Posts from the ‘Where to Eat’ Category

Jan 15

Qi Thai Grill

Qi Thai Gril is Williamsburg’s latest attempt at Meatpacking the neighborhood. The enormous stage set restaurant could simply be ignored if the food wasn’t actually pretty good. Though I can’t say that’s true across the board, since I was careful to mostly order things that sounded interesting, no green curry or pad thai. And if our server’s cock-blocking of multiple dishes ordered is any indication, no one’s opting for the stuff that’s worth trying.
(Overheard at neighboring table: “I don’t like coconut milk.” What?)

Ignore the chopsticks, order the small dishes and specialties, don’t for the love of god be a couple who each orders one thing and eats it like an individual entree (the worst!) dig the statuary and ambient Asian boutique hotel chillout music while pretending you’re at an upscale Bangkok restaurant for foreigners. Then laugh because you’re in beardo Brooklyn. Whatever Qi is, it’s not Fushimi.

“Do you know what tendon is?” is not what you expect to hear after explicitly ordering tendon. No one should be scared off because I suspect this is one of the more intriguing things on menu, if you know and enjoy eating tendons, of course. In fact, it’s the first thing on the first page of the menu (from the list of Sripraphai-created small plates). The tendons are not thin strips more common to Sichuan preparations, but fatty blobs that are a chewy foil for the bright lemongrass and kaffir lime and creeping heat that’s mighty. The roasted rice powder adds a toasty finish.

Minus the chile dipping sauce, there’s nothing particularly Thai about the Ovaltine ribs from Pichet Ong’s grilled selections. Rich with five spice–or at least star anise and cinnamon–the malty chocolate blends into combination that’s almost Malaysian. Like rendang on a bone.

When you see verbiage like “Perhaps the spiciest Thai dish that NYC has to offer” it’s hard to let the claim go untested. I’ve yet to encounter anything hotter than the brutal Southern curry at Sripraphai that no one should order more than once every half-decade, and the Fiery Pork Red Turmeric Curry is a little kinder. The split bird and dried red chiles are tamed by a soupy amount of coconut milk, though the heat is certainly on the serious end of the Scoville scale by Brooklyn Thai standards. Plus, I’m always happy to see those apple eggplants.

Noodles are always underwhelming, and the pad kee mao fell into that carby and comforting but ultimately unexciting category. A little chile-spiked fish sauce might have helped.

Qi Thai Grill * 176 Ninth St., Brooklyn, NY

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Dec 30

Onyx

On vacation, if there's a Michelin star in town I'll
try it. It's certain to beat the Nobu or Buddha Bar that every international
capital now advertises. In Budapest it's an easy decision because there are
only two choices, one star apiece. My inclination was to go with the restaurant
serving lentil foam, though both Onyx and Costes, the other option, do two
tasting menus, one using more traditional ingredients and one more
international. I'd have to be on a second visit before branching out into
pineapple and avocado.

Onyx is plush and glossy, that mix of tufted
banquettes, chandeliers, oversized chairs, damask wallpaper that's Vegas
Versailles, but with unexpected glowing surfaces and space age metal wall
installations that are more of a cold climate Miami. Somehow it wasn't too
much. The diners were almost exclusively young couples from countries with even
more favorable exchange rates (the menu is priced in Euros, not Forints) with a
business dinner where the local underlings slowly nursed glasses of wine and
laughed more than they had to at American khaki bosses' stories.

They do
not skimp on the bread. The basket comes with butter, pork rillettes and fresh
cheese. The wedge right in the center was mauve from red cabbage like a piece
of Hungarian ube pan de sal.

A puzzle
piece of squid is accented by dots of paprika sauce and a foamy milkshake, also
red pepper.

Danube
salmon, luke warm potato salad, crispy veal. That fried veal nugget showed up
again. When I first encountered it at Csalogány 26, I assumed it was a creative touch, but maybe it has Hungarian roots, after all.

Marinated
goose liver with plum textures. The puck of lacquered foie gras (you knew there
was going to be goose liver–even pubs and mom and pops in Budapest serve it) was
a lot of richness early on. If I could
only eat one dish again, it would be this one, plus the bread basket. I basically want to eat nothing except fat and carbs for every meal.

Hungarian
sturgeon caviar with cauliflower puree, vegetables, “black soil.” Thankfully,
the vegetable patch came next. I don't actually know what the dirt was crafted
from; I was more preoccupied with the world's tiniest melon hiding out near the
caviar.

