Posts from the ‘United States’ Category

Jul 20

Waterman’s Crab House

I independently came to the conclusion that Waterman's
is the closest real Chesapeake crab-eating experience to NYC, which was later
reinforced by the Road Food message board. You still have to drive nearly 200 miles for
the experience, though.

By real I don't even mean that the crabs are local;
most, maybe all, of the Maryland crab houses get their bounty from Louisiana
and Texas, at least part of the year. It's the Eastern Shore style, served
outdoors, on the water, at picnic tables (though the windowless bar room is
equally authentic, especially in Baltimore).

The crabs come crusted in salty,
piquant Old Bay with vinegar, extra Old Bay, and melted butter for dipping.

You
get to choose the size of your crabs, all the way from mediums to jumbos with
larges and extra larges in between, if they have them, and pay accordingly by
the dozen. NYC crabs are never larger than medium. Picking crab is fussy
business; you'll starve messing with mediums.

Hushpuppies are the starch of choice. Dip them in
more butter.

Crab pretzels, cheesy crab dip baked onto pretzel
bread, came on the scene some time ago. Admittedly, it's kind of gross when it's
over 90 degrees and you're sweating. Crab dip served with saltines is more
traditional.

A pitcher of beer is necessary. I'd never seen this
bag of ice trick before.

Then you can move onto Rum Runners, Jaeger bombs or
whatever special is advertised at the adjoining bar where 85% of the clientele
is at least 40, smokes and tanned to a beef jerky brown. My current bleached
blonde hair made me feel like I fit in a little big, but my skin's ghosty hue gave me away
as an intruder.

Waterman's Crab House * 21055 Sharp St., Rock Hall, Maryland

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Jul 13

Eaten, Barely Blogged: Summer of Cheese

Nitehawk Cinema A lot of melted cheese was consumed
in a one-week period. I ordered the queso tots thinking this was some new unexplored
treat then remembered I’d ordered the exact same thing on my last visit to the
theater. Menu memory lapse happens far more often that I'd like to admit. So, how about that Frances Ha?

Taco Chulo I also eat at Taco Chulo more than I'd
like to admit. It's never my idea, but it's a block from my apartment and seems
to appeal to picky eaters. If you love processed cheese like I do and can deal
with brunch on occasion, the queso benedict an underdog surprise. Velveeta
instead of hollandaise, sweet toasted cornbread in lieu of English muffins, and
enough spinach and slaw to give the dish a health halo. Save one half and eat it for
dinner once you emerge from your afternoon Bloody Maria stupor.

Artichoke Basille's The fabled artichoke cheese dip slice has
certainly garnered a lot of attention since it appeared in 2008. Yet it was
only when I noticed an outpost at the Aquaduct casino that I felt compelled to
try it. It's heavy, for sure, and best consumed in a temperature controlled
environment like a casino food court, otherwise all that warm fat and starch
loses its appeal in 90-degree heat.

Waterman's Crab House Sweat and melted cheese not mixing was
the lesson I learned while tearing into a crab pretzel (crab dip baked onto a
pretzel roll is very much a relative of the Artichoke pizza) on a dock
overlooking the Chesapeake Bay while being blasted with the sun's ray, despite
the table umbrellas. I'd still order the massive appetizer again, though. I
prefer the more demure Phillip's version that you can get a rest stops on the
drive to Baltimore.

Pat's and Geno's A pit stop was made on the way back from
Maryland for more unnaturally colored liquid cheese. This was the greasiest
cheesesteak I've ever experienced (and I've experienced quite a few in my time)
and not really in an endearing way. I've always been partial to Pat's, though,
because it's less flashy. Geno's version was consumed for breakfast the
following day and not photographed. The only reason why Pat's was eaten on the
spot and Geno's was saved for later is because Geno's gives bags and Pat's does
not.

Help. I just bought a 12-pack of Kraft Deluxe
American slices at C-Town when there are perfectly nice real cheese shops
within walking distance.

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Apr 16

Eaten, Barely Blogged: Spicy, Meatless, Horseless

Brooklyn Taco The Saturday afternoon pop-up housed
inside Williamsburg's Donna was a pleasant surprise. Happy hour drinks
practically call for a little stomach padding. Guacamole (for god’s sake, never
say "guac"–do I even have to tell you not say "marg?")
always bores me to death and is overpriced to boot (I’m fine enjoying the
two-dollar's worth of raw materials in my own home) but for reasons I don’t
understand everyone always wants to order a shitload for the table, so I was a
mildly amused that the usual crowd-pleaser was fiery enough to elicit dismay. I'm
not even sure where they heat was lurking in the green mash. Same with the
tacos; those who went for the vegetarian version got dosed with a blast of
chile heat. Maybe the meat-avoiders were being punked? The cabeza was spicy,
not brutally so, and I was happy to have a chewy, substantial choice instead of
some stewed San Loco/Calexico blahness.

