Tom says:
So, Tuesday's Teaser is running a bit late. Everything in our lives right now seems to be running a half hour behind. Things we thought we'd do in the morning don't get tackled until late afternoon; plans for early evening get pushed back to the next morning. But--enough with the whining. As someone reminded me the other day, I did, after all, sign up for this.
Today's menu preview: Duck Breast
It seems I've always loved duck and if I recall--someone (I wonder who?) will correct me if I'm wrong--it's what Maureen ordered on one of our first dates down in South Beach (talk about your whirlwind courtship). That aside, my love for duck has as much to do with its flavor as its versatility. As a young chef I learned early on that working with it provided a multitude of ways for me to--forgive the pun--spread my creative wings.
The Duck Breast at Z is a dish I've been working on for years, adding and subtracting, tweaking and fine-tuning until I hit upon what I believe is a new classic.
We start with a whole duck--bone-out breast and thigh. The thighs are slow cooked, confit-style. Fat is rendered from the breasts (skin down, low temp), then placed in reserve for more culinary goodness later in the process; meat is picked from the confit thighs, added to a mix of red peppers, cucumbers, Napa cabbage, cilantro and mint before being rolled into a Vietnamese-style spring roll.
The duck breast itself is then seared skin up in a H O T pan, then put into the oven, skin down again, with a hoisin glaze. We leave it in there just long enough to achieve medium rare--fine duck breast off the bone should never exceed a medium temperature. When it does, the meat dries, toughens and takes on the gamey flavor that turns folks away from it. I promise you, no one is going to turn away from our Duck Breast.
The final component of this signature dish is basmati rice cakes seasoned with a bit of sesame oil and rice wine vinegar. The rice is purposely overcooked just a smidge so that once it's cooled, it rolls easily into balls that are then flattened into cakes. How are the cakes cooked? See above; culinary goodness. Also known as duck fat. It's my opinion in general that fat rules, but duck fat? It doesn't get much better than that.
If you want to see the garnish, well, you'll just have to come in, won't you?
Tuesday, March 6, 2007
Monday, March 5, 2007
The Good, the Bad & the Ugly
Tom says:
The Good.
Our Chef de Cuisine started today. Dave went straight to work getting the kitchen organized and by the end of the week the first samples will be coming out of Dave's new home away from home.
Mike's putting the finishing touches on construction--the glass block partial walls are up; the back bar is built, including shelving, and is ready for paint; and the remaining areas of the floor are prepped and awaiting tile.
The menu is just about set now with last-minute inspirations for dessert rounding out our offerings. After a meeting this morning with Ed and scheduling additional meetings later for later in the week, we can say the same about the wine list.
Employment ads--print and online--have generated a steady stream of applicants that should provide us with a solid pool of candidates from which to choose (we're holding an Open House for employment on Wednesday from 12-5p at the restaurant, so if you're interested or know anyone who might be, send them down to 860 Elm Street, Manchester).
The Bad.
Part I of the two-part cautionary tale about what happens when you choose, out of necessity or otherwise, to be your own General Contractor.
Got a call first thing this morning from our signage vendor with the news that the city didn't approve our sign. Our plans, as submitted, had the sign hanging too high on the building (despite the fact that I can look up and down the street and point to examples of exactly what they rejected). All told, this is the first and--knock wood--the only hiccup we've heard from the city and, well, it's probably something that could have been avoided if I'd hired a professional GC who might have been better acquainted with current codes and thus addressed this issue at the design stage. We have options, but we don't have time to think on any one of them too long. As always, as many people reminded me, there are worse problems to have.
The Ugly.
Part II of this cautionary tale makes the signage seem like a non-issue. I need isolated ground circuits (IGCs) to run the Point-of-Service system. When I first talked with my electrician, I did mention the need for both power and telecommunications ports to run this POS system I hadn't yet purchased, but didn't specify what kind. An experienced GC, especially one who had managed restaurant renovations, would have known to install IGCs at the outset.
As ugly as this particular situation is, we've been and continue to be fortunate such that extra charges here are offset by savings there. The additional cost to change the outlets over will be made up by the forced changes to our signage. Just another one for the books when we go to open a second shop (just kidding, Maureen--you can start breathing again).
Tuesday's going to be another monster of a day, but it's also the day we preview an item from our menu. Look for that tomorrow night, late. Until then, thanks for reading.
The Good.
