The Night Before Cassoulet

The Night Before Cassoulet

We were in Napa for the cassoulet, but after all, you have to eat every night of the week, so off we went to the trendiest foodie place in Yountville, Redd Wood, for dinner for six: Lou and BettyLu, Jason and Lynn, and Roxi and moiself.

The place was packed on a Friday night, of course, but we had made a rez so we were good.

The food was great---Italian-ish with lots of cured meats and tasty thin-crust pizzas, hearty salads and good selection of flavors.  It’s the kind of joint where you could go there several times and end up never having a main course item---the appetizers are many and there’s an Italian abbondanza of gargantuan proportions.  Some of them are bigger than Thor Iverson’s head.

Jason and Lynn got there early so I grabbed a taste of his starter glass of Miner Sangiovese.  Decent enough, albeit on the light, polite side with fresh cherries; not much depth or persistence though.  And the problem was that it immediately preceded what Lou pulled from his magic bag, a bottle…no, wait, two bottles…of William Fevre Chablis Grand Cru Les PreusesChablis 2005.  

It was in good form, although muted in minerality and apple tanginess and low in the expected citrus zinginess.  Chewy texture, solid body, but sedate, with some actual butter and cream notes coming out.  Could be in a tame phase, or could be the vintage.  The impression of maturity is there, so I wouldn’t hesitate to drink this up if I had it. Not an oyster wine, but went quite nicely with the arancini and the salt cod fritters piled on a mass of beans and fritture (that was the one bigger than Thor’s head).

The next treasure to emerge from the magic bag was an unalloyed delight of a big bad bruiser of a wine turned elegant and sophisticated:  Altesino Brunello di Montalcino 1990.  This must have been one intense and compact wine when first released, because it still has power and mass to spare; and time has been kind to it, beveling off all the edges, smoothing out any rough spots.  It is perfectly poised and balanced, with all its elements working together so beautifully that it seems seamless on the palate: rich and smooth and fruity, with earth lurking underneath, and that odd but altogether lovely scent of old dried roses pressed in a book.  This wine is way too easy to drink and the bottle’s down to its dregs before you know it.

….Which is why it’s so great that the magic bag also contains another Tuscan delight, the Fontodi Vigna dal Sorbo Chianti Classico Riserva 1997.  This one is just now starting to show its age a bit, but it has one final surge of richly fruited cherry pie aromas for us before it settles firmly into that lean acid-driven tomato-friendly acidity that matches so well with our anchovy and tomato pizza with just the right amount of char to make things interesting.

The server solicited dessert, but sated as we were, the Fontodi served that purpose for us and we drank it…literally…to the dregs.

Allium Redux: wherein we revisit one of our favorite eateries

There are some truly outstanding restaurants in Portland.  Fortunately for foodies, there are some equally outstanding restaurants in the Portland ‘burbs too.

Allium Bistro in West Linn has to be ranked as one of the most outstanding, whether urban or ‘burban.  West Linn and Lake Oswego residents have no trouble flocking to the place, since it’s always busy and bustling.  If Portland foodies and hipsters ever find it, they’ll have lines out the door and down the block.

Chef/Owner Pascal Chureau has had an…interesting…history on the Portland restaurant scene (and he’s back in that downtown scene again with Brasserie Monmartre), and when he decided to open a place in the bedroom community along the Willamette, many thought he had semi-retired to bucolic bliss and an unchallenging cuisine.

They were wrong.

On a relatively quiet tree-lined boulevard just off I-205 Chureau and his chefs are dishing out some of the finest plates you’ll enjoy in the Portland metro area.

When you first walk in, Allium doesn’t seem all that special.  It’s pleasant enough with its deep gold walls and heavy-on-wood décor, but it’s not much more than a fairly standard suburban neighborhood restaurant, just a bit fancier.  The wine list is very good…but not great.  The cocktail program is limited but appealing, with some creative variations that are extremely enjoyable and occasionally daring.

All in all, a pleasant experience in a great neighborhood bar/restaurant.

