Nicaragua: Drinking Wine in Granada

Enrique considers the wine.

After our meal at Las Colinas del Sur, we headed into the center of Granada for a bit of a respite at the Hotel Granada's Wine Bar. A nice little joint we had all to ourselves and where we indulged ourselves with Rouki's favorite white wine.


Our group.


In the zocalo outside the wine bar.


It's her favorite wine.


Slow down.


We like to pose for photos.


Hotel Granada
Final Calle La Calzada
Granada, Nicaragua
505-552-5974
www.hotelgranadanicaragua.com

Nicaragua: Las Colinas del Sur

Entering Las Colinas.

Fellow judge, former contractor and current expat owner of El Coche Cafe, home of the new Nicaraguan Barista Champion Rebeca Ramos, has been raving all week about the bass at Las Colinas in Granada. Regardless of the outcome of the competition, Frank invited all of us for a meal on Sunday to try what he calls the best fish in all of Nicaragua. Needless to say, I'm curious.


Fried plantain chips and cheese.

Granada is a town roughly a half hour drive from downtown Managua. Once again, we're whizzing along a two-lane highway in Enrique's Honda CR-V down the road to oblivion. Whether or not we make it, it's nice to be ensconced in leather seats. In case we eat it, at least we will have been comfortable.

Located in what seems to be a remote part of Granada in the dark is evidently close to a lake where the fresh fish comes from. We arrive to find almost all of the El Coche Cafe staff seated at what must be a seventy foot table that runs nearly the entire length of the restaurant(there are four El Coche Cafe locations around Managua, as well as logistics support staff).


Our spread of food.

After going back to the hotel and bathing ourselves, we're a bit late to the party as the El Coche Cafe staff has finished their meal and is well on their way towards finishing untold cases of wine. Don't these people know they have to work tomorrow? All is well, I guess, since they're celebrating a hard fought win of the Nicaraguan Barista Championship.


Nothing like fried fish to make a man smile.

The newly crowned champion, Rebeca Ramos, is surrounded not only by her co-workers but also by her three children. From what I've been told, Rebeca is a tough barista. She's lived a tough life here in Managua and won't accept anything without questioning it and proving it first. Whether it's something about her life or merely milk steaming techniques, she wants to know why and she wants to understand it thoroughly. You can tell through those steely, firery eyes that there's a hunger for more, a thirst for knowledge without the egotism and pretense that you sometimes find in those who win championships.


A close-up of my fish.

The meal is set: fish. The best fish in Nicaragua. I'm excited. After a few minutes, the usual trinity of rice, fries and plantains arrives and the meal is set for take off. A platter of plantain chips and fried cheese arrives and, just a few moments after, the fish arrives.

It's a large fish and each of us receives one. Good Lord, this thing is huge. And ugly. The bass is deep fried and then slathered with a salsa of tomato and onions, served with a few slices of tomato and a lime.


Martha and her steak.

Frank had hyped this fish up so much that it had a lot to live up to. I was expecting fanfare and a dozen virgins. The skin was fried crisp, and that's a good thing, the problem was that the first couple of bites from the lower extremities of the fish had a decidedly fishy taste. Not good but I pressed on.

If I based my entire sample on those first few bites, it would have been a disaster. However, once you got into the meaty parts of the fish, it livened up quite a bit. Tender and moist with a very delicate flavor, the fish was now delicious. It was meaty and thick and just wonderful. The salsa and the lime brought a lightly salty and vinegary acidic twang to the meat and livened it up just right. I haven't had much fish in Nicaragua so I can't say if it was "The Best" or not, but it certainly was good.


Fried Plantain Chips, Cheese and Beans.

The unfortunate part were those first couple of bites that tasted fishy. And it was right after those bites that Frank asked me what I thought. I know I must have given him a lukewarm answer because I think he was disappointed that I didn't find it to be smashing right away. But it certainly improved tremendously as I progressed into the meat.


Rebeca, the champion, shares her thoughts.

It was fun spending time with our new friends from El Coche Cafe. They're a fun and passionate group of people who are interested in pushing the limits of quality coffee in a land where the standard is instant coffee. In fact, they're one of, if not the first company to offer Cup of Excellence coffees in a producing country to that country's citizens and coffee drinkers.


