Waffle House

Lindsay and her Triple Hash Browns.

On the way back from New York and Philly, Lindsay and I decided to make a dinner stop. Cracker Barrel or Waffle House? Two good choices for classic American fare. Waffle House won out.

Grilled Bacon Cheesesteak Melt with hash and chili for me, triple hash and chocolate waffles for Lindsay. I was unable to complete my mission.


Grilled Bacon Texas Cheesesteak Plate, triple hash.


I was conquered.

Ooh Waffle House

Mitsuwa New Jersey

Almond Croissant - Japanese Style.

One of the problems of living in Baltimore is the lack of Japanese markets and every time I drive to New York I always want to hit Mitsuwa Marketplace to stock up on items. And every time we've gone, I've always gotten sidetracked. The last time we made a serious attempt to visit, we arrived just after they had closed at 9pm last September. Heartbreaking.

Lindsay and I finally made it to Mitsuwa before heading south where I found a wondrous bounty of all things Japanese. A chopstick rest here, a charcoal clay grill there, some Kirin cold tea, beautiful nori, furikake, nori-wrapped arare and, my favorite: the Japanese bakery.

There's something beautifully luscious about the Japanese version of white bread. It's fluffy and delicate while being just dense enough to offer just the right bounce on the bite. Give it a nice brown toast and it's incredible. Perfect for butter while still remaining fluffy on the inside.

I first discovered this wondrous bread at the St. Germaine Bakery in Honolulu and I've sought it out wherever I've lived and traveled. Sadly, I haven't lived near a Japanese bakery in years and I've missed it dearly. How I wish that someone would teach me their Nihon-jin secret.


The "B" Shoyu Ramen Combination at Santoka.

Inside Mitsuwa is a food court with a very familiar-looking ramen joint called Santoka. A quick call to Al in Southern California reveals that the ramen place in the Hawthorne Mitsuwa is called Santouka - coincidence or chain? I'm not quite sure.

The ramen tastes similar and I order the "B" combination of shoyu ramen with char siu, a side of hard boiled egg and ikuradon, a bowl of rice topped with salmon roe. It's a solid lunch for the road and quite delicious. After some good food and discussion we're back on the road heading for home.

God Bless Japanese Bakeries

Kawaii To Death

Les Halles

Alex Brown of Counter Culture and Lindsay ponder their choices.

It's getting late after La Marzocco Out of the Box and I'm running out of places to dine. Fatty Crab won't answer their phone and there doesn't seem to be a decent place to eat in the Meatpacking District since Florent closed.

As with any trip to New York, I've got Les Halles on the mind. Ever since their Washington DC outpost closed, I've been lost and without a regular old brasserie to dine. So many places want to fancy it up or give it an "American" twist. How about a simple onglet and excellent fries? Maybe a little foie gras on the side?


Kimmy and Aaron Ultimo of Ultimo Coffee do the same.

Luckily, Les Halles always delivers and I'm planning a cross town excursion with Team Spro. The only problem is that it's raining and a real pain in the butt to hail a cab in the rain. After waiting half an hour, Kimmy puts it to the metal and we're off to the subway, switching trains and walking across blocks and up and down stairs in the rain and humidity. As we emerge from the ground right next to the entrance of Les Halles, I'm soaked.

Joining us tonight is Kent Bakke of La Marzocco, Aaron Ultimo - The Coffee Lord of Philadelphia, Alex Brown of Counter Culture and Vince Fedele, the developer of the much touted Extract Mojo - along with usual suspects Lindsay and Kimmy.


Foie Gras Poele aux Pommes - sauteed with apple, walnuts & calvado.

The food is never too esoteric at Les Halles, and that's just the way I like it. Give me a lobe of foie gras sauteed with some kind of fruit, a grilled chunk of hanger steak, a pile of crispy fries and a bowl of coconut ice cream, and I'm absolutely thrilled.

Everyone else had a range of plates from stuffed ravioli to sausage and more steak. A nice way to cap off a coffee visit to the city.


