Montreal: Shwartz's Deli

The Smoked Meat, Medium.

Smoked Meat, Medium.

That's all I was told to say at Schwartz's Deli here in Montreal. I was actually chastized for not knowing about this place. Smoked meat. Medium. Maybe some fries.

Up on Saint Laurent is the (presumably) famous Schwartz's Deli and I was there. As far as delis go, it's pretty typical. Kinda small, kinda packed and the service is a bit abrupt and a bit brusque. Go figure. At least there was a line to get in - and being a single, solo diner, I didn't have to wait. Just walk in and have a seat at the counter. Nice.

Like I said, Schwartz's is a deli. You've been to one, you've been to them all. It's just simple, white walls, jam-packed formica tables and busy. It's got about as much character as Woody Allen. Flat and undistinguished (and I know I'll now get hate mail from Woody Allen fans the world over).

That said, you don't come to Schwartz's for the decor or the service. Yahweh knows you don't come here for the comfort. You come here because someone told you that you must order the Smoked Meat. Medium. And that's exactly what I ordered: Smoked Meat, Medium.

But what does that mean: "medium"? Is there a large and a small? Should I fear the large because it might come out as a Carnegie Deli sized Broadway Danny Rose??? And why the Smoked Meat? Heck, I grew up in a Jewish community and I never heard of a cut called "smoked meat."


Salad and a pickle.

Turns out, "medium" is between "lean" and "fatty" on the amount of fat that gets cut into your sandwich. It has nothing to do with size and everything to do with fat. I'll have the smoked meat, medium with fries and a coke.

Within moments, a small plate of what looks to be a vinegar based cole slaw and large deli pickle lands on the counter in front of me. A second later comes the smoked meat sandwich on rye. A few more moments and the fries land, then the coke. All in all, my food has arrived no later than six minutes after ordering it. Cool.


Fries

But just what is this "smoked meat"? It looks like brisket. It looks like it's been corned and then smoked. It's soft, tender and delightfully textured. According to Wikipedia, it's a combination of both. Actually, they don't state that explicitly but when you read how it's made, it seems obvious to me. Either way, it's pretty darn tasty.

This is supposed to be a "medium" cut of meat but I'm finding it pretty lean by my standards. I can't imagine what "lean" must taste like but am increasingly curious as to how the "fat" serving tastes. I imagine the thin slices of cross-grain cut meat interlaced with glistening ribbons of juicy fat and I'm transported to a comfortable place where birds sign gleefully and fair maidens dance in song.


The Whole Kit and Caboodle.

As I chew through the sandwich, I find myself wishing that I had ordered the fat version. This is a bit lean and slightly dry because of it. It's still tender and succulent, just slightly dry - if that makes any sense. A liberal application of mustard helps but I'm wishing for more.

The fries are rudimentary. They're cut and fried in-house but served on the limp side. Perhaps they need to try frying them just a little longer to crisp. They're not bad, they're just not stellar. They're not on par with the meat. And, of course, a Coke is a Coke. Just that proper phosphate zing to cleanse the palate between bites.

Things are hoppin' at Schwartz's and I'm outta there within a half hour. Fourteen dollars later (including tip) I'm back on the streets of Montreal and heading south for Vermont.


Schwartz's Deli
3895 Saint Laurent Boulevard
Montreal, QC

Montreal: CBC

The emcee cheat sheet and the watchful eye of World Barista Champion Stephen Morrissey.

My cover story for heading to Montreal was to judge the Canadian Barista Championship. However, since I do have a company to run, I wasn't able to attend the judges workshop on Sunday. Instead, I took an enjoyable drive up the East Coast yesterday and now have been pressed into service as a co-emcee with Leon from Cafe de la Presse here in Montreal.

I realise that it may seem odd and surprising for me to say this, but I really hate doing the emcee thing. It's excruciatingly painful and feels unnatural - especially when you have to read cold from a script and don't know anything about anyone. For me, it feels painful and contrived. I'd rather hide backstage. I'd prefer to leave it to other people whose egos really need the attention and adulation.

Plus, giving me the microphone can lead to risque banter that is unfit for a "G-Rated" audience.

All is well and good when the audience is limited to the forty-five people sitting in front of you. It's a whole different world when it's being broadcast live on the Internet to a worldwide audience. Somewhere, out there, I'm sure there's a secret group of Catholics meeting to decide if they should have an outcry because of my joke about a Muslim God crushing an ungrateful Catholic. It's a funny joke - if you get it. Next time I'll have to tell the one about the Filipino guy and the coconut.

The competition itself went well. Some of Canada's finest barista competitors battling it out for the spot to go to that most exotic of cities: Atlanta. Boring.

