Brewing, on the road.

The kid and I hit the road with my business partners yesterday to make a run up to Loudoun County. Our destination was Corcoran Vineyards outside Purcellville. Besides being good friends, the Corcorans have hooked up with a friend in Purcellville to open the first farm winery and brewery in Virginia.

When Jim Corcoran and I got to talking a few weeks ago, he mentioned that Kevin (their brewer) was going to be working on a Sabco Brew-Magic. My ears pricked up, particularly since Jim and I have been talking about my own move toward the business for well over a year now. Why not have them observe one of our brew sessions and have us shadow Kevin on his first brew session, I suggested. After all we've been brewing weekly on a Brew-Magic for more than six months. We could even step Kevin past some of the initial learning curves we discovered.

See, the trick about scaling up one's brewing is that it isn't just about numbers. The difference between a five gallon batch brewed using a DIY mash tun and a kettle on a turkey fryer and running a 12 to 15 gallon batch on a system like the Brew-Magic is night and day. Because the Sabco system is absurdly efficient, a grain bill may not directly scale. More complex grain bills may need to be simplified because you get so much more out of the grain, as well. The real change comes at the level of process. Cleaning processes move to whole new levels — and you go through a lot more soap and sanitizer. But the real process change I've observed is learning to let the system do the work for you. The Brew-Magic will take care of parts of the brewing process that even some production breweries don't have automated. It's a beautiful thing, when you let it do its job.

To that end, the experience on the Brew-Magic has taught all of us — my partners and the Corcoran's new brewer — a lot. And with each brew session, there seems to be another lesson. When (and if) we actually get our plan off the ground, the experience of brewing on this system will have been invaluable. I see this more after watching Kevin work today and realizing how far we've come in the past six months.

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Above and beyond, however, what about the beer? We tasted Kevin's kolsch and stout. Both were clean and solid. The stout had a nice roast with a fairly light body. The kolsch had a slightly sweeter flavor profile than I usually expect with a kolsch. His APA which we brewed today had a nice hop character and good color coming out of the boil kettle. they should all be nice, sessionable ales.

Ribs, ribs, ribs...

Last night, I made my first go at doing ribs in the oven. I've been a strict wood-fired guy in the past. Soaked chips, cider drip pan, and all. Last summer, I made my peace with a gas grill. Last night, I made my peace with doing ribs in the convection oven.

The ribs in question were the pork ribs Trader Joe's sells. They aren't ideal since they're not from one of my local producers or butchers, but I tend to trust TJ's products. It was a little under three pounds — perfect for the kid and me and some leftovers. When it came time to prepare them, I mixed up a quick dry rub with flaked sea salt, smoked paprika, sweet paprika, cumin, parsley, cracked pepper, and sugar. I was satisfied with the rub, though I might try brown sugar next time to add a little extra caramelization.

I heated the oven to 300 degrees, applied the rub, and wrapped the ribs in foil. After twenty minutes, I raised the heat to 350, and then to 375 after another half hour. To keep them from drying out, I mixed up a quick mop sauce of cider vinegar, garlic mustard and bourbon. I mopped this on every fifteen minutes after the first half hour. After an hour, I opened the foil to let the skin begin to form on the ribs. Since I was working entirely on improvisation, I waited until it seemed like the ribs had also begun to develop a nice crust. At that point, I mopped on barbecue sauce for the last fifteen minutes.

The result? Stellar. The ribs were tender, and the combination of mop sauce, smoked paprika, and barbecue sauce gave them a good flavor. It wasn't quite as good as a few hours over a wood fire, but sometimes a craving requires improvisation.

Tuesday Tune

Thanks to my friend Kendra, this is now lurking in my head. Think of it as digital vinyl blasting back from your youth.

Getting my mojo back.

After a rather up and down, somewhat bizarre few weeks, I'm starting to feel my sea legs under me again. A few rocks have turned over for freelance work, and I'm hoping for a few more this week. I am finally moving toward having a web site to put together my work in one place. And I am starting to put words together again.

