Food I Ate With Meat
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I’ve been going to this place for nearly eight years, back when it was Pho Oregon “West” (despite being only a mile from the other Pho Oregon at NE 82nd Ave).
The interior is spartan. You are automatically rationed the standard beverages.
It took a name change, and a format change, plus Extra MSG’s vetting of the assorted grilled meat platter, that got me thinking about anything but pho at this place.
But why would I? I’ve long contended this location on NE Sandy, when it existed as a namesake to the NE 82nd version, had the better bowl of soup of the two doppelgängers. Since the obvious switch of ownership (and name, and staff, who are now dressed in lovely white uniforms) a few years back, I had no reason to really look past the first turn of the first menu page, the page where various permutations of pho are listed in perfunctory uniformity, the same list xeroxed and sampled by every pho joint from Chula Vista to Bellingham.
The salad platter at Pho An Sandy, as it was back when it was Pho Oregon, is unparalleled in Portland. You will always get more than enough <em>ngo gai</em>, aka culantro aka sawtooth herb, no matter how lily white your skin or accent may be.
The broth at Pho An Sandy I believe is one of our city’s most well balanced, though—as with any soup joint with high turnover that is constantly bootstrapping their stockpot—it can vary in the amount of spice, clarity, beefiness, sweetness, etc.
The braised meats (chin, nam) are very consistent.
All in all, a very excellent pho, served quickly and without fuss. What more could you ask for? Well, Pho An Sandy also has a wide and varied menu that expands beyond the perfunctory soup offerings.
Including this “dac biet” mixed grill platter, which features bo la lot (beef wrapped in betel leaves), grilled lemongrass pork (topped with sauteed shallots and chopped peanuts)…
…grilled sugarcane shrimp…
…and nem nuong (pork patty/sausage)
As is Pho An Sandy’s MO, the salad platter that accompanied this impressive phalanx of deliciously grilled meats was generous, overflowing with spearmint, perilla, rau ram, cucumber, and lettuce.
The general idea with Vietnamese meats is to roll your own (using the carefully constructed quenelles of rice noodles served with the meats as a starch foundation), thus you’re given a bowl of warm water and dried rice paper sheets…
…and a bowl of nuoc cham dipping sauce (always add a dollop of the fresh chili garlic sauce on the table—you’ll be thankful).
A delicious strip of nem nuong about in pre-rolled state.
I can roll a fat blunt.
Come to daddy, sugarcane shrimp.
Pho An Sandy on THE WORLD WIDE WEB
Portlandfood.org
Pho An Sandy
6236 Northeast Sandy Boulevard
Portland, OR 97213
(503) 281-2990
All 1.5 readers of this blog know I’m a big fan of Sanchez Taqueria, Tigard’s very own taste of Mexico that churns out delicious meats wrapped in hand-made pillows of fresh tortilla goodness (aka the “taco”).
Many of these readers will be interested to discover that Sanchez has expanded, usurping the square footage once occupied by (what I assume was) an erstwhile BBQ joint that formerly shared the same building.
Sanchez now bills itself as a “panaderia”…
…and in this case the strength of this size alone legitimizes their claim, even if their baked goods at the time were a bit sparse.
Ordering is done at the front counter, as before, the operative difference being that the front counter now occupies it’s own room (equipped with seating for to-go orders) at the very south side of the taqueria.
The interior is now quite cavernous, now spanning two separate rooms, each one singularly larger than the previous dining area altogether.
Tacos.
Asada. Wasn’t as crisp as I’ve had previous visits. It’s consistently very crisp, so I’ll give them the benefit of the doubt.
Excellent pastor this time. Just a very tiny bit too sweet than where my tastes lay, but excellent and crisped up better than the asada this day.
Full metal taco jacket.
I hadn’t been to HA&VL on a Saturday for some time, so I was due for a visit.
Saturday’s feature is “Bun Moc Ha Noi”—pepper pork meatball noodle soup, laced with black pepper & slices of pork in pork broth.
The salad plate at HA&VL is not the largest.
But it really is just enough to make the entire bowl come together. In addition to the pork meatballs and Vietnamese spam, the soup is garnished with green onions, cilantro, rau ram, fragrantly fried shallots, a large, fried fish ball.
And lurking underneath are a few slices of this excellent pork, rimmed with a layer of gelatinous, chewy fat that’s so nice to chomp on.
I don’t know how they do this, but this bowl of bun moc was better than the half-dozen bowls I’ve had in the past. At HA&VL, the best bowl of soup always seems to be the last bowl of soup you’ve eaten here.
HA&VL Sandwiches
2738 SE 82nd Ave Ste 103
Portland, OR 97266
(503) 772-0103
HA&VL on the WORLD WIDE WEB
HA&VL Sandwiches on Yelp
It is now our official policy to not link to Yelp as that website is a depraved wasteland populated by deranged homunculi.
I recently ventured back to “The Old Pueblo”, aka Tucson, Arizona.
These tamales from Lerua’s were waiting for us thanks to the father-in and mother-in-law.
A fine specimen of a tamale, if a bit on the drier side. These were red chili beef tamales. The paler version (on the right) were green chili (no meat).
With an ample layer of house made salsa, these tamales became really excellent.
Lerua’s Fine Mexican Food
2005 East Broadway Boulevard
Tucson, AZ 85719-5937
(520) 624-0322
Stopped by Biwa recently for a bowl of soup.
One bonus of dining at Biwa, in addition to a hot towel that warms the soul, is the amuse you get of marinated sea vegetable. Just a couple bites to start the meal off right.
Biwa Ramen, with the egg option. The egg has that great consistency that’s a bit beyond soft- but appropriately short of hard-boiled.
When Biwa first opened, I was eager to check it out for the ramen alone. While I loved everything else about Biwa, the ramen fell a bit short.
But they’ve retooled dish, and the noodles are consistently curly and toothsome, and the broth that comprises their namesake ramen is deeply flavorful, redolent of roasted onion and simmered pork, most comparable I would estimate to a dark shoyu stock. My last couple visits the broth featured little bits of fat that added a bit of delicious, unctuous richness. Biwa also features a Chicken Ramen that has a much lighter broth—I’ve had it once and found it fine, but personally I would opt for the complexity of the Biwa ramen each and every time.
The ramen at Biwa is garnished a bit sparsely (with just green onion and a thin sheet of nori), and once you retool it with optional add-ons (egg for $1 and/or chasyu pork at $2 – the pork looks great, check out Sauce Supreme’s photo) it can become a somewhat expensive bowl of soup. But right now, unless there’s some new option I’m not aware of, I think Biwa is churning out the best bowl of Japanese-style soup in our fair burg.
While not very prototypical in terms of style and execution, I would say it’s a distinctly Portland take on ramen (above is a shot of the “parking lot”) and I’m officially a fan.
Biwa
215 Southeast 9th Avenue
Portland, OR 97214
(503) 239-8830
Biwa on THE WORLD WIDE WEB
Jade Patisserie and Teahouse is a charming, family-run establishment located on that equally charming strip of 13th Avenue in Sellwood that boasts antique shops and other things white people like.
Jade is owned and operated by a Vietnamese family that executes straightforward, homestyle southeast Asian favorites with an emphasis on bright, impeccably fresh flavors.
Ordering is done at the counter, before an impressively composed, handwritten chalkboard menu rife with solid typography. I want these fonts.
The salad rolls are available with lemongrass tofu, or shrimp and chicken. Unlike the goi cuon you’ll find at standard Vietnamese greasy spoons, these have no noodles and feature a higher ratio of vegetables and herbs. For $5, it’s a huge order.
These are some of the best salad rolls I’ve had in town, tightly packed with fresh thai basil leaves that give them an anise-y snap. The fact that the tofu itself is seasoned beyond being simply fried is a touch that does not go unnoticed.
The won ton soup is a pleasant rendition, with a mild but flavorful broth. I definitely appreciated the greens and slices of lean char sui.
The dumplings themselves are on the diminutive side—you won’t confuse these with the overstuffed wontons at Kenny’s Noodle House—but overall it’s a satisfying dish.
The “Stir Fried Rice Noodles” here are nothing really more than stir fried rice noodles. The peanuts denote that it could be a sort of “pad thai” but it’s not trying to be this at all—just a mild, enjoyable noodle dish, if somewhat on the bland side. You’ll want to ask for some chili oil or Siracha to spike it up. But the composure of the dish speaks to what Jade is all about: fresh, simple, and comforting.
Which brings up another distinction. While Jade Patisserie and Teahouse is a full-fledged restaurant, it has a very casual feel. Unlike most Vietnamese restaurants you won’t find condiments (or chopsticks and spoons, for that matter) at each table.
This shot above is of the wonderful nook tucked into the far end of the restaurant (that features Connect Four).
I love the char sui hum bao here. It’s flat on either end unlike the dome-shaped buns you’re more likely to encounter. A much greater protein-to-dough ratio is the result, which in this case is a very good thing, as the hum bao is brimming with flavorful chopped bbq pork.
The beef stew here (bo kho) is one of the better versions of beef stew you’ll find in any restaurant, Vietnamese or otherwise. This is down-home cooking, rich, deep and satisfying.
If you’re anything like me you’ll be busting your gut to sop up every last drop with crusty french bread—just like at home.
Jade Patisserie and Teahouse
7912 Southeast 13th Avenue
Portland, OR 97202
(503) 477-8985
Jade Patisserie and Teahouse on THE WORLD WIDE WEB
Last fall I had the good fortune to attend a conference and spend some quality time in downtown Los Angeles. Even though I lived in Southern California for seven non-contiguous years of my life, I never really spent much time in the densest parts of LA, much less downtown (outside of the occasional drive-through).
As an aside, I was actually quite taken by downtown LA. I walked a lot, and the weather was beautiful. My hotel was just around the corner Seven Grand, a dark and first-rate whiskey bar that would be instantly be my favorite place to drink in Portland. Despite the axiomatic pre-conception of Los Angeles being a city where the automobile is king, I was quite surprised by the breadth and punctuality of the public transit (The Dart ran multiple routes that criss-crossed the downtown circumference, some every 5 minutes, with a fare of only twenty five cents(!), and the convention center was well served by commuter train).
As my hotel was just a mile away from Little Tokyo, I was excited to indulge in some ramen. Mr. Sauce Supreme (himself a Los Angeles expat and a soon-to-be repat) over drinks at Beaker and Flask (a few nights before my trip) recommended Daikokuya. My first night in LA I shared a wonderful meal with EatDrink&BeMerry and Oishii Eats, and they similarly gave Daikokuya high marks. EatDrink&BeMerry gave me a tip: a few self-serve dollops of the pureed fresh garlic condiment takes the bowl to a whole other level.
As I stood amongst the throngs at the Staples Center, eagerly awaiting admittance in order to be golden showered with marketing bunkum and subjected to hours of rote proselytism, my mind raced. Here I was, amongst scores of wannabe capitalistic schlemiels with no ambition other than swallowing corporate jizz, while all I could think about was drinking from the sweet fountain that is a porky, cloudy Tonkotsu stock. Who was the bigger slave to the master? These people had passion, drive, and ambition, with shared, multivariate, outside interests in the arts and academia. I exist largely in order to consume salt.
It was with this heavy heart that I trudged towards Little Tokyo after my first morning’s sessions had completed.
On my way I noticed the Kogi Korean taco truck has quickly spawned a boldly colored cottage industry.
Even the Japanese taco was being touted…
…at a place appropriately named “LA Chicken” that apparently serves chicken that tastes like a luxury Japanese sedan.
Daikokuya itself is a small storefront on a busy stretch of 1st Avenue, just north of an entertaining maze of hilariously disjointed Japanese businesses that align themselves loosely into a mall of sorts.
I could wander these avenues for hours in tacit wonderment.
After walking over an hour with the sun beating down upon my neck, the cold Tsukemen’s sale pitch appealed to me, but there was no question what I was here for.
It was the Daikoku Ramen.
This was high noon, and there was a line out the door.
However, since I was dining solo, my name was called just 10 minutes after putting it on the waiting list, and I was parked at end of the counter, which gave me a bird’s eye view of the cooks working their magic in the small kitchen.
The initial reaction after this huge bowl of soup is placed in front of your person is to the prevalence of green onion. Trust me, it works. The guy who was seated adjacent to me as I was mid-way through my bowl ordered his Daikoku Ramen without green onions. A part of me died, and I’ve since held white hipsters with chain wallets in generally low regard.
The soup also features a nice amount of mung bean sprouts, slivers of fibrous menma.
Togarashi is freely available. Daikokuya must read my mind; this is the first thing I ask for anytime I’m brought a bowl a ramen.
Pureed garlic and pickled ginger sits on the table (or counter), allowing you to tailor the soup to your tastes. I can’t emphasize how fucking awesome this is.
The garlic goodness.
So how to describe this soup? The intense, pork bone Tonkotsu-style, creamy broth? The marinated, soft-boiled egg? The incredible tender and deeply flavorful kurobuta pork belly?
The curly, toothsome, handmade fresh noodles?
I’ll let the copy speak for itself. I will, however, add an official “goddamned mutherfuckin’ amen”. Daikoku Ramen is a masterpiece, a fugue of deliciousness, an experience that begins innocently with the prosaic act of accessorizing of your soup, then plunges you into an atavistic ingurgitation, and culminates in a lack of self-awareness as you raise the immense bowl above your head to lustfully extract every last drop of golden nectar.
I needed a smoke after this soup. And a nap.
When I awoke the next morning, my mind was consumed with the thought of returning to Daikokuya for another bowl of manna.
I cross-referenced the hours from a photo on my iPhone and was a bit forlorn that I would have to wait until 11AM.
Of course I was there when it opened.
The amount of green onion from yesterday’s bowl was not a fluke. And EatDrink&BeMerry’s sage advice rang true—I went with even another dollop of fresh garlic on this morning.
That’s a hawt (and disturbing) egg moneyshot.
The pork belly. Oh the pork belly. “Fall apart tender” is tautological when speaking of the kurobuta pork belly at Daikokuya.
A souvenir of success.
Little T American Baker is a bakery/sandwich/espresso shop located on SE Division.
Its stark, modern interior features a rectangularly framed display case showing off the daily baked goods.
Including an excellent, crusty baguette. The breads at Little T are a treat.
A well-scribbled, chalkboard menu describes the daily offerings. The sandwiches options are mostly are static, but do seem to have a bit of variance from what I’ve seen.
Texas Cowgirl. Egg and cheddar on Sally Nunn (sort of a Texas Toast – $5.50). An excellent breakfast sandwich, cooked perfectly. A bonus about Little T is that they serve breakfast sandwiches on the weekend well into the afternoon.
The “Italian hoagie on seeded baguette” ($6.75) is not the most loaded of Italian style hoagies, but it hit the spot.
I personally would like more “tang” in the form of peppers, onions, maybe a tapenade. Perfectly fine, and the seeded baguette is a nice foil for the high-quality meats and cheese.
This “Ham and cheese and pretzel bread” ($4.50) is quite scrumptious. A pleasant snack, or, in this case, a sizable meal for my daughter, who for the first time ate an entire commercially purchased sandwich.
Little T American Baker
2600 SE Division St
Portland, OR 97202-1253
(503) 238-3458
Little T American Baker on THE WORLD WIDE WEB
Chicago’s Windy City Hot Dogs
8680 SW Canyon Rd
Portland, OR 97225
(503) 208-3031
Tacos can be eaten for breakfast when you are hungry.
Sanchez Taqueria
13050 Southwest Pacific Highway
Tigard, OR 97223-5072
(503) 684-2838
I’ve made repeated visits to Southwest Portland’s Hakatamon (located in the Uwajimaya Asian Market Superstore prefecture of near-Beaverton) since they introduced their Hakata-style tonkotsu broth ramen dishes some 20 months ago.
The cha-su pork here continues to be really excellent. This visit I’ve found the stock to be a bit too restrained…somewhat tepid. Garnishes included konbu, pickled ginger, green onions. sesame seeds. And of course the delicious kurobuta pork. The noodles I’ve determined need work. Too straight and pasta-like for my tastes. A fresh, toothsome, curly noodle, combined with refinement to the stock, could make this a more satisfying and complete bowl. Nevertheless, personally this is a good option for ramen in the Portland metro area.
Kenny’s is a new-ish Hong Kong-style noodle soup house on Portland’s southeast side, on the north side of Powell (just across the street from Best Baguette).
They’ve had a grand opening sign in front of their establishment for about 5 months now. That’s marketing.
The interior is clean and faux modern. Small and cozy.
You’ll get a nice cup of tea once you sit down. I tend to only drink one cup of tea, so I prefer a freshly poured, singular hot cup if tea to the metallic teapot service (and I imagine these teapots are constantly repurposed).
Condiment tray features standard condiments–red vinegar, white and black pepper, and the ubiquitous (and fiery) chili paste.
Default bowl of wonton soup.
Disgustingly posed photo of a half-eaten wonton cross-section.
From my post at Portlandfood.org:
“I like this place. It’s comfort food. The default garnish on the wanton noodle soups are sparse, with only a few slivers of the white of a green onion, but I ask them to add some bok choy and they happily oblige. And of course, the oily chili paste and dashes of white pepper complete the bowl.
“…the dumplings are large and stuffed with entire shrimp, and the minced pork filling is mild, but fine, and it doesn’t have that slight “off” or “gamey” taste I’ve experienced (maybe from heavy handedness with 5-spice or Shaoxing wine) at other places, like the Chinatown Good Taste location.”
Kenny’s Noodle House
8305 SE Powell Blvd
Portland, OR 97266
(503) 771-6868
Kenny’s Noodle House on THE WORLD WIDE WEB
50 Plates—a newish, modern Pearl District eatery—has somewhat of a kitchsy concept. Its cutesy menu inhabits the murky hinterlands between playful and hackneyed cornball, sort of like HBO’s True Blood.
Castroville Artichoke Rolls. “goat cheese, roasted garlic & artichoke filling, avocado ranch”
These sounded quite intriguing, though what we received was incompatible with my expectations. These were more like eggrolls, and were disappointingly on the small side. But they were fine.
50/50. “aged cheddar on tomato bread, roasted tomato soup with oregano”
This is essentially a take on the childhood comfort staple of grilled cheese and Campbell’s tomato soup.
Unlike the overly processed banality of the latter, 50 Plates’ take on tomato soup was full of vibrant, intense tomato flavors, simple and delicious. The sandwich was a grilled cheese sandwich. It was eaten.
T.J. Caesar. “hearts of romaine, charred corn, cherry tomatoes, fried croutons and cave-aged gouda”
I’m usually not a big fan of “non-standard” Caesar salads, and despite the initials in the name (“T.J.” = Tijuana) that implies some sort of lineage to the birthplace of original Caesar, this salad certainly qualifies as non-traditional. Nicely dressed and composed, the dressing itself was too mild to be considered proper “Caesar” but the salad was enjoyable nonetheless.
The seafood chowder (“Today’s Chowdah“—implying naturally that a different chowder is featured each day) was quite good, featuring plump mussels, clams, and nice chunks of tender white fish in a rich broth not overly thick and maudlin like many seafood chowders can be.
Sliders are ordered at 50 Plates a la carte, and each separate slider came with a flag to distinguish its sovereignty. This must be a tedious step for any cook. Plus, it’s needlessly nationalistic. I live by the motto “hamburguesas sin fronteras”.
Lil’ Kahuna Burger. “Kobe beef, Canadian bacon, pineapple, & teriyaki glaze”
Old Faithful “Kobe beef, Tillamook cheddar, tomato jam”
As you can see each miniature burger was expertly constructed, and the flavors were spot on. My quibble was with the size of the sliders. They were literally about two bites, diminutive even for burgers in slider form (and at $4 a pop, no bargain either). You would probably need to eat four sliders to properly get your grub on.
The fresh-cut fries were good, and the house made ketchup (“Nikki’s Ketchup”) was a terrific, tangy complement.
So in addition to combining two overwrought beef trends (“Kobe” beef and “sliders”), these burgers were ultimately a smidgeon too twee for me, I suppose. When I want to get my burger on I’m more in mood for Bruce Springsteen’s Born to Run than Belle and Sebastian’s Boy with the Arab Strap.
A platter of biscuits and assorted starches accompany your meal at 50 Plates, including a savory, crumbly cheddar biscuit that my daughter loved dunking in her bowl of “chowdah”. Major bonus points for going beyond the perfunctory bread basket.
50 Plates
333 Northwest 13th Avenue
Portland, OR 97209-3144
(503) 228-5050
I’ve read interweb notices over the past few years that have sung the praises of the Schnitzelwich. Posts by Portland’s own recipe blogger extraordinaire Michelle@Je Mange la Ville and the fine folks at Portlandfood.org. What’s not to dream of? I remember living in Turkey when I was 15 years old and I discovered a sandwich shop of note and decided that fresh, breaded protein sandwiched between two fine slices of bread can be a beautiful thing.
However, since I don’t find myself downtown during lunch much at all, the Schnitzelwich has long eluded me. But recently I had some business downtown to tend to, and was fortunate enough to swing by the Tabor food cart to before heading back to work and sample this culinary curiosity finally, once and for all.
The Tabor cart itself is one of downtown’s more striking and creative pods, wearing a distinctive DIY ethic on its sleeves.
By the way, the cart does serve other foodstuffs that is not the Schnitzelwich. One day I might be lucky enough to eat all these as well.
But the Schnitzelwich is what we are concerning ourselves with. And man, what a sandwich. A perfectly crispy shell of delicious breading encases a tenderized pork filet. And it is huge–the entire filet spills out from all sides of the Grand Central ciabatta roll (a perfect foil) in which it is sandwiched and is the size of small woman’s foot.
The bread is schmeared on either side with a mild ajvar chili relish and horseradish spread. A couple crisp, green romaine leaves complete the garnish. My only quibble would be with the abundance of the horseradish, but that’s simply a personal preference and I would ask for a light spread my next time.
I found myself with a day off on a recent Thursday. I considered this a capricious stroke of serendipity (even if it was Thanksgiving, which happens on Thursday every year as long as I can remember), because this day is when the warm and generous family that run SE Portland’s HA & VL feature their incredible “Crabflake Noodle Soup”.
It’s difficult to describe just how good this soup is.
Likewise, it’s impossible to overestimate how two perfectly cooked quail eggs transports this meal to an astral plane beyond Shirley MacLaine levels of deliciousness. The broth is not so much a liquid as it is a viscous, primordial sludge with a 10W-40 grade. A distillation of briny crab and seafood essences, imparting a thick umami translucence like liquid gold.
Fat, chewy rice noodles provide the starchy counterpoint to the deep and intensely flavorful “broth”, bolstered by gossamer flakes of boiled crab meat.
The garnish at HA&VL provides just enough lemon verbena, Vietnamese balm, shiso, julienned lettuce, and the right amount of fiery chopped thai bird chilies (bathing in fish sauce and vinegar) to properly spike the punch and round out dish.
A recent trip to Tigard’s own Taqueria Sanchez confirmed that they’re still delivering excellent tacos on the 99W.
I’ve long been a fan of their tortillas, and the last couple visits have revealed that perhaps they either have changed up their recipe or perhaps changed their process. These tortillas seem to lack a slight bit of “sponginess”. These were still excellent, hand-made tortillas, but they did seem to have more of a “char” to them.
Asada.
The fish is always a crowd pleaser.
Wonderfully crispy pastor.
Full metal jacket taco. At Sanchez, the verde has more heat than its red counterpart. Both combine to cause a fair amount of scalp sweating every time I leave.
Sanchez Taqueria
13050 SW Pacific Hwy
Tigard, OR 97223
Phone: (503) 684-2838
I was recently in Los Angeles for a conference. I decided a much needed respite from listening to a company lie about their software all day involved hitting happy hour at the Roy’s that was a few blocks from the convention center. Lucky for me they had food, drinks, AND a television that was broadcasting that evening’s National Football contest between the Packers of Green Bay (Wisconsin) and the Vikings of Minnesota.
Sliders. Officially “Teppanyaki Grilled Beef Sliders with Chipolte Aioli & Sweet Potato Chips”.
Poke. Officially “Yellow Fin Ahi ‘Poketini’ – Wasabi Aioli, Avocado and Tobiki Caviar”. This was great.
Drinks. Pomegranate Mojito and Hawaiian Martini. Officially very, very gay. But very refreshing nonetheless.
Luckily, I was able to salvage some vestige of my diminishing manhood by watching football while I peed.
I’m not sure why, but after I paid up and was about to leave (you can tell by the sun going down causing all the noise on my iPhone’s camera), some guy brought me this salmon tempura roll “on the house”. Maybe they felt sorry for me for sitting alone and ordering a white, frothy drink with a big ole’ pineapple jutting out from one side, and decided to show some compassion and give me an “amuse douche.” In any regard, it was a fairly nice gesture.
Roy’s mines that fusion territory that approaches gimmicky, but for my first visit I have to say they do it rather well.
Lunch in the garden edition.
A recent afternoon in North Beach, San Francisco, at Sotto Mare.
I had the good fortune to spend a recent birthday lunch at Andina, Portland’s destination for upscale Peruvian fusion cuisine.
Soon after menus were dropped, we were presented with bread and this trio of salsas. At the far end was a mild, smooth and creamy salsa infused with peanuts, in the middle a vibrant, fruity puree, and at the near end a fiery, intense salsa verde. All were absolutely great, with the heat factor intensifying as you worked from creamy to verde.
PIMIENTO PIQUILLO RELLENO “Piquillo peppers stuffed with cheese, quinoa and Serrano ham”
Pimiento cross-section. A perfect appetizer. Light, refreshing.
ANTICUCHO DE PULPO “Grilled octopus kebob with rocoto and caper chimichurri”
One of the better octopus dishes in recent memory. It was served on top of a delicious, savory, starchy (yuca/cornmeal?) puree—I could have eaten a whole bowl of this stuff.
A LA CHALACA “Sashimi-style fresh fish in an ají Amarillo vinaigrette, served with corn salsa criolla”
Today’s fish featured Ono. The ají Amarillo had just the right level of heat to punch up this raw dish. I could drink the vinaigrette straight up in a shot glass.
AJÍ DE GALLINA “Succulent pulled chicken in an ají Amarillo, peanut, and cream-based sauce served with yellow potatoes, white rice, and Botija olives and hard-boiled egg”"
Comfort food at it’s finest. Portland would be well-served by a food cart dishing out Peruvian home cooking such as this.
CONCHAS A LA PARILLA “Grilled diver scallops with a garlic lime butter sauce and crispy onions”
The scallop was wonderfully grilled, slightly opaque in the center, with a mild sauce accentuated with a bit of soy. The onions could have been a bit more crisply flash-fried.
Andina continues to be one of Portland’s brightest shining stars, with expertly presented, colorful dishes and vibrant flavors churned out with punctual regularity. A true gem.
Andina
1314 NW Glisan St
Portland, OR 97209
503-228-9535
Andina on THE WORLD WIDE WEB
Food Dude’s Review.
PDX Plate.
PortlandFood.org.
Bruce/Wineguyworld has been here.
So has KAB.
With the local press and food bloggers all aflutter (and rightfully so) with the homemade goodness that rotates daily at nearby HA&VL, it can be easy to overlook the deliciousness that is served up every day (and night) at Ngoc Han Bún Bò Huế.
I myself just recently revisited after a months long dry spell. One early weekend morning I happened upon a full-on crowd scene at HA&V (the wait was about 15 minutes, which, for me, is about 14 minutes too long). Lucky for me, Ngoc Han Bún Bò Huế is just a few blocks north, on SE 82nd & Harrison.
On this particular occasion, I opted for the dac biet (“kitchen sink” version).
The dac biet version features abundant slices of rare beef (the same lean, thinly shaved eye of round that graces pho tai) in addition to the plethora of other meats, including a peppery, house made cha lua that is some of the tastiest pork loaf this side of the Willamette. As you can see, you need to bring your “A” game if you want to power down this bowl of soup. It is not for the faint of heart or those possessing weak-willed alimentary canals.