Mangalitza
marmalade with lentil foam, and charbroiled mangalitza loin with lentil. It
wouldn't be a survey of Hungarian cuisine without the beloved mangalitza. As often happens, the meatiest course shows up when you're fuller and less appreciative.

The foam,
with more of a pea soup body, got its own plate–and dark breadcrumbs.

Intermediate
dessert of forgotten ingredients.

21st century
somlói sponge cake. On the final night of my week in Budapest, I was now on my
third version of somlói. With a thick layer of real, dense chocolate, not syrup,
this non-traditional style was my favorite.

Now here
is where it gets weird. The staff was mildly obsessed with getting people to
try the tableside Chemex coffee service. No one was biting. I kind of wanted to
peek at what was on the bar cart I'd seen making the rounds earlier, so I had
sour cherry palinka first. Maybe this upset the balance and order?

What I
really wanted was the petit four cart. Throughout the evening it has been
wheeled up to everyone's tables and I'd stealthily looked to see how many
treats they'd take (diners get shy when given no limits) and make a mental note
of which I wanted. The lavender marshmallows, for sure. Also, the mini canelés.

The
coffee is done with flourish on a portable induction burner. I'm truly not a
coffee aficionado, no Portland roasting obsession ever rubbed off on me. Do you
know what would've went well with the coffee? A lavender marshmallow.

And that
was it. No treats (minus the box of two you're sent home with). Did they run
out? Were they trying to close? At this
point, not yet 11pm, there was only one other couple in the dining room,
another anomaly since I didn't consider 8pm an unusually late hour to begin an
evening meal. They were not brought the
sweets cart either, but a plate with a small selection on it. In hindsight, I
should've just said something. If you're paying hundreds of dollars (this was
very much NYC-priced) you don't need to be a mignardises martyr. This exact
situation played out during an Eleven Madison Park lunch back before they went
four star, and it soured me on them; I've never wanted to go back. It's not the
note to end on.

On the
way out the door we passed by the candy cart, well-stocked and taunting.

Onyx *
Vörösmarty tér 7-8, Budapest, Hungary

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Dec 30

Csalogány 26

Though the wines are all regional at Csalogány
26–it's your chance to sample from
Slovenia and Moldova–the food isn't overtly Hungarian.
It's a solid in-between restaurant, not too formal or casual with a menu that
changes regularly. And while you can dine a la carte, the prixe fixes, four or
eight courses, with wine pairings, is the way to go. The shorter option worked
out to being just $49.

I didn't take real photos because I was trying to be in
relaxed enjoy-your-meal mode instead of obnoxious tourist mode. And then it
happened that we were seated next to the other Americans (isn't it the worst
how Americans never want to be anywhere near another American abroad?)
walk-ins, a young woman in yoga pants, Toms and a $260 sweater (she said so)
with her bro friend and an SLR.

The amuse and my first course were both pressed meat. In
fact, the chosen dish was called presskopf, which turned out to be a
fat-encased slices of pig's head terrine accompanied by chopped pickles and
sliced radishes. The crisp-skinned sea bass was in a completely different vein,
but also had a tart and briny flavor from capers tossed into the risotto.

The third dish bridged the Eastern European and
Mediterranean with polenta and more composed meat. A veal tenderloin comes with
more veal, cheeks, cubed, panko-crusted and fried, reminiscent of the pork nuggets
at totally American Char no. 4. For dessert I chose the cheese plate with a
puree of walnut, the chestnut paste of Hungary. An extra sweet appeared. Despite
the presence of cookies, it was more of a breakfast–unless you consider Farina-like
porridge with dried fruit a traditional dessert.

On the walk back to the subway–cheap, super efficient and
old-school Soviet with doors that slam shut so violently they'd easily chop off
a limb–you probably won't miss the glowing parliament building, which I
assumed was yet another castle. It's impressive at night, and probably more so
when captured by camera that's not an iPhone.

Csalogány 26 *
Csalogány utca 26, Budapest, Hungary

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Dec 29

Eaten, Barely Blogged: Locals Only

I'll admit I kind of liked complaining about Carroll
Gardens (and I did so with gusto–there's a grocer/sandwichery that called me
out on citing them three times–Google alerts, clearly–in my blanket
overhype condemnation). But as they say, love it or leave it, and so I did. There's nothing worse than whiners who don't take action.

