The Mango Lassie

Last night, Empanada Boy and I joined our friends Bass Drum Crumb and Curly Fries at the new Park Slope location of Fornino, a restaurant and pizzeria that has already made a name for itself in Williamsburg. I had read about the fantastic Neapolitan-style pies at the first location and saw the mouthwatering pictures of them on the restaurant’s website. A great Williamsburg foodie attraction had made its way to the less hipster ‘hood of Park Slope! This was worth a celebratory cheer and a visit. What I didn’t know was that Chef Michael Ayoub had decided not to build the requisite wood-fired pizza oven at his Park Slope spot. Instead, he opted to grill his pies and serve a bunch of other Italian pastas and more elegant fare. I didn’t realize this shift until our pizza arrived at the table. (The menu for the Park Slope location is not on the website, but I eventually found it here.) I was disappointed not to be eating the chewy bubbly crust of the Neapolitan-style pizza I had been craving, but the company was great and the grilled pizza had its merits, which I will be discussing below.

We started with two tasty antipasti: eggplant caponata and a salad made with radicchio, peaches and goat cheese. The caponata had a nice balance of sweetness from the roasted eggplant and saltiness from black olives that were blended in. It came with a nice herbed focaccia that had just the right chew (a true rarity, in my experience). The salad was vibrant and beautiful in its color contrasts. My only complaint was that the dressing was a little too mild. A bolder, tangier dressing could have set off the sweetness of the peach wedges nicely. Next came our pizzas. We ordered the Funghi Misti with wild mushrooms taleggio and white truffle oil and another one called the Calabrese, made with tomato, fior di latte (cow’s milk mozzarella) and a spicy pepperoni called caciatorini a diavolo. The crust on these was quite thin and almost cracker-like at the edges. It had good flavor with a hint of smokiness, but none of the blackened, bubbly pockets that come from an oven. The mushrooms on the first pizza had strong flavors of their own, but didn’t seem to have been seasoned enough while being cooked. One variety of darker color mushrooms dominated the others. But the flavors that won the fight for dominance in this dish was definitely the white truffle oil. I could have done with less of it.

Instead of the Calabrese, our server ended up bringing us the Pizza Vinny Scotto. This one had all the ingredients of the Calabrese, but added bel paese (a semi-soft Italian cheese), pecorino, ricotta and a bell pepper aioli. Crumb had been hesitant to order this one because he wasn’t into big clumps of ricotta, but the clumps turned out to be fairly small we decided to keep it when it came. Perhaps we made a mistake, though, because there seemed to be too many ingredients on this pizza. The sheer number of cheese alone was enough to create a conflicting flavor profile that didn’t successfully highlight the quality of any single one of them. The best part of this pizza was the caciatorini. It was hot and well-spiced and not as greasy as the generic pepperoni found on so many pies.

Speaking of ricotta, this cheese also featured prominently in the cheesecake topped with strawberries that we ordered as one of our desserts. I am not a fan of American-style dense cheesecakes, but this one had a pleasant lightness to it, and it was not too sweet. The fresh strawberries made for beautiful color contrast and added seasonal freshness.

Our second dessert was a torta di limone, a cake with a thin crust of brown around the exterior and and moist, but light, lemony interior. This was a great dessert and one I would like to try making at home. Curly Fries and I had enough to drink between the two bottles of Italian wine we ordered as a table and the glass of white she ordered for herself, but EB and Crumb wanted to keep the party flowing…I mean going. They each ordered a glass of grappa from the fairly lengthy list. EB’s ended up being smoother than Crumbs, which was more like a whiskey in its smokiness. Both were quite strong, but the Italians believe they aid the digestion, and I’m not inclined to argue with centuries of tradition.

In the end, the pizza was good but not great. The ingredients were nice and the restaurant itself was pleasant, but I had really been looking forward to that Neapolitan crust. Maybe it was just a question of managing expectations.

Fornino Park Slope
256 5th Ave.
Brooklyn, NY 11215
718.399.8600

Fourth of July weekend was a burger-filled few days for Empanada Boy and me. We didn’t know it when the weekend began, but we would be eating two great burgers before Tuesday rolled around. One of these came on Independence Day itself when EB’s uncle Iceberg—a burger connoisseur if there ever was one—grilled some tender, juicy patties on his back deck in Westchester. But before we even dreamed of these, we happened upon some of the finest burgers I’ve had this year. These came from DuMont, a Williamsburg spot with a great backyard seating area. We went there with Cousin Ketchup who was house-sitting at our aunt and uncle’s place in the neighborhood.

I knew DuMont was famous for its burger—the owners have even opened a second more casual location called DuMont Burger where the menu consists of a burger, a mini burger and a turkey burger, in addition to a few other sandwiches—but I had assumed at least one of us would opt for hanger steak or half chicken on the menu at the more upscale sibling. I was wrong. None of us could pass up the opportunity to try the lusciously described burgers. We made the right choice. The expertly charred exterior of the patties gave way to a perfect, rosy medium-rare. Buns were light, but chewy brioche, with egg-washed tops, and pickled onions made for a truly standout condiment amidst the usually satisfying additions of tomato, lettuce and pickle. Being burger purists, none of us ordered cheese, although cheddar, American, Danish blue and Gruyère are available, along with bacon. Ketchup and I opted for the green salad side, the only accompaniment I could contemplate eating after I saw the massive size of the burger. I also knew I would be able to snatch a few French fries from EB who has never been able to pass up a fried potato. The fries were excellent—just the right thickness to be crispy on the outside and soft at the core. They were evenly salted and garnished with a minced parsley, a nice and surprisingly flavorful touch.

