Posts from the ‘United States’ Category

Mar 23

Monk’s

First off, I'm not a beer person. Not that I dislike it or anything, but I'm
certainly not an expert. I'm not sure if this Belgian place is more
restaurant or bar. Size-wise you'd think restaurant, but they're pretty
obsessive about their Trappist brews. During the 30 minute wait for a table
(which would lead you to believe food is the emphasis), I was able to pour
over one of their pamphlets, complete with glossary, categorization by
styles, and price list by country. It was all a bit overwhelming if you ask
me.

When all was said and done, I tried a Rodenbach Flemish Sour Ale and
Boon Kreik, a bright red, sour cherry brew. I guess I must like tangy, red
beers since they were both in that vein. But I was there for the mussels and
fries, which were good even though there were a few duds in the bucket. A
smoked salmon appetizer with Boursin and a tart cucumber dill salad was
refreshing. It's a fun night spot, and one of the few places I found in town
to serve real food till 2am. (5/12//01)

This is the place for beer, mussels and fries. But apparently not the
place for brunch. I only say that because I'm not a terribly critical eater,
I don't love everything, but I rarely dislike anything either. With that
said, their eggs Benedictine totally disturbed me. They came on heel ends of
very hearty, crusty, peasanty bread that were impossible to cut through, so
logistically they're impossible to eat (I did see someone eating them out of
hand like a sandwich-the correct procedure?) and then the hollandaise was so
sour (vinegar? Lemon juice?) it was unpleasantly tangy. The spinach was
doing that grainy thing on the teeth it often does, but coupled with the
awkward presentation and too-tart sauce, I had no desire to finish my food.
And in a food city like Philly, there's no reason to fill-up on mediocrity.
(3/23/03)

Monk's Cafe * 264 S. 16th
St., Philadelphia, PA

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Mar 22

Morimoto

With these name brand restaurants, I hem and haw over what to say, as if
seriousness of mission is ever reflected in my recounting. Whatever.
Morimoto was a spur of the moment birthday dinner choice. All I knew was
that New York City was not the place to be for James's 33rd birthday. Not
after the past few years of fiascos. I randomly made out of town
reservations. Perhaps not the brightest financial move, but hey, what's a
whole week's wages for a meal ($12/hour part time doesn't get you far when
it comes to high end dining)? That's right, the world is this library
clerk's oyster.

We ended up taking the middle ground, trying the $100 omakase (the
others being $80 or $120) and probably ordered a bad wine, the waiter seemed
curt and unimpressed with me. But that could've had more to do with how
every time we go to a restaurant that serves a Willamette Valley wine James
makes a big point of asking how to pronounce it because invariably they'll
say Willa Met as he also incorrectly says it. It's Wil
LAM ette, the correct way, my way. I'm from the Willamette Valley, for
crying out loud. Anyway, the ruse always alienates staff and pisses me off.

It's definitely a thrill to see the plates coming out, not knowing what
you'll get. The trouble is not having a menu to refer to, and only the
verbal descriptions. I tend to forget subtle ingredients, nuances and feel
self-conscious about scribbling in a notebook like an foodie who needs to be
put in his place. The first course was toro tartare with caviar wasabi and
what they called a Japanese peach (more like a pitted berry), then a palate
cleanser of wasabi-yuzu sorbet with a beignet (not a pillowy New Orleans
goodie, but a miniature, sweet breadstick), third was hamachi with
microgreens and a yuzu vinaigrette, fourth halibut steamed with sake in a
banana leaf, fifth Kobe beef with Japanese potatoes (sweet), and a final
sushi course served on a board (I don't remember the individual varieties,
there were about six in the style I think is called Nigiri-sushi). Dessert
was a long thin strip of yam cake with a postage stamp-size square of lime
gelatin, drizzles of balsamic vinegar and a thimble dollop of ice cream, the
flavor I can't recall.

Morimoto wasn't in the house, but I'm not one of those folks who goes to
celebrity-chef type restaurants looking for snapshots. I do fall for
over-the-top dcor, however. Sure, all that Stephen Starr plastic, glowing,
color-changing, space-age crap is gimmicky. But it works on me.

Morimoto* 723
Chestnut St., Philadelphia, PA

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Mar 22

Tony Luke’s

1/2

Pork, provolone, broccoli rabe. This sandwich is the shit. An Italian
sandwich, in their words. I've also enjoyed the version at Tommy DeNic's,
but there's something to be said for the ambience of the take out window and
picnic table style dining, a la Geno's and Pat's. Such a phenomenon. I've
never lived anywhere with this whole tradition of brusque, window service
sandwiches. (I've also never lived or visited anywhere where people can just
park in the middle of the street-it's totally bizarre to see cars sitting in
medians, facing all different directions.) The rabe has the tendency to make
the sandwich soggy and most un-dainty (but good) so I often refrain, but I
noticed what they call a "green sandwich," which I'm thinking must be
provolone and rabe. That even sounds good, and probably the only thing a
vegetarian could eat in this damn town of fatty fast food delights.

