Via Dethroner, a breakfast sandwich fit for a king.

I’m counting 16 quail eggs. I’m not sure if there’s magical quail factories in France, but one can only dream.
Via Dethroner, a breakfast sandwich fit for a king.

I’m counting 16 quail eggs. I’m not sure if there’s magical quail factories in France, but one can only dream.
Borat to blame for destroying Pamela/Kid Rock marriage.
File under “Awesome”.
The Dude over at PortlandFoodandDrink.com likes to pile on Michael Hebberoy, he of ripe/Gotham/clarklewis infamy, and who can blame him? It’s low hanging fruit. I take Schadenfreudian pleasure in reading his posts regarding boy wonder (here, here and here). Partly because I’m a dick, but also because it’s still fairly entertaining. To draw a parallel: tonight I watched the puffy shirt episode of Seinfeld for the sixth time.
Anyhow, a fellow blogger took umbrage with one post in comments.
…the amount of negative attention that you focus on Michael Hebberoy is a little sad. Don’t you have someone else to focus on, or is the food scene in Portland really that small and pathetic that the antics of one ex-restaurateur are blog fodder for months? Maybe you got personally burned by Hebberoy and that’s where the vendetta comes from, but the name-calling and childish “nyah-nyah”-ing really detract from the credibility of what is otherwise a decent blog.
Later, she expounds, “I guess I don’t know enough about the Portland food scene to be ragging on you guys for harping on one man. Could the swath of destruction he left really be *that* bad??? I met the guy and really found him to be a food-revolutionary.”
To my discredit, I’ve never eaten at ripe, Gotham, or clarklewis. The latter I might still venture to in the near future, if it’s still around and I’m not feeling too self-conscious. I’ve heard good things about the food at all the aforementioned places. But “food-revolutionary”? Having a few dozen people over to your house for a dinner party is not revolutionary. If you are asking them to pay, it’s a business, you know, like a restaurant. If you think people should be grateful for the opportunity to pay good money to eat at your house, you’re an egomaniac.
“Killing” the restaurant is not revolutionary — it’s delusional. Like as if I claimed I’m subverting and reinventing journalism with my piddly keystrokes on this lame blog. It takes plenty of cocaine and stiff cocktails, while locked in a bathroom for extended periods with your closest admirers, for anyone to foment that sort of delusional hubris.
The conscious omission of capitalization is not revolutionary unless you’re E. E. Cummings. And having a “writer-in-residence”? That’s not revolutionary — merely whimsical. And to me makes as much sense as a Nascar pit crew employing a poet laureate, or a street magician needing an accountant.
Revolutionary? Fire. The cultivation of crops. Pasteurization. Food revolutions are epochal. 80,000 B.C. 8,000 B.C. 1862 A.D. Even taking into account the entropic evolution towards singularity, we still aren’t due for another food revolution for a few more years. Give me a ring in the year 2050 when organic, nano-robotic spores successfully spawn a chateaubriand in a laboratory vat.
Helping to cook and organize a meal for Kylie Minogue’s cousin and Norman Mailer’s butler doesn’t make you a revolutionary — it makes you a caterer. And I’m sorry, but catering is not revolutionary. It’s a profession, and, when done well, a craft.
This weekend we ventured out to Beaverton to Jin Wah for a dim sum breakfast. Jin Wah is on the Beaverton/Hillsdale highway, just west of 217, in that maze of strip malls. It is right across the street (north) from the Fred Meyer. Next door is Marinepolis, the conveyor belt sushi place.
Jin Wah bills itself as a Vietnamese restaurant, and if you check out their menu it features standard Viet fare (soups, bun, etc.) with Chinese offerings as well. On weekends they do a pretty standard fare dim sum. While on the whole, their dim sum is not as good as Wong’s King in SE Portland, it is much more accessible. On a Sunday morning at 10:30 AM, for instance, you’ll be hard pressed to find a seat at Wong’s without a substantial wait. This morning we were seated immediately in Jin Wah’s large dining room.
Also, Wong’s is so packed that you’ll have difficulty connecting with the various dim sum carts as they make their way through the dining room. High-demand items might be snatched away before the cart even makes it to your table — it took almost an hour last time I was there to secure a squid order. Not so at Jin Wah — the carts and waitresses pushing them are prolific enough that you don’t feel left out.
