ph: The Last Saturday

Kimmy sets up the POS.

It's the last Saturday at project hampden and there's still much to do: install the POS register and get a bunch of miscellaneous stuff in order. Pretty soon we'll be making coffee for real.


Looking out from The Pass.


No can do on the 12z Cappuccino? My kind of register!


deBuyer Carbon Steel Pan


Custom tamper by Reg Barber.

ph: Last Looks

The Baristas of Spro Hampden: Lindsay, Ilenia, Kimmy, Rebecca, Jess, Devlin and Jeremy.

As project hampden marches towards its final week as "project hampden", it's time to assemble our crew for one last photo shoot.

Years ago, when I used to shoot film and do stringer work, I used to tear through rolls of film. Better to burn the film and capture the image than try to selectively shoot and miss that one crucial moment. With my old Canon F1-N and motor drive, we burned through more rolls of film than I can imagine. Back then, I used to think that if I could pull one great image off a 36 shot roll then I was onto something.

Times have changed and the advent of the digital camera is both a curse and a blessing. With digital, it's much easier to delete any sort of incriminating image. Film was permanent. You had to destroy film. With digital, you just press a button and whatever you were capturing never happened. That is the one thing about digital that I dislike the most.

When shooting film, one had to carry rolls and rolls of film with you. You had to be fast and efficient at changing the rolls. You had to do it on the fly, running down the street with the camera back open, pulling out the old roll and spooling the new roll into place. Then you had to process the rolls, print contact sheets and only then could you really see if you got anything at all, or just screwed it all.



In the digital world, seemingly hundreds of rolls worth of images can fit on one memory card. No more fumbling with rolls or trying to load them properly in the rain. Which means I can fire away at high speed with little concern about changing rolls or running out of film. In many ways, digital is very liberating.

Because of this, I'm confounded by shooters I know who treat each shot so preciously, as though they've only got a 36 roll of film. For me, I'm looking for that little nuance. That brief moment when something real comes out of the subject. Many people pose or maintain self-consciousness when they know their picture is being taken, but most people can't maintain that for long. As they become used to the clicking of the shutter, they loosen up and forget that their photo is being snapped. That's when the magic happens.



Next week, project hampden becomes Spro Hampden when we open our doors to the public at 7am on Friday, March 19th. And today was the last day that I would have our crew together before the opening. So what better way to celebrate the opening (and Rebecca's birthday) than with a little Japanese beer to toast with and a few shots of everyone together?

ph: Beck's Birthday

Jeremy, Ilenia and Becks enjoy baguette, camembert and sopressata.

After a long winter of sub-zero temperatures and six feet of snow, today was the first really nice day in Baltimore. And what better way to celebrate Rebecca's birthday than with a little al fresco drinking and dining?

Some Hitachino White Ale and Diet Coke for toasting and baguette, camembert and sopressata for noshing. It was a nice way to spend a couple of hours with the baristas of Spro.

I'm looking forward to more afternoons just like it.


Drinks of Choice: Hitachino White Ale and Diet Coke


Can Jeremy open the Hitachino with the Diet Coke? No!


Jess, Devlin, Ilenia and Kimmy.

ph: Installing Refrigeration

No matter how much I plan, I can't seem to get things "just right." In spite of my careful drawings, plans and measurements, sometimes a plan just doesn't come together. Take the espresso bar, for example. Lots of planning went into it to fit a freezer, 48" refrigerator and drawer fridge, but the placement of the floor sink wasn't as far to the right as I wanted, the back reefer was deeper than originally anticipated and the legs supporting the granite counter were 1/4" off.

What a pain in the butt.


Oh, it doesn't quite fit.

Luckily, the legs are easy enough to move. The only concern is that the counter doesn't droop while moving the leg, resulting in a cracked counter. That would be bad. Worse yet, our entire support calculations could be off and I'll be crushed to death as the weight of the espresso machine and grinders causes the granite slab to crack and collapse. That would be really bad.

Happily, none of that happened and my life and limbs were spared for yet another day. Since the floor sink is too far to the left, preventing the drawered fridge from moving any further to the right, there's no way to scooch the equipment to the right and somehow fit the freezer into the corner space it was designated.

