VI's Retro Kitchen
I do not usually write about my kitchen exploits, well mainly 'cause there aint much to write about. Lately, however, I've been on a roll, so I thought I'd share.
First, came this dish inspired by the kidz and the Condiment Queen. Seems she can create for them, perfectly wonderful dinners from bread, cheese and microwave. And even though this rather cheesy cheddar seemed fine as is, I got to idea to, well, rarebit it, or as I was to later learn, rabbit it. One of those Musso and Frank/Fergus Henderson (its on the St. John menu pretty much daily) that I adore but never think to make. I knew instantly where to look: Joy of Cooking, which I forever think of as the joy of eating because I think it less a book on cooking as a book on eating well. Sure enough, there was a Welsh Rabbit recipe, and a simple and easy one at that. With makeshift double boiler from a stainless steel bowl and saucepan, I went to work on grating a pound of cheddar. Lucky me, the chowhounditas soon thought that a fun job, and took over. They also took over the job of pulverizing the mustard seed (Penzy's) into ground mustard. So, I mixed the royale, as we chefs would call it, one egg, a bit of worcestershire sauce, a tiny shake of curry powder (Penzy's hot), a slightly heavier shake of paprika (Penzy's half-sharp), that mustard dust, and a small pour of Valentina brand hot sauce. The process goes like this: in the double-boler, melt a tab of butter, add the grated cheese, melt, add beer, I used 3/4 bottle of Berghoff dark, traditionally it should be stale ale, keep mixing, there is some rules about wooden spoons and mixing directions but I used a whisk and went wily-nily, finally, add the royale and mix until incorporated. I ate on toasted, buttered, English Muffin (Trader Joe's). Only later did I learn, in research, that I was only supposed to toast only one side of the bread. I should note, as good as the kidz plain melted cheese was, this was better.
Second, inspired by a big bag of shrimps the CQ had boiled up, I got the idea to make shrimp louie, which is really just an excuse to eat Russian dressing. Ah, I love Russian dressing, as much for its taste as for its pure alchemy and the way it allows me to partake in two less favorite foods, mayonnaise and catsup. Would you eat your salad with plain catsup or plain mayo? Would you put catsup on a turkey sammy? Yet, combine the ingredients and you would (I would). Here's how I did. I took about 5 Trader Joe's cornichons and minced them. I took glops of mayo, ketchapeno, cocktail sauce, and Tapatio hot sauce and combined. I tasted and refined until it tasted "right", but in fact it did not taste right. It tasted a hell of a lot better than most Russian dressing. My shrimp louie was also a lot better because we had pretty large shrimps and Ms. VI boiled them up with some interesting spices. For the bedding, I used Trader Joe's baby romaine. I garnished with a hot house tomato that came with one of our CSAs. Great.
Third, inspired by what to do with extra Welsh Rabbit, I made a hot brown sammy. Using the easiest cooking method known, I microwaved excellent Niman Ranch bacon (made at least some of the time with pork from my friends the Wettsteins). I took a thick slice of Fox and Obel semolina bread (thanks Aaron), added F&O turkey (the best I know), then the leftover cheese sauce. I nuked to melt the cheese, then stuck it under the broiler, or salamander as us chef's say. Unfortunately, the cheese did not brown up, but it surely tasted fine. Even better because I completely surrounded the sammy with fresh shelled, buttered farmer's market peas. I was so awed by my creation, that even though I was eating alone, I kept to my knife and fork, euro style.
Fourth, now we have extra Russian dressing, I think a Field's Special Sandwich, that great, not always on the menu dish, of the Walnut Room. Eerily, a CSA box we got yesterday (which I have some gripes about, but that's for another post), contained a head of iceberg lettuce. Perfect. So it went, buttered semolina bread (thanks Aaron), Jarglesburg cheese, F&O turkey, 1/2 head of lettuce, overflowing dressing (as per Field's), and two strips of Niman bacon. We had no hard boiled egg, but I forgot to put on some of the olives that we had (Trader Joes). Needless to say, great as the above.
Thursday, June 24, 2004
Tuesday, June 22, 2004
Sukhadia Update
The other day, as I was stuffing myself with samosa chat, bhel puri and other things from the recently re-opened Sukhadia Sweet Shop on da'Bomb, I mentioned to the Condiment Queen my growing belief that Indian-Pakistani-Bangladeshi (shall we call it Sub-Continental?) food was the world's greatest. Yes, there is no truffled Bresse chicken which some foodies will argue is the greatest treatment of food and the reason behind France's superiority, nor is there (is there?) any Michelin starred restaurants in India, Pakistan, or Bangladesh, another standard for cuisine greatness. But I measure my cuisines (to the extent I do) on quantity over quality. I love Sub-Continental food because there is so much of it. I mean so many kinds of it. Just compare the assortment of food at Sukhadia to say, Wiener Circle.
Sukhadia is one of several snack or "chat" shops on da'Bomb. Chat shops come in two varieties based on the religion of their owners. Muslim owned shops, like Tahoora Sweets, feature plenty of meat, for instance you can get your samosas filled with ground beef. Hindu owned shops fill you up with grains and vegetables. Sukhadia is the latter. The grains include small cakes made of corn flour and chickpea flour, buttery pancakes stuffed with vegetables (parantha's), puffy fried bread with sides, puri, and crunchy grains drenched in sauces, bhel puri. Vegetables are mainly spicy chick peas and sauteed potatoes. Since everything is really cheap, you can try a lot. Order as in a Mexican bakery. As to knowing what things are, ask, the people behind the counter will explain, and when in doubt, just point to the food displayed behind the counters or on the color menu.
Sukhadia closed for about 6 months. I believe they took over a small store next door. They used the extra space to move the open kitchen towards the back and spread out the tables. They made the place a bit more spacious, but there are still not that many tables--hence the sign advising 20 minute total per table, and the chaotic ordering system remains. It took 4 attempts to get our chai.
The gradients between da'Bomb chat shops may be subtle, but ordering aside, Sukhadia has no glaring problems. Now, it is possible to get some bad tea on da'Bomb. Zam-Zam's was so terrible we tossed it out, wasting the 75 cents. That's for another post.
Sukhadia Sweets
2559 W Devon Avenue
Chicago
(773) 338-5400
The other day, as I was stuffing myself with samosa chat, bhel puri and other things from the recently re-opened Sukhadia Sweet Shop on da'Bomb, I mentioned to the Condiment Queen my growing belief that Indian-Pakistani-Bangladeshi (shall we call it Sub-Continental?) food was the world's greatest. Yes, there is no truffled Bresse chicken which some foodies will argue is the greatest treatment of food and the reason behind France's superiority, nor is there (is there?) any Michelin starred restaurants in India, Pakistan, or Bangladesh, another standard for cuisine greatness. But I measure my cuisines (to the extent I do) on quantity over quality. I love Sub-Continental food because there is so much of it. I mean so many kinds of it. Just compare the assortment of food at Sukhadia to say, Wiener Circle.
Sukhadia is one of several snack or "chat" shops on da'Bomb. Chat shops come in two varieties based on the religion of their owners. Muslim owned shops, like Tahoora Sweets, feature plenty of meat, for instance you can get your samosas filled with ground beef. Hindu owned shops fill you up with grains and vegetables. Sukhadia is the latter. The grains include small cakes made of corn flour and chickpea flour, buttery pancakes stuffed with vegetables (parantha's), puffy fried bread with sides, puri, and crunchy grains drenched in sauces, bhel puri. Vegetables are mainly spicy chick peas and sauteed potatoes. Since everything is really cheap, you can try a lot. Order as in a Mexican bakery. As to knowing what things are, ask, the people behind the counter will explain, and when in doubt, just point to the food displayed behind the counters or on the color menu.
Sukhadia closed for about 6 months. I believe they took over a small store next door. They used the extra space to move the open kitchen towards the back and spread out the tables. They made the place a bit more spacious, but there are still not that many tables--hence the sign advising 20 minute total per table, and the chaotic ordering system remains. It took 4 attempts to get our chai.
The gradients between da'Bomb chat shops may be subtle, but ordering aside, Sukhadia has no glaring problems. Now, it is possible to get some bad tea on da'Bomb. Zam-Zam's was so terrible we tossed it out, wasting the 75 cents. That's for another post.
Sukhadia Sweets
2559 W Devon Avenue
Chicago
(773) 338-5400
Friday, June 18, 2004
Real Meat in Chicago
Organic and local meat is easily available in Chicago.
The best bet, probably, is the weekly Green City Market on Wednesday's in Lincoln Park. On any given week, there are at least a few organic meat vendors such as Heartland and Joel Rissman. Last year, the product tended to be a lot of hamburger, but this year there are more vendors and the vendors are bringing more varieties of stuff.
The Wettstein's, who I mention below, make a few trips up to Chicago and Oak Park to deliver the meat. You can order in advance what you want or you can take what they have. They sell beef, pork, lamb, chicken (available June through December), turkey, duck and I bet if you plead your case, one of those guinea hens. They also make pork patties, pork sausage, brats, bacon and ham. Alternatively, instead of picking as you go, they are initiating a monthly CSA. Each package would contain a month or so worth of meat. Each month differs in what they bring, although I have to say, you're gonna have to like hamburger. Finally, you can purchase 1/2 cow or a 1/4 cow and get it processed yourself--they deliver it to one of 4 lockers in central Illinois, the rest is up to you. They will be at the Green City Market this week, but are not there every week. There number, BTW, is 309-376-7291
Rissman does a monthly delivery to Oak Park.
One of my fetishes/fantasies is to obtain the parts as well as the meat in this process. I've made the argument before about respecting the beast, but I also believe that if we order and eat the Fergus parts, nose to tail, we increase the profit for the farmers. Otherwise this stuff would probably just be sloughed off to the dog food people. I've got the Condiment Queen agreeing to make me chopped liver and perhaps even some pate--I know the same thing, but think of them as different recipes and different animals, but as I mentioned in another post, she's balking at the headcheese.
Rob
Organic and local meat is easily available in Chicago.
The best bet, probably, is the weekly Green City Market on Wednesday's in Lincoln Park. On any given week, there are at least a few organic meat vendors such as Heartland and Joel Rissman. Last year, the product tended to be a lot of hamburger, but this year there are more vendors and the vendors are bringing more varieties of stuff.
The Wettstein's, who I mention below, make a few trips up to Chicago and Oak Park to deliver the meat. You can order in advance what you want or you can take what they have. They sell beef, pork, lamb, chicken (available June through December), turkey, duck and I bet if you plead your case, one of those guinea hens. They also make pork patties, pork sausage, brats, bacon and ham. Alternatively, instead of picking as you go, they are initiating a monthly CSA. Each package would contain a month or so worth of meat. Each month differs in what they bring, although I have to say, you're gonna have to like hamburger. Finally, you can purchase 1/2 cow or a 1/4 cow and get it processed yourself--they deliver it to one of 4 lockers in central Illinois, the rest is up to you. They will be at the Green City Market this week, but are not there every week. There number, BTW, is 309-376-7291
Rissman does a monthly delivery to Oak Park.
One of my fetishes/fantasies is to obtain the parts as well as the meat in this process. I've made the argument before about respecting the beast, but I also believe that if we order and eat the Fergus parts, nose to tail, we increase the profit for the farmers. Otherwise this stuff would probably just be sloughed off to the dog food people. I've got the Condiment Queen agreeing to make me chopped liver and perhaps even some pate--I know the same thing, but think of them as different recipes and different animals, but as I mentioned in another post, she's balking at the headcheese.
Rob
Wednesday, June 16, 2004
No Finer Shwarma
Then the chicken shwarma served at Pita Inn (is there?). Really, is there anything finer in the Chicago area for the price then Pita Inn's chicken shwarma? How so? They begin with chicken breasts skinned totally. No surprises of slime effect the eating. These breasts get enough marinade to turn them yellow and lend enough undertone to an essentially bland meat--I'll return to the condiments in a second. Pita Inn then cooks the shwarma ideally. Unlike some other stalwarts, including Salaam, which is still a really fine shwarma, this shwarma gets cooked totally on the vertical grill. When shwarma gets even some heat in a pan on the stove, it greases it up, and you lose crucial crust. With Pita Inn's method, each shard of shwarma gets plenty of crisp crust, but nary a piece gets dry and there is no residual grease. Finally, you dress the meat with as much of Pita Inn's two sauces as you want. There is white, tahini based, a bit gritty, and there is red, not Zim hot, but perky. There are all sorts of secret ingredients within the red sauce that it reminds me of a good Mexican salsa instead of the one note players that usually accompany Middle Eastern food (and do not get me wrong, those one noters, like Salaam's green sauce, are plenty good, what's wrong with one note if it is played well?) And could there really be a finer shwarma?
