God in A Cup of Coffee

I spent yesterday being a talking head for a documentary on coffee that will air on the Discovery Channel. We taped the show at Murky Coffee in Arlington, Virginia.

The producer, Dana Millikin, had hoped to interview Murky owner Nick (Cho), but Nick is off in Copenhagen emceeing the World Barista Competition. In fact when I arrived back home from Nick’s cafe, I heard Nick talking in my house, well, talking on the radio in my house, in a National Public Radio segment on barista art taped in Copenhagen. Hearing him after spending the day in his cafe, gave me one of those sci fi feelings, as if what is in my head is shooting out into the universe.

The documentary producer, Dana Millikin and the camera man were food lovers eager to learn about coffee. I relived my own “coffee conversion” watching them experience their first “real” cappuccinos made with whole milk and Counter Culture’s Espresso Toscano–velvety foam, a mouthful of chocolate caramel, perfectly executed rosettas, framed in white, then ringed with brown. Smooth as cashmere. How I love the sensuality of a good cappuccino.

The baristas, Travis Edwards, David Flynn and Katie Duris, turned out competition-quality caps all day–OK, the presence of a TV crew might have had a teeny tiny impact on their stellar performances. but these guys are good.

The coffee that blew me away, though, was from Nyeri, Kenya–Counter Culture’s Kangocho Auction Lot 4587.  On CC’s  website this coffee is described saying it,  “offers layers of black cherry, dried currant, dark chocolate, and allspice above a substantial, velvety body.”  I tasted a round mouthful of spicy grape juice. Mmmm.

I sipped the Nyeri and then handed the cup over to Dana Millikin, the producer who as the day progressed was becoming my new best friend.   As Dana tasted the coffee a look spread across her face. “Now I get what you mean about drinking brewed coffee black,” Dana said with a certain wonder.  “Coffee like this doesn’t need enhancing.”

 By 2pm, I was pretty hungry, and it was clear we weren’t going to break for lunch. I stared at the pastry in the counter and eventually  I bought a chocolate chip biscotti.  It was big, and I  attacked it  with  the good manners of, oh, a dog, driving his teeth into a bit of red meat.

Ohhhhh.  Disappointment.  Wrong texture.  And cinnamon.  I don’t want to taste  cinnamon in my biscotti!  Almond, yes.  I want to taste almond, but not cinnamon.

Phooey.

I guess sourcing great cookies is even harder than sourcing great  coffee.

(I am going to ask Dana Millikin to email me some pictures from yesterday’s shoot at Murky, and I will post them here.)

I had dinner last night at one of my favorite restaurants in the DC area: Black Market Bistro.

Black Market is located in a restored Victorian house across from the railroad “station” (in fact there is no station, just a stop) in a leafy 100-year old suburb called Garrett Park. With its towering trees and welcoming tennis courts, picnic tables and town green, Garrett Park recalls the time in America when people with taste and money wanted to live in suburbs.

The setting doesn’t mean much, of course, if a restaurant’s food and wine don’t live up to the visual. Not the case at Black Market.

There were three of us last night. My husband and our friend ordered one of Black Market’s signature dishes. Pan Seared Monkfish, served over saffron-flavored papas bravas, small cubes of potatoes in aioli, with sauteed haricot verts and a tomato parsley relish. I had the New Orleans style barbecue shrimp served with wilted swiss chard and creamy sweet corn grits that were to die for. Unsure whether to order a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc from Australia or the dry Riesling from New Zealand, our server brought us a taste of both and we chose the Riesling, which had a zesty lemon/honey thing going on. ($36.)

I could describe the frozen mango mousse we shared for dessert, but I will spare you. Suffice it to say: the food and wine and setting at Black Market provided us with a satisfying laughter-filled oasis from everyday life, reminding us all why we love dining out.

The quality of the meal did not come as a surprise because Black Market is one of four restaurants owned by local chefs Jeff and Barbara Black. Each one of their places –Black Market, Black’s Bar & Kitchen, Addies, and BlackSalt Restaurant and Fish Market ( without question the best fish store in DC), are all gems.