Our Chef de Cuisine started today. Dave went straight to work getting the kitchen organized and by the end of the week the first samples will be coming out of Dave's new home away from home.
Mike's putting the finishing touches on construction--the glass block partial walls are up; the back bar is built, including shelving, and is ready for paint; and the remaining areas of the floor are prepped and awaiting tile.
The menu is just about set now with last-minute inspirations for dessert rounding out our offerings. After a meeting this morning with Ed and scheduling additional meetings later for later in the week, we can say the same about the wine list.
Employment ads--print and online--have generated a steady stream of applicants that should provide us with a solid pool of candidates from which to choose (we're holding an Open House for employment on Wednesday from 12-5p at the restaurant, so if you're interested or know anyone who might be, send them down to 860 Elm Street, Manchester).
The Bad.
Part I of the two-part cautionary tale about what happens when you choose, out of necessity or otherwise, to be your own General Contractor.
Got a call first thing this morning from our signage vendor with the news that the city didn't approve our sign. Our plans, as submitted, had the sign hanging too high on the building (despite the fact that I can look up and down the street and point to examples of exactly what they rejected). All told, this is the first and--knock wood--the only hiccup we've heard from the city and, well, it's probably something that could have been avoided if I'd hired a professional GC who might have been better acquainted with current codes and thus addressed this issue at the design stage. We have options, but we don't have time to think on any one of them too long. As always, as many people reminded me, there are worse problems to have.
The Ugly.
Part II of this cautionary tale makes the signage seem like a non-issue. I need isolated ground circuits (IGCs) to run the Point-of-Service system. When I first talked with my electrician, I did mention the need for both power and telecommunications ports to run this POS system I hadn't yet purchased, but didn't specify what kind. An experienced GC, especially one who had managed restaurant renovations, would have known to install IGCs at the outset.
As ugly as this particular situation is, we've been and continue to be fortunate such that extra charges here are offset by savings there. The additional cost to change the outlets over will be made up by the forced changes to our signage. Just another one for the books when we go to open a second shop (just kidding, Maureen--you can start breathing again).
Tuesday's going to be another monster of a day, but it's also the day we preview an item from our menu. Look for that tomorrow night, late. Until then, thanks for reading.
Sunday, March 4, 2007
The Little Things
Maureen says:
When you're starting any business, you'd think the big decisions would be the most difficult ones, the ones that result in long, drawn-out debate and endless discussion. That's what I thought because in my mind big decisions are, by default, equated with big money.
What I've discovered, though I suspect I always knew it on some level, is that the bigger the decision, the louder your gut speaks to you and its message is unmistakably clear. Things like choosing a logo or lighting or even the almighty point-of-service system were the cliche no-brainer decisions. Where we're getting caught up is in the little things.
Choosing staff shirts, for example. We don't have a large staff, so price per shirt isn't a huge consideration. Fit, however, is. So is color. Ditto sleeve-length. And we made a decision a long time ago that unisex isn't the way we want to go. Thus, locating a supplier with shirts that are the right style and weight, that offers compatible men's and women's versions with two sleeve-lengths per with a color palette that's in keeping with our decor and our brand? That's what results in the long, drawn-out debates and endless discussions. Add to that that staff will also wear bistro aprons, which come from a different supplier with its own rainbow of colors we'll need to match, and I've experienced my first hours of lost sleep since we started this venture.
Other things I've been working on behind the scenes include the Web site (choosing a design was easy, mostly because our designer is brilliant, but writing the content is another trial), coffee and tea selections (when everything you've tasted is great, paring down to your final offering is unexpectedly difficult), creating a mood music strategy (fortunately, I've got a friend who's aces at this and he's offered to put together a few custom mixes for your dining pleasure), and walking around the house with the menu folio to see how it looks next to the menu sheets in various levels of light (we may need to change our original color choice).
Then, there's that whole list of other little things that would, in our eyes, make Z nothing short of perfect but aren't necessarily in the opening budget. We can't do all of them, and the ones we'd most like to do are the ones that cost the most. There's time, we tell ourselves, to add these in after the opening. They are, we tell ourselves, touches that only we'll miss because we're the only ones aware of them. We need to redefine our idea of perfection, we tell ourselves, because as much as opening a restaurant is about realizing a dream, at the end of every shift it's really about the food, the experience and the relationship we have our customers. In those areas, there is no room for compromise.