I immediately remove the knuckles and set them aside for post-meal nibbling.
Ngoc graces you with the most prolific herb n’ salad plate in town, overflowing with perilla, rau ram, sprouts, and—as is customary with Bún Bò Huế—shredded lettuce and banana blossoms.
When the garnish graces the soup all proper like, an impressive bowl gets even more impressive-er.
In addition to the salad plate, this nuoc mam spiked with chopped bird chilies adds an immediate and visceral kick.
At Ngoc, if you request “spicy”, you’re given a stout dollop of fiery red sate sauce that blends effortlessly into an already spicy and fragrant broth.
Ngoc and HA&VL, with just a moment’s walk between the two, bookend Portland’s ground zero for soup noodles. On 82nd Avenue, the best Vietnamese bowls—hell, the best soups in all of the city—are slurped not at Pho joints, but rather served at shops that don’t even serve pho. Seek them out.
Ngoc Han Bún Bò Huế
8230 SE Harrison St Ste 315
Portland, OR 97216
(503) 774-2761
Ngoc Han Bún Bò Huế on THE WORLD WIDE WEB
Pork chops, yukon golds, and green beans edition. As seen from the Weber in my herb garden.
I was recently in Chicago with the family, visiting some dear friends, and decided to eat some meat.
Gibson’s is a prototypical old school steakhouse, some would say “an institution”, the kind of place where framed portraits of celebrities are plastered over every inch of wall. This is your chance to eat at the same place where the guy who starred as the bitter paraplegic vet in Forrest Gump devoured a porterhouse. The restaurant is located just north of downtown Chicago at the epicenter (the “G spot”?) of an area known as the “Viagra Triangle”, named presumably because it’s where formerly virile captains of industry bring their silicon-enhanced, pre-fab trophy fillies (with whom they are cheating on their third wives with) to consume Cobb salads and long drink cocktails just prior to chemically enhancing their flaccid male appendages.
The night kicks off when the white-jacketed waitron—a pro’s pro, he’s been doing this his whole life—presents you with a slab of naked meat that’s nearly startling with its immensity and near-pornagraphic bravura. The meat parade is one of the odder steakhouse traditions. It is quite uncomfortable being presented with raw flesh, just inches from your face, while some stranger prods the tepid meat with his index digit. The spiel here is relatively short, straightforward and sticks to the script. Menus are dropped in quick order and drinks are dispatched. Service here consisted of several, interchangeable and well-oiled apparatus – brusquely appropriate and warmly efficient.
Bread is brought immediately.
Gibson’s raison d’etre. The steaks are wet aged, as opposed to dry.
The menus and wine menu. Like many images on this blog, clicking on them will allow the user to view a larger specimen.
We started with this “Crabmeat Avocado”. It was quite good–and expertly carved avocado half, inverted and topped with plenty of sweet crab meat, topped with a tangy goddess-like dressing.
A velvety-smooth lobster bisque and perfunctory caesar salad accompanied our steaks.
I got the bone-in tenderloin. Now, some may say this steak is burnt. I’m not going to go that far, but I will state the exterior char was nearing a level that I’m not normally comfortable with (but not quite).
The steak itself was cooked perfectly to the medium-rare I requested. It was a decent slab of meat, however it could have benefited from a bordelaise sauce, something to add flavor and richness. I’m not sure why I order tenderloin when I know it’s going to be, well, just tenderloin–a mostly flavorless cut, even when it’s prime beef.
And the tarragon-flecked hollandaise it’s served with is a cloying, middling affair.
This sirloin, served atop a red wine reduction, on the other hand, was packed full of flavor. This was excellent the next morning (with some leftover rice) for breakfast.
The sauteed spinach and mushrooms were really just spinach mostly wilted from the heat of the sauteed shrooms. Somewhat disappointing.
And this double baked potato was comically immense.
But really, what is better than fine red wine and fine red prime during a night on the town in the City of Broad Shoulders?
Yippee! Let’s get cake. This slice fed the three of us.
So we had to take the other 4/5ths back home to the fridge, where the cake will stand, uneaten for the most part, in prime real estate on the second shelf, slowly but surely mocking you as a reminder of all the bad decisions you’ve made in your life. This latest, cake-over-ordering episode is simply another instance.
Gibsons Bar & Steakhouse
1028 N Rush St, Chicago
(312) 266-8999
www.gibsonssteakhouse.com
La Fuente is occupies a very modest storefront in “old town” Tigard, just set off a ways from Value Village. It’s easy to miss; I’ve driven by it for over a year now without noticing it. It took a recommendation from user Prone to Hyperbole at Portlandfood.org to seek it out.
La Fuente is a proper Mexican restaurant with a full menu.
And the tacos occupy just a subset of the varied offerings.
Things started off in true cantina Mexican fashion with some warm fried tortilla chips and a serviceable tomato salsa (free).
The “tacos mexicanos” — standard taqueria style. The usual litmus test of asada, carnitas, and pastor.
Asada.
Carnitas.
Pastor.
Fully dressed taco.
The table sauces here are mediocre; ExtraMSG at Portlandfood.org pointed out they may very well be the Herdez commercial brand. The tacos themselves were quite good. The pastor is not the best I’ve had, but it was seasoned nicely and was delivered with a nice char. The asada was undercrisped, but well seasoned, and the carnitas was meaty and delicious. The fresh tortillas were soft and pillowy, and reminded me much like the excellent onesTaqueria Sanchez serves just down the road.
This place is worth your time to visit if you’re in the mood for taqueria-style tacos. On the strength of their tacos alone, and considering it’s proximity to my house, it warrants an exploration of its other non-taco offerings as well.
La Fuente
12198 SW Main St
Tigard, OR 97223
(503) 639-3653
La Fuente on the WORLD WIDE WEB
Phở Nguyễn nestles in a large strip mall anchored by a Fred Meyer on Beaverton Hillsdale Highway at the point Portland segues into Beaverton proper.
It’s a pretty standard Vietnamese pho joint, with a numbered menu and the various combinations of pho.
Goi cuon. They were delivered immediately, which means they were pre-rolled, which is fine if the roll contains more than one paper thin slice of pale boiled pork and a single halved shrimp. Very weak.
The salad plate at Nguyen is very generous, including ample amount of ngo gai, which is essential for pho. The inclusion of sawtooth herb on a garnish plate is usually a good indication a place takes their pho seriously.
Pho tai chin, my standard order.
Close-up of the chin/brisket. Very tender and flavorful.
Phở Nguyễn does a nice job with their soup. I’ve had the pho here a little over half a dozen times, and each bowl has been consistent and satisfying. The broth is neither overpowering nor amazingly nuanced, but it does have a nice balance — this is predictable pho, which is a good thing. I haven’t had anything besides pho here, probably because the insipid goi cuon placed some doubts in my mind.
Phở Nguyễn
4795 SW 77th Avenue
Portland, OR 97225
(503) 297-3389
Phở Nguyễn on THE WORLD WIDE WEB
Miwon BBQ is located in the Fubonn Shopping Center on SE 82nd.
First and foremost, Miwon is a classic Cantonese-style BBQ joint, replete with whole ducks and sides of bbq pig hanging on hooks, ready to be purchased by the pound.
The Buddhist shrines remind me of my Mom’s worship of the jolly, wise fat man.
The BBQ to-go menu.
Miwon is a full-serve restaurant as well. The premier soup, available with either thin rice or egg noodles, is chock full of the BBQ meat items they sell to-go by the pound.
The Super Bowl “A”, featuring roast duck, bbq pork, roast pork, wontons, and egg noodles. If you count wontons (and I do), that’s four types of meat! It really is a feast, and the broth is just mild enough to allow the meats to shine. The greens add a wonderful vegetal counterbalance.
Duck.
Roast pork.
Wonton porn.
Miwon BBQ
Fubonn Shopping Center
2850 SE 82nd Ave
Portland, OR 97266
(503) 501-5008
Los Angeles has it share of problems. And for that, LA likewise amasses its share of detractors who decry the smog, earthquakes, and transparently farcical celebrity sex tapes.
If you’ve read the news lately, you’re aware the state of California is on also the brink of insolvency. As I exited LA one early weekday recent morning, I drove past a local high school. I was greeted by quite a sight: school faculty and students alike in active protest against impending, draconian budget cuts that threaten to turn the LA Unified School District into an instrument more suited to serve a third-world banana republic rather than future adults living in America’s second most populous conurbation. By the time this blog post is published, the radical mouth-breathers holding California’s state legislature hostage may have already decreed that public education (as well as life-sustaining services for the sick and elderly) is just another Socialist folly dispensed from a pile of filthy lucre, one that deliberately engenders class warfare. If what I heard on AM talk radio as I drove north between Bakersfield and Fresno is any indication, there are many fatalists looking forward to their state’s impending implosion.
But I digress, as—despite all these problems—Los Angeles has excellent fried chicken.
Pollo Campero is a Guatemalan chain that has made recent in-roads into America (including a few Wal-marts). The Los Angeles area boasts numerous locations. This is fast-food, and the combos here–in lieu of mashed potatoes, corn, and a biscuit and honey—feature rice, beans and steamed white corn tortillas.
I’m unsure of the exact provenance of the marinade which gives the pollo frito at Campero a reddish hue. I assume it’s spiked with plenty of red chilies—but the chicken is neither spicy nor aggressively seasoned. Finger-torn strips of meat, wrapped in tortillas and topped with garnishes from the self-serve salsa bar (chopped onions, a sub-par salsa fresca, and serviceable verde and red sauces) make serviceable, impromptu fried chicken tacos. Chicken itself off the bone was fantastic, with savory crispness that had me seeking bits of battered goodness hiding in the crevices of a breast rib.
The sides at Pollo Campero were a pleasant surprise. A mild rice–studded with peas stood up relatively well, nothing special.
But the beans—pintos imbued with porky goodness from the bacon and sausage they were simmered with—were very good. Pollo Campero is the type of “boutique” fast food I could live with.
On another end of the fried chicken spectrum, by way of Korea, is Kyochon, an eatery in Koreatown whose culinary reputation has reached near-mythic proportions. Reading Jonathon Gold’s effusive praise in the LA Weekly cemented my desire to see for myself if the fried chicken was worth the price (which starts at $4.99 for 4 wings or 2 drumsticks).
Kyochon features two flavors, a garlic soy or the spicy “original”. I picked up a four pack of spicy wings, and a 2-piece portion of the garlic soy drumsticks.
The chicken pieces they had on hand must have been deemed on the smaller side, as we were actually given three very flavorul and crispy drumsticks…
…and five amazing chicken wings. The smell of these heavenly morsels quickly dominated during the car ride home, and resisting the urge to snack on a wing as I hurtled down Pico Blvd was torturous. I will say these fiery, sticky and sweet wings were some of the best I’ve had. Fuck the celery and blue cheese—give me a bucket of these and crisp pint of lager come football season.
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It’s been a bit over a year since Hakatamon—the Japanese restaurant nestled into the southwest corner of the Uwajimaya superstore in Beaverton—debuted it’s ramen. Known for its hand rolled udon, Hakatamon went on noodle hiatus at the time – claiming that a spike in wheat prices had made making it’s own udon noodles untenable. As they announced a move towards commercially available udon, they also announced that they would debut two ramen dishes in April, 2008, including a tonkotsu (pork bone broth) and a cha sui ramen (stewed pork).
I was quite excited, as my ramen experiences in Portland have been less than stellar. When I first moved here in 2002, I frequented the Koji Osakaya on Macadam and ate their version of both tonkotsu and cha sui ramen regularly. Though they were using clearly pre-fab fresh ramen packages, they did generally an ok job of gussying it up enough to sate my appetite.
Nothing could compare, however, to the excellent ramen I at often in San Diego when I lived there in the late nineties, or the ramen I’ve eaten in the Bay Area. Ramen tastes and one’s idea of what constitutes “good” ramen is one of the most subjective concepts in the food universe. When Biwa opened up in 2006 and served ramen in their excellent izakaya setting, I was very underwhelmed. However, it seemed to be universally held up by others in this fair burg as an excellent rendition of the venerable Japanese noodle soup. For me, it always fell short, but that’s the subject of another post.
Hakatamon also does a fairly good job with some of the Japanese standards. This poke is one of my favorites in town, if only because it’s an excellent value at only $5.95.
The sashimi and nigiri I’ve had heard has been inconsistent, but generally I would have to give them fairly good marks, again for the ratio of value/quality that can be had here. I’ve explored many other items on the menu – katsu, chirashi, (large rice balls studded in the center with a single uemeboshi) – and all has been solid-to-fair.
Back to the ramen. The standard bowl ($7.95) is garnished sparingly with pickled ginger, green onions, a hunk of stewed pork, sliced stewed konbu, and a sprinkling of sesame seeds.
The noodles here are commercial noodles that—if I had a guess (judging by their texture and lack of curliness)—begin the day as dried noodles. Not ideal by any means, but they stand up relatively well.
I will go on record by saying I enjoy the hakata-style ramen at Hakatamon. When they first opened, it seemed to me they were serving two separate, rich and hearty stocks – a cloudier, cream-colored tonkotsu pork bone broth, and a bold, darker version that accompanied the cha sui version. Both were excellent, however the two broth strategy appeared to be ditched shortly after introduction and only one broth (more the former than the latter) is now served.
The cha sui ($9.50) is basically the standard hakata-style with more pork.
And what good pork it is. Fall-apart tender slices of meat, with a hefty amount of fat (and a bit of unctuous skin) that melts away as you bite into it. The broth has the same viscosity as the tonkotsu, nice and thick and “meaty”, and picks up some of the rendering fat from the pork as you eat through it. Slurping up the last few spoonfuls of broth was rich and satisfying, akin to sucking on a pork marrow bone.
Hakatamon
(503) 430-3106
4130 SW 117th Ave
Beaverton, OR 97005
Hakatamon on the WORLD WIDE WEB
I recently dropped by the Hob Knob Grille on SE Morrison, a new-ish eatery that occupies the former digs of the mediocre Southeast outpost of Salvador Molly’s…
And gave their house ground Hobnob Burger a whirl. It’s an interesting take on a standard, served with a chipotle cream cheese, a tomato jam, lettuce, tomato (sprinkled with fresh ground pepper), and a single Hungarian-style skinny chili.
Thankfully, it’s served on an expertly toasted bun (burgers on ciabatta is the worst culinary trend of this millenium). My burger came out decidedly more on the medium side than the medium rare I requested, but this was a very flavorful, honest burger. The chips, while nice and house made, makes you pine for fries.
Hob Nob is aiming to fill that niche of solid neighborhood eatery. If this burger is any indication, they are doing a fine job.
Hob Knob Grille
3350 SE Morrison St
Portland, OR 97214
503.445.3665
Hob Knob on the WORLD WIDE WEB
Papa Haydn, located on Northwest Portland’s bustling 23rd Avenue, is a destination due to its plethora of dessert and pastry choices. I stopped by a while ago to check out their bistro burger.
Things started off with this French onion soup. The soup was fairly standard, with a thick slab of gruyere melted upon a raft of bread floating atop the earthenware dish. The broth was a bit understated, but the onions were thick and meaty.
The burger came atop a nicely toasted brioche-like bun. Some very good, fresh-cut (near) shoestring fries accompanied the burger.
Mustard and ketchup on the side. The burger here is fairly standard, and the beef is pretty flavorful. My gripe was the shape of the patty. It had a dome shape most commonly associated with a hand-formed backyard patty–too thick in the middle, with tapered edges. As it stood, its total circumference was too sparse to adequately blanket the bun on which it sat.
Lunch ended with this lemon tart with a meringue border. Like I mentioned, Papa Haydn is known for their desserts. This tasted like dessert.
Papa Haydn (West)
701 NW 23rd Ave.
Portland, OR
(503) 228-7317
This hot dog cart is located just south of Jamison Park in the Pearl District.
Presumably the gentleman behind these sauces and rubs has a say in the day-to-day operations of this food cart. I’m too lazy to do the research.
The menu.
A nicely grilled Chicken Italian Sausage, doused with standard condiments and copious amounts of Harry’s sauce.
Northwest Hot Dogs
Jamison Park (NW Johnson and 11th)
http://northwesthotdogs.com
I was in Los Angeles recently, and entirely upon Oishii Eats’ heads up I decided to hit Umami Burger.
I already had my mind set on the namesake burger. Here’s the rest of the menu:
The Umami Burger interior itself presents a stylish, yet comforting, modernity.
The raison d’etre.
Triple pork burger with fries and “umami” ketchup.
Triple pork burger.
Umami burger.
Roasted tomato, umami ketchup, shitake mushroom, parmesan crispellete. Amazing. The composition of the burger really spoke to my worldview. Easily one of the top 5 burgers of my recent life.
Malt Liquor Tempura onion rings.
Triple Pork Burger money shot. Ground pork seasoned with chorizo and “cob-smoked” bacon, manchego, and pimenton aioli. Wonderfully spiced. The roasted tomato slice served as a beautiful foil for the rest of the sandwich.
We’ve owned a Saturn in some shape or form for over a decade now, and it’s refreshing to see our customer loyalty rewarded by GM most likely killing the brand altogether. In the meantime, I’ll continue to get the car serviced in Beaverton at the Saturn dealership like I’ve been doing for the last seven years.
I’ve been driving by this place for seven years whenever I’ve traveled to Beaverton to get the Saturn serviced, and it never occurred to me to stop by. Recently, though, after a scheduled maintenance appointment, upon spotting this sign, I realized that I had three dollars.
As you can see, the menu is a mix of old school Spanglish, and is somewhat hilarious.
The “proper” taco menu is an addendum.
Immediately, I was impressed with the prolific garnish opportunities, which included ranch dressing. I liken the appearance of ranch dressing in a restaurant to that of Matthew McConaughey in a movie. It ensures that the experience will be bad.
In addition, these table sauces were available. They were weak and watery.
The taco triumvirate (carne enchilada aka “marinated pork”, asada, carnitas). Each of these were a dollar. I had three dollars.
Asada.
Carne enchilada aka “marinated pork”.
Fully dressed tacos.
If you’re in Beaverton for any reason, I suggest you keep driving.
Mexicali Express
On a street in Beaverton. You will have to look it up yourself, as I can’t in good conscience direct you there by any means.
<>AybalaAybla nestles itself amongst the conurbation of food carts downtown near the intersection SW 10th and Oak.
As this prominently displayed sign attests, they serve Portland’s best gyro. Although I haven’t had every gyro sandwich in the metro area, I would have to say this boast is probably not too far off the mark.
AybalaAybla does the standard “Kronos” style gyro, as this photo of a rapidly diminishing cone o’ meat demonstrates. The gyro provisions at AybalaAybla are generally shaved a bit thicker than most Kronos joints, and crisped real well. They seem to have a less processed/generic flavor than your standard mystery meat, but that could be just wishful thinking. I’m quite positive they don’t fashion that huge cone o’ meat themselves; most likely—like every Kronos gyro cone establishment east or west of Crete—the meat is factory prefabbed from refuse cuts, pure fat, and various binder agents, and most likely shipped from the same import distribution center in north Jersey or the south side of Chicago with involvement of various degrees by the mafia.
The gyro mob likewise also probably strong arms the forceful distribution of these ubiquitous sandwich wraps. The branding on this wrapper matches neither the restaurant in question, nor the general geographic vincinity. It is therefore hilarious.
But the real hawt action at AybalaAybla isn’t the gyro sandwich, anyhow, it’s the kefta kebab.
Here’s the menu (click to view larger version).
Aybla
925 SW Alder
SW 5th and Oak
Portland, OR
http://www.ayblagrill.com
Aybla on THE WORLD WIDE WEB
A recent meal at Dang’s Thai Kitchen in Lake Oswego confirms this restaurant to be the among the best in the Portland area, churning out fresh, superlative Thai favorites with consistency.
Som tum (papaya salad). Dang’s is my favorite in town. Spicy and tart. ($6.00)
Fresh tofu spring rolls, served with peanut sauce. Standard and straightforward, though fresh and–at $4.00–quite a bargain.
The ever-popular Angel Wings–boneless chicken wings, stuffed with “sausage” and breaded.($7.00)
Cross section of the fat part of an Angel Wing.
Chicken satay ($6.00), served with peanut sauce, a cucumber vinegar/relish, and toast. A good rendition: lean–yet moist–and very flavorful.
At $13.00, this green curry beef was one of the most expensive items on Dang’s menu, but as you can see above, it’s quite a portion. This was absolutely amazing. Rather than a creamy, coconut-based sauce, this was a stir-fried item, brimming with various eggplants and garnished with a thick ladle of coconut cream and fried Thai basil leaves. Tender slices of beef were bathed in a complex, plate-lickingly delicious sauce that contained the usual notes of spicy chili and lemongrass, but was also redolent of toasted and fresh ground whole spices including cardamon, coriander, and cumin, and perfumed with an abundance of julienned galangal.
After spying Sauce Supreme’s recent foray with Dang’s stuff squid in green curry ($10), I knew the next time I was here I would have to try it. It did not disappoint. Creamy, slightly sweet, and featuring amazingly tender purses of squid stuffed with spiced pork and shrimp. Absolutely fantastic.
This entire meal was $50 and provided enough leftovers to fuel two subsequent meals.
A recent and rare Friday off from work meant an opportunity for a weekday breakfast at HA&VL.
Today’s special was: Hu Tieu Nam Vang - Phnom Penh noodle soup with shrimp & fishballs, charsiu pork, squid, pork liver, slices of roasted pork with noodle in pork broth, mixed with ground pork & Chinese celery and onion on top.
Certainly a fine soup. My favorite @HA&VL remains the crab soup.
The family at HA&VL are a special group. If I lived closer to here I would eat breakfast there at least every week.
UPDATE
I had breakfast here today (Sunday), and the bun thang was as good as it has ever been. So I can’t say the crab soup is my favorite. I’m torn.
They even hooked my daughter up with a bowl of her own. I asked for a small bowl to share, and a dimunitive, milder version (served in a what my daughter excitedly proclaimed was a “big mug!”) was whisked in front of my daughter. I love these people.
I recently ducked into Nakwon, a small-ish Korean restaurant located in picturesque downtown Beaverton.
I was a bit out of sorts from the previous night’s excessive celebrating, and was in the mood for a pick-me-up…something spicy. And red.
As it turned out, this spicy beef soup with glass noodles–delivered to the table in a bubbling hot cauldron–fit the bill quite nicely.
Prior to that momentous event, I was quite happy to be presented with an opportunity to hydrate myself, being parched and all. I love a restaurant that doesn’t fuck around with water service–in particular a Korean restaurant that serves spicy food.
The assortment of banchan at Nakwon is quite nice.
Chewy little fishies.
This tasted like air.
(It must suck to be the ramekin washer at a busy Korean restaurant)
A neat, tightly covered stainless steel bowl revealed a generous serving of steamed rice.
Of course that egg went right into the stew.
Man this was a hearty, satisfying bowl of delicious. I even took my time to carefully savor this meal over the course of twelve minutes.
Nakwon
(503) 646-9382
4600 SW Watson Ave
Beaverton, OR 97005
Nakwon on the WORLD WIDE WEB
I’ve made a few repeat visits to HA & VL on SE 82nd to sample their excellent rotation of daily soup specials, and I must say this unassuming storefront tucked away in a roundabout strip just north of the Fubonn super shopping center continues to capture my delicious fancy in ways that I have rarely experienced in my short time on this earth.
On Sundays, one of the two soup specials includes bun thang (in addition to a chicken pho). Bun thang was a staple soup in my household. Though my mom prided herself on her terrificly nuanced pho, this rice noodle soup–clear broth accompanied by a protein triumvirate of omelette chiffonade, sliced cha lua (Vietnamese pork loaf/bologna), and tender chicken meat, pulled from the bone—was the stockpot dish I’d most commonly smell when I awoke on weekends.
HA & VL’s version is a veritable revelation, at once resplendent with nostalgia and packed with savory, “clean” flavors from the broth and the seemingly perfect proportional distributions of noodles and accoutrements. A final garnish—a crumble consisting of seasoned, toasted and minced dried shrimp—takes this bowl from terrestrial to other-worldliness.
Perhaps the family at HA & VL are using standard, commercially available rice noodles in their soups, but here they seem so much more toothsome and satisfying.
On a recent Thursday morning I was fortunate to leave the house a bit early to get to HA & VL to sample their ethereal crab soup. This soup features bahn canh noodles; thick, chewy and substantial rice noodles with a toothsome bite not unlike Japanese udon.
Though it is billed as crab soup, crab lends more of a distinguishing background to the stock, with ephemeral slivers of crab flesh punctuating the thick, impossibly savory and viscous broth.
As usual with Viet soups, a dish of fresh herbs and vegetable garnish pairs on the side.
The soup is studded with pink shrimp, quail eggs…
…and wonderfully meaty and fatty slices of tenderly braised pork. A sprinkle of fried shallots complete the bowl, a dish so overflowing with umami and residual deliciousness that it’s nearly depressing; each passing, joyful bite is somehow counterbalanced with an impending dread that the soup is that much closer to depletion.
Then you are done.
Keep in mind the availability of the soups here is–like every bite–impermanent. HA & VL only serve their specials during the wee morning hours, starting at 7:30 am on weekdays and 8 am on weekends, and only until they sell out. I spoke with the matron about the possibility of opening throughout the day, perhaps into the evening; she responded with a trite perfunctory truism—she’s older, and she couldn’t handle the grind of a full workday churning out the necessary provisions for cover after endless cover.
There is probably some truth to this. But I also suspect a separate phenomenon is in play here. There exists a demarcation between what is created at a micro level, and what can be successfully executed via extrapolation with every nuance intact. What HA & VL are doing is cooking for their extended family, and you just happen to have an invite to a front row seat if you get there early enough. The care and honor they imbue into every bowl of soup that is whisked from their compact kitchen cannot be duplicated at a macro level. To do so would be disingenuous.
The Interwebs
PDXPlate
Portlandfood.org
BB@ Eat.Drink.Think. has been there
So has the Oregonian‘s Karen Brooks
As winter winds down, it’s probably a good time to share one of my favorite winter dishes.
Beef Daube
- 2 1/2 pounds beef chuck, cut into 1 1/2 inch-ish chunks
- Few tablespoons of flour
- 9-12 peeled cippolini onions – hey, Trader Joes has these, how easy!
- 1 very large onion, coarsely chopped
- 2 or 3 carrots, cut into 1/2 inch chunks
- 2-3 stalks of celery, cut into 1/2 inch chunks
- 10-12 or so garlic cloves, minced
- 1 pound button mushrooms (if you really like mushrooms), whole or halved if really large
- 3 thick slices of slab bacon, cut into 1/4 inch “lardons”
- 3 tablespoons fine tomato paste
- 2 cups broth, preferably beef
- 1 bottle of red wine, like a Cotes de Rhone or something that sounds Frenchy
- Few sprigs thyme and rosemary
- One bunch of Italian parsley
- 3 bay leaves
- 2 tablespoons veal demi-glace reduction (or a slurry of the cooking liquid and corn starch – see note)
- 1 tablespoon olive oil
- 1 tablespoon butter
- Sea salt
- Pepper
- Egg noodles
Preheat an oven to 275 degrees.
Cut the stems of the parsley and set aside. Finely chop the parsley leaves, and put that in another container.
In a stainless steel saucepan, combine red wine, parsley stems, thyme, and rosemary. You can also augment with a pinch or two of dried herbs de provence. I do.
Bring wine to a simmer, lower heat, and simmer until the wine is reduced by half (probably 30 minutes or so). Remove herbs.
While that is happening, in a large dutch oven, heat olive oil to smoking. Toss beef with flour and season with salt and pepper. Brown beef in pan, and set aside, draining all liquid from the pan onto the same platter or bowl on which you are setting the beef aside.