In short, this was a near flawless burger experience. The next time I go to DuMont, I won’t even look at the menu. No matter what’s on it, I know I’ll come back to that burger every time.

DuMont Restaurant
432 Union Ave.
Brooklyn, NY 11211
718.486.7717

DuMont Burger
314 Bedford Ave.
Brooklyn, NY 11211
718.384.6127

I’ve written before about my strange tendency to avoid my own neighborhood when contemplating places to go out to eat. When I’m home, I just think: Why not make dinner at home? But a few weeks ago, Empanada Boy and I were getting stir crazy and decided to try a restaurant that was not only in our neighborhood, but catty-corner from our house. We had heard good things about Java Indonesian Rijsttafel, an Indonesian restaurant (obviously). Not having tried much Indonesian food, I wasn’t sure what to expect. But EB and I are always up for adventure, so we decided to put the speculation to rest and give it a try.

The restaurant is small and simple, apart from a chandelier hanging from the ceiling. The kitchen door is behind a screen, and at least when we went, there was only one woman (presumably the owner) working the floor. Unsure of what to order, we opted for some of the dishes with “Java special” in parentheses next to their names. The first, from the appetizer section, was the pastel, basically Indonesian empanadas, stuffed with thin rice noodles and vegetables. They came with two dipping sauces, one that was quite spicy, probably made with chilies of some kinds, and another that was a savory-sweet combination of peanuts, soy sauce and sugar. These were tasty in the way that most pockets of filled dough are. The fillings were flavorful, but I particularly liked the sauces. They added vibrancy and verve to the dish, which wasn’t remarkably seasoned on its own. After that, we had a traditional salad called acar, made with sliced cucumber, carrots, string beans, and onions, marinated in a sauce of vinegar and turmeric. The salad was refreshing, and I liked the crispness of the cucumber and carrot, but the string beans seemed a little limp as though they had been allowed to cook for too long. Turmeric gave the onions and cucumber a yellow color, but it added only a subtle flavor to the dish because of the dominant vinegar dressing.

Our final dish was another Java special called semur, made with beef stewed slowly in soya sauce. The meat was a little tougher than what I had been imagining, and the sauce was more like a soup. The abundant liquid had muted flavor without very distinctive or assertive spicing and was generally too watery. Still, the lemon zest on top added a nice acidity, and we hungrily sopped up much of the sauce with the accompanying rice. The leftover sauces from the pastel added a welcome occasional kick.

After hearing so many great things about Java Indonesian, EB and I really wanted to love it. In the end, we enjoyed it, but didn’t think it stood up to the hype. We may consider giving it another try the next time we set aside the time to dine in the Slope, but there are so many restaurants to visit that we’ll likely end up moving at least a few doors down the street.

Java Indonesian Rijsttafel
455 7th Ave.
Brooklyn, NY 11215
718.832.4583

As regular readers of this blog know, I am not a big fan of going out to brunch. It costs too much; the lines are too long; and most of the food available could be made at home without much effort. But when you have to go to brunch, you have to go to brunch. When those times arise, I like to find places that defy my list of brunch negatives. One such place is Café Cortadito, a Cuban restaurant on the Lower East Side. I did a search for good downtown brunches, and the name came up. At $11.95 per person the price was right, at least relative to the rest of the overpriced New York brunches. So Empanada Boy and I arranged to meet our friends Baconhater and Halo-Halo there before they left the city to return to Cambridge.

Baconhater and Halo-Halo arrived before we did, and just to be sneaky, they sent me a text saying the lines were out the door. When we arrived at the pleasant, airy little cafe, they were seated at one of two populated tables drinking cafe con leche. We ordered some coffee, sangria and tropical fruit juice mimosas and got down to the business of ordering. While we waited for our food, the server brought excellent buttered toast triangles, which would later serve as the perfect egg-yolk mops.

Café Cortadito has about ten items on its brunch menu, all of which looked appealing in some way. EB ended up ordering Holguin: poached eggs over seared ham atop a croissant, finished with Creole sauce. This was the Cuban take on the breakfast sandwich, and it was a tasty take indeed. When punctured, the eggs ran over the whole thing and made it necessary to eat with a fork and knife. Halo-Halo ordered a delicious Cuban omelet made with potatoes and embedded with smoky, salty bits of chorizo. A piece of seared ham and two sausages balanced out the meat to potatoes ratio.

Baconhater got an exquisite dish called Camaguey. Made with fresh mango and papaya (both a little too green), plantain chips and grilled shrimp, the dish was colorful and light as a breath of tropical spring air. The shrimp was nicely cooked, but the downsides were the under-ripe fruit and the lack of sauce or cohesive seasoning over the dish. If even one of the fruits had been riper and more succulent, this dish would have been more successful. Camaguey had all the pieces, but didn’t live up to its potential.

