Roasting Alta Mogiana

The Good Smoke 2

Those Europeans and their warning labels...

What makes a good meal great and a great meal even better? Capping it off with beautiful cigars. Hell, give me some great steak and a great cigar and I'm just a happy human.

After such an enjoyable meal of fine smoked meats, what better way to celebrate than with a few Montecristo #2 Habanas (illegal, of course) that I rescued from the Frankfurt airport over two years ago. While I do love great cigars, it's always a treat to share great cigars with friends who truly enjoy cigars. Nothing is more frustrating to a cigar lover than to share a great cigar with someone only to have that friend not only not appreciate the smoke but to smoke half (or less). The coup de gras comes when that person stubs the cigar out mercilessly.

Those are the times when you regret ever sharing that fine cigar.

Luckily, my friend Bryan is someone who knows and appreciates fine cigars and will never be found stubbing one out. In the humidor, I've got a nice collection of cigars dating back to 1995 where they have been slowly and carefully aging for thirteen years or so. I've always tried to buy cigars of a certain caliber and it has returned dividends in beautiful smokes that are flavorful and lingering. Ahh, the memories...


What's that precious gift hidden in the box behind Ethipian Birr? Oh my!

Knowing that Bryan enjoys Cubans, I grab the aforementioned box of Montecristo #2s and head out to the veranda. Inside are freshly printed Ethiopian Birr notes - evidence that I bought this box during my trip to Addis Ababa in February 2007. As I open the box, expecting to find three Havanas, I'm surprised and delighted to find two Montecristos and one PG Belicoso Maduro.

Even though I can't imagine what it could be, I must have done something right this week.

While I love the Montecristo #2, my passion in cigars is for the Paul Garmirian Belicoso Maduro. To my tastes, there is no finer cigar. I started smoking them in 2002 and they've rocked my world for seven years now. By this point, I've smoked well over one hundred of them and I've only had three that had problems. In the world of cigars, that's an amazing statistic.

It's a delicious cigar. Medium bodied with a sliky spiciness and a mild sweetness. To my palate, this is the one cigar I could smoke day in and day out. In fact, I have smoked it day in and day out - which is why I'm surprised and excited to find this hidden treasure.

I love and smoke this cigar so much that I no longer can keep them in the house. I've had boxes in the house. Boxes that were intended for my reserve. Boxes for aging. Boxes to combat the anticipation of the downturn in the economy. Boxes that I were supposed to be for the days when business was bad and I couldn't afford to splurge on such a cigar.

There they were, boxes of PG Belicoso Maduro. Waiting for Days of Doom. Waiting to rescue me from wiping out my empire and fortune. Waiting for the days when I would have no more money, no more women and no more nothing. These boxes were for those days when I would have nothing left, I could still comfort myself with the flavor of the Belicoso Maduro.

But no, I don't have discipline. Just one cigar, I would tell myself, intending only to smoke that one Belicoso Maduro before going back to something lesser, like the Padron 1964 Anniversary (a perfectly delicious cigar in its' own right). That's when the madness would begin. Just another one from the box will be okay. Then another and another, and another - suddenly, before I would realize it, I had smoked through the entire box.

It's like an addiction. It's so good, I can't get enough. Help me.


Happiness is: the Paul Garmirian Bellicoso Maduro.

For several months, I've been without. Since I no longer make regular trips to Northern Virginia, I no longer make regular visits to the PG Boutique in McLean and my larder has run dry. It's been a sad state of cigar affairs here on the home front.

As I savor each draw from the Belicoso Maduro, I'm reminded why this is still my favorite cigar. No other compares. That light spiciness and the mild sweetness. Just amazing. I wish I had a steak. And some of that Pezzi King Old Vines Zinfandel.

That would be Legen - wait for it - dary!

The Open Road

PG Boutique: Someday...

The Good Smoke

Gotta Be Starting Somethin'.

Back in 1995, old friend Sam and I partnered together to make a little barbeque shack called "The Ono Grill." It was a fun experiment that only lasted the summer and showed us just how viable our barbeque ideas were. Our barbeque was a mixture of Southern and Hawaiian traditions, with lots of Sam's personal BBQ experience thrown in for good measure.

Take our pulled pork recipe, for example. To prepare the pork, we followed traditional Hawaiian techniques for Kalua Pig, but when it came time to serve, we mixed it with Sam's pork sauce. Tangy, sweet, hot and just delicious.

I didn't know much about barbecue back then to really understand the context of what we were doing. To me, it was just delicious. I had no idea how it compared, until I started tasting BBQ during my travels. What I found was that our style was different and unique while still maintaining a respectful connection to the traditions. The flavors were tasty but not too far out there. Today I wish we had been able to maintain our project because I would like to see how our product compared to others.


Two types of ribs from Springfield Farm.

Nowadays, barbeque is limited to the couple times a year that I decide to make it and pull out the smoker. I've got a Fast Eddies FC100 pellet smoker. It's a great smoker that's easy to use and very versatile. We ended up with two at the Ono Grill and each of us got one after the project was over. It's now my "secret weapon" when it comes time to smoke.

Over at Springfield Farm, I spotted several packs of something labeled "Oriental Ribs." They're different than the traditional baby backs (and cheaper too), so I bought a few packs of Oriental ribs and a rack of baby backs as the control.

The rub I use is a relatively simple one featuring sugar, salt, cumin and a variety of other spices (yes, it's a secret - this is barbeque afterall). Pat dry the ribs with a paper towel then liberally apply rub until the entire rack is coated and shake off excess. I make sure that no meat is left uncovered by rub and then I refrigerate the ribs for two days. While I like to let the flavors meld during this time, good results can be found if you had to cook right away.


