Koktejlové recepty, destiláty a miestne bary

Reštaurácia Higgins, večera, večera pre pivovarníkov

Reštaurácia Higgins, večera, večera pre pivovarníkov


Môže to trvať niekoľko mincí z vášho vrecka, ale stredná zimná pivovarská večera v reštaurácii Higgins (28.-30. januára) môže byť najlepšia v roku a prospieva veľkému projektu verejného trhu James Beard, ktorý príde v septembri. Kombinácia piatich najlepších pivovarov v Oregone s jedným z najväčších veteránov nášho štátu, Gregom Higginsom, je stávka na istotu.
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Ako Pilsner nahradil Pinot na jedálenskom stole

Začiatkom tohto roka mala reštaurácia Higgins 25 rokov. Majiteľ Greg Higgins je uznávaný predovšetkým vďaka tomu, že v Oregone uviedol pohyb z farmy na stôl a z Portlandu, kedysi kulinárskeho zapadákova, sa stal cieľ A-zoznamu. Higgins však získava menší kredit za svoju ďalšiu transformáciu: zavedenie dôveryhodnosti piva ako gastronomického ekvivalentu vína na najlepších stoloch mesta.

Greg Higgins vyrastal v západnom New Yorku a študoval výtvarné umenie na vysokej škole, ako mnoho mladých dospelých, pričom si nebol istý, ako sa bude jeho život vyvíjať. Počas vysokej školy však začal s varením a ukázalo sa, že to bol formatívny zážitok, ktorý ho priviedol k cestovaniu po Európe a USA, kde živil svoju zvedavosť ohľadom jedla. Nakoniec skončil v Portlande a zamestnal sa ako prvý sous chef na Heathman -the zdroj vysokej kuchyne v 80. rokoch minulého storočia - a keď kuchár takmer okamžite odišiel, ocitol sa vo vrcholovom zamestnaní.

Higginsov kuchársky príbeh je známy. Získal cenu Jamesa Bearda a jeho reštaurácie, najmä tá, ktorá ho pomenovala, získali nespočetné množstvo ocenení a vyznamenaní. Menej viditeľný je však spôsob, akým zvýšil postavenie piva v meste a pripravil cestu pre Oregončanov - a jeho kolegov kuchárov -, aby ho brali vážne ako doplnok k najlepšiemu jedlu. Táto história si zaslúži väčšiu pozornosť, rovnako ako Gregova úloha pri poskytnutí obrovského náskoku Portlandu pri adopcii piva vyrobeného na miestnej úrovni.

Higgins je muž mnohých záujmov a jednou z jeho prvých vášní bolo pivo. V čase, keď bol kuchárom u vresoviska, už varil doma - zhruba v tom istom čase, keď Ponzis a Widmers otvárali miestne pivovary. "Pivo ma vtedy fascinovalo," povedal a trávil čas snahou vypátrať čokoľvek dovezené s charakterom. O pive dychtivo čítal a namáčal si sugestívnu prózu Michaela Jacksona. Neskôr obaja cestovali spolu, čo určite spôsobilo Higginsov záujem o pivo. "Mal som veľa zábavy, keď som sa s ním plazil po krčmách," povedal mi (a myslím, že aj urobil!). Ale Jackson bol tiež veľkým propagátorom kuchyňa à la bière- a vystavenie spôsobu, akým Európania zaobchádzali s pivom, najmä v Belgicku, malo trvalý vplyv.

Higginsov prvý vpád do stolovania zameraného na pivo prišiel, keď Heathman otvoril neformálnejšie bistro zamerané na chlieb s názvom B. Moloch (v priestore, ktorý teraz zaberá Southpark). Spolupracoval s Widmersovými, ktorí v priestore prevádzkovali desať sudový pivovar. V roku 1989 začal hovoriť o inšpirácii v LA Časy prišiel na návštevu.

„Od mezopotámskych čias ľudia piekli chlieb a vyrábali pivo na rovnakom mieste,“ povedal Greg Higgins, šéfkuchár a vedúci pekárne a krčmy B. Moloch Heathman v centre Portlandu. „Možno to bolo tým, že na pivo aj na chlieb potrebujete droždie a kvások má rád určité atmosféry.“

„V mnohých našich receptoch používame pivo,“ povedal Higgins, keď orezával prebytočné pečivo z niekoľkých desiatok kalzónov a zasúval ich do tehlovej pece. "Vyrábame mierne kyslý pivný chlieb a pivo používame na rarebity a niektoré z našich omáčok."

V Portlande to bolo vtedy, keď Widmerov Hefeweizen išiel na supernovu a niekoľko rokov pôsobenie slnečného bistra, vysokých pohárov Hefe a všetkých najšikovnejších ľudí v meste vytvorilo úplne nový dojem z toho, aké by pivo mohlo byť. V 80. rokoch minulého storočia Portlanderi (a Američania všeobecnejšie) stále spájali „pivo“ so všetkým s modrým golierom. Bol to tip poľovníkov a drevorubačov, čo pili muži (áno, zvyčajne muži), keď sa zastavili v susednej krčme. Bol to symbol lacného, ​​prístupného a štandardného obyčajného. Ako vám vtedajší pivovarníci povedia, pevná povesť piva a kultúrny status boli jednou z najväčších prekážok, s ktorými sa stretávali pri získavaní obrátených, ktorí nechápali, prečo budú musieť zaplatiť o štvrtinu viac pohár.

Greg v bare Higgins, čo je najlepšie miesto v meste, kde nájdete dovoz svetovej triedy. Keď som tam stretol Grega, pili sme Saison Dupont.

Existuje sociálny jav, ale neviem, či ho niekto pomenoval. Funguje to takto. Vezmite si akúkoľvek kategóriu potravín alebo nápojov - cider, mexické jedlo, syr - ktoré majú nízky status. Keď prichádzajú noví remeselní výrobcovia, aby ľuďom predstavili vyššie formy, stoja pred výzvou. Celá ich kategória je obmedzená existujúcimi očakávaniami, kým jednu značku alebo podnik nemožno považovať za vysokú kultúru. To umožňuje zmeniť očakávania, takže potenciálni zákazníci teraz prichádzajú s myšlienkou, že výrobok môže byť vzácny a vznešený.

Pivovary vyrábali dobré pivo do roku 1989 a v okolí Oregonu ich bolo niekoľko. Ale stále trpeli priamou vestou, do ktorej ich zaradila verejná mienka. Pivá, ktoré uvarili, mohli byť chutné a dokonca elegantné a mohli prilákať celú škálu pijanov, ktorí by milovali ich zaujímavé nové chute, ale stále boli považovaní za nízkych, a tak sa s nimi táto skupina nikdy nestretla - kým Greg Higgins nedal pivo kontextu, ktorému rozumeli.

B. Moloch začal tento pohľad meniť a keď Greg v roku 1994 otvoril vlastnú rovnomennú reštauráciu, veci sa skutočne zmenili. Higgins sa rýchlo stal najzaujímavejšou reštauráciou mesta, a keď prišli hostia na losos a špargľu z miestnych zdrojov, nenašli len vínny zoznam, ale aj pivný lístok. Skutočne, Higgins mal zamestnancov Warrena Steensona, pivného someliéra, aby identifikoval, získaval a dovážal najlepšie pivá z celého sveta. V deväťdesiatych rokoch minulého storočia boli Portlanderi predstavení v Orvale, Rodenbachu a Cantillone a tieto pivá otočili mnohé hlavy.

Higgins zároveň spolupracoval s miestnymi pivovarmi na vývoji špeciálnych pív, ktoré by slúžili menu Higgins. Prvá a najtrvalejšia - stále prebieha - bola s Alanovými šprintmi Hair of the Dog. Obe spoločnosti boli toho roku založené a spoločnosť Sprints má kulinársky titul a rovnakú vášeň pre alchýmiu, ak sa spojí jedlo a pivo. Videli jedlo z očí do očí a Higgins bol potešený, že našiel miestneho výrobcu, ktorý je ochotný vyrábať odvážne a komplexné pivá, aké robili Belgičania. "To, čo Alan urobil vo Hair of the Dog, bolo zásadné," povedal.

Pivo by sa pri večernom stole mohlo rovnať vínu stále v niektorých častiach krajiny kontroverzné. Táto myšlienka nie je pravdivá pätnásť alebo viac rokov v Portlande, kde by ste sa snažili nájsť dobrú reštauráciu, ktorá by pivo nebrala vážne (dokonca aj miesta ako Noble Rot, ktoré sa zameriavajú na víno, majú skvelé pivo). Higgins miluje víno, ale verí, že pivo je k jedlu univerzálnejšie. Pre neho bolo zrejmé, že pivo by malo byť súčasťou vína aj s vínom.