Bring the pan back up to heat, add butter and bacon, then add onions, carrots, and celery, and cook over high heat, stirring often, for a few minutes. Add mushrooms and garlic, and sautee for a couple more minutes.
Return beef and all the liquids back to the pot, and stir fry for a minute before adding wine, broth, tomato paste, bay leaves, and some salt and pepper. Bring to a nice simmer…
Then place into oven, with a very loose cover of foil on top (do not cover completely). Cook in the oven for 2 to 2 1/2 hours, stirring occasionally.
Remove and allow to cool. Set aside in the fridge overnight.
The next day, sprinkle with 2 tablespoons chopped parsley, add demi-glace and bring the pan back up to a simmer. Simmer for 15 minutes or so until it’s a nice consistency, while salting and peppering to taste.
NOTE: I use Demi Glace Gold or, more recently, Williams Sonoma, with good results. I love this stuff — it’s pricey, but an oh so rich and delicious way to thicken and “luxuriate” this stew or most anything really. Alternately, you can extract a 1/3 cup or so of the braising liquid and mix with a tablespoon or more of cornstarch to create a slurry, and slowly drizzle this into the simmering stew to help thicken things up a bit.
I like to serve the daube on top of cooked egg noodles (straight, curly? your call), and top with a pinch of your finest finishing salt, a quick turn or two of the pepper grinder, and a sprinkle of parsley. Instant comfort.
Taqueria Lindo Michoacan is a permanently parked taco truck residing at the south side of SE Division, on the intersection of 34th Ave., just a few doors down from the venerable Pok Pok/Whiskey Soda Lounge.
The “marquee” lists all the flavors of flesh available. Notice the sign boasting of hand-made tortillas.
The full menu (click to view a larger, detailed version).
The taco triumvariate–pastor, carnitas, and asada.
Carnitas.
Asada.
Pastor.
Fully dressed taco.
Verdict? The asada could have been more crisp, and I’ve had better, more flavorful carnitas. The hand made tortillas are good, the pastor is flavorful (if a tad bit greasy), and the salsas—3 kinds, red, green, and atomic/habanero—are bright and fiery. This is a good taco truck.
Lindo Michoacan
SE Division and 34th
Portland, OR
A Beaverton location of D.C. metro-based Five Guys Burger and Fries opened last fall to much fanfare.
The simple, no-nonsense interior imparts a bit of the faux-retro vibe that Southern California’s venerable In-N-Out Burger captures so well. The place was absolutely packed on a recent weekend around 2pm.
Similarly, the menu is pretty simple. You won’t find any sandwiches featuring onions with anger management issues.
Stacks of sacks of potatoes suggest their fries are freshly cut. Or these could I have simply been bags of river rocks from Home Depot’s garden section. They look about the same size – I had to pour a walkway one time. That day sucked. The pride of home ownership is way overrated.
Want something fun AND value-added? Boxes of free peanuts are situated at either ends of the dining (including like right in front of the bathrooms), and you’re free to help yourself and make a mess.
This large order of fries came in its own bag. There were nearly as many fries in the bag than in this large styrofoam cup–enough to feed three of us.
One great thing about Five Guys is that you get to accessorize your burger with whatever toppings they offer. Here’s a “Little Cheeseburger” (the normal burgers double up the patty) replete with lettuce, tomato, onion, pickles, mustard, ketchup, grilled onions, grilled mushrooms, and jalapenos.
Verdict? It’s a solid fast-food burger. In terms of satisfaction, I wouldn’t put it on the same level of In-N-Out. I was pretty stoked that the jalapenos were freshly sliced, as opposed to pickled. I really think it took the burger to the next level.
I will say, however, that the fries I had that crisp winter day in aught nine were better than any potato ever churned out by In-N-Out, and were flat out the best fast food fries I’ve had to date. I enjoy skin-on, freshly cut fries, and these were crisp and delicious.
Consider me a fan.
Five Guys on the WORLD WIDE WEB
Jin Wah in Beaverton serves dim sum.
There’s a lot of brisk cart action at Jin Wah. This motion blurred photo implies as such.
Feet. These came from several chickens.
Pork shu mai.
BBQ pork buns.
Shrimp har gow.
Tripe. I guess tripe’s ok. It’s like eating the floor mats to a late model European luxury sedan.
Congee. Much like how my wife thinks of me, I find Chinese-style congee to be a middling bore.
Kai-lan with oyster sauce.
Savory doughnuts. I’m not sure why, but Asians are crazy about this shit.
Shrimp balls topped with braised black mushroom.
A split shot, perched atop plenty of Chinese red vinegar spiked with chili oil.
Turnip cake.
Squid dusted with rice flour, flash fried and stir-fried with onions, scallion, salt, pepper, and chilis. I enjoy their particular rendition of squid.
Jin Wah Restaurant
4021 SW 117th Ave # E
Beaverton, OR
(503) 641-2852
Alba Osteria is a northern Italian restaurant located right off Capitol Highway, in Southwest Portland’s Hillsdale neighborhood. For the last few years — if you’ve skimmed the local food sites — many online discriminating diners in Portland appear to hold this modest eatery in high regard. I tend to agree with these people.
Antipasti.
Carne Cruda. This was well sourced and prepared, and expertly assembled. It did, however, need a little “oomph”, and the waitress indulged our request of lemon slices that in our minds took this dish over the top.
Pork crepinette with grilled treviso (radicchio). A sausage of sorts, filled with ground and chopped assortments of various body parts. The first few bites were quite welcome, with subsequent alternating between livery and gamy. One of the crepinettes was a bit undercooked, and to their credit the comped the dish, even though we ate an entire half. I’m not sure if I could order and eat this in its entirety again, but wouldn’t hesitate to split amongst four people.
Primi. Alba is highly regarded for their house made pasta…
…in particular this rich, egg-yolk infused, thinly pulled tajarin, lightly folded in this case into a savory fennel sausage ragu.
These hearty pork, veal, and rabbit stuffed agnolotti, topped with fried sage leaves, further demonstrate the kitchen’s deft touch with fresh pasta. Very “earthy”.
Canneloni Barbaroux. An incredibly rich and satisfying dish of thick sheets of pasta, filled with seasoned minced veal and herbs, and topped with a thick and velvety bechamel-type sauce.
Side shot of the canneloni.
Secondi. Usually by the time we get here, I’m stuffed.
Porcini crust halibut, with sauteed chantarelle mushrooms, roasted cauliflower, served adjacent polenta. At this point, I was a bit full, and a bit buzzed as my brother was the designated driver, but the porcini crust on the halibut was interesting, but in my opinion the fish maybe suffered a bit by absorbing too much heat from getting the porcini crust. Still, an ultimately satisfying dish, after a few Barolos.
I enjoy this restaurant. If you see gnocchi on the menu, I highly suggest you order it as the dish I’ve had was excellent. The few times I’ve been to Alba I’ve been served by this very attractive waitress that makes me embarrassed to bring my wife back here as she noticed my wandering eyes the first time, but goddamnit, that tajarin will make me eat crow.
Alba Osteria
6440 SW Capitol Highway
Portland, Oregon 97239.
Serving dinner from 5:30, Tuesday thru Saturday
503-977-3045
Website
Elsewhere on the Interwebbishness
HA & VL is ostensibly a bánh mì shop on SE 82nd, located just north of the Fubonn shopping center. A sandwich shop that just happens to serve a rotating menu of daily soup specials that are only available for certain hours early in the day. Alternating daily, the specials are available from opening (9am) until they run out. I’ve stopped by after 1pm on a couple days only to be told by the wonderfully polite and charming proprietor that they had unfortunately stopped special soup service.
The daily menu lineup can be viewed by clicking on this sentence which is a hyperlink.
Above is the Peppery Pork Meatball Soup, aka ‘bun moc’, which is described as “Pork meatballs slightly laced with black pepper, slices of pork in pork broth”. In addition to the aforementioned pork slices and pork meatballs, the soup is also accompanied by delicious fried fishballs, thick slices of what appears to be house-made cha lua, green onions, and a few leaves of rau rum.
The garnish platter, with fresh jalapenos, sprouts, shredded iceberg, mints (including parilla). A bit spartan, but to their credit, the waitress (who I think is the owners’ daughter) asked me less than halfway through my bowl if I’d like an additional plate of veggie. The service here really is wonderful, absent the cold, gruff scowls commonplace at many Viet establishments.
In addition to the hoisin, fish sauce, and sriracha garnishes you find at most Viet soup shops, there are these wonderfully twee containers…
…that house these fiery pickled fresh chilies, which add a nice kick to your soup.
As you can see, the noodles are of the larger rice-based variety, the kind you’d find in bun bo hue.
The variety of delicious meats and a solid and flavorfully distinct broth chock full of spiciness and “clarity” — combined with solid garnishes — instantly makes the bun moc at HA & VL one of Portland’s top bowls.
HA & VL Sandwich and Soup
2738 SE 82nd Ave # 103
Portland, OR 97266
(503) 772-0103
The Interwebs
BB@ Eat.Drink.Think. has been there
So has the Oregonian‘s Karen Brooks
Yelp
Portlandfood.org
Since this is the view from my bedroom, I’m eating white rice mixed with two cans of sardines DEBONED WITH MY BARE FINGERS.
Now, why would I order this from Whiskey Soda Lounge to-go just to meticulously rearrange it back at the homestead?
Well, the noodles hold up really well, and everything is packaged rather nicely, down to the pickled veg, lime, shallots, and toasty, fiery nam-prik pao. And the Vietnamese half in me demands that the rich, succulent, gravy-like broth be soaked up with crusty french bread. It becomes a dish that feeds two. Enough to occasionally warrant the surplus generated carbon.
Best Baguette, the shiny, modern banh mi outfit in Southeast Portland, has opened a Westside location in Beaverton.
This location does not have a drive-thru, but it does have a menu.
Furthermore, they also have Maggi (albeit the erstwhile North American version) for you to douse your sandwiches into salt bomb oblivion. Love it.
Saigon bacon.
Unctuous, flabby, and lukewarm slices of near-pure fat. Kinda gross, actually, until you eat it.
Looks like there’s a new Vietnamese restaurant next door. Looks sterile. Big surprise.
Best Baguette Beaverton
3645 SW Hall Blvd
Beaverton, OR 97005
(503) 626-2288
Get directions
IMPORTANT TACKINESS WARNING: Jen@Oishii Eats tipped me off that Best Baguette’s concept may be entirely ripped off from this place in Southern California. Since the menu, branding, and store design appear to be nearly identical on many levels, I will give them the benefit of the doubt and assume it’s a satellite. Now, this could probably be all cleared up with a single phone call, but I’m not exactly Woodward and Bernstein and I’ve got a job and stuff (for now).
Best Baguette on the WORLD WIDE WEB
George’s Giant Hamburgers is located in Tigard, just off the 99W as it transforms from Barbur Blvd. and leaves Portland proper.
As you can see, the windows boasts that they grind meat fresh. Daily. Except Sundays, when they are closed. So they are liars.
Click on the above photo to view a larger photo of full menu.
This is the menu addendum.
There’s a well-stocked garnish bar, with sauces that include a special-saucey 1000 Island-type concoction that for all I know is actually 1000 Island dressing. I don’t eat things named after mystical places.
The garnish bar includes a salsa fresca, jalapenos, and two types of pickles, even. Well, three, if you include relish as a type of pickle, and I don’t, but I’m not gonna fight you on this.
The bun at George’s is always toasted.
The fries are thicker cut, and fairly decent, though could be a bit crisper. Some people get all freaky about fries and shit and will only eat one style, but I personally like freshly cut and fried potatoes with the skin on.
A fully dressed hamburger. Verdict? The meat isn’t all that flavorful, but it tastes like beef. It’s an honest, simple burger, albeit overcooked to well-done. The pre-cooked weight of the standard burger is 1/3 of a pound. The bun is nicely toasted. At $4.45, it’s only a little over a dollar more than the Whopper™ Sandwich you’ll find just a couple hundred yards down the street, and much better since it’s not microwaved and sitting upon a bottom bun the consistency of refrigerated day-old gravy.
And as you can witness by the three fresh pickle spears, I enjoy over-accessorizing my burger. The quality and selection of the garnish bar makes George’s an infinitely better value than typical fast-food fare. Thick slices of red onion, freshly chopped lettuce, and uniform, meaty slices of tomato…as a comparison, nearly half the time I’ve had a burger at Burgerville the sole tomato slice was simply the very crown of the fruit with a hole in the middle. You won’t find this at George’s, because you’re master of your own burger domain.
George’s Giant Hamburgers
11640 SW Pacific Hwy
Tigard, OR 97223-8674
Phone: (503) 639-8029
This is simply a serving package from fine instant ramen purveyor Myojo Chukazanmai‘s excellent line of (non-fried) noodle soups. The soup in question is garnished with mushrooms, greens, onions, and fanned with slices of lemongrass pork whose recipe can be found here.
I don’t care what the haters say. Instant ramen is special.
(Seasonal Special) The Cubano – Tender roast pork and ham layered with sweet and spicy peppers, onions, Swiss cheese and 1,000 Island dressing. Served grilled on a crusty Bolo Roll.
$7.50 a la carte
Not really a Cubano in the traditional sense, but I would classify it as a gooey, toast-pressed roast pork sandwich with a solid layer of caramelized peppers. There are worse things in this life.
Dang’s Thai Kitchen is located on the “outskirts” of northern Lake Oswego, straddling the Willamette river on the west side of the 43 as it emerges from the road formerly known as Macadam.
The dining room is clean and modern.
A refreshing Thai iced tea.
Angel Wings. Deboned chicken wings, stuffed with ground shrimp, pork, and woodear mushrooms, battered and deep fried. Hell yes, they are as delicious as they sound. Served with a sweet chili dipping sauce.
Som tum. I actually liked Dang’s version better than Pok Pok.
Tofu pad kee mao. Solid version of what is normally considered pedestrian Thai fare (albeit it’s a favorite of mine).
Beef pumpkin curry. Oh my.
Battered halibut bathed in a sweet and sour sauce, and topped with fried basil leaves.
Thai fried rice.
In terms of CYOM (“Choose-Your-Own-Meat” – a term introduced to me at Portlandfood.org by Nick Zukin aka Extra MSG) Thai restaurants in metro Portland, Dang’s Thai Kitchen in northern Lake Oswego clearly sets itself apart amongst the competition with deliciously executed “classics”. If you’re a fan of Thai food it is seriously recommended.
Dang’s Thai Kitchen
670 N State St
Lake Oswego, OR 97034
Phone: (503) 697-0779
Links
It’s quickly become a ritual for me. Each time I see a band at Wonder Ballroom, I have a delicious pre-meal at Toro Bravo next door. Life could suck much more.
The show in question was last week’s Stars concert. Stars is a Canadian band that crafts wonderful little nuggets of pop goodness.
The night started off with a Red Delicious(?). Aviation gin, muddled with roasted red peppers and mint.
The menu at Toro Bravo now features a “charcuterie” section, which included this BLT with heirloom tomatoes, arugula, and house-cured bacon. I could not keep myself from ordering it, and it was delivered open-faced. A toasted slice of crusty bread, smeared with a delicious aioli, served as the base. It was just how I envisioned it. Tart zucchini pickles were a nice side.
This is a flash-saturated, washed out photo of the spicy prawn and octopus stew, studded with piquant caper berries. I find this dish impossible not to order every time I visit Toro Bravo.
The “Barwikowski”, a nod to Clyde Common’s Jason Barwikowski, in this case included a pint of Caldera pale and a shot of tequila (Patron).
This set the stage nicely for Stars.
Burger. Ciabatta…always with the ciabatta. No tomatoes, which makes me cry. Pickled onions, honking slice o’white cheddar, and ok fries. At $11, it’s $3 cheaper than their veggie burger. That better be some fucking intense veggie burger.
”Dungeness Crab, Heirloom Tomatoes & Spinach Benedict, On Alonso’s English Muffin with Hollandaise & Crisp potato Cake”. Very good. For $16, it should be.
Pork belly stewed with whole eggs and fried tofu in coconut juice and fish sauce. Much better than it looks or sounds.
La Tienda San Francisco is in the heart of picturesque Wilsonville, Oregon, adjacent to an Arby’s and in the same complex as an Izzy’s and a merry-go-round sushi emporium.
In the back of the store, adjacent to the wonderful butcher counter…
…where you can get very good, cooked carnitas by the pound ($6/lb)…
…is an insane seating area replete with pinantas committing any number of intellectual property theft crimes. This seating area serves the taqueria that is operated out of the back of the store, which incidentally is the subject of this taco survey post.
Asada.
Carnitas.
Pastor.
Taco: full metal jacket.
Red salsa and salsa verde.
Verdict? Very, very good tacos. La Tienda San Francisco is also a tortilleria, so their taco fillings are enveloped in large, fresh tortillas. The tacos here (at $1.75 a clip) are a bit more expensive than your average taco truck, but they are also a bit larger. The carnitas is truly delicious, unctuous and meaty. The pastor and asada are made from very same raw, pre-marinated materials they sell behind the butcher counter, and are crisped to order.
My main knock on this place is the timidness of their table sauces. But they are fine salsas, freshly and carefully prepared, just a bit too mild for my tastes. When they first opened they featured a fiery habanero salsa, but alas I’ve yet to experience its return. A fiery salsa would make this one of the best taquerias in the metro area.
As I mentioned, this place is a tortilleria, and sells warm tortillas hot of the press…
… and as you eat your tacos you can watch the baker churn out postres and pan dulce, which they also sell. You already saw the meat. And the name also implies that this is a store.
La Tienda San Francisco
Next to the Arby’s
Wilsonville, OR
Ngoc Bún Bò Huế shares the same strip mall on the east of SE 82nd as other restaurants such as Good Taste #2, My Brother’s Crawfish, and a few others.
As the name suggests, its specialty is bún bò Huế, the delectable and spicy soup that is a specialty of Huế, a coastal city of central Vietnam. The soup is redolent of lemon grass and a savory meatiness from pork knuckles, braised beef shanks, slices of cha lua (Vietnamese bologna), and congealed cubes of pork blood. I usually forego the latter, but lately I’ve been keeping it in the serving and just eating around the blood cubes, removing them periodically throughout the meal.
The goi cuon at Ngoc are really very blah. Diminutive, bland, and a dollar more than at other Viet joints. I’d skip them.
Bún bò Huế, like many Vietnamese soups, is accompanied by a garnish platter, replete with bean sprouts, lime, herbs, chiffonades of banana blossom and iceberg lettuce (cabbage is often subbed for the latter). The garnishes at Ngoc, as you can see, are very generous.
It’s also served with a small dish of pungent fish sauce spiked with chopped bird chilies.
The soup. I generally pull out the knuckles, maybe slurping off a few choice slivers of fat and meat, and set aside so I can make good work of the soup proper. Notice the slices of delicious cha lua, which is speckled with coarse ground pepper and is made in-house.
The rice noodles used in bún bò Huế are much thicker than typical Vietnamese soups, more along the lines of a Japanese udon (though not nearly as thick).
Verdict? Ngoc Bún Bò Huế makes a fucking awesome bowl of soup. The garnishes are perfect and ample, the broth fiery and savory, the sliced beef shank meaty and tender, and the house-made cha lua is some of the best I’ve had. I’ve only had bún bò Huế further down the street on South 82nd at the restaurant similarly named “Bún Bò Huế”, and while their goi cuon is better and they do make a good bowl of soup (in addition they feature a damn good bún thit nuong), Ngoc Bún Bò Huế clearly tips the scales of deliciousness. At $7.50 — for a large — I hereby declare that a bowl of soup from Ngoc Bún Bò Huế now qualifies as an official statistical measurement (one of many, incidentally) by which I judge dining experiences from this point forward. For instance, a 3-course meal at a popular Portland restaurant…is that worth the equivalent of 51/3 bowls of bún bò Huế?
I know that’s misguided and unreasonably unfair, but like I tell my recently-turned-4-year old daughter, “I don’t make the rules, I only try to subvert them utilizing sophistic, poorly reasoned rationalizations that satisfy my own warped world view”. A bowl of soup at Ngoc is simply an agent of the free market exerting its immoderate influence.
Ngoc Bún Bò Huế
8230 SE Harrison St Ste 315
Portland, OR 97216
(503) 774-2761
From Binh Minh.
Binh Minh Bakery & Deli
6812 NE Broadway St
Portland, OR
(503) 257-3868
When I first visited little Manzanita, on the Oregon coast, some six years ago it was pretty no-frills. It seemed like the only place to get something to eat was at the Sand Dune Pub or a small bistro that is now defunct. Nowadays there’s much more options – two pizza places (one, Marzanos, has a nice hot oven and churns out a suprisingly good—albeit pricey—pie), a Mexican restaurant, 3 markets (including a natural foods/homeopathy type store), a seafood restaurant, donut shop, a bakery/deli, and a coffeehouse, in addition to the aforementioned Sand Dune Pub (which makes a decent burger using Montana country beef…and has tater tots) and an upscale (for beach standards) restaurant just off the 101.
We had a house just steps from the beach, but more importantly, steps from this Chicago hot dog stand.
The gentleman and his lovely wife owned the house behind where he sets up shop for an 11:30 am opening each day.
He uses Vienna Beef, so it’s the genuine article.
With all the fixings to “drag your dog through the garden”, including tomatoes, the toxic-green relish, sport peppers, celery salt, etc.
He even obliged my request for extra sport peppers. God I love those things. Great dogs, I ate here three consecutive mornings.
Just up the main drag of Laneda is the Bread and Ocean, a wonderfully charming little bakery and deli.
Bread and Ocean is staffed with young whippersnappers during the summer, who crank The Strokes in the kitchen and on sunny days seem always itching to split shift and catch some rays in the sand.
In addition to a small handful of indoor tables, they have a small patio off to the side.
The menu board.
The pressed, toasted panini featured creamy brie, roasted onions, arugula, and a wonderful serrano ham — nice touches for beach food.
They do a good job with baked goods here, as I thoroughly enjoyed this orange & almond poppyseed roll. They feature daily specials, including — on Fridays — their refined sugar-free, whole wheat cinnamon rolls (suprisingly good) and a pain au chocalate with dried cherries that we brought back with us to Portland.
Manzanita, Oregon
Oregon
USA
@Toro Bravo. With peas and potatoes. Delicious. Followed up by the excellent spicy octopus and prawn stew, paired with an ice cold lager. Summer.
Blue cheese-thyme burgers (New Seasons) on Grand Central rustic bun.
Taqueria La Estacion is located on Killingsworth in Northeast Portland, just south of where the street joins with Lombard to create the confluence that is the Gartner Meat Market Frontage Road Express Throughway.
It hilariously occupies what appears to formerly be a British-themed snackbar/pub/lair.
As you can see, Estacion has some unique Mexican specialties other than tacos that immediately distinguishes it from other taquerias. But this is a post in the Taco Survey, so those items will have wait for another post.
The taco triumvarite. I subbed chicken for carnitas, as the menu did not offer the latter. On this day I added an extra pastor. That tortillas here are commercial.
The pastor. Very good.
The asada. I bit gristly and lesser than as-crisp-as-I-like in pieces.
The chicken. The weakest of the bunch, but chicken tacos are usually the Stephen Baldwin of any taqueria family.
A fully dressed taco.
The garnish bar…
…which features bright and vibrant red and green sauces…
and includes a spicy, orangish habanero sauce (fiery) and a chunky table sauce (on the right). This particular salsa was quite unique, in that it uncannily tasted almost exactly like Herdez’s canned Salsa Casera. I’m not saying it was the brand stuff — the texture was different as this was nice and fresh — but the taste similarity was remarkable.
If you ever find your way on the back road to the airport, or if you are a pervert and like to frequent the underage strip club next door, stopping by Estacion for food is a perfectly fine decision. I’ve heard good things about other items on their menu which I have yet to sample. Interestly enough, there’s a taco truck in the parking lot (a hundred yards away) that shares the same name as the taqueria (“La Estacion Express #2”) yet holds different hours (it was closed when I visited). I suppose it’s a niche adjunct to the restaurant proper. If not, it stands as the most brazen example of copyright infringment in history of American taquerias.
La Estacion Express
Just south of NE Lombard/NE Portland Highway. The entrance is on NE Killingsworth, just west of NE Cully. There’s no listing for phone, address, etc., so you’ll just have to check it out for yourself, you lazy fucker.
Often lost in the excitment that is the Whisky Soda Lounge,
…it’s easy to overlook the shack that started it all is still consistently churning out earnest and tasty thai grub. The patio tables are now reserved for the restaurant proper, so this is a grab and go affair.
This is the menu. All of it.
Pok Pok always features a daily special with MAMA brand instant noodles, and it’s served with meat from their delicious game hens. I love them for this “proletariat” handshake.
Papaya pok pok ($8.00).
1/2 a roast game hen ($6.50). Two dipping sauces, including a sweet and sour chili sauce and a darker, tamarind flavored soy.
pok pok
address: 3226 se division, pdx
telephone: 503 232 1387
pokpokpdx.com
Toro Bravo is located on NE Russell, just west of MLK.
Toasted chick peas grace your table as soon as you’re seated.
Manchego and Paprika Fritters with spicy salsa roja.
Seared Scallops with romesco.
Griddled Bacon Wrapped Dates with warm honey.
Spicy Octopus and Prawn Stew.
House Smoked Coppa Steak with olive oil poached potatoes chopped olives and salbitxada.
Lamb Braised with Apricots & Coriander with homemade egg noodles.
There’s a reason why Toro Bravo is the best tapas restaurant in Portland, if not one of our fine city’s finest eateries.
Toro Bravo
120 NE Russell Street
Portland, OR 97212
503.281.4464
www.torobravopdx.com
Hae Rim is a Korean restaurant in Beaverton, just west of the 217.
The BiBimBob section of the menu.
The best part of a Korean meal is all the side dishes you get. It must really suck to be a dishwasher at a Korean restaurant.
The standard BiBimBob.
The banchan parade.
The BiBimBob at Hae Rim isn’t a transcendental experience, but it’s solid comfort food. $8.95.
The meal is capped off with this cold, sweet barley tea, which may sound odd.
But not as odd as this. Perhaps it’s because of Tony Brinkley, Moonies, and the Washington Times, but I find this Korean religious propoganda extremely creepy.
Hae Rim
11729 SW Beaverton-Hillsdale Hwy,
Beaverton, OR
Phone: (503) 671-9725
I was in the Bay Area recently, and hit Ramen Halu.
Before leaving North Beach that morning, I did a search for the best ramen in South Bay. Your usual suspects came up, mostly in San Jose and San Mateo, with a couple in Mountain View. However, one blogger whose name I don’t remember and whose blog address I forget said Hula in San Jose was the best, and that was good enough for me. Later when we were at the establishment, a framed article by Melanie Wong in the San Jose Mercury proclaimed Halu #1 in the in the Top 10 ramen restaurants in the South Bay Area, so my instincts in this instance proved correct.
An hour later and a few failed opportunities for carbon offsets later, we were in San Jose, right off the I-280 freeway.
Across the street was a fitting visage for our times.
Halu opens for lunch at 11:30 AM sharp. At 11:15, there was already a line.
The Indian market next door advertised what appeared to be the Bollywood version of One Crazy Summer.
The menu features pre-configured specialties.
And also an a la carte itemization for a pimp-it-yourself ramen experience and a most excellent drink menu.
We started with this delightful okara salad. The texture was like a thick farmer’s cheese. Very refreshing.
Shio ramen. A light broth, thin noodles. Pretty straightforward, but decent (if a bit perfunctory).
The special house Ramen Halu. Thick noodles, bold, strong, assertive broth that was a veritable salt bomb. The pork was meaty, yet tender.
The broth literally had chunks of pork fat floating in it. So unctuous.
The noodles were thicker than most ramen I’ve had, and I loved them. This was a good damn bowl of soup.
In the back of the house, I saw them breaking out the crack torch for each bowl of HALU ramen that left the kitchen. My theory is that they put chunks of pork fat on top of freshly ladled bowls of ramen and melted the fat into the soup.