Here’s what I sampled:
Total price came to $33 for two people.
The nation’s abuzz about fast food, Vancouver-style.
“Nightline” ran a glowing profile of the Vancouver restaurant chain as the flip side to “Fast Food Nation,” a film that opened Friday.
The movie is based on Eric Schlosser’s best-seller, which criticizes the fast-food industry’s labor practices and environmental impact, as well as its food: It comes from factories, not farms, he says.
But Schlosser loves Burgerville’s burgers and fries. He discovered them when he ate at a Burgerville the night before a 2005 speech in Portland.
“I’m not a paid spokesman for Burgerville,” Schlosser told ABC’s Terry Moran. “I just like to see companies that do things the right way.”
…
In addition to spotlighting its food, ABC reported how Burgerville supports wind power, offers health care benefits and uses waste cooking oil for biodiesel fuel.
Good for them. Via Extra MSG.
I had a very good meal at Alberta Street Oyster Bar and Grill last weekend.
It was the first time I’ve been. It’s a charming spot sandwiched between Bernie’s Southern Bistro and Bella Faccia Pizza on the south side of Alberta, a few blocks west of 33rd. The dining area forms a L around a large bar area, and the ambiance was welcoming on an early Saturday evening.
We started off with the House Cut Fries with Spicy Roumelade. The fries were sufficiently crispy, though of course I think they needed more salt (salt is my favorite food). The roumelade was very pleasantly piquant – my wife and I ate each fry down to the last crispified nub. My wife loved the creamy garlic dressing on her romaine salad, which I also thought was great. The salad featured some briny nicoise olives, and a single, thin crouton about the size of a small remote.
My panko fried oysters were dynamite. I usually try to avoid cooked oysters, but I have a weakness for anything panko battered. The appetizer featured 3 perfectly fried oysters (I forgot to ask what type of oyster – they were medium sized, larger than the kumamotos I treaure), topped with a warm bacon vinagrette, frisee, and crowned with a single, poached quail egg. After piercing the egg and allowing the yolk to spill, the combination of flavors and textures really hit the spot. In my opinion, oysters become a bit “gamey” and creamy when cooked, but paired with creamy quail yolk, the acidity of the vinagrette (including chewy little bacon nibblets), and the airy crispiness of the frisee greens (and the panko batter itself), these oysters really shined.
My wife had the burger, which in execution I admit was sort of half-baked. First of all, she asked for her burger well done, despite my admonishments over the years to never ask for anything ever well done. But what can you do. This burger, though, suffers more in concept due to the ciabatta bun – the sandwich itself is difficult to put away. The ciabatta, which reminds me of what Delfina’s sells over at their bakery on 42nd Ave., needed more of a toast to really hold up as a burger bun — it was really too chewy to act as a proper foil for the meat. My wife complained the blue cheese was too sparse, and the garnish of pale-looking tomatoes (it’s November though) and three cornichons was too simple. The burger was topped with bacon that was too undercooked for my wife’s liking – no fault of ASOBG, that is her own preference.
For my entree I opted for the duck breast, sliced at a bias and served atop honey glazed root vegetables and potato gnochhi. The duck was roasted, more medium rare than rare, and was extremely tender and flavorful. Duck breast is one of my favorite “red” meats. The root vegetables of potatos and carrots were cooked perfectly, and the gnocchi were toothsome and tender at the same time. The entire dish intermingled with what I think was a cilantro (“Coriander” on the menu) oil, and I thought I could discern other green herbs as well. All in all, a very satisfying dish, one I paired with self-sliced “lardons” from the wonderfully rich and smokey bacon discarded from my wife’s burger — this actually was amazing.
Service was efficient and friendly. Our server we recognized from Cia Vito back in the day. We skipped desert and went to Pix.
For a more comprehensive and well-written writeup on this place, check out the review at Food Dude’s place and what other diners have posted at Portlandfood.org. I will be back to explore more items on the menu, and would like to try their happy hour (all night Sundays and Mondays). This place is a great anchor to the Concordia/Alberta neighborhood.
Last week, I picked my Mom up from the airport and headed over to southeast 82nd for some grazing and shopping. We stopped at Fubonn shopping center, and first had a bite to eat at the Banh Cuon Tinh Danh.