On the food front, the prospect of late winter and spring has me thinking about what to make. I've had a lot of cooking errors this year, but there have been more than a few fun successes in the land of soup and Swedish meatballs. This past year has brought me closer than ever to understanding the chemistry and magic behind cooking. It's hard to quantify all that I've learned, but I understand the reactions of ingredients and cookware better than I ever have. (To wit, if you don't own a basic Lodge cast iron skillet, get one now and use it regularly.) With a little better time management, I even hope to begin writing more about the cooking adventures — particularly since it looks like our budget crunch will keep us eating at home even more than before.

On the beer front, there is much, much to think about for the coming months. Our weekly brewing rhythm has meant a good pattern of beers coming off. Our early issues with fermentation control and infection have been solved. We'll be helping some friends get up and running on their Brew-Magic and look forward to some good collaboration possibilities. Stay tuned for further details, and perhaps even an account of writing a viable business plan.

And in honor of winter and fun, there's always this...

Ch-ch-changes

As it turns out, the Stillwater Ales beers I'd considered using against the cassoulet course for the beer dinner weren't available in time. Why? One hadn't received Virginia ABC label approval (and I didn't realize I had a close enough connection to the ABC board to help the process), and the other hadn't made it on the truck for the week's shipment.

This left me in a bit of a quandary since I'd pinned the dinner around regional beers and needed something rich that could stand up to the chef's plan for the cassoulet. For a while I looked through a wide portfolio of other options, but availability or packaging (we could use bottles, but not a keg) nixed a bunch of options. For a several days, I tried to find a good alternative without turning to another Blue Mountain Brewing beer. In the end, though, their Evil 8 won out. It had just been released (a plus), and as a good, clean dubbel it would make a nice companion for a rich, rustic dish like the cassoulet.

I look forward to the day soon when Virginia has as rich and vital a brewing community as nearby states.

Cheers!

Going public

So there is a very big change happening in my life in the next two days... I will be leaving my current company. The end-result of this is yet to be seen, but the short-term plans include helping out some friends with art direction, design and copy freelance work (both web and print) and pushing at a business plan. At the same time, I will be looking at full-time jobs in the vein I've been in for years now, but the business plan is an important side note. The goal I and a couple partners have is to take the upsized homebrewing project legit and open a new brewery in Richmond in the next year.

To that end, I've got a fun little project set up for next week: a beer dinner on Sunday, January 16 at Ipanema.

When I was originally approached about it, I was excited to do it, but then I'll admit I was a little nervous. After all, I'm veggie-friendly but also a committed omnivore. What kinds of beers would not only pair with an interesting vegetarian winter menu but would also be distinctive enough to set the dinner apart from similar events in town. In the end, I opted to stay local with the beer choices, and the menu turned out to be this:

Course 1
Winter vegetable terrine, roasted mushroom pâté, and local cheeses
Foggy Ridge First Fruit Cider — This dry cider from Floyd, VA, with a touch of fruitiness will pair nicely with the local cheeses and rich terrine and pâté.

Course 2
Welsh rarebit with honey roasted radishes and walnuts
Tupper’s Keller Pils — While the first inkling was to go with a brown ale here, the dry taste of the pils should provide a nice contrast for the richness of the rarebit.

Course 3
Root vegetable cassoulet with black-eyed peas and winter greens
Stillwater Existent or Cellar Door — Existent is a deliciously hoppy black IPA fermented with a Belgian yeast, and Cellar Door is a classic saison flavored with a touch of white sage. There's an either/or here based on label approval for the Existent (VA ABC!).

Course 4
Churros with spiced chocolate, Orange/vanilla flan
Blue Mountain Dark Hollow — This is our coup of the evening. The Dark Hollow is traditionally only sold at the brewery, but the kind brewers at Blue Mountain have agreed to release a case for this event.

Kudos to Will at Ipanema for a terrific menu. More details and tickets here, if you're interested in joining us.

a new year, and a thousand things

It's fair to say that a thousand things have been keeping me from the blog and from writing. The pity is that this place has always been a good outlet, as well as a great communication tool. Perhaps that is to say that I haven't had a chance to vent and think through so many of the things that have been going on and put them in context — from food to beer to parenting to travel and life in general.

The last year crashed to a close with a car accident ($8K worth of damage to the Sportwagen, thanks to the woman who rear-ended the guy behind me), news of major changes in the professional arena, lots of lessons about beer and brewing and partnerships, lessons about homeownership, lessons about love and relationships and family, lessons about cooking and wine and life, and a healthy respect for the communities we carry with us and the power of an 8-year old to make you think differently about the world. The new year promises a start with lots of changes and lots of new things to consider and perhaps even old lessons to learn. As a friend put it last night, sometimes we don't see the writing on the walls, and it takes a cosmic slap in the face to realize what you're being told.

