Jeno's Steaks

Kate and the Steak.

A simple, lazy Sunday afternoon late lunch at Magothy Seafood just wasn't enough. Well, under normal circumstances it would probably have been enough, but for two people discussing food and in search of flavors more had to be in store.

Not too far from Magothy Seafood is a cheesesteak place in Severna Park owned by some friends of mine. Writing about a place owned by people you know is always kinda odd. What if I don't like their offerings? How will that strain our relationship? But it's too fake to write happy-happy, joy-joy things about these kinds of places, so I won't and I'll suffer whatever consequences may come.

Jeno's has been owned by the same family for a generation. But I've never eaten there. Sure, I've had reheated cheesesteaks at their house before, but it's not going to be the same as eating there in person. And while I've been meaning to eat there for quite some time now, it's just way out of the way for me. Until today.

To the Philadephian, or hardcore Philly Cheesesteak connoisseur, the name Jeno's is a corny take on the famous Geno's Steaks in South Philly, but at least it speaks directly of their pursuit to emulate the authentic Philadelphia Cheesesteak. Even the plethora of pictures and memorabilia on the walls echoes that of Geno's in South Philly.


Going to Town on my steak.

Jeno's is a small place with a galley style kitchen and on this beautiful day, it's sweltering inside. Those cooks are troopers working in that heat. There's a menu of stuff available but there's really no need to pay attention to it, we're here for one reason and one reason only - and that's to try their cheesesteak.

Like a Geno's or Pat's, Jeno's offers a variety of cheeses for your steak. Unlike Geno's or Pat's, they also asked if we wanted lettuce, tomatoes and a host of other toppings. It's a Baltimore sub tradition to layer on the toppings but it sounds like Philly sacrilege to me. No to the toppings and just Whiz, please.

Cheese Whiz. That ubiquitous processed cheese topping. If we really sit down to think about it, cheddar cheese should never be runny. It should never be pourable. It should never be pumped out of a number ten can. If we think about it critically, the notion of Cheese Whiz is disgusting, so let's not think too much about it, shall we? Just lather it on and let's eat.

Pat's uses sliced ribeye for their steaks that are piled high on their griddles to handle the crushing flow of customers coming up to their windows 24 hours a day. Jeno's customer stream isn't that crushing so our steaks are made to order. The flavor of the beef is good, but through the prism of memory it seems different than Pat's or Geno's. Close, but different - and I can't put my finger on exactly why. One thing I do notice is the amount of chop in Jeno's meat. It's more chopped than either Geno's or Pat's. Whether that's good or bad depends on your preference. For me, I prefer the larger pieces in a Pat's Steak.

Now while the cheese and beef are important components in a steak, it's the bread that's the cornerstone. It's crucial and critically essential to have the right bread. Cheesesteak aficionados literally fight in the streets of Philly over which bakery bakes the best bread: Amoroso or Conshohocken. Me? I choose not to get into those kinds of fights. I might lose. But the bread at Jeno's is quite good. Soft and supple on the interior while giving a nice, crusty chew on the outside. It brings the steak together and makes it happen. There's a spring in your mouth from the texture of the bread and it's oh so comforting.

Pundits will want to know if I think Jeno's is as good as those places in Philly. And I'll have to say that it's close. About as close as you're going to get without driving the two hours to Philadelphia (considering it's 45 minutes to Severna Park from my house, I could have been halfway to Pat's). The flavors are good. The bread is solid, but what's lacking is the actual experience of going to either Pat's or Geno's. Going there is the magic.


Now, that's sexy...

Standing in line outside of either in the blistering winter cold, while watching the cooks slash their way through a mountain of ribeye is just amazing. Then there's the intimidation of ordering incorrectly where the cashier will mercilessly berate you in front of throngs of hungry steak lovers. Dawdle too long and those South Philly Boys will kick you out to the back of the line so you can practice your ordering skills.

That's the real magic that makes the Philly Cheesesteak experience, not the actual steak itself. And while Jeno's steak is quite good, it's missing the South Philly experience that makes Geno's or Pat's the great cheesesteak.


