Applebee's to try a chill pill?

Consumers may soon be spying a stockpile of thermometers behind the bar of their nearest Applebee’s. The new parent of the troubled casual-dining brand is looking to put more fizz into alcoholic beverage sales, and one of the means it’s considering is the schtick used by a franchisee in Ohio. The operator touts his beer as the coldest beer in town, and proves it by putting a thermometer into each glass when he serves it.

Julia Stewart, chairman and chief executive of DineEquity Inc., the clunky new moniker of IHOP Corp., told investors last week that Applebee’s new executive team will likely check out the gimmick for possibly wider adoption. “Don’t laugh—there’s probably a notion there that I want to exemplify [sic] and test,” she said at the Goldman Sachs Investor Conference.

During the Q&A session following her presentation, Stewart noted that Applebee’s is already one of the nation’s highest-volume beer sellers, but observed that wine could represent an opportunity.

She also repeated an earlier avowal to avoid the prior administration’s mistake of trying to make Applebee’s menu more sophisticated than patrons would like. She indicated that the brand should stay within its niche with she characterized as finger-food-type items. But she also noted that the bill of fare needed an update. Deep-fried mozzarella sticks were cited in particular as a tired nod to yesteryear.

Web watchdogs can definitely bite

The Wall Street Journal outed several chains this weekend for switching to smaller beer glasses without adjusting prices or otherwise letting on. You’d think that’d trigger a fit of spin-doctoring from the likes of Hooters, GameWorks, Damon’s and Romano’s Macaroni Grill, but they wisely offered nothing more than the few qualifiers and no-comment that were included in the article. Even then, they came within a maraschino cherry stem of being sentenced to eternal avoidance by the modern-day equivalent of vigilantes: Web habitués who share a fanatical cause. In the era of the keyboard-empowered consumer, reckless indeed is the consumer brand that tries to pull one over on patrons, especially when it comes to value.

The situation is nearly a perfect homily as to why. The Journal, after all, was merely a messenger, relaying the lynch-mob talk that the chains and other beer-serving establishments had frothed up by switching from true pint glasses, capable of holding roughly 16 ounces of brew, to variations with a thicker glass bottom that leaves room for only 14 ounces. The motivation is obvious: With grain prices driving up the cost of beer, cagy operators are holding the price of their standard tap serving while slyly providing less beer.

As the article noted, consumers are catching on, and fast. Seven months months ago, a college researcher with a blog called Beervana started what he dubbed The Honest Pint Project, whereby he’d push for a full 16-ounce tap beer by publishing the names of drinking establishments in his native Portland, Ore., that offer a serving of at least that volume.

The parent of the Honest Pint Project, identified in the Journal article as Jeff Alworth, has raised his ambitions since then. “I will support a statutory change if it comes to that—and maybe it should,” he wrote in a blog installment posted today.

Yet Alworth sounds like an aggravated PTA member compared with the hops panthers who offered their comments, suggestions and assessments on beeradvocate.com. “So if there’s a beer bar on this site that has recently adopted this practice, can we call them out?,” asks a poster identified as guzzle211, who joked that he was already lighting a torch.

“What would it take to get legislation passed with regard to this? How did they do it in other countries?,” asks Josquin.

It goes without saying that establishments switching to what a Journal source dubbed “falsies” shouldn’t try to deceive patrons about the change (for the record: GameWorks said a mistake in glassware was made at a single unit, only franchised Hooters units offered the smaller glasses, Damon’s does not deny the change, and Romano’s had no comment). Risking the alienation of longstanding customers over two ounces of tap beer is crazy enough. Amplify that by the speed of gripe on the internet and there’s no doubt about the glass being half-empty.

Lucca III: Food trends & traditions

Hearing the local purveyors tout their wares, you’d think the food trends of Lucca, Italy, were the same currents shaping menus back in the United States. The salespeople—nearly always the farmers or artisans who produced the materials—talked up the organic, healthful and gluten-free items that originated from their fields. Throw in the boasts about everything being locally sourced, processed by hand, and produced according to ancient family recipes, and you could’ve been at a food show in New York or San Francisco. Until you got to the farro beer, the chestnut liqueur, or the savory-sounding jams.

