Okay, so, I lied about completing my Brussels profile. To be honest, though, the cuisine in Belgium left a little to be desired, and the pizza really was the high point. Seriously, show me another place where you order pie by weight and a pair of cute girls with dangerous-looking shears mangle the prosciutto-pesto flatbread to your exact specifications.
In any case, I'm back in Madison for the time being. What can I say? I was having a coffee in Philly a couple weeks ago, and I was bored, so I got in the car and drove to Wisconsin. What? It's not like you've never taken an impromptu Midwest road trip. You're so judgmental...
Right. Madison. Home sweet home. I had the pleasure of dining with my dear friend Jana, an old college chum (which always makes me think of Jaws, for some reason...the word "chum," not Jana) with whom I spent countless hours studying literature, complaining about studying literature, and drinking heavily to punctuate our complaints about studying literature. I attribute my success in college to our mutual support and copious amounts of Tanqueray. It was my honor, then, to welcome Jana on her first night in Madison.
I opted for a tried-and-true Madison favorite, Chautara. Aside from being my favorite of the two good Nepalese restaurants in Madison, Chautara is also a touch classier than its sister down the street, Himalchuli. I'm pretty sure "Chautara" refers to a city in Nepal, while "Himalchuli" is definitely a mountain in the Himalayas...in case you were wondering.
We sat at a cozy table for two, looking out on State Street, Madison's still-dormant pedestrian mall. Don't get me wrong; there were plenty of people out, but the walkers-only thoroughfare will be flooded with red and white-clad coeds and douchebag frat boys with backwards "W" caps on within a couple weeks. I always love Madison during its down times, when the teeming sea of students has abated and only the charmingly familiar buskers and harmless-compared-to-Philly's-crazy-ass homeless people are out.
Jana and I talked about her imminent matriculation to law school, and it wasn't for twenty-five minutes that we realized nobody had brought us water or greeted us. Finally our server materialized, all apologies and promises of ice water and all kinds of Nepalese culinary delights. Jana went with the lamb korma, and I, in my infinite love for variety, chose the vegetarian thali.
The food appeared in what seemed like a short time, although we had already drunk most of our bottle of wine. Jana's lamb looked and smelled delicious, and I'm assured that it was, in fact, tender and tasty. My thali was a bit overwhelming, if only because of the plethora of chutneys and sauces that accompanied it. Although our server seemed a bit lackadaisical at first, she was very firm as to the application of the yogurt sauce and tamarind chutney to my samosa, and the required pairing of veggie momo and tomato chutney.
As usual, the thali was delicious. The giant, circular silver platter held a flight of meatless Nepalese classics. A perfectly-formed bowl scoop of rice, dusted with paprika, rested in the middle, surrounded by savory potatoes, eggplant, seitan and spinach, and punctuated by one each of the samosa and momo.
Although neither Jana nor I finished our dishes, we agreed that Chautara was an excellent place to begin the Welcome to Madison Pub Crawl 2007. The starchy, delicious Nepalese food was the perfect base upon which to pour dry Tanqueray (or dirty Grey Goose, if you're me) martinis, Spotted Cow beer, 14 year Oban, and something that resembled sewer water but tasted just like one of those chocolate oranges.
Chautara: Highly recommended.
Chautara
334 State St
Madison, WI 53703
(608) 251-3626
Showing posts with label Restaurants. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Restaurants. Show all posts
Saturday, August 18, 2007
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
North Carolina Historic Barbecue Trail
I like North Carolina. I like BBQ. Who's in for a mid-fall trip?
From this article:
This is a link to the description of the historic BBQ trail.
This is a link to the map of the trail.
Who's it? I'm not saying we could hit all 25 places in one trip, but we could start on one side or the other and get as far as we can in an allotted time.
From this article:
The non-profit North Carolina Barbecue Society speaks of barbecue in terms of culture, heritage and tradition. Earlier this year, the society created a historic barbecue trail spotlighting 25 joints from Ayden in the east to Murphy in the west. Each stop on the trail specializes "in roasting pig the old-fashioned way, slowly over pits of wood or charcoal," the society notes. The cited businesses also have to make their own sauce, be in business more than 15 years, provide sit-down service and provide a final product "that is a high quality representation" of the state's barbecue.Very cool. 25 historic BBQ places serving pork the traditional way? Luckily, the North Carolina Barbecue Society has a website.
This is a link to the description of the historic BBQ trail.
This is a link to the map of the trail.
Who's it? I'm not saying we could hit all 25 places in one trip, but we could start on one side or the other and get as far as we can in an allotted time.
Tuesday, May 1, 2007
Injeralicious!
I just went back and read my other restaurant reviews, and I've got to say: it's time for an unconditionally good take on Philadelphia cuisine. I know I seem hypercritical sometimes, but it's only because I want to provide the most comprehensive take on wherever I eat. If I flipped my lid over every bite I take, then I'd feel as if I were doing a disservice to the ridiculously small - but loyal - Scrumptulescence readership. And for those of you that don't know me and think I'm impossible to please...well, you might be right. I have, however, have had a few excellent meals during my time in Philly, and this was one of them...
Okay, show of hands - how many of you like delicious, fragrant, slow-cooked meats and vegetables? All right, how about eating with your hands - any takers? Oh, and beer? No, not Miller Light or Lager, I'm talking Fin du Monde, Paulaner, really whatever your discerning, hops-loving palate might enjoy. Yeah, that's what I thought: EVERYONE likes those things. Now, imagine if you will a delicate combination of those three factors, and there you have it: Abyssinia. No, not the ancient empire, the Ethiopian place in West Philly!
Todd and I ventured to an otherwise kinda dodgy part of town in order to sample some of Philadelphia's most delicious and cost-effective cuisine. Well, I guess it's not all that dodgy - it's just a few blocks from Penn's University City. A few blocks over it might be dodgy, but I'm pretty sure the area is just mildly sketchy. All that aside, we rolled in around ten, which is usually when places around here started closing their kitchens and hustling customers out. Not Abyssinia, though; they serve food until two in the morning (or so we're told - we only stayed until nearly midight).
The first thing I noticed was that the place was full of hipsters. Normally people with tight-rolled jeans, military-style caps, and horn-rimmed glasses really put me off my appetite, but Todd and I were ravenous, so it was okay. We did catch some disdainful, hipper-than-thou looks from a couple patrons; I think it was my polo shirt (or the fact that Todd and I both made loud anti-hipster comments when we came in). You see, Abyssinia sits on the first floor of a multi-story establishment, the top part of which is a beer bar infested by said hip crowd. You know the place - dirty on purpose (grimy would be a better word, since they clean all the time), the strains of some obscure Miles Davis-Ani Difranco-Maria Callas-David Bowie bootleg from a concert in Budapest in 1977 echoing off black walls....people in hoodies with just the right amount of product to make their hair look awful...wow, I'm really letting this get away from me.
Anyway, Abyssinia. We selected both the meat sampler and vegetarian sampler so as to maximize our choices. If you didn't know, Ethiopian food is generally served family-style in a large bowl lined with a spongey flatbread called injera (it's like a pancake made of a dark sourdough-ish flour called teff and water). The plate comes with an accompaniment of other injera, which serves as the primary utensil for scooping up the delicious piles of collard greens, slow-cooked beef tips, lentils, carrots and cabbage, and any number of other delicacies. The meal ends officially when you eat the "plate" of injera, which makes sense, because it minimizes the amount of dishes you have to do, which is nice.
I'm not sure "ate" is an appropriate descriptor for what Todd and I did to the food. "Devoured" comes close, but "laid waste to" is probably most apt. It was, in a word, unbefuckinglievable. Now, I love Ethiopian food, and I might be biased, but when all was said and done, we paid fifteen dollars each for a true feast and tall bottle of Paulaner to wash it all down. That, my friends, is eating right. It's my birthday, by the way, and if you want to get me something, consider renting me my own personal Ethiopian chef. Or at least a gift certificate to Abyssinia. Yum!
Highly recommended. If you come to Philadelphia, I will buy you Ethiopian food.
Abyssinia
229 S. 45th St.
Philadelphia, PA 19104
(215) 387-2424
Okay, show of hands - how many of you like delicious, fragrant, slow-cooked meats and vegetables? All right, how about eating with your hands - any takers? Oh, and beer? No, not Miller Light or Lager, I'm talking Fin du Monde, Paulaner, really whatever your discerning, hops-loving palate might enjoy. Yeah, that's what I thought: EVERYONE likes those things. Now, imagine if you will a delicate combination of those three factors, and there you have it: Abyssinia. No, not the ancient empire, the Ethiopian place in West Philly!
Todd and I ventured to an otherwise kinda dodgy part of town in order to sample some of Philadelphia's most delicious and cost-effective cuisine. Well, I guess it's not all that dodgy - it's just a few blocks from Penn's University City. A few blocks over it might be dodgy, but I'm pretty sure the area is just mildly sketchy. All that aside, we rolled in around ten, which is usually when places around here started closing their kitchens and hustling customers out. Not Abyssinia, though; they serve food until two in the morning (or so we're told - we only stayed until nearly midight).
