now that's what i call a meal.

Where Have I Been?

2006-10-03T07:38:00.000-07:00

Well It has been a crazy few weeks. In between a Southern Wedding, torrential floods, a twenty-four hour fast and huge set-back due to my recent discovery of a shell-fish allergy, I haven’t had much time to write. I am thinking about how I will proceed with this site and I hope to implment a few changes. I did, however, revisit that Chinese food restaurant that makes fresh noodles. It’s called the Lan Zhou Handmade Noodle, it is located at 144 East Broadway and it is still delicious.

Fall Road Trips - Five Meals in Five Sentences

2006-09-15T08:34:00.000-07:00

September and October are two of my favorite months to call in sick and hop in the car for three days of Fall Fun. Here are five places worth stopping by to eat when hunger hits you on the road.

Mama’s Pizzeria (Bala Cynwyd, PA): Forget about the Philly Cheesesteak Kings, this suburban steak-shop lays some serious regicide to the proclaimed royalty of America’s greatest sandwich. Recommended: Cheesesteak, whiz, wit,

Steak Frites (Montreal, QC): Tucked in between various tourist traps of Old Montreal, this classic French Bistro offers up nine perfectly prepared items for visitors in the know. Recommended: Steak-Frites (9oz) with Mushrooms.

Sheldon Farms (Salem, NY): Independently owned and a classic representation of nostalgic Americana, Sheldon Farms offers up some of the best produce, locally baked bread and farm-raised animal this country has to offer. Recommended: Raw Sugar Corn.

Anna’s Taqueria (Brookline, MA): The Holy Grail for my own burrito crusade, Anna’s sets the standard for what I look for in the perfect Mexican meal. Recommended: Large steak burrito with black beans and sour cream.

Hoagie Haven (Princeton, NJ): A pride and joy of Princeton alumni for years, this sandwich shop produces gut busting delicacies for everyone from the over worked under grad to the golf playing tenured professor.

Schwartz's - A Smoked Meat Tradition

2006-09-08T16:15:00.000-07:00

Being the son of an American mother and a Canadian father meant a multitude of childhood trips to their respective geographical origins. These trips included a full agenda of family time, family fun and, of course, copious amounts of family food. Since my mother hails from Brooklyn, trips to her parent’s house meant heaping cones of Nathan’s Fries, steaming hot raisin bagels and towering plates of cream cheese and lox; all classic staples of Brooklyn food. Trips to my father’s home in Canada were a different story. My dad’s mother lives about half an hour outside of Montreal, Qubebec in a small suburb called Chomedy, known for its malls and shopping centers and not so much for its culinary prowess. This was something I never noticed because until recently the only food I ate in Canada came from my grandmother’s kitchen.

Born in Hungary, my grandmother sailed from Europe shortly after the end of World War Two, bringing with her an expansive mental encyclopedia of old world recipes, techniques and flavors. Although she cooked hundreds of dishes for us over the years, my favorite meal with the one she would have waiting for us when we arrived. The first course was a cauliflower soup, laden with large chunks of chicken, carrots and fresh bits of parsley. The soup was an aromatic bouquet of salt, slow cooked meat and fresh cut vegetables. Next up were breaded chicken and veal, fried in a skillet and dripping with grease and flavor. This was accompanied by a tart, yet surprisingly sweet, pickled cucumber salad. The meal was finished off with a triple layered, chocolate and coffee blackout cake and a cool glass of milk. Now with a meal like that, why would anyone want to eat out.

Despite my grandmother’s culinary skills, as the years passed my father would take my brother and me out for eating tours of Montreal. Being both a Montreal native and an alumnus of McGill University, my dad knew all the old culinary hotspots that would impress his teenage sons. He initiated us to the “Big Orange”, home of the infamous Orange Julep, which is a sweet, creamy, frothy drink that is piped out from the top of the three-story structure into varying sizes of styrofoam cups. He introduced us to the Montreal Bagel, a salt-free, honey-sweetened, sesame-sprinkled piece of round heaven, best eaten just after it is dumped into a pile straight out of the flame-fired oven. He introduced us to Coffee Crisps, Cherry Blossoms, real maple syrup and chocolate cakes from the European kosher and Greek bakeries. However, the most impressive gastronomic gem our father ever shared with us was a hole-in-the-wall deli known as Schwartz’s.

For those who have never heard of Canada’s oldest deli, Schwartz’s is to Montreal as Katz’s is to New York. Known as the “Montreal Tradition Since 1928”, this Jewish-style Deli has been located in the same spot since its doors opened on the Main, namely St. Lawrence St. which separates traditional Montreal into East (mainly French roots) and West (mainly English roots). Unless you arrive when the doors open at 9 a.m., there is a good chance you will have to wait in a sometimes slow-moving, long line outdoors, which can be numbing in the depth of a Montreal winter. There are two lines, one for take-out service (to the right if facing the store) and one for seating (to the left). For those willing to endure the take-out line, they will be treated to a behind the scenes show of meat slicing, mustard spreading and sausage plating. For those waiting in the seating line, the only solace is knowing that in 20 minutes to an hour, you will be enjoying one of the best smoked-meat sandwiches in the world

Being in Montreal for Labor Day Weekend (and Grandma’s 80th), my brother and I decided to make our father proud and venture out on our first solo mission to Schwartz’s. With the acrid taste of late night indulgence still lingering in our mouths, we managed to drag ourselves out of bed and into line by an impressive (at least by our standards) noon. Although the line appeared daunting at first, we only had a 20-minute wait and were graciously seated next to an elderly, Quebequois couple. The interior is a single white-tiled room, containing several rows of long narrow tables, with people packed “cheek by jowl” as my father lovingly puts it.

Whether it was the residue of the previous night’s revelry or some unfortunate and ill-timed sobering of my normal comestible cravings, my appetite was not up to its usual standards. My brother and I decided on two smoked meat sandwiches, one plate of fries, two pickles and a quarter pound of dried karnatzle (a spicy, boiled sausage). We gave our waiter our orders and got ready to feast.

There are three ways to order smoked meat: fatty, medium and lean. For the hot sandwich I recommend the medium cut which adds a nice amount of flavor with the rendered fat. The meat is first marinated in a blend of secret spices for a week, then smoked for six hours and finished off in the oven for another four. The resulting product is so tender that it splinters off into tiny, succulent morsels, with even the slightest pull.

Like Katz’s, all of the meat slicing is done in the open in the middle of the restaurant. There is a constant flow of steaming meat being cut to order and heaped in mountainous piles on top of fresh rye bread. After a relatively short wait, my brother and I were presented with two over stuffed, hot smoked meat sandwiches and all of our sides. The sandwiches, which were served on rye with a thin spread of yellow mustard, were flawless. The meat reminded me of a perfectly cooked Texas-styled brisket, with strong pepper and salt overtones and a hint of sweet smoke. The mustard’s light vinaigrette flavor rounded off the taste. The karnatzle had a taunt outer skin that encased a fatty meat inside, creamy in texture and spicy in taste. The fries were a crispy golden brown and the pickle was sour enough to make one’s lips pucker. With the bill totaling a mere twenty-four dollars Canadian, we left with both full stomachs and full wallets.

Later that day my brother and I traveled out to my grandmother’s house to meet up with the family. Over a plate of fried chicken and cucumber salad, we relayed our dining experience to our father. Although Schwartz’s could never replace the tradition of eating at Grandma’s, it’s always nice to know when our family has a new tradition to share.

Schwartz's is located at 3895 Saint-Laurent Blvd in Montreal.

My Weary Body, My Extended Stomach

2006-09-02T07:18:00.000-07:00

I am in the final stop of my four city whirlwind adventure. Although I have only been here for ten hours, Montreal hase been full of Molson, Whiskey and Poutine. My post next week will be about one of my favorite delis in Montreal.

Summer Wrap Up - Five Meals in Five Sentences

2006-08-25T09:28:00.000-07:00

So I’ve been out on the road for the last week and will be doing the same till the end of August. I thought I’d give a quick summer wrap up to some of the places I’ve eaten and enjoyed, but did not write about. So here we go, five meals in five sentences.

Ruby’s: An Aussie hole in the wall that serves organic greens, seasonal vegetables and mouth watering burgers. Recommended: The Pumpkin Pasta, with goat cheese and chili oil.

Brown Cafe: A biodynamically centered café that uses local vegetables, free range meats, and fish from conscientious purveyors. (Stolen right from the website, sorry!) Recommended: The octopus salad with shaved fennel, green beans, grape tomatoes and capers.

Lodge: An infamous institution for hipster Brunch, this Williamsburg eatery is the place to go for a couple of Bloody Mary’s and eggs any Sunday morning. Recommended: The Biscuits and Gravy with Eggs.

Union Picnic: A taste of the South in the heart of Brooklyn, this fine establishment serves up some of the best fried chicken, fried steak and friend vegetables this side of the Mason Dixon. Recommended: The Chicken Fried Chicken and Fries.

East 88: This Chinese restaurant is a savior from the run-of-the-mill Plexiglas institutions that populate this great city. Recommended: Lychee Duck with Plum Sauce.

Boston Market - One Free Meal

2006-08-18T13:59:00.000-07:00

With the exception of a few infrequent indulgences, I rarely ever eat fast food. As a child, my mother forbid my brother and I from eating it, our only respite being when our father would stop at McDonald’s before a Flyer’s game. As a result I never developed a taste for the stuff and when eating it I usually find it revolting, repugnant and repulsive. The argument from many proponents of this garbage is that although it may not taste great, it is fast and cheap. This argument does not and should never be raised when dining in New York. One of the greatest advantages of living in NYC is the wide variety of cheap and delicious food. So why, you might ask yourself, did I lower my standards to almost gutter level, to dine on food that I knew would revolt the nose, repel the mouth and repulse the eyes? Simple: it was free.

About two weeks ago I ran into my friends Patrick and Claire and they told me that their friend, Keith, had also started his own food blog called 100 Meals. He had entered a contest for Boston Market to make a video that depicted what he would do with the hour he saved from buying dinner at Boston Market versus cooking his own. He had won third place and a free dinner for four, once a week for six months, which equals roughly $755 or about $30 a meal , just under $8 a person. I decided to write Keith and see if he would like to take me out to dinner. About an hour after I sent the e-mail I received a very excited response, saying that he would love to show me the wonderful world of the Market. It turns out that I was the first person to request a dinner, who wasn’t a friend, family member or business associate. So we picked a date, set a time and gave our stomachs fair warning about the malicious journey they were about to embark on.

We decided to meet for dinner after work at the glamorous, yet refined, West 23rd Street location. I arrived earlier than Keith and posted up outside for a classic case study of people watching. What surprised me the most with the abundant amount of young, hip and skinny people choosing Boston Market as their dining establishment. Hadn’t their mothers taught them the negative effects of rapid cuisine, hadn’t they learned that there are more flavors to life than salty and sweet? It dawned on me that many people probably didn’t see Boston Market as fast food, but as a quality meal with slow roasted chickens, fresh vegetables and decadent desserts. What most people don’t know is that McDonalds acquired Boston Market in December 1999 and one can only surmise that their chickens are coming from the same source. Finally Keith showed up and we headed in to feast on what I expected would be greasy faux-gourmet.

Keith told me that I could order whatever I wanted and he would pay for it, as long as he could photograph me and my food. I decided on the three-piece dark meat meal with three sides, cornbread, a slice of apple pie and lemonade. It was more food than I could really handle, but I felt it was an appropriate order for the type of fare we were eating. I quickly discovered there really are only two flavors at Boston Market, salty and sweet, with each flavor only enhanced by the dish with which it is associated. For example, the sweet potatoes with marshmallows were a mind-blowing experience of saccharine and sugar. Of course, in hindsight, I can understand why this dish would be so sugary, but it turned out to be sweeter than the chocolate cake Keith had for dessert. The spinach was a brackish mouthful of salt and cream, with a hint of spinach flavoring and an overwhelming taste of chopped onions. The chicken was moist and tender, but light on the meat, heavy on the skin and dripping in fat. In fact the only saving grace of the meal was the mac-and-cheese, which was firm in texture, velvety in taste and was only a bit too salty for my liking. I did order the apple pie for dessert, but after one bite of the slightly-defrosted, flavorless crust and canned fruit, I laid my fork down for good.