That's just the worst: bust your butt all year long to prepare for a competition that will, hopefully, land you a spot in the world championships and then you find out you're going to Atlanta. What a buzzkill. Atlanta is such a lame city that I don't even care about winning the USBC because winning means that you're going nowhere - just to Atlanta, which is pretty much nowhere.

Now, now, now, I know there's a lot of Atlanta supporters out there. Yes, Coca-Cola is from Atlanta and I do love me some Coke. But I just don't vibe with the city. I've been there twice: in 1987 and 2004 - and really, that's enough. And within four years, the SCAA holds their conference twice there? Talk about a lame organization.


The competition on a roll.

Anyway, enough about Atlanta. See, it just gets me so riled up. The Canadian Barista Championship went well. Lots of great competitors with some good ideas. Lots of good talent up there.

To be honest, I barely saw any of the competition. As emcee, I'm trying to read up on the notes they gave me and check on things backstage. There's really no time to watch. Plus, watching barista competitions is still quite excruciating for me. Maybe I'm just stuck in 2004 but as a spectator sport, it's really quite droll. How many competitors can you hear say: "I'm really excited to be here." Then, how come you don't look or act excited, buddy?

But maybe it's not that bad. This time, I only heard one competitor state that he/she was going to dose from the grinder. Back in 2004, everyone and their mother took us step-by-step as they did every little thing. THAT was excruciating.

Most of the competitors seem calm, smooth, relaxed. I like it here. In fact, I'm enjoying barista competitions outside of the United States where politics, cronyism and a general state of Taking Ourselves Too Seriously dominates the field. In other countries, I'm an outsider, a visitor, a guest. More importantly, I'm someone not enmeshed in their world of politics - which is a general recipe for a good time.



Four time Canadian Barista Champion Sammy Piccolo and his handlers.


The competition itself is improving. Vita and Les have really gotten their stuff together and things are flowing more smoothly than ever. The P.A. system is sounding good. They've got video. They're streaming it over the Internet. My image is being broadcasted on a global scale. Nice.

In the end, it all comes down to the scores and for the fourth time, continuing the unbroken Caffe Artigiano Dynasty, Sammy Piccolo has once again taken the Canadian Crown. Perhaps they'll put his face on the Looney.

Hmm. Dynasty. Hmmm. Let's review:

2008 - Sammy Piccolo - Caffe Artigiano, Vancouver, BC
2007 - Mike Yung - Caffe Artigiano, Vancouver, BC
2006 - Colter Jones - Caffe Artigiano, Vancouver, BC
2005 - Sammy Piccolo - Caffe Artigiano, Vancouver, BC
2004 - Sammy Piccolo - Caffe Artigiano, Vancouver, BC
2003 - Sammy Piccolo - Caffe Artigiano, Vancouver, BC

Who will dare to topple the Reign of Artigiano?

Maybe it's time to open a Spro in Toronto...

Montreal: Quincaillerie Dante

Got it, got it, got it, need it, got it...

I hate to seem like a tourist but sometimes I can't help it.

Things started off smoothly. I'm driving along the streets of Petit Italie heading towards the barista competition when I spot it: Quincaillerie Dante. You know it, I know it. We all saw it on Tony Bourdain's No Reservations and I had to stop.

We're not just talking about cooking utensils and supplies folks, we're also talking about guns and weapons.

Those who know me know I enjoy food. But those who really know me know I can appreciate guns. From the skilled artisanal beauty of a handcrafted Beretta over/under to the rhythmic rat-a-tat-tat of an AK-47, I like them all. At about ten years old, I remember learning how to fire a 1911 .45 ACP "Magnum P.I." handgun and an M-16 "Armalite" by my uncle while visiting the Philippines. That staccato burst of full automatic fire was enough to inspire a young boy to become a modern day barista.

Okay, maybe I stretched the truth a little about weapons leading to barista.




As I wandered the aisle of coffee making equipment, I couldn't help but relive a Bourdain moment noting what I already have and what I lusted after. Sure that Bialetti would be nice, but that Le Creuset extra large dutch oven would be even better. Oh, and how about that sexy Laguiole knife slash corkscrew? Even that butter bell would be cool. Or the Kyocera ceramic knives. I could go ballistic in here and it wouldn't be difficult.

Instead, I practice my resolve and hold back from unleashing credit card fury. Though I do see the house cookbook for thirty bucks and decide to get one - even though it's in French.




It's a book featuring Dante's Stefano Faita, who happens to be in the shop at the moment wrestling with issues about his dog. I don't understand what's going on but he's occupied with those matters and I decide against asking him to sign my book. I think that maybe he'll offer but he doesn't and I leave.

I really can't read French but the pictures look good and the recipes don't seem too hard to decipher. In a moment, I'm back on the road once again heading for the convention center.