When you're starting any business, you'd think the big decisions would be the most difficult ones, the ones that result in long, drawn-out debate and endless discussion. That's what I thought because in my mind big decisions are, by default, equated with big money.
What I've discovered, though I suspect I always knew it on some level, is that the bigger the decision, the louder your gut speaks to you and its message is unmistakably clear. Things like choosing a logo or lighting or even the almighty point-of-service system were the cliche no-brainer decisions. Where we're getting caught up is in the little things.
Choosing staff shirts, for example. We don't have a large staff, so price per shirt isn't a huge consideration. Fit, however, is. So is color. Ditto sleeve-length. And we made a decision a long time ago that unisex isn't the way we want to go. Thus, locating a supplier with shirts that are the right style and weight, that offers compatible men's and women's versions with two sleeve-lengths per with a color palette that's in keeping with our decor and our brand? That's what results in the long, drawn-out debates and endless discussions. Add to that that staff will also wear bistro aprons, which come from a different supplier with its own rainbow of colors we'll need to match, and I've experienced my first hours of lost sleep since we started this venture.
Other things I've been working on behind the scenes include the Web site (choosing a design was easy, mostly because our designer is brilliant, but writing the content is another trial), coffee and tea selections (when everything you've tasted is great, paring down to your final offering is unexpectedly difficult), creating a mood music strategy (fortunately, I've got a friend who's aces at this and he's offered to put together a few custom mixes for your dining pleasure), and walking around the house with the menu folio to see how it looks next to the menu sheets in various levels of light (we may need to change our original color choice).
Then, there's that whole list of other little things that would, in our eyes, make Z nothing short of perfect but aren't necessarily in the opening budget. We can't do all of them, and the ones we'd most like to do are the ones that cost the most. There's time, we tell ourselves, to add these in after the opening. They are, we tell ourselves, touches that only we'll miss because we're the only ones aware of them. We need to redefine our idea of perfection, we tell ourselves, because as much as opening a restaurant is about realizing a dream, at the end of every shift it's really about the food, the experience and the relationship we have our customers. In those areas, there is no room for compromise.
Saturday, March 3, 2007
Four Thousand Words Worth
Tom says:
These photos were taken two days ago and already they're dated. That's how quickly things are progressing at Z. That's how quickly things need to be progressing at Z. To the untrained eye it probably looks as though we're nowhere near opening, but as is often the case, appearances are to the contrary. We've got lights. Banquette seating installation. Almost a bar. Obviously we've got a camera. Pretty soon I'll be able to call out, "Action!" And that, friends, is going to be a really really good day.
These photos were taken two days ago and already they're dated. That's how quickly things are progressing at Z. That's how quickly things need to be progressing at Z. To the untrained eye it probably looks as though we're nowhere near opening, but as is often the case, appearances are to the contrary. We've got lights. Banquette seating installation. Almost a bar. Obviously we've got a camera. Pretty soon I'll be able to call out, "Action!" And that, friends, is going to be a really really good day.
Thursday, March 1, 2007
p=mv
Tom says:
Back in the day when I was a wanna-be engineering student, I learned that the Newtonian definition of momentum is the product of the mass and velocity of an object. In other words, momentum is a measurement of how difficult it is to stop an object in motion or
p=mv
The principle of momentum conservation states that velocity remains constant unless the object is acted upon by a force outside the system. This week at the restaurant we've experienced a critical increase in velocity. This, in turn, has increased our momentum such that our hope of an opening date is less fantasy and more reality.
After days and weeks where it seemed we were stuck in a state of inertia, finally, I see the light at the end of this renovation tunnel. What's more, we're moving toward that light with a speed that can only come from putting every red cent you have and then some into making your life's dream, well, your actual life.
Then there's the panicked realization that despite the end of the renovation drawing near, there are still 1,246 things to do; the lists are daunting and my petition to the timekeepers in Greenwich to add more hours to the day have been denied. Best I can do is remind myself, constantly, that so long as I am always doing something, then eventually everything will get done.
One item on that list is uploading new photos of the space from the camera to the computer so we can give everyone another look at how far we've come, though it's entirely possible that to the outside observer it might not look like we've accomplished much.
But right now it's time for this object--me--to be at rest. The light may be visible, but the tunnel, she is long.
