Recent reading

California, Coffee and Cancer: One of these Doesn't Belong.

California is considering putting cancer warnings on coffee. The reason is that it contains a compound called acrylamide that causes cancer in rats in large doses. The problem is acrylamide is also present in half the foods we eat. An article that makes a good case for the public health risks of over-warning about a problem.

It's not about running a pick and pack food line, but it might as well be. Explanations—with aniumated illustrations—about the systems and culture behind slowdowns on New York City's subway.

Do you think that online site changed its prices just for you? Maybe it did. How dynamic pricing works. 

Designing a warehouse event space out of pallets

Adam's pallet construction studio.

Adam Moskowitz owns the cheese importer/distributor/warehouser hub Larkin in Long Island City, Queens. (He's also the impresario behind the great Cheesemonger Invitational.) I visit his warehouse from time to time to taste incoming batches of Manchego for Essex St. Cheese.  For most of the last year he's been outfitting a room as a teaching space. I've seen it grow from a typical concrete-and-cinder block slab to a warm, fantastic space. It's called Barnyard and most of it is decorated with parts of pallets that come with the cheese imports. Pallets on the lights, pallets as tables, pallets as chairs. Awesome idea.

 

The urban density math of snow plowing

I caught this piece today that said 25% of Detroit's streets were plowed a day after the city's biggest snowfall since 1974. Whether or not that's good or bad here's another way to look at it.

Detroit has 1,884 miles of residential side streets and about 700,000 residents. That means every resident has to pay for about 14 feet of plowing.

New York City has 6,000 miles of streets and 8.4 million people. Even though that measure includes all roads, not just residential side streets, the fact that there are so many more people means big per capita savings. Each New York City resident only has to pay for 4 feet of plowing—over a 70% savings.

It's just a reminder of the uphill battle depopulated cities like Detroit have. The people leave but the streets don't go away.

Detroit can't copy New York's density but they might want to borrow one of its tricks that can create savings. The Big Apple owns very few plow trucks. Instead they just mostly stick plows on garbage trucks, like in the picture above. 

Recent Reading

Dry aged burger map of New York City.

Same kind of map, this time for Prime Rib. Bonus: lots of useful butcher information on the cut itself.

You've been slicing cake all wrong. 

What do lean operations and New York bodegas have in common?

New York sometimes gets a bad rap for a mythical, brusque, who-cares kind of service, but speaking personally, I've almost never experienced it. What I've had instead usually combines professionalism (on-time, accurate, everyone says "sir" a lot) with individual customization. Take this instance.

Recently I stopped by the closest bodega to my house for a couple cans of beer as I do from time to time. They have a big selection and I always hope they'll have Heineken in a can but they almost never do. So I chatted with the guy who appears to be kind of like an owner — you know, he was the kind of person who acted like one whether he was or not —and asked if he'd take suggestions for beers. "Of course!" he said and agreed with me, "Heineken in a can is so much better!" He got the attention of the other guy in the shop and told him, "Let's get a couple cases tomorrow." This is 10pm at night. Next day, they were there.

That's what a corner store used to feel like. Or so I imagine. Frankly, I've' never experienced many corner shops in Michigan. In one way it's weird that there's this level of personalization in the biggest city in America. On the other hand, there are a lot of factors about shopping in New York that, when thought through, make its personal service seem not so odd.

In New York, everyone shops in the immediate vicinity of where they live because it's a pain to travel long distances hauling stuff on foot. You don't have a car and you have to carry everything yourself so you shop in small batches. This is a key factor that, like small batches in lean operations elsewhere, leads to beneficial and unexpected results. Because you shop in small batches you'll often be in the same shop several times a week.

The shops are different than many other cities, too—smaller, often run by adults, not the teenagers and college students you see working in big box stores elswhere America. The staffs don't turn over very much. I'm not a guy who is super chummy with everyone when I shop but it's telling that I know the names of the person who runs the laundromat, the florist, the wine shop, the cafe, several restaurants, the bodega owner and probably a few others I'm forgetting. In Ann Arbor I knew maybe two of the names of the people who ran their shops—Bob Sparrow the butcher and Mike Monahan the fishmonger. (They were there when I shopped.) Ann Arbor is a town a fraction of the size of New York but, to me, felt far more anonymous

Anyway, this is not meant to be a plug for New York. I wanted to point out a couple things. One is that smaller shopping batch sizes, one of the principles of lean, lead in this case to greater personal contact. That personal contact ultimately, in my case (and I know I'm not alone), led to better and more customized service. That service was not administered by a survey or a some other process. It was a question, an answer, and and act—all done immediately, just in time, on demand. It's a powerful way to run a business. These are great lean skills, hard to replicate and some of the reasons that, in spite of CVS and Rite Aid and other national chains trying to make a dent in the commerce here, small owner-operated bodegas in New York thrive.