On top of that, for some reason, I ordered the freezer with a left opening door, completely negating the possibility of using it in that corner anyway. Next time, I'm going with custom solutions so I don't have to worry about fitting stock pieces.

I'm just glad the rest of the install went smoothly.


Ice machine



How long have I wanted one of these?



Finished and installed.

ph: Paper, Porch & Product

Our paper goods order arrives. Ouch!


Jess and Jeremy install vertical slats in the deck railing.


Lindsay, Nick and Matt working...

Red Velvet Cheesecake

When it comes to baked goods for Spro Towson, I generally let my mom do whatever she pleases. Truth be told, there's really no telling my mom what to do, she just does it and like a dutiful son, I try to go with the flow as much as possible.

When she told me that she was going to try something called Red Velvet Cheesecake, I envisioned some sort of red velvet flavored cheesecake. What I found was what you see above. Instead of the usual Red Velvet Cake she normally bakes, this one is layered with cheesecake. The cake itself is huge. The slices were immense. I can't imagine how any one person could finish a slice in one sitting.

Normally, I don't eat our own product. To my mind, it isn't eating cheaply for our cost on the item, it's the lost revenue. If I eat it, the company makes nothing. If I suck it up and go without, someone else buys the product and the company makes money. But this one looked too good to pass up and I had a slice.

Woah, pretty darn good. But it's still huge. I start wondering how this would be as a mini-cake individually sized for $4.75 - or if we tool hydrocolloids to create a cheesecake ribbon that we braid with red velvet strips...

ph: Asking Permission

Stacks of papers to file with the City.

I'm pretty sure I've lamented this before, but after building four facilities prior to project hampden, this one has by far been the most difficult. Filled with every kind of delay, problem and obstacle that one could face when opening a new shop - save for historical register sites.

This week is (what I hope will be) the final push towards opening. All work has been completed, everything is in order, the menu and HACCP plan has been approved, I'm just hoping it goes smoothly.


Food operators fear this window.

But since this is Baltimore City, they want to throw a few more obstacles at you. With seemingly reams of paper in hand, I make my way through the state and city bureaucracy in an attempt to make it happen. Oddly, the City Health Department will not accept a corporate Certificate of Good Standing issued by the state. They want to see a certified copy of the actual corporate filing. Luckily, the people at the state are friendly and accommodating, and with the help of a sympathetic messenger, I've secured my copies and am on my way.

The City wants to see not only corporate filings but copies of the lease agreement, pest control contract, approved permits and more before they will issue a Food Permit. But once you've got all those in hand, all it takes is another $350 and you're on your way. Finally.

I would start dancing in the streets with my eyes filled with tears of joy, if only I didn't know that we still have occupancy inspection, occupancy permit and a trader's license application to endure first.


I can hardly believe we got it.

Hot Dog and The Kebab Guy

Grilled Hot Dog with Mustard, 50th and Broadway.

The hot dog.

In New York City, they're the ubiquitous street food. I've had dozens of them over years and I don't even live in New York (anymore). A long time ago, I came to the realization that the "perfect" hot dog for me is the Sabrett. As such, I keep a stash in my home freezer for those times when I'm feeling the desire to eat a hot dog - usually in the morning pan fried in butter with fried eggs, rice and a press pot of coffee.

During my last trip to the city, I uncovered the grilled hot dog and I've been thinking about it ever since.

Hot dog carts are everywhere in Manhattan. They're so popular you can even find them at Gray's Papaya, Papaya Dog or any of the seemingly dozens of "papaya" named places (or at Nathan's). This time, I'm at 50th and Broadway heading for the New World Stages to see Avenue Q when I spy the Kebab Guy.

Kebab Guy is like many New York vendors. He's standing by the corner with his stainless steel cart, chatting with a buddy, feeding the hungry masses. He's got a good spot in midtown where lots of unsuspecting tourists happily feed his trade while eating something "authentically" New York. The Kebab Guy sells, of course, kebabs but he also sells hot dogs - because what fool with a cart doesn't sell hot dogs in New York?


Kebab Guy grills my dog.

