I am afraid of this woman:
thank you, Katie Couric, thank you. Its comical to watch her circle around the drain and spew out buzz words. She's the smartest hockey mom I know.
And, although hilarious, this is disturbingly similar:
It nauseates me so much that i'm writing about on what i thought was my food blog. I can't wait to watch the debate on thursday.
let's keep tweedle dee and tweedle dum far away from the White House, please?
One last real-life note: start hoarding your monies in the mattress. times is gettin sticky
Also, I've (miraculously) put the bottle down, as well as my fork until Halloween. Trust me, green tea is not as good as bourbon, but i don't feel like looking like a fatty for my birthday. If all goes well I'll tell you about a different kind of food adventure, one of a treacherous non-delicious sort.
love and fluffy bunnies
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Friday, September 26, 2008
Wong King's
My Sunday usually follows this ritual:
Wake up at around 10
drink 5 pints of water
curl into the fetal position on the couch
watch No Reservations/Bizarre food/Iron Chef/Jon and Kate plus 8/Whatever mindless television that will distract me from my dehydrated body
do that until 2, when i have to start getting ready for work.
i know, its sad, i'm trying to fix it.
A couple of weeks ago, i happened to be watching Bizarre Foods, and that day Andrew Zimmern was exploring Hong Kong and the wonderful world that it dim sum. So I called (texted) Robert.
"11:30, Wong King's. Dim sum"
When I arrive, I grab a numbered ticket, 213, and ask the perfectly costumed hostess what number they were on.
I need you to imagine your thickest Chinese accent, because to phonetically write it out may just be too offensive/complicated.
"Number one thirty five"
Knowing it would be quite a wait, I bring the tom robbins book i've been trying to take time to read, and i wait for my dining partner's arrival. Just as i was about to whip out a cigarette to pass the time, my aunt, tiny perky adorable, comes up to me and says hello. This is how much Wong King's is a dim sum mecca. I believe every time i've eaten here i've run into her and her family. Her family from the outer edges of beaverton. They braved tunnels, bridges, urbanism and 82nd ave, just for the perfect morsel of har gow and siu mai. well done, Ming Vong, well done. All asians, chinese, vietnamese, cambodian, etc know where the good stuff is, and that is on Division past 82nd.
Many an article, as you have probably read, has mentioned that (asian)immigrant culture has immigrated from china town (decrepit amalgamation of the homeless, the drunk, and the immoral) to the lands of 82nd ave (decrepit amalgamation of used-car lots, prostitutes, and gang activity).
When Petruchio finally arrives, its still another half hour before we get seated. I hardly had a chance to pour our teas when we were immediately confronted by an overly energetic chinese man with tray in hand
"Steam dumpling with beef tripe and shrimp"
We look at each other, confused and intrigued, and obediently nod our heads. Why not? I am ready to ravenously dive into the little metal pot for some unidentified and unfamiliar dumpling. Then this miniscule woman comes charging in with her giant cart in tow, and pokes her head smartly between me and my chopsticks.
"Har gow, siu mai"
These two things being the reason i ever go to dim sum, caught me off guard. I was looking at my first order beckoning to me, a mere few inches from my face only to be taunted by this woman for to order more. So I ordered them both. Robert and I smile at each other with approval. I was hungry and ready to indulge in my craving for shrimp and bamboo shoots. Before I knew it, another little Chinese woman rolled by, our chopsticks still in midair and ready to dive into our untouched dishes. She stops us and tries, in indistinguishable english, to demonstrate how wonderful chinese broccoli is.
I'll save you the rest. Cut to about 15 minutes later. 8 plates in front of us, most of them containing shrimp, and not one morsel has been eaten. I have confused their friendly nature as good service, but really it was an attack from all angles. They were pushers, delicious steamed treat pushers. Taro root bun? pork dumpling? shrimp rice noodles? They knew i was itching, and vulnerable. I needed a fix and they were eager to provide it for me.
Finally, I was able to say "no", and with that most of our dim sum carrying friends left us alone, smirking at our table spotted with small plates. Job well done. Its time to eat.
Har gow: my favorite. Honestly, if you are an apprehensive round-eye, i recommend you start with this. It just shrimp and bamboo in a tapioca wrapper, and cooked in a bamboo steamer (most dim sum is). its skin is nice and sticky and finishes with a happy little crunch from the bamboo. i could eat 12 orders of this.
Siu mai: another classic, it is a pork and black mushroom dumpling. Because of the pork, i always get caught biting into some sort of fat pocket which kind of grosses me out. As much as i love it, i am always poking it around my plate
hom bao: also known as the chopstick safe kid food. Its a steamed bun made of a sweet flour and filled with salty barbeque pork. I love to grab it with my hands and peel off the paper bottom, break off each piece and give it a little pinch. Also, White people friendly.
Among other things, we had those dishes along with Taro dumplings, Shrimp rice noodles and that unidentified first dish. We were full, and Robert told me a story about his classmate that he thinks is a narcissist, then i realized that i related to his classmate. Now i am afraid that i am a narcissist. but i forgot that i am blogging, and now i am blogging about my concern about being a narcissist, which may be (besides throwing your very one fake funeral) the perfect example of one's self-centeredness.