Quincaillerie Dante
6851 Rue Saint Dominique
Montreal, QC H2S 3B3
514-271-2057

Montreal: Marche Jean Talon

Fresh Organic Produce

Smarter, more responsible people would plan their mornings early, have a little breakfast and then plan their tour of a city accordingly. They wouldn't head off at the last minute when there were other appointments to be made.

I'm just not that smart.

It's the Finals today of the Canadian Barista Championship and I'm supposed to co-emcee the event. But I'm also planning on leaving town immediately after the finals and won't have time to pay my proper respects to Marche Jean Talon, the city's largest public market. After a quick calculation, it's on and I'm blazing out the door and up Rue Saint Laurent heading for Rue Jean Talon and the market in Montreal's Petite Italie (Little Italy).


There's still more to fall's bounty at Jean Talon.

I've been here before and I know what to expect: French Culinary Goodness. On the way, I'm planning in my mind what to seek out. I've only got an hour to spare so I've got to be quick about it and I won't have time to properly explore the marche like last time. I'm thinking: cheese, duck confit, meats and whatever else catches my fancy. A friend warned me about problems crossing the border into the United States and since I've forgotten to bring my vacuum sealer, I'm taking a chance. But life is a gamble anyway, right?

At the market, I spy all sorts of tasty treats. Au Lait Cru is chock full of wonderful cheeses, Porcmillieur is stocked up with everything pork, the husband and wife team at the sausage place attract my attention and I'm running away with some Mini Menage sausage and a vac pack of Saucisse "Toulouse" Confite, He gives me a taste of the Mini Menage and it's absolutely beautiful. Rich, complex and buttery on the tongue. I should have bought more.


A little paella, just in case.

At Au Lait Cru, I realize that, like many things, cheese is my nemesis. I really know nothing about cheeses. It's all a mystery to me. So many to choose from. I don't know how. Sure, I'll go to the local market at home and just buy whatever to give it a taste but here in Montreal, i don't want to choose poorly. It's not like I'm coming back here next week.

Luckily, the counter guy must be familiar with idiot Americans and he guides me to some choices. There's a wedge of a Swiss cheese and two Quebec made cheeses (goat and a soft cheese similar to camembert). He assures me that these are good quality and hopes that I'll enjoy them.


Must avoid the fromagerie.

At Porcmillieur, I dig around their bins until I find a nice hunk of smoked loin ready for poaching, roasting, slicing and eating. The girl speaks about as much English as I do French but we manage to discuss the finer points of the loin and how to prepare it nonetheless.

Next to Porcmillieur is a specialty butcher and he's got some nice looking vac packed duck confit. I can't resist. Oh, and is that a tub of duck fat I spy in the display case? I'll take that too.


Wonderful duck and pork goodness.


Ah, saucissons!


A closer look at the sausages.

Jean Talon also has a nice selection of prepared foods, including baked pies and such. But I'm on a schedule and whatever I buy has to keep for several days until I return home to Maryland. I decide to pass on the baked goods - except for the Ficelle I picked up for the cheeses.


A Petroncini coffee roaster.

All this shopping and I'm feeling the need for a little nourishment, as well as a little coffee. There's a coffee shop in the market and I order an 8z drip coffee. They've got espresso, but many times I'd rather just have a plain old brewed cup of coffee. The coffee looks pretty decent and they roast their own on a Petroncini roaster.


Coffee and a cream-filled beignet.

Add a little sugar and milk to the coffee but the pastries at the coffeeshop look pretty mundane and run of the mill but there's a nice looking bakery across the way. There I decide on a cream-filled beignet to go with my coffee. The combination of coffee and beignet is a classic. It's just right, delicious and a great way to get things rolling.

From here, it's back into the Sonoma and back to the Palais des Congres de Montreal for the championship.


Marche Jean Talon
70/70 Rue Henri-Julien
Montreal, QC
514-277-1588
website

Montreal: Au Pied de Cochon

Foie Gras Poutine

No matter what the official statement may read, the real reason for a visit to Montreal is: Au Pied de Cochon.

Maybe you've heard about it. Maybe you've seen it on tv. Maybe Tony Bourdain told you about it. Perhaps you've heard that it's the world's greatest homage to pigs and ducks. Or that vegetarians (never mind vegans) aren't catered to here. Or that the restaurant is on PETA's list of places to terrorize. Whatever you may have heard in those veins, it's all true.

If you're not a meat-eater, this is not the place for you. If you don't like pig, this is not the place for you. If you're worried about food fat content, this is not the place for you. If you detest and abhor foie gras, this is not the place for you.

However, if the thought of slow cooked pig in fatty matter turns you on, then this is the place for you. If not and you still decide to eat here: you're screwed.