Jeno's Steaks
552 Baltimore-Annapolis Blvd.
Severna Park, MD 21146
410-544-1416
www.jenossteaks.com

Magothy Seafood Crab Deck & Tiki Bar

Freshly steamed blue crabs on the Crab Deck.

After months of on again, off again planning, Kate and I finally hit the road in search of our destiny together. What started as an idea for guinea pig back in December culminated in a crab outing in August.

The weather couldn't have been better for a trip to my favorite place to eat crabs. Magothy Seafood is set right on the banks of the Magothy River in Anne Arundel County. It's not a quick trip from home, but it certainly is worth it. I don't remember exactly how it happened, but I stumbled upon Magothy Seafood several years ago and I've been going ever since.

The setting is decidedly maritime and decidedly lowbrow. Nonetheless, it's a fun scene where boaters pull up along the dock, have some crabs and knock back some beers before heading back out onto the open waterways.


Steamed shrimp with hot and sour sauce and crab seasoning.

It's been a tough year for Maryland crabbing. Because of industrial and agricultural runoff, the Chesapeake Bay is nearly a barren mistress no longer capable of supplying the region from its' once-rich bosom. Most of the crabs that Marylanders eat today come from The Gulf of Mexico or Asia. It's a sad testament to the postwar industrial power that is the United States. Crabs that actually come from the Chesapeake Bay and its' tributaries won't start coming in until September and October when they've had some time to eat and fatten.

Today's crabs are from the Gulf coast. Probably Louisiana. They're decently sized "large" crabs (though these would have barely qualified as "medium" crabs when I was in high school) that are weighty with sweet meat.

Happily, Kate is an eaters kind of woman. Decidedly hip. Decidedly fashionable. She's not afraid to throw down with the boys in drinking or eating, willing to eat just about anything and can cook her ass off on the hot line of a commercial kitchen. Yep, decidedly sexy too.

There's no "I'll just have a salad" with this girl. Not even the "I don't like seafood" that I've been hearing from other girls lately. Remember, this is the girl who wanted to eat Peruvian guinea pig. If there's something interesting to eat, she's ready for it. And in an era where most girls barely know how to microwave a Slim Fast meal in pursuit of the emaciated look hyped by America's Next Top Model, this is a refreshing change of pace.



Fried oysters and battered fries.

The game is on. It's a dozen steamed crabs, one pound of steamed jumbo shrimp, two corn on the cobs, order of hush puppies and a basket of fried oysters and french fries, all washed down with a steady stream of Diet Pepsi (for me) and Budweisers (for Kate).

The food is good. We're hacking, pounding and prying our way through the meal. Everything is cooked just right. The shrimps are steamed right to the point where they're cooked so the shell peels easily away. The hush puppies have that crunchy snap you knew when you were a kid. Even the frozen oysters are fried to a golden crisp. The only problem is the abomination against humanity that is the seasoned and battered french fry. Why anyone would ever deign to blight a potato (even a frozen one) with that grotesque seasoned batter is beyond me. Someday I'm gonna find the food scientist who developed this frozen monstrosity and hunt him down.

The crabs themselves are meaty and sweet. Since I grew up around these parts, the idea of ripping apart and eating a steamed crustacean is second nature. I can dream about it and do it in my sleep. Of course, the uninitiated this seems like barbarianism defined. And perhaps it is - especially for those who prefer not to know where their food came from nor what it looked like. If you're the kind of person who prefers your food shrink wrapped in plastic then perhaps eating crabs will not be for you.




Hush Puppies

As you glance around the room, you'll notice different people ripping apart their crabs in different ways. Some like to start by tearing the top shell off. Some will rip the legs off first. Others, like me, will start with the underplate, then the top shell, tear off the lungs, split the crab in half and then go to town.

Properly steamed crabs are covered in an Old Bay-style of seasoning. Magothy Seafood makes their own and it's pretty good. Salty, peppery and perfect for both the crabs and shrimp. Hardcore enthusiasts insist on steaming their crabs over beer. Strange, coffee-centric guys are experimenting with steaming their crabs over coffee, but I won't say whom...


