Time To Get Merrie

In the world of hula, this is the biggest weekend of the year. The Merrie Monarch Festival in Hilo culminates in a three-day competition that pits the best hula halau in the world in a winner takes all format. While to win the Merrie Monarch is the Holy Grail of Hula, just the chance to perform in the competition is every dancers' dream.

I competed with my halau, Na 'Opio 'O Ko'olau in the 1992 and 1993 Merrie Monarch Festivals. The last time I went was in 1998. I'd much rather be there this weekend than sitting here in Timonium.

Coffee and a Cigarette

Before I begin this blog entry, I just want to say "Thank You" to the outpouring of support and encouragement from industry peers, customers and spectators. The level of enthusiasm shown for the drink and to me is deeply appreciated and very humbling. Thank you for the kindness.

The only reason worth citing for the expense of travelling the world to compete is the friendship and camaraderie. Photos by Alistair Durie.

Last week I was in Charlotte, North Carolina where I competed in the 2006 United States Barista Championship held in conjunction with the Specialty Coffee Association of America Annual Conference & Exhbition, a veritable orgy of all things coffee from the mundane and lame to the hip and happening. Of course, I tried to associate myself as much as possible with the hip and happening.

This year's USBC was a tough one. Absolutely the best baristas in America battling it out and beating each other over the head. It was rough. It was tough. It was the meanest national competition yet.

But, in the end, I lost.

Oh well, no use crying over spilled milk.

I had my literal fifteen minutes of fame during the competition and I'm honored by the tremendous response to the performance and the signature drink. Because of this outpouring of love, I wanted to share with everyone my thoughts behind the performance, the history and the actual recipe for the signature drink.

First of all, a confession: the actual name of the signature drink was supposed to be "Coffee and a Cigarette" but while I was unpacking my gear I realized that I had lost my pack of DuMarier cigarettes and I was without my cigarette prop. Luckily, I had a bundle of JR Limited Edition Torpedo cigars and decided to substitute a cigar for the pack of cigs and hence the new name: "Coffee and a Cigar", which is actually a more accurate name for the drink based on its' ingredients.


The History
The genesis of the drink started from my early days smoking cigars in 1996 during my afternoon smoke sessions at the now defunct Rolling Road Tobacco Warehouse in Lutherville, Maryland. Most afternoons from 3p to 6p you would find myself and a gaggle of regulars puffing away on big cigars. The proprietor of this shop loved coffee and served drip brew coffee from White House Coffee in New York. Back then (and for most of my life) I hated coffee. It was this nasty, bitter drink that was a poor substitute for the coca-laden Coca-Cola. But coffee was the only beverage available and I was usually too lazy to walk next door to the deli and buy a Coke. So, I would take whatever coffee (flavored or regular, it didn't matter), pump it into a 16z cup, add six packs of sugar, a large pour of cream and that would be my smoking companion for the next two hours.

I really don't know if White House was a quality cup, but many years later when another friend opened a shop serving S&D Coffee, I really noticed that the S&D was crap compared to White House.

For at least four years, this is how I drank coffee. As an uneasy and choiceless companion to my tasty cigars. And while it was sugar and cream laden coffee, it set the stage for the appreciation I have for coffee today and the complimentary cigar flavors. In many ways, it was natural that we would come to making a tobacco based coffee drink.


Competition Theory
To be quite frank and honest, I think the competitions are incredibly boring and uninspired. I mean really, how interesting is it watching some schmoe quietly and politely serving four other people? I usually find myself turning comatose. My past experience has been so poor that I'm hesitant to watch any barista competition today. As a spectator, I want to be inspired, informed and entertained, with "entertained" being the key word here.

I find it entirely droll to listen to some barista explain why he likes to adjust the grind so that he can pull a better shot. Or that the doser lever needs to be pulled to evacuate grinds from the doser hopper and into the portafilter. Say that one more time and I'm going to bury you in cardamom - which seemed to be the favorite ingredient of the 2005-2006 Competition Season.

Because of this, I want to entertain the audience. I want them to stick around and watch. I don't want them falling asleep or wandering over to the S&D booth for a sample of their hazelnut coffee. During the 2004 NWRBC I tried a very audience-centric approach that focused alot of attention on the audience. It was a hit with the audience. And I got hit with points from the judges. Losing points is not the way to win.

And that's the bottom line, we're here to win. While we may talk about friendship, camaraderie and community, each of us secretly (some not so secretly) wants to win. It's much more fun to talk about community when you've got the big trophy and sitting in Virgin-Atlantic's Upper Class sipping mimosas on your way to the World Barista Championship. The rest of us talk of camaraderie while flying in steerage, or worse yet, staying at home pretending to be hip and On The Scene.

But I don't allow winning be the all-consuming thing. It has to be fun and entertaining. And for me, there needs to be a balance between properly attending to your customers (the judges) while entertaining and inspiring the audience.

Otherwise, you're just another stiff in a suit flying across the Atlantic in your Upper Class Suite with mimosa juice dribbling down the bedsheets.

The Semi-Finalists. Note who's on the Big Screen and its' foreshadowing of Champions to come. Photo by Alistair Durie.

Service Theory
For the past couple of years, everyone involved with the barista competitions has heard the term "Five Star Service" branded about. Just what is this elusive "Five Star Service"? As far as I know, "Five Star" is the brand name of a multi-subject notebook sold by the Mead Corporation and not some actual measure of food service. Even the U.S. Military no longer has a Five Star General. And the most respected and worshipped rating in the restaurant business, the Guide Michelin, only issues a maximum of three stars. Four stars are given out, of course, by lesser publications.

Just for the record, my shop holds Three and a Half Stars for Food and Service from The Baltimore Sun. I surmise that I'm the only barista in the specialty coffee industry that actually holds a star rating in the United States. Does this mean I "know" service? No, that would be absurd. I'm just a guy trying to present an experience to our customers. An experience that is what it is, and one that is very different than what you would experience at the top restaurant in the nation.

Even if we moved away from the stars and looked to the top levels of restaurant service in the United States, I'm afraid that we (as a collective barista competition society) fail miserably. Most baristas (and judges) have never eaten at a top-tier restaurant to experience true top level service and probably wouldn't know top level service if it bit them in the butt. How can we create or judge an experience no one understands? It's really beyond me.

Visit The French Laundry, Charlie Trotter's or Citronelle and the level of service is impeccable. Hell, just go to Gary Danko or even Bouchon and the service is incredibly attentive and sharp. None of this "Hey Barry, good to see you" kind of colloquial, "I'm your friend" banter. None of this placing the serving tray on the table nonsense. None of this talking to you while you're looking at my back and I'm too busy making something to address you properly bullshit. I didn't experience my server at Gary Danko telling me some fancy about the menu while he walked back to the wait station to pick up the water pitcher.

But yet, we see it all the time. Competition baristas chatting incessantly about their blend, or how their cappuccino is "keeping it real" because it follows the "Rule of Thirds." I mean really, who cares? I know that if I was your customer, I'd want you to Shut The Fuck Up about that shit. Yes, be friendly. Be welcoming. Serve me with deference. Serve me with respect. But stop your constant yapping because I'm tuning you out like I do to the external noise while I'm trying to go to bed when staying in New York City. Jibber jabber, jibber jabber - please take your tray off my table, and while we may be friends who go out and get trashed during trade shows, I'm judging you today and because of that fact alone, I deserve greater respect and should be given such. Calling me by my first name is just improper and too casual for this professional setting.

Somehow, I finally made it onto the Big Screen. Photo by Alistair Durie.