I made a bigger dent than I thought I would, but there was still a lot of food on my plate. The sweet potatoes and creamed spinach remained almost untouched and the chicken still had large chunks of meat left, but the mac-and-cheese was ravaged. I will admit that before this outing, Boston Market had been on my “Ok-There’s-Nothing-Else-Open-Or-Around-So-Let’s-Just-Eat-There-It-Won’t-Be-That-Bad” list, but this meal sealed its fate. I will never, ever eat at Boston Market again, no matter how hungry or desperate or destitute I am. That is, unless, the meal is of course free.

Boston Market is located all over America. I do not recommend going there.

100 Meals is a fantastic website. I do recommend going there.

Tehuitzingo - My Favorite Bodega

2006-08-11T17:22:00.000-07:00

With over 10,000 bodegas in the five boroughs, it’s hard to say why one stands out from others. Most of them have the same layout, products and service, making them a homogenous collection of old tiling, Boar’s Head deli meats and over-worked counter service. Despite their uniformity, every once in a while one of these joints is a beacon of light in a sea of mediocrity. It could be that its preparations range from the obscure to the internationally renowned, or that the sandwich maker is a culinary artist, or it is a specialty bodega that carries ethnic food, drinks and novelties or that the guy behind the counter has a funny way of ringing up a coffee and an egg sandwich. Whatever the reason, if you live in New York long enough, you come to love and depend on bodegas for food, drinks and efficiency of service.

About two weeks ago I had heard a rumor of a Mexican bodega in Hell’s Kitchen that made incredible tacos. Rumor had it that at the back of the store, one could find two women, a minuscule kitchen and some of the greatest and most genuine Mexican food in town. So with a little research and a few trusty compadres, we struck out in search of some bona fide tacos at a little bodega called Tehuitzingo.

I had been warned to keep my eyes peeled for Tehuitzingo and the warning was accurate. It was tucked between a row of nondescript stores and restaurants, itself being nothing more than a small store front, identified by a small sign. Upon entry, two physical aspects struck us: the narrow, compact nature of the store and the delectable, olfactory ambiance streaming from the kitchen. We immediately followed our noses to the back of the store, only stopping to pick up glass-bottled sodas (which were “hecho en Mexico”, that means they are made with cane sugar). The scene in the back was quaint and compressed. The kitchen was tucked away in a cubby-hole, set into the far wall. There was a large mirror, but the small, stool-packed counters quickly dissolved any illusion of space. After a quick glance at the menu, I delivered my order through broken Spanish, pointing and pantomime.

With the exception of the corn tortillas, everything is prepared fresh and on-site, which meant a bit of a wait. I was famished, so I ordered three tacos and hoped that they would do the trick. The wait was mostly worth it. Each taco is prepared with meat and a simple garnish of fresh cilantro and chopped onions, wrapped in two tortillas. For added flavor, there is a salsa, lime and pepper bar, which was needed on all of the tacos (my method was a small dollop of salsa, a squirt of lime juice and a few peppers).

I started with the Suadereo ($2, beef belly), which was small cubes of yellow, rubbery, flavorless pieces of fatty beef that pleased neither the palate nor the olfactory nerves. Next up was the Barbacoa ($2.50, goat), which contained long strips of grayish, slightly sinewy meat that packed a strong salty taste, with tender notes of smokiness. Finally I ate the Chicharron ($2.50, pork skin), which included small bits of salty, fried skin, with tasty morsels of pork, speckled with flavorful fat. The Chicharron was by far the best taco, with crispy texture and sweet, brackish flavors.

Despite my initial hunger, I struggled to finish all three, and eventually wound up removing the second tortilla from each taco. The three tacos and soda cost me a whopping $8.50 and I was so full, that I skipped dinner that night. As I paid for my meal, the man at the counter commented on how he liked my beard and how he was trying to grow one of his own. We chatted for a few minutes, exchanging tips and stories about facial hair, then he gave me my change and I left. Without a doubt, that exchange was the friendliest interaction I had ever had with a counter guy since I’d moved to the city. So even without the delicious food, the friendly service and the affordable prices, Tehuitzingo has become my favorite bodega in New York.

Tehuitzingo is located at 695 10th Ave in New York City.

In-N-Out Burger - The Culinary Blackjack of Las Vegas

2006-08-03T10:11:00.000-07:00

Las Vegas- bright lights, broke city. It had been years since I had been to the Southwest and this would be my first trip to the city of sin. Initially I was excited to travel there for work, but I was quickly put off by the city’s less than stellar offerings (i.e. smoking indoors, bawdy tourists, Danny Gans, etc…). In fact, after spending just a few minutes in the airport, the only thing I was still looking forward to was the infamous Vegas buffet. From the moment I found out I would be heading to the legendary Strip, I had visions of me dining inexpensively, eating infinite racks of prime rib and pounds of lobsters, while drinking endless goblets of cheap champagne. This, however, was not the case. What I found was over-priced, ill-cooked food (Steaks at Nero’s) that left much to be desired and little to talk about. And since the majority of my work was to be done in or around the Strip, I more or less gave up on eating well, eating cheaply and eating in a smoke-free environment.

After about two days, my wallet had become quite depleted and my stomach was growing restless. As dinnertime approached and the thought of another ham sandwich grew less and less appealing, I was getting ready to cash in my chips and treat myself to another mediocre, costly piece of gristle. And then I saw it through the window of my hotel room: a gleaming, blinking beacon of hope, a monstrous yellow arrow guiding me to a glorious meal of delectable food and reasonable prices. Within minutes I was tipping my valet, jumping in the driver’s seat and peeling rubber towards my gastrointestinal tract salvation. I hopped onto I-15, my stomach rumbling as loudly as the engine of my rental car, and drove as fast as I could. How could I have forgotten about this mecca of manna in this godforsaken dessert? I screeched to a stop in the parking lot, threw the car into park and bolted from the car to stand appreciatively inside my culinary savior known as In-N-Our Burger.

No one should be fooled by In-N-Out’s red and yellow color scheme: this purveyor of bovine-derived delicacies has little in common with the commercial, all-pervasive golden arches. Privately owned and committed to freshness, In-N-Out has been serving up cooked-to-order French-fries and hamburgers for over 50 years. Relegated mainly to the US West, this fast-food haven is a rare treat for East Coasters in the know.

I first experienced In-N-Out Burger during my sophomore year of college, when upon landing in San Diego, my friend immediately drove me over to the Golden Arrow and introduced me to the renowned “Secret” menu. That’s right, there’s a secret menu. You want a double cheeseburger with special sauce? That’s a “Double, Double, Animal Style”. Still a slave to Atkins? That’s “Protein Style” (no bun). Looking out for your karma? That’s a “Wish Burger” (veggie patty). The accommodating employees will take your special order without question, but only if you use the right terminology.

So there I was: ravenous, near broke and possessing the secret code. I charged my way up to the counter and with a boisterous voice ordered a “Double, Double, Animal Style”, fries and a vanilla shake. With everything made to order there is a requisite wait time, so I grabbed my slip, slumped into a seat and waited expectantly. I saw my ticket print at both the fry and burger stations and joyfully watched my food thrown in the fryer and onto the grill, respectively. About ten minutes later, my number was called and I bounded up to the counter to claim my salvation.

Within seconds I was pulling back the wax paper and taking an enormous bite of my freshly-cooked burger. The two patties of meat were well-cooked, salted and fried with mustard, pickles, extra spread and grilled onions added on top. The two slices of cheese were completely melted, and their soft texture impeccably mixed with the crunchiness of the added veggies. The fries, which were sliced on the premises and then fried, were so fresh that you could still taste a hint of dirt from the ground in which they were grown. Finally, the vanilla shake’s cool and creamy consistency washed down every bite with refreshing ease. And with the meal costing me just over six bucks, it was the best meal I was to have in this soulless city.

Unfortunately that would be my only visit to In-N-Out burger during my trip. Despite my best efforts, I was stuck digging deep into the pockets for trite meals of tripe. I kept betting that I would return to my gastronomic haven, but I kept crapping out (in more ways than one). And in Vegas, the house always wins.

In-N-Out Burger is located in California, Nevada and Arizona. Check their website for local listings.

Las Vegas - Um, yikes.

2006-07-25T09:12:00.000-07:00

Seriously, this place is so strange. I was looking forwad to elegant meals and so far it's been a total let down. I still have a few days so we'll see what happens.

Daisy May's - BBQ From the Grave

2006-07-21T10:58:00.000-07:00

It’s very rare that I visit the graves of restaurants that have been retired to my culinary cemetery. With so many fantastic restaurants in this city, there is almost no reason to return to a place where I have had multiple meals of rudimentary cuisine. There are, however, exceptions to this rule. Sometimes my desire for a certain genre of food (Barbeque, Tex-Mex, Diner, etc…) outweighs my distaste for a specific establishment, and despite knowing that my meal will be less than satisfactory, I eat there by default. Other times I succumb to a group mentality, where expressing an opinion will cause more disdain than it’s worth. And finally, there are times when a free meal is a free meal and we’ll leave it at that.

Earlier this week my boss surprised everybody by offering to buy lunch for the entire office. As word quickly spread of the gratis meal, everyone began to opine on what we should order. Some suggested sushi (trite), some suggested deli (boring) and some suggested pizza (not expensive enough when someone else is picking up the tab). As I’ve mentioned before, I am manic for barbeque. There are times when I get such an enormous craving for dry-rubbed, smoked meat that I’ll say anything, do anything and go anywhere (even to some restaurant that I had already sworn off) to get my hands on that tender, sweet good stuff. With that in mind, I boisterously argued that we should get barbeque, knowing full well that (unfortunately) the only place we would be ordering from would be Daisy May’s.

To be fair, I do not hate Daisy May’s but more often than not I have overpaid for an underwhelming meal. The first meal I had there were the Memphis Dry Rub Pork Ribs ($11.50 / Half Rack), which were small, dry and seawater salty (to the point of gagging). Next was the Turkey Leg Special, which was a ginormous sinewy leg of meat that was bone dry and utterly tasteless (except for, of course, the salt). Although two bad meals should have knocked this place off my restaurant list for good, there came a time last winter when my cravings got the better of me and I found myself ordering the Texas Chopped Beef Brisket Sandwich with Pickles and Onions ($9.50). Although the sandwich was tender, moist and covered with a sweet and slightly spicy BBQ sauce, it just didn’t meet the standard of any Beef Brisket Sandwich I had eaten when I lived in Texas. Three strikes and your out: I dutifully removed Daisy May’s and vowed (to anyone who would listen) to never return again.

Or so I thought, because here I was, only a few months later (with my tail between my legs), staring at the newly revamped menu of Daisy May’s. I decided to order a side of creamed spinach ($3.50, tried and true) and wanting to try something new, I ordered the Oklahoma Jumbo Beef Rib ($14). Just before ordering, I realized that all the other rib dishes implied multiple ribs, while this dish implied only one rib. Sure it was a few dollars more than the half racks, but I wanted to make sure that I was going to have enough food. I called over to the restaurant and engaged in a conversation that went something like this:

“Hello, is this Daisy May’s?”
“Yes.”
“I’m calling about the Oklahoma Jumbo Beef Rib.”
“Yes?”
“Is it only one rib?”
“Yes.”
“Will it be enough for a meal?”
(Pause) “Yes.” (Click)

So with that, I pl aced my order and waited to see if the BBQ gods would again frown upon me or, for once, bestow me with saucy smiles of tender goodness.

