A while back, an internal memo written by Starbucks chairman Howard Schultz leaked into the public. In essence he said that Starbucks had lost its way. That's basically how I feel about this blog. I have neglected it after noticing that my last few posts were going a little flat. My writing drifted from a well-crafted, artisan level cup of coffee, to an espresso drafted from an automatic machine. Push a button and the post showed up but without the added level of intimacy; my devotion was diminishing. So I took a break and collected my thoughts. The downtime was not exactly relaxing. Since my last post I made the decision to accept a full time job up here, found an apartment, bought a car and mentally adjusted to the prospect of staying here indefinitely. Throughout this transitional whirlwind I have attempted to determine what my "passion for food" really is about.
Before making the decision to stay here in Seattle I went to great lengths to try to find a way back to the Bay Area. I even cold-contacted the tablehopper. If you are privy to the Bay Area food scene you will agree that this woman has her ear to the ground and knows the ins and outs of the moving and shaking from farm to kitchen and kitchen to table. She sends out a weekly newsletter which I have been loyally reading since about the time she began. She makes herself very accessible to her public and does a service called "Tip Please" where you can write her to get a restaurant recommendation. You say, "I'm planning a birthday for my roommate and ten friends, we need a good sushi spot." She might say "Go to Sushi B (B is for Bistro)". Her only request is that after you go, you hit her back and tell her what you thought. Anyway, I reached out to her in a moment of rock-bottom desperation during which I was trying to rationalize returning to the ever-resplendent Bay Area without an equally legitimate job prospect. This woman is so down to earth and so approachable and considerate it floored me. So for that, and because I just think she and the newsletter are great, I'm going to encourage you to subscribe.
Now, let's talk about food since I think straying from that intention is at the heart of my problems with these recent posts. As you know, I'm a brunch fanatic. Though brunch, as god intended it, ought to be shared among good friends and serve to soothe a mediocre to quite heady hangover. The rub is that until this point I didn't have many friends in Seattle impacting both the likelihood of sharing a meal with friends as well as engaging in the kind of behavior that resulted in a hangover. Thus, not much brunching has really taken place for me. I've had two weekends of friends coupled with two weekends of drinking and the result was my discovery of my new favorite weekend brunch spot. Indeed, I found a place so tasty I actually went twice-- two days in a row. And as I write this I'm still digesting some fantastically tasty Migas compliments of Portage Bay (42nd Ave NE and Roosevelt).
Portage Bay: An open kitchen mingles with the neo-industrial architecture of this cozy little b-fast nook. A wall of south facing floor to ceiling windows looks out on the weather-permitting outdoor dining area. The space feels open and inviting despite the crowds that mingle around the door and entry-way. Located in the University District PB draws a mixed crowd of college students and cross-towners alike. Many arguments can be made for the appeal of this place: the nearly all locally sourced and mostly organic menu, the reasonable prices, or (and this is clearly the only real argument) the "breakfast bar". It's all about the breakfast bar. Running lengthwise along the counter top of the open kitchen, large glass bowls brim with fresh fruit: blackberries, raspberries, huckleberries, lingonberries, strawberries, peaches, pears. As well as butter, whipped cream, and Vermont maple syrup. Many of the dishes on the menu like Bananas Foster French toast with all natural challah bread from Great Harvest Bakery topped with Myer's rum brown sugar caramel sauce and sauteed organic/fair trade bananas come with a trip (or 3 or 7) to the breakfast bar. But don't think they aren't expecting that: the b-fast bar comes with the encouraging reminder "Remember, please take all you want, but eat all you take." If you aren't feeling like a glutton you can incorporate the breakfast bar into a lighter route. I've heard the Chai and organic vanilla soy milk steel cut oatmeal with your choice of toppings from the breakfast bar is quite a hit. If the breakfast bar doesn't serve as enough inspiration, a host of other tasty dishes will likely call your name. Perhaps a Benedict: Spicy black black bean-pancetta cakes, homemade organic cornbread, with our house-smoked tomato and saffron sauce. Or one of their heartwarming hashes: Grilled organic vegetables including red onion, celery, red, yellow and green peppers, red potatoes, sweet potatoes and fresh herbs. Topped with three organic scrambled eggs, all natural whole-wheat toast, and your choice of all-natural corned beef, House smoked wild salmon, chicken-basil sausage, sautéed mushrooms. And if a more traditional omelette suits your fancy perhaps you'd enjoy the not so traditional: Oregon Country Beef flatiron steak omelette folded with St. Andre Triple Cream Brie and topped with a selection of wild and cultivated sautéed mushrooms. Hungry yet?