The first thing I noticed was that the place was full of hipsters. Normally people with tight-rolled jeans, military-style caps, and horn-rimmed glasses really put me off my appetite, but Todd and I were ravenous, so it was okay. We did catch some disdainful, hipper-than-thou looks from a couple patrons; I think it was my polo shirt (or the fact that Todd and I both made loud anti-hipster comments when we came in). You see, Abyssinia sits on the first floor of a multi-story establishment, the top part of which is a beer bar infested by said hip crowd. You know the place - dirty on purpose (grimy would be a better word, since they clean all the time), the strains of some obscure Miles Davis-Ani Difranco-Maria Callas-David Bowie bootleg from a concert in Budapest in 1977 echoing off black walls....people in hoodies with just the right amount of product to make their hair look awful...wow, I'm really letting this get away from me.
Anyway, Abyssinia. We selected both the meat sampler and vegetarian sampler so as to maximize our choices. If you didn't know, Ethiopian food is generally served family-style in a large bowl lined with a spongey flatbread called injera (it's like a pancake made of a dark sourdough-ish flour called teff and water). The plate comes with an accompaniment of other injera, which serves as the primary utensil for scooping up the delicious piles of collard greens, slow-cooked beef tips, lentils, carrots and cabbage, and any number of other delicacies. The meal ends officially when you eat the "plate" of injera, which makes sense, because it minimizes the amount of dishes you have to do, which is nice.
I'm not sure "ate" is an appropriate descriptor for what Todd and I did to the food. "Devoured" comes close, but "laid waste to" is probably most apt. It was, in a word, unbefuckinglievable. Now, I love Ethiopian food, and I might be biased, but when all was said and done, we paid fifteen dollars each for a true feast and tall bottle of Paulaner to wash it all down. That, my friends, is eating right. It's my birthday, by the way, and if you want to get me something, consider renting me my own personal Ethiopian chef. Or at least a gift certificate to Abyssinia. Yum!
Highly recommended. If you come to Philadelphia, I will buy you Ethiopian food.
Abyssinia
229 S. 45th St.
Philadelphia, PA 19104
(215) 387-2424
Taaaaaaangerine
So, I'm back. To be honest, I really haven't been anywhere out of pocket, but for some reason I haven't posted in what feels like ages. I promise I'm back...with a vengeance (although against what I'm not entirely sure). I've decided to write about events dating back to a month ago up to the present, and if I hadn't told you that, you wouldn't have cared...I just respect you enough to make you party to the fact that I didn't innovate the hell out of poached fruit and caramel, eat out at a handful of restaurants, and read about a hundred new ways to prepare food in one day. So, here goes.
My most recent new restaurant experience was one of Steven Starr's Tangerine. Nestled amidst coffee shops and independent art galleries, this Moroccan fusion venture sits on the cusp of Philadelphia's homeless chic Old City neighborhood. For those of you out there unfamiliar with Philly, this is a place where you can sample a thousand and one delicious beers at Eulogy (reviewed previously), eat your fill of quasi-Filipino goodness and maybe catch a glimpse of the local hiphoperatti (I just coined that term; watch for it in People magazine shortly) at Cebu, and get picked up by sketchy cougars in any of manifold dive bars...all within two blocks. Good times, right? Anyway, back to Tangerine.
As with most of Starr's locations, Tangerine is very much pro-sharing. In fact, I'm not sure it's possible to order independently, since dishes arrive as they come up. So, unless you like teasing your date by taking bite after bite of sumptuous comestibles in front of him/her, I suggest you start to love sharing as well. Dim lighting, low tables, and comfy, quicksand-like leather chairs make Tangerine an excellent lounge spot. It's also great people-watching; my date quipped, "Everybody looks good in 15 watts," which I'd like to believe.
Bucking my usual pre-dinner cocktail trend (Tanqueray and tonic in summer, Belvie white Russian in winter), I went for the special Rum Crush - an, um, interesting blend of crushed ice (not my favorite), rum, pulverized kumquat, simple syrup, and cloves. It was a nice idea, but it was mostly just rum with some kumquat and clove taste. I mean, duh.
We started with a grilled octopus salad, which unfortunately turned out to be heavy on a caesar-like dressing and light on the tasty, flame-kissed octopus (which was yummy - I love anything that, when grown to monstrous proportions, could make for a riveting deep-sea thriller a la Jaws or The Deep. A quick note: the bread basket was filled with delicious, heavy slices of a whole-grain sweet brown bread with sunflower seeds and large pieces of fig, as well as a novel take on a minature sesame soft pretzel (presumably as homage to Philadelphia's lasting pretzel heritage).
After the octo came the grilled za'atar chicken with white bean and mascarpone puree. Although truly delectable, my only complaint was that the half a chicken breast was hardly enough to satisfy my voracious craving for blackened poultry (which is pretty epic by most standards). From there was a rather uninspired shrimp and scallop dish with the seemingly out-of-place serrano ham ravioletti. It wasn't bad, but I admit I've been off scallops since my friend Morgan ate some raw ones in my presence and ended up in the hospital...
No dessert, just an espresso, but that decision was mostly out of my hands (those who know me know I never skip dessert...if only for research purposes). All in all, Tangerine was yummy, and I'd like to go back when I have a larger group, so as to sample a wider variety and maybe knock off a couple bottles of wine and loosen my tie a little.
Recommended. Look for more Starr restaurant reviews to come.
Tangerine
232 Market St.
Philadelphia, PA 19106
(215) 627-5116
http://www.tangerinerestaurant.com
My most recent new restaurant experience was one of Steven Starr's Tangerine. Nestled amidst coffee shops and independent art galleries, this Moroccan fusion venture sits on the cusp of Philadelphia's homeless chic Old City neighborhood. For those of you out there unfamiliar with Philly, this is a place where you can sample a thousand and one delicious beers at Eulogy (reviewed previously), eat your fill of quasi-Filipino goodness and maybe catch a glimpse of the local hiphoperatti (I just coined that term; watch for it in People magazine shortly) at Cebu, and get picked up by sketchy cougars in any of manifold dive bars...all within two blocks. Good times, right? Anyway, back to Tangerine.
As with most of Starr's locations, Tangerine is very much pro-sharing. In fact, I'm not sure it's possible to order independently, since dishes arrive as they come up. So, unless you like teasing your date by taking bite after bite of sumptuous comestibles in front of him/her, I suggest you start to love sharing as well. Dim lighting, low tables, and comfy, quicksand-like leather chairs make Tangerine an excellent lounge spot. It's also great people-watching; my date quipped, "Everybody looks good in 15 watts," which I'd like to believe.
Bucking my usual pre-dinner cocktail trend (Tanqueray and tonic in summer, Belvie white Russian in winter), I went for the special Rum Crush - an, um, interesting blend of crushed ice (not my favorite), rum, pulverized kumquat, simple syrup, and cloves. It was a nice idea, but it was mostly just rum with some kumquat and clove taste. I mean, duh.
We started with a grilled octopus salad, which unfortunately turned out to be heavy on a caesar-like dressing and light on the tasty, flame-kissed octopus (which was yummy - I love anything that, when grown to monstrous proportions, could make for a riveting deep-sea thriller a la Jaws or The Deep. A quick note: the bread basket was filled with delicious, heavy slices of a whole-grain sweet brown bread with sunflower seeds and large pieces of fig, as well as a novel take on a minature sesame soft pretzel (presumably as homage to Philadelphia's lasting pretzel heritage).
After the octo came the grilled za'atar chicken with white bean and mascarpone puree. Although truly delectable, my only complaint was that the half a chicken breast was hardly enough to satisfy my voracious craving for blackened poultry (which is pretty epic by most standards). From there was a rather uninspired shrimp and scallop dish with the seemingly out-of-place serrano ham ravioletti. It wasn't bad, but I admit I've been off scallops since my friend Morgan ate some raw ones in my presence and ended up in the hospital...
No dessert, just an espresso, but that decision was mostly out of my hands (those who know me know I never skip dessert...if only for research purposes). All in all, Tangerine was yummy, and I'd like to go back when I have a larger group, so as to sample a wider variety and maybe knock off a couple bottles of wine and loosen my tie a little.
Recommended. Look for more Starr restaurant reviews to come.
Tangerine
232 Market St.
Philadelphia, PA 19106
(215) 627-5116
http://www.tangerinerestaurant.com
Thursday, April 26, 2007
Get Large
Another country heard from. I'm Ian. I went to UChicago around the dawning of the new millenium, played ultimate there with JL and JSA and BK (when he was around). Now I live in Cambridge, MA. Blah, blah.
Let's talk bivalves.
A few weeks back, I was wandering the aisle of my local fishmonger, seeking shellfish so as to sate a craving. What I really wanted was oysters. Oysters are, well, delicious. But, oysters are also quite expensive, especially really good, really fresh ones. BUT! Next to the oysters was a big colander full of mussels. Mussels aren't expensive, and I hadn't had them in a very long time, so I decided that I'd pick up a couple of pounds and see what I could do with them. (I've found that about $2/pound is a pretty normal price for mussels, at least in the Boston area in the Spring. Figure on about 1 pound per person, assuming that other foodstuffs are going to be on the table as well.)
So, I brought them home, and turned to my trusty copy of Mark Bittman's How To Cook Everything. And discovered, to my joy, that cooking mussels is very easy.