Lucca, a part of Tuscany, may be little-known in the U.S., but it’s renowned throughout Europe for its extra virgin olive oil, boutique wineries, and farro, the grain known in English-speaking countries as spelt. Locals also wax rhapsodically about the widespread local use of chestnuts, either by milling them into flour for cakes, breads or pastas, or as a flavoring.

Those items continue to be the bedrock of the local food culture. But a younger generation of producers and consumers are nudging the heritage-revering area to at least look at other ways of using traditional ingredients.

For instance, at a trade show convened for those of us who were visiting from the States, one of the local craftsmen poured samples of his newest beers. One was an extremely light, almost lager-style version made from farro and orzo, also an Italian signature. The other, he said with nearly bursting pride, was made solely with farro, something he’d been told could not be done because of the production inefficiencies.

The 100-percent farro beer, as yet even unnamed, is the same pale yellow as a wheat beer, minus the cloudiness. Indeed, it was crystal-clear, with a head “that could last for two hours,” the brewer explained through an interpreter. I swear I saw a tear forming in his eye.

The brew also has a much lower alcohol content, a mere 4 percent.

The brewer described the beer was an alternative to the darker, slightly heavier brews that Italian elders in the area might’ve sipped when they were youngsters learning the traditions of their elders.

A tour of local food shops and cafes revealed that younger Italians are indeed drinking differently than their parents did. Aperitifs, my tour guide explained, are the current rage among people in their 20s. They’ll head to the same time-steeped cafés where their grandparents might still stop by in the afternoon for a local digestif called biadina, which is served with a few pignoli thrown into the glass. The young adults descend on the places at 7 for aperitifs of one sort or another, often garnishing them with nuts, raisins or other enhancements that are arrayed in glass bowls on the bar. At 9, they head off to dinner, which of course is accompanied by wine.

A liqueur company participating in the Lucca trade show acknowledged that it’s had to make some accommodations to changing drinking habits. The buzz-phrase is “doing it for the market.” The owner cited such concessions as the introduction of a drink that tastes like dark rum, as well as a creamy limoncella and a liqueur, called Halloween, whose flavor was lost to language differences. His product line also includes a chestnut-flavored liqueur.

Several of the trade-show exhibitors featured jams of local produce—such local fruits as raspberries and currents (or what we’d know as blueberries, judging from the labels), to be sure, but also carrots, pumpkins and basil, to name just a few. Samples were given on bread, leading me to say something extremely intelligent about what a strong toast market Lucca must have. I was quickly corrected. In Lucca, one interpreter explained, persons of taste put jams and marmalades on cheese, as an alternative to using honey. Surely I must put honey on my cheese, she suggested. I couldn’t even bring myself to answer. Clearly it was yet another major setback in other cultures’ impression of America.

My shop-tour guide suggested that the jam-on-cheese phenomenon was getting a boost from another recent trend in the local dining scene. A new preoccupation has taken hold of blending salt and sweet items, like desserts flavored with balsamic vinegar, or salts used in baked items.

I could’ve been home, listening to a bunch of foodies discussing what they’ve been witnessing on the local dining scene.

Forget Botox. Have a brewski.

My wife is out of work, my profession is in a nosedive, and the industry I cover is limping through a financial quagmire. Yet today I’m a happy camper, albeit of the camping-on-a-barstool variety. A scientist in Japan has developed a beer that purportedly fights wrinkles. Now, through a discovery akin to inventing fire, you can catch a buzz and come away with the forehead of a 20-year-old.

Best of all, the active ingredients are fairly natural, so the beer doesn’t fall into the category of frankenfoods. It’s basically a matter of supercharging the production process with extra hops and polyphenols, the anti-oxidants that develop during fermentation.

The as-yet-unnamed beer is one of a growing number of alcoholic beverages that have been formulated to deliver health benefits along with a warm glow. VeeV, a new spirit made from the Latin fruit acai, promises a hangover-free head because of its anti-oxidant-rich core ingredient and the added minerals and vitamins of prickly pear. You can avoid colds, fend off vampires, aid your digestion and realize other purported health benefits by drinking a garlic-flavored vodka. Or slow the aging process by sipping a pomegranate liqueur, yet another quaff abounding in anti-oxidants. And if you need a pick-me-up, try a Four malt beverage energy drink.

If this continues, pretty soon you’ll be able to go on a three-day bender and come back looking as if you were munching celery sticks at Canyon Ranch.