Montreal!

It's been a while.  I missed you.  We have a lot to talk about.

I spent about a week and a half in New York and Montreal, and the entire trip was a dream.  In New York, I witnessed (and sang at!) the Central Park wedding of two old friends, discovered the magic of Inwood (aka upper upper upper Manhattan), walked mile upon glorious mile every day, shared an afternoon cocktail with the delightful director of the Daily Meal's Culinary Content Network, spent lots of time with friends, and ate terribly well.  

In Montreal, homebase was an apartment in Mile-end, an area once old and modern, neighborhoody and super hip.  The area felt so comfortable to me that I found myself thinking I could live there. (Then I remembered the merciless weather nine months out of the year.  Yeah, no.)  There's so much I could say about this trip:  I watched as people breakdanced to French hip-hop in front of the Contemporary Art Museum downtown; I saw amazing street art everywhere; I trekked through green at gorgeous Parc du Mont-Royal, I had an ice cider tasting with local cheeses; I marveled at the sheer density of inviting cafes, and walked, walked, and walked some more.  Here are some more highlights: 

I should start out by mentioning Fitz & Folwell, the awesomest bike shop in the land.  They offer a culinary walking tour (we like those here) of Mile End and Little Italy, and many of the stops below are from the tour.  It's a fun way to spend a few hours, eat some good food, and walk lots.  Our guide, Danny, was a doll, and they offer various bike tours in Montreal as well.

At Alati-Caserta, a decades-old Little Italy bakery across the street from a church funded by Mussolini himself, we tried their signature cannoli, and they were perfect:  shatteringly crisp shell, and a rich ricotta filling dotted with tiny chocolate chips and a light orangey flavor, barely sweet.  Giant bags of ricotta filling sat unassumingly in the fridge in the plain sight of shoppers.

Pagaille! was my local coffee shop, and it was perfect.  They provided me with needed breakfast protein in a land of pastries, along with delicious homemade rillettes and jams.  Free wifi (through Montreal's awesome Île sans fil program) and available plugs, incredibly friendly service (oh, Canada), a few seats outside to enjoy the sun.  But the best thing about Pagaille was the petit pagaille, the café's signature espresso drink:  somewhere between a macchiatto and a cappuccino, espresso measured meticulously by weight, served in a dainty tulip glass.  Perfect.  I brought back bags of beans as a souvenir, much to the delight of the owner.

When visiting Schwartz's, the historic Jewish deli (or as the sign charmingly read, "Charcuterie Hebraique") known for its smoked meat sandwich, we went with the classic, along with addictive fries and a fine pickle.  (I bucked tradition and skipped the cherry soda.)  Before walking in, I reminded myself: this isn't pastrami, don't compare it to Langer's, appreciate it on its own merits.  And with that pep talk firmly in my brain, I thoroughly enjoyed it.

Fell in love with the buildings in Old Montreal. So fun to get lost walking through the streets.

Wilensky's Light Lunch has been sitting on the same friendly corner in Mile-End since 1932.  At Wilensky's, you order the Special, you don't ask questions, and you don't make substitutions.  (Though these days, you can add cheese to your Special -- but that's a pretty new innovation, only available for the last 30 years or so.)  What you get is a flattened, fried baloney sandwich with mustard that satisfies the most little-kid part of your appetite.  And if you're lucky, Sarah Wilensky (Moe's daughter) will make you a fluorescent lemon-lime soda to wash it down.

In Little Italy, I visited Cafe Italia.  This place is a old school Italian cafe, complete with cute old men sitting with their newspaper, Barbisol sold behind the counter, and deep, rich, strong espresso drinks.  Legit.

Juliette et Chocolat.  Just ridiculous. So decadent, so delicious, and open until the wee hours of the night when absolutely no one needs to stuff more food into their body.  But, my God, that fondant au chocolat, topped with both chocolate sauce and fleur de sel caramel sauce, and served with ice cream, was from another planet.

Arts Cafe was recommended to me by my Airbnb host, and was the hippest café I've ever encountered.  Sunny patio, excellent peoplewatching, a perfect little macchiatto in a robin's egg blue cup, and a little revelation called breakfast poutine:  potatoes and other vegetables, excellent white cheddar melted over top, a poached egg, hollandaise, duck confit.  Across-the-board swooniness.