My dish was Mazorca de Maiz Dulce Estilo Cortadito. A mouthful, both in name and in essence, it consisted of two fried eggs alongside sweet corn on the cob and a small green salad. The dish was simple and tasty, with corn that was actually sweet and perfectly fried eggs, but I would have appreciated a stronger sauce or some spices to jazz it up. The ingredients in my dish may have been a little too simple to justify the $11.95, no matter how cheap the restaurant was relative to its brunch neighbors. All in all, though, Café Cortadito fit my criteria for a worthy brunch place: The food was mostly flavorful and different from anything I would typically make at home. Which is not to say I couldn’t replicate these dishes— I’ll be working on my potato-chorizo omelet the next time I want something new to make for brunch at home.

Café Cortadito
210 E. 3rd St.
New York, NY 10009
212.614.3080

More than month after returning from Barcelona, I am still dreaming of some of the food we ate there. I am finally getting down to recounting it for you here. We took the bus overnight from Madrid and arrived in Barcelona at about 9 am. Our hotel, the Pension Noya was another simple affair, but the location— on the Rambla adjacent to the Plaza de Catalunya—was unbeatable. We had our own balcony that looked out over all the hustle and bustle. Most importantly, we were also within quick walking distance of the open-air Mercat de Sant Josep, also known as the Boqueria. This was undoubtedly the single culinary location that figured most prominently in our trip to Barcelona and Spain as a whole.

The Boqueria is the most sumptuous city market I have ever visited, while also being one of the most utilitarian. The market is ogled by tourists and relied on by actual citizens looking for the freshest meat and fish, the most flavorful produce and the best baked goods. Some of the most tasty tapas can also be found there, thanks in large part to the fact that many are simply made from the market’s ingredients. After checking in at our pension and changing our clothes we stopped by the market for some breakfast at Forn de Betlem Pa I Patisseria the excellent bakery inside. The displays there are piled high with crusty baguettes, chorizo-laden bocadillos and beautiful pastries. We had two out of three breakfasts here and between us tried a chocolate-coated croissant (called a Magdalena), a wonderfully delicate apple cake, an ensaimada and a chocolate filled croissant. (I’ll bet you can guess which two items Empanada Boy ordered.) Both times we got cafe con leche from one of the bars and then stood somewhere out of the fray to chow down.

We spent some time walking around the city and checking out the architecture and then decided to go back to the Boqueria’s Kiosko Universal for lunch; we had seen people eating some exquisite looking seafood and just couldn’t stay away. We ordered a plate of almejas, small clams from Galicia. These were simply prepared, cooked in olive oil with some minced parsley, but they were so incredibly fresh and tender that eating them was like eating candy. We popped them into our mouths and savored every bite. We also ordered a plate of calamares a la plancha, grilled squid cooked in their full tubular shape. They were pinkish, tender and delicious, served with crispy, salty fries. A glass of cava and a caña (Spanish name for a small glass of beer) made the perfect accompaniment.

EB was in the fresh seafood zone, so that night we decided to try one of the restaurants in La Barceloneta, the city’s beachside neighborhood. We read about Can Ros in the ancient version of Time Out Barcelona we brought along with us. It was described as fresh seafood at a good price. As it turned out, the price was fine, but nearly everything on the the mixed seafood platter we ordered (prawns, langostines, hake, squid and mussels) was overcooked and underseasoned. To top it off, the wine we ordered—a still blend made from the varietals used in cava— was corked. Our waiter brought us a new bottle, but we didn’t dare request a new seafood platter. In hindsight, this place was a little too beachside touristy and should have aroused suspicion.

We planned to go to Montjuic, the hilltop park area of the city that houses the Olympic grounds and multiple museums. We knew weren’t going to be near many great restaurants, so we stopped at the Boqueria that morning to buy some provisions for a picnic. That meant a visit to the bakery for a small baguette, a stop at a canned goods station to buy roasted red peppers, another stop at a produce stand for some pretty little tomatoes and a visit to the gummy booth, which boasted a huge array of brightly colored gummy chew candies in every shape and size. Most importantly, we went to cheese and ham booth where the proprietress helped us pick a worthy Catalonian goat cheese and some very high quality jamón serrano de bellota (acorn-fed).

EB and I ate our picnic in a small gated park near the Olympic stadium. The jamón was the best we had tried since our arrival in Spain. Nutty and rich, it melted in our mouths. We ate it alone, as the woman who sold it to us instructed, and made little sandwiches with our bread, cheese, tomato and red pepper. It was a fantastic meal. The flavors reminded me of the lunches I had while hiking in the Picos de Europa during my first visit to Spain in high school. It was those flavors that made me fall in love with the country.

For dinner that night, we tried to go to Bar Inopia, the highly touted tapas bar owned by Albert Adrià, the brother of molecular-gastronomy master Ferran Adrià. When we arrived at the typical Spanish hour of 10 pm, the line was already so long that the host knew he wouldn’t be able to seat us. He told us to come back early the next day. So we trekked over to Taverna El Glop, restaurant Auntie Pasti had recommended. The restaurant specializes in grilled meats. Not knowing which was the best, we opted for a meat sampler, which came with chicken, sausage, beef, pork loin and potatoes. We also ordered a plate of snails cooked a la llauna, in wine, garlic, olive oil and parsley. The meat was unremarkable and overly salty, but the beef and sausage exceeded the leaner chicken and pork, both of which were dry. The snails were very different from the French-style (removed from their shells and cooked in a rich mixture of parsley, butter, garlic and Pernod). These were also doused in fat, but we had to extract each of the little curlicues from their shells with tiny forks. Once we got over our initial squeamishness, we started to enjoy their slight chew and rich flavor. Also worth noting was the Gandesa wine we drank. It’s a strong, almost fortified-tasting wine typical of Catalunya. We paid only 2.50 euros for half a liter! (I don’t know how much more I could drink, but it definitely started to grow on me.)