The judges enjoy a photo op with the champion.

We asked Rebeca, the new Nicaraguan Barista Champion, to come over and share her thoughts with us. She's relaxed, comfortable and fun to listen to - even though my Spanish isn't quite up to scratch. And, of course, we couldn't resist having a photo with the new champion.


This guy was so stoked, he had to flex.

It was right about then that Enrique broke away from our group, lured away from us by the ladies of El Coche Cafe. When we caught up with him, the women were enraptured by whatever he was telling them. He had an audience, and they all wanted his phone number. When one of them finally broke the silence, asked and received his number, they erupted in celebration. I started to wonder if they would work themselves into a frenzy and start tearing the clothes from his chest. Maybe I could sacrifice myself and let them have their way with me instead. Afterall, I want to protect my fellow judges from harm's way.


The women of El Coche Cafe enthralled with heartthrob judge, Enrique Ferrufino.


The girls get Enrique's phone number.

Some guys spend their entire lives trying to give their phone number away. How nice it must be to have women fawning over you.

I understand.



Brent and Rouki outside Las Colinas.


Las Colinas del Sur
Shell Palmira
Granada, Nicaragua
505-5523492

Nicaragua: Rebeca Ramos Campeon 2008-2009

Rebeca just moments after she won the Nicaragua Championship.

Just a little up-to-the-minute coffee news from Managua where Rebeca Ramos, of Managua's El Coche Cafe, took the 3rd annual Nicaraguan barista championship.

More later. First, we're off to Granada for what Frank assures us is some fantastic seafood and bass.

Nicaragua: El Tiscapa

Brent ponders whether he'll have steak or Steak.

It's the eve of the finals for the Nicaraguan Barista Championship and we're getting hungry. Once again, Brent, Castalia and myself find ourselves in Enrique's CR-V blasting through the streets of Managua, destination: El Tiscapa, a steakhouse specializing in Nicaraguan beef.

Anytime beef cooked on a grill is involved, I'm usually quite amiable. Tonight will be no different. El Tiscapa looks like some sort of Spanish-era ranch house. Stucco walls, ceramic roofing tiles, open-air dining room and I feel like some Spanish Conquistador coming to roost.


"Thank God we're eating at a steakhouse - no more seafood!"

Our group tonight consists of Cleofas Arreola, Roukiat Delrue, Alirio Laguna, Castalia Cuadra, Brent Fortune, Enrique Ferrufino and myself. The menu is simple enough: beef. There's Churrasco "El Tiscapa", an 8 ounce cut of skirt steak, and all the way up to Gigante, a 16 ounce cut. For the appetite challenged, there's even a Mini Churrasco. Or maybe you'd like something different? Pepper steak, filet mignon, tenderloin or kebabs are also available. Maybe you'd like grilled pork tenderloin? They've got that too.


The side salad.

But really, why? Why would you come to El Tiscapa and trying anything other than the beef? Makes no sense to me. I don't even know if they have anything other than beef and I certainly didn't bother to find out.

For appetizers, there's a selection of soups like Chicken Consomme, Consomme al Jerez, onion soup, cream of asparagus and more. Again, why let something else occupy stomach space in place of steak? Doesn't make sense to me.


Judge Ferrufino relaxes without arm candy.

I'll admit, at the time I didn't realize that churrasco meant skirt steak and ordered the "El Grande", a 12 ounce cut. I figured that these would be thick cut steaks and I didn't want some anemic-looking 8 ounce cut.


Judge Laguna observes as the steaks are delivered.

The really nice thing (for me) about Nicaraguan steak dining is their love of multiple starches. What would be a faux pas in the United States is seen as perfectly normal here, a place where rice and french fries (not to mention plantains and yucca) are de rigueur.


In a blur, the steaks arrive.

As the steaks arrive so does Johanna, another of Enrique's friends. As we're introduced a pattern starts to emerge. Seems that Enrique is just surrounded by beautiful women. Last night, Nicaragua's Miss Earth and tonight a true knockout with a great personality. Nice work, and she likes meat.


Judge Arreola ensures that the wine is up to scratch.

As my steak lands on the plate in front of me I find that it's huge. A bit too much for me to finish. Johanna is up for steak and I offer her half of mine. It's no problem, I assure her. I don't want to eat that much meat. She accepts and takes half. Thank goodness.