Blossom I probably wouldn’t have chosen a vegan
restaurant out of my own volition (though animal-free dishes are a step above
raw foods) but others’ birthdays are like that. And the
pistachio-and-pepper-dusted tofu was better than the sum of its parts. Probably
because of the foundational crepe stuffed with a root vegetable puree and the thick
lemon truffle sauce. It was more rich than austere. My camera photo was hideous enough that it decided to leave it out–I hate to give vegan cooking an even worse image.

Qi Bangkok Eatery I’m really not obsessed with Qi
even though I do get a kick out of the Williamsburg location (I'm pretty sure
I've mentioned it at least twice). It turns out that I now work a block from
the one on Eighth Avenue so I had to take a peek. I was surprised that they
also have a menu by Pichet Ong a.k.a. the “Bangkok Selection” (and that there
are still peep shows in Times Square) but it’s not the same as in Williamsburg,
no Ovaltine ribs, etc. and only available after 5pm. I just had the lunch
combo, steamed chicken dumplings that were kind of boring but not bad and
chicken basil chile stirfry that was spicier than expected for not having to
ask for extra heat. $7.95 isn’t a horrible price (you could pay $13 for a
takeout salad over here) for two dishes in a non-frenzied setting. I'll probably go back and just get a larb and a glass of Riesling (drunk lunch is my new midtown M.O.–don't tell anyone) You don't
like chandeliers in lucite boxes and Louis Ghost chairs during your lunch break?

Bonefish Grill Ok, well, I am obsessed with Bonefish
Grill. Twice in one quarter is a lot even for me. This is a weirdo location in
Paramus that instead of sharing space with a fellow OSI brand like Carrabba’s is
attached to a Crowne Plaza next to a mall. So it felt like I was on a vacation.
There was no trout for my grilled fish with pan Asian sauce (pretty much soy,
ketchup and oyster sauce) so it was scallops and shrimp instead. They did,
however, have a new appetizer, white tuna, a.k.a. escolar, a.k.a. shit fish
sashimi (that's seared) which I ordered because I’m wild that way. The seasonal sides have
progressively gotten more creative. I don’t mean that chickpeas, spinach and
turkey sausage is Michelin-worthy, just that it’s trying a little harder than the
usual mashed potatoes, rice or steamed vegetables.

Ikea Horse-free, I think, not that I would be
bothered by a little horse meat (apparently, the Swedes aren't either). I
haven’t eaten in an Ikea cafeteria in years—when did they replace the boiled
new potatoes with mashed?

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Oct 8

Cheesecake Factory Westbury

At the Westbury Cheesecake Factory nothing was as it
seemed or should be.

The Vietnamese Tacos were buns.

The kale salad was frisee and radicchio with a few errant celery
leaves. I was just curious how kale would play in the suburbs, and apparently,
it doesn't. I ordered it because I like sweets and nuts with my roughage and this
one also contained dried cranberries, apple and marcona almonds (at least those
were legit).

I would be surprised if the crispy crab wontons,
a.k.a. crab rangoon, contained real crab meat, but that's not the point. Fried
cream cheese is.

The macadamia white chocolate cheesecake (recommended
my our server and nearly the highest-calorie cheesecake on the list–I would
tell you just how much but nutritional info isn't on the site) was kind of a blondie
with stuff on it. Ok, it was a cheesecake–and a damn fine one if you like violently sweet desserts.

At least my martini, The Well-Mannered Dirty Martini,
was a martini, the only non-sugared choice of the ten on offer. Most chain
restaurant cocktail menus will throw in one drink with blue cheese-stuffed olives
to appease sweet-resistant fat-lovers. (I love cloying desserts–see above–but hate sweet beverages.)

And I must say that the suburbs are for spacious booths,
not two-seaters inches from a banquette of birthday partiers playing music
aloud on their phones. I could stay in NYC for that experience. When our server mysteriously disappeared for
what seemed like a universe in chain time, we contemplated up and leaving for
Grand Lux Cafe down the road–it's supposed to be classier, right? I will have
to get to the bottom of how once town can have both a Cheesecake Factory and a
Grand Lux Cafe when so many others have to do without.

