Ibague Continues

Magali, Rouki, Rodrigo and myself with the very lovely Diana.

As always during these trips, the agenda grows longer by the day, making more and more difficult to keep things updated. Before you know it, the trip is over and I've got a backlog of things that happened that may or not make it to this blog.

While the trip is getting busier and we're doing more and more things besides instructing, dining with the mayor and graciously receiving letters of welcome, we're also hanging out with new friends.

More later...

Frutas, Frutas...y Melones!

Bienvenidos to the cupping room!

It's Day Two in Ibague and after our very "fruitful" visit to Carrefour yesterday, we've got an assortment of local fruits and local milks to taste before we start the workshops tomorrow. Okay, the fruits are for our own knowledge and the milk is for the workshop.

Before we can get to the tastings, there are some things that need to be done first - like translating the coursework PowerPoint slides into Spanish from English. And since my Espanol no es muy bien I'm sitting around feeling rather helpless and twiddling my thumbs. After setting up the fruit with cups and plates, which takes about ten minutes, I'm left again with nothing else much to do except try to occupy myself.

Which is usually about the time I get into trouble.


Our cupping of frutas: Lulo, Curuba, Tomate de Arbol, Sapote, Higos y Granadilla

Outside of our tasting lab is someone new. Someone whom I did not see nor meet yesterday. She's stunning and I quickly turn around and run back into the tasting lab to hide. Why is it that men (guys) always seem to run when they first meet (see) a beautiful woman? Maybe it's because we're hit with a major lack of composure, or maybe we generally don't have any sort of composure and, when we run into a pretty woman, we need to retreat to find that composure and attempt to put our best foot forward.

Well, I'm generally a misfit and prone to say ridiculous and outlandish stuff to girls. I'm calculating what to do. Say hello? Hablo "hola"? Stutter and stare? She probably doesn't speak English, which means I'm screwed. I need to bide my time and take another look for reconnaissance. I walk out of the cupping room and she's still sitting there at the first desk with her light skin, jet black hair and captivating eyes framed with black glasses. She's wearing a purple top and the trademark of the women of Ibague: tight fitting pants. Ay, Dios mio. I'll walk out briefly, pretending to look for someone.


Rodrigo - always smelling the fruit.

Rushing back into the lab, someone notices and tells me that she speaks English. Ah, Bonne Chance!, but what I think I need is Bonne Courage as I step back out to engage her but then she's busy on the phone now. Mierda! I turn to the right to peer out the open window. By this point, I don't want to imagine how I must look popping in and out of the lab with no real agenda.

Finally, an opportunity opens and I approach: "Hi. Where is the bano?" She looks at me for a moment before getting up to show me where the bathroom is: it's down the hall, across the elevators and to the right. She takes me there and I get my chance to ask her if she speaks English and chat about life and who she is, what she does and whatever else is possible in the 30 seconds it takes to walk there and another two minutes while standing outside the rest room.

In the world I've lived, I've met, known and worked with some very beautiful women. In some ways, I feel as though I've seen it all: actresses, movie stars, celebrities, models and regular people. By now, I've worked in motion pictures and lived in Hawaii where it's not uncommon to see beautiful women. For me, it's rare that I'm stunned and today I was stunned and seem to running around like a headless chicken for it.


Carolina offers the proper technique for handling the Curuba.

Of course, you realize that I didn't really need to go to the bathroom, and I also knew where the bathroom was from yesterday. i just needed an opening that didn't seem too much like a stalker. It's something I'll tell her later - that I already knew where the bathroom was, I just wanted to talk with her. I think she liked it and didn't find it too weird.

Back in the lab, we're getting into the fruit: Tomate de Arbol, Lulo, Higo, Zapote, Curuba and Granadilla - all which I'm unfamiliar. In fact, I think Rodrigo and Rouki are also unfamiliar with these fruits. I'm wondering if there isn't some sort of South American magic going on here.


Lulo

With the fruits laid out, we start digging in. Tearing and twisting. Prodding and pulling. Squeezing and squashing. There's new textures and sensations with just the outer skins of the fruits alone. I found it all very fascinating. Some had familiar flavors or looks and then were outright surprises.

Take the Curuba, for example. When you tear into it, the inside sac looks a lot like an elongated mandarin orange, but tear into that sac and there are bright, little orange pulps surrounding black seeds. Sweet.