Wait, let me add, Pita Inn serves the shwarma two ways that I absolutely adore, and lucky me, the Condiment Queen adores these two ways as well, and I do not have to choose. First, they serve it on a bed of finely diced romaine lettuce with a bright vinaigrette. You get contrast between hot and cold and even more flavors to perk up the meat. Second, they serve the meat on a bed of hummus, which again adds more flavors and also a bit of moisture. I prefer these two options to Pita Inn's standard plates. I have nothing against their fluffy yellow rice, but the thin cuttings of iceberg lettuce are just plate wasters. The above two options present much better deals.
Pita Inn has other locations but I was at the Skokie branch:
3910 Dempster, Skokie
Tel: (847) 677-0211
Then the chicken shwarma served at Pita Inn (is there?). Really, is there anything finer in the Chicago area for the price then Pita Inn's chicken shwarma? How so? They begin with chicken breasts skinned totally. No surprises of slime effect the eating. These breasts get enough marinade to turn them yellow and lend enough undertone to an essentially bland meat--I'll return to the condiments in a second. Pita Inn then cooks the shwarma ideally. Unlike some other stalwarts, including Salaam, which is still a really fine shwarma, this shwarma gets cooked totally on the vertical grill. When shwarma gets even some heat in a pan on the stove, it greases it up, and you lose crucial crust. With Pita Inn's method, each shard of shwarma gets plenty of crisp crust, but nary a piece gets dry and there is no residual grease. Finally, you dress the meat with as much of Pita Inn's two sauces as you want. There is white, tahini based, a bit gritty, and there is red, not Zim hot, but perky. There are all sorts of secret ingredients within the red sauce that it reminds me of a good Mexican salsa instead of the one note players that usually accompany Middle Eastern food (and do not get me wrong, those one noters, like Salaam's green sauce, are plenty good, what's wrong with one note if it is played well?) And could there really be a finer shwarma?
Wait, let me add, Pita Inn serves the shwarma two ways that I absolutely adore, and lucky me, the Condiment Queen adores these two ways as well, and I do not have to choose. First, they serve it on a bed of finely diced romaine lettuce with a bright vinaigrette. You get contrast between hot and cold and even more flavors to perk up the meat. Second, they serve the meat on a bed of hummus, which again adds more flavors and also a bit of moisture. I prefer these two options to Pita Inn's standard plates. I have nothing against their fluffy yellow rice, but the thin cuttings of iceberg lettuce are just plate wasters. The above two options present much better deals.
Pita Inn has other locations but I was at the Skokie branch:
3910 Dempster, Skokie
Tel: (847) 677-0211
Monday, June 14, 2004
Down on the Farm - Henry's and the Wettstein's
Before Sophia and I had a chance to dig into the pot luck lunch, a documentarian from Farm Aid asked if we could talk for his camera. He wanted to know what everyone was looking to get out of Saturday's tour. I told that since I was so into eating, I might as well understand a bit about the start of the whole cooking process. I never got a chance to tell him how great the day was and how much I learned.
As our tour guide, Tara (Henry's sister) correctly told us, we were in a bit of Eden in the middle of Illinois. The bulk of the ride down I-57 contains what you mostly expect of Illinois, a lot of nothing, and faux farms as Tara would tell us again and again, the huge anti-agriculture, bio-tech dependent, soil-less (and soul-less) farms planted with endless rows of soy and corn. The world changes as you approach Henry's Farm. You first encounter the county seat of Eureka. College home of RR, and if this town did not already exist, those endless processions would have surely created it. Outside of Eureka, the grounds turn decidedly un-Illinois, with many a rolling hill. Seems one of the last glaciers spent a few extra years here and carved up this land to look more like our state to the north. This accident of nature is one of the primary factors for Henry's Farm. One of the first things I learned on Saturday.
Hills and valleys are not very conducive to large scale agri-business. Perhaps even out of necessity, this county has been organic for a while. In fact, the second thing I learned was that neighboring Henry's Farm was several acres of organic wheat farmed by an octogenarian and his son. Now, did you even know that anyone grew wheat in Illinois, let along organic wheat. Oddly, though, the entire production of this organic wheat went last year to Canada. We did learn that a portion of Henry's farm, the upper, flatter fields, had once been farmed in the Illinois way. This is when we really learned what soil-less and souless soil meant. All our cides used by farmers drive the life out of their soul. With all the nasty critters and fungi and weeds go all the earthworms and bacteria and such that make the soil alive. Tara told us that when Henry first sought to plow his field for organic crops, he could not get an contraption through the hard soil. He had to use nature, hay crops with deep seeking roots, to turn the soil, bring it back to life. Henry's lower field, isolated by a stream and forest, never saw hard agriculture.
What a vista when you end the deerpath and gaze up the lower 40. My mind instantly replaced the crops with rows of grapes because this field looked like a classic European vineyard. Instead it was full of a portion of the 450 varieties grown yearly by Henry. As we poked around the fields we learned how the crops are rotated yearly, that nothing stays in the same spot, and that hay--which we learned was a generic term for any grass fed to animals in the winter--was included in the rotation. Firstly, the crops were moved to control pests. If certain worms attacked the tomatoes one year, they could be well controlled by planting the tomatoes somewhere else, fooling the dormant larvae when they arrived the next year. The hay attacked as fertilizer, getting that patch of soil rich in nitrogen for next year's vegetables. We got to sample some of the more unusual things growing down there including the peppery Madras podding radish (as it sounds you eat the pod not the root) and weeds like amaranth and lamb's quarter. We also learned, new to me at least, that cultivated dandelion was actually chicory bred to look like dandelion, but since this was totally organic pastures, we also got to try actual wild dandelion (as well as much more delicious actual wild raspberries). Another in the long line of things we learned was the reason for the dog houses around the fields. Come harvest time, spot and fido and the rest would be keeping the fields free of any unwanted guests.
We went up and down some of the biggest hills in Illinois to get to the storybook farm of the Wettstein's. With their 8 kids, 18 goats, tree swing, free-roaming chickens, pet raccoon (an interesting story), flock of sheep, flock of sheep protector llama, stray kitten, herds of cattle, boxes of bees, cages of rabbits, grain towers filled with their own organic feed, wandering ducks, suckling pigs and angry sows, barns a plenty, a few gardens, wells with nasty water, and assorted tractors parked here and there, this was THE storybook farm. I so admire what they are doing, and as Sophia and I later worked out, these folks could pretty much live off of their farm, needing perhaps salt and coffee extra. Even the fuel for their outdoor grill could come from their timber fields.
For me, the chowhound, it seemed like one big buffet. What did I want for supper? It was there. Incredulous that they simply released the guinea fowl and quail, I asked twice, about them. Do not you know guinea would command big bucks back in Chicago? I am going to do my best to order and eat their beef, chicken, turkey, eggs (what Henry's Farm sells at the Evanston Farmer's market), maybe even roast a goat. The Condiment Queen, will not, so far, agree to make me headcheese from one of their piggies even though there is a recipe in a Diana Kennedy book she just got at the Brandeiss bookfair. I'll post later on some ways to obtain the Wettstein's organic meat in Chicago.
Before Sophia and I had a chance to dig into the pot luck lunch, a documentarian from Farm Aid asked if we could talk for his camera. He wanted to know what everyone was looking to get out of Saturday's tour. I told that since I was so into eating, I might as well understand a bit about the start of the whole cooking process. I never got a chance to tell him how great the day was and how much I learned.
As our tour guide, Tara (Henry's sister) correctly told us, we were in a bit of Eden in the middle of Illinois. The bulk of the ride down I-57 contains what you mostly expect of Illinois, a lot of nothing, and faux farms as Tara would tell us again and again, the huge anti-agriculture, bio-tech dependent, soil-less (and soul-less) farms planted with endless rows of soy and corn. The world changes as you approach Henry's Farm. You first encounter the county seat of Eureka. College home of RR, and if this town did not already exist, those endless processions would have surely created it. Outside of Eureka, the grounds turn decidedly un-Illinois, with many a rolling hill. Seems one of the last glaciers spent a few extra years here and carved up this land to look more like our state to the north. This accident of nature is one of the primary factors for Henry's Farm. One of the first things I learned on Saturday.
Hills and valleys are not very conducive to large scale agri-business. Perhaps even out of necessity, this county has been organic for a while. In fact, the second thing I learned was that neighboring Henry's Farm was several acres of organic wheat farmed by an octogenarian and his son. Now, did you even know that anyone grew wheat in Illinois, let along organic wheat. Oddly, though, the entire production of this organic wheat went last year to Canada. We did learn that a portion of Henry's farm, the upper, flatter fields, had once been farmed in the Illinois way. This is when we really learned what soil-less and souless soil meant. All our cides used by farmers drive the life out of their soul. With all the nasty critters and fungi and weeds go all the earthworms and bacteria and such that make the soil alive. Tara told us that when Henry first sought to plow his field for organic crops, he could not get an contraption through the hard soil. He had to use nature, hay crops with deep seeking roots, to turn the soil, bring it back to life. Henry's lower field, isolated by a stream and forest, never saw hard agriculture.
What a vista when you end the deerpath and gaze up the lower 40. My mind instantly replaced the crops with rows of grapes because this field looked like a classic European vineyard. Instead it was full of a portion of the 450 varieties grown yearly by Henry. As we poked around the fields we learned how the crops are rotated yearly, that nothing stays in the same spot, and that hay--which we learned was a generic term for any grass fed to animals in the winter--was included in the rotation. Firstly, the crops were moved to control pests. If certain worms attacked the tomatoes one year, they could be well controlled by planting the tomatoes somewhere else, fooling the dormant larvae when they arrived the next year. The hay attacked as fertilizer, getting that patch of soil rich in nitrogen for next year's vegetables. We got to sample some of the more unusual things growing down there including the peppery Madras podding radish (as it sounds you eat the pod not the root) and weeds like amaranth and lamb's quarter. We also learned, new to me at least, that cultivated dandelion was actually chicory bred to look like dandelion, but since this was totally organic pastures, we also got to try actual wild dandelion (as well as much more delicious actual wild raspberries). Another in the long line of things we learned was the reason for the dog houses around the fields. Come harvest time, spot and fido and the rest would be keeping the fields free of any unwanted guests.
We went up and down some of the biggest hills in Illinois to get to the storybook farm of the Wettstein's. With their 8 kids, 18 goats, tree swing, free-roaming chickens, pet raccoon (an interesting story), flock of sheep, flock of sheep protector llama, stray kitten, herds of cattle, boxes of bees, cages of rabbits, grain towers filled with their own organic feed, wandering ducks, suckling pigs and angry sows, barns a plenty, a few gardens, wells with nasty water, and assorted tractors parked here and there, this was THE storybook farm. I so admire what they are doing, and as Sophia and I later worked out, these folks could pretty much live off of their farm, needing perhaps salt and coffee extra. Even the fuel for their outdoor grill could come from their timber fields.
For me, the chowhound, it seemed like one big buffet. What did I want for supper? It was there. Incredulous that they simply released the guinea fowl and quail, I asked twice, about them. Do not you know guinea would command big bucks back in Chicago? I am going to do my best to order and eat their beef, chicken, turkey, eggs (what Henry's Farm sells at the Evanston Farmer's market), maybe even roast a goat. The Condiment Queen, will not, so far, agree to make me headcheese from one of their piggies even though there is a recipe in a Diana Kennedy book she just got at the Brandeiss bookfair. I'll post later on some ways to obtain the Wettstein's organic meat in Chicago.
The Sonargaon Restaurant - Chicago's Only Bangladeshi Place
When I compiled the Indian and Pakistani restaurants for the forthcoming Slow Food guide to Chicago, I also included Chicago's lone Bangladeshi place. I included Sonargaon not just because of its unique Bangledeshi/Bengali specialties, but because it did them so well. It also did the more ubiquitous tandoori specialties darn well too.
About a week ago, the VI family had another delicious, guide book worthy meal at Sonargaon. We went about 50-50 between Bangladeshi specialties and tandoor food. From the Bengal side, we got a dish I have been wanting for a while, the fish ball curry or fish kufta. Even the best fish balls often taste a bit too much like cat food. As the popular Yiddish proverb states, if gefilite fish was so good, why did God invent horseradish sauce? Alternatively, many a fish ball, especially those of the far east tend to be of the rubber variety. The ethereal pike quenelle is rarely encountered on local menus (although if chef's followed my urging to use more local products it *would be*). Anyways, that was a lot of words to say what these fish balls were not. There were instead airy without being unsubstantial. Fishy without being cheap. An orange thick sauce provided the proper counter. Our other fish dish was a simpler yet equally delicious grilled one. Sonargaon takes great pride in serving fish from Bengali waters. My instinct tells me that they should be seeking non-frozen things, but I cannot argue with the results.
They continue to put out dishes just as good from the tandoor. I really know of no better chicken tikka in Chicago. We followed Zim's recommendation for the tandoor cooked eggplant. And this is hardly anything more than tandoor cooked eggplant. The eggplants sit in the clay oven long enough to be pliable and then get worked with a hint of masala. Much denser and creamier than baba ganoush, but with a similar smokey taste. And of course, who does not think a fresh parantha a better scooper than mere pita?
