Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Shepley Metcalf Sings Cabaret in the Monday Club Tonight
Tonight is Shepley Metcalf in the Monday Club Bar. A little cabaret night never hurt anyone, right? Come by, have dinner, have a drink, or simply stand and sway. It's going to be a hoot!
Thursday, August 20, 2009
New bartender
There are so many wonderful reasons why I continue to love my job here at UOTS. One of my favorites is the fact that we're all constantly learning. Every day I walk out of here knowing at least one new factoid that I didn't when I arrived that morning for work.
Currently, I am fascinated at how much studying and gumption goes into becoming a bartender at a bar which specializes in both classic and new cocktails. Watching our newest addition behind the bar, Kellen, has been a constant source of both amazement and amusement. To that end, we've created a blog to catalog his growth as a bartender. Here is the link. Please continue to check it out to see his progress.
http://ohthethingskellensays.blogspot.com/
Currently, I am fascinated at how much studying and gumption goes into becoming a bartender at a bar which specializes in both classic and new cocktails. Watching our newest addition behind the bar, Kellen, has been a constant source of both amazement and amusement. To that end, we've created a blog to catalog his growth as a bartender. Here is the link. Please continue to check it out to see his progress.
http://ohthethingskellensays.blogspot.com/
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Dinner in Upstate New York
If home is truly where the heart is, then let it be known that my heart resides in upstate New York while my stomach resides right here in Cambridge, MA. Taking advantage of my day off this past week, I quickly traveled home to Oneonta, NY to visit my parents and grandparents. Driving through the Berkshires, blasting Tom Waits and Otis Redding, I reminisced the past few Christmas' I've spent in western Massachusetts at my friend Emily's farm in Shelburne Falls. Every house has an herb garden on the lawn, and the roadsides are speckled with colorful natives selling local fare.
Then, I get to Oneonta, the unofficial home of all things U.S. Foods is willing to peddle onto unsuspecting bargin shoppers and pass off as "real food." My family and I had takeout from a new "Mexican" place that had recently opened in my hometown. My mother was raving about the portion size being so huge. When we opened our to-go containers at my grandparents' kitchen table, her portion size comment reminded me of a Woody Allen quote: "The food in this place is so terrible ... and what small portions!"
While there is a veritable bounty of locally grown produce available in upstate New York, it is disheartening to see how dismal a showing these farmers make when competing against the might of all-powerful Wal-Mart superstores and deluxe Hannaford's locations that can easily undercut their prices. For this is ultimately the only thing that consumers do back home: bargin hunt. They come in from the mountains to stock up on healthy supplies of canned vegetables, sugary cereals, and the lot.
This poised a challenge to me: how can I get my family to start buying locally and enjoying the cornicopia of great food they have right around them. Well, I started by doing a little research. One of the most notable crops where I'm from is apples. Both the Fly Creek and Pie in the Sky cider mills are but minutes away from my parent's house. Those were easy. A little known location that I was always partial to when I was growing up was McCoy's Pure Raw Honey farm on Franklin Mountain. I remember taking field trips there when we were kids and eating raw honeycomb in our grubby little paws.
While this diatribe lends itself to a larger discussion of why people in lower-income locations resort to such easy ways out regarding cheap food, I simply wanted to let my parents know that there are alternatives very close to them that will in turn help the economy of our hometown. While Cambridge is very advanced in this kind of thinking, it was really nice to bring my parents along on my journey of food exploration.
Then, I get to Oneonta, the unofficial home of all things U.S. Foods is willing to peddle onto unsuspecting bargin shoppers and pass off as "real food." My family and I had takeout from a new "Mexican" place that had recently opened in my hometown. My mother was raving about the portion size being so huge. When we opened our to-go containers at my grandparents' kitchen table, her portion size comment reminded me of a Woody Allen quote: "The food in this place is so terrible ... and what small portions!"
While there is a veritable bounty of locally grown produce available in upstate New York, it is disheartening to see how dismal a showing these farmers make when competing against the might of all-powerful Wal-Mart superstores and deluxe Hannaford's locations that can easily undercut their prices. For this is ultimately the only thing that consumers do back home: bargin hunt. They come in from the mountains to stock up on healthy supplies of canned vegetables, sugary cereals, and the lot.