When all is said and done, you end up with a large pile of mussels, now open and cooked. And (and this is the good part. Seriously.) you have a good pile of wonderful, delicious mussel-wine-onion broth.
Pile the mussels in a bowl, pour the broth over them. Serve with crusty bread (which, of course, gets dipped into the broth, and which may actually be the real reason to make mussels in the first place).
Bittman's got about a dozen variations -- other things to add to the broth to make various sauces, or different spices that can be added before cooking to give a hint of other flavors to the shellfish. The ones that I've tried have been pretty good, but I'm still pretty set on the basic recipie. It works for me, and it's tasty.
Over the past 6 or 8 weeks, since my first experiment with cooking mussels, I've found myself ordering them when I go out, as well as cooking them at home on occasion. The Green Street Grill is a great local place that has a very nice mussel appetizer. (It's also one of the hidden gems of Cambridge. It looks like a dive bar on the outside, but inside has some of the best food I've found in the Boston area.) Grafton Street Pub is a little too yuppie for this yuppie, but they also do a nice job with their mussels. Green Street goes a little heavier on the cream and butter in the sauce, and the bread that they serve with the mussels is just about perfect.
(I have a feeling that East Coast Grill probably does a good job with their PEI Mussels steamed in coconut milk, if only because everything that Chris Schlesinger oversees seems to turn out well. Also because East Coast Grill is my vote for bestest restaurant in the whole wide world. But I haven't had a chance to wander down to try them.)
The upshot of all this babble: mussels are tasty, cheap, and easy to cook. You should make them sometime.
Let's talk bivalves.
A few weeks back, I was wandering the aisle of my local fishmonger, seeking shellfish so as to sate a craving. What I really wanted was oysters. Oysters are, well, delicious. But, oysters are also quite expensive, especially really good, really fresh ones. BUT! Next to the oysters was a big colander full of mussels. Mussels aren't expensive, and I hadn't had them in a very long time, so I decided that I'd pick up a couple of pounds and see what I could do with them. (I've found that about $2/pound is a pretty normal price for mussels, at least in the Boston area in the Spring. Figure on about 1 pound per person, assuming that other foodstuffs are going to be on the table as well.)
So, I brought them home, and turned to my trusty copy of Mark Bittman's How To Cook Everything. And discovered, to my joy, that cooking mussels is very easy.
- You start by cleaning the mussels. This basically means rinsing them, and pulling off any "hair" that's hanging off of them. (Mussel's have beards. As a facial-hair-challenged man, I'm very jealous. Punk-ass shellfish, trying to show me up.) Mussel's that have already opened need to get tossed, because it means that they've already died and won't be tasty (and, well, they may kill you). Likewise for ones that have broken shells.
- Chop an onion and some garlic (a very rough cut is fine).
- Take a large pot with a tight-fitting lid. Add a couple of tablespoons of olive oil, over medium heat, and then saute the onion and garlic just until the onion softens.
- Add 1/2 cup of white wine, and the mussels. Cover, and turn the heat to high. Cook for about 10 minutes.
When all is said and done, you end up with a large pile of mussels, now open and cooked. And (and this is the good part. Seriously.) you have a good pile of wonderful, delicious mussel-wine-onion broth.
Pile the mussels in a bowl, pour the broth over them. Serve with crusty bread (which, of course, gets dipped into the broth, and which may actually be the real reason to make mussels in the first place).
Bittman's got about a dozen variations -- other things to add to the broth to make various sauces, or different spices that can be added before cooking to give a hint of other flavors to the shellfish. The ones that I've tried have been pretty good, but I'm still pretty set on the basic recipie. It works for me, and it's tasty.
Over the past 6 or 8 weeks, since my first experiment with cooking mussels, I've found myself ordering them when I go out, as well as cooking them at home on occasion. The Green Street Grill is a great local place that has a very nice mussel appetizer. (It's also one of the hidden gems of Cambridge. It looks like a dive bar on the outside, but inside has some of the best food I've found in the Boston area.) Grafton Street Pub is a little too yuppie for this yuppie, but they also do a nice job with their mussels. Green Street goes a little heavier on the cream and butter in the sauce, and the bread that they serve with the mussels is just about perfect.
(I have a feeling that East Coast Grill probably does a good job with their PEI Mussels steamed in coconut milk, if only because everything that Chris Schlesinger oversees seems to turn out well. Also because East Coast Grill is my vote for bestest restaurant in the whole wide world. But I haven't had a chance to wander down to try them.)
The upshot of all this babble: mussels are tasty, cheap, and easy to cook. You should make them sometime.
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
What are you, some kind of tapas expert?
It seems like I've become bored with conventional, one-plate dinners, since most of my reviews lately have described tapas places around the country. I promise I haven't grown tired of a hearty burger and fries or chicken pot pie or whatever else isn't really sharing-type finger food. I guess I just have a sweet spot for variety. Call me crazy.
My folks and I met the vivacious M. for dinner at Eno Vino, another of the few retaurants on the West Side that doesn't serve mud butt-inducing crap food or force its employees to adhere to strict flair standards. In fact, since I took my parents to it last Christmas, Eno Vino has become their default joint for a "nice meal" (read: where they serve wine and real cocktails that don't have umbrellas in them). It's a pretty fantastic place - the lights are always low, chairs are wrapped in a rich mahogany leather, and St. Germain never fails to make an appearance on the iPod-driven stereo (thanks, bartender, for the appetite-whetting downtempo beats).
We arrived, sat, and launched immediately into our usual perusal of Eno Vino's seemingly voluminous-yet-one-page menu of succulent shareables, flatbread pizzas, and the like. By the way, I'm pretty sure Succulent Shareables ought to be up there with Potent Potables for 500, Alex. Anyway, M. and I opened with a pair of key lime pie martinis (she recommended them, and I'm a sucker for doing what a beautiful blonde tells me, especially when it is related to pie in even an ancillary fashion), while my dad went for their best ice water and my mother, in her usual unexpected twisty kind of way opted for a cosmo. Apparently she'd fallen in love when supping with her brother, the fabulous and wordly Uncle Steve from South Beach. We bandied around a couple of ideas, and the rest of the table decided I ought to order in their stead. Maybe they've been reading the blog...
I guess now would be a good time to mention that Eno Vino, as its name implies, is actually a wine bar that serves food, and their selection trumps most other wine lists in Madison. It's also one of the few places in town where you can order a quartino - that's about a third of a bottle of wine, for those of you who aren't semi-lush enough to know. Anyway, good wine, good cocktails, but back to the food.
I decided on an eclectic mix of grilled double lamb chops with roasted fingerlings and a minted winter vegetable ragout, foie gras (seared with roasted brandy apples and a cider reduction and served alongisde a quail egg dripping with truffled Hollandaise), portabella mushroom ravioli with a port cream and micro greens, and a flatbread topped with lump crab, bacon, thick slices of avocado, jalapeno (I can't make the tilde on this computer, forgive me), fontina cheese and a mango drizzle). Yum!
The food was delicious, although at the end we were left a bit misty-eyed that our favorite flatbread (with thinly-sliced tenderloin, a creamy sauce, and portabella mushrooms) had been elminated from the menu. All in all, however, the meal was excellent and presentation very aesthetically pleasing. The foie gras stood out - it was like a little battle of unconventional bird parts, with a seared slab of foie gras stacked on buttery, crusty bread on one end and the over-easy, melt-in-your-mouth quail's egg atop its toasty tower on the other. Luckily, neither M. nor my dad wanted any, so Mom and I made short work of it, and I only had to restrain myself from stabbing her for the foie gras once. Or twice.
Bellies full, we sauntered into the warm spring evening (rather atypical for this time of year in Madison, but not at all unpleasant), said our good byes to M. with a promise to meet again and added congratulations for her acceptance into med school, and headed home.
Eno Vino
601 Junction Rd.
Madison, WI 53717
(608) 664-9565
http://www.eno-vino.com
My folks and I met the vivacious M. for dinner at Eno Vino, another of the few retaurants on the West Side that doesn't serve mud butt-inducing crap food or force its employees to adhere to strict flair standards. In fact, since I took my parents to it last Christmas, Eno Vino has become their default joint for a "nice meal" (read: where they serve wine and real cocktails that don't have umbrellas in them). It's a pretty fantastic place - the lights are always low, chairs are wrapped in a rich mahogany leather, and St. Germain never fails to make an appearance on the iPod-driven stereo (thanks, bartender, for the appetite-whetting downtempo beats).
We arrived, sat, and launched immediately into our usual perusal of Eno Vino's seemingly voluminous-yet-one-page menu of succulent shareables, flatbread pizzas, and the like. By the way, I'm pretty sure Succulent Shareables ought to be up there with Potent Potables for 500, Alex. Anyway, M. and I opened with a pair of key lime pie martinis (she recommended them, and I'm a sucker for doing what a beautiful blonde tells me, especially when it is related to pie in even an ancillary fashion), while my dad went for their best ice water and my mother, in her usual unexpected twisty kind of way opted for a cosmo. Apparently she'd fallen in love when supping with her brother, the fabulous and wordly Uncle Steve from South Beach. We bandied around a couple of ideas, and the rest of the table decided I ought to order in their stead. Maybe they've been reading the blog...