I’ve been here a few times, and each time it really seems to get progressively more erstwhile.
Case in point: three of their banh cuon items feature “Shrimp Tempura”, which I thought was very odd but intriguing so I ordered one of them – the option with pork filling and topped with shrimp tempura.
After being served, I inquired to the missing shrimp, and was informed that the “shrimp tempura” was not the only “misprint” on the item, but that the banh cuon was not filled with anything at all, which explained the grilled pork scattered on top of plain, folded rice flour sheets. The owner claimed all the shrimp tempura items were misprints.
However, looking at Extra MSG’s photos from last year, you can see that there’s fried shrimp on top of the banh cuon, and yep, the banh cuon is stuffed (like it is traditionally). Perhaps they have changed the menu, that’s fine, but reprint them at least, instead of using the Jedi mind trick after I’ve ordered (“These aren’t the droids you’re looking for”.)
Earlier this year during my Mom’s previous visit she had the hui tieu dac biet, filled to the rim with fish balls, pork, liver, etc. It was good, and my young daughter helped slurp up the random protein items. This time she had a soup with thin egg noodles filled with tasty slices of stewed beef and your standard fish balls. The broth was very spicy and flavorful. The soup came with a garnish plate of sprouts, lime, jalapenos, and cilantro.
And that’s one thing that is bugging me about this place lately – the garnishes. I would expect more herbs and additional/different vegetables with my dishes. For instance, I had the Bun Thit Nuoung (cool rice noodles topped with grilled lemograss pork) here once and it was garnished only with cilantro, lettuce and pickled carrots and radish. Another time, I ordered Bun Thit Nuoung Cia Gio (with pork and fried egg rolls), and same deal. My banh cuon dish this time also suffered the same fate. Iceberg lettuce (which is a major foul, IMO), no cucumber, no mint, which I feel is essential for rice noodle dishes served with nuoc cham. And the cia gio were insipid – very thin, stuffed with hardly anything at all – I ate mostly egg roll wrapper skins. Admittedly, my mom sets the bar pretty hard with cia gio, but these weren’t even mediocre.
After shopping at Fubonn, we stopped by Vina Deli, a newish banh mi stop just a few blocks north of Fubonn. The banh mi menu is odd in that there are 11 items on the Vietnamese language side, and 9 items on the translated English side, and #1—#4 actually correlate, and after that it breaks down and devolves into chaos. I ordered the Banh Mi Thit Nuong, with the Vietnamese grilled pork — there is a Chinese BBQ pork option as well, but they are numbered differently on the menu, so I made sure to order by name. The lady behind the counter didn’t really “get” my order, so my mom thankfully intervened on my part.
The sandwich was actually very large ($2.75) in comparison to other banh mi shops in the area. The meat was flavorful and plentiful, and the pickled carrots and radish garnish was actually paper thin slices, rather than the long julienne — a small detail that I enjoyed immensely, as it added a different dimension. After Binh Minh (nee Maxim’s) on NE Halsey, this is the best Viet sandwich I’ve had in Portland.
Vina also features some very fresh and plentiful looking goi cuon rolls for $3, and sells plate lunches with rice and your choice of 1 to 3 items (the latter being $5.50). One of those item options appeared to be an entire fried pomfret, so this could potentially be a good deal.
In the same strip mall as Vina, there’s a Good Taste Chinese restaurant that sells roast pig and duck by the pound. We picked up half a duck ($8.95) and a good pound of roast pig ($7.95/lb) complete with a hefty veneer of crackling. The duck came with a plastic ramekin of duck sauce, which I poured over the fowl and a plate of jasmine rice that night for dinner. The meat on the duck was rather sparse, but it was tasty and the skin relatively crispy. The pork we used to make a braised dish, which is the subject of another post.
Chow explores the epistemological underpinnings of America’s aversion to horse meat.
Passon emphasizes a key point: Since Americans have never had to eat horse, unlike the historically impoverished peasantry of Europe, the meat’s never become normalized. “If we train Americans, they would eat it,” he says. Asked if he would serve horsemeat to New Yorkers if they’d order it, Passon is enthusiastic: “Oh, definitely.” Horse is typically compared to beef—although it is lighter and less fatty—and Passon, who loves its taste, likens its texture to that of skirt steak. “It’s very sweet and it’s very bloody,” he adds. Traveling in Italy recently, he purchased a horse salami, or salami di cavallo. (Horsemeat was traditionally used for sausage in Italy’s north.) “I compared it to the pork one, and it was ten times better,” he says. “I gave it to my partner, and he’s like, this is the best sausage I’ve ever had.
