Road Trip--Up North, Wisconsin

Due to spotty internet access, a few pics will have to serve as a sneak preview of the posts that will surely bubble up as a result of my recent trip to the North Woods.

Kids, Wisconsin, Summer, fishing, swimming, and eating. Lots of good stuff to write about. Over the next couple weeks I'll document my experience with an old fashioned shore dinner, the North Woods phenomenon known as the supper club, and some real-deal contender burger places.

For now, enjoy!

Very good (but not the world's best) burgers at Fred's in Burlington.

Enjoying the clean sands of Crystal Lake.

Shore dinner

Finchville Farms Bacon Shots + More Ham

I had so many pork porn shots from my Finchville visit that I'm doing a second post just to show them off.

Bellies

More bellies

Cured bellies

Ham slices ready for the store.

Hams in stockings.



I'm probably going to get more static from vegans for this. Oh well.

Country Ham--Finchville Farms, Kentucky

At a dinner party hosted by Sky Full of Bacon's very talented Mike Gebert a few months ago, I was served (among other delicacies) ham biscuits. Which, if you just do a quick google and look at, say, cooks.com, you'll see are just simple little biscuit sandwiches of sliced ham.

These were not just simple little biscuit sandwiches of sliced ham, though. They were amazing. Biscuits made with lard Gebert had rendered himself, part of his homemade bacon process, a country ham from Father's in Kentucky, and home-canned preserves to slather on the delicate yet rich biscuits before adding a thin slice or two of the smokey, somewhat funky ham. This elegant little sandwich literally melted in my mouth, and the ham made a strong impression on me.

I managed to latch onto the tag from Gebert's ham, which sat on my desk for a couple months. My intention was to order a ham from the same purveyor and try and replicate it for myself. I never got around to doing that, but as part of a recent road trip, I incorporated a visit to a different producer of country hams named Finchville Farms in Finchville, Kentucky.

Finchville Farms is a small, family-owned operation run by Bill Robertson, whose family has been operating it since its inception in 1947. I sat down with Mr. Robertson before we embarked on a tour of his facilities and, as we talked about ham, we both eventually asked the same question aloud, incredulously--"why not?"

See, we were taking about country ham as opposed to European cured ham products like Italian prosciutto or the Spanish jamons Serrano and Iberico. And we both wondered why American country hams haven't yet attained the same success or recognition as their European counterparts. I didn't have an answer. Part of the reason it's taken me a month or so to write this article is that I've been trying to come up with one.

For me, as a chef, I was always somewhat bewildered by country ham. I never worked with it, so didn't really know the process. I knew it needed to be soaked in changes of water for a few days, and then roasted like a "regular" (read; saline-injected commercially processed) ham, and the resulting product would have a firmer texture and a more pronounced flavor than the standard spongy salt nibbles that turn up in our everyday omelets and deli sandwiches.

But I'd never tried it, so I just wasn't sure. And could it be thinly sliced, raw, and used in elegant presentations as a homegrown stand-in for prosciutto? I'd never seen it done that way and it seemed like everything I read about country ham was a cooked preparation like Gebert's , so, again....it remained a mystery.

Bill's answer (that's him to the right, in his office at Finchville) was, yes. "Sure, you can eat it raw, thinly sliced, like prosciutto," he said. "But nobody does. "

Country ham is most often seen as "steaks"--thin leg cross-cuts with a round slice of the bone in the middle--and these are cooked quickly on a griddle or in a pan and served alongside eggs, toast, and hash browns for $3.95 at gritty little neighborhood diners throughout the South and Midwest. When I've had it this way, though, I haven't cared much for it; it's usually kind of tough and stringy and too salty.

So that's more or less where I've always been on it; I'm a big fan of the European cured ham products, sliced thinly and draped over cool, juicy melon slices or ripe figs, but I haven't been much for American hams, whether the clove-studded, pineapple-ringed, Dr. Pepper-glazed, spiral-sliced Easter variety, or the more gourmet-sounding, but still disappointing country ham.

I appreciated Mr. Robertson's hospitality and generosity, for sharing both his time and products (My intention was to purchase a whole ham, like the ones seen sitting on his store countertop, but Bill steered me towards the ready-to-eat or cook products and laid a trunkload of samples on me). I've tried a bunch of different ones, but I'm still don't think I'm fully appreciating or understanding the appeal of this product. The only really amazing experience I had with it was at Gebert's dinner party.

