Archive for the ‘Travel’ Category

Drinking Cacao

Thursday, March 25th, 2010

Recently, when I haven’t been thinking cacao, I’ve been drinking it. I’ve been steeping myself in two new beverages, cacao tea and chocolate milk. Very appropriate, this, since the practice of drinking chocolate predates the eating of same by a couple millenia! Before reporting my own beverage machinations, I’ll relate some of the interesting history I’ve drunk from my recent reading, The True History of Chocolate by Sophie & Michael Coe (thanks to my sister and brother-in-law for this!).

Theobroma cacao, the tree from which the cacao bean comes, is thought to be native to the Amazon Basin—spread throughout Central and Meso-America by early humans. We can trace the cultures that used cacao by testing ancient pottery for the presence of Theobromine, an alkaloid found in cacao. This alkaloid has been detected in delicate drinking vessels, dating to before 1400 BC, of the pre-Olmec civilization known as the “Barra”, located on the Pacific coast of Chiapas in Mexico and neighboring Guatemala. The picture at right shows another early American vessel, holding not hot chocolate, and these Cornell researchers think possibly not even the cold cacao froth popular with later American, Montezuma, but perhaps an alcoholic drink from the fermented fruit pulp of the cacao tree!

Ritualized cacao drinking among the elite classes of early American society unites the civilizations of the Olmecs, Mayans and Aztecs. Mayan pottery, such as the piece at left, dated to about 500AD, found in the tomb of an aristocrat at Mayan site, Río Azul, contains the two instances of Mayan Glyph for cacao, and has tested positive for theobromine. Another, known as ‘the Princeton Vase‘, dated to around 750 AD, depicts a woman pouring, from a height, a cacao drink from one vessel to another—the earliest depiction of this method of raising foam in drinking chocolate.

In addition to pictorial evidence, texts, such as the Popol Vuh, a Mayan creation myth, reinforce cacao as a fixture in early American culture. In particular, it references cacao as among the food stuffs found by certain gods used to create the body of man. No specific Mayan recipes for cacao based drinks survive, but it is likely that they combined ground cacao with ground Maize to make a gruel, and with any number of spices and flowers used as flavorings.

It was the Maya, at Guanaja, who introduced Europeans, through Columbus, on his fourth voyage, to cacao beans. Ol’ Chris may have brought some of these ‘almonds’ back to Spain, but they were initially disliked and forgotten. In America, the Aztec civilization both carried on the Mayan customs of drinking cacao and finally fixed cacao in the minds of Old World denizens. The Mayans may have drank cacao as both a hot and cold beverage, but the Aztecs were firmly cool imbibers. They too valued most the heady foam that could be produced by alternate pourings from distant vessels. Similar flavorings were used—Maize for lower class chocolate, for the lords, honey, peppery annatto, dried ground flowers and chilis, a prized flower known as hueinacaztli (I can’t find much info on this, besides what is repeated from the book I’m repeating from!), vanilla flowers, and spices similar to black pepper or anise. Much of what we know about the Aztec cacao rituals comes from Spanish observers, primarily the writings of Fray Bernardino de Sahagún, but also from an unknown soldier of Hernán Cortés, who remarks of chocolate:

This drink is the healthiest thing, and the greatest sustenance of anything you could drink in the world, because he who drinks a cup of this liquid, no matter how far he walks, can go a whole day without eating anything else.

True enough, as anyone whose made hot chocolate made with actual bars of chocolate or ground cacao beans, rather than partially de-fatted cocoa powder, knows that it is an incredibly rich, almost syrupy thing, owing to the balance of fat and solids in the cacao bean. One must show temperance and take care not to drink large quantities at once, lord knows how Montezuma reportedly drank 50 cups of cacao per day(!), or feel regret later when walking all day, trying to work off the calories and indigestion from this energy a-bomb.

Garden Mulch or…

From the New World, cacao was eventually adopted, sweetened and loved in the Old. For some time it was primarily a food that was drunk, until the process of refining it into bars was perfected, but let us toss inhibition, return to that ancient tradition and experience different methods of imbibition. As I may have mentioned previously, the cacao husks that are winnowed from the nib are not used, due to their poor flavor and texture, in making chocolate, but either discarded, composted, or sold as mulch (ed: from linked website—Q: Why is cacao husk better than other types of mulch? A: Smells better!). Or…it can be made into tea!