Two thousand and ten wasn't all bad by any means. In fact, it was quite good and wonderful at many moments, from Italy to Maine to some of the pieces of daily life. On balance, I'd even call it a pretty good year — a pretty good year with a lot to teach me. And now it's time to put some of that in motion.

I realize that I'm being vague here, but it's on purpose. I'll get to more detail as time permits and life necessitates. In the meantime, here are a few things to chew on:

• Never underestimate the comfort of a well-made frittata.


• Immersion blenders are wonderful tools, necessary even, but a good knife or two and a good cast-iron skillet will make your kitchen sing.


• Listen to the people around you. They love you and deserve to be heard.


• Simpler is better, from the ingredients in cooking to the grains in beer to the things that make us happy. Always use good ingredients, and only use as many as you actually need.


• Never forget to be creative. Or patient.


• Some beers and some meals can never be fixed.


• Kids keep growing up.


• A good beer logo does not require hop cones.

And there you have it. A little list to begin 2011. Cheers!

Losing my mojo

I haven't really lost my mojo, but I have struggled with cooking in recent months. For a while, I blamed this on the stove at the house we bought in late May. It was newer, better, and more powerful than anything I'd used before. Easy blame, right? Same with the grill. The chimney brought my cherished hardwood charcoal to a hotter fire sooner. But the truth is I'm just off my game.

When I pay attention as I did this evening, things come out brilliantly. A little late perhaps, but still good. Tonight's menu was simply chicken thighs and legs pan roasted with rice and steamed veggies. Seasoning on the chicken was simple — coarse-ground salt and pepper, parsley, and a touch of spanish paprika, squeeze of lemon. I used the cast-iron skillet and put a little butter in until it browned, added the chicken and sauteed until there was a nice brown crust on the skin. I turned it over and cooked the underside for a few minutes before transferring the skillet to a 375F oven.

Thirty minutes (and a Troeg's Scratch #34 Saison de Meuze) later, I had rice and steamed veggies ready to go, and the chicken had cooked to a beautiful, perfect, brown crackling skin. It was perfect, until the kid got halfway through and said she didn't really like the chicken very much. I was ready to start my rant of "you used to like this more than anything else" until I glanced over and realized the circles had crept in under her eyes.

In my effort to get my cooking mojo back (a success), I failed in my effort to feed the kid before tired set in. The thing is the creeping exhaustion is hard to predict. Some nights she can hold out until 8:30. Not last night.

I've spent a lot of time lately trying to find balance between everything I'm trying to do and being a dad and a partner to my fiancée. It's not always the easiest balance to achieve, and it takes a lot of mojo. Apparently, I need to work a little harder at it still.

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The beer geek in me, however, wants to report that a Lake Placid UBU Ale matched nicely against the chicken, with its touch of smoke and lemon. It wasn't quite as successful a pairing as the L'Olmaia unfiltered wheat beer I tried several weeks ago, but a credible pairing nonetheless.

coming back, the nostalgia edition

I will be doing my best to revive this project amidst brewing, getting the house in order, parenting and the rest of life. In fact, I may just have to make it the Impolitic Project blog since the new house, the brewing venture, cooking, parenting, and more are all projects in their own right. In the meantime, food, beer, random thoughts, and perhaps even Friday Fun a day late...

Yes, I was a Billy Joel fan once upon a time, and this was always one of my favorites.


And this one too.


And going way back to the beginning of his career.

Logo love

I've been thinking a lot about logos recently. For all intents and purposes, we will be phasing out the original name and logo for the little homebrewing project as we look toward the future. There were two reasons behind this: first, it was too reminiscent of other business names in the state, and second, the logo was too reminiscent of a few others.

Having put them away, though, I've started thinking about logos for breweries. It seems like there are a few basics. You have the crest; you have the logo with hop cones; you have the brewing equipment illustration. To be honest, I'm a little bored with all three, and judging from the identities I've seen on recently opened breweries, so are others. And with good reason...