"Pokúsil som sa zviditeľniť pivo pre ľudí," povedal mi. Práve to urobil a tak efektívne a komplexne sa obávam, že si nevšimneme jeho prínos. Existuje mnoho rodičov úspechu a mohli by sme vymenovať desiatky ľudí, ktorí pomohli vytvoriť Portland Beervana. Ale ten, kto je príliš často prehliadaný, je Greg Higgins. Pozrime sa na pollitrovo Gregovi a opravme záznam.


Ako Pilsner nahradil Pinot na jedálenskom stole

Začiatkom tohto roka mala reštaurácia Higgins 25 rokov. Majiteľ Greg Higgins je uznávaný predovšetkým vďaka tomu, že v Oregone uviedol pohyb z farmy na stôl a z Portlandu, kedysi kulinárskeho zapadákova, sa stal cieľ A-zoznamu. Higgins však získava menší kredit za svoju ďalšiu transformáciu: zavedenie dôveryhodnosti piva ako gastronomického ekvivalentu vína na najlepších stoloch mesta.

Greg Higgins vyrastal v západnom New Yorku a študoval výtvarné umenie na vysokej škole, ako mnoho mladých dospelých, pričom si nebol istý, ako sa bude jeho život vyvíjať. Počas vysokej školy však začal s varením a ukázalo sa, že to bol formatívny zážitok, ktorý ho priviedol k cestovaniu po Európe a USA, kde živil svoju zvedavosť na jedlo. Nakoniec skončil v Portlande a zamestnal sa ako prvý sous chef na Heathman -the zdroj vysokej kuchyne v 80. rokoch minulého storočia - a keď kuchár takmer okamžite odišiel, ocitol sa vo vrcholovom zamestnaní.

Higginsov kuchársky príbeh je známy. Získal cenu Jamesa Bearda a jeho reštaurácie, najmä tá, ktorá ho pomenovala, získali nespočetné množstvo ocenení a vyznamenaní. Menej viditeľný je však spôsob, akým zvýšil postavenie piva v meste a pripravil cestu pre Oregončanov - a jeho kolegov kuchárov -, aby ho brali vážne ako doplnok k najlepšiemu jedlu. Táto história si zaslúži väčšiu pozornosť, rovnako ako Gregova úloha pri poskytnutí obrovského náskoku Portlandu pri adopcii piva vyrobeného na miestnej úrovni.

Higgins je muž mnohých záujmov a jednou z jeho prvých vášní bolo pivo. V čase, keď bol kuchárom u vresoviska, už varil doma - zhruba v tom istom čase, keď Ponzis a Widmers otvárali miestne pivovary. "Pivo ma vtedy fascinovalo," povedal a trávil čas snahou vypátrať čokoľvek dovezené s charakterom. O pive dychtivo čítal a namáčal si sugestívnu prózu Michaela Jacksona. Neskôr obaja cestovali spolu, čo určite spôsobilo Higginsov záujem o pivo. "Zažil som veľa zábavy, keď som sa s ním plazil po krčmách," povedal mi (a možno aj ja mám!). Ale Jackson bol tiež veľkým propagátorom kuchyňa à la bière- a vystavenie spôsobu, akým Európania zaobchádzali s pivom, najmä v Belgicku, malo trvalý vplyv.

Higginsov prvý vpád do stolovania zameraného na pivo prišiel, keď Heathman otvoril neformálnejšie bistro zamerané na chlieb s názvom B. Moloch (v priestore, ktorý teraz zaberá Southpark). Spolupracoval s Widmersovými, ktorí v priestore prevádzkovali desať sudový pivovar. V roku 1989 začal hovoriť o inšpirácii v LA Časy prišiel na návštevu.

„Od mezopotámskych čias ľudia piekli chlieb a vyrábali pivo na rovnakom mieste,“ povedal Greg Higgins, šéfkuchár a vedúci pekárne a krčmy B. Moloch Heathman v centre Portlandu. „Možno to bolo tým, že na pivo aj na chlieb potrebujete droždie a kvások má rád určité atmosféry.“

„V mnohých našich receptoch používame pivo,“ povedal Higgins, keď orezával prebytočné pečivo z niekoľkých desiatok kalzónov a zasúval ich do tehlovej pece. "Vyrábame mierne kyslý pivný chlieb a pivo používame na rarebity a niektoré z našich omáčok."

V Portlande to bolo vtedy, keď Widmerov Hefeweizen išiel na supernovu a niekoľko rokov pôsobenie slnečného bistra, vysokých pohárov Hefe a všetkých najšikovnejších ľudí v meste vytvorilo úplne nový dojem z toho, aké by pivo mohlo byť. V osemdesiatych rokoch minulého storočia portlandčania (a Američania všeobecnejšie) stále spájali „pivo“ so všetkým s modrým golierom. Bol to tip poľovníkov a drevorubačov, čo pili muži (áno, zvyčajne muži), keď sa zastavili v susednej krčme. Bol to symbol lacného, ​​prístupného a štandardného obyčajného. Ako vám vtedajší pivovarníci povedia, pevná povesť piva a kultúrny status boli jednou z najväčších prekážok, s ktorými sa stretávali pri získavaní obrátených, ktorí nechápali, prečo budú musieť zaplatiť o štvrtinu viac pohár.

Greg v bare Higgins, čo je najlepšie miesto v meste, kde nájdete dovoz svetovej triedy. Keď som tam stretol Grega, pili sme Saison Dupont.

Existuje sociálny jav, ale neviem, či ho niekto pomenoval. Funguje to takto. Vezmite si akúkoľvek kategóriu potravín alebo nápojov - cider, mexické jedlo, syr - ktoré majú nízky status. Keď prichádzajú noví remeselní výrobcovia, aby ľuďom predstavili vyššie formy, stoja pred výzvou. Celá ich kategória je ochromená existujúcimi očakávaniami, kým jednu značku alebo podnik nemožno považovať za vysokú kultúru. To umožňuje zmeniť očakávania, takže potenciálni zákazníci teraz prichádzajú s myšlienkou, že výrobok môže byť vzácny a vznešený.

Pivovary vyrábali dobré pivo do roku 1989 a v okolí Oregonu ich bolo niekoľko. Ale stále trpeli priamou vestou, do ktorej ich zaradila verejná mienka. Pivá, ktoré uvarili, mohli byť chutné a dokonca elegantné a mohli prilákať celú škálu pijanov, ktorí by milovali ich zaujímavé nové chute, ale stále boli považovaní za nízkych, a tak sa s nimi táto skupina nikdy nestretla - kým Greg Higgins nedal pivo kontextu, ktorému rozumeli.

B. Moloch začal tento pohľad meniť a keď Greg v roku 1994 otvoril vlastnú rovnomennú reštauráciu, veci sa skutočne zmenili. Higgins sa rýchlo stal najzaujímavejšou reštauráciou mesta, a keď prišli hostia na losos a špargľu z miestnych zdrojov, nenašli len vínny zoznam, ale aj pivný lístok. Skutočne, Higgins mal zamestnancov Warrena Steensona, pivného someliéra, aby identifikoval, získaval a dovážal najlepšie pivá z celého sveta. V 90 -tych rokoch minulého storočia boli Portlanderi predstavení v Orvale, Rodenbachu a Cantillone a tieto pivá otočili mnohé hlavy.

Higgins zároveň spolupracoval s miestnymi pivovarmi na vývoji špeciálnych pív, ktoré by slúžili menu Higgins. Prvá a najtrvalejšia - stále prebieha - bola s Alan Sprintsom Hair of the Dog. Obe spoločnosti boli toho roku založené a spoločnosť Sprints má kulinársky titul a rovnakú vášeň pre alchýmiu, ak sa spojí jedlo a pivo. Pozreli si jedlo z očí do očí a Higgins bol potešený, že našiel miestneho výrobcu, ktorý je ochotný vyrábať odvážne a komplexné pivá, aké robili Belgičania. "To, čo Alan urobil vo Hair of the Dog, bolo zásadné," povedal.

Pivo by sa pri večernom stole mohlo rovnať vínu stále v niektorých častiach krajiny kontroverzné. Táto myšlienka nie je pravdivá pätnásť alebo viac rokov v Portlande, kde by ste sa snažili nájsť dobrú reštauráciu, ktorá by pivo nebrala vážne (dokonca aj miesta ako Noble Rot, ktoré sa zameriavajú na víno, majú skvelé pivo). Higgins miluje víno, ale verí, že pivo je k jedlu univerzálnejšie. Pre neho bolo zrejmé, že pivo by malo byť súčasťou vína aj s vínom.