Back in the day when I was a wanna-be engineering student, I learned that the Newtonian definition of momentum is the product of the mass and velocity of an object. In other words, momentum is a measurement of how difficult it is to stop an object in motion or
p=mv
The principle of momentum conservation states that velocity remains constant unless the object is acted upon by a force outside the system. This week at the restaurant we've experienced a critical increase in velocity. This, in turn, has increased our momentum such that our hope of an opening date is less fantasy and more reality.
After days and weeks where it seemed we were stuck in a state of inertia, finally, I see the light at the end of this renovation tunnel. What's more, we're moving toward that light with a speed that can only come from putting every red cent you have and then some into making your life's dream, well, your actual life.
Then there's the panicked realization that despite the end of the renovation drawing near, there are still 1,246 things to do; the lists are daunting and my petition to the timekeepers in Greenwich to add more hours to the day have been denied. Best I can do is remind myself, constantly, that so long as I am always doing something, then eventually everything will get done.
One item on that list is uploading new photos of the space from the camera to the computer so we can give everyone another look at how far we've come, though it's entirely possible that to the outside observer it might not look like we've accomplished much.
But right now it's time for this object--me--to be at rest. The light may be visible, but the tunnel, she is long.
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
Tuesday's Teaser
Tom says:
We're nearing the end of construction and it's going to be a Big Push this week to wrap it all up. Today I have no fewer than four trade crews in the space. The electricians are just about finished, the plumbers are making their first appearance to begin rough work, the carpenters are putting final touches on the banquettes, and Mike's prepping the bar floor for tile. That's a lot of crew in not a lot of space. I'm hoping everyone plays well together. Just because there's no room for me in the space doesn't mean my to-do list is any shorter.
Onto today's menu teaser: Goat Cheese Croquettes.
In my opinion, a great salad has four essential ingredients: fresh quality greens, a fruit, a nut and a cheese.
We are fortunate here in New Hampshire to be able to source great local goat cheeses from some wonderful farms as well as some of the best spring mesclun lettuce mixes I've worked with. Local lettuce mixes are always a treat as they vary slightly in composition throughout the season. That natural variety is what keeps salads fresh and interesting. The nut in this salad is toasted pistachio, the fruit is sun-dried cranberry and it's dressed with a champagne vinaigrette.
Goat cheese croquette is a fancy way of saying fried cheese, a guilty pleasure who among us hasn't indulged in at one time or another. Ground pistachios are one component of the croquette's unique breading, adding flavor and texture where you least expect it.
When using mesclun lettuce mixes, I keep dressings simple to honor the delicate nature of the leaves. Good olive oil. High-quality acid (vinegar, citrus, etc.). Salt and pepper. You really don't need anything more than that.
What I need more of though, is time. It's off to meet the plumbers and get on with the day. Besides, if I say anything more about this salad and Maureen's going to want it for dinner tonight.
We're nearing the end of construction and it's going to be a Big Push this week to wrap it all up. Today I have no fewer than four trade crews in the space. The electricians are just about finished, the plumbers are making their first appearance to begin rough work, the carpenters are putting final touches on the banquettes, and Mike's prepping the bar floor for tile. That's a lot of crew in not a lot of space. I'm hoping everyone plays well together. Just because there's no room for me in the space doesn't mean my to-do list is any shorter.
Onto today's menu teaser: Goat Cheese Croquettes.
In my opinion, a great salad has four essential ingredients: fresh quality greens, a fruit, a nut and a cheese.
We are fortunate here in New Hampshire to be able to source great local goat cheeses from some wonderful farms as well as some of the best spring mesclun lettuce mixes I've worked with. Local lettuce mixes are always a treat as they vary slightly in composition throughout the season. That natural variety is what keeps salads fresh and interesting. The nut in this salad is toasted pistachio, the fruit is sun-dried cranberry and it's dressed with a champagne vinaigrette.
Goat cheese croquette is a fancy way of saying fried cheese, a guilty pleasure who among us hasn't indulged in at one time or another. Ground pistachios are one component of the croquette's unique breading, adding flavor and texture where you least expect it.
When using mesclun lettuce mixes, I keep dressings simple to honor the delicate nature of the leaves. Good olive oil. High-quality acid (vinegar, citrus, etc.). Salt and pepper. You really don't need anything more than that.
What I need more of though, is time. It's off to meet the plumbers and get on with the day. Besides, if I say anything more about this salad and Maureen's going to want it for dinner tonight.