On my first morning at Portage Bay the sun was almost shining which gives Seattlites the feeling that they ought to dine outdoors. The wait for four of us was only 20ish minutes, during which our appetites built as large beautifully assembled plates of blintzes and pancakes sailed passed us.
My second morning there, the next day, the weather had returned to the ever-typical Seattle funk and the waiting crowd on the sidewalk was large and milled about in the same sweet anticipation that I did. Although informed of a 45 minute wait for Katie and I, we managed to snake two places at the corner bar tucked away by the bathrooms. Though removed from the main dining room, it does have a quaint view of the cold/waiting crowd outside. Three minutes later menus were in our hands and the difficult process of choosing another dish had begun.
Though I love food and love breakfast it's rare for me to feel compelled to try almost everything on the menu. I feel that way about Protage Bay. I could go back daily until I'd tasted the whole business.
They say breakfast is the most important meal of the day. I'll take it a step further to say good breakfast is the most important meal to have in a city you are trying to call home.
Showing posts with label Starbucks. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Starbucks. Show all posts
Where our food comes from
These days it's all about farm to table, buying locally, acting sustainably. We've raised our collective consciousness about the people behind the land that provides us crisp lettuce, crunchy carrots, tender beef; Farmers Markets are everywhere. But what about the big middle monster? The animal we all love to hate: The Factory. We can bad-mouth factories all day long, thanks to the investigative journalism that revealed the likes of huge shoe and clothing retailers with poor labor practices. For most of us, the word "factory" conjures up images of roaring machines, conveyor belts, miserable working environments, poor compensation. But how often do you actually see a factory? Me personally? Only once when I was visiting my cousin's bathing suit manufacturing warehouse in New York City (before it relocated to the Dominican Republic) when I was eight years old. And I hung out in his office, I vaguely remember the industrial lighting, that's about it.
This past Wednesday I spent a shift working alongside the men and women (mostly women) that make up the labor corp responsible for Starbucks refrigerated food that gets distributed throughout the Northern California region and Reno. I was shocked to discover that all of it is made by a group of approximately 55 people. There are very few machines in the plant. Everything, from slicing bread and prepping ingredients, to affixing nutrition labels and "use by" stickers, is done by human hands; and the precision is mind blowing.
I showed up for work with the others at 6:00am. The warehouse is kept at a balmy 38 degrees. Thankfully I was warned and joined the ranks of other snowball looking folks with confidence. My first placement of the morning was helping the team of three people that are responsible for all the chicken salad sandwiches. That's right, three people assemble all of those, and this includes the person that is wrapping them in cellophane. The ingredients are carefully measured out, everything is weighed and recorded. I was doing well at the chicken salad line, those sandwiches are quick to assemble in entirety and in spite of the fact that I was given directions in Chinese (a language in which I am not fluent, or proficient, or functional in anyway) I was holding my own. Sadly, I wasn't there for long. And I'd like to say that at 6:45 my confidence was left at that table and not really regained during the remainder of my 8.5 hour shift. My next placement was at the Petite Turkey and Ham line and here's when the trouble began. The turkey and ham sandwiches are more complex, there are several moving parts that occur before their assembly is complete. This time it was a team of four that got them to their packaged state.