And I can be honest and say that there's not a lot going
on over here in my far northeastern corner of Clinton Hill (and technically none of what follows is in Clinton Hill–you don't really need to hear about the perfunctory sashimi and Caribbean snacks and melon cocktails I've encountered). But at least there are no
illusions. A majority of the restaurants on Court and Smith streets were/are mediocre,
and despite perfectly good meals at Buttermilk Channel and Frankies, I see no
need to wait over an hour for a bowl of pasta or fried chicken anywhere.

So that said, my standards aren't as stringent in
these parts. It's like in high school where there was a class called Reading
and the students did nothing but read books on couches amidst a bunch of potted plants because
they had bad grades and were underachievers. Ok, my standards aren't that low;
I'm just saying there are different measures of success.

Dictated by the
neighborhood made up of Pratt students, old-timers, public housing
inhabitants, and yes, the errant brownstone dweller (I don't think the Hasids play any role) the dining options tend to
be inexpensive and un-ambitious. The new busineseses all seem to be burger joints or wifi cafes, which don't mean much to me. The Wallace, which is more upscale, is already using Scoutmob and was recently on Blackboard Eats, which aren't typically good signs even though I've been known to use both. I assume Lulu & Po is still going strong (I need to revisit) and I haven't heard a peep about Prospect since it opened.

(I was going to say that the white bougie
family influx hasn't hit hard yet, but just a few hours ago a preschooler sat
down on the barstool next to me and then her Scandinavian-accented father asked
her if she wanted to have her birthday party at "the new house" or in
France. He then told her Bono was "a nice guy" after she failed to
pay proper attention to the song playing that I didn't recognize. "I like it," she said.
"You're not even listening!" he replied, but softly, not snappily
because he was foreign.)

Brooklyn Bird Opened a few weeks ago to zero bloggy
fanfare, this diner-styled restaurant that feels more suited to takeout is nothing special (I do feel bad that no one ever seems to be in there) but it's a block away
and they serve food until 4am. They are advertising beer and wine coming soon. Plus, they've created a lesser-known-regional-fare trifecta with their upstate New York spiedie (nearby Speedy Romeo and
Brooklyn Koalache Co. round out the mini-trend with St. Louis pizza and Czech
by way of Texas, koalaches). I just tried a grilled cheese (cheddar and gruyere) sandwich with bacon and truffle oil. Of course, it didn't really need the truffle oil. I may be inclined to try the ghost pepper hot wings and that chicken spiedie some late night soon.

Dough It's only a block from the nearest subway
station, but it's still a solid 12-minute walk from my apartment, so it's on
the fringes of what I'd consider "my neighborhood." It's not like
Dough is a secret; they made a name for themselves at the Brooklyn Flea. But
even for someone who rarely eats doughnuts, I can say unequivocally that it's the best
$2.25 you'll spend for something of the raised yeast variety. (It took me three
months to finally walk over there, and the main reason I did was to break the
twenty dollar bill I had on me to tip the Fresh Direct driver who was arriving
in less than an hour. Mildly related and good to know: the 99-cent store on the
ground floor of my building–yes, I live in the same structure as a discount
store and it rules–advertises an atm that distributes $10s, but I only wanted
to tip $5.) Tart frostings are kind of their thing. I'd had a hibiscus doughnut
before, and the passionfruit is in a similar vein. What sets it apart are the
cocoa nibs that give it a bitter crunch. The dulce de leche with slivered
almonds is more full-on sweet and makes you want to go back to sleep after
eating it. That is not a criticism.

SCRATCHbread Another five minutes southeast from
Dough and unquestionably in Bed-Stuy (I'm a newcomer and I already know that
Classon is the cutoff despite brokers pushing Bedford as the dividing line). I didn't
fully get that Scratchbread is doing crazy things until I actually ate a few
baked goods. The sticky buns may look innocent, but there are a million things
happening. I'm still not completely sure what. The bread itself is
wheat-y and vaguely wholesome, and then the caramel isn't particularly sweet but
burnt and spicy–both hot spicy and cardamom-spiced–and there are more of those cocoa nibs. I kind of just wanted sweet
caramel and pecans. If you're going to go this direction, though, I bet you
could do a cool caramel with fish sauce.

I also picked up a loaf of the bread custard,
but it wasn't the seasonal loaf I'd seen mentioned elsewhere. I do think the
guts were soft from roasted squash, but instead of rosemary there was sage and
there was no trace of prosciutto. Instead, two cheese-filled red peppers had
been stuffed into the bread like little Crater Lakes, almost treading into
foreign Pizza Hut territory. It was a Christmas Eve hit, of course.