I guess now would be a good time to mention that Eno Vino, as its name implies, is actually a wine bar that serves food, and their selection trumps most other wine lists in Madison. It's also one of the few places in town where you can order a quartino - that's about a third of a bottle of wine, for those of you who aren't semi-lush enough to know. Anyway, good wine, good cocktails, but back to the food.
I decided on an eclectic mix of grilled double lamb chops with roasted fingerlings and a minted winter vegetable ragout, foie gras (seared with roasted brandy apples and a cider reduction and served alongisde a quail egg dripping with truffled Hollandaise), portabella mushroom ravioli with a port cream and micro greens, and a flatbread topped with lump crab, bacon, thick slices of avocado, jalapeno (I can't make the tilde on this computer, forgive me), fontina cheese and a mango drizzle). Yum!
The food was delicious, although at the end we were left a bit misty-eyed that our favorite flatbread (with thinly-sliced tenderloin, a creamy sauce, and portabella mushrooms) had been elminated from the menu. All in all, however, the meal was excellent and presentation very aesthetically pleasing. The foie gras stood out - it was like a little battle of unconventional bird parts, with a seared slab of foie gras stacked on buttery, crusty bread on one end and the over-easy, melt-in-your-mouth quail's egg atop its toasty tower on the other. Luckily, neither M. nor my dad wanted any, so Mom and I made short work of it, and I only had to restrain myself from stabbing her for the foie gras once. Or twice.
Bellies full, we sauntered into the warm spring evening (rather atypical for this time of year in Madison, but not at all unpleasant), said our good byes to M. with a promise to meet again and added congratulations for her acceptance into med school, and headed home.
Eno Vino
601 Junction Rd.
Madison, WI 53717
(608) 664-9565
http://www.eno-vino.com
Sunday, March 25, 2007
Great Grape!
Okay, just in case you thought I'd descended into full-time melancholy, I'm back with another honest-to-goodness review without any hint of existential crisis! As part of my week in Madison, I thought it would be appropriate to review one of my favorite places back home. I called the delightful M., my favorite luncheon counterpart in the Mad City, and she wasn't so bogged down by a certain healthcare IT company to come out and play for a little while. I suggested Grape and Company, an independent wine shop no larger than your average pantry. It's located, nay, hidden, on the west side of town (right by where my folks live, in fact) in a little strip mall that houses such rarities as Atlanta Bread Company and the Madison Public Library. Well, my dad likes the library, and I confess to a certain fondness for any kind of hearty soup in a bread bowl, so...
Anyway. Grape and Company. Good little place, I've always made a point to stop by whenever I'm in town for the sage advice of Jack, the owner-resident wine expert-fresh mozzarella technician who owns the place. Jack and his wife moved to Madison from New York (which might as well be Istanbul or Djibouti, for all the cosmopolitan graces most Madisonians lack) for some unknown reason (ostensibly to bring solid wine knowledge and delicious pastries to an otherwise culture-starved population). I'm glad they did, whatever the reason, because Grape is one of the most delightful shops I know. There was a time when I still lived in Madison that I would make a weekly (or twice, even thrice, weekly) venture to Grape, if only to shoot the breeze with Jack. Yeah, right. It's impossible for me to leave Target empty-handed, much less a store full to the brim with delicious wines, melt-in-your-mouth confectionaries, and a variety of cheese that intimidate even the most sage cheeseophile (if there's an actual word for this, 1) please don't tell me, and 2) I really don't care).
In any case, I'd usually stroll in, glance about, read a few of the wonderfully descriptive tags that adorn each bottle of wine and pronounce the libations Bold, Big, Refreshing, Sweet, and the like, and then defer to the man behind the counter's better judgment. He would point out one or two I hadn't even seen lurking behind the cab I was holding, and I couldn't say no. There were a couple times I actually bought the place out of a certain riesling because I'd heard it was going out of production. Yeah, I'd heard that rumor three or four times and went into panic each time, snatching up at least half a dozen bottles like it was Wine2K (Jesus, I just thought of that, and it's probably the most hilarious thing I've ever written. I'm tempted to put it in bold). I still have one bottle left, but that's another story...
So yeah, M. and I went over to Grape because I'd heard the served lunch, and I was dying to try it. We arrived to Jack's smiling face and engaging chit-chat, then took a couple minutes to peruse the wines, cheese, and smallish sandwich and specials menu. M. ordered a turkey with Irish cheddar and raspberry dijon mustard on a flour-dusted sourdough roll. I held out until they offered me the pizza special - traditional Neopolitan-style margherita with freshly-made dough, pungent basil, thick-sliced, vine-ripe tomatoes, and some of Jack's trademark mozzarella.
M. and I sat in the back, at the counter by the oven, and were treated to the sight of my pizza cooking away until the clarion *ding* of the oven timer. The savory rectangle placed before me, I set on the simply-dressed field greens and sipped a glass of Pillar Box Red, a subtle shiraz-cab-merlot blend that played on the sweet undertones of the merlot while allowing the spice of the shiraz to show through in a slightly dampened fashion. All in all, simply delicious.
I was sad not to have enough room for a nibble of honeyed goat cheese or a marzipan fruit, but I trust I'll be back soon enough. Grape was, as always, great atmosphere, nice people, and delicious wine and food.
Grape and Company
745 N. Highpoint Rd.
Madison, WI 53717
(608) 831-8900
http://www.grapeandcompany.com
Anyway. Grape and Company. Good little place, I've always made a point to stop by whenever I'm in town for the sage advice of Jack, the owner-resident wine expert-fresh mozzarella technician who owns the place. Jack and his wife moved to Madison from New York (which might as well be Istanbul or Djibouti, for all the cosmopolitan graces most Madisonians lack) for some unknown reason (ostensibly to bring solid wine knowledge and delicious pastries to an otherwise culture-starved population). I'm glad they did, whatever the reason, because Grape is one of the most delightful shops I know. There was a time when I still lived in Madison that I would make a weekly (or twice, even thrice, weekly) venture to Grape, if only to shoot the breeze with Jack. Yeah, right. It's impossible for me to leave Target empty-handed, much less a store full to the brim with delicious wines, melt-in-your-mouth confectionaries, and a variety of cheese that intimidate even the most sage cheeseophile (if there's an actual word for this, 1) please don't tell me, and 2) I really don't care).
In any case, I'd usually stroll in, glance about, read a few of the wonderfully descriptive tags that adorn each bottle of wine and pronounce the libations Bold, Big, Refreshing, Sweet, and the like, and then defer to the man behind the counter's better judgment. He would point out one or two I hadn't even seen lurking behind the cab I was holding, and I couldn't say no. There were a couple times I actually bought the place out of a certain riesling because I'd heard it was going out of production. Yeah, I'd heard that rumor three or four times and went into panic each time, snatching up at least half a dozen bottles like it was Wine2K (Jesus, I just thought of that, and it's probably the most hilarious thing I've ever written. I'm tempted to put it in bold). I still have one bottle left, but that's another story...
So yeah, M. and I went over to Grape because I'd heard the served lunch, and I was dying to try it. We arrived to Jack's smiling face and engaging chit-chat, then took a couple minutes to peruse the wines, cheese, and smallish sandwich and specials menu. M. ordered a turkey with Irish cheddar and raspberry dijon mustard on a flour-dusted sourdough roll. I held out until they offered me the pizza special - traditional Neopolitan-style margherita with freshly-made dough, pungent basil, thick-sliced, vine-ripe tomatoes, and some of Jack's trademark mozzarella.
M. and I sat in the back, at the counter by the oven, and were treated to the sight of my pizza cooking away until the clarion *ding* of the oven timer. The savory rectangle placed before me, I set on the simply-dressed field greens and sipped a glass of Pillar Box Red, a subtle shiraz-cab-merlot blend that played on the sweet undertones of the merlot while allowing the spice of the shiraz to show through in a slightly dampened fashion. All in all, simply delicious.
I was sad not to have enough room for a nibble of honeyed goat cheese or a marzipan fruit, but I trust I'll be back soon enough. Grape was, as always, great atmosphere, nice people, and delicious wine and food.
Grape and Company
745 N. Highpoint Rd.
Madison, WI 53717
(608) 831-8900
http://www.grapeandcompany.com
Monday, March 12, 2007
Amada? Amazing.
Imagine this: two posts in one day where Todd and I went on a totally nonsexual man-date and had a blast. Take that, women. So yeah, we were hungry again, and shopping at KOP, so we decided spur-of-the-moment to try to snag a table at the tres chic Amada, an Old City tapas favorite that we'd heard a lot about....I called, we got a table. Easy as that. Please take note: if you need a table at some restaurant, just ask Drew Coursin.
Aaaanyway. Amada. We sat and perused the menu - small print + lots of options = confusion. We opted for the first-timer special: the Chef's Choice. Forty-five bucks a person (plus a few bones for delicious red sangria, which tasted dangerously like fruit punch with a ton of fruit in it) got us three courses of tapas that seriously blew our minds. I'll just list everything we got and you can take it from there:
Appetizer/Palate Cleanser:
-Salty flatbread with a tuna and caper dip - seemed pretty unadorned, but hit the spot to start.
-Olive platter - large olives, small olives - definitely hit that salty area on the tongue that needs a good warming up before an enormous meal. Also, bonus points for being able to use the fondue skewer provided to poke at what seemed like innumerable olivey delicacies.