This poised a challenge to me: how can I get my family to start buying locally and enjoying the cornicopia of great food they have right around them. Well, I started by doing a little research. One of the most notable crops where I'm from is apples. Both the Fly Creek and Pie in the Sky cider mills are but minutes away from my parent's house. Those were easy. A little known location that I was always partial to when I was growing up was McCoy's Pure Raw Honey farm on Franklin Mountain. I remember taking field trips there when we were kids and eating raw honeycomb in our grubby little paws.
While this diatribe lends itself to a larger discussion of why people in lower-income locations resort to such easy ways out regarding cheap food, I simply wanted to let my parents know that there are alternatives very close to them that will in turn help the economy of our hometown. While Cambridge is very advanced in this kind of thinking, it was really nice to bring my parents along on my journey of food exploration.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Great Time Tasting Herbs
Most every day I walk into the restaurant, one of the first things I try to reconcile is what the day's "x-factor" may be. The truth of the matter is no restaurant/business/corporation/friendship/relationship is perfect. When the variables in the equation are people there is an expectation that issues will arise from time to time. In that same vein, when you deal with food sometimes the product just isn't satifactory. Since I am rarely behind the line, it is my job to identify this "x-factor" as quickly as I enter the restaurant. That involves asking many questions: "Did the hostess get out late from her other job," "Who's grandfather died," "How could your dog eat your anti-depressants for the third time this week?" Thankfully, I don't get the last one all too often, but as the expression goes it's always something.
Then, there are the days where service elevates to a skilled dance. Sunday evening was one of those evening. I often call them my "renew your faith in humanity" evenings. The restaurant was host to an event that I had brainstormed with a friend over dinner several weeks ago and I actualized it this past Sunday night. I invited an online group of junior food critics in for what I feel might have been one of my better conceived events.
Our UpStairs Herb Tasting started with myself and Mary-Catherine greeting guests at the front door of the Soiree Room with either a cocktail or a glass of wine. Generally a good way to start, well ... anything! After registering, guests were invited to mingle with their drinks while Steve's beautiful array of herb-infused appetizers floated around the room, beautifully trayed and excitedly explained by servers. Lino's herbaceous cocktails were definite crowd pleasers (our Aprile - an mixture of Aperol, fresh-squeezed grapefruit juice and garnished with rosemary - as well as a Lavender Kir Royale with a lavender-infused simple, creme de cassis and Champagne).
The main event, as it were, for the evening was a blind tasting of herb picked from both our local purveyors as well as from Deborah's own garden. Impressively enough, some of the contestants were able to pick out such obscurities as Thai basil and nesterium.
That night there was no "x-factor," simply a good feeling. I like that.
Then, there are the days where service elevates to a skilled dance. Sunday evening was one of those evening. I often call them my "renew your faith in humanity" evenings. The restaurant was host to an event that I had brainstormed with a friend over dinner several weeks ago and I actualized it this past Sunday night. I invited an online group of junior food critics in for what I feel might have been one of my better conceived events.
Our UpStairs Herb Tasting started with myself and Mary-Catherine greeting guests at the front door of the Soiree Room with either a cocktail or a glass of wine. Generally a good way to start, well ... anything! After registering, guests were invited to mingle with their drinks while Steve's beautiful array of herb-infused appetizers floated around the room, beautifully trayed and excitedly explained by servers. Lino's herbaceous cocktails were definite crowd pleasers (our Aprile - an mixture of Aperol, fresh-squeezed grapefruit juice and garnished with rosemary - as well as a Lavender Kir Royale with a lavender-infused simple, creme de cassis and Champagne).
The main event, as it were, for the evening was a blind tasting of herb picked from both our local purveyors as well as from Deborah's own garden. Impressively enough, some of the contestants were able to pick out such obscurities as Thai basil and nesterium.