Curuba - kinda looks like an elongated mandarin.


Curuba - but nothing like a mandarin on the inside.



Curuba - I thought those tentacle-like things holding the seeds were fascinating.
In fact, a lot of these fruits had many seeds. Most of them were mostly seeds with a slight mucilage of fruit pulp surrounding them. Everyone seemed to eat the things whole - seeds and all. The sweet pulp with the crunchiness of the seeds and a slight bitterness as well. Interesting.


Tomate de Arbol - really does look like a tomato inside.

The Tomate de Arbol seemed to get the most attention. Tomato of the Tree or Tree Tomato? What kind of funkiness is this? Cutting into it revealed that does indeed look and have the texture of a tomato but much sweeter and delicate. But for me the truly interesting fruit was the Sapote. Once you've cut through the tough outer skin, the fruit looks stringy and orange, much like a sweet potato. But dig in and it's anything but. Delicately sweet, stringy and complex.


Sapote - the texture reminded me of sweet potato.

I had been so focused on my tasting that I didn't realize that a frenzy had broken out around me. Everyone is cutting and pulling and tasting fruit. For Carolina and Diego, this stuff is old news. They're Colombian so they see this all the time. For us visitors, it's a whole new world. The knive is flailing about, fruit juice is being spilled, it's exciting, like being at some sort of fruit NASCAR.

Alfredo returns with a load of milks from the grocery store to try. We taste them cold, steamed and in cappuccinos. Some of them start out sweet, others get sweeter with heat and then some just completely falter. Sadly, the coffee in the cappuccinos isn't the greatest we've ever tasted and that makes judging the milk for capps all the more difficult. A milk that may have been interestingly sweet heated in the cup, suddenly is wiped out and destroyed by the coffee.


Higos - in Mexico they call this tuna.


Granadilla - mas dulce, with the most fascinating outer skin.

We're powering through them and, happily, Alfredo and Rodrigo are doing the work of steaming and pulling shots on the espresso machine. I don't drink much milk in the course of a day and we're certainly going beyond what I would normally drink in perhaps a week, except some are good and others are bad - which makes it all the more tenuous for tummy.


Alfredo, Carolina, Rodrigo and Rouki attempt to figure out the fat content.

With all the fruit flying and milk drinking, I want to bust outside the tasting room to chat more with the girl in the glasses and purple shirt. Milk and fruit are nice, but what about the honey? Somewhere along in life, I've learned how to feign calmness in spite of the fact that I'm stressed and/or about to explode inside. Just on the other side of that glass partition. Hmm, maybe I need to go to the bathroom again?


Leche! from Alqueria.

A few minutes later, we're finished with our tastings, the power point presentations are ready for tomorrow and it's time for us to leave the Comite offices, grab a bite to eat and make sure everything is being set up correctly for our workshop. Now's my chance to invite her along to lunch, chat, learn more about her and just be fascinated. Should I keep my hair pulled back or let it flow down like that rocker Juanes?


Alfredo pours some capps with the test milk.

As we emerge from the cupping room, the entire floor is empty and dark. It's 12:15pm and this place is deserted. Everyone is gone. Nooooo! I think I'm ready to flail myself about. It seems that in Colombia, everyone goes to lunch at a certain, designated time, that time has passed and everyone is gone - even my girl with the jet black hair, black glasses and purple top. Mierda.

Ibague Turismo

Spongebob says there's plenty of room between that van and the pickup.

Have you ever played the video game Gran Turismo with one of the four-banger cars, hurtling yourself into the twists and turns at top speed with the engine screaming?

Well that was our trip to the mall this afternoon from downtown Ibague. I've been to a lot of countries and rode in a lot of taxis that were a bit crazy but this guy in Ibague takes the Pole Position. In his little, tiny Hyundai hatchback, the engine is screaming at maximum rpms as he hurtles the car left, right and to the right again. No bus is too big and no curb is too close for this guy. It's a mad dash for the mall and he's going to make the most of our 4,800 peso cab fare.

They use yellow dashes to split oncoming traffic. No problem, just mash the accelerator to the floor and shift into a lower gear. If not by speed then we're going to make it through sheer willpower. At first I didn't notice so much because Rodrigo and I were into our conversation but soon after taking off, the absolute rollercoaster character of the ride overcame any discussion about coffee or profitability. I was soon laughing at the absurdity of it all.