I think I first heard the idea when seeing a bag of some Yogi tea advertising chocolate and cacao husks listed as an ingredient. Ha! that’s a byproduct, I thought, and…something I should try. I now see that other gourmet tea manufacturers use husk, and one, MEM tea is even partnering with Taza chocolate to use their husk.

So now after winnowing, I’ve been filtering out the big husk pieces with a wire mesh, and saving them in large bags to replace my afternoon Irish Breakfast. As would be expected from something that is purposefully removed because of its lack of flavor contribution, cacao tea is a fairly timid, mild beast. The flavor is reminiscent of chocolate, but it is not overpowering in any sense. Aroma, however, is where this tea is really interesting. It gives of a heady scent of the ‘baking brownies’ smell, that one gets when roasting cacao. Half the pleasure of drinking this tea is the inhale before the sip. I enjoy it in English style, sweetened with just milk and seek it when something light and thin is preferred, in contrast to the following cacao beverage (or meal!).

Thick Chocolate

About a month ago, I mentioned to a friend of mine that I was into espresso equipment, making coffee under proscribed rules in an attempt to perfect the cup and had made a pact with myself to someday get a lever-press espresso machine. Then, lo and behold! a beautiful 20-year old espresso machine was bestowed upon me, a gift from this friend who had recently upgraded his equipment. I’ve since been enjoying a cappuccino every morning, perfecting my milk foaming technique to make the perfect thick hot chocolate, feeling inspired by a recent resurgence in interest in ‘traditional’ hot chocolate, notably that coming from Bittersweet Cafe. Over in Oakland, they are making small cups of rich chocolate, from what I remember (it was three years ago that I went there), using an espresso grinder’s doser to measure cocoa powder into water or milk, a milkshake blender to stir and homogenize the slurry, then the steam wand of an espresso machine to heat and foam.

More recently, yesterday, I did have the chance to do more research and stopped into Chicago restaurant, Xoco, where I didn’t get a chance to sample their food, but did drink their chocolate. They are using similar equipment and processes to me to craft ‘bean-to-cup’ chocolate, again attempting to rediscover Mesoamerican past in thick chocolate blended with water and spice. Mine was thick, with jewels of fat on top to prove that their actual chocolate—ground cacao, rather than powder was the ingredient, but I did notice it lacking the characteristic head that our Aztec woman pictured near the top is taking such care to form.

I of course am questing to make this, and with my new espresso machine, all I needed was some chocolate and milk (I’m trying milk for now, taking the final plunge to water sometime in the future). In the past, I would clean the cacao grinder by first heating milk and running it in the mill, to loosen and dissolve the final residue of chocolate that is impossible to scrape out. Then I would pour out this authentic thick chocolate and finish cleaning it with hot water. Of course, I can’t drink the whole cup in one day, and so in my fridge I found some saved chocolate, milk with 100% Madagascar. I also sacrificed authenticity by adding a teaspoon of sugar, not sure that I wanted the straight bitter beverage. With the chocolate already in solution, I foamed the whole mixture with the steam wand of the espresso machine, and coming to 160F, had a nice thick head of foam.

I didn’t use any flavorings like chili or cinnamon, but this chocolate was delicious. Due to its percentage, the chocolate is available to taste, and due to the head, it was their to feel as well, this truly is hot chocolate, not just heated milk, as I sometimes think of thinner beverages. I did drink this in one sitting, and wanting to prolong the experience, even refilled half the cup with milk and foamed again. I think I found the perfect dish to make with extra 100% chocolate, and I’m looking forward to experimenting with water, spices, even smaller amounts of thicker chocolate, and maybe ditching the espresso machine altogether, finding a large vessel to go at it with my molinillo or find another and pour it between two, like apparently even Moroccans do with tea, to create something more than a drink, evocative of food, and good food this is, hot chocolate with head!

A desert is a place without expectation.

Thursday, January 7th, 2010

The role of prodigal blogger is not a new one for me, but the reason I’ve again been silent for a period is due to my experimentations as the prodigal son. After letting the idea ferment for years, I decided that I don’t want to return to my ancestral home for some time—I already know what that place looks like! I want travel to introduce me to new ideas and new scenery, so this winter I stuffed my backpack and set out to meet two friends in Albuquerque, walk a little and see the desert-y part of the world.

