Posts from the ‘What to Eat’ Category

May 30

La Casita Blanca

While El Jibarto served solid Puerto Rican food I was familiar with, La Casita Blanca offered unique dishes and a welcoming, cookbooks and knick-knacks setting that I didn’t encounter elsewhere in San Juan. I hate to overstate the just like grandma’s house vibe (especially since my grandma wasn’t particularly known for her cooking—she did have lots of owl tchotkes, though).

Perhaps the character of this pocket of the Santurce neighborhood changes after dark, but I had been expecting a rougher area based on a smattering of online reviews. I only encountered bodegas, men working on cars outside, roosters on the loose (heard, not seen) and incongruously, a brand new luxury condo building at the top of road. (The only two times I’ve even been a crime victim were both in the Pacific Northwest, mugged in Portland and robbed in Vancouver, BC. Nothing bad has ever happened in Asia, Latin America or Europe, so I don’t worry about these things when traveling and I suggest you don’t either.)

When first seated you are given a little brown bag filled with strips of focaccia, and chicken rice soup in a paper cup. A pile of thin fritters colored with bits of green onion also show up. They were just like mini scallion pancakes and were exactly the type of thing that lend the home cooked feel. No one else in Puerto Rico provided a greasy snack while deciding what to order.

No English is spoken and the blackboard menu carried table to table is written in Spanish. I would just take a chance on something if you weren’t sure. The only word that threw me for a loop was tenera. Not fish, beef, chicken, goat, duck, turkey, lamb, rabbit or pork, what else could it be? I was kind of hoping it was goat. I know that meat as chivo; maybe they use a different word in Puerto Rico? I asked about it in Spanish and our waiter tried responding in English but the only word he could say sounded like beer. Beer?

Ah, beef, I later realized. Tenera is veal. Instead of the mysterious fricase de tenera, I went for the fricase de pollo just to be sure. Ok, I just violated my advice to take a chance on something unknown.

The food is simple with colorful presentations. All that annatto orange looks inviting when completed by shreds of purple, framed by two lengths of sweet plantain. One of the only reasons I fear stewed dishes like this is that I worry that the meat will be bland and dry, but it’s never the case, not with chicken adobo or this fricase served with the classic mound of rice. Rich, tomatoey with added salinity from the green olives and capers, the stew transcends a plate of boiled chicken parts.

You are sent off with a shot of anisette and coffee beans. Like I said, I didn't want to to overstate the granny vibe, but get an eyeful of that lace tablecloth topped with plastic.

La Casita Blanca * Calle Tapía 351, San Juan, Puerto Rico

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May 28

El Jibarito

The food at El Jibarito isn’t radically different from what you find in NYC; the photogenic cobblestoned streets, palm trees and macaron-colored stucco of Old San Juan just make it seem better (sorry, Spanish Harlem).

I don’t mind my first meal in a scorching, new-to-me city being in an air conditioned tourist neighborhood. I need to get my bearings in comfort. The comfortable restaurant wasn’t as hickish as its name might imply; a jibarito is akin to a hillbilly.

Knowing that I was about to embark on a long weekend of rich, fatty eating, I ordered the pernil instead of the fried pork even though that’s what I really wanted. Still pork, obviously. But they brought me the masitas fritas, anyway. My secret wish fulfilled.

James opted for a pork rib dish in a plantain sauce. We ordered rice and beans and tostones as sides to share. Someone in the kitchen decided that the fried plantains went with my food and the rice and beans with the other dish.

El Jibarito * Calle Sol 280, San Juan, Puerto Rico

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May 25

When Taco Salad Won’t Do

My June/July Taste of Home couldn’t have come at a more fortuitous time. A chunk of family I rarely see (aunt, uncle, cousins, grandma—ok, I did see her last year) will be visiting over Memorial Day weekend. I suggested they come out to Brooklyn Sunday afternoon since it seems like it would be easier just to cook than to deal with a large group in a neighborhood that's not big on taking reservations (Lucali would be ideal but I can't even subject myself to that nightly pileup) and offers little more than Italian-American food (I already acquiesced on Little Italy for Thursday!) within a reasonable walking distance for car people.