A crest? If you have a family crest, great. Use it. It's a nod to history and tradition. If you don't have a crest, why create one? What do you gain by trying to reference a brewing tradition that isn't actually your own? Be new. Find a new path.

Hop flowers? Grain sheafs? I think we all know that hops and grains are the integral parts of beer. See the first point. You're not adding anything new to the visual landscape by using one more hop cone. Find another visual.

Equipment? Sure, I like a pretty copper kettle as much as any beer person. Do I care whether your brewhouse is a copper kettle? Maybe, but it certainly won't make me think "Hey, I want to buy their beer!"

In the end, I'm a fan of simple and clean. I like classic looks and type treatments that are appropriate to the image you're creating. If there's a local connection, even better. Use it, but don't force it. Ultimately, it's all just a paper tiger, though. People buy the beer, not the logo. They will seek out a good product because it's good; a good identity is the head on the pint.

That said, will I obsess over this as we start moving closer to business ideas? Probably. You can make me drink my words when I greenlight the first logo that uses a woodcut hop cone.

Slipping

A fellow foodie recently raised the question of how to approach a restaurant you love to let them know they're slipping. The brief conversation jogged something I've thought about a lot in the past and wanted to tackle here. What is that intangible moment when you recognize — and finally note — that one of your favorites has gone off its game? At what point, do you realize it's not just an off-night or two but a real slip in quality?

When your favorite neighborhood joint messes up too many meals or loses the servers who helped give it a bit of extra charm, do you say something? Or do you just stop going? Become that regular who no longer eats there every Thursday? What responsibility do we have as customers — and sometimes friends — to let a place know that it is off its game?

A few years ago, the kid and I had a regular meal at one of the Richmond Fan favorites. Many weeks, we'd be there twice. The servers knew us; we were treated well. Then the quality started to slip a little bit. A couple of our favorite servers left; some orders came out wrong; the quality of ingredients seemed to go off a bit. Ultimately, though, it was managerial indifference, a shrug when a server added a tip to my card when I'd left cash for a tip, that got us to stop going to the place.

As a loyal person, I recognize our willingness to put up with some of the mistakes was a direct result of my love for the restaurant. The managerial shrug — and a fiver handed back to me — put us off for months, until the kid wanted to go back one day and we got word that one of our favorite servers had been looking for us. And the food? It was just okay, and I realized that I'd been lulled into accepting what was at best middling food made with fair ingredients for years. When I could have taken my business elsewhere, I kept going because it was just easy and it was what we expected.

The place in question is busy enough that the loss of our business probably didn't hurt them. Likewise, they do enough business that my complaint about quality would probably have fallen on ears made deaf by the ring of the cash register. That said, there have been moments when I've been willing to step up — commenting on a change in the quality of bread made by one of our local shining stars, mentioning a side dish that is clearly overdone from a kitchen that knows better — and in most cases, the comments were greeted with thanks.

The truth is that the Richmond dining scene is big enough that restaurants should guard against resting on their laurels. But because it is also a dining scene in which a few luminaries carry a lot of weight, many customers put up with more paint-by-numbers food than they should.

Keeping that in mind, I would push everyone who loves food and who develops relationships with restaurants to let joints know when they're off their game. Even if it's a matter of asking questions about why something seems different, resist the urge to be obnoxious, but let the chef or server know if something isn't as good as it was before.


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UPDATE: Guess I should add that I have specifically avoided naming names. There are a number of places that I've simply stopped going to because they've either decided to rest on their laurels or haven't kept up their game as new competition has hit the streets. Feel free to name names in the comments, however.

Welcoming Fall

This weekend, we needed to use up our CSA share. With nearly fifty bucks left, we binged on a bushel of heirloom variety apples and whatever veggies were still left at the market. (Word to the wise: sleeping in feels good when you don't have the kid but works against getting the best Saturday market variety.) Among the things I picked up was a bag of small to medium sweet potatoes. I've never been a huge fan of sweet potatoes — the Yankee in me comes out sometimes — but I've been trying to expand my cooking horizons this year.

Richmond was finally graced with real fall weather this week. Last week's rains brought a change in the air, and we've been downright chilly at night. On my way to pick up the kid at her mom's class, I decided it was time to welcome fall properly and how better to do that than with soup — Sweet Potato Bisque. And lamb chops.

