Grace Garden Again

Sichuan Beef Treasures - beef tongue, tripe and tendon mixed with scallion, peanuts & spicy Sichuan sauce, served chilled.

Many of my friends have this impression that I'm a sociable, outgoing and socially busy person who's never at home and hardly ever in town. That all may be true, but my adventures pale in comparison to my parents - whom I've been trying to take down to Grace Garden for over a month now. At least once a week, I invite them to come with me, but they're constantly busy going out with friends, going out dancing, partying or doing charitable work.

My life is downright lame compared to them.

It makes absolutely no sense for me to go to Grace Garden by myself. I couldn't eat all that I'd want to order and it would become prohibitively expensive for me just to order four dishes. I can only imagine the stares of other customers.


Empress Pork Chop - lightly fried pork chop sauteed with special tomato sauce.

Happily, we made our way down to Odenton for another round of great Chinese cooking - and by my choice, it's the best Chinese in Maryland. I've only been here twice, but the owners know me on sight and give us a big welcome. Considering that I've only been here twice, it's a bit disconcerting but very comfortable to go to places where they know you. Nice.

My usual visits have them choosing the dishes, but this time I've brought Tilly (the authentic Chinese girl) with me to do the ordering. After some careful consideration, she makes some careful choices for a balanced meal of beef, beef, beef, pork and tofu. For a moment, she thinks that we might need a steamed vegetable dish, maybe in lieu of one of the other dishes then decides against it. God bless this woman.

It's more of the same at Grace Garden, and by more of the same I mean: good. In a moment of hunger, I forget my previous resolution to order the Sichuan Treasures after the meal. Without a doubt, this is the best dish in the house. It's bold, it's tasty, it's absolutely delicious. I can't get enough. The problem is that it's such a bold dish that it overpowers everything that comes after - not to mention you've eaten so much of it that the hot peppers have set your mouth ablaze and diminished your palate's ability to discern nuances of flavor.

And every other dish on the menu is about nuances of flavor.


Beef Chow Fun - beef and rice noodles sauteed with soy sauce and bean sprouts.

If you like thin sliced and lightly crisp pork chops, then the Empress Pork Chop will suit you fine. It's covered in a sweet tomato sauce that's not too sweet, though I prefer less sweet, more pork and more vinegar. But then that would no longer be Empress Pork Chops but Pork Chops Filipino Style.

The Beef Chow Fun sported incredibly succulent and tender beef. In fact, the beef was so tender that you could hardly discern the texture from the flat noodles. Wondrous. But while it was skillfully prepared, I thought it lacked punch. It had beautiful color and aroma, but the flavors were flat. It needed more soy sauce. I so wanted to ask them for soy sauce but thought I might offend them, but I bet with a little soy sauce it would have been smashing.


Curry Beef Stew, Hong Kong Style - beef stew slow-cooked with potatoes in Hong Kong style curry sauce.

The Curry Beef Stew was the disappointment of the meal. First off, I didn't realize they had curry in China and the one curry dish I tried at a Chinese carry out was so atrocious I just thought it was a menu aberration for the local clientele. But evidently, they have curry in China.

The curry had nice color and looked tasty. Even the potatoes had been roasted separately giving them a nice texture. The curry had been stewed so long the pieces of beef were just supple and falling apart. I thought the dish lacked punch. It lacked something that I can't put my finger on. Tilly thought it had an off-flavor tasting of liver. I noticed the flavor she mentioned but thought it had more to do with the spice combination.


Home-Style Tofu - tofu sauteed with cabbage, shiitake mushroom & snow peas in hot chili sauce.

Tofu perfection was how Tilly described the tofu. I'm no tofu expert (preferring mine battered, deep fried and coated in hot sauce), so I'll defer to her assessment. According to the Chinese cuisine expert (her family has been in the restaurant business for generations), this was tofu defined: cooked just right on the outside to give it texture while remaining soft and succulent on the inside. Hmmm, it was pretty darn good tofu, to me. Now I know.

Sauteed with an assortment of vegetables, the tofu dish was quite pleasing without the batter. But for me, the shiitake mushrooms that exploded in your mouth with flavor and excruciatingly hot juices were the perfect compliment to the tofu. I ate a lot of that dish.

After three visits, we're really starting to get into the deeper sections of the menu, rather than the popular dishes made famous by other bloggers. While we're finding tasty and interesting dishes, I'm also starting to see that not everything is as stellar as the Tongue, Tripe and Tendon. It's all still very good and better than any Chinese restaurant I've been to in Maryland, but we're gonna have to do more exploration in the near future because I know you expect nothing less...

Grace Garden
1690 Annapolis Road
Odenton, MD 21113
410-672-3581
www,gracegardenchinese.com

Juxtaposition

Grilled Eggplant with Sesame Dressing.

Sometimes you're on the money. Then sometimes, you're just off and your timing is poor. This week has been the latter.

This week at The Spro, it's been me. Just me. All me and no one else. For one week, I've been single-handedly running the ship while the rest of my staff is enjoying a much-deserved holiday. Soon, the other girls will be back from their summer break or from summer vacation and I'll be back on the road but for now, it's just me (and Allie on the weekends).

Like I said in a previous post, I wanted to celebrate The Spro's 2nd Anniversary with a fun food menu. Only this has been the worst week of the summer as everyone and their mother is currently on vacation. Traffic on the streets is extremely light, foot traffic in the library is down, the weather is beautiful and as a result, sales are down this week. In other words, this is a crappy week to make menu additions.


Fresh Cut Watermelon from Martin Farm.

So even while I ended up cutting most of the menu I was planning, I was hell-bent on carrying some of it forward. The results were decent to spotty to good. If only we had more people come in and actually give it a try.

Maybe the problem of suburbia is that its' denizens want things to be uniform and the same. Always. Change is tough for people. The Spro has had a basic selection of goods for the past two years and many customers don't know how to react when something is different. Maybe it's an affront to all that's comfortable and familiar in their world. Even after nearly ten years of plying my trade in the 'burbs I still don't know. Or at least I don't "get it."

I'd like to believe that we strive to bring a high standard to what we do everyday. I work very hard to deliver high quality product from thoughtful and passionate producers in a setting of friendly hospitality and I have to say that there are moments when I question why? Why do I give a shit when so many of the people passing through our doors don't? So many of them are content to accept the crap being served at 7-11, the chains or commercial - just so long as it's cheap and there's more than you can eat for $1.99.


Strawberries in Citrus Mint Gelee.

Why is it that when I reflect on this, I hear: "Oh, that's kind of expensive" from the itinerant customer. And while I chat and remain friendly and accommodating, in the back of my mind I think: because quality costs something you cheap bastard. And we're only talking about a $1.50 pressed coffee or a $2.00 cupcake. Go down to the "cupcake shop" and you'll get a $3.00 mass-produced piece of sludge that's being refrigerated to extend its' holding time while being told that it's some sort of health department regulation.

I'm not bitter. I mean, not really.

All of this came to a head in my mind as we were offering our anniversary tacos. Some of my colleagues in the coffee business will probably be wondering why we didn't do something coffee-related. Quite simply, because that's too obvious. We're an espresso bar. That's what we do. Let's try something out of the box to celebrate. Something odd. Something weird. Something quirky.


Oranges Fred.

Maybe because it's been slower than normal this week, leaving me more time to focus on those who weren't fortunate enough to go on vacation this week like the rest of Baltimore, but it all started when one of our customers commented that the tacos were expensive for the size. Normally, these kinds of comments don't bother me, but maybe I'm fatigued or maybe I've just had enough, but in my mind, something snapped.