Not everyone has relatives that would enjoy Jean Georges, Scarpetta, Pulino's, The Modern or wherever else it is that blogs and magazines often recommend you take adult out-of-towners. Two-starred as of a few minutes ago, Prime Meats, is the closest restaurant to my apartment but cramped, two-hour-wait eateries staffed by "a crew of handsome men and women dressed as if ready to ride horses back home to Bushwick, where they trap beaver and make their own candles" just isn't going to fly even with these visitors from The Beaver State.

But now I am mildly, only mildly, concerned because I know when people say “oh, I’ll eat anything” that is absolutely untrue. And frankly, I have no idea what this crew likes to eat. You never know what will give someone pause. In the past it has been cilantro and banh xeo (I know, I know, but it’s just an omelet filled with vegetables and meat). I am not saying they are yokels. One West Coast peculiarity is an affinity for wine even if you’re not a foodie type—they are bringing wine from a friend’s vineyard—but American flavors are probably a safer bet, cuisine-wise. I will temper my love of the fishy, fermented and mouth-burning.

And this is where I look to Taste of Home for guidance. So, what does America like to eat? I’m baffled by a taco salad recipe that is to-the-letter what we’d eat on a regular basis 25 years ago, the only difference being something called Western dressing instead of Catalina (I thought that maybe they were the same, but I’ve been schooled). I only turn into a food snob when I think about things like taco salad–Americans should not be eating like this still.

A search for taco salad on the Taste of Home site brings up 176 results, including a taco salad waffle, tater tot taco salad and the pictured patriotic taco salad. Readers undeniably score high marks for creativity.

Amidst the enchilada lasagna and chiles rellenos casserole, there is also a recipe for flour tortillas. Impressive, and more labor-intensive than I would expect from a weeknight cook. On the other hand, there’s nothing remotely spicy about the Thai chicken salad, all full of sesame-ginger dressing, peanut sauce and chow mein noodles.

I also couldn’t ignore the Cooking for Grandma contest featuring a 10-year-old boy who loves to fry (doughnuts and fried pickles are his two specialties). He came up with a recipe for Mexican ice cream (vanilla rolled in crushed cornflakes, sugar, cinnamon and honey). What’s up with all the Mexican-ish flair?

I almost went down that vague path myself; the grilled leg of lamb with ancho chile marinade in the new Bon Appetit jumped out at me (yes, I quickly eschewed Taste of Home for Bon Appetit). But lamb? Not always a crowd-pleaser. Ancho powder seems benign, as well, but who's to say.

Tunisian chile sauce is no one’s taste of home either, but I am leaning toward the harissa-marinated top sirloin tips from the same issue. Everyone loves steak, right? Well, they’re going to, dammit. Now, I just need a few sides that don’t involve cream cheese.

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May 23

The Breslin

Monday night I might've been unwittingly eating stoner food at The Breslin, however, I was merely tipsy on scarlet-hued drinks (I'll try cocktail called The Fashionista if it's free, ok?). Inebriation does help temper a wait—30 minutes around 9:30—but I appreciated that half-an-hour meant exactly that (sometimes it means nothing). At the precise moment when I started wondering if the hostess would remember my friend and I and if she'd find us in the fray (I am paranoid because relaxing has resulted in being passed over on the list more than once. My inner suburbanite understands why some need the security of those clunky plastic chain restaurant beepers), there she was, table ready.

I will return another evening for a full-on meal since these were really no more than shared snacks with a glass of Tempranillo. I need that pigs foot! I hadn’t expected going out to eat on this particular night so I didn’t have my SLR on me (I’m not so crazed that I lug one around daily). iPhone pics, not taken by me because I don’t have one, sufficed.

Scrumpets, a.k.a. breaded, fried lamb planks, almost made me wish you could find these boxed in the freezer case like chicken tenders. The mint dipping sauce was vinegary, not sweet or goopy like a traditional jelly, which helped balance the richness of the meat and coating.

