The Fig Factor

Lately, I’ve gotten into the habit of eating sundried figs. I’ve always had a taste for them, ever since I first bit into a Fig Newton as a kid and crunched down onto those tiny little pods that are found in figs. A month or so ago, I bought a package of sundried figs, tastefully packaged in an attractive rotary design, and I’ve really enjoyed reconnecting with them.

As snacks go, figs are pretty interesting. For one, they have an exceptionally long history with humans and a rich literary past. Figs were eaten by virtually every ancient culture in the Mediterranean and Fertile Crescent regions and are mentioned in the Bible and in Greek myths. They’re right up there with apples, olives, and pomegranates in the human lore category. They are interesting scientifically, too. Figs are technically a syconium–a type of fruit with flowers on the inside. The little seeds that give a fig a crunch are called achenes, which also are found on the surface of strawberries.

Figs are supposed to aid in digestion, and the package says they are a good source of fiber. I don’t know about that, but I like having one after dinner if I feel like something on the sweet side. An individual fig is small and not overpowering in the sweetness category, and I feel like I can have one without running off the dietary rails. It’s kind of cool to eat something that connects you to ancient cultures, too. And I still like to experience that crunch.

A Shopping Cart Story

We’ll be heading out to the grocery store to do some shopping this weekend. When we get there, we’ll use a device so familiar to Americans that we typically don’t really give it much thought: a grocery cart. We’ll disengage the closest one from the long line, wheel it in, and start heading up and down the aisles.

The humble grocery cart is such an integral part of the whole supermarket experience it’s hard to imagine one without the other. It’s one of those devices that seems so obvious now, viewed in retrospect, that you’d think it wouldn’t even need to be invented.

But it was, of course. The grocery cart was the brainchild of Sylvan N. Goldman, seen above, who was a grocer in Oklahoma. In the 1930s, Goldman bought the Humpty Dumpty grocery store chain and introduced a number of new ideas–including, most notably, the grocery cart. Goldman came up with the idea in 1937, in his carpentry shop, and his groundbreaking invention received a patent in 1939. His first device was a grocery basket that attached to a frame with wheels. The baskets could be removed and stacked and the frame could be collapsed and easily stored. Goldman formed the Folding Basket Carrier Company to manufacture it.

Goldman’s ingenious idea swept the nation and revolutionized the grocery business. Shoppers who formerly were limited to what they could fit into a handheld basket now could buy even more. Throw in the concept of people driving to grocery stores, and you’ve got the two basic elements of the modern American big grocery store run. Goldman’s daintier device quickly morphed into the big, heavy, honker grocery cart that we all know so well. I do, in particular, because my first job, at the Big Bear supermarket, involved going into the parking lot at the end of the day and retrieving every orphan cart that had been left behind by shoppers and returning them to the store.

So when we will be loading up our cart this weekend, we’ll have Sylvan Goldman to thank. Now, if we only knew the back story of the unlucky shopper who got the first “folding basket carrier” with a rogue wheel . . . .

Thursday Night Out

Last night we went out to dinner with a college chum we hadn’t seen in a while. We had a fine meal, and it was great to catch up,

I like going out to eat on Thursdays. Fridays and Saturdays are the traditional top dine-out nights, when you expect the restaurants to be crowded–and fully staffed–and your fellow diners will give off that special “it’s the weekend” energy, but Thursday night is a pretty good option, too.

Thursday night dining has a vibe all its own. The restaurants aren’t quite as packed as a weekend night, but everyone at every table knows they’ve made it through most of the work week and there is only one more workday to go before the weekend–and there is a kind of deep, anticipatory glee at that prospect. I’m apparently not alone in my view that Thursday night is prime time for a meal out on the town, because the restaurant we went to last night was doing a brisk trade and people seemed to be having a really good time . . . including us.

It’s fun going out on Thursdays, but you also have to watch it and not overindulge–because there is, after all, a workday dawning bright and early the next morning. Experienced Thursday night diners have to know when to say when.

Red Lobster, Gone To Pot

Drive into any sprawling retail shopping area in the United States and there’s a good chance you’ll see a Red Lobster (or maybe an Olive Garden) in one of the outbuildings as you enter the parking lot. That may not be the case for much longer, because Red Lobster is teetering on the brink of bankruptcy.

