Ei, dai ‘mme nu caffè!

So just when I thought that New York couldn’t upset me anymore, I opened the NY Times food section today, and look what I saw: New York Is Finally Taking Its Coffee Seriously.

Read the article. No, go ahead, I’ll wait; it’s not that long.

I’m so infuriated about everything in this article that I don’t know where to begin. Let’s start with some quotes, shall we?

Some of the obsessiveness may get a bit off-putting. Want an espresso to go at Ninth Street Espresso? Forget it. The baristas there believe it should be drunk immediately from a warm ceramic cup. Want a cappuccino made from single-origin beans at Kaffe 1668? Sorry, you’ll be told, but milk would overpower the subtle flavors of the coffee.

How about a hot steaming cup of go fuck yourself instead? At the end of the day, all this coffee culture is based on how they drink coffee in Italy. In many Italian coffee bars, people will storm up to the counter, down an espresso and out. However, just as many will linger a little with a magazine or outside in nice weather, if they don’t have anywhere else to be. As for your single-origin beans, blow me. Italian coffees have been blended for hundreds of years to produce a consistent product. Italian food and drink is about tradition and quality. The esoteric search for the end-all and be-all of everything is uniquely american, and you can blow it out your ass. Oh to be a fly on the wall the first time an Italian tourist wanders into this place at the crack of ten and gets told they can’t have a cappucino. Che cazzo dici!?!

Wonder why the barista pulled and tossed out two shots of espresso before she served you yours? She was making sure it was perfect, the coffee evenly tamped, the water temperature ideal for the particular beans, the timing just right. (The best baristas will “dial in” throughout the day, tasting the espresso and adjusting the grind and dose.)

Spare me. The grind is the grind. The dose can need adjustment based on the roast and age. Don’t get me wrong, there is a true arte di caffè, but let’s not forget what makes Italian coffee what it is: La Macchina, every machine is different; La Miscela, the blend of beans; il Macinadosatore, the perfect grind to suit the machine: not your mood; and il Mano, the human touch that makes every cup of coffee different and beautiful, in its way.

Want a double espresso? You’ll have to buy two singles.

Suck what? Again, I would love to see my friend Alfredo be confronted with this. If only these hipsters spoke Italian. Maybe then they would have a clue what coffee culture is really about.

Today, most of the chains use about seven grams of ground coffee for a two-ounce shot. Espresso pods are filled with around five grams. Baristas at the best places in town, like Bluebird Coffee Shop or Joe, tamp down between 19 and 21 grams. Often the espresso is even more concentrated because it’s pulled “short,” with less water, so that the final volume is a thick 1.5 to 2 ounces.

Excuse me, espresso comes from an expression meaning ‘coffee made expressly for this person, this moment.’  That means I can have it any way I god damn well want it. “Short,” or ristretto is an option for coffee drinkers, not an edict. Many people, especially those with an upset stomach, might want a coffee lungo or long, made with more water. Or, gee whiz, I might just have it regular.

I’m so completely over people telling me what is good or right or cool. In the Afterthoughts of her seminal work “The Classic Italian Cookbook,” Marcella Hazan writes, “The world of Italians is not a phenomenon that needs to be subdued, reshaped, arranged in logical patterns. It is not a challenge to be won. It is there simply to be enjoyed, mostly on its own terms.” These nazi foodies, in their quest to find and be the apotheosis of everything, lose all notion of enjoyment. Coffee, like so many things, need only be made with care and of good ingredients. Remember what we say down south: Lu caffe si piglia con tre “C”: Cazzu, cummu coce: Coffee is drunk with balls, like it’s made.

Listening: “Take It From Me” The Weepies, from Say I Am You

Prune

I’m going to say something scandalous:

Prune is probably the best restaurant in New York City.

Wow. I said it.

Prune is as close as it gets to what I would cook for myself, which is one of the reasons I love it so much. That, and everything I have ever eaten there has made me emote audibly. It’s truly a wonderful restaurant.

It’s teeny tiny, but rather than make you feel like fish in a can who should thank them for letting you in, the staff smiles and somehow makes more room, although I am sure how they do it involves witchcraft. The staff is mostly young and, if not pretty, perky. They all seem to be excited about food and wine, and many realize what an extraordinary thing they are part of. It’s kind of fun to watch them know how good the food they’re bringing you is.

All this, and it’s somewhat affordable, with an intrepid if not impressive wine list. It’s organized “Sparkling, White, Red,” but what’s there is worth taking a look through, especially given the very democratic prices (although markup is no less than standard).

So I guess what I’m saying is, go there.