Moving along, the trek you'll make to Wong king's, as well as the bombardment of food pushers you'll defend yourself from is well worth the circus you'll have in your mouth. I recommend everyone try the phoenix talons and beef tripe at least once in their lives.
Wake up at around 10
drink 5 pints of water
curl into the fetal position on the couch
watch No Reservations/Bizarre food/Iron Chef/Jon and Kate plus 8/Whatever mindless television that will distract me from my dehydrated body
do that until 2, when i have to start getting ready for work.
i know, its sad, i'm trying to fix it.
A couple of weeks ago, i happened to be watching Bizarre Foods, and that day Andrew Zimmern was exploring Hong Kong and the wonderful world that it dim sum. So I called (texted) Robert.
"11:30, Wong King's. Dim sum"
When I arrive, I grab a numbered ticket, 213, and ask the perfectly costumed hostess what number they were on.
I need you to imagine your thickest Chinese accent, because to phonetically write it out may just be too offensive/complicated.
"Number one thirty five"
Knowing it would be quite a wait, I bring the tom robbins book i've been trying to take time to read, and i wait for my dining partner's arrival. Just as i was about to whip out a cigarette to pass the time, my aunt, tiny perky adorable, comes up to me and says hello. This is how much Wong King's is a dim sum mecca. I believe every time i've eaten here i've run into her and her family. Her family from the outer edges of beaverton. They braved tunnels, bridges, urbanism and 82nd ave, just for the perfect morsel of har gow and siu mai. well done, Ming Vong, well done. All asians, chinese, vietnamese, cambodian, etc know where the good stuff is, and that is on Division past 82nd.
Many an article, as you have probably read, has mentioned that (asian)immigrant culture has immigrated from china town (decrepit amalgamation of the homeless, the drunk, and the immoral) to the lands of 82nd ave (decrepit amalgamation of used-car lots, prostitutes, and gang activity).
When Petruchio finally arrives, its still another half hour before we get seated. I hardly had a chance to pour our teas when we were immediately confronted by an overly energetic chinese man with tray in hand
"Steam dumpling with beef tripe and shrimp"
We look at each other, confused and intrigued, and obediently nod our heads. Why not? I am ready to ravenously dive into the little metal pot for some unidentified and unfamiliar dumpling. Then this miniscule woman comes charging in with her giant cart in tow, and pokes her head smartly between me and my chopsticks.
"Har gow, siu mai"
These two things being the reason i ever go to dim sum, caught me off guard. I was looking at my first order beckoning to me, a mere few inches from my face only to be taunted by this woman for to order more. So I ordered them both. Robert and I smile at each other with approval. I was hungry and ready to indulge in my craving for shrimp and bamboo shoots. Before I knew it, another little Chinese woman rolled by, our chopsticks still in midair and ready to dive into our untouched dishes. She stops us and tries, in indistinguishable english, to demonstrate how wonderful chinese broccoli is.
I'll save you the rest. Cut to about 15 minutes later. 8 plates in front of us, most of them containing shrimp, and not one morsel has been eaten. I have confused their friendly nature as good service, but really it was an attack from all angles. They were pushers, delicious steamed treat pushers. Taro root bun? pork dumpling? shrimp rice noodles? They knew i was itching, and vulnerable. I needed a fix and they were eager to provide it for me.
Finally, I was able to say "no", and with that most of our dim sum carrying friends left us alone, smirking at our table spotted with small plates. Job well done. Its time to eat.
Har gow: my favorite. Honestly, if you are an apprehensive round-eye, i recommend you start with this. It just shrimp and bamboo in a tapioca wrapper, and cooked in a bamboo steamer (most dim sum is). its skin is nice and sticky and finishes with a happy little crunch from the bamboo. i could eat 12 orders of this.
Siu mai: another classic, it is a pork and black mushroom dumpling. Because of the pork, i always get caught biting into some sort of fat pocket which kind of grosses me out. As much as i love it, i am always poking it around my plate
hom bao: also known as the chopstick safe kid food. Its a steamed bun made of a sweet flour and filled with salty barbeque pork. I love to grab it with my hands and peel off the paper bottom, break off each piece and give it a little pinch. Also, White people friendly.
Among other things, we had those dishes along with Taro dumplings, Shrimp rice noodles and that unidentified first dish. We were full, and Robert told me a story about his classmate that he thinks is a narcissist, then i realized that i related to his classmate. Now i am afraid that i am a narcissist. but i forgot that i am blogging, and now i am blogging about my concern about being a narcissist, which may be (besides throwing your very one fake funeral) the perfect example of one's self-centeredness.
Moving along, the trek you'll make to Wong king's, as well as the bombardment of food pushers you'll defend yourself from is well worth the circus you'll have in your mouth. I recommend everyone try the phoenix talons and beef tripe at least once in their lives.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
notes
I have 4 places that i have yet to write up about.
i came home after work and looked in the fridge. My roommate, after an big day at ikea, brought home some ikea caviar and left a note saying i have to take a picture of me eating it. apparently it costs $3.50. i'm totally intrigued, and horrified. Usually, the cheaper end of caviar goes for $7-10/ounce. this lumpfish caviar is 3.50 for 2.8 ounces.
my mom read my blog. she said that after that she realized that i will never lose weight. then tried to bribe me with plastic surgery for going on a diet. i love you, mother, but the absurdity of your offer never ceases to dumbfound me. every time you say it.
i came home after work and looked in the fridge. My roommate, after an big day at ikea, brought home some ikea caviar and left a note saying i have to take a picture of me eating it. apparently it costs $3.50. i'm totally intrigued, and horrified. Usually, the cheaper end of caviar goes for $7-10/ounce. this lumpfish caviar is 3.50 for 2.8 ounces.
my mom read my blog. she said that after that she realized that i will never lose weight. then tried to bribe me with plastic surgery for going on a diet. i love you, mother, but the absurdity of your offer never ceases to dumbfound me. every time you say it.