First Course:
-Spanish tortilla with saffron aioli - Spain's response to the traditional Mexican potato and flour dish, I'd imagine. Was a dense pastry-like creation that slid down the gullet in a few nibbles thanks to the deep yellow-orange of the saffron aioli. Yum.
-Serrano ham and fig salad, cabrales, and spiced almonds - arguably one of the best items on the menu - dark green leaves of spinach wrapped in Iberian cured ham and presented with sliced drunken figs, marinated red onions, and salty-sweet almond clusters. Utterly delicious.
-A platter of bread, crisp Granny Smith apple slices, a medium-dry goat's milk cheese, and garlic dulce de leche. Altogether a sumptuous treat - each item individually tasted great, and even better in concert.
Second Course:
-Flatbread with artichokes, black truffles, wild mushrooms, and a slice of aged manchego cheese. Todd commented on how similar manchego is to his favorite - parmesan. I agreed as I munched on the succulent pizza.
-Albondigas - lamb meatballs with shaved manchego that melted in our mouths as we skewered and tossed them down. Another favorite of the meal - a Spanish twist on the Swedish meatball with infinitely more delicate flavor and that wonderful lamb aroma.
-Crab stuffed peppers - sweet red peppers with shaved almonds overflowing with a bubbling cheese and crab filling. Again, hard to say what was the best about this meal, but this may have been it.
Third Course:
-Beef Tenderloin with an aged gorgonzola/bleu cheese and foie gras cover. Words really fall short, to be perfectly honest. We didn't have a steak knife to carve this bad boy, but we didn't need one; the butter knife sawed through the ever-so-tender flesh with remarkable ease. I can't describe the taste. Purchase your plane ticket for Philly now. In hindsight, I should have stabbed Todd and popped the whole tiny filet into my mouth to let its flavor dissolve while I waited for the cops to haul me away.
-Scallops on skewers with parsley, olive oil, and garlic. Unremarkable, to be honest, compared to the tenderloin and other accoutrements, but still tasty, especially with the...
-Chick peas with spinach - the garbanzos were cooked to the point where they were almost crispy (the way I love them, which really reminds me of Barcelona); they tasted almost like the sea, but the spinach set them off in a delicious almost-diavolo sauce.
-Patatas bravas - both Todd and I had experienced this Catalan delicacy in its native land, and really were hoping it didn't come tonight. It did, however, and at that point we were just too full of delicious food to enjoy the couture tater tots and repeated saffron aioli.
Dessert:
-Todd: seven layers of chocolate. As awesome as this sounded, it was a bit scant and not all that tasty. I can't recount what the layers were, exactly, which pretty much sums up the experience.
-Drew: avocado mousse, fresh pineapple, green tea meringue, Meyer lemon ice cream. In a word: amazing. Just like dessert should be: refreshing to the point that you forget you're full and want to eat more.
We finished everything off with a tipple of Ximenez muscato dessert wine and then ambled out into the Philadelphia evening, stuffed and completely satisfied.
Bless you, Amada. You are truly loved.
Amada
217-219 Chestnut St.
Philadelphia, PA 19106
215-625-2540
Aaaanyway. Amada. We sat and perused the menu - small print + lots of options = confusion. We opted for the first-timer special: the Chef's Choice. Forty-five bucks a person (plus a few bones for delicious red sangria, which tasted dangerously like fruit punch with a ton of fruit in it) got us three courses of tapas that seriously blew our minds. I'll just list everything we got and you can take it from there:
Appetizer/Palate Cleanser:
-Salty flatbread with a tuna and caper dip - seemed pretty unadorned, but hit the spot to start.
-Olive platter - large olives, small olives - definitely hit that salty area on the tongue that needs a good warming up before an enormous meal. Also, bonus points for being able to use the fondue skewer provided to poke at what seemed like innumerable olivey delicacies.
First Course:
-Spanish tortilla with saffron aioli - Spain's response to the traditional Mexican potato and flour dish, I'd imagine. Was a dense pastry-like creation that slid down the gullet in a few nibbles thanks to the deep yellow-orange of the saffron aioli. Yum.
-Serrano ham and fig salad, cabrales, and spiced almonds - arguably one of the best items on the menu - dark green leaves of spinach wrapped in Iberian cured ham and presented with sliced drunken figs, marinated red onions, and salty-sweet almond clusters. Utterly delicious.
-A platter of bread, crisp Granny Smith apple slices, a medium-dry goat's milk cheese, and garlic dulce de leche. Altogether a sumptuous treat - each item individually tasted great, and even better in concert.
Second Course:
-Flatbread with artichokes, black truffles, wild mushrooms, and a slice of aged manchego cheese. Todd commented on how similar manchego is to his favorite - parmesan. I agreed as I munched on the succulent pizza.
-Albondigas - lamb meatballs with shaved manchego that melted in our mouths as we skewered and tossed them down. Another favorite of the meal - a Spanish twist on the Swedish meatball with infinitely more delicate flavor and that wonderful lamb aroma.
-Crab stuffed peppers - sweet red peppers with shaved almonds overflowing with a bubbling cheese and crab filling. Again, hard to say what was the best about this meal, but this may have been it.
Third Course:
-Beef Tenderloin with an aged gorgonzola/bleu cheese and foie gras cover. Words really fall short, to be perfectly honest. We didn't have a steak knife to carve this bad boy, but we didn't need one; the butter knife sawed through the ever-so-tender flesh with remarkable ease. I can't describe the taste. Purchase your plane ticket for Philly now. In hindsight, I should have stabbed Todd and popped the whole tiny filet into my mouth to let its flavor dissolve while I waited for the cops to haul me away.
-Scallops on skewers with parsley, olive oil, and garlic. Unremarkable, to be honest, compared to the tenderloin and other accoutrements, but still tasty, especially with the...
-Chick peas with spinach - the garbanzos were cooked to the point where they were almost crispy (the way I love them, which really reminds me of Barcelona); they tasted almost like the sea, but the spinach set them off in a delicious almost-diavolo sauce.
-Patatas bravas - both Todd and I had experienced this Catalan delicacy in its native land, and really were hoping it didn't come tonight. It did, however, and at that point we were just too full of delicious food to enjoy the couture tater tots and repeated saffron aioli.
Dessert:
-Todd: seven layers of chocolate. As awesome as this sounded, it was a bit scant and not all that tasty. I can't recount what the layers were, exactly, which pretty much sums up the experience.
-Drew: avocado mousse, fresh pineapple, green tea meringue, Meyer lemon ice cream. In a word: amazing. Just like dessert should be: refreshing to the point that you forget you're full and want to eat more.
We finished everything off with a tipple of Ximenez muscato dessert wine and then ambled out into the Philadelphia evening, stuffed and completely satisfied.
Bless you, Amada. You are truly loved.
Amada
217-219 Chestnut St.
Philadelphia, PA 19106
215-625-2540
Grasshoppers and Tequila
Another Saturday night, and Todd is hungry. So am I, for that matter, so what better thing to do than catch the R5 train into the thriving metropolis that is Philadelphia and blow the foam off a couple exotic brews while munching mussels at Monk's? If you've been reading the blog, you'll recall my so-so review of Monk's Old City sister, Eulogy. I'll dispel any dramatic tension for you:
We didn't go to Monk's.
Well, we went there, but it was a total cluster-, uh, cluster of people (this IS a family-oriented blog), so we put a name down just in case and hustled around the corner to one of my favorite Mexican joints, Tequila's. Quick aside: I realize most of my reviews have been pretty Mexican food-centric, but hey, tough, it's where I eat. And those are usually the places where excitement find us - keep reading.
Tequila's was less hopping than I expected for a Saturday night at nine. Todd and I brushed past a harried hostess and ensconced ourselves at the bar. Or rather, we tried, but some guy was sitting between two empty seats. Enter: Terry (obviously the guy mentioned in the previous sentence - you're not much of a close reader, are you?) Terry moved to one side to accommodate us ; the night was looking up. We ordered a pair of Tequila's house margaritas (rocks and salt, duh, as if there's any other way to drink 'em) and settled in for the final minutes of the Sixers game as we decided what to do (grab a table here or hold out for Monk's). Terry and I got to talking when I noticed a strange-looking appetizer appear before him. To my unexpecting eye it looked like stir-fried chili peppers, which Terry scooped up apprehensively with a corn tortilla and chomped on with a certain air of trepidation (again, the suspense). Of course I asked...
...grasshoppers. Terry's friend, the congenial bartender Don, had recommended a not-listed-on-the-menu-for-obvious-reasons alternative to chips and guac: DIY pan-fried grasshopper taquitos. I expressed interest, he offered, and I have to say the grasshopper faire was pretty yummy. I'm not sure if it was the insects themselves that were piquant, or the mole-like glaze that accompanied them, but I was impressed by the taste and the satisfying crunch. I regaled the bar with stories of my termite banquets in Belize and willingness to eat almost anything that won't try to leave my mouth.
After grasshoppers, we opted for some pre-dinner snifters of the house tequila, which was deep, silver, and vaguely reminiscent of Patron. It went down with the dull fire of good sipping tequila, which we cut with some ice-cold Pacifico. When in Rome, right?
