Überprüfung: Tasty

To begin with, I feel like an apology is in order for the first post.
I had posted the review for Paris 66 two weeks ago and within a couple of hours had heard from a couple of friends resembled something out of Cloverfield (i.e. it made absolutely no sense). Over the next 3 days, I tried re-posting it, with some success. However, the font is still wrong, the spacing is off, and there are no pictures. I would have tried a last time on Sunday, but something went horribly wrong.

In any event, this post will be better. At least better than the Steelers effort in the 4th quarter.

As I mention before, I have a habit of becoming complacent when it comes to food. When I find something good, I stick with it. Such is the case with Chinese. Maybe five or six years ago, on a suggestion from a graduate student, my dad ordered Chinese for dinner out of a largely unknown hole-in-the-wall, take-out only restaurant called Zaws.
From my experience, when we get older, we have vivid memories of moments in our lives that truly define ourselves. Maybe its one's wedding, a trip to a foreign land, or some other event. For me, one of those events is eating Zaws for the first time. Seriously. The place is that good.

So going out to eat somewhere else for Chinese was difficult for me to fathom. Nevertheless, I coerced a Singaporean friend to take me to his favorite Chinese spot. Thus, I found myself at Tasty, a largely take-out place found on South Highland in Shadyside.
Going in, I had one specific expectation. Being with someone who spoke fluent Cantonese, I expected that I would finally get to behold the secret menu.

For those who don't know, it is rumored that most, if not all Chinese restaurants carry a second menu (most likely written in Chinese), that lists authentic Chinese, thus catering to natives or descendants who still prefer the real stuff. I wanted the real stuff.

We entered into the largely unassuming Tasty and were quickly ushered to a table with mini-Styrofoam cups filled with hot tea. When our waitress handed us our menus, I made my move: I asked my friend where the secret menu was. He simply flipped over the menu to the other side. "No seriously, where is it?" My friend (for the sake of anonymity, we'll call him by his favorite Penguin, Geno) begins to laugh, pointing out that the real Chinese is simply on the back of the menu, in plain sight. "You Americans usually just ignore it and go for the Chop Suey."

In any event, Geno asks me what I'm in the mood for ("seafood") and quickly orders three dishes: a squid, ma po tofu, and a tofu-brisket.

Out of the three dishes, the one that I anticipated the most was the tofu-brisket. Why? Because I've never seen anyone put tofu and a meat together. I've always been under the impression that the two are meant to stay separated. Tofu conjures up images of tasteless and mushy dishes that can only be saved by adding at least half a pound of curry into the dish. Obviously I'm not a fan of tofu. I'm also not a big fan of some of the supporters of the tofu lifestyle.

And before you can say anything to defend youselves, let me leave you with this: Lions eat gazelles. Orca eat penguins. I eat cow. It's the circle of life, deal with it.
The squid is served cut up in pretty large pieces sauteed in a very light, savory broth. Geno especially liked the squid, but I personally don't care for the texture of squid when it's cooked in larger pieces. But if you served me a bowl of just the broth? I would take it in a heart beat. I guess the broth would describe one of my obsessions of Asian cuisine: the spectacular translucent, yet delicately flavored sauces/soups/broths. In western cuisine we prefer our sauces and soups heavier, laden with flavors. It's a great contrast of cultural cuisine.

But of the three dishes, I found myself getting seconds of the tofu-beef. I have no idea why, but the dish is pretty damn good. The brisket is decent, but a little dry. So why do I get more of it? Because of the tofu...IT'S FRIED. And it is amazing. It has a firm texture on the outside, but is melted on the inside, like a nicely baked piece of brie. The sauce served with it has fantastic notes of heat that compliments the proteins. Forget the other two dishes, this stuff is amazing. This is proof positive that anything is better fried.