Lola f.k.a. Chez Lola. I guess the former bistro and
Myrtle Ave. pioneer is now calling itself a gastropub? The revamp entails new
cocktails (too sweet, though it was my own fault for ordering the Brooklyn Beauregard,
essentially a whiskey sour with Jim Beam Honey Tea Bourbon and St. Germain) and
a move towards American cuisine, meaning Canada, US and Mexico. The menu sort of
reads like a Kitchen Nightmares overhaul: pared down, nearly foolproof to
prepare, a bit of repetition, but overall inoffensive. Canada is represented by
a duck poutine, which is a glorious drunk food (I wasn't drunk, though). The fries, cheese curds and confit
could've use a little more gravy it was decided. I love a thin crust tarte flambee and their goat cheese, onion and bacon version was ok. A salad of smoked chicken, apples and cashews wasn't really more than just that. They
do serve late for the area, until 2am, and nothing is over $20 (most is under
$15) so there is an appeal if you want something other than pizza or Chinese in
the immediate vicinity. And I think they still do a $15 all-you-can-eat mussels
deal on Thursdays, so there's that. They're also on Scoutmob, by the way.

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Dec 28

Fatty ‘Cue Christmas

Writing about a Christmas dinner is about as useful
to anyone as the typical brunch-focused Yelp review (you don’t eat brunch,
right?) so I will keep this brief. Often restaurants serve a holiday menu that’s not representative of what they normally make–last year Red Rooster
went highly Scandinavian. Fatty ‘Cue kept the cue, but played it straight
American. Perhaps galangal and coriander would offend baby Jesus’
sensibilities.

The only Asian flourish was the sweetened fish sauce
served in a plastic squirt bottle alongside the spicy barbecue version. This
condiment was my favorite aspect of the meal, and perfect for the thick slices
of brisket, righteously fatty by my standards, too much so for my dining
companion. Take heed if it’s not your thing because I’m fairly certain the
Brandt beef is always served like this. If you hate lean pastrami, white meat
turkey or chicken breast, you will be fine.

The pork ribs were hefty, and while eating one
sauceless and cold the next day I noticed the overt porkiness that I’d missed
when they were fresh. Not name checked, but I’m guessing they’re not from
Western Beef, my go to for meat slabs.

Collard greens and mac and cheese were
straightforward while the red cabbage slaw was lightly creamy, but not from
mayonnaise.

Slices of pie were available, but a Coors and a shot
of Jack was enough of a send off.

Fatty ‘Cue * 50 Carmine St., New York, NY

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Dec 26

Bock Bisztró

My knowledge of wine is intermediate at best, and my
Hungarian wine knowledge didn't extend beyond Tokaji. But
without even trying, I got a quick mini education in Budapest because regional
wines are prominent, if not exclusive, at a number of restaurants.

Bock Bisztró with locations on the Buda and Pest
sides, as well as in Copenhagen, takes its name from winemaker József Bock.
Consequently, the list is 100% Hungarian and includes the winery's full range. It
doesn't take oenophilic expertise to sort through the K's, Z's and accent marks to
spot Chardonnay or Syrah, but the number of local varietals–Furmint, Kadarka
and Irsai Olivér, for instance–was
surprising (and a little overwhelming). I got into the Kékfrankos, a.k.a.
Blaufränkisch, while there. Simple, fruity and a little spicy, the red managed to be pretty all-purpose.

The Mangalitsa fat was something I definitely wanted
to order from the aperitif section, and then it magically appeared on the table
with a basket of bread (no charge, I'm fairly certain). Everyone had the butter
substitute on their tables, so either it's extremely popular or a courtesy. The
pork fat is smoky with bits of crisp skin and chopped chives mixed in, and
even better with a touch of sea salt sprinkled on top.

More Mangalitsa pork came in salami form, spiced
with paprika. The prosciutto was good too, but the crumbly sausage was more
distinct. Rich meats are often served with Hungarian peppers, which aren't wildly
spicy, though if you say they aren't, you'll get looked at like you're crazy,
and raw red onion, which to me is far more difficult to down in such quantities
than the chiles.

All the pork will make you full, but persevere.
While the printed menu comes in Hungarian, English and German, the most common trio, the daily specials on a chalkboard above the bar, are only in Hungarian. Some lean traditional; others are more invented. I was able to
make out one featuring goose and soft-shell crab, which seemed so oddball that
I had to order it.