Maybe part of it is how Gebert cooked his ham, I don't know. Another factor to consider is the varied styles of curing and processing. Bill at Finchville doesn't use any nitrates or nitrites in his hams, only salt and sugar. Some producers add spices or herbs, or use different types of sugar like brown sugar, molasses, or maple. Oh, and Finchville hams aren't smoked, either. Most that you'll find are, like the Father's ham I had at Gebert's gathering.

The process varies enormously from one maker to the next, but the essential steps are that a fresh or "green" ham is dry cured for a period of 3-5 weeks, then is rinsed and hung for a longer period--usually 8 to 12 months. At this point the ham can be used, or it can be smoked. The smoking can also be done prior to hanging. Some ham producers wrap the hams in muslin during the hanging process, others leave them naked to the air.

Obviously this process was developed prior to refrigeration and these methods were originally motivated by the desire to preserve fresh meat. Pig slaughters were usually at the beginning of the cold-weather months as a way to further prevent spoilage, and the various parts of the animal would be cured, cooked, smoked, and/or hung so that the cooler temperatures would prevent spoilage during the crucial point, and once the warmer weather arrived, the hams would be sufficiently cured to last through hot summer.

In fact, the summer is said to be beneficial to the flavor of the country hams. Like cheese and wine, ham is a product of its environment. As they hang, the hams are exposed to hot temperatures on summer days, but cooler evenings, and this temperature fluctuation is said to be beneficial for the flavor of the meat. Locals speak of the "July Sweats" as crucial to a country ham's flavor development. Native molds form on the outside of the hams as a reminder that this is a living process, and white specks of concentrated protein, similar to what's found in superior long-aged cheeses like Parmigiano-Reggiano, appear in the meat. Essentially, this is controlled spoilage.

But, hey, controlled spoilage is where it's at. Beer, wine, stinky cheese. Spicy kimchee, sauerkraut.




So the ham I got from Finchville is more or less exactly the same as what they make in Parma, Italy...I'm thinking. Why can't it be served more like prosciutto di Parma is typically used?

Well, I'm not entirely sure that it can't. But the intended end use needs to be considered while the product is being processed. That is to say, if a country ham producer set out to make Kentucky Prosciutto, they'd have to employ a different process. The current products are heavily salted, because the end users are going to soak them in changes of water, and then either roast or boil in more water. If the ham were going to be served raw, sliced paper-thin, the salt content would have to be scaled way back, so as to allow the end product to be less salty and also softer and more full of moisture than current country hams, which are like rocks. Typically, prosciutto is left to cure for 15-20 days, while country ham sits soaking up salt for 35-50 days.

The other thing is that Finchville uses commercial pork. I asked Bill about it when I noticed some Swift boxes near the dumpster, and got a waved a hand in the air as a response. This appeared to be Bill's way of acknowledging to the heritage pork movement, so other than mentioning some of the attention heritage breeds are getting from Chicago chefs, I didn't press him about it.

European hams are all made from pigs from the particular region, and the pump-it-full-of-hormones-and-saline-and-get-it-to-market-weight-in-half-the-time American factory farming model has, for the most part, been rejected in Europe. So, like with heritage breeds, the meat of the European pigs has a more fully developed flavor. It's fattier, and of a superior quality.

Now seems like a great moment to mention La Quercia, which appears to be doing just exactly what I just described over in Iowa, and their products are now being carried and touted by just about every pork-loving chef in Chicago.

So, after plunging headlong into this project, I find myself with more questions than answers. I'm kicking myself for limiting my experience with Finchville's products to the pre-fabbed steaks and ham biscuit slices, wrapped all tight and shelf-stable in their cryovack packs, and not bringing home a whole ham, as I'd planned.

Is the main reason that country ham isn't utilized similarly to prosciutto simply that it hasn't traditionally been done? American country ham producers have always included pre-cooking as a part of their process, and almost always market convenience products, like the ones Bill graced me with. As a result of the cooking being such a prominent part of their process, the USDA requires all uncooked country ham products to carry a label bearing cooking instructions, including the suggestion that pork always be cooked to an internal temperature of 160°.