What happened to Red Lobster, which was once a successful business? As is usually the case with corporate failures, it’s a complicated story, and it didn’t happen overnight. Often, it is the last bad decision that gets blamed–but in reality that decision is just the final domino to fall in a chain that began to topple long before.

In Red Lobster’s case, the bad recent decision was to make “endless shrimp”–which had been a promotion offered only for a limited time–into a permanent menu item. Red Lobster hoped that “endless shrimp” would attract more customers, but instead it just attracted people who consumed enormous quantities of shrimp. If you’ve ever planned a party and included a shrimp bowl, you know this result was entirely predictable. Some people just lose all control at the sight of a shrimp bowl and shamelessly load their plates or camp out at the bowl until every last shrimp is gone, before the ice in the bowl is melted. It’s hard to believe that anyone in the food business would not know this basic truth–but that apparent lack of management experience in the food business has been part of Red Lobster’s problem.

By any measure, the “endless shrimp” option was a disastrous decision–one that Red Lobster itself blamed for the company losing $11 million in the third quarter of 2023, followed by $12.5 million in losses in the fourth quarter. But, as the Business Insider article linked above shows, the shrimp fiasco was just the tip of the iceberg.

The roots of Red Lobster’s current struggles started long before, when a private equity firm bought the company, sold its real estate to create a quick return, then had the company enter into leases for that same property–leases that required rent payments that quickly became a drain on the company’s revenues. Add in the company being shifted around to different investor groups, changing customer tastes, a failure to adapt to new competition, and a tough economic environment, and you’ve got a recipe for a business poised to go into the (lobster) tank. .

The American economy is fast-moving, fueled by the ever-changing tastes and habits of American consumers. Past profitability is no predictor of future success, and a series of bad decisions, often caused by a desire for short-term gain, can lead to eventual doom–endless shrimp or not.

Fast Food Sticker Shock

Back in the ’70s, when I first began working as a “bag boy” at the Big Bear supermarket in Kingsdale Shopping Center in Upper Arlington, I would get off work on a Saturday afternoon, head to the nearest McDonald’s, and get a quarter-pounder with cheese, regular fries, and a Coke for pocket change. The prices were like those shown in the photo above, and the entire meal cost well under $2. That is true no longer–especially in California.

On April 1 California implemented a new minimum wage of $20–but only for fast food workers. That’s a hefty increase from the prior minimum wage for such workers, which was $16. No surprisingly, fast food chains responded by increasing the prices of their offerings. Since April 1, fast food prices have gone up an average of 10 percent–causing patrons of the restaurants to experience what the Wall Street Journal described as “sticker shock.” At Chick-fil-A, for example, the price of a spicy chicken sandwich has increased from $6.29 to $7.09. The price increases further increased the gap in prices between California, which already had among the highest fast food prices in the country, and states like Ohio.

At Chipotle, the increase in the fast food minimum wage represents about a 20 percent increase in its labor costs in the California market. That chain responded by increasing the prices of menu items across the board by 6% to 7% in its 500 California outlets. The new prices apply only in California, incidentally. One Chipotle fan posted that the same double steak bowl they get in Nevada for $17 now costs $39 (!) in California.

My fast food consuming days are behind me, I’d never pay $39 for something from Chipotle, and I don’t live in California, so I don’t expect to be much affected by what California is doing. It seems weird, however, that a minimum-wage hike would apply only to workers in one specific part of the economy. It makes you wonder if, under the guise of providing a “living wage” in what used to be an entry-level job for kids who still lived with their parents, California–which isn’t shy about trying to legislate healthy living and environmentally friendly activities, isn’t actually trying to get people to eat less fast food thanks to the price hikes.

If so, I expect California might be in for a surprise. Some people will shy away from the higher prices for a burger and fries, and some will grit their teeth, pay the higher prices, and complain about it. But don’t expect fast food restaurants to sit idly by while California legislators and regulators mess around with their price points. Expect California to see new experiments in self-serve ordering, robotic workers, and other activities that can restrain escalating labor costs. The workers who are currently getting $20 an hour for flipping burgers may soon find themselves out of a job.