If you're lucky, you'll find a Kebab Guy who also sells Sabrett hot dogs. Lucky because you're about to be treated to a hot dog full of flavor with a skin that crisps just right under fire.

Kebab Guy is waiting for your order. I'm guessing that since he's Kebab Guy, he'd prefer to sell you a kebab. But since you're just another Dumb American, who can't appreciate the difference between a falafel and a coquette, he might as well sell you the hot dog that's been heating in the cart's water bath.

But no, here's where you separate yourself from the charlatans. You like and can appreciate the finer points of ground lamb kebabs, you just want a grilled hot dog. You ask the Kebab Guy if he would grill your hot dog over the hot coals. He gets to use the grill he's so proud of for preparing kebabs and you get a nice, crispy grilled hot dog that's better than anything else.

Add the condiments of your choice.

Dropping Magnolia

The view from the back of the line

Meat Loaf once wrote:
Maybe I'm crazy, but it's crazy and it's true.

I'm standing in line, in the brisk chill of a New York Sunday in The Village, and I'm waiting for cupcakes.

Once upon a time, I was a jet-setting, thrill seeking, swashbuckling, Dragon Slayer - and now I'm out in the cold with hundreds of women enamored with the Sex In The City lifestyle. Somehow today, I've found myself waiting in line outside of the fabled Magnolia Bakery.

And I don't even like Magnolia's cupcakes...

Not to rain on anyone's parade but Magnolia's cupcakes are dry. Dry, dry, dry. Like you need milk, kinda dry. Dry and sweet. Super sweet. Like Krispy Kreme doughnuts are bland kind of sweet. All sweet and very dry. Not fun.

But since we were unable to pickup some samples of Magnolia last night, I thought I would hop down to the Village to pick some up.


Three Japanese Girls for BrowserMetrics to ogle.

The couple of times I had been to Magnolia in the past, it was a simple job of jump out of the cab, pop in, grab a few and pop back out. I might have spent a combined total of ten minutes getting cupcakes at Magnolia. Not this time.

This time there was a line. I had heard the stories of immense lines at Magnolia but never had experienced them. I had been lucky. This time, I would face the beast myself.

As I recall, I was the only male in line. Imagine: hundreds of women from around the world descending on this very spot, hungry for something sweet and delicious. Six months ago, I would have found myself in a TRE (Target Rich Environment)- but today, they're just in my way.

Oh, the times, they are a-changing...

I looked at the clock on my iPhone: 5:15pm. Good thing Avenue Q doesn't start until 7:30pm, I've got time. I can wait. I can wait until about 6:45pm before I start to jeopardize my ability to make it to the theatre on-time.

There's lots of chatter around me. In various languages. The odd one is the lady behind me who's speaking German, then Dutch, then back to English. She's rambling on about something or other in very animated phrases. I can't understand the languages but she's punctuating whatever she's saying in English. I'm guessing she's quite agitated.

The Japanese girls in front of me are here probably because Carrie and Miranda did something here. I can't understand them either but they giggle every 77 seconds. A group of friends behind the German-speaking lady at talking loudly about how their names are spelled: Kathryn with a "Y", while the other girl is Katherine, with an "I". Their friend is commenting just how perfect it will be to have Magnolia cupcakes while watching the Oscars tonight.

After forty-five minutes, I make it to the portal where a friendly staffer is doing traffic control. The bakery itself is very small and the crew of seemingly hundreds is busy churning out cupcakes and frosting at high-speed. They have to, otherwise hordes of angry and screaming women will descend upon them - and that is downright frightening.


A pair of cupcakes: chocolate and vanilla with the appropriate green icing. They didn't have gray icing. I asked.

He's letting only a few people in at a time, which I don't mind when I consider the chaos that would ensue if someone wasn't monitoring the door. I probably wouldn't make it out alive.

Finally, it's my turn. The cupcakes are placed right at the front window for all to see. A continuous stream of cupcake trays refills the larder almost as fast as the gaggle of women can deplete the supply. I take a two box that has cute little cutouts to hold the individual cupcakes. Clever.

There's an assortment of both chocolate and vanilla cupcake, but there's only one vanilla cupcake with green frosting left. As the girl in front of me ponders her selections, I cannot afford to allow her to choose the last green frosted cupcake. Bitch better not take my cupcake. Screw pleasantries, I'm grabbing that green frosted cupcake before she does and swoop my paws in for the kill.

