Jan 21
CNNGo, CNN's newish (at least to me) Asia-focused blog has a slide show of pancakes from around the continent.
In the Philippines, Western-style flapjacks are served at Jollibee. Homegrown McGriddles are also de rigeur.
But only Pancake Days, a Japanese restaurant, is bold enough to give their hot cakes smiling faces.
As an aside, am I the only one who is creeped out by that self-healing pancake in the IHOP ad?
It's just like the Chinese to unintentionally take a chain restaurant dessert—P.F. Chang's Great Wall of Chocolate—and bring it to life.
My one and only P.F. Chang's experience (there will be another since I got a gift card for Christmas) involved the shot glass version of the massive layer cake, more like a miniaturized Terracotta Warrior.
The first time I visited 'inoteca, Frances McDormand was sitting across from me. The last time I dined at 'inoteca, it was wine and crostini with librarians. This weekend I was accompanying Hagan Blount of 93 Plates on his mission to eat three meals a day for a month with food bloggers.
I think he was surprised that I wasn’t Asian. (I was surprised that I agreed to be on video.) There's no use questioning why Asian ladies dominate at photographing and writing about what they eat; it's a given like how there will never be a Staten Island food blog (ok, there is one).
Hagan insisted he saw Glenn Beck pass by, Mike Bloomberg out the window and Dash from The Incredibles sitting at the head of the large wooden table next to us. Ok, the guy nearby did have the in-motion blonde hairstyle down pat. Maybe if you drink enough Aglianico del Taburno dubious celebrities will appear.
Shaved Brussels sprouts, the vegetable of the moment, with walnuts, a funky crumbled fiore sardo and pomegranate seeds started things right. This sweet and salty salad was one of the highlights along with the octopus below.
The scent of truffle oil is impossible to miss when the fancified Italian Popeye sprinkled with bottarga is placed in front you. Oozing yolk and warm fontina melded into a thick slab of chewy bread would be fitting brunch snack. But as soon as the square turns room temperature, all the components stiffen up. It's not for leisurely nibbling—just tear into the thing.
The shapely octopus leg–from the curled charred tip to the meaty end fat as a bratwurst–wasn't just a conversation piece, it was also the hit of the night. The Meyer lemon and olives lent a Greek flavor while the escarole stayed in Italy. Cooking cephalopods with corks to ensure a tender final product always seemed like an old wives' tale to me, but we were told that was the exact method used by the chef.
More of those runny yolks, this time adorning polenta along with hen of the woods mushrooms.
One goat cheese, a sheep's milk and one blend. I preferred the soft runny goat variety that I think was Brunet. It was even better spread on warm toasted flat bread.
Cheese and dessert is really a bit much. Consequently the budino (not pictured—I’m fairly certain this was the affogato, though I don’t recall anyone ordering it) was neglected. And maybe our senses were dulled at this point because the alleged pumpkin flavor was nearly undetectable. Just stick with the cheese unless you can’t stand ending a meal on a savory note.
'inoteca * 98 Rivington St., New York, NY
McDonald’s Japan just launched their first Quarter Pounder in a series of four burgers paying homage to the US, a.k.a.”Big American Taste.” The Texas has barbecue sauce, of course, as well as bacon, mustard relish and fried onions. Sort of makes sense. I can also see the logic behind the California with a red wine sauce. However, I have no idea how Monterrey Jack figures into the New York and the pineapple-free Hawaiian surprises me.>Oddly, the phrase Big American Taste has been used by US Burger King in a confusing ad for BK Burger Shots that invokes Japanese technology.
It’s enough to drive one to drink…which you can now do at Burger King Japan. Whiskey highballs for ¥350 after 5pm. $3.84? Isn’t Tokyo supposed to be expensive?
So, tiki bars (Painkiller) and restaurants (Hurricane Club) will be the new hotness in 2010? Oh really? (My fingers don’t want to type o rlly.) Because I ushered in the new year at Chicago's Trader Vic’s thinking I was indulging in retro kitsch when I was really being very forward looking. Hopefully, I can maintain this edge till at least 2011.
This location at the base of a condo building (with availability—could you imagine a tiki bar in your lobby? The promotional video calls the neighborhood “Little Manhattan” so you know it’s great) is only a little over a year old, reinvented tiki. The original Chicago Trader Vic's in the Parker Hilton served its last zombie New Year’s Eve 2006 after nearly 50 years in business. There are the requisite bamboo flourishes, fishing nets and Menehune swizzle sticks, yet there is a clean, smoothness to everything, upscale muted and corporate like a Hyatt (I am more Sofitel or Le Meridien as far as chains go).
My main mission was to eat crab rangoon, plain and simple. I am still mad at myself for never trying Elettaria's happy hour version because the restaurant no longer exists and because I don't feel right claming to be an aficionado having never tried theirs. It has become a lonely, sorry-for-myself Christmas Eve tradition to order cardboardy, oil-saturated cheese wontons from Wing Hua at the north end of the same Court Street block where the more attention-grabbing Buttermilk Channel resides. This year rangoons didn't happen because a gift of soft, washed rind cheeses from Murray's and a loaf of lard bread from Mazzola filled that holiday fat-and-carb void.