Then the food begins to arrive. And suddenly everything changes.

Pommes frites

While sipping at an utterly delicious Lucien Albrecht BrutRosé Cremant d’Alsace (which has to be one of the best all time pink bubbly sparkler values, ever, but especially so on the first day of an unprecedented hot spell), we munched contentedly on true honest to god Belgian-style pommes frites in the traditional white paper cone, crispy outside and piping hot and creamy-soft inside and slathered with sea salt (you can also order them with duck fat and rosemary or truffle oil!) and irresistible;  food you wish you could simply inhale, and then you try your best to do just that.

The Brut Rosé was kicked up a notch with the next arrival, a short wooden skewer impaling four perfectly char-grilled shrimp resting on a bed of slightly dressed greens delicately touched by Serrano pepper and tilted up on a wedge of ripe watermelon.  It was as perfectly balanced an appetizer as you could wish, and performed exactly as a true appetizer should---to appetize, to make one ready for what is to come, to stimulate the palate and the imagination.

This was as precisely balanced an arrangement of appetizing flavors as one could possibly wish: plump sweet shrimp with just the right amount of char, bursting fresh greens with the lightest perk of pepper flavor imaginable and sweet, ripe watermelon, all mixed in with the Albrecht pink sparkler.

[One should note the use of the Serrano pepper---which also shows up in one of the cocktails, by the way.  It’s a sign of the brilliance of Chureau’s approach to food.  There’s almost no heat to the pepper; it’s used as a very light condiment to add flavor to the greens and offset some of the fruit sweetness of the watermelon.  And the use of the pepper is a testament to the knowledge of food: a slight bit more and the dish would have been overwhelmed; a slight bit less and it would not have attained that marvelous balance of delicious flavors.  It was the difference between “good” and “vibrant.”]

The two main dishes were equally outstanding, an iron skillet of paella that was simply everything a paella should be and frequently isn’t, and what may be the single best and most satisfying plate of pasta I’ve had in the Pacific Northwest.

Paella at Allium

If you haven’t had Allium’s paella (a local favorite with the faithful), then you need to try it.  It’s as simple as that.  It’s one of the most ultimate comfort foods there is, and nobody does it better.

The pasta, a bowl of pappardelle in a tomato sauce, made me feel for a moment I was back in Italy.  Fresh, bright, precise flavors of tomato, spices, peppers, and a toothy, al dente, and eggy pappardelle flat noodle were combined in, once again, perfect balance.  The tomato juices, not quite a broth and held together with juicy morsels of fresh tomato flesh, were rich and bright with acidity and bursting with lovely flavor, and the broad, flat pappardelle were perfectly made, perfectly cooked, and perfectly served at the peak of texture and flavor.

For extra delight, they have one of our mutually favorite white wines by the glass at Allium, and it proved the ideal foil for both dishes. The new vintage of the 2011 Chateau Guiraud “G” Sauvignon Blanc, a dry white from the producer of Sauternes, was more herbal and less mineral and less vibrant than previous renditions, but it still had searing acidity and accompanied both dishes nicely.

For dessert, we enjoyed Pastry Chef Kim Wilson’s Hazelnut Chocolate Mousse, a creamy concoction paired nicely with a healthy dollop of crème fraiche for excellent contrast, and a delicious multi-layered orange olive oil cake with marcona almonds.  [If you’ve never had or made olive oil cake, look for a good recipe; it makes a superb fruity-rich and moist cake batter.]

As we were about to leave our leisurely repast, we overheard the waiter asking the nearby foursome how their meal was.  All mouthed their appreciation, but the lady in the group volunteered “This is the best meal I’ve had all year!”

I expect they hear that frequently at Allium.

[Note:  One of the all time great meal bargains in the metro area is Allium’s frequently offered Family Meals, where Chureau serves his plates a la famille at big tables (wine included or you can bring your own) for astonishingly low prices.  You have to pay attention when they’re announced, though, as the word is out, and they sell out fast whenever they are offered.]