The Random Restaurant Tour–LXIV

Last night we walked over to German Village to check out Cento, the new Cameron Mitchell restaurant on Third Street. It was a bit bittersweet, because Cento occupies the location of what used to be G. Michael’s, one of our favorite restaurants. Regrettably, G. Michael’s decided to close up shop several years ago–but there is no point in pining over restaurants gone by, is there?–so we decided to give Cento a try.

The first thing you notice when you arrive at Cento is that the physical layout has changed. A new entranceway has been created that takes you past an outdoor patio eating area directly to the host stand, rather than the old entrance through the bar area. The outdoor dining area has been spiffed up and expanded, too, with the installation of a fireplace, walls, and lighting. We sat outside on a pretty spring evening, and it made for a very nice setting.

Cento promises classic Italian fare with a twist, and it delivers. I started my meal with the octopus antipasto, shown above, with olives and pistachios. It was served in a unique way, with the strips of octopus molded together. The octopus was delectable, and the olives and pistachios were a nice complement from a flavor and textural standpoint. I followed that up with rigatoni alla vodka, which I asked to be served with a meatball. It also was quite good, with a very rich, creamy sauce. I recommend getting it with the meatball.

An important consideration when you are promising classic Italian–with or without a twist–is a strong wine list. Cento hit the target there, too, with a very nice selection of Italian wines. I favor Sicilian reds and was happy to see a number of selections from that sun-kissed island off the toe of the Italian boot. We enjoyed an excellent Etna Rosso with our meal.

We capped off the evening with a Sambuca, served in the traditional manner with three roasted coffee beans, and panna cotta for dessert, shown below. It also was served in an interesting way, and it also was delicious. We chatted with our dining companions, sipped our drinks, and enjoyed the glow of a fine meal in a pretty outdoor venue. Our service–provided, incidentally, by a G. Michael’s veteran–was top notch, too.

We’ll always be dedicated fans of G. Michael’s, but I’m glad to see that its space has been repurposed and is being used for a new restaurant that offers interesting choices and adds a bit more luster to the Columbus restaurant scene.

The Random Restaurant Tour—LXIII

There’s been a lot of buzz about Hank’s, the new restaurant opening at the corner of Gay and High Streets in downtown Columbus. Last night we checked out Hank’s on its official opening night, and I can comfortably say that the buzz is warranted.

Hank’s is a seafood and low country cuisine venue that comes to Columbus from Charleston, South Carolina, where it is one of the finest culinary establishments in that food-loving town. Its arrival is welcome, because our downtown area is noticeably lacking in seafood options. Steakhouses we’ve got, but seafood? Not so much. Hank’s aims to change that.

The restaurant has a casual elegant vibe, with a wraparound bar and oyster bar, leather seats, and white-jacketed waiters. And the food fits in well with the casual elegant atmosphere. At the recommendation of the friendly bartender, we got the scallops crudo appetizer, pictured above. It featured thinly sliced, succulent scallops that you spooned onto crisps. It was, in a word, delicious. Kish got the she crab soup, which also was terrific. It came in a huge bowl, too—big enough for two, which made me happy since I wrestled it away from her so I could enjoy a few spoonfuls of rich she crab goodness.

The bartender also recommended the ahi tuna entree, shown below—and she therefore went 2 for 2. it featured slices of rare, blackened sushi grade tuna served over cheesy grits, with two fried oysters as a complement. After I scraped off the diced vegetables on top (sorry, Hank’s!) I enjoyed the combination of low country flavors and textures in every bite. I second the barkeep in highly recommending this dish.

My doctor is always encouraging me to eat more fish. Thanks to Hank’s, that challenge just got a lot easier. I’m looking forward to the day, coming soon, when Hank’s opens for lunch.

The Second Cocktail Golden Age

When we have gone out to eat recently, I’ve been struck by the changes in the menus–and specifically, the increased attention to the cocktail section. At many of the nicer restaurants in town, the menus are giving more and more space to the description of new drink concoctions to tantalize patrons, as well as offering the tried-and-true options. One of our favorite restaurants, Speck, accentuates the enhanced cocktail focus by handing our postcards with stylized depictions of cocktails like the one above.

(A Garibaldi, in case you’re interested, is made with Campari and orange juice, and looks like it would be a very refreshing warm weather drink.)

