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Anime characters, Mexican Style.

Getting It On In Spanish

My keyboard is nothing like this!

A few years ago while I was in Tokyo, I thought how cool it would be to own a MacBook with the Japanese characters on the keyboard. I never did get around to buying a laptop there and I never thought about workflow using an unfamiliar keyboard.

Fast forward to 2011 and I'm using a friends MacBook to write posts to this blog - with a Spanish language keyboard. At first, you don't notice the difference. A roman character keyboard is a roman character keyboard. Until you start typing.


All My English Belongs To Spanish.

That's when it goes to hell. Suddenly, you're faced with lots of unfamiliar keys, keys out of place and your typing speed plummets. However, if you like to write Spanish words the macrons and tildas that are missing from an American QWERTY keyboard are all there. It's like magic.

Then there's the spell check. The blog is written in English. The MacBook is Spanish and 98% of the words that I write are marked for spell checking. Weird.

I think in an ideal world, I would have two MacBook Pros. One English and one Spanish, just because.

Martha At The Market

Hombre del Cobre at La Ciudadela.

I had never been to La Ciudadela until today while we were on the hunt for a metate, that traditional Mexican volcanic stone grinder that´s ideal for grinding the ingredients for mole. It´s the famous artisanal market filled with things touristy and things useful for the Mexican local. One great thing to remember is that the prices here are muy barato (very cheap).

Like the handmade tin wall mirrors with talavera tiles for 100 pesos (less than 10 dollars). Or the talavera style sugar holder for 150 pesos (less than $15). The prices can be truly astounding. Take for instance the Copper Pot Guy. In his little shop, he´s got all sorts of copper pieces, cookware and the like for crazy prices. A double handled hand-hammered copper pot for 250 pesos?? Insane!

After finding just the right metate, that weighs at least 40 pounds, (and guess who had to carry that thing) we returned to the Copper Pot Guy to make final decisions - because I couldn´t turn down that pot which would cost nearly ten times that at William-Sonoma.

As we´re standing there, two women and a man enter the shop. Normally, I wouldn´t have noticed much about them but they stood out. Two very white and American looking women, very nicely dressed and accompanied by some Mexican guy with dark sunglasses and a cheap suit: bodyguard or driver.

Most American tourists I see in Mexico City dress pretty casually and all kind of blend in to the typical tourist look. Not these two women. The curly redhead seemed a bit uptight, the taller blonde I really didn´t notice other than the fact that she was looking at copper pieces and I thought about recommending one of the pieces just because I liked them. But something about them irritated at me.

They just seemed out of place. They looked out of place. It´s the bodyguard that gave them away. Had it not been for him, I would have probably thought they were just another couple of rich women from Polanco.

That´s right when Morgana said to the blonde: "Martha Stewart."

Hmmm, Martha Stewart. My puzzled look probably turned to perplexed because Martha said to me: "You look like you were trying to figure that out." To which I replied: "Actually, it was your bodyguard that attracted my attention."

You've probably heard the stories about her. A tyrant. A horrible person to work for. A total bitch. A convict. Well, Ana never heard of her and I don´t think most of the merchants and people in the market knew who "Martha Stewart" is and the fact that she runs some mega-company called Martha Stewart Omnimedia - which you probably have to be all those things to achieve that level of success. Of course, I'm sure those rich, cosmopolitan types know Martha.

As for me, she wasn't the right "Martha". Running into Martha Stewart for me is notable, but running into Martha Higareda might actually cause me to stammer and stall.

Despite being outed by Morgana (even though it was only the three of us, the Copper Guy and their bodyguard), Martha was very gracious and pleasant. She looked over some small copper plates, asked The Copper Guy for the price (40 pesos) and then quietly departed. It didn´t seem like anyone, other than Morgana, recognized Martha Stewart in the market.

As she departed, I waited to hear the throngs pushing on this very famous woman in America. Nothing. No one batted an eye. The bodyguard, in this part of Mexico City, was probably overkill. She probably arrived in a Mercedes. Appropriate for Polanco, but probably a bit overkill for this part of town. Here, if she dressed down a bit - maybe jeans and a comfy shirt instead of the tailored trousers and silk blouse, she would blend in and no one would be the wiser.

I thought of Martha after awhile as i was humping this forty pound metate and I felt bit sorry for her. No doubt she will be treated to "the best" of Mexico. She could hang out with Diana Kennedy and probably will have dinner with Presidente Felipe Calderón tonight, but she´ll always be "Martha Stewart" and unable to simply blend in and mingle with regular folk and eat regular food - which, I think, is where the true beauty of Mexico (or any other place in the world, for that matter) lies.

So Martha, if ever you want to break away from the confines of your world, come and hang with us. Wear jeans (Levis are okay with us), wear a t-shirt, wear flip-flops and we´ll arrange a fun meal amongst friends. And you can tell your bodyguard that it´s okay to wear a Mexico futbol jersey (black if he really wants to remain incognito).

Mole at El Bajio

Las Salsas y Limon.

Ever since my very first visit to El Bajio nearly four years ago, I've been kind of obsessed. I was so moved by her cuisine that when Carmen Titita Ramirez came to Washington, D.C., I had to go and listen to her speak.

The woman is a tour de force of Mexican cuisine. According the interviews I've read, she looks upon nouvelle cuisine as rubbish, preferring to honor and perpetuate tradition rather than fanciful efforts to make simple items like tacos "elevated" - as though something so delicious and sublime needs elevation. The next year, I would trap my friends into going. And then it would seem that no trip to Mexico City would be complete without a visit.


Enchiladas de Pollo con Mole hecho en casa.

Usually, I have something like the chilaquiles or the carnitas. This time I was in the mood for something different: mole. But I didn't want a large piece of chicken so the enchilada would have to do.