Monday, September 15, 2008
Pho Oregon
After a rough night at the touche post-cocktail shift, I awaken on the couch of my dear friends' house.
crap.
My head feels no bueno and i quickly run through the grocery list of liquid imbibes i managed to power through last night. Broyles, Chef, and Nate are already up and soaking the last few bits of sun our summer has offered to us. I greet everyone with an instinctive utter:
let's get pho
While I am well versed in the world of pho, I had yet to try their family favorite, Pho Oregon. Today was that day.
Once seated, they were greeted with a familiarity only the most regulars of regulars get. I take one glance at the menu and order what I always order, everything. Beef tripe, soft tendon, flank steak, and brisket in a soft anisey warm broth with a few scant bits of green onion and cilantro floating off to the side. Let's get pho'ked up.
When we get our respective bowls conversation ceases. i load up mine with handfuls of thai basil, jalepeno, and a tiny squeeze of lime. The table becomes silent and we speak in slurps, gulps, and smacks all the while in between dabs of our eyes and noses. You know you're doing something right when your eyes are tearing up and your nose is running like a faucet. awesome.
There's really no way to look pretty eating pho. Noises are made, and your face leaks as you try to suck up the rice noodles. I am often hunched over my bowl sloppily dipping my various beef parts in hoisin sauce and siracha and thanking whatever higher being led me to the destiny that is pho. Eating like a caveman pisses me of, but sometimes there really is no other way. Most people do. Broyles, however, like the dancer she be ate with an amazing elegance. back straight, chin up and only the tinisest of slurp. i was amazed, and amused. not once did she need a napkin. juxtapose that with me crying directly into my broth with a pile of haphazard and unloved napkins. i laughed a little on the inside.
never have i finished an entire bowl of pho, but i came close. Eating pho has a heirarchy to it. you go in knowing you'll have to make sacrifices. i usually abandon the noodles first, wasted space. then i give up on the tendon, and then the steak. i covet the sinuous chewy rubbery tripe and the therapeutic hug that is the broth. glorious.
Pho Hung(where i am a devotee, both beaverton and portland) has a sweeter broth, i like both, but Pho Oregon is deep NE. Definitely, if i pass out at the supper club house again.
crap.
My head feels no bueno and i quickly run through the grocery list of liquid imbibes i managed to power through last night. Broyles, Chef, and Nate are already up and soaking the last few bits of sun our summer has offered to us. I greet everyone with an instinctive utter:
let's get pho
While I am well versed in the world of pho, I had yet to try their family favorite, Pho Oregon. Today was that day.
Once seated, they were greeted with a familiarity only the most regulars of regulars get. I take one glance at the menu and order what I always order, everything. Beef tripe, soft tendon, flank steak, and brisket in a soft anisey warm broth with a few scant bits of green onion and cilantro floating off to the side. Let's get pho'ked up.
When we get our respective bowls conversation ceases. i load up mine with handfuls of thai basil, jalepeno, and a tiny squeeze of lime. The table becomes silent and we speak in slurps, gulps, and smacks all the while in between dabs of our eyes and noses. You know you're doing something right when your eyes are tearing up and your nose is running like a faucet. awesome.
There's really no way to look pretty eating pho. Noises are made, and your face leaks as you try to suck up the rice noodles. I am often hunched over my bowl sloppily dipping my various beef parts in hoisin sauce and siracha and thanking whatever higher being led me to the destiny that is pho. Eating like a caveman pisses me of, but sometimes there really is no other way. Most people do. Broyles, however, like the dancer she be ate with an amazing elegance. back straight, chin up and only the tinisest of slurp. i was amazed, and amused. not once did she need a napkin. juxtapose that with me crying directly into my broth with a pile of haphazard and unloved napkins. i laughed a little on the inside.
never have i finished an entire bowl of pho, but i came close. Eating pho has a heirarchy to it. you go in knowing you'll have to make sacrifices. i usually abandon the noodles first, wasted space. then i give up on the tendon, and then the steak. i covet the sinuous chewy rubbery tripe and the therapeutic hug that is the broth. glorious.
Pho Hung(where i am a devotee, both beaverton and portland) has a sweeter broth, i like both, but Pho Oregon is deep NE. Definitely, if i pass out at the supper club house again.