"Pokúsil som sa zviditeľniť pivo pre ľudí," povedal mi. Práve to urobil a tak efektívne a komplexne sa obávam, že si nevšimneme jeho prínos. Existuje mnoho rodičov úspechu a mohli by sme vymenovať desiatky ľudí, ktorí pomohli vytvoriť Portland Beervana. Ale ten, kto je príliš často prehliadaný, je Greg Higgins. Pozrime sa na pollitrovo Gregovi a opravme záznam.


Ako Pilsner nahradil Pinot na jedálenskom stole

Začiatkom tohto roka mala reštaurácia Higgins 25 rokov. Majiteľ Greg Higgins je uznávaný predovšetkým vďaka tomu, že v Oregone uviedol pohyb z farmy na stôl a z Portlandu, kedysi kulinárskeho zapadákova, sa stal cieľ A-zoznamu. Higgins však získava menší kredit za svoju ďalšiu transformáciu: zavedenie dôveryhodnosti piva ako gastronomického ekvivalentu vína na najlepších stoloch mesta.

Greg Higgins vyrastal v západnom New Yorku a študoval výtvarné umenie na vysokej škole, ako mnoho mladých dospelých, pričom si nebol istý, ako sa bude jeho život vyvíjať. Počas vysokej školy však začal s varením a ukázalo sa, že to bol formatívny zážitok, ktorý ho priviedol k cestovaniu po Európe a USA, kde živil svoju zvedavosť na jedlo. Nakoniec skončil v Portlande a zamestnal sa ako prvý sous chef na Heathman -the zdroj vysokej kuchyne v 80. rokoch minulého storočia - a keď kuchár takmer okamžite odišiel, ocitol sa vo vrcholovom zamestnaní.

Higginsov kuchársky príbeh je známy. Získal cenu Jamesa Bearda a jeho reštaurácie, najmä tá, ktorá ho pomenovala, získali nespočetné množstvo ocenení a vyznamenaní. Menej viditeľný je však spôsob, akým zvýšil postavenie piva v meste a pripravil cestu pre Oregončanov - a jeho kolegov kuchárov -, aby ho brali vážne ako doplnok k najlepšiemu jedlu. Táto história si zaslúži väčšiu pozornosť, rovnako ako Gregova úloha pri poskytnutí obrovského náskoku Portlandu pri adopcii piva vyrobeného na miestnej úrovni.

Higgins je muž mnohých záujmov a jednou z jeho prvých vášní bolo pivo. V čase, keď bol kuchárom u vresoviska, už varil doma - zhruba v tom istom čase, keď Ponzis a Widmers otvárali miestne pivovary. "Pivo ma vtedy fascinovalo," povedal a trávil čas snahou vypátrať čokoľvek dovezené s charakterom. O pive dychtivo čítal a namáčal si sugestívnu prózu Michaela Jacksona. Neskôr obaja cestovali spolu, čo určite spôsobilo Higginsov záujem o pivo. "Zažil som veľa zábavy, keď som sa s ním plazil po krčmách," povedal mi (a možno aj ja mám!). Ale Jackson bol tiež veľkým propagátorom kuchyňa à la bière- a vystavenie spôsobu, akým Európania zaobchádzali s pivom, najmä v Belgicku, malo trvalý vplyv.

Higginsov prvý vpád do stolovania zameraného na pivo prišiel, keď Heathman otvoril neformálnejšie bistro zamerané na chlieb s názvom B. Moloch (v priestore, ktorý teraz zaberá Southpark). Spolupracoval s Widmersovými, ktorí v priestore prevádzkovali desať sudový pivovar. V roku 1989 začal hovoriť o inšpirácii v LA Časy prišiel na návštevu.

„Od mezopotámskych čias ľudia piekli chlieb a vyrábali pivo na rovnakom mieste,“ povedal Greg Higgins, šéfkuchár a vedúci pekárne a krčmy B. Moloch Heathman v centre Portlandu. „Možno to bolo tým, že na pivo aj na chlieb potrebujete droždie a kvások má rád určité atmosféry.“

„V mnohých našich receptoch používame pivo,“ povedal Higgins, keď orezával prebytočné pečivo z niekoľkých desiatok kalzónov a zasúval ich do tehlovej pece. "Vyrábame mierne kyslý pivný chlieb a pivo používame na rarebity a niektoré z našich omáčok."

V Portlande to bolo vtedy, keď Widmerov Hefeweizen išiel na supernovu a niekoľko rokov pôsobenie slnečného bistra, vysokých pohárov Hefe a všetkých najšikovnejších ľudí v meste vytvorilo úplne nový dojem z toho, aké by pivo mohlo byť. V osemdesiatych rokoch minulého storočia portlandčania (a Američania všeobecnejšie) stále spájali „pivo“ so všetkým s modrým golierom. Bol to tip poľovníkov a drevorubačov, čo pili muži (áno, zvyčajne muži), keď sa zastavili v susednej krčme. Bol to symbol lacného, ​​prístupného a štandardného obyčajného. Ako vám vtedajší pivovarníci povedia, pevná povesť piva a kultúrny status boli jednou z najväčších prekážok, s ktorými sa stretávali pri získavaní obrátených, ktorí nechápali, prečo budú musieť zaplatiť o štvrtinu viac pohár.

Greg v bare Higgins, čo je najlepšie miesto v meste, kde nájdete dovoz svetovej triedy. Keď som tam stretol Grega, pili sme Saison Dupont.

Existuje sociálny jav, ale neviem, či ho niekto pomenoval. Funguje to takto. Vezmite si akúkoľvek kategóriu potravín alebo nápojov - cider, mexické jedlo, syr - ktoré majú nízky status. Keď prichádzajú noví remeselní výrobcovia, aby ľuďom predstavili vyššie formy, stoja pred výzvou. Celá ich kategória je ochromená existujúcimi očakávaniami, kým jednu značku alebo podnik nemožno považovať za vysokú kultúru. To umožňuje zmeniť očakávania, takže potenciálni zákazníci teraz prichádzajú s myšlienkou, že výrobok môže byť vzácny a vznešený.

Pivovary vyrábali dobré pivo do roku 1989 a v okolí Oregonu ich bolo niekoľko. Ale stále trpeli priamou vestou, do ktorej ich zaradila verejná mienka. Pivá, ktoré uvarili, mohli byť chutné a dokonca elegantné a mohli prilákať celú škálu pijanov, ktorí by milovali ich zaujímavé nové chute, ale stále boli považovaní za nízkych, a tak sa s nimi táto skupina nikdy nestretla - kým Greg Higgins nedal pivo kontextu, ktorému rozumeli.

B. Moloch začal tento pohľad meniť a keď Greg v roku 1994 otvoril vlastnú rovnomennú reštauráciu, veci sa skutočne zmenili. Higgins sa rýchlo stal najzaujímavejšou reštauráciou mesta, a keď hostia prišli na miestny losos a špargľu, našli nielen vínny lístok, ale aj pivný lístok. Skutočne, Higgins mal zamestnancov Warrena Steensona, pivného someliéra, aby identifikoval, získaval a dovážal najlepšie pivá z celého sveta. V deväťdesiatych rokoch minulého storočia boli Portlanderi predstavení v Orvale, Rodenbachu a Cantillone a tieto pivá otočili mnohé hlavy.

Higgins zároveň spolupracoval s miestnymi pivovarmi na vývoji špeciálnych pív, ktoré by slúžili menu Higgins. Prvá a najtrvalejšia - stále prebieha - bola s Alan Sprintsom Hair of the Dog. Obe spoločnosti boli toho roku založené a spoločnosť Sprints má kulinársky titul a rovnakú vášeň pre alchýmiu, ak sa spojí jedlo a pivo. Videli jedlo z očí do očí a Higgins bol potešený, že našiel miestneho výrobcu, ktorý je ochotný vyrábať odvážne a komplexné pivá, aké robili Belgičania. "To, čo Alan urobil vo Hair of the Dog, bolo zásadné," povedal.

Pivo by sa pri večernom stole mohlo rovnať vínu stále v niektorých častiach krajiny kontroverzné. Táto myšlienka nie je pravdivá pätnásť alebo viac rokov v Portlande, kde by ste sa snažili nájsť dobrú reštauráciu, ktorá by pivo nebrala vážne (dokonca aj miesta ako Noble Rot, ktoré sa zameriavajú na víno, majú skvelé pivo). Higgins miluje víno, ale verí, že pivo je k jedlu univerzálnejšie. Pre neho bolo zrejmé, že pivo by malo byť súčasťou vína aj s vínom.

"Pokúsil som sa zviditeľniť pivo pre ľudí," povedal mi. Práve to urobil a tak efektívne a komplexne sa obávam, že si nevšimneme jeho prínos. Existuje mnoho rodičov úspechu a mohli by sme vymenovať desiatky ľudí, ktorí pomohli vytvoriť Portland Beervana. Ale ten, kto je príliš často prehliadaný, je Greg Higgins. Pozrime sa na pollitrovo Gregovi a opravme záznam.