It was a very quiet night at Sonargaon when we visited. Musharaf, one of the partners, spent a long time at our table, telling us about Bangladesh, Bangladeshi food, his wife who would be soon coming to America, and life at the Palmer House Hotel, where he also worked. An astute businessman, he asked for input on his restaurant. I offered the most sanguine of advice, I hope. Don't change. Do not take the lack of customers today as a sign that anything was wrong. Keep on doing it this way, and they will come. And I also said, add a few more Bangladeshi things to the menu (i.e., they were making their haleem, the grain and meat dish, in a Pakistani manner instead of the Bangladeshi way.) I hope he follows my ideas.
The Sonargaon Restaurant
2306 W. Devon
Chicago, IL
(773) 262-8008
When I compiled the Indian and Pakistani restaurants for the forthcoming Slow Food guide to Chicago, I also included Chicago's lone Bangladeshi place. I included Sonargaon not just because of its unique Bangledeshi/Bengali specialties, but because it did them so well. It also did the more ubiquitous tandoori specialties darn well too.
About a week ago, the VI family had another delicious, guide book worthy meal at Sonargaon. We went about 50-50 between Bangladeshi specialties and tandoor food. From the Bengal side, we got a dish I have been wanting for a while, the fish ball curry or fish kufta. Even the best fish balls often taste a bit too much like cat food. As the popular Yiddish proverb states, if gefilite fish was so good, why did God invent horseradish sauce? Alternatively, many a fish ball, especially those of the far east tend to be of the rubber variety. The ethereal pike quenelle is rarely encountered on local menus (although if chef's followed my urging to use more local products it *would be*). Anyways, that was a lot of words to say what these fish balls were not. There were instead airy without being unsubstantial. Fishy without being cheap. An orange thick sauce provided the proper counter. Our other fish dish was a simpler yet equally delicious grilled one. Sonargaon takes great pride in serving fish from Bengali waters. My instinct tells me that they should be seeking non-frozen things, but I cannot argue with the results.
They continue to put out dishes just as good from the tandoor. I really know of no better chicken tikka in Chicago. We followed Zim's recommendation for the tandoor cooked eggplant. And this is hardly anything more than tandoor cooked eggplant. The eggplants sit in the clay oven long enough to be pliable and then get worked with a hint of masala. Much denser and creamier than baba ganoush, but with a similar smokey taste. And of course, who does not think a fresh parantha a better scooper than mere pita?
It was a very quiet night at Sonargaon when we visited. Musharaf, one of the partners, spent a long time at our table, telling us about Bangladesh, Bangladeshi food, his wife who would be soon coming to America, and life at the Palmer House Hotel, where he also worked. An astute businessman, he asked for input on his restaurant. I offered the most sanguine of advice, I hope. Don't change. Do not take the lack of customers today as a sign that anything was wrong. Keep on doing it this way, and they will come. And I also said, add a few more Bangladeshi things to the menu (i.e., they were making their haleem, the grain and meat dish, in a Pakistani manner instead of the Bangladeshi way.) I hope he follows my ideas.
The Sonargaon Restaurant
2306 W. Devon
Chicago, IL
(773) 262-8008
Wednesday, June 09, 2004
LA Burgers
Much to the chagrin of my daughters, the chowhounditas, I tried to do a pretty definative tasting of LA burgers on my recent trips there (See here: and here). The LA Times recently weighed in with a bit more info
[registration required]
Much to the chagrin of my daughters, the chowhounditas, I tried to do a pretty definative tasting of LA burgers on my recent trips there (See here: and here). The LA Times recently weighed in with a bit more info
[registration required]
Monday, May 24, 2004
George's First Reports
Friends: Paris is truly the film capital of the
universe. Jim Jarmusch's Coffee and Cigarettes, which
has yet to open in the US, is playing on eight screens
here. It may have a couple week run at the Music
Box when it finally comes to Chicago, unless Bill
Murray mania wins it the attention it deserves.
Murray is in only one of the ten or so ten minute
segments of this series of shorts that Jarmusch has
been filming over the years, all invovling two people
sitting and drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes or
alluding to such, but he overhwelms the film, which
abounds with Jarmusch's delightful,off-beat humor.
Murray is rip-roaing hilarious playing himself as a
waiter serving a couple of hip-hop artists and begging
them not to tell anyone he's working as a waiter, as
he drinks coffee from the pot that the hip hop artits
dont care to drink. They know the perils of caffeine,
and nicotine as well. My traveling companion Jesse
and I were hurting from our laughter.
It was a great way to rest our legs this afternoon
after spending all morning wandering around Paris on
our bikes with Jesse leading the way showing me all
his favorites places from when he spend 6 months here
as a student two years ago. Many of those favorite
sites were the many, many movie theatres that abound
here. Some offer a monthly pass letting one see
everything on their multiple screens, some of which
may be a part of a chain, for 18 or so Euros. There
is one that has a weekly triple feature starting at
midnight that concludes with breakfast, all for ten
Euros. Brown Bunny, last year's Cannes show-stopper,
which also awaits a US release, is playing. And there
is the usual Jarmusch retrospective going at one of
the theatres. He is a virtual deity here, or at least
royalty. One review referred to him as The Prince of
Independent Cinema. One of the first things Jesse did
when we began our explorations this morning after
arriving last night was to purchase the weekly booklet
that lists all the movie theatres and what's playing.
It is mind boggling. The Cannes poster, a tribute to
Marilyn Monroe's uplifted dress, is already on
display, even though the festival doesnt start for
nearly two weeks and is 500 miles away. But it is a
great national event and celebration. If we werent
headed there it would be difficult not to go movie
crazy, especially since we have crashing privileges
with a friend of Jesse's from his time here who lives
in the shadow of Sacre Coeur in Montmarte.
The bike is also celebrated here. As we biked the
21 miles from the airport to Montmarte last night on
our fully loaded bikes a passing bicyclist greeted us
with the exclamation "Bon Courage." As I guarded our
bikes this morning while Jesse was in the American
Express office changing money, the Bob Matter of Paris
came over and told me about a gathering of cylists
that happens on every Friday night, not just the last
Friday of every month as happens elsewhere across the
world. Even tho its not called a Critical Mass, my
new friend Michel said the bicylists proceed to take
over the streets, including the Champs Elysees, and
have a jolly good time like Crtical Massers the world
over. He said last Friday they had over 750 cyclists
and enthusiastically encouraged us to join in. He
even had a map that he gave me showing its starting
point just a block from Notre Dame. This 60 year old
gent went on on like some disciple preaching the
gospel of the bike, saying what a joy and how
worthwhile it is to ride and expressing great glee
over the three months of biking Europe that Jesse and
I have ahead of us. He said France is "late" on
bicycles compared to Holland and Denmark and Sweden,
but it is trying to catch up. But one thing France
isnt "late" on is the Tour de France, which he also
gushed over. He said he had his picture taken last
year with two of Lance's teammates on the Champs
Elysees at the conclusion of the race. He's never gone
to the mountains to witness first hand the dramatics
of the race, so he couldnt help but pound me on my
back to congratulate me for coming all the way from
America to do just that. He said he'd be rooting for
Lance to win number 6, just as I will be.
One more day in Paris and then on to former
Chicago bike messenger and Critical Masser Florence in
Tours, maybe a two day ride away.
Later, George
Friends, All early indications are France is a touring
cyclist's paradise. Except for having to set up our
tents in the rain twice, we have no complaints
whatsoever. Camping wild has been a snap, once in an
apple orchard and last night down a tractor path
alongside a field into a bit of a forest. We didnt
even have to wiat until the cover of dark to make our
camping clandestinem and for that we are grateful as
its not getting dark here until 9:30, All that extra
daylight will be nice later on when we are stronger
and can ride without tiring, but we're still finding
our legs. Jesse says his legs are just getting used
to their first real touring experience and they need
to be broken in like a young colt to the saddle.
Before long they will be eager to be at it and wont
want to stop.
The roads have been narrow and without any
shoulder, but the French appreciate and applaud anyone
on a bike, so they slow and wait patiently, if they
must, to pass us. The only disadvantage to the lack
of shoulders is there is no place for the abandoned
bungee cords and neckerchiefs and other stray items i
usually find along the road to turn up. But the
narrow country byways make for the most idyllic of
cycling. Whenever there is a squiggle in the road
ahead I imagine the l89 strong pelton of the Tour de
France ahead snaking down the road in all its
colourful splendor. There are fields of bright yellow
flowers of a soy bean in bloom along the road that
every Tour de France photographer would want to
include in the foreground of his shot of the peloton
racing past. The Tour in its 90 years has ridden just
about every road of France. A farmer we talked to for
about half an hour our first day on the road
mentioned, without us asking, that the Tour had passed
his farm 3 years ago. Its alway heartening to know tht
we are riding roads that many of the cycling greats
have also ridden. In Iceland the question I had for
everyone I met was if they ate putrefied shark meat.
Here it will be, when last did the Tour de France pass
here. And I imagine everyoe will brighten and have a
fond memory.
France is also a touring cyclist's dream with the
great variety of food it has to offer. The deli's in
the supermarkets all have tabouli and quiche lorraine
and potato salad, but not mere potato salad, but
potato salad with bits of ham. The French tuly love
food and when they have a passion for something, such
Friends, No one warned us when we went on line
yesterday at the LeBlanc library that it closed at
noon for lunch, thus the abrupt end to my previous
message. We were in a separate internet room with 8
computers that we had all to ourselves except for one
other person. We couldnt have been happier. We had
our lunch with us and had settled in for what we hoped
would be a couple hour break from the road. When we
were informed it was closing time, it was closing
time. We did manage to find another library at 5 pm,
but it had only one computer and closed at 5:30. We
were thwarted at another town in the middle of the
afternoon whose lone store that offered the internet
was inexplicably closed. As Jesse and I sat in the
tiny square of the small town waiting for the office
to open, we watched a parade of locals come by the
shop, check the door and walk off. In 30 minutes we
saw at least 20 people come and go, a veritable cross
section of the town. It was as entertaining as a Tati
movie watching their varied reactions of frustration.
After five or six, we couldnt help but laugh as each
person approached, anticipating their reaction. It
was better than being on the internet.
Anyway, when I left off yesterday, I was
commenting on the French devotion to meat, and was
about to add that friend Florence, who is a
vegetarian, deferred to the ways of her country and
put out a spread of meat along with cheese when we
overnighted with her and Rashid in Tours two days ago.
She said her family and friends think something is
seriously wrong with her after returning from America
a non-meat eater after being away nearly 20 years.
Jesse and I didnt need meat, but Florence thought we
might after biking 150 miles from Paris in two days,
so went overboard in welcoming us. We joyously arrived
at their apartment at 6 p.m., and gabbed non-stop
until nearly 2 a.m. like long lost friends who havent
seen each other in years, when, in fact, it had only
been ten months since she and Rashid had left Chicago.
Even if there hadnt been plenty to catch up on,
Florence and I could carry on for hours trading war
stories from the seven years we fought together on the
same battlefield--the streets of Chicago as bicycle
messengers. Jesse, too, could chip in a few stories
after messengering in Philadelphia for the past two
months. It was a shame that Jesse and I have no time
to spare to make it to Cannes, so we had to be off the
next day. Florence was off to school the first thing
in the morning, but Rashid was able to give us a quick
tour of Tours before we were on our way. Florence
even let him use her super light aluminum racing bike
to lead us around. This is the heart Chateau country
and Tours had one to offer, though it was quite
pint-sized compared to some of the monstrosities we
had seen as we bicycled along the Loire River.
From Florence our next destination is Craig
MacDonald, another Chicago bicyclist who lives six
months of the year in a town of 50 about 40 miles
north of the Mediterraen about 350 miles south of
Tours. I have a couple of bicycle parts to deliver.
We were hoping to be able to spend more than an
evening with him as Craig said he had loads of roads
he'd like to bicycle with us, but once again it
doesnt look as if time will allow. We arent making as
good time as we had hoped due to the rolling terrain.
We climbed over 4500 feet yesterday in 88 miles and
today in 30 miles we have climbed 2100 feet already.
Fortunately the temperature is cool, not even 60, so
we're not overheating, but it is extra cool in the
early morning. When it's raining, it's almost as cold
as Iceland in July.
We were saved having to set up camp in the rain
last night, but just barely. We camped just outside
Guret, which will be one of the finish line cities for
this year's Tour de France. We camped in a field that
was staked out for construction alongside the raod the
Tour riders will pass. Today we are riding roads that
will be part of the Tour's longest stage, 150 miles
from Limoges to St. Floret. I havent decided if I
will return to witness these stages or not. I'm
looking forward to being part of the throngs alongside
the road cheering the riders as they pass after a
truck driver today cheered me as he passed on a long
climb just as he would one of his favorite riders.
The race touches all here. Rashid even admitted to
being captivated by the hours of television coverage
he watched last summer, even tho he never really had
an interest in it when he was living in Chicago. He's
looking forward to watching it on tv again this July.