Tony Luke's * 39 E. Oregon
Ave., Philadelphia, PA

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Dec 1

Legin

It's all about the taro-shrimp "cookies." This fried dim sum novelty seems
to be exclusive to Portland, and may be one of the city's few redeeming
foodstuffs.

Legin * 8001 SE Division St., Portland, OR

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Nov 29

Silver Palace

Do words like sub gum, chop suey and combination plate #2 give you the
heebie jeebies? Then you'd do well to steer clear of Tigard. They do their
Chinese vintage, red vinyl booth, cocktail lounge in back, hamburgers on the
American menu style. When your dad brags about a great Chinese restaurant
where he and the rest of the Lions Club meet bi-monthly, and complains about
General Tso chicken being too spicy, you'd better know what you're in for.
You're in for a shitload of food for five bucks: egg drop soup in that
abnormally yellow (from dye? extra yolk?) style with corn thrown in for good
measure, fried rice, mar far chicken (battered, chicken strips served with
that near extinct little dish with 70% ketchup, 15% hot mustard and 15%
sesame seeds) and kung pao three ways with beef, chicken, shrimp and
scallops (yes, that's more than three ways).
The ominous fortune spooked me slightly, "Do not be intimidated by the
eloquence of others." I don't like to think that I am. It prompted my dad to
talk about how can fit in any social situation, "It's common sense. if you
to a black-tie affair you wear a suit jacket." Plain and simple. Strange,
because I'd just been given Paul Fussel's humorously scathing "Class" to
read and it had filled my mind with all sorts of ideas about social strata,
middle class aspirations and proletariat ideals. My genes are so prole they
hurt. Middle class would totally stress over impressing at an event, which
is ridiculous in its own way. Proles just go with the flow because as they
say ignorance is bliss. (11/29/02)

Silver Palace * 1455 SW Pacific Hwy., Tigard, OR

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Nov 29

Noble Rot

Small plates, small plates. I guess this is the rage in Portland. Wine and
small plates. The endive, beet and blue cheese salad and squash and goat
cheese panini Todd and I shared just seemed like food. The Beaujolais
Nouveau we were advised against (everyone's so down on the damn stuff we
felt it was our duty to not only try it, but like it) seemed like wine. The
place was very amenable, though odd, being just a block from the seedy bar I
used to frequent with alarming regularity when I lived in the neighborhood.
The times are a changing. It's the kind of place know-nothing, out of touch
youth might refer to as "yuppie," as if Portland is so gritty, bohemian and
downscale otherwise. Please, this isn't the '80s.

"http://www.noblerotpdx.com/"> * 2724 SE
Ankeny, Portland, OR

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Nov 27

Shalimar

Not the old lady perfume (which I actually own) or the funky band (which I don’t). It’s Oregon’s, and quite possibly the world’s, freakiest Indian restaurant. Smack dab in the middle of nowheresville, this suburban raja’s palace gives one pause.

I’d never heard of Orenco Station till that very morning when I was skimming “Oregonian” ads and saw some whole foods store called New Seasons in a place called Orenco Station in Hillsboro. Moving out of Oregon four and a half years ago, I’d missed the boom years and subsequent housing developments in former outskirts now made accessible by new light rail lines.

Many factors played in this dining choice. The main one being my friend Todd’s curiosity after reading a review in “The Willamette Week” (disgustingly called “Willie Week” by a former coworker) coupled with my creepy fascination with sterile suburbs. Plus, it was minutes from my mom’s mobile home where I was staying. It played into my fantasy of visiting Portland without ever actually stepping foot in the city, as well as Todd’s of riding MAX to a planned community for dinner.

We made plans to meet up that evening at Orenco Station. The “community” is beyond bizarre. I think the original idea was to re-create a small-town, main street atmosphere with housing for various income levels, complete with dining, shopping, parks and a town square. Idyllic, no? Well, there is one main street, the one pictured on the webpage. And that’s it. There is a Kitchen Kaboodle, Starbucks, the aforementioned New Seasons, an Italian restaurant and Shalimar, all above pricey “hip kitchen lofts” that lord only knows who lives in. Identical ’40s-style “cottages” flank a long grassy
strip of land beyond the shopping area.

