A Hiatus and Hibachi

In the immortal words of Victor Borge, "long time, no C."

For those who did not get the Christmas Card letter, I spent my Junior year of college abroad (i.e. "away from places where I could not conveniently get Steelers every Sunday"). The Fall I was in Cape Town, South Africa, where I spent the majority of my time wasting away at Victoria Falls, Botswana, and Namibia. I also studied some stuff that I cannot recall for the life of me.

In the Spring (2011), I was off being a productive member of society and interned at the United States Department of State. In terms of what I worked on, I can't tell you. Beyond trying to keep my Secret Clearance, you likely would have no interest in it (unless, of course, you are fascinated by proliferation of dual-use items and risk analysis. If that's the case, want to have dinner?).

So now I'm back in the city that cold and rainy is the norm and the Steigerwald's make stupid and irrelevant comments. And with that, I can continue my quest of improving my writing skills by eating and critiquing large amounts of food. It is good to be back.

And so, I find myself eating at Nakama, a high-end hibachi joint in the non-Works end of the South Side. And unlike other restaurants I ate at knowing I would review them afterwards, I could not keep my mind on the food. Not that it wasn't good (is "alright" too non-descriptive?). It's just...I don't get hibachi. I really don't understand the appeal of it.*

*I learned another thing at Nakama: I also don't care for the texture of scallops at all. Far too mushy.

Of course, you pay a premium to eat hibachi for the atmosphere, for the entertainment the chef provides for you. But in a sense, that's what he's doing for you: performing an act. What he creates for you is nothing unique. He's practiced his act hundreds of times and he'll perform it a hundred times more for people just like you who spent $44 on a flank steak and fried rice.

I look at it this way: You see an orca in the ocean swimming and then compare it to Shamu's offspring performing stunts at a zoo. There's a significant difference between them and I tend to despise the latter of the two. Is Shamu's act impressive? Yeah. Is it beautiful as an orca in open water? No.

"I'm going to find it and I'm going to destroy it. I don't know how yet. Possibly with dynamite. "

I view hibachi in the same way. Sure, the food is decent. But you go and pay for entertainment. And I find that unnecessary. Pay for good food. That's an experience in and of itself.

Überprüfung: Dinette

(This is a post that I started before leaving for South Africa and never finished. Also, if you hadn't figured it out, I'm actually back from South Africa.)

Food is about trends. Like Picasso's natural tendencies to go into periods of color (Rose, Blue, Insane, etc.) chefs tend to migrate towards the hot items. Be it dietary (low-carb), ingredient specification (organic, local), food philosophies (tapas), or simply just style of cuisine (Middle Eastern is big today), most chefs and restaurants rarely play the part of trailblazers. Instead, just like Tommy and his fellow hipsters, they are "trendy" and "chic." Restaurants that survive and thrive are ones that can outlast the trend that begat them.

And that's not necessarily a bad thing. Trends naturally happen. Successful entrepreneurs are the ones who can read trends and act accordingly to make a profit. Dinette is a great example of this.

Dinette, the new restaurant in the fully developed East Liberty shopping complex (Don't ever call it "Sliberty" or "East Side" or whatever stupid gentrified name the developers call it), markets itself as a gourmet pizzeria, one of the aforementioned hot trends in cuisine today. Replacing generic cheese and canned tomatoes for imported buffalo mozzarella and San Romano tomatoes, these new pizzerias emphasize quality over quantity.

And sitting down for dinner, the mater familiae, pater familiae, and special guest Daryl, we ordered 4 of Dinette's pizza offerings. Mater familiae went with the tried and true margarita, the benchmark for gourmet pizza. Pater ordered the spicy pepperoni. Personally, I went out on a limb, ordering the tuna pizza, served with parsley and dill.

The pizzas were of the thin variety, with fantastic burn spots on the bottom (critical for a properly cooked thin pie) and topped with a reasonable amount (not too much, as Mineo's is guilty of) of mozzarella.
Depending on who you asked, the tuna pie was either hit or miss. For some, the tuna overpowered the pie as a whole, a failed concept that had no chance of succeeding, much in the same manner as the Cleveland Cavaliers without Lebron . Others, the tuna pie was bold, unorthodox, and addictive. While I considered myself part of the former category, it was certainly exciting to see pizza that had something other than the usual suspects for toppings. A good effort that needs some rethinking.

But the star of the evening was our hors d'oeuvre, a Californian potato salad. Refraining from serving a salad made up of mayonnaise and some potatoes sprinkled in, Dinette's edition was thankfully a new twist on a classic. In replace of mayo, Dinette chose a vinegrette, using the oak flavoring of the balsamic to bring an umami flavor that complimented the fresh greens and avocado added to the potatoes. The dish was a great example of "simple done right."