El Bajio has several locations around Mexico City and one might think that with scale comes some level of blandness, not so with El Bajio and its obsessive chef/owner. The mole, quite simply, was a revelation. Near perfection. With some moles, I'm inclined to add salt to boost the flavor. Not so here. The flavors pronounced yet smooth. A complete harmony and symphony. Nothing too high, nothing diminished. It was one of the very few times in life that a dish actually spoke to me.


That totopo and frijoles are lurking about.

When it comes to cuisine like this, you want to hoard it hungrily, greedily, selfishly. You want to covet it like The Lord of the Rings. It is sublime. It is the incarnation of why Carmen Ramirez scoffs at the new cuisine. When tradition is carried forward in this manner, you don't need anything else.

Considering my dining companions, I fight the urge to scarf this mole down at high speed. I want to chew and slurp and dabble and mop up the sauce. I want to cry at its beauty. Instead, I savor in silence. I remain calm and stoic lest Senora think that I'm just a crazy fool.


Can't get enough.

As our meal ends and I'm traveling along the darkened streets of the big city, I feel content in the world. But just for a moment.

Los Cunados

Up close and personal with the Pastor.

My whole obsession with tacos al pastor must be reaching new heights. While walking down the block today, I noticed a trompero setting up his trompo with a stack of raw marinated pork. I had never seen the trompo up close at the start of the day and it was fascinating to see it live.

Turns out that today is the first day of operations for the new Los Cunados taqueria. After some debate at the shop about if it really is their first day, I decided that a new pastor stand deserves a little investigation and so off Eliu and I went. Me to order and Eliu to sort out the Spanish that I was sure to bungle.

Of course, Eliu doesn't speak much English so his role was mainly to field questions and answer them on my behalf otherwise I'd have a shopful of taqueros looking at me like I was Brother From Another Planet. Gracias, Eliu.

The rescue started almost immediately. As we walked up to the trompero, I asked him to make us diez (ten) tacos para llevar (to go). That's when the flurry of questions started coming and Eliu stepped in to cover me.

How many tacos would you like on the plate? Two? Three? Answer: five.
Do you want salsas and limes? Answer: Si.
How about something to drink? Answer: Diet Coke.

If it had been me all by myself, it would have taken me double to time to slowly, excruciatingly translate what the trompero was asking, mis-interpret a number of words, nod mindlessly "yes" to try to smooth the situation and finally, maybe, actually get it correctly. Meanwhile, the cadre of trompero, cooks and customers would have been looking at me like I was some crazy gringo asking for ten tacos that couldn't speak Spanish.

Finally, with a bagful of tacos al pastor, some condiments and a couple of Diet Cokes, we made our way back to the cafe to share in the bounty. At 12 pesos per taco, they're a bit more expensive than other places but they are larger sized tortillas and tacos which means more value for the money. With ten tacos, we had two each and I found myself feeling kinda full after the first taco.

The big question is always: How does it rate against El Rey del Tacos al Pastor - El Vilsito? They're okay and very different. First, the spice marinade is different. The trompero slices the meat thicker than Vilsito making it more chunky (comparatively). After slicing the meat, the trompero drops it onto a very well oiled plancha meaning that everyone noted that the tacos were greasy.

The green salsa was very mild, the red salsa was just right with a slight touch of heat but the true star of the tacos were the tortillas themselves. Golden yellow in color with a light flakiness and solid corn flavor. Very nice. Me gusta.

All in all, Los Cunados offers some decent tacos al pastor. Can't say they're worth rushing across town through heavy traffic (like Vilsito) but they're decent enough. Bear in mind that today was their first day of business and things are likely to change and improve. It's important to note that because it takes a little while for a new shop and staff to really get into the groove and the trompero looked a bit harried because he was trying to pump out ten tacos for me and a couple more for some other guests.

In addition to pastor, Los Cunados offers a selection of tortas, sincronizadas, alambres, aguas y jugos and gringas.


Los Cunados
Jose de Emperan 9
Colonia Tabacalera
Delegacion Cuauhtemoc
06030 Mexico D.F.
5535 9326
5592 3449

Hanging At The Tianguis

Entering the Tianguis de Obrero Mundial.

In America, we have our Farmer's Markets. In Mexico, they have Tianguis. Weekly markets that move from place to place daily. Live in any neighborhood (colonia) in the capital and you're bound to have a weekly market that sets up on your street selling just about anything the hungry chilango could want. Fruits, vegetables, meats, kitchen utensils, meals, starches, mole - it's all here for the taking.

And really, what is Mexico more than a place to try wonderful ingredients. Times like this really make me wish that I had my kitchen here in Mexico to go absolutely ballistic. While this may sound disparaging to our American farmers markets, I find Mexican tianguis to have an amazing selection of produce and the quality is very high.


Fresh tripe.

Much of this has to do with latitude. Fresh bananas, pineapples, limes and papayas - all truly "local" because Mexico has the right climes to grow this produce year-round. Then come the meats. I notice that the chickens are quite yellow and I'm thinking that this is due to the fact that they must be pastured. Senora Garcia assures us that they paint the chickens. Maybe but the remnant feathers on the birds look white to me - would they too be yellow if they were painted?

Looking around, the assortment is just massive. I see stuff I only read about from Diana Kennedy. I'm fascinated by the huitlacoche (corn fungus). I stare and I stare, and the vendor must think I'm nuts. Piles of ground mole tempt me. Could I have a taste? And then maybe ten kilos? Can you vacuum seal that in plastic to avoid problems with the US government??


These guys offer mixed veggies ready to make soups.

Clothes, jewelry, bedsheets and those typical Mexican coveralls that make you look like you're raiding the Wild West, all fight for your attention. One stall has a wide selection of motion pictures on DVD. I want to search for Transformers 3, just because.