So partly, it's a matter of it's always been done this way, and the government suggests that it continue to be done this way.

Technically, however, the USDA has no opinion about whether country ham can be eaten raw. They have not taken an official position. And the country ham producers haven't asked, for fear of having some stringent requirements slapped on them. So the mystery continues.

So, the next logical step for me is to buy a whole ham. Whether from Finchville, Father's, or somewhere else. There are now tons available through internet mail-order. And then maybe get one from La Quercia and do a taste test to compare how the various hams taste raw. Oh, and I'll need a profressional deli slicer to do these fine products justice.

Yup. Next time I've got a spare thousand bucks laying around, I'll be sure to do that. I guess that's part of the reason there hasn't been more experimentation with these products...the entry costs are high.

S0, there you go. Lots of valuable info about a traditional American product, some taste tests, a visit to the producer, an interview with the guy who runs the company, and still, the answer to the question that Bill and I asked in his office remains elusive.

"Why not"? I don't know.

Alber's Ice Cream/Union Dairy; Freeport, IL

I took my four year old son, Henry camping a couple weekends ago. Ever been camping with a four-year old?

Anyway, he loved it and we more or less accomplished my goal, which was to give him his first real overnight camping experience so when we start doing longer trips, he'll be used to it. After doing a few backyard campouts, this was our first real foray out into the wild world.

We ventured out about an hour from the city, to nearby Rock Cut State Park, which is a very nice little state park that I've visited and camped at before. They have two lakes--one that's used for fishing, another with a sandy beach, and the campground where the tent campers (as opposed to RV campers) set up is situated nicely between the two lakes. Henry, however, in his typical assertive-for-no-apparent-reason-about-things-he-doesn't-even-have-the-faintest-clue-what-he's-talking-about way, told me early and often that he did "NOT want to ride in a paddle boat. NO. WAY. DAD."

I've learned not to try and convince him that paddle boats are fun, or to even ask what he's got against them, anyway, since he's never been on one. No point to it. Mmm hm. No paddleboat. No way, no how. Check.

After getting an early start, setting up camp, and loading up on firewood and worms for fishing, we were ready to get something to eat, and I was determined to avoid the campground hot dog stand and the endless highway exit fast food options.

We cast about for a while, then found ourselves in the nice little old town of Freeport, Illinois, which just happens to be one of the sites where Abraham Lincoln debated Stephen Douglas in 1858, as the two stumped around Illinois in their respective campaigns to become the state's next US senator. The debates all centered around the issue of the day--slavery, and are said to be where Lincoln's mettle was proven and his chops were honed for his presidential run just two years later.

More importantly, though, directly behind Debate Square, where the historic event is commemorated, there's a really cool old ice cream parlor.


I saw the art deco facade when I turned a blind corner and knew that my aimless wandering had paid off. Sometimes when you're hungry it's tempting to give in and just hit the Denny's or the Culver's off the exit ramp, but then you find a sleeper like this place just loaded with old time character and charm.

I was hoping for a patty melt or something similarly diner-minded, but we found out that the "grill" portion of this establishment is closed on Sundays, so we had no choice but to eat massive ice cream sundaes for our lunch. Here they are:

Mine was the turtle sundae, that's it on the left, and Henry is all about the mint ice cream, so he got what they were calling a mint meltaway sundae, which had mint chip ice cream, hot fudge, a ton of whipped cream, and a bunch of crushed Andee's mints all over the top and sides.

The ice cream in this place was good (it's Cedar Crest), and they appear to be doing a nice job jazzing it up with their sauces, toppings, and all the fixin's, but the reason this place is worth an hour drive (or at least a detour if you're heading west) is its perfectly preserved condition. It's beautiful. Pristine. It could (and probably should) be in a museum, but it's not; it's still functioning as this town's little local restaurant and ice cream parlor, the counters are staffed by local high school girls, and honestly, most of the people in there looked at me like I was nuts for taking pictures of the shiny chrome and Formica, the amazing soda fountain set-up that runs down the center of the long oval of counter seating, and their sweet old jade green Hamilton Beach spindle milkshake mixer.

But I'm NOT crazy. THEY'RE the ones who are crazy for not recognizing beauty and art when it's right under their noses! Look at that setup!

