nopa: food blog

Chocolate by the Bay - A Visit to TCHO Caleb Taft • Feb 11 • 2 Comments »

San Francisco has a long and storied history of chocolate makers, dating back to the mid 1800s with the founding of both Ghirardelli and Guittard. And while there's no dearth of artisanal chocolatiers in town - all of whom purchase couverture for their creations - both pioneers have since moved their fabrication plants elsewhere, leaving just one chocolate maker in the city. And it's probably not who you think.

TCHO Chocolate, which launched in 2005, merges the Bay's love of Sweets with its love of Tech. We trekked out to Pier 17 in late January to check out their "Pod to Palate" process.

All chocolate comes from Theobroma cacao, an evergreen that grows only in equatorial countries, with the largest amounts coming from West Africa and Indonesia. Briefly, chocolate is produced from the nib, which must be culled from a seed within a pod growing from the trunk of the tree. Pods are split, the seeds left to ferment naturally, then dried, before being roasted and the nibs taken out to be ground and processed. TCHO monitors and generally completes the preliminary processing in country, sending the cocoa mass to SF for further refining and to be made into bars. Roasting in the country of origin allows for a more efficient shipping of product and creates further financial opportunities for these farm communities.

TCHO's commitment to farmers goes beyond merely purchasing beans, and they have several programs in place to create a better livelihood for growers, as well as produce higher quality cacao. Some of the beans purchased are Fair Trade certified, but TCHO also works in areas where no certifying body exists or the farms are of a scale outside those co-ops. In these instances, TCHO not only works in direct trade with the farmers, but creates infrastructure - such as upgrading the fermenting areas for greater efficiency - as well as installing technology that allows the growers to better understand their processes and how these affect flavor. Part of this technology also enables small scale production of finished chocolate - a treat most of these cacao farmers have never experienced!

Unlike other chocolate makers, TCHO chocolates are labeled by flavor profiles, rather than by percentage of cocoa or country of origin. The idea is to showcase the various inherent flavors in chocolate. Below are my tasting notes for the four available bars, as well as the couvertures for commercial use. You can visit their retail store on Pier 17 (no public tours just yet) or at www.tcho.com.

Tasting Notes:

Fruity 2.0
Perfumed and Roasty nose. Sweet fruit entry, round with a nutty finish. Organic and Fair Trade Peruvian beans.

Nutty 2.0
Sweet, Peanutty nose. Round on the palate, with sweet fruits and a long finish. A nice surprise. Organic and Fair Trade Ecuadorian beans.

Citrus
Bright, floral and orange nose. Fudgy and sweet in the mouth, slightly gritty texture. Organic beans from Madagascar.

Chocolaty
Fruity and Floral on the nose, rich and fudgy on the palate, with a citrus finish. My favorite, perhaps not as complex as others. Beans are from Ghana.

TCHOPro 68%
Fruity and nutty on the nose. Good snap. Citrussy attack on the palate with salt and coconut notes, and a light vanilla undertone. Finishes creamy. A blend of beans from Ghana and Ecuador. This is the couverture we are currently using at nopa, appearing both in our chocolate sorbet and in a ganache for macaroons.

TCHOPro 66%
Malty and Salty nose with Sour Cherry notes. Firm snap. Bright but low and winey fruit notes in the mouth with some salt. Short finish. A Fair Trade and Organic blend of beans from Peru and Ecuador.

TCHOPro 60.5%
Roasty and Malty nose with some Creaminess. Nutty and Malty on the palate with a sweet cherry finish.

Posted by Caleb Taft on February 11, 2010 • Filed under Where Our Food Comes From • Discuss (2 Comments) • Share: del.icio.us / StumbleUpon / Digg

Food and the Social Justice Movement Rachel Glueck • Nov 11 • Comment

Food is the altar of humanity. No matter the race or creed, nationality or history, there is no human society that has not centered itself around the table. Necessity aside - we have always viewed food as our gathering point. Since the beginning of our kind, food has been a symbol of the ties that bind families, a sign of the culturally enriched and a signifier of wealth; it has inspired wars and inflamed the imagination. Today, food is finding its niche in the grassroots movement, and nowhere in the western world is this more apparent than in San Francisco. Don't fool yourself thinking that dining out is merely a means of satisfying your hedonistic desires (or masochistic, depending on which establishments you patronize). You're fighting a war here. Ok, that might be more drama than you'd like to introduce into your digestive system, but there's a point to be made. Every dollar you spend on food can either go to directly support a local family, healthy ecosystems and crop diversity, or it can go to support a corporate farm, the degradation of our soil and water systems, and the reinforcement of monoculture crops. Of course, it's not always so cut and dry, but it's something to consider.

The eco movement has brought on a big push for organic edibles. The demand is rising and the market is responding. This is fantastic, but the mainstreaming of organics also has its pitfalls. One tends to think organic=good, non-organic=not-so-good. Unfortunately, it's not that simple. There are dozens of other factors to consider. What's the carbon footprint of that organic orange? How fresh is it? Are the practices of the corporation that owns those fields ethical? Does their profit benefit the local economy? Which should we support: the local, family farm that is not certified organic, or the corporate farm with an organic line that grows and ships its produce in from abroad? There are farms that use sustainable practices but can't get official organic certification due to high costs, or the fact that the farm bordering their fields uses pesticides. One can get bogged down with these questions, and in places where the options are few, it might be best to simply reach for the organic label.