Seasoned for two days.

Two days later, it's time to cook. Simply fire up the smoker and set to 225F to 250F. The nice thing about the Fast Eddy is that I can simply dial in the desired temperature and the Traeger feeding system does the rest and holds it in that temperature range indefinitely. If you're doing this with fire, wood and an offset box, it's going to take a little more effort.

I'll cook the ribs for at least four hours.


Big slice of pork butt seasoned with Alae'a salt and ready to go.

It's Sunday, and I've got a motherlode of meat sitting in the refrigerator waiting to be eaten. I've been so busy this week that I've been putting off my cooking tests and now they're piling up on me. Better to cook everything off, vac pack it and eat them all week than letting them rot.

There's a big hunk of pork butt left over from the Mother's Day Tocino and while there's not enough time to cook the butt to the point that it strings out, I'm thinking we can get a nice smoked roast out of it. Liberally season with Alae'a salt and into the smoker it goes for three hours.


One look at that crown meat and you'll know why I selected this cut.

An hour later and it's time to toss in the ribeye I've been saving. While at the farm, I noticed this cut amongst the many. My favorite cut of beef is the ribeye, specifically the crown cap of the ribeye. It's full of fat, which means it has the most flavor and is the most tender and juicy piece. I love it and when I saw how big this cap was, I couldn't resist.

The dilemma was whether to grill it, pan fry it or toss it in the smoker. It's been a long time since I smoked a steak and figured what the heck? I didn't want all the grease from pan frying and I wasn't in the mood to fire up the charcoal grill. Into the smoker it went for the last hour of the smoke,


About halfway there.

For the pork butt, I knew that with the size of cut I was using, it would be cooked through in just over an hour. I was hoping that the muscle would break down in those three hours. I was playing a small gamble but also knew that even if it wasn't enough time that the flavor would be quite nice indeed.

When it comes to smoking a steak, pretty much any steak will be done in one hour. And if you've never seen a smoked steak, it looks like nothing you've ever seen. Just a whole different animal.


Meal Ready to Eat.

I gotta say, I find the whole smoking thing to be quite enjoyable. It's certainly not fast but it is relatively easy - especially when you have a smoker like mine. Just set it and forget it. While the meat cooks, I can enjoy a four hour 24 marathon with Jack Bauer and not have to get up except to refill my champagne. Even if you're sitting by the smoker tending to a fire, it's a highly enjoyable time and a great way to bond with friends.

Plus, there's something so ethereal, so "manly" about smoking meat. Whether you're digging a ditch for a Hawaiian imu or building fire for an Argentinean style Cruz, there's nothing like fire, smoke and booze to keep you going.


A look at the ribs.

By the end of the cook, the oriental ribs had carmelized to a dark brown, the baby back had a beautiful brownish red crust, and the pork and steak had ribbons on fat mixed with that reddish smoke color you see on meats. Lovely.

When you cut into smoked meat, you want to see a nice smoke ring. It's that ribbon of red along the edges of the meat and should be most evident when you cut into the meat. See that red ring of smoke and you know life ahead is going to be good by the spoonful. That's presuming you actually maintain enough civility to use utensils. I don't.


Smoke ring on the pork butt.

One thing I did find myself short on was barbecue sauce. I thought I still had some in the fridge but realized I had none. Rather than take the time to make a new batch, I dug through the pantry until I found a bottle of NOH Hawaiian sauce that I had received as a product sample.

No time to wait, time to grind. Poured out the sauce and it wasn't bad - just a bit too sweet and not pungent enough for my tastes. I prefer a bbq sauce that's a bit tangy and slightly sweet. The NOH was very sweet and lightly tangy. Next time, I'll remember to make a batch of sauce ahead of time.


Ready to get down with some fried chicken and steamed broccoli.

Sous Vide Fried Chicken

Could this be sous vide?

I'd been hearing rumors about a certain Northern California chef who allegedly has been making fried chicken sous vide. With discreet inquiries with friends meeting dead ends, I decided to find out for myself.

I love fried chicken. It can be so tasty, so sublime, so simple. My preferred way method is to source high quality, local pastured chickens, season with salt and pepper, refrigerate for an hour to dry out the skin, coat in all purpose flour then pan fry until crispy. It's simple and allows the natural delicious flavor of the bird to shine through.


Bagging the chicken.

But I've always wondered how to deliver fresh fried chicken en masse. No, I don't want to fry it and hold it in an Alto Shaam or C-Vap for several hours. I wanted to know how I might deliver freshly fried chicken quickly - to order. Initially, I thought that par cooking the chicken might be the answer. This was met by a resounding chorus of "NOs" from just about every chef and cook I know. Bag that.

Or maybe that was the answer...


One hour at 64C.

While chatting about this with Philip and Jason from PolyScience, the potential of using the immersion circulator to create my quick service masterpiece came into view. What if we vac bagged the chicken, cooked it sous vide, held it cold and then fried to order? Would the results be worthy? Would they be delicious?

To answer those questions, I sourced a chicken from Springfield Farm and set about butchering the old gal into two legs, two wings, two breast and two thighs, with the back going into the other days' stock. I decided that I would use two basic methods of preparing fried chicken. First, my usual simple concoction of salt and pepper. Second, a more southern approach of buttermilk and Tabasco. I would also separate a control group of each that I would fry traditionally.


Overnight in the fridge. Hash marks are from vac bag and check out the gelatin.

For the buttermilk chicken, I took one part Tabasco to five parts buttermilk (we use a house cultured buttermilk at home) and soaked the chicken in the liquid overnight. The next morning, the pieces were vac bagged and refrigerated. The salt and pepper chicken received a similar treatment. After seasoning, the chicken pieces were then vac bagged and refrigerated.