So true. After the Kentucky Derby winner broke its leg last spring, it was the top story in the American media for weeks (incidentally, soldiers killed in the battlefield were lucky to be mentioned — so much for supporting the troops). While I’m not too keen on chowing down on Seabiscuit anytime soon, I can’t really fault the rest of the world (including our Canuck neighbors) for finding deliciousness in the saddle. Chez Pim recently posted about her experience with horse fat fries, and the subsequent revulsion.
As gourmands (and dilettantes) are forever pushing the envelope in terms of the market for high-end ingredients, imagine what thoroughbred horse meat would fetch? Fuck Kobe beef, get me a Secretariat filet, stat!
Cabel’s Blog LOL explore’s Kettle’s new beta chip program.
The Aztec Chocolate (“That’s right, a chocolate potato chip, made with actual organic Dagoba chocolate powder, cinnamon, chili.. wow. I can’t imagine eating a bag, but I’m glad I got a chance to eat at least one.”) sounds…erm, interesting (maybe still “alpha”). The Royal Indian Curry sounds like a must-have release.
I bet Kettle still beats the launch of Windows Vista.
From Ms. Karen Brooks via Oregon Live.
I saw the menu last week and it’s one of the most exciting menus I’ve seen in some time, drawing on a broad Asian palate, with a number of dishes never seen before in Portland. As Ali G would say, check it: A wild-sounding northern Thai roots salad called yam samun phrai, mottled with cashews, peanuts and sesame seeds, tossed in chile-scented coconut milk dressing and finished with an herbal crown of shredded betel, sawtooth and basil leaves. Deep-fried Vietnamese chicken wings caramelized in garlic and Phu Quoc fish sauce, made from the long-jawed anchovy and prized in Vietnam for its rich, nuanced pungency. A Yunnan-style soup fashioned from charcoal-roasted leg of lamb, with fresh wheat noodles and mint mixed in lamb broth.
Oh my.
UPDATE: Mr. Pok Pok posts @Portlandfood.org…
pok pok is growing
We will be closed Thanksgiving day, November 23rd. We will reopen at 5 pm Wednesday, November 29th for dinner only in our new 32 seat dining room, The Whiskey Soda Lounge, in the basement of the house next door to the shack! We will resume lunch service Monday, December 4th also in the new dining room. There will be new lunch and dinner menus as well as a late night menu. Pok Pok will continue to be a nonsmoking establishment. No reservations will be taken, sorry.
The shack will be undergoing some changes too. It will become a satellite kitchen for the dining room and a to-go pick up window. THE SHACK WILL ONLY ACCEPT CASH PAYMENT UPON REOPENING! Don’t worry, you can still use your credit card, but you will have to go into the dining room and place an order with the bartender or host and pay them. There will no longer be a $10 minimum order for cards. This is to streamline operation of the shack and dining room. The shack menu will change a little, but most of the usual items will be available.
Thank you very much for your patience as we go through them changes, and thanks for your patronage during our first year
There was a post today at Food Dude’s place about local exotic meat and game purveyor Nicky USA, and their recent score of some choice goose livers. In that post, Nancy Rommelman briefs us on The War Against Carnivores™, including a recap of the last few salvos. She frames Portland’s latest engorged goose liver capture within that context.
In comments, I linked to a post by Michael Ruhlman wherein a colleague of his describes visiting a duck foie farm in France and witnessing the ducks living humane lives, gracefully force fed a diet that includes what one gathers to be the RENDERED FAT OF ITS OWN KIND.
When I first learned of this a few months ago, I was pretty creeped out. The last time I’ve had foie was last year as part of a 7 course chef’s tasting menu at the Montage Resort in Laguna Beach (thx bro!), and I thoroughly enjoyed it. It can be quite a tasty piece of flesh, though I would opt for a seared, savory preperation rather than some cold, compressed terrine. That night we ate pan seared Hudson Valley foie gras served atop a seared rare duck breast with some sort of black truffle something or another — it was pretty damned amazing. The foie literally melted away with each bite.