Condiments for our steaks: picked onions, hot peppers and chimichurri.

The churrasco was good. The beef flavorful, cooked medium and tasty with just the right amount of seasoning to make the flavor shine. In fact, everything was nicely done. Unlike everywhere else in Nicaragua, the fries, while still being the frozen fries we see everywhere, were cooked just right. Golden and crispy, they matched well with the white rice. I wouldn't mind having more.


Fried Plantain Chips.

The steaks here come out in a fun procession with a number of servers bringing everything out on trays and fixing our plates for us. The steaks are piled on a large platter and our man just knows who gets which steak. Another server follows closely behind with a platter of rice and yet another carries a platter of french fries (my hero).


Service comes for Alirio.

Along with the meal comes a house salad, a simple plate of lettuce, tomato, olive, onions and cucumber in a vinaigrette dressing. It's nothing exotic or fancy but rather just a decent, little salad before the meal arrives. In addition to the steak comes plates of crispy fried plantain slices and a bowl of sauteed onions for the steak.


Sauteed Onions.

By this point, I'm very pleased with myself for sharing half my steak with Johanna. It was just too big and half (actually slightly less) is just right. As I look around our table, I notice that we're dining with some great women. Between Johanna, Castalia and Rouki, there's no daintiness here. These aren't "I'll just have a salad" kind of women, they're not those annoying vegetarian women that are so hard to feed. These women are digging in and taking no prisoners. Thank God.


Johanna and the other half of my steak.


My steak with my favorite sides: rice and fries.

Soon, it's time for dessert. Over the past year or two, my taste for sweet desserts has been diminishing. I don't need a big dessert. Many times I don't order dessert at all. Tonight is one of those times when I'd prefer to leave my palate savoring the flavor of the meat.

But our group has other plans in mind and orders a couple of desserts for us to share. One slice of Tres Leches Cake and one slice of Leche Flan. It's not much, just enough for a bite or two for each of us, but it's something for us to have a taste, which is fine by me.

The Tres Leches is sweet but not as moist as the cakes I'm used to elsewhere and the flan is a bit thicker and denser than I prefer. Not bad though, just different than what I prefer.


Tres Leches Cake.


Leche Flan.

As our dinner ends, our group separates. Johanna and Enrique are going to take Brent and myself out to the club while the rest of our group goes back to our hotel to sleep. Afterall, we are supposed to judge the finals tomorrow.


Restaurante El Tiscapa
Avenida Tiscapa y Avenida Universitaria
Managua, Nicaragua
505-8556373.

Nicaragua: Semi-Finals and Cupping Comp

Judges Vanessa, Castalia and Alirio.

It's another morning in Managua and after another hotel buffet breakfast our little crew is back in the HiAce van towards the Galeria Santo Domingo.

Day Two of the Campeonato de Baristas means another eleven competitors fighting for six spots in the finals. As with anything here in Managua, things get off to a later than expected start but once we're rolling, things move rather smoothly.


Salome prepares under the lights.

Quite simply, the experience, knowledge and competition savvy of the Nicaraguan competitors is about four years behind that of the United States. Yet another day filled with stemmed glassware, vanilla ice cream, ice, blenders and all sorts of flavored syrups in what we would consider to be very large servings.

Amongst some competitors, we seem to be seeing the same serviceware. I can't count how many times I've seen those stackable foodservice espresso and cappuccino cups these past two days, but they seem everywhere.


Getting Serious: Tech Judges Juan Carlos and Erika, Head Judge Cleofas, Sensory Judges Vanessa, Julio, Rouki and Frank.

What it means is that the competitors are sharing amongst themselves - evidently, some are "sharing" more than others when, allegedly, a fight broke out in the competitors room when one competitor wanted others to "share" their cups a bit more than they knew they were sharing.

One of the disconnects I experience as a judge is the disconnect from the baristas. For baristas, competition is an opportunity to learn more about the craft, meet new friends and spend time with old ones. The very nature of judging means that you're sequestered separately from the competitors and it's that camaraderie of craft that I think is missing when you're a judge.


Giving her all during the preliminary round.

Meanwhile, we're chopping away through the competitors, tasting drinks, evaluating technique and trying to quantify it all in a manner that can help the barista competitor prepare for either the World Barista Championship or next years' championship.