For reasons that are still not very well understood in my mind, ingredients should be well chilled before being placed in a sous vide waterbath. I don't have enough technical knowledge to understand why but Keller was pretty adamant in his book Under Pressure that I go with the flow, but one of the major reasons is to have consistent results and a common baseline to begin cooking.


Into the cast iron skillet.

The chicken that would be cooked sous vide were placed in a 64C water bath and cooked for one hour. After the cooking, the chicken was chilled again and held.

To fry the chicken, I first opened the salt and pepper bag. The juices had covered the pieces in a lovely, slimy gelatin. After wiping dry and setting the chicken on a platter, they were placed back in the refrigerator for one hour to dry the skin out slightly to aid in crisping.

With just over an inch of vegetable oil in a cast iron skillet heated to 350F, each of the pieces of chicken were dipped and coated in all purpose flour then placed in the hot oil. In the fryer were a salt and pepper leg and thigh, and a buttermilk breast and win to make differentiating between the two groups easier.


Cooked and chilled chicken.

The hot oil roared to life with the chicken and in five minutes, the four pieces of chicken were golden brown and covered in a crispy coating. Time to see how they turned out.

As I cut (or bit) into each piece, the results were as hoped. Crispy coated skin cooked to a proper golden brown and the interior beautifully moist and heated through. Near perfection. Brilliant.

It's been nearly two years since I first started eating chickens from Springfield Farm and, if you recall, my first time, I was a bit put off by the flavor. Maybe I've gotten used to that flavor or maybe I've been eating too much bland commercial Chik-Fil-A or KFC lately, but I was nearly put off by the flavor of this chicken.


Into the frying pan - five minutes.

It was strong. It was pungent. It was nearly offensive. It was gamey. I nearly gagged. Then I realized that it was concentrated. This was the true flavor of the chicken nearly unadulterated. Perhaps I hadn't used enough seasoning or maybe the sous vide method locked in the flavor so it had nowhere to go except stay. Either way, it was powerful. Deep. Rich. The essence of chicken bashing you in the face and forcing you to look. I couldn't turn away.

Had the vacuum bagging of the meat locked in the flavor so strongly? Do other methods of cooking pull those flavors out of the meat? I could only guess yes and turned to our control group.

The control group was the other half of the chicken prepared and cooked normally. Fifteen minutes in 350F oil for the dark meat and seven minutes for the white meat. The control group had that same wild, gamey flavor but it wasn't as strong and in your face as the sous vide pieces. I'm guessing that some of that flavor is imparted into the cooking oil and pulled out of the chicken, lessening its' impact.

I also discovered that I'm not a big fan of the buttermilk coated fried chicken. It really didn't do anything for it. I'm back to the simple salt and pepper method.


All Your Chicken Are Belong To Us.

But this test was about seeing whether or not sous vide is a viable method for preparing fried chicken. Can the technique be used to cook the chicken through, hold chilled and then fried crispy to order - with no or very little loss in tenderness and moisture? While one test isn't enough to say definitively, I think the answer is yes.

In these tests, as the coated exterior crisped and turned a golden brown, the interior reheated to a proper temperature and seemed perfectly fine, with no indication that we had used any sort of techno-wizardry to create it. In fact, my friends who I served the chicken to had no idea that sous vide was part of the mix.

At least now I know how I can make quite a bit of fried chicken quickly...

project hampden: And So It Begins...

With keys in hand, we venture forth.

After years of preparing, searching, missteps, failed attempts, stillborn starts and lengthy back and forths, I finally have keys in hand and a deal to build another coffee something.

Finding a good location and negotiating a deal is always the most difficult part of business for me. It's fraught with frustration, anxiety and heartache. What points are not that important? How much do you concede? What points do you hold firm? I'd rather run away and hide under my bed but it must be done and I don't have to like it, I just have to do it.

With the keys to the new space in hand, I opened the lock for the very first time. Finally, I'm feeling excited. Since we put the deal together last week, I'd been feeling ill. Buyers remorse? Or just that ill feeling that rears its' head when you've really pushed yourself beyond your comfort zone? That nagging wonder in your head asking if you're worthy enough, if you've got the balls and brains to do this - if you have enough financing lined up.


A look from the inside.

Even my staff noticed. Over the weekend, I heard from one of our customers that my baristas said that we got the deal but that I looked more stressed than she'd ever seen me in nearly three years - and she was right. I was more stressed than I had ever been. The new shop is also in a new city: Baltimore City. For ten years, I've done business in Baltimore County. I'm used to the system there, I know the people who I need to review our plans, I know the rules. A new city and a new jurisdiction means that I don't know anyone in the system. Everything is new and, therefore, everything is unknown and it's the unknown that makes one queasy.

But move forward we must. As the latch released and the door swung open, I stepped into the space that will be an evolution of what The Spro is doing in Towson. We're going to take the lessons we've learned over the past three years and push them even further. We're going to refine our methods and our service and take it up a notch. More hardcore while exploring greater hospitality in a comforting and refined, yet casual setting.


Millwork notes on the wall.

However, greater ambition also means more pieces to the puzzle. Architects, draftsmen, general contractors, plumbers, electricians, millwork and design-build houses will play into the mix this time. Gone are the days of drafting everything on Macromedia FreeHand and shopping at Ikea. For weeks, I've been wading through design books, product sheets, samples and details on reclaimed and natural materials.

First day visitors included Mom, who seemed to like the space. Our millwork guy, Erik from Artisan Interiors came in to see the space and discuss what we're planning, and our new designer Dai, who's going to be reworking our website in the coming months.


The backyard. Might be nice paved with bluestone, chairs and a gas heater for cool weather seating.