Ako Pilsner nahradil Pinot na jedálenskom stole

Začiatkom tohto roka mala reštaurácia Higgins 25 rokov. Majiteľ Greg Higgins je uznávaný predovšetkým vďaka tomu, že v Oregone uviedol pohyb z farmy na stôl a z Portlandu, kedysi kulinárskeho zapadákova, sa stal cieľ A-zoznamu. Higgins však získava menší kredit za svoju ďalšiu transformáciu: zavedenie dôveryhodnosti piva ako gastronomického ekvivalentu vína na najlepších stoloch mesta.

Greg Higgins vyrastal v západnom New Yorku a študoval výtvarné umenie na vysokej škole, ako mnoho mladých dospelých, pričom si nebol istý, ako sa bude jeho život vyvíjať. Počas vysokej školy však začal s varením a ukázalo sa, že to bol formatívny zážitok, ktorý ho priviedol k cestovaniu po Európe a USA, kde živil svoju zvedavosť na jedlo. Nakoniec skončil v Portlande a zamestnal sa ako prvý sous chef na Heathman -the zdroj vysokej kuchyne v 80. rokoch minulého storočia - a keď kuchár takmer okamžite odišiel, ocitol sa vo vrcholovom zamestnaní.

Higginsov kuchársky príbeh je známy. Získal cenu Jamesa Bearda a jeho reštaurácie, najmä tá, ktorá ho pomenovala, získali nespočetné množstvo ocenení a vyznamenaní. Menej viditeľný je však spôsob, akým zvýšil postavenie piva v meste a pripravil cestu pre Oregončanov - a jeho kolegov kuchárov -, aby ho brali vážne ako doplnok k najlepšiemu jedlu. Táto história si zaslúži väčšiu pozornosť, rovnako ako Gregova úloha v tom, že má Portland taký obrovský náskok pri prijímaní piva vyrobeného na miestnej úrovni.

Higgins je muž mnohých záujmov a jednou z jeho prvých vášní bolo pivo. V čase, keď bol šéfkuchárom na vresovisku, už varil doma - zhruba v tom istom čase, keď Ponzis a Widmers otvárali miestne pivovary. "Pivo ma vtedy fascinovalo," povedal a trávil čas snahou vypátrať čokoľvek dovezené s charakterom. O pive dychtivo čítal a namáčal si sugestívnu prózu Michaela Jacksona. Neskôr obaja cestovali spolu, čo určite spôsobilo Higginsov záujem o pivo. "Zažil som veľa zábavy, keď som sa s ním plazil po krčmách," povedal mi (a možno aj ja mám!). Ale Jackson bol tiež veľkým propagátorom kuchyňa à la bière- a vystavenie spôsobu, akým Európania zaobchádzali s pivom, najmä v Belgicku, malo trvalý vplyv.

Higginsov prvý vpád do stolovania zameraného na pivo prišiel, keď Heathman otvoril neformálnejšie bistro zamerané na chlieb s názvom B. Moloch (v priestore, ktorý teraz zaberá Southpark). Spolupracoval s Widmersovými, ktorí v priestore prevádzkovali desať sudový pivovar. V roku 1989 začal hovoriť o inšpirácii v LA Časy prišiel na návštevu.

„Od mezopotámskych čias ľudia piekli chlieb a vyrábali pivo na rovnakom mieste,“ povedal Greg Higgins, šéfkuchár a vedúci pekárne a krčmy B. Moloch Heathman v centre Portlandu. „Možno to bolo tým, že droždie potrebuješ na pivo aj na chlieb a kvas má rád istú atmosféru.“

„V mnohých našich receptoch používame pivo,“ povedal Higgins, keď orezával prebytočné pečivo z niekoľkých desiatok kalzónov a zasúval ich do tehlovej pece. "Vyrábame mierne kyslý pivný chlieb a pivo používame na rarebity a niektoré z našich omáčok."

V Portlande to bolo vtedy, keď Widmerov Hefeweizen išiel na supernovu a niekoľko rokov pôsobenie slnečného bistra, vysokých pohárov Hefe a všetkých najšikovnejších ľudí v meste vytvorilo úplne nový dojem z toho, aké by pivo mohlo byť. V 80. rokoch minulého storočia Portlanderi (a Američania všeobecnejšie) stále spájali „pivo“ so všetkým s modrým golierom. Bol to tip poľovníkov a drevorubačov, čo pili muži (áno, zvyčajne muži), keď sa zastavili v susednej krčme. Bol to symbol lacného, ​​prístupného a bežného štandardu. Ako vám vtedajší pivovarníci povedia, pevná povesť piva a kultúrny status boli jednou z najväčších prekážok, s ktorými sa stretávali pri získavaní obrátených, ktorí nechápali, prečo budú musieť zaplatiť o štvrtinu viac pohár.

Greg v bare Higgins, čo je najlepšie miesto v meste, kde nájdete dovoz svetovej triedy. Keď som tam stretol Grega, pili sme Saison Dupont.

Existuje sociálny jav, ale neviem, či ho niekto pomenoval. Funguje to takto. Vezmite si akúkoľvek kategóriu potravín alebo nápojov - cider, mexické jedlo, syr - ktoré majú nízky status. Keď prichádzajú noví remeselní výrobcovia, aby ľuďom predstavili vyššie formy, stoja pred výzvou. Celá ich kategória je obmedzená existujúcimi očakávaniami, kým jednu značku alebo podnik nemožno považovať za vysokú kultúru. To umožňuje zmeniť očakávania, takže potenciálni zákazníci teraz prichádzajú s myšlienkou, že výrobok môže byť vzácny a vznešený.

Pivovary vyrábali dobré pivo do roku 1989 a v okolí Oregonu ich bolo niekoľko. Ale stále trpeli priamou vestou, do ktorej ich zaradila verejná mienka. Pivá, ktoré uvarili, mohli byť chutné a dokonca elegantné a mohli prilákať celú škálu pijanov, ktorí by milovali ich zaujímavé nové chute, ale stále boli považovaní za nízkych, a tak sa s nimi táto skupina nikdy nestretla - kým Greg Higgins nedal pivo kontextu, ktorému rozumeli.

B. Moloch začal tento pohľad meniť a keď Greg v roku 1994 otvoril vlastnú rovnomennú reštauráciu, veci sa skutočne zmenili. Higgins sa rýchlo stal najzaujímavejšou reštauráciou mesta, a keď prišli hostia na losos a špargľu z miestnych zdrojov, nenašli len vínny zoznam, ale aj pivný lístok. Skutočne, Higgins mal zamestnancov Warrena Steensona, pivného someliéra, aby identifikoval, získaval a dovážal najlepšie pivá z celého sveta. V deväťdesiatych rokoch minulého storočia boli Portlanderi predstavení v Orvale, Rodenbachu a Cantillone a tieto pivá otočili mnohé hlavy.

Higgins zároveň spolupracoval s miestnymi pivovarmi na vývoji špeciálnych pív, ktoré by slúžili menu Higgins. Prvá a najtrvalejšia - stále prebieha - bola s Alan Sprintsom Hair of the Dog. Obe spoločnosti boli založené toho roku a Sprints majú kulinársky titul a rovnakú vášeň pre alchýmiu, ak sa spojí jedlo a pivo. Pozreli si jedlo z očí do očí a Higgins bol potešený, že našiel miestneho výrobcu, ktorý je ochotný vyrábať odvážne a komplexné pivá, aké robili Belgičania. "To, čo Alan urobil vo Hair of the Dog, bolo zásadné," povedal.

Pivo by sa pri večernom stole mohlo rovnať vínu stále v niektorých častiach krajiny kontroverzné. Táto myšlienka nie je pravdivá pätnásť alebo viac rokov v Portlande, kde by ste sa snažili nájsť dobrú reštauráciu, ktorá by pivo nebrala vážne (dokonca aj miesta ako Noble Rot, ktoré sa zameriavajú na víno, majú skvelé pivo). Higgins miluje víno, ale verí, že pivo je k jedlu univerzálnejšie. Pre neho bolo zrejmé, že pivo by malo byť súčasťou vína aj s vínom.

"Pokúsil som sa zviditeľniť pivo pre ľudí," povedal mi. Práve to urobil a tak efektívne a komplexne sa obávam, že si nevšimneme jeho prínos. Existuje mnoho rodičov úspechu a mohli by sme vymenovať desiatky ľudí, ktorí pomohli vytvoriť Portland Beervana. Ale ten, kto je príliš často prehliadaný, je Greg Higgins. Pozrime sa na pollitrovo Gregovi a opravme záznam.