First off the petite rolls were split in half, one side was lightly spread with chive mayonnaise and a one ounce slice of mozzarella was affixed to the other side. Then the bread was slid to me where I placed a one ounce slice of ham, folded into rough quarters on top of the cheese. The bread was then slid onto the turkey-tomatoes-lettuce, sandwich-closer who placed the sandwich on the large sheet and moved it on to the packager. That's right...all I did was put the ham on; and it was damn hard. The ham is sliced but is just thawed. Between my numb finger tips, the glove liners and latex gloves over that, I'd be hard pressed to say I was very nimble or lithe with my hands. The ham stuck together, it seeped ham juice, it nauseated me at that hour of the day. But I bested adversity. My speed improved when I got less obsessed with quartering the ham artfully. My directions on this line were in English and consisted solely of the elderly Chinese woman on mayonnaise duty diligently yelling "Move!" every minute or so if I didn't fully utilize the space on the table. An hour passed. Eventually I moved into adding ham and turkey. Then the lady that was our sandwich "closer" got pulled off our line to something else and it was just me and the Mayo Queen who didn't appreciate my "slow and steady" attitude about separating the ham. All of the sudden I found myself doing ham, turkey, lettuce, tomato, closing the sandwich and adding it to the sandwich pyramid being built on our sheet. The pace slowed, then Mayo Queen vanished, then I was doing the sandwiches entirely on my own. You can imagine how well that went. If per chance you were privileged with eating a Petite Ham and Turkey on Thursday, you might have noticed the ratios were a little off, or you might have tasted the anxiety that those sandwiches were burdened with as I glanced around frantically hoping that some sympathetic person would jump on my line and help me out. No such luck. Eventually the foreperson, who thought I was being trained for my first day of a long career there, pulled me off the line and moved me to the parfait area.
All of the parfaits in NorCal are made by a team of ten people. The parfait is probably one of the least complicated items made, yet the saying "many hands make light work" was first stated in reference to the parfait line. My role was opening yogurt containers and emptying them into a big vat. I would estimate I opened around 700, two pound containers. At one point I got a little ahead and attempted to jump in and help the girl that was filling cups with strawberries, yogurt and granola (funny that the actual parfaits themselves are made by two people and it requires eight others to do everything else: emptying yogurt, labeling cups, putting on lids, packaging). I offered to scoop the strawberries. When done right it goes something like this: dip the three ounce ice cream scoop into the vat of strawberries and syrup, empty into the cup. Seems easy. My line companion was a Spanish speaker who didn't know I could manage in that language and attempted to help me out in English. After I filled four cups she stopped me, "My friend. Theees- okay." She picks up a cup she filled before I offered my "services" and points. "Theees- no good." She picks up a cup I just filled that is over the first line and has strawberry juice all over the cup's walls. There is a high level of precision required to get the strawberries into the cup. First, you have to ever so slightly UNDERfill the ice cream scoop, then you have to release to scoop into the cup at the slightest angle so that you don't get the splash factor. This young lady gave me the benefit of the doubt and allowed to me try again a few times before finally shaking her head and demoting me back to the yogurt station. I spent the next 4.5 hours opening vanilla yogurt.
I could obviously comment at length about the social and demographic nuances of the situation or the other food-related activities going on around me. But I'd like to leave something to the imagination. The biggest thing that surprised me was that EVERYTHING was done by hand by a relatively small group of people. My friend asked the obvious crucial question: "Given what you saw, would you be more or less likely to eat food from Starbucks?" Unequivocally, I would say more likely. They maintain a high level of care with the way they handle the food, everything is well-covered, well-chilled, the facility is incredibly clean, the people are great at what they do and everything, EVERYTHING, goes through their hands. With all the emphasis on farm to table, we forget the middle monster, who maybe isn't quite as big a monster after all. These folks took pride in their jobs and were highly proficient. Their supervisors were mindful, the workers were free to use the restroom when they needed to, there were pre-set breaks with snacks provided, lunch was provided. I do not envy them their position but by the same token, it really wasn't the "monster" I always imagined. Perhaps Flying Food's production units are anomalies. If that is the case, I am certainly thankful to have fallen in with them.
This past Wednesday I spent a shift working alongside the men and women (mostly women) that make up the labor corp responsible for Starbucks refrigerated food that gets distributed throughout the Northern California region and Reno. I was shocked to discover that all of it is made by a group of approximately 55 people. There are very few machines in the plant. Everything, from slicing bread and prepping ingredients, to affixing nutrition labels and "use by" stickers, is done by human hands; and the precision is mind blowing.