We go in to a couple of bakeries every day, Jesse
for a baguette and pastries and whatever, and I for
their more nutritional fare--quiches and potato
patties and pate's in a biscuit and other surprises.
They are always a delight giving a distinct local
flavor, and Jesse, with his fluency in French, often
has an interesting conversaton when we have the shop
to ourself. An older guy in the pastry shop in the
town with the closed internet shop told us about
visting Chicago. He said it wasnt anything like the
movies--it was clean and didnt have any gangsters.
Jesse is protecting me from any suggestions of
anti-Americanism I might have detected with my minimal
French. So far, everyone has been charming and
conversational. Jesse is greatly enhancing the
experience and saving me countelss frustrations, they
they too can be very telling aspects to one's travels.
But I will have a chance to experience France on my
own when we split off and Jesse heads to Berlin where
his girl friend will be studying this summer.
Later, George
Friends: Paris is truly the film capital of the
universe. Jim Jarmusch's Coffee and Cigarettes, which
has yet to open in the US, is playing on eight screens
here. It may have a couple week run at the Music
Box when it finally comes to Chicago, unless Bill
Murray mania wins it the attention it deserves.
Murray is in only one of the ten or so ten minute
segments of this series of shorts that Jarmusch has
been filming over the years, all invovling two people
sitting and drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes or
alluding to such, but he overhwelms the film, which
abounds with Jarmusch's delightful,off-beat humor.
Murray is rip-roaing hilarious playing himself as a
waiter serving a couple of hip-hop artists and begging
them not to tell anyone he's working as a waiter, as
he drinks coffee from the pot that the hip hop artits
dont care to drink. They know the perils of caffeine,
and nicotine as well. My traveling companion Jesse
and I were hurting from our laughter.
It was a great way to rest our legs this afternoon
after spending all morning wandering around Paris on
our bikes with Jesse leading the way showing me all
his favorites places from when he spend 6 months here
as a student two years ago. Many of those favorite
sites were the many, many movie theatres that abound
here. Some offer a monthly pass letting one see
everything on their multiple screens, some of which
may be a part of a chain, for 18 or so Euros. There
is one that has a weekly triple feature starting at
midnight that concludes with breakfast, all for ten
Euros. Brown Bunny, last year's Cannes show-stopper,
which also awaits a US release, is playing. And there
is the usual Jarmusch retrospective going at one of
the theatres. He is a virtual deity here, or at least
royalty. One review referred to him as The Prince of
Independent Cinema. One of the first things Jesse did
when we began our explorations this morning after
arriving last night was to purchase the weekly booklet
that lists all the movie theatres and what's playing.
It is mind boggling. The Cannes poster, a tribute to
Marilyn Monroe's uplifted dress, is already on
display, even though the festival doesnt start for
nearly two weeks and is 500 miles away. But it is a
great national event and celebration. If we werent
headed there it would be difficult not to go movie
crazy, especially since we have crashing privileges
with a friend of Jesse's from his time here who lives
in the shadow of Sacre Coeur in Montmarte.
The bike is also celebrated here. As we biked the
21 miles from the airport to Montmarte last night on
our fully loaded bikes a passing bicyclist greeted us
with the exclamation "Bon Courage." As I guarded our
bikes this morning while Jesse was in the American
Express office changing money, the Bob Matter of Paris
came over and told me about a gathering of cylists
that happens on every Friday night, not just the last
Friday of every month as happens elsewhere across the
world. Even tho its not called a Critical Mass, my
new friend Michel said the bicylists proceed to take
over the streets, including the Champs Elysees, and
have a jolly good time like Crtical Massers the world
over. He said last Friday they had over 750 cyclists
and enthusiastically encouraged us to join in. He
even had a map that he gave me showing its starting
point just a block from Notre Dame. This 60 year old
gent went on on like some disciple preaching the
gospel of the bike, saying what a joy and how
worthwhile it is to ride and expressing great glee
over the three months of biking Europe that Jesse and
I have ahead of us. He said France is "late" on
bicycles compared to Holland and Denmark and Sweden,
but it is trying to catch up. But one thing France
isnt "late" on is the Tour de France, which he also
gushed over. He said he had his picture taken last
year with two of Lance's teammates on the Champs
Elysees at the conclusion of the race. He's never gone
to the mountains to witness first hand the dramatics
of the race, so he couldnt help but pound me on my
back to congratulate me for coming all the way from
America to do just that. He said he'd be rooting for
Lance to win number 6, just as I will be.
One more day in Paris and then on to former
Chicago bike messenger and Critical Masser Florence in
Tours, maybe a two day ride away.
Later, George
Friends, All early indications are France is a touring
cyclist's paradise. Except for having to set up our
tents in the rain twice, we have no complaints
whatsoever. Camping wild has been a snap, once in an
apple orchard and last night down a tractor path
alongside a field into a bit of a forest. We didnt
even have to wiat until the cover of dark to make our
camping clandestinem and for that we are grateful as
its not getting dark here until 9:30, All that extra
daylight will be nice later on when we are stronger
and can ride without tiring, but we're still finding
our legs. Jesse says his legs are just getting used
to their first real touring experience and they need
to be broken in like a young colt to the saddle.
Before long they will be eager to be at it and wont
want to stop.
The roads have been narrow and without any
shoulder, but the French appreciate and applaud anyone
on a bike, so they slow and wait patiently, if they
must, to pass us. The only disadvantage to the lack
of shoulders is there is no place for the abandoned
bungee cords and neckerchiefs and other stray items i
usually find along the road to turn up. But the
narrow country byways make for the most idyllic of
cycling. Whenever there is a squiggle in the road
ahead I imagine the l89 strong pelton of the Tour de
France ahead snaking down the road in all its
colourful splendor. There are fields of bright yellow
flowers of a soy bean in bloom along the road that
every Tour de France photographer would want to
include in the foreground of his shot of the peloton
racing past. The Tour in its 90 years has ridden just
about every road of France. A farmer we talked to for
about half an hour our first day on the road
mentioned, without us asking, that the Tour had passed
his farm 3 years ago. Its alway heartening to know tht
we are riding roads that many of the cycling greats
have also ridden. In Iceland the question I had for
everyone I met was if they ate putrefied shark meat.
Here it will be, when last did the Tour de France pass
here. And I imagine everyoe will brighten and have a
fond memory.
France is also a touring cyclist's dream with the
great variety of food it has to offer. The deli's in
the supermarkets all have tabouli and quiche lorraine
and potato salad, but not mere potato salad, but
potato salad with bits of ham. The French tuly love
food and when they have a passion for something, such
Friends, No one warned us when we went on line
yesterday at the LeBlanc library that it closed at
noon for lunch, thus the abrupt end to my previous
message. We were in a separate internet room with 8
computers that we had all to ourselves except for one
other person. We couldnt have been happier. We had
our lunch with us and had settled in for what we hoped
would be a couple hour break from the road. When we
were informed it was closing time, it was closing
time. We did manage to find another library at 5 pm,
but it had only one computer and closed at 5:30. We
were thwarted at another town in the middle of the
afternoon whose lone store that offered the internet
was inexplicably closed. As Jesse and I sat in the
tiny square of the small town waiting for the office
to open, we watched a parade of locals come by the
shop, check the door and walk off. In 30 minutes we
saw at least 20 people come and go, a veritable cross
section of the town. It was as entertaining as a Tati
movie watching their varied reactions of frustration.
After five or six, we couldnt help but laugh as each
person approached, anticipating their reaction. It
was better than being on the internet.
Anyway, when I left off yesterday, I was
commenting on the French devotion to meat, and was
about to add that friend Florence, who is a
vegetarian, deferred to the ways of her country and
put out a spread of meat along with cheese when we
overnighted with her and Rashid in Tours two days ago.
She said her family and friends think something is
seriously wrong with her after returning from America
a non-meat eater after being away nearly 20 years.
Jesse and I didnt need meat, but Florence thought we
might after biking 150 miles from Paris in two days,
so went overboard in welcoming us. We joyously arrived
at their apartment at 6 p.m., and gabbed non-stop
until nearly 2 a.m. like long lost friends who havent
seen each other in years, when, in fact, it had only
been ten months since she and Rashid had left Chicago.
Even if there hadnt been plenty to catch up on,
Florence and I could carry on for hours trading war
stories from the seven years we fought together on the
same battlefield--the streets of Chicago as bicycle
messengers. Jesse, too, could chip in a few stories
after messengering in Philadelphia for the past two
months. It was a shame that Jesse and I have no time
to spare to make it to Cannes, so we had to be off the
next day. Florence was off to school the first thing
in the morning, but Rashid was able to give us a quick
tour of Tours before we were on our way. Florence
even let him use her super light aluminum racing bike
to lead us around. This is the heart Chateau country
and Tours had one to offer, though it was quite
pint-sized compared to some of the monstrosities we
had seen as we bicycled along the Loire River.
From Florence our next destination is Craig
MacDonald, another Chicago bicyclist who lives six
months of the year in a town of 50 about 40 miles
north of the Mediterraen about 350 miles south of
Tours. I have a couple of bicycle parts to deliver.
We were hoping to be able to spend more than an
evening with him as Craig said he had loads of roads
he'd like to bicycle with us, but once again it
doesnt look as if time will allow. We arent making as
good time as we had hoped due to the rolling terrain.
We climbed over 4500 feet yesterday in 88 miles and
today in 30 miles we have climbed 2100 feet already.
Fortunately the temperature is cool, not even 60, so
we're not overheating, but it is extra cool in the
early morning. When it's raining, it's almost as cold
as Iceland in July.
We were saved having to set up camp in the rain
last night, but just barely. We camped just outside
Guret, which will be one of the finish line cities for
this year's Tour de France. We camped in a field that
was staked out for construction alongside the raod the
Tour riders will pass. Today we are riding roads that
will be part of the Tour's longest stage, 150 miles
from Limoges to St. Floret. I havent decided if I
will return to witness these stages or not. I'm
looking forward to being part of the throngs alongside
the road cheering the riders as they pass after a
truck driver today cheered me as he passed on a long
climb just as he would one of his favorite riders.
The race touches all here. Rashid even admitted to
being captivated by the hours of television coverage
he watched last summer, even tho he never really had
an interest in it when he was living in Chicago. He's
looking forward to watching it on tv again this July.
We go in to a couple of bakeries every day, Jesse
for a baguette and pastries and whatever, and I for
their more nutritional fare--quiches and potato
patties and pate's in a biscuit and other surprises.
They are always a delight giving a distinct local
flavor, and Jesse, with his fluency in French, often
has an interesting conversaton when we have the shop
to ourself. An older guy in the pastry shop in the
town with the closed internet shop told us about
visting Chicago. He said it wasnt anything like the
movies--it was clean and didnt have any gangsters.
Jesse is protecting me from any suggestions of
anti-Americanism I might have detected with my minimal
French. So far, everyone has been charming and
conversational. Jesse is greatly enhancing the
experience and saving me countelss frustrations, they
they too can be very telling aspects to one's travels.
But I will have a chance to experience France on my
own when we split off and Jesse heads to Berlin where
his girl friend will be studying this summer.
Later, George
George Writes and Bikes - From France
Vital Information is pleased to put out the writing and reports of George, the incredible biker. George occasionally gets around Chicago as a messenger, but whenever he gets a chance, he hits the world. Recent adventures include Iceland, Thailand, the Western USA and South America. You should well enjoy these reports.
Vital Information is pleased to put out the writing and reports of George, the incredible biker. George occasionally gets around Chicago as a messenger, but whenever he gets a chance, he hits the world. Recent adventures include Iceland, Thailand, the Western USA and South America. You should well enjoy these reports.
Saturday, May 22, 2004
Ned Beatty in the Kitchen
Last night, in a hurry to get to a party at the chowhoundita's school, we slapped together some turkey sandwiches (very fine turkey from Fox & Obel, thanks for asking). With about ten minutes to spare, I hauled out a cabbage and made cole slaw. That's what I do. I make cole slaw.
Everyone should have a dish. Thousands of Frenchmen know how to expertly swirl an omelet pan in such a way that the eggs always avoid the ashes of the Gitane. After all, in the other hand one would expect to find a glass of wine. Wiseguys learn red gravy as they go to the mattresses, and if they get caught, they fry steaks on the hot plate with garlic literally sliced razor thin. Whether seeking seduction or a sit-down or just a way to moisten up that turkey sammy, I make cole slaw.
It is not a dish that brings accolades. John Kass has not contacted me to take my five step cole slaw process. I cannot, like my friend Joan, impress people with birthday cole slaw. Cole slaw is never a star dish. It is the Ned Beatty of cuisine. You recognize the face each time, even as it takes on new accents, but you are not at the movie because of him. It seems odd, perhaps for some to think of me as committed to such an unassuming dish, as unassuming is surely not they way I am typically described.