Permit me to go off on a small tangent and ask, “What should be considered a large portion?” Many people consider that an appropriate serving of food is the size of your two fists placed together and that any more than that is unhealthy, indulgent and, in some cases, absurd. So when my nine-inch, three and half pound rib was delivered to me, it was easy to see that my two fists paled in comparison. At first, the rib seemed more like a visual gag than something I was supposed to consume, but its overpowering sweet smell and perfect, molasses color reminded me that this was something to be devoured, but how to tackle it? I tried picking up the rib, only to have the hunk of meat immediately fall off the bone and back into the plastic tray. My next move was to pick up my fork and attempt to pull apart the meat, which I did with easily. To say the meat was simply tender would be an understatement. The meat was so soft that my fork went through it like a hot knife through butter. The meat dissolved in my mouth and hit all the proper notes of traditional barbeque: a cooked-in-smokiness, an evenhanded mix of fat and meat and a balanced, salty sweet aftertaste. Touché, Daisy May’s, touché.

Needless to say, I polished off the entire rib much to the astonishment of my co-workers and much to the dismay of my stomach. I spent the rest of the day contemplating that rib and thinking about how amazing it is that one dish can change one’s perception about a restaurant. And for those of you who care, Daisy May’s has risen from the grave and received a new lease in my culinary life.

Daisy May's BBQ is located at 623 11th Ave in New York City.

That Chinese Restaurant, You Know, The One With The Yellow Canopy On East Broadway?

2006-07-11T12:49:00.000-07:00

One of the greatest college discoveries I ever made was the discovery of the Chinatown Express. For those who don’t know, the Chinatown Express is a shady network of busses that travel from different Chinatowns for a mind blowing cheap rate. While everyone who has traveled via these busses has their own horror story to share (mine includes massive amounts of blood on a McDonald’s bathroom floor), it’s impossible to deny their efficiency in both speed and cost. Although I appreciate both the break-neck velocity and economical aspects of this travel choice, there is very little else I look forward to when having to travel this way. In fact, the only other part of traveling I look forward to are the self-enforced mandatory meals I eat upon departure. Fast, appetizing and (of course) easy on the wallet, a good meal in Chinatown guarantees both fresh and scrumptious food. Whether it’s a sweet pork bun, a hot bowl of noodles or a crispy brown dumplings, Chinatown is still the undisputed king of delicious, discounted delicacies.

Last week my brother and I were headed home for a small family reunion and instead of the traditional “pork-bun-grab-and-run”, we decided to head down to Chinatown early for a sit down meal. As we exited the East Broadway station, we realized that although we wanted a traditional meal, we had no idea where we were going to dine. We headed towards the bus and we passed a few restaurants, but none that caused our mouths to salivate. As we got closer and closer to the bus, it looked like we were going to be relegated to sweet buns once again, that was until we spied a beacon in the form of a yellow canopy, located at 141 East Broadway.

I will own up to the fact that I have no idea what the restaurant was called. In fact, I really have no idea what the menu was, but when my brother and I saw “Noodles” and “$3.50” we knew we had found our place. As soon as we walked in, we were approached by the waitress/cook, who quickly took our order. Through broken English and gesturing, we ordered the fried pork noodles ($3.50) and the fried pork dumplings ($1.50 for 10) and grabbed seats at the counter. The waitress/cook exchanged a few words with a bored, apron-clad man sitting in the back and with much dejection, he lifted himself out of his seat and grabbed a bowling ball sized bowl lump of dough. At first we thought he was making our dumplings, but we quickly realized that the more he pounded and stretched that unshapely chunk of dough, that it was being transformed into gorgeous links of fresh noodles.

In almost no time at all our meal was ready and let’s just say the prices did not reflect the quantity. Presented before us was a heaping bowl of noodle soup, topped with crispy, golden fried pork, and ten, plump and glistening dumplings. The soup was not much more than the noodles and the pork, but that didn’t matter. The freshness of the noodles cut through the saltiness of the broth, while the moist, sweetness of the pork gave the dish a fully rounded flavor. The dumplings were perfectly fried on the bottom, while nice and doughy on the top. The meat inside was luscious and brackish and cooked to a nice pinkish brown. And with the meal costing only seven dollars (that included two bottles of water) it was the perfect snack to send us on our way home.

The “Yellow Canopy Chinese Restaurant on East Broadway” is located at 141 East Broadway in New York City.

Nothing To Report But Grilled Meat and Wet Feet

2006-07-05T07:43:00.000-07:00

Between the fireworks, world cup, massive bbq and non-stop rain, I've got nothing. I promise to gorge over the weekend.

Punjabi - A "Real" New York Eatery

2006-06-30T13:05:00.000-07:00

A while ago my buddy and I were talking about New York versus the “Real” New York. As a native New Yorker, he maintained that the longer one lived here, the more city secrets one learns and the more a familiar community the entire city becomes. One learns the best route to cut across town during rush hour, the best Laundromat to get you wash done and, most importantly, the best restaurants to get incredibly delicious and cheap meals. He said through a motley crew of networks and sources, he has cobbled together a comprehensive list of fantastic eateries that offer everything from large pizza slices to golden falafel to plump dumplings. So it came to my surprise when I asked him if he had ever be to the infamous, Pakistani cabbie haunt and his reply was a relative blank stare.

I had first heard of Punjabi on a tip from an old co-worker who used to live in the Lower East Side. He told me about this unbelievably delicious hole in the wall that was beyond cheap and served nobody but cabbies. He told me it was on Houston between First and Second Ave and to go there the next time I was craving an authentic ethnic meal. With no address, I asked him if I would be able to find the place. He just smiled and told me there would be about ten yellow markers leading me to its doorstep.

Those yellow markers turned out to be a never-ending line of cabs and ten was more than an understatement. During a shift change, one’s guaranteed to find at least forty or fifty cabbies come through to enjoy a hot meal and a warm cup of chai. The restaurant is a narrow joint, with a baked in spice aroma and walls jam packed with the latest Pakistani Cds, making it one of those places that transports you to an entirely different part of the world the second you step through the door. The food is on par with the atmosphere, with large pans of lentils, curries and chutneys lining the glass case. With a small portion (rice with two sides) costing two dollars and a large portion (rice with three sides) costing four dollars, it’s not hard to see why the line at Punjabi is inexhaustible. (NB: Even though it’s cheap, the food is easy on the stomach, which seems like a respectful nod to the preferred occupation of their clientele.)

Although I have enjoyed multiple plates of rice and sides (I recommend the curry with spinach and potatoes), the real treasure is the samosa with chickpeas. Served in a Styrofoam bowl, this aromatic piece of heaven will cost you a whopping dollar fifty and drive your taste buds wild. When ordering, I recommend adding a dollop of fresh yogurt and a few slices of onion. The samosa was placed at the bottom of the bowl, smothered with chickpeas, then topped with onions and a healthy spoonful of fresh yogurt. The samosa was stuffed with cooked potatoes and shelled green peas and mixed with a plethora of spices that included garam masala, coriander and cumin to name a few. The chickpeas were tender and sweet, and their soft texture mixed well with the crispiness of the samosa. I urge one to eat this dish quickly, as to keep the crunchy texture of the fried samosa in tact. The onions added a nice tart flavor, while the yogurt’s creaminess coolly balanced out the heat from the spices. Don’t be fooled by the cheap price and small size, one of these bad boys will fill you right up.

Earlier this week I was down on the Lower East Side, catching a show with my native New Yorker friend. In between bands, he suggested we grab some food and immediately headed in the direction of Punjabi. Jokingly, I said, “Punjabi? Never heard of it.” In complete deadpan he replied, “Really? Because anyone who’s a real New Yorker knows all about it.”

Punjabi is located on Houston between First and Second Ave in New York City (Hint: Look for the long line of cabs).

S'Mac - Kiss Your Mother With That Mouth?

2006-06-27T12:55:00.000-07:00

From an early age, my mother tried to teach me about the importance of fresh food and the harmful nature of processed and canned goods. From birth, she cooked for my brother and I, making almost everyone of our meals from fresh fruits, vegetables and meats. She took the importance of cooking from scratch so seriously, that the greatest insult in her kitchen was to call myself a Gerber baby. So what did I take away from all this? I realized that there was nothing I wanted more than unhealthy, processed, canned food to rot my innards, stunt my growth and, on the whole, destroy all the good work my mother’s cooking had done for my well being. As a kid wanting and having destructive food are two different things and seeing how my mom did the grocery shopping, I knew I would have to convince her to buy me the food she so dearly detested. I knew it couldn’t be some super processed food, like frozen pizza or fish sticks, so I picked a meal that I could see her making, but it was just easier to buy. That my friends, was mac ‘n’ cheese, and for the better part of my middle and high school existence, it was my main source of fuel.

Now almost a decade later, it seems that mac ‘n’ cheese has become the side d’jour of many gourmet restaurants. Long gone are the days of simple elbow pasta mixed with melted American cheese. Today it’s all about a spruced up approaches like a four cheese blend, mixed with Andouille sausage and baked with Sourdough breadcrumbs on top. And to tell you the truth, I couldn’t be happier. This past weekend New Yorkers were treated to the grand opening of S’Mac, a quaint, East Village eatery whose menu exclusively features all things mac ‘n’ cheese. Although opening only nine months after being conceived, husband and wife team Ceaser and Sarita Eyka (Owner of the infamous Peanut Butter Co. in the Greenwich Village) had built up quite a buzz and despite the flood inducing downpour, people were lined up out the door to try their wares.

Doing our best to stay dry (and to watch as much World Cup as possible) we didn’t make it to S’Mac until around two-thirty. Unbeknownst to us, they had been slammed since opening that morning and by the time we got in line, multiple items had been scratched from the menu. The situation was so dire, that about ten minutes after we arrived they posted a sign saying that they were shutting down for a few hours and reopening at five-thirty. With a broken air conditioner, a jam packed dining area and a thirty plus minute wait, we contemplated getting out food to go, but once we saw that each dish was individually served in a mini iron skillet, we decided to wait it out. TO fully explore the menu we decided to each order a different dish, so I picked the “Gruyere”, a Swiss styled dish with elbow pasta (the other options is whole wheat pasta), Gruyere cheese and slab bacon (Nosh Size, $6.75).

After ordering, another thirty-minute wait ensued, but this gave the crowd time to thin out and allowed us to grab seats. Finally my number was called and I was presented with a personal skillet, filled with about a pound of the good stuff and topped with a golden brown, baked breadcrumb crust. The pasta was cooked to a nice al dente and mixed the right amount of Gruyere, which was at first lightly sweet, but then tasted more earthy and nutty. The slab bacon was cut into sizable chunks and it’s salty fat rounded out the dish’s full flavor. While I nibbled at all of the other dishes, the best was the “Brie”, which was creamy Brie, roasted figs, roasted shiitake mushrooms & fresh rosemary. It had a distinctive velvety and sweet taste, with the roasted figs adding a delicately juicy texture.

As we finished our skillets (every bite of every dish was eaten), I chatted briefly with a very frazzled looking Ceaser and Sarita. I told them I was a huge mac ‘n’ cheese fan and that I had been counting down the days till their grand opening. They smiled politely (I can’t imagine I was the first one to say that) and then asked me how I liked the “Gruyere”. I thought for a second and then replied, “It was so good, that even my mother would approve.”

S'Mac is at 345 East 12th St in New York City.

Momofuku - My Return to Ramen

2006-06-21T14:31:00.000-07:00

My collegiate culinary experience was an eclectic mix of dining hall gorge fests, burrito attacks and a never-ending supply of Ramen Noodle. While the former was mainly reserved for my Freshman year, and when I was lucky enough to coerce an undergrad to buy me a meal, the mid and latter parts of my experience lasted the length of my four year endeavor. While burritos were regulated to once a week (Anna’s Taqueria on Sundays at approximately 3pm), Ramen Noodles were regrettably a larger part of my diet. Fortunately, Ramen costs about nineteen cents a packet, so there was a lot of room for experimentation, some that worked (Ramen with vegetables) and some that didn’t (Ramen with hotdogs). Although Ramen offers over a dozen different types of “flavors” (everything from chicken to pork to beef), after a few weeks on the Ramen diet, it all began to taste the same and my body began to feel, well, appropriately “off”. In fact, I grew so sick of Ramen that until a few days ago, I usually steered clear of anything associated with Ramen.