Monday, February 26, 2007
East Greets West
Maureen says:
Life doesn't stop because you're opening a restaurant. Not exactly a newsflash, I know, but a reality nonetheless that I sometimes find completely and utterly annoying. Like last week, when five minutes before we had to leave for a Very Important Meeting, we heard the ominous sound of running water that could only be a burst pipe.
Other life stuff of as late includes a tenant giving notice that he was breaking his lease for personal reasons. Having a vacancy at this time of year is less than ideal. I mean, come on: how many people are looking for a place to live in the middle of winter? And where, exactly, were Tom and I going to find the time to show the unit to anyone who was?
Situations like this, I am learning, tend to sort themselves, but only if you don't lose your head. This is when being overly busy becomes your ally. With so much to do and only so many hours in a day, even my predilection toward worry and overthinking have to take a number. And when the number came up for this particular worry, it proved moot. We had a new tenant in the form of Tom's cousin, Nate, who's embarking on his own adventure by trading the West Coast for the East for a while.
Nate worked for Tom when we lived in California and now he'll work for Tom (and me) again at Z. We're happy to have him, lucky to have him and we have the added bonus of a visit from Tom's Aunt Jackie who made the cross-country trek with him. They arrived yesterday afternoon and already things seem easier. Family's good that way. Great that way, actually.
Me, I'm hoping that this trend of things sorting themselves, retaining my head and not ever having to truly panic continues. Cause the calendar? I'm tired of it mocking us, taunting us and generally behaving as if it were the almighty and sole ruler of the universe.
Don't forget, if you'd like to be among the first to know when Z opens, send an email to newsletter@zfoodanddrink.com with the word subscribe in the body or subject line. We'll add you the list for the opening announcement, the launch of Z's formal Web site, and our post-opening newsletter.
Life doesn't stop because you're opening a restaurant. Not exactly a newsflash, I know, but a reality nonetheless that I sometimes find completely and utterly annoying. Like last week, when five minutes before we had to leave for a Very Important Meeting, we heard the ominous sound of running water that could only be a burst pipe.
Other life stuff of as late includes a tenant giving notice that he was breaking his lease for personal reasons. Having a vacancy at this time of year is less than ideal. I mean, come on: how many people are looking for a place to live in the middle of winter? And where, exactly, were Tom and I going to find the time to show the unit to anyone who was?
Situations like this, I am learning, tend to sort themselves, but only if you don't lose your head. This is when being overly busy becomes your ally. With so much to do and only so many hours in a day, even my predilection toward worry and overthinking have to take a number. And when the number came up for this particular worry, it proved moot. We had a new tenant in the form of Tom's cousin, Nate, who's embarking on his own adventure by trading the West Coast for the East for a while.
Nate worked for Tom when we lived in California and now he'll work for Tom (and me) again at Z. We're happy to have him, lucky to have him and we have the added bonus of a visit from Tom's Aunt Jackie who made the cross-country trek with him. They arrived yesterday afternoon and already things seem easier. Family's good that way. Great that way, actually.
Me, I'm hoping that this trend of things sorting themselves, retaining my head and not ever having to truly panic continues. Cause the calendar? I'm tired of it mocking us, taunting us and generally behaving as if it were the almighty and sole ruler of the universe.
Don't forget, if you'd like to be among the first to know when Z opens, send an email to newsletter@zfoodanddrink.com with the word subscribe in the body or subject line. We'll add you the list for the opening announcement, the launch of Z's formal Web site, and our post-opening newsletter.
Friday, February 23, 2007
The Devil is in the Details
Tom says:
I've long championed the idea that the difference you make when undertaking a task, providing a service or delivering product is found in the details. I still believe that, but what I'm learning as a first-time restaurant owner in the startup phase is that the devil is in those same details. At least with respect to material goods.
You'd think it would have been the big decisions that overwhelmed and exhausted me. Things like hiring a chef, renovating the dining room and choosing a point-of-service system that meets our opening needs but can accommodate growth. You'd think that, but you'd be wrong.
Big decisions often center on products or services that are time-sensitive and mission critical. You don't over-think them because you can't. The clock's ticking, so you go with your gut and 10 times out of 10, your gut doesn't let you down. With those decisions out of the way, you can focus on those little things that mean a lot.
We're in search of the perfect candle lamp for the tabletops; a menu cover that aligns with our concept and is sized for our menu sheets; a treatment for the front window that's functional and eye catching; bread baskets and salt-and-pepper shakers; staff uniforms. The list goes on, the possibilities seem endless, and if we're not careful the devil's going to catch us in a weak moment and bust the budget.