We went to the beach the next day so EB could dip his feet in the Mediterranean. We had a tour of the Palau de la Musica Catalana scheduled for later in the day, so we didn’t have the time for a long drawn-out meal. Not being very impressed with the beachside offerings, we decided to try Pans&Company, a Barcelona sandwich chain. The restaurant looked like a typical American fast-food joint with the menu on the wall offering value meals with the option of fries or patatas a la brava (fried potatoes with a spicy paprika-infused dipping sauce) and the counter workers wearing visors. As it turned out, Pans was different from our fast food restaurants in two key ways. First, the food was much better. My sandwich, made with tuna, red pepper, olives and tomato, was flavorful and refreshing, served on a baguette. EB had pork loin, roasted red pepper and onions on an even tastier, crustier baguette of a quality that you’d be hard pressed to find in many American bakeries, let alone fast food places. We ordered patatas bravas on the side, which were crispy and surprisingly flavorful. The second reason Pans was definitely not a typical fast food joint is that the food preparation was not very fast. We waited at our table looking over the harbor for about 15 minutes for our food to be ready. As it turned out, it was worth the wait.

That night, we arrived at the aforementioned Inopia at 7:30 pm. We still had to wait for about half an hour, but we finally got a seat at the small, lively restaurant’s winding bar. From there, we could see the fish line cook making each dish, occasionally plucking fresh herbs from water-filled vases. We ordered a bottle of cava and got down to business. We had heard about the restaurant on the PBS series “Spain on the Road Again” when Mario Batali took Gwyneth Paltrow to dinner there. We knew we had to start with the olives, which were intensely flavored and very distinct from one another. One tasted like smoked meat, while another tasted fruity and another was pickled. Next came an order of Inopia’s famous anchovies. We got the ones from Cantábrico, which came fresh and vibrant in a bath of olive oil and herbs and were accompanied by crunchy, bubbly bread with tomato. Our next dish was a salad of tomato wedges, topped with fried, salted almonds and mullet roe. It had the perfect balance of salty, savory and sweet and was incredibly refreshing. We moved on to one of the best dishes of the night: fried eggplant with molasses. The eggplant was cut into cubes, dipped in molasses and fried into ethereal sweet-salty bites that burst in our mouths and disappeared in a poof. Who needs molecular gastronomy when you have this?

Our next course was patatas a la brava. A step up from Pans&Company, these were cut fairly thinly, making for extra crispiness, and the sauce made of pimentón de la vera (Spanish paprika) was bold and pretty spicy. Then came croquetas de jamón iberico, soft, crusty potato croquettes filled with delicious pieces of nutty Spanish ham. We were nearing our limit, but we weren’t done yet. EB wanted to try more fish, so we asked for a toast topped with the beautiful, thinly sliced tuna steaks we had been watching the guy in front of us prepare. This was fine fish, but the dish stood out less than the more original offerings we tasted. Last, but not least, came dessert: a round of grilled goat or sheep cheese drizzled with truffled honey and served warm. Need I say more?! This was a beautiful and delicious finish to a beautiful and delicious trip.

Mercat de Sant Josep “La Boqueria”
La Rambla, 91
08002 Barcelona, España
93 412 1315

Can Ros
Calle Almirall Aixada, 7
08003 Barcelona, España
93 221 4579

La Taverna El Glop
Calle Sant Lluís, 24
08012 Barcelona, España
93 213 7058

Pans&Company
Carrer de la Marina, 16-18
08005 Barcelona, España
93 221 1101
(and various other locations)

Bar Inopia
Calle Tamarit, 104
08015 Barcelona, España
93 424 5231

Unlike in Cannon Beach, Oregon—where I spent the long weekend, and which is still under a rain cloud— signs of summer are starting to appear in New York City. The weather has been in the 80s, and we’ve even had a few sticky humid days. People are out in the park, and most of all, people are starting to barbecue. There’s no better accompaniment to meat grilled outdoors than a nice potato salad. In honor of being on the cusp of summer, I decided to dedicate my June tribute to Gourmet magazine to a recipe for Potato Salad With Olives and Peppers from the June 2007 issue. The flavor combination of the starchy potatoes, the salty olives, the fresh parsley and the slightly sweet smoky peppers was spot on.

My only complaint is that there seemed to be too little dressing. I halved the recipe based on the number of potatoes I used, but It seems like I could have used half again as much dressing to really bring out the flavors in those potatoes. It would be an easy problem to fix. Either way, there are numerous potential variations on this recipe, offering the opportunity to add a twist here and there. I think it would be good with anchovies, lemon juice or capers added to the mix. It’s food for thought, but happy almost summer, nonetheless.