Cole Slaw appeals to nearly everything I want and need out of the kitchen. First of all, it is cheap. I can almost always buy a cabbage for under a buck, and that one cabbage will always create as much cole slaw as I need. In fact, cabbage is a rather spiritual vegetable is it not. I mean ever notice how one tiny cabbage, smaller than a Chicago softball can suffice for both teams, the umpires and most of the cheering sections. I believe that cabbage was the food described in the bible as manna, as today it makes a fine topping to those twin desert staples, falafel and shwarma. Cabbage also appeals to my fetish for eating seasonal and eating local. I fantasize about going a whole winter with eating pretty much only cabbage from my root cellar, the way a Hasid wears the clothes of the shtetl, just to do it like they did it. For another thing, cole slaw plays to my kitchen skills. Rather, I shall say, cole slaw barely taxes any kitchen skill. I can take my chef knife, almost core the cabbage and then blast away like I have real knife art 'cause there is hardly a way to screw up cutting the cabbage for cole slaw. And if it does not work one way, I just turn the pieces around and try another. I've made cabbage with thin shreds, chips, platelets, food processor mince, box grater grate and all manner in between. Who cares.
No matter how I slice the stuff, I can make it taste good. I learned how to make cabbage from my mother, who unlike me, has a more impressive dish, rack of lamb. Hers is a no lose formula: salt, sugar, mayonnaise and vinegar mixed in parts until it tastes good. Of course, being a cole slaw specialist, I moved on from the basics. I'll add things. I mix up mayo with oil. I'll make it spicy. I'll make it garlic heady. With cole slaw, I can be of a thousand places. Yellow mustard and I've made it Carolina style [ed is that not Memphis style?]. Caraway seeds and it is something Nordic. Rice vinegar and not much else and is summo, Japanese cole slaw. The variations go on. If I was Chef G at Trio, I would make cabbage ice cream with aerated mayonnaise foam, but I am not. I am Ned Beatty.
Last night, in a hurry to get to a party at the chowhoundita's school, we slapped together some turkey sandwiches (very fine turkey from Fox & Obel, thanks for asking). With about ten minutes to spare, I hauled out a cabbage and made cole slaw. That's what I do. I make cole slaw.
Everyone should have a dish. Thousands of Frenchmen know how to expertly swirl an omelet pan in such a way that the eggs always avoid the ashes of the Gitane. After all, in the other hand one would expect to find a glass of wine. Wiseguys learn red gravy as they go to the mattresses, and if they get caught, they fry steaks on the hot plate with garlic literally sliced razor thin. Whether seeking seduction or a sit-down or just a way to moisten up that turkey sammy, I make cole slaw.
It is not a dish that brings accolades. John Kass has not contacted me to take my five step cole slaw process. I cannot, like my friend Joan, impress people with birthday cole slaw. Cole slaw is never a star dish. It is the Ned Beatty of cuisine. You recognize the face each time, even as it takes on new accents, but you are not at the movie because of him. It seems odd, perhaps for some to think of me as committed to such an unassuming dish, as unassuming is surely not they way I am typically described.
Cole Slaw appeals to nearly everything I want and need out of the kitchen. First of all, it is cheap. I can almost always buy a cabbage for under a buck, and that one cabbage will always create as much cole slaw as I need. In fact, cabbage is a rather spiritual vegetable is it not. I mean ever notice how one tiny cabbage, smaller than a Chicago softball can suffice for both teams, the umpires and most of the cheering sections. I believe that cabbage was the food described in the bible as manna, as today it makes a fine topping to those twin desert staples, falafel and shwarma. Cabbage also appeals to my fetish for eating seasonal and eating local. I fantasize about going a whole winter with eating pretty much only cabbage from my root cellar, the way a Hasid wears the clothes of the shtetl, just to do it like they did it. For another thing, cole slaw plays to my kitchen skills. Rather, I shall say, cole slaw barely taxes any kitchen skill. I can take my chef knife, almost core the cabbage and then blast away like I have real knife art 'cause there is hardly a way to screw up cutting the cabbage for cole slaw. And if it does not work one way, I just turn the pieces around and try another. I've made cabbage with thin shreds, chips, platelets, food processor mince, box grater grate and all manner in between. Who cares.
No matter how I slice the stuff, I can make it taste good. I learned how to make cabbage from my mother, who unlike me, has a more impressive dish, rack of lamb. Hers is a no lose formula: salt, sugar, mayonnaise and vinegar mixed in parts until it tastes good. Of course, being a cole slaw specialist, I moved on from the basics. I'll add things. I mix up mayo with oil. I'll make it spicy. I'll make it garlic heady. With cole slaw, I can be of a thousand places. Yellow mustard and I've made it Carolina style [ed is that not Memphis style?]. Caraway seeds and it is something Nordic. Rice vinegar and not much else and is summo, Japanese cole slaw. The variations go on. If I was Chef G at Trio, I would make cabbage ice cream with aerated mayonnaise foam, but I am not. I am Ned Beatty.
Friday, May 21, 2004
Hot Hot Tofu - So Dong Tofu
So Dong Tofu House – This place pretty much serves one thing, tofu soup. There are about 8 varieties on the menu, but at the end of the day, they hardly matter. You get this steaming, I mean steaming crock of filled with very fresh, soft tofu hiding under a very scary coating of red chili broth. You crack an egg into this cauldron. The heat sterilizes this for you do not worry, and you enjoy at the pace your Western tongue can stand. With your hot hot (both) tofu, you will get another crock of rice. You let your rice sizzle for a bit, creating a bottom layer of crispies known in the trade as “raspa”, then transfer your rice to a stainless steel metal bowl. Oddly to you (maybe), you then wash out the raspa with your hot tea. Eventually, you’ll be taking micro-sips from your 3 bowls, tofu, rice and barley soup with rice krispies. Panchan, again, is your only relief. It is a very intense and satisfying meal. 3307 W. Brn Mawr Chicago, IL
So Dong Tofu House – This place pretty much serves one thing, tofu soup. There are about 8 varieties on the menu, but at the end of the day, they hardly matter. You get this steaming, I mean steaming crock of filled with very fresh, soft tofu hiding under a very scary coating of red chili broth. You crack an egg into this cauldron. The heat sterilizes this for you do not worry, and you enjoy at the pace your Western tongue can stand. With your hot hot (both) tofu, you will get another crock of rice. You let your rice sizzle for a bit, creating a bottom layer of crispies known in the trade as “raspa”, then transfer your rice to a stainless steel metal bowl. Oddly to you (maybe), you then wash out the raspa with your hot tea. Eventually, you’ll be taking micro-sips from your 3 bowls, tofu, rice and barley soup with rice krispies. Panchan, again, is your only relief. It is a very intense and satisfying meal. 3307 W. Brn Mawr Chicago, IL
Todai Today
Not wanting to ruminate in front of a computer today, I accompanied the Condiment Queen to the edge city around Woodfield for some errands. We thought about Shaw's but ended at Todai the chain "seafood" restaurant in the mall. Think you come to this place for the all you can eat sushi? Maybe. But really come to Todai for the cookies. I do not know if I have had finer cookies in a restaurant.
We arrived at Todai a few minutes before opening. Not only does this negate too much waiting, it gets you a loud greeting and a bow from the staff. Then, one by one they lead you past the stations: desserts (try our special tofumitzu we were told), tempura, noodles, soup, hot food, fruit, salads and the reason for most other people, the sushi. My instinct said to start with hot foods, that with a buffet nothing hot could really be that good soon. Yet, my sense of meal decorum made me eat some salads first. Then the hot foods. Then the sushi. Then the cookies.
Last week on the listserv that a lot of Chicago foodies subscribe, there was debate on the nature of Asians in a restaurant as a mark of splendor. Todai would be the ideal location for the dueling positions to duke it out. For one thing, the majority Asian clientele was clearly to my trained eye soley Japanese. It represented a mix of peoples. For another thing, what do all these people know about food? Clearly, Todai speaks to various Asian sensibilities, some I understand, some remain hidden to me. The place is large, bright, technologically advanced and designed to the extreme. All it is missing is some Pokemon cards and a few hello kitty tchotkes to complete the scene. It seems a bit Vegas too, but having been to Asia and having been to Vegas, I know the difference.
OK, does Asian sensibilities mean fake crab and small shrimp. Todai uses a lot of both. I avoided the former and handled the latter fried twice as tempura and with breading fine. Most of the sushi tasted fine too. The kind of sushi that tastes very fine as all you can eat, but maybe not what you want at Katsu or Heat. The sushi selection included conch, mackerel with lemon zest, squid, snapper and a few other things that made this more than just combination A, so I liked also the fact that I could sample. Of the salads, they achieved about a 33% success rate, which is astonishing low for salad, stick with the winners, seaweed and cucumber and shredded cabbage. I took small samples of filet mignon with broccoli, chicken tempura and green lip mussels in the very Asian style of hot mayo, and as small samples, they were fine. None of that stuff would be worth a meal. Still, what I liked most about Todai, and most makes me want to return, the cookies and other desserts.
Know what? I skipped the tofumitzu (but could not resist another chance to say tofumitzu--if you know me as well as Ms. VI or the chowhounditas, you might know that I'm gonna spend the rest of the night, maybe the rest of the weekend saying tofumitzu.) I did not skip much else on the sweet table. Those used to mochi and fried green tea ice cream may be surprised by the dessert aesthetic in Asia. What Japan did once to European cars, they have also done with European desserts. Re-created them, yet accentuated the absolute details. Little jewels of cheesecake, cherry tart and almond bars seemed far better than their models. No place, however, does Japan out France France though is in the cookies. Dream cookies. Cookies that linger over your tongue for seconds then evaporate into thousands of molecules of chocolate, sugar and butter, so much butter.
Sushi and cookies, perhaps my execution menu.
Todai is in the Woodfield Mall in Schaumburg, IL
Not wanting to ruminate in front of a computer today, I accompanied the Condiment Queen to the edge city around Woodfield for some errands. We thought about Shaw's but ended at Todai the chain "seafood" restaurant in the mall. Think you come to this place for the all you can eat sushi? Maybe. But really come to Todai for the cookies. I do not know if I have had finer cookies in a restaurant.
We arrived at Todai a few minutes before opening. Not only does this negate too much waiting, it gets you a loud greeting and a bow from the staff. Then, one by one they lead you past the stations: desserts (try our special tofumitzu we were told), tempura, noodles, soup, hot food, fruit, salads and the reason for most other people, the sushi. My instinct said to start with hot foods, that with a buffet nothing hot could really be that good soon. Yet, my sense of meal decorum made me eat some salads first. Then the hot foods. Then the sushi. Then the cookies.
Last week on the listserv that a lot of Chicago foodies subscribe, there was debate on the nature of Asians in a restaurant as a mark of splendor. Todai would be the ideal location for the dueling positions to duke it out. For one thing, the majority Asian clientele was clearly to my trained eye soley Japanese. It represented a mix of peoples. For another thing, what do all these people know about food? Clearly, Todai speaks to various Asian sensibilities, some I understand, some remain hidden to me. The place is large, bright, technologically advanced and designed to the extreme. All it is missing is some Pokemon cards and a few hello kitty tchotkes to complete the scene. It seems a bit Vegas too, but having been to Asia and having been to Vegas, I know the difference.
OK, does Asian sensibilities mean fake crab and small shrimp. Todai uses a lot of both. I avoided the former and handled the latter fried twice as tempura and with breading fine. Most of the sushi tasted fine too. The kind of sushi that tastes very fine as all you can eat, but maybe not what you want at Katsu or Heat. The sushi selection included conch, mackerel with lemon zest, squid, snapper and a few other things that made this more than just combination A, so I liked also the fact that I could sample. Of the salads, they achieved about a 33% success rate, which is astonishing low for salad, stick with the winners, seaweed and cucumber and shredded cabbage. I took small samples of filet mignon with broccoli, chicken tempura and green lip mussels in the very Asian style of hot mayo, and as small samples, they were fine. None of that stuff would be worth a meal. Still, what I liked most about Todai, and most makes me want to return, the cookies and other desserts.
Know what? I skipped the tofumitzu (but could not resist another chance to say tofumitzu--if you know me as well as Ms. VI or the chowhounditas, you might know that I'm gonna spend the rest of the night, maybe the rest of the weekend saying tofumitzu.) I did not skip much else on the sweet table. Those used to mochi and fried green tea ice cream may be surprised by the dessert aesthetic in Asia. What Japan did once to European cars, they have also done with European desserts. Re-created them, yet accentuated the absolute details. Little jewels of cheesecake, cherry tart and almond bars seemed far better than their models. No place, however, does Japan out France France though is in the cookies. Dream cookies. Cookies that linger over your tongue for seconds then evaporate into thousands of molecules of chocolate, sugar and butter, so much butter.
Sushi and cookies, perhaps my execution menu.