Revisiting Pisco Encanto

Was it a momentary passion, or was it enduring love?  Was it a crush, or did it become a lifelong thing?  If you liked it that much then, would you like it that much now?

These are the kinds of questions that persist when anyone sets themselves up as a critic or commentator or judge.  If you make value judgments, do you show good judgment, and do those judgments have value? The critic hopes to say “Yes!” to both those questions, so the occasional validation is both reassuring and sweet.

This critic wrote a column extolling the virtues of Campo de Encanto Pisco Acholado back on November 11, 2010.  Here’s what the original article said about Encanto Pisco:

Campo de Encanto is Pisco Acholado, a brilliant combination of Puro and Aromatico that achieves a fresh, rich, silky-textured aroma and flavor profile that is bound to please even the most demanding palate. It is both fruity and spicy; soft and peppery; clean yet aromatic; and manages a perfect balance of flavors.

 The first impression was of a fresh, lovely musky perfume of fruit with precise balance and excellent mixability.  Second, third and fourth impressions were equally powerful, to the extent that it was promoted as “the best pisco you’ll taste”.

Some readers took issue with the bold statement, but the critic stood his ground, secure in his judgment.

[And if it feels weird to read about me talking about myself in the third person, it feels a hell of a lot weirder to me.]

In May, 2012, the critic traveled down to Pomona to be a judge at the Los Angeles International Wine & Spirit Competition.  One category assigned to the judge’s panel was Brandy.

This was a blind tasting, so the judges knew nothing of the competitive participants other than the basic category description and the type.  All brandies were allowed to participate in the category, with subdivisions according to type and age. There were up to 28 types allowed and this particular competition included pisco, pomace, aged continuous still brandies and aged pot still brandies.

On this day, with this panel, three brandies were awarded Gold Medals.  Only one brandy was awarded a Gold Medal, Best of Category, and Best of Division, with all judges awarding a Gold Medal and a score of 90 points: Campo do Encanto Pisco Acholado.

The judges were unanimous in their praise for and appreciation of Encanto Pisco.  One judge in particular was quite pleased his prior assessment was replicated in a blind tasting, and his personal reactions were in accord with all he had said previously about this brandy.

However, this column is properly more about the brandy than the critic, as it should be.  And this prestigious Triple Gold Medal and high numerical score reinforces Campo do Encanto’s success in the marketplace, especially in the hands of professional bartenders who can appreciate the exceptional quality of this spirit and use it to fashion exciting creative cocktails for their customers.

Encanto Pisco has won a bevy of other awards, of course, including the Gran Medalla de Oro “Best of Show” at the XVII Concurso Nacional del Pisco competition in Peru---pretty impressive considering the pisco was going up against all other piscos in the homeland of pisco.

In any spirit, the primary appeal is in the balance of all the components, and Encanto Pisco is the exemplification of balance.  An acholada pisco---the Peruvian term for ‘half-breed’---Encanto is a blend of different grapes so that the brandy is fragrant, but not too fragrant of a particular grape variety, and delivers the harmonious combination of all its constituents. Because it is unaged, it reveals the transparent fruit nature of the grapes, the inherent “wine-ness” embodied in a brandy, without any masking or disguise or external enhancement, with all the freshness and vigor of spiritually volatized fruit.

Translation:  it’s fresh; it’s tasty; and it’s pure in aroma and flavor.

And now it’s a multiple Gold Medal Winner and Best Brandy at the Los Angeles International Spirits Competition.

Campo de Encanto Pisco Acholado is distributed by Haas Brothers in the U.S.

Time travel at Cognac Ferrand: 1976. 1776, 1840

Cognac Pierre Ferrand
1776 Cellars

Time is a malleable concept in Cognac.  The pace and focus can shift subtly from the now to the then before you’re even aware of it.  That’s not surprising when you can visit a maison and walk from the 21^st Century into the 19^th Century and then the 18^th Century within a matter of minutes, traversing hundreds of years of history and culture in a few short steps.

For Americans, who tend to live in the moment, that sensation can be exhilarating. We tend to think of the days of our country’s founding as remote antiquity when in many ways it was merely the blink of an eye in European terms and part of a much longer and richer history that adds color and richness and resonance.