It's Sunday and everywhere I turn, I see people in green or black futbol jerseys. They look so cool and I want one. Do they make them in my size? I imagine myself as Pablo Berrera working the ball and being loved by the masses.


Cecina Adobada Taco.

Finally, we make our way into the food area of the tianguis. Seemingly limitless stalls of food vendors selling what amounts to a moving, roving Cocina Mexicana Heaven. So many delectable treats to try. Barrels of agua frescas, battle shields of chicharron, piles of varied porks, stacks of corn tortillas, you just can't try them all.

I opt to try just a few items. One of each only, please. I want to sample the flavors. Most places in America that serve carnitas just serve "carnitas" - here, they break them down into the various parts of the pig. In Mexico, it's not enough to simply tell them you want a carnitas taco, you need to specify that you want the calf or the lower leg or other variations that I still don't understand.


Michoacan Style Carnitas Taco.

After sampling some of the local tacos, I spy on the agua frescas people. The last time I was here in April, I noticed the aguas guy at the Anzures Tianguis had an amazingly red watermelon agua fresca that was clear with no bits of pulp. It looked unnatural. I've been making watermelon agua fresca since last summer and I've never achieved results like that.

Which made me wonder if some of the aguas being sold were of the Klass brand powdered mix variety. Of course, most of the aguas look like they're handmade. They've got seeds or bits of this and that floating in them but that stunningly clear and red watermelon got me thinking.


Chicharron con Queso Quesadilla.

What also got me thinking were the horchatas. I only recently started making horchata on the weekends at Spro, grinding rice and canela then mixing it with water and sugar. It's quite simple and features a slight grittiness due to the ground rice. The only times I've tried it without the grit is when it was made from a mix.

Maybe it's the romantic idealist in me but I would like to believe that everything in Mexico is made from scratch, in the traditional way. But, as long as it tastes good, I guess it's all good. I guess I'm going to have to do more investigating. Poor me.


Chicken Flauta.

It's not even noon and already Senora is thinking about dinner. I like that about Mexico. Food is important. It's not some sort of hashed up meal made from microwaved frozen chicken tenders. Even when Mexicans don't want to cook, there's a plethora of vendors to choose from who are only happy to sell you anything and everything you need to eat at home - already cooked.

The Mixote Guys prepare us a bag for dinner. Inside is a half pound of Mixote, a stack of corn tortillas, limes, red and green salsas and picked red onions. No one will go hungry tonight.


Consome with garbanzo beans and rice.

Some of the vendors offer seating and on a Sunday morning, the place is packed. We grab three seats and begin to order. Since I've already eaten two tacos, I keep it on the low drive: a chicharron y cheese quesadilla, a consome and half a flauta. The consome is new, a simple pork broth with a little garbanzo beans and rice. It's savory and slightly sour, reminding me of Filipino Sinigang. I like it.

After a nice meal, we wander the stalls and find our way to the nieve guy. He's got a surprisingly wide selection of sorbets - considering he carted them all here. I choose a combination of rice and cheese, just to see how my own queso ice cream compares. The queso is smooth with chunks of cheese, I like it and feel reassured that my own version isn't too far off from what's here in El De Efe.


Mixote Meal in a Bag.



Woah, fresh huitlacoche!



Fresh Mamey.



The Man With Mole.



The Nieve Man.



Mamey y Cajeta nieve and Arroz y Queso nieve.

Passion Of The Pastor

This guy is one of my culinary heroes.

I'm back in Mexico City and one of our first stops is to my all-time favorite taco joint, El Vilsito on Universidad. I've written about this place before and it's still the best Tacos Al Pastor anywhere. Soft, juicy marinated pork with a slice of roasted pineapple - I dream of making pastor this good at home. And this time I got to share it with a friend.

Some of you may follow The Mija Chronicles and I may have mentioned that blog before. Lesley is someone I've followed and emailed a little when exploring El De Efe's food scene and I was a bit more than excited to share with her a place that I knew: El Visito. After a couple confused tweets, we just so happened to be at Vilsito at the same time - the glasses and entourage of photojournalists carrying large lenses giving them away. "You must be Lesley" was my opening line and it was a pleasure to meet someone whose blog I actively follow and who shares a similar passion not only for Mexican cuisine (hers is deeper ingrained) but a person who is also as passionate about conchas and the conviction that Bondy's conchas are just about the best around.

Nice to finally meet you, Lesley!

Outsourcing Your Core Competencies

Testing and vetting brew methodologies, January 2010.

Lately, I've been thinking that it's time for me to start up a restaurant. A restaurant that can seat about 30-40 people and turn roughly 200 covers on a busy service. Without a doubt, it should be cutting edge, comfortable, casual but with serious ingredients and a serious approach to quality and service. I want this new restaurant to be the best restaurant in my city.

To achieve this, I'm going to find a local supplier of restaurant equipment and produce and ask for their help. I'm going to buy the best equipment available, like a Jade cooking suite and maybe even some equipment for sous vide and molecular gastronomy.

Problem is: I'm not a "chef." But it's all good because both the guy selling me my Jade suite and the local farmer selling me super quality heirloom tomatoes are going to teach me how to use the suite and cook the food properly. In just a few days time, these people are going to teach me and my employees how to make and run what will easily become the best restaurant in the city serving high-quality food product. It's going to be awesome!

If you're reading this and thinking "this guy must be smoking crack cocaine" then you'd be right. For anyone to invest the kind of money it takes to get a business going and then expect their equipment and produce people to teach them how to cook and run a restaurant is absolutely preposterous and foolhardy.

Yet, day in and day out, people get in the coffee business expecting their coffee roaster to teach them how to become a "barista" and be "the best" and make "quality" drinks.