Vince Fedele of Extract Mojo fame with La Marzocco's Kent Bakke.


Onglet aux Poive - off menu.


Our wine - Mas du Roches, Cote du Rhone


My favorite: coconut glaces.

Death Match

Lindsay, Kimmy, Wiggles and Devlin listen to the Death Match rules.



Death Match.

Even the words conjure fear in the hearts of gladiators.

Tonight is the La Marzocco Hand Brew Death Match pitting baristas against each other in a mano y mano fight to the death for prizes. The person with the highest scores for presentation, taste and Extract Mojo scores wins.




A modicum of pilfering accompanies any coffee event.




Almost as many brew methods as Spro Hampden. Almost.



Koach Kimmy and Devlin in a pre-Death Match warm up.



I don't want to know and didn't want to ask.


Lindsay working the Eva Solo.


Counter Culture's Phil Proteau flexing his chops.



Kimmy preps her station.


Almost ready.


A certain amount of concentration and meditation is required for brewing Chemex.


Vince Fedele running the Extract Mojo.


Devlin in perfect Aeropress form.



Mike, Vince and Mike representing Hotel California Tequila.


Spro Girls Steal La Marzocco Banner.

Riding In Cabs With Baristas

Kuidouraku Ramen

La Marzocco Out of the Box

Lindsay, Devlin, Kimmy and Phil work out the kinks on the new Strada.


Back (or front?) panel.


Grouphead pressure gauge on the manual Strada.

We're in New York City for the La Marzocco Out of the Box event showcasing the up-coming Strada. Already I know we're going to buy one. We end up parking next to Chelsea Market, perusing the shops and find the venue. As we stop in to say hello, Mike Lanz and Mike Delgado are encouraging us to jump on the machine and have a go. A quick call later to Devlin and Kimmy and our crew is assembled to play around a bit.

What was meant to be a five minute pit stop on the way to do a cafe crawl turns into an hours long session checking out the machines. I'm grateful because it's quite difficult to get any serious facetime with a machine in a trade show or group setting - and Kimmy seems to be putting the Strada through it's paces.


A cool modded Buono kettle. Seems like I'm the only one who thought it was cool.

Pressure profiling, the possibilities seem immense. So much so that I don't spend much time on the machine because I think that one needs to spend days/weeks of serious focus with the machine in order to discover its possibilities. Instead of trying to evaluate the machine with unknown coffees on different grinders and in a crazy environment, I've committed to buying one, bringing it into Spro and really have a go with the Strada.

While some people have encouraged me to go for the manual model, I think the true potential lies in the electronic version. On that machine, we can "record" the pressure profile and/or manipulate it via computer, save it, download and dump the profile to other groupheads or other machines.

And while I'm certain that our baristas are capable of reproducing a pressure curve manually, I don't want them to do that on a daily basis. A line barista needs to focus on getting the drinks out speedily, efficiently and consistently. By utilizing the programmability of the Strada, our baristas can then multi-task while preparing the drinks - like getting the milk staged, pre-heating the cup, grinding the coffee, wiping the station, and the myriad of other tasks that the professional barista must handle on a minute-by-minute basis.


Industry types watch Kimmy with grand expectations.


The Laser-like Focus.


Pedal this bike and control the espresso machine pressure.

No "Thank You" Ninth Street

Third Wave baristas everywhere are up in arms about the comments La Colombe's Todd Carmichael wrote in Esquire magazine. And while Carmichael's claim to make good coffee might be hollow, is he wrong about Third Wave barista attitudes?

Our stop at Ninth Street Espresso yielded us surly female baristas who choose to toss out simple courtesies such as "thank you."

At least the barista pulling our shots was a hair more courteous than the one at the register.

The Lobster Place

Jacques Torres

This Lid Makes Us Grumpy

We're in New York City for the La Marzocco Out of the Box event and found our way to the Cafe Grumpy in Chelsea where they have chosen lids with a wide lip that are uncomfortable for drinking.

Why? It's levels of finesse that are missing in the coffee industry.