Ako Pilsner nahradil Pinot na jedálenskom stole

Začiatkom tohto roka mala reštaurácia Higgins 25 rokov. Majiteľ Greg Higgins je uznávaný predovšetkým vďaka tomu, že v Oregone uviedol pohyb z farmy na stôl a z Portlandu, kedysi kulinárskeho zapadákova, sa stal cieľ A-zoznamu. Higgins však získava menší kredit za svoju ďalšiu transformáciu: zavedenie dôveryhodnosti piva ako gastronomického ekvivalentu vína na najlepších stoloch mesta.

Greg Higgins vyrastal v západnom New Yorku a študoval výtvarné umenie na vysokej škole, ako mnoho mladých dospelých, pričom si nebol istý, ako sa bude jeho život vyvíjať. Počas vysokej školy však začal s varením a ukázalo sa, že to bol formatívny zážitok, ktorý ho priviedol k cestovaniu po Európe a USA, kde živil svoju zvedavosť na jedlo. Nakoniec skončil v Portlande a zamestnal sa ako prvý sous chef na Heathman -the zdroj vysokej kuchyne v 80. rokoch minulého storočia - a keď kuchár takmer okamžite odišiel, ocitol sa vo vrcholovom zamestnaní.

Higginsov kuchársky príbeh je známy. Získal cenu Jamesa Bearda a jeho reštaurácie, najmä tá, ktorá ho pomenovala, získali nespočetné množstvo ocenení a vyznamenaní. Menej viditeľný je však spôsob, akým zvýšil postavenie piva v meste a pripravil cestu pre Oregončanov - a jeho kolegov kuchárov -, aby ho brali vážne ako doplnok k najlepšiemu jedlu. Táto história si zaslúži väčšiu pozornosť, rovnako ako Gregova úloha v tom, že Portlandu poskytla taký obrovský náskok pri prijímaní piva vyrobeného na miestnej úrovni.

Higgins je muž mnohých záujmov a jednou z jeho prvých vášní bolo pivo. V čase, keď bol kuchárom u vresoviska, už varil doma - zhruba v tom istom čase, keď Ponzis a Widmers otvárali miestne pivovary. "Pivo ma vtedy fascinovalo," povedal a trávil čas snahou vypátrať čokoľvek dovezené s charakterom. O pive dychtivo čítal a namáčal si sugestívnu prózu Michaela Jacksona. Neskôr obaja cestovali spoločne, čo určite spôsobilo Higginsov záujem o pivo. "Mal som veľa zábavy, keď som sa s ním plazil po krčmách," povedal mi (a možno aj ja mám!). Ale Jackson bol tiež veľkým propagátorom kuchyňa à la bière- a vystavenie spôsobu, akým Európania zaobchádzali s pivom, najmä v Belgicku, malo trvalý vplyv.

Higginsov prvý vpád do stolovania zameraného na pivo prišiel, keď Heathman otvoril neformálnejšie bistro zamerané na chlieb s názvom B. Moloch (v priestore, ktorý teraz zaberá Southpark). Spolupracoval s Widmersovými, ktorí v priestore prevádzkovali desať sudový pivovar. V roku 1989 začal hovoriť o inšpirácii v LA Časy prišiel na návštevu.

"Since Mesopotamian times, people have baked bread and made beer in the same location," said Greg Higgins, chef and manager of the B. Moloch Heathman Bakery and Pub in downtown Portland. "Maybe it was because you need yeast for both beer and bread, and yeast likes certain atmospheres."

"We use beer in many of our recipes," Higgins said, as he trimmed the excess pastry from several dozen calzone and slides them into the brick oven. "We make a slightly sour beer bread, and we use beer in our rarebits and some of our sauces."

This was a time in Portland when Widmer’s Hefeweizen was going supernova, and for a few years the combination of the sunwashed bistro, tall glasses of Hefe, and all the city’s shiniest people created an entirely new impression of what beer could be. In the 1980s, Portlanders (and Americans more generally) still associated “beer” with everything blue collar. It was the tipple of hunters and loggers, the thing men (yes, usually men) drank when they stopped into a neighborhood tavern. It was a symbol of the cheap, the accessible, and the bog-standard ordinary. As brewers at the time will tell you, beer’s fixed reputation and cultural status were one of the biggest barriers they faced in winning converts who couldn’t understand why they would have to pay a quarter more a glass.

Greg in the Higgins bar, which is the best place in the city to find world-class imports. We drank Saison Dupont when I met Greg there.

A social phenomenon exists, but I don’t know if anyone’s named it. It works like this. Take any category of food or beverage—cider, Mexican food, cheese—that has a low status. As new artisanal producers arrive to introduce people to higher forms, they face a challenge. Their entire category is hamstrung by prexisting expectations until one brand or establishment can be seen as high culture. That allows the expectations to shift so potential customers now arrive with the idea that a product might be rare and sublime.

Breweries were making good beer by 1989, and there were a number of them around Oregon. But they still suffered from the straightjacket in which public opinion placed them. The beers they made might have been tasty and even elegant, and they may have attracted a whole tier of drinkers who would love their interesting new flavors, but they were still considered low and so that group never encountered them—until Greg Higgins put beer in a context they understood.

B. Moloch started to shift that view, and when Greg opened his own eponymous restaurant in 1994, things really changed. Higgins quickly became the city’s most interesting restaurant, and when diners arrived for locally-sources salmon and asparagus, they found not just a wine list, but a beer list as well. Indeed, Higgins had Warren Steenson, a beer sommelier, on staff to identify, source, and import the best beers from around the world. In the 1990s, Portlanders were introduced to Orval, Rodenbach, and Cantillon, and those beers turned many heads.

At the same time, Higgins worked with local brewers to develop special beers that would serve the Higgins menu. The first and most enduring—it’s still ongoing—was with Hair of the Dog’s Alan Sprints. Both companies were founded that year, and Sprints has a culinary degree and equal passion for the alchemy possible when food and beer come together. They saw eye-to-eye on food, and Higgins was delighted to find a local producer willing to make the daring, complex beers like Belgians did. “What Alan did at Hair of the Dog was seminal,” he said.

That beer could be wine’s equal at the dinner table is stále controversial in some parts of the country. The idea hasn’t been true for fifteen years or more in Portland, where you’d struggle to find a good restaurant that didn’t take beer seriously (even places like Noble Rot, which focus on wine, have great beer). Higgins loves wine, but believes beer is just more versatile with food. For him, it was obvious that beer should be included with wine on the menu.

“I’ve tried to make beer visible to people,” he told me. He has done just that, and so effectively and comprehensively I worry we fail to notice his contribution. There are many parents of success, and we could name dozens of people who helped make Portland Beervana. But the one who gets overlooked too often is Greg Higgins. Let’s raise a pint to Greg and correct the record.


How Pilsner Replaced Pinot on The Dining Table

Earlier this year, Higgins Restaurant turned 25. Owner Greg Higgins is widely credited with ushering in Oregon’s farm-to-table movement and turning Portland, once a culinary backwater, into an A-list destination. But Higgins gets less credit for his other transformation: establishing beer’s credibility as a gastronomic equal to wine on the city’s finest tables.

Greg Higgins grew up in western New York and studied fine arts in college, like so many young adults, not certain how his life would unfold. During college, however, he started cooking, and this turned out to be the formative experience that would lead him to travel around Europe and the US, feeding his curiosity about food. Eventually he ended up in Portland, landed a job as the first sous chef at the Heathman—the source of haute cuisine in the 1980s—and, when the chef departed almost immediately, found himself in the top job.

Higgins’ cuilinary story is well-known. He won a James Beard award, and his restaurants, particularly the one named for him, have won countless awards and honors. Less visible, though, is the way in which he elevated the status of beer in the city and paved the way for Oregonians—and his fellow chefs—to take it seriously as a complement to the best food. This history deserves more exposure, as does Greg’s role in giving Portland such a huge head-start in the adoption of locally-made beer.

Higgins is a man of many interests, and one of his early passions was beer. By the time he was chef at the Heathman, he was already homebrewing—right about the same time the Ponzis and Widmers were launching local breweries. “I was fascinated with beer then,” he said, and spent his time trying to track down anything imported with character. He read avidly about beer, soaking in Michael Jackson’s evocative prose. Later, the two would travel together, which certainly goosed Higgins’ interest in beer. “I had a lot of fun times crawling through pubs with him,” he told me (and I be he did!). But Jackson was also a big promoter of cuisine à la bière—and exposure to the way beer was treated by Europeans, particularly in Belgium, left a lasting impact.

Higgins’ first foray into beer-centric dining came when the Heathman opened a more casual bistro focusing on bread called the B. Moloch (in the space now occupied by Southpark). He collaborated with the Widmers, who operated a ten-barrel brewery in the space. In 1989, he waxed about the inspiration when the LA Časy came to visit.