Here age has a taste, the taste of cognac.  It has a smell, the smell of old stone and mellow wood infusing, and being infused by, the sweet mingling of fruit and flower and spice summoned by alchemical fire from the grapevines and forests, transformed and contained and concentrated in the liquid that first becomes wine then becomes ardent spirits.

Such an evocative and perfectly descriptive name: ardent spirits.  It burns, yes, with the clear blue flame of intensity and purity combined, a liquid that is a vapor, that was entirely gas, but liquid before, a liquid that came from pure water and soil and captured sunlight in a process that, while scientifically defined, is still the most mysterious of nature’s magic, as if fire were captured in water.

New casks
mingle with old

Contain that precious and twice-transformed liquid in a massive, heavy, solid wood barrel—a barrel that is nonetheless deceptively porous to what it contains---that has been heated, cooked, toasted, all to caramelize the natural sugars, creating more transformation which will create even more transformation; hide it away in cool, dark and slightly moist cellars so that time works its secrets in the dim and dark, quietly, slowly, patiently; and after years, decades, lifetimes, decant the concentrated results and with infinite care nurse it back to balance with the slow drip and trickle of water, revive it from its long slumber, quench the fiery, thirsty heart to manageable levels; and capture the tawny gold and caramel colors in a genie’s bottle.

At Cognac Pierre Ferrand in the Grande Champagne it is possible to marvel at the glistening bright and meticulously maintained copper stills, the Alembic Cognacais required by law and custom to make the eau-de-vie, all very modern but emanating from grand traditions of countless grandfathers, all very tidy and ordered and above all, clean, pristine to the point of laboratory standards. Then walk across a graveled courtyard that once supported dray horses and now sports tractors and Range Rovers and into what appears for all the world like a delapidated ruin of gray stone and black fungus.

 

1976 Cognac
in a 1776 Cellar

But this apparent tumbledown is sturdier, far sturdier, than it looks. Alexandre Gabriel, the proprietor, a tightly contained, enthusiastic and likable man with restless eyes that flicker here and there, observing, annotating, extrapolating, brimming with ideas that defy the length of the day and keep him awake far into the night, casually tells us this cellar was built in 1776, without at first realizing the major import this has to Americans.  We all look around curiously, imagining the workers putting the cellar together, stone by laborious stone, as our American identity was being forged by men in gartered pants and elegant silken hose with silver and pewter-buckled shoes who courteously doffed their tricorn hats as they discussed their differences in the language of statesmen and savants.

The most noticeable thing about the cellar, though, is not the stones, impressive as they are in their settled solidity and lumpy fungus-encrusted mass.  No, the most impressive thing, instantly, is the dry biscuit smell of old, old wood mingled with the dark earthy aromas that emanate from the hard-packed floor.  The imagination creates an impression that the earth is breathing with excruciating slow breaths and there is the weight of mushrooms and black truffles hanging heavy in the air, mingling with the fragrant wisps of faint but present fruit---not apricot, not peach…ah, a white peach, the small squashed white peaches that sometimes grow further south, escaping from orchards to invade vineyards with outlaw trees, tricking the nose and the mind with the mixed aromas of fruit and flowers in delicate interplay.

Gabriel, playfully amused by our wide-eyed American response to the historical significance of the cellar, quirked his lips and pointed to one of the row-on-row barrels arrayed along the gray walls, saying, “We also have a barrel of Grande Champagne Cognac here from 1976,” rushing us forward two hundred years with the turn of our heads.  Before we could even comment, Gabriel suggested with his characteristic hospitality and grace, “Perhaps we should taste it?”

And suddenly we were clustered around the barrel as the Cellar Master thiefed the soft amber liquid with the fire inside and eased it into our glasses, releasing a gush of fruit and sensuous spices into the air in vivid, volatile contrast to the placidity of black earth and weathered oak.