The Experience
Many times when I watch a performance, I wonder: "Just what is this barista thinking?" "What kind of experience is she producing?" To me, a competition performance is just that: a performance. It should be thought out. I sit around thinking about the experience I'm trying to create and craft during my fifteen minutes. I want it to be fun. I want it to be informative. I want it to be memorable.

For the 2006 USBC, I took a divergence. The previous two years I focused on the origins of my company: Hawaii, by crafting drinks and experience that focused on the islands. Of course, I also lost those two competitions but it did result in one of the more popular coffee drinks on the Jay's Shave Ice menu: the Haupia Macchiato. For this year, I wanted something different. Moving away from the Hawaiian focus, I toyed with the idea of focusing on my ancestral homeland: The Philippines. Thoughts of flying there to seek out the best of the Barako Coffee (Coffea Liberica) and using that as part of the espresso blend danced in my mind, but the trip never materialized and I decided to pursue another route.

For me, the performance is about manipulation and pressing emotional buttons. I'm trying to find a way to touch on the memories of the judges and the audience and each element is designed to do just that. I want it to be slightly whimsical, but not ironic. That's why The Buddy Christ of "Dogma" and "Jay and Silent Bob" fame sat on top of the espresso machine. It's a small and almost unnoticeable detail that might play in the subconscious if it goes unnoticed, but it might generate positive and happy memories when noticed.

Of course, the signature drink served in a bright red plastic ashtray straight out of your high school pizza shop that has something to do with smoking and drinking coffee is designed to play on your memories, but so too is the music. The soundtrack has musical elements that play on the 20/30 something judge/audience member, bringing them back to their youth and what were, hopefully, happy times.


The Music
Choosing the music is no small detail. In my mind, it's an essential element that demands serious thought because it sets the mood for the presentation. My intention was to start off with something peppy and upbeat to kick it off, then transition into something mellow during the middle (mainly because it gets tiring and fatiguing to the audience to keep it continuously uptempo) and then back to something catchy to round it out. Here's the playlist from the performance:

Conga (12" instrumental) - Miami Sound Machine
Lovers Fly North - John Williams - Superman II Soundtrack
Forgiven - Bear McCreary - Battlestar Galactica Soundtrack
January Rain - David Gray - Serendipity Soundtrack
Main Title (UK) - Bear McCreary - Battlestar Galactica
Mortal Kombat - Utah Saints - Mortal Kombat Soundtrack
The Bird - Morris Day & The Time

Again, I'm trying to play on memories with some of the tracks. "Conga" reaches back to the mid-1980s and was really included because I once overheard Marcus Boni remark while another competitor played Miami Sound Machine that if he could dance, he would have (of course, he didn't). "Lovers Fly North" was a quick, 40-sec piece that places Superman and Lois Lane flying through the sky and moved us from the up-tempo to a slower pace for the cappuccino stretch of pieces from Battlestar Galactica and Serendipity. I chose the Battlestar Galactica Main Theme because it started off with a slow and haunting melody that crescendoes with taiko drums and a perfect build-up to the driving Mortal Kombat Theme - and there's almost no one in their 20/30s that isn't familiar with that theme. "The Bird" by The Time rounded out the performance as a fun ending that hopefully reminded people of their experience watching "Purple Rain."

Finishing touches on the sig drink. Photo by Dismas Smith.

The Service
But an experience is more than just the music. It's the person behind the counter. It's the barista. And what I try to focus on is the interaction with the customer (the judges). My approach is very relaxed (bordering on casual) and friendly, but I'm still here to serve. Which is why, if you listen closely, I always address the judges formally. Not by "mister" but rather "judge." For example, if I'm speaking directly to Spencer Turer, it's always "Judge Turer". It's not the stiff "Mister Turer" and it certainly isn't the casual "Spence", but it does maintain respect while acknowledging the honorific.

The tray never touches the table - ever. That's just a faux pas that I think should result in immediate disqualification. What reason is there to place your dirty tray bottom on your clean table? None. End of discussion. Need to set the tray down? Bring a tray caddy.

And I've stopped yapping while doing everything else under the sun. If I'm going to speak to the judges about something, I'm going to address them properly. This means I'm going to face them and give them my attention. Sure, I might have to refill their glasses or set the table (another peeve), but I'm not going to turn my back to them and make a drink while still blabbering on and on and on.

I look at it this way- if we were in a real restaurant, I would be in the kitchen preparing something, or at least removed from the dining room. Am I really going to yell across the restaurant to my table to describe how much cardamom I'm putting in their drink? Of course not. That would be dumb.

Another aspect of service I've incorporated follows the "Shut The Fuck Up" theory. After serving the drinks and closing my mouth, I'll stand back, allowing the judges to savor the drinks, compose their thoughts and mark their scores. This quiet time allows me to attend to my mise en place while the Head Judge and Runners do their thing. Once things are tidy and the judges still need more time, I'll quietly wait for them. Yes, time is burning, but that's not a concern I'm willing to transfer to my guests (judges). They're not under a time constraint, I am. Time is not their concern and they should not feel rushed.

Another reason to stop and wait is Power. During these fifteen minutes, this is my space and I own it. You are my guests and are under my control and environment. I control the situation and determine the order and pace of drinks. Control is confidence. And confidence instills trust in my guests. Trust that they will be served in an appropriate manner. Trust that they will receive tasty beverages. And trust that they are in the hands of a capable professional.

It is what service is all about.

The Man Behind The Curtain. Paul Garmirian.

The Cigar
For the past couple of years, only one cigar has sufficed: the Paul Garmirian Belicoso Maduro. It's sweet. It's lush. It's been 98% perfect over the past three years. If there's one cigar that I could smoke until the End of Days, this is the one. Problem is that it costs $12.55 each! Dammit.

Paul Garmirian, or "PG" as he's known, is a very interesting cigar manufacturer based in McLean, Virginia. He's interesting, educated and well-travelled. He's got some great stories about his life - from rubbing with politicos to serenading his wife in a rowboat on the Potomac. Sometimes you think he's just bullshitting you but you don't care because the story is just too enjoyable to worry about fact-checking.

But the man, along with Hendrick Kelner and the Davidoff factory in the Dominican Republic, makes some of the best damn cigars on Mother Earth.

I stop into the PG Boutique every other month or so just to see what's going on and grab a couple of Belicoso Maduro cigars to savor until the next visit. On my most recent trip a couple weeks ago, PG asks me if I knew about the event that day - the day they were releasing the 15th Anniversary Cigar and that it was great timing. I don't know if it really was the release day, but I didn't care. When you're visiting PG "It's all good".

When it comes to PG, there's always a ton of hyperbole: "It's like a mid-1990s Cuban" or "It hasn't been this good since the Cubans of the 1950s". Well, I wasn't around before the fall of Batista so I can't comment on the latter, but I did smoke a mid-90s Sancho Panza Corona Gigante in 1995 that absolutely floored me (after a large steak dinner no less), so those were large promises indeed.

I grabbed a couple of my fave belicoso maduros, three 15th Anniv Corona Extras and a 15th Anniv BomBon - a very small and short cigar. I decided to smoke the BomBon on the journey from McLean down to Murky Coffee in Arlington to record another Portafilter.net Podcast.

That tiny cigar hit me like a ton of bricks. Power, strength, heavy spice and an abundance of flavor. Just pure energy. And this was the teeny-tiny version. I like a strong cigar, but I have to admit, this one was borderline for me.

During the Mid-Atlantic Regionals, some of the judges commented that they had difficulty discerning the tobacco flavor in the drink. For that round, I used an el-cheapo Savoy cigar. But after reading the judges comments, I knew I needed a cigar with stronger flavor to punch through the cream. I toyed around with the idea of using a La Gloria Cubana Serie R Maduro, but I never liked the ashy character of that cigar.