Prune

54 E 1st St, New York 10003
Btwn 1st & 2nd Ave

Phone: 212-677-6221

Listening: NPR. Fair Game is on. She’s funny.

A light at the end of tunnel

I had brunch today, like a good gay New Yorker. And I had it in the neighborhood, at the sort-of famed New Leaf Cafe in Fort Tryon Park. Having been to pretty destination restaurants before, I withheld enthusiasm. After having the most mediocre $20 hamburger of my life at the Central Park Boathouse, I stand wary of anyplace with a view. The menu didn’t exactly inspire confidence either, loaded with old brunch standbys with a slightly upscale pallor.

Turns out that the eggs benedict- at least- are a solid, predictable favorite in a beautiful space with a beautiful view. Not cheap at 17.95, but all inclusive with coffee and juice and a nice selection of wines, aperitifs and cocktails for your hair of the dog pleasure. They go out of their way to note that the eggs are local and farm fresh, and they were. Not the same as an hours-old Gorzynski egg, but far and away above anything from the supermarket or food distributor.

Very nice flatware, also. Heavy, and good in your hand, but not too fancy. And four tines on the fork, Haddock would be pleased.

New Leaf Cafe, Fort Tryon Park

Listening: “Fly Me Away From Baltimore” Eddie From Ohio

Breath of Fresh Air and Corks

I feel like a new man. The Agent came to visit, I went home for the day, saw some family and bought a new bed. Actually, The Agent bought the new bed, but I helped pick it out. Planning for the new kitchen and other home improvement projects continues and I still have sixty three meals to eat outside major restaurant cities. I hear Hartford has some good places, any truth to this?

We went to [Corks](http://www.corksrestaurant.com/default.asp), which [I mentioned before](http://omnivorousfish.com/node/52), the restaurant with the all-American wine list. The list is fascinating and extensive, with at least 200 labels, and the one wine they were out of they told us about immediately upon presenting the wine list, a very nice and impressive touch. I won’t write a full review, because I was so involved with seeing The Agent my attention was not on the food. I will, however tell you what we ate.

We split a salad with some unmemorable fried oysters. It certainly wasn’t bad, but the oysters had either been washed or were simply not that flavorful to begin with. Eating an oyster is all about taking a tender little bite of the ocean, and these were just crusty little bits; they could have been clams or pieces of chicken. The salad was dressed simply and plated with some infused and/or emulsified oils that I don’t remember as being identified, but one of them involved herbs, the other tomatoes. They were flavorful, but didn’t much help the eh-ness of the oysters. I had the duck, which was not only very good, but a sort of barometer about restaurants in Baltimore: when I ordered it, the waitress sheepishly- almost apologetically- told me that the chef recommended it be cooked medium rare to medium. The inflection told me I should *at least* try it medium. She looked relieved when I said he should cook it however he liked.

The duck came with better-than-average mashed potatoes and some delicately seasoned, if unseasonal psychologically, braised red cabbage. Although, since Baltimore has been having Seattle weather lately, it was actually somewhat appropriate. The meat was just on the medium side of medium rare, probably a symptom of being gun-shy with poultry in Baltimore. All in all, it was a winner.

The Agent had pork three ways: a braised belly, a terrine and a loin chop. Again, I don’t remember all the details to do it justice but I remember enough not to get it again. The terrine was dry and bland, the belly seemed more poached than braised and the chop was completely overcooked. Pork belly needs a counterpoint to its lovely fatty richness, like a crispy exterior or a strong sauce. This was just a flabby piece of pork belly.

We got the cheese plate after, again all American sundries, but not exactly chosen for diversity. There was a reblochon-ish cheese (think brie, but stronger) and two harder cheeses, much too similar to share a three-selection cheese plate. One was not unlike a good aged dubliner, but without the crystals, the other more cheddar-like and less memorable.

The restaurant has all the raw ingredients of greatness, but needs some attention. The menu advertises a chef/owner, but doesn’t specify whether he’s an executive chef or if he’s sweating the line every day. If he is, he might want to take a night off and eat at his place.

I did chat with the sommelier briefly, a lively and charming man named Chris Corker. He knew his stuff, and knew his winemakers. He told us about some of the small pinot noir producers he carries and made no secret that his restaurant was the only place you’re likely to see them in the area. He has an encyclopedic knowledge of the geography of the Central Valley and questions about the AVAs on the wine list were met with enthusiasm and thorough responses.

Short answer: I would go back if I had the time and the crowd to really do the wine list justice, and I would ask a lot more questions about the menu.

[Corks](http://www.corksrestaurant.com/default.asp)

1026 S. Charles Street
Baltimore, MD 21230

410.752.3810