The kid has apparently lost her taste for sweet potatoes; she would have pesto pasta, the standby. Since she'd finished her homework, I drafted her help. She helped me put together the stock from TJ's concentrate and hot water. She rinsed the apple and the sweet potatoes, peeled the garlic, and added the apples and sweet potatoes to the sweated onions and garlic, stirring all the time. I did the chopping, and she helped with adding the spices as well. Next time, I will be sure to get pictures to have the events recorded for posterity. In the end, it was too bad that she didn't want to try the soup, but truth be told I was glad to be able to up the heat factor to balance out the sweet potatoes and apple.


The sides were pan-seared lamb chops simply dusted with coarse salt and pepper, a cucumber and pepper salad, and a couscous/lentil mix for L. Serve it with a red wine dry enough to counter the sweetness and full enough to stand up to the spice, or better yet get a nice saison to complement the flavors. In any case, here's the improvised recipe...

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Keep in mind that this is all based on improvisation. It's largely a bisque because of consistency, and I opted for bourbon because we were out of sherry. With a good bourbon, it worked nicely.

Ingredients:
1/2 stick butter
1 small onion
4 cloves garlic
1 apple
6 small to medium sweet potatoes
5 cups vegetable broth
1 roasted poblano pepper
Spices: cumin, fennel seeds, salt, pepper, fresh ginger, sweet and hot paprika, and saffron
Bourbon (approximately 1/2 cup)
Plain yogurt

Preparation:
1. Dice apples and sweet potatoes into 1 inch or smaller pieces
2. Chop onion and garlic coarsely.
3. Heat butter in large stock pot on medium heat and add onion and garlic. When sweated to shimmering, add the apple and a few mills of salt and pepper. Allow to sweat for five minutes and begin to add sweet potatoes. Add a dash of each spice and sweat a few minutes until the mixture becomes aromatic.
4. Add 4 cups of vegetable broth.
5. Bring mixture to boil for five minutes and reduce to simmer for 25 minutes or until the potatoes and apples are soft and break up easily.
6. Use immersion blender to puree mixture. Add additional stock and bourbon while blending. If you want a thinner soup, add extra stock.
7. Bring to boil again and drop to simmer for as long as needed.
8. Taste and add spice to balance. Should have a good bite that gives way to the sweet flavors and saffron mid-palate.
9. Serve with a dollop of plain yogurt, a pinch of fleur de sel and a rosemary sprig.

Will serve at least six.

The little things...

I can't stop watching this video. I don't know if it's because I know how much I've been through and how possible it was a couple of times for me to end up holding every small thing together by the smallest thread or if it's because I like the damn song so much. Regardless, this video really hits a spot in my throat.

A note about small plates, and restaurants in general.

A friend recently posted on his blog about a favorite spot of mine, Secco. I've noted to others that Secco isn't my go-to joint for a meal because putting a full dinner together can sometimes cost more than L and I have as discretionary funds. Why? Because, as people have noted before, the plates are small.

An omnivore like me may be able to put together a fine meal for under $30 — duck or steak, a salad, soup plus the schiacciata, for instance. There's enough balance and richness to satisfy my palate and leave me feeling satisfied. A pickier eater may find it difficult, though. Vegetarians will find some very tasty items, but at least in our visits, L hasn't found the plates satisfying enough. As a result, we're more likely to enjoy one of the best cheese and charcuterie plates in town, drink some excellent wines, and finish the meal at home.

A few times recently, Secco seems to have become a straw man for what some Richmond diners see as the problem with small plates in general. They are — well — small. What a surprise, right? The point of tapas or shared delicacies is that you enjoy a variety of tastes. It's possible to put a full meal together, but you have to strip away expectations of each person getting an appetizer, entree, and dessert. Regardless, the problem with many small plate restaurants is that they often aren't adventurous enough. Too often, small plates simply seem like easy ways for restaurants to maximize profit and minimize care for preparation. This is where Secco beats the curve.