Sweet corn on the cob

There's something missing if you spend your summer in Maryland and don't spend part of it leisurely sprawled out on a deck eating crabs all day. Eating crabs is not for the famished. You should be hungry, but not starving. Ripping, tearing and beating your crabs takes time. It's not a smorgasbord of eating. That's why you order a bunch of side dishes. A little ripping and tearing, a hush puppy. More tearing and digging, a bit of corn. Still more tearing and just pop a fried oyster in the mouth. It's a great way to enjoy a diversity of what was once the bounty of the Chesapeake Bay.

Considering this method of eating, it's not surprising that it literally takes hours to complete a meal. At first, one is tempted to think that a mere dozen crabs is not enough. But as you slowly graze through the meal and the side dishes, you realize that yes, it is just enough and maybe it's one crab too many for two people - especially when your agenda doesn't stop there.


Magothy Seafood Crab Deck & Tiki Bar
700 Mill Creek Rd
Arnold, MD 21012-1128
410-647-5793

Ticketing Secrets

I don't know if you've been traveling much lately, but I have. And the fares have been skyrocketing. In fact, my upcoming trip to Hawaii is costing more than any other trip. More than Europe. More than Asia. And certainly more than Mexico.

But most of my trips are on United, an airline that just gives me the total fare. I gripe. I bitch. I moan. I threaten that I'm going to fly Southwest. But, in the end, I pay - and give up all the "amenities" like comfort, drinks, meals, and checked baggage that used to come along with cheaper fares.

I mean, they don't even give you peanuts any more. Peanuts, for God's Sake.

On September 1st, I'll be jetting down to Mexico City and flying US Airways. They're a Star Alliance partner which means I can accrue United miles (a major factor nowadays). Plus, they're cheaper than United.

For example, the exact same itinerary purchased through United.com will cost me $760.00 roundtrip. And I mean exact. The same planes, the same routing, the same flights - all on US Airways code sharing with United. It's the same trip and it costs two hundred dollars more.

And I can't figure out why.

Meanwhile, on USAirways.com they offer what looks like very cheap rates to Mexico City. At first, you think you're going to Mexico City for $393.00 roundtrip. It's only when you get to the checkout page that they pull back the curtain to reveal the Wizard: government fees and taxes.

BWI to MEX - Fare Basis GH14XC............$196.50
MEX to BWI - Fare Basis GH14XC............$196.50
Total Fare .............................................$393.00

Tax: US International Arrival ................ $ 15.40
Tax: US International Departure ........... $ 15.40
Tax: Mexican Tourist Tax .................... $ 23.20
Fee: US Immigration ............................ $ 7.00
Fee: US Animal & Plant Health Insp ...... $ 5.00
September 11 Security Fee .................. $ 7.50
Fee: US Passenger Facility Charge ....... $ 10.50
MX-DEPARTURE-INTL-73 ................... $ 24.80
Total Per Passenger ............................. $501.80

Wow. Taxes and fees account for 27.6% of the fare. That's a whopping amount of tax and for what? Just what is this "September 11 Security Fee" and what does it pay for? Departure and arrival tax? I thought they wanted us to leave.

All this money in fares, taxes and fees just so that the TSA can hassle you at the airport, racially profile you and take away your peanuts and checked baggage. Sheesh.

The Journey To Judge

I'm wandering around downtown Bel Air, Maryland - a sleepy little town northeast of Baltimore that's hosting the Maryland BBQ Bash, an annual event celebrating smoke, hogs and the proliferation of wheat through beer. Fifty-one teams have gathered to compete for the title and the right to head to the nationals sanctioned by the Kansas City Barbecue Society (KCBS).

It's a beautiful sunny day here and life is good because of it. The crowds have gathered around the few bbq vendors selling ribs, pork and brisket, and the lines are insanely long. So long that I doubt I'll actually eat any barbecue while I'm here. According to one of the signs, the 2007 National Champion is here selling their wares. It would be a "must eat" if the lines weren't so long and moving so slowly.

