Ask an Insider is an interview series that talks to the people that make, serve, shake, sip, pump, pour, crush, distill, and bring life to this industry.  (For other interviews in the series, click the Ask an Insider tag at the bottom)

Carla Rzeszewski, Wine Director
The Spotted Pig, The Breslin & The John Dory Oyster Bar

Carla Rzeszewski

How many beverage programs are you running?
I am the Wine Director for The Spotted Pig, The Breslin and the John Dory Oyster Bar, as well as Salvation Taco, Ken and April’s new spot in the POD Hotel.
What is it about wine and spirits that most excites you? 
This is a cliched answer at this point, but if it’s true, what are you gonna do? I am thrilled when a wine or spirit speaks for itself.  When this notion of terroir is on full, shining display.  When you know without a shadow of a doubt that there is only one place on this planet that any said beverage could originate from. And if that is a hard idea to grasp, imagine a faceless, anonymous wine, one which could very well be from any wine-growing area, one without provenance, and what excited me if the polar opposite of that.

What part of your job do you love the most?
Teaching and learning.  Teaching the staff (and occasionally tables), and learning every step of the way. Some days the learning is obvious in its attack: at a tasting with a wine or winemaker, with my chefs and the language of their food palates, with my staff, who are constantly pushing me to learn more in order to answer their questions, and from tables.  The guests are the most quiet in their teaching, but if you can really listen to what they are asking for or sometimes what their lack of speaking says, what their body language tells you about their enjoyment, you learn to offer them what they couldn’t even articulate for themselves.  So pretty much mind-reading is what I’m into.

What words of advice would you give to someone who is just starting to run a beverage program? 
Ask for help! Do not think you need to have all of the answers! Ask around, see what everyone else is up to, what works well in their programs and what they think could use attention, what they wish they could change, what advice they may have on your program from the outside… It requires a swallowing of ego, and occasionally taking a hit.  But I promise you will come out more balanced in the end.  And put in the work; honor your kitchen by meeting their passion, and honor your staff by raising the bar, requesting more of them than they thought they could give.  They will thank you for it.

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A Trusty Sous Chef (Pic by Faith Durand, Executive Editor of TheKitchn.com)

One of my English relatives is known for his famous Vodka Christmas Cake.  While the exact creator is unknown (and an undisputed genius in the kitchen), I was able to liberate the recipe from his guarded lair.  And lucky for us, fair readers, it was fresh in his mind as he, “Made mine this morning!!!!”

 INGREDIENTS

  • 1 cup sugar
  • 1 tsp. baking powder
  • 1 cup water
  • 1 tsp. salt
  • 1 cup brown sugar
  • Lemon juice
  • 4 large eggs
  • Nuts
  • 1 bottle Vodka
  • 2 cups dried fruit

PROCEDURE

  1. Sample a cup of Vodka to check quality.
  2. Take a large bowl, check the Vodka again to be sure it is of the highest quality then Repeat.
  3. Turn on the electric mixer. Beat one cup of butter in a large fluffy bowl. Add 1 teaspoon of sugar. Beat again.
  4. At this point, it is best to make sure the Vodka is still OK. Try another cup just in case.
  5. Turn off the mixerer thingy. Break 2 eegs and add to the bowl and chuck in the cup of dried fruit.
  6. Pick the fruit up off the floor, wash it and put it in the bowl a piece at a time trying to count it. Mix on the turner.
  7. If the fried druit getas stuck in the beaterers, just pry it loose with a drewscriver Sample the Vodka to test for tonsisticity.
  8. Next, sift 2 cups of salt, or something. Check the Vodka.
  9. Now shit shift the lemon juice and strain your nuts. Add one table. Add a spoon of sugar, or somefink. Whatever you can find.
  10. Greash the oven. Turn the cake tin 360 degrees and try not to fall over. Don’t forget to beat off the turner.
  11. Finally, throw the bowl through the window. Finish the Vodka and wipe the counter with the cat.

After months of curious gawkers cruising the windows and hypothesizing on the local blogs as to what exactly this massive project would bloom into, the Strand Smokehouse opened on Broadway in Astoria this weekend.