However, one taste of the PG 15th Anniversary and I knew this was the cigar for the job. I'm told by P.G. that the wrapper is eight-year old Nicaraguan wrapper that came from the Placensia factory and has been in storage with Davidoff for six years. It's an exquisite wrapper encasing a wonderful blend of Dominican filler and binder leaves that makes for a strong and spicy cigar. Tobacco that I now knew would stand up to the sweet cream and pair wonderfully with the sweet and chocolate notes of the Hines Espresso.

Colonel Sanders sports a Texan hat at the original Hines Public Market Coffee. Photo by Alistair Durie.

Hines Public Market Coffee
It should go without saying that I would be a lost, floundering coffeeshop owner offering six different flavored drip coffees and 12 second espresso shots if it weren't for the influence of John Sanders of Hines Public Market Coffee, now of Vancouver, British Columbia. The man is a coffee powerhouse. Knowledgeable, experienced and more than willing to mentor and share with a shave ice hack like me from the East Coast. I met Sanders, John Hornall and Bronwen Serna during NASCORE 2003 when I was just starting out. Sanders took some time to chat with me about coffee and that's how things got started. A few months later, I started on my USBC Tour travelling to Chapel HIll, NC for the SouthEast Regional Barista Championship, then to the Latte Art Competition in Washington, DC, to the MidWest Regionals in Kansas City, and by the Atlanta USBC, a bond had formed and Hines supplied me with coffee and knowledge helping me to finish 17th that year.

Many operators have a good relationship with their roasters. I'm honored to say that I have a great friendship with mine. I know some operators who merely tolerate their espresso blend. We're 100% enthusiastic about our coffee. Sweetness, chocolate, hints of nut. I think it's the best damn espresso blend in the industry today.

And it's a central element in the barista presentation. One thing I'm always proud about is that the blend we use in competition would be the same blend we use in the shop. Of course, the blend is tweaked on an on-going basis to compensate for a variety of things, but there's nothing inherently different about the shop blend and the competition blend.

And this week's blend was so delicious. I just wish I was a better barista to accurately deliver the flavors 100% of the time. Using the Rodo Munho bean from Brazil this weeks' blend just had tons of body, sweet and chocolate tones that I think complimented the vanilla and tobacco in the signature drink immensely. Other elements to the blend included beans from Papua New Guinea and Nicaragua - an interesting counterpoint to the Nicaraguan wrapper leaf.

An unidentified peasant grovels at Coach Bronwen's feet. Photo by Tonx.

The Drink
Now that I've written a veritable book, I'll tell you more about the signature drink. Like I said before, this drink is ten years in the making and a culmination of everything I know about food, cigars and coffee - and those of you who know me know I've eaten a lot of food, smoked a ton of cigars and tasted a bit of coffee over the past ten years. A normal person who ate smoke and drank this much would be fat...

Oh wait, I am!

The base of this drink really is about inspiration. Tony Bourdain is right when he says that The French Laundry Cookbook is the closest thing to Food Porn. It really is a wonderful tome that anyone serious about food should own. I refer to it regularly for inspiration or for tomorrow's dinner (suggestion: the poached lobster is so simple to prepare).

Before Coffee and a Cigarette, this was actually The Spro Shake - my 2005 USBC signature drink. A semi-frozen vanilla cream foam with espresso. That drink was inspired by Thomas Keller's "Coffee and a Doughnut" dessert and I used it again this year as the base for Coffee and a Cigarette. The difference was that this time I infused the cream with cigar tobacco.

The Legend: Jon Lewis. Intense concentration at the 2006 USBC. Photo by Mark Prince.

Like I said, this drink is about inspiration. And while I've been wanting to explore further avenues of coffee for the past couple of years, the person who really paved the way is Jon Lewis, that rascally barista from Idaho with his custom-built hops grinder, water fountain and window panes as serving trays. I've gushed and blogged about him before so I'll spare you, gentle reader, from another gush. But suffice to say that the man operates on a different level than the rest of us and I'm a hack compared to Mr. Lewis.

While I'd love to tell you that this drink came solely from my mind based on my world travels and years of experience, I must be honest. I stole the idea from Thomas Keller (again). Over a year ago, I was reading Anthony Bourdain's accounting of his visit to The French Laundry in his book "A Cook's Tour". It's a great read but the highlight was... Oh hell, I'll let Tony tell you:

"There is no smoking at The French Laundry - maybe the only place on earth I don't mind refraining. But to be honest, by course number five I was feeling a slight need. To my embarassment and delight, they had anticipated this in the kitchen. When the next courses arrived, mine was called 'coffee and a cigarette': Marlboro-infused coffee custard (with foie gras)."

So there it is. I stole the idea. From Thomas Keller. My cappuccinos are better than his but I'm stealing his ideas. Oh well.

That said, here's the actual recipe I used so that you can make it at home. If you decide to use this in your shops and add it to your menu, I would appreciate it if you would call it the proper name and treat me out to a nice meal the next time you see me. And if it makes you alot of money, I prefer ribeye steaks, medium-rare. If it makes you a TON of money, a meal at The French Laundry is always appreciated.

Thanks to Tonx for sharing this image.

Coffee and a Cigarette - Approximate Yield: 20 servings

Ingredients
2 large eggs, separated
3 large egg yolks
3/4 cup sugar
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract (or 2 vanilla beans, scraped)
1/2 cup tobacco infused heavy cream

Procedure
To make the infusion, take one cigar, slice open and soak in heavy cream overnight.

Place egg yolks and 1/4 cup plus 2 tablespoons of sugar into mixer bowl with whisk attachment. Add vanilla extract. Whip for 12 minutes medium speed or until mixture has lightened and tripled in volume.

Transfer mixture to a bowl placed in a larger bowl of ice water to maintain consistency.

In separate bowl, whip infused heavy cream with 2 tablespoons of sugar until it holds its' shape when the whisk is lifted.

Fold whipped cream into yolk mixture and return to bowl with ice water.

Whip egg whites in mixer bowl until frothy. During whipping, add remaining 3 tablespoons of sugar and while egg whites until they hold soft peaks - do not over whip.

Fold beaten egg whites into egg yolk & cream mixture until completely combined.

Spoon 1z of foam into 3z cups, tap to settle, cover with plastic wrap and freeze no less than six hours or overnight.

Remove from freezer several minutes prior to serving to thaw.

Pull single shot of espresso on top of semi-frozen foam.

Serve with spoon and stir before drinking.

One of the sig drinks prepared backstage for interested parties. Photo by Tonx.

The Bottom Line
So, what's the Bottom Line here? I lost. I suck. I'm a hack. I didn't even make it into the Finals. I don't think I'll ever win. Why? Because I don't take this seriously enough. Here's the truth: after the Mid-Atlantic Regionals in February, I never practiced once. Zero. Zilch. Nada. No practice. And it's not because I'm just "Bad Like That". It's because I've got more pressing things to do than sit in my shop after hours practicing how to pour the perfect cappuccino foam. I've got a business to run. Marketing to plan. Payroll to meet. Bills to pay. People to manage. Orders to fulfill and customers to satisfy. Not to mention a podcast to host, curse on and infuriate people with.

And when I'm not working, I'd much rather be out with friends eating great food, smoking big cigars, driving recklessly, watching concerts or chasing women.

Don't get me wrong, I love what we do and I'm inspired by all my friends and other competitors. There are so many great ideas flowing out there but in many ways, I'm disappointed. All this time and energy to create a unique coffee beverage but the only people who will ever get to taste that beverage are the four judges? That's a crime against humanity.