Codfish Fritters

But really, how does one describe the experience of eating at Au Pied de Cochon?

"Orgy" comes to mind. Yes, orgy. That's about right.

Au Pied de Cochon is a veritable orgy of brilliant food. It's not fancy or fussy. It's not presented in a fine dining setting. The staff is dressed casually in black. The kitchen crew wears blue workshirts more at home in the garages of Pep Boys than in a professional kitchen. Everything is designed to be casual. To put the diner at ease. To relax and prepare the tummy for what's to come.


Ryan and some bread.

Maybe some of you have seen the No Reservations episode where chef Martin Picard instructs his kitchen to keep the food coming until Tony Bourdain is dead. "...Give him, give him, give him and when he dies, stop." Knowing our penchant for tasting menus, the possibility of dying at Au Pied de Cochon seems very real indeed.

Two years ago, during my last visit to Montreal, I tried calling for reservations and was denied each time. This time, I would not be denied. The original plan was to simply show up, by myself and wait for a spot at the bar, with the hope that a single diner willing to sit at the bar would somehow be accommodated. Happily, my friends had heard about my daring plan to eat an Au Pied de Cochon and made different arrangements.


Salmon Salad Special

The well-connected Sevan made the proper arrangements so that I would have a table for eight and I could invite whomever I desired. Crap. Now I have to find seven other diners... I know how hard it is to reserve a table for two here, now I've got a table for eight. My friend had pulled some strings to land me this table and I couldn't flop. The pressure was on. What I had expected to be a solo binge standing outside in the cold was now a full on battle to fill a large table with friends who would enjoy the experience of eating at one of, if not the best restaurants in North America. Crap.

Happily, Reg Barber and his daughter Julia are always up for a good spot to eat. Brent Fortune is always ready for a great meal. Add the illustrious roaster Drew Cattlin, barista entrepreneur Nic Fortin from Quebec City and visiting coffee enthusiast Ryan Lucas to the mix and we've got our table filled and the promise of a delicious night ahead of us.


Fried Headcheese Special

As we arrived, the place was packed. I shimmied my way through the people crowding the entryway to the hostess station. Maybe it's because they're French-Canadian, or maybe it's because they don't want to let some wayward passerby steal their table but these people were less than accommodating in letting me pass by. Remembering my lessons in French etiquette (and how brusquely the French barrel through crowds), I just gave out a loud "Pardon" as I barreled my way through the crowd. Strangely enough, there were no comments or reactions - guess it really is just the French in them.





Our Wines



As I waited for the hostess to return, some guy in a suit offered to sell me his table (a two top) for $250. I thought about laughing at him but I reassured him that our table was secure - I didn't bother to tell him that we had a larger table than he. I just didn't want to be a dick to him.

After a few minutes, we were invited to the bar and served a complimentary round of codfish fritters while our table was being prepared. Then once seated, our orgy began.

I have to admit, my World of Eating is a bit skewed than most. I'm used to going out with friends who are pretty adventurous about food and enjoy sharing everything. Not to say that my dining companions tonight at APC aren't like that, I just never know beforehand and worry that perhaps I'm essentially bullying everyone into eating the way I'm used to. Luckily, these guys are game and it's on.





Duck Fat Fries


Our server Oli tells us the specials. There's several and they're all sounding tasty and we go with all of them. It's simple, it's easy. There's the Salade Saumon (two of those), Croquettes de Tete (thank you) and Salade de Lard. Add on an order of the Duck Fat Fries, Poutine Foie Gras and we're rockin' and rollin'.

How about main courses? Hmm, we'll order those as we go, but Oli tells us that some of them require extra preparation time, like the Pied de Cochon stuffed with Foie Gras and the Canard en Conserve. Well, we don't want to delay our meal longer than necessary, so tell the kitchen to get to work on those. Don't know who's going to eat it but it's time.





Lard


Next up is the beverage selection. Drew goes for a really nice beer and the rest of us order both red and white wine. The wine list is extensive and just beyond my level of comprehension. However, Oli makes some suggestions and they're on the money. A few glasses of white and the 2005 Bandol Tempier for the rest. Very nice.

Not long after, our first courses start arriving. For a few minutes, it's a never-ending stream of plates flying over and landing on our table. It's a grand sight. The Foie Gras Poutine is a hit. It's decadent, delicious that promises the onslaught of heart disease. The Duck Fat Fries are good but I gotta be honest - I didn't think they were all that. Yes, they were good. Delicious even. But did I notice a discernable difference between "normal" fries and these fried in duck fat? Not really.






Later I would find out from the kitchen that they cut the duck fat with vegetable oil to increase the longevity and heat range of the oil. Don't know if that means anything regarding flavor since vegetable oil tends to be relatively neutral tasting.