The small (there's also a large) terrine board was filled headcheese, liverwurst, all sorts of spreadable, chunky meat products. I do recall that one was rabbit and prune, but didn't realize until after looking at a menu later that another was composed of guinea hen and morels. The mushrooms eluded me. Piccalilli, pickles and grainy mustard were the condiments.

Those earlier Fashionistas (can't believe I typed that twice) were downed with the help of fried pickles and buffalo wing lollipops, so we needed at least one low-meat, un-fried item. I wouldn't look to The Breslin for salads, but they did have three on the menu. The Bibb lettuce with bottarga and fennel sounded like the least traditional compared to a Caesar and a blue cheese walnut thing. It was crunchy and refreshing with a dusting of salty roe.

The Breslin * 16 W. 29th St., New York, NY

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May 16

Lechonera Los Pinos

1/2 In less time than it takes to drive from Carroll Gardens to Middlesex County, New Jersey—40 minutes, give or take—we were high up in the foliage-covered mountains of Guavate, navigating the barely two-laned, sharp-cornered road known as “La Ruta de Lechon” a.k.a. the pork highway.

It’s hard to know when to stop. It doesn’t seem wise to pick the first lechoneras that appear on the horizon, no low hanging pork for us, so we carried on a few more miles until we hit a dense patch, parked and weighed our options. El Rancho Original was where the party was happening; their covered dance floor was booming with live salsa music and couples, many elderly, were putting on a show. We came back later for a drink and to hang out in the back picnic area with a little stream and wooden cabanas.

I’d heard about Lechonera Reliquia, it might’ve been mentioned in the Times. Compared to bustling Lechonera Los Pinos across the street, the open air dining room was kind of desolate (this was a Saturday afternoon—Sunday is the bigger day to go). Pinos, it was.

Despite everything I’d heard, you don’t have to speak Spanish to communicate with the counter guys. I can speak basic Spanish and have a large food vocabulary—it’s practically the only thing I can talk about confidently—but as soon as they realize you’re not a local, they turn to English.

We ordered a pound of pork. I knew I wanted morcilla, but just a little because I was still kind of full from breakfast (not realizing how quick the trip would be, we ate giant sandwiches at Kasalta before heading out of San Juan). They gave us a lot. Blood sausage signals that you’re serious about food. We started getting sides pushed on us like crazy, in a we’re happy to show off our food, not a running up the bill way. Even if you went wild, I doubt you could spend over $50. Trying to stay on course, we asked for pasteles and rice and beans, no more. A cold bottle of Medalla, and you’re set.

This was our spread. Minus the big helping of rice (I’m not a big rice-eater), this would’ve been an acceptable lunch for a hungry twosome. We ended up taking half of our food to go. I was knocked out until 10pm when came up with an un-starchy dinner idea: ceviche.

The moist slices of meat had just enough fat attached to remind you that you weren’t eating lean, low-flavor American pork. And the skin? It was like hard candy, brittle and shard-like on the surface with a gelatinous chew. Looking at this Styrofoam container now, I feel like I could’ve eaten the entire thing. In reality, one hunk is meal-endingly rich.

Puerto Rican morcilla is heavy on the rice and closer to Spanish morcilla de Burgos than the blood sausage I generally encounter in NYC. It was also spicier than I’d expected. In my experience, the only heat you get in Latin Caribbean food is from vinegary chile sauces offered on the side, not the food itself. Los Pinos offered such a hot sauce in appropriated vodka bottles.

In addition to cilantro, chiles, coconut and avocado, banana leaves are another Southeast Asian-Latin American similarity. Pasteles are like tamales made with a plantain dough, usually filled with pork and steamed in banana leaves. I could imagine a non-traditional pastele stuffed with fish and red curry.

The band was setting up as we were about to leave.

Oh, while just looking up the exact address—they use kilometer markers—I discovered that Los Pinos is where Tony Bourdain went on No Reservations. I’m not surprised; it felt like the most enticing lechonera on that stretch of Carretera 184.