Take Ellie Matuszak's grappa-style drink. She's taking frozen grapes and pressing the juices with an antique hand press. Gosh that drink looks interesting! But is that something Intelligentsia will incorporate into their menu? Probably not. And what a disappointment for us all.

To me, one of the greatest aspects of competition is creating a drink that you can generate buzz about. Something to bring back to the shop and offer to customers. A drink that stood on the national stage against the best of the best. It's my own personal theory, but I strongly believe that the USBC Signature Drink should be a drink that can be recreated behind the bar on a daily basis - by any barista. Come into Jay's Shave Ice and you'll find a complete menu of all our signature drinks. In fact, our most popular signature drink, the Haupia Macchiatto, was my 2004 USBC drink. Starting in June, you'll even find Coffee and a Cigarette on our menu.

I know I've put down a lot of thoughts about competition in this blog entry because I want to share with everyone my thoughts. Perhaps some people will be enraged by what I've written. Hopefully, these words will offer some small insight into the complex world of national competitions. Bear in mind that these are only my thoughts on ths subject and are not USBC Canon. I could very well be completely wrong on some of the topics. Consider that I didn't win.

The Portafilter.net Team calling you out for USBC 2007. Photo by Mark Prince.

Damn You, Mr. Thomas!

I've been trying to eat better this week (and only this week) by purchasing my own foodstuffs for breakfast from the local SuperFresh and hitting the treadmill at the gym (very sore right now). It's been a week of Toasted Corn (read: Chex ripoff) cereal, milk, coffee, yogurt, banana and a toasted English muffin with Jif Extra Crunchy Peanut Butter.

And by the way, peanut butter should, by law, always be extra crunchy. None of that creamy stuff. And never kept in the fridge like my mom does (she puts everything in the fridge it seems).

The coffee I've been enjoying this week is the Panama Carmen Estate from Hines Public Market Coffee of Canada. Delicious, bright, fruity, floral - most excellent.

The nice thing about making your own breakfast is you control when and how much. I like my English muffins to be nice and toasted. Crispy, brown-colored with all those savory nooks and crannies. Thomas' English Muffins always fit the bill. A couple of weeks ago I tried the Wegman's brand of English muffin: LAME. I could toast that bitch until it was charred and it still wouldn't be crunchy. The most important aspect of English muffin-dom and they screwed it up. Lame on you, Danny Wegman.

So I've been having this breakfast menu all week long. The problem is that I like the plain English Muffin. None of that raisins, sourdough or whatever else they're putting into muffins nowadays. Just give me plain. But how about giving me plain in the simple, old school six-pack? The only choice I had was to buy a 12-pack. And now, after a week, I still have a six-pack plus one English muffin left over. What am i going to do with this? The weekend is here. I don't eat at work on weekends. I've had English Muffins for five days in a row. I don't want more on the weekend.

So now these seven muffins are going to sit here and rot. Okay, I know there are starving people all over the world and I would FedEx my muffins to them but by the time they get there it will be too late.

Damn you, Mr. Thomas!!!!

Hot Pocket Virgin No More

A few weeks ago, or maybe it was a couple of months ago, some friends and I were chatting and the subject of Hot Pockets came up. They discussed the ones they liked and the ones they hated, and when it came to me, I came up short.

I've never eaten a Hot Pocket in my entire life.

They looked at me like I was Brother From Another Planet. How could the modern 21st Century Man exist in the world without eating a Hot Pocket? Didn't I watch Robotech, Star Wars and Ferris Bueller? I wasn't living under a rock. I wasn't a refugee from some Third World nation, I was an American dammit and how come I never had a Hot Pocket before???

I just never did.

I mean, I've seen the tv commercial hundreds of times but nothing about it appealed to me. While I'll sit down with a plate of McDonald's french fries on any fourth hour, the notion of eating frozen processed foods just isn't appealing to me. Maybe I had one too many bad experiences with Hungry Man tv dinners when I was younger or the nightmares of Swanson Salisbury Steak, but I just didn't have it in me.

Fast forward to Monday.

It's early Monday morning and I'm searching through the local Super Fresh trying to figure out what I want to eat this week at the shop. George Foreman and his Grill are waiting and I'm trying to find something more creative than sausages. I failed. So, in addition to the milk, croissants and hot bar breakfast (eat THAT Wegman's), I spied the frozen food section and noticed the Croissant Pockets in Philly Cheese Steak stuffing. I decide that I'm going to try that for lunch this week and rid myself of the stigma of being the last of my generation to eat a Hot Pocket.

It's now Wednesday evening and I've just finished the last (there were only two) of the Croissant Pockets.

Unfortunately, I feel ill.

That same ill feeling you get whenever you eat heavily processed foods. Maybe it's too much sodium or too much preservatives, but it's never very satisfying or fulfilling. I'd much rather have gone to Hooter's and gorged on Mild Wings.

The meal wasn't horrid. I shared it with some Snyder's of Hanover pretzels and washed it all down with a Coke. I decided to go the slow route by sticking it in the toaster over and baking it at 350 degrees F for 30 minutes. The bread came out nicely brown, crusty/crunchy and flaky like a good croissant should when heated in a toaster oven. But that's all it is - mostly bread. The meat and cheese part is a disappointment. Light on both and just not very tasty at all. If I'm poisoned by sodium and preservatives, it was in the meat and cheese.

Time for a serious meal at Hooter's.

Wegman's Schmegman's

Recently, the largest Wegman's opened near where I live in the enclave of Hunt Valley. It opened to dramatic fanfare and ridiculous crowds. One of my good friends gushed about it's opening and had to be there for the 7am opening on the first day. Evidently, Wegman's fans from around the nation came to the first opening day too. It seems that there's some sort of fanaticism surrounding Wegman's. And I'm still trying to figure out why.

Okay, it's true that the staff is taken care of. Everyone that I've spoken to likes working there. They say that they'll open more registers when there's a line, and I've seen that happen - which is certainly a tremendous advantage over the other grocery stores that think they should charge you full price to ring your own items on their "automated" systems.

But to me, it's still a "grocery store."

Sure, it's pretty darn large, almost what you'd expect if Walt Disney made a grocery store. There are themed areas, seating areas and it looks very nice, but the crush of the ridiculously insane crowds demands a store this big - and it's still not big enough. So, after parking in Timbuk Two, fighting through Olympic sized (and frenzied) crowds and suffering through disappointment, it's just not worth it for that gallon of milk - even if you want that organic crap that costs six times more.

By now, the Wegman's devotees are planning an assault on my home to take me captive.

It's not all bad news. I absolutely love their subs from the sub shop. The Danny's Way, or whatever it's called, is really quite tasty because the bread just rocks. In fact, I tried a Wegman's baguette and it absolutely rocked. I'm sure the rest of the baked good rock too but I passed because they're just too damn expensive. Three cookies for ten bucks? There are places in Baltimore where sexual favors cost less.

So my friend has been after me since it's opening to change my tune from: "it's just a grocery store" to one that more suits the Wegman's fanaticism, and I really want to become a Wegman's die-hard. I mean really, it's the closest grocery store to my home, but everytime I go there looking for something, Wegman's never fails to disappoint.

Back in the Summer and Fall of 2005, with the impending arrival of the great Wegman's, everyone I knew held bated breath in anticipation. Here was the arrival of the greatest of all grocery stores. The one that would blow away all the competition. It would revolutionize the grocery store industry.

Uh, hello - all of that in an area who's main staple is Hot Pockets?