Jog left and hit the gas. Ooops, no we can't beat that oncoming pickup truck, back off and swing to the right. Is there space? Not really but our Colombian Road Warrior is going to prove that we will fit. Zoom and we're sliding in front of some car and narrowly missing that chick on a motorcycle. Another turn and crap - they're too close and we slide to a stop just a half foot from another bike.


Motorcycles be damned!

Another car moves a half length and we're off onto the wrong side of the road. Or perhaps All Your Roads Belong To Us. Those who Rocket: Rule. The little Hyundai can't do anything near what I would consider "rocketing" but that doesn't deter our driver from sliding back to the left side of the road on a right-turning curve with a bus blocking our return to the right'.

By this point, I'm no longer concerned. I'm sure we'll make it. Even if we don't, I've accepted it. A crash won't upset me, it will only make me laugh because I'm having so much fun.

When you're playing Gran Turismo, you do crazy things like send your car screaming into a turn that you're unlikely to make - if for no other reason than you know that it's a video game and nothing will harm you. Imagine doing that in real life, in a real car and you've just started to have an idea of what today's ride to the mall was like.

Looking forward to more taxi rides tomorrow.

Sonata Cafe Coctel

That's not fog wafting over the tables at Sonata.

Our cafe crawl continues with Alfredo and Carolina taking us to Sonata Cafe Coctel, an outdoor cafe located in handicrafts market that's quite popular now that the smoking ban is in effect (the tyranny of American imperialism never stops) and with their offering of a liquor menu. The cafe is pretty and offers some decent drinks. Alfredo roasts coffee for the cafe and we're warmly greeted by the owner, who shares with me his source of Colombian chocolate used in my drink.

We're outdoors, the sun on our backs, good drinks in hand, surrounded by good friends and the sights of pretty Ibague - what more could one ask for?


Sightseeing Ibague!


Rodrigo and his Americano.


Carolina y Frappuccino con liquor.


Rouki y Frappuccino sin liquor.


My Cafe Mocca.


Espresso Alfredo.


Sugar Love Notes.


Ay Dios mio, we're surrounded!



Sonata Cafe Coctel
Cr 5 Calle 10
Tolima, Ibague
Colombia
(57) (8) 2619036

The Junket de la Prensa

The Publicist, Photographer and Reporter Senor Correa at the ready.

The Press Junket. I have to laugh when I think about it because I never thought I would ever be part of a Junket of anything. Yet there we were, just off the Centro de Ibague being ushered into the dining room of the swanky Circulo de Ibague club to meet the press.

I've been interviewed before but never has a press interview been part of a master schedule of events, nor have I ever had a publicist who was wrangling the press for us. It was both fun and stressful at the same time. Stressful because my Spanish es muy mal and so is my comprehension. Even though I have some experience in Spanish and Latin American countries, my ability to comprehend lies around ten percent. Meaning I'm missing out on 90% of the conversation.

The interviews I've had in the past were low-key affairs with one person, via phone, or through e-mail. Today we had a photographer snapping photos at random, which added to the stress level. Not only do I have to worry about what the reporter is asking but I now also have to worry about not doing something at the wrong time. No scratching my butt or picking my nose. Gotta keep the photographer in my periphery so I know when I can wipe the sweat off my brow, or adjust my seat or fix my shirt. Can't risk getting shot at an inopportune moment, which also means I have to watch my posture, seating position, hand placement and facial expressions. One look at celebrity tabloids and you know what I mean.

My saving grace is Rouki who, in addition to speaking English, Spanish and French fluently, has also worked as a translator and I'm surprised by the amount of jabber she can remember accurately before I have to stop. She's translating the questions from Spanish and telling the reporters my answers. As I listen, she's hitting each point I gave and including all the details. I'm amazed because I was actually putting my translation stops at points that I thought might be too long and she never skipped a beat. Tre Cool.

The interview went well (I think), the reporter was engaging and we drove home some good points about coffee and barista life that I hope makes it to print. In case your wondering, the article is supposed to be published on Thursday in print and at:

eltiempo.com

Cafe Capristano

Rouki rides the hobby horse at Capristano.

