Showing posts with label Zingerman's. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Zingerman's. Show all posts

Monday, November 5, 2012

Wall-eyed in Michigan

I achieved one of my life goals this weekend—seeing Sandhill's name on Zingerman's map of suppliers for their Roadhouse Restaurant

[This is also my first foray into posting images as part of my blog, and I can't think of a more noteworthy achievement to offer up as my inaugural graphic.]

This is a big deal as the folks at Zingerman's are fanatics about quality and this stamp of approval is a Côte d'Or sobriquet that money can't buy—you have to earn it. As sorghum is Sandhill's signature organic food product, it's incredibly satisfying to gain this coveted recognition. 

As sorghum makers we've been learning our craft since 1977. Over the years we've reinvented our cooking process twice, until finally hitting on what we're satisfied is a terrific process.

In the Beginning…
We started with a two pan batch system cooked over a direct wood fire. We had the pans custom made from stainless steel, with the first pan twice the size of the second and placed higher, so that the juice could flow easily into the smaller pan when the first batch was half cooked. In this method one batch of juice was cooked from start to finish all together. This represented a doubling of output from the single pan method that we first learned by apprenticing with neighbors.

When we hit out stride during the sorghum harvest, we'd cook 36 hours straight out of 48, meaning that one or two people would have to take cooking shifts through the night. It was exhausting.

If at First You Don't Succeed…
Not satisfied with the pace or control of the batch method, we switched to a Stubbs single pan continuous flow process. The pan was divided into two parts, connected at one end—like a giant U. We'd dribble raw juice in one end of the U, have it slowly progress along 16 feet, turn the corner, and then travel 16 feet back the other way, separated by the partition. By the time it had completed it's 32-foot journey (it took about three hours) the sorghum would be done and we'd drain it off. This doubled our productivity, but we were still cooking over a direct wood fire and things would occasionally get hairy when too much sorghum finished all at once. If you had a strong fire, the difference between perfect sorghum and something overcooked beyond salability was about 90 seconds. Under those conditions, we didn't have a lot of people volunteering to be in charge of cooking.

While we no longer needed to cook through the night with this system (hurray!), we'd typically start before dawn and would often cook well into the evening, making for looong days.

Third Time's the Charm…
Finally, in 2006, we switched to using live steam. We bought an old boiler on eBay, hauled it home, and set it up outside our Sugar Shack (where we cook the juice). We still use wood to stoke the boiler, but the sorghum is cooked by copper pipes immersed in the juice, and the steam is controlled by a valve. The trick to consistently producing excellent sorghum is cooking the juice as rapidly as possible—without losing control. With live steam we can take juice at room temperature and bring it to a boil in about two minutes. If we have too much sorghum ready at once, we can simply choke off the steam and slow everything down until the surge has been digested.

With our current method there are three pans set up in a cascade, where the juice flows from one to the next via float valves. In each pan there are channels that the juice must flow through maze-like to get from the entry point to the exit, merrily cooking and condenser as it goes. 

With our current method we generally start after first coffee in the morning and almost always wrap up before dinner time. Very civilized.
• • •
One of the joys of being in the sorghum business is that we're continuing a tradition that came into the area with the early settlers of the mid-19th Century. While we rely on modern technology for stainless steel pans (sorghum juice is incredibly acidic and literally eats carbon steel) there's nothing about our cooking process that relies on technology newer than stationary motors with flat belt pulleys. Our sorghum mill, as near as we can tell, was manufactured circa 1900. The wood that feeds the boiler is harvested sustainably from our property. The cane is cut by hand using machetes, and hauled to our mill with wagons pulled by our fleet of three gas-powered tractors—all of which were manufactured 50+ years ago.

I think it's pretty cool that we're producing high-quality sorghum with a low-tech system. And now we have photographic proof that Zingerman's agrees with the lofty opinion we've always held for our product. Next time you're in Ann Arbor, I suggest you stop by for a meal at the Roadhouse (located on the southwest corner of Jackson & Maple on the west side of town). If you order biscuits, ask for some sorghum to go along with the butter and they'll bring it right out. In addition to experiencing a traditional and distinctive American dish, you'll be getting a sweet burst of Sandhill in every bite. 

Thursday, July 23, 2009

Happy Birthday, Jo!