So, I've been to Wegman's. On many occasion. I went there the first Saturday and the place was SLAMMED. Wall-to-wall people, jostling, hustling and pushing their way about trying to get a taste of the Chinese food bar, or ogling the prepared food reefer case. I walked in, checked it out for about ten minutes and then decided to get the hell outta there. Too many people to fight just for a Coke.

The next time I went with my Wegman's Hardcore friend who wanted me to try the Sub Shop. Okay, I admit, the sub shop rocked and I've gone back a number of times and even sat around at work dreaming about the sub. It's damn good. But the place is usually packed so it's in, grab the sub and get the hell out. Oh, and those jalapeno potato chips are damn good too.

One morning before work, I decided to hit Wegman's at 6:30am to see what kind of pastries they offered and see what the hot bar had for breakfast. You know what the hot bar had? Jack. Not a damn thing except for steaming water. Later, I asked another friend who works in Wegman's produce what the deal was. His reply was that maybe I was expecting too much and that if Wegman's thought it would make money, they would have a breakfast bar. Hmmm, considering the local Super Fresh has a small breakfast bar, I'd say that's One Point for Super Fresh and Zero Points for Wegman's.

When it comes to baked goods, I'm pretty easy. I just want something tasty and reasonably priced. The stuff at Wegman's isn't what I would consider "reasonable" but that didn't matter, because at 6:45am, the bakery had the same thing the hot bar had: Jack. Well, if I really want some incredible pastry, I'll just call Hawthorne Bakery and get them at wholesale. And Hawthorne Rocks The House!

When it comes to meats, most grocery stores don't stock what I'm looking for. Even the specialty butchers don't have what I want. Ever tried looking for Caul Fat in your town and you'll know what I mean. Well, I can get get Caul Fat from the butcher or from my wholesale meat supplier - I just don't want it in 30 pound quantities.

So this weekend I decided that I must have French food and instead of making the trek down to Les Halles in Washington DC, I decided I would stay at home and make something for myself. First, I decided on a meat pate, some onion soup, steak and pasta au gratin (mac 'n cheese). The challenge was the pate, consisting of pork shoulder, pork fat and pork belly.

So I hustle down to Wegman's in the pouring rain. Up until now, everyone I know has been raving about the meat department - how they have "everything." Well, if they have what I'm looking for, perhaps I too can become a fan. First of all, it's a Saturday and probably the absolute worst time to visit Wegman's because this mother is packed to the gills. Ugh. After battling through the produce department, I make my way to the meat counter only to find that they neither carry the pork fat or the pork belly. Disappointment, scratch the pate.

Okay, I'll admit, chances are that no grocery store in Baltimore carries these two items, but they're just "grocery stores,"not the almightly Wegman's. I could have gone to Super Fresh, parked closer and had smaller crowds to deal with because there's nothing left on my shopping list that would qualify as "hard to find" - okay maybe with the exception of the ham.

So mosey on over to the deli case and it's a fifteen minute wait for my number to be called. Crap, what a waste of time. It's not the staff's fault, they're working six deep behind the counter and hustling, there's just a crush of people - mostly rude - who just have to have their half pound of Oscar Meyer Bologna from the classy Wegman's. They don't have the ham I'm looking for, so I select a quick substitute, it looks good. But no, they don't have slab bacon, but they have prepackaged in the cases.

I'm off with an 8z pack of Wegman's lean bacon, pre-sliced. While I was looking over the smaller-than-Super-Fresh selection, another shopper (a lady) makes a comment how she hasn't seen bacon this lean since she was in England. Lean bacon...and that's a good thing?

Emmenthaler and Gruyere. Those are the cheeses I needed for my meal. But how hard is it to find in a cheese department than boasts more than 80 types of cheeses. Not hard. But then again, these aren't hard cheeses to find. The cheese department looked pretty interesting, if you really like soft cheeses mixed with fruits, veggies and who-knows-what else. Me? I'm not much into that kind of thing.

Aside from battling the crowds, the rest of my shopping was uneventful. I found some Wegman's brand penne pasta that turned out to be pretty decent, some Wegman's cereal for the week's breakfast and some powdered chocolate (Hershey's) for dressing drinks at the shop.

I've tried. I've really tried to become a Wegman's convert. But, outside of the subs, it just hasn't swooned me. I want selection (of which Wegman's has a ton of over Super Fresh), but I also want convenience (and the Super Fresh five miles away has that in Spades over the Wegman's one mile away) and how ridiculous is it that it's more "convenient" to drive to a Super Fresh five miles away than the Wegman's? I can get in and buy everything I need and get home before I would ever finish half my shopping in Wegman's.

What a shame. And the coffee sucks.

At the least the register girl was cute.

Moving The Linea Is A Two-Man Operation

It's the quietest time of the year for Jay's Shave Ice and this is the time of year when I tear down the shop, clean thoroughly, upgrade/repair equipment and do any necessary remodeling. Everything is all over the place and it looks like installation week again, but I wanted to share some learned wisdom from today's journey.

If at all possible, have someone help you move the Linea.

Our front counter is such that I can push up a S/S worktable or utility cart underneath and slide the Linea off the front counter, down about six inches and onto the cart without too much difficulty. I've done it once before during a photo shoot back in September (upon recollection, I did have a staffer on hand to help me).

So I wheeled the S/S utlity cart under the front counter edge and manuevered the Linea off the counter sideways. Landed one end of the frame on the cart and started to push/pull the Linea/Cart to get the whole thing on it. Picked up the rear end of the Linea and edged off one foot...

That's when things started to go downhill tremendously fast.

The Linea's frame is resting on the cart and as I lifted the other end to pull it off the counter by angling one rear leg up, the whole thing shifted the the Linea started to slide on its' frame. Started to slide right off the three foot high cart.

I imagine there are few things more horrifying that watching your $10,000 gleaming piece of labor and love hurtling towards the floor. It's the lifeblood of the business and that which generates a significant portion of your revenue. And there it is, sliding towards oblivion and destruction.

Holy Shit. I thought I should cry.

Instead, I let out a painful yelp and grabbed on to whatever I could of the Linea, managing to hold it precariously on the edge of the cart by it's feet. There it was, our pride and joy, hanging by it's feet off the side of the cart and me trying to manhandle the thing back onto the cart.

The damn cart has wheels and they weren't helping. I prayed as my left foot snaked around to click the wheel locks in a vain attempt to right the Linea on the cart. No avail. And I'm starting to lose grip on the thing.

Crap.

No too far away (about ten feet) I spotted two milk crates stacked up by the condiment station. If I can drag everything over, I might be able to gently land the Linea on the crates and avoid tragedy. The two crates looked to be just the right height to fit under the hanging Linea. If I could only hold on for ten feet longer.

Somehow, I clicked the wheel lock off and started to push the whole orchestra towards the crates. Slowly. Gently. Carefully. But quickly because my muscles are straining from the weight.

I should note that the cart I'm using is actually a S/S 12" deep shelving unit on wheels from Eagle Group manufacturing. It's about three feet tall and narrow. And I'm pushing along the narrow towards the crate. Which means that at one point, I pushed slightly too much and the whole thing started to tilt, threatening to send the Linea crashing to the ground.

Summoning great strength from Jor-El, I managed to keep the cart from tipping over and made it to the crates. Rolled the Linea over slightly and used my knee as leverage to keep the thing from crashing. And eased the back panel of the Linea onto the crates. Whew. The initial threat has passed.

So there I was, standing with my knee mashed into the Linea to keep it steady and now I had to drop the thing two more feet to the floor. That was the smart and prudent thing to do. But I thought for a moment how to move the Linea back onto the cart because it would be easier to do the repair work.