Hmmm, green cupcake. A matching gray frosted cupcake would be perfection. I ask the workers if they have gray frosted cupcakes. They look at me as though I'm the weirdo guy in a sea of women. I feel as though the entire bakery, its workers and female patrons have stopped to stare at the freak asking dumb questions. Am I such a pervert to ask about gray frosted cupcakes?

Okay, okay, no gray cupcakes. I grab a chocolate cupcake. Crisis averted.

I look at my iPhone again: 6:13pm. I've been on this quest for about an hour. Luckily, I've got time to get uptown to the theatre. Problem is, I now have to care for this little box of cupcakes. As I walk across Bleeker towards Sixth Avenue, I feel victorious. I've achieved my quest for the day and will now take this box uptown to deliver it to my maiden.

Through traffic, pedestrians and into the subway I go. An NYC Cop eyes me suspiciously on the platform. A homeless guy eyes the box hungrily on the train and I must balance the box as I bound up the stairs back onto the street near Times Square. All along the way, I must remember not to put the box down and leave it somewhere by mistake. Somehow, I feel stressed about carrying this damn little box - I've gone through a lot of trouble to get it here.

Finally, she's here and I hand her the box. This little box that has traveled so far. I'm holding it for her, balancing it on top of another box when I stumble a bit and the little box from Magnolia tumbles through the air. And lands upside down. Crap.

I can't look. I know it's carnage. It could have tumbled and landed right side up, mitigating damage to the chocolate and green cupcakes inside. Instead, it's upside down where it landed with a thud. Carnage. I imagine the cupcakes splattered on the inside of the box top. I can't look. I've gone too far to look now. Oh, poor cupcakes how I have failed you!

As we sit in the darkness watching Avenue Q, Princeton sings:

"Moving boxes and others,
He's gonna find his purpose,

And I wonder what my purpose is.

I'm gonna find my purpose

Guess I know what's not my purpose...



Magnolia Bakery
401 Bleeker Street
New York, New York 10014
212-462-2572
www.magnoliabakery.com

Ipanema

Bife a Portuguesa

Years ago, Polly turned me on to this little joint in Manhattan's "Little Brazil" called Ipanema. While working in New York during the dot com boom, she used to be a regular here and introduced all of us to the delights of Brazilian cuisine that isn't delivered non-stop on large swords.

Since that time, Ipanema has become one of my "go to" places when in New York. I don't always get here when in the city, but I always want to here because it's just that good.


Vatapa

After a long day both on the road and at CoffeeFest, our crew was a bit hungry for something tasty, and since I don't know the finer diners of Jersey, into the city we go!

Like most cities in America, trying to walk into a good restaurant on a Friday night at 8pm is foolhardy. No reservations? Table for five? You're gonna wait - no matter how far you've trekked to eat there. But the food is that good.


Mariscada

After an hour (or two) at the bar, drinking a steady stream of caipirinhas, we were nicely toasted. The caipirinhas were excellent. Just the proper balance of sweet and salty and everything nice. If they weren't so pricey, you'd want to chug-a-lug them down with reckless abandon.

Accompanying our caipirinhas was a stream of chicken coquettes, grilled beef and fried chicken. Add a side of the extremely firey hot sauce and we're quite okay with the long wait for a table. And good thing too because not too long after we sat at the bar, with our name in the queue, they started turning people away. The food is that good.


Amaretto Cake

The problem with ordering multiple plates at the bar, along with non-stop caipirinhas, is that by the time you get to your table, you're kinda full. The flavors of Ipanema are plentiful and it's a complete shame not to share the dishes. At first, our server wanted to charge us five bucks per person to share plates - at a total cost of twenty-five dollars. I protested and told him that we just spent the past hour or so at the bar, spent $140 and that I wasn't going to pay the surcharge to share plates.

Even though the food is that good, had our server insisted, I would have walked.

But the food is that good.