However, I’m not too eager to dive back in. Look, I’ll be honest, the inhumanity angle vis-à-vis force-fed fowl never really gave me much pause. First of all, I eat the stuff infrequent enough (if I have the coin to splurge, you’re more likely to see me opt for marbled steak). And in the back of my mind, just postulating the kind of horrors that are practiced at, say, commercial chicken concerns, why would I of all people draw some imaginary line? Last month, I uncomfortably shadowed an 18-wheeler on the interstate stacked with 2×2 crates, each occupied by a live, hapless chicken. I couldn’t help but to steal glances at the wall-of-poultry monstrosity and shudder at the sheer miscalculated application of cold, free market principles.
If you check out the website for Sonoma Foie Gras, the farm mentioned in the post, you’ll learn:
Guillermo and Junny Gonzalez left their homeland of El Salvador in 1985 to pursue a new venture: The establishment of a foie gras farm in the United States. They traveled first to France where they apprenticed in foie gras production with the respected Dubois family in the Perigord Region.
It could be that the farm that supplies Portland with their foie feeds their ducks their brothers, sisters, and cousins. Or not.
I posted some feigned outrage, but it fell on deaf ears (as a friend of mine says, “I draw the line at deliciousness”). But the more I think about it, the more potentially creeped out I become. Fuck ethics and debating any particular merits of “humanely” prepping an animal for its eventual slaughter. That has little to do with this. There has to be some sort karmic retribution to force feeding an animal, any animal, TO EAT ITSELF. You’re crossing some sort of line of self-restraint — violating some ancient Hammurabic-like code — with this weird, disturbingly fucked practice, like when the dude from INXS hung himself trying to wack off. Mad cow disease seems to me prima facie evidence.
Sure, call me a pansyweight plebe who doesn’t appreciate the delicate art of fine delectables. I mean, look at the title of this blog. But I would feel a bit weird about serving my dog a diet of rendered beagle jowls, or my cat its own testicles.
New Rule: There’s just something about a crew cut that says, “You can trust me.” This is Montana’s new senator, John Tester. I don’t know much about him. And I don’t need to. His hair says it all. “I’m friendly, I’m dependable, I’m literally level-headed.” If hair could smile, it would look like this. And most importantly, it’s hair that says, “You will never ever, ever, ever find me snorting meth with a gay hooker.”
— Bill Maher
This past weekend I was with the family out in Portland’s shaved and deodorized armpit, otherwise known as the Tigard/Beaverton interchange near Washington Square Mall. Lacking a clear consensus on what/where to eat, we stopped at Chipotle Mexican Grill because it happened to be on a street.
Chipotle is owned (or used to be owned or something (I’m too lazy to look it up or even care)) by the McDonald’s corporation. But apparently it has much more meager roots as a small chain in Colorado with an emphasis on natural, sustainable ingredients — most notably the beef, pork and chicken they feature in their burritos and tacos.
Back when I lived in Tucson, Chipotle opened a branch near the University of Arizona campus that I visited a couple times, and I was duly unimpressed. Some 6 years later, I’m similarly unimpressed and, in fact, rather fucking pissed about the entire enterprise.
I ordered the tacos, which came 3 to an order for the soft version, and 4 to an order for hard tacos. I’m not sure why the disparity — this is the kind of thing that pisses me off right off the bat and keeps me up at night. Of course I ordered the soft tacos, as that’s my thing, but now I have to wonder why I’m getting shortchanged one taco. Don’t make me think, you goddamn soft taco cockblockers!
Thinking I would get soft corn tortillas, instead I watched as the guy behind the counter took out three small flour tortillas and stuck them into some steam/press contraption (similar to what you’d press a pair of slacks with) for about 3 seconds, ensuring that the flour discs themselves would reach the optimum level of gummy crappiness as dictated by the corporate division of Standards, Weights and Measurements.
You have your choice of meats – Chicken, Carnitas, “Barbacoa”, or Vegetarian. I had the “Barbacoa”, which is essentially braised, shredded beef. Each of the meat choices vary in price difference, from 15 cents to a quarter or so or more, and the Vegetarian is the cheapest, but by not as much as you’d think. The Vegetarian option includes guacamole, yet guacamole is an upcharge for the other choices. Again, why the disparity? Why is one meat 15 fucking cents cheaper than the other? You’re AGAIN pissing me off. I hate you and your tiered meat pricing, you fucking corporate bean counting rat bastards.
