ANATOMY OF THE LOCAL

"The crowd is his element,

as the air is that of birds and water of fishes. His passion and his profession are to become one flesh with the crowd. For the perfect flâneur, for the passionate spectator, it is an immense joy to set up house in the heart of the multitude, amid the ebb and flow of movement, in the midst of the fugitive and the infinite. To be away from home and yet to feel oneself everywhere at home; to see the world, to be at the center of the world, and yet to remain hidden from the world—impartial natures which the tongue can but clumsily define. The spectator is a prince who everywhere rejoices in his incognito..." - Charles Baudelaire

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I do that! I set up house in the heart of the multitude...say...in a coffee house. In Asheville, High 5 Coffee Bar makes the best espresso and its variations, so here I am. As it happens, the folks at Waking Life also make the best espresso in Asheville. And, while there may be others, High 5 is my local. 



I've spent years cultivating this particular baristocracy. I tip reliably, don't ogle (much), and make no unreasonable demands. And, I order the same thing every time. They like that. What could be better than a low maintenance regular?  

In return, I get serious coffee, permission to plug in and a new soundtrack each day. Where else can you hear Yma Sumac, Bela Fleck and the Texas Playboys. Coffee houses have been exclusively my third places since March 16th, 1977. The warm spot that is neither home nor office. I believe that I need these places, for sanctuary from obligation. I don't need to serve or be in charge or even to collaborate. (Not that there is anything wrong with collaboration. Also, I'll walk the dog later.)

Within this sanctuary I learn contemporary culture and wander in my head...in both cases, just to see what's there. Truly, I don't really know until I write it down (or speak it out loud.) Further, if I were less of a flaneur I might work this third place and be community. Propinquity alone qualifies me; I am so often there. But I have a different agenda now, my requirements are few and they are all available at High 5.

I want to be welcome, to be greeted warmly...but with poise. On occasion, I arrive grim (what with life and all...) but even when I am buoyant there should be some slight distance. A blend of both casual and formal, it is a professional exchange. It feels more solid to be a client then a customer.

My part of the bargain, other than the money, is to keep the confessional to this "page" and simply be courteous. B knows something about dealing with the public, day after day. Each one thinks that their transaction is the only one of importance and seems to need a fully detailed backstory, each and every time. It isn't and doesn't. And it takes up time and steals focus both of which are needed to do the job. I try not be that person.

It is always a pleasure to watch as they make a cappuccino. Good baristas have subtle, personal flourishes. They don't talk when they work.  B (again a reliable source) has pointed out the particular beauty of the careful execution of almost any task. Mindfully making coffee to be making coffee. Style, focus, craft and service. 

My current drink is a three shot cappuccino, with a side shot and a seltzer chaser. I toss the shot whole and stop everything to taste and inhale. I can't put names on the layers of taste (hazelnut, blackberry, wood, wet leather) but I do experience them in this holy moment. A quick sip of seltzer isolates that first experience. Then I take a sip of the cap and settle down to my spot (hidden at the center of the world.)

I scan the room, anyone to greet? Anyone with whom to seek or avoid eye contact? Interesting clothing, adornment, faces and bodies? New tats, new hair, new objects dangling...the baristas are a fashion strikeforce: the men groom their heads and curate their arms. These women (nature's best) often change totally from one day to the next. Grunge, the little black number, vintage circle skirts, altered clothing, leggings ringed with bold stripes, ear feathers, dirndls, mountain sports ready, fresh from the farm, bare face and stage makeup. 

Finishing the scan I start to write where I left off. Here, in my local I don't play solitaire. There is an academic theory that suggests we have a fear of being seen as purposeless and therefore, in whatever we do, we radiate intent. Whatever. Maybe. In the midst of this hubbub I write with greater focus than anywhere else. I have been waiting a long time to do this, to unreel my life as I speak my passion for food and hospitality. The right kind of third place allows me to write as if it matters.