At Spro, we do coffee. That is our core and our focus. We are Baristas. That is what we do. This is who we are. Why I would ever allow another company and another person from outside the company and our culture to come in and "teach" our team how to do what we do, is as preposterous as me starting a restaurant and asking my Sysco rep to teach me how to be a "chef."

We have a culture. We have an approach. We have a way of doing things that is uniquely different than others. While other baristas rely on their coffee roaster to tell them how to brew coffee, pull shots, make drinks and cup profile, our baristas do it themselves. They cup the coffee samples, they cup the new arrivals, they help create the descriptions and they know their coffees.

We teach our own on how to tamp, pull shots and prepare drinks. We teach our own on our culture and our approach to hospitality and service. Our team tests and vets brew methodology. We develop and train. We learn how to make everything by hand, as a craftsman should.

The road to becoming a Spro Barista is long and difficult. There is a lot to learn - much more than can be taught in a couple of days with some roaster "customer service representative" - who, chances are, either doesn't have real world barista experience or has been away from cafe service for so long that I question their suitability to teach modern coffee production techniques.

Truth be told, I don't encourage so-called "Third Wave" thinking. I don't encourage "rock star" worship I see in many other baristas. I don't even encourage competitions. I should note that I don't discourage those areas either (except the "third wave" thinking part - I truly abhor "third wave"). And while I don't encourage and don't discourage, I would be supportive of any Spro Barista that desired to engage in those areas of the industry.

What I do encourage and support is craftsmanship and hospitality. Our focus is not somewhere out there in the pretense and condescension of "third wave" or in the hype and fallacy of barista competitions, it is here on the home front and making great coffee day in and day out for our guests. We make coffee and provide a warm, nurturing environment - one that must come from within and one that cannot be outsourced to a third-party company.

It's time that those who desire to call themselves "baristas" and "coffee professionals" break away from this fallacy that your coffee roaster can make you and your people "baristas."

Why Didn't I Think Of That!

Cuppers pondering their future.

Regular readers of this blog know that despite the fact that I travel around the world training baristas, judges and judging barista competitions (in addition to having been a competitor myself), I find watching coffee competitions to be insanely droll and boring to watch.

At the SCAA Houston a couple of months ago, the coffee powers that be created a new competition called the Brewer's Cup (or something silly like that). I had the opportunity to watch one competitor (a friend of mine) in the first round and was gobsmacked that someone somewhere had (incredibly) found a way to design a coffee competition more mind numbing than the barista competition. Imagine watching someone brew coffee with all the narration and enthusiasm of grass growing and you've got a baseline idea of the misery purported upon those foolish enough to watch.

Of all the coffee competitions, one of the more interesting (from an audience perspective) is the World Cup Tasting Championship. Essentially, you have three competitors going head-to-head with eight sets of three coffee samples in front of them. The idea is that the competitor is supposed to taste the samples and determine the odd coffee amongst the three in each set. Do this with the most accuracy and quickest time and move on to the next round and perhaps become the champion.

Depending on the coffee and depending on how it's brewed (as well as other factors), different coffees can actually look different. But it's a cupping competition and everyone is focused on tasting the coffees and using their palate to discern the differences.

Somewhere far away from America, the little nation of Greece is in jeopardy of defaulting on its debt and causing the destabilization of the Euro and perhaps the worldwide economy. Maybe it's inspiration by his nation but the Greek competitor in the cupping championship has just destabilized the legitimacy and credibility of the World Cup Tasting Championship.

Instead of actually tasting the coffees, the Greek competitor simply looked at the three samples and quickly discerned the sample that looked different without tasting. Evidently, he identified all of them correctly. He did this in the First Round, which landed him in the Semi-Finals where he did it again which propelled him to the Finals and, finally, as World Champion.

All without ever tasting any of the coffees.

I think that would have been the most entertaining coffee competition ever.

Handmade Totalmente

Two bottles of Gahara Vanilla Syrup starting their journey.

So far, 2011 has been a busy year. I've been back and forth to Central and South America, as well as southern North America several times. My times at home have been short and it wasn't until last month when I actually had time to slow down and return to my roots, so to speak.

In May, I was home for 22 days. Time to slow down. Time to focus. Time to work. Time to re-connect with my baristas and get back to what we do best. People think I'm lucky because I am given the opportunity to travel. I think I'm lucky because I return to a great team focused on making fantastic products for our guests.

For the past couple of days, after recovering from the haze that was the World Barista Championship in Bogota, Colombia, I've been working in the bowels of Spro working with ingredients, tasting coffees and whipping up new batches of handmade this and that. I've been back on the farmers market circuit seeing what's new and available, and planning new menu items for the heat of summer.

It brings me back to the aspect of barista that I like the most: preparing everything handmade. I'm happy to say that nothing at Spro is commercially processed. We prepare everything in-house or work with purveyors who share our same passion for doing things "the hard way." From making the coffees individually to order to the handmade syrups to the traditionally made agua fresca to the quirky take on classic sorbets whipped up in the PacoJet. Everything is sourced thoughtfully and carefully. Everything is tasted and vetted before we present it to our guests.

I'm fortunate to have the opportunity to travel the world, work with baristas and judge barista competitions. I meet wonderful people and make incredible friends. But at the end of the day, I find myself inspired most by the very people I work day in and day out - the team at Spro.

Ultimate Geekdom

Geocache Number Two.

While sitting at the local FroYo joint gingerly consuming an original with macapuno, lychee and mochi balls (my fave combination), I noticed an app on The Hawaiian Stig's iPhone4 called Geocaching. Just what is this app called Geocaching???

He patiently explained to my "soon to be unable to program the VCR" self that geocaching is essentially an electronic treasure hunt where people (geeks) leave some sort of artifact, log it into the Internet and leave it for other people (other geeks) to find. Did I want to give it a try?