We made a pitiful conscious attempt to, if not stop, at least slow down and extend the moment, but we eventually exhausted our glasses with the smallest sips and longest sighs possible, until there was only the spirit of the spirit, the ghost of the ghost, the faint but detectable echo and reverberation of that always-sought but not always-found essence called ‘rancio’.

This is why wine, and brandy, and in the finest way possible, cognac, captures the imagination as no other beverage can: it is the accumulated embodiment of all the elements---sun, water, earth and time---captured and suspended in the heart of fire, ready to be released, defying age by incorporating age, and bridging hundreds of years in a single glass.

An 1840 Cognac
and Ferrand "1840"

In a fitting coda, Gabriel invited us into his chateau for dinner.  During the tour we looked over his bedroom-turned-office---so he could jump up restlessly in the middle of the night whenever an idea seized him and work without disturbing his wife--- and saw a long row of bottles around the room.  His current project and fascination was the creation of a new version of Cognac Ferrand, the 1840, devised to revive the style of that past century when cognac was the standard drink of the bistros and the bôites, the drink of the common people and not merely some gentleman’s expensive plaything.  These were the bottles he had gathered methodically, antiques of the day but still vibrantly alive.

Standing next to the new creation of Ferrand 1840 was a single, dark bottle with a time-worn tattered label, barely legible, almost obliterated, but with a clearly decipherable “1840” in heavy black print. I glanced at the bottle, then at Gabriel in what I now know must have been mute question, not wishing to ask and impose, but he smiled, and nodded his head without hesitation, so I quickly uncorked the bottle and poured out the tiniest possible trickle of pale amber liquid into my glass, only a few drops redolent of fire and flower and fruit and spice, now mostly elegant spice and faded dried and pressed flowers and the eerie smell-sense of having opened the cover of a very, very old historical volume…which, in a way, it was, of course: a volume of time and taste-memory, a brief but vibrant ghost tenuously reaching over the chasm of 172 years to lightly brush my senses.

Only a relative few will be fortunate enough in their lives to taste a cognac from 1840. But thanks to Cognac Ferrand, they can experience the style of that period in the Ferrand 1840, now available in the market, a fitting hommage to a former time.

The Incredible Magical Interconnectivity of Wine

It was just a glass of wine.

Nothing  more than that.  Just a glass of wine on a list in a nice little bistro on a rainy evening in Portland, Oregon.  

That’s all.

But as some people know, wine can be magic.  And that rainy night in Portland a magical moment was created.

The place was Allium Bistro, a delightful restaurant in West Linn, the quiet and unassuming little southern suburb of Portland, Oregon, owned by Chef Pascal Chureau, a quiet and unassuming young man who happens to be one heck of a good chef.  You can think of Allium Bistro as a local-purveyor-supplied-with-a-French-Italian-twist kind of place, if you need definitions and niches to put it in…but most of the faithful clientele just think of it as a really great neighborhood restaurant.

The evening was a casual get-together of four friends, all wine aficionados.  Nothing special, really; a night out with good food and good wine.

Things began auspiciously when we stepped out of the cold rain and into the cozy warmth and friendliness of Allium, and they looked even better when we settled in to a booth and perused the menu and wine list---good, hearty, wholesome dishes, the kind you’d find in lovely little neighborhood bistros all over France; coupled with a wine list that was both worldly and locally tuned in to support and enhance the food being served.

Don't think about it: just
order the fries.

Another nice touch was the chalkboard carefully listing all the local purveyors that supplied the viands for the evening---Chef Chureau is manic about locally-sourcing the finest ingredients he can---so not only did we know what we were eating, we knew where it was coming from.

Le G

While we perused the menu, we nibbled on hot-to-the-fingers pommes frites lightly dusted with sea salt, and if there’s a better appetizer anywhere than that, I can’t think of what it would be.

Then my wife and I looked up and at each other at the same moment.  We had simultaneously noted that the wine list mentioned a Chateau Guiraud Blanc 2009.  Or to put it properly,
Le G de Chateau Guiraud.

(Pay attention here: the magical moment is coming!)

