Q: What distinguishes a good burrito?
A: A tortilla steamer.
Q: What distinguishes a good sandwich?
A: A toaster oven.
I consider myself a sandwich connoisseur and up until recently held that the hands down best sandwich place (perhaps on the planet but certainly in San Francisco) was Lucca's Delicatessen on Chestnut St. Working on the Embarcadero I've had the opportunity to sample many a neighborhood sandwich. Mastrelli's, an Italian Deli in the Ferry Building, is overpriced for being average. Taylor's Refresher, a diner style eatery also in the Ferry Building, has a reasonable Ahi Tuna sandwich though the special sauce is excessive to the point of distraction. Specialties (a Financial District chain from which we frequently get lunches for office meetings) is decent and fairly priced but no one and I mean *NO ONE* holds a candle to Cicil's.
Although this is slightly off topic (off piste, if you will) Cicil's also excels in the salad department. Their spring salad is second to none: spring mix, perfectly grilled thin slices of eggplant, zucchini, roasted red pepper, avocado, cucumbers, and feta. The dressing is always on the side because these people are enlightened. And that little ditty is mammoth yet only costs you $5.25. My other favorite is the Cactus salad boasting: romaine, cotija cheese, salsa, cactus (nopales--true story) crispy tortilla strips, avocado, black beans, and mango vinaigrette. It's spiked with a mere $5.50 price tag. I know what you are thinking "Assassin, this sounds too good to be true." Oh my friends, you wish; this bastion of nirvana is maybe fifty feet from my building...suckers.
But I digress, sandwiches are the issue at hand and here's how it goes: you order whatever it is your heart desires, let's say for a minute it's prosciutto. I for one have never had it but I trust these people blindly. So you order prosciutto and, first things first, you pick your bread. If you are lucky they won't be out of ciabatta-- but they sometimes are and fear not, they have every other kind of bread you want. They take your bread, cut it in half and throw both sides under the womb-like warmth of their toaster over. They also cloak one side with cheese (on the prosciutto sandwich it's fresh mozzarella) which means when they start to assemble this wonder they are already two legs above the rest: building on a foundation of warm melty cheese and warm toasty bread. (Enlightened bunch, am I wrong?) So then your toasty bread and melty cheese gets adorned with the following: prosciutto, roasted zucchini and bell pepper, mixed greens, avocado and olive oil. Yes, you read that right, avocado is a standard sandwich addition-- no extra cost. You know what this sandwich runs you? $5.25.
I have a snobby palette, as we well know, and I like to role play Small Dictator when I order. My custom delight is the Garden sandwich with tuna. The Garden sandwich tops out at $4.75 and tuna is $1.50 extra but this bank breaker (at $6.25) is worth every penny. Their tuna is mixed with fresh herbs and is light on the mayo; it never looks creepy and oxidized in its container. The Garden sandwich is pretty much the spring salad (all that grilled veggie action) plus melted provolone on the warm toasty bread. And then if you are me you have the advantage of the tasty tuna as well. I'm usually pretty good about bringing lunch to work--not blowing my hard earned dollars midday, but anytime you put an offer of Cicil's in front of me I will be like puddy in your hand. It's funny, when I think about what I would do if I left my job, I factor in periodic return trips to visit these folks. If I ever do get around to leaving I'll probably write them a letter (I've hugged them before but I'd like my sentiments to be emblazoned for life on a plaque or something.)
If you really really want the best sandwich in SF, you have to make your way to 101 Spear St. B-5 (that's the stall number). It's easy to overlook since it occupies a small station on the walkway between Spear and Steuart just outside of Rincon Center (to be technical it's really on the Steuart side of things). You would be a fool not to try your hardest to fill your belly there... and when you go, tell them I love them.
You Won't Believe This
The top ten flavor finalists of the Scoop challenge were announced yesterday on Haagen-Dazs' site. I'm as shocked as you are...
Bergamot Dark Chocolate wasn't selected. But the top ten flavors really are well-chosen. You should take a look. I think I'm rooting for Blueberry Belgian Waffle or Ginger Cashew Crunch. I'm not over the moon about cashews but I like her toffee approach; these are some forward thinking folks. Another flavor finalist is Zinfully Chocolate. A marriage of Zinfandel jolly juice and the brown stuff. This person clearly has one eye on the times, but I think that flavor combo is a little too 2006 so I'm hoping it doesn't make the top three.