My standard for a good restaurant — no matter the cuisine, style, or cost — is whether it provides me with meals I can't produce myself. Whether it's because of better equipment, ingredients or the elusive techniques of proper preparation, I don't care. If I have been served something transporting that I could not produce as well myself (or find better elsewhere), the restaurant gets my kudos. Mas Tapas in Charlottesville fits the bill. So does Catina, a local banh mi joint. Numerous falafel joints in New York that leave me longing for the right crunch, not to mention a couple steak joints in the city that simply produce a better filet than I can duplicate, are on the list. I could go on, but the point is Secco has landed on that list faster than other places in town. What the chef is producing is worth tasting and savoring. I haven't sampled anything yet that didn't make me smile.

L and I may not eat there as often as I'd like, but that has more to do with life in general than it does a quality-to-price ratio. Ultimately, I wish there were more restaurants that delivered the way Secco does.


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In the interest of full disclosure, I am friends with the owner and staff of Secco. But that's only a small part of why I am proud to say they've hit the mark so well. Richmond needed a place like this.

Recent beer discoveries

Just a quick list with some thoughts...

Shooting Creek Farm Brewery — Brown, Red, Bitter, Amber
These guys just made it up to Richmond from the far corner of southwest Virginia. The beers are all unfiltered and hand-bottled at this point, and the craft shows in good and bad ways. There are some characteristics reminiscent of homebrew, and while the use of rye in the red and other alternative grains produces some interesting flavor profiles, only the brown really stood out to me. It had a nice, dry hoppiness and seemed a little more finished than the others. All in all, though, they've got a good start, and it will be interesting to see how they evolve.

Oerbier from De Dolle Brouwers, Belgium
Apparently, this beer is produced in 5 gallon batches and blended and aged. The result is a crazy complexity of flavor with oak, funk, caramel, malt, low bitterness, sour, like nine beers combined into one explosion of flavor. It was a random find at Kybecca, a small store with a fascinating selection in Fredericksburg, and I may have to seek out another bottle or two and see what some additional age does to the flavor profile.

Dieu du Ciel Rosée d'Hibiscus
Wheat beer brewed with hibiscus from a tiny brewery in Quebec. It is a beer for committed wine drinkers — delicate and dry like a perfect rosé.

Ommegang Zuur
A sour brown ale brewed with cherries. My beer guru An says this one is a little young. I'd have to agree. Nice sour notes, and a solid cherry presence — think cider, not maraschino. It made a nice afternoon quaff for my dad's birthday, but could really evolve with a little more time in the bottle.

When I get a chance, I'll do a rundown of some of this year's Octoberfests.

Things I've learned

I was pondering a post this morning and realized that the past year had brought an awful lot of lessons along the way. What follows is an utterly un-premeditated list of things I've finally begun to understand in the past year.

• When sauteing or grilling, leave fish or meat on a higher heat than you think for a little longer than you think. The trick is to get a good crust on the outside without burning. Very handy skill...
  
• Brewing has a lot more to do with equipment and process than inspiration. The 90/10 rule for writing and design also applies here.
  
• Listen to your kid and enjoy every day. They grow up quickly.
  
• Say thank you and do small, nice things for people close to you.
  
• Make time for yourself and those you love.
  
• Let go. If it's bothering you and you can't do anything about it or change what is bother you, find a way to let it go.
  
• Don't wait to transplant tomatoes or black raspberries. The plants will falter, especially in a bad growing year.
  
• Tomato sauce is easier to make than you think.
  
• Big California-style reds get boring after a while. The same is true of the hyper-experimental trend in craft beer. A classic done well or given a new twist is better than something that beats you over the head with its idiosyncrasies.
  
• I'd rather cook than pay for a mediocre meal at a restaurant.
  
• It is easy to forget to slow down. And easy to forget that kids (and adults!) need some time just to hang out.
  
• Sharpen your knives regularly. They will perform better and your food will be better.
  

Stuzzi — Adding salt to the mix.

After one of my fellow food bloggers exposed some questionable management techniques at Stuzzi, I was determined that we wouldn't try it. The place had gotten enough negative press from fellow foodies for mediocre pies, poor climate control, an inexperienced staff, and a bloviating owner that we had steered clear already. Still, the place also had enough buzz that I wanted to see what all the fuss was about. Fast-forward to this past Sunday when a friend suggested it for dinner. The kid had headed off for the night with her mom, and I hadn't planned ahead for dinner so we had a "why not" moment.