After I snapped the photo, this proprietoress gave me a slightly askew look. At the time I wondered perhaps she thought I was stealing trade secrets, but she probably was thinking I was a pervert for scoping her rack.
If you’re in San Jose by a freeway, I suggest you get some ramen.
Ramen Halu
375 South Saratoga Ave
San Jose, 95129
408.246.3933
Website
Phở Binh Minh (no relation to Binh Minh nee Maxim Sandwiches) is located just north of dowtown Tigard, half a mile south of the 217/99w intersection.
It is a pretty standard-issue, family-run Vietnamese restaurant. Which explains why I enjoy eating here.
Phở Binh Minh opened in late spring of 2007, and has a new-ish, recently baked feel. There’s a surreptitious hallway to the left as you enter that leads to a video crack room that seems to exist within a vacuum in its own strange, alternate existence, completely divorced from the prosaic reality in the main dining room.
Ah, Oregon. You can feed a daily addiction, diverted from and sheltered by society, but pumping your own gas is verboten.
The Goi Cuon (with shrimp and poached pork loin) is fresh and features a nice amount of fresh herbs.
Here’s a cross-section view.
The Goi Cuon Chay (vegetarian) were very nice – extremely large. The fried tofu was excellent, and it was packed with Thai basil. The fillings were bursting from the seams – one of of the rolls was nearly falling apart. But I’ll take that any day over a small petite salad roll.
The garnish platter isn’t the most ample, but features just enough for a large bowl. Big ups for the sawleaf herb (ngo gai).
The Phở Tai Chin (with rare beef and braised brisket).
Note: if you’re ordering phở tai (rare beef), ask for your “steak on the side”—if you like it that way—and you’re sure to get it. The waiters are sons of the family,and speak English fluently. And you get a fair amount of lean, thin slices of beef round draped on a side plate with your soup.
Brisket.
The phở here is an honest, hearty bowl of soup. It’s not the most nuanced of broths, but it’s a flavorful, “clean” broth and it’s evident the cooks pays careful attention to the stock. It is very reminiscent of the stocks I grew up eating from the various kitchens of my Mom, aunt, and their various friends. The fresh rice noodles are consistently toothsome.
Their papaya salad, quite frankly, rocked my world. For $4.95 it was chock full of fresh shrimp (and pork – there was a good amount of protein), and the herbs were aplenty – rau ram and basil. The Viet version of papaya salad is less tangy than Thai version, with more of a focus on sweetness (some may call it cloying), but ample slices of fresh jalapeno played well against that. Really, really good.
I’ve also sampled a few other items at Phở Binh Minh. The Bun Tom Thit Nuong was large, ample. The grilled pork in this dish was seasoned nicely will lemongrass, and the skewer of 3 grilled shrimp were slightly overcooked, but otherwise good. Their nuoc cham I think is bland, a bit on the sweet side (I like my cham fiery and tangy). A decent version, albeit subdued—the garnish (just cukes, pickles, lettuce, sprouts) could have used fresh mints and basil.
Their cia gio is a pretty good rendition, as well. This place serves solid, fresh food with proteins that never have “off” tastes (something I can’t say about certain other Vietnamese places in town). On the strengths of their standard-issue Vietnamese dishes, Phở Binh Minh is in a league with some of the better Viet restaurants in Portland.
Phở Binh Minh
11945 SW Pacific Hwy Ste 212
Tigard, OR 97223
(503) 968-0121
Map
I’ve described my process for making unnaturally red char sui bbq pork. Here’s what you can do with it. Make a sandwich.
I’ve made bánh mì on this blog a couple times in the past. Here’s a bbq pork bánh mì, with the requisite radish and carrot garnish, that, incidentally, if you leave to marinate on the counter at room tempurature for more than a few hours it will then smell like crusty taint seeped in an ass perfume.
Ass Salad
- Equal parts daikon radish and carrots (julienned, roughly—I prefer flatter pieces)
- Rice vinegar and sugar (1 tablespoon sugar for every 1/2 cup of rice vinegar)
Combine and mix thoroughly. Allow to assify at room temp for an hour or two and then stick in the fridge.
Garnish
For me, I need cilantro, jalapenos (preferably sliced length-wise), cucumber (essential), pickles, and Maggi.
I also usually prefer to sub in a conventional french roll from a local bakery, as opposed to a Viet/French bakery, whose crust I feel aren’t substantial enough to agnonizely pierce the top of my mouth. Label it gastronomic S&M, if you will.
Slice up your char sui pork. Assemble the sandwich. I like to lightly toast the bread.
A fully dressed sandwich. One of those rare moments in life where you think maybe all of it is really worth it.
Dispatches from San Francisco: dim sum at Ton Kiang ($78, without tax, including soft drinks and tea).
We were barely seated before string beans, cabbage, and a first wave of dumplings were delivered.
Shrimp and snow pea dumpling.
Shrimp and scallop dumplings.
Shrimp and chive dumplings.
Sauteed string beans with shitake mushrooms.
Steamed choy.
Shrimp har gow.
We asked for hot sauce, this green sauce was delivered with a red chili garlic sauce.
Potstickers.
Turnip cake.
“Siu Lung bao”, Shanghai dumplings.
Served with vinegar.
Sauteed spinach with fried/braised garlic.
BBQ pork buns.
BBQ pork bun, split.
Fried sesame balls.
Fried squid.
Roast duck.
Tofu skin roll.
Pork shu mai.
Rice porridge cart.
Rice porridge.
Ton Kiang
5821 Geary Blvd
San Francisco, CA
94121
website
A long time ago I posted to http://portlandfood.org inquiring into where I could get xiao long bao in Portland.
For anybody who is unsure what xiao long bao is I encourage you to read Jaden’s extemely superlative XLB post.
Most responses came up short. However, I recently received an email from Cuisine Bon Femme that said to keep an eye out for a certain food cart downtown that had just opened. God bless her heart.
Sure enough, Asian Station food cart on SW Pine and 10th downtown serves up these elusive elixirs. I stopped by a recent Saturday morning (note: they are not open on Saturdays. This was a winter anomoly).
You get 8 dumplings to an order.
My camera ran out of batteries, but this photo is cribbed from their their website. But I can assure you, they look exactly just like these. Except they are served in a plastic container sans napa cabbage pillow.
Served with a plastic ramekin of Chinese vinegar, with a bottle of Siracha within reach, you’re reminded of why Portland’s downtown food cart scene really is a special thing.
Taqueria Pico de Gallo sits squarely in the epicenter of South Tucson, on South 6th Avenue, a mile south of 22nd Avenue. South Tucson is an anomoly; it’s an enclave that covers roughly a square mile, and it’s surrounded entirely by the city of Tucson proper. South Tucson has its own municipal services and zoning regulations, and its own mayor and city council. Why they would want to do this is anybody’s guess. All I can say is that — despite having a crime rate higher than Camden, New Jersey (aka America’s most dangerous city and all-around fun zone) — the citizens of South Tucson obviously choose to live here because of the proximity to some good-ass tacos1.
Contrary to what some normally consider to be “pico de gallo”, namely, a salsa fresca made with chopped fresh tomatoes, the namesake in this instance refers to the deliciously fresh fruit cups served up by the taqueria (and sprinkled with chili salt).
They also serve these fruity, frozen raspados, which are coincidentally crafted…
…right next door.
Enough with food that is not tacos.
The breakfast menu.
The menu board.
The full menu luckily is available in the early AM (and from which I order breakfast when I’m in town).
This is the only table sauce they have on hand, a thick, incendiary concoction made from chile de arbol.
The taco plates are garnished with excellent pickled onions. The tortillas at Pico De Gallo are wonderful, thick, substantial discs of stoney masa goodness, freshly prepared on the premises. They are unlike any other Mexican restaurant in the Tucson area (which for the most part tilts towards flour as does Sonoran cuisine).
The tortillas here work together with a crispy, fried pillows of mild flesh to form one of the best fish tacos I’ve had, especially considering the nearest port is Puerto Penasco some 4 hours away in Mexico. The white sauce — normally a conceit I’ll even leave off my fish taco — here is a perfect foil for the fiery table salsa.
A decent asada.
Birria.
Barbacoa. These shredded meat tacos are a bit juicy/saucy, and tend to saturate the tortillas to the point where they have difficulty standing up. (This does not apply to the cabeza, which is shredded beef cheek and holds up well). However, the shredded meats are well prepared and are worth ordering — I would perhaps eat these first.
Here’s the proof that I paid for my meal.
Taqueria Pico de Gallo
2618 South 6th Avenue (Google Map)
85713 (
520)623-8775
Links
Footnotes
1 I lived just a mile-and-a-half north of South Tucson for a few years. I walked and biked all over the place, even late at night. It’s not that bad. I did get three bikes stolen.
In fact, I stayed just over a mile north of this place during my time in Tucson, at my wife’s godmother’s guest house.
The most dangerous thing I encountered was this cactus. This fucking evil plant ruined many an afternoon growing up, as while trying to catch an errant outlet pass you might end up in a patch, and hundreds of these miniscule, orange hair-like spines would attach to your lower calf with ferocity. Only a long soak in an oatmeal bath would temper the pain and suffering.
Lanvin French Bakery is located just behind the Phở Oregon on NE 82nd. As you access the back entrance to Phở Oregon from the parking lot, Lanvin occupies just a diminutive storefront but it’s impossible to miss.
First and foremost, Lanvin is a Vietnamese bakery. If you seen 6 packs of sandwich baguettes at any Asian store in the Portland metro area, look closely and you might find the Lanvin stamp on the package. In fact, I had a chicken parm sandwich from Pizza Fino once and the bread bore a strong resemblence to a Lanvin roll.
As with many things Vietnamese, Lanvin delves deep into Francophilia.
Here are some of the baked goods you’ll find:
In addition to savory items like banh bao (large, doughy steam cakes filled with a meat cake made from ground pork, dried mushrooms, Chinese sausage and hard-boiled egg which served as many a breakfast growing up), you’ll find…
Bánh mì. A small, focused selection.
The grilled pork. Nice amount of fat, and a decent meat ratio. The sandwich is dressed nicely. Lanvin gets major points for including a long cucumber slice and generous amounts of Maggi in this sandwich.
The bbq pork. This sandwich gets a spread of pate.
Unfortunately, I think the sandwich is dressed with too much mayo.
Lanvin makes a decent sandwich. I wouldn’t hesistate to grab a grilled pork when I’m in the area. However, I feel their bread is a bit too light and the texture a bit too airy, even when toasted nicely (which they do here), so it would be hard to choose Lanvin over Binh Minh, which is a couple miles away.
Lanvin French Bakery
8211 Ne Brazee St
Portland, OR 97220
(503) 252-0155
More learnin’
I went to high school and college in Tucson, Arizona, and my mom and my wife’s parents still reside in the desert, so I make it back often.
When I had an office on Congress street in the early aughts, we were a very short walk from Little Cafe Poca Cosa, and thus spent many a morning there eating my favorite dish, pork chile colorado. It was a great desayuno. And sometimes lunch too.
Little Cafe Poca Cosa is not to be confused with Cafe Poca Cosa the elder, which is a decidely much more upscale affair at a different downtown location.
Some real estate snafu has forced the little cafe to move from its former hole-in-the-wall locale to this spot on Stone Avenue adjacent to the Tucson public library.
Speaking of the Tucson public library…what the hell is this?
The interior is a bit sparse, but larger (by a factor of two) than the previous place.
The folks at Little Poca Cosa (it is owned and operated by a family with deep roots in Southern Arizona) are very socially conscious. They continually raise money for good causes, and invite their guests to help out. Dropping a buck after a meal into the till really does help you karmically correct yourself before you wreck yourself.
The breakfast menu.
The lunch menu.
As soon as you’re seated, you’re greeted by chips and salsa.
My old mainstay, the pork chili colorado. Like visiting with an old girlfriend, only without the restraining orders.
All lunch plates are served with a simple but satisfying rice, and a colorful salad.
The dressing for the salad — a nice, herby vinagrette — sits on the table, allowing you to douse to your heart’s content.
Plates are served with your own personal tortilla warmer…
…with your own personal stash of tortillas and…
…these wonderfully cooked pinto beans on the side.
So how was it? Good, just as I remember, though a bit more mild than I recall. My M.O. is to douse and eat the salad, then drop a few pieces of pork into the tortillas and garnish with salsa and eat those as impromptu tacos.
Finally, the last step is to eat the rice, which — when combined with the leftover salad dressing mixed with red chili sauce — becomes sublime.
Just outside the door you’ll find this steampunk public art installation. I like touching it.
Best Baguette is the splashy entrant into the PDX bánh mì universe, the hair-sprayed cousin with manicured nails, knock-off couture, and shiny new car. Modeled after some of the trendy sandwich emporiums indigenous to Southern California (i.e. Lee’s Sandwiches), Best Baguette instantly sets itself apart from mom-n-pop bánh mì shops with its conspicious ambition. For one thing, it has a drive-thru. A drive-thru!
They got signage and everything, and somebody is shelling out serious coin at the local reprographics shop, as these promotional banners attest. The main promo banner tells me if I order like 13 sandwiches I will score an iced coffee.
Their menu wall is in color. They feature many flavors of boba. I have no interest in boba, as I am not a communist.
Notice how the photo for the Chicken Salad sandwich is absent. Maybe it was sick on yearbook photo day.
Here’s some thumbnails of the menu. In addition to a full range of Vietnamese specialties, including a sardine option, many Americanized/Euro versions are offered. Again, I know not what these sandwiches are like, as, alas, I am not a fascist. Though I am strangely intrigued by the “savory shrimp in a new form of sandwich”. Who wouldn’t be?
One thing that bugs me about Best Baguette is that they pack their garnishes in a seperate, plastic bag. For one thing, it’s a needless waste. Secondly, it affects the material composition of the sandwich. Ask them to pack that shit in there.
How’s the sandwich? Very good. It is one of the longer Vietnamese sandwiches you’ll find, though the baguette itself is much more narrow than others. Their bread has improved since their opening days.
You’ll also find frozen iced treats of some sort. I haven’t ordered any, probably for the same reason I wouldn’t order a sardine sandwich at Mio Gelato.
Best Baguette is also a bakery, selling various breads…
…including these monstrous yeast amalgamations that look like they’re swiped from the set of Pan’s Labrynth.
The baguettes themselves are great when you want to indulge in a childhood treat, in this case the french bread pizza, which got me through many a lonely night during puberty.
Summary: Best Baguette makes a decent sandwich. With Binh Minh just a quarter-mile away, it’s hard to opt over that if you’re talking pure quality, but Best Baguette has a wider selection, it has a drive-through, and its glossy, Westernized modernity sometimes is a nice change of pace. Also, Best Baguette keeps good hours, serving sandwiches into the evening.
Best Baguette
8308 SE Powell Blvd
Portland, OR 97266
(503) 788-3098
Google map
This is essentially a red chili stew that can be made with either pork or beef. The key here is low and slow, and long, which allows the collagen of the meat to break down and become fall-apart tender. My adaptation here is fairly spicy; you might want to tone it down if you’re trying this at home.
The can of commercially made chili sauce may sound like an unnecessary shortcut to you. That’s your right. You’re entitled to your opinion. I just like the way it sort of “rounds” things off. You could omit and increase the liquid and dried/powdered chili if you feel like riding that high horse.
Carne Guisado
- 3 pounds beef shank, beef chuck, or pork shoulder, trimmed of excess fat (probably around 2 1/2 pounds), cut into one inch pieces
- Flour
- Vegetable oil
- 1 28 oz can Mexican brand red chili sauce (such as Las Palmas)
- 1 1/2 cups beef broth
- 4 dried guajillo chilies, stem and seeds removed
- 1 onion, chopped
- 7 cloves garlic, forced through garlic press
- 1/2 teaspoon pasilla chili powder
- 1/2 teaspoon chile de arbol powder
- 1/2 teaspoon new mexico chili powder
- 1/2 teaspoon ground cumin
- 1/2 teaspoon ground coriander
- 3 bay leaves
- 2 dried habanero peppers, stemmed
- 1/4 bunch of cilantro, torn
Preheat oven to 250 degrees.
Put guajillo chilies in a small saucepan and cover with 1 cup of beef broth. Simmer on low for 20 minutes. Remove chilies to cool.
Split the chilies, and using the back of your knife, scrape the flesh from the inside of chili. Discard the skin.
Put meat pieces into a large mixing bowl and dust with flour, and mix to coat lightly. Heat vegetable oil in cast iron dutch oven, and brown beef.
Add the the rest of the ingredients, stir to mix, and bring to a rapid simmer.
Cover and transfer to oven. Wait 2.5 hours, remove cover, stir, and return to the oven for another hour. Make sure you don’t eat those habaneros.
There are a couple ways I like to consume this. One way, as you can see in the first photo in this post, is with a mildly seasoned rice.
Rice
- 1 cup long grain white rice
- 1 1/2 cup low-sodium chicken broth
- 1/2 white onion
- 1 garlic clove, minced
- 1 tablespoon or so vegetable oil
- 1 teaspoon anatto seeds
- 1/4 teaspoon cumin
- 1/4 teaspoon coriander
- 1 teaspoon kosher salt
Put oil in small saucepan, add anatto seeds, and allow the seeds to perfume/color the oil over low heat for ten minutes. Drain oil into large saucepan and throw away the seeds.
Heat oil over medium heat, add onion and sweat. Add rice, garlic, spices, and saute for a couple minutes. Pour over broth, stir, cover, and simmer over low for 15 minutes. Turn off heat and allow to sit for half an hour. Remove cover and fluff rice.
Another option I enjoy is shredding the meat with a fork.
And enjoying it in taco format with your favorite table salsas and chopped onion/cilantro.
Or the next morning fry up a couple corn tortillas and an egg. Put the egg on top of the tortilla, top with shredded stew meat, add a few spoonfuls of the sauce, top with queso fresco, and put under the broiler for 30 seconds. Top with chopped onion/cilantro and a squirt of hot salsa.
Just a half mile south from “main street downtown” Tigard lies Sanchez Taqueria. This unassuming Mexican restaurant that speckles the 99W corridor might serve the best goddamn tacos in the Portland metropolitan area.
Sanchez Taqueria is packed on the weekends, with a lively crowd that squeezes into the small dining area. Tables on occasion will be shared with strangers, making this possibly a “communal” dining experience.
Lucky enough for me eating tacos is a mostly a drag race affair.
The menu board at Sanchez Taqueria. (Click here to view the menu (PDF, 667 KB)
The taco triumvarite. You’ll notice things are a bit different here. The tacos themselves are staggered upon themselves, and — at first glance — you can’t even see the fillings.
First off, let’s talk about the tortillas. They are made on the premises. They are amazing. Fluffy, flatbread-like pillows of white corn goodness. I had to flag down a runner to confirm that they were indeed corn — they seemed too impossibly doughy (for lack of a better word) to be masa. They are almost pita-ish. In all my taco eating travails, these tortillas rank at the very top of the deliciousness scale.
The green and red sauce. The green is amazing — immediately salty and piquant, with a noticeable afterburn. On the whole the green table sauce actually packs more punch than the red, which itself is delicious and imparts a lovely smokiness due (I think) to chipolte and roasted dried (guajillo?) chilies.
The tables also feature this fiery chili paste, with an oil base. This is for the menudo/posole/sopa, which is quite popular on weekends. I’m afraid to put this on my tacos, as my cranium is already sieving sweat whenever I leave this place.
Carnitas. Not the absolute best carnitas I’ve had, but definitely serviceable if not delicious in its own right.
Pastor. This is ethereal. A meat triumph. Crispy, succinct nuggets of seasoned pork. A literal taco supernova.
Fully dressed asada taco. The carne, like everything else, is top notch. Seasoned to the hilt.
Since in past taco surveys I’ve been forced to include pescado, to be fair here’s Sanchez’s fish taco (which weighs in at $2.25). As you can see, it’s hardly baja in style. It’s a flat grilled/fried, non-battered tilapia filet topped simply with a chiffonade of white cabbage (which also dressed the carnitas) and cilantro. It, too, makes an amazing taco at the hands of the taqueros at Sanchez Taqueria.
The tortillas here are large and generous, even so that the ample meat fillings can be enveloped and eaten bite-by-bite like pillowy wraps of crispy, deliciously filled meaty crepes. Each bite can be accentuated with generous and alternating squirts of red and green flavor injections. Though tacos approach $2 apiece, the value can’t be underestimated. These are easily 2x other taqueris/trucks, with the added bonus being some of the most superlative tortillas your teeth will ever bite into.
I’ve fallen completely for Sanchez Taqueria. It easily is one of Portland’s best taquerias, if not Mexican restaurants. Worth to note: they have huaraches and chavindecas (NOTE THIS LINKS TO A PDF OF THE MENU).
Sanchez Taqueria
13050 SW Pacific Hwy
Tigard, OR 97223
Phone: (503) 684-2838
This past summer I spent some time in Clackamas, just southeast of Portland, as my wife was recovering for a couple weeks from surgery at the far southeast (Sunnyside) Kaiser Permanente.
On SE 82nd there’s a nice Vietnamese restaurant called Pho Huy. It’s just a few doors down from Penzey’s spices.
The interior is a bit more “polished” than most divey Vietnamese restaurants in town (Pho Van notwithstanding).
The garnish platter that accompanies an order of pho tai chin is pretty sparse. Just a sprig of basil, no ngo gai (aka culuntro). As with many places, the jalapenos are mild and impart very little in terms of accentuation. At least the lime wedge was fairly large.
The soup. The top round is sliced thin and is served farely rare, so Pho Huy gets bonus points here.
The brisket here was very tender and flavorful. Overall, the pho is decent. I would consider it middle-of-the road in terms of Pho options in the Portland area. Everything is done well enough, it’s just not blowing my mind. The broth is a bit overstated rather than balanced, with too much of an emphasis on cinnamon/star anise. But I would certainly down a bowl if I was visiting Penzeys to get my spice on. At $7.50/bowl, the soup here occuppies the upper-end of Portland pho pricing.
On another occasion I ordered goi cuon to start with (with nuoc mam aka cham instead of the hoisin/peanut, as is the preferred way of those who aren’t communists), and had the bun thit tom (grilled shrimp and pork).
The goi cuon was fresh and decent. For $4.50, they are quite small and I would consider them a ripoff, when compared to other places in town. Also, there was no mint (or herbs for that matter — just lettuce), however, there was caramelized shallots rolled in between the shrimp and pork, which added a nice, unexpected flavor. The meats were fresh, not off tasting, so major points for that.
The rice noodle dish was good, I must admit. I enjoyed my bun thit here more than I’ve enjoyed it at Banh Cuon Tanh Dinh, which the conventional wisdom commonly decrees one of the best Viet places in town.
The dish featured three medium, grilled shrimp on a skewer. The shrimp were mildly flavored, but fresh. The pork (loin) featured boneless broad slices that had been marinated, grilled and then sliced. This seems to be the style many places employ (I prefer the style where paper thin slices of fatty pork are threaded unto a skewer, grilled, and then de-skewered). The marinade is rather mild in approach, probably fish sauce, sugar, and a smattering of lemongrass.
The noodles were nice and room temperature, and the vegetable garnishes are very fresh. Again, no mint (though there was cilantro). I can’t see how any Vietnamese restaurant in Portland would not use mint when it proliferates at every Southeast Asian market, where you can pick up spearmint, perilla, etc., for sometimes under a buck a bunch. Eating Vietnamese bun dishes, goi cuon, and bun rieu without mint is like having sex missionary style while still wearing your shirt and socks. In fact, it’s worse. It’s more like a dry hump.
That said, I fairly enjoyed the bun…the nuoc mam “cham” was somewhat mild, but I’m a freak, and I was able to punch it up with the chili and fish sauces on the table. Again, at $7.95 it’s a modest portion, so it’s not the best value in terms of Vietnamese food in the Portland area.
The owner here has a reputation I guess for being “pushy”. I could see how some people could get the impression, but I think she’s just being a bit overly helpful, which can be overbearing (since I look somewhat indeterminately ethnic and ordered using my best Viet Kieu patois I was spared). Since a majority of dishes coming out of the kitchen were bun, she was doing her best to guide Mr. and Mrs. Whitey Q. Caucasian in terms of dressing the noodles appropriately with the nuoc mam “cham”, playing the role of the patronizingly altruistic Asian hostess. She would describe the sauce as a “spicy chili vinagrette”, without mentioning the presence of fish sauce that serves as the base, which is something I’ve been guilty of in the past, including in the fifth grade when I brought my mom’s cha gio to our classroom potluck.
Pho Huy
11342 SE 82nd Ave
Happy Valley, OR 97086
(503) 353-6646
“Ciuppin” @Basta’s.
The original version of ciopino made on the Ligurian coast. Fresh clams, mussels, calamari, shrimp and other seasonal fresh fish sauteed with garlic, onion, parsley white wine served over garlic crostini. 17
Was good. I like Basta’s. They are often overlooked as Portland falls all over itself to out-sustain each other, but do a good job.
The head of that langoustine was tasty. Though sucking the head of a large shellfish, loudly, in a public place, is sort of weird thing to do.
Basta’s Trattoria
410 NW 21st Ave
Portland, OR 97209
(503) 274-1572
At $1.50 for a carnitas, and for asada and pastor tacos clocking in at nearly 2 bucks ($1.95), the tacos at La Bonita occupy the upper-end of the taco price scale. However, for what you’re getting, it’s a pretty fair deal.
The taco triumvarite.
Asada. The meat was simultaneously tender and crispy. Nice, ample chunks of carne splendor.
Pastor. Expertly scented pork nuggets seasoned with achiote. Again, tender and bountiful. Excellent.
Carnitas. Perfect, meaty chunks of fall-apart tender pork, slightly greasy, as it should be. A quintessential carnivorous flavor.
A fully dress asada taco. The green table sauce is tangy, with a lovely saltiness. The red sauce has changed since my last visit. It used to be a fiery, intense red sauce made predominately from chilies. The recent version has a tomato component, and is much more subdued. Not as intense as I’d prefer, but delicious nonetheless. I would eat it with chips.
The toning down of the heat in the primary table sauce may be a direct nod to the growing gentrification of the Alberta/Concordia neighborhood.
La Bonita’s facade has been redesigned since my last visit.
At $2 a clip, the tacos here are twice the price of other taqueries, including the 2 other shops just walking distance from La Bonita on Alberta.
But as you can see with the gentle overflowing of delicious pork goodness from this pastor taco, it is easily worth it. The last few tacos I’ve had here are some of the best I’ve had since I’ve been in Portland. La Bonita has hit their stride.
The wall mural at La Bonita.
La Bonita
2839 Ne Alberta St
Portland, OR 97211
(503) 281-3662
I like the New Seasons butcher counter. It’s a shame, as my entire life in Portland, I lived biking distance to a New Seasons (Sellwood, then Concordia, then Arbor Lodge), but now that I live in Southwest there’s no longer a New Season super close-by. However, there is a Fantasy Video Adult Superstore.
I digress. New Seasons has a variety of ground meats and sausages of various derivations, sold by the pound, ground and prepared on the premises. They have a nice selection of ground chicken, including an excellent spicy Italian sausage. After seeing Je Mange La Ville’s take on Italian Wedding Soup, I decided to give it a shot using New Seasons spicy chicken sausage, rolled into meatball form, which added a nice undulating heat to the soup. And instead of a small Italian pasta, I used orzo, which is more associated with Greek cuisine. And I didn’t add the egg, which to me would remind me too much of egg drop soup. I also added other stuff. So think of this as…
Italian Divorce Soup (with a Pre-Nup)
- 3 quarts homemade chicken broth
- 1 pound ground, hot italian chicken sausage
- One tablespoon butter
- 1 onion, chopped
- 6 stalks of celery, leaves and ends trimmed, split lengthwise then sliced 1/4″ thick
- 3 or 4 decent sized carrots, peeled, sliced into coins
- 8 oz. sliced button mushroom
- Entire bunch of green kale or chard, chopped
- 1 garlic cloved, minced
- 3 sprigs of thyme
- 1/4 cup dry white wine
- 1 teaspoon dried Italian seasoning or marjoram
- 3 bay leaves
- 4 ounces dried orzo
- Salt and pepper
Roll those meatballs.
