Food Porn Friday
28 JanNow don’t get all squeamish on me. This is good stuff. You just have no idea what it is. If you do, let me know.
Food Porn Friday (moved to Wednesday this week)
22 Dec
For those who know me, this should be an easy guess. An old favorite re-visited despite the panic in the streets these days.
Food Porn Friday
29 OctBonus points to anyone who can identify what I thoroughly devoured in that pot.
Winter Warmth Found at Two Steam Tables
25 Jan
Dera, on Lexington Avenue in the neighborhood with the fragrant acronym, Curry Hill claimed the gamut of South Asian cuisines including Bengali, Indian, Pakistani, and Nepali . Was the goat combo different in Nepal than Pakistan? As long is it comes with nan bread, basmati rice, and of course a Coke, that’s a combo that would be hard to beat in any country.
Beans Punjab-style
For those, and I’m really just talking about Eugene here, who are squeamish about goat or lamb after hearing Agent Starling’s heartfelt confession to Hannibal Lecter, and those slaughtered lambs in Silence of the Lambs, there were plenty of chicken curry options.
Kidney and fava beans yes: Goat no.
Gerry, on the other hand, welcomed the idea of goat. And the gamier the better.
Zio would eat goat, kidney, fava beans and duck’s feet if he could. But at Dera he even stooped low enough to try what looked like a cross between Gefilte fish and a very pale matzoh ball. This particular sweet was soaked in milk and from what I could tell tastes best when served with a plastic spoon.
Our next steam table was on Roosevelt Avenue under the number 7 train in the familiar terrain of Jackson Heights. This one offered meats and more; a modified and more than moderately priced churrascaria. Chosen by Gerry, I quipped to him after he emailed our destination as Aroma Brazil that I could smell the barbecued meats all the way in Harlem. No one even chuckled and how could I blame them.
It was too cold to smell anything when we convened inside the small restaurant under the tracks. We warmed up quickly by piling meats, hanger steak, short ribs, roast beef, and sirloin onto our plates. I was careful and actually took two plates, one for the salad bar that included varieties of rice, greens, eggplant, plantains, beans and more and had them weighed separately. At Aroma Brazil you pay by the pound. I was carrying a heavy load and I paid for it in more ways than one.
Brazilian steam table offerings
Gerry as he usually does, despite whatever ails him, eats more than all of us. After plowing through his sizable mound of meats and vegetables, he pondered out loud that he might get more. I offered him a portion of my dinosaur-sized short rib. He took it without hesitation.
Rice made with shrimp heads
After Gerry made quick work of the rib and all our plates, with the exception of, who else but Mike from Yonkers, who was slowly gnawing meat off his own short rib, were cleaned, we pondered dessert. Gerry didn’t have to ponder for long; he settled on a tres leche cake while Zio ordered a slice of cassava cake that was as memorable as the shrimp head rice. Though we offered him tastes, Eugene just watched us fill up on sweets. He had his annual Punta Cana retreat upcoming and couldn’t risk adding any flab to his normally concave belly.
It wasn’t as cold when we exited Aroma Brazil as when we entered. But it was cold enough to want to return to that warm Brazilian steam table well before we would be complaining about the heat.
Dera
103 Lexington Avenue
Curry Hill (Manhattan)
Aroma Brazil
75-13 Roosevelt Ave
Jackson Heights
Conquering the Fear of Fusion in Flushing
27 Nov
I admit I have a fear of food fusion. I see that word in a restaurant’s sub-name and I immediately throw up my own red flags; the food won’t be authentic; it will be a watered down version of what it should be, the restaurant wants to have it both ways, and on and on. There are exceptions however and when Zio chose Pho Mekong, a restaurant in Flushing that boasted both Thai and Vietnamese food, I really wasn’t concerned. The distinction between the food of Thailand and that of Vietnam to many westerners, myself included, is a small one; most don’t even know the difference.
The restaurant was located in the back of strip mall surrounded by a Korean market and a Korean family barbecue restaurant where you ordered your raw meat by the bulk to cook on the table top grills.
