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.

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

Splash of soda water

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.

Doors Closing and Opening

This past Sunday, the B-Side Lounge served its final "Last Word," a cocktail that has gained infamy here in Cambridge and with my liver. Huddling close to an island off the bar with several friends, I couldn't help but marvel as the ever ready and well stocked bar at which I had spent so many nights began to dwindle; bottles being polished off never to be restocked again. The faces of the patrons fluctuated between grief and joy, but settled predominantly on melancholy. Understandably the closing of a local institution will breed a sense of sorrow, but looking around the bar and seeing the faces of children presumably conceived in or around the bar, old flames staring each other down from opposing corners of the room, and a bevy of bartenders in whom I have confided throughout the years, I couldn't help but think how fortunate we are to have at the very least the nostalgia associated with this space. If there be no Perfect Manhattan, at least there be memories aplenty to drink.
This is essentially what I hope for our own Monday Club Bar: a comparable number of stories and anecdotes to match the number of meals we produce. Every day I come into the restaurant, I walk into an open slate, a groundhog day as it were. People come and go, there are familiar faces and new, dishes adapt to the seasons, and generally nothing is ever exactly the same. It's tweaked. It's nuanced. I love that about my job.
Consequently, I love the fact that in my relatively short time at UpStairs I have been able to acquire so many great stories from this place. My hope is to chronicle several of them here throughout the course of this coming year. No matter how my relationship with the restaurant unfurls, I will always have the great moments I've had here to look back upon.
So as the door of one of my favorite after work hangouts closes, my appreciation for the place in which I work opens up and continues to grow.

Hits Of Sunshine

This cocktail is called "Hits Of Sunshine". Fresh!

3/4 oz raspberry puree
1/2 oz St. Germain elderflower liqueur
Champagne

garnish with a yellow rose

The Long Awaited Harvard Graduation 2008 Dinner Menu

Commencement 2008
Congratulations Graduates!
Thursday, June 5, 2008

……….

First Courses

Sweet Spring-Dug Parsnip Vichyssoise
Chilled Parsnip & Leek Soup, Fingerling Potato Crisps

Tempura-Fried Snap Peas
Bagna Cauda

Salad of Eva’s Spring Greens & Herbs
Crispy Onions

Creamy White Bean Tortelli
Spring Bean Salad, Goat Cheese & Chives

Olive Oil-Poached Shrimp
Lemon, Summer Herbs & Crispy Black Trumpet Mushrooms

Entrées

Hand-Rolled Cavatelli
Spring Sweet Peas, Favas, Pecorino & Mint Pesto

Pan-Roasted Giannone Chicken
Asparagus, Oyster Mushrooms & Aromatic Jus

Seared Rib Eye Steak
Olive Oil Crushed Potatoes, Herbs Florentine & Truffle Vinaigrette

Grilled Leg of Lamb
Parmesan Custard, Tiny Spring-Dug Beets & Minted Jus

Desserts

Mint-Ganache Warm Chocolate Soufflé Cake
Mascarpone Cream

Profiteroles with House-Made Tahitian Vanilla Ice Cream
Chocolate Sauce &Toasted Almonds

Alomond Biscotti
Fresh Cherries & Limoncello

Housemade Cantaloupe Sorbet
Blueberries & Sugar Cookie


$85 Prix Fixe Menu

………

To find out about all of our events and activities, visit:
www.upstairsonthesquare.com

……….

Steven Brand, Chef
Mary-Catherine Deibel & Deborah Hughes, Proprietors

*Consuming raw or undercooked foods
may increase your risk of food-borne illness.
An 18% gratuity is added for parties of six or more.
6.2.2008

Let Them Eat Brioche

Spring Ahead

Continuing with my "seasonal drinking" rampage, may I just say that I dig spring? Not too hot, not too cold, just right.


Anyway, I was in New York last week and found myself with some time to kill before dinner with friends from the old Library, so I stopped by to say hi to yet another friend. Ryan Smith, with whom I worked behind the bar years ago is now at Puck Fair where I tasted some great seasonal beers and the one I liked the best was Dogfish Head's Aprihop. As the name suggests it taste of apricots and hops. It is a little tart (my favourite flavor profile) and very refreshing. Another sign of spring is the Weihenstephaner Hefe Weiss that I added to our beer list recently. Weihenstephaner claims to be the oldest brewery still around and I believe them. Their Hefe Weiss is a little sweet, a little yeasty, just right for the season (this is it's third consecutive Spring on our beer list).

We are just about to open the sidewalk tables on Winthrop Street, which, despite being hundreds of years old, I think was really intended for outdoor dinning and beer drinking (with moderation of course). It may just be that our wise ancestors knew that the marketplace where farmers traded (Winthrop Park) would be outgrown by the city it created and that the little side street would have not other use except for sitting in the sun and enjoying cold beer. I may even suggest that we serve the coldest beer in Cambridge, I just can't prove it.