Our first lunch in Ibague finds us at Cafe Capristano, a sort of outdoor cafe that seems to have been tacked onto a building at a street corner. Nothing is fully enclosed and nothing is contained in anything that we would think is a building, yet the environment is warm, friendly and ensconced from the cacophony of the streets just outside the window.

Lunch is pretty simple. A menu of the day is on offer with pork, chicken or beef options. I choose the chicken and it's delicious. The chicken is thinly sliced and cooked on a plancha. It's slightly overcooked and maybe tending towards the dry side but the thinness of the cut, as well as the crisp caramelization of the exterior, and the liberal seasoning makes it just right. What would have been a disaster back home has been skillfully piloted to deliciousness. The potato and salad are okay and more perfunctory than anything else, but the poached banana is a knockout.


Asparagus Soup

Looking at the cross-section, it's not your typical banana but a variety that I usually see at Latin or Asian markets. The meat is a deep golden yellow and holds up well to cooking. From what I've gathered, the banana is cooked in butter, sugar and milk rendering it sweet with a rich lusciousness that was absolutely perfect with the chicken. I was originally weary about ordering the menu of the day and only did so because everyone else was doing it and I didn't want to seem out of place, but the result was absolute delicious goodnesss.

The asparagus soup was also a tasty starting course. Rich while being light and delicately balanced. Just enough cream was added to smoothen it out and a reserved, but proper hand with the seasoning. I wanted to drink the soup from the bowl instead of maintaining my civility and the use of the spoon.


Chicken with cheese, baked potato and poached banana.

The really nice thing about Colombia, and I'm guessing Latin America in general, is the prevalence of fresh juices and lemonades. Forget your sodas, on offer with lunch is a lemonade made with what we know as limes. It's zesty, sweet, refreshing and delicious. And did I mention they make them by hand, to order? I sucked down two of them.

Afterwards, we ordered some coffees from Capristano's baristas. The cafe is next door to the venue and their baristas are attending our training and we wanted to see some of the skill level we'll be dealing with. Watching baristas is always an interesting exploration that reveals different methodology. The barista at Capristano tapped the portafilter roughly 47 times each time she made an espresso (we counted). Luckily for the portafilter she taps lightly and with a plastic tamper. But she grinds the coffee to order.

The espresso and cappuccino were decent enough. Milk slightly on the hotter side but not offensive and the espresso was decent.


Rodrigo arrives with samples from the baristas.


Pondering the espresso and cappuccino.

Cafe Capristano
Calle 11 No. 4-29
Parque Murillo Toro, Ibague
Colombia
www.capristano.com

Venta A Minuto

Hope springs eternal in Ibague.

Just outside of the main entrance to the Federacion de Cafeteros de Colombia is a woman selling minutes. If only it were possible to buy a couple more years of life...

Ahhh, Ibague!

The view from my room at the Mercure Hotel.

After a rather long journey, we arrived in Ibague yesterday evening and this morning I woke to this. Beautiful.

Ibague's weather reminds me of Hawaii. It's warm and breezy while comfortable. Just lovely. Sitting in the open air, I'm reminded of my former life in Honolulu and think that we need to organize a trip of coffee friends to Hawaii.

Ibague is hot without being unbearably so. And I'm liking it. Time to head downstairs for some fresh papayas...

Smelling Bogota

There's something in the air, but I'm not sure what.

I've arrived in Bogota, Colombia and the moment I stepped off the aircraft my nostrils were filled with the acrid aroma of something somewhere burning in the distance.

Maybe it's not something burning but it's an aroma that I´ve smelled around the world, grown accustomed to and find strangely comforting. Maybe it's my years of fond memories in the Philippines that maintains this friendly reception towards this aroma but whatever it is, I feel comfortable and at home with the aroma filling my nostrils.

Committing Treason

Mac and Dell - I Love my bastard child.

Since my childhood, I've been an Apple user. Starting with the Apple II+, then the MacSE, PowerBook 180, PTP225, G4/500MP, iBook and numerous assorted minis - in all, that's over 25 years of using Apple computers.

Recently, I made the decision to buy a Dell Mini 9 and hack it with Mac OSX and it's been an interesting experience. Some people, like the United Flight attendant, think it's pretty cool, but there seems to be a darker force at work here.

