Goodies First

May 15

A Knuckle Sandwich

My T Magazine blog rss feeds serve little purpose beyond adding to my future likelihood of getting carpal tunnel syndrome. I scroll and scroll, finger on the click wheel, waiting for a headline and one-line description to pounce on.

“The Curious Case of Samuel’s Button: Samuel Gassmann set out to make a documentary on men’s clothing, and ended up launching a collection of cufflinks.”

No!

“Fiddling: Fiddleheads are good vegetables with real appeal, but they’re not as flexible as some produce.”

I almost want to read this because Jurassic-looking fiddleheads creep the hell out of me. Maybe Peter Meehan will change my mind? But ultimately, no, not clicking.

“Latin Flair: In São Paulo, a young class of chefs is mixing cuisines and techniques and taking Brazilian cooking to a higher level.”

Ok, I’d like to hear more about chefs in Latin America. Do we know any except Francis Mallmann and Gastón Acurio? São Paulo’s cuisine already got The New York Times treatment last year, but I’ll admit that none of the chefs’ names stuck with me. I reluctantly click.

But what stands out in the T Magazine paragraph is only peripherally related to cooking. What to make of Bolivan chef, Checho Gonzáles? “Each of his knuckles is inked with the image of a popular local bar snack.” I don’t know what Brazilian bar snacks might be, but that’s one of the awesomest tattoos I can think of even if it sounds like something only an Asian girl could pull off. And with no photographic evidence, I only had my imagination.

Thankfully, I got my answer on Eater when they provided a photo (above) in a tangential post. Pizza and sushi! I hope one of those is a pão de queijo.

Share on Tumblr

May 14

Vegging Out At Western Beef

Sometimes I think I should just start a Western Beef blog (or would that be more appropriate for a Tumblr?). Or maybe just publish a blog and call it Western Beef—I’ll always be a West-Coaster at my core and I’m more beefy than non. Western Beef is me.

This weekend I noticed that there was a Macedonian section in the left-hand row of European (heavy on the Eastern part of the continent) products. There are two lengths of international shelves with the Latin American products on the right taking up the most space. Malta, my most loathed beverage, has a huge dedicated section nearby.

The jars of Vava brand pickles and condiments are what caught my attention. Avjar? I’d never heard of it (though that didn’t stop me just “liking” it on Facebook). The roasted red pepper spread seems vaguely similar to muhammara, minus the walnuts or pomegranate molasses. There is also an avjar with cheese. Malidjano is the "Balkan Babaganush." I’m going to pick these up next time. There’s always a next time at Western Beef.

Instead, I got sucked in by the promise of sour cherry flavors. Honey Cakes with sour cherry jam sounded so wholesome, and at 79-cents for a bag, who could resist these heart-shaped cookies?

In reality, they were soft, graham crackery with a dull chocolate coating that shows fingerprints but barely melts at the warmth of a hand. Waxy, like a Little Debbie cake and no cherry flavor to speak of. The insides of the cookie were practically hollow, only containing a hint of sweet goo.

The Marco Polo sour cherry jam was more what I was hoping for: just cherries, sugar, and pectin (oh, and citric acid—I’d been wondering about this ingredient, too). There is no indication of origin on the glass jar’s label, but I think this brand is Hungarian.

One of the predictable things at Western Beef is that there will invariably be items they just don’t carry. Take your fancy Greek yogurt, smoked trout, matzo meal shopping list (three real examples from this excursion) elsewhere. Tasting Table clearly doesn’t get out to Ridgewood—I balked at this line in their newsletter, Wednesday, “Thick, creamy Greek-style yogurt is hardly an exotic item these days; you can now pick up a tub at any corner bodega.” Not at Western Beef, bub.

This parking lot photo taken in the in the middle of summer, sums up Western Beef.

The unpredictable thing is what produce item will give the cashier trouble—and one always will—because it’s never the food you think it will be. I’m ok with people who don’t eat a cornucopia of vegetables (I don’t really like fruit much other than cherries), but you would think that working in a grocery store would expose one to a variety of vegetables through customers’ purchases.

We had a bunch of greens in our cart: kale, turnip tops, collards. I thought these would be the problem produce. It was ok, though, because they had codes on them. What caused the teen at the register to give me the confused face was asparagus. She didn’t even know the word for it (yes, she was ESL but spoke fine conversational English). I was, “Oh, it’s asparagus, with an A” so she could find it on the spinning cylinder with products codes on it. She still seemed baffled and had to ask the guy cashiering at the next station over. He knew what asparagus was and repeated it again to her. Then she said asparagus back to me with a hard A like in attic, as if now she got it and initially misunderstood because of my pronunciation.