Unfortunately, the evening meal would end on a disappointing note. The two desserts offered (carrot cake and chocolate mousse) sounded unoriginal and after tasting the mousse, was confirmed. Tragic that a meal filled with fresh and lively food would be ended by such a bleak and uneventful dessert.

Nevertheless, Dinette is a milestone restaurant for Pittsburgh. As the traditional fanfare of Pittsburgh fall into obscurity (remember Poli? Me neither.), new chefs are going big or going home, with food that is nouveau, exciting, and definitely worth experiencing.

Überprüfung: Le Pommier

Eating and critiquing French cuisine is like when I was in Honors British Literature with Shakespeare: I knew his stuff was coming, but I was not looking forward to it.

Running a semi-legitimate blog about food and NOT talking about French cuisine really is wrong; we would not have modern Western cuisine if it wasn't for the French. Through their egos, their 36-hour work week, and tendencies to lose wars, the French created something that really is a work of art in itself, the stuff they ate.

But there's a dark-side to French food as well. More often than not, it's hard to cook. Take for instance the quintessential staple of a French breakfast, the croissant. Doing a simple search, I found a recipe that spanned 3 FULL PAGES, just to make a basic croissant, minus any delicious filling that one requires (chocolate, please.) To further my point, the recipe makes a list of common mistakes with the recipe. If you have the symptoms of any of the dozen problems, the answer is simple: stop, throw dough away, start again. Yippee.

And for the record, Le Pommier isn't even the first French restaurant I reviewed. But I didn't necessarily review Legume because it was a French restaurant. I didn't go into Legume thinking to myself "let me get the 'The Art of French Cooking' so I know what I'm actually eating. I went because it was new and in my backyard. Le Pommier is different. It's an institution. It's older than me (slight exaggeration).

Nevertheless, I went in with the urging of the hosts/payers of every review (my loving parents) and order a full course meal. Being a fan of pate (thanks Legume), I ordered the special duck pate, an anchovies salad, and for the first time, quail.

Almost immediately after ordering, the pate arrived. While I'm still working on my expertise of the dish, the pate was very good. The balance between meat, seasoning, and fat was nearly perfect.

Then came the wait. We Americans are horrible at waiting. Maybe a result of German immigrants, we have this desire to finish things ON TIME (Another American pastime: Drinking? The Irish.) While of course in some respects this is a great thing (Have you seen our GDP recently? Have you seen France's? Bingo.), it also has the tendency to leave no prisoners behind. Traditional hours-long events like family dinners have mostly fallen to the wayside in favor of quick and efficient caloric-intake (family attendance optional). But for a select countries/cultures, they are the exception to the rule.

France would be one of those select few. In America, we work dinners, lunch meetings, and meal breaks around other things. In France, food is priority #1. In any event, the meal would span 2.5 hours. Pater familiae nearly fell asleep (9 is pushing the bed time). But again, there's a point to the madness of long meals; it makes you savor the meals. It gives you time to socialize, enjoy the environment you're in. Why spend $50 per person just to finish in an hour?

Back to Le Pommier. After an enjoyable salad, the entrees arrived. For me, that would be farm-fresh roasted quail served in a mustard sauce and a side of potato au-gratin. As with most pheasants, the fear with cooking quail is trying to remove the gamey flavor of the meat. Simply over-seasoning the bird doesn't solve the problem. That is, in the words of the immortal Judge Judy, like "spitting on my cupcake and telling me it's frosting." But in this case, Le Pommier served me a proper piece of meat, cooked until tender. The sauce was not only great with the quail, but with the potatoes and carrots that came with the lamb (of) matri familiae. The dish was simply spectacular.

But what is truly amazing about the meal is that at no point was I really overwhelmed by the food in front of me. Sophisticated? Absolutely. But this wasn't over-my-head complex food in front of me. In fact, it was quite honest, to the point if-you-will. Where was the fancy sauce? Or the vegetable medley served in a mold? Where was the French I see Hiroyuki Sakai dropping in Kitchen Stadium?

In any event, Le Pommier proves that French food can genuinely be down to earth, nothing superfluous about the plate presented. I may actually just try to make something in "The Art of French Cooking" without shaking in my boots. Just not a croissant. At least not yet.

Überprüfung: Tessaro's

I hate to admit but before recently, I had never heard of Tessaro's. For some this really amounts to nothing, but in reality I feel like I've committed a cardinal sin remaining ignorant of a legendary burger joint. I am ashamed to say that the only way I found out about the Bloomfield eatery was through recent media attention Tessaro's has been garnering because of their famous half-pound burgers.