For generations, Mac Users have been the pariah of the computing world. We've been the minority and like minority populations, we've been berated and made fun of. As such, we can be an insular group that eschews the world of PCs and pooh-poohs on those who choose Windoze.

Suddenly, I'm the pariah.

The general camaraderie I experienced with Mac people has turned harsh. Those other users who saw me as a kindred spirit only see the "Dell" logo emblazoned on the netbook lid and immediately turn vicious. "What's that you're using?" they say with no hint of comfort. As though I've betrayed the clan by journeying to the Dark Side.

That suspicion isn't quelled when I show them and speak enthusiastically about how OSX ports to the Dell. I can see it in their eyes, sure it's a Mac Operating System but it's still a bastard child. It's an abomination and not the Pure Blood Apple that it should be. It's genes are tainted and, therefore, can never be fully trusted or accepted.

As I venture to South America today, I will be taking my mongrel machine with me. It's tiny form and long battery life accompanying me on the long journey with episodes of Hell's Kitchen and copies of Inglourious Basterds, District 9 and Star Trek (I would have brought 500 Days of Summer, but it's not on BitTorrent).

AA MIA-BOG - Already Better Than United

Cortadito con Azucar y Empanada en Miami

3am Screwed

It's just past 3am here in Baltimore and I'm stuck. After a long day with my nieces and family celebrating my aunt's birthday, then dinner with Anisha and a birthday beverage hang with The Bob, I'm sitting at home struggling with exhaustion and fatigue and I don't want to sleep.

My flight to Miami this morning is at 6am, which means I have to check-in by 5am and leave my place no later than 4:30am. Do I sleep for 50 minutes and risk not waking up and missing my flight? Or do I hang in there, dying to sleep and just wait it out until it's time to leave?

Knowing how many flights I've missed because of similar circumstances means that I'm waiting it out.

I hate early morning flights and these flights to Latin America are the worst. Whether it's Mexico City, Managua or Bogota, it's always the first flight out to catch the one flight down south. It's horrible. I always try to schedule my flights as late as possible in the day to avoid these circumstance but sometimes, it just doesn't work out to my ideals.

At least I'll be tired enough that I can, hopefully, sleep most of the way to Bogota.

There Is No Santa Claus

The Bride and Groom ready to make their Grand Entrance.

Make no mistake about it, I'm a terrible wedding guest.

Not that I get belligerently drunk and start dancing on the bar wearing one of the bridesmaids pieces of lingerie from a 20 second bathroom tryst (that's never happened...), but rather because I'm absolutely terrible about returning those RSVP cards you get in the invitations. In fact, I'm terrible at even opening the invitation.

That's because chances are that the reason you've invited me to your wedding is because we've been good friends for many years. With that kind of relationship, I absolutely am going to make it to your wedding. You're going to ask me, I'm going to ask the date and then when I said "yes, I will attend" I meant it. No need to worry about invitations, those cards or whether or not I'll be bringing a date (I won't because Hope Springs Eternal), I will be there just as I promised.


Andi ponders the right time to chat with Tita Zenaida.

Of course, that doesn't stop the constant nagging from the bride about when I'm going to send the card back. Sheesh, didn't I say I was coming - isn't that enough? But really, I understand your concern. You want to know whether I'll have the chicken or the beef - truth is, I don't care because I already know the caterer who's charging you a hundred bucks a head has precooked the entire dish and it will be sitting in an Alto-Shaam all day long rendering whatever flavor you got so excited about four months ago during your tasting into bland, dry mush.

The one that really had me confused was my friend who kept asking me when I was going to send the card in because they needed to know for sure that I was coming. The part that confused me was that I had already promised to be one of his groomsmen. I thought for sure the agreement to be a groomsman also meant that I agreed to attend the wedding...

After many years of turning down offers of marriage, Angeli finally decided to take the plunge and marry Des. It's a fairy tale story that begins three years ago during Angeli's sisters wedding to that racy Colombian Camilo. Both Des and Angeli were the best man and maid of honor and such began a torrent of love that somehow featured living in Gigi and Camilo's basement and other whirlwind events that I wasn't able to make out of the speeches.


This photo appears at the demand of my publicist.