A Short Travelogue

We chose the Southwest because South America was too expensive and we wanted to retreat from winter. However, the numb-screams from our toes in the 12F cold outside of Winslow, AZ on the second night quickly led to altered expectations. All the more reason, then, to descend a vertical mile from the South Rim into the inner Grand Canyon where temperatures are 25F higher on average than the high desert. We came woefully unprepared, so for about the same amount one can buy a good chocolate melangeur, we outfitted ourselves with tent, backpacks, sleeping bags, stove and water filter, and lbs and then kgs of…oatmeal. We spent four days in the canyon, when because of winter, few others make the trip—leading to, midway on the hike down, a peaceful sunset and solitary trek through the star and moon-sliver lit night.

On the third day, I enjoyed a relatively flat walk up the north side to Ribbon Falls. An extremely cold shower and mud bath were my reward, then I read some passages of Walden aloud to my companion. I felt compelled by Thoreau to front only the essential facts of life, and so took advantage again of the winter solitude to execute these experiences in the most primitive clothing possible.

After thus wearing out our legs, we made tracks on Christmas Eve for Phoenix to rest with a very old friend of mine. Christmas Day, I walked to an art neighborhood of Phoenix, Roosevelt Row and saw 4 shipping containers in the form of a house, made by Upcycle Living. We relaxed in a clothing-art-library-coffee shop, Conspire where while snacking on canyon leftovers—dried apricots dipped in almond butter, I discovered a combination that must be expressed in a chocolate bar. There was a bike coop whose dirt front lawn was turned into a hangout area with couches and coffee tables and later that night we heard hip-hop at gallery-bar, The Lost Leaf. Surprisingly, all of these commercial establishments were converted single-family houses!

Leaving Phoenix, we lost one friend to Berkeley, and so the two remaining travelers set out to return to New Mexico. During our egress, we stopped at the desert botanical gardens and saw tons of hummingbirds and a surprising amount of cacti that looked like underwater sea creatures. That night we slept on the edge of eastern Arizona in a frigid dried up lake-bed near the semi-ghost town, Cochise, AZ. On our way to Cochise, through the magnificent Karst Topography of Texas Canyon, AZ, we passed about 30 miles of billboards for a ‘canonical tourist trap’ known as The Thing. Advertising 24-hr gas, Dairy Queen and unspecified but singular rarities, we were obliged to stop.

To enter the freakshow of The Thing, one must first brave the gift shop filled with all manner of knick-knacks and people with mythically bad hairdos. We each paid our $1 entrance fee and exited the gift shop through a surprisingly flimsy and unguarded painted door to a U of three warehouses surrounding what seemed to be a trailer park. Under fluorescent light, we saw old tractors, a car which transported Adolf Hitler and a stray cat (was this The Thing?). In the following outbuilding, we marveled at typewriters, figures in town-scenes carved entirely from solid blocks of wood—by a single artisan, guns dating from 1654 AD. We were shocked by the fact that the rarest item on earth was protected only by flimsy glass in southeastern AZ. Finally we stumbled into the ultimate room, the ceilings decorated by grotesque animal figures with winding, spindles for arms and legs fashioned from whole pieces of driftwood, though we knew not what desert river they drifted from. Immediately we were confronted by a mummy under glass that in the end was our best guess for The…Thing we sought. The tour gracefully wound down on a lighter note with and exhibit of a ladies side saddle that dated to 1842 B.B (before bikinis).

The stretch of I-10 through southern New Mexico (or perhaps, any highway) turns out not to intersect quaint, uncommon towns of high culture, so my initial unwillingness towards taking ‘out-of-the-way’ side trips was overpowered, as I learned that in a road-trip without a way, nothing was out of it. We followed the brown road signs to Gila National Forest, by way of a town, Silver City, which claimed to have 30+ art galleries. On the Sunday we came, only Blue Dome Gallery was open, but the large art quilt featuring a can of Bud, a woman and text beginning, “I hate you motherfucker” made the trip worthwhile. I left with a bowl made by this same artist and her husband.