In retrospect I could have taken a bigger risk with my flavor selection. I could have gone with something I have more experience with, like Espresso Brownie Failure or Buttered Toast and Jam...alas...alas.
As I always say, live and learn, Assassin. Live and learn.
Bergamot Dark Chocolate wasn't selected. But the top ten flavors really are well-chosen. You should take a look. I think I'm rooting for Blueberry Belgian Waffle or Ginger Cashew Crunch. I'm not over the moon about cashews but I like her toffee approach; these are some forward thinking folks. Another flavor finalist is Zinfully Chocolate. A marriage of Zinfandel jolly juice and the brown stuff. This person clearly has one eye on the times, but I think that flavor combo is a little too 2006 so I'm hoping it doesn't make the top three.
In retrospect I could have taken a bigger risk with my flavor selection. I could have gone with something I have more experience with, like Espresso Brownie Failure or Buttered Toast and Jam...alas...alas.
As I always say, live and learn, Assassin. Live and learn.
With Love from the Freezer
It's been such a long gluttonous run of restaurant food I can't help but acknowledge the notably low key meal that I had on Valentines Day. We had soccer practice from 7-9 and Katie and I debated busting our tails to get takeout from Eliza's post-play. But there were some complications: car troubles, people to drop off, wares to peddle, general what-have-yous. After pressing our sweaty noses onto a few Hyde Street Corridor restaurant windows and checking out some menus, we finally concluded that what we really wanted was frozen ravioli that Katie had at home.
The assembly was quick and painless. Katie had some thin asparagus which she threw under the broiler for a few minutes with a bit of olive oil and salt and pepper. She finished them off under a sprinkle of Parmesan. The ravioli (whose package I never took a good look at because I tend to trust everything Katie eats, cooks, or puts in front of me) I'm guessing was a four cheese/spinach blend. I sauced them under a mock-pesto that was concocted on the fly in their leeeeetle three cup Cuisinart.
The machine is so cute you really just want to pinch its cheeks...until you realize that it has no cheeks. There was about a cup of basil that needed to be laid to rest, two Roma tomatoes, a quarterish cup of Parmesan cheese, a few second pour of olive oil, a splash of balsamic vinegar, a little salt and pepper and voila! done. Katie procured a single slice of bread that was sitting in the pantry, we toasted that puppy up, cracked it in half, and got to eating. There is something to be said for food that comes from your hand and is simple. The only way I might have cared more is if we had made the ravioli ourselves but at that time (about 10:30 pm) I was beyond grateful for the tasty premade pockets. This meal was particularly Valentines Day appropriate when recognizing its manifestation as a love tribute to cheese. There was Parmesan on the asparagus, Parmesan in the presto-pesto, and a four cheese blend in the ravioli. My GI tract hates lactose but my heart thanks me every time. Ah love.
While I recognize that this is a slightly unorthodox post
in both its length and description, I just wanted to acknowledge how pleasing it was to get free in a kitchen for a second and sit at a kitchen table in sweats and eat delicious food that hadn't been splatter painted with reductions or bronzed with glazes. Good reminder of why I'm drawn to all of this. Food is brilliant in its simplicity and comforting in a low-key presentation. By the way, this is not a picture of our food. Ours looked a hundred times better, but the image emphasizes my point. It takes so little to have a good meal, it's worth the extra time to give yourself that gift every now and again.
The assembly was quick and painless. Katie had some thin asparagus which she threw under the broiler for a few minutes with a bit of olive oil and salt and pepper. She finished them off under a sprinkle of Parmesan. The ravioli (whose package I never took a good look at because I tend to trust everything Katie eats, cooks, or puts in front of me) I'm guessing was a four cheese/spinach blend. I sauced them under a mock-pesto that was concocted on the fly in their leeeeetle three cup Cuisinart.