I've come to the BBQ Bash to sample some barbecue, get a flavor for the community and to grab some pictures of the bbq rigs the "big boys" are using. There's been rustling in the old Ono Grill camp about firing up our smokers once again and hitting the road for Memphis In May, so before that happens, I figured I'd come down and check things out.

Of course, I'm here to snap photos, but my suddenly-not-so-trusty Canon G9's battery decides to die after two pictures. I'm flabbergasted. And pissed. No problem, I think - I've got the handy-dandy iPhone. What's this? I left it in the car???? Fucking hell. That's it. I'm done. No pictures of rigs. Now I have to rely on memory. This does not bode well for Team Ono Grill in May...

Like fanatics in any passionate pursuit, these barbecue guys are true geeks. As I wander amongst the competitors tents, I notice that these guys (and gals) are just as odd, quirky, geeky and focused as the weird barista world I compete in. But while the barista set prefers shaggy hair, tight jeans and a penchant for not showering, the bbq pit guys favor shorts, t-shirts, overnight partying and the unremovable smell of smoke on their bodies. As disconcerting as it may be for some, I somehow feel right at home amongst these guys paying insane amounts of attention to the depth of the smoke ring in their beef brisket.

The competition works like this: on the first day, Friday, the teams arrive and set up their pit sites. The judges inspect their meats to make sure they're in compliance with the rules and the cooking starts. Teams will slow cook their meats all night long while partying all night long. By Saturday morning, the meats are cooked and the teams are, well, baked. It's common knowledge that some teams party so hard on Friday night that they never make it to the judging on Saturday.

Judgment comes Saturday morning as the teams can compete in three categories: chicken, pork and brisket. Starting at 11:30am, the judging goes in waves. Teams have from 11:25 to 11:35am to submit their chicken. Then, at from 12:25 to 12:35pm, they have to submit their pork entry (pulled or ribs or anyway they choose), and finally, from 1:25 to 1:35pm they must submit their brisket entry. Miss those time windows and you're disqualified from that category.

Without knowing any of this, I had the serendipitous pleasure of happening upon the judges tent at 1:20pm, struck up a conversation with one of the supervising judges and got to see the brisket pageant play out. Within ten minutes, representatives from each of the fifty-one teams came forward, styrofoam box in hand, to submit their entry.

Watching them arrive was sheer delight. No matter the size. No matter the build. No matter the experience level. Each representative (or two or three) came holding their box with both hands. I wondered if this was detail was stated in the rules or were they just so paranoid about something happening to their entry that they made sure they were holding onto it for dear life itself. One team setup next to the judges table came around the long way instead of cutting through their backyard because the long way was the path of least resistance. God love these people for their commitment.

Walking along the aisles it was interesting to see the differences between the seasoned and the newbie. Those with lesser experience and commitment had very simple setups while veterans towed large arrays of grills and smokers on their custom-built trailers. Some of these teams had spent upwards of $80,000 on their rigs. Were they serious competitors or just passionate people committed to their lifestyle? I wasn't sure, but they too held their styro boxes with both hands.

Since it was already past one thirty and I hadn't eaten all day, I was starting to feel pretty hungry. I just wasn't going to wait an hour in one of those barbecue lines. Maybe something from the Italian sausage vendor might do, but how lame would it be to go to a bbq event and not eat barbecue? Quite lame indeed.

That's when my luck took a turn for the better. Jerry, the judge supervisor with whom I had been chatting with, invited me to go to the table at the side of the tent and try the competitors' brisket entries.



During the judging, each team submits a numbered styrofoam box. Upon receiving it, the officials replace the original number with a new one to preserve anonymity. These newly numbered boxes are sent in sets of six to the judges table. Six judges sit per table and judge six entries each. The judges base their scores on taste, texture and a slew of other criteria. After the judges have taken their samples, the remainder of the box and its' contents are sent to the side table.

The side table is where you'll find the action. The boxes are laid out randomly and any of the judges (including myself) can taste any or all of the entries. I decided that it was in the interest of my palate and professional development as a food professional that I should sample all of the entries that I could and proceeded to tear off pieces of brisket all the way down the line.