It hit me like a ton of bricks while I was working the line: why the fuck do I give a shit about these people?. I bust my ass to travel, taste, sample and learn so that when we offer our customers something, it's gonna be tasty and authentic. A true representation of what that product is all about - not some cheap imitation produced for the masses. I'm not expecting thanks or idolatry, but is expecting a level of open-mindedness and appreciation and expectation for flavor too much to ask for?


Skinned and sugared Peaches from "The Orchard" ready for freezing.

Comparatively, it costs The Spro a lot to operate - especially when you consider the approaches of the normal indie coffee shop. Those guys will take any quality of product and toss it on their menu to be served by whomever comes walking through their door with an application. I just don't do that. In fact, I can't do that. My standards don't allow for that level of sloppy execution. Our ingredients have to be of top quality. We're not looking to buy everything frozen and in a box from Sysco. We want to work with local producers and purveyors offering thoughtful product of crazy quality.

And we're willing to pay for it.

Take our milk, for example. It costs us $5.50 a gallon. One look at a recent thread on a coffee industry forum and those schmucks are talking about where to buy the cheapest milk possible. That there's economy in driving a half an hour to some Sam Kirkland Warehouse store to save ten cents on a gallon of commercial milk that's costing them $3.35. Our milk costs two dollars more because it's thoughtful and sustainable, and it's some of the best darn milk you've ever tasted.

Of course, then there's the one specialty coffee operator I know who was once well-respected in the business give some sort of lip service about how his commercial milk tasted better in blind taste testing when the reality is that it's just easier (and cheaper) to use the commercial stuff (I know, I used to use the same milk). Need a case on demand for tomorrow? The commercial milk is there. Need a case from my creamery? They only come down once a week and it's a two hundred dollar minimum.


Five Pounds of Chorizo.

Working with quality purveyors isn't inherently easier, in fact they're always small operations who don't have the resources of a commercial producer, meaning you've got to live with certain idiosyncracies and plan around them.

As I look around our industry, so many operators just don't give a shit. They offer whatever products to their customers because they're willing to buy it from them. I don't. I know I can sell a twenty ounce latte, but why would I? Just because everyone and their mother is selling it? Does that also mean I might as well stop showering like everyone else?


Cooking the Chorizo.

Maybe my problem is that I respect the customer too much. I have an expectation that my customers will also appreciate the same level of quality and care that I do. Unlike some of my colleagues, I don't dismiss them as some sort of suburban, soccer mom, chain-eating, brain dead nobs, I believe (or at least want to believe) that they are appreciative, open and enthusiastic customers open to trying new and exciting things, and not just frappuccino drinking simpletons inoculated from the world by their suburban existence.

In the cultural void that is suburbia, it's a constant battle to educate our customers. To let them know that the alternative to Dunkin Donuts coffee can be a wonderful experience. That there's value in spending a little more and getting a lot more out of it. And the truth is: many of customers are just that. They're open-minded and willing to try something different. But it's always the naysayers that grate on you the most.


Testing the Carne de Res for seasoning.

But I should stop griping. I mean, they're not all bad. Take the couple who came in for tacos. They loved them and found them truly authentic. Of course, this is the same couple who's traveled extensively through Latin America and last year adopted a young daughter from Guatemala. Perhaps not The Spro's typical customer who thinks a proper taco should come in boxes of six or twelve.

As I stood there, stewing in my own misery, I wondered if other operators ever felt the same way I do. Or are they just contented to take the money and run? A part of me thought that we should just pack it up now. Shut down. Sell the fucker. Or better yet, change everything to the same low-quality crap that all the other coffee shops around here use. I don't need to spend a month training a new barista. No one will notice. Our profit margin will increase. And we can move forward offering a 32 ounce drip coffee for $.99 while using half the amount of coffee to brew.

Yeah, I might as well slit my throat while I'm at it.


Sous Vide-ing the Carne de Res.

But I digress. That's just too much bitching. And I know most people just don't care.

I hear you: Stop your whining you little panty. You're right. Poor me. Woe is me. Stand up and be a man. Stop being a sissy about all this. You don't care about all of this self-realization shit. What you want to know is: how was the food?

In two words: pretty good.

Can't say it was the best I'd ever done - though I tried. The Strawberry Terrine didn't hold out of the mold and became "Strawberries in a Citrus Mint Gelee." Business was slow so I nixed most of the weeks' menu and went with a couple of simple dishes like the Roasted Eggplant with Sesame Dressing, Oranges Fred and Chorizo Tacos.


Condiments for Tacos.

Actually, they were supposed to be my take on Tacos Campechanos, a filling of pork chorizo and shredded beef, but I screwed it up.

I thought it would be cool to use sous vide to cook the beef and developed a recipe using cumin, oregano, garlic, onion and lime juice. Mix it all together, vacpack it and sous vide for eighteen hours at 62.5C. Beef glory was my destination. Outright failure was the result.

When we took it out of the bag, the collagens still hadn't broken down enough to shred easily and the meat was dry. I screwed up. I think it was the lime juice that dried out the meat and it was just terrible. There goes five pounds of cubed beef down the drain. Dumb.

But while the beef sucked, the chorizo turned out as expected. I was looking for a classic chorizo flavor and some of the recipes I had tried in the past were just too heavy on the ancho chiles, so I worked up a recipe that I think works, and here it is:

CHORIZO

2# Ground Pork
6 medium Ancho Chiles (stemmed, seeded, toasted and hydrated)
1 tsp ground Mexican Canela (cinnamon)
1 tsp ground Bay Leaf
1 tsp Thyme
1 tsp Marjoram
1/4 cup Apple Cider Vinegar
3 crushed Garlic cloves

Puree herbs, chiles and vinegar in a food processor to make a paste. Add water to paste to desired consistency. Press paste through a sieve to remove particles and mix resultant sauce with ground pork. Allow to marinade for at least two hours (better overnight). Cook and serve. Can be made into patties or piped into skins. Can be frozen.


The Finished Taco with Chorizo, Cilantro, White Onion, Salsa Verde, Jalapeno and a Fresh Corn Tortilla.

For our tacos, I just used a very simple, Mexico City style approach. Par cook the chorizo and hold in a bain marie, finish on the griddle while heating the tortillas, add some chopped onions and cilantro, salsa verde, chopped jalapeno and serve.

Standards, Cream and Syrup

The soiled paper cup that almost was.

In my position as barista and owner of Spro Coffee, I typically find myself in a difficult position when serving customers. I know the costs of our items and I know the company's current profitability situation, I've also set the standards that me and my baristas work to maintain day in and day out. But it's that knowledge of our costs that threatens to foil my standards. And it's a constant battle.

Take the paper cup above, for example. Paper cups aren't cheap. They cost us five cents each. Admittedly, it's not that much, but it is five cents. Styrofoam is half that while plastic is twice that price. And don't mention corn-based, biodegradable "green" cups - they cost even more.

Okay, it's not a lot. But I hate to throw them away because it's wasteful.

The other day, a customer comes in wanting a small coffee, so I grab the 8 ounce cup, fill it to the brim, bring it over and he tells me that he wanted the "other small" meaning the twelve ounce cup. Since we're about accommodation, I pour the contents of the cup into a 12 ounce cup, fill it the rest of the way and the customer is happy.

I can't throw the cup away.

So, it sits there. Waiting. For maybe three minutes until another customer comes up wanting an 8z latte.

