some chicken, roast tomatillos, char peppers and continue roasting my right hand in the process. To top it all off, I had to deskin and clean all of the poblano and jalapeno, which may be causing the slight buring sensation in my hands and on my face. Good thing I didn't scratch elsewhere...

Right now, I'm sitting here with worn out hands and eating a very interesting watermelon lollipop from Mexico that's been coated with guajillo chiles. It's something that Ana likes to eat and surprisingly, it's not really hot. It's more salty and very reminiscent of the li hing mui candies that we eat in Hawai'i. The pepper is layered on pretty thick so it takes some time before you get to the watermelon candy, but once you the two combine, it's really quite good. Sweet and salty, with just a bit of spicyness.

I think I have to order more. That is, if my hands recover...

Pizza Pizza

Amy holding the very first pizza made at Woodberry Kitchen.

After a few weeks of being in a State of General Malaise, I feel as though the myopia is lifting and I can resume my pursuits once again. Found myself at Springfield Farm yesterday morning stocking up on meat and eggs then down to Woodberry Kitchen in the afternoon to have a go with the first firing of the new brick oven and pizza-making.

I've never made pizza before. I'm not much of a baker - too much precision, too much rigidity. Add too much of any ingredient and the whole thing falls apart. I'm more of a cook - a little of this, a dash of that. Oops! Too much salt so I'll balance it with a little sugar... All in all, it's shooting from the hip and more along my style. Of course, I've made breads. I used to tremendously enjoy baking baguettes at home. Rising the dough, punching it down and then crisping the crust. Heavenly.

But I've never made pizza.

I came a bit late because the dough had already been made and Spike, Fred and Isaiah were in the midst of kneading it out, so I joined in. Ten minutes of kneading. It's tiring work but rather amazing to feel the dough change texture as we proceeded. Once done, we divvied it up and let it rise. A couple hours later, with the oven stoked up to 550F, we were ready to begin.

Isaiah with his pizza creation.

Most of us have watched someone make pizza and it looks relatively simple. Just roll out the dough, shape it, maybe toss it, cover it with toppings and you're good to go. I found out that looks are definitely deceiving. The goal was to make thin-crust pizza with a nice, oven baked crisp to the dough. Finding the technique that would allow the dough to crisp while maintaing a uniform shape with a piece of dough is truly an art unto itself.

I found that you really need to stretch the dough, until it's nearly translucent, to achieve the kind of crust I was shooting for: crispy with just a slight chewiness without it being burnt. During my trip to Tokyo, I had eaten at Salvatore Cuomo's pizza joint in Ginza. Back then I watched the pizzamaker in action rolling out pies, slinging them into the oven and pulling them out two minutes later perfectly baked. That pizza was heavenly.

This pizza wasn't quite there yet. I quickly realized that we should have stoked the fire even more. Six Hundred degrees Fahrenheit just wasn't hot enough. We needed 700F or perhaps 1000F to achieve that two minute cook time I witnessed in Ginza. While the fire wasn't as hot as I might have liked it, the pizzas weren't bad. They were pretty good considering it was our very first outing.

Everyone tried their hand at pizza making. John and Roya came over from next door. Fred came down from the hill. Susan came from across the street. Glen came down from the trees and That Guy Named Skid just took some time off. Everyone made pizza. Everyone ate pizza. I probably ate more pizza last night than I have all year long.

Not content with just watching, I tried my hand at working the oven. Perhaps six hundred degrees isn't hot enough for pizza, but it certainly is hot enough to roast my hand. There was more than one moment where my hand came out beet red. Any longer and I probably could have bitten off a piece for dinner.

Oven management started to fascinate me. How to cook three or more pizzas simultaneously while ensuring that none of them burned and that all of them had an even toast around the crust. After several attempts, I started to find a groove. Getting fresh dough to slide easily off the peel is a tough order, seems you can't put too much flour to release the dough. There was a mishap (or two) where I gave the peel a jerk to release the pizza and all that went flying into the oven was the toppings. Rather embarassing I must say.

Soon, things were rolling. Slide the pizza in, preferably off the left and allow the crust to form. Once the dough has started to form the crust, I found it easier to slide the pie around using an ash tool rather than the short-handled peels I was using. That greater control allowed me to position the pies exactly where I wanted for maximum fire exposure and cooking potential. Pretty soon, I was pulling beautifully baked pizzas out of the oven and waiting for the Italian D.O.C. to stop by with my authentication certificate.

John's pizza getting finished under a hotter fire.

Being that we were in a professional kitchen, we had some fun ingredients to work with. Isaiah had whipped up a tomato sauce as the base and there were grated parmigiano reggiano and sliced fresh mozzarella. We also had lots of fresh tomatoes, onions, sweet peppers, hot peppers and sausage. Finn and Katie took orders and made individual pies, while John took his time whipping up a pizza with yellow tomatoes and other artfully placed veggies.

While the pizzas were all a treat, for me it was the ribeye steak course that took my interest. Spike prepped a steak with some oil, salt and pepper and tossed that sucker right into the oven, nestled next to the fire. A few minutes later, out popped a beautifully carmelized ribeye ready for eating - after a few minutes rest, of course. In honor of the steak, I whipped out a thing pizza dough and just let it bake. Slathered it with butter and then finished it in the oven. Not too long after, bits of steak and bread were flying everywhere.

Papa John and Papa John's Pizza...

It's gonna take awhile before someone like myself will be able to sling fine crust pizzas but maybe I can somehow convince someone that I could work a shift making pizzas at Woodberry Kitchen. Until then, it will just be these random evenings with friends and good food.