I digress. Chipotle takes the Subway approach, in that you’re immediately pushed into a conveyor belt as you build your burrito/tacos. The same guy who reconstituted my gummy tortilla discs apparently is too into himself to be the same person who horks the meat on my tacos. I kinda wish he had, because the chick who did dress my tacos gave me ABOUT A TABLESPOON AND A HALF OF “BARBACOA” MEAT PER TACO. Seriously, I thought they were going to wrap up the thing into a beggars purse, it was so sparse. At least that would have been an interesting presentation, and would have spared me the ignominy that was to follow, which is choosing my salsa.
As she moved me down the conveyer belt, she asked which type of salsa I’d like. As I remember it, this was what bugged me the most when I first went to Chipotle some six years ago. Whereas most corporate chain Mexican grills — such as La Salsa, Baja Fresh, Rubios, et. all — allow you to garnish your own offerings with a variety of fresh and tasty salsas from their garnish bar (and often times, limes, pickled peppers, chopped onions and cilantro), Chipotle usurps this consumer right of manifest destiny. Again with the cockblock.
They have four different types of salsa, I think – a pico de gallo, a green, a hot red, and a corn. Corn? That’s not a salsa – that’s a relish. Stop calling your relish “salsa”! She asked what kind of salsa I wanted, and then it all came back to me. Why. I. Hate. Chipotle. Most. Of. All. They want you to choose just one salsa. Just. One. What if you chose “corn”? Well, you’d be supremely fucked, because, da dum, you didn’t even get a goddamn salsa – you got a relish. Your burrito would be dry and flavorless because of their salsa segregationist policies. And I remember, that fateful day, six years ago, I asked for more than one type of salsa, and THEY UPCHARGED ME FOR IT. Bad memories came flooding back, memories long ago repressed, reconciled, and mercifully forgotten.
I did not blink. I did not waiver. In response to her question, “What kind of salsa…” I replied, “All of them.” Never before had a challenge been so forcefully communicated. What was she going to do, upcharge me three times? She hesistated for a moment, and seemed like she was just about to call my bluff, but ultimately in a huff spooned out about half a teaspoon of each salsa on each taco. Chintzy, to be sure, but at the time I was so content with my moral victory I didn’t notice that I was not offered my choice of cheese or sour cream which the menu stated was my God-given right. I still lost out in the end.
We paid for our tacos and my wife’s and her sister’s burritos (which were upcharged $1.40 apiece for a small schmear of guacamole making it the lamest $7 burrito ever) and retreated to our table. The tortillas were alternately gummy and falling apart soggy from the “Barbacoa”, and the salsas so lifeless and sparse I was forced to augment with the Tabasco brand green jalapeno and chipotle jarred hot sauces Chipotle is kind enough to actually allow patrons to use. BTW, these Tabasco sauces suck when applied straight-up — you might as well put uncut vinegar on your food and then punch yourself in the eye.
The shame was that, while way too much accompanying braising liquid was served with the “Barbacoa”, the meat itself was fairly flavorful. I just wish I would have been served more than 2 ounces total of meat with my $6 taco order (and unlike Baja Fresh, you don’t get any chips). A side note: my wife and her sister totally dug their burritos/Chipolte experience. Fucking white people.
Chipotle. Shame on you. Shame on the entire state of Colorado. And shame on me for being fooled. Again.
Never again.
Tilapia is a very mild fish with a flaky, white flesh. I find it to be tender, and almost neutral in flavor. During a recent Iron Chef America battle it was the theme ingredient, and all the judges bashed it for being pretty lame, almost a non-ingredient, devoid of any discernible flavor characteristics. Fuck those bitches.
I like it for its clean, simple taste, and it’s perfect for sauteeing for fish tacos or to eat with rice. Also, it’s dirt cheap. Tilapia fries up really well – many Mexican restaurants will feature it fried whole.
Here’s a fried tilapia I picked up from Fubonn for a mere $3 for THE ENTIRE FISH.
Flesh extracted and served atop jasmine rice. Simple grub.