“Maybe we should just go here,” Zio said as he gazed at the Korean signage of the barbecue restaurant. “It’s much more exciting than Vietnamese or Thai.”
Zio was getting cold feet about his choice. Maybe he also had that inner fear of fusion. I told him that it’s always best to trust your initial instincts. He did and as we assembled after our Thai/Vietnamese dinner, again gazing at the Korean Family Barbecue restaurant, Zio’s instincts proved right. Despite the fusion of the two cuisines, the dinner was a success.
The soup of the house, of course, was Pho and we noticed many local diners in the restaurant were happily slurping from the gallon-sized bowls of soup layered with brisket or thin slices of round steak, cooked in the hot broth. None of us, however, chose to order what was the specialty, at least in the restaurant’s name, of the house.
Fish ball soup
Gerry who was a little under the weather with a stomach ailment braved the trip to Flushing and, displaying even more bravado, ordered fish ball soup and an appetizer of oysters smothered in a rich, dark oyster sauce. Stomach ailment be damned.
Oysters for whatever ails ya
Tom kha gai, the traditional Thai chicken soup Eugene ordered presented a dilemma. Eugene often crows about his affection for coconut, milk or anything else about it. And tom kha gai is made with a coconut milk base. But it also includes an abundance of mushrooms and there was the dilemma. Eugene, as far as I know has no fear of fusion, but he does have a mushroom phobia. And there they were littered within the silky coconut milk broth. Undeterred, he fished each mushroom out and then proceeded to slurp down what was left of the soup.
Squid with Thai chilies
Zio’s dilemma was not quite as serious. He had stated from the get go that he was going to order the beef curry stew, but at the last minute, the waiter poised with pen in hand to take his order, Zio switched to squid with Thai chili sauce. Why, we wondered?
“If I ordered the beef curry stew it would put us over our budget,” he said. “The squid is cheaper.”
No one was counting pennies and if we were that would have left Mike from Yonkers unfazed considering he ordered a whole salmon that, fried and covered in the same chili sauce that was on Zio’s squid, was enough to feed his own enormous appetite and maybe also that of a very small child.
Shrimp lemongrass soup with plenty of mushrooms
I also ordered soup; the shrimp lemongrass variety and happily ingested all the mushrooms I found within. To complement the soup, I had a vermicelli salad topped with grilled pork. I wasn’t sure if the salad was Vietnamese or Thai, or some fusion concoction of the two, and, frankly, I didn’t give a damn.
Vermicelli salad with grilled pork
Pho Mekong
15632 Northern Boulevard
Flushing, Queens
The Great Chinatown Conflict 2017: Resolved with Rye and Lo Mein
24 Oct
Gerry was concerned. We had scheduled our monthly food group well in advance. But now there was a sudden conflict. The Yankee fans among us, Zio, Gerry, and me were in a quandary. The fifth game of the knotted American League Championship Series was to be played at 5. We were to meet in Chinatown at a place chosen by me called Noodle Village at 7:30.
“Time to reschedule,” Gerry wrote in an urgent email once the Yankee schedule was confirmed. “We got an important game tomorrow.” He pleaded to reschedule either the next day when there was no game or the following week, but with each suggestion, someone had to drop out.
“Why don’t we meet at a bar in Chinatown, watch the game, see where we are by 7:30 and if the game is still in doubt, stay at the bar and go eat after the game,” I suggested.
Gerry, Mike from Yonkers and Zio liked the idea. Eugene, however, possibly still stewing from the early exit his Red Sox made was not happy. “I will not be going,” he wrote the next day. “I do not want to deal with the nyc traffic and Yankee traffic…”
All of us tried to convince him he could make it to the restaurant in plenty of time or meet us at the bar whether he drove or took the train, but once Eugene makes up his mind about something, there’s not much even the prospect of a village of Chinese noodles can do to change it.
The bar, Whiskey Tavern, was a few blocks from Noodle Village, which, on Mott Street, was a few doors from the Chinatown legend of our collective youths: Wo Hop (Obsession Confession). While Gerry and Mike from Yonkers sipped Redemption Rye, I settled on cold beer as my viewing beverage of choice. The Yankees’ play made it a happy time at the happiest of hours and by 7:30 we were confident enough with the Yankee’s comfortably leading to exit the bar and head to Noodle Village.