Cheesecake Factory * 1504 Old Country Rd., Westbury,
NY

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Aug 27

Eaten, Barely Blogged: Black Labels & Seafood, City & Suburban

Minetta Tavern Not-that-embarrassing-confession: I’ve never had the Black Label Burger
(though, I recently encountered a Thai burger bearing the same name) and when
you admit this, people always want to know what you thought of it. Ok, yes, it was very much not a regular burger. It was
a rich, messy and amazing burger that actually gave me a stomach ache even from
eating half. (And now I wonder if it’s just because I’m getting old and can’t
handle fatty foods because the same thing happened with pork ribs a week later.
I fear turning into my boyfriend’s mom who says things like “I like
butter, but butter doesn’t’ like me,” which sounds quainter on paper than coming out of her mouth.) I’m not a
tasting notes type, but I can still recall the flavor even if I’m having trouble articulating it (I hate it when people online describe food as “flavorful”). The meat had that fleshy, aged steak flavor I think is more musky than minerally that
you get in particular when you gnaw on a porterhouse bone to eke out all the scraps and
congealed fat. There was also a lamb special involved and it seemed unnecessary
for the server to explain what merguez is, but then the crowd was weird. It was
also the first time I’d ever seen middle-American grownups taking
photos of their food with SLRs. Also, bros who didn’t know what animal bone
marrow came from and were dismayed at the cost of hair and makeup for
bridesmaids.

Nitehawk Cinema Ok, these weren’t bad for movie theater
nachos (though chips, along with traditional popcorn, aren’t exactly the ideal
food for an environment requiring quiet). And it wasn’t ordinary queso. In
fact, the super-cinnamony chorizo and lime-heavy guacamole almost distracted
from the aggressively salty quality I look for in dishes revolving around melted
processed cheese.

Ditch Plains There was a lot of lobster in this roll, enough
to make for a surprisingly filling sandwich, though I still find the $28 price
tag tough to justify.

Extra Fancy The $12 shrimp sandwich in a split, buttered
roll and demure serving fries tucked into a paper fast food bag was certainly
cheaper than the lobster roll, but more of a snack than a meal. It’s a shame that they switched chefs so
quickly since a city can only handle so many New England and Maryland
approximations–even when well-priced and easy to score a seat on a Saturday
night.

Bonefish Grill Free birthday Bang Bang Shrimp in New Jersey
on the same night that the chain’s first NYC branch opened in Staten Island. I considered
the opening, but the charity component seemed too serious and I wouldn’t be
able to use my coupon, which was the whole point. I’m pretty sure 90% of tables
have these crispy shrimp bathed in what I’m guessing is a sauce made of
mayonnaise and Sriracha. Apparently, Bonefish now serves a lobster roll, but I’d just eaten one the night before so it didn’t seem right. For the record, it’s only $13.90.

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Jun 17

Captain James Crabhouse

I don't (generally) love being a killjoy. In theory, the idea of an outdoor crab shack in Red Hook sounds pretty cool, like a Clemente's but walkable. I like the neighborhood because no matter how much it's touted as the next big thing, it never really happens, and with the exception of The Good Fork, crowds are never a problem (do not tell me Pok Pok is in Red Hook).

That's why as soon as I heard about shuttle buses from the Carroll Street station to Brooklyn Crab, my excitement deflated a little. Just a few weekends ago, there was a party bus blocking the street outside of Sunny's Saturday night (and this appeared to be separate from Bon Appetit's Grub Crawl on the same day, judging from the daylight in their pics). It's a bit much. And I really, really wanted to eat crabs outdoors near the water.

So, down to Baltimore it was (the Eastern Shore is preferable but on such short notice, there wasn't a single hotel room left) where crabs aren't cheap as one might think, but you're treated to some serious specimens and you'll genuinely get full, something that doesn't happen with the little crabs they serve at Brooklyn restaurant, Clemente's included. I didn't understand this before I experienced blue crabs in their element. For instance, if Brooklyn Crab is only charging $37 for a dozen those are going to be maybe mediums by Maryland standards and the amount of work it might take to extract any meat isn't worth it. I'm not saying the experience, enhanced by a few pitchers of beer, won't be enjoyable, but you won't eat much. You know you're having the real thing when you're offered a choice of medium, large, extra large or jumbos.

Mr. Bill's Terrace Inn is a serious crab restaurant in Baltimore. So serious that it's in a windowless building on the outskirts of town. Captain James is more picturesque, meaning more touristy, and that you can sit outside with your drinks and listen to Jimmy Buffet and The Eagles–or the Beach Boys, but only "Kokomo." There'll be a wait at either, but a more considerable one at Bill's.