The machine is so cute you really just want to pinch its cheeks...until you realize that it has no cheeks. There was about a cup of basil that needed to be laid to rest, two Roma tomatoes, a quarterish cup of Parmesan cheese, a few second pour of olive oil, a splash of balsamic vinegar, a little salt and pepper and voila! done. Katie procured a single slice of bread that was sitting in the pantry, we toasted that puppy up, cracked it in half, and got to eating. There is something to be said for food that comes from your hand and is simple. The only way I might have cared more is if we had made the ravioli ourselves but at that time (about 10:30 pm) I was beyond grateful for the tasty premade pockets. This meal was particularly Valentines Day appropriate when recognizing its manifestation as a love tribute to cheese. There was Parmesan on the asparagus, Parmesan in the presto-pesto, and a four cheese blend in the ravioli. My GI tract hates lactose but my heart thanks me every time. Ah love.While I recognize that this is a slightly unorthodox post
in both its length and description, I just wanted to acknowledge how pleasing it was to get free in a kitchen for a second and sit at a kitchen table in sweats and eat delicious food that hadn't been splatter painted with reductions or bronzed with glazes. Good reminder of why I'm drawn to all of this. Food is brilliant in its simplicity and comforting in a low-key presentation. By the way, this is not a picture of our food. Ours looked a hundred times better, but the image emphasizes my point. It takes so little to have a good meal, it's worth the extra time to give yourself that gift every now and again.
The Skinny on Getting Fat in Portland
I just spent three rocking days in Portland visiting a high school buddy; her nickname of youth was Starvin' Marvin and we ate down P-town as if we had to make up for lost time.
First stop right off the airplane was The Farm Cafe (10 SE 7th Ave.) which bills itself as Pacific NW cuisine, seafood, organic, farmer-direct produce, wine list, cocktails. The exterior is unassuming, an old farmhouse converted into a cozy, candlelit, and delightfully unpretentious get-up. They don't take reservations so we loitered, quite underfoot, for a few minutes. The bar and the front door are on top of each other and little space remains between the bar and the dining room. But the servers seem fine with the set-up and don't look bummed to be asking you to move every minute or two. The spot was noticeably first-datey; lots of new couples leaning in close, made easier by the small tables. I warmed up with a tasty cocktail called GIN-ger. Gin and muddled ginger among other subtle flavors, lovely. We ordered a few small plates: a cheese ball (great name for a delicious...well...ball of cheese) cream cheese and fresh herbs and seasoning served on a plate with toasted bread; the hummus plate with warm pita triangles, olives, pepperoncinis, roasted red peppers and spring mix. The hummus plate was great but definitely left garlic weeping from every orifice. Lastly was the roasted mushrooms. Tasty in their bath of olive oil, garlic, herbs, the warm little buttons were served up with more of the toasty bread. We had the good fortune of noticing that the chocolate souffle was made to order and would need extra prep time. We ordered that with the rest of the dishes and by the time it arrived almost debated it's necessity, though ultimately it was the right move. Chocolate souffle is about as close as it gets to heaven on earth. The fudgey molten center supported a gently melting scoop of coffee ice cream. In it's simplicity, it left nothing to be desired, except a more expandable stomach which would have allowed us to finish it.
Notable meal two was actually wine and dessert at Marvin's restaurant, 23 Hoyt. I promised her I would eat dinner and review it but ultimately opted out-- it's been quite a long run of restaurant food and I believe my taste buds are getting a little foggy from all the butter and salt. But I will say this: without knowing anything about their more savory entrees, it is worth stopping here to have a Spanish Coffee. Sue behind the bar makes a devilishly good one. It was the first of three I had over the weekend and certainly the best. We also had the pear caramel strudel whose presentation was well-conceived: a three tiered phyllo tower, with pears in small dice style making up two of the layers and the bottom grounded by a thick slice of caramel custard. A balsamic reduction speckled the plate's edge and a scoop of vanilla ice cream rounded out the whole dish. It felt like a tribute to winter; it was soul warming. Lastly, we palette cleansed with a piece of chocolate cherry cake. I'm not the biggest chocolate and cherries fan but in so far as the flavors are concerned, they did a good job. It was a monstrous piece of cake, and there was an armour of robust ganache cloaking the whole thing. The chocolate cake was not too dense and bits of cherries were peppered throughout. I like cake, I liked this.