It's common for financial planners to have clients take a week and document every purchase they make so they can see what spending habits have a negative impact on their savings power. What that practice reveals has more to do with purchases made out of habit (daily latte), on impulse (the four-dollar magazine at the grocery check-out), or without thought (single-use bottles of water) than major living expenses. It's the details of your life where money seems to disappear most.
Similarly, multipy a menu cover that's reasonably-priced at $3.50ea by the 100 pieces you need, but oh--wait. A hundred pieces only takes care of dinner. What about lunch? Dessert? The wine list?
I was talking this over with my friends at CS Fishery and we all agreed that it's right about now that you finally start to compromise. It's right about now that you let go of a little bit of your vision and do the best you can with the (little) resources you have. It's right about now that your finite cash and your infinite details make friends. You can always go back and upgrade later once your revenue is coming in.
Not sweating the small stuff is counter to my personality, but you know what? It actually feels okay to say, "Once some revenue is coming in, we can go back and upgrade A, B or C." It feels okay because there are dozens of other details that comprise superior service that don't cost you a thing and those will be with us from the minute we open the doors. The question is, will YOU be with us that minute too?
If you'd like to be among the first to know Z 's opening date, send an email to newsletter@zfoodanddrink.com with the word subscribe in the body or subject line. We'll add you to the list for the opening announcement, the launch of Z's formal Web site, and our post-opening newsletter.
I've long championed the idea that the difference you make when undertaking a task, providing a service or delivering product is found in the details. I still believe that, but what I'm learning as a first-time restaurant owner in the startup phase is that the devil is in those same details. At least with respect to material goods.
You'd think it would have been the big decisions that overwhelmed and exhausted me. Things like hiring a chef, renovating the dining room and choosing a point-of-service system that meets our opening needs but can accommodate growth. You'd think that, but you'd be wrong.
Big decisions often center on products or services that are time-sensitive and mission critical. You don't over-think them because you can't. The clock's ticking, so you go with your gut and 10 times out of 10, your gut doesn't let you down. With those decisions out of the way, you can focus on those little things that mean a lot.
We're in search of the perfect candle lamp for the tabletops; a menu cover that aligns with our concept and is sized for our menu sheets; a treatment for the front window that's functional and eye catching; bread baskets and salt-and-pepper shakers; staff uniforms. The list goes on, the possibilities seem endless, and if we're not careful the devil's going to catch us in a weak moment and bust the budget.
It's common for financial planners to have clients take a week and document every purchase they make so they can see what spending habits have a negative impact on their savings power. What that practice reveals has more to do with purchases made out of habit (daily latte), on impulse (the four-dollar magazine at the grocery check-out), or without thought (single-use bottles of water) than major living expenses. It's the details of your life where money seems to disappear most.
Similarly, multipy a menu cover that's reasonably-priced at $3.50ea by the 100 pieces you need, but oh--wait. A hundred pieces only takes care of dinner. What about lunch? Dessert? The wine list?
I was talking this over with my friends at CS Fishery and we all agreed that it's right about now that you finally start to compromise. It's right about now that you let go of a little bit of your vision and do the best you can with the (little) resources you have. It's right about now that your finite cash and your infinite details make friends. You can always go back and upgrade later once your revenue is coming in.
Not sweating the small stuff is counter to my personality, but you know what? It actually feels okay to say, "Once some revenue is coming in, we can go back and upgrade A, B or C." It feels okay because there are dozens of other details that comprise superior service that don't cost you a thing and those will be with us from the minute we open the doors. The question is, will YOU be with us that minute too?
If you'd like to be among the first to know Z 's opening date, send an email to newsletter@zfoodanddrink.com with the word subscribe in the body or subject line. We'll add you to the list for the opening announcement, the launch of Z's formal Web site, and our post-opening newsletter.
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Cuppa Cuppa
Maureen says:
I want to thank everyone who's sent emails or commented here on the blog. Your interest, support and good wishes are very often what spurs us on when our stress levels threaten to reach the danger zone. I also want to assure those of you who have expressed concern over my increase in coffee consumption that going from 20oz to 40oz daily has less to do with exhaustion than it does with the aces coffee roaster who held a tasting on site at Z.