Travel for me always leads to lessons.  My last day in Montreal was a Sunday, and I spent it walking through the streets of Mile-End.  It was truly a glorious day: the sun was shining, maybe for the very first time this year, and the streets were luminous.  Everyone was out: walking dogs, making impromptu banners for Mother's Day, crowding into café terrasses on every street corner for brunch.  Beautiful young hipsters feigned nonchalance as gaggles of Orthodox Jewish moms pushed strollers and chatted in Yiddish.  This scene felt so familiar, and so dear to me, that as I walked through, I was bubbling with happiness.  With slight differences in flavor, this could have been Williamsburg, or San Francisco, or more to the point, my own neighborhood of Los Feliz.  I felt it then, and I've tried to bring it home with me:  I am exactly where I should be.  I just need to soak in it a little more:  More walking always.  More cafe time.  Fewer items per day.  Montreal couldn't be more charming.  What's better than a trip that reminds you how good you have it at home? 

Three Items

I have some items.

The Red Car River Park, on the LA River, steps from Trystero HQ

After I posted about Trystero, Greg Thomas's Atwater Village home coffee-roasting operation, good buddy Jeff Miller, senior editor of Thrillist Los Angeles, caught wind of the story, and ask me to write up Trystero for Thrillist (!!).  I did; here's the post.  I'm happy to report that since the AKOY and Thrillist posts, Greg has gone on to quit his day job (!!!), and once he's back from a well-needed vacation, he's making Trystero his full-time gig.  Wishing him the best of luck!

rooftop view of Williamsburg

Speaking of vacation, forgive me for not posting for a bit.  I'm just back from an amazing trip to New York and Montreal (aka dreamland city of charming cafes).  I walked a lot.  I miss that.  Photos coming soon.

This.   This is an excerpt from an interview with Anthony Bourdain, in AAA's Westways magazine of all places.  We've seen Bourdain go full dick mode on Sandra Lee or Rachel Ray, but my favorite Bourdain moments are when someone's grandma makes him a meal at home, and you see this tall American television star's eyes soften as he's humbled by her warm, modest hospitality.  The sentiment expressed in this one paragraph is so important to me:  be interested, get past formalities, connect on a human level.  Just show up and be grateful.

Trystero Coffee: Atwater's Own Garage Roaster

There's something specific I hope to celebrate with this blog.  Well, it's a few things, but they swirl together, and to me, they're pretty inextricable.  It's what drives my obsession with outdoor spaces (why, oh why, can't we have plazas?) and motivates me to walk or take the train. It's the spirit of having a great idea, starting where you are, and using what you have to make a little magic happen.  It's that feeling you get when an opera slowly materializes around you as you walk through Union Station.  It's what attracted me to the rustlings around Frogtown and the LA River, it's the force that pushed me to organize five years of amazing bake sales, raising tens of thousands of dollars for charity and bringing an entire city together over homemade whoopie pies.  Really, it's the very thing I love the most about living on the east side.  I talk about food here, but I do so because food brings people together.  It comes down to community, and the glimmers of light that grow when people decide to bring something special to the table.



So, I'm excited about today's post, because the topic exemplifies this magical thing, maybe more than anything I've ever written about here.  Plus, this goodness I'm talking about is being generated by coffee!  After my own heart.  A few months back, I discovered Trystero Coffee:  basically a guy in Atwater Village, roasting coffee in his garage, delivering by bicycle.  Already an amazing story, right?

the esteemed roaster

Then, I tasted the coffee.  I'll just leave this here:  The city's best coffee comes from a garage in Atwater Village.  I've now tried several varieties, and across the board, coffee made from Greg Thomas's garage-roasted beans is never bitter, always rich, and balanced just right.

But there's more to Trystero than just great coffee.  Most Saturdays, Greg opens up the garage to visitors, so I went to say hello and pick up my beans in person this weekend.  He's set up the modest space like a bohemian living room: between unfinished wood walls decorated with eclectic posters and clippings, mismatched chairs and and a funky old couch make for a welcoming place to meet your neighbors over a smooth cup of joe.  And Greg creates a warm vibe between strangers -- shaking your hand as you come in, and introducing everyone to each by name.  It's pretty special.