The first round continues relentlessly. There's the salmon salad - slices of raw salmon in little mounds with just enough greens to pass as a "salad." Nice. When Oli said that one of the appetizer specials was "lard", I didn't bother to ask for a description or a clarification, I just said "oui!" Turns out that "lard" is actually their euphemism for big hunk of sliced bacon, smoked and succulent. Again, with just enough greens to pass for "salad" it was delicious. I think there must have been someone who once remarked that one can have "too much" bacon. Don't know who said it, but obviously that person isn't worth remembering with comments like that.


Yours Truly with Martin Picard.

The special that really put everyone off was the fried headcheese. Cubes of headcheese battered and deep fried served with some sort of sauce and some greens. Headcheese - it's enough to make people runaway screaming. Which is fine by me since I can eat their share. What started out as outright avoidance by some ended with the complete and utter decimation of the dish. It sounds nasty but once you taste it, it's as good as doing The Nasty.


Nic Fortin and Reg Barber.

Our first go around at ordering our main dishes was tempered with a "you have eight entrees and there's only seven of you" from Oli. Okay, nix the Boudain Tart and roll with everything else. Nice to find a server who actually cares enough to save your life from time to time, or at least so you can dine again.


Drew Cattlin contemplating the orgy of food about to come.

From the get go, the restaurant has been jam-packed. And it's obvious that reservations are a must. Don't have reservations and are dining alone? You might get lucky. No reservations and there's two (or more) of you? You're screwed. Might as well go to La Belle Provence 'cause you ain't getting in here - and it's only Wednesday.


Brent Fortune and Ryan Lucas.

It's busy. And the kitchen is quite small. There's a limited number of burners, a deep fryer some work space and a big brick oven. It's small and it's right behind the bar. In fact, the kitchen is part of the bar. I mention this because it's absolutely amazing the amount of volume this tiny kitchen is pumping out. And I do mean pumping. These guys are going full bore, balls to the wall and on overdrive.


The ever charming Julia Barber.

It takes 27 minutes in boiling water for the Duck In A Can to cook. It's at least some amount of time for the Pied de Cochon to cook. Just take those two items and multiply them by a portion of the dining room and the kitchen is easily screwed to the wall. I mean, how many Pied de Cochons can they cook simultaneously at one time?

In the distance, we spot Martin, the chef and owner of Au Pied de Cochon. Julia unabashedly asks that they summon him to our table. In a few minutes, Martin gladly complies and greets us. He seems like an affable chap and pauses for some pictures and to welcome us before moving on to the rest of the house. I may be bored with celebrities but I do find it exciting to meet the chef.


Pied de Cochon Farci au Foie Gras


The 5,160th Pied de Cochon stuffed with Foie Gras.

Not long after, the procession of main dishes starts to hit our table. First is the Pied de Cochon. There's a funny metal tag clipped to the end reading "5160." Evidently, Au Pied de Cochon tags each and every foot they serve and this is number 5,160. Wow, that's a lot of pigs. One Thousand Two Hundred and Ninety, to be exact. Later, we'll keep the tag and Julia will clip it to my shirt collar. A most fashionable accessory.

The foot is beautiful. Charred on the outside, moist, succulent and tender on the inside. There's a hunk of foie gras on the side and one inside. It's buttery smooth and covered with mushrooms and vegetables. It's good but the only problem is that I think it needs some salt to make the flavor pop. I start to worry that my taste buds might be going.


Cod Special

More dishes hit the table: two pork chops (great), the Morue special and the Epaule Agno (lamb) arrive. All of them wonderful - especially the lamb, which is perfectly seasoned. The meat literally dancing on my tongue.

Finally, the Duck In A Can arrives. The runner places the can on the table and opens it with a can opener, then pours it over some heavily toasted toast. The flavor is beautiful and wonderful. It's beyond expectation. I contemplate ordering just the uncooked can to take home for later, and the empty can as a souvenir.


Cote de Cochon

Things at the table quiet down slightly as everyone digs in and passes tastes of their dishes around. Each of us are hacking off a piece of this in exchange for a piece of that from someone across the table. It's how eating out with friends was meant to be.


Epaule Agno - Lamb Special




The side dish to the Lamb Special.


Opening the Confit en Conserve.


Here it comes.


Finally! Duck In A Can.

Later, Oli comes by to see if we're ready for dessert. We're not. A friend had shared a story about the last time he ate at APC and was so wasted by the experience, he couldn't work the next day. Don't know what he had but out multi-course tasting was just right. We were full. We had leftovers. We didn't need dessert. We were perfectly satiated. None of that groaning and walking around feeling bloated and ill like when you've eaten too much. The opportunity to eat "too much" was there, we just managed to avoid it and enjoyed the experience all the more.