We took many hikes in Gila, then in Spring Canyon State Park near Deming and in Elephant Butte State Park near Truth-or-Consequences. During these hikes, we realized that an appropriate symbol for the trip would be a snow-covered cactus…laughing, we summited mountains and looked down on snow clouds, we crossed frozen ponds whose frost reminded us of that from our breath that formed each night on the inside windows of our car, where we now slept, trying to appease our toes. We also started interacting with the authorities more…while cooking eggs on the side of the highway, a well-intentioned sheriff checked to see that I was in fact crouching over a backpacking stove, and not an unconscious man. Settling into my sleeping bag while stopped off the side of another highway, we learned directions to and the proper pronunciation of Elephant Butt park (bee-you-t)…where we were intending to camp all along.

From New Mexico quickly came Texas; El Paso, which seemed dilapidated and unremarkable, then Juarez which with its crowded joie de vivre, unconcerned litter and petrol smell reminded my companion of his ancestral home in Lahore, and surprised me with the fact that artificial borders really can restrict cultural osmosis. I don’t know if this is because of the rules changing last June, but contrary to what I heard, a drivers license is not sufficient, one does need a passport to reenter the US, even from Juarez. We got yelled at by the Customs and Border Protection officer, who made me admit my naïveté, and gave me an info sheet so that I will remember that I am noncompliant, though I’d rather say, nonconformist.

After hiking El Paso’s mountains, we made our way to marvelous Marfa, TX—a town I was hotly anticipating, yes because of an nyt article I read. But in the middle of the night, barreling down 90 just outside of Valentine, I was intrigued by an approaching square of yellow-green light, and squealed as I caught a glimpse of designer high heels in this exiled one-room outbuilding. Shit!, there is a shoe-store in the middle of the desert, I yelled, waking my sleeping companion. Turning around, we confirmed that what we saw was Prada Marfa, an experimental art installation, with unopenable door, housing 6 handbags and a gaggle of left-foot heels…god bless you, Marfa.

For a town with about 2,500 residents, the density of cool things in Marfa is incomprehensible. We visited: an art book shop with experimental poetry installation, a gallery featuring art by my favorite photog, Hiroshi Sugimoto, a vintage cowboy boot shoppe, a gas station turned pizza parlor, sardonically titled pizza foundation because of the abundance of artistic non-profits in Marfa, a screening of silent movie The Wind with live musical accompaniment (!) at local community art theatre, the Goode Crowley, with opening act by a cowboy poet (!!), and an open bar, and it was completely free (!!!), a lunch cafe run by a swiss woman whose family makes chocolates (I think not bean-to-bar) under the name, Vollenweider, finally (not really, but space….), we toured the sensational, spectacular, silvery, Chinati Foundation, which houses art by minimalist artist, Donald Judd, and his buds.

The story of artistic Marfa goes back to the 1970s when Judd, already a famous artist in NYC moved here and started purchasing old spaces, rebuilding them and filling them with world-class art. Eventually he died, and two foundations, Chinati and Judd preserve his art installations and living/work spaces respectively. The centerpiece of the Chinati tour is Judd’s 100 works in milled aluminum, two concrete artillery sheds, lined with floor to ceiling windows and filled in a checker-like pattern with 52 and then 48 boxes of equal exterior dimension but differing partitions of interior space. Of course, there is the interaction of light reflecting off the surfaces of the aluminum, but most interestingly to me were the acoustics of these spaces. Standing on one end of the shed, the conversations of our other tour participants melted into a pâté of mutterings, freeing the conversation of the arthritic boxes—slowly being heated by the morning sun, expanding and settling, they let out adagio tics and cracks elevating the inanimate almost to the plane of living beings.

From our two days in steeped in art and fine food, we drove through the night to Austin, once again making fine friends with The Man. Ask me for this story in person, but after an hour standing in the cold, receiving a warning for 72mph in night-time speed limit 65 zone, getting a sobriety test (BAC: .000 !), refusing a search and having dogs come and sniff our car, we were back on the road, cuff-less. Not one hour after that, the ominous red & blue lights flashing again, we were stopped once more, by the insane, but patriotic, border patrol. Not speeding, not anything, just driving through West Texas at 1am warrants proving your allegiance to the ol’ Uncle S, and because we’d had enough, letting them check your trunk for those dastardly and exploitative migrant laborers who villainousnessly pick our fruit to keep the economy humming…who but, the Mexicanos. The scent of guacamole in the back made them suspicious, but we were free and on the long road again to humble Illinois.

As a remedy to life in society I would suggest the big city.
Nowadays, it is the only desert within our means.

—Albert Camus