Hospitality reigns in the Trystero garage: after we'd been sitting for a bit, Greg turned from the espresso machine and said with a smile, "Can I make you a cappuccino?"  Uh, yes.  Not surprisingly, it was awesome.  Sweet without sugar, and again, perfectly balanced.

a perfect cappuccino

On this particular day, Trystero's ad-hoc coffeehouse was host to some community organizing.  Greg had opened up the garage to a couple Atwater residents collecting signatures in favor of adding a pedestrian path to the nearby Glendale-Hyperion bridge.  I'd walked the bridge that morning to get to Trystero, and it's utterly treacherous for pedestrians in its current state (though the view of the LA River from the bridge is pretty sweet).  So, petitions were signed, and the morning's coffee klatch talked about the project, about the neighborhood, about great bars and the Portlandification of Los Angeles.

treacherous bridge, beautiful view

And in addition to coffee, Greg uses the Trystero website to organize small events surrounding other passions:  bicycle rides, loud fun music, analog photography,  good beer, and camping with friends.  So much goodness.

So, in about an hour's time, a small group of strangers shared some knowledge and some warm hospitality, worked towards improving the neighborhood, and created a major spark of community.  All because a guy decided to do a little something great.  It's amazing what can happen over an exceptional cup of coffee.

bridge still treacherous, view still beautiful

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Trystero Coffee is at 2974 Glendale Blvd.  Check the website for ordering details and delivery schedule.

[Incidentally, if you're interested in signing the Hyperion Bridge petition, let me know!]

HomeState: Texas in Los Feliz

Texas.  Lone Star State.  Home of cowboy hats, Tim Riggins, and people who say y'all.  I've had the good fortune to work with quite a few Texans, and what I've learned is that when you talk to Texans about their home cuisine, tears might well up in their eyes.  There's some serious passion behind delicacies like queso, breakfast tacos, Texas barbecue (why, oh why have we not talked about Bludso's here?), and -- unknown here, but ubiquitous there -- the bready, fruit-topped Czech pastries called kolaches.

It's clear that this kind of passion is behind the new Texas-themed restaurant, HomeState, that recently took over the old Storefront space in Los Feliz.  You immediately feel the place's hospitable vibe -- there's a giant sign behind the open kitchen that says "Welcome Home"; a dark wood bookshelf is filled with books, knick-knacks, and bags of Austin's own Cuvee Coffee; and pretty white cake plates by the counter hold piles of that very stuff of legend, kolaches.

kolaches!

The flavors here are familiar and super satisfying.  A fat breakfast taco of eggs and shredded brisket is smoky and gooey, on a fresh, thick homemade flour tortilla (which you can also take home by the dozen).  There are in fact several varieties of  breakfast taco, including chorizo, refried charro beans, and a potato, bacon, and cheddar combo.  (There's even an egg white and mushroom taco, which I will likely never try, though I appreciate the concession to the needs of the neighborhood.)  Also included on the breakfast menu is migas -- eggs scrambled with crispy strips of corn tortilla, cheddar, and various add-ins.  All are served with red and green salsa that are appropriately fiery, and very fresh.

classy frito pie

We didn't have any of the lunch mains (sandwiches, tacos, and a couple awesome-sounding salads will have to wait for another trip), but we did try a couple classic sides:  the Frito pie, Fritos with homemade chili con carne and toppings, were served out of a Fritos bag, but the complex flavors of the rich chili belie the kitschy-trashy presentation.

queso

And of course, their queso, served with tortilla chips, is properly addictive.

HomeState achieves the Texas theme with a welcoming coziness and a little bit of hipster savvy.  The espresso drinks, made with Cuvee coffee roasted in Austin, are better than they need to be.


The back wall is lined with green glass bottles of TopoChico, a Mexican mineral water popular in Austin.  And to drive the down-home point home, the O Brother Where Art Thou soundtrack quietly played in the background the whole time we were there.

hospitality for all

They also have buñuelos in a bag, which I can't believe I didn't try.  Doesn't matter; I'll certainly be back.  Living in Los Angeles, there is very little regional food that still seems exotic to us.  So it's always exciting to be introduced to a new world through its food.  Texas has invaded Los Feliz with deliciousness, hospitality, kolaches, and really great coffee.  I for one welcome the takeover.

--
HomeState is located at 4624 Hollywood Blvd., between Vermont and Hillhurst.

Grand Central Market: Where pig snout meets eggslut

I have some concerns about Grand Central Market.  I'd like to talk about them.