Happiness is fleeting
Passing a line of hungry people waiting up the steps of Wo Hop, we arrived at the equally crowded, Noodle Village. There were no free tables for our group of four and for the first time in our 16 years, we had to wait to eat. But the wait was a short one and it gave us time to follow the remainder of the Yankee game on our cell phones. By the time Mike from Yonkers was served his chicken congee, the Yankees had won, 5-0.
Chicken congee
I cannot lie that the flavor of the steamed crab meat soup dumplings and fried pork and chive dumplings were possibly enhanced by our baseball joy; they were as good as I have ever eaten. But it wasn’t just me, Gerry was raving over the squid and pig skin with curry sauce lo mein.
Squid and pig skin lo mein with curry sauce
Zio had to repeat his order of pork liver and kidney lo mein to the waitress who had a difficult time comprehending that someone of his chalky hue would actually order such a dish. After a few bites from his chopsticks, a strange sound came from his mouth. “Hmmm it has an earthy flavor,” he said. Whether he was referring to the kidney or the pork liver, we did not know.
Kidney and pork liver lo mein
I kept it simple with a bowl of shrimp wonton soup and a communal plate of Chinese broccoli with oyster sauce and, like everything else at Noodle Village, enjoyed every slurping spoonful.
Chinese broccoli
Outside, on Mott Street among the familiar black garbage cans that litter the crowded curbside, Zio gave Noodle Village the ultimate compliment. “I’m coming back here,” he said. “And I think I’ll bring the Colonel.” If Zio contemplates bringing his wife, also known as the Colonel, to one of our eclectic destinations, it can’t get much better than that.
Crab meat soup dumplings
Noodle Village
13 Mott Street
Chinatown
Peruvian Infusion Confusion
20 Sep
Many years ago in the first year of our food group’s existence, we traveled to Corona, Queens for a dinner at a restaurant called La Pollada de Laura (Cooked in Corona). The restaurant was simple yet comfortable and owned and run by a Peruvian family. The ceviches were plentiful and perfectly “cooked” in lime juice and chili peppers. The fried seafood in the jalea was fresh, crispy and accompanied by a salsa criolla while the lomo saltado, beef with onions and fried potatoes was piquant with citrus, the contrast between the beef and the grilled onions along with the French fries, perfection. We ate until we were bursting and the food, including all that fresh fish, dessert and beer was well under our $20 budget. We wondered how such a place with prices like that could exist. Sadly, La Pollada de Laura did not exist much longer; it closed a few years after our experience there, but the restaurant set the bar for all other Peruvian restaurants we have visited since.
So when Mike from Yonkers sent out the email announcing his choice of Carta Brava and noted that the food was Peruvian, he included, in parenthesis “again,” I was hopeful but not optimistic that the very high bar set almost 15 years ago could be met.
The restaurant, a small, really more of a takeout place located on a side street in ethnically diverse, New Rochelle, noted on its sign that it served “Peruvian Infused cuisine.” Why would good Peruvian food need an infusion of anything, I just didn’t know, but I did try to keep an open mind.
When dining at a Peruvian restaurant the ceviche is always a must and both Mike from Yonkers and Eugene ordered the mixed ceviche. It arrived in a small bowl, the fish cooked by the acid though whatever else was infused in it diluted some of its usual bold flavor.
Ceviche
The jalea, a fried mix of seafood; fish, squid, shrimp was done well, not greasy and complemented by the spicy house made criolla sauce. But, and I know I was asking too much, it just could not compare to the mountain of seafood that was the jalea of La Pollada de Laura.
Jalea
Gerry’s chicken leg, also known as pollo a la brasa, arrived presently beautifully on a white platter; the rotisserie chicken glowing a deep bronze color and served with green (cilantro) rice. The dish was a very pretty picture but left Gerry wanting more, something that never could have happened back at La Pollada de Laura.