That night there was no "x-factor," simply a good feeling. I like that.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Kitchen Educational
When I was a junior in high school, I moved to Valencia, Spain, as an exchange student through the Rotary Youth International Exchange Program. It was singularly the most beneficial experience of my life thus far as it taught me so much more than any traditional classroom was ever able to. I distinctly remember going with my host grandfather to his orange orchard and almond grove to harvest. Never have I tasted an orange so perfect or enjoyed a Marcona so salty and pure as when I was 16 and in those fields. Learning how the oranges closest to the bottom of the tree generally over ripen and by rolling them around in your hands you can simply rip a piece of the skin off and drink right from the fruit a ruddy, almost syrupy juice was an ethereal experience. Cracking my first almond open against two rocks was enlightening.
Education beyond the classroom was essentially what brought me to this restaurant. I believe wholeheartedly that people should be judged by the number of dishes they have washed, not just proverbially but literally as well. To that end, my recent involvement with the Cambridge Rindge and Latin High School's Culinary Arts program resulted in a great meeting this morning at the restaurant. I invited 10 students into the restaurant for an impromptu session where we discussed everything from resume writing to playlist creation. These kids are so smart! It was so mind-blowing to me to see a group so diverse connect so fully through the medium of food. They all cook together, serve their faculty in their restaurant located above the cafeteria, and several of them even work in restaurants right here in Cambridge as stages (apprentices). Typically these students would probably never even have spoken to one another let alone become teammates as it were. The comraderie is palpable when they are together. On the other hand, however, there is a distinct rivalry looming that I felt as soon as I showed them the kitchen. They were all vying for an imaginary position in my kitchen that didn't even exist. Very much indictative of kitchen life and they barely have any experience outside of their own school kitchen. But that's precisely the point: regardless of the kitchen being located within their school it is still a world to which they can escape. Sure they attend regular classes like all the other kids, but they have the haven of their kitchen to resort to. It is there that they gain their strength. And their conviction to the art of food gives me strength and confidence that this industry will continue to grow as the tastes of young people continue to grow as well.
Education beyond the classroom was essentially what brought me to this restaurant. I believe wholeheartedly that people should be judged by the number of dishes they have washed, not just proverbially but literally as well. To that end, my recent involvement with the Cambridge Rindge and Latin High School's Culinary Arts program resulted in a great meeting this morning at the restaurant. I invited 10 students into the restaurant for an impromptu session where we discussed everything from resume writing to playlist creation. These kids are so smart! It was so mind-blowing to me to see a group so diverse connect so fully through the medium of food. They all cook together, serve their faculty in their restaurant located above the cafeteria, and several of them even work in restaurants right here in Cambridge as stages (apprentices). Typically these students would probably never even have spoken to one another let alone become teammates as it were. The comraderie is palpable when they are together. On the other hand, however, there is a distinct rivalry looming that I felt as soon as I showed them the kitchen. They were all vying for an imaginary position in my kitchen that didn't even exist. Very much indictative of kitchen life and they barely have any experience outside of their own school kitchen. But that's precisely the point: regardless of the kitchen being located within their school it is still a world to which they can escape. Sure they attend regular classes like all the other kids, but they have the haven of their kitchen to resort to. It is there that they gain their strength. And their conviction to the art of food gives me strength and confidence that this industry will continue to grow as the tastes of young people continue to grow as well.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
More Hot Buttered Rum
Another video from How2Heroes. Nothing better than a hot cocktail to endure the winter.
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Inauguration Day 2009
Tuesday, January 20th, 2009 will forever be remembered, indelibly, by every American and the world. Working in the restaurant, I am constantly exposed to unique social behavior. For some reason, when people break bread with one another a filter is often turned off as well. From morning to night on Tuesday, UpStairs opened up its doors to host a bevy of events that welcomed the whole city of Cambridge to participate in the hopefulness of Inauguration Day 2009. Starting with a free breakfast with an open invitation to the city, nearly 250 people showed to start their day off with us at UpStairs. Emotions were running high and it wasn't even 8:00 a.m. The culture of the room was astounding as guests mingled wantonly with complete strangers, clearly anticipating the momentous occasion to come later that afternoon. Little children with their parent's encouragement were attempting to say "Obama" for the first time.