Amherst, NH's A&E Custom Coffee Roastery holds the distinction of being the first certified organic coffee roaster in the state. Obtaining organic certification is a complicated process and something we, as consumers, don't often think about. I'll forego a lengthy explanation and attempt--probably poorly--to reduce it to its essence: every bag of coffee that A&E roasts can be traced back to the farm where the plants were grown and every step along that path, from farm to roastery, must also be certified organic. (If I'm wrong, I'm sure Emeran will correct me).
We already knew that liked A&E's business practices, so it was really a matter of taste that was going to inform our decision for a coffee vendor. Emeran, A&E's owner, brought a variety of coffee-regional roasts that would help train our palates to distinguish among qualities like brightness, body and finish--not unlike wine. Following the tasting, she sent additional (generous) samples to the house and it's at those which I've been pointing the finger of blame for my new 40oz-a-day habit (I'm partial to the Kenyan and Nicaraguan blends). If we weren't planning to use them for Z, you know I'd be signing up for their home-delivery program.
Emeran also sent several loose teas and with these I've fallen completely and desperately in love. I love my tea and have the supply at home to prove it, but ever since I tried her Indian Chai and Blueberry I'm not sure my old favorites stand up anymore (I'm rethinking our decision to go with Choice Organics).
So much in love am I with these two particular teas that last weekend I made Tom take a drive to A&E. I knew the cafe would be closing for a week to complete its relocation to the Carriage Depot complex on Route 101A (it reopens for business on February 26th) and I didn't want to run out. I can't remember the last time I panicked in the face of running out of anything. Well, except maybe money. But then we bought a restaurant and I got over that too.
I want to thank everyone who's sent emails or commented here on the blog. Your interest, support and good wishes are very often what spurs us on when our stress levels threaten to reach the danger zone. I also want to assure those of you who have expressed concern over my increase in coffee consumption that going from 20oz to 40oz daily has less to do with exhaustion than it does with the aces coffee roaster who held a tasting on site at Z.
Amherst, NH's A&E Custom Coffee Roastery holds the distinction of being the first certified organic coffee roaster in the state. Obtaining organic certification is a complicated process and something we, as consumers, don't often think about. I'll forego a lengthy explanation and attempt--probably poorly--to reduce it to its essence: every bag of coffee that A&E roasts can be traced back to the farm where the plants were grown and every step along that path, from farm to roastery, must also be certified organic. (If I'm wrong, I'm sure Emeran will correct me).
We already knew that liked A&E's business practices, so it was really a matter of taste that was going to inform our decision for a coffee vendor. Emeran, A&E's owner, brought a variety of coffee-regional roasts that would help train our palates to distinguish among qualities like brightness, body and finish--not unlike wine. Following the tasting, she sent additional (generous) samples to the house and it's at those which I've been pointing the finger of blame for my new 40oz-a-day habit (I'm partial to the Kenyan and Nicaraguan blends). If we weren't planning to use them for Z, you know I'd be signing up for their home-delivery program.
Emeran also sent several loose teas and with these I've fallen completely and desperately in love. I love my tea and have the supply at home to prove it, but ever since I tried her Indian Chai and Blueberry I'm not sure my old favorites stand up anymore (I'm rethinking our decision to go with Choice Organics).
So much in love am I with these two particular teas that last weekend I made Tom take a drive to A&E. I knew the cafe would be closing for a week to complete its relocation to the Carriage Depot complex on Route 101A (it reopens for business on February 26th) and I didn't want to run out. I can't remember the last time I panicked in the face of running out of anything. Well, except maybe money. But then we bought a restaurant and I got over that too.
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
Whet Tuesday
Tom says:
The sidebar to the right provides a general overview of what Seriously Fun Food is at its essence. Aside from our opening date--still tentative as of this writing--the question on everyone's mind seems to be: Yeah, okay, but what's on the menu?
It's Fat Tuesday in New Orleans, but here at the blog, it's Whet Tuesday. As in we're going whet New England's appetite with a select preview of an item off Z's menu. In the weeks leading up to the opening, these previews will continue to pop up here and there on the blog.
Long-time readers know that Z offers reinterpretations of classic fare that has become part of the American dinner table's vernacular. Some of the dishes we'll preview here are ones I've spent my career developing. Others riff on meals I've eaten during my travels. And still others pay homage to the family recipe archives.
