Independence Day 2010
To celebrate my independence, I am taking today off from my grueling posting schedule.
And for those who think, “A day without Fussy is a day without sunshine,” I leave you with a few fussy tips for the holiday from the past.
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Independent Spirits
It feels wrong to not write a dedicated post about grilling or summer cocktails on the eve of the Independence Day weekend. But everyone else is writing about those things, and I have something else I’m burning to discuss.
Anyhow you probably are already aware that my drink of choice for beating the heat this summer is coconut water with a bit of rum. Last year I was pushing the Tom Collins. Both remain magnificent cocktails for the occasion. If you don’t mind a little irony, you could always enjoy the delightfully British Pimm’s Cup.
Part of me wanted to create an Independence Day cocktail with something from Harvest Spirits, the local farm distillery that makes delicious award-winning spirits from apples grown in their orchard. But I didn’t really want to do something gimmicky. Still, they are nothing if not independent. And what is more American than apple pie brandy.
Last week I wrote about Cheryl Lins and the Delaware Phoenix distillery that exists because of her deep love for Absinthe, and I’ve been dying to talk more about it all week. She is an independent spirit too.
Two Good Knives
I’ve got a lot of knives. In fact there is a bundle of knives that I still haven’t unpacked from the last move sitting on a high shelf in the garage. They have been there for two years, and they are completely unmissed. Mostly because even without them, my knife blocks are completely full.
I’ve got chef knives, boning knives, paring knives, bread knives, utility knives, steak knives and cleavers. I have forged knives, stamped knives, and even some cheap, flimsy serrated Walmart knives to abuse and throw in the dishwasher.
Some of these knives were bought new, and others have seen generations of use across continents. Still others were once used in the service of the butchers in Mrs. Fussy’s family.
But the truth is that you only really need two good knives.
Beautiful Moms in Their Yoga Clothes
It’s our favorite place, it’s that store Trader Joe’s.
– Carlsfinefims
I’ve been a fan of Trader Joe’s for some time. In fact, over three years ago I documented my list of TJ’s staples on Yelp. It is pretty amazing to see how the food I buy hasn’t radically changed over the years. But love it as I may, I never wrote a song or produced a video. The link at the top of the page is to a magnificent three-minute pseudo-commercial about why one fan of the market loves the place. It manages to capture a lot of what is wonderful about the store, but it may not be entirely convincing to someone who has never shopped there before.
While I have stood up to be counted with Bruce Roter’s grassroots organization (aptly named, We Want a Trader Joe’s in the Capital District), I have not yet been to any of their events. Nor have I helped them with their commercial.
The group and I couldn’t come to an agreement when it came to the FUSSYlittleBALLOT. I was hoping to get their endorsement for Trader Joe’s as the Best Wine Store in the 2010 Times Union poll. But the group held out for the much more competitive Best Grocery category. Maybe we can reach common ground in 2011.
Anyhow, I just came back from the Trader Joe’s in Newton, Massachusetts and thought that I should try and give my pitch for why I think the store is the bee’s knees.
Lookin’ Out My Backdoor
Did you know that Mrs. Fussy ate one of her pets? I can’t recall if it was Valentine or Thumper but they were sheep, and they were delicious. That’s my kind of woman.
In the past week, the idea of eating locally was brought up in the comments. And while I certainly support the notion of trying to eat a larger percentage of foods that are produced closer to home, I’m not about to give up coffee or chocolate.
But I do sometimes look out my back porch and wonder. We have some awfully tasty-looking rabbits out there, and occasionally we get a wild turkey or two. And while I know they eat squirrel in some parts of the world, it’s not high up on my list. Still, it might be fun to try, especially given the abundance of the critters out back. Does anyone eat chipmunks?
The reason most of this is really just idle daydreaming is my concern that these animals are filled with toxic chemicals after being exposed to the synthetic fertilizer and pesticides that blanket many of my neighbors lawns. So they are safe, for now.
I bring this up because recently I had two great experiences eating food immediately adjacent to where it was raised.
Bad Pizza in Connecticut
This morning I’m holed up in a hotel in Milford (again) a few blocks away from the bad pizza place in town. You know, the one that my Aunt and Uncle don’t order from. They enjoy food, so they go a bit out of their way to get a better pizza.
If my cousin was back home in Milford, instead of eating his way around Sicily, he would lead the charge to man up and drive to New Haven for Pepe’s. The biggest tragedy is that I’m far too close to Pepe’s far too often, but only rarely am I able to get some of their pizza. It is a great personal shame. Especially considering just how good it is.