Momofuku, which is Japanese for Lucky Peach, is a minimalist, East Village, noodle bar, that serves traditional Ramen dishes with a modernly, organic twist. Instead of the commonly found low-grade meat scraps and wilted vegetables one would expect from a New York noodle bar, Executive Chef David Chang (2006 James Beard Nominee for Rising Chef) has curated a menu that offers organic farm raised animals and vegetables. The result is classic Japanese fare, with an invigoratingly fresh and organic taste. So with this in mind, I decided to suck it up and to give Ramen, once again, the good ol’ college try.

To fully enjoy Momofuku’s dining experience, try to hold out for a seat right in front of the open kitchen. Although the thought of waiting any more than one would have to seems like a type of self-masochism (the average wait for dinner is about forty-five minutes), a seat in front of the kitchen allows one to fully experience the fast-paced (and may I add snarky) interactions between the chefs, their food and the waiters. We started off the meal with Baby Octopus, which was served with konbu, menma and pickeld chilis ($13). These full octopi were first boiled and then pan fried, which resulted in incredibly sweet and tender meat, with a dark and crispy out side. The pickled vegetables and light broth did well to compliment the octopi and gave the overall dish an additional tart and salty kick. Next up were the Chicken Steam Buns ($*8), two airy and fluffy pillows, with just the right balance of dough and soft, shredded chicken.

Finally it was time for the Ramen and we decided on the signature Momofuku Ramen ($14), which was Berkshire pork, shanghai think noodles and a poached egg, all served in a long-simmered stock (made from 70 pounds of chicken legs, roasted pork bones, ham hocks, and bacon). We started by cracking the poached egg, which was used for its creaminess instead of adding dairy, and mixing all of the ingredients together. The noodles were impeccably cooked and the pork (which came from Eden Farms and the Piccinini Brother in Iowa) was on par with some of the best slow cooked meat I had ever had. The dish, which was more than enough for two, was so impressive in taste and presentation, that I have officially added Ramen back into my culinary rotation.

Now for all of you who might think that I over reacted to what was widely considered a staple of the college diet, allow me to share this Ramen horror story. Upon my first trip home from college, one of my good friends told me that in an attempt to save money, he had cancelled his dining plan and eaten nothing but Ramen since day one. Around the end of October he began suffering from sever mouth pain, especially in his teeth. In fact, his teeth began to hurt so badly that he eventually had to visit the campus dentist. The dentist asked him if he had suffered any accidents or injuries, to which my friend answered no. Stumped by the student’s pain, the doctor finally asked what he had been eating. My friend answered, with a painful grin, “Well to be honest, I’ve been living on the Ramen diet: All Ramen, all the time.” With that, the dentist went to his textbook and with a little research, and much head shaking, diagnosed my friend with Barlow’s Disease, better known as scurvy.

Momofuku is located at 163 First Ave in New York City.

The Kitchen Sink - Louisville

2006-06-16T09:17:00.000-07:00

This past week of eating has been overwhelmingly healthy due to the precious week’s gorge fest that was Louisville. With so many fantastic stops on my southern eating tour, there were too many incredible restaurants to write about. So instead of just picking one, I’ve decided to give you a taste of Louisville, or what I like to call, The Kitchen Sink.

There is no greater find on the road than a “chef’s chef” restaurant, one of those places that every chef, cook and dishwasher goes to eat after they knock off from work. These establishments are usually raucous places, filled with little pretension, stiff drinks and incredible food. One of these fantastic institutions is Lynn’s Paradise Café, a flamboyant café full of so much flare and knickknacks that it makes Friday’s look like a prison. Lynn Winters, the founder and owner, has been providing chefs and common folk alike huge plates of southern delicacies, like Fried Green Tomato BLTs, sine the early 1990s. If you can only make it there for one meal, I would recommend brunch. It’s a tough choice between the spicy Bloody Mary (home made mix) or the bubbly Mimosa, but it’s almost impossible to choose between the Bourbon Ball French Toast and the Louisville Country Scramble. The formers is an overly whelming sweet plate of golden bread, covered in bourbon custard, bourbon whip cream and drizzled in chocolate; while the latter is savory mix of salty country ham, rich Jarlesberg cheese, fluffy eggs and topped with fried, jalapeno onions. Don’t forget to save room for the biscuits with Sorghum butter and the macaroni and cheese (an Oprah favorite). In other words, plan on spending a good two hours there, eating, drinking and watching your stomach grow.

Another must have with any trip down to the south is barbeque. As many of you know, I have unreasonably high standards for this type of food (you can blame the Saltlick for this). Luckily enough we did our research and came across Juciy’s, an East-Texas styled BBQ joint located about thirty minutes outside of town. Troy, the modest and soft-spoken owner, opened up shop about ten years ago and has been cooking slow and low ever since. When we asked for a sampling of their best food, they literally brought out everything on the menu. With the exception of the brisket (which I had read was hit or miss) everything was fantastic. The ribs, pulled pork and chopped beef were phenomenally sweet, salty and beyond tender. And if you like turkey and ham, forget about it, cause Mom never gave me lunch-meats as moist and succulent as this. I barely touched the sides to due the massive intake of meat, but I did save room for the apple cobbler, which oozed butter and crumbled deliciousness all over my taste buds. They don’t serve alcohol, and I’m not sure about their BOYB policy, but it doesn’t really matter because their sweet tea will take your breath away. Honestly, this place was just as good as the ‘Lick and worth the drive out.

Finally, if you’re in the south, you have to eat fried food. The best places to indulge are usually dives found off the side of the highway, places where if one were to ask “Excuse me, but do you fry with zero trans fat oil?” you could run the risk of getting a shotgun pulled on you. On our way to the Maker’s Mark Distillery (a must visit for any bourbon fan) we stopped off at the Rooster Run General Store for some southern delicacies. While my friends dined on fried bologna sandwiches and chicken fried steak, I ordered the mac ‘n’ cheese and the fried pork tenderloin sandwich, which was served on a wheat roll with lettuce tomato and a couple of thick slice of American cheese. The mac ‘n’ cheese was more of a creamy soup than a pasta dish, but the sandwich was pitch perfect roadside, southern cuisine: fried crispy meat, soft processed cheese and unhealthy amounts of creamy mayonnaise. Also, no stop at the Rooster Run General Store is complete without the purchase of their incredible t-shirts or mesh caps.

All in all, my trip to Louisville was sprinkled with a type of self-indulgent, unhealthy eating that I hadn’t experienced since my college days. To counter balance that, I filled this past week with a healthy mix of fruits, salads and horse-pill sized vitamins. Now only if those vitamins were deep fried…

Lynn's Paradise Cafe is located at 984 Barret Ave in Louisville, KY.
Juicy's is located at 7626 New Lagrange Rd in Pee Wee, KY.
Rooster Run General Store is located at 6515 New Shepherdsville Road in Rooster Run, Kentucky.

Jack Fry's - An Introduction to Louisville Cuisine

2006-06-12T09:26:00.000-07:00

There is no better way to learn about a city than to eat its food. Say what you will about art, fashion and music, if you really want to get to know a culture, eat their food. Eating local cuisine not only teaches one about regional dishes and ingredients, but it educates a person about provincial traditions, history and people. Last week I was in Louisville, Kentucky, doing my best to learn all I could about the city. Although mostly known for the Kentucky Derby and the birthplace of Mohamed Ali, not many people know that the city has both the highest ratio of locally owned restaurants per capita (with the exception of New York City) and the most number of family owned farms. Even more impressive is the city’s wide spread practice of self-sustaining farming and use of local products through a loose but incredible network known as Kentucky Proud. Kentucky Proud represents the gauntlet of the food market, showcasing everything from “delicious blackberry jam, rich-tasting Kentucky country ham, mouth-watering tomatoes and melons, and much more.” With their secret ingredients being nothing more than hard work and dedication from community farmers, it’s easy to see why so many restaurant owners choose regional product over national fare.

One of these restaurant owners is Susan Seiler, proprietor of Louisville’s renowned Jack Fry’s. Named after its original cantankerous owner, this local favorite has been serving the public for over seventy years. Since Mr. and Mrs. Fry never had any children, the restaurant has had various owners over the years, including Susan, who took over in the 1980s. She immediately started shifting the menu away from an upscale greasy spoon to a more elegant and refined dining experience. As she began to develop her menu (some of her original dishes can still be found on today’s menu), Susan began to work more and more with local farmers, making sure to both represent regional food and provide the best ingredients to her public. The result is a non-pretentious, four-star restaurant that uses and serves the freshest regional food possible to local and visiting crowds.

Sunday night was one of those nights that can only be described as a southern porch night. As we drove over to the restaurant, it seemed that every inhabitant of this lusciously green city was outside, eating, drinking and enjoying a rare, non-humid evening. As a result, Jack Fry’s was unusually empty, but suited our purposes nicely with our last minute reservation. We had called ahead to make sure Susan would be there, and not only did she promise to be there, but she promised to bestow us the honor of setting up an informal tasting of her entire menu.

The décor was romantic and nostalgic, with dim lighting, swinging jazz and wall-to-wall picture of horses, Jack Fry and the illustrative history of Louisville. Susan personally sat us at a corner table and with a wink, said our martinis would be right up. In no time at all, I was enjoying the smoothest, and dare I say strongest, Manhattan I had ever had (made with Pappy Van Winkle 23 year old bourbon). Through this drink, I knew we were in for something special.

As we sipped on our drinks, our fantastic server, Liz, delivered the first of our delectable dishes to our table. We started on the Medjool dates, which were bacon wrapped, then stuffed with chorizo sausage and goat cheese and covered in a smoky tomato vinaigrette ($12). Although an appetizers, this could have easily been served as a dessert, as it blended the line of savory and sweet, with strong flavors of salted pork, rich chocolate and tartly, sweet tomatoes. Up next were the spicy fried oysters (cayenne pepper were mixed in the breading), served with Kentucky country ham, green onions and grits ($12). The oysters were perfectly fried and the decadently rich grits had a nice cooling effect after the heat of the cayenne pepper. Finally we had the diver scallops, which were pan seared and served with Kentucky Bibb lettuce in a brown butter sauce, then finished off with a white truffle oil ($12). These meaty scallops were seared flawlessly and melted in my mouth, as the sauce showed my taste buds a whole new level of rich depravity.

Our plates were cleared and we were given little respite until the salads were upon us. Making sure that we saved room for the main course, Susan graciously only served us half orders of all four of her salads. Although I tasted all four, I mainly focused on two of her leafy masterpieces. The Warm Brie Salad ($6.50), melted Brie served on Kentucky Bibb with toasted almonds (a salad that has been on the menu for over twenty years), impeccably represented the traditional Spring flavors of blossoming greens, buttery cheese and earthy nuts. Meanwhile the Goat Cheese Salad ($6.75), cold Goat Cheese served with candied pecans and sun-dried cranberries, played tart and sweet effortlessly against each other, while resting nicely over a fantastic mix seasonal greens, which were drizzled lightly with a lemon balsamic vinaigrette.

As we finished our salads and the last of our martinis, a grinning Susan informed us that she had paired two beautiful wines to go with our upcoming entrees. She started us with a Hendry Block 8, a 2002 Cabernet Sauvignon from the Napa Valley. Full in flavor, the wine had acidic fruit notes and a small hint of oak. Next up was a 2004 Conundrum Chardonnay, a white table wine from Rutherford, California. This wine was the most complex white wine I had ever tasted, which was probably due to the nine grapes used in its creation.