The goose was tender and falling apart, more like roast
beef than poultry. Looking at the plate now, I want to say that soy sauce and star anise were
involved, but that's probably because it's how I would cook the goose in this
situation. The swipe of curry powdered sauce and side of fat rolled rice noodles
greased with sesame oil is making me think Asian when really the goose component was
traditional. Frankly, I don't know that this hybrid dish would stand up out of
context. It's not something I would ever order in NYC, but I liked it in
Budapest.

Dessert was a poppy seed cream served with a flaky
pastry and raspberry sauce. I've said that walnuts are big in Budapest, but so are poppy seeds.

I'm still wondering what the "bizarre ice cream
selection" entailed.

Bock Bisztró * Erzsébet Körút 43-49, Budapest, Hungary

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Dec 24

Trzesniewski

I had no idea that open-faced sandwiches were a
thing in Austria. (Denmark, sure.) They are part of the draw at Zum Schwarzen
Kameel's lauded bar, which I didn't have time to visit. With minutes to spare
at the train station, I picked up the chain version from Trzesniewski, a fine
enough stand in.

Choosing based on looks alone, I ended with chopped salmon,
paprika (in the Hungarian sense where paprika is the spice and the red pepper,
itself), mushrooms and pickles, bolstered by cream cheese and hard boiled eggs,
all on thin dark bread. More like canapes than fast food, the dainty wedges
classed up the train trip back to Budapest.

Trzesniewski * Multiple Locations, Vienna, Austria

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Dec 16

Gasthaus zur Oper

There is only so much you can do, i.e. eat, while in
Vienna for 24 hours. There is no question, though, that wiener schnitzel must
make an appearance. It’s in the name, right?

Gasthaus zur Oper, airy and modern and nearly Scandinavian
in feel with its blonde wood and white
on white color scheme, is not necessarily where you’d expect to find fried
cutlets. Or where I would, at least, having imagined the traditional dish in
homey but dowdier surroundings.

And their version is top notch: a wrinkly golden-crisp
exterior with no trace of grease, pan-fried in clarified butter. Though pork is
popular in the US and veal is traditional in Vienna, and definitely the
most-ordered thing at Gasthaus zur Oper, this specimen happened to contain
thinly pounded liver. Yep, liver. The schnitzel treatment works well for the
strongly flavored organ meat; it can take the breading without disguising its
true nature (I was originally given the veal ordered at my table and there was
no mixing up the two after first bite.)

The cold potato salad was in a light, refreshing
style, tart with lemon juice and creamy without the use of mayonnaise with
minced red onion for a little more bite. I’ve never eaten schnitzel in its
natural habitat (Berlin being the closest) so the accompaniments were
surprising: lingonberry jam for sweetness (I thought that was more Nordic) and
a glass bottle containing a mysterious sauce that turned out to be concentrated
pan drippings, beef, I’m guessing. Gravy and berries work just as well for
schnitzel as for Swedish meatballs.

Gasthaus zur Oper * Walfischgasse 5-7, 1010, Vienna,
Austria

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Dec 11

Aska

threeshovel Sundays are not typically for dining-out in my world, but it turned out that Aska was a perfectly suited end cap to the week. After a hazy week of holiday party drinking and the accompanying cheese plates, skewers and trays of cookies, it was refreshing to dine on composed plates of light food instead of buffet grazing (unless you’ve been attending parties serving moss and roots).

The $65 tasting menu, $20 more than previous pop-up incarnation, Frej, is still a good value. And a wine list with bottles starting in the $20s also sets the easygoing tone. Service and execution is friendly and polished–not to feed into a cliche, but finding both in Williamsburg is a rarity.

The Bond, described as similar to a Vesper (but using Pineau des Charentes and Swedish punsch instead of Lillet) was crisp and aromatic but not so much that it distracted from the opening amuses, both containing puffed, fried skins, one pork, one pike. The non-fishy one came with super-Scandinavian sea buckthorn (grown in Maine) and strip of dried pig’s blood that resembled jerky but was textured more like frico (a scabby frico, but sure).

Warm caraway-studded rye rolls and a yeasty flatbread with a powdery white cheddar quality similar to Smartfood were in the bread basket.

Shrimp, cucumber, dill, rapeseed oil was straightforward, like something you’d find on thin slice of rye.

Broccoli, mussel, seaweed looked straightforward, single floret presentation, aside, but the saline flavors were less usual. It’s the crudite you might find at that mythical moss-and-roots party. You aren’t given utensils for this course, by the way.

Potato, onion, mackerel was mostly about the potato, still shining through a blanket of sour milk foam.