Lechonera Los Pinos * Barrio Guavate, Carr. 184, Km. 27.7, Cayey, Puerto Rico

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May 16

Kasalta & Panadería España Repostería

Panadería España Repostería and Kasalta are similar operations. Both have long counters divided into sections: deli meats and cheeses with whole jamon serano hanging as an enticement, baked goods and confections and cooked foods and sandwiches. You order, pay, wait for your food, then find a table. Café con leche is popular in the morning, red wine an option for later in the day (though many drink soda).

The second I learned about a ham and cheese sandwich served in a pan de mallorca, a popular sweet eggy roll, I knew I had to find one. La Bombonera is famous for theirs but we wanted to avoid the Old San Juan parking situation and instead headed to Kasalta, slightly out of the tourist zone (where the tight parking lot ended up being stressful anyway—the whistle-blowing attendant actually made things worse, not better).

A mallorca sandwich is a close kin of the monte cristo, possibly my favorite sandwich ever even though I never order one in NYC because they bungle them. I certainly can’t think of another sandwich that comes doused in a snowfall of powdered sugar. Simple deli ham and swiss cheese add the savory to the flattened roll. I love sugary-meaty combos, though if I were to change one thing it would be the addition of mustard, like in a traditional monte cristo. It could use a little zing to offset all the fluffy sweetness.

I shared half-and-half and also split this pressed sandwich with crumbly slices of chorizo and cheese. Rich, oily and hefty. My kind of sandwich.

At Panadería España Repostería, another day, and at night instead of morning, we cobbled together a dinner from random things on display. Everyone seemed to be eating caldo gallego, so we did too. The soup is porky, flavored with both ham hock and little bit of cured chorizo. White beans, kale and potato chunks add more bulk.

Big fat rounds of octopus tentacles dressed in olive oil are also very Caribbean-Spanish. This salad is like the one at Margon, just declared number two of the Top 10 Best Things to Eat in Times Square by The Village Voice.

I thought I was getting an alcapurria from the glass case. These turned out to be balls of cheese, not gooey but warm and firm, very sharp and aged. Maybe a little too aged, it was hard to finish one.

This was the alcapurria, fried potato (and possibly yucca) molded around ground beef picadillo. There’s almost something British about this fritter. Maybe if you added some peas and HP Sauce on the side.

Kasalta * 1966 Calle McLeary, San Juan, Puerto Rico
Panadería España Repostería * Centro Comercial Villamar, San Juan, Puerto Rico

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May 13

Pikayo

So, I’ve now tried $38 “mofongo,” which looked an awful lot like $7 mofongo, just smaller. Ok, it was tastier too—smoked chunks of bacon have a way of transforming anything, and the shrimp, peas and saffron broth created a lighter paella effect. Frankly, the serving size was perfect. If you’ve ever eaten mofongo (and the funny thing is that most eateries in San Juan assume you haven’t—I’m guessing New Yorkers are at least aware of its existence) you know that the mound of fried plantains mashed with garlic and chicharrones, is a gut bomb. A pinnacle of mofongory can be found at Chinese-Dominican Sabrosura in the Bronx where I once ordered a yuca version that whose leftovers stuck with me for days.

Pikayo, chef Wilo Bennet’s high-end restaurant, happened to be in our hotel, The Conrad. Sure, I’ll try upscale takes on local cuisine, especially when so many of the showcase restaurants in other hotels were beefy American chains like Ruth’s Chris Steakhouse, BLT Steak or Strip House. (I took James to the original Strip House location for his birthday in March and never wrote about it because I’ve been trying to wean myself from the photograph/blog everything affliction. It was great, but not what you need to be doing while on a tropical island, even an American-ish one.)

My original intent was no photos, as the fancier a restaurant, the less appropriate it feels. But I brought my camera along just in case (it’s not like I couldn’t have ran up the two-flights of stairs to our room to retrieve it). It was fine; Pikayo, and much of San Juan, felt more Miami than NYC (I could just be responding to the ubiquity of stilettos and child-sized skirts). You might be spending a lot of money, but you’ll be doing so informally. The wine cellar is a focal point of the room, though if you want to sip a caipirinha like I did (followed by a glass of Albariño) that’s fine, too.