The ice cream dipping cabinets are still working, they're using those pumps for their syrups and flavorings, the hot well holds the hot fudge and caramel at just the right temperature, and there's not a speck of dirt or a bent piece of stainless to be found. Do people realize how rare that piece is? How incredible it is that no one ripped it out during all these years?!

Remember what I said about camping with a four year old. I'll just say this; no matter how many times they tell you they want to "help", they really don't. Oh, and we now know that four is not old enough to apply Deep Woods Off. But if you let'em get really hungry and then promise them a big ice cream sundae, they're putty in your hands.

Henry doesn't understand why they would prepare and bring the dad's ice cream sundae a full ten minutes before they prepare and bring the kid's. I didn't get it either.

Anyway, after a couple of big ice cream sundaes, our stomachs were cooled down and full, our faith was restored in the world, and we headed back to the campground for some short-attention-span fishing and a few good hours of playing with the pump (endless fun, apparently).

We did our campfire dinner, had the obligatory s'more or two, strummed the guitar a bit, and then settled down in our sleeping bags for some flashlight play and, eventually, sleep. I'm fairly sure I slept at least a little.

Whoa! Camping with a four year old! No one ever said it was restful. Remember what I said earlier about training Henry for longer camping trips? Maybe I'm the one who actually needs a warm-up outing or two.

I won't say the ice cream sundaes at Alber's/Union Dairy were the highlight of the trip...but let me just put it this way; I'm glad I know it's there in such close proximity to the campground for next time.

Road Trip--Buffalo Trace Distillery, Frankfort, KY

The final stop on my trip back from the Greenbrier, earlier this month, was a visit to what I now know to be the legendary Buffalo Trace distillery, where they create some of the finest Kentucky Bourbons on the market.

Buffalo Trace is a part of the Kentucky Bourbon Trail. It's being marketed to tourists and Bourbon lovers as a destination, and there are folks who even buy the "passport", make a trip of it and try to visit as many of the eight distilleries that ring the area around Frankfort as they can.

In keeping with this attempt to make this whole thing more marketable and accessible for tourists, I found the area to be well-marked, with street signs indicating where to turn once I got off the main highway, so finding the place was fairly easy. I pulled off into what appeared to be a large estate, and the drive wound around past some very well-kept gardens until I pulled into what was obviously the working distillery and tour zone.

As soon as I stepped out of my car, I was smacked in the face with the smell of bourbon. The distillery's parking lot sits right next to one of the large barrel aging warehouses, and the grainy, caramelly, woody smell seems to hang in the air around the compound of more than 100 buildings that make up the distillery. This smell, along with the fact that the 55 gallon barrels can yield as little as 5 gallons of finished product, have given rise to the term "angels' share" to refer to the huge quantity of the tasty brown liquor that evaporates into the Kentucky air as the environment and its temperature fluctuations work their magic and turn grain spirits into fine Kentucky bourbon.

I did what they refer to on their website as the "hard hat tour", which took me, according to their literature, "behind the scenes of the bourbon making process where the magic happens". As part of a small group of four guys, the tour guide walked us through the entire brewing/distilling/aging process from where the grain gets trucked in, right through to where the pure spirits go into the barrel to age.

The grains (corn, wheat, malted barley) are cooked in giant pressure cookers.

The mash is then cooled, yeast is added, and it's allowed to ferment in huge vats. The mash is constantly bubbling furiously and an oily, bubbly scum forms along the top. It smells like beer.

Buffalo Trace is really a pretty amazing place. The name refers to the fact that buffalo herds used to cross the Kentucky river at this particular spot, and is the owners' way of paying tribute to the "mighty herds that carved paths in the wilderness and a destiny for our ancestors."

The site was first settled in 1775 by brothers Hancock and Wills Lee, and was originally called Leestown. The story goes that the region's fine limestone-filtered water and burgeoning grain farmers made it an ideal place for a distillery, and, perhaps due to those circumstances, there has been a working distillery on the site since 1787.

It's gone through a lot, though. It was known as Blanton in the early 1800's, then was purchased by George T. Stagg in the 1870's and rechristened O.F.C. distillery. It eventually came to be known as the George T. Stagg distillery, which is what it's called on the National Registry of Historic Places.