But I'm getting a little distracted.

the slut, with biscuit

The first time I went to Grand Central Market was probably about a decade ago, when Downtown LA held tons of promise for an urban explosion, but we weren't seeing much yet.  At that time, I noticed a few things.  Grand Central Market was amazing.  A huge, bustling open space, mountains of produce, aromas wafting from pupuserías, taco stands, Chinese steam plate places, and more.  It was a little rundown, but this didn't detract from the magic.  And the vast majority of the clientele were speaking Spanish.

open kitchen

Fast forward to 2013.  As we know, the Downtown prophesies came true.  And, you know where this is going: a somewhat absurd rant about gentrification from the very person the Market's new tenants are there to cater to.  Not the first time.  Indeed, we kill what we love.  The latest additions to Grand Central Market include eggslut, home of the 9 dollar breakfast sandwich, Valerie Confections, beloved bake sale contributors and purveyors of delicious, high-end chocolates, and G&B Coffee, notorious among my circle for the time, back when they ran the coffee service at SQIRL Cafe, that they gave one friend her to-go coffee in a jam jar with a bandana wrapped around it, snickering at her request for half-and-half, then charging her seven dollars for the lot.  Um.

the happiest of breakfasts

So, yeah, I'm all for progress and all, but, as always, I'm conflicted.  But I recently checked out eggslut, and honestly, the food was so delicious that it's hard to scoff.  What I loved was the attention to detail.  I mean, the fat-salt-pork formula is hard to mess up.  But, when someone asked for butter with their warm, tender, perfectly cooked biscuit, the chef made sure the server sprinkled some flaky salt on it before handing it off.  The signature dish -- named The Slut, natch -- a velvety potato puree topped with a coddled egg and served in a jar with crostini on the side, is accented accented with a sprinkle of celery salt.  And, even their simplest bacon, egg, and cheese sandwich is really well-executed and totally satisfying.

g&b

Across the market, G&B now offers actual paper to-go cups.  Their space is laid out like a bar -- you walk up and give your order to a friendly and appropriately dapper barista.  And my little macchiatto, served in a Gibraltar glass and topped with a foamed-milk heart, was wonderful.

hard to sneer at the movement that brought this sunny patio

So, what do we think, kids?  Is Grand Central Market's unique local color doomed?  I for one am not too worried about it at the moment.  There are a few of these new hipstery fancy stands, but for the most part, the populist bustle of the Market remains.  If the attempt here is to turn Grand Central into San Francisco's uber-gourmet Ferry Plaza, happily, it has failed.  Because, just as we were waiting in line for our precious sandwiches, another equally eager line was forming at the stand next door, to order every imaginable part of a pig, from an age-worn, hand-edited sign, all in Spanish.  

trompas y orejas y riñón, oh my!

(And also because I like fancy coffee and slutty eggs.)

--
Grand Central Market is located at 317 S. Broadway, between 3rd and 4th Streets. It's a 5 minute walk from the Pershing Square Red Line station.

It's Saturday, I'm Tannaz: Broome Street General Store

Having heard about Broome Street General Store around the internet, needing a gift for a very Silver-Lakey friend, and it being like 2 seconds from my apartment, I had to check it out this Saturday.  It's an adorable rendition of what early Restoration Hardware could have been if it weren't looking for chain-store world takeover and served excellent espresso drinks.  It's a beautifully picked set of a little of everything, with a nod to retro stylishness and solid construction:  giant jars of bloody Mary mix from a tiny brand in Brooklyn, with bits of hot pepper and tomato seeds visibly swimming in the thick red juice; tiny Weck jars, with their pretty orange seals, filled with whole nutmeg, or lavender buds.  A few Asian specialty kitchen items, a few Italian ones.  Simple juice glasses, artisanal honey, and heavy, substantial baking dishes in simple colors and patterns. 

The space used to hold a frivolous but beautifully appointed shop named Zanzabelle, and I wondered as I walked in if Broome Street would be different.  The nutmeg was the first thing that caught my eye.  It was, admittedly, an adorable little treat.  But at $8.25 for about six... nuts (what the hell do you call a nutmeg?), it gave me pause about the whole place.