Why has this apparent increased focus on offering, and consuming, cocktails happened? I wouldn’t draw too many sweeping conclusions from it. I think drinking habits tend to be cyclical. Cocktails had their heyday in the Roaring Twenties, when many of the classic combinations were created, and have periodically waxed and waned in popularity in alternation with wine, beer, and “neat” drinks in the decades since. Now that we’re back in the ’20s again, cocktails are taking their turn.

This cocktail era–which you might call the second golden age of cocktails–is different from past cocktail-consuming eras due to the willingness of inventive bartenders to experiment with different ingredients, obscure liquors, and elaborate combinations. We recently went to a place where the menu featured one drink made with brown mustard. That’s not something you’d have seen the Rat Pack guzzling. The menus carefully describe all of the ingredients, too–which increases the urge to try something new, just to see how it tastes.

I think the increased focus on developing new cocktails is pretty cool, and the sight of diners sipping from the distinctive glasses they are inevitably served in gives a very cosmopolitan flair to dining out. This must be a fun time to be a bartender, because it certainly is a fun time to be an adventurous drinker.

An Overrated Flavor

The other day we celebrated a birthday at the office. The birthday boy had indicated to his friends that he really was a huge fan of cherry pie–so that ended up being the birthday treat, rather than cake. I happily joined in the singing of “Happy Birthday,” but I passed on the pie. I typically like fruit pies, especially apple and blueberry, I’ve never cared for cherry pie, or for that matter cherry anything. I think cherry is the most overrated, and therefore overused, flavor agent in Flavortown.

Pretty much everything comes in cherry flavor. In addition to cherry pie, you’ve got cherry-themed ice cream, chocolate-covered cherries, cherry suckers, cherry popsicles, cherries jubilee, cherry soft drinks, cherry licorice, cherry jawbreakers–the list goes on and on. In fact, cherry flavor is so ubiquitous that they even use it to make cough syrup and other patent medications more palatable. Instead of a spoonful of sugar, it’s cherry flavor that helps the medicine go down.

That overabundance of cherry items hasn’t done the cherry flavor any favors. And have you noticed that the cherry flavor in products is never subtle? Instead, it’s as if they different products are trying to out-cherry each other. The cherry flavoring in often so overpowering it has become cloying and mouth-puckering–almost as bad as grape flavor. Product manufacturers, dessert creators, and confectioners would do us all a favor by dialing back on cherry concoctions, but also on the amount of cherry flavor being infused in the product.

I think the cherry should aspire to be more like the humble apple. The apple has avoided the overexposure that has made cherry flavor so commonplace and over the top. You’ll find apple in a pie or applesauce, and maybe some sour apple gum, and of course a nice, crisp apple a day helps to keep the doctor away, but you’re not going to order an apple Coke or find apple-flavored cough drops at the drug store. Apple has stayed in its lane, and has profited from that exercise of good judgment.

Coffee Juggling

We’re in Austin for a short visit, staying in one of the hotels in the downtown area. In these circumstances, one of my spousal duties is to get up first and go down to the service area and get two cups of hot coffee for us. This crucial responsibility inevitably requires me to employ the fine art of coffee juggling.

Coffee juggling involves a few important considerations, and a few even more important skills. The considerations involve exercising judgment on how full to fill the cup from the self-service coffee station, and what additional items, if any, you can reasonably bring along with you and the two cups of coffee. A banana, for example, can safely be carried in a pocket, but a muffin would be crushed in a pocket and therefore must be carefully balanced on a coffee cup lid. This dramatically enhances the coffee juggling challenge, so the question becomes: is a tasty muffin worth it? (The answer, incidentally, is always “yes.”)

The skills kick in after you fill your cups and make your additional food selection. The first skill is properly affixing one of those plastic lids to the brimming cup of java, and making sure it is fully engaged, so it won’t fly off on the return journey and lead to hot coffee armageddon. The next skill is figuring out how to shift the full cups of hot coffee in your hands so that you can safely stab the elevator button, and then do so again when you reach your room and have to fish the room key out of your pocket, unlock the door, and then use one hand to open the door knob while precariously balancing two cups of coffee with the other. The fact that the piping hot coffee has fully heated the paper cups and is probably burning your hand by this point just adds to the challenge.

But if your coffee juggling skills remain sharp, and you make it into the room without a drop or a spill, you can start your morning with a welcome feeling of first thing in the morning accomplishment. With the knowledge that you’ve capably performed your first important task and a hot cup of coffee for fuel, you are ready to face the day.