When we arrived, there were people spilling out the door. Even on a Sunday night, the place was buzzing. And when I say buzzing, I mean it. The room is loud. Very loud and about as much a contrast from its former life as one can imagine. The rounded cutouts behind the bar with their glass shelves and rotating lights look like a "hip" restaurant designers dream from New York in the late eighties.

Our friend was waiting at the bar, drinking a decent, but too warm chianti out of a big juice glass. She'd already put our names in, and L and I looked over the wine list while the bartender buzzed about. Before we had a chance to order, though, the hostess told us our table was ready. Points for timing since L was hungry. This same, poor hostess seemed befuddled, however, when we decided to wait for our friend to pay her tab. She insisted she could just seat us, but we asked to wait a moment. Watching her intermittently over the course of the evening, it was clear she was inexperienced and looked scared.

In any case, once we were at our table, the waiter came for our drink order. The wine list was fairly basic, with wines named by grape and/or blend rather than producer. Nonetheless, the prices hovered in the low twenties for the basic chiantis and montepulcianos. When I asked the waiter to tell me about a nero and a super Tuscan, however, he admitted he knew nothing about the wines on the list. "French wine's really my thing," he added. It was a baffling comment — especially in a restaurant that purports to give you a "real" Italian experience. We punted and opted for the inexpensive montepulciano. Better to pay less for something made for quick drinking than spend the extra bucks on a good wine served at the wrong temperature.

The menu covers the gamut of expected apps and neapolitan pies. There were a few small surprises like ember-roasted eggplant and a vongole pie, but overall I felt like I could have predicted almost everything on the menu. The pastas were the only exception — a few interesting preparations — but we were here for the pizza. Ordering, we settled on the calamari fritti over the caprese and opted for a wild mushroom pie and a neapolitan pie.

Our neighbor's food came out, and considering how close the tables are, it's easy to watch what everyone else eats. Our first thought was relief for not ordering the caprese — who fries mozzarella? It just seemed wrong. The plate of calamari was flavorful but the portion was a third the size of the calamari we'd ordered at another restaurant two nights before. For the same price.

But what of the pizzas? The pizzas that the menu glorifies to high heaven. The pizzas that are supposedly certified by a governing body. The pizzas that come out of a monstrous, red-tiled woodfired oven.

Meh. They're okay. Just okay.

The wild mushroom pie came with a half-pound of arugula dumped on the pie and drizzled with balsamic, a pizza salad if you will. When I had a pie with rocket in Italy, the arugula covered the pie, but I didn't have to separate salad and pie just to eat the damn thing. Anyway, the women agreed the taste was okay, if a bit bland. My neapolitan pie had a puffy crust, but none of the crispness you hope for from the woodfired oven. Beyond that, there were four basil leaves and four anchovies decorating what was basically a margherita pie. The parmaggiano promise by the menu was nowhere to be found either. The crust had the bland watery flavor I knew to expect, but there was something missing. Something only brought back by a morsel or two of anchovy: salt.

After hearing so much about the joint, I half expected the owner to come tell us we were eating the "real thing." He was present in the dining room and boisterous with the people he knew. In the end, I ate most of the pie wishing that a touch more of the owner's grandstanding had gone into the actual care and preparation of the food.

The final tab hovered in the mid-fifties, and we tipped the minimum. With inexperienced service and mediocre food, even reasonable prices won't pull us back in there any time soon.

Cafe Rustica Redux

As anyone who has read my notes on Richmond restaurants knows, Andy Howell's Café Rustica is among my favorite spots in the city. Compared to most restaurants of comparable pedigree, Rustica churns out consistently excellent food for better prices. I have yet to have a bad meal at the joint, even on what I would call at the time one of their "off" nights.

Tonight was decidedly not an "off" night. In fact, with a new menu debuting in the past two weeks, the kitchen seems to be revived and putting more energy into the food. (Mind you, there was no lack of energy before.) The mix of locally-sourced, reasonably-priced Continental comfort food is well-intact. From the pomodoro pie to the steak to the mediterranean short stack to the pot roast, everything that came to the table was well-prepared and delicious. Even the beet salad seemed to have gained a little extra microgreens and a little extra zing on the roasted walnuts. My only regret? That Howell took the Portuguese stew off the menu before I tried it.