"Since Mesopotamian times, people have baked bread and made beer in the same location," said Greg Higgins, chef and manager of the B. Moloch Heathman Bakery and Pub in downtown Portland. "Maybe it was because you need yeast for both beer and bread, and yeast likes certain atmospheres."

"We use beer in many of our recipes," Higgins said, as he trimmed the excess pastry from several dozen calzone and slides them into the brick oven. "We make a slightly sour beer bread, and we use beer in our rarebits and some of our sauces."

This was a time in Portland when Widmer’s Hefeweizen was going supernova, and for a few years the combination of the sunwashed bistro, tall glasses of Hefe, and all the city’s shiniest people created an entirely new impression of what beer could be. In the 1980s, Portlanders (and Americans more generally) still associated “beer” with everything blue collar. It was the tipple of hunters and loggers, the thing men (yes, usually men) drank when they stopped into a neighborhood tavern. It was a symbol of the cheap, the accessible, and the bog-standard ordinary. As brewers at the time will tell you, beer’s fixed reputation and cultural status were one of the biggest barriers they faced in winning converts who couldn’t understand why they would have to pay a quarter more a glass.

Greg in the Higgins bar, which is the best place in the city to find world-class imports. We drank Saison Dupont when I met Greg there.

A social phenomenon exists, but I don’t know if anyone’s named it. It works like this. Take any category of food or beverage—cider, Mexican food, cheese—that has a low status. As new artisanal producers arrive to introduce people to higher forms, they face a challenge. Their entire category is hamstrung by prexisting expectations until one brand or establishment can be seen as high culture. That allows the expectations to shift so potential customers now arrive with the idea that a product might be rare and sublime.

Breweries were making good beer by 1989, and there were a number of them around Oregon. But they still suffered from the straightjacket in which public opinion placed them. The beers they made might have been tasty and even elegant, and they may have attracted a whole tier of drinkers who would love their interesting new flavors, but they were still considered low and so that group never encountered them—until Greg Higgins put beer in a context they understood.

B. Moloch started to shift that view, and when Greg opened his own eponymous restaurant in 1994, things really changed. Higgins quickly became the city’s most interesting restaurant, and when diners arrived for locally-sources salmon and asparagus, they found not just a wine list, but a beer list as well. Indeed, Higgins had Warren Steenson, a beer sommelier, on staff to identify, source, and import the best beers from around the world. In the 1990s, Portlanders were introduced to Orval, Rodenbach, and Cantillon, and those beers turned many heads.

At the same time, Higgins worked with local brewers to develop special beers that would serve the Higgins menu. The first and most enduring—it’s still ongoing—was with Hair of the Dog’s Alan Sprints. Both companies were founded that year, and Sprints has a culinary degree and equal passion for the alchemy possible when food and beer come together. They saw eye-to-eye on food, and Higgins was delighted to find a local producer willing to make the daring, complex beers like Belgians did. “What Alan did at Hair of the Dog was seminal,” he said.

That beer could be wine’s equal at the dinner table is stále controversial in some parts of the country. The idea hasn’t been true for fifteen years or more in Portland, where you’d struggle to find a good restaurant that didn’t take beer seriously (even places like Noble Rot, which focus on wine, have great beer). Higgins loves wine, but believes beer is just more versatile with food. For him, it was obvious that beer should be included with wine on the menu.

“I’ve tried to make beer visible to people,” he told me. He has done just that, and so effectively and comprehensively I worry we fail to notice his contribution. There are many parents of success, and we could name dozens of people who helped make Portland Beervana. But the one who gets overlooked too often is Greg Higgins. Let’s raise a pint to Greg and correct the record.


How Pilsner Replaced Pinot on The Dining Table

Earlier this year, Higgins Restaurant turned 25. Owner Greg Higgins is widely credited with ushering in Oregon’s farm-to-table movement and turning Portland, once a culinary backwater, into an A-list destination. But Higgins gets less credit for his other transformation: establishing beer’s credibility as a gastronomic equal to wine on the city’s finest tables.

Greg Higgins grew up in western New York and studied fine arts in college, like so many young adults, not certain how his life would unfold. During college, however, he started cooking, and this turned out to be the formative experience that would lead him to travel around Europe and the US, feeding his curiosity about food. Eventually he ended up in Portland, landed a job as the first sous chef at the Heathman—the source of haute cuisine in the 1980s—and, when the chef departed almost immediately, found himself in the top job.

Higgins’ cuilinary story is well-known. He won a James Beard award, and his restaurants, particularly the one named for him, have won countless awards and honors. Less visible, though, is the way in which he elevated the status of beer in the city and paved the way for Oregonians—and his fellow chefs—to take it seriously as a complement to the best food. This history deserves more exposure, as does Greg’s role in giving Portland such a huge head-start in the adoption of locally-made beer.

Higgins is a man of many interests, and one of his early passions was beer. By the time he was chef at the Heathman, he was already homebrewing—right about the same time the Ponzis and Widmers were launching local breweries. “I was fascinated with beer then,” he said, and spent his time trying to track down anything imported with character. He read avidly about beer, soaking in Michael Jackson’s evocative prose. Later, the two would travel together, which certainly goosed Higgins’ interest in beer. “I had a lot of fun times crawling through pubs with him,” he told me (and I be he did!). But Jackson was also a big promoter of cuisine à la bière—and exposure to the way beer was treated by Europeans, particularly in Belgium, left a lasting impact.

Higgins’ first foray into beer-centric dining came when the Heathman opened a more casual bistro focusing on bread called the B. Moloch (in the space now occupied by Southpark). He collaborated with the Widmers, who operated a ten-barrel brewery in the space. In 1989, he waxed about the inspiration when the LA Časy came to visit.

"Since Mesopotamian times, people have baked bread and made beer in the same location," said Greg Higgins, chef and manager of the B. Moloch Heathman Bakery and Pub in downtown Portland. "Maybe it was because you need yeast for both beer and bread, and yeast likes certain atmospheres."

"We use beer in many of our recipes," Higgins said, as he trimmed the excess pastry from several dozen calzone and slides them into the brick oven. "We make a slightly sour beer bread, and we use beer in our rarebits and some of our sauces."

This was a time in Portland when Widmer’s Hefeweizen was going supernova, and for a few years the combination of the sunwashed bistro, tall glasses of Hefe, and all the city’s shiniest people created an entirely new impression of what beer could be. In the 1980s, Portlanders (and Americans more generally) still associated “beer” with everything blue collar. It was the tipple of hunters and loggers, the thing men (yes, usually men) drank when they stopped into a neighborhood tavern. It was a symbol of the cheap, the accessible, and the bog-standard ordinary. As brewers at the time will tell you, beer’s fixed reputation and cultural status were one of the biggest barriers they faced in winning converts who couldn’t understand why they would have to pay a quarter more a glass.

Greg in the Higgins bar, which is the best place in the city to find world-class imports. We drank Saison Dupont when I met Greg there.

A social phenomenon exists, but I don’t know if anyone’s named it. It works like this. Take any category of food or beverage—cider, Mexican food, cheese—that has a low status. As new artisanal producers arrive to introduce people to higher forms, they face a challenge. Their entire category is hamstrung by prexisting expectations until one brand or establishment can be seen as high culture. That allows the expectations to shift so potential customers now arrive with the idea that a product might be rare and sublime.

Breweries were making good beer by 1989, and there were a number of them around Oregon. But they still suffered from the straightjacket in which public opinion placed them. The beers they made might have been tasty and even elegant, and they may have attracted a whole tier of drinkers who would love their interesting new flavors, but they were still considered low and so that group never encountered them—until Greg Higgins put beer in a context they understood.

B. Moloch started to shift that view, and when Greg opened his own eponymous restaurant in 1994, things really changed. Higgins quickly became the city’s most interesting restaurant, and when diners arrived for locally-sources salmon and asparagus, they found not just a wine list, but a beer list as well. Indeed, Higgins had Warren Steenson, a beer sommelier, on staff to identify, source, and import the best beers from around the world. In the 1990s, Portlanders were introduced to Orval, Rodenbach, and Cantillon, and those beers turned many heads.

At the same time, Higgins worked with local brewers to develop special beers that would serve the Higgins menu. The first and most enduring—it’s still ongoing—was with Hair of the Dog’s Alan Sprints. Both companies were founded that year, and Sprints has a culinary degree and equal passion for the alchemy possible when food and beer come together. They saw eye-to-eye on food, and Higgins was delighted to find a local producer willing to make the daring, complex beers like Belgians did. “What Alan did at Hair of the Dog was seminal,” he said.

That beer could be wine’s equal at the dinner table is stále controversial in some parts of the country. The idea hasn’t been true for fifteen years or more in Portland, where you’d struggle to find a good restaurant that didn’t take beer seriously (even places like Noble Rot, which focus on wine, have great beer). Higgins loves wine, but believes beer is just more versatile with food. For him, it was obvious that beer should be included with wine on the menu.

