It used to be a frantic race. Pump up the AC, put some lead in that foot and rev up those RPM’s as the grocery store became a mere dot in the rearview mirror. Afterall, they weren’t called perishables for nothing. From the confines of a mud brown paper bag, the glare from the sun through a thick windshield was public enemy number one. The cheese had to be saved.

They say Seattle doesn’t get much sun but the rules still apply. So it bucks all sensibility that The Milkman’s Daughter exists. What flawed reality would allow a ’56 snow white Wimbledon Ford to deliver Bessie’s greatest invention to the masses amongst traffic jams and four way stops?

To go all Gen X on you, reality bites. But the reality of the Northwest based Milkman’s Daughter is a bite of class, redefined. A traditional food truck with a twist, The Milkman’s Daughter is a Sommelier’s urban dream. It is a gourmet delicatessen and cheese snob heaven (sans the pretense) and it is an unlikely and fantastic marriage of American automotive prowess and refined French cuisine. The mobile grocer, a staple at some of the best wineries and breweries in the land, takes the traditional road warrior grub (think cubed imitation cheese from the local gas station) and replaces it with the gourmand favored requirements of a soiree on a Paris rooftop, or a seaside terrace in Tuscany. A Tillamook white cheddar or a Spanish Winey Goat cheese for a Merlot; Rogue Creamery blue cheese, spreadable on a cracker, for a Riesling or Chardonnay. For the hops and barley enthusiasts with a penchant for brew unavailable in a drive thru, Gouda is a-gooda with an IPA; a French Camembert, an age old symbol of distinguished class, will mesh well with the maltier variety. And of course, a diet soda or bottled water will blend well too, as any of The Milkman’s Daughter’s delectables stand on their own merit.

From berets to ballcaps, something cheesy is happening in Seattle. And it’s the coolest thing on four wheels.

When Charles Beckman opened a small specialty store in 1905 in the town of Red Wing, Minnesota, his keen eye was fixated on the values of durability, quality hand strewn craftsmanship, and plain old hard work. From the factory floor warrior to the construction site champion, Beckman theorized that there might be a need for quality footwear for the workers that make America go. Bulls-eye.

On the feet of our brave soldiers in the two major wars, to its unexpected role in hip hop couture, Red Wing has been through it all. Like an unsung hero that is in the shadows yet always present on the grand stage, Red Wing and their triple stitched leather boots has been the vehicle for the heroes who have paved our roads, laid down railroad tracks, and erected the sturdy building in which you are currently reading this story. No frills, no trends, no gimmicks. No need.

“Work Is Our Work” is their credo, an apt statement that embodies the company’s not-so complex vantage on a product that truly has many layers. A breath of fresh air for over one hundred years, Red Wing endures as an anomaly; gritty, demanding manufacturers catering to clients with gritty, demanding jobs. Go with what you know.

From his business roots in Florence, Alabama, to the style conscious cobblestone streets of Florence, Italy, fashion designer Billy Reid’s unique blend of premium couture and Southern warmth has draped the anatomy of discerning men and women for well over a decade. Odds are, you are adorned in his creations right now.

While many purveyors of fashion focus their efforts on streamlined niches and genres, Reid has masterfully threaded his needle into many different fabrics. Menswear, womenswear, shoes, accessories-no facet of design has yet to be felt with his Midas touch. To achieve what he dubs “Low-fi Southern bred luxury”, Reid employs premier materials and timeless styles and sets them against funky accents. So well received is the finished product, his vantages have graced the pages of countless magazines, as well as the racks of stores everywhere. When not designing for Bloomingdale’s, K- Swiss, J.Crew, and a slew of others, the American trend setter’s garb can also be found at one of his own boutiques, which sweep throughout the renaissance cities of the South, as well as the obligatory NYC shop.

In a state that worships Bear Bryant and children fall asleep to the lullabies of Lynrd Skynrd, Billy Reid and his brand of design are making waves amongst the tide- Crimson, of course.

The X Games recently made its yearly pilgrimage to the ESPN family airwaves, as the thousands in attendance and the millions watching at home marveled at the awe inspiring continuation of Evel Knievel’s vision. It was a beautiful chaos, a poetic union of impending death and art. But it was far from original.

In the 1920’s, board track racing was the grandfather of extreme spot, but this was no senior stroll. Forget about shuffleboards-the original daredevils of board track racing danced with death (and many unfortunately had two left feet in the tango) on wooden boards. The banking angle on the corners was 60°, a flirtation with G-force far ahead of its time. Brakes were seemingly optional in the early era, with fans risking more than the ticket price should a rider lose control. And the vessel that caused gear heads to wager it all was the iconic motorized bicycle. Part Tour de France, part Indy 500, the two wheeled terror, now an icon in the annals of motorcycle history (and a forerunner to the less attractive moped), was American ingenuity at its finest. It was, in theory, a romanticized era that can never be replicated. Derringer Cycles dares to speed past this assumption.