Watercress also spazzed her out, but I had anticipated that.

Oh, Western Beef. The things I put up with for love.

Western Beef * 4705 Metropolitan Ave., Ridgewood, NY

Share on Tumblr

May 14

Chain Links: Fast Food Loves New York

American fast food chains abroad just can’t stop celebrating the mother country. McDonald’s UK is running its “Great Tastes of America” promotion with five geographically themed burgers: New York Special, Chicago Supreme, Miami Melt, New Orleans Deluxe and Texas Grande. Gone are the Arizona Grande and California Classic of the past.

This is not the first year or first country to offer these specials. Here’s a 2008 Swedish ad for the Miami Melt that channels the ‘80s. [Burger Business]

Why McDonald’s has been a positive force for change. [The Independent]

Also, Texas Roadhouse wants to take over the Middle East, or at least open 35 restaurants in eight countries by 2020. No pork or alcohol, naturally. Let’s hope they do keep the country line-dancing staff. [Business First]

Share on Tumblr

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

Share on Tumblr

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

Share on Tumblr

May 12

Chain Links: Israeli-style Hamburgers

Israel has 52 Burger Kings and 55 Burger Ranches. This summer that will change to zero and 107. According to a press release, “recent research indicated that the Israeli style of hamburgers was far more popular.” But they don’t explain what an Israeli-style hamburger is! I need to know. [Jerusalem Post]

I would’ve imagined that South Korea already had a fast food bibimbap restaurant, yet Bibigo, selling the mixed rice dish, just launched in Seoul Monday. The company has its sights set on Beijing, Singapore and Los Angeles for 2010. Maybe their wish to become the “McDonald’s or Starbucks of Korean food” will be realized. I would've worked in a Pinkberry reference. [JoongAng Daily]

Chart that needs no Hebrew skills to interpret is from Burger Ranch's Facebook page.

Share on Tumblr

May 10

Hospitaliano

If I sit on an idea long enough, someone is eventually bound to write about it. That is the dilemma of too many thoughts, too little time. I've come to the stark realization that if I spent even two hours per night in my room with my computer and the door shut instead of sitting on a couch watching TV with my laptop, I'd get a lot more done.

What is more important, after all? Finding out what's happening on Lost, Fringe, Breaking Bad or the new Dr. Who (still not sold on him) or getting to the bottom of what goes on at Olive Garden's culinary institute?

I can now delete Olive Garden cooking school from my to-do Word document. Today, CNN investigates the important story, while a little over a week ago Jaunted was on the same beat. I knew it existed in some form because Don Francisco from Sabado Gigante was just there a few months ago.

Speaking of dubious cooking schools (we were, weren't we?) I have this vague memory, for which I can find no support online, that when Mackenzie Phillips was booted off One Day at a Time and sent to rehab, her character's disappearance was attributed to her going to a doughnut-making school. Am I losing my mind?

Hamburger University photo from McDonald's.

Share on Tumblr

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

Share on Tumblr

May 9

Oh, I’m Sneering

I celebrated my last birthday, number 37, at Cafe Boulud.

Meenakshi, the two-year-old daughter of the author who penned this week’s irritant in The New York Times, “Fine Dining Where Strollers Don’t Invite Sneers,” also marked the passing of another year at this Upper East Side restaurant. Toddlers love goat-cheese risotto balls, it turns out.

The types of parents who thinks it’s adorable that L’Atelier de Joel Robuchon will provide DVD players showing Shrek, are also those deluded into thinking that servers enjoy cleaning up after kids.

I’ve never worked in a restaurant but I have a hard time believing that the waiter at Fred’s “…was amused, not annoyed, by Meenakshi’s game of dropping her plastic cutlery on the floor more than a dozen times so he could pick it up."

Sounds like a fun game. You know what might be more fun? Getting stoned and watching Babies.

Saigon baby restaurant photo from miandering.

Share on Tumblr

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

Share on Tumblr

A Knuckle Sandwich

Vegging Out At Western Beef

Chain Links: Fast Food Loves New York

Pikayo

Thistle Hill Tavern

Chain Links: Israeli-style Hamburgers

Hospitaliano

Taqueria Coatzingo

Oh, I’m Sneering

Makkoli

Featured

Occasional Instagramming

Yes, it’s come to this

My Other Blogs

What?

The Past Will Haunt You

Pigeonholing 101