Now, what to do? What to do? I've got an 8z cup ready to go. Sure, it's slightly soiled with drips of pressed coffee, but I wouldn't say it's "dirty." It cost five cents. If I toss it, that's five cents down the drain. I want to use it. I must use it. This customer will never know the difference. The customer can't see the cup sitting behind the espresso machine. By the time the customer gets the cup it will be filled with delicious latte and topped with beautiful art. The remnants of that pressed coffee will have been swept away by my coffee-making genius (and smart business frugality).

But my standards don't allow for this.

The problem is: if I do this and re-use this soiled cup because I don't respect the customer enough to think that he/she will know the difference then I've flushed all that we've been fighting for down the toilet and we're nothing more than just another crappy independent coffee shop deluding themselves that we're doing something special and worthy.

What a conundrum over a five cent cup.

In a hasty moment, I did what I should have done all along, I tossed the cup into the bin and grabbed a fresh one. I didn't want to do it, but I knew I had to do it if I was to lead my team legitimately. We can't pursue our standards willy-nilly and at the leisure of the nob running the shop. If my standards were going to be enforced, I would have to lead by them.

The customer received the latte and was happy for it. She said it was delicious. She never knew how close she came to being served her latte in a cup soiled with pressed coffee. And it wasn't until later that I realized how close I came to tossing it all down the drain.


A cup of Los Mujeres de Guayata from Colombia.

In the world of Third Wave Specialty Coffee, there's a stigma about cream and sugar. Real Third Wavers only drink their coffee black because that's what it's about. You're supposed to appreciate the nuances of the coffee and anyone who doesn't is some heretic to poo-poo on. Charlatans not worthy of consideration. And God forbid if you own a blender.

As for me, I like a little bit of cream and a little bit of sugar with my casual coffee. Sure, I drink coffee black to taste the nuances and when I'm critically tasting coffee. But when it comes time to kick back with a donut or ice cream or some kind of pastry and the coffee drinking is about enjoyment rather than business, it's milk and cream all the way baby - but not too much. Just a 1/4 teaspoon of sugar and a color of cream. Both help to punch up the inherent flavors of the coffee as salt on meat does.

Maybe this weekend I can drink a vacpot of Esmeralda with a plate of Chilaquiles...





In the recent issue of Barista Magazine, one of the writers has penned an article about signature drinks, encouraging baristas to develop their own. This is a good thing. But what I'm confounded by is how the author leans on the reader to buy manufactured syrups instead of making their own. It seems to be antithetical to what we do.

Don't get me wrong, my company has done syrup manufacturing in the past. I understand that it's a matter of economics. That coffee syrup companies have a lot of money to support the community. They buy ads, sponsor events and do all sorts of great things to help the barista community. I get it. It's cool by me.

But if we're talking about the "upper strata" of baristas and coffee shops who boast about artisanal coffees and hand crafted coffee beverages, then aren't manufactured syrups a bit out of place? Especially when it's so easy to make your own.

Maybe because it's because of my past as a syrup manufacturer, but making your own syrups is easy peazy - just take some water and some sugar and you're on your way!

At The Spro, we make all of our syrups by hand. Chocolate, vanilla and simple syrups are at hand daily. But when it comes to esoteric flavors like black cherry, blackberry or french toast, we make those in-house too, and from real, natural fruits and ingredients, not artificial flavors like I used to as a syrup manufacturer.

Making a base (or "simple") syrup is easy. Just take a vessel, fill halfway with sugar (your choice) and the other half with hot water, stir and dissolve. Simple. Quick. Easy. Done.

Some people state that you have to boil your water. Not so. Sugar will hydrate naturally in water. This means that once you've wet the sugar completely, it will dissolve in water - even if the water is cold. Heating the water just quickens the time it takes to dissolve. At The Spro, we use hot water from the water tower, stir the sugar until it dissolves and we're done.

Want to make fruit flavors? Take some fruit, mash it, toss into a pot, heat, add some sugar, bring to a boil, stir, reduce by half, strain and use that flavored liquid as your flavoring base to add to your simple syrup. Done.

So please, if you're an "artisanal" barista, for God's Sake, make your own syrups.

The Client Is Always Wrong

In the opening scene of the Robert Rodriguez movie Desperado, Antonio Banderas' character enters a bar to blow away a bunch of nasties where a neon sign above the door reads:

"THE CLIENT IS ALWAYS WRONG"

Ever since I saw that movie in 1995 with my now ex-girlfriend Sonia, I've laughed everytime I've seen that scene. It's just so poignant.

In the world of customer service, there's that saying that I'm sure all of you have heard: "The customer is always right." I don't believe that for one minute, and as I teach my staff: there are many times when the customer is way fucking wrong, but it's not our job to let them feel that way. It is our job to accommodate the customer as much as possible.

And while I strive to accommodate even the most difficult customer, sometimes a customer is just too difficult to deal with and I get to do what my staff cannot: I get to kick them out.

But being difficult or making odd requests of beverages isn't enough for me to kick them out. They have to top it off with a healthy dose of rudeness and disrespect. Unfortunately, there are a few individuals who don't seem to understand that "service" is not "servitude."

Just a little while ago, a gentleman was at the counter with his two daughters buying several items that took a bit of time to compile. While he was waiting, a young girl stood there waiting while I ran to the supply closet for extra forks. When I returned a few seconds later, a woman had joined the queue but was standing on the opposite side of the man from the young girl. After finishing with the man, I asked the girl if that was all she needed. That's when the trouble started.

"You know, I was here before you," said the woman to the girl.

Of course, the girl must be in her tween years and this is a forty-something woman, she seems like a nice enough girl and isn't getting sassy with the woman. The girl even apologizes as the young man standing away from the counter acknowledges that she was there before the woman (it would turn out later that the young man was with the woman), but the woman continues. And that's when I felt I should intervene.

"Come on, it's not that bad now, is it?" I asked.

"Of course it is, I was here first."

"I don't know about that, I do think she was here before you."

That's when she starts getting snippety. And I hate" snippety." But what's really irking me is how this woman expects to run roughshod over this girl just because she's older and betting that the girl will be intimidated. And nothing pissed me off more when I was young than an adult trying to intimidate me just because.

"You know ma'am, it will only take a moment extra and I'll be with you shortly."

"You're not the only game in town. You've got competition," she replied snidely.

Now, I try to remain calm and collected - if only because I know that the reasoned approach will paint me in the best light, but this woman is now pushing my buttons.

"Ma'am perhaps we're not the right fit for you."

"I'll decide what's the right place for me. And I'll decide whether or not I patronize this place."

What I don't understand is that she's the adult. She's bullying a young kid because she doesn't want to wait. Why? Okay, I'll give her the benefit of the doubt that maybe she just didn't see the girl standing on the opposite side of the man. But this young girl isn't being belligerent, she's not giving attitude, she's not acting smart. The girl is just standing there, not really knowing how to handle the situation and apologetic.

Problem is, I'm only too happy to play the bull in the glass shop.

"Actually ma'am, it's me who decides who we serve."

That's when she realizes that I'm not going to serve her and decides to leave. But I can't help myself.

"There's a Starbucks down the street that can accommodate you."


It's too easy for me to sit here and justify myself. Prove myself to be in the "right." But the reality is that it doesn't matter who was "right" or who was "wrong." It's a lose-lose situation all the way around.