Billboard Bouquet

We’ve reached another dubious frontier in the ever-changing world of outdoor advertising. In the Netherlands, McDonald’s has rolled out billboards infused with “the distinct aroma of McDonald’s French Fries.”

The campaign–which goes by the somewhat ambiguous name “smells like McDonald’s”–features plain yellow or red billboards that emit the aroma of McDonald’s fries when you get within a few feet of them. They are strategically located within a few hundred feet of McDonald’s outlets, in the hopes that after you take a whiff you’ll be motivated to get an order of the real thing. Each of the billboards apparently contains a compartment where actual fries can be stored, as well as internal heating and ventilation systems that amplify the smell and direct it out to passersby.

I associate McDonald’s fries with lots of grease and salt, so I’m not exactly eager to inhale that odor. Nor would I be particularly desirous of hanging out somewhere that “smells like McDonald’s.” But on a more general level, I bemoan the fact that in addition to billboards assaulting our visual senses, now they’ll be intruding into our olfactory senses as well. And I’m not quire sure how the greasy, salty aroma of McDonald’s fries–or for that matter, Domino’s pizza, or Axe deodorant, or the current hot perfume would interact with the other smells that you often encounter in a big city. In my view, the fewer smells, the better.

The Random Restaurant Tour–LXII

Yesterday we had some errands to do that took us out of the downtown Columbus footprint. We ended up in the uncharted wilds of Grandview, where we decided to visit a Grandview staple–the DK Diner.

I’d never been there before, but I knew I liked it as soon as we pulled up. There were telltale signs of a good diner immediately apparent–people outside who seemed happy, not surly, about the prospect of waiting for a few minutes for a table, and a decidedly unpretentious air about the place. In fact, part of the seating area (and where we ultimately ended up) is in a tent added on to provide some extra seating. Those kinds of messages tell you something about a neighborhood joint–the locals like it and the food is good enough to justify a wait.

It was a little after noon, so we were still in the Weekend Decision Zone time period, where you could opt for a late breakfast rush headlong into lunch. The DK is known for its pancakes, doughnuts, and other breakfast chow, but I felt my taste buds being pulled to the lunch end of the DK menu spectrum. I settled on an elm burger, which comes with white cheddar cheese, bacon jam, a buttered brioche bun, and “elm sauce.” I’d never heard of “elm sauce” before, and when I asked, our waitress said it was some kind of spicy Asian mayonnaise. When I heard that, I knew I had to try one.

Wow! What a burger! Juicy, messy, and packed with flavor in every bite, the elm burger was fantastic–in fact, one of the best burgers I’ve had in a long while. It was so good I immediately declared that I would go back to the DK just to get another elm burger, and I mean it, too. With a nice serving of very crisp chips, which I promptly dipped in Frank’s hot sauce and the drippings from the burger, the elm burger vastly exceeded my expectations. And after eating it, I’m still not entirely sure what is in that mysterious elm sauce–but I’m pretty sure I’d eat tree bark if I could dip it in elm sauce.

One other consideration about the DK Diner: in an era where food prices and restaurant menu items seem to be increasing every day, the DK Diner menu offers a lot of bargains. Great food, low prices: DK Diner, where have you been all my life?

A Person Who Made A Difference

I like reading about people whose lives really made a difference. Recently I ran across an article about one such person: Dr. Norman Borlaug, shown above, who would have turned 110 last week. Dr. Borlaug is one of only six people in history to win the Nobel Peace Prize, the Congressional Gold Medal and the Presidential Medal of Freedom, and he is credibly said to have “saved more lives than any other person who has ever lived.”

Dr. Borlaug was an American who was a leader of the “Green Revolution.” He combined extensive agricultural know-how and political savvy to help increase food production in countries that had been struggling with starvation and famine. He focused on developing approaches to food production that could be readily employed in those countries, drawing upon his extensive knowledge of different varieties of seeds, irrigation, plant pathology, genetics and breeding, soil science, fertilizers, pesticides, and mechanization. He also developed a high-yielding, short-strawed, disease-resistant form of wheat that was key to the effort, and that helped produce enormous increases in production. He won the Nobel Peace Prize in 1970, and his Nobel Prize biography noted that his wheat strain and agronomic practices had produced revolutionary advances in Mexico, Pakistan, and India and had been adopted by other countries in Central America, Africa, and the Middle East.