For me, I want to impart as many thoughts as possible and I'm cramming as much as I can into the limited space on the scoresheets with the hope that I can sit down with the competitors and go over their scoresheets to review, consider and prepare for the next round.


Taking a moment to consider the scores.

Sadly, the reality is that competitors are typically too disappointed that they didn't make the cut to take the time to review the scoresheets. I understand. You've just been cut, the wound is still fresh and it's tough to look at what you've done wrong, much less absorb it and consider the next competition, which is about a year away.


Cleofas and the six finalists: Diedrich, Rebeca, Salome, Alberto, Lesther and Miguel Angel.

Back to the competition space and it's time for the Finals Announcements. The Finalists are (in the order of performance tomorrow):

- Rebeca Ramos
- Alberto Mayorga
- Lesther Balladares
- Miguel Angel Zamurio
- Salome Corea
- Diedrich Moreno



Cupping Championship

As the competitors head off to prepare for tomorrow, Brent, Rouki and myself venture over the cupping competition and give it a try. For the competition, they're using the Cup of Excellence form - which I don't understand. After getting a quick and dirty lesson in CoE Cupping from Rouki, we're off.

Quite frankly, cupping competitions are downright frightening. There are twenty-one coffees to cup and identify. The competitors are flying through the samples and I'm struggling. I'm stressed. You have to write down the details of the sample, then smell, taste and whatever else is necessary while marking the score sheet and moving along at the proper pace. I'm freaked, and sweating my ass off. I'm starting to crack.

The competition starts off with one sample of each coffee. Each competitor will smell and taste the coffees and make notes regarding. Then, all of the coffees are cleared away and three samples of each are set and the coffees are cupped blind. The competitor to accurately identify all of the coffees wins. Since we're just interlopers, I jump out of the way because I can't keep up with the pace -it's relentless.


With Rouki, Castalia, Brent, Alirio and Martha.

To top it all off, a crowd has gathered and the television camera lighting is like a roaring fire on my head and I'm covered in sweat - both from the lights and the stress of my cupping inadequacies.

It's getting late and we're hungry, so we decide to ditch the competition, gather our friends, head to the hotel to change and then off to dinner.


Christmas has arrived at Galerias Santo Domingo.

Nicaragua: Casa del Cafe

Things are easier on the eyes here in Nicaragua.

For lunch during the championship our hosts have contracted with Casa del Cafe, a coffeeshop on the lower level of the Galerias Santo Domingo, to provide our lunch. The first day they were planning on catering cheeseburgers to our quarters in the competition space but the security guards wouldn't allow anyone to bring outside food. Odd.

But the real oddity was after we finished the first day of competition and went down to the cafe to eat our food. Food that has turned cold because it's been sitting around for awhile isn't unusual, what was unusual was the manager's insistence that they wouldn't reheat the food for us. Rather than warm the food to maintain some level of flavor integrity, it was more important for the manager to be "right" than the food warm.


Rouki and Brent excited for another lunch at Casa del Cafe.

Unfortunately, one of the recurring themes here in Latin America is the influence of the United States' industrial agriculture system. The burgers at Casa del Cafe are a perfect example of what is wrong with industrial agriculture.

Rather than buying fresh local meat, which I understand is widely available in Nicaragua, the convenience of commercial, pre-portioned, frozen beef patties is too seductive to resist. Why worry about frivolities such as sourcing, labor and waste when deep frozen convenience is readily at hand?


The hambuguesa y queso.

What this means is that the beef patty is just lame and devoid of flavor. Sure, it's a large portion and holds together nicely, but there's no reason to eat it other than to stave off death by starvation. Add frozen cut fries and you've got a classic American meal - just as bad as though you bought it in the United States.

Which brings me to another thought: the fries. I'm seeing a trend in the preparation of fries here in Nicaragua: no one knows how to make them - even frozen fries. Frozen industrial fries are bad enough but how about learning how to cook them properly? Fried to a golden crisp is ideal, not this limp yellow julienne-cut piece of potato I keep finding in front of me.

Day two at Casa del Cafe could have been better had I chosen wisely. The choices for day two were a cheeseburger or empanada. Stupid me was worried that maybe the empanada wouldn't be sizable enough and it wouldn't come with fries. For some reason, I had to have my fries. I chose poorly.