Recent Reading

 Pigs in space! Bacon went up with the first astronauts. Hat tip to Joe Cap.

From the annals of "Things that Only Exists in New York City." Rich people pay this guy to sit in line and buy them donuts. Sorry, excuse me, Cro-nuts.

My upper peninsula, too.

Drank No. 1: Death and Co.

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Death and Co. was opened in 2009 by former bartenders of Milk & Honey and Audrey Sanders's impeccable Pegu Club. It marked what was the peak, and therefore the beginning of the end, of the speakeasy bar trend—at least in New York. (Milk and Honey, the founding father of the movement, has since closed up its tiny reservations-only speakeasy in Chinatown and moved to a bigger, no-reservations space in the Flatiron district.) 

The speakeasy elements Death and Co. maintains are a door with no sign, lots of darkness inside, a tight menu heavy with historical drinks, bartenders with rolled-up sleeves, vests, ties tucked inside their shirt, suspenders, arm bands—all of which look good and, more importantly, keep their clothes out of drinks.

A few more observations:

Many drinks are stirred and when done they use Japanese glass pitchers so you can see the stirring.

Stirring with big, beautiful classic bar spoons.

Thick black short straws, not the chintzy little red stir sticks.

Homemade syrups are on a section of the bar in different clear glass jars and bottles, lit from behind.

During down time bartenders polish silverware and glasses.

All glasses checked for spots against a candle before a drink is made in them. All drink making done up in front of the guest. A small design detail that shows a thoughtful bartender designed the space: the drink well is not present across the entire bar space. That means bartenders can stand in front of you to make your drink and not lean forward across the well. It's a small thing but after you notice it you realize how awkward it is at other bars. And if you work at a bar you know how much it can be a pain on your back.

Death & Co.

433 E 6 St

NY, NY

Drank No. 2: Balthazar

"Bartenders should not . . . have a toothpick in their mouth, clean their fingernails while on duty, smoke, spit on the floor, or have other disgusting habits . . . The swaggering air some bartenders have, and by which they think they impress the customers with their importance, should be studiously avoided."

New and Improved Bartender's Manual

Harry Johnson, 1900

A couple weeks ago I stopped into Balthazar for a plate of oysters and a champagne cocktail, as a man should do from time to time, if for nothing other than to keep in shape.

I could go on and on about this restaurant, the gem in Keith McNally’s crown. It's gorgeous to look at, very professionally run, and impossibly busy, even now, a dozen years after opening. And while I'm not one to put a lot of energy into promoting restaurant reviews I tend to agree with Andrew Knowlton at Bon Appetit who recently dubbed it "a case study for the perfect restaurant." But Drank is about drinking so here are my notes about the bar.

The bartenders are relentlessly professional, greeting everyone and asking what they'd like before they have their coats on hooks (which are mounted below the bar, the best place for lots of reasons).

Soon-to-be-used glasses are upside down on ice.

Oysters are delivered with the usual garnishes—mignonette (my favorite), cocktail sauce, lemon wedge—on very finely crushed ice (the oysters don’t teeter that way) with a slither of seaweed for contrasting color. They are bone-chilling cold, key with oysters since it improves their texture.

The glassware ice basin is rimmed by silver ramekins of freshly ground horseradish. After the oysters are delivered the bartender asks if you'd like some. This is not something they bring to your table if you're having dinner.

Early in the evening free snacks line the bar. Hard-boiled eggs on an egg tree and thin crisps of a bread that is kind of like Zingeramn’s chile cheddar.

The taps, like those in many New York bars and restaurants, are unnamed. They don't have the cheap plastic beer handles with the name of the beer. The taps are black enamel or stainless steel, period. No names, no brands. The base is thick, round, gleaming brass, very beautiful.

I completely support the non-smoking ordinance in bars and restaurants. I never regret coming home without having to wash my clothes and take a shower. But when I was finishing my oysters I had a fond memory of others smoking at Balthazar. The bartenders had a glorious sense of service about it. If a woman brought out a cigarette the bartenders would light it for her. I never saw them fail to beat any woman to a match, regardless of what they were doing at the time. It stopped most guests in their tracks and time stood still.

Balthazar

80 Spring Street

NY, NY