By the time lunch service began, there were no words for how jubliant the dining room felt. Once the seats were filled, the champagne flowed and flowed! "Melting Pot" Chili was dispensed, and soon silence took over the room as President Obama began to speak. I watched several members of my kitchen staff emerge to listen intently alongside the customers in the room. Looking out over the sea of people filling the Monday Club I had never felt so hopeful in my entire life. There will be change because there must be change. Tears welled up in my eyes, possibly because I was working on several hours of sleep, but mostly because of the fondness I felt for every person in that room who chose to share in this historic moment with us. The day could not have been any better if we had tried. Here is a link to some pictures of the joyous day we all shared. http://picasaweb.google.com/evelyman/InaugurationHarvardSquare#
So here's to hoping! May this new administration, despite the heavy burden it already faces, be embraced as wholy as we embrace our friends and family.
By the time lunch service began, there were no words for how jubliant the dining room felt. Once the seats were filled, the champagne flowed and flowed! "Melting Pot" Chili was dispensed, and soon silence took over the room as President Obama began to speak. I watched several members of my kitchen staff emerge to listen intently alongside the customers in the room. Looking out over the sea of people filling the Monday Club I had never felt so hopeful in my entire life. There will be change because there must be change. Tears welled up in my eyes, possibly because I was working on several hours of sleep, but mostly because of the fondness I felt for every person in that room who chose to share in this historic moment with us. The day could not have been any better if we had tried. Here is a link to some pictures of the joyous day we all shared. http://picasaweb.google.com/evelyman/InaugurationHarvardSquare#
So here's to hoping! May this new administration, despite the heavy burden it already faces, be embraced as wholy as we embrace our friends and family.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Our Heroes
Lynne Viera is a local foodie who has recently launched a web-site full of great how-to videos, including some videos of our own Chef Steven Brand and this one of our house mixologist Augusto Lino.
Monday, January 12, 2009
Listen Locally
The culinary scene in Cambridge has evolved so fully that it is really difficult to find a bad meal. It is as though chefs and restauranteurs have made an unwritten pact to utilize as much of the bountiful New England harvest as they can get their hands on, keeping both the local economy at ease and the patrons feeling as though they are aiding in this effort by consuming their neighbors' wares. It may be questioned if ingredients and their denominations really make that much of a difference, but once you've sampled a perfect summer tomato from Lil' Compton or Grateful Farms, you'll ask no more questions.
As far as sensory experiences go, however, taste is not the only sense that makes a culinary experience. I believe that the appropriate background noise does so much for a meal. Sometimes the mere din of the dining room can be enough if there are some great laughers, poignant stories being told, or the simple scraping of that last bite from the bottom of the bowl. Music, however, does so much to convert my time in any space. To that end, I wanted to feature three local musicians that have made their way onto my iPod, and on occasion into our restaurant. Supporting local artists is something in which we at UpStairs have always shown interest.
1. Eli "Paperboy" Reed and the True Loves
www.elipaperboyreed.com
Albums - "Walkin' and Talkin'" and "Roll With You"
I don't actually know Eli, but I first heard him on WERS, Emerson College's student radio station. Born and breed in Brookline, MA, Eli apparently got his start musically as so many others did by playing the streets of Harvard Square. His voice has been compared to Sam Cooke and Otis Redding, and his band the True Loves are particularly adept at showcasing his powerful voice. But what I love most about this band is the passion and playful nature present in each song. It's refreshing to know that R&B can be produced in such a raw fashion from an area that might be more readily recognized for its Klezmer music. Consequently, I think that is why his sound fits our design so well: food and music are not dissimilar. The same scales will always exist as will the same onions ... it's how we choose to prepare them that warrants how smart an artist truly is. Eli Reed is a smart guy.
2. Miss Tess and the BonTon Parade
www.misstessmusic.com
Albums - "Modern Vintage," "When Tomorrow Comes," and "Home"
This is my girl! My life is infinitely improved after having met this group. They have graced my dining room, befriended my staff, and intriqued an entire community with their ingenious approach to jazz standards and their destandardization. Tess' music is readily recognized by my whole staff and immediately sparks little sing-a-long sessions and smiles abound when she's played. If there's one thing that music can do more than most mediums is evoke something in you. I have been very fortunate to be surrounded by creative people at UpStairs who get excited at the prospect of a new flavor profile or preparation. But nothing makes me happier than when I see that passion on the faces of both my staff and my guests in the form of a smile. I live on a steady diet of smiles, and "Pokey McMumbles" will never cease to keep me satiated.