It was one of those typical Maryland summer evenings. Hot and humid. Good for air conditioning, bad for playing outside. I thought to myself: "That's gay" (yes, you can eat it, you PC Types) but I thought "why should I be the spoil sport" and decided to give it a try. Besides, there was a geocache less than .23 miles away in the parking lot of the Target nearby.

So, you pull of the app, engage it and it spews out geocaches nearby and you hunt them down. The first one we hunted we couldn't find. Being my first outing and ignorant of the ways of geocaching, I was sure that this geocache was some busted scooter on the side of the road. THS (The Hawaiian Stig) assured me of my muggle folly, but after searching for twenty minutes in the dirt, in the brush and through assorted street jetsam, we gave up on it.

To say that I wasn't intrigued would be a deception. To say that I wasn't having fun geekily searching out hidden treasure would be a lie. It was like going out to play in the neighborhood again. Suddenly, we weren't just sexy, pre-middle aged workaday luddites, we were swashbuckling explorers engaging in a grand adventure in Suburban Timonium. I was Diego to THS's Dora.

After abandoning the first geocache, we charged off to the second. Looking at the GPS map, I knew exactly where the geocache was directing us. Part of the thrill was successfully navigating the streets and terrain to arrive at the precise point to liberate the booty.

With the second geocache, we hit paydirt. Under a shrubbery was a canister covered in digital camouflage tape (oh, those geeks - digital camo tape). Success! THS clambered into the brush to retrieve the prize. Inside was a little notebook, pens, pencils and some stickers. Evidently, people sometimes leave little trinkets in the container for others to find but everyone signs their name into the book. Last entry? May 11, 2011.

The important part of geocaching is not finding the geocache but returning the geocache so that others may one day make your same discovery. I suspect that nefarious types from the Ministry of Geocache absconded with that geocache.

The third (and what was to be the final) geocache brought us to the wilds of Cockeysville. Dirt roads, mossy trees and danger lurked around us. One wrong move and WHAM! We'd be pancaked by a barreling refuse tractor trailer or front end loader. Cuidate, Diego!

Geocachers leave clues on their app page and while the map directed us to a particular point, after reading the clue carefully, I realized that we were in the right general area but at the wrong elevation. The geocache was somewhere 70 feet above us.

After summiting the elevation, we began our search for the prize. Hidden under a bezel was a small box with some paper and a tube of bacon flavored lip balm. I thought about applying it.

There we stood. At the top of world, with all of Cockeysville at our feet. Kings. Romans. Emperors.

Then the phone rang.

It was Hawaiian Stig's wife and she wanted to know when he was coming home.

Our day as Indiana Jones and Marcus Brody was over.

Camping Out

According to Harold Camping, Christian radio rock star, evangelist and foreseer of the Apocalypse, The End Of The World starts tomorrow at sunrise just off the coast of Australia.

From what I've gathered, a series of earthquakes will begin on Kirimati Island and spread across the planet as the sun advances and the planet is shaken. For us East Coasters, expect our earthquake to begin around 6pm.

Approximately 3% (or 200 million) of the world's population will ascend into heaven for The Rapture.

A five month period of pain and suffering will be followed by the actual End Of The World on October 21, 2011.

In other words, it's going to be Bad - with a capital "B".

To help the nation prepare for the Second Coming, Judgement Day and all the terrible things that accompany this event, the Centers for Disease Control (CDC) have prepared this website. While it may be a bit too late to run out to buy some of the items, at least you can fill your bathtub with water right now.

As for myself, I've got a freezer full of meats, a wood pellet smoker, lots of charcoal and my handy dandy Nerf weapons cache to ensure safety - and I even have a fresh tank of gas in the Land Rover, just in case I need to break for the hills. Which does mean that I fully expect not to be part of that 200 million being sent to Heaven - much to the delight of the former SCAA President and his cronies.

As the earthquakes spread across the planet tomorrow and people start ascending into Heaven, make no mistake about it, Mass Hysteria will feature prominently in the news. Expect crying, stamping of feet, cars burning, rioting and general pandemonium. Of course, it should go without saying, Spro Coffee will be open for business as usual.

To Note: the library of Spro Towson may be open, depending on the county government, but if it is, the library also serves as a disaster shelter. Spro Hampden simply doesn't close, operating every day in 2010 except for Thanksgiving (yes, we were open Christmas - yet another reason why I will be excluded from The Rapture).

Another reason why I will be excluded from The Rapture is that I'm secretly hoping that The Rapture isn't just about the poor and downtrodden (who will inherit the Earth). I'm hoping that that rich family with the big house, extensive French wine collection and four car garage were devout Christians because I want to move in. Afterall, if I'm damned and going to be obliterated in five months, I want to live in style. And it would be a sin to leave that Ferrari 599 in their garage forlorn and lonely.

Sadly, 200 million people (from a planet of 4 billion) really isn't a lot of people. But maybe with the hysteria going on, people will stay home and I'll have the roads to myself. Of course, the government will probably impose martial law and I'll be forced to stay home anyway. Remember late September 2001? It will probably be worse. Good thing I have some ribs stashed away in the freezer.

Do I really believe that this will all happen tomorrow? That's silly. Though there is part of me that thinks I should have blown my fortune on hookers and booze, just in case.

Of course, if I walk out of the house tomorrow to see millions of people rising into the Heavens, I'm going to feel pretty darn stupid...

And Sometimes I Fail

I'm big on customer service and working to provide the guest with a great experience every time they visit one of our locations.

And sometimes I fail.

Yesterday, I failed in a major - looking like a complete asshole kind of way.

I've been running my own little company for twelve years now and I've made just about every customer service mistake one person could make. I've yelled at customers, argued with customers and kicked customers out - sometimes in a very fiery and spectacular fashion.