Tomorrow there will be more inspections, discussions and planning, but I will be chronicling the adventure of building this new shop here, under the label "Project Hampden."

Philadephia Pourover

Aaron Ultimo, master of Ultimo Coffee pourovering the Bwayi.

Since I've decided to once again roll the dice and risk total financial ruin, I thought I would take the day to visit the fine coffee establishments in the City of Brotherly Love.

It was a beautiful, sunny day today with temperatures in the mid 70s. Just gorgeous and the perfect day to do a cafe crawl. First stop: the eponymous Ultimo Coffee - the newest coffee joint in the city, owned by the husband and wife team of Aaron and Elizabeth Ultimo.

I've known Aaron since 2005. A thoughtful and passionate barista, I've watched him as he trudged his way up the ranks at murky coffee and then decided to breakaway and move to Philadelphia where he took up residence at Spruce Street Espresso. A year or so later and he's just opened his own joint.

I found it interesting to visit his shop because you can see the heritage in his coffee experience. Aaron admits that their bar layout is nearly a direct reproduction of murky's old Arlington layout: register to the right, then pastry with the espresso machine tucked into the corner and then the grinders. Even the fridge under the La Marzocco GB5 and Cirqua system under the grinders is straight out of the murky Arlington playbook.

While the heritage of the layout may be murky, one can easily see an evolution in the design. Where murky's seemed haphazard, the bar at Ultimo demonstrates refinement and finesse. From the cultured stone counters to the careful selection of counter height to the gorgeous wood planking fronting the bar - even the excess coffee grinds are carefully whisked away instead of being allowed to gather and fester around the grinders.

The interior decor is a mixture of raw brick walls, steel piping, wood and glass garage doors that open the space and give it a wonderful atmosphere in great weather such as this. I arrived shortly after 12 noon to find Aaron hard at work reviewing applications and preparing for interviews.

To my mind, hiring is one of the hardest jobs facing any shop owner. You're looking for someone to represent you and your shop. Someone to be your standard bearer. Choose poorly and it's utter disaster. Choose wisely and you can travel the world - the only problem then is that you're away too often and your empire goes kaput.

So, Ultimo Coffee is a good-looking place but how is the coffee? Whenever I visit a reputable coffee shop, I prefer to ask the barista to choose for me. I presume that the barista knows his/her coffee best and is in a better position to guide my choices towards whatever they think is most exciting that day. On this bright and sunny day, Aaron is taking me to Kayanza, Burundi for the Bwayi and I'm lovin' it.

He's brewing the Bwayi with a Beehouse pourover on a Mark Inman designed brew stand. Readers of this blog know that I've been pretty down on pourover brewing. I just don't think it's very interesting, exciting or compelling. Why do pourover when you can do Fetco drip? I mean really, the barista simply pours water into the cone and lets it flow - how compelling is that? It seems to me that now that the push-button convenience of The Clover has become passe and fallen out of favor that pourover is the next "Big Thing" in Third Wave Coffee. Boring.

At least that's the attitude I'd been harboring for quite some time but watching The Ultimo in action changed my mind. There's a method to this madness. A slow, tender caring for the drip coffee. A caring that reminded me of the action at Caffe L'Ambre back in Tokyo. Maybe it's time to investigate this pourover thing a little more closely.

Charlie of Spruce Street Espresso pourovering the Ariel Pajoy.

Bidding my friends adieu, it was time to see what else this city had to offer. Should I jet over to Passyunk Avenue for another cheese steak shootout between Pat's and Geno's? Or should I see what's happening over at Spruce Street Espresso?

The first thing that struck me about Spruce Street Espresso was its' size. It's a small joint, much smaller than I had anticipated and I was a bit embarrassed when the barista, Charlie, asked me if I was Jay Caragay. Woah, I always find that strangely odd and quite embarrassing, though I am honored to be thought nicely of.

Like I said, it's a small space but they make the most of it. I really dug the banquette seating along the perimeter walls and the cocktail sized table rounds. The feeling was comfortable without being crowded. Again, I was offered a pourover (these things are popular now) of Counter Culture's La Golondrina Ariel Pajoy. Nicely sweet and with hints of orange peel. I liked. Score two for pourover.

With it nearly hitting 3pm, I trucked over to Chinatown to seek out one of the most elusive coffee joints on the East Coast.

For years, I'd been hearing rumors of some Chinese place that served vacuum pot coffee. I'd heard that it was some seedy joint in North Philly. I'd heard it was members only. I'd heard that the Chinese Triad hung out there. All sorts of rumors and if they were true, I was ready to journey into the Heart of Darkness to sample what may be coffee glory.


Ray's Old School Glory.

Turns out that Ray's Cafe is a casual coffee and tea house in a populated part of Chinatown and still on the beaten path. Parking was easy and the lady was friendly enough. Ray's offers a selection of coffees done in a very Japanese way. They even had coffee jelly like I had seen at Caffe L'Ambre.

There's no fancy multi-group halogen burner here. Ray's is Strictly Old School with wick flames powering their four Hario vac pots that are flanked by well-worn Hario cold brew towers. I had reached the myth.

Old School Chinese tea joints share a patina of age on them and Ray's is delightfully so. This isn't some fancy French Laundry-esque kind of place that I'd like to build, it's not even the remnant frat house look that's so popularized by indie and Third Wave coffee shops. This place is strictly Chinese Tea House - and they even offer a food menu. Good thing too since I had only eaten an English muffin with peanut butter at 9am.

Getting down to business, I ordered a round of curried chicken dumplings and chicken in black bean sauce with brown rice. Sadly, the menu is very Chinese-American but at least it tasted pretty good.