Broder
9:30 am = cranky
But for the sake of lady power i awaken
cute swedish food calls to me. and cute would be the perfect word for my food.
let's be brief. it was adorably charming.
it made me miss TheBridge so much more
originally 8/7/08
But for the sake of lady power i awaken
cute swedish food calls to me. and cute would be the perfect word for my food.
let's be brief. it was adorably charming.
it made me miss TheBridge so much more
originally 8/7/08
Friday, September 12, 2008
First Thursday Freedom: Part 3 of 3. Bar Avingon
we're full, but we're not drunk. BAR AVINGON!
our server was awesome and suggested a decent bottle of syrah.
lighter bodied, and tight. the nose was deceivingly gorgeous. it needed time to open up.
paired with olives that made love to my mouth and a nice salty pecorino
i've decided that Robert will be my food friend. he does not believe in foie gras, but i will try my best to eat away at his morals
i am now drunk and decided it was time to try Integrity's Trillium absinthe. floral, licoricey, potent. admittedly perfect with a cigarette. i may have pissed my server off for breaking the rules. for that i apologize. that was totally an asshole move. but i'm drunk and i am invincible.
today has been a good day.
our server was awesome and suggested a decent bottle of syrah.
lighter bodied, and tight. the nose was deceivingly gorgeous. it needed time to open up.
paired with olives that made love to my mouth and a nice salty pecorino
i've decided that Robert will be my food friend. he does not believe in foie gras, but i will try my best to eat away at his morals
i am now drunk and decided it was time to try Integrity's Trillium absinthe. floral, licoricey, potent. admittedly perfect with a cigarette. i may have pissed my server off for breaking the rules. for that i apologize. that was totally an asshole move. but i'm drunk and i am invincible.
today has been a good day.
First Thursday Freedom: Part 2 of 3. Toro Bravo
my favorite restaurant. john gorham is like that popular guy in high school that you just wanted to say hi to you. Will he catch my eye? will he remember me? I have an incredible amount of respect for his food and goddammit i like to try new places but i can't stop coming back to this one. nothing anywhere has it down like toro bravo. Super casual, i didn't feel bad for wearing flip flops and a wifebeater. but super casual does not equate to casual quality. so before i start sounding redundant here we go.
French 75: i know, the search will never end. i found it boring, and it was served in a stemless champagne flute which is kind of a pet peeve. the twist was more like a shaved piece of lemon rind and kept on finding its way into my mouth, thus looking like i had a long bright yellow tongue whenever i sipped.
Sherry Chicken liver mousse: excellent. the sherry gave it this sweetness and there was just a nice touch of nutmeg or cinnamon. i'll take gout any day (ew). far too little crostini for far too much mousse. there should have been a little more pickled beet though to cut the richness of the liver
octopus and prawn stew: ah yes, seafood done well. heat! it was goood. for someone who really loves cephalopods, i kind of feel bad that i find them delectable. the stew was something spicy and it made my stomach growl with happiness
valsaronna, Rioja: i take a nice swill and let it sit. heavy full bodied and velvety tannins. it reminded me of my favorite italian varietal, valpolicella. One big mouthful of juice. this is the kind of shit that makes me happy
green beans: disappointing, soggy, overdone. wtf? maybe it was a dish rarely ordered.
Oxtail croquettes: YUM. the best dish of the night. delicate, not the super beefy tough ball of meat i thought it would be. finished with an herbed mayo and scallions
Conversations with lost friends and recaptured memories over a family-style dinner. There was awkwardness, laughter, and there was some damn good food.
finish with pernod.
French 75: i know, the search will never end. i found it boring, and it was served in a stemless champagne flute which is kind of a pet peeve. the twist was more like a shaved piece of lemon rind and kept on finding its way into my mouth, thus looking like i had a long bright yellow tongue whenever i sipped.
Sherry Chicken liver mousse: excellent. the sherry gave it this sweetness and there was just a nice touch of nutmeg or cinnamon. i'll take gout any day (ew). far too little crostini for far too much mousse. there should have been a little more pickled beet though to cut the richness of the liver
octopus and prawn stew: ah yes, seafood done well. heat! it was goood. for someone who really loves cephalopods, i kind of feel bad that i find them delectable. the stew was something spicy and it made my stomach growl with happiness
valsaronna, Rioja: i take a nice swill and let it sit. heavy full bodied and velvety tannins. it reminded me of my favorite italian varietal, valpolicella. One big mouthful of juice. this is the kind of shit that makes me happy
green beans: disappointing, soggy, overdone. wtf? maybe it was a dish rarely ordered.
Oxtail croquettes: YUM. the best dish of the night. delicate, not the super beefy tough ball of meat i thought it would be. finished with an herbed mayo and scallions
Conversations with lost friends and recaptured memories over a family-style dinner. There was awkwardness, laughter, and there was some damn good food.
finish with pernod.
First Thursday Freedom: Part 1 of 3. Marina Fish House
So I have memories of Newport Bay restaurant stretching into the edge of my existence. I remember going there for a cup of clam chowder between stops at Claire's and Nordstroms at the age of 12. In fact, I believe I paid for my first own sit down meal there with jenny quan at Washington Square. I had father's day brunch in hillsboro. My old college roommate served an obscene amount of coconut prawns back in the day. You and I both know that there is nothing spectacular about Newport Bay, but at least it is something familiar.
When Seattle's Restaurants Unlimited bought out all of Pacific Coasts restaurants I witnessed another part of my childhood fade away.
Marina, frankly, is a damn shame. It is set in one of the most perfect places in portland. You can sit outside and overlook the skyline while the bridges move up and down. You can watch the walkers, bikers, and cars cross the river at a rhythm so unlike the serenity of the lazily bobbing boats. The view allowed you to observe the world rather than participate in it. it is like a moving painting.