In any event, the trip to Tasty taught me two fairly important lessons:

First, our American understanding of Chinese food is completely off-base. There's a reason why we don't order stuff off the secret menu. We want our chicken fried and served in a hot-and-spicy sauce (a quintessential American taste). Sounds familiar? That's what General Tso's essentially is. It's like comparing Taco Bell to traditional Mexican. Is a cheesy gordita crunch really all that Mexican? The last time I went to Mexico, they weren't wrapping hard tacos with soft shells, three cheeses and bacon. But that doesn't mean the gordita crunch is any less delicious. It's taking concepts from one country and adapting them to another country's preference. American Chinese restaurants are such a success story BECAUSE they were able to adapt. We wouldn't have Chinese take-out if it wasn't for it.

Secondly, I've come to realize that I hold several unjustified opinions regarding food. I have a grudge against tofu (as explained before). Sour cream scares the hell out of me. Ditto cottage cheese. Smelly cheeses are a huge turn-off. Etc. And I've come to realize that my bias against Gruyere is not a result of taste (I've never tried it), but because Gruyere looks and smells hideous. The rind is a foot thick (exaggeration) and the smell is something straight out of a sulfur mine (another exaggeration). Same way with tofu. When I see tofu, I see a lifeless, soulless, and tasteless piece of food. There's nothing good going to come out of something that's synonymous with "tofurkey" or "tofutti." And yet here I was, eating an entire delicious plate of the stuff. Lesson learned.

Paris 66

A unique feature of this blog is the fact that as a college student, I don't have the luxury of going wherever and whenever I want to eat. Consequently, when I do go out to eat at relatively

nice restaurants, I look for someone else to pay. And when I say pay, I mean my parents. While some of it would say that I'm taking advantage of them, I digress. Everyone's needs are filled: My parents get to spend time with me, I get to eat good food, and my dad can regale

me with stories that are thoroughly embarrassing to remember. So after convincing my parents of the semi-legitimacy of the blog, we started planning for our first review. Out of the myriad of choices, we found ourselves gravitating towards three: Eleven (the new restaurant by Big Burrito), Legume (neo-French), and Paris 66 (Parisian Bistro). After several text messages, we eventually agreed to Paris 66.

We entered the small bistro and were ushered to a table relatively close to the kitchen. After ogling the endless types of desserts on display and carefully dissecting the specials, it quickly became apparent to me that my parents, even before entering the restaurant, knew exactly what they were going to order. Even though it was their first time eating there, my dad spent considerable time researching and printing the menu. While this may sound utterly ridiculous, for those who know my dad, anything less would be shocking.

We quickly agreed to order as an appetizer, the tapenade special.

The tapenade itself was splendid. Mom, a newbie to tapenade, found the lack of an overwhelming olive flavor to be a peasant surprise. Above all, the olive spread tasted fresh, acidic, and contained several nice notes of spice, including cumin. But the big letdown of the tapenade was the accompanying carb. Usually, a tapenade is served with freshly toasted baguette. Instead, we were served TORTILLA CHIPS. The problem with the chips that they are fairly salty on their own. By adding a cured-olive tapenade, your mouth is presented with salt on salt. It was a NaCl-fest.

La Pigalle at Bistro 66.

From there we ordered three of Paris 66's specialities, crepes. Mom ordered, in perfect French, La Champs Elysees, (filled with creamed leeks and smoked salmon). Dad ordered, in butchered French, La Paris 66 (ham, Swiss cheese, egg, mushroom). And I went with the La Pigalle (mustard, chicken, mushrooms). All three were fantastic, but I found the La Champs the best of the three. The combination of the delicate salmon with the subtle flavor of the leeks was heavenly. Mom was especially a fan of her side of French onion soup. I, on the other hand, ordered the red bell pepper puree.

The best way to describe the puree is that it was...interesting. And not necessarily in a bad way. The soup was served luke-warm and had a definite sweet note to it. For me, it was sort of listening to a Radiohead album. I really don't get the premise of it, but it is different. And its uniqueness makes it addictive.