After a few more pleasantries and a promise to meet up with T for some carousing later, Todd and I took a table in back and gorged ourselves on guacamole (again, even better than El Vez...I'm starting to doubt their awesomeness), fundido (a more massive, but ultimately simpler presentation than Lolita), and once again tempted fate with the carne asada order.
In other words, we basically replicated our meal at Lolita at this OTHER Philadelphia Mexican joint. Overall, I was impressed. The steak was done perfectly and melted in my mouth - no chewiness this time, just a couple succulent cuts presented perfectly alongside a chicken taquito, pork tamal, and various typical Mexican accoutrements (black beans, rice, guac).
Stuffed and happy, we departed Tequila's, our lives enriched by grasshopper nibblings and booze on the house...but that's another story.
Try Tequila's the next time you're in Philly. We'll go with you.
Tequila's
1602 Locust St.
Philadelphia, PA 19102
(215-546-0181)
We didn't go to Monk's.
Well, we went there, but it was a total cluster-, uh, cluster of people (this IS a family-oriented blog), so we put a name down just in case and hustled around the corner to one of my favorite Mexican joints, Tequila's. Quick aside: I realize most of my reviews have been pretty Mexican food-centric, but hey, tough, it's where I eat. And those are usually the places where excitement find us - keep reading.
Tequila's was less hopping than I expected for a Saturday night at nine. Todd and I brushed past a harried hostess and ensconced ourselves at the bar. Or rather, we tried, but some guy was sitting between two empty seats. Enter: Terry (obviously the guy mentioned in the previous sentence - you're not much of a close reader, are you?) Terry moved to one side to accommodate us ; the night was looking up. We ordered a pair of Tequila's house margaritas (rocks and salt, duh, as if there's any other way to drink 'em) and settled in for the final minutes of the Sixers game as we decided what to do (grab a table here or hold out for Monk's). Terry and I got to talking when I noticed a strange-looking appetizer appear before him. To my unexpecting eye it looked like stir-fried chili peppers, which Terry scooped up apprehensively with a corn tortilla and chomped on with a certain air of trepidation (again, the suspense). Of course I asked...
...grasshoppers. Terry's friend, the congenial bartender Don, had recommended a not-listed-on-the-menu-for-obvious-reasons alternative to chips and guac: DIY pan-fried grasshopper taquitos. I expressed interest, he offered, and I have to say the grasshopper faire was pretty yummy. I'm not sure if it was the insects themselves that were piquant, or the mole-like glaze that accompanied them, but I was impressed by the taste and the satisfying crunch. I regaled the bar with stories of my termite banquets in Belize and willingness to eat almost anything that won't try to leave my mouth.
After grasshoppers, we opted for some pre-dinner snifters of the house tequila, which was deep, silver, and vaguely reminiscent of Patron. It went down with the dull fire of good sipping tequila, which we cut with some ice-cold Pacifico. When in Rome, right?
After a few more pleasantries and a promise to meet up with T for some carousing later, Todd and I took a table in back and gorged ourselves on guacamole (again, even better than El Vez...I'm starting to doubt their awesomeness), fundido (a more massive, but ultimately simpler presentation than Lolita), and once again tempted fate with the carne asada order.
In other words, we basically replicated our meal at Lolita at this OTHER Philadelphia Mexican joint. Overall, I was impressed. The steak was done perfectly and melted in my mouth - no chewiness this time, just a couple succulent cuts presented perfectly alongside a chicken taquito, pork tamal, and various typical Mexican accoutrements (black beans, rice, guac).
Stuffed and happy, we departed Tequila's, our lives enriched by grasshopper nibblings and booze on the house...but that's another story.
Try Tequila's the next time you're in Philly. We'll go with you.
Tequila's
1602 Locust St.
Philadelphia, PA 19102
(215-546-0181)
Friday, March 2, 2007
Suddenly I feel like eating a burger.
I was going to save this for Wednesday's links, but Drew's post, I have to get this up now.
Part of me wants to use this article as a checklist. Except for the Veggie burgers part.
Who's in? We can make it a group thing. Or maybe some of you out in our Chicago readership area can go to some of these places and report back. I'd give some guest post privileges for that. It's going to take me awhile to get through all of these. And lets be honest, it wouldn't be great for me.
Part of me wants to use this article as a checklist. Except for the Veggie burgers part.
Who's in? We can make it a group thing. Or maybe some of you out in our Chicago readership area can go to some of these places and report back. I'd give some guest post privileges for that. It's going to take me awhile to get through all of these. And lets be honest, it wouldn't be great for me.
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
Nooner
That's right, a few quickies from the past few days that don't rate their own post.
Thursday night we went to Fogo de Chao so Kevin could get his meat on before moving to China. It was the usual meat orgy. I ate too much. Kolb acted like the total n3wb that he was. I've never seen someone so worried about the positioning of a red and green cardboard circle. The meats were all good. While I enjoyed the garlic beef, the pork ribs, the bacon wrapped items, and the new ribeye they are serving, the best tasting meat item the gauchos brought over: chicken legs. I've probably eaten at Fogo ten times. Each time a different meat has been prepared just a little better than the rest. For the first time it was poultry. Good work, Fogo de Chao. By the way, if you ever go to Fogo, take Thor along. Watching him narrow the meats down to the one he wants, and then watching him ask for it at every opportunity, sending the gauchos and managers scurrying to find it is highly entertaining.
Friday I didn't feel much like eating.
Saturday I did some shopping and bought some wine and good beer. I took a BR approach to beer selection: pick the beers with cool labels. Walking down the aisle at Binny's, I started looking at those big Belgian bottles that they sell, some with actual corks in them. I decided that since it would just be JL, KC, and I hanging out, I'd splurge on some good stuff. But I'm not that familiar with the large fancy bottle style of beer, where you don't by 6 or even 4 packs, you buy one 24-36 oz bottle. So I grabbed 8 different bottles from all over the world. I don't know which brands. Trust me, they were good. I know because they were expensive. Went home, did some dishes, and we started drinking the fancy beer. Turns out these nice beers have a lot of alcohol in them. I know because both Kevin and I agreed that "Employee of the Month," which we watched while drinking, was pretty funny. As the fine-beer-haze started drifting away, I offered the choice of two meals: grilled ham and cheese sandwiches with tater tots, or homemade mac & cheese. KC asked for the mac & cheese and the tots. Whatever. I don't think they have any of that stuff in China, so in about 25 minutes, it was ready. I even steamed some broccoli to make it a healthy meal.
Sunday morning we woke up and went to The Depot American Diner for breakfast. It's out of the way, on West Roosevelt. Good cooks doing classic diner food. Had to try the biscuits and gravy, which were definitely good, but I liked the ones at Tweet better. Service was so so, possibly because there was only one server. Great breakfast potatoes.
The Depot American Diner
5840 W. Roosevelt
(773) 261-8422
Sunday for dinner some Cincinnati folks had been talking about chili, so I made Cincinnati-style chili. For those who don't know, it's a ground beef chili made with some sweet spices like allspice, cinnamon, brown sugar, and cocoa powder. Usually it is served over spaghetti and topped with grated cheese, onions, and/or kidney beans. Pretty good stuff, and I do a passable version. So we ate that and watched the NBA All-star game. Which was boring. But the food was good.
Monday I received my new smoker. More on that in the future, I'm sure. Monday night I made winter vegetable chowder from all of the root vegetables that Fresh Picks has been sending. It was decent. Light and hearty at the same time. JL tried it, but the rest of the roommates went with the leftover chili. Hard to argue with that decision, I must say.
Tonight? Meal number one from this 5 step course on mastering the vertical water smoker.
Have a good day. Everyone should eat or drink something good or at least interesting tonight. Feel free to post a comment here about that.
Thursday night we went to Fogo de Chao so Kevin could get his meat on before moving to China. It was the usual meat orgy. I ate too much. Kolb acted like the total n3wb that he was. I've never seen someone so worried about the positioning of a red and green cardboard circle. The meats were all good. While I enjoyed the garlic beef, the pork ribs, the bacon wrapped items, and the new ribeye they are serving, the best tasting meat item the gauchos brought over: chicken legs. I've probably eaten at Fogo ten times. Each time a different meat has been prepared just a little better than the rest. For the first time it was poultry. Good work, Fogo de Chao. By the way, if you ever go to Fogo, take Thor along. Watching him narrow the meats down to the one he wants, and then watching him ask for it at every opportunity, sending the gauchos and managers scurrying to find it is highly entertaining.
Friday I didn't feel much like eating.
Saturday I did some shopping and bought some wine and good beer. I took a BR approach to beer selection: pick the beers with cool labels. Walking down the aisle at Binny's, I started looking at those big Belgian bottles that they sell, some with actual corks in them. I decided that since it would just be JL, KC, and I hanging out, I'd splurge on some good stuff. But I'm not that familiar with the large fancy bottle style of beer, where you don't by 6 or even 4 packs, you buy one 24-36 oz bottle. So I grabbed 8 different bottles from all over the world. I don't know which brands. Trust me, they were good. I know because they were expensive. Went home, did some dishes, and we started drinking the fancy beer. Turns out these nice beers have a lot of alcohol in them. I know because both Kevin and I agreed that "Employee of the Month," which we watched while drinking, was pretty funny. As the fine-beer-haze started drifting away, I offered the choice of two meals: grilled ham and cheese sandwiches with tater tots, or homemade mac & cheese. KC asked for the mac & cheese and the tots. Whatever. I don't think they have any of that stuff in China, so in about 25 minutes, it was ready. I even steamed some broccoli to make it a healthy meal.