When in Bordeaux last fall we had traveled to Sauternes to and had a delightful lunch in the village at.  On a blissfully warm day in November under a cloudless sky, we were seated beside a window looking out over the golden slopes of vineyards leading up to the crest of the hill, where sat Chateau Guiraud in quiet glory.  To complete this idyllic scene, the wine I had selected for our lunch was….the Chateau Guiraud Blanc Sec 2009, the dry white made by this Sauternes producer.

The lunch was exquisite; the wine even more so.  As my wife said at the time, “This is the kind of Sauvignon Blanc that reminds you of everything you could possibly like about Sauvignon Blanc.”  And so it was:  lemon and grapefruit citrus; nervy and aromatic and herbal and fresh; crisp and lively and mouth-watering; a wine that perfumed the air and livened up the mouth and accentuated the flavors of the foods, snapping everything into a sharp, bright focus, just as the sun on the vineyards was doing outside our window.

And months later, here we were in a bistro in West Linn, Oregon, magically reliving all those golden memories and creating brand new ones.  We babbled so much about the wine our two friends made it unanimous and we sat around happily sipping and noshing.

Eventually, the pommes frites ran out and we ordered more substantial fare---rich and meaty boeuf bourguignon studded with carrots and foraged mushrooms and pearl onions on pappardelle pasta; seafood paella; and a magnificent pork chop---more like a lombata di maiale to me---on a bed of cannellini beans.  

A stunning Pinot Noir

For that we popped open a bottle brought by our friend Claudia, a big bruiser of Willamette Valley Pinot Noir, the WillaKenzie Estate Terres Basses Pinot Noir 2008 (available only at the winery, so you’ll have to give them a call if you want some, and you probably do.)  

Both the beef and the porkchop needed something substantial in wine to match, and the WillaKenzie did the job handsomely.  It was tightly packed with fruit on a big frame, bold and muscular and acidic and sour-cherry tart.  The foraged mushrooms and the Pinot had a little magic thing going on too.  Made a great combination of earthy to earthy.

During the main course, we had to sneak back to the Chateau Guiraud to pair with the Brussels sprouts—Chef Chureau is renowned for his Brussels sprouts, although he says they’re very simple. He sautés the halved sprouts cut side down until they begin to caramelize and crisp a bit, then dishes them up in a heavy ceramic bowl.  They may well be the best preparation of Brussels sprouts I’ve ever had; and, of course, the magic combination of the Chateau Guiraud was the perfect pairing too.

All in all, a great evening of fun, food, friends, and a little wine magic West Linn, Oregon, courtesy of Chateau Guiraud, WillaKenzie and Allium Bistro.

And a P.S. to Portlanders:  if you're looking for the best meal deal in town...and I mean hands down the best...check out Allium Bistro's "Neighborhood Dinners".  They are family style dinners where you'll be astonished at both how much and how good the food is, with wine included, for only $38 per person (grautity extra).  But be forewarned: these dinners sell out really fast.  Good news is, they have them frequently.

What's in your 12 bottle case? Miguel Figueredo Lancha of Spain

Miguel Figueredo Lancha is a charismatic, talented, and industrious entrepreneur of the spirits world located in Madrid, Spain, a multinational (Spain and Venezuela) son of a Spanish father and a Cuban mother.  

Miguel is one of those guys so filled with energy and passionate about his knowledge that he fills the room with his presence; he describes himself with some understatement as “kind of extroverted and communicative.”  

He has a wealth of knowledge of spirits and mixology, deals every day with some of the most exceptional spirits in the world, and trains other people about them.  When he’s not teaching he is out in various places---Cognac, Amsterdam, London, New York, the Caribbean---learning more about his profession.

Currently he co-directs the Bar Concept and The Cocktail Room in Madrid, which covers the entire Spanish bartending community, delivering training on spirits, bartending and cocktails; writes for a bilingual blog on the bar industry; and operates a bartending school, bartenders library and store, tasting room and product marketing company.

On top of all that, Miguel is also a very active musician on multiple instruments. Whew.