In the nearly ten years that I've been in business, I've kicked out a bunch of people from my shops. Some of them in a wild, theatrical-worthy display. But there's never been a time that I've ever found it satisfying or rewarding. It's always been the wrong move that could have been handled better.

So even while I'm confident in my actions defending the young girl and kicking the older woman out, it's a hollow victory. It doesn't move us forward. It doesn't help us achieve our goal of accommodation and hospitality. So while there's probably a segment of our industry that would applaud this event, I don't. It's time to reflect and ponder how the situation could have been resolved in a better manner that teaches the belligerent customer respect while allowing them to retain their pride and dignity.

Pizza John's

The 12" half imported ham, half sausage pizza.

For some reason, as I was pondering my existence at The Spro yesterday, it hit me: I needed pizza. But not just any old crappy pizza, I wanted "the best." The problem is: what is the best pizza in Baltimore? After some scary recommendations from customers (like Pizza Hut or Papa Johns), I decided to scour the Internet for help.

The Internet is both boon and bane. Sure, there's lots of information on the superhighway, but you never know the source. Is it trusted? Do you agree? Who knows - it's all a crapshoot. Take Chowhound, for example: lots of great info but do you really agree with that moronic etiquette lady? Or those that tout the praises of commercial chickens?

Then there are the food critic blogs - take the Baltimore Suns' food critic, for example. Amateurish reviews and lame support for national chains while defending that practice with a quip about owing nothing to the local restaurant industry while boasting about going the local farmers' markets then making pejorative statements about a restaurants kale soup tasting like "kale." Duh.

The problem with online reviews is that unless you've gotten to know the source, you really don't know anything. That person claiming such and such is "The Bomb" may only mean that once you've tasted it, you wish someone else had dropped a bomb on the place before you got there, saving you from the onslaught of mediocre (or worse) food.

A search of the Internet on The Best Pizza in Baltimore leads one to a continual choice: Pizza John's in Essex.


Gravy Fries.

Pizza John's is a veritable institution. For forty years they've been cranking out pizzas to multiple generations of Baltimoreans. I didn't know what to expect since I had never been there. It's a casual, counter service joint that's brightly lit, recently remodeled and with an atmosphere that I felt immediately at ease.

But the one thing you notice is that this place has been designed and built to do business. The dining rooms can easily sit 300 people and the bank of cash registers and design of the kitchen means that this place can do heavy volume. It's nice to see a pizza joint that actually re-invests its' money into its' operations, and these guys weren't screwing around when they redid this place.

The first problem: Pepsi. No Coke.

If I hadn't made a pilgrimage to Essex for this pizza, I might have walked out.

For my meal, I decided to go with the small (12") pizza split with half imported ham and half sausage, plus an order of gravy fries and a large Pepsi. Once you place your order, they give you a number and you find a seat in one of the vast, but comfortable, dining rooms.

Those that know me know I have a pleasant tummy, but one that always finds itself restricted in the typical restaurant booth. Happily, Pizza John's booths are amply spaced to accommodate customers like myself with pleasant tummies. Of course, this could also be a testament to the decline of American diets and the increase in American waistlines, but I try not to focus on those considerations.

While waiting, I was reading Rick Bayless' Mexico: One Plate at a Time when the very friendly Greek (she told me) lady asked me if I was a chef because I was reading a cookbook. No, not a chef. Not in this lifetime. She told me stories about how her and her husband used to own a Greek restaurant in Highlandtown before he suffered a stroke. Tragic.

A few moments later, one of the locals came up looking rather friendly and asked me if I was the guy from MadTV.

Hmmm, that's a first.

We joked around for a moment and I told him that I wasn't Korean and that I wasn't on MadTV but thanks for asking. I don't think he believed me as we shook hands and he departed with his friends.

It's cool to be recognized (or even mis-recognized) in public, but I just wish it was by fanatical female groupies who want to rip off my clothes and take advantage of me.

But, I digress.

After a few more minutes, my order: "Number 753" is called out on the speaker system and I go to pickup my tray of goodies. The pizza looks good. It features a unique squiggly crust that resembles a pie crust and the cheese is thick and gooey. The imported ham looks, well, like ham and the sausage is the crumbled kind that I prefer over encased.

The pie is piping hot so it's gonna take a few minutes before I can properly dig in. The french fries are fried to a golden crisp but they're missing the side of gravy and I have to run back to the counter for it.

I ordered the gravy fries because I couldn't resist reminiscing about my childhood where I spent part of it hanging out with friends in Locust Point. Across the street from the house of my best friend Victor, was a small greasy spoon joint that's no longer there but was the place that introduced me to the pleasures of Gravy Fries - crispy french fries doused in brown gravy. To a young boy from the 'burbs, there was no greater pleasure - except for the raven-haired Amanda at Skateland, but I digress again.

Dipping crinckle cut french fries in brown gravy isn't the same as being smothered but that old flavor was there. That salty, generic beefy, industrial flavor - God, you'd think I was eight years old again. Of course, the reality is that these are frozen foodservice fries and canned brown gravy. It's not thoughtful, it's not organic, it's not "local" but God is it good.


Inside my hot and gooey pie.

Man, I want to like this pizza. I want to LOVE this pizza. I drove across town to eat this pizza. This place is an institution. Generations have eaten and grown up on the this pizza. I want to tell you that it was the most amazing pizza I've ever had.

But I can't.

I think we should come to agreement that Baltimore pizza is unlike pizza in other parts of the country. This is no Salvtore Cuomo pizza. This is no 2 Amy's. It's no St. Mark's Pizza. It's pizza on its' own.

Hold it up and look at the bottom and the crust looks beautiful. It's brown, caramelized and burnt in spots. Even the crust is a deep brown. The cross-section of the crust looks light and airy, but this has got to be the chewiest dough I've ever eaten. When you see crust cooked like this, you expect it to break away with a crisp crunch. It doesn't. Your incisors can't cut it. The dough must be torn because it's so chewy.

Unlike other Baltimore pizza joints where the sauce is sweet (like Maria's of Timonium), Pizza John's sauce is on the savory side with a definite tomato character. It's quite nice but I wonder if perhaps the sauce is too watery and wetting the crust so that it tears instead of breaks.

Then there's the cheese. This is good, old-fashioned mozzarella and they pile it on thick and bake the hell out of it. Notice I didn't say "artisanal." This is the mozzarella of your youth. Melted mozzarella that forms into thick, gosh I hate to put it this way, sludge. But not "sludge" in a bad way. It's a virtual tour de force of cheese. It sticks and strings and you're fighting to separate it from your slice and it's getting all over your fingers, your forearms, your plate - and it's still so hot that it's sliding and going everywhere except staying on your slice!

But don't take a huge hunk of it into your mouth and a swig from your cold soda. Then it suddenly solidifies, obstructing your trachea and preventing you from breathing or swallowing. From there, it's chew, chew, chew and more chewing to warm it up and break it down once again.

Both the sausage and the imported ham were okay. Actually, they probably didn't matter because their flavor wasn't really pronounced in any shape or form. I could have done without them and probably had similar result.

Was Pizza John's the best pizza? I can't say. It's more in a class by itself (or at least with other Baltimore pizza joints). It's not world-class by any means. Salvatore Cuomo - that was sublime pizza. Pizza John's pizza was: fun. That's the best way to describe it: Fun. It's not delicate pizza. It's not intellectual pizza. It's not "gourmet" pizza. It's simple pizza prepared with frozen foodservice grade ingredients that so reminiscent of the pizza you ate as a child that it's fun - not to mention way better than the national chains.