“I’ve tried to make beer visible to people,” he told me. He has done just that, and so effectively and comprehensively I worry we fail to notice his contribution. There are many parents of success, and we could name dozens of people who helped make Portland Beervana. But the one who gets overlooked too often is Greg Higgins. Let’s raise a pint to Greg and correct the record.


How Pilsner Replaced Pinot on The Dining Table

Earlier this year, Higgins Restaurant turned 25. Owner Greg Higgins is widely credited with ushering in Oregon’s farm-to-table movement and turning Portland, once a culinary backwater, into an A-list destination. But Higgins gets less credit for his other transformation: establishing beer’s credibility as a gastronomic equal to wine on the city’s finest tables.

Greg Higgins grew up in western New York and studied fine arts in college, like so many young adults, not certain how his life would unfold. During college, however, he started cooking, and this turned out to be the formative experience that would lead him to travel around Europe and the US, feeding his curiosity about food. Eventually he ended up in Portland, landed a job as the first sous chef at the Heathman—the source of haute cuisine in the 1980s—and, when the chef departed almost immediately, found himself in the top job.

Higgins’ cuilinary story is well-known. He won a James Beard award, and his restaurants, particularly the one named for him, have won countless awards and honors. Less visible, though, is the way in which he elevated the status of beer in the city and paved the way for Oregonians—and his fellow chefs—to take it seriously as a complement to the best food. This history deserves more exposure, as does Greg’s role in giving Portland such a huge head-start in the adoption of locally-made beer.

Higgins is a man of many interests, and one of his early passions was beer. By the time he was chef at the Heathman, he was already homebrewing—right about the same time the Ponzis and Widmers were launching local breweries. “I was fascinated with beer then,” he said, and spent his time trying to track down anything imported with character. He read avidly about beer, soaking in Michael Jackson’s evocative prose. Later, the two would travel together, which certainly goosed Higgins’ interest in beer. “I had a lot of fun times crawling through pubs with him,” he told me (and I be he did!). But Jackson was also a big promoter of cuisine à la bière—and exposure to the way beer was treated by Europeans, particularly in Belgium, left a lasting impact.

Higgins’ first foray into beer-centric dining came when the Heathman opened a more casual bistro focusing on bread called the B. Moloch (in the space now occupied by Southpark). He collaborated with the Widmers, who operated a ten-barrel brewery in the space. In 1989, he waxed about the inspiration when the LA Časy came to visit.

"Since Mesopotamian times, people have baked bread and made beer in the same location," said Greg Higgins, chef and manager of the B. Moloch Heathman Bakery and Pub in downtown Portland. "Maybe it was because you need yeast for both beer and bread, and yeast likes certain atmospheres."

"We use beer in many of our recipes," Higgins said, as he trimmed the excess pastry from several dozen calzone and slides them into the brick oven. "We make a slightly sour beer bread, and we use beer in our rarebits and some of our sauces."

This was a time in Portland when Widmer’s Hefeweizen was going supernova, and for a few years the combination of the sunwashed bistro, tall glasses of Hefe, and all the city’s shiniest people created an entirely new impression of what beer could be. In the 1980s, Portlanders (and Americans more generally) still associated “beer” with everything blue collar. It was the tipple of hunters and loggers, the thing men (yes, usually men) drank when they stopped into a neighborhood tavern. It was a symbol of the cheap, the accessible, and the bog-standard ordinary. As brewers at the time will tell you, beer’s fixed reputation and cultural status were one of the biggest barriers they faced in winning converts who couldn’t understand why they would have to pay a quarter more a glass.

Greg in the Higgins bar, which is the best place in the city to find world-class imports. We drank Saison Dupont when I met Greg there.

A social phenomenon exists, but I don’t know if anyone’s named it. It works like this. Take any category of food or beverage—cider, Mexican food, cheese—that has a low status. As new artisanal producers arrive to introduce people to higher forms, they face a challenge. Their entire category is hamstrung by prexisting expectations until one brand or establishment can be seen as high culture. That allows the expectations to shift so potential customers now arrive with the idea that a product might be rare and sublime.

Breweries were making good beer by 1989, and there were a number of them around Oregon. But they still suffered from the straightjacket in which public opinion placed them. The beers they made might have been tasty and even elegant, and they may have attracted a whole tier of drinkers who would love their interesting new flavors, but they were still considered low and so that group never encountered them—until Greg Higgins put beer in a context they understood.

B. Moloch started to shift that view, and when Greg opened his own eponymous restaurant in 1994, things really changed. Higgins quickly became the city’s most interesting restaurant, and when diners arrived for locally-sources salmon and asparagus, they found not just a wine list, but a beer list as well. Indeed, Higgins had Warren Steenson, a beer sommelier, on staff to identify, source, and import the best beers from around the world. In the 1990s, Portlanders were introduced to Orval, Rodenbach, and Cantillon, and those beers turned many heads.

At the same time, Higgins worked with local brewers to develop special beers that would serve the Higgins menu. The first and most enduring—it’s still ongoing—was with Hair of the Dog’s Alan Sprints. Both companies were founded that year, and Sprints has a culinary degree and equal passion for the alchemy possible when food and beer come together. They saw eye-to-eye on food, and Higgins was delighted to find a local producer willing to make the daring, complex beers like Belgians did. “What Alan did at Hair of the Dog was seminal,” he said.

That beer could be wine’s equal at the dinner table is stále controversial in some parts of the country. The idea hasn’t been true for fifteen years or more in Portland, where you’d struggle to find a good restaurant that didn’t take beer seriously (even places like Noble Rot, which focus on wine, have great beer). Higgins loves wine, but believes beer is just more versatile with food. For him, it was obvious that beer should be included with wine on the menu.

“I’ve tried to make beer visible to people,” he told me. He has done just that, and so effectively and comprehensively I worry we fail to notice his contribution. There are many parents of success, and we could name dozens of people who helped make Portland Beervana. But the one who gets overlooked too often is Greg Higgins. Let’s raise a pint to Greg and correct the record.


How Pilsner Replaced Pinot on The Dining Table

Earlier this year, Higgins Restaurant turned 25. Owner Greg Higgins is widely credited with ushering in Oregon’s farm-to-table movement and turning Portland, once a culinary backwater, into an A-list destination. But Higgins gets less credit for his other transformation: establishing beer’s credibility as a gastronomic equal to wine on the city’s finest tables.

Greg Higgins grew up in western New York and studied fine arts in college, like so many young adults, not certain how his life would unfold. During college, however, he started cooking, and this turned out to be the formative experience that would lead him to travel around Europe and the US, feeding his curiosity about food. Eventually he ended up in Portland, landed a job as the first sous chef at the Heathman—the source of haute cuisine in the 1980s—and, when the chef departed almost immediately, found himself in the top job.

Higgins’ cuilinary story is well-known. He won a James Beard award, and his restaurants, particularly the one named for him, have won countless awards and honors. Less visible, though, is the way in which he elevated the status of beer in the city and paved the way for Oregonians—and his fellow chefs—to take it seriously as a complement to the best food. This history deserves more exposure, as does Greg’s role in giving Portland such a huge head-start in the adoption of locally-made beer.

Higgins is a man of many interests, and one of his early passions was beer. By the time he was chef at the Heathman, he was already homebrewing—right about the same time the Ponzis and Widmers were launching local breweries. “I was fascinated with beer then,” he said, and spent his time trying to track down anything imported with character. He read avidly about beer, soaking in Michael Jackson’s evocative prose. Later, the two would travel together, which certainly goosed Higgins’ interest in beer. “I had a lot of fun times crawling through pubs with him,” he told me (and I be he did!). But Jackson was also a big promoter of cuisine à la bière—and exposure to the way beer was treated by Europeans, particularly in Belgium, left a lasting impact.

Higgins’ first foray into beer-centric dining came when the Heathman opened a more casual bistro focusing on bread called the B. Moloch (in the space now occupied by Southpark). He collaborated with the Widmers, who operated a ten-barrel brewery in the space. In 1989, he waxed about the inspiration when the LA Časy came to visit.

"Since Mesopotamian times, people have baked bread and made beer in the same location," said Greg Higgins, chef and manager of the B. Moloch Heathman Bakery and Pub in downtown Portland. "Maybe it was because you need yeast for both beer and bread, and yeast likes certain atmospheres."

"We use beer in many of our recipes," Higgins said, as he trimmed the excess pastry from several dozen calzone and slides them into the brick oven. "We make a slightly sour beer bread, and we use beer in our rarebits and some of our sauces."