So why when I asked about the coffee last night, did our talented wait person proudly proclaim that coffee. espresso. cappuccinos and lattes were provided by Illy Caffe? How can it be that talented food people like the Blacks serve coffee that tastes like dreck?

Don’t they taste their own coffee?

The answer is, “no!”

They don’t taste coffee consciously and purposefully using the same set of standards and expectations that they apply when assessing other foodstuffs.

I have been pondering this mystery all morning, and I have decided what is required is a “conversion experience.” Until chefs’ understanding of coffee is “reborn,” they just aren’t going to get it.

Like it or not, most chefs don’t view coffee as an agricultural product or understand drinking coffee to be a culinary experience.

I had a conversation about coffee with the general manager of one of the other restaurants owned by the Blacks a year or two ago. He told me that he had made a stab at offering “gourmet” coffee.

He ordered four different coffees from an elite roaster (Intelligentsia, if memory serves). He prepared a special coffee menu and offered a hodge podge of coffees, espressos and cappuccinos to the public as an experiment. The experiment failed and that was that.

I think this sad situation will not change until the specialty coffee industry begins to understand that chefs are not cheap snarky bastards out to “dis” the creativity of great coffee roasters. When it comes to coffee, chefs are the unconverted. They need to be coaxed and cajoled and welcomed into the tent of the true believers. In order to change and be reborn, they need love, not disdain.

……

Here is a picture of Black Market in Garrett Park. The picture doesn’t do the place justice. Go and eat there. Speak gently to to the chef the word of great coffee.

It’s 100 degrees in Washington, DC and I am as lazy as a kid defying orders to pick up his toys.

Still, I promised myself I would write about Grape & Bean, the new wine and coffee bar located on South Royal Street in Old Town, Alexandria, Virginia. I visited this appealing little boite located in an historic building for the first time last week and was impressed as hell.

This tiny little place positions specialty coffee as the companion to all that is handmade and delicious in a way that I consider an absolute model for the specialty industry. In an accessible and yet stylish environment food, wine and coffee marry one another harmoniously.

The emotional tone of the place is set by owner David Gwathmey and Sheera Rosenfeld’s eagerness to share what they love, so the place is friendly, rather than snooty.

The point is to create an environment where all feel welcome to explore new tastes and new pairings of coffee, wine and food. Unusual social pairings are also on the menu. On my visit, David Gwathmey told me he loves seeing “freaky coffee people” chatting up upscale wine drinkers at the coffee bar.

Grape & Bean offers wines from around the world by the glass and by the bottle; Counter Culture coffees by the cup (brewed on a Clover), and as bean; equipment for brewing coffee at home; and an array of unusual food products, including exotic chocolate and spices and artisan breads baked daily by the talented baker from Restaurant Eve. (I bought a baguette and my husband, fondly known as the Bread Nazi, was blown away by this deeply fragrant, earthy, yet refined loaf.) Soon Grape & Bean will be offering customers at its wine bar and outdoor tables a simple sampling of foods made in house.

Grape and Bean is located in an historic building. Its culinary aesthetic is matched by a concern for design and architectural , as you can see from this collage lifted from another foodie blog:

As a result of my blog, I have been outed: It’s true. I am a bad speller, have been all my life. (My third grade teacher described my skills as a student to my mother saying that I wrote so well, and spelled so creatively.) As an adult, I came to realize spelling is a visual acuity skill unrelated to writing ability, reasoning and even memory.

As a young reporter, recognizing that I was a bad speller I would check every word over and over when I wrote a piece. And then spell check came along and undid my careful ways. I came to rely on this software feature and in time I forgot that I am a bad speller who must always always be on guard.

I didn’t quite take in this fact when I began, but blogging is undertaken naked: There is no editor or copy editor fig-leafing the writer’s shortcomings. And on my blogging software, there is no automatic spell check.

Still, a good writer must love the language and should try mightily and constantly to honor the language in all ways. Which means honoring words, using them accurately and with verve and spelling them correctly. And a good reporter must strive always to get things right.

So she must learn to be more careful. and she must learn to spell palate correctly and she can remember how to spell palate because palate and plate are the same word with just the addition of one a.

So I will do better and perhaps my critics will develop a sense of humor. Or perhaps they will not. I, however, will try to maintain mine.