Today we're previewing one of Z's starters. Its composition is influenced heavily by growing up in California's Central Valley and the ways in which my mother infused our lives with the area's rich, agricultural bounty. You've all eaten this combination at one time or another, whether you want to admit it or not because, let's be honest: who doesn't love chicken fingers and fries?
Really, if this dish weren't already fun, it wouldn't be on the thousands of menus it is. So how does Z make its Crispy Chicken Seriously Fun?
By going back to my roots.
Where we lived in the Central Valley, nut tree groves defined the landscape and nuts of all kinds were a constant in our house. Anti-junk food to a fault, my mother always pointed us toward a bowl of of them when we wanted a snack (still in their shells of course, as heaven forbid she make it easy for us). It's just my humble opinion, but a house with a nuts will never be a home.
Anyway, nuts, in general, were common for us. Macadamia nuts, specifically, were not. Due to their relative cost in the 70s, it was only around the holidays that these beauties showed up and, as a result, my mother rationed them like so many coins knowing full well I'd eat through the can in an hour if left unsupervised. But it was only when I started work for a Boston-area caterer a few years ago that I learned how versatile macadamias could be and what a fantastic breading they make for chicken.
Then there's my mother's jam. Of all the canning and jamming and preserving my mother does--apples, cherries, peaches, plums, etc.--what she does with apricots can only be described as world class. Preserves this perfect don't respond well to lots of tinkering, but by mixing in a little of this and a little of that, I created a sweet-and-sour fruity goodness of a dipping sauce that you might just want to eat with a spoon.
Okay, so sweet potatoes are native to Central America and not the Central Valley (these tubers can be traced back 10,000 years in Peru but only appeared in the United States around the 16th century), but you can't argue with their taste, texture or nutritional value. Z's sweet potato fries are cut shoestring style which makes them all the better to share with your dining companions...
...or not. You may decide you want to keep them all for yourself.
The sidebar to the right provides a general overview of what Seriously Fun Food is at its essence. Aside from our opening date--still tentative as of this writing--the question on everyone's mind seems to be: Yeah, okay, but what's on the menu?
It's Fat Tuesday in New Orleans, but here at the blog, it's Whet Tuesday. As in we're going whet New England's appetite with a select preview of an item off Z's menu. In the weeks leading up to the opening, these previews will continue to pop up here and there on the blog.
Long-time readers know that Z offers reinterpretations of classic fare that has become part of the American dinner table's vernacular. Some of the dishes we'll preview here are ones I've spent my career developing. Others riff on meals I've eaten during my travels. And still others pay homage to the family recipe archives.
Today we're previewing one of Z's starters. Its composition is influenced heavily by growing up in California's Central Valley and the ways in which my mother infused our lives with the area's rich, agricultural bounty. You've all eaten this combination at one time or another, whether you want to admit it or not because, let's be honest: who doesn't love chicken fingers and fries?
Really, if this dish weren't already fun, it wouldn't be on the thousands of menus it is. So how does Z make its Crispy Chicken Seriously Fun?
By going back to my roots.
Where we lived in the Central Valley, nut tree groves defined the landscape and nuts of all kinds were a constant in our house. Anti-junk food to a fault, my mother always pointed us toward a bowl of of them when we wanted a snack (still in their shells of course, as heaven forbid she make it easy for us). It's just my humble opinion, but a house with a nuts will never be a home.
Anyway, nuts, in general, were common for us. Macadamia nuts, specifically, were not. Due to their relative cost in the 70s, it was only around the holidays that these beauties showed up and, as a result, my mother rationed them like so many coins knowing full well I'd eat through the can in an hour if left unsupervised. But it was only when I started work for a Boston-area caterer a few years ago that I learned how versatile macadamias could be and what a fantastic breading they make for chicken.
Then there's my mother's jam. Of all the canning and jamming and preserving my mother does--apples, cherries, peaches, plums, etc.--what she does with apricots can only be described as world class. Preserves this perfect don't respond well to lots of tinkering, but by mixing in a little of this and a little of that, I created a sweet-and-sour fruity goodness of a dipping sauce that you might just want to eat with a spoon.
Okay, so sweet potatoes are native to Central America and not the Central Valley (these tubers can be traced back 10,000 years in Peru but only appeared in the United States around the 16th century), but you can't argue with their taste, texture or nutritional value. Z's sweet potato fries are cut shoestring style which makes them all the better to share with your dining companions...
...or not. You may decide you want to keep them all for yourself.
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