Melt butter in large pot or dutch oven over medium heat. Add onions, carrots, and celery, season with dried herbs and some salt and pepper. Sweat vegetables for a couple minutes. Raise heat to high, add white wine, and stir for a minute or two.
Add garlic, mushrooms, kale, and pour chicken broth over everything, and bring to a boil. Add meatballs, lower heat to low, and simmer for ten minutes. Add orzo, and continue to simmer for 20 minutes. Add salt and pepper to your tastes. I find soups much more pleasurable allow it to sit and “steep” for a while before eating. Your results may vary.
Enjoy it on a cold, rainy day, of which we have many in Portland. If you live in some place that’s perpetually sunny and warm, you can still enjoy a hot bowl of soup before your environment becomes inhabitable and your society eventually erodes.
In the five years+ I’ve been in Portland, the bánh mì options have flourished like mushrooms on a rainy fall lawn (as I typed this, I had a spore in my backyard the size of a small frisbee).
New-ish options run from the very good (Vina Deli on 82nd – UPDATE – THIS PLACED JUST CLOSED :{), to the erstwhile (Cali Sandwiches on NE Glisan and the deli in the Fubonn Asian Superstore).
The best Viet sandwich in Portland IMHO can be found at both locations of Binh Minh…
one on NE Broadway (60ish, just north of I-84)…
and the other on SE Powell (just west of 82nd).
There’s a consensus that the proprietor lady at Binh Minh is notoriously cranky, and I can see how that consensus has been reached. But growing up amongst a cadre of Vietnamese cranks who insist on nagging your every move and decision and whose idea of escalating communicative skills consists of yelling louder in an increasingly annoying pitch, I’m somewhat impervious. She works at the NE Broadway location, but on a recent visit to the SE Powell location (which just opened this year), she was there.
She took my order, and I asked for double meat, and she got my order wrong, and gave me this “dac biet” (aka the “everything” in Vietnamese) instead of the lemongrass pork. However, I’m somewhat scared of her, so I ate it.
For the uninitiated, a dac biet generall means “everything including the kitchen sink”. Head cheese, Vietnamese bologna, a spread of pâté AND butter.
Here’s the bbq pork, from the NE Broadway location.
The short story is that the bánh mì here is very good. The younger lady behind the counter asked if I wanted sliced jalapenos, and of course I did – I think a bánh mì without chilies is like a hot dog without mustard. She toasted the bread with very thin slices of delicious bbq pork – the pork was lean enough (unlike, say, Fubonn, where it is half fat). The carrots were julienned nice and thin, and the entire sandwich was the “flavor bomb” that Mr. Pok Pok once eloquently described on a PortlandFood.org thread. The bread was nice and crusty and french – this is the best bánh mì I’ve had in Portland.
I also like how they include an option for more meat for 50 cents — my main quibble is that there’s never enough meat in a bánh mì. But you can always make your own overstuffed bánh mì if you so desire, but if you are looking for anymore than a snack, I would say order two sandwiches (@$2-3 apiece you can afford it).
Menu board at Binh Minh, NE Broadway location.
Menu board at Binh Minh, SE Powell location.
Both locations have a variety of ready-to-carry Vietnamese specialties, as this shot of the NE Broadway counter attests.
In addition, the NE Broadway location has heated items, including dimunitive cha gios and savory and delectable pâté chaud.
Binh Minh Bakery & Deli
6812 NE Broadway St, Portland
(503) 257-3868
Binh Minh Sandwiches
7821 SE Powell Blvd, Portland
(503) 777-2245
Links
Midnight snack: quarter-pound frank, slathered in pedestrian sauces, chopped tabasco peppers, tomatoes, onions, pickles, on a toasted stadium roll.
There was a time, when I first moved to Portland, that I hit Phở Hung every weekend morning. I lived in SE, and was hungover a lot. The host at the SE Powell location at the time was this Viet-Elvis looking dude, constantly jovial and pretty damn suave is all his post-FOB glory. I’m not sure if he’s still there.
Phở Hung-Powell was good, for the most part. The broth, if a tad greasy on ocassion, was nice and beefy, with a mellow — yet pronounced — spice profile. However, at times, the raw beef Tai was past its prime. The garnish platter was often only sparsely adorned with basil, the lime was just a nub, and the sawleaf herb was nowhere to be seen. But my wife loved (and still does, presumably — she works on SE Powell) their goi cuon chay (I would enjoy the meat-ful versions on occastion. But their nuoc cmam was insipid, though, just water and nuoc man cut with water, sugar, and a few slivered carrots).
When I discovered Phở Oregon, Phở Hung started to lose my visits. The NE Sandy/72nd location (now closed) was closer to my NE home at the time, and was not the same quality as the location on SE Powell. And every 3 months, when I got my wife’s Saturn serviced in Beaverton, I’d always hit the Phở Hung in Beaverton. I had three consecutive Phở meals here that bordered on laughable. The broth was swimming in grease. Large, tepid, brown discs of beef round were weathered by freezer burnt edges, and imparted a mouthfeel like shoe leather. And I’ve also visited the SE 82nd location, and the broth tasted like it could have come out of a can.
Phở Hung as a concept had become too inconsistent to earn my continued patronage.
So it was with slight suprise when I recently have a very good bowl of phở (and goi cuon) at Phở Hung. I found myself in Beaverton one morning, as my wife still drives a Saturn, and hiked down SW Canyon1 for a quick breakfast.
Goi cuon. A tight roll, fresh, and the meat was not-off tasting. A decent roll, but somewhat small.
But as the upskirt shot shows, it does not have much in the way of greens/herbs, outside of lettuce. This makes baby Uncle Ho cry.
Their nuoc cham is pedestrian. It needs generous doses of garlic chili sauce (conveniently in the condiment tray) to bring it up to snuff.
The garnish platter isn’t the most generous, but this was fresh. 3 slivers of jalapeno doesn’t cut it, as these are tame northwestern peppers. No saw leaf herb, aka culantro aka “ngo gai” (Vietnamese), though you can ask if they have it in-house. Pretend like you’re yelling, “yo guy!” except put an “N” in front (“n-yo guy!”). And you have to yell. It’s the preferred method of communicating with non-English speaking peoples, including the elderly2.
The soup, in this case phở tai chin, or soup with raw round and braised brisket. As you can see, the tai was truly rare, with only a brief scorch of hot broth used to cook the meat (just as it should be).
The brisket “chin”. The phở today was very good. I was pleasantly surprised. The broth was on the mark. The meats were tender, the chin here rivaled the last Phở Oregon visit (Sandy location) and was better than the last bowl I had at the Phở Oregon-82nd location.
When the Saturn needs to be serviced in 3 months (or 3,000 miles – whatever comes first), I’ll be back for another bowl.
Phở Hung
13227 SW Canyon Rd # B
Beaverton, OR 97005
(503) 626-2888
Footnotes
1 People on this road seem to regard pedestrians as meritless, contemptible beings that contribute little to society.
2 Apparently this works both directions. I don’t speak Vietnamese, and my mother has determined the only why she can communicate with me in English is by TALKING VERY LOUD. But I’ve heard her talk (in Vietnamese) on the phone — with her friends — and she tends to elucidate similarly by TALKING VERY LOUD AT ONE CONSTANT, SUSTAINED, NEAR-YELL. I’m not sure if her friends on the other end of the line are constantly startled by my mother’s pitch, or if this is just a commonly accepted phenomenom in her culture. So maybe it really is a) the Vietnamese people, or b) just my mom’s family. I suspect b), as I met my mom’s friends and they tend to be soft-spoken, but when I call my Aunt’s house and ask a question she responds in a such cacophony that you’d think you’re listening to an elephant choke on an entire pineapple.
Taqueria Delicias Mexicanas lies on the south end of NE Lombard, at the crook where the throughway leaves the northern boundary of Cully and officially completes a transformation into the PDX Airport back door express highway (Gartner’s Meat Market, Taqueria Estacion, and two inscrutably vague strip clubs1 notwithstanding).
It’s got a fairly noticeable sign, so while it may be easy to miss it once, after that it’s impossible to miss. The last few years I’ve made dozens upon dozens of trips past this spot, sometimes even in search of tacos. But it wasn’t until just recently that I finally stopped by.
The joint is a sit-down taqueria, with table service and chips and salsa and everything. I stopped by on an recent early Sunday just after dropping a friend off at the airport.
The have an extensive menu for a place that bills itself as a taqueria (including serving beer). Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, and Part 5.
The salsa was a perfectly fine table sauce.
The chips were stale.
The taco triumvarite. I believe the tortillas at Taqueria Delicias are commercial. As you can see, I added a fourth taco, in this case a fish. I noticed some mariscos items on the menu and wanted a baseline in that department to determine if perhaps Delicias warranted a repeat visit for a coctel de camarones.
A fully dressed taco. The table sauces at Delicias are serviceable, if a bit tame.
Asada. The meat was chewy, and, as you can see, not very crisp. Somewhat funky in taste, as it had been sitting uncovered in a fridge for a bit too long.
Pastor. These were thin sheets of pork (leg?), pounded thin, and seasoned with adobo seasoning. Not bad, but not terribly good either.
Carnitas. On the bland side, with little of the rich, unctuous quality you’d associate with a superlative carnitas.
So how was the fish? Ugh. The meat consisted mostly of that fatty lip of the belly you would normally THROW AWAY. Furthermore, many pieces still had pieces of flabby skin attached to the gamy, ersatz flesh. The fish (maybe trout? tilapia?) was, well, fishy, and very “off”. I could not finish the taco.
With the Estacion taco truck just a bit further east, and with a few solid options in Concordia/Alberta, I’m not sure how Taquerias Delicias Mexicanas deserves a repeat visit. I’ve heard some generally positive things about their desayunos from a couple sources, so perhaps for a safe breakfast it might warrant a return.
Taqueria Delicias Mexicanas
5800 NE Portland Hwy
Portland 97218
(503) 493-0075
Footnotes
1 One of these strip clubs is non-alcoholic, meaning they are underage-friendly. There’s a cover charge and a one drink minimum. Watching full frontal with a bunch of 19-year old Mexican national daylaborers — all while sipping on a Fresca — is a very surreal, uncomfortably self-aware moment. Or so I’m told.
This is a classic Vietnamese seafood soup with a flavorful stock that draws flavor from a crab (or shrimp) paste “whip”, tomatoes and — like nearly all southeast Asian soups — fresh and distinctly aromatic herb garnishes.
The genesis for this version of Bún Riêu was the leftover carcass of a Diestel turkey. Pork pork neck bones were added as the stock starter, in addition to a combination of seafood-ish elements. Traditionally, if you are going full out, you’d get a whole crab and use that as your stock starter.
A big flavor component in this particular Bún Riêu was imparted by a couple dried seafood ingredients. Dried shrimp and dried scallops are added when simmering and removing the stock, adding a wonderful complexity. Dried shrimp are an easy score – most Asian (and all Vietnamse/Thai) markets will have them, and on the cheap, too. The dried scallops are another issue. They can be spendy, but they’re big on flavor, so a little goes a long way.
Here’s a commercially available crab paste which can be used for the protein “whip”. This brand is Taste Nirvana.
A Thai brand.
One thing I appreciate about Taste Nirvana is the seal on their label boasting of being 100% Real. When I cook, it’s important to me that the ingredients I use actually exist.
I’ve used shrimp sauce as well. A note on shrimp sauce: Shrimp sauce can come in a variety of forms. Lee Kum Kee makes a version that looks like a sludgy concrete slurry that’s probably best used to pave parking lot structures. Stay away from it. The kind you want is pinkly hued with a fair amount of crimson oil.
This version, in particular, had the word “Bún Riêu” right there on the label. Amazing, the serendipity. Don’t use the concentrated Thai variety (which is a very thick, dark red paste), Malaysian, or the Filipino versions.
A note on garnishes: I’ve added freshly poached shrimp and scored filets of squid, in addition to sliced raw onion and green onions. Fresh herbs really are essential to Bún Riêu – cilantro and the mint are vital, IMO. Spearmint, saw leaf herb, thai basil, in addition to more exotic herbs like fish mint and Vietnamese coriander (rau rahm) — it’s all good. Bean sprouts are essential, as is a squeeze of citrus (I prefer lemon with my Bún Riêu). Other garnishes could be a pinch of chiffonade of lettuce and banana blossoms.
Bún Riêu
Preparing the Broth
- Pre-made pork bone or chicken broth or both. Obviously a lot…a couple gallons or more.
- 2-3 tablespoons tamarind soup paste or 1/2 Tamarind packet (such as Knorr)
- Two dozen shrimp
- A few cuttlefish/calamari bodies, sliced to create 1 or 2 inch “filets”, and scored horizontally
- Dried shrimp (a little more than a dozen or so)
- Dried scallops (four or five)
- Small handful Whole peppercorns (white and black)
Add all ingredients together, bring to a boil. Remove fresh shrimp and calamari once they are cooked through, and set aside as garnish. Simmer on lowest setting for an hour.
Preparing the “Whip”
- Crab or Shrimp paste (2/3 of small jar – see the note above)
- Dried shrimp and scallop from broth (above)
- 10-12 raw shrimp
- 1 egg + 5 egg whites
- Ground white pepper
- 2 finely chopped green onions
Strain the broth. Remove dried shrimp and scallops. Using a mini-prep processor, grind up the shrimp/scallops, followed by raw shrimp. Give a few pulses to get a coarse grind. Beat eggs in a large mixing bowl, and add all remaining ingredients and mix into a paste.
Finishing the Broth
- 1 white onion, thinly sliced
- Vegetable oil
- 3 large tomatoes, cut into 1/8ths
- Fish sauce aka Nuoc Mam
- “Whip” from above
Fry the white onions. Add tomatoes and onions into broth, bring to boil. Stir and lower to low grade, simmering boil. Season the broth with nuoc mam as needed.
Grab the “whip” mixture and, using a medium spoon, drop lumps of the mixture into the undulating broth. These lumps will soon cook, rise to the top, and create a networked island of protein floatillas.
Turn off the heat and let stand for a half hour to meld flavors.
Assemble and Serve
Boil rice noodles and rinse with cold water. Assemble 4 ounces or so in a bowl. Garnish with shrimp and squid, paper thin sliced raw red onions, cilantro, chopped green onions, basil, mint, cilantro, culantro, Vietnamese coriander, bean sprout, etc. I like to give the bowl a quick 20 seconds in the microwave to bring things up to lukish-warm.
Pour hot broth over the soup, making sure to get a few choice protein flotillas. Squeeze lemon and snip a bird chili. You’re there.
Closeup shot of a protein floatilla. The texture is hard to describe, and could be somewhat offputting for the virgin, but once you get a craving you don’t lose it.
A few Xmas-es ago, I got my sister and her boyfriend a Calphalon grill pan as a present. Since they live in San Francisco, amongst the beatniks, grifters, and militant hobos, they are cramped for space and don’t have an outdoor patio by which to grill tasty meats. They claim the Calphalon is the best pan they’ve ever used for cooking steaks indoors. I tend to think nothing tops an old, worn-out cast iron pan, but I’ll let them think what they want.
Then I watched an episode of America’s Test Kitchen on PBS. That preachy Vermont guy and his trusty oily sidekick ran through a number of stovetop grill pans and proclaimed the Calphalon was the only brand that was worth its anodized aluminum.
Since I always need my decisions validated by a third party, I decided to pick one up for myself.
Also, since I had a leftover gift card from Christmas, I bought one of these meat tenderizers. I recalled flipping through the SkyMall™ during some flight and they featured this meat tenderizer that boasted it could make even the most erstwhile cut of beef as tender as sheets of caul fat soaked in rendered lard. Or something.
As you can see, the prongs of the tenderizer are quite menacing. I’m surprised a meat tenderizer was never used as plot device in the Sopranos.
To test the claims of the shameless copywriters who work for SkyMall™, I decided to pick up a grass-fed top round steak from Whole Foods, a cut you wouldn’t generally eat in steak form. I proceeded to rock the shit out of that flesh, nailing it a dozen times per side, then salted and peppered the pulverized steak before christening on the Calphalon. For good measure I sauteed some red chard in the same grill pan.
So did it work? Does the meat tenderizer make a top round taste like a filet mignon? Of course not, you fucking fool. But it does help a bit, especially if you intend to marinade your meat.
Sometimes, especially on the tail end of a late, warm summer’s eve, all you really need is some grilled beef, crusty bread, and sliced tomatoes. A cold beer and a seventh-inning stretch, and it reminds you that being alive is sometimes preferable than the alternatives.
I like to keep it working-class by using a sliced flat iron or sirloin (pictured above, from New Seasons market here in Portland). The steak itself is simply brushed with olive oil, and seasoned with sea salt and coarse cracked pepper. Maybe a couple sprigs of fresh rosemary from the garden.
Stack each slice of bread with tomatoes and a few slices of steak, and swallow.
The best part? The tomato/steak juice residue that collects on the plate. Be sure to save a couple slices of bread to sop this up, as this is the essence of life itself.
I had happy hour at Ten 01 recently. The place is the namesake of its address, which is 1001 NW Couch (For those new to Portland, “Couch” is not pronounced as you think. In fact, it took about 3 years before I was comfortable enunciating it correctly).
Ten 01 apparently got off to a rough start, but supposedly have righted the ship by hiring a capable chef from Southern California who has come in and established some consistency. At least that’s conventional wisdom. I definitely liked what I saw when I stopped by for a great happy hour meal here. The bar area is a real knockout. It’s a nice space.
Some drink with a kumquat. Forgot the other details (vodka?), but as you can see, it had a very sweet and delicious kumquat. Refreshing. Great cocktail.
Romaine with lemon-garlic dressing and toasted grana padano.
Bason-shallot tater tots. These were croquettes of bacon-n-alium-infused mash potatoes, breaded and fried. That sounds tasty. It was.
Burger sliders with Tillamook white cheddar. I loved them. The sauce was, I would say, a grain mustard aioli? The burgers were cooked expertly, slightly pink in the center. Scrumptious.
Sliders upskirt.
Fried green tomatoes. Unexpectedly (too) tart.
Oysters with that mignonette thingy (apple and pink peppercorn, in this case). Fresh, briny, delicious.
Pulled pork sliders. Meh. We ordered these last, so maybe I was just too stuffed. But it wasn’t really pulled as much as I thought it would be, and the seasoning was quite tame.
Ten 01
1001 NW Couch Street
Portland, OR 97209
Further Reading
Taqueria Don Pancho
2000 NE Alberta St
Portland, OR 97211
(503) 459-4247
In northeast Portland, there is a good taqueria called Taqueria Don Pancho.
As the name suggests, they have tacos. No carnitas, so a fish taco pinch hit to complete the taco triumvarite.
The menu.
Split shot of the garnish bar.
Carne asada.
Pastor.
Fish.
The red and green sauces.
I love Don Pancho. The tacos, at $1.25 a clip, are tasty little buggers. No carnitas, but the fish is a bargain at that price. They are not baja style fish tacos, these are fried (but not battered) — and then grilled — pieces of tilapia flesh. Sometimes they use pieces extracted from a whole fried tilapia (which is also on the menu) that are then re-crisped on a hot grill, but last time it was actually distinct fried pieces. The tacos are consistently crisp and tasty. The pastor are tasty little nuggets of crisp pork, and the asada is at the very worst very serviceable.
In terms of the Alberta Street taco, Don Pancho is the clear favorite. Anybody who claims La Sirenita is even worth your time hates Mexican food and the Mexican people.
I highly enjoy the table sauces the fine folks at Don Pancho serve up at the garnish bar. They are both high quality, well-made sauces that, incidentally…
Are available next door at el Mercado.
The have a small but excellent butcher counter, with several pre-prepped, pre-marinaded items, and all the excellent cuts and slices favored by Mexican cooks.
Even if you don’t intend to buy anything after your tacos, it’s worth visiting el Mercado just to remind yourself that the most popular brand of baked goods in Mexico is called “Bimbo”.
“We all know that by staying here it’ll be a good high this year
So what’s the use to staying there if you’ve got no use for time
The fitness coast is growing near
The shores they don’t stay blond all year
The continent moves with growing fears
Its all for expensive lawn”
— “Date with Ikea”, Pavement, off the 1997 album Brighten the Corners
The Ikea in Portland had been open for a little under two weeks when I dropped by on a Sunday evening. My wife was on an extended stay in the oncology wing at the Sunnyside Kaiser Permanente, and since we are moving to a new house soon and there was no internet access at the hospital, I figured I’d shoot up I-205 and score a printed catalog so she could fete her compulsive shopping behaviors from the safe confines of her hospital bed.
My first mistake was to go to Ikea.
I had somewhat fond memories of my last visit, when we braved the drive up I-5 to Renton a few years ago to hit the Seattle-area Ikea. We picked up a load of furniture in flat boxes, some things which over the years have been relegated to erstwhile and forgotten nooks and crannies throughout our house (and yard and garage), or items which have simply been thrown away. I do enjoy the kitchen items, though (best colander ever).
But I had visions of my hyper-efficient meatball plate I had procured in the sterile Ikea cafeteria. 15 perfectly round balls of meat, 126 grams of boiled red bliss potatoes, topped with 60mL of strangely creamy brown gravy, and accompanied on the side by 22mL grams of ligonberry sauce. An assembly that existed as a shining paragon of the Ikea philosophy: fleeting, throwaway uber-productivity that permeates every umlaut-bestowed line of build-it-yourself furniture. A cheap, quick crack cocaine hit, the equivalent of a power pop one-hit wonder, here today, gone tomorrow…the Harvey-Danger’s-Flagpole-Sitta of culinary experiences.
The route to the Portland Ikea is trepidatious. One wrong turn off the Airport Way access road and you’ll find yourself on the way to the Dalles or some random Comfort Inn or the Airport long-term parking lot. After nearly taking all of these wrong turns — and flipping several, extremely illegal U-turns — I made my way to Cascade Station, only to find the Ikea overrun with lecherous cretins collectively paying homage to the great cobalt Jesus.
The parking lot was full, and those late to the party (and this was nearly 7pm) were being diverted to one of many makeshift dirt parking lots that rimmed the periphery of the Ikea expanse. Flaggers wearing bright orange vests expedited the flow of traffic into these cattle yards. It had the feel of the county fairgrounds parking lot before a Monsters of Rock (or Ozzfest) mega-concert.
After walking nearly a half mile, I now found myself amongst the flocks of ebullient minions. These were pilgrims on a hajj to fulfill some perverse post-consumerism wet dream.
I was saluted by these colorful, flowing Ikea flags. This lent an air of diplomatic fanfare to the occasion, much like as if I was visiting the United Nations.
As you enter, you are presented with a couple options. Take the escalator to start the “tour”, or deposit your kid at the brat bank, where you’ll be given a pager in exchange for your first born. You’ll be able to wander aimlessly throughout the Ikea showroom knowing your child is accounted for. The pager is a nice touch — if little Johnny accidentally impales himself with the disassembled leg of a MAMMUT children’s polypropylene table, you’ll be the first to know.
On the top floor awaits the Ikea cafeteria. Presumably it’s situated at the mouth of the showroom so as to suggest that you’ll need the sustenance in order to brave the long, winding, Canterbury-ish journey on which you’re about to embark.
As you can see, the cafeteria was overflowing with hordes of angry consumo-bots eager to get their lingonberry on. It was seriously longer than the Space Mountain lines I used to encounter at Disneyland as a child. My meatball fetish would have to wait, as there was no way on earth I was going to return to my wife at the hospital 2 hours later just because I needed a round meat fix. Maybe, if she was still on her morphine drip, but ever since she stopped riding the snake her concept of place and time had regretfully returned.
I did manage to snap a couple shots of a section of the menu, and a placard on a table bragging about a 99 cent breakfast. Amazing.
I asked about the catalogs. They won’t get their shipment of catalogs for a few weeks. This amounted to a wasted trip.
The saving grace in this case is that Ikea also features a small snack shop at the exit (with much shorter lines).
I picked up a $0.99 chocolate bar, mostly for the packaging (and the awesome way the Swedish spell “milk chocolate”)…
a $.50 hot dog…
and 2 cups of meatballs for $1 each. A dollar!
Here’s a closeup of the snack bar menu.
Each one dollar cup of meatballs contained 5 meatballs in brown gravy, with a single toothpick speared into the very top ball o’ meat.
These were not good. The meatballs were incredibly overcooked, and the bottoms were flattened and nearly burnt from the sheetpan on which they undoubtedly sat too long. This gave the lower half of each meatball the mouth feel of particle board. The long past-prime gravy had a consistency not unlike custard. A custard that had been made from coffee brewed from mop water infused with a nondescript spice profile (cardamom?). Despite my firm and unwavering adherence to my usual “No Meatball Left Behind” policy, I didn’t finish them all.
As I made the ignoble walk of shame back to my car in the dirt overflow lot, I couldn’t help but notice how the Cascade station MAX tracks intersected the pedestrian walkway with an aura of nonchalance that belied the fact that tons of metal — capable of killing large mammals at low speeds — regularly shuttled past this very spot with punctual regularity. I fear for the poor shlub, freshly sated with a recent over-indulgent orgy of consumerism, and logy from a few dozen meatballs and a cinnamon bun, who might get flattened thin as the box for that BESTÅ modular entertainment unit he was carrying back to his car.
For those driving or biking past the corner of Killingsworth and Denver looking for the taco truck Los Tres Hermanos, only to find themselves in a confounded, abject state of confused bewilderment, you need no longer suffer. The truck itself has itself sprung up a stoplight away @Interstate. I presume this is part of the lobbying effort from the pro-Cesar Chavez renaming cartel, which I understand has an uncommon influence upon this city’s political elite.
The truck is now on the south side of Killingsworth, west of Interstate, adjacent to the hinterlands (that currently exists as a makeshift parking lot until someone complains) that border a Chevron pumping station. It’s the same vehicle with the same menu board, except that nearly 1/4 of the menu items have been removed (i.e. crossed out). Here’s how it looked when the truck was 1/2 mile down the street earlier this year.
“Super Burrits” still refers (presumably) to burritos that are supersized mega-awesome gut bombs. The tacos are back down to $1.25, which brings it back to year 2006 levels. This is a small victory in the economic struggle against inflation and the devaluation of the American dollar.
They were out of pastor, so I had three asada tacos. The flavor was great, the carne a bit chewy but still very good. The tortillas still rock, double-stacked as usual. They were out of the creamy green sauce, and include a tomatillo-based thinner green sauce, and the red is thick and incendiary — I wish I knew how to get my own sauce this red. Other garnishes include radishes, and a relish of chopped fresh tomatoes and cabbage in lime juice.
I managed to pick up a dozen freshly made tortillas to-go for $2, but it required some back and forth, including cajoling on my part (which means I tried to speak Spanish). The last time I was at Tres Hermanos, a dozen ran $3 (but earlier in the year, $2. So basically it fluctuates).
I did not recognize any of the staff, nor their children. There has evidently been a change in ownership. I welcome our new taco overlords.
UPATE 7/20/07: You can try the tacos here, it’s a free country, but I can’t honestly recommend this place. We had a meal there this week (ordering off the menu) that was so abysmally bad that I have erased the memory of the existence of Las Nayaritas from mind. Too bad I’m reminded every time I look at my blog.
You’ve been warned.
Las Nayaritas is on the north end of North Lombard street. The glass storefront advertises some of the types of food you’ll be able to purchase and eat inside. I find this particular method of communication effective.
The inside wall has pictures. I like pictures. They are generally helpful.