During prohibition, George T. Stagg distillery was one of only four distilleries in the country to be granted a permit to continue producing alcohol for "medicinal purposes". People could get a prescription from their doctor to purchase whiskey, and some 5 million people got in on the act, purchasing the quart maximum that they were permitted every 10 days.

In 1992, it was sold to the New Orleans-based Sazerac company, which gave the distillery its current name and, in 1999, started marketing bourbon under the Buffalo Trace (which is a Kentucky Straight Bourbon) brand name.

Which brings us to some of the rules and nomenclature associated with bourbon. The label "bourbon" is a federally-protected descriptor. In 1964, the US Congress recognized Bourbon Whiskey as a "distinctive product of the United States." The Federal Standards of Identity for Distilled Spirits (27 CFR 5) state that bourbon must meet these requirements:

• Bourbon must be made of a grain mixture that is at least 51% corn.
  
• Bourbon must be distilled to no more than 160 (U.S.) proof (80% alcohol by volume).
• Bourbon must be aged in new, charred oak barrels
• Bourbon may not be introduced to the barrel at higher than 125 proof (62.5% alcohol by volume).
• Bourbon which meets the above requirements and has been aged for a minimum of two years, may (but is not required to) be called Straight Bourbon.
• Bourbon aged for a period less than four years must be labeled with the duration of its aging.
• If an age is stated on the label, it must be the age of the youngest whiskey in the bottle.

The distinction, then, between bourbon and other various types of American whiskey, is an important one. Bourbon need not be made in Bourbon County (there are, in fact, no distilleries in Bourbon County, Kentucky), and it doesn't even need to have been made in Kentucky to be called bourbon. But it does need to adhere to the requirements above.

So, for example, Jack Daniels, is categorized as Tennessee whiskey, and cannot, by law, be called bourbon.

Now that the term "bourbon" has been fully explained, we can tackle the concept of "single barrel".

Basically, as bourbons go, the less expensive commercially-produced brands like Jim Beam or Maker's Mark, while they are legitimately called Kentucky Straight Bourbon, they are not "single barrel" bourbons. These brands consist of the contents of hundreds of barrels--some may be ten or twelve years old, others as young as two--which are then combined (don't say "blended"--I learned the hard way) so that a consistent color and flavor profile is achieved.

Which is fine. There's a certain consistency and appeal to these products, and the price is right. Buffalo Trace's eponymous brand falls into this category.

But the real draw here is the single barrel stuff. In 1984, the world’s first single barrel bourbon to be marketed commercially was released under the label, Blanton’s Single Barrel Bourbon, named after Colonel Albert B. Blanton, who dedicated his life to preserving the tradition of handcrafted small-batch produced bourbon amidst a quickly-modernizing industry.

Buffalo Trace makes and markets its own brand of single barrel, Eagle Rare, which is available as a 10 year-old single barrel at 90 proof and a 17 year-old "antique collection" offering.

But what I found really cool is the fact that Buffalo Trace produces and ages a number of other brands, each to the specifications of their master distiller, each with a different personality and flavor profile; Blanton's is a great brand with a number of different offerings, Elmer T. Lee is named after Buffalo Trace's distiller emeritus, and is bottled when he decides the time is right, and Rock Hill Farms is much prized, but difficult to find. There are others.

These distillers get first crack at the prime aging spots. Experts claim that specific floors within specific aging warehouses are superior; they offer the best temperature fluctuations between Kentucky's hot, humid summers, and cool, foggy winters, and that these severe temperature changes are what gives the contents of the barrel its distinctive mellowness and flavor notes. According to their website, "the fourth and fifth floors of Warehouse C and the fourth through sixth floors of Warehouses I and K produce our absolute best whiskey." Who knew?

Other products produced at Buffalo Trace include Pappy Van Winkle Family Reserve, which is a wheated bourbon, has been rated the number one bourbon whiskey in the world and goes for around $250/bottle, and Sazerac Rye (rye whiskey is a smoother, yet spicier version of bourbon) are also made at the distillery. Rain vodka (the only vodka made exclusively from organically-grown American grain) is also produced at BT.