So, if you're looking for decent pizza that's not fancy but Fun, then Pizza John's is the place for you.

I'm planning on going back next week to see if I can find a groupie that will take me home with her. Fun!


Pizza John's
113 Back River Neck Road
Essex, MD 21221
410-687-7733
www.pizzajohns.com

Tapping For Tapsilog

Tapsilog and a Coke.

Amongst the urban sprawl that is Metro Manila, in the tiny hamlet (and seat of economic power) of Makati lies an unassuming eatery open twenty-four hours a day. I'd like to tell you the name or give you the address, but I can't remember it since I never knew the details of either (my friends would always drive). This was a joint for late night eating after a night of senseless (and sensual) debauchery with friends in the capital - living the very definition of Men Behaving Badly.

After a night of too much drinking, too much dancing, too much smoking and too many chicks, one piles into the car with his barkada (gang or crew) and goes in search of the perfect Filipino late-night malady: Tapsilog.


Beef Tapa.

Let me tell you, at three in the morning, there is nothing more soothing and comforting that a plate of tapsilog. It's greasy, fatty and completely bad for your body while being good for your soul. You're there, amongst friends, joking and laughing about the nights' adventures, making fun of each other and those really geeky looking guys on table twelve, while checking out the girls at table twenty-two.

They're pretty hot. You're pretty toasted. It's a recipe for love but the tapsilog is so good you don't want it to go cold while chatting up some girls and trying to convince them to go to Victoria with you. You decide to pass on the girls until later while trying to maintain some semblance of being cool to them and to your friends. Once the plate hits your table: passing out is not an option.


Sinangag

As I was prepping the various ingredients I picked up over the weekend, I started to get hungry and visions of tapsilog started dancing in my mind. It was either a grilled ribeye steak or tapsilog and you can guess which one won out.

But just what is this tapsilog anyway? First off, it's a contraction of three words: the actual foods in the dish. Beef Tapa, Sinangag and Itlog. The dish itself is a Philippine institution and it was time to make some for myself - senseless debauchery excluded.

Making tapsilog is relatively easy. Just take some thinly sliced beef - nice cuts are best, but any cut will do, just be sure to cut across the grain. Marinate the beef in a mixture of oyster sauce, crushed garlic and soy sauce for an hour (better overnight). When ready, pan fry in oil to sear the sides and set aside.

Sinangag means garlic fried rice. Best to use day old rice that's slightly dried out. Heat up some oil in a pan, add a bunch of chopped garlic and fry until golden, add the rice, stir, heat, season with salt and pepper and you're done. Plate.


Fried Itlog

Itlog is just basic fried eggs. Crack a couple of eggs into hot, oiled skillet and pan fry. I prefer mine sunny side up.

From there, just make a little pile of rice, lay the eggs on top and put the meat to side. Done. Simple. Easy. Typically, I like a little more salt on the tapa, as well as a little sukang maasim(vinegar, garlic, onions and chili peppers) for dipping.

Not a bad way to spend a Sunday night watching reruns of Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants on the ABC Family channel.

Sunday Jam

Blueberry and Blackberry pie tests.

It's an absolute beautiful Sunday in the Valley. The sun is out. The winds are blowing gently. Low humidity and life is just wonderful. It's also the day that I've got to get some things punched out for the week ahead.

First off is more pie tests using ring molds that I temporarily liberated from Woodberry Kitchen. Four inch INOX rings just might be the ticket. Time to call J.B. Prince. Ran up a couple blackberry pies and four blueberry pies. The key is to get the dough just the right thickness to hold the filling and juices. These tests demonstrate that I haven't quite gotten that thickness consistent. Also, I'm finding that forming the top to the bottom crust is just time-consuming and nearly infuriating. It has to be just right - or else. Damn these mini-pies. But they look so good when done.

I'm a big fan of using whole fruit and letting them break down in the cooking process. It reminds you of what exactly you're eating instead of that pectin solidified mush that are in typical fruit pies.


Straining the Blackberries.

Today's major task is canning instruction by Maria. She's brought over her whole canning kit with jars, parts and the works. I've never done any sort of canning and since I've been exploring jam making, I thought learning how to can would come in handy. Maria is an award-winning canner who placed third in last years' Maryland State Fair so the standards and expectations are high.

What I didn't know is that canning competitions have some very strict rules. How much space between the top of your jam and the lid. Get it wrong = disqualified. Line up the fruit the wrong way = disqualified. Wrong jar= disqualified. Tinted jar = disqualified. Label = disqualified. Commercially canned = disqualified. Man, I had no idea that jam competitions were this tough.

I've been making jams now for a few weeks. First with cherries, then with blueberries. On both occasions, I just added a little bit of sugar and reduced it over heat until it reached the desired consistency. Making jam that way is a labor of love. It's literally hours in front of the stove stirring, waiting and stirring some more.


Maria, The Mexi-Canner.

Maria's way is using a Kraft Food product called Sure Gel. Just add the contents of the packet, heat and away you go. Pectin-enchanced jam is done in no time. It's revolutionary. It's miraculous. It's also a bit industrial. After spending hours and hours waiting, I'm amazed that my blackberry jam is done so quickly. And so simply too.

Just take the blackberries. Crush them up one cup at a time. Strain out a portion of the seeds and leave the pulp. Add Sure Gel. Heat to boiling. Add lots and lots of sugar. Heat to boiling again. Boil for one minute. Divide into clean canning jars. Cap with lids. Boil the entire jar in water for five minutes. Done. Amazing.


Blackberry Bounty, the one with the blue tape is the competition jar.

I taste some of my leftover blackberry jam and it's absolutely fabulous. The flavor is sweet and pops with just the right amount of zing. It beautiful. Suddenly, visions of the First Place Blue Ribbon at the 2008 Maryland State Fair dance in my mind. Yes, I could be a champion canner. I could stand there amongst the other lonely housewives in the Cow Palace, next to the blue ribbon calf that 12 year old 4-H member has been nurturing for the past year. I could be one of them. I could be a State Fair Champion...

Oh, the seduction of glorious visions. Maybe I too could be on the cover of American Canner Magazine.

But for now, there's a bit more work to be done.


Roasting Peppers under the Broiler.

The weather is so nice that I'm just feeling generally lazy. I don't want to continue my prep work, but I should. I want to lounge around on the gazebo smoking vintage cigars and drinking Mexican Coke, but I can't. But the weather is too beautiful to ignore and I succumb to the temptation of the cigar.

Several hours later, I'm back in the kitchen ready to bang it out once again but it's dark and too late to fire up the charcoal grill. Oh well, sometimes luxury and enjoyment must take priority over charcoal grilled food.

Working with an electric broiler is a different experience than the charcoal grill that I'm used to. First of all, it takes longer and doesn't have that chargrilled flavor. Could be better. Could have gotten off my ass earlier. Next time.


The roasted peppers.

But the roasted peppers don't look too bad, do they? It takes awhile but you can still get the same blackness on the skins. The only problem is that it took longer, which means the peppers dry out more and are harder to peel and you lose some of the flesh. The blazing heat of charcoal is much better.

Also, it's better to peel them as soon as possible. Preferably when still hot or warm. I waited until after dinner when the had cooled and it was a bit of a pain to peel them. I'm also happy to report that while peeling and cleaning the jalapenos, I remembered to not wipe my face. Those many times of burning skin and blindness have finally paid off.