It was a fascinating adventure and wildly educational. So many entries and so many interpretations of what is, essentially, the same dish: beef brisket. As I listened to the other judges hovering around, discussing their findings, I learned a few more things: that brisket always needs to be cut across the grain. Fat needs to be trimmed. Teams that do not follow these essentials will find their entry mocked at the side table. Some of the judges went so far as to fish out the entry with the excess fat to show other judges. Harsh.

In tasting the brisket entries, I found many not to my liking. Most were just too sweet. Some had too much sauce. Others were a bit dry. Texture played an important role. Dryness was a killer. And the right smoke ring made for pleasing visual appeal. Some were bad. Most were so-so. But in tasting them all, one emerged from the pack.

The brisket was beautiful in shape. Just the right curves and a dark ochre crust with a red smoke ring that penetrated about 1/4" into the succulent grey meat. Cut across the grain, the sample was tender and juicy with just the slightest hint of a snap that was faint and ever-fleeting. Sauce was minimal but flavor was pronounced. Smoke, beef, hints of spice and red pepper. It was the standout of all the entries and I certainly hope it won.

In many ways, it was like judging a barista competition or any other competition. Lots of good entries. A few that were outright bad. And one that smoothly emerged above and beyond the rest of the field. I found the experience tasting these barbecues to be revelatory. Not to mention my pleasure in eating a free lunch.

Later, as we were standing under the tent chatting about the entries - actually, I was mostly just keeping my mouth shut and listening, with the occasional question, Jerry asked me if I might be interested in judging. That they would soon be hosting a judges training course in Salisbury and that I should come down and certify - if for nothing else than to just understand what it takes to compete in a KCBS-sanctioned event. I told him that I would love to attend.

So, who knows? You might be seeing me judging your meat somewhere along the 2009 KCBS BBQ Tour...

Grace Garden Again

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

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

My life is downright lame compared to them.

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


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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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


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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

Juxtaposition

Grilled Eggplant with Sesame Dressing.

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

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

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


Fresh Cut Watermelon from Martin Farm.

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

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

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


Strawberries in Citrus Mint Gelee.

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

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

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


Oranges Fred.

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

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


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

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

And we're willing to pay for it.

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

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


Five Pounds of Chorizo.

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

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


Cooking the Chorizo.

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

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


Testing the Carne de Res for seasoning.

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

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

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


Sous Vide-ing the Carne de Res.

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

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

In two words: pretty good.

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


Condiments for Tacos.

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

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

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

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

CHORIZO

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

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


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

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

Standards, Cream and Syrup

The soiled paper cup that almost was.

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

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

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

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

I can't throw the cup away.

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

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

But my standards don't allow for this.

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

What a conundrum over a five cent cup.

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

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


A cup of Los Mujeres de Guayata from Colombia.

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

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

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





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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Client Is Always Wrong

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

"THE CLIENT IS ALWAYS WRONG"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

Pizza John's

The 12" half imported ham, half sausage pizza.

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

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

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

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

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


Gravy Fries.

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

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

The first problem: Pepsi. No Coke.

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

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

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

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

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

Hmmm, that's a first.

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

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

But, I digress.

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

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

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

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


Inside my hot and gooey pie.

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

But I can't.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

Tapping For Tapsilog

Tapsilog and a Coke.

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

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


Beef Tapa.

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

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


Sinangag

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

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

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

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


Fried Itlog

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

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

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

Sunday Jam

Blueberry and Blackberry pie tests.

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

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

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


Straining the Blackberries.

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

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

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


Maria, The Mexi-Canner.

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

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


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

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

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

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


Roasting Peppers under the Broiler.

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

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

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


The roasted peppers.

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

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

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


Roasted Tomatillos.


"I.Q.F." Blueberries


Eggplant from Martin's Farm.

Something Fruity, Something Fun

Amazingly sweet nectarines from Reid's Orchards

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

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


Reid's Blueberries destined for jam.

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

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


Yellow Peaches from "The Orchard"

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

Not this year.

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


The Terrine Test

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

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


Pate Brisee in the works

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

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


Anson Mills Farro Piccolo

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