Leche Flan

I ordered what I consider to be Ipanema's "Triumvirate" of dishes: Al's favorite Bife a Portuguesa - strip steak grilled and served in a garlic sauce topped with fried egg, Vatapa - a creamy concoction that's my personal favorite chock full of lobster and seafood, and Mariscada - a green sauce based seafood stew of sorts, complete with half a lobster in its shell.

Add on a bunch of rice, black beans and a plate of their delicious potatoes and it's Brazilian Heaven sans Carnivale.

Truth is, while the steak is delicious and the Mariscada fantastic, I could eat Vatapa all day long.


Dulce de Leche

For dessert, we ordered another trio of offerings: the amaretto cake (not bad), the leche flan (pretty decent but with lots of air bubbles), and the dulce de leche with some sort of cheese. The dulce de leche was amazing - sweet with just a hint of saltiness from the cheese.

Rebecca decided to give their espresso a try. No need to comment on restaurant espresso - especially since I've included a picture.


Espresso

After a while, the staff came by to take our money and "encourage" us to depart. A kinda nice, if odd, way to tell us to get the hell out. Whatever the case, I still love Ipanema because the food is that good.


Hanging with Jess, Troy, Lindsay and Rebecca

Ipanema Restaurant
13 West 46th Street
New York, New York 10036
212-730-5848
www.ipanemanyc.com

Zoom, Zoom, Zoom

Hurtling myself towards New York City at illegal speeds.

The little Sonoma is back on the road at high speed as I navigate my way back towards CoffeeFest New York. Of course, the title is a bit more than misleading since "CoffeeFest New York" is being held in Secaucus, New Jersey. Perhaps they're a bit geographically challenged at CoffeeFest or perhaps "New York" sounds better than the Sopranos-esque "New Jersey."

Whatever the case, I'm heading for yet another coffee trade show where friends and others will gather for a few days to talk coffee and compete against each other. It's also another regional barista competition that is sure to bore the crap out of even more bystanders who cannot decide if the competitions are marginally more exciting than watching grass grow.

With the iPod cranking out favored tunes, like "Temple of Love" by The Sisters of Mercy, and the Sonoma set to "cruise," I'm reminded of a trip very similar to this one back in 1987.

Back then we used to make regular trips to The Big Apple for nights of hanging out, looking cool, acting pretentious and generally wasting our time (but who can blame you when you're decked out in Commes des Garcons?). On the particular night in question, we were making another evening run to Manhattan's Tunnel nightclub in my trusty 1986 Volkswagen GTI.

Because of the expected night on the town, with Mike Eringis riding shotgun, I was pretending to sleep in the back seat while Joe Toro piloted the GTI at high speed. I say "pretending" because I was lying there scared as the little GTI shimmied and shook in ways that I wasn't used to. To say that we were pushing 100mph would not be an exaggeration, but I can't confirm those speeds because I was too busy keeping my eyes closed envisioning what it would be like to crash at 100 mph.

Would we be flung from the car as it cavorted, rolled and tumbled along the New Jersey Turnpike? What would it be like? How would it sound? Would we hit the jersey wall? Or shriek across the grassy strip off the side before tearing through the chain link fence and bouncing off some trees?

Already tonight I'm in an irritable mood because I did what I always seem to do: update my electronics right when I'm about to leave on a trip.

I don't know what I was thinking when I clicked on "yes" to allow iTunes to update the software on my iPhone. It was perfect. All my contacts were intact. All the messages in place, notes preserved and text messages archived. iTunes even kept two backups of my iPhone data on the hard disk. But I had to click on that damn button and the thing crashed my iPhone.

Two hours later, after multiple restarts and uploads, the iPhone was back and running but all data had been lost. iTunes even seemed to dump and destroy the two backups of the data. WTF?

Luckily, I was able to restore the contact info off another application and I left town two hours late with some semblance of data on the iPhone. Screw you, Apple Computer.

As I drove up the Turnpike in a disagreeable mood, my mind wandered back to that trip in 1987. What if I crashed tonight, twenty some years later? Would it be any different? The commute to New York City takes about three hours. Tonight I would do it in about the same time. But that night in 1987, we made the same trip in two hours and fifteen minutes. I don't know how fast we were going because I was too scared to watch, but it was definitely faster than the 75mph I was doing tonight.