The rest of the evening was spent roasting tomatillos, roasting eggplant and vac sealing frozen blueberries, while "quality control testing" the blueberry and blackberry pies I had baked earlier...


Roasted Tomatillos.


"I.Q.F." Blueberries


Eggplant from Martin's Farm.

Something Fruity, Something Fun

Amazingly sweet nectarines from Reid's Orchards

Yesterday was the Towson Farmer's Market and the usual suspects were there selling their wares. It's interesting to watch because known quality farmers, like Martin's and Reid's sell through their large stock of produce fairly quickly and by 2pm there's hardly anything left.

The biggest problem with going ballistic at the market is that you have to process all the ingredients into usable form. Not such a big deal when you've got a brigade of prep cooks to do all the work, but when it's just you and a paring knife, it can be quite daunting. With next week's menu looming on the horizon, it was time to get to work.


Reid's Blueberries destined for jam.

It's a known adage that the more you do business with a purveyor, the better the service and the better the prices. This remains true with the modern-day local farmer. After a year of sourcing from them, I get better deals than the average shopper. Of course, I'm buying more than the average shopper but it's always thrilling nonetheless. I don't know why it seems more thrilling than with other aspects of business, maybe it's the very close and personal interaction, but I'm always excited about the product and the prices.

In the back of my mind, I've got an idea to live as old timers once did and try to source everything in season and process what we want to enjoy year round. A simple pint of blueberries seems painfully paltry, but the entire flat seems just about right. With that flat of blueberries, I can make up a batch of jam that will last a year, bake off a couple of pies, make a couple of tarts and do some tests making blueberry soda this week after extracting the flavor out of the berries.


Yellow Peaches from "The Orchard"

Outside of the house is a peach tree. Just one. And an apple tree. These two comprise what I lovingly call "The Orchard." Odd as may seem, I've never actually eaten the peaches because the deer eat them before I can remember to get around to harvesting them.

Not this year.

I went out today and just started pulling them off the tree. Some are close to ripe, the rest need a few more days to ripen. But soon, I shall have a sampling of our own homegrown peaches. Hopefully there will be enough to make a small jar of jam and maybe a small pie.


The Terrine Test

There's a part of me that's determined to make that Strawberry Mint Terrine for next week's menu at The Spro. The problem is: I can't get strawberries locally because they're all gone. But I'm determined to see what it tastes like and see if it's worth it. So, after securing some not-so-local strawberries from a produce supplier, we were off and running.

It's a relatively simple recipe of strawberries, blueberries, mint, oranges, grapefruit and gelatine. Just mix and pour into a mold and chill. It's chilling now so we'll see what happens in a few hours. If it's really good, I'll put it on the menu. If not, it gets deep sixed.


Pate Brisee in the works

While the jam was cooking off and the terrine was being made, we did a different preparation of Pate Brisee. This one is more suitable for either sweet or savory dishes (there's no sugar) than the other recipe. After it has some time to rest and relax in the refrigerator, we'll see how it works.

2# all purpose or cake flour
1.5# butter
1z salt
4 eggs
2z whole milk


Anson Mills Farro Piccolo

And lastly, just a quick shot of this very pretty-looking Farro Piccolo from Anson Mills. It's for the Tabbouleh on Tuesday's menu.

On The DownLine

Once in a while, chasing women has its' downside.


It's my own fault. I was asking for it. Can't blame anyone but myself.

Last night I decided to hit a local diner for a late night dinner. I hadn't eaten all day and was just starving after an evening edit session for the new web-based television show I've been developing. As I walked in, I spotted this relatively attractive looking woman in business attire and casually positioned myself at the table across from her. She seemed pretty friendly, so I thought: Game On.

That's when the alarms started going off in my head. I should have run away right then and there.

I've been out on the mean streets of dating for a long time now. I've had successes and many failures meeting women. It's fun and there's a game and science to the whole thing. And the usual girl you approach in a diner is going to be a bit apprehensive at first. They're not going to engage you straightaway without a little bit of work. This one was friendly, chatty and all too eager to meet me. Run Away!

I'm not Brad Pitt and she was a bit more enthusiastic to chat than what I would consider normal, while mentioning that she had just come out of a "business meeting." A "business meeting"? It's eleven thirty at night. Who talks like that?

Then, it hit me: business attire, overly enthusiastic chat and cryptic wording about "business meeting" and "opportunities" - this girl had to be in a multilevel/network marketing scheme I started to wonder how long it would be before she started talking about "financial independence" and "residual income."

Back in the mid-1990s, I had the honor and privilege of joining the top paintball team in Hawaii: Team Ronin. These guys were amongst the best in the nation (and therefore, the world) and I would be amongst them. It was a fantastically wild and thrilling time for me and we were a very close and tight-knit team. That is, until Amway came along.

Some of the senior members got roped into Amway and proceeded to recruit the other team members with dreams of financial independence and how they wanted everyone to be successful and enjoy their lives. They spoke of living the good life.

This occurred at the pinnacle of the team's success. At the time, Ronin was the best team in Hawaii. I traveled the professional circuit back then and saw teams from around the country and I knew then that Ronin was also one of the best in America and could take the national title. It was our time to shine. It was our time for paintball glory. We send a ragtag team of Ronins to one of the professional tour stops and handily beat the nation's top team at the time in a preliminary round. With a little effort and preparation, we could have dominated.

Instead of pursuing the gold, these clowns wanted to pursue Amway and its' unfulfilled dreams. And I was big on their recruiting target.

I don't know what it is about multilevel/network marketing schemes, but there must be a certain type of psychology involved. Perhaps they prey on a weakness or neediness inherent in people, but they're very good at brainwashing and creating minions who will blindly follow whatever their upline tells them. But while they openly spoke of wanting success for everyone, I was becoming the thorn in their sides as a resistor.

The reality is that I don't like to work. I would prefer to work less and make more. The notion of residual income appeals to me. I naturally wanted to see how Amway worked and what I would need to do to get it to work. So, I attended some meetings, asked a lot of questions and listened to what they had to say. The rhetoric was very good. It was seductive. It was seduction. But no one ever really answered my questions right away. There was always some sort of diversion. Some sort of obfuscation of the answer. That sent up red flags for me.

In short time, I was becoming the enemy amongst the group. Lines were being drawn in the sand between those who were part of Amway and the rest of us: "The Dream-Stealers."

Perhaps we asked too many questions.

One of my closest friends also joined Amway, but for some reason, he was able to avoid the brainwashing bit and we were able to have concise conversations about their system and what was going on between the members of the team. During one meeting, one of the senior members of Team Ronin stated that: "A friend who is not in Amway is not a friend." I was shocked and confronted this person directly. He, of course, denied ever saying this, but his actions and demeanor demonstrated that he was lying. This was our team captain. Our leader. He was the one who had brought Amway into the team and was forcing it to divide us. Fucker.

I was never against Amway or anyone involved in Amway. After doing my own research and running their numbers, I decided that it just wasn't for me. Too much work. I needed to secure six high-powered downlines pumping out at least 3600 PV points per month to make any decent money. That's a lot of recruiting and cheerleading, and I just wasn't interested. I just wanted to play paintball and amongst the best in the world. And we were.

But Amway was destroying us like a cancer: from the inside. Because I asked the questions, I had gone from recruitment dream to Ronin Enemy Number One and it became their task to rout me out of the team. Afterall, I was a naysayer in their minds. Someone who junior members might listen to and not join Amway. I was a Dream-Stealer.