Notable meal three was brunch at Tin Shed. I have to hand it to these folks for flexibility. They offer substitutions for meat with both vegan and veggie options and you can get egg whites or tofu at no additional charge. Gracias. I wish I could just post their menu online but alas, no way, no how. I was impressed that they had a coconut and rice porridge. In my book that qualifies as a down-right inspired item. I almost ordered it but then got distracted by Sweet Chix. I rolled with egg whites and veggie sausage and then the listed brie, green apple, basil, onion, and bell pepper. It was served with a choice of potato cakes or cheese grits and a biscuit. What a nice way to start a day a day that ultimately involved wine tasting in the Willamette Valley.
Wine Tasting in the Willamette Valley:
I mean it's no Napa Valley, and that's what makes it great. It was Monday which maybe isn't the optimal tasting day in the dead of winter but it worked out. We made two different stops that spanned the spectrum of what the valley had to offer. The first was Archery Summit which is a strictly Pinot Noir house. The wine was good. They use all new oak so the tannins are apparent. It's not the most fruit forward wine but definitely a good lesson in the range of Pinots. (Like this? Look at me pretending I know anything about wine...) Second was Winter Hill, a corrugated tin two car garage converted into a cozy tasting room. Their operation smacked of family: juice conceived in love and a little table loaded with all kinds of local specialties- hazelnuts (awesome) praline fudge (eh) and Pinot Gris jelly w/ horseradish (absolutely flooring-- particularly at $2 a jar.) We ended up buying two bottles, a Pinot Noir and Muscat, that we drank sitting out in the sun overlooking the beautiful valley bathed in white winter's light. Their Muscat was particularly noteworthy, bright but not as sweet as the nose implied. I bought a bottle to bring back, quite a steal at $12, but the bastards at the baggage counter told me I couldn't check it. It needed to be in a manufacturer's box blah blah blah. I'm sure that's just the airline people's hustle to bring nice bottles home to their significant others.
All in all, food and otherwise, it was a good time. Marvin, thanks for hosting. P-town thanks for the nice weather.
First stop right off the airplane was The Farm Cafe (10 SE 7th Ave.) which bills itself as Pacific NW cuisine, seafood, organic, farmer-direct produce, wine list, cocktails. The exterior is unassuming, an old farmhouse converted into a cozy, candlelit, and delightfully unpretentious get-up. They don't take reservations so we loitered, quite underfoot, for a few minutes. The bar and the front door are on top of each other and little space remains between the bar and the dining room. But the servers seem fine with the set-up and don't look bummed to be asking you to move every minute or two. The spot was noticeably first-datey; lots of new couples leaning in close, made easier by the small tables. I warmed up with a tasty cocktail called GIN-ger. Gin and muddled ginger among other subtle flavors, lovely. We ordered a few small plates: a cheese ball (great name for a delicious...well...ball of cheese) cream cheese and fresh herbs and seasoning served on a plate with toasted bread; the hummus plate with warm pita triangles, olives, pepperoncinis, roasted red peppers and spring mix. The hummus plate was great but definitely left garlic weeping from every orifice. Lastly was the roasted mushrooms. Tasty in their bath of olive oil, garlic, herbs, the warm little buttons were served up with more of the toasty bread. We had the good fortune of noticing that the chocolate souffle was made to order and would need extra prep time. We ordered that with the rest of the dishes and by the time it arrived almost debated it's necessity, though ultimately it was the right move. Chocolate souffle is about as close as it gets to heaven on earth. The fudgey molten center supported a gently melting scoop of coffee ice cream. In it's simplicity, it left nothing to be desired, except a more expandable stomach which would have allowed us to finish it.
Notable meal two was actually wine and dessert at Marvin's restaurant, 23 Hoyt. I promised her I would eat dinner and review it but ultimately opted out-- it's been quite a long run of restaurant food and I believe my taste buds are getting a little foggy from all the butter and salt. But I will say this: without knowing anything about their more savory entrees, it is worth stopping here to have a Spanish Coffee. Sue behind the bar makes a devilishly good one. It was the first of three I had over the weekend and certainly the best. We also had the pear caramel strudel whose presentation was well-conceived: a three tiered phyllo tower, with pears in small dice style making up two of the layers and the bottom grounded by a thick slice of caramel custard. A balsamic reduction speckled the plate's edge and a scoop of vanilla ice cream rounded out the whole dish. It felt like a tribute to winter; it was soul warming. Lastly, we palette cleansed with a piece of chocolate cherry cake. I'm not the biggest chocolate and cherries fan but in so far as the flavors are concerned, they did a good job. It was a monstrous piece of cake, and there was an armour of robust ganache cloaking the whole thing. The chocolate cake was not too dense and bits of cherries were peppered throughout. I like cake, I liked this.