This was a time in Portland when Widmer’s Hefeweizen was going supernova, and for a few years the combination of the sunwashed bistro, tall glasses of Hefe, and all the city’s shiniest people created an entirely new impression of what beer could be. In the 1980s, Portlanders (and Americans more generally) still associated “beer” with everything blue collar. It was the tipple of hunters and loggers, the thing men (yes, usually men) drank when they stopped into a neighborhood tavern. It was a symbol of the cheap, the accessible, and the bog-standard ordinary. As brewers at the time will tell you, beer’s fixed reputation and cultural status were one of the biggest barriers they faced in winning converts who couldn’t understand why they would have to pay a quarter more a glass.

Greg in the Higgins bar, which is the best place in the city to find world-class imports. We drank Saison Dupont when I met Greg there.

A social phenomenon exists, but I don’t know if anyone’s named it. It works like this. Take any category of food or beverage—cider, Mexican food, cheese—that has a low status. As new artisanal producers arrive to introduce people to higher forms, they face a challenge. Their entire category is hamstrung by prexisting expectations until one brand or establishment can be seen as high culture. That allows the expectations to shift so potential customers now arrive with the idea that a product might be rare and sublime.

Breweries were making good beer by 1989, and there were a number of them around Oregon. But they still suffered from the straightjacket in which public opinion placed them. The beers they made might have been tasty and even elegant, and they may have attracted a whole tier of drinkers who would love their interesting new flavors, but they were still considered low and so that group never encountered them—until Greg Higgins put beer in a context they understood.

B. Moloch started to shift that view, and when Greg opened his own eponymous restaurant in 1994, things really changed. Higgins quickly became the city’s most interesting restaurant, and when diners arrived for locally-sources salmon and asparagus, they found not just a wine list, but a beer list as well. Indeed, Higgins had Warren Steenson, a beer sommelier, on staff to identify, source, and import the best beers from around the world. In the 1990s, Portlanders were introduced to Orval, Rodenbach, and Cantillon, and those beers turned many heads.

At the same time, Higgins worked with local brewers to develop special beers that would serve the Higgins menu. The first and most enduring—it’s still ongoing—was with Hair of the Dog’s Alan Sprints. Both companies were founded that year, and Sprints has a culinary degree and equal passion for the alchemy possible when food and beer come together. They saw eye-to-eye on food, and Higgins was delighted to find a local producer willing to make the daring, complex beers like Belgians did. “What Alan did at Hair of the Dog was seminal,” he said.

That beer could be wine’s equal at the dinner table is stále controversial in some parts of the country. The idea hasn’t been true for fifteen years or more in Portland, where you’d struggle to find a good restaurant that didn’t take beer seriously (even places like Noble Rot, which focus on wine, have great beer). Higgins loves wine, but believes beer is just more versatile with food. For him, it was obvious that beer should be included with wine on the menu.

“I’ve tried to make beer visible to people,” he told me. He has done just that, and so effectively and comprehensively I worry we fail to notice his contribution. There are many parents of success, and we could name dozens of people who helped make Portland Beervana. But the one who gets overlooked too often is Greg Higgins. Let’s raise a pint to Greg and correct the record.


How Pilsner Replaced Pinot on The Dining Table

Earlier this year, Higgins Restaurant turned 25. Owner Greg Higgins is widely credited with ushering in Oregon’s farm-to-table movement and turning Portland, once a culinary backwater, into an A-list destination. But Higgins gets less credit for his other transformation: establishing beer’s credibility as a gastronomic equal to wine on the city’s finest tables.

Greg Higgins grew up in western New York and studied fine arts in college, like so many young adults, not certain how his life would unfold. During college, however, he started cooking, and this turned out to be the formative experience that would lead him to travel around Europe and the US, feeding his curiosity about food. Eventually he ended up in Portland, landed a job as the first sous chef at the Heathman—the source of haute cuisine in the 1980s—and, when the chef departed almost immediately, found himself in the top job.

Higgins’ cuilinary story is well-known. He won a James Beard award, and his restaurants, particularly the one named for him, have won countless awards and honors. Less visible, though, is the way in which he elevated the status of beer in the city and paved the way for Oregonians—and his fellow chefs—to take it seriously as a complement to the best food. This history deserves more exposure, as does Greg’s role in giving Portland such a huge head-start in the adoption of locally-made beer.

Higgins is a man of many interests, and one of his early passions was beer. By the time he was chef at the Heathman, he was already homebrewing—right about the same time the Ponzis and Widmers were launching local breweries. “I was fascinated with beer then,” he said, and spent his time trying to track down anything imported with character. He read avidly about beer, soaking in Michael Jackson’s evocative prose. Later, the two would travel together, which certainly goosed Higgins’ interest in beer. “I had a lot of fun times crawling through pubs with him,” he told me (and I be he did!). But Jackson was also a big promoter of cuisine à la bière—and exposure to the way beer was treated by Europeans, particularly in Belgium, left a lasting impact.

Higgins’ first foray into beer-centric dining came when the Heathman opened a more casual bistro focusing on bread called the B. Moloch (in the space now occupied by Southpark). He collaborated with the Widmers, who operated a ten-barrel brewery in the space. In 1989, he waxed about the inspiration when the LA Časy came to visit.

"Since Mesopotamian times, people have baked bread and made beer in the same location," said Greg Higgins, chef and manager of the B. Moloch Heathman Bakery and Pub in downtown Portland. "Maybe it was because you need yeast for both beer and bread, and yeast likes certain atmospheres."

"We use beer in many of our recipes," Higgins said, as he trimmed the excess pastry from several dozen calzone and slides them into the brick oven. "We make a slightly sour beer bread, and we use beer in our rarebits and some of our sauces."

This was a time in Portland when Widmer’s Hefeweizen was going supernova, and for a few years the combination of the sunwashed bistro, tall glasses of Hefe, and all the city’s shiniest people created an entirely new impression of what beer could be. In the 1980s, Portlanders (and Americans more generally) still associated “beer” with everything blue collar. It was the tipple of hunters and loggers, the thing men (yes, usually men) drank when they stopped into a neighborhood tavern. It was a symbol of the cheap, the accessible, and the bog-standard ordinary. As brewers at the time will tell you, beer’s fixed reputation and cultural status were one of the biggest barriers they faced in winning converts who couldn’t understand why they would have to pay a quarter more a glass.

Greg in the Higgins bar, which is the best place in the city to find world-class imports. We drank Saison Dupont when I met Greg there.

A social phenomenon exists, but I don’t know if anyone’s named it. It works like this. Take any category of food or beverage—cider, Mexican food, cheese—that has a low status. As new artisanal producers arrive to introduce people to higher forms, they face a challenge. Their entire category is hamstrung by prexisting expectations until one brand or establishment can be seen as high culture. That allows the expectations to shift so potential customers now arrive with the idea that a product might be rare and sublime.

Breweries were making good beer by 1989, and there were a number of them around Oregon. But they still suffered from the straightjacket in which public opinion placed them. The beers they made might have been tasty and even elegant, and they may have attracted a whole tier of drinkers who would love their interesting new flavors, but they were still considered low and so that group never encountered them—until Greg Higgins put beer in a context they understood.

B. Moloch started to shift that view, and when Greg opened his own eponymous restaurant in 1994, things really changed. Higgins quickly became the city’s most interesting restaurant, and when diners arrived for locally-sources salmon and asparagus, they found not just a wine list, but a beer list as well. Indeed, Higgins had Warren Steenson, a beer sommelier, on staff to identify, source, and import the best beers from around the world. In the 1990s, Portlanders were introduced to Orval, Rodenbach, and Cantillon, and those beers turned many heads.

At the same time, Higgins worked with local brewers to develop special beers that would serve the Higgins menu. The first and most enduring—it’s still ongoing—was with Hair of the Dog’s Alan Sprints. Both companies were founded that year, and Sprints has a culinary degree and equal passion for the alchemy possible when food and beer come together. They saw eye-to-eye on food, and Higgins was delighted to find a local producer willing to make the daring, complex beers like Belgians did. “What Alan did at Hair of the Dog was seminal,” he said.

That beer could be wine’s equal at the dinner table is stále controversial in some parts of the country. The idea hasn’t been true for fifteen years or more in Portland, where you’d struggle to find a good restaurant that didn’t take beer seriously (even places like Noble Rot, which focus on wine, have great beer). Higgins loves wine, but believes beer is just more versatile with food. For him, it was obvious that beer should be included with wine on the menu.

“I’ve tried to make beer visible to people,” he told me. He has done just that, and so effectively and comprehensively I worry we fail to notice his contribution. There are many parents of success, and we could name dozens of people who helped make Portland Beervana. But the one who gets overlooked too often is Greg Higgins. Let’s raise a pint to Greg and correct the record.


Pozri si video: Piva Haakon u0026 Goldstar (December 2021).