Empanadas - the better choice.

When traveling and the option exists to go with the local cuisine, always choose the local cuisine. Even I know this. Why I decided on the burger still haunts me. It was a moment of culinary weakness. At least this time, the burger was hot, and so were the fries (undercooked yet again). Sadly, the burger still tasted like cardboard, just hot cardboard.

Castalia, on the other had, decided to go with the empanada. A good choice even though it lacked fries. Two large empanadas. One chicken, the other beef, how could I have gone with the burger? Luckily, she let me have a taste.

The crust was thick and flaky. Perhaps a bit too thick for my tastes. The fillings were savory and slightly sweet, like a good empanada. Can I send my burger back?


Casa del Cafe
Galerias Santo Domingo
Km 7 Carretera a Masaya
Managua, Nicaragua

Nicaragua: Mi Vieja Ranchito

Before Mi Vieja

After a long day at the Galleria Santo Domingo, Brent and I are in a new Honda CR-V as fellow judge Enrique Ferrurfino, and his former Miss Earth 2002 girlfriend Carla, are barreling us down the highway at alarmingly increasing speeds. At any moment now, I'm expecting us to either lift-off or some object to block our path crushing us into smithereens as mangled Honda parts and miscellaneous body parts are spewed across the highway and splashed onto the pages of La Prensa in the morning.


Enrique - probably on the phone with some Honey.

Unlike the open expanses of western American highways, our highway in Managua is a poorly lit, divided, two-lane highway and we're easily the fastest moving object on the road. Most are moving at a decent rate of speed, but there's more than a few vehicles that are pacing themselves at about 25mph, which may not seem too bad until your careening towards them in the right lane at 75mph and the gap between the vehicle to our left and the slow-moving vehicle in front of us is closing at Mach 2.75.


Aunt Rouki Wants You.

Most of our meals in Managua have been relatively close to the hotel. Tonight, we're on the open roadways of Nicaragua, a considerable distance from the center city, heading to Restaurante Mi Viejo Ranchito - one of Martha's favorite places for traditional Nicaraguan food.

Somewhere, in the darkness behind us, the rest of our team is ensconced in the Toyota Lite Ace minivan and Don Roberto's deliberate pace.


Brent and Cleofas decide to order.

The restaurant seems to be in the middle of nowhere. Indeed, it is an oasis in the dark blackness of the Nicaraguan countryside. And it's jam-packed. So packed that even the parking lot is full.

After a few minutes of waiting for the rest of the group and then some discussion, we're being herded into the restaurant to be seated at a table. Like many restaurants in Managua, Mi Viejo is an open-air restaurant. Large timbers form the frame and are covered with what looks like thatched roofing. A concrete structure houses the kitchen and other facilities but the dining area is open to the elements.


The House Salsa.


Quesillo

It's starting to seem that this is a popular way of dining and I'm finding it quite enjoyable - even though the heat and humidity is a bit stifling.

Soon, we're seating with the rest of our group: Roukiat, Cleofas, Alirio and Martha. It's a fun group of friends who I grow fond of seeing and spending time with as the years and coffee events bring us together and pass. Once drinks have been delivered, it's time to order.


Bandeja Tipica Ranchera - res, pollo, cerdo, salchicha, chicharron, frijoles molidos, indio viejo, queso, platano frita, yuca, papas fritas y ensalada.

Readers of this blog know that I really dislike ordering. It requires a bit too much thought and consideration. Just let me have the best. Bring it on. I can take it. I'm here to experience flavors. Happily, Martha has a combination dish in mind and Rouki is determined that everyone must try the Quesillo - a corn tortilla covered with a sheet of cheese, diced onions and crema.

The quesillo is okay. It's a bit bland and a bit flat but I notice Martha slathering her quesillo with some of the house salsa (a blend of vinegar, chopped onions and hot peppers) and do the same. On it's own, the quesillo is a bit disappointing. It's nice but the flavor is kinda flat. With the salsa, it comes alive. The zesty zing from the pepper-infused vinegar is perfect. The quesillo dances on the tongue.