At 8pm the entire area was desolate. We feared getting beat up by merely standing in the gazebo after dark, and joked about being pegged for young lovers and subsequently harassed (he’s 40+ and gay). Such solitude breeds suspicion. Benches abound. No one would ever dare sit on them, though. The half-mile or so between the development and the train station is filled with driveways that end in grass and more aimless benches scattered throughout the sidewalks yet to used for foot traffic. There are no homes, just empty lots. Who on earth lives here?

Oh, but the food. The food is fine. Not remarkable, but better than to be expected in such a setting. Someone went wild with the menu descriptions. An Afghani lamb dish is inspired by “outlandish, free spirited farmers.” All right, they were talking to us!

Back to the neighborhood. As it turns out, the money ran out. All the empty space is not waiting to be filled, but at a perpetual stand still. The nearby tech jobs have dried up and the area is now a once affluent ghost town. So much for 1998’s “America’s Community of the Year.” God bless the Northwest. They try. If I were an eccentric billionaire I’d snatch up a place in Orenco Station just for shits and giggles.

Shalimar* 1340 Orenco Station, Hillsboro, OR

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Sep 2

Hing Lung

Foreign Chinatowns are so baffling. Where do savvy eaters go? How do you
avoid tourist draws? Who knows, and with only a couple hours to spend in San
Francisco before catching our flight, there wasn't time to be discerning. We
just wanted roast duck won ton soup or something, so we stopped in Hing Lung
since they had ducks hanging up, I could see "fried dough" through the
window and their menu seemed interesting. They did have the soup, and a
pretty good rendition at that. But I was fascinated with the immense
pick-three-items-for-$4 each, after 5 pm menu. There were all sorts of
innards, jelly fish and frog concoctions. But you had to pick at least three
to get the discount, and unfortunately we just weren't that hungry (we were
saving room for an In-N-Out burger).

Hey, it just occurred to me to look this place up for context. It seems
to be an all right
place.

Hing Lung * 674 Broadway St., San Francisco, CA

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Sep 2

Tacos Moreno

I heard this was the place to go for tacos, but they were closed every time
we passed by. Luckily, they were open our last day in town. I got carnitas
as usual, and they were good. I was nervous and in a rush so I couldn't
savor them as I might've liked to. They're the only place I encountered in
SC that used beans in their tacos. Is that all right to do?

Tacos Moreno * 1053 Water St., Santa Cruz, CA

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Sep 2

In N Out

After recently reading the "New York Times" article on this cult-fave chain,
I had to check it out for myself. I didn't know they had them in the Bay
Area, but out of the corner of my eye I saw the bright sign beckoning off
the freeway on the way to San Francisco. In-N-Out would have to wait until
our return drive (a mere three hours later) en route to the airport.

On our way back, the problem was neither of us could remember where we'd
seen the sign and by the time I spotted it, it was too late and we'd missed
our exit. Taking the next exit, we did lots of winding, fighting (we were
cutting it way close to flight time) and weaving through what turned out to
be Daly City. I was sorry we didn't have more time, as I've been crazy for
Filipino food lately and I know this neighborhood has the largest population
outside the Philippines. (It was, and probably still is home to my aunt
Amelia that I haven't seen in like 25 years because she's got some issue
with my dad or something). Given a full day in Daly City I would've gone
nuts, totally non-East Coast chains like Jollibee (I've never eaten there, but
the Aloha Burger on their site inspired me to create my own burger with
pineapple and bacon. To my bafflement, it has since been removed from their
site.) and Goldilocks have set
up shop in town. Asian strip malls also called to me as we maniacally drove
past. Grand Opening banners graced a place cunningly called Porridge King.
Congee in a mall? So not New York.

We managed to park, run through the insane drive-through line and
quickly ordered a double double (for James) and a cheeseburger for myself
(damn, if I hadn't just eaten a huge bowl of duck wonton noodles minutes
earlier). I'd heard about this not being the fastest of fast food, and after
a few minutes that seemed like hours we got really nervous. Wouldn't it suck
to miss your flight for a burger?

It all worked out. We hightailed it out of there and made it the airport
just in time to face a fully booked flight with seats not together. Well, at
least we had our lukewarm burgers to keep us company. Actually, we were able
to swap seats with a kind man, but I was prepared to take solace in my
burger.

In-N-Out* 260 Washington St.,
Daly City, CA

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Posts from the ‘United States’ Category

Monk’s

Morimoto

Tony Luke’s

Legin

Silver Palace

Noble Rot

Shalimar

Hing Lung

Tacos Moreno

In N Out

Featured

Occasional Instagramming

Yes, it’s come to this

My Other Blogs

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The Past Will Haunt You

Pigeonholing 101