I was in good spirits yesterday because after 6 days of work, i was ready to relax and make the most of my 1 day of rest. Alexis suggested Newport Bay restaurant, and i agreed since i had not been there in a long time. we just stopped in for a snack and a sip(gulp).
I really have little with which to judge but i'll do it anyway.
Pomegranate Mojito: tart. but not good tart.
"shrimp" cocktail: it was an ice cream scoop of bay shrimp on a sad piece of lettuce. i'm sorry baby shrimp, i think 40 of you died in vain. It was like eating non-food. Seriously, if you are going to name a restaurant MARINA, you should probably get your concept straight and throw in some actual pieces of real seafood
calamari: it was deep fried squid, with a red pepper aioli. i probably should have not ordered this for it quickly became too heavy. 10 points for having tentacles.
hornitos margarita: :( rose's lime? aka pine-sol. it tasted warm.
Their price point is definitely at the level where you should know what the fuck you are doing. they don't. like i said, no one actually cooked anything for me to actually judge their food, but if their appetizers and cocktails are any indication then i'll go elsewhere.
a damn shame. its a beautiful view.
When Seattle's Restaurants Unlimited bought out all of Pacific Coasts restaurants I witnessed another part of my childhood fade away.
Marina, frankly, is a damn shame. It is set in one of the most perfect places in portland. You can sit outside and overlook the skyline while the bridges move up and down. You can watch the walkers, bikers, and cars cross the river at a rhythm so unlike the serenity of the lazily bobbing boats. The view allowed you to observe the world rather than participate in it. it is like a moving painting.
I was in good spirits yesterday because after 6 days of work, i was ready to relax and make the most of my 1 day of rest. Alexis suggested Newport Bay restaurant, and i agreed since i had not been there in a long time. we just stopped in for a snack and a sip(gulp).
I really have little with which to judge but i'll do it anyway.
Pomegranate Mojito: tart. but not good tart.
"shrimp" cocktail: it was an ice cream scoop of bay shrimp on a sad piece of lettuce. i'm sorry baby shrimp, i think 40 of you died in vain. It was like eating non-food. Seriously, if you are going to name a restaurant MARINA, you should probably get your concept straight and throw in some actual pieces of real seafood
calamari: it was deep fried squid, with a red pepper aioli. i probably should have not ordered this for it quickly became too heavy. 10 points for having tentacles.
hornitos margarita: :( rose's lime? aka pine-sol. it tasted warm.
Their price point is definitely at the level where you should know what the fuck you are doing. they don't. like i said, no one actually cooked anything for me to actually judge their food, but if their appetizers and cocktails are any indication then i'll go elsewhere.
a damn shame. its a beautiful view.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
What the Hell was I Thinking
I kind of jumped into this thing blindly. To have assumed that I would be the first Portland food snob would be stupid, right? I finally plugged "portland food blog" into google. It would be an understatement to say that I have my work cut out for me. I am just a silly girl in a transient state of life who likes to eat and thinks that she can write. I didn't realize the sheer number of people who, not only know their shit, but have the means to eat out all the time.
Extramsg.com
cap'n blog and salty
the-gastronaut.blogspot.com
hungrycupboard.blogspot.com
just a few in a massive sea of self-proclaimed lovers of food. They have wit, they have palette, and goddamnit they have flippin pictures. Pictures! How weird would it be for me to go into some nice restaurant and whip out my digital slr.
"How is your steak?"
"Hold on, I need to make sure I'm capturing the perfect medium rare pink under the green of the wilted spinach."
I know I am Asian, I'm supposed to like pictures, but I don't think I'll ever have the balls to take pictures of my food in the name of bloggery.
"Why are you taking a picture of your steak?"
"I blooooooooooog"
"you are also eating alone"
admittedly, sometimes plating is the funnest part. give it time friends, i need to adjust
Extramsg.com
cap'n blog and salty
the-gastronaut.blogspot.com
hungrycupboard.blogspot.com
just a few in a massive sea of self-proclaimed lovers of food. They have wit, they have palette, and goddamnit they have flippin pictures. Pictures! How weird would it be for me to go into some nice restaurant and whip out my digital slr.
"How is your steak?"
"Hold on, I need to make sure I'm capturing the perfect medium rare pink under the green of the wilted spinach."
I know I am Asian, I'm supposed to like pictures, but I don't think I'll ever have the balls to take pictures of my food in the name of bloggery.
"Why are you taking a picture of your steak?"
"I blooooooooooog"
"you are also eating alone"
admittedly, sometimes plating is the funnest part. give it time friends, i need to adjust
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Fenouil
there has been a lot of anticipation for me for Fenouil. i have a short list of kids that i make a point to eat from. don't think i know my shit. but this list extends from my familial Paul Klitsie and Adrian Hutapea to well loved John Gorham, Vitaley Paley and the illustrious and intriguingly psycho bi-atchy Naomi Pomeroy. its a list that only continues to grow
yesterday i finally made the trek to Pascal Cherau's Fenouil, who is also the exec of Lucier (a restaurant, i've heard, has been an architectural and culinary failure). he's a well respected chef that warrants a blushing smile when i see him, and my have i been curious.
before i go into food, i have got to talk about the design of the restaurant itself. (gotta make the best of my college education). POOP. it's like everything i hate about jamison square infused into the space. it is the epitome of everything that sucks about the Pearl district (old rich people/naive overpriveliged young suburbans). The kitchen looked like it had sex with the vomit of the Street of Dreams. of a restaurant with considerable notability, i expected a little more subtltey and class
their fucking water glasses had fleur de lis
Moving on. the food.