Interestingly, Dr. Borlaug was not an ivory tower theorist, but a tough, practical farmer who worked in the fields and got dirt under his fingernails. He also had a gift for convincing governmental officials to try his methods. It says something about Dr. Borlaug’s continuing impact that the African Journal of Food, Agriculture, Nutrition and Development publishes pages of Norman Borlaug quotes, one of which states: “the first essential component of social justice is adequate food for all mankind.”

I’d heard about the Green Revolution but was not aware of the specifics of Dr. Borlaug’s career and accomplishments–which shows, again, how one person can made a profound difference in people’s lives. You wonder how many people like Norman Borlaug are out there in the world right now, working under the radar yet having a huge impact in their communities. I’m pretty sure there are a lot of them.

Green Plastic Grass

Happy Easter to everyone who celebrates the occasion!

Easter morning is a time of tradition in most families, including ours. When the day arrives your thoughts naturally turn to the Easters of your childhood when–only after church, naturally–it was time for the Easter basket hunt, when hyped-up kids went tearing around the house in their best Sunday clothes searching for their particular flimsy, brightly colored Easter basket, enticed by the prospect of gorging themselves on Easter candy.

Of course, the hunting wasn’t over when you found your basket. That’s because the basket inevitably was filled with fluorescent green plastic grass that served as a convenient hiding place for a little foil-wrapped chocolate egg or a random jelly bean. If you wanted to be sure that you had found every last bit of Easter candy in the basket–and you surely did–the preferred approach was to remove the main hunk and orphaned strands of fake grass, shake the grass a few times to be sure that you had removed every candy item, and put it on the floor. At our house, this left the floor of the family room coated with a layer of green plastic strands.

The green plastic strands, like the tinsel used to decorate Christmas trees, were not easy to clean up after the frantic chocolate consumption was over. The strands nestled deep in shag carpeting and hid behind chair and sofa legs. At least the strands weren’t charged with static electricity, as tinsel was, but like tinsel the fake plastic grass was not vacuum cleaner-friendly. It typically would get wound around the rolling brush at the vacuum’s intake vent, causing the vacuum to stop picking up debris and overheat and requiring you to carefully extricate each green plastic strand.

Why green plastic grass, and not real grass–or no grass at all? Who knows? The ’60s and ’70s were the height of the plastic era. If future generations ever excavate American landfills, looking for evidence of what life was like in the days gone by, they’ll no doubt find lots of that green plastic grass, and wonder what in the world it was.

Cupboard Campers

Have you ever noticed that some items in your cupboard, once purchased for some long ago, now-unknown reason, never get used? To be sure, they will be moved from time to time, as you search for other things that you know are somewhere in the cupboard, but you’ll never fully haul them out and access the contents. Instead, in the shifting of items, they will inevitably migrate to the rear of the cupboard, where they will camp out and remain forever.

Other items in the cupboard–jars of peanut butter, cans of tomato paste, boxes of pasta, canisters of seasonings, a bag of almonds–are temporary occupants of cupboard space that get consumed and depart, creating a healthy cupboard rotation. There are always a few items that become long-term constants, however, that will be with you until the end of time. And they are misleading, too. They’ll make your cupboard look like it is full, but then when you start sifting through the items you realize there’s really nothing to eat.

For us, the two primary long-term tenants are two bottles of vinegar. The only thing that, to my limited knowledge, vinegar is used for is making pickles–which I hate. The white wine vinegar has never been opened, and the apple cider vinegar looks like it was used once. Most recipes involving vinegar–like this collection–involve using only tiny amounts of it. And that raises another question: why is vinegar sold in such big bottles? It’s as if Heinz wants its vinegar to hang out in your cupboard forever. If you matched container size to actual recipe needs, vinegar would be sold in portions no larger than the tiny liquor bottles you get on airplanes when you order a drink.

All of this raises a question of why we haven’t thrown out that big honker bottle of vinegar. That’s because I’m a big proponent of “waste not, want not” and can’t bring myself to throw out something that could conceivably be useful. Because it’s remotely possible that we could make use of the vinegar at some point, it will remain in the cupboard, stolidly occupying its space in the rear corner, until that improbable day comes.