3. Rachael Price
www.rachaelprice.net
Albums - "The Good Hours," "Dedicated to You," "Refreshingly Cool - with the Tennessee Terraplanes"
Tess and Rachael used to be roommates. When I went to see Tess play on her birthday at the CanTab in Central Square this year (and bring her the bottle of whiskey I had gotten her from the restaurant), I asked what she was doing after the show. She turned to me and said, "You've got to come see this girl. Her voice is way better than mine!" She set a high bar, but Rachael did not disappoint. It's been a long time (if ever) since I felt an uncontrollable urge to grab a complete stranger from a bar I've never been to and ask them to dance with me, but it happened at Rachael's show at Atwoods. Her versions of "Tupelo Honey" and "Comes Love" scared me. Not that I'm much older, but I couldn't believe the intelligence in her voice as she tackled such powerful songs. The girl knows what she's doing. And as it often is with young chefs, when you aim high you often exceed expections, even your own. Rachael exceeded all of my expectations, and continues to whenever I have the opportunity to see her perform.
That's my locally-grown playlist currently. It's always expanding, as is our menu. I'm always on the look-out to add more to my repetoire, both culinarily and musically.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
mmm, butter...
The conservative drinker will probably never try a Hot-Buttered-Rum. Well, that's too bad, my unadventurous friend.
For the rest of us, this cocktail is a combination of ingredients that speaks directly to the heart (or heart attack). It has the warmth and fuzziness of grandma's house, with an apple pie in the oven and a fluffy cat on the window.
It has rum, traditionally a New England specialty, now mostly imported from the Caribbean. Here at UpStairs we make it with a combination of Blackstrap and Spiced rums that balance each other in a way that only rum can (try mixing Scotch and Bourbon and you'll see what I mean).
It has sugar. We use our demerara syrup, with tons of raw cane flavor as opposed to, you know, plain sugar. Life is just too short for plain sugar in our Hot-Buttered-Rums. If you're using apple cider, you can skip the sugar altogether but I recommend leaving the cider in a quiet corner (for another time) and letting the sugar/spice/butter do the talking. So a little hot water will help bring everything together and a little Sezchuan pepper adds another layer to every sip (think of it as bitters in a Manhattan). A less exotic spice can be used: cloves and cinnamon are just fine, but I find that the complex and delicate heat of the Sezchuan peppercorns sprinkled on top of the drink seasons the cocktails' familiar flavors with a hint of something a little less trivial. It lifts Grandma's house out of the suburbs and lands it in Vineyard Haven.
Then, there's the butter. Sinners will think of using anything other than real, unsweetened butter. But I am not easily tempted into such evildoing, so if you order one from me, expect a nice inch thick cube of butter to be floated into the cocktail at the very moment of serving. It will be left to melt as you drink, not stirred into the cocktail.
I don't expect hot-buttered-rums to become the next big think in the posh lounges of the urban World. It sure would be fun to watch the gorgeous waitresses holding trays full of these hot-buttery little angels above the heads of well-heeled patrons. But in truth, I don't think that's going to happen. Besides, this is not the cocktail equivalent of a black Jil Sander suite. This is like that comfy old sweater. No other, from any store in SoHo or from the cold, cold Copley Mall can replace it but maybe Grandma could make you one.
Hot-Buttered-Rum
3/4 oz black strap rum
3/4 oz spiced rum
1/2 oz simple syrup
3 oz hot water
3 tbsp unsalted butter
pinch of ground Sichuan pepper
For the rest of us, this cocktail is a combination of ingredients that speaks directly to the heart (or heart attack). It has the warmth and fuzziness of grandma's house, with an apple pie in the oven and a fluffy cat on the window.