As the wine continued to flow, our entrees arrived and we were forced to dig deep into the reserves of our stomachs to find more room. I started by tucking into the herb encrusted Pork Chop, a healthy twelve once center cut loin chop, seared with a dry vermouth glaze and served with a medley of roasted new potatoes, asparagus, apple smoked bacon, garlic and shiitakes. The crisp crust complimented the tender meat, while the medley of vegetables reminded me about the significance of Kentucky Proud. After a few bites, we passed out plates to the left and I was presented with the Salmon Filet. This dish was also seared and encrusted with almond and pistachio rub, then served on sautéed spinach with a tomato, pearl onion and chive buerre blanc. The salmon was cooked with a tender precision, and the saltiness of the almond and pistachio crust nicely off set the sweet buerre blanc. Next up was the Lobster Campanelle, a bountiful dish of lobster tails tossed with fresh campanelle pastas, Nicoise olives, bacon, sun-dried tomatoes, jalapenos, broccoli rabe and tomato concasse in a rosemary shallot olive oil, topped with Parmigiano-Reggiano. With so many ingredients packed into such a small dish, one would think that this entree would come off as heavy and overwhelming, but it was just the opposite. There was a perfect balance of individual components and just the right amount of oil and cream that gave the dish a both a light and rich feeling.

Finally it was time for dessert, and with much begging and pleading, we managed to persuade Susan to only prepare two of her decadent desserts, instead of the four she had already picked out. First up was the Chocolate Pave, a flourless chocolate cake served with Grand Marnier braised bananas in Amarula sauce and topped off with vanilla, pecan, and toffee ice cream. The cake itself was a self-indulgent abyss of rich chocolate, while the bananas and ice cream were gently sweet and did well to balance the almost overwhelming coco flavors. Finally we were served the last dish of the night, a Crème Caramel, a vanilla custard with warm caramel sauce and a burnt sugar crust. Although much more modest than the Chocolate Pave, this was my favorite of the two due to its simple, charming taste and its refined presentation.

All in all the meal ran just over three hours and ended with private tour of Jack Fry’s enormous kitchen. The meal was a pitch perfect prologue to the weeklong eating tour we were about to embark on. Susan graciously introduced us to the local ingredients, dishes and service we would enjoy over the next few days; and through her food, we received more than just a taste of the city, but a full course meal on Louisville’s culture, cuisine and farmer friendly community.

Jack Fry's is located at 1007 Bardstown Road in Louisville, KY.

Louisville - So Much Food

2006-06-06T20:07:00.000-07:00

I am in Louisville right now eating my brains out. I promise updates as soon as I can think straight.

Creperie - Spring Is Here

2006-06-02T12:57:00.000-07:00

During the spring break of my Sophomore year of college, I decided, like most young men, that it was time for me to visit Europe. I didn’t want to be trendy (Berlin) or trite (Amsterdam) or classic (Rome) so I decided to visit a small, but rapidly growing French city, about 290 miles east of London. Although mostly known for its art and fashion, Paris, France is city becoming quickly known for its culinary accolades. Whether it’s the traditional fries, toast or onion soup (it’s unnecessary to add the “French” prefix over there), any gourmand will be blown away by this city’s gastronomic offerings. In addition to offering delicious food, Paris is also known for having an excellent selection of delectably cheap food. Whether it’s a fresh baguette slathered with brie or an airy croissant smoothed in fresh fruit preserves, the City of Lights offers its visitors a full stomach, without having any empty wallet. Of all the enticing and economical edibles I sampled, I wound up falling in love with crepes. Both savory and sweet, these (almost translucently) thin delectables can be filled with anything from Nutella and bananas to spinach and egg to chicken and cheese. Usually costing only four or five euros (don’t forget to add an extra euro or two for an Orangina), this collation à la française became a staple of almost all my meals.

Whenever Spring hits, as it did quite spectacularly this past week, I always get a yearning for crepes. Call it silly, but when there’s a crisp breeze and the smell of lovers in the air, I am overwhelmed by the desire to consume these gourmet Hot Pockets. Earlier this week I happened to be in the Lower East Side on my way to Bar 151, when a craving overtook me. Luckily I was right near Creperie, a hole in wall crepe shop known for it fresh made food and its authentic ingredients. It was late in the evening, in between the dinner crowd and the late night snackers, so the restaurant was empty with the exception of the two cooks behind the counter. Although the menu was stacked with classic combinations, like sweet butter with sugar and savory smoked turkey with shredded Swiss cheese, I was in the mood for breakfast (per usual) and ordered the fried egg with shredded mozzarella.

Utilizing both of their sodirs, the cook started cooking the eggs and the crepe at the same time. With the exception of a half-lit cigarette dangling out of his mouth, the cook resembled and contained all the grace and know-how of every Parisian street vendor I had ever met. After the first side of the crepe had cooked to a perfect golden brown, it was flipped, and the egg and cheese were placed on top. The crepe was then folded into a perfect rectangle, left on the grill for about five minutes and then served with no frills on a plastic plate ($9 with a bottle of water). Upon first cut, the excess cheese oozed out perfectly, while the remaining cheese stayed melted onto the delightful crepe. Luckily, the egg had only cooked to over medium, so I used the yolk as an internal dipping sauce. Overall the crepe was sweet and fresh, with the cheese and egg melted and cooked to perfection.

Although fulfilling, the crepe wasn’t filling and the only thing that kept me from ordering another one was price. With the exception of leaving hungry (something I hate doing) the experience was exceptional. It brought fond back memories of crawling through the catacombs, frolicking on the Champs Elysees, and, of course, gorging myself silly on crusty banquettes, buttery croissant and tasty crepes.

Creperie is located at 135 Ludlow St in the Lower East Side, New York.

Water Taxi Beach and Smokey's - Two Unmemorable Memorial Day Experiences

2006-05-30T17:37:00.000-07:00

Memorial Day Weekend is one of those great three day eating events when, if done right, you should be able to indulge in three straight days of beer, barbeque and beach. Long considered the first official weekend of Summer, there is no better time to leave work at home, call up your friends and welcome in three glorious months of fun. So when The Cuz told me about a fake beach in Long Island City I was intrigued, and when we set plans to go there on Memorial Day I was thrilled! Located about forty minutes from Williamsburg, via the G train, or a quick ride across the East River, the Water Taxi Beach has become a quick seaside fix for the urban crowd. I had heard about this place last season, but had never made it out, so I was looking forward to a long day of sand, suds, and sauerkraut laden smoked meats.

The Cuz recommended an early arrival time due the Beach’s popularity and a small amount of tables. We arrived early afternoon, grabbed a table and set in to enjoy what we thought was already shaping up to be the perfect day. To start things off, I ordered a frozen margarita ($7.50) and a bottle of water ($1) to mellow the heat from the already roasting sun. Unfortunately the margarita I received would be the first of many disappointments of what was to be the worst Memorial Day culinary experience I have ever had. The margarita, which was heavy on the mix and had the consistency of slosh, was over priced and under garnished with a lack of fruit wedge and salted rim. When I inquired about the no frills, I was simply told by my waiter “We are unprepared for today.” Now while I salute my waiter’s honesty, it’s not like Memorial Day can sneak up anyone, let alone a beach themed restaurant. Their unpreparedness didn’t stop there. With the exception of their hotdogs (which were bland and flavorless), their menu was non-existent. In fact the food situation was so dire, that by three, they had run out of sauerkraut and the wait for a hotdog was reaching upwards of twenty minutes.

Despite their gastronomic shortcomings, we enjoyed the perfect weather until the late afternoon, then packed up beach blanket and headed to Smokey’s 11101, an obscure BBQ joint we had noticed on our walk over. Since it was a holiday, they were just opening as we walked in and the place was almost empty. What should have tipped us off to the mediocre meal we were about to endure was the completely frazzled wait staff, who changed our seating twice due to “insufficient help”. We started off with a few rounds of complimentary salsa, served with tri-color tortilla chips. The salsa was sweet and spicy, with the perfect blend of tomatoes and vinegar. Up next was a double order of spinach and artichoke dip, which was more cheese than anything else. Despite its lack of green, the creamy, soft dip paired well with the salty, crisp chips, for what would turn out to be one of the best dishes of the meal.

Since I had yet to quell my carnivorous cravings, I ordered the combo platter ($18.99) which included the choice of two meats and two sides. I quickly decided on the brisket, half rack of short ribs, French fries and mac’n’cheese (my culinary control for all side dishes). Famished and dehydrated from the lack of food all day, we killed off any remaining, chip, dip and sip of beverage we had in front of us, as we eyed every dish that came out of the kitchen. Finally, our plates were up and we were served the biggest and blandest plates of barbeque I care to remember. When it comes to serving up massive amounts of meat, presentation is very important. Either you have a delicately stacked swell of beautiful bovine, or you have a graceless molded mound of morbid meat. Unfortunately for us, we received the latter. My brisket was a salted lump of gristle-ridden meat, and the ribs (which were touted as “cooked for four hours until falling off the bone) were nothing more than your standard “Chili’s” fare. The fries were crispy and the coleslaw crisp and cold, but nothing out of the ordinary. The only standout dish was the mac’n’cheese, which was perfectly baked, and some of the best I ever had.

All in all I was absolutely disgusted with the terrible food I had. It’s disappointing to eat poorly, especially when it costs a lot and when it’s on a day that’s all about eating. I plan on going back to the Water Taxi Beach (I’m going to give them the benefit of the doubt), but I can’t see myself back at Smokey’s anytime soon. Give all the excuses you want, but Memorial Day is the starting pistol for the Summer Culinary season, and based on this past weekend, my gustatory race is off to a lackluster start.

Water Taxi Beach is located at Hunters Point in Long Island City, NY.
Smokey's 11101 is located at 5-16 51st Ave in Long Island City, NY.

'inoteca - Part One of Adventures Into The Unknown

2006-05-25T14:34:00.000-07:00

Every once in awhile, when I have a little cash to burn and some time to kill, I treat myself to a meal at a restaurant I’ve never been too. The place is rarely some new hotspot, but some place I have passed a thousand times or read hundred reviews about, but for some reason or another I just never had a meal there. I usually like to go by myself or with one other serious dining partner, who’s ready to indulge in never before tasted terrain. I also like to let my waiter do the ordering for me, thus allowing me to sample the best dishes (usually specials not on the menu) and to rid myself of that loathsome feeling of “ordering remorse”. All in all, each new restaurant usually turns out to be an incredible experience full of new food, new flavors and new (culinary) favorites.

Upon returning from my business trip last week, I found myself with a few extra dollars left over from my per diem. Instead of saving it or paying off one of my bills, I decided the responsible thing to do was to try out Inoteca, a Lower East Side Wine Bar, that I’ve had my eye on for over a year now. Let me be upfront about this: I know almost nothing about wine. I know that my lack of wine knowledge is due to my own ignorance, but I refuse to make any excuses other than I love beer and find the current trend of beer pairing much more exciting than wine pairing. So why, you may ask, did I pick a wine bar to try out? The answer is quite simple. You see, every time I walk past Inoteca, not only does it look like everyone there is having a fabulous time, but the food they’re enjoying looks fantastic. So with that in mind, and a few dollars to blow, I headed down to the corner of Ludlow and Rivington for a meal of vino e cucina.

I left work later than I had wanted to and didn’t get to Inoteca until a little past seven. By then it was packed with locals and the wait time was growing and growing. I opted to sit outside and was seated immediately, since it was slightly chilly and I was the only patron willing to endure the cool evening breeze. My waitress was an older woman, with dyed pink hair, which I read as I a sign that she had been serving there for quite a while and that her recommendations would be spot on. And boy was I right. (NB: I recommend personal discretion when letting your waiter order for you. Do no let anyone who looks like a novice and /or disgruntled about his or her job. You will wind up receiving terrible attitude and boring food.)