From my seat at the table, I could spy into the rest room everytime someone went in or out and I noticed something. I could have sworn that I saw a sandwich prep refrigerator in there. A refrigerator in the rest room? No way. I had to go check it out.


Contemplating a great meal.

Lo and behold, there it was: a 27" Beverage Air sandwich prep refrigerator in the bathroom with stainless six pans. That's kind of odd, you say - happily, it looks like it was an old and non-functioning unit that they had turned into a hand towel holder and cleaning material storage underneath.

But that's not all. There's a small LCD screen facing the toilet playing Martin's tv show to while away the time ruling your kingdom. It's a nice touch and an idea for home.

By the time we left, it was nearing midnight and the kitchen was winding down. I picked up a copy of the APC Album (cookbook), chatted briefly with the kitchen crew and then we were flushed back out into the cold, wet Montreal night where a strange cabbie decided to take us to our hotel without bothering to follow our directions to the right hotel. Ce la vie...


Au Pied de Cochon
536 Rue Duluth
Montreal, QC
514-281-1114
www.restaurantaupieddecochon.ca



L'Addition

New York: Hattie's

Corn bread, biscuits and hush puppies.

After six hours winding my way through the Pennsylvania and New Jersey countryside, with a long stretch on the New York Thruway, I've found myself at the door of Hattie's in Saratoga Springs.

It pains me when the curtain has been pulled back to reveal me as a charlatan but I can't hide the fact that I heard about Hattie's through Bobby Flay. Personally speaking, I can't stand Bobby Flay. Ever since his days with Jackie Malouf on Grillin' and Chillin' he's just irritated me. One day, quite some time ago, I was flicking through the tele and happened upon his new FoodTV show where he goes out and "challenges" a random chef on their turf and with the dish they're known for. The setup is that the chef is told that they're being screen-tested for a new television show and on the day they tape the chef, Flay shows up to challenge the chef to a cookoff. What a dick.

Anyway, when Flay came to town, chef Jasper Alexander remained supreme in their fried chicken cookoff and I made the decision that day that I must journey to Saratoga Springs and here I am, in the cold, hoping that they'll have a table for me at 8pm.

By the looks of it, Saratoga Springs is a touristy town. It looks like it was built to cater to tourists. Happily, Hattie's is quite down home and rustic looking - and not in a prefab, T.G.I.Friday's kind of way - and, most importantly, it's rather quiet on this Monday night.


Mac N Cheese

The Monday travel schedule had me worried enough that I called yesterday to ensure that they would be open today. It would have been my luck that the one day I manage to travel to Saratoga Springs would be the day they are closed. I would cry.

When I walked in, the restaurant was quiet. A couple to my right were finishing their meal and a four top in the center of the room had just begun. The staff was casually milling about awaiting the night to come. I was relieved that I could be seated so quickly.

Right off the bat, I started with a sweet tea and a glass of water. While reviewing the menu with my server, one of the kitchen crew remarked that I should know the menu by now since I'm here all the time. Huh? Turns out that there's some guy working in the comic book store next door that looks just like me. Could it be? Could my doppelganger live in Saratoga Springs? Too bad I won't have the time in town to find out. At least the cook promised they would take good care of me.

Not long after, an order of freshly fried hush puppies arrived at my table with a side of ketchup. Golden delicious inside and crispy brown on the outside. Beautiful. As a hush puppy should be. In another moment, a basket of warm corn bread and biscuit landed, with butter. Now was my chance - butter on corn bread is a good thing so, therefore (I'm hypothesizing now), butter on hush puppies should be even better. Wow, I'm so glad my mom gave birth to such a smart son...

The meal would be simple. First round: macaroni and cheese. Second: fried chicken. Third: dessert.

As I walked in and spied on the couple finishing their meal, I noticed the girl had barely touched her order of mac n cheese. It was unbelievably huge, she had barely put a dent in it. I made sure to order the smaller, appetizer portion - with shrimp and bacon as my server enthusiastically recommended.

Soon, a hot pile of pasta, cheese, bacon and shrimp, covered with bread crumbs and seared under salamander landed in front of me. I gingerly took a bite. It was hot. Blisteringly hot. Let it cool for a few moments and then began a thorough investigation.



Fried Chicken


It was good. It was as mac n cheese should be, but something was missing. It tasted kinda limp. The ingredients were all there. They just didn't spring to life. What this dish needed was some seasoning. A liberal application of salt.

A douse of salt later and there it was: Mac N Cheese. As It Should Be. Alive. Tasty. Decadent. The bacon adding that pleasurable flavor and the shrimp adding a new dimension that I've never had in Mac N Cheese.

In a few minutes, the fried chicken landed on my table. Four pieces. A half chicken crisp and fried to golden perfection. Just look at it: amazing. Served with mashed potatoes and collard greens. Nice.