Speaking of Fubonn, Asian fishmongers (Thanh Thao on 65th and Sandy also comes to mind) will ask you if you’d like the fish dressed, which means they’ll use a bandsaw to cut off the fins and section the body. This makes it ready for soups, but I also like this because it allows me to marinate the fish in disparate parts, and put it back together again to steam/roast whole. It’s kinda creepy, too.
Surreal Dali fish in a simple marinade of soy, fish sauce, lime juice, sesame oil, rice wine.
Reassembled fish. Cavities and flesh rubbed with minced ginger, lemongrass, garlic, bird chilies. Pour over marinade, tent with foil, and bake at 425 degrees for 15 minutes. Remove foil and continue to roast for 7-10 minutes.
Steamed and roasted tilapia in random state of deconstruction.
For those of you wanting to recreate the experience of eating at Alinea, Crucial Detail has debuted a new spectrum of utensils-slash-dinnerware.
Simply load each piece with your own molecular gastronomic pleasures and confound your guests when they can’t figure out if you’re trying to feed or injure them.
I’m working on my own piece – a Newton’s cradle server that is meant to be loaded with alternating spheres of ossified, impacted bonito shavings encasing a single umeboshi, pulverized taro shells filled with Kamchatkan seema roe, and 100-year old balsamic gelées with a propane furnace-blasted furikake crust, all bookended on both sides with a malted milk ball. To eat, one must catch a sphere at precisely 30 degrees on the upswing, using only one’s pinkie and thumb. Bon appetit!
Is a burrito a sandwich? Judge says no. I can now finally get a good night’s sleep.
WORCESTER, Mass. – Is a burrito a sandwich?
The Panera Bread Co. bakery-and-cafe chain says yes. But a judge said no, ruling against Panera in its bid to prevent a Mexican restaurant from moving into the same shopping mall.
Panera has a clause in its lease that prevents the White City Shopping Center in Shrewsbury from renting to another sandwich shop. Panera tried to invoke that clause to stop the opening of an Qdoba Mexican Grill.
First of all, fuck you Panera, and your dominion expanding lust for power via the narrow interpretation of non-compete clauses. If Qdoba was selling tortas, maybe you’d have a case. Who the hell is so scared of another quick-stop eatery, especially one run by Jack-in-the-Box, that you’d have to appeal to “activist” judges to protect your turf?
I can see this one going all the way to the Supreme Court. Scalia would write the dissenting opinion, claiming stare decisis does not apply as Mexicans have no rights.
Ed Bradley, RIP. A true legend and gentleman.
‘Brooklyn Style Pizza’ Meets the Real Deal.
NYTimes hits real Brooklyn pizza joints with Domino’s in hand, looking to see how the erstwhile knockoff compares to the source.
Still, any time Brooklyn gets a nod, that’s not a bad thing. “But anyone in the Midwest who thinks this is real Brooklyn is getting fooled,” he said.
That’s the basic message from Mrs. Ciminieri at Totonno’s, who was finally persuaded to taste a Domino’s slice in the name of research.
“In Utah, they’re going to love it because they use ketchup and American cheese on their pizzas,” she said. “It tastes like any other pizza you get at the corner slice joint. They used the same tomatoes, the same processed cheese, the same preservatives.”
Will Domino’s do a “Provo Style Pizza” next made from Hunt’s and Velveeta? One can only dream — please email me. I’d like to be part of that focus group.
That kind of imagery just grinds at Marty Markowitz, the Brooklyn borough president.
“It’s a multinational right-wing company, mass marketing the Brooklyn attitude with obsolete ethnic stereotypes, not to mention flimsy crusts,” he said through a spokesman.
Mr. Markowitz has yet to taste the Domino’s pizza. But that didn’t stop him from offering an opinion: “To our sophisticated palates, Domino’s is about as Brooklyn as Sara Lee Cheesecake is Junior’s.”
Give that guy a blog!
Way to go, asshats. GOP resorts to SPAM.
More here, and here. I don’t care if you’re a Green or a Libertarian. Everyone hates a fucking spammer.
I found these photos from my daughter’s 2-year-old birthday this past summer. I’m mostly posting this up for myself, and next summer I can refer to what I made so I don’t repeat myself like a boring, unimaginative broken record (aka anything Radiohead has done since “OK Computer”). Next year: Pop Tarts!
Chimichurri was a utilized theme – recipe follows. On the menu that day:
Flat iron steak with chimichurri.