It feels good to be in this clean, tidy shop.  But, the well-curated inventory at Broome Street is not cheap.  I came for a gift, but true to form, instead ended up grabbing myself some cool refreshing caffeination and a snack to go along.  For an iced latte and savory hand pie, I paid over ten dollars.  It took a few minutes, but eventually I figured out what I was really paying for.  Broome Street is set off from the street by a sweet square patio, each corner of which houses a tree whose branches arch over and shade the wooden bistro tables perfectly.  It was a searing 85 degrees outside, but sitting on that patio under dappled sunshine, with my icy coffee and a light breeze shaking the pages of my book -- that's pretty much all I ever want.  The hospitality of the surroundings allowed my mind to wander far from Rowena Avenue.  That quiet patio, with vines growing over an arched trellis on one side, offered me a moment of respite.  It turns out Broome Street offers free wireless internet and electrical outlets outside, too.  And in addition to the baked goods on offer currently, salads and sandwiches are coming soon.  The staff -- the shop's owners -- are warm and conversational, and clearly they're taking care of their guests. 

I probably won't go back to Broome Street for a bottle of  toasted sesame oil with an extra-stylish label or gummy peach candies gussied up by a fancy tin.  But I know myself:  I have a long history of passing time over espresso drinks.  Weekends keep coming, and I keep being Tannaz: for a sweet moment of neighborly hospitality, great coffee and a bite to eat on that dreamy patio, I can't wait for the next opportunity.

My Happy Place: Spring for Coffee

Have you been to Art Walk?  You really should.  The streets downtown fill with all sorts of people looking for fun, every corner seems to have performers banging out the night's soundtrack on plastic buckets, and as the night progresses, every storefront seems to have become a gallery -- tiny, strange, mainstream, street, you name it -- if just for the night.  You might have to stand in line at a small street-art gallery on a side street that a friend takes you to, but it's worth it to see the place that, for this friend, "feels like home" -- his happy place.  It's not odd to see a sign for a "Cleaners/Gallery", and by the time you pass by a barbershop a second time, it's turned into a club, lights dimmed and techno bumping.  Step into the sprawling Last Bookstore, and there's a budding dance floor in there, too.  Downtown's DJs-per-square-footage has to be at a national high on the second Thursday of each month. Our city becomes a little extra charged for a few hours each month.

But you'll want to get there early, especially if you're driving (though seriously, do as I say, not as I do, and take the metro, for Pete's sake).  And before the streets fill with hubbub, you can take a moment.  I've driven past teensy Spring for Coffee a million times, always sad to keep driving.  On this evening, I stepped to the little counter, was greeted by two heavily-tatted zany-friendly baristas, got a delicious cappuccino in a real cup made from beloved Blue Bottle coffee, and plunked down at one of only 3 sidewalk tables.  I tried to read, though who are we kidding -- the peoplewatching was way too compelling.  And it being downtown, I had the occasion to do a Google Image Search on my phone for "crackpipe," just to make sure. (I was right.)

Downtown.  Art Walk.  Spring for Coffee.  Crackpipe.  A night in the life.

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Spring for Coffee is at 548 S. Spring, on the northeast corner of Spring and 6th.
The Last Bookstore is at 435 S. Spring, on the northwest corner of Spring and 5th.
Crewest is at 110 Winston St., at Main, a block south of 4th.

hands

Over at Food GPS, Josh Lurie interviewed a guy named Jay Murdoch, a very serious coffee guy currently shepherding all coffee activity at Kaffe 1668 in New York's TriBeCa district.  I don't know of the guy, nor the place (though if the awesome website is any indication, I really should), but when Josh asked him what inspires him about coffee, he had this beautiful piece to say:

"Hands.  Hands.  Coffee is all about hands to me.  It starts from picking the coffee cherry, and then that cherry has got to be removed.  The coffee’s got to be processed, sorted, graded, re-graded, cupped, re-sorted, dried and then it gets bagged.  Shipped.  Then it goes into the roasters’ hands.  They have to put their hands on it and control.   Finally, it will typically be hands of packagers, though that’s becoming a little more automated these days.  Then it comes into our hands.  We can only see a degradation along the line.  Coffee’s never better than when you pick the cherry off the tree.  The more that those hands care about what they’re doing, the better coffee will be.  That’s what’s it’s about to me." 

I love this.

Here's the full interview.