Sunday morning we woke up and went to The Depot American Diner for breakfast. It's out of the way, on West Roosevelt. Good cooks doing classic diner food. Had to try the biscuits and gravy, which were definitely good, but I liked the ones at Tweet better. Service was so so, possibly because there was only one server. Great breakfast potatoes.
The Depot American Diner
5840 W. Roosevelt
(773) 261-8422
Sunday for dinner some Cincinnati folks had been talking about chili, so I made Cincinnati-style chili. For those who don't know, it's a ground beef chili made with some sweet spices like allspice, cinnamon, brown sugar, and cocoa powder. Usually it is served over spaghetti and topped with grated cheese, onions, and/or kidney beans. Pretty good stuff, and I do a passable version. So we ate that and watched the NBA All-star game. Which was boring. But the food was good.
Monday I received my new smoker. More on that in the future, I'm sure. Monday night I made winter vegetable chowder from all of the root vegetables that Fresh Picks has been sending. It was decent. Light and hearty at the same time. JL tried it, but the rest of the roommates went with the leftover chili. Hard to argue with that decision, I must say.
Tonight? Meal number one from this 5 step course on mastering the vertical water smoker.
Have a good day. Everyone should eat or drink something good or at least interesting tonight. Feel free to post a comment here about that.
Sunday, February 18, 2007
Disappointment, You Smack of Blood Orange!
Friday night.
Hot night on the old town tonight.
The Gayborhood. Two men. A bottle of Don Julio Blanco. A wad of cash. Sounds like all the trappings of an excellent night? Well, you could ask Todd, who would probably give an even more scatching review...but you'll have to settle for me.
Long story short, I had convinced Todd to join me at one of my favorite little BYOT (tequila, duh) joints in Philly, the much-lauded, dripping-with-atmosphere Lolita. I had been a handful of times before, and each trip was more satisfying than the last. Known best for their delicious guac (even though the avocado-based starter from across the street at El Vez gets more press, that's just because they makes some poor woman with morter, pestel, and handfuls of garlic make the stuff tableside. People need to realize that all guacamole they get at reputable dining establishments is probably fresh, since that stuff oxidizes like nobody's business and you seldom see brownish green dreck on the menu. Rant over, back to the review) and tender-as-can-be carne asada (which is billed in the English translation as "filet mignon," which I realize is both somewhat of a misnomer and not really English, but whatever)...
...okay, that sentence was out of control. Basically, Lolita's guacamole and carne asada are amazing. There are probably twenty tops in the dimly-lit hallway restaurant, and black-clad hardbody waiters are never too far away. It's a sweet little place, although the lack of reservations on the weekend can make it a madhouse. Luckily, Todd and I only waited about half an hour before grabbing a good table. Our waiter appeared immediately and knew right away that we wanted the fresh blood orange margaritas (passion fruit is for weenies) mixed at the table. The drinks were good, thanks mostly to the quality booze (the mix was a bit dull, to be honest; hardly comparable to their incredible watermelon variety).
We dove into the menu, since neither of us had eaten. The guacamole and fundido con queso y otras cosas (translate: delicious melty cheese with other stuff like salchicha or whatever that you eat in little corn tortillas) were amazing. We both ordered the carne asada, medium. Hopes were high.
This is where the meal took a downward turn. The food arrived quickly, but after five minutes of both chewing our first respective bites, Todd and I looked at each other and shook our heads. The waiter was at my elbow immediately, looking very concerned indeed. Without speaking, he whisked our plates away and replaced them with fresh copies of the menu. Confusion and profuse apologies followed. Please note that while I write for a low-budget food blog, I have never never sent a meal back, it's just not in my nature. But I did, somewhat against my will.
Entree number two was waluu for Todd and mushroom enchiladas and rock shrimp for me. We were both disappointed. I'm serious. All my descriptive prowess and knack for conveying culinary discourse with impeccable equipoise fails me. So, here goes, with minimal energy:
-The fish sucked
-The enchiladas were *yawn*
-Dessert was forced - an uninspired cheesecake with goat cheese for me and some other stuff for Todd (bread pudding? Jesus, I just lost all will to write).
Damn it all, I want my carne asada.
Look, don't let this less than stellar review turn you off. Lolita is awesome and if you come to Philadelphia, I will personally escort you there unless you chew with your mouth open or have cloying BO or something.
I mean, Tiger Woods doesn't birdie every hole.
Lolita
106 South 13th St.
Philadelphia, PA 19107
(215) 546-7100
Hot night on the old town tonight.
The Gayborhood. Two men. A bottle of Don Julio Blanco. A wad of cash. Sounds like all the trappings of an excellent night? Well, you could ask Todd, who would probably give an even more scatching review...but you'll have to settle for me.
Long story short, I had convinced Todd to join me at one of my favorite little BYOT (tequila, duh) joints in Philly, the much-lauded, dripping-with-atmosphere Lolita. I had been a handful of times before, and each trip was more satisfying than the last. Known best for their delicious guac (even though the avocado-based starter from across the street at El Vez gets more press, that's just because they makes some poor woman with morter, pestel, and handfuls of garlic make the stuff tableside. People need to realize that all guacamole they get at reputable dining establishments is probably fresh, since that stuff oxidizes like nobody's business and you seldom see brownish green dreck on the menu. Rant over, back to the review) and tender-as-can-be carne asada (which is billed in the English translation as "filet mignon," which I realize is both somewhat of a misnomer and not really English, but whatever)...
...okay, that sentence was out of control. Basically, Lolita's guacamole and carne asada are amazing. There are probably twenty tops in the dimly-lit hallway restaurant, and black-clad hardbody waiters are never too far away. It's a sweet little place, although the lack of reservations on the weekend can make it a madhouse. Luckily, Todd and I only waited about half an hour before grabbing a good table. Our waiter appeared immediately and knew right away that we wanted the fresh blood orange margaritas (passion fruit is for weenies) mixed at the table. The drinks were good, thanks mostly to the quality booze (the mix was a bit dull, to be honest; hardly comparable to their incredible watermelon variety).
We dove into the menu, since neither of us had eaten. The guacamole and fundido con queso y otras cosas (translate: delicious melty cheese with other stuff like salchicha or whatever that you eat in little corn tortillas) were amazing. We both ordered the carne asada, medium. Hopes were high.
This is where the meal took a downward turn. The food arrived quickly, but after five minutes of both chewing our first respective bites, Todd and I looked at each other and shook our heads. The waiter was at my elbow immediately, looking very concerned indeed. Without speaking, he whisked our plates away and replaced them with fresh copies of the menu. Confusion and profuse apologies followed. Please note that while I write for a low-budget food blog, I have never never sent a meal back, it's just not in my nature. But I did, somewhat against my will.
Entree number two was waluu for Todd and mushroom enchiladas and rock shrimp for me. We were both disappointed. I'm serious. All my descriptive prowess and knack for conveying culinary discourse with impeccable equipoise fails me. So, here goes, with minimal energy:
-The fish sucked
-The enchiladas were *yawn*
-Dessert was forced - an uninspired cheesecake with goat cheese for me and some other stuff for Todd (bread pudding? Jesus, I just lost all will to write).
Damn it all, I want my carne asada.
Look, don't let this less than stellar review turn you off. Lolita is awesome and if you come to Philadelphia, I will personally escort you there unless you chew with your mouth open or have cloying BO or something.
I mean, Tiger Woods doesn't birdie every hole.
Lolita
106 South 13th St.
Philadelphia, PA 19107
(215) 546-7100
Monday, February 12, 2007
The One Where Joe and I Find Ourselves in a Gay Bar
Yeah. I thought that would get your attention.
Funny Story. Joe and I went to have breakfast Sunday morning. I had heard that there is this place called Tweet that has the best biscuits and gravy in Chicago. I haven't had really good biscuits and gravy in this city, so I thought it might be worth a trip.
We drive over in the Big Green Machine and it's right next to a bar called Big Chicks. Funny. We're a little north of Boystown, so between that and its name, I assumed it was a lesbian bar. Not that we need labels like that. I'd just call it a bar, but that would lessen the story possibilities, I feel. So we went in to Tweet and were told there was a 25 minute wait, and we could wait next door. Next door is Big Chicks. There is quite an extensive art collection on the walls of Big Chicks, mostly depicting women. That further contributed to the lesbian bar feeling. But I just looked it up online, and it's considered a gay bar. Which marks my first visit to one. It sounds like the owner of the place would rather it just be considered a bar. I 'm sure anyone is welcome. We certainly didn't feel that people were looking at us strangely. Although we were a pair of guys. Sunday morning, kind of early. For breakfast.... Anyway, onto the food.