Notable meal three was brunch at Tin Shed. I have to hand it to these folks for flexibility. They offer substitutions for meat with both vegan and veggie options and you can get egg whites or tofu at no additional charge. Gracias. I wish I could just post their menu online but alas, no way, no how. I was impressed that they had a coconut and rice porridge. In my book that qualifies as a down-right inspired item. I almost ordered it but then got distracted by Sweet Chix. I rolled with egg whites and veggie sausage and then the listed brie, green apple, basil, onion, and bell pepper. It was served with a choice of potato cakes or cheese grits and a biscuit. What a nice way to start a day a day that ultimately involved wine tasting in the Willamette Valley.
Wine Tasting in the Willamette Valley:
I mean it's no Napa Valley, and that's what makes it great. It was Monday which maybe isn't the optimal tasting day in the dead of winter but it worked out. We made two different stops that spanned the spectrum of what the valley had to offer. The first was Archery Summit which is a strictly Pinot Noir house. The wine was good. They use all new oak so the tannins are apparent. It's not the most fruit forward wine but definitely a good lesson in the range of Pinots. (Like this? Look at me pretending I know anything about wine...) Second was Winter Hill, a corrugated tin two car garage converted into a cozy tasting room. Their operation smacked of family: juice conceived in love and a little table loaded with all kinds of local specialties- hazelnuts (awesome) praline fudge (eh) and Pinot Gris jelly w/ horseradish (absolutely flooring-- particularly at $2 a jar.) We ended up buying two bottles, a Pinot Noir and Muscat, that we drank sitting out in the sun overlooking the beautiful valley bathed in white winter's light. Their Muscat was particularly noteworthy, bright but not as sweet as the nose implied. I bought a bottle to bring back, quite a steal at $12, but the bastards at the baggage counter told me I couldn't check it. It needed to be in a manufacturer's box blah blah blah. I'm sure that's just the airline people's hustle to bring nice bottles home to their significant others.
All in all, food and otherwise, it was a good time. Marvin, thanks for hosting. P-town thanks for the nice weather.
First Ever Assassin Take Down Unlikely
After writing a mildly constructive, mostly critical letter to the restaurant where Jennifer and I endured some of the worst service and food to date....I got a response.
The manager wrote me an incredibly polite apology letter and gave me a $50 gift card, with the stipulation that I contact him before I intend to come in so that he can assure a more positive experience. I think the gesture is a reflection of class and a dedication to customer service so I can't, in good conscience, slam the place. However, if round two proves to be disappointing then perhaps the measures will become more severe.
In the meantime, I think the lesson that we can all take away from this is that it pays to complain when the experience is underpar; perhaps threatening a bad write-up helps add sufficient fire.
The manager wrote me an incredibly polite apology letter and gave me a $50 gift card, with the stipulation that I contact him before I intend to come in so that he can assure a more positive experience. I think the gesture is a reflection of class and a dedication to customer service so I can't, in good conscience, slam the place. However, if round two proves to be disappointing then perhaps the measures will become more severe.
In the meantime, I think the lesson that we can all take away from this is that it pays to complain when the experience is underpar; perhaps threatening a bad write-up helps add sufficient fire.
A Tale of Two Meals: Part I
I'm back in Southern California for work. It's a huge improvement with respect to accommodations. I'm staying in downtown Los Angeles at the Millennium Biltmore. As I write this, I am sitting in the club lounge on the 10th floor with a nice view of the Pershing Square fountain below. I've just snacked on a Bearclaw and some grapefruit juice. I'm slyly watching a very LA MILF with huge fake breasts in a valour and rhinestone leisure suit, go to town on a plate of pastries-- I'm not sure if she realizes she's eating trans fats, but I won't ruin the moment for her.