In the Bay Area, however, we have been blessed not just with diversity and quality, but with endless opportunities to educate ourselves on the topic. In light of this, I decided to follow Diane Goodman - nopa's "Grandmother" and a leader in the sustainable food movement - to the farmer's market to find out just how, with all the choices out there, nopa decides which farms to buy from. The answer lies somewhere in the middle of crop location, seasonality, decades of farmer-buyer history, organic practices, and of course, quality. Watch the video below to see the nopa process of product selection, and to get a sense of our farm-to-restaurant relationships.

Video link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bjKHz0Pt-bE

NOTE: This video sadly became a memorial piece to Diane Goodman, who passed away a year ago, shortly after the footage was taken. For all the love and passion she put into her life and work, she is an endless source of inspiration.

Rachel Glueck is a server at nopa
Posted November 11, 2009 • Filed under Where Our Food Comes From • Discuss • Share: del.icio.us / StumbleUpon / Digg

Video Filmed by Bergen Moore. Edited by Rachel Glueck. 2008

A Toast to the Harvester Rachel Glueck • Oct 14, 2009 • 1 Comment »

With the rebirth of farmer's markets and the spread of the local food movement, an appreciation for the farmer's time and toil has sprouted in the consumer consciousness. Thank God for that, and long overdue, I say, but there is one element of the agricultural equation that continues to go unappreciated: the harvester. Having landed in the Languedoc-Roussillon several months ago sans langue locale (i.e., sans job opportunity), and finding myself in the hands of a handsome French olive farmer, I had the rare opportunity (or obligation) to explore the life of an olive harvester first hand.

The 600+ trees that Rémi Eugene cares for are spread out over 4 neighboring locations in the South West corner of France. The harvest begins in early September and goes through October or November. The olives - mainly Lucques and a few Picholines - are picked and sold to the local olive cooperative, L'Oulibo. This year the co-op wasn't buying black olives, so it was important to pick quickly before they'd fully matured.

The day is long and begins before dawn. We wake at 6, shovel breakfast into our groggy mouths, down a mug of coffee, and step out into the dark morning. We drive out to the olive orchards (the other harvesters and I crammed into the back of the Citroën wagon amongst dozens of crates), park between the trees, strap on our green buckets and commence the picking. Each person takes a row of trees and we move along quietly - nothing but the snap of the fruit from its branch and the satisfying plunk in the bucket. The sun is rising; warm hues spread through the chill fields and the birds begin their morning fuss.

We pick from 7:30 until Noon, when we stop for a half-hour lunch break, and then it's on again ‘til 5. It's nine hours of nearly straight picking, and for a girl that's just come off four months vacation, it's not a joke. The mornings are peaceful and I'm still feeling strong by lunchtime. It's the afternoons that are rough. Once the sun is beating down in full strength, you begin to notice your discomfort. The olive branch, the international symbol of peace, becomes a vicious aggressor. It slaps you across the face as you pluck its precious gems. It plunges its leaves, long and slender, in your ears, your eyeballs, and up your nostrils (I actually had a nose bleed from this the first day). But that's just the physical strain. After the first four hours of staring at olives, my mind is twitching. I begin to forget what it is I'm picking. I start to mistake the olives for cashews, then limes, then chili peppers. Maybe they're tiny apples or Muscat grapes. After 7 hours I'm seeing hundreds of little Banana Peppers dangling all around my head. I think I'm losing it. By five pm, I've picked 250 lbs. My neck is aching from looking upward all day, my shoulders ache from the weight of the bucket, my arms ache from reaching and pulling on branches, my eyes are bloodshot from squinting in the sun, my back is killing me, and my mind is f---ed from the sight of olives, olives, olives. We return home with just enough time and energy to shower, eat, and pass out. I close my eyes and see nothing but olives swaying in the wind. I'm thinking, "How the hell am I going to keep this up for 4 more weeks??"

Having no other foreseeable job options, I suck it up. My body accepts the ache and pain before my mind does. For me (and I would imagine it's the same for most Americans, trained to be perpetually stimulated by flashy images, constantly entertained by external action) it is the monotony - of both action and vision - that is the most difficult to accept. I think of the thousands of migrant pickers in the States, and how they do this, not for 1 or 2 months, but year round - and without the romantic surroundings of ancient villages and small family farms, but on enormous tracks of industrial land. I think of all those who protest illegal immigrants, yet enjoy the fruits of their labor, and I fail to imagine the same number of Americans lining up for such repetitive, under-valued, physically-exhausting jobs year after year. I think of all the fruits and legumes I've consumed over my lifetime without the slightest thought of the men and women who have sweated and toiled for my vegetal enjoyment, earning just enough money to feed their families. I remember the conversation I had with someone in the States. When I told him I had a job picking olives for the season, he asked, "Why don't you use your college education and get a real job?" Thinking back on it, I realize I've been given a whole new appreciation for the food that nourishes my body each and every day, and for those who work to produce it, and I wonder: what could be more real than that?

Rachel Glueck is a server at nopa
Posted October 14, 2009 • Filed under Where Our Food Comes From • Discuss (1 Comment) • Share: del.icio.us / StumbleUpon / Digg
Photos by Rachel Glueck