HALF-POUND BURGERS?? Needless to say, I had to go.

There's an old adage when it comes to restaurants; "If the line extends for a couple of blocks, its probably good, unless it's Olive Garden" and Tessaro's is no exception. My parents and I waited for at least half an hour just to get a table for 3. But as mater familiae pointed out "it will be worth it." In short, it was.

For the first time in this blog's history (10 posts, not much of a history), I decided against ordering an appetizer or anything other than the entrees. I had no urge to eat a salad with the house vinaigrette or the salmon appetizer. I wanted a burger, and I wanted it ASAP. It's just like when you're being given the keys to the family car; forget the speech about responsibility, just give me the car.

All three of us ordered burgers, but arranged with different toppings. I personally went for the works: cheddar cheese, bacon, onions, mushrooms, lettuce, tomato, and the house barbecue sauce. What would eventually be placed in front of me is what dreams are made of. A perfectly cooked patty served on a freshly baked bun with a side of homefries.

As I ate my half pound cut of heaven, I began to realize how misunderstood American food really is. For many, this is truly being glutenous. Who in their right mind needs a half-pound hamburger? Some would group something like this with "all-you-can-eat" venues where the quality of food is somewhere on the end of the spectrum with McDonald's.

That may be true, but Tessaro's remains the outlier on the data sheet. I cannot explain to you how good this burger is. What's truly surprising about the flavor is not the complexity of spices (Worcestershire sauce! Garlic salt! Onion powder!) but in fact how simple it tasted. In this case I tasted two pronounced seasonings: salt and pepper. No, what makes this burger great are the small things. The bun was freshly baked and perfectly proportional to the size of the patty; the meat is ground fresh by Tessaro's famous in-house butchers; the meat is cooked perfectly to order (what an invention).

Forget complex cooking techniques and massive flavor palates. This burger is proof that things are great when we get the small things right.

Überprüfung: Yo Rita

Seeing that this is my first review of a restaurant since arriving from Singapore, I hope that you can forgive me for acting a bit rusty when it comes to formal reviews. I will say right now that I forgot to bring a camera to the restaurant and well, whatever. Deal with it.

One criticism I will have with Pittsburgh is that it lacks a good source of Latino food. Probably a result of the fact that the city does not have a predominant Latino community as other cities, I really cannot think of any decent eateries beyond Mad Mex that I would be willing to go out and shell out money for a chicken with mole sauce. Consequently, I have found myself driving to and ordering from Chipotle, a quality fast food chain for sure, but not a proper replacement for my weekly urge for quality Mexican food.

So, using the help of the internet, I stumbled across Yo Rita, a year-old restaurant on Carson St. in the South Side. But to call Yo Rita a Mexican restaurant is to describe Kanye West as a rapper. Sure he can rap, but he does so much more than that. Ditto Yo Rita. Do they technically serve tacos? Absolutely. But I'm pretty sure I didn't see a Banh Mi (chicken liver pate, pork belly) taco in Tijuana the last time I visited.

(Truer words have never been printed.)

The restaurant itself sort of epitomizes the South Side in my mind. The interior is small, secluded, and with the lights dimmed to it's lowest setting, a bit creepy as well. But as I quickly acclimated to the simple decor, I began to choose my options. I began with the soup of the day, which happened to be a curry and cocoanut soup. The soup was a bit straightforward, but it was a nice and spicy start to the meal. From there my parents and I split an order of the other special of the day, tuna ceviche. With a decent idea of what a ceviche entails, I was surprised to be presented with a dish of sliced tuna that resembled sashimi more than ceviche. The dish was surprisingly good and could easily pass for something from a sushi bar. But the tuna, along with the soup left me perplexed. First Indian, then Japanese. Where was the unifying theme in all of this?

But before I could answer it, our order of tacos arrived. The first was the duck confit taco, which tasted more like peking duck more than anything, except without the soy. On the other hand, the red snapper taco (the special of the day) was the dish I expected to eat at Yo Rita. The snapper was spicy, topped with cabbage to mitigate some of the heat from the peppers.

In any event, the food we ate was so surprising that none of us could talk about anything else other than the food. Did some of the dishes misfire? Perhaps. But then again, I'd rather have a dish that I dislike that makes me think than a dish that I enjoyed but quickly forgot for being uncreative. I certainly won't forget about Yo Rita, nor will it be my last time there.

A Meal at a Hawker Center.

Now that you have a better idea of what a Hawker Center really is, it's worth mentioning and describing one particular meal at the Adams Street Hawker Center.