With an appropriate vintage aesthetic of the cycle that represented the true thundering roar of the Roaring 20’s, Derringer cycles is the present and the future of the original motorized bike’s resurrection. They customize the essence of the pleasantly minimal motorbike with a bespoke tailoring to modern needs. And they do so without losing the grit and testosterone driven rawness that made the motorbike a classic in the first place. Brashly snubbing the cookie cutter norms of the industry, Derringer designs and fabricates snowflakes, unique and original one-of-a-kind vehicles for its discerning clientele. A moto-hybrid drivetrain, 180 miles per gallon and emissions friendly for those into such details; hammered copper rivets, hand-crafted leather saddles and white tires for those like us that are infatuated by the look, which soon morphs into a mindset. Anyone can own a standard hog, but Derringer trims such fat. Sleek, clean and unapologetically cool, a Derringer rider, clad in a wool sweater or leather cap, stands out for the right reasons. Where others walk the plank to join denizens of cliché ridden, mass manufactured motorcycles, the only brush with a plank a Derringer rider encounters is his link to the forefathers of the genre, who bled on dangerous wooden planks. The ride no longer carries such danger and rebellion. The rider just may, because if he owns a Derringer, it is in his DNA.

http://www.derringercycles.com/

Story, JMA

It began with an axe.

The gritty, rustic tool that man has used since becoming self aware thousands of years ago, the axe is both the anchor and an avatar for NYC based Best Made Company. Founded in 2009 by a North Canadian who knows a thing or two about the rugged outdoors, Best Made Co. caters to varying crowds with one shared trait; A desire to get their hands dirty.

Along with other empowered gear and wares, Best Made aims to hearken back to an era when men were men, and became one with nature, craftsmanship, and each other through fulfilling projects. The instinctual yearning to build and create has not waned with the increasingly pampered times. In other words, with their finely constructed Best Made products, survivalists and weekend warriors alike are now kindred spirits. And for those hand models and internet worker bees who can’t afford to risk their precious paws, an axe from Best Made Co. still serves as fine art on a wall.

Paul Bunyan would be so proud.

Story, JMA

Colloquial synonyms. If imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, the act of intertwining a brand name with an entire industry is a very close second. And when that brand name transcends into a verb, it truly reaches an unprecedented echelon. Digest this and let the dust settle where it may, but that dust won’t settle for too long; After-all, the world has been Hoovering their carpets for over a century.

It seems illogical, possessing showroom quality floors and carpets in homes and buildings that have proudly stood tall for generations, in some cases longer than our great nation has existed. Oddly enough, we owe it all to one man’s asthma. In 1907, Canton, Ohio, department store janitor James Murray Spangler had had enough of his ailment and the culprit, as he saw it, was the primitive carpet sweeper upon which he plied his trade. With a soap box, electric motor, pillow case and broom handle (and American ingenuity), the “Electric Suction Sweeper” began its ascent into perhaps the most integral tool ever known to achieving an immaculate, healthy home.

Spangler’s revolutionary patent, combined with the innovative entrepreneurial acumen of his cousin’s husband, W.H. “Boss” Hoover, led to a reimagining of the then greatly suffering Home Care products industry, a vision that has ceased to blur in modern times. A simultaneous juggernaut in R&D and Branding, Hoover has not merely cleaned the collective American fabric; it has become a part of it. Whether implementing the groundwork for an oft mimicked national dealer network, offering a free trial period for customers in the early days via nostalgia darling/national gem the Saturday Evening Post, or ceasing factory operations to aid the WWII effort, Hoover’s growth as a company has mirrored our evolution as a nation.

Like a thoroughbred that charges out of the gates and never relinquishes his lead in a derby, Hoover continues to set and exceed the highest standards of Home Care Products. Parented by Techtronic Industries Co. LTD (TTI), the Hoover brand remains, thankfully, as somewhat of an enigma to common sense: though the vacuum cleaner is industrial and utilitarian by definition, the art of vacuuming is often a cathartic experience. No better savant exists than Marie Barone, Raymond’s doting mother and overall sage from Everybody Loves Raymond, who expounded this point in a most poetic way:

“Vacuums don’t clean houses. People clean houses.”

Who could argue with Mrs.B?

Hoover has turned into a colloquial synonym. Hoover has turned into a verb. And only a Hoover can turn what should be a mundane task into an experience.

Story, JMA

Don’t be fooled by the name. Fine Paints Of Europe is an American company that parralels many of us; nephews of Uncle Sam, with European roots.