Gave up on that and used my knee to ease the Linea to the ground. Just a little thump as it landed on the hardwood floors.

The Linea was safe.

The Gods were happy.

If only I can find someone to help me lift it up again....

Lisa and the Loebotomy

Todays news reports that Lisa Loeb will be starring in a new tv series on E! Entertainment Television about moving back to New York City and searching the dating scene for a new mate. I don't know why I found this intriguing enough to write about because I barely know Lisa Loeb. I mean, I know she's a singer, but that's about it. I don't listen to her music and never thought much about her until this morning when I saw the article on CNN.com.

So, here's my open letter to Lisa Loeb:

Lisa,
If you're really looking for a new mate why on God's Earth do you want to televise that fact nationally? Perhaps you're difficult to get along with - why let the public see that up-close and personal? Let them guess. You're a cute girl with cool-looking glasses. That "Girl Next Door" look goes a long way, don't mess it up now.

But if you're really looking for a new mate, come down to Baltimore and hang out with me. I'm crass, rude and unapologetic about the way I live. I have very little interest in the lives of celebrities so you'll get no special treatment from me because of your singer status. In fact, I can't stand "talent." Usually "talent" are just bratty, whiny and super-narcisstic. I can get that in my own mirror thank you very much.

Hang out with me and hang out with real people. People who work for a living. I'll even teach you how to make killer espresso and shave ice.

Something Different

Finally, I've taken the time to read something other than a business-related book. And what a pleasure it was. For awhile there I was just getting too bogged down in business books and nothing else. A narrow focus makes for a dull mind and I was certainly feeling a bit dull there.

I've been wanting to see the Broadway musical "Wicked" for quite some time now, but since I hardly get up to New York City anymore, it's kinda difficult for me to make it happen. Or perhaps I'm just not motivated enough to see a show by myself anymore.

Either way, I spotted the book at the local Border's Books and decided to pick it up. It's all about the Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West, a certain Elphaba who would have become the Eminent Thropp and the leader of Munchkinland had she followed a different path.

There's too many reviews about the book already on the Internet so I won't go into it here. Suffice to say that the book started off pretty slow in the first few chapters. It almost lost me. Then it picked up steam and I plowed through most of it in a few days. I thought it was interesting to see a different view of The Witch and how she's not really "evil" - she's just another misunderstood person who sees things from a different point of view and has to live with the choices (or mistakes) she makes. Kinda like most people I know.

Now that Wicked is finished I'll be starting on a couple of other books I have queued up here. The choices are: "Beat The Craps Table" by Martin Jensen, or "The Game: Penetrating The Secret Society of Pickup Artists" by Neil Strauss.

I'll let you know later my choice.

Celebrity Podcasting?

What kind of craziness is this? Way back when (1987) I did a stint at a local college radio station playing music and talking trash about whatever came to mind in the mind of pseudo-new wave, punk rock clubkid. The Cold War, a bleak outlook, Bauhaus, Nitzer Ebb, Tackhead and Hall & Oates. It was a mish-mash of the times.

Eighteen years later I'm once again doing something very similar. I've been roped into something called "Podcasting." It's a form of underground radio where people can do what they want and say what they want. So myself and my cohort in crime in Washington, D.C., Nick Cho, are doing a show on our current vocation in the coffee business.

We finished our first podcast earlier today and it's a decent first effort. It's kinda funny and somewhat interesting, we touch on a variety of subjects pertinent to today's modern barista. Things like the Barista Guild, barista jams, coffee cupping, gossip, ethical journalism and Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith. We even have our own guest star making an appearance via telephone, a certain Miss Bronwen Serna of Hines Public Market Coffee in Seattle and the 2004 US Barista Champion. And like any somewhat competent media outlet, we even break news!

Perhaps it will catch on and become the biggest thing in coffee since hot water, or perhaps we'll die a slow death in Internet media Hell. But for now, we're planning on more guest celebrities, more coffee tastings and just odd humor.

And yes, Luke Skywalker is a fag.


If you're interesting in listening to this odd chatter, visit www.portafilter.net.

Jon Lewis: The Barista's Thomas Keller

Let it flow,
Let it flow,
Let it flow.

It was like a mantra to be repeated over and over again. An enchanted experience taking the audience where no other barista has gone before. It was the USBC presentation of Jon Lewis.

I've seen Jon Lewis, barista at Coeur d'Alene's Cafe Doma, twice now. Once at the Northwest Regionals and most recently at the United States Barista Championship and each time he's given presentations that are so unlike anyone else that he really is in a category all by himself.

John operates at a whole different level than the rest of us. While my fellow barista competitors are working on their coffee skills, serving skills, server protocols and how to be a good showman, Jon Lewis is doing something else. He's fabricating carbon steel stands for his barley grinder. He's fabricating a water fountain from Mazzer grinding burrs and La Marzocco Linea heater grates. He's not only working on espresso, he's working on creating a whole new world to operate.

Let it flow.

Like Thomas Keller of The French Laundry fame, Jon Lewis is doing things to a different standard. He's consistently nurturing an environment that sucks you in and leaves you fascinated and a touch bewildered. Everything is carefully planned and plotted, from the music to the words to the motions to the signature drink. It's over the top and no one comes close to matching his game.

That's what it is - a game. A game where only Jon knows the rules - to hell if it jives with what the USBC wants. This is Jon's game and he's playing it hard.

His USBC performance started out with his mantra of "Let it flow." Yes, at times it seemed forced. Yes, some of the scripted material was cheesy. But you forgave all that because there he is with a hand grinder grinding away at some malted barley because he's about to make wort for a signature drink in the style of beer.

Over the top.

And judges, there's a freakin' water fountain on your table!!!

Who knew?

Like watching Keller in his kitchen, I'm blown away by the whole thing. I can't keep up with that. The first thing that comes to my mind when I see this grinder mounted to an impossibly heavy-looking welded carbon steel base is: How did he get all of this here? Did he rent a tractor trailer? I can't imagine. All I can think about is how outrageously expensive the FedEx bill must be to ship that monstrosity across the country.

HIs presentation progressed through the usual espresso and cappuccino course but everything was calculated and thought out. You could see that Lewis had probably spent months honing this presentation for this moment while I suffered through a few brief hours over the past two months pretending that I was practicing my cappuccino making.

By the time Jon reached the signature drink, everyone was glued to their seats. What was this crazy guy going to do with that wort and how do I get the chance to taste it? Mixing the wort with espresso and then charging it with carbon dioxide in a seltzer bottle - simply amazing. Squirting the mixture rushed thoughts of Lucy and Ricky Ricardo through my mind and I suspect that those memories too were calculated by Jon.

Watching all of this makes me afraid to visit Cafe Doma in Idaho. Afraid because I've seen Jon weave his magic and create a world for us. I'm afraid that the romance will be broken. That a visit to Doma won't be a magic mystery tour. That we'll arrive at Doma only to find Jon schlepping 20oz. vanilla lattes like the rest of us hacks.

It's too horrible to imagine.

I have to say though that Jon's game is so different, I wonder if he'll ever have the chance to win the USBC. He's doing his own thing and I think it probably hinders his scores a bit.

But whatever, no matter what I'm looking forward to the next barista competition presentation by Jon Lewis - because I'll be glued to my seat in anticipation of what he's going to do next.

I Hate You Mister Sorbetes

.

After a five-year hiatus, there it was.

It was back.