Within our circles, Des' best man speech is notoriously regarded as one of the longest, most rambling speeches in history. Thirty minutes of oratory that no one really understood, filled with roasting and the revelation that Santa Claus does not exist. Thus resulting in a mass hysteria amongst the ring bearer and flower girl whose milk and cookie filled dreams of Fat Santa and reindeer were crushed in one swift strike. Nothing quite like watching wailing children run from the room with mommies chasing after them.

Returning the favor, Gigi and Camilo were the matron of honor and best man, and they too remembered Des' speech, making jokes about it at every opportunity. Note: please don't poke fun at someone else's speech unless you're absolutely sure that your speech is going to be better.

But weddings are about fun and revelry and, as long as the bar stays open, good times. Luckily for us, the bar stayed open late into the night, which augurs good fortune and long life for Des and Angeli.


A proper Filipino Wedding just isn't unless a fresh Lechon is involved.

ph: Vinyl Mania

Look at the picture above. After thinking that the floors are hardwood oak, I'm starting to think they're just pine floors that have been stained with Golden Oak stain because they look pretty darn golden for oak.

The project continues with the laying of a vinyl floor to conform to foodservice code in the work area. It's a simple, waterproof flooring by TrafficMaster from Home Depot.

ph: Do Not Pass Go

I got a letter from the government the other day...

Someone in Hampden must be feeling the pressure - especially since I return home from my trip out west to find an inspection notice taped to the door of project hampden. Something about doing work without a permit and being subject to a $1,000 fine. Considering I've already pained the expense of a "designer", I'm not too pleased about being fined even further.

A quick call to the visiting inspector reveals the complaint and after a short discussion, all is well. No work has been done to the space that requires a permit and our area inspector and I have been in constant communication throughout our process so no problems there and we're still on track.

ph: Some Details and The Chairs

Front door bumper.

While I enjoy the overall production of building a new shop, sometimes it's the little details that excite me. Like these door bumpers and hangers. Brass or brushed metal? These are monumental decisions that will set the tone for you can't have one and also the other. It must be unified. Some tell me that most people won't notice. True, but it's the nagging little bastards (like myself) who will - and hopefully, they will find as much joy in discovering the little details that I had discovering the little detail of the highly polished fire nozzles in the range hood at Volt Restaurant.

Maybe they won't notice that reverse trimmed chair rail behind the front door, but I know it's there and ready for that one time when some detail oriented fuck (like myself) will maliciously peer behind that door to see if the trim is trimmed out - mwahahaha!


Front door hook.

Then there's the front door hook. Again, another little detail that no one will probably notice. I needed it because I had removed the original hook left there by the previous tenant. It was too long and might poke a hole in my beautiful wall. It had to go but it left an unpainted spot on the door. A glaring unpainted spot. Either try to match the paint or replace it with a different hook. I think this one looks pretty good.


New lab floor and three compartment sink.

After the plumber came to estimate the job of locating the three compartment sink in the basement, it entailed jacking the floor and burying a pump tank underneath the floor, resulting in skyrocketing costs. Time to move the sink to the compromised, but workable location in the lab.

This also meant that we needed to install a washable floor and I decided to go with the Traffic Master vinyl floating floor in Country Pine to sort-of accent the existing pseudo-antiqued painted floor.


The chairs are looking too big.

Then there's the chairs. While spying and sitting on them at Second Chance, I thought they could be smashing with their hand-carved claw feet and detail work. The gold embroidered upholstery is a bit gaudy chic that's easily rectified with slip covers. The problem is that now that they're in the space, they seem too big. Dammit! Just when I think I'm getting closer, we step back just a little.

Anyone want to buy some really nice antique chair for cheap?

OMG: Deep Fried Butter

photo courtesy of The Food Network

You probably have seen this elsewhere but Abel Gonzales Jr. is a finalist at the 5th Annual Big Tex Choice Awards at the State Fair of Texas. Simply freeze balls of butter, batter and deep fry. The sensation is supposedly like that of buttered toast.

Now I'm all for butter. I'm all for buttered toast. But I'm certainly alarmed at the idea of Deep Fried Butter Balls. Until, that is, I think about it. Buttered toast... Hmm, might not be too bad.

Makes me want to run down to the Maryland State Fair today and eat everything fried in sight...

Choux Choux Remembered

Late night Saucisson Sec noshing from Choux Choux Charcuterie.