Today my daughter, Jo, turned 22. Fortuitously, I have meetings in Ann Arbor this weekend, and that afforded me an easy occasion to be on hand for the festivities in Toledo, where Jo loives with her partner Peter Lipphardt. In truth, she's been celebrating all week.

Tuesday she and her partner Peter took possession of a new puppy—seven-week-old Yoshi, a just-weaned black lab/boxer mix. Believe me, this dog is going to have a good life. When we arrived early this evening to my Zingerman's Roadhouse rendezvous in Ann Arbor, it happened that there was a farmer's market going on in the parking lot. When Jo, Yoshi, and I did a walk-through to kill time, three different vendors came out from behind their stalls and insisted on holding the puppy. We could have sold tickets.

Wednesday we had the party proper. While my kids and I love to eat out, it's even more fun to cook. Jo made sushi for 12 (unfortunately, there were only six at the party, but it's considered bad manners to run short of the main course), plus a fabulous four-layer ice cream cake, made of alternating slabs of green tea and ginger ice cream, dusted with ginger snap crumbs and edged in whipped cream. Luckily, we'd skipped lunch (as well as breakfast and lunch the following day).

Thursday (today) Jo drove me up to Ann Arbor (just an hour straight up US 23) and she collected on her present from dear old dad: a shopping spree at Zingermans' Delicatessen, located on brick-paved Kingsley St in old Kerrytown. Believe me, Zabar's on Manhattan's upper west side has nothing on this place. The cheese and sausage selections are simply mind boggling. Jo even picked up an iced container of fresh caviar to go with the "food porn" dish she had in mind for her & Peter tonight: angel hair pasta tossed with the leftover uni (that was special ordered for the sushi extravaganza) and garnished with the caviar.

What says love more than food, family, and a new puppy?

Tuesday, February 24, 2009

The Impatient Patient

For about a month now, people had been succumbing all around me to some virulent strain of what my father used to refer to as "the creeping crud" (a cold and flu combo deal) that was laying people low in droves. Michael—one of my fellow Sandhillians—was hit especially hard and was down for about a month. There was nothing about his experience that made me envious, and I was simply glad it wasn’t me. More commonly people had a hard week. Somehow though, I was escaping it—until Sunday.

Despite a steady diet of zinc lozenges (my standard prophylactic against colds), down I went. The good news was that it was a travel day (the sickness held off until I had completed my two days of workshops for the student groups in Kalamazoo and I wasn’t needed on stage again until the following Friday). Unfortunately, that was also the bad news. While I typically look forward to the rhythmic jostling of rail travel, it was not nearly as much fun with a stuffed head.

In Chicago for a couple hours around noon to change trains, I had just enough down time (and residual energy) to bang out the last blog in my series on Economic Leverage in Hard Times… and then I was done for the day. To compound my misery, I was shunted into a passenger car that offered no access to an electric plug and I was facing the prospect of a 54-hour journey without hope of pushing back the ever-rising tide of electrons that flood my In Box. It’s in moments like that that I can start to understand depression.

In the morning however, things got better. After sauntering over to the Tattered Cover (a local, thriving indie bookstore on the corner of 16th & Wynkoop, just catty corner from Union Station in downtown Denver) and stoking up on a triple latté (a person can only indulge in sickness so long), I purposefully strode back to the train and negotiated a change of seats into the next car, which had electric plugs at every seat. Sure I was still sick, but who’s got time for that shit?

While I was still not working at full speed, at least I was working. Intermingled with doing the Sunday New York Times Magazine crossword, reading chapters of Elizabeth Arthur’s Antarctic Navigation (a novel inspired by Robert Scott’s tragic and fateful march to the South Pole in 1912—a fair example of what Annie used to describe as my fetish with “freezing and starving” books), gnoshing on high-end delicacies secured at Zingerman’s world-class deli Friday morning en route to Kalamazoo, and indulging in the occasional nap, I started making a dent in my email traffic. And that’s almost as good a mood elevator as sex (though not quite).

The truth is, I make a terrible patient. I can handle it for about a day and then things had better change, or somebody is going to be sorry. My getting that seat with an electric was good for everyone on board. Not counting this blog entry (which I’m crafting as we pull out of Sacramento for the last two hours of the trip), I’ve banged out 24 emails since finding the Write Stuff yesterday morning, including four hours today spent editing minutes from a conference call Sat afternoon. Yeehah!

What will happen if I get really sick, and maybe have to cancel a consulting gig? I hope to never find out. And neither do you.