Rose, Gamay: whatever, i wanted to drink and not think about it. dry, it kinda tasted like nothing. unimpressive, but i was apathetic.
Frites a l'huile de truffes: uh. its potatoes that have been deep fried and tossed in truffle oil. what do you think? i was torn between the foie gras terrine, the fruits de mer, and this. but oh my fucking god. served with a pleasant and humble aioli. it was so powerful that you could only eat a small handful before you think that you may get sick, but it was so good that you wouldn't mind puking it all up to eat it all over again.
coquilles: aka scallops. a cook that i work with used to work at Fenouil. and apparently i ordered on of the most popular entrees. i think his exact words were "i could sear those scallops blind". it was very well done (not to be confused with overcooked). three perfectly seared scallops on a beautiful arugula potato whip and a pool of butter. finished with delicately buttered leeks, clover, and a drizzle of aged balsamic that tasted like chocolate. this bitch was heavy. i forgot to mention the slice of bacon set matter-of-factly on top of my row of scallops. probably not the best thing to order before i work, but whatever.
eating these tender morsels of bivalve made me forget about the hideous tile, the fake chandelier of candles and the ornate marble columns. at that moment, food was my architecture, i could have been eating in a buddhist temple or a russian shanty and it still would have been allllllll good.
In my neverending attempt to sabotage my sister and her "healthy" lifestyle, i convinced her that the quiche de mer was totally healthy and carb free. i failed to mention the immeasurable amount of heavy cream and probably a half-stick of butter in the crust. but i saw her savor every last bite, and smiled to myself for i knew she was grateful of my lies. my father had the paella, and had i not ordered the scallops this would have been my selection. if not for taste, for color spectrum. it was gorgeous. generously saffroned risotto, beautiful black sheen of the mussel shells, and a bold green of perfectly done peas.
My dad tipped over 20%, i've taught him well.
just another wednesday afternoon
originally 9/4/08
yesterday i finally made the trek to Pascal Cherau's Fenouil, who is also the exec of Lucier (a restaurant, i've heard, has been an architectural and culinary failure). he's a well respected chef that warrants a blushing smile when i see him, and my have i been curious.
before i go into food, i have got to talk about the design of the restaurant itself. (gotta make the best of my college education). POOP. it's like everything i hate about jamison square infused into the space. it is the epitome of everything that sucks about the Pearl district (old rich people/naive overpriveliged young suburbans). The kitchen looked like it had sex with the vomit of the Street of Dreams. of a restaurant with considerable notability, i expected a little more subtltey and class
their fucking water glasses had fleur de lis
Moving on. the food.
Rose, Gamay: whatever, i wanted to drink and not think about it. dry, it kinda tasted like nothing. unimpressive, but i was apathetic.
Frites a l'huile de truffes: uh. its potatoes that have been deep fried and tossed in truffle oil. what do you think? i was torn between the foie gras terrine, the fruits de mer, and this. but oh my fucking god. served with a pleasant and humble aioli. it was so powerful that you could only eat a small handful before you think that you may get sick, but it was so good that you wouldn't mind puking it all up to eat it all over again.
coquilles: aka scallops. a cook that i work with used to work at Fenouil. and apparently i ordered on of the most popular entrees. i think his exact words were "i could sear those scallops blind". it was very well done (not to be confused with overcooked). three perfectly seared scallops on a beautiful arugula potato whip and a pool of butter. finished with delicately buttered leeks, clover, and a drizzle of aged balsamic that tasted like chocolate. this bitch was heavy. i forgot to mention the slice of bacon set matter-of-factly on top of my row of scallops. probably not the best thing to order before i work, but whatever.
eating these tender morsels of bivalve made me forget about the hideous tile, the fake chandelier of candles and the ornate marble columns. at that moment, food was my architecture, i could have been eating in a buddhist temple or a russian shanty and it still would have been allllllll good.
In my neverending attempt to sabotage my sister and her "healthy" lifestyle, i convinced her that the quiche de mer was totally healthy and carb free. i failed to mention the immeasurable amount of heavy cream and probably a half-stick of butter in the crust. but i saw her savor every last bite, and smiled to myself for i knew she was grateful of my lies. my father had the paella, and had i not ordered the scallops this would have been my selection. if not for taste, for color spectrum. it was gorgeous. generously saffroned risotto, beautiful black sheen of the mussel shells, and a bold green of perfectly done peas.
My dad tipped over 20%, i've taught him well.
just another wednesday afternoon
originally 9/4/08
Genie's
Oh Genies, how i love thee. Let me count the ways
jalepeno, horseradish, cucumber, and black pepper
any way i choose my infused vodka, your bloody marys (maries?) make my soul warm again and washes away the thoughts of the night previous.
jalepeno, pepperoncini, green bean, and celery
sometimes i wonder if i'm eating a glorious salad of happiness, but then i sip, and let the stealthy heat fall into my chest.