                                           

Here is my theory: I've told you that I come from a seagoing family. At sea the constant hum of the diesel and the creaking sounds of the ship passing through waves are both comfort. It means that we are making headway. When the noise stops, we are in trouble. In the same way, the hubbub of new and familiar voices, the music drone, the china and metal clink and even the torture of the coffee grinder are comforting sounds. We have headway, I can relax and listen to my own voice.

Engrish,com

El Patron of High 5, Jay Weatherly, worked his way through school pulling shots as folk met and posed questions, designed, schemed, argued, dissolved and reformed (remember: thesis-antithesis-synthesis.)  "Third places "host the regular, voluntary, informal, and happily anticipated gatherings of individuals beyond the realms of home and work." Rae Oldenburg, in The Great Good Place. Jay needed a career and so he made a good place to build community.  Also there is excellent coffee,

Another sip and I can slip beneath my waves and check the tectonics of everything. 

.

Cheers,

Chris

Indulgence (it's a good thing)

Dagwood Bumstead cared for only 3 things

My list is longer than his but our top three are nearly identical. Eating, sleeping and Blondie (although my Blondie has silver and black hair and is never publicly ditzy.) The devoted pursuit of these goals throughout one's life might be interpreted as cardinal sins.  I don't care. I fully intend to keep it up.

Of course gluttony needs balance...just not repudiation. I hold this to be true for all of the "sins" that harm no one. They should not be avoided; rather, they should be perfected. Some folks base their lives on love, or obedience, or law. My animating center is the pleasure principle. I realize, of course, this is everyone's core drive, even yours. I choose not to fight it. For your sake and mine, DON'T GET ME STARTED!

Any effort spent seeking pleasure for oneself or others is worthwhile. Don't take my word for it...from a little ditty that was sung to Tutankhamen and his court:

god this was good

Let thy desire flourish,
In order to let thy heart forget the beatifications for thee.
Follow thy desire, as long as thou shalt live.
Put myrrh upon thy head and clothing of fine linen upon thee,
Being anointed with genuine marvels of the gods' property.
Set an increase to thy good things...



Back to Dagwood and gluttony. I make room in my life for overeating. It offers a distinct pleasure in its own category. Like the pleasure of quenched thirst; the taste of coffee in the morning, the perfect crunch of a perfect croissant, occasionally eating too much is on the joyful side of the spectrum. I am not trying to persuade anyone of this truth, It is self evident.

To be absolutely truthful, I indulge this desire infrequently and I level things out with short term fasting. Everyone knows the I-would-eat-the-whole-thing-if-I-could feeling. From time to time I simply indulge that desire. Privately. Usually around midnight. A whole bag of cookies. A whole pint of ice cream. A dozen chocolate truffles. Or, like Dagwood, a serious sandwich.

this only looks like a crime scene, it was a glorious burger

Eating something wonderful can be an excellent way to balance too much moderation, the over disciplined life. We all know someone who never, ever gives in to impulse or indulgence. It's just so sad.

this cake made my fridge happy

The failure to indulge one's self from time to time is a serious character flaw. A primary cause of hypertension. Care for an extra meal? Yes, thank you: rich beef stew on toast, half of a of strawberry cake, seven or eight poppy seed and honey hammentaschen.

A Jewish gift to the world

Maybe I'll just break off a lunch plate sized piece of hazelnut brittle.

if you add chocolate and grind it all up, homemade Nutella

It is good to have extravagant moments. What I mean to say is that I give and have the most fun in the space beyond needs. Just enough is not enough. If ever I were to get a tattoo... 

Cheers,

Chris

Taking Stock

The chill has arrived in Asheville, flowing down from the hills and under our front door. The mountains have lost their haze and we have the crystal distance again. Our Fall is gorgeous and I am feeling renewed. It has been a long year for me. This time last year I was in terrible shape, dependent on machines for survival and in an ICU trance.