Maybe some of those times I was in the "right" on the matter and the customer/guest/visitor transgression was met with a commensurate response that could be completely justified - meaning that I was "right."

However, there has never been an incident where, after cooling down, thinking about it and analyzing the situation, I have ever felt that it truly was the right way to handle the matter and that I couldn't have responded better, and won out with aces.

The situation was this: I'm standing in a walkway chatting with a long-time guest whom I haven't seen in months when an elderly gentleman walks between us (there's about three feet between the guest and I). Instead of the usual convention of saying "excuse me", the elderly man gruffly tells me to get out of the way and makes a disparaging remark on my tummy. At first, I didn't catch his meaning but the snideness of his manner just tweaked me enough to press it a little farther.

Now, it's later in the day (about 4pm) and I had just come to the location to drop off some supplies after spending the morning at the roasteria repairing the roaster and the afternoon in the garden planting tomatoes. So, by this point, I'm looking pretty disheveled: my hair is messy, I'm wearing work boots and probably look slightly grimy from planting the garden. In other words, I look like a laborer.

I press the guy a little on his meaning and he still comes at me with the disparaging remarks. Usually, I don't let these kinds of people bother me but today, I'm in that mix of being tired and dirty from working and slightly irritated about a variety of things, meaning that when this guy comes at me, I lose perspective and become confrontational.

You know, why the guy didn't just do the polite thing and say "excuse me" or "excuse me, but you're in the way", I don't know. Maybe he was having a bad day or maybe he just thought that I was some (to his mind) piece of shit Hispanic laborer that didn't deserve the general respect and courtesy that he would give to other white people (I note this because the guest I had been talking to is white and the guy didn't address him and singled me out).

Whatever the case may be, it started out poorly and went all downhill from there.

Come to think of it, the guest and I were talking about the piss poor ways that the SCAA and WBC treats their volunteers and judges - a subject that always irritates me - and probably was the catalyst (on my end) for the degradation in handling the matter.

I don't remember the specifics but it wasn't pretty. I did not handle myself in the manner that I desired. I was the offended party who thought he deserved justice. Regardless of who was "right", I still ended up looking like an asshole. Not only to the elderly man without manners but, more importantly, to the other guests that were in the house at the time.

I'd like to think that I was justified. That I was "right." I stood up and didn't take prejudiced crap from some jerkoff. But in the end, like every time before, I don't feel that it was the "right" thing to do. I handled it poorly and engaged that elderly man in the manner that he engaged me. I didn't elevate the interaction. I didn't improve upon it. I helped degrade it. And that, to me, is a Failure.

I often talk about hospitality and leadership. That an environment of hospitality and quality can only be maintained if it is strongly demonstrated by the leadership. I'm embarrassed and ashamed that I failed so poorly and brilliantly as a leader during this incident. In front of staff, guests and passers-by. That kind of interaction can only give people a poor impression of who we are and what we are about.

Hospitality is easy when things are running smoothly and everyone is happy. The real test is when you're met with someone as grumpy and rude as that old man. Granted, I wasn't working the bar but anytime that I step into the scene, I should always be "on" and not running in cruise mode. What I should have done was dropped off the delivery and gotten the heck outta there. I had just come from working in the garden so I looked terrible (and probably smelled funky). I wasn't prepared for the "show" that we like to give to our guests.

I just hope that the next time I'm faced with a challenging guest, I'll have more clarity to handle the situation better.

Classic Hits America

107.5 The Eagle in the Buick Regal rolling across Texas.

Out on the road today,
I saw a Deadhead sticker on a Cadillac,
A voice inside my head said don't look back,
You can never look back.

Despite the fact that I spent many years listening to alternative music such as Depeche Mode, Tackhead, SWANS, Siouxsie and the Banshees, and more, I'm still a product of the late 1970s and 1980s - which means I have an inescapable penchant for rock.

When I envisioned myself doing the grand cruise of America, the soundtrack of my mind never featured Tones On Tail or Strawberry Switchblade, it featured music from The Cars, Van Halen, Journey and Kiss. However, the dearth of classic rock on my iPod produced an interesting conundrum.

How lucky it was to find 107.5 The Eagle as I pointed the Buick Regal west across Texas from Houston. True Classic Rock - two, four, seven. Suddenly, I was accompanied not only by Pat Benatar but the Dire Straits, Foreigner, Loverboy, Fleetwood Mac and Steve Miller.

It was the realization of My American Fantasy.

Now, as I sit in the roastery roasting yet another weeks coffee, I'm able to stream The Eagle over the Internet, listening to classic rock remembering the freedom of the open road across America.

The Modernist Conundrum

Oh, my! 46.3 pounds...

A couple of weeks ago, I come home to find a large and heavy box downstairs at Spro Hampden. It's big and nearly fifty pounds. Goodness. Then I noticed the label. It's the book I've been waiting for since 2009.

The Modernist Cuisine

During the 2009 StarChefs Conference, I attended a presentation by Nathan Myrhvold and Chris Young that was out of this world. These were some crazy guys talking about some crazy things. They were working on what must be the seminal tome on cooking in the 21st Century. As Escoffier was to the 19th Century, Myrhvold is to the 21st. And it's massive.


Getting into the packaging.

For two weeks, the box has been sitting on a chair downstairs at Spro. It didn't move. Too darn heavy. I wanted to figure out where to put it. How to transport it. Really, I didn't want to carry it up the stairs. Then it started to rain. Lazy. I'm not going to carry that in the rain. Why? Because I knew that I had to get the thing out of its box.

The box is something else. First of all, there are five tomes placed in a clear acrylic slide cover that is wrapped in heavy paper. The wrapped tomes and case are held in a corrugated padded box with a separately cardboard covered sixth volume, the bound and waterproof recipe book. These are all corrugated padded and then that box is placed in a larger box that is suspended within. Just like the books themselves, the packaging is off the hook.