I got an extra surprise at our hotel (the so-so Dana Hotel—I should’ve just stuck with the Sofitel) when I noticed that crab rangoon appeared on our room service menu, a sure sign that Chicago was the right New Year's Eve choice despite the single-digit temperatures. I vowed to order the novelty along with the "Japanese ranch dressing" poutine, but never ended up being hungry enough in the middle of the night to warrant such snacking.
Drinks. This is a scorpion (rum, brandy, orange juice and I think Amaretto). Next to crab rangoon, cocktails are the most important item at Trader Vic's. I expected the food, particularly the entrees, to middling and pricey, and so they were. As long as you know what you're getting into, it's fine. I expect to overpay for fun on New Year’s Eve. (Originally, I had 6pm reservations at the bizarrely booked-months-in-advance Topolobampo—Bayless has insane star power and Twitter savvy. He even DM'd me to say hi to him when I tweeted my NYE plans. When it came down to it, though, crab rangoon trumped the $125 per person early dinner.)
Here are my little crisp-fried dumplings, served on a silver, light-radiating pedestal, almost angelic. It certainly beats a waxed paper bag. The texture was more delicate than Brooklyn takeout, though the filling was still predominantly cream cheese, despite Dungeness being invoked on the menu. I’ve never had a particularly crabby crab rangoon. However, I do cling to the notion that they contain a trace of crab or crab-like product unlike lobster sauce, which is only crustacean in name.
They are served with traditional Chinese-American ketchup and hot mustard in a dish shaped like a butterfly. We also had a plate of tender bbq spareribs.
I was steered away from non-sweet libations and was even given an unsolicited rock sugar stick with my crushed ice Queens Park Swizzle (made with dark rums not the light ones I see at more modern bars) and the explanation that it might be too strong. I can only guess the warning stemmed from face to face market research. I picture an after work crowd looking for happy hour bargains not cocktail mavens consumed by mixology.
I wasn't sitting at the bar, but I would be very surprised if fresh juice and ingredients were being used. After all, the city really only has one we'll-call-you-when-we-have-a-table, vodka-shaming den, Violet Hour (and it was just way too smooshed on my Saturday night attempt to gain entry—clearly there is a need waiting to be filled). The serious cocktail is still gaining traction. Trader Vic’s would really steam Rick Bayless (I swear I am not obsessed with him) who was recently Twitter-distraught over a fruit punchy Singapore Sling at Raffles. Syrupy and pre- mixed, sure, but worth doing once (I did it) just like Trader Vic's.
I've always wanted to try one of those mid-century curries you often see in old cookbooks. Madras curry powder is always called for, as well as a whole slew of nonsensical accompaniments like peanuts, shredded coconut, bananas, apples and raisins. More like vaguely healthy sundae toppings. And Trader Vic's had this! With your choice of meat. Er, but they were out of lamb and I got the distinct impression that they didn't want us ordering any rendition period. Like I said, this isn't fine dining. In fact, everywhere we ate in Chicago (even The Publican with great food and gracious service) had inexplicable gaps between courses.
So, I went for the peking duck because I was certain the wood fired oven fusion-y mains with wasabi mashed potatoes and the like would be disappointing, plus their claim, “Our ovens can be traced to the Han Dynasty” made me wonder. I had to stop the tableside preparation half-way through because the meat shredding meant to be theatrical was more like mauling. I'm quite certain the staff had had more than a few celebratory swigs of hooch. And well, at this point, I too, had enough rum in my system to halt the presentation and not concern myself with the dryness of the dark meat. Nothing that a little hoisin, a pancake and another cocktail couldn't fix.
Pino frio is a simple refreshing pineapple juice and rum (and sugar, duh) concoction.
Fried rice is fried rice, though it made it up for a sad main. A sweet-glazed grilled pork chop topped with a pineapple ring, James' entrée, isn't pictured and it's for the best. Despite being told it would be medium, the thick opaque cut of meat was dense and devoid of any moisture. Must’ve been those old Han Dynasty ovens.
I’m not sure where all these people came from at midnight. Everyone moved to the bar for a champagne toast. The dining room crowd skewed older and more sequined (I was about to comment on the level of sparkle on middle aged women but was mildly guilty, myself) with the exception of the one rockabilly couple you knew would have to be there.
We moved on to Zebra Lounge, a tiny piano bar, not so much because we wanted to hear American Idol-esque belting-outs of Beatles tunes, but because it appeared to be the least scary place i.e. stumbling, screaming young men in doorways, in the immediate area.