Of course, the very same personality that endeared me to them pre-Amway was the personality they would use to try to kick me off the team. Even back then, I was a brash, foul-mouthed young lad. I played hard, cursed and if I could intimidate a weak judge for a better on-field ruling, I would. Paintball marker acting up? Into the trash. Conduct unbecoming a gentleman? What do you think?

The sad thing was that I was never against them. I wanted them to have the fantastic wealth they dreamed about. If their dream was to play paintball all day and never have to worry about money, then that's the hope I had for them. It just wasn't my dream and their brainwashing didn't allow them to see that. All they saw was someone who wasn't interested in being their downline and, therefore, their enemy.

What they didn't see was what I saw: a never-ending stream of underperforming downlines, years of work and frustration with no real payoff. I saw their diamonds not as carefree millionaires, but as carefully plotting marketers who understood that their revenue was derived off of my friends and a continuing stream of them who eagerly shelled out their hard-earned cash to attend "business meetings", travel to conventions and lots and lots of tapes and materials designed to pump them up that was the true bread and butter for the diamonds. I saw them working hard and spending their hard-earned money on a pipe dream. A dream that would probably never come to fruition because the numbers just don't work.

In the end, I was right. None of them ever made millions. None of them ever became "financially independent." After five years, those still involved were still working their day jobs, dreaming of the big payoff. Some had dropped out.

As for our team captain who brought Amway into our ranks, he passed away several years ago after he contracted a malady (I don't know the details). I was invited to come to the funeral and really wanted to see old teammates, but I didn't. Too many unpleasant thoughts at the time. He was a good man who did and said things to me that scarred our relationship permanently. It would have been good to chat with him before his passing to see if things had changed, but now I'll never know. I wish he had achieved his dreams. I wish they all had achieved their dreams. They deserved it.



"Do you mind if I eat with you?"

This was it. The show was on. It was time to recruit me once again.

After awhile of being involved around these schemes, one starts to see patterns. They've developed scripts. Scripts with careful phrases designed to peak your interest and divert your attention. Don't you want financial independence? They always like to talk about how it's "their" business when they're really resellers working off commission. She started tossing around talk about the multi-billion dollar communications industry and how their company is endorsed by Donald Trump and wanted to show me a recent copy of Success at Home magazine featuring their company.

Lots of hype, but let's get down to substance. What does it take to make the money you're dreaming of?

Maybe I let the cat out of the bag, but I told her that I was familiar with Amway's structure and wanted to know how many downlines she needed (and performing at what level) in order to make the kind of money to be "financially independent." This was met with questions about if I wanted to "make money while I sleep." I told her that I already do, that's why I'm in business.

A bit more prodding on my part, a bit more evasion on hers, plus an invitation to come to a business meeting or meet with her upline who would gladly be able to answer my questions. Do you know the answers yourself? I asked her. She assured me she did but that she wasn't going to break with protocol because they would best be answered by her upline. Christ Almighty, is she for real?

As it was almost midnight, I needed to get home to sleep. After escaping, I was back on the mean streets of one of the most dangerous cities in America and felt safe indeed.

Plotting & Scheming at Starbucks

Some texts, a Vivanno and my recipe book while thinking about punching that guy in the dick.

The big news in the coffee business lately isn't about dick punching (though that takes the cake for the most stupidity expressed in a customer service issue that I've ever seen), it's about Starbucks' recent announcement that they would be closing six hundred stores and laying off one thousand employees. Gosh, sucks to be them.

In the coffee business, I'm known for not really giving a crap about what Starbucks does, so while my buddies in coffee prance to their local Starbucks every few weeks or so, to "see what Big Green is doing," I'm busy at home snuggling with a bunny or plotting my next adventure (or at least my next meal).

So it's ironic that I found myself at the local Starbucks today for a little hiding out and menu planning.

The truth of the matter is that, next to Border's Bookstore, Starbucks provides one of the best venues to hide out. Comfortable seats, tables, air conditioning, tasteful decor - it's much more comfortable and conducive to plotting your diabolical plan to take over the world than say, McDonald's or the local indie coffeeshop.

Oh, and I hear the coffee cognoscenti massing in the courtyard for my lynching...

But that's the truth. 99% of indie coffeeshops suck at providing a relaxed, tasteful environment for hiding and plotting. Sure, they've got "ambience" - if you want to believe that remnant furniture and weird decor is ambient. But in this heat, we need proper air conditioning and a quiet place to plot, without some sort of college-level chalang-a-lang music banging in your ears. And for that, Starbucks tends to deliver in spades.

Even my beloved Spro Coffee is a poor stand-in for diabolical planning. Heck, I could own the most conducive place on the planet for planning and scheming and I still wouldn't be able to plot and scheme. The sad fact of the matter is that it's absolutely impossible for me to hang out in my own shop. First off, God knows my customers don't want to see the owner hanging out and fucking off in the corner at a table. If they see me, they need to see me working, not sitting there with a notebook.

Secondly, it's my shop, which means that I can never get anything done if I'm there. Once inside, there's always phone calls to field, customers with questions, staff crises, inventory problems - there's always something that demands my attention, and it ain't World Domination. It's more like: "Do you think we need to order more Lapsang Souchong tea?"

So, off to Starbucks it is. The other option was the local hookah lounge where they welcome (and encourage) cigar smoking. But while I love me a good cigar, I just wasn't up for one this afternoon and I didn't want my clothes to rank of smoke later. I decided to save the cigar until my forces have conquered the next distant land.

My problem at Starbucks (or any coffeeshop, for that matter) is what to order? God knows the espresso is terrible and I'm scared to death of the frappuccino, so iced tea it is. It's a perfunctory cup of iced tea and I had it with "one pump" of syrup (evidently the 16z normally gets four). Not the best tea, but certainly enjoyable.

I spent the next hour or two pouring through some cookbooks for ideas and shopping lists and then ran out of iced tea. Damn. Now what?

I'm not one who likes to camp out without supporting the establishment, so I went for round two. After a blinding blitz by the baristas to try their new Vivanno, I defensively ordered one because I didn't know what else to get. The Vivanno is their new blended drink with mango, orange and banana. It's not very good. Actually, it could have been great - had they used fresh fruit instead of their mix from Naked Juice. It left a filmy residue on my palate and just sucked. Cut the protein & fiber powder and 2% milk and go all natural - it's much better tasting that way.

In the end, I had a decent iced tea, a lame smoothie and a not so exciting Top Pot Doughnut, but at least I finished next weeks' menu.

And what's this menu for you say? In August, The Spro celebrates it's Second Anniversary and since I'll be behind the bar all next week, I decided to offer a special menu to celebrate. Our actual anniversary is on August 18th, but I'll be in Hawaii that week, so we'll do our celebrating this coming week.

Here's the proposed menu. It may change depending what I find at the farmer's markets this weekend. I'll spend the rest of the evening writing the actual recipes.

SPRO COFFEE ANNIVERSARY MENU

Monday, August 4th
- Strawberry Mint Terrine
Locally grown strawberries and home grown mint in a citrus terrine.
- Grilled & Chilled Eggplant
Charcoal grilled eggplant with sesame dressing. served cold.

Tuesday, August 5th
- Spanish Gazpacho
Traditional tomato based Spanish-style cold soup.
- Grilled Steak & Tabbouleh Salad
Sliced ribeye over tabbouleh, served cold.

Wednesday, August 6th
- Oranges Like Fred
Sliced oranges with olive oil and sea salt
- Salad of Grilled Asparagus and Spinach
with Roquefort cheese.
- Thai Red Curry
with lobster?