I guess it must have been more than five years ago, definitely in the late 1990s, I was visiting Manila, Philippines and found myself (as always) stuck in traffic on the EDSA. For those of you unfamiliar, The EDSA is what Filipino civil engineers call a circumferencial road. Meaning: it goes around the city. But really, The EDSA and it's counterparts are more like a half-circle, radiating out and around the sprawling megaplex that is Metro Manila.

In a word, The EDSA is insane.

All day, and most of the night, it's jam packed with vehicles and people. In the 90s, it was commonplace that a trip on EDSA would take hours. The same trip that took hours would take fifteen minutes when they finished building the MetroStar elevated railway in the late, late 1990s.

But that's not important to our story.

So, there I was, stuck in traffic. Sitting in the passenger seat wondering how much longer this short commute was going to take us when I spotted one of the many billboards that line The EDSA near the Araneta Coliseum. It was a billboard for Magnolia ice cream - the national ice cream of the Philippines and the weathervane for the tastes of the nation. But this wasn't just any old vanilla or chocolate they were advertising. Oh no. This was for Queso Ice Cream.

That's right, Cheese Ice Cream.

God, if that didn't sound nasty. Just utterly disgusting. Horrific. Words could not do justice to the horrors in my mind about eating a cheese-flavored ice cream. That's like mixing slices of Kraft American with your vanilla sundae. Yuck!

Mark that down as something never to try.

I was in Manila to visit friends and family. It's always a fun trip. The details of which are irrelevant for this discussion. But about two weeks later, I find myself at a family gathering where some bright mind had the idea of: "Let's bring the Pride of Our Nation Ice Cream so that our cousin from the States can taste real Filipino ice cream." To my horror there was a half-gallon tub of Queso Ice Cream.

Most of the time, I try not to be rude and since they were oh so excited to let me try this, I couldn't just tell them: "That's fucking disgusting, get that crap away from me!" That would be rude. So, I played along and let them serve me a small cup of this cheese-flavored ice cream.

The texture was like most Magnolia ice cream I had tried in the past: creamy but slightly coarse, if that makes sense. Oh, but what was that little nub on my tounge? I think it was a small bit of cheese. Yes, definitely small bits of cheese. Like chocolate chips in cookie dough ice cream. It wasn't nasty. It was just weird. The flavor was odd too. It tasted like, well, cheese. But it was weird. And strangely compelling.

I can't say that I liked it, but I didn't hate it either. It has such a compelling taste that I wanted to figure out. I had another serving. Still odd. Still strange. Still compelling. I had to have more.

In the end, I must have consumed nearly half the tub.

But I still didn't LOVE it. It was just too weird. But too compelling to stop.

Fast forward to this evening. My parents were hosting a party for a family friend so I went to the party. And what were they eating at the end? Magnolia Ice Cream. Not Queso Ice Cream. This time is was Mais Con Queso.

Corn and Cheese Ice Cream.

And there was that odd and strangely compelling flavor from my past.

Damn you Mister Sorbetes.

Eat THAT La Marzocco!

Finally, after months of pondering and weeks of actually trying to get it done, the lighting mods on my La Marzocco Linea 3AV are complete.

Whew!

As you can see, it's quite dramatic. The LED strips came in a couple of days ago and were installed right away. It just took a couple of days for me to get in the mood, wait for the right conditions and start my photo shoot with the Linea. And yes Auntie, that's Hines 'Spro flowing from those portafilters.

Thomas Keller - Eat Your Heart Out.

I dare you to do this with your Unics and your Illy Pods...

Cap ou pas cap?

The Day I Beat Thomas Keller

French Laundry. Bouchon. Per Se.

Icons of the American restaurant scene. The mere mention of the name Thomas Keller subjects chefs around the nation to intimidation, fear and mediocrity. Read anything by Anthony Bourdain and you'll see a chef gushing about the man and his Yountville encampment.

It was a bright and sunny January afternoon that I made my way over to Yountville after attending the Barista Guild of America directors meeting. The French Laundry. A $60 rental car. It wasn't a sightseeing trip. It was a pilgrimage.

For a mere mortal like myself, landing a seat at The French Laundry means swift use of your speed-dialer, the kind help of people-in-the-know, or an Act of God. And since my speed-dialing is poor, I don't know the right people and didn't feel comfortable asking The Creator to help me for something so self-indulgent, I made my way into the wine country content with the notion of enjoying a late lunch at Keller's French bistro, Bouchon.

I have the cookbooks (both "The French Laundry Cookbook" and "Bouchon"). I've read them thoroughly and couldn't wait. In fact, I was so eager to eat in The World of Keller that I didn't eat at all morning. My only consumption was an espresso at Steve's new Blue Bottle Coffee stand on Linden Street in San Francisco.

Luckily, the weather was beautiful. Slightly cool in the upper fifties but with bright sunshine - so taking a seat outside, in the sun, was a no-brainer. My server Gerald brought me a full bottle of Vittel and recommended a couple of wines to go along with my meal of a half-dozen raw oysters and the steak and frites.

How was the food? Beautiful. The oysters were perfect. Succulent, briny and expertly shucked with no visible trauma to the shells. Juicy flavor. Fantastic. The steak and frites was also wonderful. Perfectly cooked to a medium rare, the meat was just the right shade of bloody pink and had a soft, chewy texture with solid flavor that matched brilliantly with the Joseph Phelps Syrah Gerald recommended. In fact, both wines Gerald recommended were stellar with both the oysters and the steak. Brilliant.

It was a relaxed, slow and oh-so-enjoyable late afternoon lunch. Basking in the sunlight, it was as though the world was shining on my face.

Time for dessert.

By this time, I had decided that I would have a cappuccino. That would be perfect: Espresso, milk and foam with exquisite sweetness - a perfect way to end a great meal.

Before I had been seated, I took a run to the rest rooms where I passed Bouchon's two group Unic espresso machine. Evidently, Keller takes this French thing so seriously that he even uses the French-built Unic. I had the opportunity to work with a Unic several months ago while visiting Small Town Coffee in Kapa'a, Kaua'i and was more than interested in seeing just what this machine could do.

I'm somewhat adventurous when it comes to food and when I feel as though I'm in capable hands, I'm perfectly comfortable with allowing the staff to choose for me. I simply asked Gerald to bring me whatever he felt best complimented the cappuccino.

As I sat there, basking in the Northern California sun, I noticed a tall-ish man in a chef's coat and a dark-haired woman in a dark suit walking past. "Hey, I swear that was the lady I saw in The French Laundry Cookbook." Gerald confirmed that they were indeed both Thomas Keller and general manager Laura Cunningham. I was giddy with excitement seeing such stars casually walking down the street on their way to another night serving food that I've never tasted.

Those of you who know me know that I've met a lot of movie stars and celebrities. No big deal. Let Brad Pitt or Angelina Jolie walk by and you'll hardly get a yawn from me, but let Chef Keller and General Manager Laura walk by and I'm ready to stalk them - at a good distance, of course.

My dessert was a chocolate mousse. Served in a small cup with several biscuits, the mousse was light and delicate. A great pairing idea for a cappuccino.



One of the biggest problems in the American restaurant scene today is the lack of attention to the coffee being served. So many chefs and restaurants go to great lengths preparing their dishes but end on a low note by serving poor examples of coffee and/or espresso-based drinks.

I'm sad to say that Bouchon was no different.

All this work. All this planning. All this anticipation. A wonderful meal. Spoiled by a bitter, lackluster and slightly offensive cappuccino. The portion size was about right. The ratio between coffee, milk and foam was about right. But the flavor was just, well, not so good. Bitter, burnt, bubbles, no sweetness. It was a cappuccino in serious need of the two sugar cubes that came as an accompaniment.