In a few moments, our combo platters arrive. It's called Bandeja Tipica Ranchera - res, pollo, cerdo, salchicha, chicharron, frijoles molidos, indio viejo, queso, platano frito, yuco, paps fritas y ensalada.

While Mi Vieja Ranchito, with it's timber and thatch roofing and local musicians could pass for some sort of folkloric tourist trap, it is anything but. In fact, we are the only tourists in the joint. Everyone here is Nicaraguan and local. This is Nicaraguan food as real Nicaraguans make and eat it. Food that's not "Americanized" or "refined" or made into some sort of fine dining fusion. It's simple cookery as normal people would have it.


Digging into Rouki's favorite: Quesillo

And even though the notion of comida tipica conjures in the mind the best of local, handmade ingredients, this is just plain average food, which means that the industrial agriculture system that fuels America has also made it's way into Nicaragua in the form of frozen french fries, packets of Hunt's ketchup and sausage that has that processed mealiness to it - it's way too soft and mealy to be house made.

Which makes me wonder about the rest of the ingredients and how much of the industrial agriculture has penetrated the food supply here. Is the pork on these skewers from some farm in Matagalpa or a pig factory in Minnesota? I imagine the beef from some farm just a short drive from the capital, not a four hour flight to Kansas City. The appearance of just frozen french fries causes me to wonder how much the actual flavor of Nicaraguan food may have changed in twenty years and that what we taste today may not be the flavors that our friends (and those eating around us) grew up eating.


Fried Cheese

Whatever the case may be, I find the food to be pretty tasty. Like I said earlier, this isn't fancy or fussed over. Just plain, homestyle cookery. The platano chips are crisp, the yucca is boiled, broken and starchy bland (I prefer fried a la french fries with salt), lurking under it all are thick corn tortillas cooked by hand on a plancha.

Along with our meal comes a serving of the traditional fried cheese. Slices of queso fresco tossed into a deep fryer until golden brown. It's a great idea and all the examples I've tried on this trip have been salty, but these suckers are really

salty, but they're also pretty darn good.

Martha and Carla discuss the lower points of men.

The meal is a mish-mash of flavors and textures. It's vibrant and exciting. It's the kind of meal that I prefer: lots of flavors and not too much of anything to dull the palate. There's grilled beef, grilled pork, sausage, fried plantains, rice and beans, tortillas and french fries. It's my kind of eating.

But how is it? What does it taste like? Good. Some of it's good, some of it's great, some of it is just okay. This isn't food that's been teased and fussed over. This is food for the local folk. Simple food, simply prepared and for that it's fantastic. Of course, the fries suffer from the usual situation of being undercooked (I'm really thinking this is the way Nicaraguans prefer their fries), and the sausage tastes processed but the beauty of this meal is that this is how I envision real Nicaraguans eating. This is food without pretense and everyone is digging in.


With a beauty queen by his side, no wonder Enrique is always smiling.

One of the best things about this kind of eating is that it offers something for everyone. What you might like, she might hate. This means that everyone gets to eat well and to their tastes. I think it's a win-win situation. Of course, the drinks are flowing - which always seems to be a win-win situation for our crowd.

It's a warm and lightly humid evening out here in the middle of nowhere. The full moon provides a luminescent glow over the countryside. It's idealistic and romantic, and the girl sitting at the table opposite ours is beautiful. Dark brown hair, light skin, brown eyes - and surrounded by a table of twenty that seems to be her sister, her parents, her brothers and the in-laws of her sister. But she's not the only one. Running interference is the tequila girl, a stunningly built girl with ample curves in all the right places. She's tall, with rich, supple skin, lightly dyed hair and two bottles of tequila strapped to her waist.

My God, with curves like that I could easily be bled of all my money and blitzed drunk on tequila. Dirty fantasies fly through my mind. Thoughts of glistening skin in the moonlight divert my mind and it takes all of my willpower to resist her urges when she comes up to me asking if I would like a shot of tequila. No, gracias, I say while attempting to telepathically communicate my larcenous thoughts.

As our evening winds down, we spill out onto the street under the glow of moonlight. It's time to climb back in our vehicles for the ride back to Managua where our barista competition adventures begins once again in the morning.


Mi Vieja Ranchito
Km 17.5 Carretera Masaya
Ticuantepe, Nicaragua
505 279 2865