Thursday, August 7th
- Tangerine, Frisee & Sweet Potato Salad
- Chilled Southern Fried Chicken
with cornbread and coleslaw

Friday, August 8th
- Melon with Tequila & Lime
Honeydew melon, Patron tequila and lime.
- Tacos Campechanes
Mexico City style tacos filled with chorizo and shredded beef, topped with cilantro and onions on a corn tortilla.

Finally!

After years of procrastination and months of just languishing, I've finally gotten off my ass, finished and released an updated website for Jays Shave Ice and a new website for The Spro. It's amazing how hard it can be to update and redesign a website. The Jays Shave Ice site hadn't been updated for two years and The Spro site went through three versions before I settled on this one in March.

In fact, I built most of the Spro's website in March and then it just sat there, in my hard drive while I procrastinated obtaining the username and password that I had forgotten over the years for the webserver. Dumb.

Anyway, enough excuses. Check out the sites if you have a moment and let me know what you think. I'm not a flash-oriented person. I want the sites to load quickly and provide the right amount of information without the muss and fuss that so many companies force you to endure.

sprocoffee.com

jaysshaveice.com

Tsunami

Gen pouts as the Happy Hour comes to a close.

Whenever Restaurant Week hits the city, I always tell myself that I'm gonna go out to those restaurants that I've been wanting to hit but never do. Then, when Restaurant Week arrives, I find myself either too busy or just not that interested in going to the restaurants participating. Because the truth is that I really don't need a gimmicky event like Restaurant Week to get me to check out a place, I just need time and a desire to eat there.

After hearing some so-so reviews from friends, Tsunami wasn't high on my list of "must eat" places in Baltimore, but when Chef Mike sent a text for a Restaurant Week dinner, I figured "what the hell."

It's six p.m. and high noon for Tsunami's Happy Hour where sushi is half-off. Problem is that "sushi" is a misnomer since they mean maki sushi and not the nigiri sushi that I prefer. This preferential treatment towards rolls is an ominous sign about their attitude towards sushi and their clientele base.


Too Blue Cocktails.

By the time I arrive, my friends are in full swing, chugging down various blue-tinted cocktails. I'm not partaking of alcohol on this excursion, so I decline their generous offers of libation - instead focusing on a glass of water and the always addictive edamame.

Tsunami is located in a restored building that once was a brush factory. About six years ago, I had the opportunity to tour the building with it's multi-storied 1800s machinery and leather drive belts. It was a fascinating factory and the restoration seems to be a good one. Upstairs is a chic bowling alley where you can rent a lane for an exorbitant $40/hour. Chic, trendy and expensive? Thanks, but no thanks.

The restaurant shares it's kitchen, bathrooms and connects with it's neighbor, Lemongrass. Evidently both are owned by the same Annapolis based restaurant of the same names.

One would think that an organization with four restaurants under its' belt would have some sort of functional website. Not so with Tsunami. A visit to their website turns up a splash page where you can choose either their Baltimore or Annapolis sites. Choose Baltimore and you get a "Coming Soon" notice. Click on "Annapolis" and a new browser window opens with a separate URL and then...well, nothing happens.

A call to the restaurant for location confirmation and a mention of the missing website to the hostess results in a quip about the restaurant being open since November 2007 and there is a website. I guess the splash page telling interested clients that the website is "Coming Soon" qualifies as an active website to these people.


Sushi Roll

I like fish. Unlike some of my friends, I like my sushi raw. I had originally been planning to order a large round of nigiri but when informed that the happy hour price only applied to rolls, I thought better of it and ordered just one. It's a shame though, because had the happy hour special applied to the nigiri, I would have spent a lot more than the roll.

How was the roll? Perfunctory. It wasn't bad. I just wasn't great. It wasn't notable. Thin cuts of fish on slightly dry rice. Nothing to rave about, but not bad enough to send back either. Considering the number of Asians running the kitchen, I wonder if this standard of sushi is held because management just doesn't care or that the clientele is too focused on rolls and cooked stuff in rolls that it really doesn't matter. As a result, I'm actually happy that I didn't order an onslaught of nigiri.


Ahi Poke.

While the rest of our crew ordered the Restaurant Week Prix Fixe Menu, I decided to go with selections from the main menus' appetizers. First off, is the seemingly rapidly spreading Ahi Poke - that dish of Hawai'i origins. In the islands, just about any raw seafood can be made into poke. Got some fresh octopus, skipjack or 'opihi? They can be made into poke. Just cut 'em up into 1/2" hunks, mix it all up and it's ready to go.

But the trend in fine dining poke is to cut the fish into small dice and serve. Some places, like Roy's, do a nice job with ahi poke. Other places are outright disasters. Tsunami's poke is somewhere in-between. Presentation is very smart with the poke wrapped in a slice of cucumber. The fish is of nice quality and the basics of onion and sesame oil are there. It's just missing something: salt - either in the form of proper alaea salt or shoyu. I detected a trace of salt in the mix but not enough to make it pop. It's the juxtaposition of the roasted sesame oil and the saltiness that makes poke the hit that it is. I ended up mixing in some soy sauce to compensate and all was fine.


Beef


More Beef

For my "main course," I decided to go with another appetizer and ordered the sliced beef and a side order of steamed rice. I'd like to tell you more about the beef but I rely on a restaurants' online menu for names and descriptions of dishes, but since Tsunami is contented to have almost nothing for a website, I have no real details to offer you, gentle reader. What I do remember is that the dish came with a small salad, some twists of green onion, something tempura battered and fried (cheese, I think) and while the beef was a nicely cooked medium, it lacked flavor and required a liberal application of salt.

To add to that, our server completely neglected to place my order for a side of steamed rice. Luckily, Reese's dish of steamed cod wrapped in banana leaf featured a side of steamed rice that she wasn't going to finish.


Pork Fried Rice

Of all the dishes that rolled onto our table, the stand out was the pork fried rice that a couple of the others had ordered. The flavors were good (at least from the spoonful I had) and the pork was braised to a tender texture. However, don't ask the server what the pork is braised in - that leads one in a discussion that goes round and round and eventually nowhere:

It's braised in its' own juices, was the original reply.

That's nice, but braised meat doesn't start out that way... A simple measure would have been to run to the kitchen to ask the cooks what the pork was braised in, but that seemed too obvious to try at the time.


Steamed Cod

The steamed cod sat across the table from me and I had a bite. The texture was pretty good. I'd say it was cooked perfectly. The banana leaf gave it a bit of sweetness. Unfortunately, it just didn't go anywhere else. Once you savored the sweetness and tender texture in the first bite - that was it. Nothing more. No depth. No complexity. What a shame 'cause it looked really nice.

I decided against the prix fixe meal because I've been losing my desire for desserts lately. Just too much sweet at the end of big meals. I want something punchy. Something vibrant. Not something that's going to weigh me down like sweets and ice cream.



The Gang

All in all, it wasn't a bad time. It wasn't a stellar time. The food was rather perfunctory - kinda like an Asian place designed for unadventurous white people. Exotic-looking but bland. Toss in some rice lanterns, a couple of Buddha statues and the obligatory chopsticks and you've got an Asian-themed restaurant. Wash the natural brick walls in deep blue and you've got a hip night spot for trendsters.

But if you're the kind of diner who's looking for authentic flavor, there are a few hole-in-the-wall places that do better and are worth the effort.

Tsunami
1300 Bank Street
Baltimore, MD 21202
410-327-1370