But the food was only fuel to keep me going and to prevent the caffeine from driving me into an epileptic fit. I was here for the coffee and since it was blazing outside, I ordered an iced coffee from the brew tower with sugar and cream.

The coffee people may think that I chickened out by ordering it with sugar and cream, but let me tell you, it was necessary. This was deep and rich coffee. Thick, roasty and full-bodied. The sugar and cream were there to tame the beast. It was angry, but in a good way. Rich and very "coffee"-like, it made a nice accompaniment to my black bean chicken though I think it would have done very well with an order of tiramisu.

Back onto the street, it was time to take a detour to one of my Philly haunts: Holt's Cigar Shop on Walnut. A mecca for all things that fine men can savor. From exquisite pens and accoutrements, to pipes and a selection of hundreds of cigars. If you have an appreciation for fine cigars, Holt's is a must. Lots of great cigars at decent prices. I picked up a box of Tatuaje Reserva A Uno. Ah, life is good.


The outdoor garden at Chapterhouse Cafe & Gallery.

Next up on the coffee crawl was a place called Chapterhouse Cafe & Gallery that was recommended to me by John Hornall. Recommended for the design of the space and not the coffee - as evidenced by their use of the onboard grinder tamper and the resultant blonde streams emanating from the espresso machine. I ordered an iced white pear tea.

While the coffee doesn't seem up to scratch, the space really is nicely done. Modern and spacious, there's plenty of seating - if you can find one that's not occupied by some laptop lover who's been camping out there all day. Plenty of seating and all of it full. Once again I'm reminded why my next shop will not have Wi-Fi or Internet access. Please, enjoy the coffee. Enjoy conversation. Enjoy the surroundings. But please, get out and let other people have a chance to enjoy the space.


Espresso macchiato at Lovers and Madmen.

With rush hour starting to fall, I headed over to University City to a new joint called Lovers and Madmen by the University of Pennsylvania campus. Ah, UPenn. I once applied to the Executive MBA Program at Wharton. I even sat in some classes and found them quite enjoyable. Alas, I was denied. Never mind the prestige of attending Tisch, I wasn't good enough for the Ivy League. Oh well, I guess the truth is that an MBA doesn't really help you rise up the company ranks if you're already the CEO.

Lovers and Madmen is a nicely done place with clean everything and a shiny blue La Marzocco FB80 2group espresso machine. The staff is friendly and enthusiastic. There's even back issues of Barista Magazine on the tables for customers to review. I wanted to leave my Barista Magazine cover shot on top of the other issues but, like Wharton, I was also deemed unworthy of gracing the cover of Barista Magazine...

They're new, they're trying but they lack a real barista to lead them. Enthusiasm and commitment are extremely important things but when everyone is still green and you're relying on your roasters' representatives to teach you, it's gonna take awhile before you really get it going. I hope they keep up the hard work and I look forward to checking them out again on my next visit to Philly.


General tomfoolery by the barista turned roaster, John Hornall.

After a long day touring the city, it's time to head out west to see old friend John Hornall at Chestnut Hill Coffee. For awhile, Chestnut Hill was the only game in town. Now they're working hard to maintain high quality standards and it looks like it's doing well for them. By the time I reached the cafe, it was already past closing time, but I know what the coffee here is like, this was a social call and it was time for us to go out and eat big sandwiches at McNally's Tavern.


John and the Schmitter® at McNally's.

Ultimo Coffee Bar
1900 South 15th Street
Philadelphia, PA
215-339-5177
www.ultimocoffee.com


Spruce Street Espresso
1101 Spruce Street
Philadelphia, PA 19176
215-923-2113
srpucestespresso.wordpress.com


Ray's Cafe & Tea House
141 North 9th Street
Philadelphia, PA 19107
215-922-5122
www.rayscafe.com


Holt's Cigar Company
1522 Walnut Street
Philadelphia, PA 19102
215-732-8500
www.holts.com


Chapterhouse Cafe & Gallery
620 South 9th Street
Philadelphia, PA 19147
215-238-2626
chapterhouse


Lovers & Madmen
28 South 40th Street
Philadelphia, PA 19104
215-243-9851
lovers and madmen


Chestnut Hill Coffee
8620 Germantown Avenue
Philadelphia, PA 19118
215-242-8600
www.chestnuthillcoffee.com


McNally's Tavern
8634 Germantown Avenue
Philadelphia, PA 19118
215-247-9736
www.mcnallystavern.com

RSS - Really Simple Stupid!

Once again, I'm late to the party.

After nearly five years of blogging, it's only in the past week that I got around to figuring out how to use that thing known as Really Simple Syndication, or RSS. Sometimes technology just baffles me. Sure, I'll warmly embrace a thermo circulator or AntiGriddle, I'll even get down with induction, P.I.D. and a rotary evaporator. But throw something like RSS, Tivo or SQL databases at me and I'm running for the hills. One day, I'm gonna end up as I swore I never would: an old man who doesn't understand how to use the remote control. Sadly, I don't have any kids (or on the horizon) to give me that disapproving look of disdain as they show me how "easy" it will be to use whatever electronic contraption is the rage in the future. I'm doomed.

Back to RSS...

Maybe you're asking: how have you been reading all the blogs you read? That's easy: the old fashioned way, by going to each blog on a regular basis to see if anyone has written anything. Sadly, in the coffee industry blogosphere, things are pretty dry. At least the chefs like to write - and Hoffman.

While it may seem blase and passe to many of you, I've discovered how to use Google Reader and it's revolutionized my blog reading experience. I can now skim the fifty or so blogs I read with automated subscriptions. Amazing. Just a quick glance down the page and I can see who's been writing and who hasn't, who's trying something new and how that disappointing food critic never fails to disappoint.