I had nothing by mouth for three months. Gods! This is a pure food guy here! As I began to improve I imagined what my first meal would be. I knew that it was cold outside (although the weather never changed in the hospital) and dreamed of stews and braises, chowders, soups, short ribs, beef tea, chicken and bone broths and consommes. For me, these are the most comforting and restorative foods.

Of all the elements of great cooking, the liquids we use are most fundamental: stocks, broths, Court Bouillon, fruit and vegetable juices, beer, wine, tea, herbal tisanes, milks (cow, sheep, goat, horse, donkey, water buffalo, coconut, almond, rice and soy), butters, syrups and oils. Plain water is advanced with aromatics, herbs and redolent vegetables plus heat and time.

Of course you can buy stock: organic, free-range and low sodium if you like. Sadly, the very best of them do not compare with what you can make yourself. One can improve store bought foods and if I am unable to make my own stock I will take two quarts of a clean stock (read the label and eliminate anything you would never find in your kitchen). To these two quarts I might add chunks of celery, carrot and onion with a bay leaf and a few peppercorns and then reduce to one quart. This results in a serviceable cooking stock.

Delicate flavors require delicate liquids, simmered briefly with mild additions. Sole poached gently in lightly salted water with a bit of lemon juice and fresh parsley leaves. But for a warming, nourishing and healing meal I choose braises and stews which (for me) require a deep and rich meat stock. Which takes time...a lot of time. Stock may be reduced very slowly from gallons to quarts, from quarts to pints and further until it becomes nearly solid.

This semi-solid is called demi-glace and begins with roasting meat, bones and vegetables until dark and caramelized. The browned ingredients are added to a pot that is deeper than it is wide, covered in unseasoned water and simmered slowly for 8 hours to extract all of the flavor. The rich stock is strained and de-fatted, then slowly reduced and concentrated (for another 8 to 10 hours) until it forms a thick syrup, dark, dark, dark and powerful.

It's true that I am a bit of a mad man and consider it a pleasure to spend 20 hours to produce something which is, however magical, a single ingredient. Of those 20 hours, only 2 requires your attention. The rest is a murmuring simmer that should not be disturbed until done, It is absolutely worth the time and effort. I use it to push dishes over the top; the last step from wonderful to the sublime. Dishes that I savor with my eye closed.

As it happens, one can also buy a tub of demi-glace. I have tried two different brands and they are remarkably good. I am not sure why I can buy a good demi and not a good stock. Go figure. They are pricey and a bit hard to find (the one I have now came from Amazon!)

It really is a kind of secret weapon. Typically, I only need a spoonful. For example, I might pan roast a steak which leaves a very flavorful skin on the bottom of the pan called the fond. Throw in one or two finely minced shallots or garlic and cook in the fat until browned and then a half glass of red wine to loosen and then incorporate the flavors already there. When the alcohol has burned off and the sauce has slightly thickened stir in a teaspoon of veal or beef demi-glace. Finally a pat of butter. Time to close your eyes and savor.

Back to being comforted and restored: Boeuf aux carottes...beef braised in red wine and carrots. Braise, slowly and tightly sealed in a enameled, iron pot for two and a half to four hours (as long as it takes for the meat to yield to spoon-soft) in a moderate, 350º oven. This seems to me as the ideal French farm house meal. An inexpensive chuck roast cooked with vegetables and a fruity wine. The important thing is to chamber everything, not permitting evaporation.

About an hour before the meat reaches the yielding softness I aim for, I strain the spent carrots and whatever vegetables that have not dissolved and add fresh carrots and a tied bundle of parsley and thyme sprigs. I might add cubes of turnip and some fingerling potatoes. At this point I taste the juice which has begun to thicken and adjust salt and pepper and finally, before I reseal the pot I stir in a spoon of demi-glace (for an excellent approach to this  dish, see the daube recipe in Dorie Greenspan's Around My French Table. http://www.doriegreenspan.com/.)

I am working on the next post that includes a recipe and technique for my go-to healing broth. 

Cheers,

Chris