When asked what his 12 bottle case would consist of, he graciously agreed to take a break from his very hectic schedule and think about it.

This is Miguel’s list:

"This would be my list of the 12 bottles to pick if I were limited to only those ones. As you can see I don't need them all to be the ultimate, most antique, collector bottles, although some nice stuff is appreciated. I thought it was going be a lot easier to pick them, but, wow, it seems I love many other ones... Anyway, I think that with these I could cover a nice session at a party, with cocktails, coolers or neat spirits."

       El Dorado 15, demerara rum
       Fighting Spirit, agricole rum
       Pierre Ferrand Ancestrale Cognac
       Del Maguey Tobala, mezcal
       Gran Centenario reposado, tequila
       Pierre Ferrand dry orange curaçao
       Tanqueray Nº Ten, gin
       Campari
       Port wine: any ruby or tawny
       Yellow Chartreuse
       Perucchi or Carpano Antica Formula sweet vermouth
       1 liter of bottled cold beer

Summing it up, Miguel decides on two rums, a cognac, two agave spirits, a gin, three essential liqueurs often used for cocktails, a bottle of sweet vermouth, a bottle of Port---which could be consumed individually or in a cocktail---and a bottle of cold beer.

A closer look would show that Miguel appreciates intense aromatic complexity in his spirit choices.  The omission of anything in the whiskey group is intriguing---although perhaps the wood-aged/grain-based spirit category is simply not one that made the final cut here.  (Miguel later appended that whisky was close, but didn't quite make the cut in preference to other spirits he loved.)

There is wood aging evident in the rum and cognac choices, however…indeed, with the Pierre Ferrand Ancestrale Cognac you have approximately 70 years of aging in barrel and glass demijohns.

In any case, should you end up on a desert island with Miguel, he’d be able to step behind a bar and serve up some tasty libations in short order with his 12 bottle case.

Hospitality---Wherefore Art Thou?

I sincerely hope this becomes a meme and goes viral, or whatever the terminology is.  What I hope is that more people in the hospitality industry read and heed.  And remember why it's called "hospitality industry."


This is a post, in it's entirety from friend and colleague Maxine Borcherding, blogging on her website blog at Tasteandcompareacademy.com (with which I am deeply affiliated, full disclosure).  And since I and my wife were the two other people mentioned standing huddled in the high wind and heavy rain...we took it personally.


Here is Maxine's post.  She speaks for the three of us:


Hospitality---Wherefore Art Thou?
Wine and spirits are so often a part of social occasions, especially at restaurants and bars, that when you go to a business to enjoy good drinks, good food, and the company of friends, warm hospitality is something you have a right to expect. So why are we so frequently disappointed?

Last night, it was raining. A cold front was coming in, and the wind was picking up. I’d arranged to meet friends at a well known local lounge at five pm- the advertised opening time.

I arrived at three minutes to five. Looking through the door, I saw two young men sitting at the bar (employees? friends of employees?) and the bartender. The door was locked. I huddled just outside the door and waited.

My friends arrived at two minutes to five. The rain was falling harder. The wind was gusting, blowing the rain under the awning. The young men at the bar and the bartender studiously ignored the three people standing, shoulders hunched, just outside the door.


One minute to five. Door still locked, still being ignored.


Five pm. No eye contact. The door remained tightly locked.

At that point, we left- walked half a block up the street to another restaurant- newer- less well known. It also opened at five, but here, the door was open. We were greeted warmly by a smiling young woman, seated, and immediately approached by a server with menus to take our drink orders. The drinks were well made, the small plates delicious and beautifully presented, the service attentive without being intrusive.

I probably won’t go back to that first place. I’ll more than likely tell others about my experience. My not returning as a customer won’t particularly hurt their bottom line. But if other customers have the same experience, it might.


I wonder why, when a restaurant is successful and expands here, and beyond here to other communities, they so often forget the most basic principle of hospitality and the factor that originally made them successful: that customers will forgive mediocre food and drink, but they will not forgive bad service; and they won’t tolerate being ignored.