I showed up for work with the others at 6:00am. The warehouse is kept at a balmy 38 degrees. Thankfully I was warned and joined the ranks of other snowball looking folks with confidence. My first placement of the morning was helping the team of three people that are responsible for all the chicken salad sandwiches. That's right, three people assemble all of those, and this includes the person that is wrapping them in cellophane. The ingredients are carefully measured out, everything is weighed and recorded. I was doing well at the chicken salad line, those sandwiches are quick to assemble in entirety and in spite of the fact that I was given directions in Chinese (a language in which I am not fluent, or proficient, or functional in anyway) I was holding my own. Sadly, I wasn't there for long. And I'd like to say that at 6:45 my confidence was left at that table and not really regained during the remainder of my 8.5 hour shift. My next placement was at the Petite Turkey and Ham line and here's when the trouble began. The turkey and ham sandwiches are more complex, there are several moving parts that occur before their assembly is complete. This time it was a team of four that got them to their packaged state.
First off the petite rolls were split in half, one side was lightly spread with chive mayonnaise and a one ounce slice of mozzarella was affixed to the other side. Then the bread was slid to me where I placed a one ounce slice of ham, folded into rough quarters on top of the cheese. The bread was then slid onto the turkey-tomatoes-lettuce, sandwich-closer who placed the sandwich on the large sheet and moved it on to the packager. That's right...all I did was put the ham on; and it was damn hard. The ham is sliced but is just thawed. Between my numb finger tips, the glove liners and latex gloves over that, I'd be hard pressed to say I was very nimble or lithe with my hands. The ham stuck together, it seeped ham juice, it nauseated me at that hour of the day. But I bested adversity. My speed improved when I got less obsessed with quartering the ham artfully. My directions on this line were in English and consisted solely of the elderly Chinese woman on mayonnaise duty diligently yelling "Move!" every minute or so if I didn't fully utilize the space on the table. An hour passed. Eventually I moved into adding ham and turkey. Then the lady that was our sandwich "closer" got pulled off our line to something else and it was just me and the Mayo Queen who didn't appreciate my "slow and steady" attitude about separating the ham. All of the sudden I found myself doing ham, turkey, lettuce, tomato, closing the sandwich and adding it to the sandwich pyramid being built on our sheet. The pace slowed, then Mayo Queen vanished, then I was doing the sandwiches entirely on my own. You can imagine how well that went. If per chance you were privileged with eating a Petite Ham and Turkey on Thursday, you might have noticed the ratios were a little off, or you might have tasted the anxiety that those sandwiches were burdened with as I glanced around frantically hoping that some sympathetic person would jump on my line and help me out. No such luck. Eventually the foreperson, who thought I was being trained for my first day of a long career there, pulled me off the line and moved me to the parfait area.
All of the parfaits in NorCal are made by a team of ten people. The parfait is probably one of the least complicated items made, yet the saying "many hands make light work" was first stated in reference to the parfait line. My role was opening yogurt containers and emptying them into a big vat. I would estimate I opened around 700, two pound containers. At one point I got a little ahead and attempted to jump in and help the girl that was filling cups with strawberries, yogurt and granola (funny that the actual parfaits themselves are made by two people and it requires eight others to do everything else: emptying yogurt, labeling cups, putting on lids, packaging). I offered to scoop the strawberries. When done right it goes something like this: dip the three ounce ice cream scoop into the vat of strawberries and syrup, empty into the cup. Seems easy. My line companion was a Spanish speaker who didn't know I could manage in that language and attempted to help me out in English. After I filled four cups she stopped me, "My friend. Theees- okay." She picks up a cup she filled before I offered my "services" and points. "Theees- no good." She picks up a cup I just filled that is over the first line and has strawberry juice all over the cup's walls. There is a high level of precision required to get the strawberries into the cup. First, you have to ever so slightly UNDERfill the ice cream scoop, then you have to release to scoop into the cup at the slightest angle so that you don't get the splash factor. This young lady gave me the benefit of the doubt and allowed to me try again a few times before finally shaking her head and demoting me back to the yogurt station. I spent the next 4.5 hours opening vanilla yogurt.