My waitress started me off with a nice glass of red wine. I missed the name of the wine, but it was a very potent glass, with a strong acidity, large berry taste and strong bite. The first course was homemade goat’s milk ricotta, served with seared tomatoes and flatbread, on top of a fresh bed of baby arugula ($8). The ricotta, which was slightly toasted on the bottom, was served warm and mixed with parsley and thyme. The sweetness of the both the ricotta and the tomatoes (which had hints of pumpkin), contrasted nicely with the tart, lemon and peppery salad. Mixed all together on top of a large bite of crispy flatbread and one was reminded of imminent spring time, with an allusion to the oncoming summer.

Next up were culatello with noci and mozzarella pane ($8) and the polpette ($8). I was expecting either one or the other, with a sweet dish ending the meal, but that was not to be. I enjoy my meat, but this was a lot to take at once for a “small plate” type dinner. I started with the pane, which was served with a few complimentary olives. Culatello is a middle cut of prosciutto, which has is less cured than normal. The result was a sweeter and less salty meat, that mixed well with the rich noci, a walnut based pesto, and the creamy mozzarella. All of the elements came together quite nicely on the lightly buttered, toasted bread. The polpette were meatballs, made from of the perfect combination of equal parts veal, beef and lamb. Served in a tomatoes based sauce, they were topped with cooked onions, tomato concasse and orange zest, and were surprisingly light and trim in fat.

Seeing how I wanted to keep the meal light, I declined on a full dessert and choose a nice Americano de Esse Café. The sun had fully set by the time it arrived, and it’s literal warmth and full flavor allowed me a few extra minutes outside. I hope to return sooner than it took for my initial visit, because overall the service was perfect, the food was fantastic and the scene a must for anyone into being seen.

'inoteca is located at 88 Rivington St in New York City.

Polvos - Migas, Do You Remember The First Time?

2006-05-23T15:20:00.000-07:00

There was a time in my life when I knew nothing about Tex-Mex breakfast. I would say for the first twenty or so odd years of my life, when it came to that first glorious meal of the day it was almost always two eggs over medium, with home fires (well done, almost burnt even), toasted rye toast and a cup of regular coffee. Simple, American diner food, that served its purpose of substance, comfort and familiarity. Over the years I moved onto more sophisticated dishes, like eggs Florentine and biscuits and gravy with fried eggs, but never strayed very far from traditional Northern breakfast fare. Even after moving to Austin, I stuck with simple dishes like breakfast tacos made of eggs, cheese and beans. That was until I was shown the light and tasted what just might be the greatest breakfast dish of all times: Migas.

About two weeks before I moved back to New York, I headed over to Polvos, one of my favorite Tex-Mex restaurants, for my standard late morning meal of breakfast tacos, coffee and margaritas. As I geared up to order, one of my dining buddies asked me if I had ever tried Migas. I had never even heard of them, let alone tasted them, so I flipped my menu over to see what he was talking about. Migas (which roughly translates into “crumbs”) are scrambled eggs, mixed with bits of crispy tortilla, diced onions, sliced chili peppers, diced fresh tomatoes, and cheese, and served with rice, beans and your choice of freshly made tortillas. Ok, I thought, nothing special, but seeing how I only had a few weeks before I left town, I decided to try something new. When I ordered, my waiter suggested the café del olla, a sweet cinnamon, Mexican coffee, as a nice compliment to my Migas, and since I was feeling adventurous, I took his advice.

As most of you know by now, I eat a lot. I am rarely, if ever, completely blown away by a simple dish or drink. It’s usually an entire meal (like wd-50) or a dishso exceptional (like fresh gnocchi with shaved black truffles) that it makes me realize the incredible possibilities of ingredients, taste and presentation. Don’t get me wrong, I reveille in finding new and delicious approaches pizza, burgers and noodles, but it’s rarely every a mind-blowing taste explosion. So you can imagine my surprise when I was completely blown away by the most incredible egg dish (and coffee) I have ever tasted in my life.

Where to start? The eggs themselves were perfectly cooked, light and fluffy and a bright yellow. The contrasting consistency of the soft eggs, mixed with the crispy tortillas, peppers, onion and tomatoes did wonders on the tongue; while the melted cheese added an overall creamy lubrication. The best way to eat Migas was to fork a heaping pile into one of the soft tortillas and then smother is with beans, rice and chipotle salsa. Each bite was then washed down with a delicate gulp of café de ollo, a coffee so perfect that adding any milk or sugar would be a crime. With any self-control, it should take someone about twenty minutes to finish off an entire plate and two cups of coffee, but if you’re like me you’ll be licking your plate clean and ordering your third cup in an embarrassingly short ten.

During my trip to Austin last week I had Migas every day, because when it comes to Migas it’s not just about eating my favorite meal, it’s an addiction. Whether it was the Migas tacos at El Chilito, the Migas plate at El Arroyo, or the Migas enchiladas at Trudy’s, I consumed them non stop and in mass quantities. Because to me, as long as it was scrambled eggs, crispy tortillas, a Mexican medley of cooked veggies and melted cheese, it just didn’t matter how or where I got my fix.

Polvos is located at 2004 South First St in Austin, Texas.

The Salt Lick - Nothing Beats The Perfect Rib

2006-05-22T11:07:00.000-07:00

Perfect is an adjective rarely used when talking about eating out. Dining experiences are usually good, great or even (hopefully) excellent, but are usually marred by poor atmosphere, poor service or (god forbid) poor food. There are, however, exceptions to this rule. All over this country, and world, there are well known gourmet gems, hidden in plain sight and known by every local and any gourmand worth their salt. These places run the gauntlet from glitzy to gaudy, grandiose to graveness, gourmet to grub. Despite any of these differences, however, each place offers the well-traveled eater a perfect, mind blowing, stomach (and soul) full filling dining experience.

About forty minutes outside of Austin, in the dry-county of Driftwood, Texas, you can find one of these restaurant gems in the form of one of the world's perfect barbeque joints. Located on a vast spread of open land, you can follow the smell of the wood burning pits as the drive through some of the state's most beautiful hill country. As you pull into the dirt driveway, there is an open seating area (reserved for waiting and mass consumption of beer) to the right and the main dining room (reserved for eating and over indulgence) to the left. That's right people, I'm talking about the one, the only, the Salt Lick.

One of the Salt Lick's highlights (and there are many) is the customary hour plus wait before that glorious moment when you name is called for your table. This wait allows you to enjoy both the incredible, outdoor atmosphere and their phenomenal BYOB policy. This time around, however, we were pressed for time and called ahead to make a reservation. Timed perfectly, our smoked-meat obsessed crew strolled right in with a couple of cases of Lone Star and Shiner Bock under each arm, headed to our table and within ten minutes or cracking our first beer, the food was served.

We had all decided to order family style, which means for $15.99 you receive unlimited brisket, ribs, sausage, potatoes, coleslaw, beans (cooked with pork) and bread. Coming from New York, where a couple of ribs with two sides at any Urban BBQ place runs you around twenty dollars, this is the deal of a lifetime. The trick to eating the most possible is pacing. It's easy to forget that the food only stops coming out when you stop eating; but let me tell you, when a smoking hot plate of tender ribs, moist brisket and succulent sausage is placed in front of you, it's hard not to pile your plate as high as possible.

Based only on personal preference, I started the meal with a couple of ribs. These short, pork ribs are cooked slow and low for a minimum of twelve hours and are so tender that gravity alone pulls the meat off the bone. The ribs are both sweet and salty and when smothered in the Salt Lick’s spicy sauce, worth running your own mother over to get some (sorry mom, but you'd probably run me over first if you had chance). After my first few ribs (and there would be many to follow) I moved onto the brisket. Their moist brisket is sliced nice and thin, and has a nice crispy edge that compliments the soft meat. Finally it was time for the home made, crispy and delicious sausage. Although I enjoy it, it is definitely my least favorite meat of the family plate and I usually only have a few pieces at most to save room for the other meats. To round out the dinner we had both the chicken (incredible), the turkey (which I found dry) and the best coleslaw I ever had (which is made with sesame seeds).

As the meal progressed and the plates of food kept coming, everyone began to slow down, until there was a complete stop of carnivorous indulgence. As every one moaned and groaned about their extended guts, our plates were cleared and dessert was served. Since it is impossible to save room for dessert, one must dig deep into the depth of their stomach and find a hidden pocket of room for the heaping mounds of peach and blackberry cobbler, sweet pecan pie and Bluebell vanilla ice cream. Having been in this gut-busting situation before, I knew to only focus on my favorite, the blackberry cobbler a la mode, and leave the rest for my culinary cohorts. The cobbler was served hot and the ice cream melted with every bite of tart berry and buttery crust. I ate until I could no longer see straight, sit upright, or talk in complete sentences.

As a word of advice to barbeque amateurs, the Salt Lick is not for the culinary novice. It takes a lot of well thought out planning and perfect pacing to consume this much meat and sides. In fact (and I won’t name names), even some of the top eaters at our table could not deal with this much food. But honestly, who can blame them? It’s rare to find a dining experience like this and damn near impossible in New York, and doesn’t the saying go, “When in (the) Lone (Start State), do as the Texans do.”? To be honest, when heading to Austin, there really should be no other choice for barbeque. As one of my dinning partners said to me on the drive out there, “I can’t be thirty minutes from the Salt Lick and not go. It’s just too damn perfect.”

The Salt Lick is located at 18001 FM 1826 in Driftwood, Texas.

Back From Austin

2006-05-22T08:36:00.000-07:00

So I am back from Austin, exhausted and ten pounds heavier. Like every week I spend there, it was all about over indulgence and eating every meal like it was my last. I have a post going up later today and more Austin related ones this week. I won’t give away any surprises, but let’s just say there wasn’t a day without ribs or migas.

El Chilito - Me Encanta Migas

2006-05-17T08:25:00.000-07:00

Upon every return to Austin, I traditionally head straight from the airport to one of my favorite eating establishments. It’s like the initial lighting of the Olympic Fire for my stomach, thus announcing an extended period of multicultural celebration (American barbeque and Mexican) and illustrious indulgence. This trip’s restaurant of choice was El Chilito, a laid back taco shack, owned and operated by the same culinary greats who brought us El Chile Café y Cantina, one of Austin’s premier Mexican fusion restaurants. Now I don’t use this description too often, but El Chilito is adorable. With a glass-enclosed kitchen, dirt paved parking lot and spacious eating deck (furnished with brightly colored tables, chairs and blankets for the colder seasons), it just doesn’t get much better than this.

Oh wait, it does get better because the food here is amazing. Jeff and Kristine, the executive chefs, fuse together Interior Mexican, Tex-Mex and Fine Dining (they both got their bones cooking at one of Austin’s five star restaurants, Jeffery’s) to create a perfect mix of traditional and forward thinking cuisine. For those who don’t know, my favorite meal is migas, a Tex-Mex dish that consists of scrambled eggs, mixed with crispy tortilla strips, green bell peppers, onions and melted cheese. They are served with beans, rice and fresh tortillas. This is the dish I live for and dream about constantly when I am away from Austin, and not only does El Chilito make them, they make some of the best in the city.

Usually I would order a large plate of migas, but it being lunch-time I also wanted to have a few of their famous Yucatan-braised-pork tacos. Without hesitation, I ordered three migas tacos and two pork tacos. Even I knew this was over indulgence, but I didn’t care. Although the eggs are made to order, the tacos came relatively quickly. Accompany my five, perfectly wrapped foil babies, were a matching number of salsa servings. El Chilito makes their own, award winning (Austin Hot Sauce Fest 2004) salsa, which is a delectably simple mix of smoked tomatoes, jalapenos and spices. As I carefully peeled back the wrapping on my first migas taco, I was greeted with the smell of culinary perfection, and upon my first bite the taste of heaven. Wrapped in a flour tortilla, the migas both crunched and melted, as they were delicately shoveled into my mouth. After devouring my first taco, I moved onto the pork taco, which was a nice compliment to breakfast flavors I had just consumed. Served simply on two corn tortillas, the meat in this no frills taco is shredded and cooked till it falls apart. Sweet, spicy and beyond tender I recommend this dish to anyone who loves meat.