Todai is in the Woodfield Mall in Schaumburg, IL
Thursday, May 20, 2004
My Damn Good Chow Day
GWiv wrote about his fine chow day last Saturday. I've rather pressed with irks, real and perceived, to get to my damn good chow day, but here is is.
The chow day part of the day began when we parked our car near the Zim house and caught the aroma of Hecky's just begging to gurgle. Oddly, when the Hecky's stuff first gets going, it smells a lot more like bacon than anything. We did not eat any Hecky's, but it put us in the mood for good food to come.
We shopped the Evanston Farmer's Market with Ms. Zim. It was my first ever visit to this market often cited as the best in the area. Guess what. It's not. If I accessed the markets on the following factors: community feel, availability of fresh donuts, Hayes coffee, specialty produce, organic produce, meat, overall selection, and donuts, well I got to pick Oak Park. It was still a great market. We got award winning, odors not contained in the plastic provolone cheese, Michigan asparagus, rhubarb, and radishes. I admired the morel mushrooms at not one but two vendors, and also envied Green Acres from Indiana that has stuff not found in Oak Park. Still, I missed my donuts and Hayes coffee. Really, in my view, the market also seemed a bit disjointed, a bit less community like, but maybe that was 'cause I ran into no neighbors.
From the market we had some home-made chai from Zim, who made the tea too weak because of bad influences from his mother. We then had a very fine lunch at Thai Home Made. Thai Home Made has nicely translated its menu, so there is no risk of not know what to get, and all of our dishes were heady with fish sauce, so I thought we got it pretty good. After lunch, however, the waitress told me that they did not really make the food Thai style for us. That if they did, it would have been spicier. I guess if the food we had sucked, I would have been pissed, but as the food did not suck, how much could I care. Pork shoulder salad, Chinese broccoli with browned bits of garlic, satay, chicken laab, chive dumplings, bamboo shoot salad--a very green version, different than Thai Avenue's, fried chicken wings. Nothing stood out as much as Spoon Thai, but everything tasted fine nonetheless.
I looked at the some interesting plates of food at Cafe Montenegro next door. Zim warned me and then we split.
The VI family ended up on da'bomb. First stop was actually off of Devon, on California. Acardia is one of those mysterious Brigadoon type of places [Brigadoon is the place that shows up every 7 years right?]. It is pretty much never open when we walk by, and I really thought it just out of business. Not on this day. An older Russian lady sat, rather sad looking. It looked like no one was eating her food. Set up near the cash register was her entire output for the day. One mad dash through the kitchen, leaving an array of things for people to buy and take away. Language issues precluded us from fully knowing what everything was, but we sure took enough of it. Potato latkes stuffed with meat, ground chicken patties, kasha, blintzes, a stew of chicken and potatoes. We ate it later in the week, and it tasted exactly as it looked. Conceived by someone who wanted you to be well fed.
We took two versions of tea on da'bomb that afternoon. Strong Turkish tea in tiny glass glasses at the Turkish place and strong milky tea, the best I've had in ages, at Tahoora Sweets. We got a great deal on strawberries at Fresh Fruit Market and another one of those yeasty round breads from Argo.
We finished the stellar chow day at Tufano's with the lemon chicken, not quite as great as usual, and a bowl of worms, a/k/a cavatelli in red gravy.
I'll dig up addresses later.
GWiv wrote about his fine chow day last Saturday. I've rather pressed with irks, real and perceived, to get to my damn good chow day, but here is is.
The chow day part of the day began when we parked our car near the Zim house and caught the aroma of Hecky's just begging to gurgle. Oddly, when the Hecky's stuff first gets going, it smells a lot more like bacon than anything. We did not eat any Hecky's, but it put us in the mood for good food to come.
We shopped the Evanston Farmer's Market with Ms. Zim. It was my first ever visit to this market often cited as the best in the area. Guess what. It's not. If I accessed the markets on the following factors: community feel, availability of fresh donuts, Hayes coffee, specialty produce, organic produce, meat, overall selection, and donuts, well I got to pick Oak Park. It was still a great market. We got award winning, odors not contained in the plastic provolone cheese, Michigan asparagus, rhubarb, and radishes. I admired the morel mushrooms at not one but two vendors, and also envied Green Acres from Indiana that has stuff not found in Oak Park. Still, I missed my donuts and Hayes coffee. Really, in my view, the market also seemed a bit disjointed, a bit less community like, but maybe that was 'cause I ran into no neighbors.
From the market we had some home-made chai from Zim, who made the tea too weak because of bad influences from his mother. We then had a very fine lunch at Thai Home Made. Thai Home Made has nicely translated its menu, so there is no risk of not know what to get, and all of our dishes were heady with fish sauce, so I thought we got it pretty good. After lunch, however, the waitress told me that they did not really make the food Thai style for us. That if they did, it would have been spicier. I guess if the food we had sucked, I would have been pissed, but as the food did not suck, how much could I care. Pork shoulder salad, Chinese broccoli with browned bits of garlic, satay, chicken laab, chive dumplings, bamboo shoot salad--a very green version, different than Thai Avenue's, fried chicken wings. Nothing stood out as much as Spoon Thai, but everything tasted fine nonetheless.
I looked at the some interesting plates of food at Cafe Montenegro next door. Zim warned me and then we split.
The VI family ended up on da'bomb. First stop was actually off of Devon, on California. Acardia is one of those mysterious Brigadoon type of places [Brigadoon is the place that shows up every 7 years right?]. It is pretty much never open when we walk by, and I really thought it just out of business. Not on this day. An older Russian lady sat, rather sad looking. It looked like no one was eating her food. Set up near the cash register was her entire output for the day. One mad dash through the kitchen, leaving an array of things for people to buy and take away. Language issues precluded us from fully knowing what everything was, but we sure took enough of it. Potato latkes stuffed with meat, ground chicken patties, kasha, blintzes, a stew of chicken and potatoes. We ate it later in the week, and it tasted exactly as it looked. Conceived by someone who wanted you to be well fed.
We took two versions of tea on da'bomb that afternoon. Strong Turkish tea in tiny glass glasses at the Turkish place and strong milky tea, the best I've had in ages, at Tahoora Sweets. We got a great deal on strawberries at Fresh Fruit Market and another one of those yeasty round breads from Argo.
We finished the stellar chow day at Tufano's with the lemon chicken, not quite as great as usual, and a bowl of worms, a/k/a cavatelli in red gravy.
I'll dig up addresses later.
Wednesday, May 19, 2004
LA Donuts Found!
I'm a known donut fetishist. I even swoon over the nearly leaden circles offered each week at my beloved Oak Park Farmer's Market. Imagine my grand surprise when I showed up in LA on a food oriented vacation to learn that LA was not just a donut town, but a donut town.
What makes LA such a wondrous place to eat donuts is the simple fact that they are everywhere. There are a few temples of fry, stance, Primo's, but these really special places are not what makes LA the donut town. It is a donut shop seemingly on every corner. All with the same shapes and flavors and all tasting just great. How can you not like a city where whenever you need a fix of food crack, you have a dealer waiting.
In Chicago and surrounding suburbs, we have a few donuts shops, which makes nearly everyone special, but nothing approaching the vastness of LA. And it turns out that of our few donut shops, one is a LA donut shop.
A bit stressed the other day, I peaked up just by the site of the sign, "Wheeling Donuts." I entered and saw it. A slab of fried, glazed dough seen often in LA known as the buttermilk bar. I felt transported and slightly hankering for a fatburger. I awoke from my day dream to a giggling Khmer woman behind the counter. Seems her family runs some stands out there. My instantly recognizing the LA donut really cracked her up. A LA buttermilk bar made me pretty happy too.
UPDATE: Sorry I gave absolutely no suggestion on how to find LA donuts in Chicago. Wheeling Donuts is on Dundee just east of Rt. 83, south side of the street. There are 2 very interesting looking Mexican places in the same vicinity.
I'm a known donut fetishist. I even swoon over the nearly leaden circles offered each week at my beloved Oak Park Farmer's Market. Imagine my grand surprise when I showed up in LA on a food oriented vacation to learn that LA was not just a donut town, but a donut town.
What makes LA such a wondrous place to eat donuts is the simple fact that they are everywhere. There are a few temples of fry, stance, Primo's, but these really special places are not what makes LA the donut town. It is a donut shop seemingly on every corner. All with the same shapes and flavors and all tasting just great. How can you not like a city where whenever you need a fix of food crack, you have a dealer waiting.
In Chicago and surrounding suburbs, we have a few donuts shops, which makes nearly everyone special, but nothing approaching the vastness of LA. And it turns out that of our few donut shops, one is a LA donut shop.
A bit stressed the other day, I peaked up just by the site of the sign, "Wheeling Donuts." I entered and saw it. A slab of fried, glazed dough seen often in LA known as the buttermilk bar. I felt transported and slightly hankering for a fatburger. I awoke from my day dream to a giggling Khmer woman behind the counter. Seems her family runs some stands out there. My instantly recognizing the LA donut really cracked her up. A LA buttermilk bar made me pretty happy too.
UPDATE: Sorry I gave absolutely no suggestion on how to find LA donuts in Chicago. Wheeling Donuts is on Dundee just east of Rt. 83, south side of the street. There are 2 very interesting looking Mexican places in the same vicinity.
Thursday, May 13, 2004
What's My Obligation to a New Restaurant/What Took Me So Long
Rather quickly, the space next to Armarind on North Avenue near Oak Park Avenue went from for lease, to coming soon, to open as Cafe LaGuardia West. There is actually a Cuban place a few more blocks west, Cafe Cubano, but there is something about this place that turns me off. The portions seem small, the food misses grease, something. Cafe LaGuardia seemed in my memory, to be rather base, more urban, more real, more what I wanted. Cafe LaGuardia West opened for business on Monday.
The Condiment Queen had the great idea to get there early. They would remember us. It would help going forward as they knew us as their FIRST customers. Unfortunately, I am not so sure if we will be repeat customers. I wanted a Cuban sandwich. I specifically asked for no mayo, not a big deal, but one that mattered to my sensibilities. Of course, the sammy came mayo'd. After about 10 minutes, my re-do arrived. I ate about 1/2 when I realized the sandwich was bad, really bad. It was not just the bread, dense, bland Gonnella that works awfully for these things.
A Cuban sandwich, of course, is one of those things that rises above its ingredients, the sum is greater from the press. Still, there is a harmony a magic from those simple ingredients when they all get smooshed. So, when the sandwich tasted that bad. I got curious. I broke the seal and peeked inside. No roast pork. I was eating a sandwich of (very) cheap ham, and overly melted cheese--I believe the sandwich might have been pressed and then nuked or vice-a-versa as the cheese was way different than the meat. After a bit of consternation from Cafe LaGuardia, they decided to free us with no obligation to pay.
Normally, when I eat really bad food, I lose my appetite. For a few moments I did. Yet, soon hunger returned, hunger for another (and better) Cuban sandwich. I decided to give that Cafe Cubano another shot. Could not be worse right? Well, closed. Now, really jonesing for a cubano, I decided to hit the place I've seen many a times, Cafe Prado in Maywood.
A small counter and stool kind of place that you would very much expect to see in the keys or Miami, but in Maywood. I mean it really looks right. Yet a combination of odd hours (or so it seems) and the fact that Maywood never seems like the place you wind up looking for lunch options kept me from actually fulfilling my desire.
Know what. The sandwich was better but only marginally. It still used the same dull bread, but it did have pork and hence worked a whole better. Still, what an infinitely cool place. Beyond that small counter, in fact past an almost forbidding door, stood a good sized dining room. A rec-room decorated room totally un-apparent from the street. It reminded me of the tents in Harry Potter. Outwardly this looked like nothing, within you seemed to be in a 60's era basement (on ground level). The menu contained all sorts of Cuban standards. What really convinced me that I need to return soon is the fact that the menu lists blanks where the prices should be for the various items. See, while the menu lists a lot of stuff, on any given day, only what the cook decided to make is there. My thoughts exactly.
I do not have the addresses for any of these places. Cafe LaGuardia West is on North Avenue just west of Oak Park Avenue. Cafe Cubano is on North near Johnnies in Elmwood Park and El Prado is on Lake Street just west of 5th Avenue in Maywood.
Rather quickly, the space next to Armarind on North Avenue near Oak Park Avenue went from for lease, to coming soon, to open as Cafe LaGuardia West. There is actually a Cuban place a few more blocks west, Cafe Cubano, but there is something about this place that turns me off. The portions seem small, the food misses grease, something. Cafe LaGuardia seemed in my memory, to be rather base, more urban, more real, more what I wanted. Cafe LaGuardia West opened for business on Monday.
The Condiment Queen had the great idea to get there early. They would remember us. It would help going forward as they knew us as their FIRST customers. Unfortunately, I am not so sure if we will be repeat customers. I wanted a Cuban sandwich. I specifically asked for no mayo, not a big deal, but one that mattered to my sensibilities. Of course, the sammy came mayo'd. After about 10 minutes, my re-do arrived. I ate about 1/2 when I realized the sandwich was bad, really bad. It was not just the bread, dense, bland Gonnella that works awfully for these things.