The chicken was good. It had a spice blend that I thought was okay. It just wouldn't be my choice of spices. I prefer very simple preparations of just salt and pepper for my fried chicken. This chicken had a bit of a zing to it but also needed a liberal application of salt.

Actually, by this point, I was starting to worry. Worry that my taste buds my be losing it. Have I been eating everything so salted that I've lost the ability to discern what is and is not "salty"? Would my preferred level of seasoning leave others gagging in a salt water ocean?

But I can't taste the flavors. They're not pronounced. So I salted anyway. And once salted, the chicken flavors came to life.

While I didn't find the seasonings to my tastes, the chicken skin was absolutely wonderful. Light, delicate and perfectly crisp. I haven't been able to fry chicken like this. This fried coating was just sublime. I couldn't do it better, and I want to do it better (or at least as good). Maybe Jasper will smile on me one day and share his secret to this wonderfully light, delicate and crisp skin.


Pecan Pie

For dessert it was a simple Pecan Pie with whipped cream. Tasty, sweet and that lovely texture that should accompany a proper pecan pie. It was also searingly hot. Add a cup of coffee with sugar and cream and all is well. Of course, it's not coffee to write home about or even drink on it's own - even my server said "it's just coffee" when I asked her what kind of coffee it was. Definitely not of the caliber we know and love but a nice accompaniment to the pecan pie nonetheless.

In the truck I've got my trusty Igloo cooler loaded up with ice and ready to hold this trips' bounty. As I leave Hattie's I'm warmed by the thought that in my bag I've got two pieces of chicken, mashed potatoes, collared greens and the rest of my mac n cheese for a late morning breakfast in Montreal tomorrow.

I already know it's going to be a beautiful morning.


Hattie's Restaurant
45 Philadelphia Street
Saratoga Springs, NY 12866
518-584-4790
www.hattiesrestaurant.com

The Most Beautiful Gas Station in America

It seems that I can never leave well enough alone.

Just when I'm starting to get comfortable at home, it's time to hit the road again. This time, I'm in the trusty GMC Sonoma and we're whizzing through the Pennsylvania countryside somewhere around 72 mph. Why 72? Because it's faster than the 65mph speed limit and still a few miles below the ten miles per hour over imaginary cutoff that we believe law enforcement uses as the threshold to stop speeders.

In other words: I'm an outlaw. A man with a casual disregard for authority. A wise-cracking raconteur and general scoundrel. A modern-day Han Solo (minus Chewbacca).

I'm on the way to Montreal for the annual Canadian Barista Championship where I'll be serving as the co-emcee for the events. At first, I thought I might be judging but the judges workshop was yesterday and there was just no way I could break away from the home front before today. Oh well, at least there's Au Pied du Cochon.

A Road Trip is a rare event for me and America looks grand from the view through the windshield as opposed to the view though the window at 35,000 feet. As we whiz though the Delaware River Valley, sharp rock formations jut out amongst the rapidly turning fall foliage. It's been unseasonably warm these past couple of weeks but today is starting to get crispy. There's a chill in the air that's just conducive to this kind of driving.

The crisp weather means that the windows are slightly cracked and the heater is set to low, counterbalancing the crispy cold air. In my hand, I've got a fine Paul Garmirian cigar, some Turkey Hill Orange Tea in my cup and the images of Sting's young teacher the subject of schoolgirl fantasy cooing through the ipod connected to the stereo. There's a warm feeling in my soul when I realize I've made the wrong turn and ended up in rural north New Jersey.

Luckily, I've got my trusty iPhone and after a quick consultation (and the decision to avoid tracking back across the Delaware River and paying the bridge toll), I'm on backcountry roads winding my way north where I decide to make a gas, bathroom and stretch break in the small hamlet of Blairstown. A place where I inadvertently find The Most Beautiful Gas Station in America.

For all the crap that it has to take as the state living in the shadow of New York, New Jersey's greatest secret is that the general public is outlawed from pumping their own gas. Know how you gotta stand out there in rain or cold, pumping your own gas? Not in New Jersey. While it's not the full service of my youth where the attendants checked your engine fluids and tire pressures, in Jersey they pump the gas for you while you can remain comfy in the safety of your own vehicle.

Maybe there just isn't any guys left in Blairstown. Maybe they're in the fields, or off to the Big City seeking their fortunes. Whatever the case may be, it's to my advantage: the girls pumping the gas at the Sunoco are downright hotties.

As I pull in and jump out of the Sonoma, the hottest one comes up to start filling my tank. She's about 5'3", blonde hair, blue eyes and just gorgeous. The tank is only half full but it's time for a fill-up. Another cute blonde is working the other side of the island and a third girl with sandy hair tucked under a floppy hat, wearing dark sunglasses is sitting outside of the station building smoking a cigarette and looking generally cool, she directs me to the restroom.