It has rum, traditionally a New England specialty, now mostly imported from the Caribbean. Here at UpStairs we make it with a combination of Blackstrap and Spiced rums that balance each other in a way that only rum can (try mixing Scotch and Bourbon and you'll see what I mean).
It has sugar. We use our demerara syrup, with tons of raw cane flavor as opposed to, you know, plain sugar. Life is just too short for plain sugar in our Hot-Buttered-Rums. If you're using apple cider, you can skip the sugar altogether but I recommend leaving the cider in a quiet corner (for another time) and letting the sugar/spice/butter do the talking. So a little hot water will help bring everything together and a little Sezchuan pepper adds another layer to every sip (think of it as bitters in a Manhattan). A less exotic spice can be used: cloves and cinnamon are just fine, but I find that the complex and delicate heat of the Sezchuan peppercorns sprinkled on top of the drink seasons the cocktails' familiar flavors with a hint of something a little less trivial. It lifts Grandma's house out of the suburbs and lands it in Vineyard Haven.
Then, there's the butter. Sinners will think of using anything other than real, unsweetened butter. But I am not easily tempted into such evildoing, so if you order one from me, expect a nice inch thick cube of butter to be floated into the cocktail at the very moment of serving. It will be left to melt as you drink, not stirred into the cocktail.
I don't expect hot-buttered-rums to become the next big think in the posh lounges of the urban World. It sure would be fun to watch the gorgeous waitresses holding trays full of these hot-buttery little angels above the heads of well-heeled patrons. But in truth, I don't think that's going to happen. Besides, this is not the cocktail equivalent of a black Jil Sander suite. This is like that comfy old sweater. No other, from any store in SoHo or from the cold, cold Copley Mall can replace it but maybe Grandma could make you one.
Hot-Buttered-Rum
3/4 oz black strap rum
3/4 oz spiced rum
1/2 oz simple syrup
3 oz hot water
3 tbsp unsalted butter
pinch of ground Sichuan pepper
New Year's Resolutions
My friend told me the other day that our friend impressed him with his New Year's Resolution for 2009: he's resolved not to change anything. This comment stayed with me as I set out for my early January escapade to New York City last week. My intention with this trip was to eat my way through the city with great friends, laugh wholeheartedly and often, and remind myself why I choose to live in Cambridge and not there.
I'm happy to report that I was successful on all three fronts. The trip started off with a bit of a shaky start as I had neglected to remember that my car was covered in a sheet of ice from the bitter storm we'd received last week in New England. Once free of the shackles of arctic debris, I popped into my local Brazilian bakery and picked up some coxinhas for myself and my riding companions. They are so wonderfully anti-Atkins, and for the trip we had planned, we were going to need to lubricate our livers with as much grease and caffeine as our stomachs could handle.
I proceeded to pick up two of my favorite people: Danny Giddings and Rogerio Rocha, my buddy/bartender extraordinaire and my Brazilian buttercup/star server/hair dresser/DJ/confidant respectively. Our home base in New York was the recently converted Williamsburg warehouse apartment of our friend, Lindsay, a former star server at our restaurant who is now dead to me because she is no longer my employee. Kidding aside, the combustible nature of this foursome was palpable.
After a Zoolander-esque car ride filled with giggles, Rick Astley, WHAM!, harassing cell phone calls to Lindsay of impending doom, and a memorable pitstop at a closed gas station in Connecticut where two toothless truck drivers in Carhardts were met with Roger's frosted tips and propensity for belting Mariah Carey tunes, we arrived in Brooklyn. This is where New York started to intrique me. Our first stop was a lovely little bistro called Cornichon where the owners clearly have not been made aware of the recent economic crisis. Their wine list was short and sweet and nearly at cost. Their portioning for food was extreme. A chartuterie and cheese plate with three meat mountains, five hunks of cheese, a vat of duck liver pate, and all the cornichons you can eat for $18 was enough to keep up there well longer than we'd anticipated. I felt like we were cheating them, but then when the bartender started asking us to explain to her what she had served us I felt validated in our gluttony. We were given too much food and to compensate for the overage we educated the bartender.