The last two days have been full of delicious dinners. Monday night included what perhaps is the single greatest thing I have ever tasted. Interestingly, it was risotto from Sai Sai, a Japanese restaurant in the hotel, during a meal that began with Toro sashimi. I've never had Toro before; I've wanted to ever since I read Jeffery Steingarten's article "Toro, Toro, Toro." To be perfectly honest, I liked the toro a lot, but my expectations were so high that ultimately I was underwhelmed. I thought it was going to straight dissolve on my tongue. I definitely had to tear with teeth, and my first piece had the faintest aftertaste of knife blade. Ultimately, it was a positive experience though.
The dinner itself smacked of a gluttony worse than what I claimed for Barcelona in Columbus. First up was a clear tumbler of unfiltered sake recommended by the waiter. The center of the tumbler had a cylinder filled with ice. Ordinarily I am a hot sake drinker but I liked the change-up to cold, and the presentation was particularly pleasing. The meal itself began with a selection of sashimi, the aforementioned toro, and rolls. Then followed an appetizer of sea scallops. I'm not a big scallop fan; even when they are done well, I find their texture off-putting, usually a bit rubbery at best. These were silver dollar sized and thinner, almost reminiscent of abalone, and texturally more dignified. Five of them came, each in their own little ramekins, sitting in a bath of something that was not articulated but tasted good. Then there was an Ahi Tuna Tartare, one of the most played out menu items of 2006/07. But I'll give credit where credit is due: it was VERY good. The tuna was in small dice molded into a mound sitting atop a bed of thinly sliced Japanese cucumbers. It was served with Unagi and Caviar, and thinly sliced avocado. It had notes of ginger and miso throughout. Completely delightful. Seaweed salad and edamame also made appearances in the table's first order spread. Then came the mains...(Hey fatties--slow down! Yes, you are right, it would have been the move, but we forged ahead.)
My two dinner companions ordered the Kobe Short Ribs whose meat looked notably tender. Their knives served nearly no purpose whatsoever. The ribs were accompanied by mushrooms and something else (gnocchi? calamari? it could have been any number of white cubic things) in a rich reduction sauce.(Jenais, if you intend to be a food writer you really need to pay more attention to the menu and the plates-- true-- noted.) They both agreed it was a well done dish. I ordered grilled shrimp. I understand that the shrimp were the intended stars of my dish, and I will wager no complaint against them, however, they got in the way of the GREATEST THING I HAVE EVER EATEN: vanilla, coconut, tapioca risotto. When I took my first bite, the whole world disappeared. I almost couldn't speak. I really hate tapioca, I think it's disgusting and I think the Bubble Tea trend is one of the single most offensive food concepts ever introduced into the public market. The texture is so gross, it's flooring. However, in this reincarnation it was a creation of such delicacy I can't even describe it. It was spread lengthwise along the plate. It was cream-of-wheat colored with pearly flecks throughout. Every forkful melted on the tongue and the scent of coconut and vanilla was so faint but so clear; the fragrance and flavors were interchangeable in the mouth and nose. It was--in every sense-- perfect. There were some other things on the plate, I barely noted them at the time; there was watercrest, I think, and perhaps a balsamic reduction drizzled around the plate's edge. The other things were probably noteworthy but the risotto upstaged everything that surrounded it.
When we finished our mains it was clear that no dessert would be needed. I was hurting (but not as much as I'm hurting right now watching a businessman shovel eggs and sausage into his mouth, inhaling loudly with every bite. He's sitting a good fifteen feet from me but chewing so audibly, it's unreal. Oh, new noise element: slurping coffee and licking lips...wow, really unfortunate.)
In short, if you are going to be staying in the depressing blackhole that downtown Los Angeles becomes after 4pm, you might want to think about taking yourself to Sai Sai. And while you are welcome to order the Toro, DEFINITELY order the risotto.
The last two days have been full of delicious dinners. Monday night included what perhaps is the single greatest thing I have ever tasted. Interestingly, it was risotto from Sai Sai, a Japanese restaurant in the hotel, during a meal that began with Toro sashimi. I've never had Toro before; I've wanted to ever since I read Jeffery Steingarten's article "Toro, Toro, Toro." To be perfectly honest, I liked the toro a lot, but my expectations were so high that ultimately I was underwhelmed. I thought it was going to straight dissolve on my tongue. I definitely had to tear with teeth, and my first piece had the faintest aftertaste of knife blade. Ultimately, it was a positive experience though.