You know what I really like? Those plastic replicas of the actual dishes themselves. However, the Japanese seem to be the only ones saavy enough to practice this art of pretense. So sad.
Las Nayaritas isn’t your conventional taqueria, in that you actually sit down and a menu is brought to you and waitrons — in this case a very friendly lady who most likely owns the place, and her chaming, shy daugheter — serve you like it was a real restaurant and everything.
They even bring chips and salsa. Gratis. The chips were fresh, warm, and toasty.
The table salsa was a very standard tomato based sauce. Somewhat erstwhile, but nothing bad by any means. Just somewhat perfunctory, but hey it’s free so shut the fuck up.
Tacos at Las Nayaritas run $1.50 apiece. There is a special, however, for four that will run you $5.00. If you do the math, that is $1.25 a taco. $1.25 is less than $1.50.
The taco triumvarite. Pastor, asada, and carnitas. Asada won today’s battle, as I tacked on an extra carne-A to complete the four taco special. Notice the single wrap; the tortillas at Las Nayaritas are a bit thicker/larger than your other taquerias.
The pastor I would describe more like adobado. It was probably basted with the sauce (or one similar to) that canned chipoltes are packed in. Not your usual, associative pastor flavors.
The asada was decent. Crisp, if somewhat gamey. I think the seasoning could be a bit more agressive.
The carnitas were the best of the batch. They look somewhat dry and stringey here, but they were actually quite good.
There’s a condiment bar, however, it would seem as though it’s not intended as a setup for diners to which to help themselves. Rather, it appears it’s the condiment station/mise en place for the waitrons to garnish your plates before delivery (I was brought a small ramekin of both red and green salsas, and some pickles).
By nature, I sit as close as I possibly can to anything that might even remotely look like a serve-yourself garnish setup. So everything was right there for me to help myself, but I did not want to break “the fourth wall”, as it were.
Wanting to help myself to the salsas, yet the apprehension I felt in doing so, led to a feeling of uneasiness, of an unrequited garnish fetish gone unfulfilled, that haunted me the entire meal. Though, granted, I ate all four tacos in less than 3 minutes.
The green salsa was particularly striking — verdant, bright, fresh.
The red was piquant, with a touch of smokiness.
Carrots and jalapenos en escabeche were a nice touch.
Los Nayaritas earns serious bonus point for free chips and salsa. I would pass on the pastor, and double up on carnitas and asada. They have quite a wide menu, even a couple seafood cocteles, so there’s much to be explored.
Las Nayaritas
2727 N Lombard St
Portland, OR 97217
(503) 286-3119
Things have been very hectic lately, with some very trying medical emergencies and life-threatening diseases affecting family and friends. Between shuttling between hospitals and the airport, my food salvation has been the taqueria in the back of La Tienda Santa Cruz in St. Johns.
I’ve eaten 16 tacos in the last three days. On weekends only, they feature suadero and carnitas, in addition to their excellent carne asada. The suadero…oh man.
The camarónes and carnitas plates, served with rice, bean, and slices of fresh avocado, are also available each fin de semana. Caldos too.
It’s June. That means the return of the heat, and the start of the cold noodle season. Unless you find yourself living in Phoenix, at which point you should kill yourself.
There are two brands of instant cold noodles I frequent during the warm months. You can certainly buy dried noodles, such as chuka soba, and make your own dressing. Go ahead.
The first brand is Myojo Chukazanmai. This is a Japanese style, and the noodles cook up like conventional ramen noodles. Myojo, incidentally, is the Cadillac of instant ramen. Their broths (for their shoyu, hot bean paste, and XO lobster flavors) are unparalled.
Unlike many instant noodles, the noodle block — dried, hard, and brittle — is not fried. The instructions on the packet call for a cooking time of 5 to 6 minutes, but I wouldn’t take it a second further than 4 and half minutes, especially if you like your noodles al dente.
The dressing (which features soy, sesame paste and oil) is fantastic. They include a diminutive companion pack of hot mustard. Incidentally, if you get the prepared cold noodle dish in the deli case at Uwajimaya, this is what they are using — the unopened packets are right there in the plastic container. These noodles, prepared by the Uwajimaya staff and featuring egg and a few slivers of cucumber and roast park, are sold for $5.25, but you can pick the dried packets up on their shelves for $1.99. You do the math. You can also get Myojo at Fubonn for $1.39.
The second style is from the venerable Korean conglomerate Wang GlobalNet. Wang is a fine name in Korean foodstuffs, and their cold noodles are excellent.
You can find Wang in the freezer aisle at Uwajimaya, and it’s very affordable — $1.59 for a two-pack serving.
Once you defrost the brick hard noodle block, the strands are more similar to conventional fresh noodles. They cook up to a perfect toothsome consistency in just 3 minutes.
The dressing packet is a completely different style than Myojo, and like many Korean products, it is devilishly incendiary, red, and spicy. I find the dressing to be a bit too thick, so I’ll add a couple splashes of rice wine vinegar, and drizzle of sesame oil, and a squirt of soy to loosen things up a bit.
So what to put in/on/around your cold noodles? The packages themselves have some very helpful suggestions, and you can gleam some ideas from the photos featured on the packaging as well.
My mise place. In this case, sliced tamago egg omelette, sliced Japanese cucumber ($2.99/lb at Uwajimaya — small, slender, with a very thick, somewhat bitter skin), chopped green onions, julienne carrot, browned and sliced English cottage bacon, and chopped Italian parsley (I like the fresh, grassy essence it lends). Other suggestions: cilantro, various, delicious sliced hams of assorted styles and origin, Chinese-style BBQ pork (char siu), tomato, even celery.
This is a criminally simple soup, yet it’s very satisfying. Growing up, we referred to this as “canh” (literally, “soup”), and a fresh pot often sat on the back of the stove, recently simmered, waiting to be ladled on top of hot rice from the steamer.
This soup features a opo squash (“bau”), a large, long gourd with a pale green flesh. It is sold at all Vietnamese markets, and I’ve seen it at Fubonn and Uwajimaya. Some will describe the flavor as similar to zucchini. I suppose this is somewhat true. But I wouldn’t substitute zucchini in this soup anymore than I would substitue lime zest for lemongrass, or listen to Black Rebel Motorcycle Club instead of Jesus and Mary Chain, or masturbate to the mental image of Kirsten Dunst rather than Jessica Alba. OK, that’s a bit extreme. I actually listened to B.R.M.C. a lot, and Howl was a suprising changeup. And lime zest can add a nice flavor profile.
Squash and Shrimp Soup
- 1 large opo squash, or 2 smaller
- 6 cups water
- 1/2 pound shelled and deveined shrimp
- 6 green onions, chopped
- 1/2 bunch cilantro, leaves separated (discard stems), and coarsly chopped
- Coarse cracked pepper (I like a lot — probably too much — but that’s me)
- Salt
- Fish sauce
- 1 teaspoon sugar
- 1 teaspoon sesame oil
- 1 sliced yellow onion
Using a small food processor, pulse the shrimp, half the green onions, and half the cilantro.
You could also do this on a wide cutting board. Lay the shrimp out, layer on the onions and cilantro, and go to town. I don’t like to go too minced out, though, preferring bits and pieces of shrimp to come through. Though shrimp meatballs could work just fine.
Transfer the meat to a bowl, and season with sugar, fish sauce (tablespoon or so), sesame oil, and pepper. Mix thoroughly and set aside.
Heat water in a large dutch oven. Peel squash, trim off ends, and cut into 1/2 inch discs, and then 1/2 juliennes. You can go real skinny, too — this was how my mom commonly sliced her squash.
Drop into pot and bring to a boil.
Once you have a nice boil, add sliced onion and use a spoon to drop small “dumplings” of the shrimp into the boiling soup.
Lower heat to a simmer, and salt (augmenting with a few squirts of fish sauce) to season to your taste. Once there, remove from heat, and throw in the onions and cilantro (but don’t stir). Cover partially and let sit for half hour or more.
I almost always serve this soup on top of a couple spoonfuls of steamed jasmine rice, and give it a couple squirts of Maggi to round out the flavor.
This is a good recipe for any whole fish, but these small little pomfrets are well-suited to soak up all the flavors.
Marinade/Crust
- 2 stalks lemongrass
- 3 cloves minced garlic
- 3 thai bird chilies
- 2 tablespoons fish sauce
- 1 teaspoon sugar
- Black pepper
Cut off the green fibrous ends of the lemongrass, and slice thin then mince as fine as possible. Combine with garlic, chilies, fish sauce, sugar, and pepper.
Score the pomfrets on a bias (this helps the flavor to seep into the flesh). Coat with marinade, and allow to sit for half hour or more.
Heat neutral vegetable (i.e. peanut) oil in pan, and fry the pomfrets on each side, 3-4 minutes per side.
The skin become crisp and really holds a lot of flavor. This is great with plain, steamed jasmine rice. I’ll even scrape the pan of the leftover, browned bits of the crust (and oil) and eat that alongside the fish and rice.
This can also be adapted for a skinless filet (like halibut, above), but really works well with a whole fish.
As I was making kimchi, it occurred to me that the daikon and carrots I was prepping at the time could also do double duty as the garnish for some bánh mì down the road. As I considered setting aside some vegetables for some mandolin action, an idea was born…the kimchi bánh mì, using kimchi’d (that’s a transitive verb) daikon and carrots.
First of all, the lemongrass pork that serves as the protein for this particular sandwich.
Grilled Lemongrass Pork
- 1 pound boneless country-style pork ribs
- 3 stalks of lemon grass, ends trimmed, and minced like a motherfuck
- Few cloves garlic
- 3 bird chilis
- 1 inch knob of ginger
- Fish sauce
- Tablespoon sugar
Smash the ginger, garlic and chilis in a mortar to form a paste. Put in a bowl and combine with lemongrass and sugar. Add fish sauce and mix lightly until a thick sludge develops. Slather this all over the pork and allow to marinade for a few hours.
Get some hot coals going on one side of a grill, and grill the pork. If you’re using the ribs, you’ll want to alternate between the hot/cool side of grills, and give them some time…I dunno, 40 minutes? Just whatever feels right, I’m not going to nanny you. If you’re using a leaner cut like a tenderloin or even shoulder steaks, you’ll want to reduce the time of course.
While the pork cools a bit, get your sandwich house in order.
The bread. These are from a local Vietnamese bakery (behind the Pho Oregon on East 82nd). You can pick these up at Vietnamese stores around town (5 for about $1.50).
The garnish. I like cucumber on my bánh mì, and lots of cilantro. In this case I had some Thai basil, so I figured what the hell. And don’t forget the Maggi.
So here’s how it went down. I sliced up that pork, stuffed everything into a toasted roll, and topped with slivers of daikon and carrots I carefully extracted from my kimchi.
I think I ate three of them that day.
La Tienda Santa Cruz is in downtown St. Johns, adjacent to a Burgerville and Hippie McVegan’s Organic House of Tempeh and Roughage (nee Proper Eats, which is a cool place actually).
Window shopping of the best sort.
It’s a proper Mexican market with a nice assortment of groceries, including a wide assortments of sauces, herbs, canned goods, dried chilis, masa, etc. The market also sells a variety of baked goods, including bolillos and pan dulce.
But venture towards the back of the store, and you’ll find a taqueria! There’s a cheap, brightly lit cafeteria feel to the place. The bathrooms there in the back have been recently remodeled — split into separate men’s and women’s wash closets. They are clean and new, though the day I went some dickhead left a sasquatch-sized dump in the men’s toilet. Is it too much to ask to flush?
The menu board. There’s a consomme de barbacoa and five taco special for $9.50. One day I will summon enough inner strength to order and eat this entire meal. On that day I will have considered my journey to manhood complete.
The tacos here are on the smaller side, are $1 apiece, and come doubled up in warm tortillas (of a commercial variety). They are adorned with chopped onions and cilantro, though at times (usually on the weekends), the guy delivering your tacos might bring you a nice small bowl of guacamole.
Carne asada. Little crisp nuggets of carnegoodness.
Pastor. This is not spit-roasted pastor in the traditional sense, but tasty nonetheless.
Santa Cruz does not have carnitas, the third musketeer of my usual taco litmus test, so I subbed pollo. This was my least favorite – not bad by any means, just a bit plain.
La Tienda/Taqueria Santa Cruz gets bonus points for some seriously tasty tacos that run only a buck apiece. Five bucks serves you well here. Demerits are issued for commercial tortillas, which I believe are from Tortilleria 4 Hermanas in Hillsboro (they sell these in the store), but that’s not much of a knock because the expertly seasoned meats and incredibly delicous red and green table sauces more than compensate.
VJ @ AltPortland and Juanito @ Taquerias Portlandesas have both covered this ground before as well.
This chicken curry is in my Vietnamese mom’s style, which is different from, say, quick cooking Thai versions, in that it’s a stew that simmers for a while.
I eat it primarily with crusty french bread to sop up the juices, and jasmine rice when the bread runs out.
- 1 entire chicken, cut up into pieces. Chop up each thigh and breast half into at least 2 pieces, bone intact. The bones make the gravy
- 2 or 3 russet potatoes, chopped into 2 x 2 inch chunks
- One yellow onion, chopped
- 4 cloves of garlic, minced
- Small knob of ginger, minced
- 6 or 7 kaffir lime leaves
- 1 stalk of lemon grass, chopped into thirds
- 2 tablespoons turmeric
- 2 tablespoons prepared red curry paste (I use Mae Ploy brand)
- 1/2 teaspoon each ground cumin, coriander, and galanga powder
- One can coconut milk
- One container low-sodium chicken broth (i.e. Pacific brand – the larger)
- One tablespoon fish sauce
- Salt to taste
Dust the chicken with turmeric, cumin, coriander, galanga powder, salt. Swirl hot vegetable oil in a dutch oven, brown the chicken parts for a few minutes. Remove.
Add onion and ginger, sautee for a few minutes. Add garlic, lemongrass, lime leaves, and red curry paste, and sautee for a few minutes more. Pour in coconut milk, add fish sauce, bring to a simmer, return chicken to the pot and add pototoes. Pour in chicken broth, and add additional water (if needed) to fully cover.
Bring to boil, reduce heat to lowest setting, and simmer for more than an hour or so. Salt to taste.
I went to Higgins with a buddy last week (disclaimer: I also posted this @Portlandfood.org). I had the burger and was duly unimpressed.
It was definitely large and looked promising. But the texture was off. The menu doesn’t use the word “burger”, preferring to dress it up with euphemisms (“freshly ground sirloin on hearth-baked roll”). The ground sirloin just doesn’t cut it IMO. Too lean, for one, and the thick patty sunk like a lead balloon on that roll. 1/2 the way through it was tough to finish, like I was eating a solid meat donut (incidentally I gave up on the last couple bites as I could sense a large lump of meatitude in my abdomen – I can’t remember the last time I didn’t finish a non-fast food burger).
There was very little discernable flavor outside of thick, brutal meatness. At $11, I have had a better $5 Sysco burger at Yur’s — and it included Sysco fries. This burger was served with a perfunctory mayo/aioli, no tomato, just a meager portion of house made pickles that were basically limp wisps of sliced cucumber and a single cornichon. It came with a lightly dressed mesclun mix that was sprinkled with hazelnuts.
Also had the open-faced pastrami sandwich. I’m no pastrami expert, but I can say this fared better than the burger – served with grilled onions and melted white cheddar. Same salad on the plate.
I didn’t pay for the meal – we were on our way to see The Apples in Stereo @Berbati’s, so my buddy picked up the tab (since I had paid for show tickets). However, had I paid, I may have said something about this:
Especially considering I couldn’t even get as much ketchup from the glass container as I wanted for my burger (it was running on low-to-empty). I had considered asking our waitron for more ketchup, but simply didn’t bother – I wonder if we would have been double-charged.
Again, mediocre burger. No fucking fries. Charging for ketchup and mustard? Criminal.
I like kebabs. I particularly enjoy the Kefta kebab, which is ground meat formed around a skewer in kebab-like fashion. I like saying the word kefta. It’s one of those words, like película and Kofi Annan, that you never grow tired of saying. I remember when Congress a couple years ago was debating the merits of the Central America Free Trade Agreement, I secretly wished the debate would draw out into a longer, more contentious debate than it had at the time, just because I enjoyed all the talking heads uttering the acronym “CAFTA” (which was close enough for me). Each time I watched the news I’d get hungry.
You can make this with beef or beef and lamb as well. New Seasons sells ground lamb, though keep in mind it is very fatty and will imbue quite a gamy scent into the atmosphere for some time. My wife was all bothered and stuff, but the deliciousness factor made her harangues worth it.
Kefta Kebab
- 1 and one-half pounds ground beef or lamb (or both!)
- 1 bunch chopped fresh Italian parsley, reserve a couple tablespoons (to cook with rice)
- 2 tablespoons chopped cilantro
- 1 egg
- 1/3 cup bread crumbs
- 3 or 4 garlic cloves, forced through a press
- 1 white onion, finely chopped
- 1/2 teaspoon ground cumin
- 1 teaspoon ground coriander
- 1 teaspoon smoked paprika
- Ground pepper
- Salt to your taste
Combine everything in a large mixing bowl and mix together with your hands. I like to use long, flat broad metal skewers — mold the meat around the length of the skewer and pat to form an elongated, rectangular patty.
Heat a grill pan over medium-high and brown skewers on each of the 4 ends, 2 minutes or so each side. Remove and let sit for a few minutes.
You can eat this skewers by themselves. But c’mon, man, don’t be such freak.
Rice Pilaf
- Olive oil or butter (2 tablespoons)
- 2 cups basmati rice
- 2 tablespoons chopped parsley
- 3 cups chicken broth
- 1 onion, finely chopped
- 2 cloves minced garlic
- 1 chopped tomato
- Pinch of saffron
- Salt
Preheat oven to 325 F. Rinse and soak rice in water for half hour. Drain. Heat oil or butter in a medium saucepan (with a tight fitting lid) over medium heat. Add onions and sweat for a couple minutes, then add garlic, rice and saffron and sautee for a couple minutes. Add tomatoes, salt, and broth. Bring to boil, cover, and place in oven for 20 minutes. Allow the rice to sit on stovetop for 10 minutes, then fluff with a fork.
Sumac Onions
- 1 white onion, halved and sliced
- Ground sumac
- Olive oil
Sautee onions in oil. Hit with sumac when they start to caramelize, and serve over kebabs.
I like to squeeze lemon over the kebab, onions, and rice.
I ran across these buffalo patties in the freezer case at Costco. They come 8 to a package (5 oz each).
As you can see, the copywriting on the back of the package educates on the plight of this poor animal, detailing the rough and tumble history this noble creature has endured over the centuries, fighting off near extinction just so we can eat it today. What a cruel, cruel fait accompli. We are all grim, macabre, and willing merchants of death.
One selling point for buffalo meat is the relative lean meat it provides. A 5 oz patty in this case has only 12 grams of fat, whereas a typical ground chuck burger would contain around 30 grams. At 9 calories per gram of fat, that’s a quite a savings. So much of a savings, in fact, that…well, you know those burgers, that are like, double burgers? Yeah.
Verdict? Meaty. Big. Bold. Substantial. It tastes as if you took Montana and stuck it between a toasted bun and dressed it with sharp Tillamook cheddar, lettuce, tomato, and distilled vinegar sauces.
The new year brought new changes to the Tres Hermanos taco truck, located in North Portland on the Northeast corner of Killingsworth and Denver. Click here for my original report.
(Click menu for a detailed view). Gone is the handwritten menu, replaced a proper, printed, wide format placard with fonts and everything. The menu is much more prolific, as you can see (but not really, everything is simply just enumerated), and now includes “Super Burrits” which I assume is a misspelling. In a nod to gringos and stoners, Nachos makes a guest appearance.
But tacos is where all the hot action is. Taco prices have gone up a quarter. First trip here after the fancy new menu, I had the birria, cabeza, and barbacoa. The birria was very good, very flavorful, slightly gamey. The cabeza was decent, but the barbacoa was extremely off/odd tasting.
They now feature squirt bottles with table sauces. Prior to the printed menu, they would simply ask you if you wanted your tacos full metal jacket, and you would have to be content with what was dressed (they didn’t have bottles) but now you can squirt to your heart’s content. And they now have a bright orange habanero sauce that is absolutely dynamite. But you’ll have to ask for the salsa bottles that are in plain view behind the ordering window…and specifically for the habanero, as I think by default they don’t think patrons demand this kind of scorch.
Subsequent visits have seen me revert to my taco triumvirate — pastor, carnitas, and asada. The asada has been less crispy than in the past, but the carnitas has improved IMO, and the pastor seems even more flavorful and delicious.
The tortillas are amazing. They are now thicker, and are made to order with your tacos (each taco is double wrapped in tortillas). Warm, cozy, and wonderful. They sell them to go: ask for a dozen, pony up $2 (though last time I was charged $3?), and they will make them on the spot and wrap in foil for you to carry.
I just fucking went to Whole Foods, sat at the track sushi bar and spent $12 on 3 small fucking plates of sushi. Still hungry, got $5+ worth of mussel salad on the way out. Got back to the office, took one bite and threw it away.
$17+ for a workday lunch and I’m still hungry.
Fuck Whole Foods. Fuck you. Fucker.
Tofu and egg fried rice topped with Maggi fried egg.
Banh cuon is a popular Vietnamese dish. There’s a restaurant in the Fubonn plaza, called Banh Cuon Tan Dinh, which, as you can guess, specializes in Banh Cuon. You could go there. They take credit cards and everything.
But here’s another tip for you: you can eat it at home as well, quite easily, for 1/3 the price. There’s a store on 99th and Prescott, called Hong Phat, and another on 65th and Sandy, Thanh Thao, that sell pre-made banh cuon. Don’t worry, all banh cuon is pre-made…you don’t whip up this dish on the spot. It’s a (slight) reheat and simple garnish effort, so as long as the banh cuon itself is of decent comport, you’ll be in a good spot as long as you’ve got your garnish act together. And it’s cheap…you can get nearly 3 servings out of a single to-go container.
First of all, what are banh cuon? Imagine it as a rice flour cannoli. Sheets of rice “pasta” or “crepe” are rolled around a filling consisting (usually) of seasoned and sauteed ground pork and wood ear mushrooms. The banh cuon are plated and typically topped with fried shallots, fresh herbs, blanched bean sprouts, and thin slices of cha lua (a fish sauce scented pork loaf, aka Vietnamese bologna). The whole plate is given a generous drink of nuoc cham, a Vietnamese condiment made with fish sauce (“nuoc mam”), chilies, sugar, lime juice, and often pickled garlic, and maybe dressed with some shredded carrots or even daikon.
The banh cuon themselves are rather labor intensive. I guess. My mom never made them much growing up, because one of her best friends was in business making Vietnamese specialties like banh cuon, bun bao, even her own cha lua, and selling them to the Vietnamese community (and a few Tucson area offices during lunch). This friend made amazing stuff, so what was the point in doing it yourself? So what I’m doing here, taking other people’s canvasses and coloring by numbers, is very much in the fine tradition of the Vietnamese-American experience. That, and marathon gambling, moth balls, yelling into phone handsets for no apparent reason, voting knee-jerkingly Republican, 2-foot spoilers on Nissan Sentras, drinking insane amounts of Hennessey, shaming your own children because their friend’s child graduated from UC Irvine with a BSEE in 2.5 years, harboring a healthy distrust of conventional FDIC-insured banking institutions, etc.
If you do want to make it yourself, here’s a very nice step-by-step post and wonderful photo gallery.
Hong Phat and Thanh Thao will give you the base banh cuon to work from. The sell these plastic to-go containers in their respective deli sections for only $5. One advantage of making them yourself: these are a bit on sparse end in terms of meat filling, so if you rolled your own you can be more generous. But since it’s only $5, they taste just fine, and I will be adding a generous helping of sliced meat topping, I’m not going to be a whiny ass titty baby about it.
Here are the toppings:
1. Bean sprouts. Blanch them in boiling water for about 10 seconds and then drain and shock them in an ice bath and then drain and set aside.
2. Cucumber. Peel, cut off the end, then score the blunt end three times, then slice thinly.
3. Cilantro. Chop up a bunch.
4. Mint (if you want to add that purplish mint and shiso then you’re well on your way in becoming the coolest person ever). Chop up a bunch, yeah?
5. Thai basil leaves (optional). I like it. Or not.
6. Fried shallots. You can do this yourself, or buy the dried stuff the sell on the shelves.
7. Nuoc cham sauce (recipe to follow).
8. Cha lua . Slice as thin as possible and then halve those thin slices.
First the cha lua. Most markets will sell this brand, sometimes in the freezer section. This will do, but Hong Phat has their own cha lua THAT IS DEEP FRIED. And this is the lean stuff, not the stuff with the strange, ringworm-type vein of organ fat running the length of the loaf. I’ll mention it once again, in case you missed it the first time. This cha lua IS DEEP FRIED.
Apparently, once it is DEEP FRIED, it magically takes on transformative taxonomical properties and becomes “cha chien”. Simply amazing.
For the sake of the scientific method, I present you the cross-section of THE DEEP FRIED cha chien.
So here’s the MO: plate the banh cuon. I would only use about 1/3 (or slightly more) of the portion you’ve just bought. Top with bean sprouts and tent with plastic wrap. Nuke in the microwave for 45 seconds.
Scatter a generous amount of cha lua on top. Top with herbs and shallots.
Spoon as much nuoc cham as you’d like — I won’t tell you how much because I’m not normal and eat way too much of this stuff. I don’t want to drag you into my world. I didn’t choose this life, and it isn’t for everyone. Ride the snake if you must.
Here’s an example of the work-in-progress. Notice the pool of nuoc cham at the bottom of the plate. After finishing the banh cuon, I will drink this. Don’t judge me. I’m not a role model.
Case in point: I don’t subject my daughter to the sauce. It’s not for everyone. She has the innocence of childhood to experience before she herself foments any vices.
Now for the nuoc cham recipe.
Funny story. Growing up, we called this “nuoc mam”, when in fact it is properly referred to as “nuoc cham”. I guess. This point was really hammered home one occasion when I saw Emeril Lagasse in 1997 on the Food Network (before Emeril Live when he became a circus freakshow) make lemongrass beef salad and he kept saying “nuoc CHAAAAHHHHHHM” over and over with a huge emphasis on “CHAM” with a long overextension of the “AAAAHHHHMMM” like he was a drunk Red Sox fan yelling “No-MAAAHHHH Garcia-PAH-AAAHHHHHH”.
We still called fish sauce (the uncut, bottled stuff) “nuoc mam” as well. But whether you referred to fish sauce or the prepared condiment depended on context, much like when the Republican Party says they are all about upholding the constitution. And at every Vietnamese restaurant I’ve been to, each time I ask for nuoc mam with my goi cuon, there has been no misunderstanding, so I don’t think this was peculiar to my household.
That was not a funny story at all.
There are two schools of thought when it comes to the “nuoc CHAAAAHHHHHHM”. One, which is my Mom’s style, is spicy, vibrant, full of sweet and sour and tangy. She’s from the south, so I think of it as “The Republic” sauce. Up in the north, as I understand it (and I admittedly lack advanced comprehension skills), they can be a bit more timid, and will maybe just cut fish sauce with a bit of water and sugar. That’s it. Commie red bastards.
Uncle Ho’s Nightmare Sauce (aka aggressive Nuoc Cham)
- 1 or 2 garlic cloves
- Couple thai chilies
- 1/2 small can pickled garlic (you can find this at Viet/asian markets)
- 1 teaspoon ground chili paste (aka sambal olek)
- 1/2 cup fish sauce (buy the most expensive you can find – I use Flying Lion brand)
- 2/3 cup hot water
- 1/4 cup sugar
- 1 tablespoon rice wine vinegar
- 2 limes
- Shredded carrots if you want
Combine garlics, fresh chilis and ground chili in mortar and pound with a pestle. Transfer to a jar, and pour in wet ingredients. Halve the limes, and squeeze them into the jar. IMPORTANT! Don’t throw away that lime. Take a small paring knife and cut into the sections and get as much pulp sacs from the fruit itself. THIS IS IMPORTANT! I CANNOT STRESS IT ENOUGH.