Well, gotta get back to Google Reader...

So-co Moco

What to do with the last hamburger patty? Make Loco Moco, of course!

Took that last hamburger patty from Springfield Farm, pan fried it in a cast iron skillet, heated up some steamed rice, fried a couple of eggs and stacked them all together. This wasn't about plating, it was about eating, and if the yolk breaks prematurely c'est la vie.

The problem for the Loco Moco was that I don't have brown gravy lying around the house. Instead, I cheated a bit and squirted a generous helping of A1 Steak Sauce on the patty for that spicy tamarind flavor. Not the Hawaiian tradition but good enough for a morning breakfast.

Just a note: This was actually Thursdays' breakfast. Today I enjoyed smoked babyback ribs and smoked crown of ribeye.

Chicken Stock

With some fresh chicken backs from Springfield Farm, I decided that I really needed to make stock. Whether in cookbooks or on the Internet, you'll find a plethora of stock recipes. In fact, it's insane the number of stock recipes I've read over the years.

The very essence of stock is a long simmering of bones and water, with a variety of aromatics thrown in for good measure. The variations are infinite, which makes stock making very exciting or quite daunting. Give a great Vietnamese cook some time and that beef stock turns into an incredible Pho broth. Or the Japanese ramen chef who takes a base of pork to something balanced and exquisite.

Some people have very strict and rigid stock recipes. Some follow French tradition. Others eschew "major" ingredients for philosophical reasons. As for myself, I take the pirates approach and tend to toss in whatever I'm feeling at the moment. However, that's not to say there isn't some method to the madness. There is and I tend to stick with a traditional mire poix and a few choice elements thrown in for good measure.

This stock features eight free-range chicken backs, peeled and chopped organic carrots (hijacked from my Aunt Josie), sweet onions, celery, multi-peppercorn medley, bay leaves and leeks. Actually, this is the first time I've used leeks. I just happened to have some left over in the fridge and into the pot they went.

Since I didn't start the stock until nearly midnight, I wasn't prepared to stay up until 5am to watch it. Instead, I took the slow and low method (read: lazy), added 10 quarts of water to the stock pot, set the burner to low and went to bed.

Yes, I know one must slave for his labor, but I was tired. And I wanted to sleep. I knew the pot would heat to about 150F and hold there all night. Nothing to worry about. Time to dream - some baristas dream about coffee and the fabled God Shot, I dream about women.

Seven and a half hours later, the pot is heated and the water is slowly cycling under a thick layer of chicken fat. Lovely. Sure there's some scum particles floating about, otherwise, it's perfect. The stock is still brilliantly clear because it never reached a boil. My expert knowledge of cuisine (read: laziness) has been vindicated.

But I've got to run off to work, so there's no time to properly finish the stock. In a flash, I've decided that I would "Keller-ize" the chicken stock. That is, strain the current stock into a large Cambro, put the ingredients back in the pan, fill it with cold water and set it back on the burner for another round.

With the first batch of stock covered and chilling, I'm off to work for another busy day.

Fourteen hours later, after a variety of meetings, appointments, a bar shift, dinner and a cigar, I'm back home to check on the second stock. It's slowly reduced itself by half into a glistening yellow cauldron of chicken goodness. Strain it out and mix with the first batch (a la Keller), then run the stock through a chinois six times (estoy muy Keller) and chill once again. Put the stock back on the burner, reduce by one third (I am Keller) and the stock is ready for whatever dreams may come our way.

With over two gallons of stock, the larder is happy once more.

Wetting The Links

I'm guessing, but it's probably been about eight years or so since the last time I played golf. My father is an avid golfer. Most people like to breathe, my father likes to golf. It's his all-consuming passion.

Me, I'm a bit more casual about golf. I own one club: the Taylor Made Ti Bubble 2 driver. Back in 2001 (or so) when it was introduced, it was a monster. A huge headed driver. Today, it's still a good driver though Vanessa's driver looks like it dwarfs mine.

While I don't play very often, nor would I say I have a particular passion for the sport, there's something about hitting the ball in the sweet spot of that metal driver that makes me as excited as a pig roasting on an open fire. That special "tink," preceded by a skillful "whoosh" as the club slices through the air and the head only contacts the ball. None of that dead thud you hear when the club catches the ground destroying the shot. That "tink" sounds as good as sex - without the baggage or ongoing expense.

I'm back on the links in Reisterstown because my friends have lured me away from my cave and into the open sunlight. Dark storm clouds ride the horizon but we're setting off on foot in search of PGA Glory.

As I was waiting for everyone to arrive, I decided to hit a basket of balls on the driving range. Two days before, I had conferred with my dad, whom I interrupted while he was busy gardening. Tickling his passion, he immediately dropped the gardening to talk shop with his son who owns one club. I was seeking his advice on a small quiver to use for today's action. Just a few clubs in a lightweight bag so I could walk the course. He supplied me with a thoughtful set of seven clubs: putter, 6 & 8 wedgewoods, 7 wood, sand wood, pitching wedge and my aforementioned driver.

Dad is a golf fiend slash aficionado. Always ready to lend his knowledge or hold an impromptu golf clinic - whether at the house, on the course or in a ballroom, it doesn't matter. Needless to say, I've been subjected to numerous golf clinics over the years. Golf outings with my dad when I was younger always consisted of a nonstop stream of coaching and swing analysis. To be honest, it really drove me up the wall.

And while I may have been irritated with the non-stop golf clinics of my youth, many of those lessons remained buried in my psyche and surfaced on the driving range. Where to place your feet, where to position the ball, the angle of your arm in relation to the club, the method of swing - it was like greeting an old friend after many years apart. While there were many strokes of the dreaded thud or hooks to the right or slices to the left, sixty-five balls later, my swing felt like it was starting to gel.