The Last Hang

Lots of friends gather for a final tribute to John.

It is the end of an era, but also a time for new beginnings with old friends.

The Birthday Buffet

The Steam Table - right about now, those french fries are tempting me.

My nieces are back in town and since they're birthdays are so close to each other I told them I would take them out to lunch - wherever they wanted to go. Woodberry's brunch would be nice, but anything that appeals to 10 and 12 year old girls works for me as well. Applebees, Cheesecake, Five Guys, CPK - wherever, even if I wouldn't choose eating their myself.

One wants to go to IHOP, the other doesn't. They're not sure at first then settle on IHOP. We'll go after the 12:15pm mass.


Why I'm not a fan of buffet anything.

While they're at mass, I'm finishing some work on the computer (yes, I'm "The Bad Catholic") until my aunt calls (they took the girls to mass) to let me know they're finished and that they've now decided to go to the local Chinese buffet.

Something smells fishy to me, so I query my aunt: "Do they really want to go there or did you coerce them into the buffet?"


My perfect way of enjoying a "cone" of soft serve ice cream.

I always wonder about our fascination with buffets. They're usually not very well executed and most of the items are uninspired or downright sad. Hard, dried bits of char siu. Dried and shriveled dim sum. Sodium filled wonton soup with specks of pork in the wontons. But people still flock to them.

For eight bucks, you can eat all that you want. I don't want to eat all that I want. Hell, I shouldn't eat all that I want. Especially when the food is quite a bit short of delicious.


...in bed.

But it's their birthdays and I'm not here to bitch and moan. As long as they're enjoying themselves and having fun - that's all that matters. I can eat something tasty to my palate any day.

Eating After Goulash

Isaiah and Christine flash their street creds: "WK Style."

We're back at Woodberry Kitchen (as though we ever leave) because Chuck is in town from Vegas and wants to eat. As with any Saturday night, the place is jammed packed but Lucy has been kind enough to find us a spot to squeeze into. Of course, as soon as she sees how many friends we're trying to "squeeze" I receive a gentle and friendly admonishment to "spread out" a little.


Pan seared scallops

There's a madness of food and drink. Cocktails, bottles of wine, multiple plates but I can't eat anything. I'm still reeking of smoke from standing between the grill and the goulash fire earlier tonight. Plus a steady regimen of gnoshing on the aforementioned food, several drinks, miscellaneous cuts of bison and sausage, and a big bowl of tasty goulash and I don't know why I even ordered the chorizo flatbread - because I can't eat another bite.


Chuck of Westminister and Chuck of Las Vegas.

Luckily, everyone else is hungry and ready to go to town on the food and my flatbread. There's some sort of polenta dish that's too delicious for words but I could only taste a little spoonful. A lovely latte art capped cappuccino from Jade. More bottles of wine and the promise for more partying into the wee hours of the night.

And with the events of the last couple of days, I'm happy to be amongst friends doing things that dull my senses.


Chorizo flatbread


Ready for a night on the town. Separately.

It Was A Saturday Hang

Nelson removes the "closed" sign - finally.

In the three years that I knew John Gutierrez, his name was synonymous with two things: 1) Roya and 2) parties. And while sadness surrounds death, what better way to celebrate his life than with a party on the Guti Scale? Live music, food, lots of meat, lots of drink, a big fire and another mother pot of goulash for everyone to enjoy.


Baltimore Fire Department arrives to oversee the fire pit.

I find events like these to be rather difficult, so rather than just hanging out, I'd rather do something to occupy my time and mind. Before long, the raging fire of the goulash was to my back and the inferno of the grill was in front of me, with Spike and Nelson on the other side handling some of the meat. Bison skirt, Bison tri-tip, and both fresh pork and kielbasa sausage from Ostrowski's.

The fire was intense and before long I had stripped down to my t-shirt in the 40 degree weather. Not too long after that, with the heat of the fires threatening to scorch my skin, I donned my heavy canvas Carrhart jacket to sheild my skin from blistering. Then with food on the table, drinks in their hands and a hot bowl of goulash nearby, things were almost right in the world, but not quite.


Making the goulash.


A bowl of goulash in honor of John.