Full service

I was still buzzed from morning java when I headed for afternoon caffeine at Greenville’s Coffee and Crema on South Pleasantburg. I’d recently read about its expertly pulled shots and decorative latté—reconstructions of top-quality beans from Durham, NC's, gifted purveyor, Counter Culture Coffee—and was hoping to find a stand-in for my city cappuccino.

But thinking of Coffee and Crema threw my mind to another fresh-faced spot—Coffee to a Tea—in West Greenville. When I walked into the sunny shop (once a mom-and-pop diner, features still visible through artsy-eclectic décor), two young women (presumably the owners) were chatting up a patron leaning casually against the bar and flipping through a magazine. The man, I learned, lives in the neighborhood and comes daily for fellowship, banter, and maybe a fresh cup. You see, instead of setting up shop in a posh ’hood or downtown storefront, the owners opted for a lower-income area, one that looks amber-preserved circa 1965—a commercial ghost-town, where the city’s less privileged make their homes.

And then it hit me: These women—entrepreneurs, bakers, coffee mavens—are public servants. And their shop is more than meets the eye: part gallery for local artists, part classroom for nutrition and sustainable foods (everything, from the homemade cakes to the chocolate for the mochas, is all natural. Plus, coffee comes from West End Coffee, bagels from Greenfield’s, milk from Happy Cow Creamery), and part melting pot—classes and cultures converge for fresh coffee.

I often consider the relativity of my interests, my work—how best I can package them to serve. Coffee to a Tea reminds that a food business not only offers culinary and gustatory pleasure: It is a crossroads of diversity, history, information. And that’s what I call exceptional service.

(By the by, I found my cappuccino’s counterpart at Coffee and Crema—whose charming owner serves great conversation and an endless knowledge of the bean, along with fine espresso.)

Marking time

Spring has me considering things old and new.

We've had resplendent weather this April, with a mean storm now and again. Such lovely days make it hard to imagine being anywhere else. Beautiful weather floors me. My senses go wild, and I want to hold on to every waking moment. Such concentration is exhausting. I don't know what it is with me lately, but I've been adamant, downright stubborn, about not letting go: I want to jar everything beautiful (good and bad). I think I've hit my stage of revolt: Time is going too fast!

The other day I received a package from a dear friend. She and I had the pleasure and privilege of studying in Cortona, Italy, for fall semester 2002. During a recent conversation, she mentioned that she was digitizing Cortona photographs and that I should expect a package of prints in the coming weeks.

That stack was more than I bargained for. I was floored by time.

Who knows what latent interests/knowledge we have? I've probably always had a culinary penchant. It wasn't until Cortona, however, that my interest was piqued. Maybe it was the slower pace of life, a focus on mealtime, with its hours-long pace and devotion to courses and conversation. Perhaps it was the bounty of fresh produce, cheeses, olives, chocolate, small markets, specialty shops, one-euro cappuccino. Whatever the reasons, they tapped into that latent love, and I discovered the pleasure of food.

Years later, I understood its importance for marking time. I once read that a man remembered his wine by assigning a different image to its taste. A deep cabernet would evoke dark woods on a snowy night—or something of the sort. My brain works oppositely: Those dumplings? Sheer heaven in June '05. The weather was pristine, and I walked up from Chinatown in my pink tank and cocoa-brown pants.

Looking through those photographs was bittersweet. My friend's keen eye captured moments that escaped my photo-journey, so I was glad to have her records for the gaps. But more than this, I was saddened by the fact that I saw myself in time, in moments that I have forgotten. I was there! I stood there. I looked angry, or hot, or elated, or captivated. How could I not remember? Why didn't such precious time matter?

Maybe it did for a while. But (to be clichéd), everything has its season. Memories, too, have their temporal arcs. They begin, grow, peak, recede, and—eventually—die. I probably should leave the process alone. Let the mind age.

With attention and care, it should only get better by year.

Fresh, direct

Life is complicated. But sometimes I make matters worse. Is it because I get high from problem solving? Find beauty in tension? Enjoy cleaning? (Too much, actually.)

Or is it to heighten the pleasure of simple moments? Simple = whole, balanced, soul-satisfying.

The other day, as I was cracking eggs for my first frittata (Blair's first frittata, age 27.8), I had my moment, smack dab in the springtime kitchen. Late-afternoon light through the cracked window, that gorgeous golden light washing the open, peaceful space. The tomato, fragrant rosemary, eggs, the freshly grated Parmesan, buttery cheddar, and grassy brie—so direct, so simple, so fine.

My mind may feed on conundrums. But this sublime simplicity is even finer.

Vegetable Frittata
(Courtesy Julianna Pletcher)

1 cup diced baking potato
1/4 cup water
1 Tbs olive oil or butter
6 scallions (green onions), white and some green parts, thinly sliced
1 cup loosely packed, fresh spinach leaves, coarsely chopped
1/4 cup fresh basil and parsley, chopped (note: I substituted fresh rosemary, chopped, about a tablespoon worth)
6 large eggs
3 Tbs milk
1/4 cup grated Parmesan cheese
Salt and ground pepper, about 1/4 tsp each or to taste
1-2 Roma tomatoes, thinly sliced
2-3 ounces of crumbled goat cheese (note: I used brie and Wisconsin cheddar, but I'm sure that goat cheese would be divine. If you're in the area, pick up yours here.)

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Place potato and 1/4 cup water in a microwave-safe bowl. Cover with a loose lid and microwave on high for four minutes or until tender, stirring once. Or, boil potatoes on the stovetop until tender. Drain and set aside. Then, heat a medium (10- to 12-inch) cast-iron skillet, or a nonstick, ovenproof skillet. Add oil or butter and green onion. Sauté for 2-3 minutes. Add potatoes, spinach, and herbs and continue to cook for 3-4 minutes. Meanwhile, in a medium bowl, whisk together the eggs, milk, Parmesan, salt and pepper. Turn off the heat. Pour the egg mixture into the skillet and stir gently to combine. Cover the handle with foil if it isn't ovenproof. Place the skillet in the oven and cook for 15-20 minutes until set, then remove it and set the oven temperature to broil. Top the frittata with tomato slices and extra cheese, if desired. Broil for 4-5 minutes, or until the eggs are set and the cheese melts. Cut into six wedges and serve. Could also be served at room temperature. Feel free to incorporate other veggies, like asparagus, bell pepper, onion, swiss chard, zucchini, etc.

Omnivores can throw in sausage, pancetta, or prosciutto. (But why complicate?)