Midnight Smack BY FU

But I can’t quit.

For the most part, my life here at Food Union is filled with good feels.

Every day I hear, “Such a cute shop.” “I love everything in here.”

And even more humbling is, “I miss ZZest.”

I know it’s the café they miss. But I’ve recreated the market in miniature, and I’m pretty proud of that.

I’m also the sort that takes every “review” personally. Restaurants bring that on in a big way. It for sure would ruin my day, and likely the week. I remember finally realizing I just had to make it through a few days of obsessing over the hurtful things people said, and eventually it would fade away.

Until the next time.

For the most part, I’d gotten over that because life here at Food Union, as mentioned, is quite rosy… until I ran into a little ditty complaining about the cost of “ridiculous” product I carry, Spruce Syrup.

“Only the rich and famous could afford or want that.”

And then I gave way to the little voice in my head.

“Nobody is going to buy that.”

“Dang, that’s so much money. I’m going to be stuck with that for years.”

And you may think I’m kidding, but I literally have three unopened bottles of expensive aged sherry vinegar in my pantry from 2017.

Then something unexpected happened.

Those comments? You could give them a thumbs up OR down!

Bingo!

I rushed over to the post, eagerly anticipating how great that was going to feel to push that thumb down.

And, not gonna lie… it did.

But I wasn’t the only one thumbing the comments down. Several people were, and it pushed those negative posts to the end of the line. You probably couldn’t even find them now.

Yes!

And then the spruce syrup sold.

Not because everyone wants spruce syrup.

But enough people did.

Enough is all I want.

I love introducing something you never knew existed… like spruce syrup.

The brand I carry is Pen & Cob, and first of all, I admire the bottle and the label. I fell in love with this company when I saw the declaration on their website about butternut squash. (See photo below.)

From their Facebook page:

*”Pen & Cob uses ingredients farmed + foraged in Downeast Maine. Like this pristine and bold place we call home, we never compromise our high standards, insisting on quality ingredients and producing our goods here on our farm.”*

I don’t know who first looked at a spruce tree and thought, “Let’s make lunch.”

Though, you could say that about eggs too.

Let me take you into the world of Pen & Cob and their syrup. It’s a small-batch, passionate company. And, in my mind, a Food Union.

Now you’ve got to be wondering what all the fuss is about.

So what is spruce syrup?

The spruce season in Maine, when the bright green tips emerge, is literally only four weeks a year. So basically the clock is ticking.

Can you imagine the harvesting of spruce tips? Here’s the method: “Harvest bright-green, soft spruce tips in the spring when they first emerge from their brown, papery husks. Gently pluck or pop them off the branch with your fingers. To protect the tree, take no more than 20% of the tips per branch, and avoid picking from the top central leader.”

Pen & Cob’s family—and even members of their community—jump in to harvest the spruce tips. So you have four weeks to hand-pick these little morsels and then cook them down. The expensive price is starting to make sense.

After plucking, they are slowly macerated in brown sugar, bringing out incredible citrusy, botanical notes. What you’re left with is a concentrated syrup. As Pen & Cob says: *Each bottle captures a fleeting moment in the Maine landscape. It is a product rooted in place, craftsmanship, and tradition.*

There probably isn’t a single item in a major chain grocery store that has an ingredient on the shelf that the community comes together to help harvest.

What can you do with this magical stuff?

Let’s start easy.

Waffles, pancakes. Your kids may wince but your mother-in-law will think you are brilliant. Spruce syrup has notes of evergreen, citrus, and fresh forest.

Cocktails seem like the next easy idea. Spruce makes me think gin, so tonic and lime make perfect sense.

Tiffany from ChooChoo-ca-Chew used it over baked brie and peaches. I love that idea.

A drizzle over prosciutto or salami makes sense, as does a simple goat cheese crostini. Or maybe burrata!

Use it as a glaze for pork, chicken, or game.

To me, almost anything can turn into a vinaigrette. This one I still need to think through, but my first instinct is a citrus olive oil or a citrus vinegar.

I want to bring in the interesting, passionately made products because Target isn’t going to do that.

I want to support someone out there like me.

Someone who stayed up wondering if anyone would buy what they poured their heart into.

Pen & Cob just happened to bottle spruce syrup. And I happen to sell it.

I sell products you likely won’t find in a regular grocery store.

I don’t want shopping to be so ordinary. But I worry that’s where the future is heading.

“We used to have nice things.”

Seriously, do you remember back in 1983 or ’84 when we had a whole bean coffee shop that freshly ground coffee and bagged them up to take home? I asked AI for some help on the name of the place. AI confidently said it was called the Coffee Bird. There’s no way anyone named a roasted coffee bean place that in the 80s. AI was very confident. AI was also very wrong. Beware when you need factual information. It could have been simply the Coffee Roaster. I don’t remember. George, if you are reading this, help a girl out. Because I know the coffee place moved to Miracle Mile. I know I’m not making that part up.

There were so many choices. They had loose-leaf teas too. It was amazing and way ahead of its time. It was in the Riverside Building downtown next to a lovely little place called Croissants and Cream. I was only a tea drinker back then and it was a glorious place to visit. Rows of glass jars filled with teas.

Sigh. It didn’t last.

Folgers and Erdman’s won the battle.

Don’t get me wrong, we have even more wonderful shops and especially coffee shops than we did back in the 80s, but for the most part the shopping centers rule. I travel mostly up and back on I-94 heading north. Every shopping center has the same variation of stores, restaurants, and liquor stores.

Where you see a Target, you’re likely to see a Lowe’s or a Home Depot. Next to that, an Erbert & Gerbert’s and/or Five Guys. A steakhouse or an Italian chain restaurant.

And there’s always a pet store. PetSmart or Petco? Doesn’t matter which one you go in. Same.

The point is once in the door, I already know how to navigate. No surprises. Nothing new to discover.

Predictable.

And honestly?

In the fast-paced life we’ve created, predictable can be pretty handy.

But…

The small shops, boutiques, antique stores, consignment shops, tiny little art galleries…

We’re all doing it differently.

Our survival depends on selling the different.

Selling the discovery.

Here’s another thing I hear all the time. “Oh, I wouldn’t know what to do with all of this stuff. I’m a terrible cook.”

And I always say, in the kindest way… “You eat, don’t you?”

That’s all you have to do. Eat.

The products I search for don’t need me to be a great cook.

They just need someone curious enough to give them a chance. You will taste the difference.

A gorgeous olive oil doesn’t need a recipe. It just needs a drizzle over roasted chicken, pasta, or fresh mozzarella with a baguette.

A jar of imported French strawberry jam complements soft cheeses, a piece of toast, your morning yogurt, or the final spoonful stirred into a fruit crisp, when the fruit can’t do it alone.

I need to remind myself that every time I bring something new in and that little voice starts.

“No one else is going to like this.”

“No one else is going to pay that.”

But…

Sometimes I have to mark it down.

Sometimes I take it home.

And as it turns out, I can only eat so much aged sherry vinegar.

Sometimes I reorder it before I expected.

That’s always the gamble.

That’s always the fun.

Food Union isn’t built to be predictable. It’s built for people who get excited about finding something they’ve never seen or tasted before.

That’s enough most days for me.

In the end, I still struggle to shrug off those comments.

They remind me of a fear all of us independent retailers have.

Every artist.

Every author.

Every chef.

Every small business owner.

We all hear that little voice.

Most people want ketchup, not spruce syrup.

And then… someone buys the spruce syrup.

And for a while… that little voice gets a little quieter.