In a former Blockbuster space that really shouldn’t have surprised anyone when it went out of business last year (although I will miss my once-every-eighteen-months drunken visit to rent an 80’s era movie), the place is massive.  With seating for hundreds at hand-carved wooden tables made by the owner himself–he told me this when I sat down only to feel the bench tip back wildly and nearly launch the girl at the other end like a teeter totter turned evil–and a facade entirely made of windows that runs the full width of the space.

More impressively are a row of ten barrels, each branded with a different whiskey, suspended from the ceiling behind the bar (yes, they really hold whiskey, although I’m curious to know in what way…plastic bladders on the inside?)

But the spine that sends the space into a true thing of beauty is the ceiling.  Massive beamed, exposed rafters give the sense that you’re inside some crazy BBQ-obsessed gallion on the open seas, with only a jug band to provide the soundtrack.  I asked the owner, Tommy Vasilis, 41, about the ceiling, jokingly saying, “It’s almost like you removed the skin of Blockbuster to find this beautiful wood underlayer.” His reply, “That’s exactly what happened.  We uncovered it and realized they’d left us a great gift.”  (Editor’s note: we told this story to the guys next to us at the table, and they turned out to be Irish carpenters, who were astounded.  “We were just saying, whoever made this frame with that level of work, must have spent a g-damn fortune.”)

I’m yet to try the food (they ran out by around 7:30 pm on opening day), but I was thrilled to see a beer list that heavily featured Barrier Brewing, the awesome Queens-based brewery that was completely wiped out by Hurricane Sandy.  Working out of Bakeway’s massive kitchen next door (same ownership), the meats and down-home sides will change frequently and hopefully give Astoria a new Mecca for good BBQ, after John Brown Smokehouse closed earlier this year (only to reopen recently in Hunters Point).

Brasserie de Blaugies La Moneuse at Alewife NYC. Spanking gorgeous.

I’ve gone on a tear about Saison before.  No, scratch that, I’ve probably penned more romantically-swept-up odes to Saisons than any other beer styles or wine grapes I’ve written about.

I can’t help myself.  They’ve somehow hooked me deep in the DNA.  Perhaps when I visited Jean-Louis Dits of Brasserie à Vapeur he slipped an ear wig in my glass that made its way into my skull and co-opted my brain stem and motor functions.  Khaaaahhhhnnnn!!!

In case this is the first time you’ve seen me mention Saison, here’s but a wee primer:  “Summer Sauce: Saison and Sparkling“.  And just to remind the world of my most successful homebrew to date, I humbly present: “Operation: Green Chili Saison“.

Now go forth and spread the Gospel of Saison, my brothers and sisters.  Don’t make me resort to ear wigs.

Two Terms, Baby

Good thing.  “Too close to call” drinking game was proving exhausting.

Okay.  I love bacon.  And, admittedly, I have a fickle relationship with vodka….ehhhhh….I can take it, I can leave it.  So, I approached Bakon Vodka, a (you guessed it) bacon flavored vodka, a bit trepadatiously.

And, even then, I experienced such a disgusted, primal reaction to this strange wonder of combinations that I won’t soon forget it.  My nostrils burned with a seeming oily, black phantom of nast that wouldn’t resemble bacon if you whispered it in my ear while I drank it.

I guess according to their website, this may make a beautiful Bloody Mary, and, you know what, perhaps they’re right.  But what I really want to see, is a bartender pour a nice, cold, 3 oz, up martini of one of these, give it to a guest, watch them put it to their lips, and sit back as they take a deep, long sip.  Blown off their chair faster than a tin can hit by a load of buck shot.

Whammo, kids. Whammo.

Evil Twin and a cider sampler at the Queens Kickshaw.  It’s Cider Week, people.  Git some.

And, to get in the spirit, check out my latest article for New York Cork Report:  “Why Cider Week Matters.”

Harvest Time

 

Ommegang, Scythe & Sickle Harvest Ale, NY, 5.8% abv.  Brewed with Barley, Wheat, Oats, and Rye.

“I tell ya, that’s a heck of a lot of suds for a wine bar!”

Mitt keeps asking me, “Flaherty, when are you going to post your beer lists so I can see what you’ve been up to?”