Sniffing The Cap

A nice line-up: Susanna Balbo, Saint Cosme, Charbonniere and Beaucastel.

This evening my father asked me about wines. He was looking for suitable wines for entertaining his friends this Saturday and wanted to know which wines he could use. Hmmmm...

That's when he made the declaration that he only wanted to drink inexpensive wines - like under ten dollar wines. Hmmmm....

Problem is, I don't quite recall how much that bottle of Languedoc was, or that South African with the funny bacon character. Nor do I recall how much that Nero d'Avola from Italy cost, or even that sensuous Cote du Rhone. I just buy them, I don't think too much about what they cost.

That's not to say that my cellar is filled with expensive wines, they most certainly are not. However, I tend to buy what I like and not worry too much about the price. Thirty bucks isn't "too expensive" for a wine, and I do start to balk when the prices cross the $50 mark - even though I've been caught spending a bit more than that for a bottle of something luscious.

Truth is, all those "special" wines, like those bottles of 1976 Auslesen, are hidden in the wine cellar to age in quiet cool humidity. They're ensconced in darkness surrounded by cool moist air until the day comes when they can be opened in victorious celebration.

My dad is worried about taking the "wrong bottle" meaning the bottle which costs "too much." But really, none of these bottles at hand cost "too much" but rather, their cost is commensurate with their enjoyability. "Take whatever you want," I tell him. There's no wine here that cannot be replaced.

As we're perusing the collection, I suddenly feel very much like James Carpenter. I'm animated and enthusiastic about each wine as I describe my experiences with them. With some I'm giddy with delight. Others I want to lick the bottle but only go so far as to sniff the foil cap covering the cork - as though I can savor the wines aromas. My dad has that look of restrained disdain on his face as I put the bottle back down.

"What do you have that's only ten bucks?"

In the end, I set aside a nice Tempranillo and a classic Chianti, along with a couple of French whites for him and his friends to enjoy.

Visiting The Bread Baker

Paper Tickets - Huh???

Paper tickets from RailEurope.com.

This is just silly.

I finally received our train tickets for Europe and they're a throwback to yesteryear. Paper tickets. In ticket booklets. What the hell am I going to do with these???

After years of flying around the world, suddenly I'm scared. These are tickets like we used to use years ago. Lose them and you're screwed. I've gotten so used to paperless e-ticketing that I no longer think about "bringing my tickets" with me. Gone are the days worrying about leaving your tickets on the desk.

Gone, that is, until you decide to take the train in Europe.

RailEurope does not currently offer ticketless travel. One must be issued and carry paper tickets with them for validation at the stations and to use in the railcars. Now I must concern and worry myself over not misplacing them for the next two and a half weeks until we leave, and then I must not lose them in the midst of traveling.

The world of electronic travel means that nowadays, I hardly even print itineraries out anymore. Sent electronically? I got the iPhone, just in case. Need a reservation number? I can pull it up on the phone and show it to the clerk. I barely even think about traveling or keeping track of documents. Soon, I'll have the passport chip embedded under my skin so I can simply sleep on a cot while being hand-carried through immigration.

So much for travel in two thousand ten...

83 Market Report

Two Tons

The Path To Nowhere

In our grading, we've excavated a mysterious brick walkway that dead ends into nowhere. A long ago forgotten detail covered under two inches of dirt for a generation. The brick is old, the path is old and it looks tre cool. I'm struck with images of being rich, white and languishing in the garden sipping sweet iced tea in the penalizing summer heat while a cadre of white-jacketed servants attend to my needs. Very Martha Stewart.

Of course, the reality is that I'm sweating like a pig in the agonizing heat, coated in grime, back muscles aching from the constant shoveling, I'm drinking marginally cold water in a days old styrofoam cup from Chick-Fil-A, fielding phone calls on an iPhone whose touch screen doesn't work when it's coated in hot sweat, and it seems like everyone and their mother wants me in 37 different directions.

Oh, to be rich and white...

Spro Website, Finally.