Hmm... and your beautiful, well-tattooed, and friendly staff of vixens. a refreshing sight for my bloodshot and bleary eyes. thank you for being so gracious to your zombie-esque patron, and never letting my stumptown go empty.
being buzzed before work with a full stomach of potatoes o'brien is awesome.
i love you, my dear dear genie's. and i'll do it again, again, again, again.
originally 9/11/08
jalepeno, horseradish, cucumber, and black pepper
any way i choose my infused vodka, your bloody marys (maries?) make my soul warm again and washes away the thoughts of the night previous.
jalepeno, pepperoncini, green bean, and celery
sometimes i wonder if i'm eating a glorious salad of happiness, but then i sip, and let the stealthy heat fall into my chest.
Hmm... and your beautiful, well-tattooed, and friendly staff of vixens. a refreshing sight for my bloodshot and bleary eyes. thank you for being so gracious to your zombie-esque patron, and never letting my stumptown go empty.
being buzzed before work with a full stomach of potatoes o'brien is awesome.
i love you, my dear dear genie's. and i'll do it again, again, again, again.
originally 9/11/08
Monday, September 8, 2008
Roux
Last week we couldn't get in the le pigeon, so we went to Roux. Creole gooodness.
French 75: really i'm just trying to see if anybody can make this drink as well as PandaBear's, but this one i remembered was not nearly as good. too much lemon. chino still reigns
Some Syrah from Walla walla: its wine, it was good shit. i can't remember much because we got blasted afterwards, but that i liked it
Fried green tomatoes: deep fried = gooood, herbed aioli = fancy mayo
croque monsieur salad: spinach with ham and gruyere. good, big and hearty. i probably did not need the meat because i had...
baby back ribs: nice saucy, spicy, tender. I jumped head first into my anxiety of putting messy things on my face (say it. i dare you). I seriously have a problem with eating things that will end up smeared on my face. this includes ice cream cones, fried chicken, ribs, corn. i have a hard time eating apples whole. i like forks and knives and small bits that fit perfectly inside my small mouth. i prefer fun size candy, sushi and dim sum. So i really had to be in some mood for some ribs and it was worth it. served with awesome mashed potatoes that had a hit of horseradish, and a jalepeno cornbread muffin. with the saucy sweetness the ribs offered, this was good dinner
uh, writing this just made me full.
originally 8/26/08
French 75: really i'm just trying to see if anybody can make this drink as well as PandaBear's, but this one i remembered was not nearly as good. too much lemon. chino still reigns
Some Syrah from Walla walla: its wine, it was good shit. i can't remember much because we got blasted afterwards, but that i liked it
Fried green tomatoes: deep fried = gooood, herbed aioli = fancy mayo
croque monsieur salad: spinach with ham and gruyere. good, big and hearty. i probably did not need the meat because i had...
baby back ribs: nice saucy, spicy, tender. I jumped head first into my anxiety of putting messy things on my face (say it. i dare you). I seriously have a problem with eating things that will end up smeared on my face. this includes ice cream cones, fried chicken, ribs, corn. i have a hard time eating apples whole. i like forks and knives and small bits that fit perfectly inside my small mouth. i prefer fun size candy, sushi and dim sum. So i really had to be in some mood for some ribs and it was worth it. served with awesome mashed potatoes that had a hit of horseradish, and a jalepeno cornbread muffin. with the saucy sweetness the ribs offered, this was good dinner
uh, writing this just made me full.
originally 8/26/08
The Heathman
The immortal French 75: Champagne, Gin, and a lemon zest. bubbly and girly, but not the panty droppin version PandaBear makes.
Kumamoto Oysters: to describe how i felt when i tasted it cannot be described in words, but mere grunts of satisfaction, surprise and pleasure. very rich. served with champagne mignonette.
Dungeness Crab Salad: very cute molded avacado, mango and finished with a generous serving of fresh crab. drizzled with olive oil balsamic and a red pepper coulis. the avacado was either overworked, over ripe, or straight up sitting out too long. but other than that it was great. they didn't fuck with the crab, just let it be (as it should)
Crispy Veal Sweetbreads: The second I saw this on the menu I was sure I was going to get it. Sweetbreads, my friends, is the Thymus gland of the calf. This one was the stomach gland. What I have earned in karma for being a nice person, I have lost in my curious eating adventures. Anyways, I've always wanted to try it and i figured the Heathman would know how to give it to me. It had a texture unlike anything i've eaten. soft and velvety with a nice mild flavor. reminded me of a firmer foie gras and it disintegrated in my mouth as quickly as i put it in. but i really have nothing to compare it to. the oyster mushroom risotto complimented it well.
Yum, good food, and it wasn't on my tab. I wish my companions chose more adventurous selections. If you are going to a restaurant like the heath, you may as well try something that will push the limits of its caliber. Dave paid so he is awesome. Satheara's salmon was overdone. my mam, as usual, wished she had soy sauce
In the end:
I can now say I've eaten at the Heathman
I can now say i have had veal sweetbreads
I will always and forever look for kumamoto oysters on a menu
Dave is awesome
the phantom of the opera is AWESOME
originally 8/26/08
Kumamoto Oysters: to describe how i felt when i tasted it cannot be described in words, but mere grunts of satisfaction, surprise and pleasure. very rich. served with champagne mignonette.