As we set off on the course, I found never-experienced-before glory. While the triple-bogey on the first hole was nothing to write home about, the drive was straight and far. The second hole landed me on the green. The third hole I stroked par. I had never performed this well on a golf course - ever. I was stoked. Even Gerry, Rod, Vanessa and Scott were playing with beautiful strokes.

The fourth hole brought us to our water obstacle and I choked. Sliced it to the left and dropped it into the water. What happened? I thought too much. I let the water obstacle cloud my judgement and made me think about the stroke rather than relax and feel the stroke. The second drive was a bit too far but much better.

As we neared the cup on the fourth hole, the skies blackened over and large droplets of water started to fall. Uh-oh. In a moment, a torrential downpour was drenching me to my core. Hiding under a large maple tree teased rather than relieved. A mad dash to a cinderblock shed by the water obstacle promised refuge but inside the 4'x4' structure was a water pump and 480 amp power distribution. Not an ideal place to be soaked to the bone and in a downpour.

We found refuge in a mid-course bathroom and waited out the storm. By the time the rain had subsided, the greens were flooded and the marshal came by in his truck to close the course and escort us out.

Thus ended my first round in many years. Perhaps the best game of my life, wiped out by a late spring downpour. Could I have stroked par today? We shall never know.

But there's always next Friday...

Brutal, and I'm Right Handed

An Afternoon Drive

Cola of Baltimore

One ounce of formulated syrup base.

I'm continually reminded how much the world is dwindling on an almost daily basis.

For a couple of years now, The Spro has been serving cane sugar-sweetened grey market Coca-Cola imported from Los Estados Unidos de Mexico - until now.

Recent changes by the World Trade Organization struck down the tax on High Fructose Corn Syrup imported into Mexico. The elimination of this tax makes HFCS cheaper than cane sugar in Latin America, leading to the displacement of sugar as a sweetener in the last bastion of somewhat better-for-you food in the world. After a nice period of enjoying the crisp, clean flavor of sugar Coke, the dreaded HFCS has reached our shores... again.

Within a day, I received a call from one of my customers and from my staff asking why the labels now said "high fructose corn syrup" on them. What??? I don't know. I'm going to call my importer.

After a very heated "debate" with my importer on why the F would I pay more for HFCS Coke from him than Mid-Atlantic Coca Cola (assuming that I would even consider carrying HFCS Coke), I had them come back to pick up that weeks' delivery of 22 cases of HFCS Coke.

Which leaves me at a bit of a crossroads. Do we acquiesce and start stocking HFCS Coke (a horrible idea)? Or do we find another path?


Tastes of Baltimore, back from the 1920s.

Many years ago, during the Jays Shave Ice days, I started thinking about serving handmade Coke. The notion became a whirlwind in 2004 during my visit to the World of Coca-Cola in Atlanta. There, a live soda jerk, made Coke by the glass by using Coke syrup and a soda gun - a glimpse of old school and just absolutely brilliant. Problem was that Coca-Cola did not sell their flavoring to anyone else but their bottlers, and American bottlers of Coca-Cola do not produce their syrup in a box with anything other than HFCS. So, even though I could buy a bag of syrup for fifty bucks, I was still making the same crappy HFCS-sweetened Coke I could buy pre-bottled.

Going back even further to the beginnings of Jays Shave Ice was a cola formulation that we stumbled upon that, evidently, was the cola flavor of Baltimore from the 1800s. In the days before Coca-Cola became the mega-behemoth it is today, local soda fountains and their jerks used locally-sourced flavorings and ingredients to make their wares (who would have guessed???). In Baltimore, during the late 1800s and early 1900s, this was the cola flavor Baltimoreans knew and loved.

As is the course of our industrialized nation, this local flavor all but disappeared in the wake of Coca-Cola. Until now.

Culling our resources, I have been able to secure some of this Old Skool Baltimore Kola Flava and have been reworking our formulation for cup service. The idea is to bring back that soda jerk feel by handcrafting the original cola flavor of Baltimore and offering in lieu of HFCS Coke. This formulation of cola is decidedly simple. Just cane sugar, water and flavor to crate the base syrup. Then hit the syrup with a soda gun et voila! handmade cola to order!

I'm getting the formulation and the service steps down and hope to bring the cola to The Spro in the next couple of weeks for a test run.

Pig's Head at Spro

The Towering Infernal

Drip, drip, drip - forty per minute.

We've installed a new method for brewing iced coffee at The Spro. It's been operational for a couple of weeks now and the response has been tremendous.

Since The Spro is located in a suburban library, lots of people pass by on a daily basis - many of whom don't pay much attention to the little espresso bar in the library. The expectation is that this little place couldn't be very exciting or provide very good coffee. We're a bit under the radar. A place for those "in the know."

As a barista, I'm always thinking about better ways to engage the average customer (or potential customer). How do we get these passerbys to take an interest in what we are doing? How to de engage our current customers and show them a continually improving level of excitement?


Down the distillation tube.

Over the past few weeks, we've been incorporating new coffee services to our daily line-up. I've been busy developing standards and teaching them to our baristas. New approaches to tea brewing, cold tea brewing, vacuum pots and now, iced coffee.

In many shops, iced coffee takes a back seat. A cursory thought that is quickly dismissed. At The Spro, we've always adapted Japanese iced coffee brewing techniques that produce a smooth and mellow flavor for iced coffees, but for about two years now, I've wanted to kick it up a notch or two.


Arianna watches - for twelve hours.