A Cuban sandwich, of course, is one of those things that rises above its ingredients, the sum is greater from the press. Still, there is a harmony a magic from those simple ingredients when they all get smooshed. So, when the sandwich tasted that bad. I got curious. I broke the seal and peeked inside. No roast pork. I was eating a sandwich of (very) cheap ham, and overly melted cheese--I believe the sandwich might have been pressed and then nuked or vice-a-versa as the cheese was way different than the meat. After a bit of consternation from Cafe LaGuardia, they decided to free us with no obligation to pay.
Normally, when I eat really bad food, I lose my appetite. For a few moments I did. Yet, soon hunger returned, hunger for another (and better) Cuban sandwich. I decided to give that Cafe Cubano another shot. Could not be worse right? Well, closed. Now, really jonesing for a cubano, I decided to hit the place I've seen many a times, Cafe Prado in Maywood.
A small counter and stool kind of place that you would very much expect to see in the keys or Miami, but in Maywood. I mean it really looks right. Yet a combination of odd hours (or so it seems) and the fact that Maywood never seems like the place you wind up looking for lunch options kept me from actually fulfilling my desire.
Know what. The sandwich was better but only marginally. It still used the same dull bread, but it did have pork and hence worked a whole better. Still, what an infinitely cool place. Beyond that small counter, in fact past an almost forbidding door, stood a good sized dining room. A rec-room decorated room totally un-apparent from the street. It reminded me of the tents in Harry Potter. Outwardly this looked like nothing, within you seemed to be in a 60's era basement (on ground level). The menu contained all sorts of Cuban standards. What really convinced me that I need to return soon is the fact that the menu lists blanks where the prices should be for the various items. See, while the menu lists a lot of stuff, on any given day, only what the cook decided to make is there. My thoughts exactly.
I do not have the addresses for any of these places. Cafe LaGuardia West is on North Avenue just west of Oak Park Avenue. Cafe Cubano is on North near Johnnies in Elmwood Park and El Prado is on Lake Street just west of 5th Avenue in Maywood.
Monday, May 10, 2004
Blog!
I've been pretty happy with the whole blog process, even if SethZ's stepped in a few times to fancy things up (to the extent that anything is fancied up on my blog). Google purchased Blogger a while back, and they finally made some upgrades (maybe?) in the enterprise. Read about it here.
I've been pretty happy with the whole blog process, even if SethZ's stepped in a few times to fancy things up (to the extent that anything is fancied up on my blog). Google purchased Blogger a while back, and they finally made some upgrades (maybe?) in the enterprise. Read about it here.
Friday, May 07, 2004
D.S.D. Delicatessen & Imports, Inc.
The other day, I jammed a bunch of places into one post 'cause my taste memories were fading. While I have great recall within a few days of a meal, I am no James Beard, remembering every meal ever. It might have been then or never. The compilation post, however, did little justice to the great experience at Le Coq in Oak Park, and even less justice to D.S.D. deli on Lawrence.
As I work my way through my D.S.D. purchases, I am becoming convinced that these may be the best sausages in Chicago. Shockingly good. The texture of the salami impresses me the most. In the mouth it just does not seem like sausage. Somehow, in their sausage making process, they figured out how to fit the meat and fat together like a jig saw puzzle, so that the texture remains entirely solid and compact. Papaya King in New York calls its hot dogs filet mignon on a bun, but D.S.D.'s salami comes down right close to being real meat. If the garlic salami is silk, the dry sausage tube (I apologize I have no idea what these things are called in Serbian, I ordered by sight and taste-test) is Harris tweed, a rough amalgamation of chunks held together by an incredible amount of smoke. As Wiv would say, 2 hours later, you're burping it back. I'm very anxious to return to this place.
3818 W. Lawrence, Chicago.
The other day, I jammed a bunch of places into one post 'cause my taste memories were fading. While I have great recall within a few days of a meal, I am no James Beard, remembering every meal ever. It might have been then or never. The compilation post, however, did little justice to the great experience at Le Coq in Oak Park, and even less justice to D.S.D. deli on Lawrence.
As I work my way through my D.S.D. purchases, I am becoming convinced that these may be the best sausages in Chicago. Shockingly good. The texture of the salami impresses me the most. In the mouth it just does not seem like sausage. Somehow, in their sausage making process, they figured out how to fit the meat and fat together like a jig saw puzzle, so that the texture remains entirely solid and compact. Papaya King in New York calls its hot dogs filet mignon on a bun, but D.S.D.'s salami comes down right close to being real meat. If the garlic salami is silk, the dry sausage tube (I apologize I have no idea what these things are called in Serbian, I ordered by sight and taste-test) is Harris tweed, a rough amalgamation of chunks held together by an incredible amount of smoke. As Wiv would say, 2 hours later, you're burping it back. I'm very anxious to return to this place.
3818 W. Lawrence, Chicago.
Spring World Re-Post
There appears to be posts from Chowhound that are impervious to search & find. Luckily, as the Ultimo, GWiv has encouraged, I have saved many a post. Below is a re-post of a great meal at Spring World, the Yunnan/Szechuan place in the Chinatown Mall.
And the food:
Appetizer plate four ways - conch in a sneaky hot sauce, also very chewy; the famous chicken in black vinegar dressing, maybe the finest dish in the house; mushrooms wrapped around bean curd sheets, more rolls of bean curd than some other local versions; tendon, sliced razor thin, forgotten dressing, but delicious.
Cold Yunnan noodles, like spaghetti, in a multi-flavor sauce, similar to the chicken, but also very heavy on the cilantro. Could have stopped right here.
Beef and special mushrooms in a dark rich sauce - This was a Trio-esque type dish where the richness of the beef merged into the richness of these special mushrooms. Blindfolded, you would not know which was which. (A 4 color brochure was provided for us later to learn more about the imported mushrooms.)
Yunnan ham with leeks - Wow! While I would have loved to have had the ham, procured we are told via a hell of a lot of red-tape, plain with buns, I was plenty happy with this preparation. Yunnan ham really tastes almost exactly like good country ham. The same dense texture, the same intense ham flavor, and the same linger saltiness that tons of soaking cannot kill. Could have stopped here.
Pan fried dumplings - A fine, if un-distinguished, dish. Larger than typical dumplings
Chengdu dumplings (a/k/a boiled dumplings) - A superior version, somehow the called for chili oil was not as oily as it could have been. What was the added grated substance, ginger?
Kung pao chicken - A nod to a first time Chinatowner in our group, yet another superior version. Just the exact amount sauce clinging to the meat and bright fresh peanuts made this a fine dish to eat.
Pigs feet "Hong Tashen" - Hong Tashen, as RST explained to me, is a city in Yunnan and the name of Spring World in Chinese. We were not sure if the dish was meant to be in the style of the city Hong Tashen or in the style of the restaurant named Hong Tashen. Regardless, I am now convinced that I like pigs feet as much as I like spicy desserts, meaning a hell of a lot more than I thought I did. This was a spicy dish, loaded with dried chili peppers, yet unlike some dishes at like, Lao Sze Chuan, the peppers meant something. OK, fatty, chewy and bony too, but all in a good way. Give in to pigs feet!
Tofu and Chinese okra - No one was quite sure what is really Chinese okra. We think it is the long green vegetable also called ohba perhaps and used in Indian cooking. This was a mild satisfying dish that played extremely well against the more rich and spicy other courses.
Spicy baby chicken with ginger - I have had this dish at Spring World before, and it has always been good, but this was gooder, as Sophia might say.
Tilapia fish is horrible looking sauce, insert gross analogy at will, that tasted perfect.
Scallion cakes - Is this getting redundant, the best version I have had in Chicago. Wisps of grease, flaky, crisp and puffy in spots, I could have eaten a dozen.
[Note, on my chowhound report, I failed to mention the salty shrimp in red paste, 'cause, well I guess I did not like it so much.]
Fresh fruit and Yunnan style moon cakes - This is not on the menu, but what the house offered us for dessert. Yunnan moon cakes are totally different than the Cantonese versions, no nuts or bean paste. Instead, an extremely flaky dough, from lard I am sure, filled with tiny bits of Yunnan ham.
There appears to be posts from Chowhound that are impervious to search & find. Luckily, as the Ultimo, GWiv has encouraged, I have saved many a post. Below is a re-post of a great meal at Spring World, the Yunnan/Szechuan place in the Chinatown Mall.
And the food:
Appetizer plate four ways - conch in a sneaky hot sauce, also very chewy; the famous chicken in black vinegar dressing, maybe the finest dish in the house; mushrooms wrapped around bean curd sheets, more rolls of bean curd than some other local versions; tendon, sliced razor thin, forgotten dressing, but delicious.
Cold Yunnan noodles, like spaghetti, in a multi-flavor sauce, similar to the chicken, but also very heavy on the cilantro. Could have stopped right here.
Beef and special mushrooms in a dark rich sauce - This was a Trio-esque type dish where the richness of the beef merged into the richness of these special mushrooms. Blindfolded, you would not know which was which. (A 4 color brochure was provided for us later to learn more about the imported mushrooms.)
Yunnan ham with leeks - Wow! While I would have loved to have had the ham, procured we are told via a hell of a lot of red-tape, plain with buns, I was plenty happy with this preparation. Yunnan ham really tastes almost exactly like good country ham. The same dense texture, the same intense ham flavor, and the same linger saltiness that tons of soaking cannot kill. Could have stopped here.
Pan fried dumplings - A fine, if un-distinguished, dish. Larger than typical dumplings
Chengdu dumplings (a/k/a boiled dumplings) - A superior version, somehow the called for chili oil was not as oily as it could have been. What was the added grated substance, ginger?
Kung pao chicken - A nod to a first time Chinatowner in our group, yet another superior version. Just the exact amount sauce clinging to the meat and bright fresh peanuts made this a fine dish to eat.
Pigs feet "Hong Tashen" - Hong Tashen, as RST explained to me, is a city in Yunnan and the name of Spring World in Chinese. We were not sure if the dish was meant to be in the style of the city Hong Tashen or in the style of the restaurant named Hong Tashen. Regardless, I am now convinced that I like pigs feet as much as I like spicy desserts, meaning a hell of a lot more than I thought I did. This was a spicy dish, loaded with dried chili peppers, yet unlike some dishes at like, Lao Sze Chuan, the peppers meant something. OK, fatty, chewy and bony too, but all in a good way. Give in to pigs feet!
Tofu and Chinese okra - No one was quite sure what is really Chinese okra. We think it is the long green vegetable also called ohba perhaps and used in Indian cooking. This was a mild satisfying dish that played extremely well against the more rich and spicy other courses.
Spicy baby chicken with ginger - I have had this dish at Spring World before, and it has always been good, but this was gooder, as Sophia might say.
Tilapia fish is horrible looking sauce, insert gross analogy at will, that tasted perfect.
Scallion cakes - Is this getting redundant, the best version I have had in Chicago. Wisps of grease, flaky, crisp and puffy in spots, I could have eaten a dozen.
[Note, on my chowhound report, I failed to mention the salty shrimp in red paste, 'cause, well I guess I did not like it so much.]
Fresh fruit and Yunnan style moon cakes - This is not on the menu, but what the house offered us for dessert. Yunnan moon cakes are totally different than the Cantonese versions, no nuts or bean paste. Instead, an extremely flaky dough, from lard I am sure, filled with tiny bits of Yunnan ham.
Wednesday, May 05, 2004
Why New Orleans is such a Great Eating Town
The my city eats better than your city is old, very old. Of course we have to eat what's here, and of course we should like what we have. Still, would not it be pretty nice to have a list like this. From Tom Fitzmorris: [note the typo's are his]
TEN BEST LOCAL SWEET NIBBLES
I'm not talking about desserts, but about snacks. All of this is pretty
junky, when you get down to it. But once in awhile. . .
1. Pralines. The classic local candy. Best flavor: praline.
2. Cannoli. Fried pastry shells stuffed with sweetened ricotta cheese,
candied fruit, and pistachios, dusted with powdered sugar. Brocato's
are, of course, definitive: chocolate on one end, vanilla on the other.
3. Satsumas. They're out of season, but when they're in, they're like
candy.
4. Sweet potato or pecan pies. The little ones, made by guys like the
late Omar the Pieman, or the ones you get at the Jazz Festival.
5. Beignets. It's sad the way beignets, even from the classic producers
of them, have become so terrible. But when they're not too oily or
dense, they're wonderful.
6. Snowballs. I've had my first dozen of the year already. I find myself
asking for less syrup than they usually put on. Best flavor: ice cream.
Worst flavor: licorice.
7. Roman chewing candy. Atmosphere, 10. Taste, 8. Effect on your
fillings and crowns: 1.
8. Heavenly hash. I' not sure whether this is an Elmer's trademark or
not, but there was a time when many candymakers locally made it.