It was no better than my neighborhood Starbucks.

At three dollars, at least it didn't cost more than my neighborhood Starbucks.

So what to do? Send it back and ask for another? No. It's unlikely the replacement would be any better. Besides, I was in Yountville, eating at Bouchon and planning on walking over to see the famed French Laundry. I wasn't about to let a crappy cappuccino spoil my afternoon amongst the stars of the restaurant world.

After bidding Gerald a fond adieu, I made my way next door to the Bouchon Bakery where I spied lots of tasty French pasties - none of which would make it back to the East Coast in suitable condition. Croissants, baguettes and more. I ended up with a Ham and Cheese sandwich for the plane ride and a bottle of Mexican Coke that I tore into right away.

By this time, I had figured out that Equator Coffee prepares the coffee for both The French Laundry and Bouchon. But the espresso being served in the bakery is Illy and in pods. Pods. PODS??? Here's the bakery of the world's greatest chef and they're serving espresso made from pods that have travelled from the other side of the planet???

Where was I? In some sort of culinary and coffee Twilight Zone?

Pods. Bah!

Again, another Unic espresso machine. This one though was rigged for pod use. Two pods per grouphead.

Strange looking.

Cool looking.

But pods?





I wandered down Washington Street, past Beard Plaza, winding through the neighborhood and a small park with a water fountain, to the famed French Laundry. I had read that the French Laundry is a small place, but it was smaller than I expected - and much more nondescript. Just a simple facade of dark wooded two-story structure with small, brass plaques letting the initiated know they have arrived. There's a covered walkway running along the length of the building that opens into their inner gardens

I didn't know my way around and I must have looked rather befuddled walking awkwardly around the premises. Even though I knew I had zero chance of eating there, I had to check it out. In Bourdain's A Cook's Tour, he chronicles a visit with chef friends as they gather in the window peering into the kitchen. I was content to do just that.

The grounds were spectacular. Sort of a California meets Japanese garden kind of thing. The gravel curbside on Washington and in the back parking lot were being carefully groomed by The Man With The Rake. All of the walkways had been freshly hosed down, giving the place that movie-quality look. Staff in various modes of dress were rushing about setting up their stations, arranging plants, putting together table centerpieces and who knows what else.

Okay, I'll admit it. My timing was poor. I got to Bouchon later than I hoped and ended up at the French Laundry around 4:30pm. With a staff meeting at five, everyone was frantically doing their final cleaning and prep. Through the only windows I could see into, the cooks, in their chef whites and aprons, were scrubbing off the stainless tables, hosing everything down, drying them and then climbing into the windows to clean the glass and the frames. By hand.

Though a side door, I spied Thomas Keller sitting in a directors chair in a small alcove. On the phone, probably speaking to some purveyor somewhere in the world about a special ingredient he must have at any cost. Either that, or he was just sitting there on hold like the rest of the world.

Suddenly, a young server named Ben jumped out, tie dangling around his neck and asked me if I would like a tour. A tour? At 4:45pm? Is this guy serious? Well, I didn't travel all the way across the country and rented a sixty dollar a day car for a few hours just to turn down a tour invitation of the object of my pilgrimage.

Looking back on it all, I must have looked like a total doofus. One of the other servers, an Asian female, noticed my shirt and proclaimed that she loved Hawaiian Shave Ice. In my awe of being addressed by Those Who Work The Best Restaurant In The Nation, I barely managed a thank you.

As we made our way through the side door, Ben showed me the main kitchen. We stood there in the hallway, next to the alcove where Keller had been on the phone and that's when he finally acknowledged me with the "What is this idiot doing here on a tour at 4:45pm," look.

Intimidated, I would have preferred to melt into the walls.

There I was, no more than three feet from the person who has been hailed as the "world's greatest French chef" and he wasn't looking particularly pleased with my presence. So much for the photo opportunity and autograph signing.

But really, I don't think he was all that pissed off by my standing in the middle of the kitchen hallway. He started off with a curious look from his director's chair, gave a glance at the logo on my collared shirt and was probably wondering: "Who is this guy in the shave ice shirt and why the hell is he in my kitchen at 4:45pm!?!??!?"

So, if you ever read this Chef Keller - my apologies for getting in the way.

My tour of the French Laundry continued with Ben leading me around, through the hallways, everyone rushing, but quietly, around, getting everything just right for another night of world-class service.

The French Laundry has 18 tables and seats about 85 people per night. Everything is in immaculate condition, right down to the polished wood railing for the upstairs staircase.

What's this I spy in a server's alcove? Another Unic espresso machine. There really is a theme here and I'm starting to wish for my La Marzocco Linea. Doesn't this guy know anything?

Ben continued showing me around, the service wine cellar, the space where they prep desserts, fold napkins, keep china and God knows what else. I saw everything but was so in awe, it's like I saw nothing. Everything moved so quickly, I just couldn't absorb it all in time.

"Any questions?" Ben asked me.

"No, not really."

Pathetic.

Of course I had questions! What kind of espresso do you use? What blend? Who prepares it? Are you serving your Coffee and Doughnuts tonight? Could I see where you prepare that salmon in a cone amuse gueules that everyone raves about? Could I meet the Chef? Could I talk more to that attractive server who likes shave ice? Can I sit in a corner somewhere and watch? Or wash something during service?

But I didn't say any of those things. Just some lame answer about how I didn't have any questions and with a friendly push, I was spit back out into the garden, wondering just what happened and where was my Mexican Coke?

There it was, sitting on the outdoor bench where I had left it not more than ten minutes ago.

What was I to do? I've seen Mecca and now what? Do I just go home? Is it that simple? No French Laundry meal? I didn't ask the receptionist, but I should have. I have to ask. I can't leave without asking. So I head back inside and ask the pretty blonde if by some miracle they might have an opening for lowly little me - the lonely single diner.

Hmmm, maybe.

Maybe? Damn, that's the best answer I've heard in two years! Over the past two years, I've tried calling many times. The very first time, I got through, spoke to a receptionist about a particular date and then said that I would call back when everything was in order. I thought it was pretty easy.

I have never succeeded reaching a live person since.

Eh, Eh, Eh - that's all I hear when I call The French Laundry. That busy tone that means I've been relegated once again to the unloved, ungraceful and outcast masses who must forever look through the glass window like the homeless.

Maybe there might be an opening. If someone cancels. There's a chance. She wants to take my name and number just in case. I'm thrilled. Then I remember that French Laundry dinners are long, lavish affairs and I ask how long will dinner last. Three hours is the reply. A 5:30 seating and finish at 8:30, but my flight to the East Coast leaves at 10:45. I'll never make it. I don't want to make it. But I don't want my first meal at The French Laundry to be one worried about making a flight on US Airways, so I reluctantly decline, tuck my tail and walk out as more staff carry centerpieces through the front door.

My day in Yountville, Bouchon and The French Laundry is over. I have to accept that and drive away from this hallowed place. In one day, I've managed to soak it up in the hotel jacuzzi, visit a great new coffee stand in San Francisco, pick up a car, drive out to wine country, spent money recklessly while eating great French food at Bouchon, pick up a meal for the plane at Bouchon Bakery and irritate a world renowned chef at The French Laundry. Not bad for one day in Northern California.

I leave with the knowledge that our little shop in Timonium, Maryland makes better cappuccinos than some of the world's most famous restaurants.

It is a grand triumph, no matter how small.

Thank you Thomas Keller.

A New Outlet

Hmmm, finally thought that I would try out this blog-ging thing. Kinda strange but maybe someone will be interested in reading such random writings.

I'll return later with more blog-stuff.