At Captain James, the Old Bay-encrusted jumbos (which were more like extra larges at Bill's) were $89 a dozen (like I said, not cheap) but you're paying for the amount and ease of extracting intact, substantial chunks of meat. Some people ask for vinegar, others had squeeze bottles of Parkay. The white flaky flesh was sweet enough on its own, though.

The only accompaniment we needed were hush puppies straight from the fryer. Still a little tender in the middle, these crispy dough balls were better than any I had in North Carolina where they were the bbq side of choice.

I think by Baltimore standards, this particular evening at Captain James would be what folks like to call a shitshow. But desensitized by Brooklyn shenanigans, I didn't think twice about waiting in line for 20 minutes or ten minutes passing before our harried waitress took our order (the pitcher of beer was brought out immediately so who cares?) until she apologized for how slammed they were. It was nothing.

Despite all the caveats of NYC crab eating, I 'm still curious about Brooklyn Crab, though maybe only on a non-shuttle bus weeknight, and not for the crab. The brutal Googa Mooga Yelp reviews from opening weekend only made the four-hour drive to Baltimore seem more reasonable.

Captain James Crabhouse * 2127 Boston St., Baltimore, MD

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Jun 17

Faidley’s

I knew Lexington Market is on the sketchy side (after being robbed in Canada–yes, Canada!–over a decade ago, I now pay heed to online naysayers even if I suspect they're exaggerating the level of danger and I feel like a know-it-all New Yorker). And I also knew that every time I've been to Baltimore I've missed the well-known crab cake at Faidley's (or is it just Faidley–it's spelled both ways all over the place) within the Lexington Market because I never get into town before Saturday closing time (5pm) and it's not open Sundays (a surprising number of businesses in this town aren't).

So, I got my crab cake this time, right alongside all the other camera-toting tourists standing up against the tall chairless tables exclusive to the restaurant. Jumbo lump, a little mayonnaise and mustard for binding, some cracker crumbs too, I imagine (though not much) and a packet of Saltines. Purist. I like a few shakes vinegary Tabasco to cut the richness. A can of Natty Boh rounds out the experience.

* * *

A trip to the public restroom, though, can add a whole other layer to the experience. Now, I knew better than to use the bathroom at Lexington Market, but after being in the car for hours, this was our first pitstop; I really had to go, busted or not. I imagined it would be like a Port Authority bathroom might be in the '70s but with fewer runaways, and I got my wish and then some.

The No Bathing, No Shaving, and many other Nos sign, immediately tipped me off to the scene. I saw boobs, I saw bellies. There were a lot of flesh-exposing bathing suits, despite our not being near a beach. A woman asleep in a wheelchair was apparently waiting for another woman in a wheelchair to vacate the handicapped stall. Hair was inexplicably wet. The line, which I was only third in, wouldn't budge until angry women of all ages began spilling out into the hall. The nearest stall contained a passed out woman. A polite pregnant woman had everyone in the tight quarters yelling at the passer-outer and pounding the door on her behalf (I'm equal opportunity and wondered why no one was mad at the woman in the handicapped stall who'd been taking up space just as long). Security was brought in. I had flashbacks to the women's prison-esque Lucille Roberts, the first gym I ever joined, on the Ridgewood-Bushwick border where ladies with neck tattoos would threaten anyone taking too long in the bathroom, "You'd better not be changing in there because you ain't got nothing I've haven't seen before!" To bring this back to food, McDonald's meals were also frequently eaten in the locker room.

I peed in 30 seconds and hightailed it out so fast (no, I did not wash my hands) that my skirt got caught up in the back of my underwear, and was told so by two women as I was about to head outside into the world. And I wasn't even remotely embarrassed.

But the clincher was that James, who was waiting outside the bathroom, had been approached by some of the angry mob. "You're with a white girl?" they asked. "She needs to get her ass out of that bathroom." I love that he was racially profiled, whether or not he seemed like someone who'd be with a middle-aged junkie or not. But more disconcertingly, he believed that I was the trouble-maker in the bathroom. As if that's my typical M.O. when just trying to get a crab cake in another city.

So, good crab cake, meatier than most, but not necessarily worth the trouble in a city where crab cakes aren't exactly hard to come by. I'll stick with Duda's where we went immediately afterward and got another one because day trips are for crustacean-filled gluttony.

Faidley's * 203 N. Paca St., Baltimore, MD

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Jun 7

Cattlemen’s Steakhouse

Cattlemen’s, an Oklahoma City meatery that remains much of its 1940s charm, serves a George Bush-approved T-bone.