So regrettably I’m not going to talk about New Haven’s famous pizza today. Instead I’m going to talk about the bad pizza place in town. Why should anyone in Albany care about this?
Because I think the bad place in Milford might be better than the best places in Albany.
Learn to Louche
I love New York’s microdistillers. Recently I got to sit down with Cheryl Lins. She is the Delaware Phoenix distillery. It is just her. And she is doing it her way. Which I might add is wonderfully.
Delaware Phoenix truly seems to define microdistillery. It makes the folks at Harvest Spirits and Finger Lakes Distilling look like corporate giants. The still at Harvest Spirits can make batches up to 100 gallons. Delaware Phoenix tops out at eight. Yes, eight. And Ms. Lins makes what she likes to drink. Right now that’s absinthe.
But she makes two kinds.
My spirit guide F. Paul Pacult endorses both of them. You can find these reviews online, but to save you from scrolling down the page here are his impressions of the two.
Meadow of Love Absinthe; 68% abv, $75
Only 1,500 bottles per year. Yellow/greenish tint; very good clarity. Robust, prickly first inhalation is intensely chalky/shale-like and almost minty; further time in the glass allows for scents of vinyl/plastic, dried fruits, and gumdrops. Entry is hot but nicely herbal and leafy and licorice-like; midpalate is not as torridly hot as the entry, but amazingly herbal/botanical and medicinal. A hot Santa Ana wind of alcohol livens up the botanical, minty finish. Hoo-wee.
Spirit Journal 2009 Rating: 3* Recommended
Walton Waters Absinthe; 68% abv, $75
Only 1,500 bottles per year. Olive green color; impeccable purity. Lots of anise/licorice in the opening round of sniffing; additional aeration time stirs up added fragrances of wax paper, fennel, scallions, licorice candies, and dried herbs. Entry is very hot, raw, blustery, and biting – hey, it’s absinthe; midpalate is a tad less aggressive as the mint/licorice/anise/root taste profile emerges and tastes seriously tangy and good. Finishes scorching hot yet somehow divinely herbal and anise-like. Crazy that I like this so much but I do.
Spirit Journal 2009 Rating: 4* Highly Recommended
Rarely does F. Paul get something wrong. But he made a critical error in his review of these products. He didn’t louche.
The Espresso Olympics
This may come as a surprise, but I am not a big sports fan. Sure, I like to take in the occasional ball game. I enjoy going to the ballpark and having a beer outside and some tasty vittles from the concession stands. But outside of the Super Bowl, watching sports on television holds little appeal.
Golf is the worst.
It’s really slow. Not a lot happens. And the stuff that does happen you can’t see very well. Seriously, I can never see the ball as it flies through the air. Hopefully that problem has been fixed with modern technology, but it’s been a long time since I’ve accidentally stumbled upon a televised golf event.
Still, avid golf fans are mysteriously transfixed to the tube. For them it’s completely captivating. After today, I think I have a better understanding of that phenomenon.
You may not be aware, but right now, this very instant, the World Barista Championships are underway in London. And you can tune into all the action for free, right now from your computer, thanks to live streaming of the event.
I spent more time watching this yesterday than I care to admit.
A Pesto Pounding
Three thing have collided this week
1) My love affair with near-authentic Genoese pesto.
2) Ruth Fantasia’s review of a new Italian restaurant, Grappa ’72.
3) The rising tide of basil being harvested by my CSA.
Here’s the thing. I believe words matter. Thus I find it upsetting when someone calls an American sparkling wine Champagne or a tomato sauce with ground beef Bolognese. Pesto too is a thing to itself.
I have mentioned in the past being a disciple of Marcella Hazan. This is what she has to say on the matter in Essentials of Classic Italian Cooking:
Pesto may have become more popular than is good for it. When I see what goes by that name, and what goes into it, and the bewildering variety of dishes it is slapped on, I wonder how many cooks can still claim acquaintance with pesto’s original character, and with the things it does best.
Pesto is the sauce the Genoese invented as a vehicle for the fragrance of a basil like no other, their own. Olive oil, garlic, pine nuts, butter and grated cheese are the only other components. Pesto is never cooked or heated, and while it may on occasion do good things for vegetable soup, it has just one great role: to be the most seductive of all sauces for pasta.
Especially after this description, who could not love this dish? Which brings me to point number two.
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