The dinner itself smacked of a gluttony worse than what I claimed for Barcelona in Columbus. First up was a clear tumbler of unfiltered sake recommended by the waiter. The center of the tumbler had a cylinder filled with ice. Ordinarily I am a hot sake drinker but I liked the change-up to cold, and the presentation was particularly pleasing. The meal itself began with a selection of sashimi, the aforementioned toro, and rolls. Then followed an appetizer of sea scallops. I'm not a big scallop fan; even when they are done well, I find their texture off-putting, usually a bit rubbery at best. These were silver dollar sized and thinner, almost reminiscent of abalone, and texturally more dignified. Five of them came, each in their own little ramekins, sitting in a bath of something that was not articulated but tasted good. Then there was an Ahi Tuna Tartare, one of the most played out menu items of 2006/07. But I'll give credit where credit is due: it was VERY good. The tuna was in small dice molded into a mound sitting atop a bed of thinly sliced Japanese cucumbers. It was served with Unagi and Caviar, and thinly sliced avocado. It had notes of ginger and miso throughout. Completely delightful. Seaweed salad and edamame also made appearances in the table's first order spread. Then came the mains...(Hey fatties--slow down! Yes, you are right, it would have been the move, but we forged ahead.)
My two dinner companions ordered the Kobe Short Ribs whose meat looked notably tender. Their knives served nearly no purpose whatsoever. The ribs were accompanied by mushrooms and something else (gnocchi? calamari? it could have been any number of white cubic things) in a rich reduction sauce.(Jenais, if you intend to be a food writer you really need to pay more attention to the menu and the plates-- true-- noted.) They both agreed it was a well done dish. I ordered grilled shrimp. I understand that the shrimp were the intended stars of my dish, and I will wager no complaint against them, however, they got in the way of the GREATEST THING I HAVE EVER EATEN: vanilla, coconut, tapioca risotto. When I took my first bite, the whole world disappeared. I almost couldn't speak. I really hate tapioca, I think it's disgusting and I think the Bubble Tea trend is one of the single most offensive food concepts ever introduced into the public market. The texture is so gross, it's flooring. However, in this reincarnation it was a creation of such delicacy I can't even describe it. It was spread lengthwise along the plate. It was cream-of-wheat colored with pearly flecks throughout. Every forkful melted on the tongue and the scent of coconut and vanilla was so faint but so clear; the fragrance and flavors were interchangeable in the mouth and nose. It was--in every sense-- perfect. There were some other things on the plate, I barely noted them at the time; there was watercrest, I think, and perhaps a balsamic reduction drizzled around the plate's edge. The other things were probably noteworthy but the risotto upstaged everything that surrounded it.
When we finished our mains it was clear that no dessert would be needed. I was hurting (but not as much as I'm hurting right now watching a businessman shovel eggs and sausage into his mouth, inhaling loudly with every bite. He's sitting a good fifteen feet from me but chewing so audibly, it's unreal. Oh, new noise element: slurping coffee and licking lips...wow, really unfortunate.)
In short, if you are going to be staying in the depressing blackhole that downtown Los Angeles becomes after 4pm, you might want to think about taking yourself to Sai Sai. And while you are welcome to order the Toro, DEFINITELY order the risotto.
When Bad Brownies Happen To Good People
I've been told that I'm terrible at admitting my shortcomings. For the most part, it's true. Right here, right now, I am going to take a big step and admit a HUGE blunder I had tonight.
I went to a dinner party and was asked to bring a dessert. I fully embraced this task, deciding on brownies and perusing recipes online. There was some 85% Lindt in the house that I procured from the Fancy Foods Expo that I've been waiting to use in a baked good. I wanted to put espresso in them. The dreams were big.
The call came as I was getting ready to leave the office. My roommate had taken herself to the hospital with the worst illness she'd had in recent memory. Naturally, my priorities immediately adjusted. I jetted from the office, got on the bus, got a call saying she was done, ran into the house, and jetted to get her from the medical center. We stopped on the way home to get her prescriptions, it was 7:00 when we got back to the house.