A view with the flash on. The steak was marinated in red wine vinegar, olive oil, rosemary, and dusted with smoked paprika, salt and pepper before grilling.
Grill halibut and Atlantic salmon fillet. I was feeling lazy and kind of drunk at this point, so I ditched my original intent to create a masterfully custom sauce (“hey, look — chimichurri!”).
My buddy chad stopped by the Portland Farmers’ Market and picked up some delicious grilling vegetables. Balsamic and olive oil, S&P.
Aunt Margaret from Rochester made her “summerized” take on caprese, adding avocado and red onion.
Romaine with red onions, raspberry vinagrette, and sliced strawberries.
Grilled pork loin and vegetable souvlaki skewers, marinated in fresh thyme, marjoram, olive oil, lemon juice, S&P. This meat did not feature chimichurri.
Not pictured: brown rice pilaf, and 2 cakes, one in which my wife did a face plant when she slipped carrying it down the steps of our front porch. We ate the second cake.
Combine all ingredients in one of those mini-prep food processors and pulse. Add some more olive oil if you want to jigger the consistency.
For the intrepid cook (who has a bulletproof home insurance policy), Chow.com has an photo-essay rundown on how to fry a turkey just in time for T-day.
Also, tips on what to do with that vat of oil after you’re done.
Almost £500,000 worth of Ireland’s world famous stout is lost each year in the moustaches and beards of imbibers of the creamy headed black stuff.
Research carried out in the UK by Guinness reveals that an estimated 92,370 moustachioed drinkers of the Irish brew lose up to 162,719 pints each year.
Total party foul.
Seafood Population Depleted by 2048, Study Finds.
“We really see the end of the line now,” said lead author Boris Worm, a marine biologist at Canada’s Dalhousie University. “It’s within our lifetime. Our children will see a world without seafood if we don’t change things.”
Dear God. Time to expand the scope of that coy pond project in the back yard.
Via my little brother…Watch out when ordering this menu item.
This is a first in a series of taco reports. I’ve created a category for these posts, as I eat a fair amount of tacos. My usual taqueria acid test will be to eat three tacos — one asada, one pastor, and one carnitas. These may vary according to availability.
Los Tres Hermanos is a non-descript taco truck that is parked on the Northeast corner of Denver and Killingsworth, in a convenience mart parking lot. It is caddy corner to a Plaid Pantry, and across the street on Killingsworth is Di Prima Dolce, which is the subject of another post.
This unassuming taco truck could very well deliver some of the tastiest tacos to be found in North Portland.
At times, you’ll find the ordering window attended by Erica, the precocious 10-year old daughter of the truck’s owners. Here she is with her younger sister, 5-year old Jessica. On this day I biked to Los Tres Hermanos with my 2 year-old daughter in tow, and both girls took a liking to her and were quite sweet.
Here’s the handwritten menu. Note to self: try the virria.
The taco triumvirate. The tacos are on the smaller side, and are served in doubled-up tortilla stacks.
The tacos come pre-dressed with chopped white onions, cilantro, and salsas. They’ll ask you if you want “todo”, you should say “sí”. If you have issues with raw onions, cilantro, or salsa, you shouldn’t really be eating at a taqueria. Go to Taco Bell, you fucking dick.
Pastor. This isn’t spit roasted like traditional pastor, but tasty nonetheless. Nice and crispy, and very flavorful.
Asada. The meat is fine, but could have been crispier and a bit more aggressively seasoned.
Carnitas. These came dressed with salsa verde. Delicious.

My own carnivore-in-training makes sure to scarf every last bit of asada.
As I mentioned earlier, Los Tres Hermanos is at the top of my list of North Portland taco experiences. The downsides? There’s very little seating, which really isn’t that much of an issue as I’ve never seen a full-on bum rush. But you also have to sit outdoors, under a tent, and it is a truck, after all. Some might bemoan this lack of ambiance, but I find it charming.
The main knock against Los Tres Hermanos, however, is that they do not give you squirt bottles of their delicious salsa to apply to every bite of taco. I tend to put a premium on accessorizing and over-condimentizing.
Wine extract keeps mice fat and healthy.
A wonderful adjunct to my KFC fried chicken diet…a box of red wine with each meal. Singularity, here I come!