Coffee Makes a Rare Appearance at the Dinner Table

Most of us depend on coffee, but the feeling is not mutual. Coffee depends on nothing. It is like a black cat at the windowsill you desperately want to befriend. But every time you think there's progress--you rest your hand on its back for a second--it slinks out of reach.

Every time I improve my coffee knowledge, there seems to be another term invented to keep me just another cupping ignoramus. No, coffee prefers its black depths to remain unfathomed: the glimmer and steam of the espresso machine reveal little, and the barista is a guarded, protective species.

Despite how little the average caffeine addict may understand it, coffee has percolated into our society to an incredible extent. It's with us at the breakfast table and in the office, provides an excuse for us to stop and an excuse to keep going. It's in chic cafes where the people who pull the shots have coffee degrees, and available at any gas station along the highway. In fact, the only place coffee really hasn't appeared is on the dinner table.

Last week, Craftbar's Lauren Hirschberg teamed up with Dallis Bros Coffee to bring coffee into its own right. "Coffee in the culinary world is often at the kiddie table," said John Moore of Dallis Brothers in his opening remarks. But the subsequent four course dinner, which used coffee as both an ingredient and a paring partner opposite wine, expanded the role of the bean beyond styrophoam cups and latte squiggles.

We were eased into our cupping with a bean from Las Amazonas farm in La Paz, Honduras that was paired with delicate skewers of coffee-cured Hamachi and apricot. The coffee was savory-sweet with a balance our connoisseur described as pineapple pork, although its tang reminded me of tomatoes. Our yellowfin was petal pink and soft, with a twinge of coffee that added surprising meatiness to its sushi-like flesh. Sandwiching the cubes were tiny slivers of dried apricots, rejuvenated with pineapple juice so they were soft as fresh fruit but doubly potent. Chef Hirschberg was emphatic about wanting to start off the night with subtle coffee tones, and as a result the fish was clear as a bell with a velvet-lined rim.

Next up was a soft-cooked egg, nestled in a bath of fontina and topped with coffee-braised black truffle. "I've always thought braised black truffles smell like a good cup of coffee," said Hirschberg, "And truffles are like coffee--they both give you that Folger's moment, that kick in the face." The meeting between two such kickers requires finesse: "I added cold coffee after the truffle was already braised," he said, "when the two cook together for too long, the flavor becomes intensely bitter."

The truffle, rich caviar-like grains scattered over the egg, was neither bitter nor overwhelming. As with the Hamachi, the coffee (from Las Flores-Esteli in Nicaragua) did not dominate flavor-wise, providing instead an earthy depth that intensified the power of the truffle, if that's at all possible. It was a perfect match for the heady fontina fondue and the silky custard egg, and there were two triangles of toast providing perfect scoopage from out of the bowl. The complete mouthful: a revelation on hedonism.

I had been looking forward to the squab ever since I read the menu (Roasted & Braised with Anson Mills Grits, Beets, Tuscan Kale, Coffee Jus), but was surprised to find it the dish I liked least. As far as birds go, I like them the smaller the better, so it wasn't the gaminess of the pigeon that ruffled me, but its murkiness. Chef Hirschberg described the cardamom, star anise, and "sweet as beets" Liquidambar-Intibuca coffee from Honduras that bathed the squab, but it was so rare it didn't seem to pick up any of the flavors. The same coffee earthiness that had been so well-developed in the previous two courses here seemed stalled and muddy, unable to showcase the meat to advantage. The beets, however, which were the inspiration for such a pairing, matched the coffee's mellow roundness perfectly.

Our last course was a fudge-covered flourless chocolate brownie. The plate was dotted with candied cherries and dabbed with coffee cream and a meltingly perfect scoop of cherry ice cream, while candied cocoa nibs sprinkled over provided a nutty, toffee'd crunch. As two cups of coffee were brought out, one Kopakama Co-op in West Province, Rwanda, and the other from La Pinera-Cuidad Barrios in El Salvador, I realized all at once why, since the invention of chocolate, we have been drinking coffee with dessert.
Coffee, to me, is ultimately made for dessert. Its sophisticated bitterness needs some merry sugary rampage to loosen it up and expand its flavors.

After such a fascinating journey in the land of the savory, the chocolate cake was a welcome homecoming. I'm an everyday worshipper of chocolate and coffee (and chocolate and hazelnut, and chocolate and pretzels), but never has the combination seemed so brilliant after a night of bean soul-searching.

There was espresso offered after dinner, but few takers. Conversation, instead of dying down, had picked up in a slow crescendo. We were unleashed into the night, slightly wiser in coffee lore, slightly buzzed from our four cups, and all madly craving coffee ice cream.

— Written by Hannah Smith-Drelich

Photo credit: Hannah Smith-Drelich

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Tags : Coffee, Dallis Brothers, Craftbar, Lauren Hirschberg, squab, black truffle, pairing

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