Squid, turnip, purslane was my favorite, partially because of the painterly composition, and also because it exemplified the muted style of cooking. Muted (grilled squid, raw root vegetable) but not dull (fermented weedy herb).

Salsify, lichen, autumn leaves was the most challenging, and probably the most overtly forage-y. (My half-assed illegible notes that I didn’t start taking till this point read: “dirty bitter seawater.”) It reminded me more of a medicinal soup, a little hippier than Chinese.

Pork shank, apple, sunchoke was satisfying with the fatty cut of meat contrasting with the austerity of the former course.

Tart whey and torn sorrel leaves transitioned from savory to sweet.

And Cardamom, brown butter, hazelnut was a conventional dessert–not a leaf, flower or herb in sight–that felt more warm and grandmotherly (not my grandma, mind you) than cool Nordic. The spiced ice cream and crumbles
were delightfully salty-sweet.

Aska * 90 Wythe Ave., Brooklyn, NY

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Dec 10

Kéhli

Though a little hyperbolic, there are cities where
it's tough to get a bad meal (San Sebastian comes to mind). Budapest is not one
of them. I didn't have to try hard at all to get a raw-in-the middle sausage
and be served microwaved food guilelessly–no efforts were even made to
re-plate the meatballs from their original plastic tray.

So, heeding local advice was more important than
ever. Kéhli came recommended, and indeed, it was exactly the type of restaurant
a resident might suggest to a visiting colleague. There were mixed groups,
clearly business associates, speaking the alternating English, German and
Hungarian common in Budapest. The food and decor is traditional and homey, a live "gipsy" band plays nightly
(when you reserve you are asked if you want to be seated near or far, which is
highly practical. Far, thanks) and yet it's not cheesy.

They are known for something called hot pot, which I
would've ordered even if I hadn't been told about it ahead of time, simply
because it shares its name with the communal Chinese preparation. At Kéhli,
it's a deceptively rich soup, appearing as a vegetable broth at first glance
into the red enamel crock that's de riguer in Budapest, yet upon first scoop
light meatballs and cubes of tender beef appear.

What's unique are the
accompaniments: a big marrow bone with a metal spear for scraping, and a basket
of garlic bread, meaning thick slices with whole cloves sticking out on
toothpicks.

Being in the appetizers section and well priced
(like $10) we assumed this would be for one when really all of the portions are
more than enough for two. Same with the goose liver, which was less like pate,
and more like, well, cold, fatty liver–nice with sweet onion jam and raw
peppers for the first few slices, but a little relentless thereafter.

I thought that I didn't like stuffed cabbage because
I hate rice cooked into things and tomatoey sauces with ground beef. Ok, no one
has served that mix of things to me ever, but it's how I imagine stuffed
cabbage to be, conflated, perhaps with horrible '70s weeknight stuffed bell
peppers. No, this cabbage was a vehicle for pork, gooey knuckles and other odd
bits, reddened only with lightly hot paprika and brightened with cream. And it
was awesome. I need to track down a similar style in NYC–all the versions I
see are Polish or Russian, which are exactly my nightmare cabbage rolls, though I do wonder if this version is just an anomaly and not representative of a Hungarian standard at all. (This afternoon I got excited, stumbling upon a Slovakian recipe…and yes, more ground meat, rice and tomato sauce.)

This was only half of the serving, by the way. I'd
originally ordered it for myself, not realizing how big it might be until we
were asked if we wanted two plates. The anecdote on the menu, detailing how the
restaurant's owner was born big and is still formidable in size, thanks to
stuffed cabbage, should've been a tip off: "The feast was so good for the mother’s
stomach that Mr. Cecei was born a whopping 5 kgs, and he has continued to grow
to this day, until he now has expanded to weigh over 100 kilograms." And
yet I was still not put off despite not lacking a dinner goal of getting to 220
pounds.

Somlói galuska is everywhere Hungary, and you'll
encounter it in fast food as well as high end versions. Though all slightly
different, the basic premise appears to be different sponge cakes topped with
custard, chocolate sauce and whipped cream. Walnut is also a prominent flavor in
this and in many desserts, because really, walnuts are the peanuts of Hungary.

Kéhli * 1036 Mókus u. 22,
Budapest, Hungary

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Posts from the ‘Where to Eat’ Category

Qi Thai Grill

Onyx

Csalogány 26

Eaten, Barely Blogged: Locals Only

Fatty ‘Cue Christmas

Bock Bisztró

Trzesniewski

Gasthaus zur Oper

Aska

Kéhli

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