We were seated after about 7 minutes. There were a lot of larger groups, so I think the fact that we were a pair helped us get seated faster. There was some sort of breakfast pastry on the table with a strussel sort of topping. I didn't try it, but Joe said it was good. They also had an entire array of Tabasco brand sauces on the table, along with Whole Foods Organic hot sauce. We both ordered biscuits and gravy. I ordered mine with scrambled eggs and hashbrowns. I also got a big fresh-squeezed orange juice. All breakfasts came with a fruit cup or fruit compote. The rest of the breakfast menu looks pretty good. Emphasis on fresh and organic ingredients where possible, and it shows in the final product.
While we were waiting for the food, I did some looking around. Lots of art on the walls in here, like the bar. But the art here is a little tamer as far as subject matter goes. The clientèle for breakfast was all over the place. Lots of couples, lots of families. A few couples with newborns, a few groups of couples. It was a good, busy Sunday breakfast atmosphere.
OK. The food. Definitely the best biscuits and gravy I've had in the city. Joe declared that the biscuits were the best he'd ever had anywhere. I would agree. The gravy was really good, too. It had a richness to it that went past even normal sausage gravies. The sausage was obviously high quality, and I think they use some cream or at least half-and-half instead of just milk. The eggs were perfectly scrambled. I think scrambled eggs can be deceptively difficult to get right, and I'm not great at it. Whoever was cooking the eggs here did a great job. The hashbrowns were definitely good, as well.
Joe claims that my sausage gravy is better. Well, that's awfully nice of him to say. I'm not so sure. They're a little different. The best sausage gravy I've ever had comes from my grandma. But her family moved to Idaho from Arkansas. She really knows how to make it. When she is making breakfast, she pulls out four ancient perfectly seasoned cast-iron skillets. And then it takes off from there. Believe me, not a speck of bacon or sausage drippings gets wasted. So she makes the best sausage gravy that I've ever had. But this place will do when I get a craving for it in Chicago and don't want to make it myself. But I think I do need to focus a bit more on the biscuits now.
Here's a picture of my biscuits and gravy. I forgot my real digital camera, and only had my phone, which has a crappy camera with no flash. So, it's blurry, but you can at least see the food somewhat. Those are the hashbrowns on the left.
I would definitely recommend checking this place out. Friendly waitstaff, great food, nice atmosphere. We also had no problems parking. Check it out.
Tweet
5020 N. Sheridan Rd.
Chicago, IL
Funny Story. Joe and I went to have breakfast Sunday morning. I had heard that there is this place called Tweet that has the best biscuits and gravy in Chicago. I haven't had really good biscuits and gravy in this city, so I thought it might be worth a trip.
We drive over in the Big Green Machine and it's right next to a bar called Big Chicks. Funny. We're a little north of Boystown, so between that and its name, I assumed it was a lesbian bar. Not that we need labels like that. I'd just call it a bar, but that would lessen the story possibilities, I feel. So we went in to Tweet and were told there was a 25 minute wait, and we could wait next door. Next door is Big Chicks. There is quite an extensive art collection on the walls of Big Chicks, mostly depicting women. That further contributed to the lesbian bar feeling. But I just looked it up online, and it's considered a gay bar. Which marks my first visit to one. It sounds like the owner of the place would rather it just be considered a bar. I 'm sure anyone is welcome. We certainly didn't feel that people were looking at us strangely. Although we were a pair of guys. Sunday morning, kind of early. For breakfast.... Anyway, onto the food.
We were seated after about 7 minutes. There were a lot of larger groups, so I think the fact that we were a pair helped us get seated faster. There was some sort of breakfast pastry on the table with a strussel sort of topping. I didn't try it, but Joe said it was good. They also had an entire array of Tabasco brand sauces on the table, along with Whole Foods Organic hot sauce. We both ordered biscuits and gravy. I ordered mine with scrambled eggs and hashbrowns. I also got a big fresh-squeezed orange juice. All breakfasts came with a fruit cup or fruit compote. The rest of the breakfast menu looks pretty good. Emphasis on fresh and organic ingredients where possible, and it shows in the final product.
While we were waiting for the food, I did some looking around. Lots of art on the walls in here, like the bar. But the art here is a little tamer as far as subject matter goes. The clientèle for breakfast was all over the place. Lots of couples, lots of families. A few couples with newborns, a few groups of couples. It was a good, busy Sunday breakfast atmosphere.
OK. The food. Definitely the best biscuits and gravy I've had in the city. Joe declared that the biscuits were the best he'd ever had anywhere. I would agree. The gravy was really good, too. It had a richness to it that went past even normal sausage gravies. The sausage was obviously high quality, and I think they use some cream or at least half-and-half instead of just milk. The eggs were perfectly scrambled. I think scrambled eggs can be deceptively difficult to get right, and I'm not great at it. Whoever was cooking the eggs here did a great job. The hashbrowns were definitely good, as well.
Joe claims that my sausage gravy is better. Well, that's awfully nice of him to say. I'm not so sure. They're a little different. The best sausage gravy I've ever had comes from my grandma. But her family moved to Idaho from Arkansas. She really knows how to make it. When she is making breakfast, she pulls out four ancient perfectly seasoned cast-iron skillets. And then it takes off from there. Believe me, not a speck of bacon or sausage drippings gets wasted. So she makes the best sausage gravy that I've ever had. But this place will do when I get a craving for it in Chicago and don't want to make it myself. But I think I do need to focus a bit more on the biscuits now.
Here's a picture of my biscuits and gravy. I forgot my real digital camera, and only had my phone, which has a crappy camera with no flash. So, it's blurry, but you can at least see the food somewhat. Those are the hashbrowns on the left.
I would definitely recommend checking this place out. Friendly waitstaff, great food, nice atmosphere. We also had no problems parking. Check it out.
Tweet
5020 N. Sheridan Rd.
Chicago, IL
Tuesday, February 6, 2007
Kuma's Corner
Last Saturday (over a week ago) three of my my roommates and I accompanied the Filipino couple and the WASP couple out to dinner. With eight of us, getting a table with no reservation could have proven difficult. But we went to Kuma's Corner, a haven of good food and good beer located conveniently at the edge of Logan Square in Chicago. For the second time in less than six weeks, Kuma's was able to seat a large-ish group on Saturday night without much of a wait. Very cool.
But the easy seating isn't what brought me back here for the third time since discovering it in November. Why do we like it? Burgers. Beer. Mac & Cheese. Mussels. The first two times we were there, the menu included a few entrees, a Mac & Cheese section where you pick what toppings to add, a burger and sandwich section, and salad and appetizer sections. They recently revamped their menu, getting rid of the entrees (except as specials), and expanding the burger section to encompass almost its entire panel of the menu.
All three times I've gone, I've had a burger. It's not a hard decision for me. I'm pretty sure someone takes the time to pat out these patties by hand, and they use very good beef. Add to that the fact that all of the burgers and sandwiches are served on a pretzel roll, my all time favorite burger vehicle, and I'm afraid I may never try anything else there. The first time, I purchased the Kuma burger. Going by the Boss's rule of dining that says any dish named after the restaurant has to be good, the Kuma didn't disappoint. It's your basic perfect beef patty, half a pound, on a pretzel roll, it's topped with bacon, cheddar, and a fried egg. I'm not a huge fried egg fan at breakfast time, but just picture this: you take delivery of your Kuma, sitting with the top of the roll off to the side, a strangely nice tomato slice for winter time nestled with some nice green leaf lettuce and raw onions, waiting to be placed atop the burger if you desire. The burger has the cheese and bacon, with the egg sunny-side-up perched on top. Put on whatever vegetable toppings you desire, then gently push the roll top onto this mass of goodness. When the yolk breaks, it makes this beautiful sauce for the deliciousness underneath. Trust me, you want to try it.
The second time there I had the Kaijo. Bacon. Blue Cheese. "Frizzled" onions. Yeah, it was good. Not as word worthy as the Kuma. But really good. The third time I had the Mayhem burger. Same pretzel roll, same perfectly cooked burger (I get mine cooked medium, by the way), topped with pepper-jack cheese, giardinera mayo, pancetta, and fresh slice jalepenos (as opposed to pickled canned jalepenos). Yeah, guess what? It was pretty tasty. The Mayhem burger is pictured above.
The mac and cheese picture is with peas and proscuitto. The hand holding the fork belongs to the moving-to-China roommate. I was able to try the Mac & Cheese pictured, and it's pretty good. He's ordered it twice, so it couldn't be bad.
I am not a big fan of mussels. Or any bi-valve mollusk, really. But RER and EA love them, so I was able to give them a try. I still don't like the texture, and that black-brown ring around the edge is a little weird, but they were sure tasty. Could be the ale-butter-chili broth that they are swimming in.
The beer list is pretty good. Not huge, but all of the beers are interesting. The selection of bottles is better than the draft selection, but it's all pretty good. They have one night with all Belgian beers on sale. Saturdays they discount all of their whiskey.
It's a very casual place, the waitstaff and bartenders are very friendly, and the kitchen crew really knows what they're doing. It's not haute cuisine, but who wants that? Go for good food and good beer.
Kuma's Corner
2900 W. Belmont Ave.
Chicgao, IL 60618
Ph. 773.604.8769
Thursday, January 25, 2007
A Brief Sermon on Eulogy
Eulogy Belgian Tavern
136 Chestnut St.
Old City, Philadelphia
(215) 413-1918
http://www.eulogybar.com
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