Not knowing if San Juan was on American or Latin dinnertime, we made reservations at 8pm to be safe. The room was filled with English chatter. By 9pm the entire restaurant was echoing Spanish and had transformed into a polished, 40-somethings-plus tablehopping scene. Everyone seemed to know everyone. High society.

First, we started with a few very snacky “pikaydera” selections from the menu. The mini pork belly burgers were a little dry and I wanted to taste more of the gouda. Lobster empanadillas served with what I think was yellow pepper-infused clarified butter, were just decadent enough in their two-bite form.

While these were nibbles, the dessert was surprisingly hefty. We ordered the key lime pie to share (they really push the chocolate or cheese and guava soufflé that you need to order at the same time as your main dishes) and I expected a dainty deconstructed thing. Instead, we were presented with a substantial citrus custard surrounded by graham cracker walls and finished with a browned meringue tuft. The photo is a little deceiving; this tart was larger than a standard slice would be.

Just across the walkway from Pikayo was the hotel casino (I didn’t realize this was a San Juan feature). James won a whopping $17.50 on a $5 slot machine gamble. Hardly a windfall, but it almost covered two drinks at the hotel lounge that had been commandeered by a sunburnt wedding party.

Pikayo * 999 Ashford Dr., San Juan, Puerto Rico

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May 13

Thistle Hill Tavern

3/4 Remind me again not to visit brand new restaurants, particularly in Park Slope. It only causes knee-jerk Yelpy reactions and that’s unfair. The food, which should be the focus, always becomes secondary and I end up not wanting to ever come back under more normal circumstances when all the kinks have been worked out. Sidecar, Alchemy and Ghenet are three not terribly recent examples that come to mind. First visits became my last.

(In my day life, I work with data so I think about numbers a lot even though I’m better with words. I've blogged about 29 restaurants in Park Slope since 2001, not that many. I've only experienced new restaurant blues at four, which would be approximately 14% of all of my Park Slope restaurant posts. The unusual discovery is that these four restaurants fall within my last six posts about Park Slope dating back to 2007. I wouldn't say that restaurants have gotten worse in the past three years. I think this is about food blogging becoming prominent and my feeling the need to visit new restaurants sooner than I used to. I am going to curb that behavior. )

Being quoted a 30-minute wait, to be seated at a typical squished two-seater in a crowded row an hour later when the couple who waltzed in 40 minutes afterward gets a primo table for four at the same time, is bad service and planning. It causes resentment and impressions of the food become tainted. Babies squalling at 11pm also guarantees a bad first impression (trying not to be anti-family, on the same day as the Fornino hubbub, no less. I have no problem with early evening dining for tots in this genre of restaurant–not so much Cafe Boulud–but I’m old and of an era when bedtimes for children meant something).

It seems that Thistle Hill Tavern is clearly serving a void in South Slope. The Wednesday night crowds prove it. It’s not a destination, otherwise, though. The gastropub menu hits all the right foodie points: pork belly, pickled ramps, grass-fed beef. On paper it works.

I shared the beet salad, not typically cubed or dominant but layered in thin circles and topped with peppery watercress. It could’ve been dull, but the breaded, fried blue cheese croutons kept things interesting and the scattering of pistachios didn’t hurt.

I tried the duck confit atop spinach with blue cheese and marcona almonds, echoing the salad I’d started with. A fine entrée.

The rib-eye, the most expensive thing on the menu at $24. I did not try this.

Admittedly, this is only an early glimpse. Places like this will either prove popular as is or find their groove. Check it out for yourself. I might not be their target audience.

Thistle Hill Tavern * 441 Seventh Ave., Brooklyn, NY

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May 10

Taqueria Coatzingo

When stopping in a taqueria, passing up the namesake offering isn't always easy. Sometimes I’ll get swayed by a torta if I’m in the mood for something more substantial (ok, that’s more cemita territory). Entrees? I really need to explore more.