It only took about fifteen minutes to eat all five tacos and drink all of that salsa, but I just couldn’t hold back. I pushed my stomach to the edge and let’s just say that almost twenty-four hours later, I’m still not hungry. But when I come to Austin, being hungry is just a small detail, because there are too many tacos, too many ribs and too many restaurants, and no matter how hard I try, just not enough time to eat it all.

El Chilito is located at 2219 Manor Rd in Austin, TX.

Austin Bound - Land of the Migas

2006-05-15T15:06:00.000-07:00

A heads up to the loyal readers of this blog, I will be heading to Austin tomorrow for work. I will be there till Sunday, so expect a little lag in the posting. But fear not, I promise a few posts on my favorite culinary city and upon my return, regale you with tales of ribs, Lone Star and my favorite dish of all time, migas!

The Alligator Lounge and The Crocodile Lounge - Free Pizza is Totally Awesome.

2006-05-15T09:07:00.000-07:00

When I used to live in Austin, going out was never a spontaneous adventure into the vibrant nightlife, but a routine journey to a handful of selected bars. Monday was dollar beers at Hole In The Wall, Tuesday was two dollar tall boys at Beerland, Wednesday was four dollar shots at Red Fez and so on. These watering holes were selected by a heard mentality, solely based on drink specials and never on a criteria of hip crowds, resident Djs or decent bar staff. The overall result was a group of no frill bars that did little more than offer an inexpensive way to get enjoyably blotto and expect the crowd to show up.

As one can imagine, the New York bar scene is a bit more competitive. For the most part, bars seem to offer the same happy hour, the same drinks and the same prices. What it comes down to is a personal preference (obviously) of décor, bartenders and crowd. There is, however, another element that can affect one’s choice of patronage and that is the offer of free food. More and more bars these days are luring patrons with free meals that are definitely a step above “pub grub”. Usually made fresh to order, saloons across the city (and boroughs) are offering up everything from burgers to po-boys to BBQ and beyond. And while these gastronomic offering are enticing, the real haute gourmet of bar food is the personal pizza.

My first encounter with free pizza occurred at the Alligator Lounge in Brooklyn over a year ago. I had just moved back to the city, and being low on funds, was searching for a cheap way to both get full and inebriated. A friend of mine had asked me if I had ever heard of a pizza bar, where the ordering of one drink entitled you to a free, freshly cooked pizza. At first I was wary. I imagined the pizza to be nothing more than a microwaved slice of Ellios, an ironic twist on bar food. Boy was I wrong. For the cost of a pint of Yuengling ($4) and tip ($1 for the bartender and $1 for your pizza guy) one could enjoy a delicious, frosty lager, matched perfectly with a freshly made, wood oven cooked pizza.

A little over a month ago the Alligator Lounge’s sister bar, the Crocodile Lounge, opened up in the East Village. With The Cuz living just around the corner, we stopped by opening weekend, both clutching half-priced drink tickets we had received earlier that week. The first difference we noticed between the two bars was the décor. The Alligator Lounge looks like it was designed during a Jaws inspired acid trip (think blue ceilings and bloody mannequin parts), while the Crocodile Lounge has a more refined, college bar feel (think stainless steel and a skee ball machine). The other major difference was they oven. Instead of a romantic, wood-burning oven that one can find at the original lounge, the new lounge offers an industrial, gas-burning oven, something that adds nothing to the atmosphere or the taste of the pizza.

Taking full advantage of my drink ticket, I ordered the home made Bloody Mary ($7 without coupon) and sat down to wait the twenty minutes or so it would take to make and cook my pizza. When the pizza finally arrived I was famished, and could barely contain myself. Each pizza is complimented with a fully decked out spice rack filled with salt, pepper, garlic, oregano, red pepper flakes and parmesan cheese. The pizza itself looked perfect: an eight inch pie of golden brown, thin crust, well spread sauce, fully melted cheese and spiced to perfection. The pie is sliced into eight pieces, and while small in individual portions, let’s not forget your have an entire pie to yourself. Not to sound over zealous, but the pizza was nothing short of fantastic. The pie was a nice nod to New York pizza, with the only complaints I had being that there was too much crust and the lacking smoky aftertaste one gets from a pizza cooked in a wood burning oven.

Now while there is no limit to how many pizzas one can order, it’s hard to imagine that anyone would need more than one or two. Even The Cuz, whose appetite I am constantly impressed by, can usually only get through about one and a half pies (two on a good day) before he throws in the napkin. The greatest thing is that there’s no catch here, just a laid back crowd with nice bartenders, reasonably priced beer and, of course, delicious, free pizza.

The Alligator Lounge is located at 600 Metropolitan Ave in Williamsburg, Brooklyn.

The Crocodile Lounge is located at 325 East 14th St in New York City.

Eating Your Way Through A Hang Over - The Bodega Breakfast Sandwich

2006-05-11T08:54:00.000-07:00

Being hung over at work is a terrible thing because it reinforces two unfortunate realities about your life: that you are no longer the drinking power house you used to be and that your “moving to New York / winning the lottery” scheme has to yet to pan out. There, is, however, one amazing thing about being an absolute mess the morning after and that is eating. Forget that big glass of water and enough with the aspirin, if you want a cure for a pounding headache, queasy stomach and dry mouth, then look no further than two eggs, crispy bacon, cheese and a freshly baked roll. That’s right ladies and gents, I am talking about the infamous bodega breakfast sandwich.

With so many bodegas in this city, it’s tough knowing which place has the best sandwich. I recommend getting drunk a few nights each week and then trying different establishments until you find a place to your liking. Once you find a place stick with it, because nothing is better than walking in the door and without saying a word, having the grill guy immediately start making your sandwich. You should get to a point where you don’t even have to tell them how you like your coffee. In fact, the only words you should speak should be rudimentary banter about the weather or what type of day it’s going to be.

Now the next part is tricky, because if you are still brazen enough to blow it out on a weeknight that means your job is probably at the shallow end of the power pool. Your boss probably knows you are hung over and will be looking to give you some guff about responsibility and your future with the company. So although there’s nothing more you’d like to do than open up iTunes, crank some jams and rip into you sandwich, you have to play it cool. This means the obligatory morning chatter and some fictitious story about how you had a terrible time falling asleep last night.

Finally it’s time. As you collapse into your desk chair, you can barely contain yourself as you pull back the tab on your coffee, tear apart the aluminum foil and take that first glorious bite. The eggs should be fluffy and perfectly folded into a square, while the crispy bacon and melted cheese should remind you that your young heart won’t be young forever. The roll should be slightly doughy, fresh and slightly warmed. Every bite should have an equal mix of egg, bacon, cheese and bread. Every bite should bring you one step closer to normalcy. Every bite should taste a little like heaven.

And before you know it, the sandwich is gone and so is your hang over. That’s right people, totally and absolutely gone, thus allowing you to start your long, eight-hour day. And if you don’t believe me, try it out tomorrow, because I promise you with the right breakfast sandwich your last night’s residuals don’t stand a chance.

Kati Roll Company - Home of The Indian Burrito

2006-05-09T09:06:00.000-07:00

When I received a text message from The Cuz asking if I have ever heard of the “Indian burrito” I was intrigued, and when the free hor’douvers failed to appear at the Uncle Luke meet and greet, we decided to head over the Kati Roll Company to check them out. Kati Roll Company is located on MacDougal Street, an infamous area known for its comedy clubs, ethnic food and poor-man's Bourbon Street atmosphere. As we rolled up, the place was packed with struggling comics, poor college students and drunken businessmen, well into their second happy hour. Upon first appearance the Kati Roll Company looks like it has just opened, with an unplugged fridge, surrounded by drink flats, and walls that are sparsely decorated with Indian movie posters (one of them being for the Indian release of The Matrix. Despite it's appearance The Cuz informed that it's been open for years and is infamous in the NYU late night drunk food scene.

As we saddled up to the service bar, we were greeted with a sparse and pleasantly simple menu. With only eight options (sixteen if you count the special deal for ordering two of the same roll), one gets the feeling that the Kati Roll Company knows exactly what they are doing. After a surprisingly long deliberation on what to order, The Cuz leaned over to me and told me to order two rolls. I told him I was hungry, but not ravenous, and he simply looked at me and said, "Trust me, when you finish your first one, you're going to want another one right away."

Each roll is made to order, so when I finally decided on the chicken tikka roll and the achari paneer roll (with a can of Orange Fanta), I knew there would be a bit of wait. Each roll started off with a freshly fried paratha, which is an Indian styled flat bread, and then topped with their respected ingredients. The chicken tikka roll received generous morsels of marinated chicken, while the achari paneer received large cubes of Indian cottage cheese marinated in a spicy pickle sauce, and then each roll received a nice helping of mixed veggies. Each roll was topped with a healthy shake of secret spices, rolled up and served in wax paper and foil.

I attacked the chicken tikka first and let’s just say it delivered. Every bite had a perfect mix of chicken, veggies and spice. The crispy paratha complimented the tender meat, while the spices reminded me of my trips to Brick Lane. Although not technically like a burrito, the roll took the Indian staple to a different level a flavor and approach.

As I devoured the last bite of the chicken tikka roll and I caught The Cuz’s eye. Without saying a word, I gave him a knowing look and immediately started in on the achari paneer. I was happy to have saved this roll for second. The creamy cheese had softened and slightly melted all of the flavors together. Again perfectly spiced, this roll was definitely the better of the two and recommended for anyone who loves the classic Indian mix of dairy and vegetables.

As I inhaled the last bite of my Kati rolls and stared at the pillaged wax paper and foil wrappings, I begin to eye the menu. One was definitely not enough and two brought me to the edge of being full, but I thought a third one would be the perfect amount. The Cuz saw my deliberation and simply shook his head and said, “Trust me, you do not want a third one. Believe me, I know from experience”. And with that, I finished my Fanta, licked the wax paper and made a mental note to return as soon a possible.

Kati Roll Company is located at 99 MacDougal Street in New York City.

Park Avenue Country Club - Number One With A Bulleit

2006-05-07T20:44:00.000-07:00

It was the Kentucky Derby on Saturday and that meant three things: big hats, bit purses and big ol’ bottles of bourbon. Bulleit Bourbon hosted quite the affair for a packed house of equestrian aficionados and there’s nothing like seeing hundred of bottles of free booze to pre-warm the gullet. Although there were pitchers full of pre-made mint julep and spiked lemonade, I decided to drink my bourbon straight. Since I am accustomed to drinking well whiskey, this was a treat. Smooth and smoky, the bourbon went down easy and warmed me up from head to toe. The food was sparse, but the chicken wings complimented the drinks perfectly. Fried perfectly and tossed with the right amount of sauce, the meat was tender, crispy and sweet. All in all it was a great afternoon, but I didn’t pay much attention to the race. I’m not sure who won, but for those who missed it I think it was Papa’s Moustache just narrowly beating out Lightning Bolt in the closest race ever recorded. Until next year people, keep on drinking.

Park Avenue Country Club is located at 381 Park Avenue South in New York City.

Steak Frites - So Crispy, So Good

2006-05-05T15:27:00.000-07:00

Today was one of those New York days that necessitated a midday two-hour lunch break, and with a wink and a nod from one of my bosses, we were on our downtown to Union Square. Although we had plans to gorge outside, there was not an open table to be had anywhere. We wound up settling on Steak Frites, a non-pretentious French Brasserie, adorned with beautiful paintings and all the Françoise accoutrements one would expect. After a quick glance at the menu, we realized we had hit the jackpot. Not only were the prices easy on the wallet, but every item (with the exception of the salad) came with a massive helping of very-well done, golden brown, crispy frites, in a cone about the size of a Dixie cup made for Bigfoot. My sandwich du boucher was cooked perfectly to a medium-rare and topped with caramelized onion and Gruyere cheese. And although I can’t even begin to think about my next meal (or really anything clever to write), I have already made plans to play hooky again next week and devour one of their croque monsieur.