At home with the PolyScience circulator for scale.

Finally today I brought the tomes home. Took them out of their box like the Ark of the Covenant, huffed them up the stairs and into the kitchen at home. Then, more conundrums: where to put the darn thing.

Nothing short of massive can accurately describe these tomes. Until now, the largest culinary book I own is the first edition of Heston Blumenthal's The Big Fat Duck Cookbook, along with Gordon Ramsay's ***Chef and Gisslen's Professional Cooking, Second Edition. Now, those pale in comparison.


Alongside Blumenthal, Ramsay and Gisslen.

Since I've only just gotten the tomes home, I haven't had the opportunity to really get into them. But the first flip throughs are exciting. Illustrations galore. And lots of information without being too technical or too geeky. My first thought: accessible.

From my understanding, the first run is sold out. Hopefully, there will be additional runs because I hear from some friends that they are unable to obtain copies. The font size is pretty large so I'm guessing that it's scaled to shrink into a smaller format size. I ordered my copy from Amazon back in December and I waited four months so your mileage may vary.

But, if you can score yourself a copy, it's going to be worth every penny.

Coffee Obsessive

I'm currently stuck in Mexico City after a mechanical problem with the airplane forced a two-hour delay, missing my window to connect on a flight back home to Baltimore. Granted, if I'm going to be "stuck" anywhere, Mexico City is about as ideal as it gets.

To my own surprise, this blog was mentioned in the article about me and my little company, Spro Coffee, in Baltimore. For those of you visiting us from the Washington Post: welcome.

I first was introduced to Martha Thomas about nine months ago in June 2010 where I received a phone call during my trip to London for the World Barista Championship. That's where the article you read in the Post all started. Over the next nine months, Martha and I would chat on a regular basis regarding the article and she came in several times to see just how we do what we do in our little shop in Hampden.

Martha joined us for a cupping with Joan & Ralph Gaston of Rusty's Hawaiian Ka'u Coffee where we sampled a range of coffees, including samples grown by Lorie Obra (Joan's Mom) - who is an amazing scientist turned coffee farmer on the Big Island. Martha later joined us in a demonstration on how we select a brewing method that "pairs" with a particular coffee. It seems that in the translation of the article, a little bit of both events were mixed together.

As with any article written over a long period of time, some details may have been a little jumbled with the passage of time. I wanted to take a moment to clarify some of the details:

- A visit to Anthony Rue's Volta Coffee & Tea in July 2009 was instrumental to the direction we decided to take Spro Hampden. Had it not been for Anthony, our approach of multiple brew methods throughout the day might not have happened. If anything, we might have ended up "cheating" like many shops in the country by batch brewing coffee during the morning "rush" instead of taking the time to prepare each cup by hand.

- Much of what we do is inspired by others. Almost nothing is truly original. From Ichiro Sekuguchi of Tokyo's Cafe de L'ambre to John Sanders of Origins Organic Coffee, Spike Gjerde of Woodberry Kitchen, Aki & Alex from Ideas In Food, and fellow baristas like John Lewis - all and more have had an impact on me and the way we approach and present our coffees.

- In the article I'm quoted as saying: "We have no loyalty to any one roaster." Honestly, I don't think I ever said that - especially since loyalty is something central to what we do and own approach to doing things. As a company, we're very loyal to our vendors. We maintain long-term relationships with all our vendors. A great example of this is Origins Organic Coffee. We've been buying their coffee since 2004.

What I did say is that we do not maintain roaster exclusivity with any one roaster. In the coffee business, the typical model is for a retail shop (like Spro) to purchase all their coffees from one coffee roaster. It's a limited way of doing business that is slowly eroding in these modern times (although one of our original six roasters, Counter Culture Coffee of Durham, NC recently told us that they would no longer sell to Spro for three reasons, one of which was that they were returning to the roaster exclusivity model).

Roaster exclusivity is simply ludicrous. It's akin to walking into your local pub and only finding one brand of beer or alcohol. We are unable to do business with companies that insist on roaster exclusivity and we're very appreciative of the companies who started with us and believed in supporting our approach - and those companies are:

Origins Organic Coffee - Vancouver, BC
Barefoot Coffee - San Jose, CA
Ecco Caffe - Santa Rosa, CA
Stumptown Coffee - Portland, OR & New York City
Intelligentsia Coffee - Chicago, IL

- In the article, Ryan Jensen (owner of Peregrine Espresso in Washington DC) cautions about claims of singularity. While our model of multiple roasters, multiple coffees paired to multiple brewing methods, made by hand, day-in and day-out, is still the only one in the industry, I certainly hope that this anomaly is short-lived.

Seriously, Spro Hampden can only make so many coffees per day and we can only impact a small segment of the coffee drinking public. For our notion of quality coffee prepared without compromise to be tasted by the larger public, more shops have to take our approach. We cannot and do not want to be the only kid on the block serving our kind of coffee.

However, to do what we do takes a certain level of commitment and skill. Ryan Jensen has both of those and with his opening of a second Peregrine in the coming months, I'm hoping we'll see a more in-depth approach to their coffee program - because I think he's the best coffee operator in The District.

- The article mentions my judging experience. While I have judged barista competitions across North America, Central & South America, as well as Africa, I have not judged a competition in England. My visit to London last summer ended up with me as a spokesperson for Reg Barber Enterprises during the World Barista Championship.

From 2004-2007, I served as a volunteer director on the Executive Council of the Barista Guild of America. I have also served as a volunteer for the United States Barista Championship regional competitions and as a volunteer trainer for the Specialty Coffee Association of America. And in three weeks, I will serve again as a volunteer panelist speaking on multiple brewing methods in a cafe environment at the SCAA's annual trade show in Houston. I will be one on a panel with Anthony Rue (Volta), John Piquet (Caffe D'Bolla), Kyle Glanville (Intelligentsia) and Tracy Allen (moderator).