Potato Salad with Olives and Peppers

yield: Makes 6 servings
active time: 30 min
total time: 1 1/2 hours

Ingredients
3 garlic cloves
3 tablespoons Sherry vinegar
1 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon dried hot red-pepper flakes
5 tablespoons olive oil
3 pound hot cooked small (2-inch) boiling potatoes, quartered
2/3 cup bottled roasted red peppers (4 ounces), rinsed, patted dry, and chopped
2/3 cup fresh flat-leaf parsley leaves

1/3 cup pitted brine-cured black olives, halved

Preparation
Mince garlic and mash to a paste with a pinch of salt using side of a large heavy knife. Transfer to a large bowl and whisk in vinegar, salt, and red-pepper flakes, then whisk in oil.

Add hot potatoes to vinaigrette and toss to coat. Let stand until potatoes cool to warm, about 30 minutes, then stir in peppers, parsley, and olives. Serve warm or at room temperature.

See my other Gourmet, Unbound posts:
May 2010, Moroccan-Style Mussels
April 2010, Shrimp Scampi Pasta
March 2010, Chicken with Black Pepper Maple Sauce
February 2010, Mexican Chocolate Ice Cream
January 2010, Roasted Brussels Sprouts with Garlic and Pancetta
December 2010, Walnut Spice Cake with Lemon Glaze

Empanada Boy and I spent the week before last traveling in Spain. We started in Madrid, from which we took day trips to Ávila and Toledo, and finished in Barcelona. Along the way, we ate food that was fantastically delicious and food that was equally disappointing. Lest you should worry, fearless readers, I captured it all on camera and will recount the most noteworthy parts in the next few posts.

We begin in Madrid where we arrived bleary-eyed on the morning of Saturday, April 24. We couldn’t check into our pensión until 1 pm, so we left our suitcases and went in search of breakfast. I studied in Madrid during my sophomore year of college, so I knew EB would get a proper introduction at a real institution like Mallorquina. Occupying one side of the plaza that surrounds the Puerta del Sol (an old entrance to the city), Mallorquina was founded in 1894. It continues to serve some of the best baked-goods and cafes con leche in the city. We walked through the crowded bar where madrileños stood eating pastries from the decadently filled glass cases, up to the second floor where suit-clad waiters serve at tables.

EB began his trip-long love affair with chocolate croissants. These were called napoletanas in Madrid, but would later be known as magdalenas in Barcelona. I ordered an ensaimada, an ethereal twist of barely sweet dough made with lard and dusted with a cloud of powdered sugar. It was a great start, and the café con leche— strong coffee brewed with an espresso machine and topped off with rich whole milk— brought back many a Spanish memory.

Our next meal didn’t occur until about 7 that evening after we had walked around for many more hours and finally stumbled back to our pensión for a nap. We were scheduled to meet my friend Isla Flotante and her boyfriend Salmorejo at a theater to see a performance of traditional Spanish dancing by the National Spanish Dance company, but we needed a snack beforehand, so we went to a bar in the posh neighborhood of Salamanca whose name I was too exhausted to remember. We had wanted to visit a tapas place called Txirimiri, but it was closed when we arrived. (As we would be reminded time and time again, the Spanish schedule doesn’t conform to any rules.)

We ordered glasses of red wine and three pinchos (like tapas), which came on toasted bread: one rubbed with tomatoes and laden with anchovies, another with garlicky mayonnaise and shrimp and a final one with tomatoes and jamón serrano, the Spanish ham we had been anticipating for weeks. All were tasty; although I am not a big fan of the whimpy little cocktail-sized shrimp that were all too prevalent in land-locked Madrid. My favorite was the anchovy and tomato combo. Spanish anchovies, and really all Spanish canned goods, are leagues above what’s commonly available in the U.S., in terms of flavor and quality of original ingredients.

After the show, which was stunning, Isla, Salmorejo, EB and I went out for a meal at La Tabernilla, a restaurant in the outlying neighborhood where the theater was located. We had una revuelta de morcilla con pasillas y piñones (blood sausage tossed with eggs, raisins and pine nuts); setas fritas (battered and fried wild mushrooms); and patatas revueltas con jamón (potatoes tossed with eggs and ham). EB and I didn’t love any of these dishes. The morcilla, usually a wonderful ingredient, was lost in the mix, as was the jamón. And the potatoes in that dish were underseasoned and mushy. To make matters worse, our biological clocks had no idea what time it was, and we were struggling to focus on our Spanish amidst the encroaching presence of sleep.

See the following post for the food we ate with Isla Flotante and Salmorejo the next day in the towns of Ávila and El Escorial.

For breakfast the morning after our outing, EB and I headed to Café Comercial, a famous old place located on the glorieta de Bilbao. I had some good memories of breakfasts eaten there as a student, but despite the excellent quality of the pan con tomate (bread spread with fresh tomato and olive oil), I will not be going back. The reason is that EB and I went into the bar where a menu was posted advertising breakfasts with coffee and pan con tomate for 2.50 euros each. But when we sat outside and ordered, the bill came to nearly 11 euros. As it turned out, the prices we had seen were only for the bar, while they got away with charging more than double for the tables outside serviced by a waiter. It’s common in Spain to have a discrepancy in price between tables and bars, but it’s not common for the discrepancy to be so wide. We had experienced what the Spaniards call “un timo,” better known as a ripoff.