Following our appetizer spree, we moved directly across the street to an aptly named dive called Trash Bar. On a rare chance that I am able to indulge in what they call a vacation, I have a tendancy to be very interested in the moment but my concept of time is completely lost. That said, it hadn't stuck me that it was a Sunday until promptly upon entering Trash Bar we were met with a feisty bartender who told us not to waste our money at the jukebox because "church is going on inside." Apparently, the owners of Trash Bar have figured out, rather ingeniously, a "marriage" as it were with a local sect of beer-swilling Christians who pay good money to rent out the stage space in the back of the bar every Sunday to hold their church service. There is a full service bar with a bartender devoted [sic] to the congregation who keeps them with a steady supply of heavenly tator tots (the signature freebie "tapa" of Trash Bar).
At this point, we had been in New York for about three hours and hadn't even touched foot in Manhattan. Already, however, I was starting to see the genious that is New York. It hasn't changed anything but it's changed everything at the same time. New York is its own product. Its marketing strategy is stunningly simple: let the consumer decide. Then, show up and collect. New York for me is a Tom Waits song. One that jumps to mind is "Step Right Up."
"We need your business, we're going out of business
We'll give you the business
Get on the business end of our going-out-of-business sale
Receive our free brochure, free brochure
Read the easy-to-follow assembly instructions, batteries not included
Send before midnight tomorrow, terms available,
Step right up, step right up, step right up
You got it buddy: the large print giveth, and the small print taketh away
Step right up, you can step right up, you can step right up
C'mon step right up"
And we are thrilled to step right up. I know I am. But only from time to time. Cambridge is a different kind of Tom Waits song. It's more of a blanket. This city, in terms of its hospitality at least, has everything on offer in a very transparent way, dissimilar to New York where an earned hospitality exists I feel. There's a great little snippet from Waits' "Nighthawks at the Diner" album where he talks about calling himself up and taking himself out, mostly because he knows he's always around and available. That is exactly the way I feel in Cambridge. I can call myself any night of the week and find myself happy against any backdrop. There is a welcome mat at the stoop of every restaurant, bar, museum, and home that I wander into.
Maybe I should lay off the Tom Waits for a little bit, but if there's one thing I learned on my trip to New York it is to be unabashedlysentimental about the place you call home.
I'm happy to report that I was successful on all three fronts. The trip started off with a bit of a shaky start as I had neglected to remember that my car was covered in a sheet of ice from the bitter storm we'd received last week in New England. Once free of the shackles of arctic debris, I popped into my local Brazilian bakery and picked up some coxinhas for myself and my riding companions. They are so wonderfully anti-Atkins, and for the trip we had planned, we were going to need to lubricate our livers with as much grease and caffeine as our stomachs could handle.
I proceeded to pick up two of my favorite people: Danny Giddings and Rogerio Rocha, my buddy/bartender extraordinaire and my Brazilian buttercup/star server/hair dresser/DJ/confidant respectively. Our home base in New York was the recently converted Williamsburg warehouse apartment of our friend, Lindsay, a former star server at our restaurant who is now dead to me because she is no longer my employee. Kidding aside, the combustible nature of this foursome was palpable.
After a Zoolander-esque car ride filled with giggles, Rick Astley, WHAM!, harassing cell phone calls to Lindsay of impending doom, and a memorable pitstop at a closed gas station in Connecticut where two toothless truck drivers in Carhardts were met with Roger's frosted tips and propensity for belting Mariah Carey tunes, we arrived in Brooklyn. This is where New York started to intrique me. Our first stop was a lovely little bistro called Cornichon where the owners clearly have not been made aware of the recent economic crisis. Their wine list was short and sweet and nearly at cost. Their portioning for food was extreme. A chartuterie and cheese plate with three meat mountains, five hunks of cheese, a vat of duck liver pate, and all the cornichons you can eat for $18 was enough to keep up there well longer than we'd anticipated. I felt like we were cheating them, but then when the bartender started asking us to explain to her what she had served us I felt validated in our gluttony. We were given too much food and to compensate for the overage we educated the bartender.