Pollo a la Brasa
Finally, after most of us, Mike from Yonkers excluded of course, were done, Zio’s lomo saltado with beef and shrimp arrived. Also assembled with attention to photographic detail, the saltado was flavorful but again, the authenticity, or was it something else, was just missing.
Lomo Saltado
“I think this is suburban Peruvian food,” I said to Gerry who nodded his agreement.
“It needs an infusion of something but I just can’t say what,” he said.
No one else could either and we were even more speechless when the check arrived and put us well over budget. We’ve overpaid for meals in the past, but this one left us hungry and nostalgic for a real home-cooked Peruvian meal on Northern Boulevard.
Carta Brava
6 Division Street
New Rochelle
Found in Yonkers: Red Sauce and Scungilli
15 Aug
When Mike from Yonkers informed our group that he would not be available to choose our next food destination due to a “family emergency,” I sent out a electronic telegram to all our member for a quick substitute.
“I got a place,” Gerry responded almost immediately.
The place Gerry got for us was located in Yonkers, ironically, minus Mike from Yonkers. On a dilapidated stretch of Broadway prevalent with Dollar stores and Mexican delis, Gerry discovered Silvio’s, an ancient old school red sauce Italian joint that none of the Westchester contingent, meaning Eugene, had ever been to.
The dining room, adjacent to the restaurant’s pizzeria, was empty except for our small group and because it was so quiet, the canned Italian red sauce music; Sinatra, Dean Martin, Jerry Vale, and others was even more obtrusive.
As soon as we were settled, our waitress, a buoyant Latina, brought us nicely toasted, hard crusted Italian bread with packets of butter that Eugene quickly opened to spread on the warm bread leaving a litter of butter packets surrounding his place setting.
Bread and “old school” butter
The menu also had that old, 1950’s feel including the prices which seemed to be amended only slightly since Silvio’s first came to Yonkers. It wasn’t until we got our bill at the end of our meal that we discovered that those prices somehow found their way into the 21st Century—so much so that once again Gerry had brought us to a place where we were substantially over our allotted $20 budget.
Maybe it was the Tito’s vodka Gerry ordered that tipped our scale—or the large slice of cheesecake (made the Italian way with sweetened ricotta cheese) that did it. Most probably, it was our gluttony that pushed us over the limit. We couldn’t help but order two appetizers, including a large order of clams oreganata with chopped clams and mussels in white wine and garlic. What made the final tally harder to take was that both appetizers were very disappointing; the mussels minuscule and the clams, when you could find them, buried deep under a heavy layer of moist breadcrumbs tough and seemingly fresh out of a can.
Clams oreganata
The pastas appeared inexpensive on the menu but, of course, we couldn’t stick to the traditional menu, instead we ordered a rigatoni Calabrese from the “special” menu, a heavily sauced pasta with tomato sauce, cherry tomatoes, and sausage. There was nothing traditional about the combination of scungilli and calamari with linguini unless you considered canned scungilli traditional.
Rigatoni Calabrese
You would think two pastas might be enough for us but it wasn’t even close and, honestly, there was much more sauce than pasta on both platters and the sauce just wasn’t curbing our sizable appetites. We rounded out our meal with a beef braciole; one single braciole smothered in red sauce, a platter of veal Francese that included four small, pounded scallopini’s, one for each of us, in a lemony wine butter sauce and sides of broccoli and spinach. The morsels of veal, light and tender, was probably the best of what we had at Silvio’s and easily devoured.
Veal Francese and linguini with calamari and scungilli
When the waitress returned to ask if we wanted dessert and before we could order what Gerry already knew would be the cheesecake, Eugene asked where Silvio was.
“You just missed him,” our waitress said with a smile.
I wondered if there really was a Silvio or was he, like the Sinatra music and the old school menu, a fictional creation to fit into the Italian red sauce fantasy we never tired of, yet so often were disappointed by.
Searching for Silvio
Silvio’s Italian Restaurant and Pizzeria
352 S. Broadway
Yonkers
Fried Neck Bones...and some home fries 