I decided I'd just bring brownie material to the dinner party and make them there. I cased the house packing up my ingredients. We didn't have chocolate chips like I thought. The Lindt bar was only 3.5 ounces (minus the nibbles that Dubs and I had) instead of the requisite 5 oz. No vanilla. I was okay with it. I figured I'd just shuffle a few things and it would work out. I'm confident in the brownie zone.
In retrospect I don't think the recipe was very good. It called for one cup of flour which seemed like a lot from the get-go but I'm no chef, so who am I to judge? I just followed the recipe, minus the vanilla. A ton of butter, sugar, bittersweet chocolate, I substituted truffles for chocolate chips, cutting them into small pieces, everything should have been rosy. The batter, according to one Brian Permutt, was tasty- the boy licked the bowl. I was feeling good when they went into the oven. When it was time to pull them out, I noticed their color was kind of muted. It was certainly not a dark brown, rather light, almost ashen. That should have been all the hint I needed. When I cut them open I discovered that the texture was light and cakey. They were pretty bland, certainly not rich, certainly not fudgy. The general consensus was that they were below average. A few people commented that they liked them because they weren't as rich as usual brownies. Someone else said she liked "cardboardy things" and thought these were pretty good.
In short, I failed. I actually pulled them off the table because I was embarrassed. They found their way back to the table because people got drunk and stopped caring that they were eating garbage. I was very uncomfortable. I'm trying to think back to all the ways they could have been improved. The batter was very misleading. It was a nice color and supposedly tasted good. Why was the baking process such a disaster? Needless to say, I'm sorry for all the people that I hurt with those horrible brownies. There is nothing worse than putting good chocolate to shame, or leaving out something that suggests it is chocolaty and delicious but really is "earthy" tasting at best. It was like a fat free dessert, one that looked maybe alright, but was a total betrayal.
It was a rough night but as I always say, live and learn, Assassin. Live and learn.
I went to a dinner party and was asked to bring a dessert. I fully embraced this task, deciding on brownies and perusing recipes online. There was some 85% Lindt in the house that I procured from the Fancy Foods Expo that I've been waiting to use in a baked good. I wanted to put espresso in them. The dreams were big.
The call came as I was getting ready to leave the office. My roommate had taken herself to the hospital with the worst illness she'd had in recent memory. Naturally, my priorities immediately adjusted. I jetted from the office, got on the bus, got a call saying she was done, ran into the house, and jetted to get her from the medical center. We stopped on the way home to get her prescriptions, it was 7:00 when we got back to the house.
I decided I'd just bring brownie material to the dinner party and make them there. I cased the house packing up my ingredients. We didn't have chocolate chips like I thought. The Lindt bar was only 3.5 ounces (minus the nibbles that Dubs and I had) instead of the requisite 5 oz. No vanilla. I was okay with it. I figured I'd just shuffle a few things and it would work out. I'm confident in the brownie zone.
In retrospect I don't think the recipe was very good. It called for one cup of flour which seemed like a lot from the get-go but I'm no chef, so who am I to judge? I just followed the recipe, minus the vanilla. A ton of butter, sugar, bittersweet chocolate, I substituted truffles for chocolate chips, cutting them into small pieces, everything should have been rosy. The batter, according to one Brian Permutt, was tasty- the boy licked the bowl. I was feeling good when they went into the oven. When it was time to pull them out, I noticed their color was kind of muted. It was certainly not a dark brown, rather light, almost ashen. That should have been all the hint I needed. When I cut them open I discovered that the texture was light and cakey. They were pretty bland, certainly not rich, certainly not fudgy. The general consensus was that they were below average. A few people commented that they liked them because they weren't as rich as usual brownies. Someone else said she liked "cardboardy things" and thought these were pretty good.
In short, I failed. I actually pulled them off the table because I was embarrassed. They found their way back to the table because people got drunk and stopped caring that they were eating garbage. I was very uncomfortable. I'm trying to think back to all the ways they could have been improved. The batter was very misleading. It was a nice color and supposedly tasted good. Why was the baking process such a disaster? Needless to say, I'm sorry for all the people that I hurt with those horrible brownies. There is nothing worse than putting good chocolate to shame, or leaving out something that suggests it is chocolaty and delicious but really is "earthy" tasting at best. It was like a fat free dessert, one that looked maybe alright, but was a total betrayal.
It was a rough night but as I always say, live and learn, Assassin. Live and learn.
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