Chocolate, marshmallow (much less of that then Elmer's uses), and
almonds. The famous one was at D. H. Holmes.
9. Calas. Of almost purely historic note now. The ball-shaped rice
cakes, fried then dusted with brown or powdered sugar, were once sold
hot from carts around the city. I mention them here to encourage
someone--anyone--to revive them. (Still great at the Coffee Pot fro
breakfast.)
10. Hubig's lemon delight. I've always felt that there's a lot of room for
improvement in this half-moon-shaped fried pie. The pastry is too
heavy, for example. But when you're in the mood for several hundred
old-style calories, you might have to eat one. I get about one a year.
The my city eats better than your city is old, very old. Of course we have to eat what's here, and of course we should like what we have. Still, would not it be pretty nice to have a list like this. From Tom Fitzmorris: [note the typo's are his]
TEN BEST LOCAL SWEET NIBBLES
I'm not talking about desserts, but about snacks. All of this is pretty
junky, when you get down to it. But once in awhile. . .
1. Pralines. The classic local candy. Best flavor: praline.
2. Cannoli. Fried pastry shells stuffed with sweetened ricotta cheese,
candied fruit, and pistachios, dusted with powdered sugar. Brocato's
are, of course, definitive: chocolate on one end, vanilla on the other.
3. Satsumas. They're out of season, but when they're in, they're like
candy.
4. Sweet potato or pecan pies. The little ones, made by guys like the
late Omar the Pieman, or the ones you get at the Jazz Festival.
5. Beignets. It's sad the way beignets, even from the classic producers
of them, have become so terrible. But when they're not too oily or
dense, they're wonderful.
6. Snowballs. I've had my first dozen of the year already. I find myself
asking for less syrup than they usually put on. Best flavor: ice cream.
Worst flavor: licorice.
7. Roman chewing candy. Atmosphere, 10. Taste, 8. Effect on your
fillings and crowns: 1.
8. Heavenly hash. I' not sure whether this is an Elmer's trademark or
not, but there was a time when many candymakers locally made it.
Chocolate, marshmallow (much less of that then Elmer's uses), and
almonds. The famous one was at D. H. Holmes.
9. Calas. Of almost purely historic note now. The ball-shaped rice
cakes, fried then dusted with brown or powdered sugar, were once sold
hot from carts around the city. I mention them here to encourage
someone--anyone--to revive them. (Still great at the Coffee Pot fro
breakfast.)
10. Hubig's lemon delight. I've always felt that there's a lot of room for
improvement in this half-moon-shaped fried pie. The pastry is too
heavy, for example. But when you're in the mood for several hundred
old-style calories, you might have to eat one. I get about one a year.
Nibbles and Gulps
La Quebrada - The new menu still irks the Condiment Queen as she longs for her calamari ajillo botana. Me, I may be happiest at La Quebrada with the most basic stuff, the antojitos on the back page. Yesterday, I had two tacos cesina and a sope with the unctuous barbacoa de chivo. As Hat Hammond notes, a hand-made tortilla makes any taco, and La Quebrada might make the best tortilla in Illinois. The taco cesina is more than tortilla though. It is a totally successful medley of chip-chopped cesina, refried beans, pico de gallo and guacamole in that hand-made tortilla. The sope does not approach the absolute pleasure of the blue van, but it is still plenty good, with the sope blend of crisp and toothsome. A dollop of Quebrada's deep chipolotle salsa topped the sope and added to the package. Five locations.
Freddy's - Notice a pattern here? More and more, I am convinced that Freddy's is the best food store in Chicago. The level of artisanship and just flat out realness is found almost no where else in Chicago. A lot of places make their own fresh sausage, but at Freddy's, they make their own capicolla, salami, sopresseta and hams as well as their own breads too. Each day there are platters of food wholly reminiscent of Italy. Freddy's can pretty much fit in as a store in Italy. Yesterday, I picked up a round bread I have never seen there before. In texture, it resembled almost their ciabatta, but it was not as dry. It looked and tasted nearly exactly as the baked in the floor breads from Argo Georgian Bakery on Devon, but with a bit more stiffness and not as much yeast. A great bread. 1600 S. 61st Ave
Cicero, IL
Siam House - I've had some outstanding food at this restaurant in Niles that caters as much to Chicago's Thai community as it does to just plain lovers of Thai food, but that outstanding food avoided us the other night. As I mentioned on Chowhound, I did not work hard enough to get Thai-Thai. I know treasures lie buried in Siam's menu for next time. Still, at least one dish impressed me on Sunday, a half-chicken grill roasted and oozing Thai juices. 7742 N. Milwaukee Ave, Niles, IL
D.S.D. Delicatessen & Imports - One of these places you pass hundreds of times and you never think to enter only later to say why kind of places. A Serbian deli offering five (at least) varieties of red pepper spreads and the other basics of Euro important--chocolate wafer cookies, sour cherries in syrup, etc. In back are the meats. They roast and hack pigs, visually ultra-appealing with orange stiff skin, and they make a variety of smoked products. They eagerly sliced bits for me to try, practically forcing me to buy a garlic salami and two kinds of dry sausage. We put the product in the trunk, but within 20 minutes of driving, the entire car reeked Serbian. 3818 W. Lawrence, Chicago
Salam - With a bunch of restaurants around the Kedzie - Lawrence intersection, why do we almost always eat at Salam. Salam is not one of these restaurants run by one or two whirlwinds. Five or six fella's work at Salam at a time, and the effort shows. For instance, I had gone in back to use the restroom. And in back is the reason to go to Salam. Buckets of chick peas soak for hummus, fatah and other items, a bunch of collapsed, roasted eggplants stand ready to be baba ganoushed, and one of those five or six fella's worked a big bowl of fresh spinach for pies. He did confess that the pastry sheets came from next door, but he also stated that since this shop made their own phylo, the pies would be totally hand-made. Great minced jalepeno salsa too. 4636 N Kedzie Ave, Chicago, IL
The Sweet Shop Next to Salam This place seems to change owners and names every few years. Always, it sells high quality Middle-Eastern sweets. I am always torn between two: rectangles filled with a sweet cheese and triangles filled with a gooshy custard. Typically, I give in and buy both. On the other hand, I tried these little fried balls soaked in syrup, looking tempting near the register. I will have no problem avoiding these lead bombs again.
Le Coq - On Chowhound, some people said bad words about Le Coq in Oak Park. I disagree. Is Le Coq the perfect restaurant, hardly. Is it an ideal restaurant, damn close for sure. People have attacked their service, and we (well me as Ms. VI thought I was verging on nuts) rather challenged the service. I told them that I pretty much hated all American versions of chocroute garnie, would I like theirs. And I still ordered the dish. I also needled them for the lack of morels in the morel mushroom sauce on the asparagus. And the waiter did get a bit huffy, but I mean come on, it's not that hard to know the difference between a morel and a button mushroom. While I stopped arguing my apparently no win point, he did return with a small dish of more mushrooms, with a few more morels. Regardless, three things make this place near ideal. First, this may be just another bistro around town, but the dishes always taste of the chef. This is not restaurant doing French because that seems in. This is a crew grounded in actual French style food, and they create dishes that always strike me as a notch or two better than they need to be. Second, I was so pleased that the menu spoke spring and spoke spring pretty loudly. Asparagus and peas and morels and young cabbage were all over the place. And done so well too. The grilled asparagus with morel mushroom sauce, even with the miser's portion of morels drove home my fetish of seasonal eating. Every aspect of this dish exploded in my mouth. I weep from such real food. Third, this place knows value. I weep from such prices at Le Coq. Only a few dishes edge over $20. The rest are comfortably in the tens. The appetizers are priced realistically. Foie gras, OK, that costs a bit more, but if you want something else, like the asparagus, well you can get by for a lot less. Given the quality in the kitchen, the low prices are weep worthy. 734 Lake Street, Oak Park, IL
La Quebrada - The new menu still irks the Condiment Queen as she longs for her calamari ajillo botana. Me, I may be happiest at La Quebrada with the most basic stuff, the antojitos on the back page. Yesterday, I had two tacos cesina and a sope with the unctuous barbacoa de chivo. As Hat Hammond notes, a hand-made tortilla makes any taco, and La Quebrada might make the best tortilla in Illinois. The taco cesina is more than tortilla though. It is a totally successful medley of chip-chopped cesina, refried beans, pico de gallo and guacamole in that hand-made tortilla. The sope does not approach the absolute pleasure of the blue van, but it is still plenty good, with the sope blend of crisp and toothsome. A dollop of Quebrada's deep chipolotle salsa topped the sope and added to the package. Five locations.
Freddy's - Notice a pattern here? More and more, I am convinced that Freddy's is the best food store in Chicago. The level of artisanship and just flat out realness is found almost no where else in Chicago. A lot of places make their own fresh sausage, but at Freddy's, they make their own capicolla, salami, sopresseta and hams as well as their own breads too. Each day there are platters of food wholly reminiscent of Italy. Freddy's can pretty much fit in as a store in Italy. Yesterday, I picked up a round bread I have never seen there before. In texture, it resembled almost their ciabatta, but it was not as dry. It looked and tasted nearly exactly as the baked in the floor breads from Argo Georgian Bakery on Devon, but with a bit more stiffness and not as much yeast. A great bread. 1600 S. 61st Ave
Cicero, IL
Siam House - I've had some outstanding food at this restaurant in Niles that caters as much to Chicago's Thai community as it does to just plain lovers of Thai food, but that outstanding food avoided us the other night. As I mentioned on Chowhound, I did not work hard enough to get Thai-Thai. I know treasures lie buried in Siam's menu for next time. Still, at least one dish impressed me on Sunday, a half-chicken grill roasted and oozing Thai juices. 7742 N. Milwaukee Ave, Niles, IL
D.S.D. Delicatessen & Imports - One of these places you pass hundreds of times and you never think to enter only later to say why kind of places. A Serbian deli offering five (at least) varieties of red pepper spreads and the other basics of Euro important--chocolate wafer cookies, sour cherries in syrup, etc. In back are the meats. They roast and hack pigs, visually ultra-appealing with orange stiff skin, and they make a variety of smoked products. They eagerly sliced bits for me to try, practically forcing me to buy a garlic salami and two kinds of dry sausage. We put the product in the trunk, but within 20 minutes of driving, the entire car reeked Serbian. 3818 W. Lawrence, Chicago
Salam - With a bunch of restaurants around the Kedzie - Lawrence intersection, why do we almost always eat at Salam. Salam is not one of these restaurants run by one or two whirlwinds. Five or six fella's work at Salam at a time, and the effort shows. For instance, I had gone in back to use the restroom. And in back is the reason to go to Salam. Buckets of chick peas soak for hummus, fatah and other items, a bunch of collapsed, roasted eggplants stand ready to be baba ganoushed, and one of those five or six fella's worked a big bowl of fresh spinach for pies. He did confess that the pastry sheets came from next door, but he also stated that since this shop made their own phylo, the pies would be totally hand-made. Great minced jalepeno salsa too. 4636 N Kedzie Ave, Chicago, IL
The Sweet Shop Next to Salam This place seems to change owners and names every few years. Always, it sells high quality Middle-Eastern sweets. I am always torn between two: rectangles filled with a sweet cheese and triangles filled with a gooshy custard. Typically, I give in and buy both. On the other hand, I tried these little fried balls soaked in syrup, looking tempting near the register. I will have no problem avoiding these lead bombs again.
Le Coq - On Chowhound, some people said bad words about Le Coq in Oak Park. I disagree. Is Le Coq the perfect restaurant, hardly. Is it an ideal restaurant, damn close for sure. People have attacked their service, and we (well me as Ms. VI thought I was verging on nuts) rather challenged the service. I told them that I pretty much hated all American versions of chocroute garnie, would I like theirs. And I still ordered the dish. I also needled them for the lack of morels in the morel mushroom sauce on the asparagus. And the waiter did get a bit huffy, but I mean come on, it's not that hard to know the difference between a morel and a button mushroom. While I stopped arguing my apparently no win point, he did return with a small dish of more mushrooms, with a few more morels. Regardless, three things make this place near ideal. First, this may be just another bistro around town, but the dishes always taste of the chef. This is not restaurant doing French because that seems in. This is a crew grounded in actual French style food, and they create dishes that always strike me as a notch or two better than they need to be. Second, I was so pleased that the menu spoke spring and spoke spring pretty loudly. Asparagus and peas and morels and young cabbage were all over the place. And done so well too. The grilled asparagus with morel mushroom sauce, even with the miser's portion of morels drove home my fetish of seasonal eating. Every aspect of this dish exploded in my mouth. I weep from such real food. Third, this place knows value. I weep from such prices at Le Coq. Only a few dishes edge over $20. The rest are comfortably in the tens. The appetizers are priced realistically. Foie gras, OK, that costs a bit more, but if you want something else, like the asparagus, well you can get by for a lot less. Given the quality in the kitchen, the low prices are weep worthy. 734 Lake Street, Oak Park, IL
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