Our luck did not improve at lunch, when I suggested we try the menu del día (fixed price set lunch) at El 26 de la Libertad, a restaurant in the Chueca neighborhood that I faintly remembered fondly. (I looked up El Sur, my favorite restaurant from my student days, but the restaurant at that location wasn’t open either day we checked, and there was little to suggest that it was even open at all anymore, at least at that location.) El 26 de Libertad is housed in a funkily painted building and has a small bar in the front room which bears reports of its many accolades from travel publications. After a scowling waiter kindly moved us out of the way of a direct line of cigarette fumes, we ordered a lentil stew, salmorejo (gazpacho typically from Cordoba made with almonds instead of tomatoes), pork ribs and calamari “a la romana.” Nearly everything about this meal was disappointing: the restaurant was out of salmorejo, and the cream of chicken soup we got instead could have come from a can; the ribs were poorly cooked and were doused in a too-sweet barbecue sauce; the calamari came in limp fried rings that might just have been defrosted. Only the lentils were passable, and even they were underseasoned.

Our Madrid dining experience was not going as well as I had hoped. I had forgotten so much about where the best places were, and many of the ones I remembered were no longer there. There was also not enough time to devote to finding the best food when we had so much to see in such a small window of time.

Still, we were determined to do better that night. We went to a popular tapas strip in the La Latina neighborhood and got a table at Taberna Tempranillo, a wine bar almost exclusively devoted to Spanish bottles. I ordered a lovely fragrant albariño, and EB got a glass of “Les Terrasses” a well-regarded wine from the Priorat region by Alvaro Palacios. A glass of it would surely have cost $12 in a New York wine bar, but here a small glass went for 3.50 euros. For tapas, we ordered a platter of delicious spicy chorizo and two montaditos— toasted bread topped with other ingredients. We selected one spread with tomato and lined with delicious Spanish tuna called ventresca and other piled with cured duck “ham” and roasted zucchini. Both were excellent, and we felt our spirits begin to revive.

But EB still hadn’t gotten a good taste of jamón serrano, so we continued down the street looking for a platter of the good stuff we could afford. A man standing next to a leg of ham outside a restaurant called Toma Jamón convinced us to stop by offering us a free sample of some freshly sliced pieces. The place had a sort of cheesy, chain-like atmosphere, but they were offering a half portion of ham for 7.50 euros, much less than anything we’d seen. We stood at the bar and ate our delicious platter of ham with massive slices of pan con tomate and cañas (small glasses of beer). Even if this was a chain, it was better than almost any American chain I’ve been to.

See my later post about our day trip to Toledo and the food we ate there.

It was late when we got home from Toledo the next day, but EB wanted to try a bocadillo, a sandwich made with one or two ingredients on a baguette. There are almost never condiments of any kind: no mustard; no mayonnaise. EB had his eye set on a particular place, another Madrid institution called El Brillante. A sparkling, mirrored palace of a restaurant near the Atocha train station, El Brillante serves the widest range of bocadillos of any place around. It’s staffed by a surly bunch of seasoned behind-the-counter waiters and frequented by madrileños of all ages and occupations.

El Brillante is supposedly famous for its bocadillo de calamares, but after the poor limp fried calamari rings we had at 26 de Libertad, I wasn’t going to risk it. Morcilla was EB’s filling of choice, and we chowed down on the sandwich together, each eating half. It was juicy, salty and delicious. EB still felt hungry, so he topped it off with a mini bocadillo of tasty jamón.

We spent the next day visiting the Prado and needed a quick nearby respite for our lunch break. The Parque del Buen Retiro, Madrid’s largest park, was the natural choice. We went to one of the restaurants overlooking the park’s main lake and watched people rowing boats as we ate bocadillos made with jamón and chorizo. We also had ice cream from the Nestlé cooler, offering EB the opportunity he had long been awaiting: the chance to try the Maxibon, the latest trend in dessert. This was half ice cream sandwich, half chocolate coated ice cream bar and came in a variety of flavors. I didn’t care for the cookie part, but EB declared it awesome.

We met up with Isla and Salmorejo again that evening and visited, the Templo Debod, an Egyptian temple that was gifted to the Spaniards and rebuilt in the Parque del Oeste. After touring the temple and enjoying some sodas in the park, we went in search of some dinner in the very tony surrounding neighborhood of Rosales.

After finding too many places that were obviously beyond our price range, we decided to eat at an Argentinian steakhouse of sorts called La Vaca Argentina— not exactly my top choice for my last night in Madrid, but the food was pretty tasty. It also tasted remarkably Spanish for being Argentinian. Case in point: The grilled chorizo we ate before our steak. We also had a delicious salad with avocado, tomato and hearts of palm and a juicy sliced steak, which arrived raw so we could grill it ourselves on the hot ridged pan on our table. All went nicely with a robust Ribera del Duero.

When we finished the meal, we said goodbye to Isla Flotante and Salmorejo and told them one last time how much we wanted them to come visit New York. Then we got our bags from our hostel, bid adios to Madrid and headed to the bus station to catch the overnight bus to Barcelona. We had eaten well in Madrid, but we had high hopes for the fresh seafood, cava and baked goods of Catalunya.