After the crepes, we began to discuss our options for dessert. Mom wanted to get the chocolate mousse shown in the kitchen. Dad wanted to get the Grand Marnier crepe. A debate ensued. Watching my parents remain at a standstill over dessert made me empathize with them, seeing that with three boys, this was probably how our household was every night:

Older Brother: I want Chinese for dinner.

Oldest Brother: I can't eat Chinese. Let's make spirals mac n' cheese instead.

Older Brother: But that's all we eat. Its your own fault you can't eat Chinese

Me: I want Chuck E Cheese! I want pizza!

Oldest Brother: Absolutely not. Sorry Peter, some of us have moved up from diapers.

Older Brother: Hey, instead of eating, let's reenact American Gladiators in the living room!

(All three run to the living room, faint smashing is heard)

Mom: Not the couch!

(Dad leaves to porch with paper in hand)

Dad: (grumbling) We should have gotten a dog instead.

Trying to avert a disaster, I vote with mom's more modest choice and go for the chocolate mousse. While we eat dessert, mom becomes nostalgic and reminds dad of their trip to France last year. Dad quietly eats his mousse, obviously wishing he had his flambe. As we finish and head out the door, mom begins to remark on how much East Liberty has improved in the past couple of years. As she points out, "Isn't it great to have a French bistro in East Liberty?"

While some may argue that East Liberty is being overrun by gentrification (Starbucks, Starbucks, and more Starbucks), I personally find it amazing that of all places, the owners of Paris 66 chose East Liberty, rather than some glitzy, affluent neighborhood like Fox Chapel or even Shadyside. As we pass by the ruble of the recently imploded high-rises (making way for a new Target), only blocks away from the new East Side shopping complex, we drive away from a community once self-destructing, now developing into something uniquely new.

Welkumme

After trying to run a blog during my freshman year, I learned two very important facts about blogging:
1. Don't try and run a blog with a crappy concept.
2. Writing succinct, funny, and interesting posts are hard as hell.

So, with a better concept for a blog, I'd figure posting would get a little easier.
Wrong.

Instead, I've spent the last day and a half trying to figure out Multivariate Calculus and what to write in the first post.
I finally came to the realization that the best thing to do is to be frank about what this blog is NOT meant to be.

First and foremost, while this may be a blog about food, I am not going to waste my time or your attention span on dishing out watered-down advise on how to properly sear and roast a pork loin. Nor am I going to update you on food gossip or review that new cookbook by (Insert your favorite overly-caffinated, maybe drug addicted Food Network Host). There is a perfectly good blog that does it (Slashfood) and it would be useless to try and one-up them. They know what they are talking about. Myself? Not so much.

Instead, I will talk about the culinary experiences of a monetarily challenged college student (i.e. Me). From turning a quality box of Kraft Spirals Mac n' Cheese into something a little better (Pasta Sprinkle from Penzeys and Kosher salt) to saving my roommate's ass as he tries to microwave a cup of noodles. More or less, I will make every effort to turn my fairly vanilla day-to-day operations into something that I regret later in life.

But more importantly, I want to highlight the experience that anyone can enjoy in Western Pennsylvania. Far too often I've heard outsiders rip on Pittsburgh for being uncultured. As a rust belt city, most Americans assume that we are back-water, Ford F150 driving, overly-emotional football fanatics (O.K., the last part is true).

Specifically, I want to delve into the culinary scene of Pittsburgh. Again, from an outsider's point of view, Pittsburgh's greatest culinary addition to the world is the concept of fries ON a sandwich. Never mind the fact that we are a city constituted of many distinct and proud cultural, ethnic, and racial groups.

Also, personally I want to find other restaurants. My taste buds run on a strict outline:

Chinese - Zaw's
Thai - Bangkok Balcony
Pizza - Mineo's (if with parents), Aiello's (if with friends)
Italian - La Cucina Flagrea
Indian - Sree's
Etc. Etc. You get the point.

Hence, this blog will serve two purposes: it will raise awareness to the variety and quality of food available in Pittsburgh and it will force me to try new flavors. Win-win scenario.

I hope your level of excitement is as high as my level of anxiety.