Bourbon is a distinctly American product which, despite achieving some degree of notoriety in recent years, hasn't even begun to approach the prestige level that Scotch whiskey has enjoyed forever. Until I went and immersed myself in the history of this fine amber sipping liquor, I was sorely ignorant of the amazing tradition, incredible standards, and great variety that Bourbon offers to those who are inclined to delve deeply into the genre and start learning and drinking. There's simply a ton to know, and there are lots of great resources out there.

And, amazingly, the center of the bourbon universe is a short 5-6 hour drive south of Chicago, tucked away in the country between Lexington and Frankfort, Kentucky, just waiting for city dwellers like me to discover, which, in my mind, is a pretty good excuse for a road trip.

Road Trip Photos--Hip Louisville

Ok, I will readily admit that I'm not as cool as I used to be. I'm forty. I have two young kids. Sorry. I try my best.

But as a once-hip indy-record-store-dwelling post-collegiate goof-off of some notoriety, I feel that even in my advanced middle-aged state, I can appreciate a good thing.

During my recent trip through the mid-South, I stopped in Louisville one evening for dinner and a stroll and happened up a great neighborhood along Bardstown Road that featured lots of urban hipster eye-candy in the form of cool bars, restaurants, and shops, live musicians playing outside a coffee shop in what I think is called Deer Park, and just a really nice neighborhood, with many friendly folks out and about.


Lots of cool signage in this area. I'm a sucker for creative and retro signage.







I had some food, which didn't actually impress much (maybe Louisville isn't a barbecue town, despite its proximity to Owensboro, which happens to be one of the great barbecue regions of the US), so I'm not really going to speak to the restaurants much with this post. But the neighborhood and the people really struck a nice tone for me on a warm late-Spring night.

I love record stores.

Walking a block or two off the main strip, I found a nice neighborhood with old trees and architecture very reminiscent of Chicago bungalows. Lots of brick, limestone, and squared-off corners which are everywhere in the Midwest and always give me a very comfortable and familiar feeling.

A little further off the main shopping drag, there are some amazing turn-of-the century mansions, too. You'll have to crane your neck out your car window to see them, since the most ornate and stoic examples sit perched way up on their own little hills, but park real quick and get out and look around at these beauties. They're amazing.


I was amazed at how, only five hours south of Chicago, Louisville felt so positively southern. Despite the quick drive, I was in The South; people had accents, every restaurant served cornbread and biscuits, and it was so much more warm and humid and green. This would be a nice place to live, I think.

The proof that I'm old, of course, is that I came back buzzing about Louisville and the impression it made on me, but instead of suggesting to my wife that we pick up and move there right now, as I might've done when I was in my 20's, my thought was that it would be a great place to retire to someday. Sad, this getting old thing. But also kind of cool.

My Post-Symposium Post

Sorry for the prolonged absence. I've been out of town the past week at the Symposium for Professional Food Writers at the Greenbrier in West Sulphur Springs, West Virginia.

It was an incredible honor to be there. The whole thing was hugely inspirational and validating, both as a writer, but also just as someone who's as interested in food as I am. Spending a week with similar-minded people was great fun and really re-charged my batteries on both an intellectual and spiritual level.

Now, the challenge is to harness that energy. Many of the successful presenters at the Symposium shared their methods and models with the attendees, and I find myself going in twenty directions at once, trying to write for this or for that potential project, so I've taken a few days off from posting here, out of sheer inability to organize my thoughts and head in one specific direction.

I road-tripped it down there, so I took advantage by visiting a few food-related spots. I spent an evening in the hip Highlands area of Louisville, visited a farm where they make country ham the old fashioned way, ate lunch at a cool art deco diner in Charleston, West Virginia, and toured a bourbon distillery that's been in continuous operation since 1787. I'll be blogging about all that stuff under the new header "Road Trip" which will feature stuff that's outside the scope of Chicagoland.

I've also started a second blog, where I'll be documenting the process of opening and running my restaurant; it's going to be a good quality burger joint here in Chicago and I'll be blogging the story more or less in real time. As a business owner, I'll be hoping for things to run smoothly, but the writer part of me wants to see plenty of challenges and drama, which always make for better storytelling. As a restaurant industry vet, I know I can safely count on the latter.

The burger blog is in development now, but it'll be fully up and running soon.

Thanks for reading.