Pour in sugar and stir until combined. Taste for sweetness, you might want to add some sugar to take the edge off.
This recipe scales incredibly well, and will keep a long time. I’ve been known to make a huge jar of the stuff and keep it in the back of my fridge. Usually I’ll time it so my batch of nuoc cham runs out just when my mom visits, and I’ll let her make the next industrial sized batch.
Dear god I love ribs. I am in love with the spare rib, for certain, but lately I’ve been cheating and having a torrid affair with its slim, high-rent cousin, the baby back rib. Sure, it’s less meat, but they tend to be easier to cook (and take a lot less time), but on average you’re also spending $3-5 dollars more per pound. Something to consider.
Now, a lot of BBQ purists and snobs and know-it-alls (and everywhere you turn, there’s some guy who claims to be the authority on BBQ) will scoff at sauce. You know what? I like a saucey rib. For one, I like condiments, and a rib sauce is like the ultimate opportunity to indulge your condiment fetish (a good thing if you’re — like me — the Marquis de Sade of condiments). Almost anything can be added, in sparing amounts, to a rib sauce. Why not seize the opportunity to put your shit to good use?
And sauce tastes good. Mind you, I dry rub my ribs too. I suspect they would taste pretty good without a saucing, if you went the extra steps and took special care in cooking and smoking your rib. But licking your fingers after every rib, wiping excess from your cheek (yes, that is uncomfortably pornographic), well, why would I deprive myself of such an experience for the sake of somebody else’s idea of authenticity?
And screw those BBQ snobs. America has been around, what, a couple hundred years? These guys act like they invented the fucking pig. The delicious swine (and cow, and lamb, and goat, and anything with blood) has been quartered and grilled and smoked for thousands of years. The rest of the meat-eating world didn’t suddenly wake up and take notice the moment some solipsistic asshat in St. Louis or Kansas City or Austin or Memphis or Carolina proclaimed himself King Shit of Fuck Mountain.
Rib rub
Use any/all of these, in any amounts you’d prefer. Experiment and find your spice rub g-spot, if you will. Feel free to add to this list — it’s not exhaustive by any means. Ground coffee or espresso? Onward, brave soldier.
- Garlic powder
- Onion powder
- Ground coriander
- Ground cumin
- Paprika
- Salt
- Pepper
- Celery salt
- Mustard powder
- Chili powder (New Mexico, pasilla, de arbol)
- Fennel
- Ground cloves
- 5 spice powder
- Extract of wort and/or wormwood
- Macerated erosberries
- Ground farrah root
- Essence of taint
Soak your ribs in a cold water brine of equal parts kosher salt and brown sugar for an hour. Some people add apple juice. Those people are my heroes. But my daughter drinks the apple juice in our house, so if I poured half her shit into a brine just to throw away it would be like her using my smoked hungarian paprika as a pigment base for her water coloring. Have some respect and empathy, people. Pat the ribs dry, and coat both sides with your most excellent rub. Prep your grill by building up your coals on one side, and proceed to BBQ on the cool side with the cover on, for about 2 hours, turning as you feel the need (usually every other beer or so – just make sure you aren’t drinking Hair of the Dog’s Fred are your ass will be kicked). For the last 15 minutes, I like to remove the ribs, remove the cover, and bring the heat/fire back up. Coat the ribs with your sauce and then return the ribs back to the grill to finish.
Let them cool for a bit (if you can resist the urge to gnaw the entire rack down to bone nubs). Slice and enjoy.
Der rib sauce
Like I previously stated, anything can go in a rib sauce pretty much. This is shit I had in my fridge and pantry, and the measurements are approximate. In reality, I just dumped shit in the pan. Remember, most anything will be work if you match the sweet and savory and acidic. Though I would probably steer clear of marshmallows, cod liver oil, and crystal meth.
- 1 tblsp maple syrup
- 7 dashes worcestshire
- 2 tblsp CJ brand hot and spicy Korean BBQ sauce
- 1 tblsp apple cider vinegar
- 4 tblsp ketchup
- 1 teaspoon hoisin
- 1 teaspoon korean fermented black bean paste
- 2 tablespoons apple juice
- 1 teaspoon Buffalo chipotle sauce
- 1 tablespoon apricot preserves
- 3 tblsp water
- 1 tablespoon Hennesey VSOP cognac
- 1 teaspoon oyster sauce
- 1 teaspoon Lee Kum Kee Vegetarian Mushroom Stir Fry Sauce
- 1/4 cup Stella Artois beer (I happened to be drinking this at the time. Use a lager or whatever you want. It’s your life.)
Combine all this shit in a saucepan and simmer over low heat for an hour and a half (preferably while the ribs are cooking or you’re the worst multi-tasker in the world).
What I made the family and in-laws Christmas evening. The in-laws are very picky eaters, so we tend to go very simple. I am posting this belatedly most so I can chronicle for posterity; next year, I’ll look back and tell myself to try something different.
Herb crusted Steelhead salmon fillets with lemon and caper buerre blanc. As I mentioned, everyone’s a bit picky, but they do like capers, so I went nuts with them. I need to go to Costco to replenish.
I used herbs from my garden — rosemary, marjoram, oregano, mint, chives — that were still alive. I also used a bit of ground coriander, salt, pepper, lemon zest, and just a smidgeon of smoked paprika. Seared in olive oil to get a nice crust, flipped and roasted in the oven while I made the sauce.
Roasted potatoes.
The potatoes were seasoned liberally with kosher salt and smoked paprika (and a pinch of chopped rosemary and chive) and tossed in melted butter before roasting
Pureed parsnip and carrot gratin.
Roasted carrots glazed with just a touch of honey and rice wine vinegar.
Creamed spinach with a hint of garlic and nutmeg. Topped with fried shallots.
Perfunctory mesclun salad with shallot and dijon vinagrette.
My little Christmas angel had fun rolling around into the discarded wrapping paper.
This is your chance to have a taqueria experience in the comfort of your own home. After all this trouble, you might realize that perhaps it’s much easier to walk to the nearest taco truck or taqueria and throw down a five spot. That may be true. But give a man a taco, and he eats that day. Teach a man to taco, and he eats until his colon ruptures.
First of all, we start with the duality that is red and green taqueria table sauces. These two colors help make the Mexican flag. I guess if you wanted to complete the flag you could add crema or *gasp* sour cream to your taqueria tacos, but I will personally hunt you down and torture you by slicing off your eyelids and staking you to a pole in a sandstorm.
The first sauce I co-opted from a recipe that was shared on Chow.
Taqueria Table Sauce
- 5 medium roma tomatoes, cored and halved
- 10 dried chile de arbol
- 2 dried chile negro (dried pasilla)
- 2 tablespoon dried pasilla powder
- 1 3/4 cups water
- 1 tablespoon kosher salt
- 1 teaspoon sugar
- 2 cloves garlic, peeled
- 1 tablespoon roasted salted pepitas
- 1 tablespoon roasted salted sunflower seeds
- Juice of one lime or juice of two key limes
- 1/3 bunch of cilantro
Place the tomatoes, skin side up, under heated broiler on top rack and broil until the skins start to blacken and shrivel.
Remove and add to saucepan. Break off stems from dried chilies, and shake out most of the seeds. If you want, get into the larger dried pasillas and remove some of the pith. No biggie. Add to saucepan, along with dried pasilla powder, salt, sugar, garlic, and water. Bring to boil and simmer over low for 20 minutes.
Pour into blender, add seeds, lime juices, cilantro, and puree incrementally using all those unneccesary escalating power settings on your blender (“These go 11”). My blender actually has 12 settings, though the initial level, “Fast Clean” I don’t think actually qualifies, but I make sure to utilize it because I feel like I’m being wasteful if I don’t. Oh yeah, stop when you have a nice, liquid consistency. There’s often a setting on blenders called “liquefy”. I suggest you escalate to this level. Maybe not at first, though — build up to it with some blender foreplay.
Tomatillo-Avocado Sauce
You could use fresh hulled, roasted tomatillos for this recipe, but I find that a canned Mexican brand of pre-made salsa verde works quite excellently. But if you want to use fresh tomatillos, by all means do, but nobody is going to give you a prize or anything.
- 2 7 oz cans Embasa Brand Salsa Verde (warning, link to THE BEST WEBSITE EVER)
- 1 Haas Avocado (who is this guy “Haas”? Did he invent the avocado?)
- 3 tablespoons water
- 1 1/2 teaspoon salt
- 1/3 bunch cilantro
- 1 clove garlic, peeled
- 3 dashes El Yucateco Chile Habenero XXXTRA (that’s 3 x’s for those keeping score at home) Hot Sauce
Put everything in a blender. Pulse and tease the salsa using the aforementioned blender foreplay, until a smooth, even consistency is reached.
Now for the carne asada.
Seek out a carniceria in your neighborhood — you’ll be happier to have found one, if only for the fact that the most popular brand of bread in Mexico is called “Bimbo”. They usually sell flap meat/steak, often even pre-marinated/seasoned for your pleasure. You can also find this cut at Winco foods. It is usually sliced in thin, broad sheets.
You say there’s no carcineria in your ‘hood? I find that hard to believe. Haven’t you been listening to right wing talk radio? If you had been, you’d realize the Mexicans are taking over ‘Murica and will soon reclaim the entire southwest as the Republic of Aztlan via “El Reconquista”. Tom Tancredo and Michelle Malkin said so! Beware the brown! Except for today, the day we make carne asada tacos. ¡Viva México!
General Zapata’s Carne Asada
- Bunch o’ slices of flap meat, like over a pound or so
- 2 tablespoons olive oil
- 2 tablespoons cider vinegar
- 5 garlic cloves, shoved through a garlic press
- 1 teaspoon chile de arbol powder
- 1 teaspoon paprika
- 1 teaspoon onion powder
- 1 tablespoon dried oregano
- Kosher salt
Combine the meat and spices and salt everything to suit your tastes. Marinade for at least a couple hours. Grill over hot coals, few minutes per side, for a nice all around char. Chop up the carne into little bite size pieces, though only what you plan to eat right then and there.
I actually prefer to keep the flap steaks intact, refrigerate, and then for subsequent taco meals chop and reheat on a hot griddle. The meat will transform into perfect little crispy carnuggets. Spoon the carne asada onto doubled, warmed corn tortillas. I guess you could use flour tortillas — I suppose — but you’ll lose all my respect and in fact earn my resentment for some time to come. Garnish with diced white onions and cilantro.
Oh yeah, and the table salsas.
For added effect put the salsas in plastic squeeze bottles. Squirt the sauces onto your tacos ONLY WHEN YOU’VE BROUGHT THE TACOS TO THE TABLE. I personally don’t even get that far. I eat my tacos standing up, at my kitchen counter, and pretend like I’m at a taco stand in the streets of Tijuana, drunk off tourist tequila and pissed because I’ve foolishly bet all my money on worthless football trifectas.
I like the fowl.
One of the all time faves, for simplicity and comfort, is the whole roasted bird. This bird I’ve done on the grill, back in the day when I used to have a dual burner gas grill. I only lit one side and would alternately move the bird back and forth between lit and unlit halves of the grill, keeping the lid down at all times. An imperfect science, and a method by which I’ve ruined a few morsels. Then I sold the damn grill (and forsaked gas altogether) just when I perfected the method.
You can obviously use the same method with a large Weber kettle grill — which I do. Just build the fire on one half, and maybe employ the use of a drip pan so the delicious fat doesn’t spatter and cause flareups and burn the skin.
Usually I would suggest you tie up the bird with some butcher twine, but goddamnit I was feeling lazy, and plus, I kinda like the way the legs start to kick out when the chicken becomes done. I’ve been known to pull off a leg or two and mack it right there on the spot.
5-spice grilled whole chicken
- A chicken
- 4 tablespoons Chinese 5-spice powder
- 1 teaspoon garlic powder
- 1/2 tablespoon of: water, fish sauce, rice wine
- 1 teaspoon kosher salt
Combine the wet ingredients with the dry.
Mix so it becomes a paste.
Rub all over the bird (including cavity and under the skin if you’d like) and let it stand for at least a few hours.
Fire up your grill, and grill for an hour or so using the method described earlier. You might want to employ a meat thermometer if you like to do things right. I tend to wing it, much to the detriment of many of my results.
But this time it turned out well! This bird pairs nicely with steamed jasmine rice.
Tater tots and bacon. 11pm. What am I doing? I’ve got a kid, goddamnit, I can’t live this way.
The first step is to admit there is a problem.
Today I biked over to Los Tres Hermanos taco truck for a quick snack, but, alas, it was closed. I’m not sure if they close during the rainy season or if they are on vacation or what. It is very distressing.
To placate my anxiety and to sate my hankering for a snack, I locked my cruiser across the street in front of Di Prima Dolci. Di Prima is a charming bakery that sells a variety of breads and sandwiches. It’s a cute little place, with about a dozen tables and a row of window seating.
This Saturday they were featuring Sicilian style pizza. I spied fresh, large square pizzas coming fresh out of the oven as I moseyed on up to the counter. I also saw a fresh slice going out (with a nice looking side salad) to a table who had recently placed on order. The owner was working the register, and she told me that the Sicilian pizza will be available Saturdays from here on at $3 a slice (they do Neopolitan style on Thursday/Fridays), and I was mighty tempted.
However, I was in the mood for a sandwich, and the “Di Papa Hero” was the special of the day. It featured cappacolla, soppressata, genoa salami, ham, roasted peppers, olive oil and vinegar — sounded right up my alley. However the $8.75 price gave me pause. I asked if they did a small version of the special (their normal sandwiches come in small/regular size options), but unfortunately this was not the case. As you recall earlier, I told you I only wanted a snack, and seeing as I had a grocery bag with a six pack of french loaves hanging from my handlebars that were soon to become the foundation for ultra delicious banh mi later in the day, I was worried about sandwich overload.
But I decided to throw caution to the wind. You only live once, right? This is a new year, one in which I can take chances and shelve the vicariously living. I’m going to run with scissors this year, swim after eating, and eat as much trans fats and MSG as possible. So fuck it, bring on the overstuffed Italian sandwich just hours before an overstuffed Vietnamese sandwich! I laugh in the face of sandwich burnout. I mock and tease and goad my own appetite — buckle up, you fucking nancy boy.
Anyhow, I sat down and waited for my sandwich to arrive. It did.
And.
Huh.
Ok.
It was served on their football shaped bread, one that resembled a bolillo, with a disproportionate vertical height. And this was not overstuffed. It tasted fine, delicious even, but was pretty low on the meat. And it wasn’t until I was half the way through the thing that I realized I had been royally gyped — no sopresseta or salami! For a near nine dollar sandwich, I was expecting something as engorged as a foie goose’s liver, instead I received a sandwich that had about an 9-to-1 bread-to-meat ratio. Add the dollar I added as a tip (don’t call me a cheapskate – it’s counter service — so STFU and get me a drink), and that’s a $10 sandwich. I examined my ass in the mirror when I got home, and while I didn’t see any major tears, there was redness and swelling and my taint was slightly bruised.
The sandwich was served with a fagioli salad, which is basically greens dressed with legumes, including chickpeas and kidneys.
Will I be back? Yeah. To try the regular sandwich ($7.50) to see if the portion is par for course. I will try the pizza next week. I will also try the sausage bread, which I’ve heard good things about. I’ll also buy some bread here. And I’ll come back for breakfast, as they have that fun item where they hollow out a slice of crusty bread and fry an egg inside. Did I mention I like this place? The owner is a sweetheart, and from what I understand does much for the community through her altruism.
I just wish there had been some foreplay before being bent over.
Di Prima Dolci Italian Bakery
1936 N Killingsworth St
(503) 283-5936
El Burrito Loco, which is Spanish for “The Crazy Burrito”, is not the name of a Mexican wrestler, but rather a non-descript taqueria on North Portland Blvd. There are two other locations in Portland, but I haven’t been. I’m not even going to tell you where they are. There.
As the name suggests, this place is evidently proud of its burritos that may or may not have full control over their mental faculties. I’ve even sampled one in the past (carne asada), but I prefer tacos over burritos, and this is taco survey, not a burrito survey. I won’t speak of burritos again.
There are some endearing traits here. The napkin dispenser is on a roll — much like toilet paper — and you have to tear off your napkins, like you would a square to wipe your ass. In addition to featuring squeeze bottle table sauces a la your prototypical taqueria, they also provide Heinz “taco” sauce in small, self-serve, aluminum packets, like as if they wanted to outlame Del Taco’s “Del Scorcher” or Taco Bell’s “Fire” or your average junior high school cafeteria, really. They also feature hard shell tacos at El Burrito Loco, which sets it apart from most taquerias and from most Mexicans, for that matter.
Best of all, in the adjacent dining room from the counter, you can drop some coins into this classic “Michael Jackson’s Moonwalker” video game.
After throwing down some tacos, it’s always a best practice to bust a moonwalk and fuck up some perps.
On to the tacos.
The taco triumvirate. Each taco runs $1.35 apiece. The table sauces (green and red) are serviceable. The green is actually kinda red, and is not your typical verde in that it packs a punch — wielding a few Scoville units — and the red is sauce made mostly from reconstituted dried chilis. Since El Burrito Loco does not have pastor, I subbed their namesake taco.
This is the “loco” taco. It features shredded beef that’s been simmered in a red chili sauce. It is garnished simply with onions and cilantro. The meat is sort of the pulled variety, and compares favorably I suppose to the “barbacoa” you’d get at the Chipotle chain.
For the most part, I would say I like this. The meat can be flavorful, and the texture can be quite nice. But other times it has been alternately too dry or too mushy, and the portion ample, and some times not so much. If they could consistently get “loco”, then I could recommend it without reservations.
The asada tacos at El Burrito Loco are probably your best bet. They are generally quite ample, and come dressed with a decent guacamole (and not the weird guacamayo that King Burrito slops on their tacos) and with a nice salsa fresca. The meat is often grilled nicely and full of beefy asada goodness, but on occasions it can tend towards overly greasy.
The carnitas. This isn’t real carnitas, it is simply sliced cubes(!) of pork that have been thrown into a deep fryer. For that alone it deserves six whacks on the wrist and a dozen Hail Mary’s. We will not speak of it again.
El Burrito Loco
1942 N Portland Blvd
Portland, OR 97217
(503) 735-9505
Roasted brussel sprouts slathered in butter, with Trader Joes breaded cod filets. Not sure why I would call this a meal, but I did.
This is a Vietnamese dish my mother bestowed upon me. I’m sure it has a proper Vietnamese taxonomy consisting of 3 or 4 (or more) constructors, but I call it Coco-Rico Pork due to the soda that helps fill out the braising liquid.
During a recent visit to 82nd Avenue, I picked up over a pound of freshly roasted pig at Good Taste. Good Taste sells sections of whole roasted pig for $7.95/lb, on the bone, complete with crackling. I think the portion I used was from the lower back? Hard to say, as, while I’m generally quite saavy in playing “Know Your Cuts of Meat” on Late Night with David Letterman, I’m definitely not an expert of the flesh. I don’t think it was shoulder (butt), as it was leaner. Maybe picnic shoulder? Leg? Did I cover every part of the pig yet?
The butcher at Good Taste will ask if you’d like the portion cut down into manageable pieces, but in this case we chopped it ourselves, bone and all. The key in this dish is to use the crackling, it helps lend an unctuous richness to the dish. This is like a fat bomb, oh yeah, and I would compare the texture to that of really good carnitas. When you plate it all atop steaming hot jasmine rice, there is that serendipitous moment when you fork in a bite that simultaneously combines shreds of the pork, a sliver of braised pig skin, a firm section of egg white and a crumble of yolk — all married together with the braising juice — that really allows one to experience a true Calgon moment.
Coco-Rico Braised Pork
- 1 1/2 pound of whole Chinese-style roast pig, cut into 2 inch (or so) chunks, bone and skin intact
- 7 eggs
- 2 tablespoon sugar
- 2 tablespoon waters
- 3 cloves minced garlic
- Half white onion, sliced
- Small knob ginger, peeled and sliced into sheets and fine julienne
- 2 chopped green onions
- Juice of one fresh coconut (not coconut milk)
- 1 can Coco Rico soda (available at Fubonn/Vietnamese markets)
- Ground pepper (tablespoon? you tell me)
- Fish sauce
First, soft the boil eggs — place in a saucepan, cover with cold water, and cover. Bring to a boil and remove from heat, and let stand for 6 minutes (or so). Shock in ice bath and peel, taking care not to tear the egg whites.
In a large saucepan, over medium heat, add sugar, stir for a few seconds, and then add water and stir for a minute or so to create a caramel of sorts. Add garlic, onion, ginger and green onions, stir “fry” for a minute or two, and then pork, coconut juice, and soda.
For those who aren’t familiar with Coco Rico soda, here’s a photo. As you can probably guess from the nomenclature, it’s a sickly sweet coconut flavored soda popular with…who knows. I guess people drink this piss – I can’t stand it, but it really works here. Bring the concoction up to a low boil, and reduce to low and simmer for 30 minutes, covered.
After 30 minutes, add the eggs and ground pepper. Be careful not to break the flesh of the eggs — you want them to remain intact and pick up a nice brown sheen from the braising liquid.
Continue to simmer 2 hours, covered, on low. Stir in fish sauce to taste.
Here’s a close up shot.
And an example of the texture of the pork. Very much like carnitas. Rich, sweet and savory.
Real carnitas isn’t terribly difficult, I suspect. I’ve never actually made it, but it involves large sections of pig that braises in its own fat, much like duck confit. The pork is spiced with fruit juice and spices, and the result is a rich, sinful pulled pork that is worthy of canonization in the Church of the Sacred Meatstuffs.
This version is quick and easy, foregoing the time-consumption normally associated with authentic carnitas. In fact, this is simply braised pork, not worthy of carnitas status, thus I call it “ghetto” lest it suffer from delusions of grandeur.
Ghetto Carnitas
- 2 pounds of pork shoulder, cut into two-inch chunks
- Orange juice
- Water
- Broth (chicken, beef, unicorn – whatever you’ve got)
- 2 bay leaves
- 1 cinnamon stick, broken in half
- 1/2 teaspoon ground coriander
- 1/2 teaspoon ground cumin
- 1 tablespoon ancho chili powder
- 1 tablespoon chile de arbol powder
- 1 tablespoon some other chili powder (New Mexico, etc. – the idea here is to add 3 tablespoons of various chili powders)
- 1 tablespoon garlic powder
- 1/2 white onion, diced
- 3 cloves garlic, pushed through a press or minced very fine
- Salt to taste
Preheat over to 275 degrees.
Put pork in a dutch oven – I’ve found my cast iron Lodge works extremely well. Cover with equal parts of each liquid component to cover the pork by just over a half inch. Add the remaining ingredients. Stir and bring to a low simmer, cover, and transfer to oven. Braise 2 1/2 to 3 hours, stirring lightly every 45 minutes or so.
Let cool, then transfer to a platter with a slotted spoon. Press pork gently with the tines of a back of a fork to “shred” — the meat should naturally start to fall apart.
Heat up corn tortillas on a griddle, double them up and scoop the braised pork on top. Top with chopped onions, cilantro, and your favorite homemade or jarred Mexican table hot sauce.
King Burrito, located on the south side of Lombard in North Portland (west of Greeley, just east of Peninsular), is a prototypical taqueria that has gained a following for serving massive burritos. Seriously, a burrito from this place probably packs enough heft and calories to feed a sub-Saharan household for a week or to sedate a large bear for a season’s hibernation.
But this is a taco survey, not a burrito survey. I won’t talk about burritos any more.
When I first moved to North Portland, I was pleasantly surprised that the tacos from King Burrito simply weren’t awful. Now that I’ve discovered other taco joints in the area (and have had my eye on a heretofore unchartered taco truck just half a mile down the road), I don’t really feel the need to return.
The primary knock is that King Burrito’s fare is overly greasy. I’m not really a health nerd, but a preponderance of seemingly random grease where there need not be will occasionally turn me off, much like a hot chick who farts repeatedly.
But King Burrito’s tacos aren’t bad, by any means. They are well constructed and cheap ($1.25). The table sauces are a bit bland. If you go on weekends, they will have chopped onions and cilantro (set out for Menudo) that you can help yourself to. It’s kinda dingey, and always packed, though (see burritos, huge).
Carne asada. King Burrito serves theirs with guacamole, so that’s a bonus. But what’s up with that guac?
It’s a weird, pale color, and overly creamy, as if it’s cut with mayo.
The pastor. These are really greasy — when I got them to go one time, you could really see a sheen of oil that soaked into the wrapper, rendering the paper translucent. I have a feeling that the pastor is simply grilled bits pork shoulder, that is then kept in achiote oil.
The carnitas. The carnitas at King Burrito is pretty good, and, surprisingly, the least greasy? Go figure.
Fully dressed taco.
King Burrito
2924 N Lombard St
Portland, OR 97217
503-283-9757
This coq au vin recipe, featured in a recent issue of Cook’s Illustrated (September, 2006), is very good. I was wary of the boneless, skinless thighs it called for (sacré bleu!), but they surprisingly worked in this dish. I added a shot of cognac after sauteeing the vegetables, and — as I’m wont to do out of laziness — substituted frozen pearl onions instead of blanching, scoring, and peeling 24 fresh onions. I also pretty much doubled the mushrooms (and garlic) the recipe called for. I served the results with egg noodles and was quite happy with the results.
Modern Coq au Vin
- 1 bottle red wine (or more if you are drinking while cooking)
- 2 cups chicken broth
- 10 sprigs fresh parsley (what the hell is a sprig? I just used half a bunch)
- 1/2 bunch parsley, stems removed, chopped
- 2 bay leaves
- 3 slices thick-bacon, cut into “lardons” (fancy way (and a misnomer) to say “slice the bacon into strips”)
- 2 1/2 pounds boneless, skinless chicken thighs, cut lengthwise. My thighs were smallish, so I didn’t cut all of them, and I didn’t really bother trimming the fat. Fat makes the world a better place.
- 5 tablespoons unsalted butter. My butter had salt in it. Don’t hate me.
- 24 frozen pearl onions, thawed, drained, and dried. I used 27.
- 8 ounces cremini mushrooms, stems removed, halved (or quartered). I also used white button mushrooms, and kept the stems. For button/cremini mushrooms, I like the stems. I think they taste good. There, I said it.
- 2 medium garlic cloves, pressed through a garlic press. 2? Try more like 7.
- 1 tablespoon tomato paste
- 2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
- 1 shot (1 1/2 ounces) of cognac
In a non-reactive saucepan, combine wine, broth, 1/2 bunch parsley, stems and all, and bay leaves. Bring to a boil, reduce, and simmer until reduced in half, prolly around 1/2 hour or so. If you’re drinking, pour a glass of wine for yourself, and put on some music.
My mise en place, including an iPod shuffle connected to my Tivoli iPal speaker. Set List: “Guided by Voices’ Under the Bushes Under the Stars”, The Selecter’s “Too Much Pressure”, The Thermals “The Body, the Blood, the Machine”, Golden Smog’s “Another Fine Day”, Okkervil River’s “Black Sheep Boy”, Stephen Malkmus and the Jicks’ “Face The Truth”, and enough assorted singles from Paul Westerberg to properly fill out 512 megabytes.
Salt and pepper the chicken thighs. In a hot Dutch oven or huge ass sautee pan (i.e. deep and wide), swirl a tablespoon of butter and brown the thighs in two batches. Remove from pan and place on plate. Add bacon to the pan and render, then add two tablespoons of butter and sautee mushrooms for a few minutes, and then add the pearl onions.