Dungeness Crab Salad: very cute molded avacado, mango and finished with a generous serving of fresh crab. drizzled with olive oil balsamic and a red pepper coulis. the avacado was either overworked, over ripe, or straight up sitting out too long. but other than that it was great. they didn't fuck with the crab, just let it be (as it should)
Crispy Veal Sweetbreads: The second I saw this on the menu I was sure I was going to get it. Sweetbreads, my friends, is the Thymus gland of the calf. This one was the stomach gland. What I have earned in karma for being a nice person, I have lost in my curious eating adventures. Anyways, I've always wanted to try it and i figured the Heathman would know how to give it to me. It had a texture unlike anything i've eaten. soft and velvety with a nice mild flavor. reminded me of a firmer foie gras and it disintegrated in my mouth as quickly as i put it in. but i really have nothing to compare it to. the oyster mushroom risotto complimented it well.
Yum, good food, and it wasn't on my tab. I wish my companions chose more adventurous selections. If you are going to a restaurant like the heath, you may as well try something that will push the limits of its caliber. Dave paid so he is awesome. Satheara's salmon was overdone. my mam, as usual, wished she had soy sauce
In the end:
I can now say I've eaten at the Heathman
I can now say i have had veal sweetbreads
I will always and forever look for kumamoto oysters on a menu
Dave is awesome
the phantom of the opera is AWESOME
originally 8/26/08
Nuestra Cocina
corn tortillas: freshly made in front of mah FACE. soft warm chewy.
rockfish ceviche: mmm raw fish cooked with lime juice. the key to my heart. spicy, with tiny melon chunks
Camarones and plantain: Smoky and light. you can't fuck up shrimp and although i hate bananas, the plantains were a nice compliment to the salty savory black beans. shrimp almost, but not overcooked. but its me and if i had it my way i'd eat everything raw.
Margaritas: i had two, by myself... i think i read all of 3 pages of my book.
Definitely mexican food with thought. something more than burritos. really busy fast-paced environment. i love sitting on the rail (i know, cooks aren't strippers) and watching the immaculate chaos of a kitchen. for a moment i felt bad for these kids, it was pushing 98 degrees on saturday. then i realized that i had a margarita, and continued my reluctant day off. i tipped my server well because i am so grateful that i'm not her today. :)
originally 8/18/08
rockfish ceviche: mmm raw fish cooked with lime juice. the key to my heart. spicy, with tiny melon chunks
Camarones and plantain: Smoky and light. you can't fuck up shrimp and although i hate bananas, the plantains were a nice compliment to the salty savory black beans. shrimp almost, but not overcooked. but its me and if i had it my way i'd eat everything raw.
Margaritas: i had two, by myself... i think i read all of 3 pages of my book.
Definitely mexican food with thought. something more than burritos. really busy fast-paced environment. i love sitting on the rail (i know, cooks aren't strippers) and watching the immaculate chaos of a kitchen. for a moment i felt bad for these kids, it was pushing 98 degrees on saturday. then i realized that i had a margarita, and continued my reluctant day off. i tipped my server well because i am so grateful that i'm not her today. :)
originally 8/18/08
Sel Gris
venison: deeeeeeeeeelish
stone fruit salad: fruit arugula and candied walnuts, comfortably predictable
hamachi, seared fois gras and consumme: greasy, i should have gotten the lamb
i'd go again, but stick to real sushi instead of the french fusion sort.
originally 8/15/08
stone fruit salad: fruit arugula and candied walnuts, comfortably predictable
hamachi, seared fois gras and consumme: greasy, i should have gotten the lamb
i'd go again, but stick to real sushi instead of the french fusion sort.
originally 8/15/08
The Fat Liver
The liver.
I have decided to name this ever narcissistic blog after an organ that has so defined my life.
In French, foie gras, is the liver of the overfed goose. Sometimes seared, sometimes turned into pate, it is a delicacy that has been under quite a bit of controversy. It is delicious.
Not only do I find pleasure in its consumption, but I also value my very own liver. He (yes my liver is male) stealthily filters out all of the glorious toxins i love to put into my body. Sometimes, i wonder with all of the food, wine, and liquor i've consumed how my liver may taste.
In reality, this is an exercise for my lost writing skills and a log of my own personal food trek. Bad grammar? pretentious prose? ignorant culinary masturbation? I welcome all critiques and comments. I have no culinary education, and I did not study English. So let us consider this a delicious disaster.
I have decided to name this ever narcissistic blog after an organ that has so defined my life.
In French, foie gras, is the liver of the overfed goose. Sometimes seared, sometimes turned into pate, it is a delicacy that has been under quite a bit of controversy. It is delicious.
Not only do I find pleasure in its consumption, but I also value my very own liver. He (yes my liver is male) stealthily filters out all of the glorious toxins i love to put into my body. Sometimes, i wonder with all of the food, wine, and liquor i've consumed how my liver may taste.
In reality, this is an exercise for my lost writing skills and a log of my own personal food trek. Bad grammar? pretentious prose? ignorant culinary masturbation? I welcome all critiques and comments. I have no culinary education, and I did not study English. So let us consider this a delicious disaster.
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