La Mallorquina
Puerta del Sol, 8; Mayor, 2
28013 Madrid, España
91 521 12 01

La Tabernilla
Plaza de Ribadeo, 1
28029 Madrid, España
91 730 77 11

Café Comercial
Glorieta de Bilbao, 7
28004 Madrid, España
91 521 56 55

El 26 de la Libertad
Calle Libertad, 26
28004 Madrid, España
91 522 25 22

Taberna Tempranillo
Calle Cava Baja, 38
28005 Madrid, España
91 364 15 32‎

Toma Jamón
Calle Cava Baja, 10
28005 Madrid, España

El Brillante
Plaza del Emperador Carlos V, 8
28012 Madrid, España
91 539 28 06‎

La Vaca Argentina
Paseo del Pintor Rosales, 52
28002 Madrid, España
91 559 66 05

This weekend Empanada Boy and I took my cousin Bagel with Lox out to lunch for his birthday at Mile End, the new Brooklyn hot spot. It’s a Montreal-Jewish-style deli. For those confused by this description, Montreal has a thriving Jewish community, which has a deli tradition similar to that of New York Jews— similar, mind you, but different in a few key ways. One of these is the bagels, which ares smaller, denser and sweeter (boiled in honey water) than New York-style ones. We didn’t try them, but Mile End has them flown in St. Viateur in Montreal. Another is the meat. Instead of pastrami, the Jews of Montreal have a traditional of smoked, fatty brisket. Needless to say, this is what we focused on. Mile End was featured alongside my beloved Kenny & Zuke’s in Portland in a New York Times article on the new wave of delis that are reviving traditional fare with a gourmet’s attention to quality, provenance and flavor. Like Kenny & Zuke’s it’s not kosher, but it sources, cures and smokes its meat as only a true artisan would.

Considering the Times article and the fact that it’s the hottest thing in town right now, it’s no surprise that we were told the wait for three would be a hour when we arrived at 12:30 pm on a Saturday. Luckily, they let EB leave his cell number, so we took the bus to Target and got some shopping in, making our way back just in time for our table to be ready and for Bagel WL to arrive from Long Island. We sat at one of the three booths with a simple wooden table that we shared with a couple who had taken the train from Manhattan. There is also a counter with stools and a takeout window that opens onto the street.

Bagel WL and I ordered the smoked meat platter, which comes with enough brisket and rye bread for two and leftovers, a steal at $13. (We did see two strapping fellows order a platter each.) We slathered the bread with spicy brown mustard laid on slices of meat and bit into some of the juiciest, most flavorful meat you’ll find. Thick layers of fat rimmed each piece, and a smoky crust exuded the oak over which it was smoked. EB ordered the poutine with smoked meat, pictured here. You may recall from my post on Corner Burger, poutine is a Quebecois tradition, involving French fries, cheese curds, gravy and whatever else the chef chooses to add. (See this New Yorker article by Calvin Trillin for more.) It was worlds better than what we had tried: fries were crispy; homemade mushroom gravy had real flavor; cheese curds from Silver Moon Creamery were snappy and smooth and that brisket added smoke, salt and fat. The meat here seemed drier and crustier than on the platter, but it was a component here, not the main act.

As we chowed down and sipped coffee (from Stumptown), cream soda and orange juice, we felt the richness of the fat begin to overwhelm us. We needed a vegetable to work into the rotation. Then it came to me: pickles! We ordered three excellent, crisp half-sours. Perhaps I should have ordered some coleslaw instead, though, as I found my mouth parched with salt for hours after this meal.

In short, Mile End was a force to be reckoned with and lived up to all expectations. I can’t say it replaces Kenny & Zuke’s, which offers pastrami, corned beef, tongue and chopped liver at this level, but I’d rather come back here than the famed Katz’s. It’s better and less expensive. Our whole meal at Mile End cost $31, while Katz’s charges $15 for a pastrami sandwich. This is artisanal food with the full weight of tradition behind it, and you just don’t get tired of eating that.

Mile End
97A Hoyt St.
Brooklyn, NY 11217
718.852.7510

Empanada Boy and I were in Portland for Passover the week before last. We had an amazing seder at my parents’ house, attended by a record 32 people, and complete with such delicacies as homemade gefilte fish (Auntie Pasti and Mushroom Maven’s handiwork), herbs from the garden for dipping in saltwater and just-laid hardboiled eggs. I made the main course—chicken with apricots and currants—and a side of roasted rosemary potatoes. The seder was fantastic, but even after putting on such a huge affair, Mango Mama still had all of us hanging around to feed. We ate at home a few other nights, but we also resorted to our Passover restaurant standby of Asian food. This only works if you are a Sephardic Jew (of Spanish or North African descent) and eat rice during Passover. Although we are technically Ashkenazic Jews (of Eastern European descent), I use the argument that I am distantly related to the great medieval Jewish scholar Maimonides, who was a Sephardic Jew if there ever was one. Having allowed ourselves that liberty, Mango Mama, Daddy Salmon, Cerealla, EB, Flava Flav, her boyfriend Mr. Market and I all decided to pay a visit the one-year-old multi-Asian restaurant Ping. By multi-Asian, I don’t mean Asian fusion, but rather a menu composed of individual dishes originating from countries like Thailand, Indonesia, China, and Malaysia.