One thing that struck me about the bars, or maybe just the bars I saw, in Chicago was their heterogeneous nature. Much age diversity, something I’ve become acutely aware that NYC lacks as I follow my sequined lady path. My half-baked theory is that educated New Yorkers tend to have kids well into their 30s and 40s, keeping them responsible and entertaining at home until they are senior citizens. Whereas if you’d had kids in your 20s like an average American, the children would already be teenagers by your late 30s and you’d be back out having fun by 40. Not that the grown children necessarily approve or that I would know this first-hand or anything. Ahem.
Trader Vic's * 1030 N. State St., Chicago, IL
Applebee's franchises must remodel every six years and spend at least $200,000 per store. Does a 2009 Applebee's really look that different from a 2003 Applebee's? They all feel early '90s to me.
But now the company is planning a major restyling. The only hints given in the Wall Street Journal
are "upgraded exteriors, warmer color tones and, possibly, fewer tchotchkes" and "may see the walls, traditionally cluttered with framed photos of local scenes, incorporate wall paintings or other artwork evoking the neighborhood."
Do I hear skepticism in "possibly" and "may?" Lovers of clutter and tchotchkes need not worry about the Applebee's of the 2010s.
I am, however, looking forward to the artwork that will evoke the Fulton Mall. Cell phones, glasses, wigs and sneakers?
Brooklyn’s first Arby’s is getting so close that I can almost taste the beef and cheddar. Sure, a “soft opening” is odd for a chain but I’ll still try and find a way to get there January 21 even though Thursdays are my busiest day of the week.
Based on the tiny rendering (pictured) on the Brooklyn Eagle’s site, this is going to be one classy Arby’s.
I was saddened by the abbreviated grocery offerings, but cheered a bit when I found a box of spices for something called Kat a Kat. The name had appeal and according to the recipe on the box, the dish contains a symphony of organ meat: kidneys, hearts and brains. Not only did I put the box in my cart, I developed a sudden urge for Indian food. (I do realize now that Kat a Kat is Pakistani).
I did contemplate Bobby’s Burger Palace at the Bergen Town Center, but stuck to my guns: South Asian or nothing. It’s not like Paramus is Edison, teeming with options, however, it did look like there was an upscale-ish Indian restaurant, Mantra, just across Route 4 in a strip mall with a Macy’s Furniture Gallery. I imagined it would be similar to Moksha, and it was, though a bit more loungey–check out the flames popping up in the divider separating the bar, where they serve Desi wings and cheese amigos (inside out jalapeno poppers) from the dining room.
Bhel poori, the spicy-savory puffed rice snack presented while you pore over the menu, tended to confuse the half of the diners who weren’t Indian. Do you use your hands or eat it with a spoon like cereal?
Lamb samosas, nothing fancy. I always feel that the thick shell takes more precedence than the filling. Other appetizers like a balsamic-dressed salad with oranges and pears seemed too pedestrian while the lobster chat, too aspirational.
The Mumbai fish curry was the best dish, very fiery and like a more overtly Indian fish head curry. Chile heat, yes, plus more curry leaf and brown mustard seed undertones. Tilapia isn’t the most exciting fish, but I don’t mind it in strongly favored sauces (in fact, I just used tilapia filets for a heavily spiced tagine).
Mixed tandoori grills tend to be…well, mixed; some chunks are more interesting than others. The bone-in meat was moister than the ground and re-formed pieces. This sampler included mal mal kabab (ground chicken), kesari jhinga (prawns), Lahore seekh kabab (lamb), barrah kabab (more lamb). Not all are pictured because I grabbed first, shot later.
Mantra * 275 E, Rt. 4, Paramus, NJ
According to Fortune, airport restaurants have been benefiting from longer waits and delayed flights. Bored passengers have been looking to time-killing activities like eating.
I know this first hand because just last Sunday I found myself at Macaroni Grill, a chain I’ve never frequented, inside O’Hare. Our airport van got us there way early and our flight was pushed back nearly an hour. The food court was packed solid and that wasn’t going to cut it anyway. I demanded a drink and er, atmosphere.
I loved the faux alfresco concourse view; if you have enough house chianti and squint you might imagine you’re glimpsing ruins of The Appian Way (which I just knew would have to be the name of a chain restaurant).
Behold the Sicilian: pepperoni, sausage, fontina and mozzarella. It wasn’t half-bad for an airport food diversion.
Romano’s Macaroni Grill * O’Hare Airport, Chicago, IL
While incidents like the recent bombings over Malay Christians using the word Allah to describe God have challenged Malaysia’s appearance as a moderate Islamic country, there are bigger issues at hand.
Namely, the McDonald’s Chinese zodiac promotion in Singapore omitting the pig toy. Chinese ladies won’t be able to accurately complete the 12-figurine set (a cupid toy has replaced the pig) and that is not right!
For what it’s worth, no Muslims complained; it was a preemptive corporate approach. And oddly misguided since Singapore is more than three-fourths Chinese (76.8%, 13.9% Malay, 7.9% Indian). Singaporean McDonald’s are halal but I don’t know how religious dietary rules apply to non-edible charms.
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