--
thanks to Ian Sane for the photo

C&C: Dupont Circle

Cappuccino and Croissant, Dupont Circle Farmers Market Edition. Unfortunately/fortunately, they do not have a coffee vendor at this charming Washington DC farmer's market, as coffee can not be found growing within 150 miles of the market (don't they know caffeine is the exception to the local rule?!). Nonetheless, there is an Illy coffee shop within a walk, which itself was a treat: I love their artist-rendered cups, and the shops don't exist in LA. A worthwhile mini-escape from the Share Our Strength conference, and good caffeine and sustenance to start off my day shucking collards on the farm.

smartbike DC is a Good Thing

Bundt Kissing Begins Tomorrow

Just got word that Kiss My Bundt, a bundt cake bakery on West Third about 50 steps from my apartment, opens tomorrow. They've got a big grand opening planned for September 6, but they soft-open tomorrow at 8 am. Chrysta Wilson, the owner of Kiss My Bundt, was really warm and generous when I randomly emailed her soliciting contributions for the Bake Sale earlier this year. She hand-delivered a couple trays of little bundts, and I'm happy to report, they were super fudgy and delicious. She also claims better-than-Coffee-Bean coffee, which is good because it means we can go there for reasons other than stuffing our faces with bundt cake goodness, though that's what we really want to do.

Anyway, go tomorrow, go again on September 6, and maybe a few times in between. And welcome to the neighborhood, Kiss My Bundt!

Kiss My Bundt is at 8104 W. Third St., just west of Crescent Heights.

[thanks kissmybundt.net for the photo]

Whoa: Massimo's Mudspot

Guys, this is revolutionary. I'm here to write about Massimo's Mudspot, and I am currently at Massimo's Mudspot! This is the future! (OK, so maybe this is not new. But it turns out my blog is kind of a luddite, have you noticed? Aw, poor neglected little bloggie.)

Anyway, I'm sitting at Massimo's, a new coffeehouse that opened next door to the Little Bar on La Brea at 8th. It's big and airy, with funky mismatched furniture, including a couple couches in the front where just a few minutes ago, 2 cute little boys were playing, they have free wireless, Danessi espresso, and Galaga.

....

Sorry, just got distracted by the cutest baby ever gazing at me. See that? Live blogging, people. Amazing!

Anyway, yeah, Galaga. And lots of baked goods (lavender lemon bar, anyone?), sandwiches and salads and what not from Organic To Go, jazz wafting through, and a subtle Italian theme created by the black and white photos and old movie posters on the walls -- obviously, I love that. Oh, and did I mention free wireless internet?

OK, i'm going to go buy something else since I've been sitting here forever and don't really understand how a place can stay in business when people buy like 5 bucks worth of stuff, then sit for 3 hours. So, come by, buy lots of stuff, then leave, so that there's always a table for me! Cool, thanks.

Massimo's Mudspot is at 759 S. La Brea, on the northwest corner of 8th.

Two Photos

"Au café, il y a toujours une chance de parler, d'écouter, d'émouvoir, d'être ému."

(At the cafe, there is always the chance to talk, to listen, to move, to be moved.)
(Indulge me, I'm taking a French class...)
(These photos are by Pierrick Bourgault. Aren't they lovely?)

Tea Fest

So, what did we see at the Kulov Tea Festival on Sunday? Let's see, the room that I've always known to house dance classes at the Electric Lodge was converted into a mini-convention of sorts, milling with people, and with a focus on all things Chinese Tea. From the ceilings hung decorative umbrellas and lanterns, and each corner of the airy space promised exotic flavors: samples of inventive flavored teas like after-dinner-mint (with chocolate chips somehow incorporated into the blend), caramel, or blueberry white at one table; iced greens and oolongs, sake and plum wine at another; the dim sum table, where we sampled crunchy-chewy sesame balls filled with a sweet lotus root paste.

And there was plenty to do (besides eating and drinking). There was the raffle drawing, where one lucky winner would go home with the DVD set of the latest season of China Idol. There was a calligraphy demonstration, a woman who would do some sort of herbal assessment, and a traditional tea ceremony with rare pu-erh tea. In the Electric Lodge's theater were musical performances (Chinese zither and the like). Interesting tea-minded adults and kids (some in adorable Chinese dress) filled every corner of the Lodge and sipped -- not a bad way to spend a bit of time on the summeriest winter Sunday of the year.