It began with founder John Lahey’s frustration. Seeking high quality paint to use on his family’s eighteenth-century home, he was reminded of the depth of the colors and the gorgeous finishes he witnessed overseas. In search of European quality, he found no answers in stateside products. He discovered a culture within the industry that promoted price over quality-and he would have none of it. His quest took him to the mecca of paint, Holland, and their 300 years of mastery in the genre inspired him to start a company that catered to discerning American homeowners like him.

That vision has served Fine Paints Of Europe well. Since 1987 the company has forged an indellible bond with the American public that is both in our faces and unheralded. We’ll brag for them. The elite paints of Fine Paints Of Europe are a humongous source of pride, covering such important landmarks as the Mount Vernon Estate, the President Lincoln and Soldier’s Home Monument, and Dodona Manor. And while the Vermont based company initially serviced historical restorations, as witnessed above, the privately held brand has branched out into commercial and residential applications. Which means that now, even our three bedroom cottages and fixer-uppers can be treated to the same fanfare of a national treasure. And the aesthetic brilliance is worth every penny.

As they like to say, “There is nothing more expensive than cheap paint.”

Stereotypes are quite the affliction to one’s identity, and prove to be an exacting stain to remove. In recent years, courtesy of the unreal reality fed to us all by networks that formerly showcased music, anyone west of the Hudson River might be inclined to believe that New Jersey is little more than a haven of intricately gelled coifs and overly tanned beefcake physiques. No cameras or editing were needed to blow this unmerited generality out of the water. All we had to do was look in house at our talented roster to prove what we knew all along-inspired design is unbound of imaginary lines or zip codes. The Garden State produced the man who has recreated the classic art of American craftsmanship with a worldly vision. The aforementioned stereotype can hit the bricks.

When we first introduced you to our collaborator and friend NyThan James, we summarized his talents with a simple phrase; NyThan James is a creative-period. Our favorite Jersey boy once again is backing up our boastful proclamation with the unleashing of his Trunk Series. How he takes something that was once fiercely utilitarian and turns it into something that is downright pretty is beyond our comprehension, but he pulls off this feat and we ask no questions. Much like Houdini levitating through the atmosphere, we simply gaze in awe. And smile.

NyThan designs the rugged, street ready Trunks one piece at a time, sourcing all leathers, fabrics and hardware personally. Brass, chrome, choice of seven color hides, James approaches each work with an unrivaled flair of individuality, an alliance between the inspired purveyor and his client. The Trunks, available in the 24 or 72 hour variety, are proudly American made, hand crafted by artisans in NYC.

Bespoke only. Timeless always.

This is not your Grandmother’s pickling.

That is said that necessity is the mother of invention, and although in our most minimal state it can be argued that we don’t need Fennel Beets, Chipotle Carrots, Garlic Scapes or Minted Eggplant, to name a few, after a taste or two of these…well, much like beauty, necessity is in the eyes of the beholder. At Brooklyn Brine Company, where tattoos and preserving run concurrent with one another, a twist on the art of pickling, one that is as fresh as their product, has turned an ambitious startup into a growing enterprise. Featured wherever seasoned palates might feast throughout the crowded city of Gotham, and now nationwide through Williams-Sonoma and numerous other food commerce chains, Brooklyn Brine Co. and their upgrade to an age old American undertaking are slowly rebooting what was once banal and mundane and rebranding it with a hipster edge. Imaging aside, their next generation vegetarian delicacies simply taste phenomenal.

Brooklyn Brine Company lives with a bold mission statement: We make “Damn Fine Pickles”. A declaration, sans colorful hype and circus style marketing. A simple statement, about a product crafted of simple ingredients, yet a potent punch to what indie cuisine and small business can be.

If ever caught in a pickle, cross your fingers it’s from Brooklyn Brine Co.

Blame it on the 70’s.

From the early 1900’s until the 1960’s, a gentleman’s hat was as important to his dynamic as a firm handshake and a proper necktie. Then the various revolutions took root, and floppy unkempt hair began to replace the timeless styles of the homburg and the fedora.

Discriminating, indulgent, and absolutely necessary, whether fabricating The Trilby, The Manhattan, or The Chicago, Thompson and co. are not only recreating pride in a man’s presentation to the world, they are serving notice to the old notion that fashion runs in sprints. With their timeless hats, they are proving that some old relics are better suited for a marathon. Sentiments aside, Optimo Fine Hats are simply suave, which is reason enough for the seasoned and the young alike to embrace this shared heritage.

As Optimo says themselves, Life’s better in a great hat.

Optimo Hats http://www.optimohats.com/

Story, JMA