I will admit that this was not a meal that I stumbled upon. Prior to leaving, I had read up on several suggestions on specific meals to eat. Anthony Bourdain, whose love affair with Singapore is well known, made mention of a specific dish known as Sup Tulang. Literally translated as "bone soup" the name of the dish is quite descriptive of what it actually is: mutton bones roasted and stewed in a hot-and-sour chile sauce. And by mutton bones, I do not mean mutton chops, or rack of mutton, etc. Once I was served the dish, the first impression I had was, "where the hell is the meat?" For in front of me looked like scraps from a previous meal: bones and pieces of fat.

But my concern quickly vanished as I began to eat what I can honestly describe as the first experience I've ever had with food porn. For those who think food porn is a cross between Whole Foods and an Adult Video store, food porn is a modern-ish phrase that refers to the sensual experiences that we feel when we eat really good food. It's an uncontrollable rush of flavors and smells. And to be honest, I really hate the phrase. I think it's cliche, unnecessary, and simply stupid. But I will say that sup tulang made me feel something on the same plane as food porn.

To eat sup tulang, one must do one of two things. First, you have to spend a good 15-20 minutes gnawing on the outside of the bone, chewing and savoring the roasted connective tissues and fat that usually is ignored and discarded in favor for the meat itself. Once that's complete, I had to start digging into the bones themselves, to dig out the roasted marrow. To get all the marrow out is a true test of one's patience. In addition to using my silverware, I had to use my drink's straw to suck out the remaining bits from the bones. It's certainly one of those things in life that requires one to earn their keep.

(Digging for the morsels.)

And was it worth it? Absolutely. Here I was, an American completely covered and stained with chile sauce, probably a complete visual mockery in the eyes of the locals sitting around me. And yet for an hour, I may have been the happiest person on Earth. I cannot explain to you how good this dish was. This was me as my brother was every time he got a copy of the new Harry Potter book from Amazon (which in fact, looked something like this). This was on the verge of being June 12, 2009 happy.

In the end, what is truly endearing about the dish is the idea that we can take something with little obvious value (mutton bones) and through practice, ingenuity, and patience, we can turn it into something freaking delicious. Sup tu lang is one of those dishes that is a product of generations. It's a lasting testament of cultural identity. And we are the beneficiaries. C'est la vie.

Singapore Reloaded.

Before I begin, I just wanted to clarify the subject matter of these posts. I don't have nearly the patience nor the attention-span to write half a dozen posts giving a comprehensive summary of my time in Singapore. If you're really that interested in it, I would be happy to oblige to describe it to you, but I'll probably just end up telling you to "just go already" and be done with it. Two or three days into the trip, I was finally acclimated to the time change and climate of Singapore. Being 13 hours ahead of EST is not something you can sleep off in one night. Or two. Or three. Nevertheless, by that time, Daryl and I were spending our days using the same formula: I would suggest some highly-touristy site. Daryl would grudgingly agree to go and map out the best places to eat. More often than not, we were eating at hawker centers.

The best way to describe a hawker center is that it's a food court. It is a public complex (usually vulnerable to the elements, as are most buildings in Singapore), that allows people to rent out ridiculously small storefronts to sell their food. But beyond that, hawker centers are nothing compared to the cafeterias we are accustomed to.

(My weak attempt at trying to make a panorama view of a hawker center.)

The most obvious reason is that the food is absolutely divine. Instead of having chains or restaurants renting space that try to specialize in everything (sometime go to McDonald's and count the amount of different options they have available. Or even just the number of hamburgers offered. I bet the number is unnecessarily high), each store in the hawker center specializes in just one type of food. Walking around, you notice a store that only serves pork, or abalone, or noodles, etc. Nothing else. Even the drink stands are separate from each store. As a result, each of these stores has spent generation upon generation perfecting their niche food, rather than trying to be good at many things.

But mind you, just because they specialize doesn't mean your options are limited. Hawker centers, depending on size, can have dozens of storefronts. I'd estimate that a decently sized hawker center has 20 stores. Each store specializes in something relatively different. As you can imagine, the options are endless.

So it begs the question: Why don't we have this in America? Sure we have strip malls with multiple restaurants, but that doesn't have the same centralized feel as a hawker center. Each stand is right up against each other. And sure Pittsburgh has Market Square and Station Square, but those (especially Station Square) have largely been redeveloped with chain restaurants being the main attraction. Have you seen Station Square? Its an absolute gentrification joke.

As Americans, we're obsessed with convenience. That's why we have so many FAST food stores. We're not like the French. We don't spend 2.5 hours eating lunch. We place more value on work than on eating. Hawker centers are quintessentially convenient. One stop for food. Endless options. And yet we're stuck with Burger King. Who was it that said America is the greatest nation in the world?