The tab with a bottle of '07 Chinon Cab Franc and a glass of Rueda for L's mother? $127. With tax and tip. That's for four of us, and we all walked away sated and stuffed, wishing we had a little more room for the peanut-butter-and-jelly creme brulée or blueberry mascarpone. But back to the price: $127, after tax and a good tip. It's tough to find comparable food at that price anywhere in the city. And with a front-of-house staff that makes the place feel like home, there's little wonder it has become our go-to place.

Next step, testing the place on the kid. Then again maybe we'll keep it as a date-night secret.

Writing about Beer

You wouldn't think the above words would give me pause, but they are. I've been asked to write up a quick (200 word) primer on craft beer for the second edition of a friend's book. What we have in mind is something that covers the basics but also gives enough to go on that the discerning reader — who isn't already up on craft beer — will know which way to go and what he is tasting and finding.

Style is admittedly giving me a little trouble. My friend's writing is a little more on the savvy magazine edge than my usual prose, but I can live with that. I'm rusty but not so rusty I can't find the right tone. No. What's getting me is the style of presentation. Is it better to give a quick list — a sort of best-of of the craft beer world that will give any reader the right place to start? Or is it better to give a run-down of styles and terms to know? Or is it better to pull together some nice clear prose that takes a more narrative approach?

It feels odd to be stuck on my first writing assignment in years. It feels even stranger to be stuck when it comes to a subject I know so much about. So here goes a bit of crowdsourcing... If you were looking for a quick primer on what it means when someone says "craft beer," would you rather have a list of styles, a list of go-to beers, or some fuller prose to chew on?

I'd love to hear suggestions in the comments.

Burned, thrice.

I consider myself a good cook. I know my way around the kitchen, around ingredients, around different preparations. It's a hobby that has gotten more and more serious in the past few years — maybe filling a void left by not playing pool lately. Friends and family enjoy what I cook, and I can usually take an eclectic set of ingredients from idea to execution handily. From time to time, though, there are reminders that I'm just an amateur. Tonight, I made a couple of such mistakes.

The plan was to prepare some sockeye filets we'd picked up TJ's with quinoa and a salad. No big deal, right. Easy. Prep the salmon and give it a quick sear on the stove before putting it under the broiler to get the top. Chop up some veggies for a little slaw to go on it. Add some veggies to the quinoa. Salad. Simple stuff.

The thing is the fish wasn't great. I knew that the moment I took it out of the package. Usually TJ's fish has been pretty consistent, but the last couple times the quality seems to have dropped off a little bit. This salmon was a little beaten up and might have seen a bit of freezer burn, but I didn't have a back-up plan. It was getting late, too. Time to pull some cumin and lemon to the rescue. If I couldn't grab a better piece of fish, maybe I could at least cover up the imperfections. I prepped it and moved on.

The garnish was going to be a bit of cucumber, some sungolds, parsley and a bit of pepper. For the pepper, I opted for a bright yellow hot pepper I'd picked up at the market. It seemed fairly innocuous, and I made sure to prep it correctly — slice open and remove the seeds with a quick wash, dice. I even cleaned my knife and hands afterward to prevent cross-contamination.

The quinoa had a good start on the stove. I salted it liberally and added diced some yellow squash and green pepper a friend had given L. I tossed it in the pan to cook with the grains. Seemed like a fine idea at the time.

Before pulling the salad together, I shoved the salmon under the broiler. I love cast iron for its versatility, and for the ability to get a perfect sear on almost anything. I pulled some greens from the bag and mixed them with the rest of the parsley and a red pepper that had landed on our counter this afternoon. Crumble some stilton over it, add a little balsamic, and we're all good, right?

It was just a couple minutes later that the burn started. My lips were the first hit, then my eyes. Then I realized I'd forgotten one very important detail — the cutting board. I'd washed everything but the cutting board. And now everything was covered in sweet, hot pepper. The salad was, if not ruined, at least the wrong set of flavors. The quinoa had an extra bite to it. My eyes were burning, and to add final insult to injury, I left the salmon under the broiler too long.

The last was the least of my problems since the salmon was already a bit of a flavor and texture fail. The mistake with the peppers bugs me though. It seems like the kind of mistake you shouldn't make if you consider yourself a serious-enough cook.

The truth is that life is filled with those moments, however: little lessons that teach you to always be vigilant, no matter how much you think you know.