Steak Frites is located at 9 East 16th st in New York City.

Bohemian Hall & Beer Garden - A Traditional Czech Night Out

2006-05-04T13:12:00.000-07:00

Cold, rainy and dark are three adjectives not usually associated with a Beer Garden, but there they were last night as I headed out to Astoria’s infamous Bohemian Hall & Beer Garden. I had made a promise to go as soon as I could since I had failed to make it out last season, and with a guarantee from my Czech friend for a truly traditional experience, I just couldn’t resist. We arrived while a slight drizzle fell from the sky and held onto false hopes that the rain would hold. Although I my friend informed me that Czech’s only drink from mugs, I ordered us a pitcher of Krusovice (a Czech lager) for economical reasons. The beer was dark amber in color with a surprisingly light and rich yeast flavor.

Matching their authentic beer selection was an authentic menu full of potatoes, pirogues and papricash. We started off by splitting a couple of pork kielbasas and a heaping plate of French fries. Literally bursting with flavor, these grilled foot-long beauties were served with two pieces of fresh rye bread and spicy, yellow mustard. The side of fries, however, were cold, soggy and looked like they’d been sitting out in the rain for quite awhile.

After packing away the kielbasas, we turned our attentions to ordering the main course. Although I suggested we order chicken schnitzel and fried cheese, my friend suggested we go the more traditional route, so I ordered the “Vepro, Knedlo, Zelo” (roast pork with sauerkraut and bread dumplings), while he ordered the Segedin Goulash (pork) and potatoes. As soon as our plates were served, I knew I had made a terrible mistake. In front of my friend were perfectly roasted potatoes, smothered in a thick stew, with pork morsels so tender, you simply had to breathe on them for them to fall apart. In front of me was a plate of plain pork, soggy sauerkraut and the driest bread dumplings I had ever seen. Glaring at my friend, I took my first bite and was greeted with a sensation that could only be descried as desert like. Dry, bland and packed with a consistency of spongy sand, I stared longingly at the plates of fried chicken and pork on the table next to ours. As my friend finished his plate with a mouthful of pork and huge gulp of beer, he seemed to finally notice my discontent.

He offered only a sheepish grin as I asked him, “Do you really like this stuff,” while pointing to my half eaten plate of food?

He coyly replied, “I usually like my dumplings made out of potatoes and not bread, cabbage instead of sauerkraut, and when it comes to pork, I liked it smoked and not roasted.”

“So why did you have me order this,” I asked?

“Well,” he started off, “I promised you a night of traditional Czech food and beer. And traditionally, Czech food is pretty bad.”

And before I could say anything else, he finished his drink, got up from the bench and went off to get the one thing that could fix my sour mood: a fresh pitcher of beer.

The Bohemian Hall and Beer Garden is located at 29-19 24th Avenue in Astoria, Queens.

2A - A Bloody Good TIme

2006-05-03T06:07:00.000-07:00

About seven years ago I despised spinach. I mean I hated it. I hated
the taste, the texture and even the fact that it was good for me. And
by hated it I mean "Screw Popeye and screw that Bluto-Beating-Pipe-
Smoking-Olive-Oil-Screwing junk he used to eat!" Then something
changed. Whether it was the constant nagging of my mother, or my
cholesterol filled arteries, I decided to give the green garbage a
try. At first my taste buds kept telling me to put down the leaf and
pickup the fry, but I kept eating it. And guess what? Not only did I come
to like this "prince of vegetables", but now it is an integral part of
my daily diet.

So who gives a shit, right?

Well this taught me two things: That the body needs some green
every once in awhile and that you can train your taste buds to like
anything. While that first lesson goes less practiced than my
heart would like, the second lesson has become an elemental rule in how
I approach food. Over the years I have trained myself to enjoy
peppers, onions, mustard, tomato juice, horseradish, Worcestershire
sauce, Tabasco sauce, olives and (does anyone see where this is
going?) celery.

Upon my Freshman year of college I did what most collegiate boys did,
and that was break up with my longtime lover, vodka, and jump right
into bed with a new (and still ongoing) lover, whiskey. In fact, I
was so hurt by vodka's "love-me-at-night-leave-me-for-dead-in-the-morning"
attitude that I didn't return to its fiery embrace till years after
graduation. That return, however, did eventually come when I decided
to start drinking Bloody Mary's.

I decided that if I was going to drink in the morning it was going to count for something.
Since I enjoy being employed, drinking in the morning would have to reserved for the
weekend. I had grown tired of mimosas, and being unable to afford
straight champagne, I decided to switch over to the bad boy of
morning cocktails. Like all other taste bud training sessions, it
took a lot of hard work and many a drawn out brunches to make my mouth
realize that a spicy and thick tomato drink was the perfect
compliment to a large dish of Eggs Florentine.

In fact, I trained so hard that eventually I could no longer contain my cravings
for this luscious lycopene liquor to brunch alone. Much to the dismay
of many bartenders, I began ordering my drink of choice at night.
Anytime I spied bottles of Worcestershire and Tabasco sauce on the bar, I
pleaded with the barkeep to make me a fresh drink.

Most of the time, however, to get a fresh Bloody Mary made post
brunch/happy hour takes a lot of begging and pleading, which was
definitely the case at 2A last night. I had come off a long day at
work and missed happy hour by a good hour. By the time I met the Mrs.
and her friends, the 2-for1 drink sign had been put away and the
nightly regulars were already settling into their pints of Stella and
their shots of whiskey.

As I helped myself to a fresh batch of popcorn, I noticed that my two
favorite sauce bottles were poorly stashed behind a row of cheap
vodka bottles. As soon as I saw them, I saddled up to the bar and
waited patiently to be served by my soon to be favorite bartender,
Mee-Hall (sorry for the terrible spelling). As if she knew my true
intentions, she served everyone at the bar before she came over to
take my order. With a bit of begging and the promise of a good tip
she promised to deliver a fresh drink: and deliver she did. Mee-Hall
served up a perfect mixture of Worcestershire and Tabasco sauces,
lemon, lime and olive juice, a liberal spoonful of horseradish and a
wonderful dash of pepper. To any fan of this drink, I recommend you
stake out this bartender out and do/say you whatever it takes to get
served 16 oz of true, Bloody pleasure.

2A is located at the corner of Avenue A and Second Street in New York City.

Bubby's - Just like home, but don't tell your Mother.

2006-05-02T02:44:00.000-07:00

Now most Jewish boys will claim that the greatest cooks in their lives are their mother and their grandmothers. The reasons for this are two fold: it's true and if you didn't say this, their mother and grandmothers would suffer so much grief, they'd probably die from it. The other night The Cuz, Mrs. Cuz and I were out to dinner at Bubby's, a Tribeca staple, known for its baby friendly atmosphere and comfort food (just like grandma's, right?). We were there to celebrate the Tribeca Film festival and to dine on what is considered some of the city's best mac 'n' cheese.

Due to a baby birthday party, (NB: I haven't seen so many strollers in one place since my last visit to Park Slope), we had a decent wait at the bar. It being Sunday, I ordered the house Bloody Mary. Spicy, think and topped with a long stalk of celery, it was amazing to see this mix being poured out of a plastic jug. Although not the best I've ever had, it definitely topped the list. After being seated, The Cuz and I debated on ordering nachos, but decided to save room for Bubby's famous pie. I ordered the buttermilk-fried chicken, with mac 'n' cheese and the recommended mashed potatoes as my two sides. As noted in the menu, the fried chicken was cooked to order and the allotted twenty-two minutes were used in their entirety. Now before I get to the meal, I must apologize to the kitchen staff. For a moment, I thought they were going to cleaver a chicken in half, chuck it in the fryer and serve it up, no frills style. Boy was I wrong. What was presented to me were four beautiful pieces (leg, wing, thigh and breast, natch) of golden brown, crispy heaven. Their chicken, which is soaked in homemade brine for twenty-four hours before frying, should set the standard of gourmet fried chicken. It is non-greasy, moist and tender; and when mixed with bites of mashed potatoes and mac 'n' cheese it tastes just as good as any home cooked meal you ever had.

Starving off our nacho indulgence paid off in the end. The Cuz and I spilt the Apple-Whiskey pie, a la mode, while Mrs. Cuz enjoyed the Sour Cherry Pie served in the same style. The pie was a bit under warmed, but just hot enough to melt the ice cream with each bite. The whiskey complimented the thin apple slices and the slightly burnt crust sealed the deal. All in all the meal was the perfect way to end a long weekend and I wound up taking home two pieces of chicken, thus not cleaning the proverbial plate. And while that might be all right at Bubby's, it's just something that wouldn't fly at home.

Bubby's is located at 120 Hudson St in New York City

wd 50 - my first gourmet tasting

2006-05-01T15:49:00.000-07:00

Before last night I thought going out to dinner meant one of two things. Either my friends and I would go to some kitschy dive, with mediocre food, but strong drinks and a raucous atmosphere; or my family and I would head into Chinatown for some delicious Peking duck. Although both experiences are fond memories, neither of them contains much culinary prowess worth writing about. Last night my twin brother and I went to Wylie Dufrense's wd~50 for our twenty-fourth birthday. For those who don't know, wd~50 is one of the top avant-garde restaurants in the world, pushing both the envelopes of taste and presentation; and based on last night's meal, I would say they are leading the pack.

Last night's meal, was no mere meal: it was a culinary event that challenged the tongue, the eye and the wallet (thanks mom and dad, ps please don't kill us). My brother and I decided to indulge in the full tasting, paired with wine for what would culminate in three-hour dining experience for the books. What follows is the laundry list of culinary genius:

Dry tuna, pureed pistachio, chocolate chips, celery (paired w/ a sparking Rosa from Italy)
Coconut, cinnamon, cadimen and something else, it looked like a sunny side up "egg"
Foie gras, candied olives, green peas, beet juice (paired with Midera)
Octopus, celery pesto, pineapple, mojama, marcona almonds (greek wine)
Pickled beef tongue, fried mayonnaise, onion streusel (more wine, so much wine)
Miso soup, mushrooms and make your own noodles (what's that, top us off? Thanks)
Pork belly, sauerkraut spaetzle, swiss cheese consomme, romaine (wiiiiiiiiiiine)
Turbot, salsify, smoked bulgur, coffee-saffron (vino, mas vino)
Frozen tangerine, olive oil, basil, salt, (dessert wine)
Kumquat confit, carob ice cream, soy caramel (sweet saki, I think)
Butternut sorbet, pumpkin seed cake, chocolate soil, mole (wine)
Caramelized banana, smoked chocolate ice cream, stout (it just never stopped)
Twelve-year-old Scotch from the low lands.

Needless to say, my brother and I were full and in high spirits by the end of the meal. Our friend, Sam, just happens to be the pastry chef at wd~50, so the desserts just kept on coming. The best part of the night came after my brother and I had befriended this eccentric millionaire and his mistress sitting at the table next to us. The millionaire turned out to be a huge foodie, who had an answer for every question my brother and I had about our dinner. During the dessert tasting, my brother asked him to explain the concept of confit and how it can be applied to fruit. The millionaire explained how confit is the process of cooking something in its own fat, but in the case of this kumquat, "they pretty much just braised this bastard and generally fucked us."

All in all dinner was the highlight of the evening and meal to talk about for years, and as long as our parents don't cut us off completely, we'll be back next year (or next week) for sure.

now that's what i call a fuckin' post.

2006-04-30T21:33:00.000-07:00

about a week ago i was hanging out with a retired food critic. he had recently read a piece i had written on my first gourmet tasting experience in new york. he asked me if i had written anything else about food. i replied that i really had no idea how to write about food.

he then looked at me and said, "does anybody really?"

now i have no idea if he was just being nice about the piece i had written, but i figured he was sort of right. this blog will be about the different meals i have in this city and around the country (and if some one will pay for it, around the world). some pieces will be full reports on the food i consumed, other pieces will be half thought rants about my unstoppable gluttony.

but enought about me and onto the food.