In comes the Brew Tower. A glorious tower of wood and glass that is a paean to all things coffee. It's presence is striking. You can't miss it. Combined with the glow from the vac pot burner and the people can't get enough. They stop. They stare. They want to know what it is. They ask questions. Suddenly, we've gone from total strangers to a bridge to engage the public. It's beautiful. Seemingly overnight, we've been able to add a whole new roster of potential clients to our repertoire. What better way to nurture the public than by engaging them in conversation?

Things are just kicking off with the brew tower, and I believe we're one of the very few shops in America currently using such a gadget. This model is a decent unit to educate ourselves, but the true piece de resistance is the version from Hario. Maybe this summer...


The Tower soars mightily over the La Marzocco.

Evil (Not Han) Solo

Eva Solo in brown sweater.

For a long time now I'd been hearing about the Eva Solo brewer from Europe. That fancy dandy coffee brewer that so many people think is terrific that I finally decided to head over to my local housewares shop and buy one to test. Over I went, and in a flash of credit card insanity, bought one brown knit-clad Eva Solo.

Imagine my surprise and shock when told that the cost (plus 6% Maryland Sales Tax *bastards*) would be $106.59!!! Christ Almighty - that's an expensive coffee brewer.

My feeling turned worse as I reviewed the instructions and realized that you pour hot water over coffee in the thing, let steep for four minutes and then pour. The coffee is restrained by a mesh screen filter. Are you serious? I started wondering, Did I really just pay a hundred bucks for a glorified French press???

If it hadn't cost me over a hundred bucks, I might have thrown it out the window of my GMC Sonoma for good measure.

Back at The Spro, it was time to put the Eva Solo to the test. I admit, I was very skeptical. Four minute immersion in water and strained by a metal mesh? Sounds a lot like French Press to me - and a press only costs $30.


Stirring the brew.

First off, the design. It's certainly a good-looking coffee brewer. Sculpted glass with nice curves and a matching metal cap/filter, dressed in a smart-looking knit sweater. Sadly, it's attractive looks also translate into its' most infuriating problems. That knit sweater keeps the glass insulated but since it's fitted, it's an absolute pain in the ass to remove for cleaning - either the knit sweater or the glass jug. Pull, pull, prod, twist, curse and the sweater finally comes off. The sweater is fitted like an American Apparel t-shirt which means that with repeated removals, the sweater will deform and look ugly.

I'm sure there's some design reason for the contoured glass that somehow affects the flavor but, to my mind, it's only reason for being is to make it absolutely impossible to properly clean the glass without a specialized brush (more money). This means that there's a continual buildup of residue and oils that will dry out and turn rancid over time. To this day, the stupid thing is sitting on the counter awaiting the arrival of the Evil Solo Brush that I ordered from Brushmasters.

The true barometer for any brewing device is what's in the cup. Admittedly, because of my reaction to the cost, I had very low expectations for the thing. A glorified, one hundred dollar french press has about as much cache with me as that Clover Automated Brewing System so many of these "third wave" baristas lust over.

For our initial test, I decided that I would give the Eva Solo a run using the same parameters we use for French Press service at The Spro: 23 grams of coffee to 32 ounces of water for a total volume of 896 ml. On our Mahlkonig Kenya, we used a "5" grind setting and brewed for a total of four minutes.

Our control for the test would be the actual coffee from that days' French press service, the El Porvenir coffee from Colombia's Monte y Colinas estate, roasted by Origins Organic Coffee in Vancouver.

The brew from the Eva Solo compared to the standard press as light, airy and clean, with a "friendly" character and a light bitterness that was "pleasant." Hmmm, not bad.


Waiting.

Next test was the actual recommendations from Eva Solo. Using 50 grams of coffee ground to a "normal" grind of "4" on the Mahlkonig Kenya, we filled the Eva Solo to its' capacity of one liter, stirred for ten seconds and allowed to steep for four minutes. The results were surprisingly light, bright and, as one barista noted, a very "dessert-like" coffee.

I was expecting the worst. I was hoping for the worst. Because of its' cost, I didn't want to like this brewer. In fact, I was hoping the results would bear out a brewer best to discard as rubbish, but I can't. In fact, I was surprised and shocked that the Eva Solo produced such a distinct difference than the French press control. Whether brewed to our standards or the company recommendations, the brew was crisper, lighter and cleaner-tasting than the French press. It made some delicious coffee.

That said, is the Eva Solo worth the cost? I don't know. It produces a tasty good cup of coffee with very little fuss or muss (certainly much simpler than a vac pot, but equally as messy as a press), just add hot water to coffee, stir ten seconds, wait four minutes, then pour. It's simple and easy to use, but it's an absolute bitch to clean - which earns low marks in my book. Then there's the cost. At a hundred dollars, it's not cheap. Even at half that price it would be a hard sell. But at $30 each, I would buy six of them and offer them for service - because they're glass, they will break and you will need to replace them (especially for commercial service).


The test results: Eva with press standard, Press Control sample & Eva recommended brew.

To be honest, it's the cleaning part that kills it. It's very difficult to clean and since all the Eva Solo models are clad in either a knit sweater or neoprene jacket, I have to wonder how many operators using the Eva Solo actually clean them properly. The jackets and sweaters are a pain in the ass to take off and the glass is extremely difficult to clean, so unless the shop you visit has strict and serious cleaning culture in place, chances are that the glass will be dirty.

Now, if I could only get the damned thing clean, we could use it again...

Late Lunch / Early Dinner

Just a little butter in the cast iron to cook up the hamburger patty from Springfield Farm, add a little bacon, a slice of American cheese, a little homemade ketchup, some mustard, slice of tomato and green leaf lettuce - all sandwiched between a crispy toasted English muffin and you're good to go.