Following our appetizer spree, we moved directly across the street to an aptly named dive called Trash Bar. On a rare chance that I am able to indulge in what they call a vacation, I have a tendancy to be very interested in the moment but my concept of time is completely lost. That said, it hadn't stuck me that it was a Sunday until promptly upon entering Trash Bar we were met with a feisty bartender who told us not to waste our money at the jukebox because "church is going on inside." Apparently, the owners of Trash Bar have figured out, rather ingeniously, a "marriage" as it were with a local sect of beer-swilling Christians who pay good money to rent out the stage space in the back of the bar every Sunday to hold their church service. There is a full service bar with a bartender devoted [sic] to the congregation who keeps them with a steady supply of heavenly tator tots (the signature freebie "tapa" of Trash Bar).
At this point, we had been in New York for about three hours and hadn't even touched foot in Manhattan. Already, however, I was starting to see the genious that is New York. It hasn't changed anything but it's changed everything at the same time. New York is its own product. Its marketing strategy is stunningly simple: let the consumer decide. Then, show up and collect. New York for me is a Tom Waits song. One that jumps to mind is "Step Right Up."
"We need your business, we're going out of business
We'll give you the business
Get on the business end of our going-out-of-business sale
Receive our free brochure, free brochure
Read the easy-to-follow assembly instructions, batteries not included
Send before midnight tomorrow, terms available,
Step right up, step right up, step right up
You got it buddy: the large print giveth, and the small print taketh away
Step right up, you can step right up, you can step right up
C'mon step right up"
And we are thrilled to step right up. I know I am. But only from time to time. Cambridge is a different kind of Tom Waits song. It's more of a blanket. This city, in terms of its hospitality at least, has everything on offer in a very transparent way, dissimilar to New York where an earned hospitality exists I feel. There's a great little snippet from Waits' "Nighthawks at the Diner" album where he talks about calling himself up and taking himself out, mostly because he knows he's always around and available. That is exactly the way I feel in Cambridge. I can call myself any night of the week and find myself happy against any backdrop. There is a welcome mat at the stoop of every restaurant, bar, museum, and home that I wander into.
Maybe I should lay off the Tom Waits for a little bit, but if there's one thing I learned on my trip to New York it is to be unabashedlysentimental about the place you call home.
Monday, January 5, 2009
Ginger Spice
Ginger is a good thing, as Martha would say. Halfway through the 20Th Century, a drink that was in fashion, especially in England, was gin and ginger beer. How such a drink fell out of popularity, I don't understand. Actually, I do - all it takes is a sip of some of the ginger beers available out there. No spice, no ginger, no love.
I've tried-believe me- I've spent time searching for something with a little more punch, only to find that most quality ginger-beers are made in such small batch that it is either too expensive or simply to difficult to always have it in stock.
Another problem I faced with existing ginger-beers is that they fell in the same category as sodas, therefore limiting it's usage, mostly because it'd loose the bubbles if I shook it to mix with other ingredients.
So my ginger beer not only needed spice to give you something to drink for, it also needed to be shaker-friendly, so I set out to make my own. It was the first of many ingredients I attempted to create from scratch and after a few tries, I became satisfied with the results.
When I made the trial versions at my house, back in my early days in Boston, my roommates would go crazy waiting for it to get done so we could finally drink some dark-and-stormies. The smell of ginger travelled through the house and lingered the whole afternoon, we'd sit on the porch , cocktails in hand, and could still smell it at dusk.
Steven Brand was the man with the secret ingredient. Part of a recipe for ginger syrup he used in New York was adapted into the ginger beer base I had concocted and the rest is history. Stop by the bar anytime and I'll give you the recipe.
Speaking of history, an early 21st Century revivalist (Audrey Saunders, if we're going to name names) created the Gin Gin Mule. Looking at the recipe, you can't help but think of the popular British thirst quencher the Mid-Century drinkers downed on their porches.
Gin Gin Mule
1/2 oz lime juice
1/2 oz simple syrup
6 mint sprigs
3/4 oz non-sparkling ginger beer
1 1/2 London Dry Gin
In a cocktail shaker combine the juice, syrup, mint, gin and ginger beer. Shake well with ice, strain into a highball glass filled with ice and top with club soda. Garnish with a lime wedge.
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