The restaurant is inside the building that for many years housed the unfortunately titled Chinese restaurant Hung Far Low. Mango Mama remembers going there as a kid. The owners of Ping, who also own the awesome Asian street food destination Pok Pok, bought the building, giving it a beautiful, modern, but historically referential, makeover. The restaurant has been lauded by local and national media, from The Oregonian to Alan Richman in GQ. In general, I liked the food here, but perhaps because we couldn’t try any of the noodle dishes or buns, I found it significantly less exciting than Pok Pok. There were simply fewer bursts of flavor nirvana. The Yam Yai Salad of lettuce boiled egg, prawns, chicken, bean sprouts, pickled garlic and peanut dressing was disappointingly generic for all of its super-powerful ingredients. That said, there were definitely dishes worthy of mention. The fish-ball skewers, pictured above, were nicely browned so as to taste savory and not at all fishy. But even better were the chicken liver skewers— tremblingly tender pieces of perfectly cooked chicken liver, rubbed with cilantro root, pepper, garlic and sweet soy and accompanied by a spicy Isaan dipping sauce. We ate these with servings of sticky rice and Jasmine rice. Thinly sliced duck breast was well cooked but not memorable.

Mr. Market is a vegetarian, so we ordered a couple meatless options for his benefit. As it turned out, the two vegetarian dishes were the best things we tasted that night. One was a simple skewer of roasted, grilled and halved red potatoes drizzled with a spicy mayonnaise. These were like French fries with a couple extra dimensions of intense flavor. The other vegetarian dish was one I never would have tried without Mr. Market’s inspiration because it was unappetizingly called a “carrot cake” on the menu. The quotes around the carrot cake were necessary because the dish was actually made with pieces of daikon radish cake, stir fried with eggs, bean sprouts and Kecap Manis, the Indonesian sweet soy sauce. As it turned out, this dish had it all— sweetness, earthiness, saltiness and umami. Here was a flash of those flavor epiphanies I’d had at Pok Pok.

We finished off the meal with an excellent ice cream sundae of sorts: three green scoops of pandanus (tropical plant with pineapple-shaped fruit) ice cream, coated in peanuts and chocolate and set atop a plate of sweet sticky rice. The cartoonish color, satisfying taste and utter lack of pretension in this dish helped me end my meal at Ping in excellent spirits. The food may not have blown me away this time, but it was good enough to prompt a return visit when the culinary restrictions of Passover aren’t in effect.

Ping
102 NW 4th Ave.
Portland, OR 97209
503.229.7464

Empanada Boy and I are in a wine club that typically meets once a month (“WTF” or “Wine Tasting Fun”). We couldn’t find a host this month, so we decided to fill the void with some auxiliary activities. One was a dinner with seven person core group of members (Focaccina, Tamago, Tuna Noodle Casserole, Hungry Man, Beetrix and us) at Umi Nom, a BYOB place in Fort Greene. King Phojanakong, the chef at Umi Nom, is half Thai, half Filipino. His restaurant is pan-Asian in a distinctly focused and coherent way, more like the Momofuku empire than the restaurants with sushi on one page and pad Thai on another. Phojanakong also owns Kuma Inn on the Lower East Side, which is reputed to be great. I was excited to check out this Brooklyn outpost and even more excited that we could bring our own libations.

Umi Nom is located on an otherwise unremarkable strip of the street. The restaurant is long like a railroad car, with minimalist, sleek decor. We were seated a longer table in the back, which allowed us to be as boisterous as we needed to be. The menu is focused on small plates and delicious Asian street food-inspired items. On the advice of those who had been to the restaurant before, we decided to order a bunch of the small plates and eat them family style. The first two dishes to arrive were the Chinese sausage (pictured on top) and the chili-glazed prawns (pictured here). The sausage was delicious, sliced thinly like fatty, spicy chips. Satisfying sticky rice and a dipping sauce came with it. Prawns were tender and well seasoned with a kick of chili that wasn’t toned down for the weak of palate.

Soon, plates of plush tofu squares in chili black bean sauce and mushrooms in soy-mirin sauce arrived at our table. We also ordered a grilled mackerel, which came whole, its tender flesh coated in nicely crisped skin, and some amazing, melt-in-your-mouth pork belly. I know pork belly is way too trendy for its own good, but this stuff was evidence of why it got that way. The edges were crisped, but the middle was smooth and unctuous. The sweet-salty sauce made the dish positively addictive. (And what a dangerous addiction that might be!)

Our party was divided about whether to try one dish on the specials list for the night: a fertilized duck egg. We decided to get one, and those not vegetarian or squeamish (Tuna Noodle, Hungry Man, Focaccina, EB and I) gave it a go. The shell came sealed, so I cracked it with the handle of my spoon. Our server told us to drink the liquid out first, so we passed it around and each took a sip. I didn’t find it very flavorful, truth be told. Then we started in on the embryo itself. EB unknowingly ate the best part, the fetus, himself. He said it tasted a little like poultry. The rest just tasted like dry, pasty overcooked egg to me. Even with the lively sauce they provided, this was the most disappointing dish.

We were stuffed, but figured we could fit in a couple desserts when all of us were sharing. One was a delicious, warm Thai chili chocolate cake, which had just the right edge of heat and smokiness. The other was halo-halo, a traditional Filipino dessert made with shaved ice, milk and a variety of boiled sweet beans and candies. The dish is brilliantly colored, but it looks better than it tastes. Still, it was great to have the opportunity to try it. It didn’t tarnish my image of the restaurant a bit. It was far better meal than I expected and as good as I had hoped. Umi Nom will be on my list of places to come back to.

Umi Nom
433 DeKalb Ave.
Brooklyn, NY 11205
718.789.8806