I could obviously comment at length about the social and demographic nuances of the situation or the other food-related activities going on around me. But I'd like to leave something to the imagination. The biggest thing that surprised me was that EVERYTHING was done by hand by a relatively small group of people. My friend asked the obvious crucial question: "Given what you saw, would you be more or less likely to eat food from Starbucks?" Unequivocally, I would say more likely. They maintain a high level of care with the way they handle the food, everything is well-covered, well-chilled, the facility is incredibly clean, the people are great at what they do and everything, EVERYTHING, goes through their hands. With all the emphasis on farm to table, we forget the middle monster, who maybe isn't quite as big a monster after all. These folks took pride in their jobs and were highly proficient. Their supervisors were mindful, the workers were free to use the restroom when they needed to, there were pre-set breaks with snacks provided, lunch was provided. I do not envy them their position but by the same token, it really wasn't the "monster" I always imagined. Perhaps Flying Food's production units are anomalies. If that is the case, I am certainly thankful to have fallen in with them.
Small potatoes
They say my generation has a problem. We grew up with reality TV and thus are all expecting to be discovered for our multitude of "talents" without really having to work for it. Our overwhelming sense of entitlement is shameful at best and yet, not wholly unwarranted.
With little more than my dimples to thank, I have been offered a paid internship with a food consulting company. (Just kidding, I'd like to think my articulated and overwhelming passion for all things food has a little something to do with it as well.) Once an airline food provider, Flying Food Group is now responsible for the take away refrigerated items at Starbucks. The refreshing parfaits? Thank Flying Food. The tuna sandwich that employs the protective moisture barrier of lettuce? Flying Food is the genius behind that too. My role there will be assisting the research and development chef as he comes up with innovative ideas and rolls out new products. Creative meets kitchen, just my cup of tea.
I'll be honest. I wasn't really "discovered". I have Katie's aunt Nancy to thank for this. Even more so than discovery it appears that connections make the world go round. I'm incredibly grateful to have made this one. The twist to all of this tasty d-lite (East Coasters, you like that?) is that I will be starting on April 23rd...in Seattle. Some of you know that I live in San Francisco. Which, while also beginning with the letter 'S' is not actually the same city. Sure enough I will be moving out of my amazing apartment, away from my amazing roommates and many good friends, towards what I hope will be an incredible learning experience that will confirm that this insanity about food is justified.
I imagine I'll keep writing here; although chances are it won't be quite the outlet it has been. I hear Seattle has a pretty vibrant food scene and if any of you have great ideas about what you would like to find at a Starbucks walk-up counter, you just comment away and I'll pass it onto the R&D guru.
Thanks for your support thus far. If you are in Seattle and in need of a restaurant recommendation, give me until May 10th to get the lay of the land, then holler. If you are from Seattle or in Seattle now and know a thing or two, do tell my friend, do tell.
With little more than my dimples to thank, I have been offered a paid internship with a food consulting company. (Just kidding, I'd like to think my articulated and overwhelming passion for all things food has a little something to do with it as well.) Once an airline food provider, Flying Food Group is now responsible for the take away refrigerated items at Starbucks. The refreshing parfaits? Thank Flying Food. The tuna sandwich that employs the protective moisture barrier of lettuce? Flying Food is the genius behind that too. My role there will be assisting the research and development chef as he comes up with innovative ideas and rolls out new products. Creative meets kitchen, just my cup of tea.
I'll be honest. I wasn't really "discovered". I have Katie's aunt Nancy to thank for this. Even more so than discovery it appears that connections make the world go round. I'm incredibly grateful to have made this one. The twist to all of this tasty d-lite (East Coasters, you like that?) is that I will be starting on April 23rd...in Seattle. Some of you know that I live in San Francisco. Which, while also beginning with the letter 'S' is not actually the same city. Sure enough I will be moving out of my amazing apartment, away from my amazing roommates and many good friends, towards what I hope will be an incredible learning experience that will confirm that this insanity about food is justified.
I imagine I'll keep writing here; although chances are it won't be quite the outlet it has been. I hear Seattle has a pretty vibrant food scene and if any of you have great ideas about what you would like to find at a Starbucks walk-up counter, you just comment away and I'll pass it onto the R&D guru.
Thanks for your support thus far. If you are in Seattle and in need of a restaurant recommendation, give me until May 10th to get the lay of the land, then holler. If you are from Seattle or in Seattle now and know a thing or two, do tell my friend, do tell.
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