Luckily, Taqueria Coatzingo has a few pages’ worth to choose from. For a short list, just look to the plastic stand-up display of “specials” (I’m not convinced this ever changes) on the table. I started at the top and ordered puerco adobo.

Yes, this deep crimson sauce speckled with ancho chile seeds is the same thick liquid that surrounds chipotles in those little cans. This version is deeper and fresher with none of that metallic tanginess you often get from preserved food. I wasn’t expecting ribs since other dishes specifically mentioned costillas and this simply advertised pork. These three lengths with tender meat barely clinging to the bone were just right.

Soupy refried beans and rice on the side. Mexican rice doesn't do much for me; maybe I'm just prejudiced against the green bean, corn and carrot medley hiding in the grains. I did like diamond-cut wedge of mild queso fresco, though.

Bistec Mexicana, which I’m assuming is named for its tomato, onion, jalapeno color resemblance to the Mexican flag. This is from the regular menu.

The only downside had nothing to do with the food. I was seated in a shallow nook with the flat screen TV directly above my head (it did cast an unnatural glow on my plates) so I couldn’t watch 12 Corazones, my new favorite dating show. (I discovered it last weekend in Puerto Rico—yes, I laze about hotels, watching TV while on vacation. I also sleep in so late I always have to start my day with lunch.) Then again, there are worse things than distraction-free dining.

Previously on Taqueria Coatzingo.

Taqueria Coatzingo * 7605 Roosevelt Ave., Jackson Heights, NY

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May 7

Makkoli

1/2 Makkoli’s fluorescent glare, strip mall location and impervious daycare flooring suited for a carpet sweeper, do not mask an hidden suburban jewel. This all-you-can-eat Japanese buffet is exactly what you would expect for unlimited $20.99 sushi. Perhaps strangest of all, this is not a chain.

I was hoping for a Minado (whatever happened to the proposed Edison location?) but this canary yellow room with only The Weather Channel on mute for distraction, didn’t quite make up for the disappointment of being quoted an hour-plus waiting time at Bonefish Grill one parking lot over, my original plan.

That’s not to say that throughout my stint there weren't waits for seats; long tables were filled with Asian-American families with New Jersey accents, Chinese-Chinese whose only English consisted of “Pepsi,” a gaggle of bikers staking out the corner and more than a few middle aged, date night couples with bottles of wine.

Alcohol did not appear to be on the menu, there is no menu, so the wine confused me. It never would’ve occurred to me to bring wine into a buffet, though it would certainly elevate the experience. I would’ve gladly downed a few glasses of Charles Shaw.

The seaweed, octopus and jellyfish salads were fine. The sashimi was mushy and they oysters weren’t chilled sufficiently.

This is a small sampling of the cooked food row, which contained more Chinese dishes like prawns with walnuts and mayonnaise, scallion pancakes and dumplings. I picked up shrimp tempura, a rib, a breaded, fried crab chunk (I never understand coating on top of a shell) and a grilled prawn. The hit of any buffet is always the king crab legs; people will shove for them. I just can’t get excited about cracking and picking.

Sushi round. The variety and flavor is better than what you’d find in most NYC refrigerated cases. Ok, that’s not saying much, but if grab-and-go lunchtime rolls are your benchmark you’ll be fine with Makkoli.

I didn’t photograph my dessert plate. You can choose from Jello, those unsatisfying but pretty chiffon cakes you find in Asian bakeries and scoop-your-own-ice cream (I’d never seen green tea that brightly colored before) that created a traffic jam in the dessert section. Don't they know that buffets need soft serve machines?

More interesting to me were the Phil-Am (fortuitous, because I needed bagoong for a kare kare recipe the next day) and closed Russian Restaurant (I’ve never encountered Russian food in such a setting) in the same mall complex.

Makkoli * 415 Rt. 18, East Brunswick, NJ

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Posts from the ‘What to Eat’ Category

La Casita Blanca

El Jibarito

When Taco Salad Won’t Do

The Breslin

Lechonera Los Pinos

Kasalta & Panadería España Repostería

Pikayo

Thistle Hill Tavern

Taqueria Coatzingo

Makkoli

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