I went for the rib-eye, instead, gnawing the medium-rare meat with Ronald Regan and Gene Autry as witnesses.

A server who spoke like a caricature of already-caricatured Kenneth on 30 Rock suggested the popular lamb fries, which I knew were breaded and fried testicles even as a city slicker.

We just stuck with the steaks, which were better than I’d expected, juicy, a little fatty, not complex or dry aged, but hardly the dull Outback Steakhouse slabs they’d been compared to on Yelp (Yelp and surprisingly active, Urbanspoon, were practically all I had to go on in this region). You would be crazy to go to Oklahoma City and not pay a visit to Cattlemen’s, for the experience alone.

Dinners come with a requisite heavily dressed salad (get the thick and garlicky house dressing).

And warm, fluffy rolls and a baked potato, little scoops of butter and sour cream on the side.

I didn’t even mind the half-hour Friday night wait because there is a spacious rec room-style bar upstairs where you can sit beneath a wagon wheel chandelier, watch big screen TVs and drink Shiner Bock or a big bottle of Double Deuce, brewed specially for the restaurant. No one will blink twice if you’re in a cowboy hat and boots.

There is also a self-contained dining room just for smokers, a still-thriving species.

Cattlemen’s Steakhouse * 1309 S. Agnew, Oklahoma City, OK

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May 27

Tarahumara’s

If anything, I wasn't put off by Oklahoma's gun culture, big trucks, or the cowboy regalia, which are at odds with everything New York. My father was an aficionado of all of those trappings, NRA stickers were a window presence on our family's pick-up growing up, and a pair of custom-made shark skin boots lived in my parents' closet, and yes, a gun or two were tucked into dresser drawers.

At Tarahumara's, and most Oklahoman Mexican restaurants, chips, flour tortillas, salsa, and queso appear as a matter of course, and are replenished as soon as they start to dwindle. Even though I knew an onslaught of food was on its way, I couldn't stop eating the fluffy tortillas and pale, melted cheddar (not Velveeta, as I would've presumed).

Combo platters rule. My Mexican dinner (only $12, hardly anything crept into the double digits) consisted of two tamales (I hate to admit that I have no idea what the filling was–there was so much going on–though I want to say beef), a cheese enchilada, rice, beans, and a hard-shelled chicken taco with guacamole and sour cream. When James' coworkers (my visit was a business trip tag-along) complain about no Mexican food in NYC they mean no giant platters like this. It's true. The melted cheese, masa, corn tortillas, and chili start blurring together, but it's a delicious mess.

And a mixed grill, which is fajitas of all fillings (beef, chicken, and shrimp) like a Mexican happy family, with even a few potato slices thrown in for good measure.

I don't know if the long wait was typical or if it was more a case of a Mother's Day Sunday rush, but you can hang out on the patio with a giant margarita or a lime juice-and-salt-rimmed Negro Modelo.

Tarahumara's * 702 N. Porter Ave., Norman, Oklahoma

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May 25

Sid’s Diner

If I had been in El Reno just one Saturday earlier, I may have witnessed the world's largest fried onion burger. But being a regular Saturday, the small town 30 miles west of Oklahoma City, was pretty sleepy with the exception of Sid's (I did not check out the names in the game, Johnnie's or Robert's). Yes, you can also find fried onion burgers in the state capital, but why not go to the source?

What seemed like a main drag was a ghost town with nothing open except an office supply-type store.

Beau Brummel was also shut up tight. At least I could admire its signage in peace.

El Reno lays claim to the fried onion burger, a meat-stretching, depression-era treat that presses and grills a shitton of onions (half a whole onion, I've read) onto a thin patty, creating one caramelized entity.

Adorned with little more than pickle slices and heavy squirts of mustard, the sandwich is only lightly beefy with onion sweetness and the tart condiments in the foreground. I prefer my austerity-measure food in this fashion–I've never grown to love oatmeal-riddled, ketchup-slathered meatloaf. Size-wise, the burger harkens back to fast food of yore. It won't weigh you down. That's what the too-thick-for straws milkshakes are for (not pictured).

Sid's Diner * 300 South Choctaw Ave., El Reno, OK

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Posts from the ‘United States’ Category

Waterman’s Crab House

Eaten, Barely Blogged: Summer of Cheese

Eaten, Barely Blogged: Spicy, Meatless, Horseless

Cheesecake Factory Westbury

Eaten, Barely Blogged: Black Labels & Seafood, City & Suburban

Captain James Crabhouse

Faidley’s

Cattlemen’s Steakhouse

Tarahumara’s

Sid’s Diner

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