Not so cheesy anymore, Kimmy.

Cheesy.

Or something along that line. Maybe amateurish was the word.

It was one of the first comments Kimmy said to me about Spro Coffee's website back in October.

First thought that came to mind: "Fired."

Second thought that came to mind: She's right.

For a long time, the Spro website has been lacking. It was unimaginative. Uninspired. Bored. That site had been up for a couple of years and was looking tired and old. Fuddy-duddy. It needed help - bad. But really, there's just too much going on for me to give it the attention it deserved and write another site.

But finally, I got off my butt and coded a redesign in one evening. Gone are the multiple pages. Gone are the outdated photos. Gone are the garish colors. In their place is a site that I think is clean and simple. Just a bit of information you need to know about Spro and nothing more.

Have a look and tell me what you think. Maybe even Kimmy will like it...

Full Immersion

Losing My Language

Richard beating it until it's dead.

Once upon a time I could speak the language of my people. Sort of.

Years ago, when my trips away were measured in quarters rather than weeks, I used to spend months at a time in Manila living The Good Life. Fast living, fast women, not too fast cars and the necessity to actually speak the language in order to work the bars and clubs.

Sadly, it's been years since I've been to Manila and lived that life. Which also means that my ability to speak the language has waned along with my extended stays at home in Maryland.

I relate this because I recently asked Richard to come and do some work for me and his Tagalog is better than his English, which means that I've been struggling to speak the language of my people once again in order to communicate my wishes. The difficult part has been remembering the vocabulary and not mixing it too much with the crazy language I pretend that is Spanish. It's tubig instead of agua, and bumalik ako instead of yo regreso, something that I'm still struggling to translate instead of "beat it until it's dead!!!"

In the end, there's a lot of English, a modicum of Tagalog, a sneaking bit of Spanish and TONS of hand gestures, but the work is getting done.

Sort of.

Nori Wrapped Arare

The irony of my daily existence is that I work all day but seem to never get much done. Today I'm doing my thing, getting things in order and decide to swing by and visit some friends. We chat, we laugh, we dance, we sing. Then the wine rep stops by for a sampling of new wines. I'm looped into the tasting (I would be lying if I told you I was looped in reluctantly) and we start tasting.

From there it's the usual litany of pouring, swirling, looking for "legs" and sloshing moderate to expensive wines in the mouth. I've never done a "real" wine tasting before and I'm watching my friend do his thing and I notice some curiosities. In some ways, wine tasting is like coffee cupping. There are rituals and styles, and I'm watching my friend execute his. I wonder if there's a particular method that I'm not employing and missing out on some aspect of the wines. The sloshing in the mouth is particularly long. The method of expectorating is stylish. I'm the neophyte and I think it shows.

It reminded me of the 2007 Taste of Harvest cupping in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia when I cupped 75 coffees alongside some truly talented experts in our industry. Long rows of coffees waiting for serious scrutiny by some of the top buyers in the world and here I am trying to keep up. I really didn't know what I was doing at the time and I don't really know what I'm doing today.

The only thing that separates me of today from the me of 2007 is that my taste buds are more experienced and I'm tasting and experiencing interesting nuances in the wines. But the one that's most striking is the one from Sierra Madre Vineyards. In the nose I'm immediately reminded of nori-wrapped arare crackers. I'm thrown off a bit by the smell. It's weird. And mildly disconcerting. Wine that smells like rice crackers wrapped in seaweed. Fantastic.

Truth is, I don't know if I like it, but I do know that I'm fascinated by the smell and take a taste. Nori Wrapped Arare Crackers. It's amazing how this wine tastes like that too. What is going on in California? Are they dumping bags of mochi crunch into their wine casks?

The progression continues as we sample twelve wines. For the most part I've expectorated (in a decidedly un-stylish way) all the wine I've tasted, until the last one. The Prisoner is a celebrated wine that's big, fruity and large. I drink it greedily. It's good, but fleeting. And I've got to get back to work. At least the drive back will be pleasant.