So, despite my criticism of the SCAA, I'm still willing to support and help out when I feel that I can lend something of value.

Well, that's about all I have. It's humbling to be written about in the Washington Post and I'm truly honored, but much of the credit goes to the people around me. My staff of baristas are some of the best baristas I've ever known and worked with, they ply our craft with humility and honesty in an unassuming manner absent of pretense and condescension. My non-coffee friends and family keep me grounded. My mentor, John Sanders, who has been instrumental in my learning of coffee and sense of duty to get involved in our industry. And many thanks to my friends in and around the business, without whom I never would have done what we do.

And of course, thanks to Martha Thomas for noticing and taking interest in what we do to take it to the Post. She's been fun and easy to work with and I wish her the best in her writing career. Same goes to the editors, staff and Marvin the photographer from the Post. Always professional and always easy to work with.

Thanks to all of them and thanks also to you for reading the Washington Post article and then this lengthy blog post (btw, I write about more than just coffee here). I hope you'll find your way to visit our little shop in Baltimore (or at least your local specialty coffee purveyor) where we look forward to making you a cup of coffee in a manner we hope you will enjoy.

Best regards,

Jay
Mexico City
6 Abril 2011

El Vilsito

Don't let the signs fool you. This is THE place for Al Pastor.

It's been about three and a half years since my first and last visit to El Vipsito (now called "El Vilsito" but I don't know why). Quite simply, if you're looking for Tacos El Pastor in the DF, this is the place to go.

Nearly twice as expensive as other places, El Vilsito is rockin' when we arrive around 11pm. By 2am this place will be jammed. Right now, it's pretty busy but nowhere near capacity.


Condiments.

Located outside an automotive repair shop, you wonder just how can this place best all of Mexico. Somehow, it does. And I've dreamed of the Al Pastor here since the first (and last) time I ate here.

The menu is simple and features Volcans (like little sopes with pork and lots of cheese) and Gorditas (something massive and scary) but the Al Pastor is the winner. When I was here last, they only had one Pastor spit running. Three years later and they have three stations with the guys spinning and slicing as fast as possible to satisfy the needs of this hungry city.


Tacos Al Pastor.

While everything here is good. Save yourself the trouble of thinking too much and just order ten Tacos Al Pastor. Position yourself in front of the tubs of guacamole, salsa and limon and just go to town. Wash it down with Coke or whatever Agua Fresca they have available. It will be ice cold and brilliant.

I'm thinking a second visit before I go home is only proper!


El Glorioso!



Tacos Campechanos.



With toppings.



Volcan de Cerdo.



Ana and the Horchata.



If only I had one of these.

Costco: Wholesale

iCostco, therefore, iAm.

Mexico City. Just mentioning the name conjures all sorts of imagery. Old castles, sunken lake beds, ancient Aztec civilizations, tacos, quesadillas, Bella Artes, just to name a few.

The strange reality of my visits to Mexico City: Costco.

Yes, THAT Costco. The one of large warehouses stacked with all your home goods. In bulk. And whenever I'm here, I always seem to be at Costco.


Woah, Kirkland has a Chateauneuf!

Costco in Mexico City is pretty much like Costco at home. The same products. In the same quantities. Need plates? Here's 300. Need a croissant? Here's two dozen.

But what they have here that we don't have in Maryland Costco's (because of our draconian, socialist/democratic government) is alcohol. In mass quantities. Curiously, they even have Kirkland Signature (Costco's house brand) Chateauneuf du Pape. Seems like a sacrilege but I'm willing to commit a sin.


And the price isn't that bad. Not cheap, but not bad.

Overall, there's little to differentiate the Mexican Costco from the American Costco (aside from the whole language thing). If you're used to your home Costco layout, chances are you'll find whatever you desire pretty much where you expect it to be.


One Hundred Dollars.



Riding the down escalator.




These specials wheels prevent runaway disaster.



Even for Haagen Dazs - that's expensive.

La Marquesa

Where to eat.

Somewhere to the west, about 35 minutes outside of Mexico City is a recreation area known as La Marquesa. Different "Valles" offer a range of outdoorsy things to do, like horseback riding, ATV racing, water slides and quite a bit more. There's even this thing they call Gotcha that looks suspiciously like paintball.

Of course, things outdoors would not be complete without the great pastimes of eating and drinking and all of the Valles offer plenty in that arena as well. The weather is bright, sunny and cool, making for the ideal conditions to cover yourself in dust from the trails or track and then sit down for some serious eating.


Bienvenidos a Valle de Potrero.



Oliver saddles up!



Melanie and Oliver ready to hit the dusty trail.



Ana and the Wild Horse.



Momma Mylene prepares to lead her kids.



Whatever happened to riding sidesaddle???



Some kind of candy surprise. I think it's a gusano.




Oliver Spins.



Hector fishes for Truchas (trout).



We call this lunch.



Hector and Adriana.



Sylvia and Adriana - I don't know what is going on.



Cerveza.



Sopa de Hongos.



Sopa Azteca.



Sopa de Hongos and Consome de Pollo.



Sides for my Sopa Azteca.



Tacos Cecina Natural.



Oliver llorar.



Table condiments.



Oliver llorar, parte dos.



Huitlacoche.



Chorizo and cecina.




Chorizo Verde Tacos.



Chicharron Tlacoyos with nopal, avocado and cheese.



Hector and the Blue Corn Tortilla.



Trucha Suiza.



Inside the Chicharron Tlacoyo.



Hector entertains.



The women are not amused.



Trucha Empapelada.



Caffe de Olla.



Fried plantains with evaporated milk and cream.



Melanie and Alvaro.