Somehow, someway, I've stumbled upon New Jersey's best kept secret: The Most Beautiful Gas Station in America. Who knew?

We chat and banter for a bit and I ask for directions to Stillwater Road. My girl has seen it but can't remember how to tell me to get there - even though she lives near it. The other girls laugh and point out that Stillwater is just down the road. Simply go straight and turn left at the stop light.

I would have chatted with them a bit more but I'm on a schedule for dinner and I don't know if I'll ever make it back this way again. After a few more minutes chat, I'm back on the road and on my way to dinner in Saratoga Springs.

Getting Tired Of Waiting: The Alinea Book

The Alinea Book arrives in it's own harness.

I'd like to believe that I'm a patient man.

Back in the spring, the announcement was made that Grant Achatz would be releasing a cookbook featuring the exact recipes of the food he prepares at Alinea. Pre-order now for fifty bucks and you'll get exclusive access to the website, exclusive recipes and a signed edition of the Alinea Cookbook. How could I say no?

Fast forward to September 2nd and Michael Ruhlman is showing off pictures of his copy of the Alinea Cookbook on his blog. After months of remaining dormant, suddenly, the chase was on. Anticipation exploded.

But False Start. The pics on his blogs is Ruhlman's preview copy (he did write the foreword, afterall). He's just teasing us and making us feel sorry for ourselves. What's going on here? There's no word. Where's my copy???

Then on September 20th, I receive an email from Nick Kokonas updating us on the status of the book: the books have arrived in the United States, they need to be sent to Chicago so that Grant and everyone else can sign each of our copies, re-shrink wrap them and then ship them to us by October 15th, the book's official release date.

Of course, while I'm in Albuquerque, I find copies for sale on the shelves at Border's. And that was the first weekend in October.

Amazon has the book available at the same time for the discounted price of $31.50!


The well-dressed wear a jacket.

Really, I want to know the secrets of Alinea. I want to see how it's done. I want to be kissed by God. And while I forked out fifty bucks six months ago, I'm still waiting for my copy while everyone and their mother can go to the local bookshop and pick up their own copy. Dammit.

I want to call. I want to complain. I don't because I realize it's not going to do any good. I just want to see the book in my hands. To hold it. To caress it. To lay it over my forehead while I sleep and allow osmosis to do its' thing. I remind myself that things are probably crazy busy for them. They've got how many thousands of books to sign? I'll be patient. I'm a man. I understand.

On October 10th, I receive another email that tells me my copy shipped the day before. Not much longer now and I alert my staff at The Spro to be on the lookout for this VIP - Very Important Package.

The entire week rolls by and nothing. No box. No envelope. No nothing. WTF??? Where's my book? I leave for Montreal on Monday, am I just born to suffer?

Finally, the last straw comes when I head to Woodberry tonight to take care of a few details before the market tomorrow. Isaiah excitedly shows me the copy he bought at Barnes & Noble and that Spike (who also ordered around the same time I did) got his copy in the mail. Huh???

I can't contain myself any longer.

I spent a couple of moments, ranting and raving about my book (and lack thereof). Everyone and their mother already HAS their copy - everyone, except me. I want to Karate Chop something. Can somebody hand me a butter knife so I can stick it in my neck already? Isaiah pulls it down to show me. For a brief moment, I don't want to look at it. I am the petulant child. I want to look at my own copy, not someone else's.

But I can't resist. I open the book and it's gorgeous. It's so thick and chock full of information. I leaf through it but the prep kitchen at Woodberry is a madhouse and I can't focus. This book is so interesting that it demands my full attention. I gingerly place the book back on its' perch.


A signed edition.

By the time I get home, I notice that there's a white box sitting by the doorway. What is that? Could it be? Oh, Thank God, it is! My copy of the Alinea Cookbook has been waiting at my house the whole day!

I tear into it and immediately notice the handsome slipjacket that my copy rests in. It's not a feature of the store bought books and already I'm one ahead of everyone and their mother. Plus, mine is signed. Lovely.

I peruse the book more intently and notice that it truly is gorgeous. It's a manual on how to recreate the actual Alinea recipes. In all their difficult glory. I notice several dishes that I ate during my visit to Alinea and I read eagerly. Honestly, it's too much to take it. I need more time. I need to take it in doses and really get into the gist of the material.

One detail about the book warms my heart: the equipment list. It's a list of some of the specialized equipment that they use at Alinea and equipment that will be necessary to finish the recipes exactly. I'm happy to already have a vacuum sealer, immersion circulator and AntiGriddle. Now, if I can only get the Volcano and PacoJet...

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