I keep telling him, “Mitt, you need to focus.  You’re coming across like a major stiff to the American people.”  “I am?,” he asks.  “Damn right, buddy.  Look, the Mitt I know is the fun-loving carefree guy I met in Turks & Caicos when we set up our off-shore tax havens.  Ahhh…remember that trip?  We dined on fresh conch paired with crisp, cold Fritz Briem Grodziskie on your yacht?  I’ll never forget our long talks into the wee hours of the morning about our lazy countrymen milking on Lady Liberty’s teet while we work our asses off.”

And now look at him, people.  At last night’s first debate, Mitt come out swinging!  (But, you better not get too high up on that horse, Mittens, because Barack will take a couple of socks on the chin, go home, regroup a bit, and then hit you with a tire iron across the kisser when you least expect it).

So, Mitt, this posting of the six different beer lists at Hearth & Terroir is for you, you sly devil. (**NOTE: to view all six lists, click on “Continue Reading” below).  Oh, and a shout out has to go to Steven Solomon, the madman who designed these graphics.  (Click on each image below to enlarge the page).

 Hearth & Terroir EVil

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(Kat Bryant Photography)

At long last, Astoria now has a craft beer retail shop it can be proud of.  (No offense, Euro Market, you do have quite a fine selection of craft beers, but I’m convinced some of your offerings have been on the shelf since Clinton was President).

But not just a retail shop: it’s also a cheesemonger’s pantry of delights, a place to fill your growler of craft beer for the week, and a place to eat and drink amidst the action.

This Saturday, after teasing the local beer geeks for weeks with the butcher paper-covered windows, Astoria Bier & Cheese (34-14 Broadway, at 35th St.) officially opened.  My wife and I were there (with young Cadel, who at 8-months of age, can already tell the difference between Centennial and Fuggle hops) to sniff out the action.  And, by the throng of patrons streaming into the door like camels to the oasis, it’s clear they have hit a niche the neighborhood has been in desperate need of.

Owner Yang Gao–who also owns and operates, Astoria Wines & Spirits next door–has dreamed of opening this shop for the last three years, slowly biding his time for the adjoining retail space to open up.

With the help of Jacob Berg (beer guy) and Jenny Schumacher (cheese gal), 60 cheeses are available, along with 190 bottled beers and 10 on draft (which included Founders Breakfast Stout, Bear Republic Hop Rod Rye & Unibroue Maudite)—not to mention, a full-wall mural in the bathroom of Kim Jong Il milking a cow.  Wowza.  Below are some pics of the space.  Now, get yourself down there for a pint, Astorians!

 


 

Frappe, baby

A perk of living in Astoria that one must take advantage of at the Greek cafes.

See that diode in the center of my chest? THAT being ripped off at 7:00 am was a great start to my day.

(WARNING: this piece isn’t about wine, beer, or spirits.  It’s about heavy shit, like life and death.  Yippee!)

6:30 am on Labor Day, I awoke with chest pains.  A gorilla apparently decided to park itself on my pectoral muscles.  After an hour of trying everything in the book to relieve the pressure, I gave into my wife’s requests, and we were off to the emergency room at Norwalk Hospital.

Within two hours, it became clear I had some sort of “heart event,” possibly a mild heart attack, but the doctors couldn’t yet be sure. It was apparent that I would not be getting poolside any time soon. In fact, the tests and worries had just begun.

That night, as I lay in bed, head, neck, shoulders and chest bound up in knots, the sounds of patients 30 years my senior filling the hallways until the wee hours of the morning, thoughts of my own mortality swirled through my head.  Did I have some sort of rare disease that had chosen our Luau holiday party to rear up on me?  Were the glory days of life behind me?  A hospital bed is a sobering, lonely place to contemplate such heavy matters, and time stretched to a slow crawl.

All in all, I was admitted to two separate hospitals, a slew of vials of my blood were analyzed, a sonogram was taken of my heart, blood thinner IVs were pumped into holes in my arm, I had countless adhesive diode patches ripped from chest hair, and it all culminated in a lovely procedure called an Angiogram. If you’re not familiar with this modern marvel of science, I was knocked out and a catheter tube was inserted into the wrist, fed through one of the main arteries into my heart, where dye was then pumped in, giving the doctors a perfect 3-dimensional view of the alleyways, byways, and thoroughfares. Luckily, they didn’t find clogged arteries that required stints to be inserted, or any evidence that I had indeed had a heart attack.

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