After a minute or so, turn up the heat, then hit the vegetables with a shot of cognac. If you’re the dramatic type, you can light it on fire for a flambé, but if you’re like me and have an annoyingly sensitive indoor fire alarm, you can simply pour yourself another glass of wine and lament on what could have been. Add garlic, sautee for a few more seconds, salt and pepper the vegetables, and hit them with some of the chopped parsley.
In the meantime, you’ve already (in the past) reduced the wine/broth mixture, and strained it, right? I sure hope so. Return the chicken thighs the pan, and pour the liquid reduction over it, add tomato paste and flour, and stir. Bring to a simmer and reduce heat.
Go watch The Office and after a half hour or so check the seasoning and adjust the salt level. Continue to simmer and reduce on low heat until your coq soaks up more of the vin, and reduces to a stew, about another half hour or so. Once finished, swirl in last two tablespoons butter and remove from heat.
Serve with egg noodles, garnish with chopped parsley. There you have it, the ultimate French comfort food. The chicken thighs take on a wonderfuly complex, meaty flavor and the texture is just perfect, almost belying that it is ordinary poultry. Sit down in front of a fire with a glass of wine and enjoy your “modern” coq au vin, and if you want to complete the “modern” theme put on some “modern” French pop like Air or Phoenix and then ride the Max and pretend you’re on the Metro and then go on strike.
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:
- Shrimp har gow. These were good. The shrimp were fairly innocuous, but fresh tasting.
- Shrimp/vegatable dumplings with chives and dried shrimp. These had a slightly interesting taste, but were just ok.
- Chicken feet braised in anised broth. Bland. Better at Wong’s King, which does theirs with a flavorful black bean sauce.
- Massive shrimp meatballs coated in rice flour and rolled in chow fun noodles, and then fried. The waitress snipped these in half before serving with a thick sweet and sour sauce. The shrimp meat tasted "off" and these were not very good. I’m not sure if this replaces the sugar cane shrimp I had last time I was here, as this time these were noticeably absent. If so, that would be a shame – the sugar cane shrimp featured fried, battered shrimp meatballs and were quite good.
- Stuffed been curd sheets, stuffed with wood ear mushrooms, ground pork and shrimp. These were really good, very tender and full of flavor.
- Salt and pepper squid. Nice size portion of freshly battered (rice flour) and fried squid chunks, including tentacle ends. The squid is dusted with finely ground salt and pepper, and tossed with stir fried garlic, onions (green and yellow), and jalapeno rings. This was excellent (my favorite) and is a better preparation than what Wong’s King serves.
- Steamed chinese broccoli. A large portion of perfectly steamed greens and stems, mounded on a platter and doused with a few squirts of oyster sauce.
Total price came to $33 for two people.
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.
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.
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.
3 Herb Chimuchurri
- 1/2 cup EVOO (like Rachel Ray says! OMGROTFLMAO!!!)
- 1 tablespoon red wine vinegar
- 1 tablespoon lemon juice
- 1/2 stalk parsley, minced finely
- 6 1/4 to 7.5 cloves garlic, minced finely
- 1 shallot, minced finely
- 1 1/2 tablespoon minced fresh oregano
- 1 1/2 tablespoon minced fresh rosemary
- 1 bird chili, smashed and minced
- Kosher salt
- Pepper
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.
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.
Now that football season is in full swing, it’s time for chicken wings. Actually, any time or occasion is a good time or occasion for chicken wings. Including hockey preseason, the fortnight between Triple Crown of Thoroughbred Racing events, proms, quicieneras, and the occasional bris.
A couple years ago I was invited to a Super Bowl party (Patriots v. Eagles) hosted by one of my wife’s co-workers and her boyfriend. The theme was chicken wings, and apparently it was a contest*. The following is my favorite spicy Thai-style wing recipe – for this event I “kicked it up a notch” (remind me to kill myself for using that phrase) and added a “wet” component, but these wings are plenty flavorful without the final steps. Here are a couple photos of these delicious wings:
*I placed second in the wing contest. However, I was early to the party. And apparently everybody brought their wings raw to be cooked there either in the oven or on the grill. I was not aware of this custom. And so my plated, ready-to-eat wings were quicky devoured by the early party guests. The host’s boyfriend, who I was quite certain was stoned at the time, kept remarking how “fucking” good the wings were as he downed close to a dozen himself. Therefore when balloting happened, many of the party guests DIDN’T EVEN GET A CHANCE TO TASTE MY WINGS and of course did not rate them on the ballot. Thus, I firmly believe I actually won the wing contest. However, since there was no real prize for winning outside of the personal satisfaction of knowing you’ve won, I didn’t contest the results.
Thai chicken wings
- 1 lbs chicken wings
- 6 garlic cloves
- 1 small knob ginger (approx. 2 inches, peeled and sliced in thin sheets ~ 2 tablespoons)
- 2 thin slices of a decent sized, peeled galanga (1 tablespoon?)
- 1 teaspoon kosher salt
- 7 thai bird chilies
- 2 lemon grass stalks, stems and ends trimmed, finely minced
- 2 tablespoon sesame oil
- 1 tablespoon Maggi or soy sauce
- 1 tablespoon fish sauce
- 1 teaspoon ground coriander
- 2 tablespoons honey
- Juice of a lime
Optional Enhancement
- 1/2 cup water
- 1 tablespoon ketchup
- 1 tablespoon rice wine vinegar
- 1 tablespoon honey
In your large stone mortar (What, you don’t have one? Go buy one.) combine garlic, ginger, galanga, chilies and salt. Pound the living shit out of the contents.
Scrape your mash into a large mixing bowl. Add the rest of the ingredients, mix well, and chill overnight or at least 4 hours.
Grill over hoat coals.
2nd place enhancement option. Here’s the extra step for a bootstrapped special flavor upgrade with added presentational flair. This is what I did when I captured 2nd place at the aforementioned Super Bowl party.
Reserve marinade after placing wings on grill. Preheat oven to 500 degrees. Add 1/2 cup water to reserved marinade, 1 tablespoon ketchup, and 1 tablespoon rice wine vinegar, and additional tablespoon honey. Simmer until reduced to a glaze. Toss glaze with wings once they are removed from the grill, spread on sheet pan, and bake for 3-4 minutes. Platter and top with finely diced chives.
As I’ve grown older, I’ve come to increasingly appreciate lamb. When I was quite young and discovering all the deliciousness that existed in the world of food, lamb was slightly gamey for my virgin tastes. This pretty much all changed when I was seventeen and worked as a server at a spa resort in northeast Tucson. Every 10th day was lamb chop day, and we would serve each nutritionally apportioned lamb entree with 2 frenched rib chops per plate – topped with a herbed dijon “sludge”. Since we would have anywhere from 200-325 guests showing up for dinner on any given day, the kitchen would make enough chops to serve the high end number of potential house covers.
The result is that at the end of the night there were pans and pans of uneaten lamb chops – sometimes enough for a greedy starving teenager to eat as much as a dozen and take a few home as well. I would scape off the sludge, which left behind a subtle dijon and herb essence, and top the chops with low sodium Kikkoman. I did this for 2 years. And this wasn’t only lamb chops either – this applied to nearly everything. The spa was pretty posh and had a clientele of east coast stock brokers and the Hollywood elite. So while the menu was definitely geared towards lean and healthy preparations (we would memorize the calories, fat and sodium stats for every item each shift — they gave us cheat sheets we taped inside of our books), the ingredients were top shelf. In college, although we were broke (and often resorted to scraping together change to attend “silver coin drink night” at the local college binge drink warehouse) my roommate and I often ate lobster tail in our Maruchan and Top Ramen.
There is hardly anything has delicious as the lamb loin chop, which is the T-bone steak of lamb. The only drawback is that the chops I encounter are quite spartan in terms of flesh preponderance. There’s only a few bites of meat you can negotiate with a knife and fork before you pick up the chop and go full on neanderthal on the bone — this act being one of life’s unrivaled joys.
Here’s a quick and simple preparation that doesn’t do too much – you don’t want to mask the loin chop’s natural flavor. It’s almost imperative that you use a cast iron pan to really get a good char – if not grill these on a high flame.
Lamb Loin Chops with Tamari, Black Vinegar, Garlic Chives and Fried Shallots
- 3 lamb loin chops. You could trim the fat, but lamb fat really does taste delicious.
- 1 Tablespoon tamari
- 1 Tablespoon Chinese Black Vinegar
- Kosher salt and coarse cracked pepper
- Fried shallots
- Chopped garlic chives
Pre-heat a cast iron frying pan over medium to medium high heat for five minutes.
Sprinkle both side of the chops with salt and pepper. Sear the chops, about 4-6 minutes per side. Remove and let rest for 3 minutes.
Top with tamari and vinegar. Sprinkle on chives and fried shallots (you can fry the shallots yourself and keep them around – or you can buy pre-fried shallots from an Asian store). Eat.
jonahshpdx is probably being a bit delusional, but I can’t blame him for his optimism and wishful thinking.
This summer I spent some time in San Diego for a wedding. Two months prior, I was in Las Vegas for the bachelor party, and both times I made sure to hit In-N-Out Burger.
In-N-Out has been around forever, but only exists in a few locales outside of Southern California. They are privately owned and don’t want expansion for the sake of growth – they prefer to have a firm grasp on quality control. As jonahshpdx mentions in his post, this may be changing some time in the future.
A source close to the situation, who requested anonymity because of a confidentiality agreement, told The Daily that the burger chain is besieged daily by investors interested in buying the privately-held company. But a sale, the source said, is unlikely to happen anytime soon…
…But even if In-N-Out remains in the family, the company could decide to move beyond California, Nevada and Arizona, where its 202 restaurants are now concentrated. The chain could also opt to expand faster, as Boyd’s lawsuit alleges Taylor and Martinez secretly plan. In an effort to head off these grumblings, the company released a statement after Snyder’s death pledging to continue to grow at “a moderate and deliberate pace.” The company currently opens 10 to 12 new restaurants every year. But the company, known for its secrecy, has said little else, inevitably leading to speculation from industry observers.
As much as I’d enjoy an In-N-Out here in Portland, I’d prefer it to be on their own terms in order to keep a firm grasp on quality control. Every time I go to In-N-Out and order a Double Double-Animal Style-Mustard/Ketchup Instead, it’s produced perfectly as I imagined. Every time.
The buns come out perfectly toasted each and every time. The menu itself is a lesson in simplicity, efficiency and usability. The secret menu is not just a gimmick, but a ingenius way pimp your burger.
Did you know the employees, with their cute and clever throwback uniforms, are paid $3-XX/hour higher than most other burger joints? When I was in San Diego in the mid-to-late nineties, they would start their employees off at $9/hr, which at the time was almost $4 over minimum wage. That was probably why everyone working there seemed so jovial and easygoing, and took pride in their job. I would sit back after my order and admire them working – I know, it’s kinda creepy, but for me it’s hard to not fetishize about efficiency (which is why I love Ikea).
There would be one guy whose sole purpose was to hand load potatoes – one by one – in a slicer, and yank the lever to force them through the expeller (fresh cut fries – yum). And another guy would empty out the fries into a huge white cotton towel (to soak up the grease), salt, and then toss the fries by holding each end of the towel and shaking. That was his sole responsibility.
Also, what other fast food joint has been immortalized in a Coen brother’s movie?
The old skool marquee. Makes you feel all tingly.
A Double-Double and a single Cheeseburger, both Animal Style-Mustard/Ketchup Instead. With grilled onions, that are nicely browned and carmelized.
Another shot, so you can see the packaging and the fresh cut fries.
On the strength of the recommendations at this thread at PortlandFood.org, this weekend I decided to check out Binh Minh, nee Maxim’s Bakery, over on NE Broadway (just north of I-84). VJ @alt.portland has a good write up on the place.
There’s a consensus that the proprietor lady is notoriously cranky, and I can see how that consensus has been reached. But growing up amongst a cadre of Vietnamese cranks who insist on nagging your every move and decision and whose idea of escalating communicative skills consists of yelling louder in an increasingly annoying pitch, I’m somewhat impervious.
The short story is that the bánh mì here is very good. At $2.50, I got the BBQ pork. The younger lady behind the counter asked if I wanted sliced jalapenos, and of course I did – I think a bánh mì without chilies is like a hot dog without mustard. She toasted the bread with very thin slices of delicious bbq pork – the pork was lean enough (unlike, say, Fubonn, where it is half fat). The carrots were julienned nice and thin, and the entire sandwich was the “flavor bomb” that Mr. Pok Pok eloquently describes at the PortlandFood.org thread. The bread was nice and crusty and french – this is the best bánh mì I’ve had in Portland. I also like how they include an option for more meat for 50 cents — my main quibble is that there’s never enough meat in a bánh mì. If I knew Vietnamese, I would ask for a double double meat, but I am too afraid to confront the lady working the register. When my mom is in town next month I will bring her here so she can communicate for me, and hopefully establish a working baseline from which I can pivot future overstuffed bánh mì experiences.
Walking back to my car, I stopped into Pacific Market to grab a green mango, and ran across a newly minted Phở joint next door — Phở Kim. Their grand opening runs most of this month, and they are offering 15% off all menu offerings. I decided to drop in and perform my Vietnamese litmus test – an order of goi cuon (with nuoc mam instead of hoisin dipping sauce), and a bowl of phở tai.
The goi cuon ($3) was pre-rolled, as the rice paper wrapping was a bit sticky and gummy. The fillings were fresh enough, and the pork and shrimp tasted right (not off), and the pork was lean enough as well. They were somewhat on the smaller side. The nuoc mam came out with just a few slivers of carrot, basically fish sauce cut with a bit of sugar and water, which is how understand the northerners like their dipping sauce (commie rat bastards). I definitely needed to kick it up with a healthy dollop of the fresh chili sauce that is on the tables.
The phở itself was entirely unremarkable. The stock really wasn’t flavorful at all — not bad by any means — just not redolent of the spices and subtle flavors of anise that make for a complex soup. The beef flavor wasn’t pronounced at all – this was very weak stock. The garnish dish came with enough fresh sprouts, basil, and jalapenos, but there was no saw leaf herb. The tables have the usual accoutrements, including the aforementioned chili sauce, a chili flake oil, fish and soy sauces, and grab your own chopsticks and soup spoons.
In reality, I wished I had simply ordered 2 more bánh mì. You’re better off going to one of the Phở Oregon’s that are near enough if you want a better bowl of soup.
I did see a man who I thought was Mr. Pok Pok take a seat as I was leaving – I think he may have had the same Binh Minh -> Phở Kim trajectory I did.
K2 Kabob is a new Pakistani/Indian restaurant on the south side of Hawthorne, just east of 39th. I stopped by a few weeks ago and picked up some to go.
The gentlemen running the floor were very gracious. I ordered two Seekh Kebabs ($4.00 each), Bhuna Gosht ($8.50), and order of plain Naan ($1.50).
As I waited for my order, I helped myself to free chai. Though it was a hot summer day, I enjoyed this extra detail. When the rainy Portland doldrums return, this will be quite welcome.
As soon as I ordered my Seekh Kebab, the kitchen was notified and immediately started the prep. It’s an open kitchen, and I could see the chef forming a fresh lamb mixture onto a very long skewer. At $4.00, this is an absolute steal. Extremely delicious, flavorful, and savory. The lamb is mixed with red pepper flecks and chopped herbs (parsley, mint?). It is topped with sliced onions and sprinkled with red chili powder. A squeeze of the lemon wedge and this was dynamite.
The Bhuna Gosht was chunks of lamb (leg or arm?) that is simmered in tomato sauce with herbs and spices. I could taste coriander, garlic, and some other usual suspects. I would have preferred it a bit more aggressively seasoned, but I think this is meant to be a mild dish. What you see here is a thin veneer of oil on top of the stew (in the take out container itself) — this gave it an unctuous quality that was not unwelcome. Lamb is pretty fatty, afterall. I enjoyed sopping up the stew with my order of naan.
The naan was delicious – charred and not too fluffy. It was different from naan I’ve had at conventional Indian restaurants, more like the pita at Alladin’s on 33rd actually, but I loved it. I used it like injera at an Ethiopian restaurant, tearing off a piece at a time and using it as a utensil to pick up and envelope chunks of lamb.
I still had half of the Bhuna Gosht and entire Seekh Kebab leftover, so I fired up the rice cooker and steamed a cup of basmati and took the leftovers to lunch the next day. It was very good.
I will definitely be back. For more information, check out the thread at PortlandFood.org.
In last month’s issue of Gourmet, Michael Ruhlman — who recently guest-blogged at Megnut’s place and whose writing I respect — penned an ode to hot dogs.
He claims the best hot dogs in the world are Vienna Beefs, and having had a Chicago-style dog last year at O’Hare on my way to Rochester, I can’t say I’d put up a firm argument.
Hot dogs, he explained, are part of the meat genus we call “emulsified forcemeat”. I’d never heard of that term before, and in addition to conjuring images of a Nordic death metal four piece (or a gay S&M fetish flick), this reductive term sounds a little less than appetizing. But as every professional athlete inevitably says in the course of a cliche-ridden press conference (and as Pope John famously pronounced when asked about Mel Gibson’s Jew-baiting movie), “it is what it is.”
I ran across an article (via Ruhlman via NYTimes and I made a short post here previously about it but I’m too lazy and thick with enchiladas to bother linking to) about how the organic franks from premier beef producers were making a splash on the hot dog scene. Instead of the pessimistic nitrates used to artificially preserve the meat, they used celery juice. See, nitrates also give the dog its nice, pinkish hue, and nitrate-free dogs have a really nasty brown tinge to it, like cardboard. Celery juice to the rescue!
I stopped by Trader Joes shortly after reading the article and picked up what I consider to be the best hot dogs in the world – Niman Ranch Fearless Uncured Beef Franks.
They come four to a package, and each one weighs in at a hefty quarter pound. I checked the ingredients list, and lo and behold celery juice was listed. If you haven’t had these hot dogs and consider yourself a hot dog fan, pick up a package next time you’re at Trader Joes (I’m not sure where else to buy them). They are actually leaner than many 1/4 franks I’ve seen – with 19 grams of fat – I’ve seen other dogs such as the Sinai Kosher’s at Costco run 30 grams. For post-cooked weight, that’s actually less fat than a raw 80% ground beef burger.
Here is a full metal jacket Chicago dog I’ve recently had, starring a Niman Ranch uncured.
I’ve always loved a good sandwich on a crusty french roll.
Lately, Vietnamese sandwiches, aka Bánh mì, have been becoming more institutionalized in American culture (as evidenced by the Wikipedia entry). A large immigrant population, combined with how ridiculously cheap these sandwiches are — and of course how tasty they are too — have helped bánh mì to become part of the culinary landscape of many North American cities.
When eating at a deli, I tend to stick with the predictable — bbq pork, grilled lemongrass pork or grilled beef. You can go nuts and get paté or other strange spreads and offal bits (as my mom and sister are wont to do), but those things sort of freak me out. Part of it I think goes back to when I was 8 years old, visiting relatives in Paris. I was holed up in a hotel room (because as a young kid I was complete prick and never wanted to do anything), listening to Blondie with nothing to eat except a baguette and various tins of paté. That same trip I ordered a steak at a sidewalk bistro and it came out so bloody rare that I swore the heifer was still chomping the cud, and was subsequently pretty freaked out about the entire Franchophilia thing in general.
At home I’ll make my sandwiches with pork meatloaf, which is sort of like an emulsified forcemeat, a Vietnamese bologna. Growing up, we called this stuff “Hong Kong meat”, which I presume was a vaguely pejorative term coined by mom to refer to its erstwhile status in comparison to “real” meat, Hong Kong being at the time the origin of her Louis Vuitton knockoffs.
So why even make these sandwiches at home, when they are ridiculously cheap, sometimes even only $1.75 per sandwich? It’s all about the quality control. First of all, you’ll notice the meat to bread ratio of bánh mì is pretty low. You’re getting mostly bread – I don’t think you’ll ever confuse a commercial Viet sandwich as being “overstuffed.” Second, you can really go crazy and load on the garnishes – unless you know the language and the person making the sandwich, you’ll have a difficult time cajoling extra peppers or cilantro. It’s not Subway.
Assembling a sandwich is fairly simple: slice the pork loaf, top with daikon radish and carrots, julienne jalapenos peppers, sliced cucumber, and toast. After toasting, garnish with lots of cilantro (if you’re like me), and douse liberally with Maggi. That’s another bonus of making these at home — if you are so inclined you can really make the sandwich a veritable salt bomb by soaking the surface of the toasted french roll.
Hong Phat market (NE 99th and Prescott) sells cartons of pre-marinated, julienne daikon and carrots for $2.50, and it is enough to dress probably a half-dozen (or more) sandwiches. Keep in mind, this stuff smells like ass and will commandeer your entire fridge, not to mention probably imbue its nasty ass perfume to a few of the less sturdy items in your freezer as well.
The french rolls used for bánh mì can be picked up at pretty much any Vietnamese market in town (Hong Phat, Than Thao on Sandy/65th, Fubonn), and are usually around 5 for $1.50. Untoasted, these can be a bit too fluffy and doughy, so make sure you toast them, as they will become much more palatable. You are even better off picking up a mini baguette from New Seasons, as that has a better crust.
This is the brand of pork loaf I commonly buy – it’s available in most Vietnamese markets. It is one of the few brands that has nutritional information, and also appears to be the leanest. Keep in mind that there are a couple other variations, with pork skin added, if that’s your thing. For me it’s a little too weird, with a ring of translucent, gelatinous fat that runs the length of the loaf.
This stuff smells like ass, but is essential for a good bánh mì. Maybe I should make my own to try to temper the ass out of the smell.
Ah, good old Maggi, liquidized vegetable protein and potent MSG delivery vehicle. Abide by the firm suggestion on the label – a few dashes. It’s much saltier than soy sauce. This is the bulk, Americanized bottle – the gold standard is the actual Swiss brewed nectar that comes in much smaller bottles yet is twice the price.
Fully dressed bánh mì.
Lemongrass beef is one of my all time favorites. It was a go-to staple in my household, and I ate it often and graciously growing up. Thinly sliced beef, marinated in lemon grass, garlic, chili, ginger. My mom used cheaper, lean cuts such as london broil or eye of round – it was a good use of leftover pho tai meat – though you could certainly use a cut with more marbling.
Grilled Lemongrass Beef
1 pound london broil
2 stalks lemon grass
2 cloves garlic
1 knob of ginger (I like to grate the ginger using my microplane)
1 teaspoon sesame seeds
1/2 teaspoon fennel seeds (or so – i just sprinkled a few on)
1 tablespoon tumeric
1/2 tablespoon dried lemongrass
2 tablespoons sesame oil
1 teaspoon sweetened chinese black vinegar
1 teaspoon maggi or soy sauce
1 teaspoon fish sauce
Optional – add a couple smashed thai bird chilies (or crushed red pepper flakes)
Freeze the london broil for 30 minutes. Slice in thin slices (1/8 inch or so).
Cut off inch or so off the tip of lemon grass, slice off bottom nubs. Slice in half, and then in half again, and mince stalks as fine as possible.
Combine with all the ingredients and marinade overnight.
Last year at Uwajimaya I ran across this stovetop griller for use with gas stoves.
When the stock stove grates are removed, the surface area becomes one large cooking canvas, and slots allow direct flames to shoot up and kiss your food with searing hot, adoring lashes.
A concentric drip pan sits under the cooking surface and straddles your stove’s gas conduit, and you fill this with just enough water to vaporize the drippings. You don’t want to much water in here or it will bubble over and prevent flames from escaping.
You can grill pieces in a mack daddy Japanese grill pan like I did recently:
Or you can certainly use the broiler or a conventional grill pan. But an open flame is the key for getting some good char and caramelization. Here’s beef from the same marinade batch, threaded on a skewer and grilled outside.
What to eat with grilled lemongrass beef? I ate this with broken jasmine rice, but you could also enjoy the beef on top of rice noodles, garnished with cucumber, mint, cilantro, and julienned red leaf lettuce, and tossed with nuoc mam cham and finished with crushed peanuts. Or you can put all the aforementioned garnish ingredients in a softened rice paper sheet and roll it up like a hand roll and dip in nuoc mam cham or a peanut hoisin sauce.
That headline is a definite understatement.
Pok Pok — for now — is an unassuming little hut on southeast Division, around 32nd street, that serves northern style Thai cusisine. It’s adjacent to a house that’s being renovated for a big move later this summer, as little Pok Pok grows up and sprouts it wings. We wait with bated breath to see how that transition materializes, and how the menu fleshes out.
Until then, you can enjoy the virgin Pok Pok and it’s small menu. There’s only a half-dozen items or so on the menu. Food Dude has an excellent write up and there’s an active thread at ExtraMSG’s forum. Andy, Mr. Pok Pok himself, weighs in with a few posts and clues us in to the future trajectory of Pok Pok’s ascension.
Currently it’s more of a take-out joint, though there is a covered patio with a few picnic tables. The last time I visited they were running a ramen special with Mama brand instant noodles (Tom Yum flavor, which Mr. Pok Pok deemed the “most popular” brand in Thailand). The soup is spiked with meat pulled from the wonderful rotisserie game hens (Kai Yaang) that are the star of the menu. For $3 it is a wonderful testament to Pok Pok’s populist approach — the fact he proudly serves instant ramen and sells it for a pittance is extremely endearing.
The Kai Yaang is probably the tastiest bird I’ve had in Portland. The skin is flavorful and crispy, and the the bird is perfumed with lemongrass and garlic. You get a whole game hen for around $8 — this is a small(er) bird, obviously, but well worth the money. It’s served with a piquant, sweet chili dipping sauce. Absolutely amazing.
Khao Man Som Tam. Coconut rice, topped with shredded pork and fried shallots, served with Papaya Pok Pok – shredded papaya with long beans, fish sauce, sugar, garlic, topped with peanuts. When you order papaya salad, you’ll see the huge thai mortar with the elongated pestle come out, as either Mr. Pok Pok or his apprentice starts mashing the base ingredients, including tiny dried shrimp, chilies and lime. The cherry tomato in the salad seals the deal. Fresh, tart, sweet, sour, spicy – all the stalwart tastes of Thai food working together in perfect harmony.
The coconut rice and pork are just plain yummy. The pork shreds are sweet and savory at the same time, and pair with the coconut rice just perfectly. My 20-month old daughter could not eat enough, shoveling fistfuls in her mouth. I almost didn’t want to share.
Get over to Pok Pok before it graduates and matures into perhaps a less accessible adult.
Update
For those interested in Pok Pok etymology, check out Mr. Pok Pok’s recent post at Portlandfood.org. Turns out its origins don’t spring from the Filipino patois for “whore.” Who woulda thunk.
The name sounds pretty generic and tweed suit salesman-y (“We won’t be undersold! We’ll match any price on a comparable burrito, or the burrito is free!”), but King Burrito on North Lombard is a pretty good find.
King Burrito is a non-descript storefront, located just west of Greeley on the south side of Lombard. There really isn’t a discernable sign, which is probably why I’ve missed it in the past.
Today I picked up a asada taco ($1.25), pastor taco ($1.25), and taquito ($1.75), as well as a bean, cheese and rice burrito for the Mrs. I was pleasantly suprised. The asada taco came with guacamole and chopped tomatoe, onion, and cilantro. The asade was flavorful, much like the street tacos in Mexico. The pastor was bright red, probably from annoto, and very tasty as well. The taquitos, normally an afterthought item, we’re good – and came with a generous portion of creamy guacamole.
The burritos are super cheap, at around $3-4, and from what i can tell, quite large. They come enchilada style for 75 cents extra.
They serve Menudo, at least on the Saturday I visited. There is no salsa bar, but chopped cilantro/onion mixtures are provided as garnish, as are dried crushed chilis and dried oregano (for soup entrees). Verde and red sauces (in squirt bottles) are available with your order.
The tacos were on the greasy side, but very good. I’m pretty stoked this place is just down the street – for North Portland taco options, I think this place beats El Burrito Loco.