Chiu on This

The lunch that never will be

RIP New Chao Chow, my favorite restaurant in Manhattan's Chinatown. My sister and I had planned to go there for lunch last week to fill up on some noodle soups. I'd warned her that the last time I went there, it was closed, but that I couldn't tell if it was a temporary, vacation thing (the sign didn't say much, and there was no city health inspection warning) or something permanent.

Well, it's permanent. And what a shame. I'd been going there over a span of 25 years for Chinese/Thai noodles and iced coffee. I think the first time I went was with my uncle, his wife, his in-laws who were visiting from Bangkok, and my mom. My uncle's in-laws were shopping for a chandelier in the nearby lighting district. After a successful purchase, accomplished by my uncle's mother-in-law, who, without speaking any English but with an astute use of raised eyebrows and other impressive facial expressions, mostly of disdain, was able to negotiate a price to her liking from the salesman, we headed over to Chao Chow for lunch.

Slightly bigger than a hole in the wall and with several communal tables, Chao Chow was usually pretty packed with people dining in or standing in line for take out orders. I don't recall if the group photo of the staff with David Letterman in front of the store was already up there in 1986; whenever I did take notice of it, it just added to my fondness for the place, which always seemed to have the same core wait staff and cooks, with only a few rotations of younger waiters over the years.

I liked Chao Chow so much that I didn't want to tell other people about it or bring them with me. I didn't want to explain what it was that I was eating or ordering; why the addition of condiments like fish sauce, sugar, vinegar, hot sauce of different varieties (green chilies in white vinegar, ground red chilies with garlic), and white pepper was such a fun but frustrating ritual - I could never get the balance of flavors right until I hit the last third of a bowl of noodles, while my mom could get it just right from the get go, and customize it to the different likings of my sister and me (thanks, mom!), and we'd always find this inability comical; why the waiters would look either puzzled, amused, or irritiated that my sister and I always had to ask the same questions before ordering, as if we couldn't remember the simplest things (is that the fat white noodle or the thin one, or the yellow noodle?); or whether this was a Thai place, a Chinese place, or what.

Chao Chow was a place I'd go to with my family and was the repository and backdrop of many fond memories of eating, laughing, and chatting, most likely about food. I'm sorry to see it go, and I hope all the folks who worked there and fed us and put up with us are doing well. I wonder who kept the Letterman photo.

Postscript:

Since we weren't able to eat at Chao Chow, my sister and I met at XO Kitchen nearby. My sister ordered a seafood noodle soup that she declared pretty good. I guess we'll have to be on the lookout for new-to-us places that will live up to our standards.

Curry, not in a hurry*

Curry rice with a karaage (fried chicken) stick and salad

I found myself stuck in the public atrium of at the Citigroup Building at 53rd and Lex on Friday. With a conference call scheduled and me running late, I thought I'd found a fairly quiet place for a phone call. I should have known better; the piano in the atrium should have been the tip off, but I figured it was for show. But less than 5 minutes into the call, the pianist comes out, and I had to scramble all over the place to find a spot of quiet, a space where there's also no place to sit.

After the call wrapped up, I decided I should just grab lunch where I was and perhaps enjoy some of the piano tinklings while I dine. I headed to Kushi-Q, which I thought said Sushi-Q. I had two seconds of disappointment until I saw the menu Japanese curry over rice. I love me some Japanese curry, particularly when it comes with some fatty fried pork; here, I saw as an option karaage, fried chicken on a skewer. I love me some fried chicken, so that was that. A salad with orange and ginger dressing came with.

The curry was pretty good, not as complex as Go Go Curry's, but satisfying and good with the chicken, which was crispy/chewy/tender. The rice-to-curry ratio was far too high, making me feel guilty for tossing out a huge amount of uneaten rice (not sure what other people do in a situation like this - take the stuff with you?). It's a good option for a midtown lunch, although I don't plan on being back in that atrium anytime soon, piano or no.

(*Apologies for the crappy title. I couldn't think of anything interesting AT ALL.)

What I drank this week

At Saxon and Parole:

• Celery gimlet - Spring 44 gin, green Chartreuse, St. Germain, lime, celery, verjus. One of the best cocktails I have had in ages, and I don't even like celery that much. This is my drink for the summer. Having a gigantic pitcher of this on hand at all times would make me very happy.
• Corpse Reviver #3 - Dorothy parker gin, lillet blanc, combier, fennel juice. Note the root vegetable theme continuing with the fennel juice. A good drink but not entirely memorable; maybe I needed another for a true revival, versus a Walking Dead outcome. I didn't stop to think about what versions 1 and 2 of the corpse reviver would be like.

At Blaue Gans:

• The Klimt - Sekt Blanc de Blanc, Campari, Cointreau, Plymouth Gin. If you like Negronis, you'll like this. I happen to like Negronis a lot.
• Hungarian Paprika Margarita - Jose Cuervo Silver, Cointreau, Lime Juice, Paprika. I wasn't sure what to expect, but this went very nicely with my currywurst. The paprika reminded me of li hing mui powder. Second best drink this week, after the celery gimlet.

At Salt & Fat:

• No cocktails, unfortunately, so I got a Sixpoint Bengali Tiger IPA. In hindsight, I think I should have had a pilsner with my meal, which I'll review in an upcoming blog.

At Boca Chica:

• The aged cuban or old cuban? I can't find their drink list online. That's too bad. Well, there was rum and mint in it, and I had one on the rocks and one straight up. Order it on the rocks, and it comes in a tumbler; order it straight up, and it comes in a martini glass. Why? I don't know. But it tastes better straight up.

Not sure if I'll be having anything tonight. My liver could probably use a break. My wallet, too!

Revisionist history, or, how I started the NYC banh mi craze

In the fall of 1999, I slogged over to the Manhattan Bridge from my office on Broadway and White Street with two of my colleagues in tow. Our mission: get our hands on some banh mi.

I was thirty years old, and I'd never had a banh mi sandwich in my life. The subject somehow came up during one of my many conversations with my sister and mom about food (or one long conversation with occasional interruptions). Maybe my sister was reminiscing about the sandwiches she'd had back home in Honolulu. Anyhow, they sure sounded good, even though I'm normally not a fan of sandwiches. But where to find some in the city?

I think my mom was the one who tipped me off to Saigon Banh Mi, which was somewhere in the eastern part of Manhattan's Chinatown, under the Manhattan Bridge near the pick up and drop off locations of the cheap Chinatown buses. How I got my co-workers Nick and Liza interested in doing a lunch excursion, I cannot remember. It was a bit of hike, particularly when we didn't know the most efficient route to get to our destination. On the way over, I believe Liza told us that her dad was about to get his second novel published.

Finally, we found the tiny sandwich shop storefront. You had to scuttle in sideways like a crab to get into the narrow space, and, if I remember right, the only variation you could request to the one sandwich on order was whether you wanted it spicy. No room to sit and eat, just carry out. Did I get a grass jelly drink there, too?

My life, thankfully, is filled with moments of great enjoyment brought on by eating delicious things. In some cases, I sour those moments by wondering, "Why the hell has it taken me so long to learn about this?" Like the first time I had xiao long bao or portobello mushrooms (in my mid- and early twenties, respectively) - how'd I live all those years without such great food? Banh mi did that to me in 1999. Now, it's everywhere, but so many versions just suck. I was lucky to get introduced to an excellent version of the sandwich - the baguette crispy enough to shred the roof of my mouth; the luscious pate and carmelized grilled pork providing complex tastes and textures, and, of course, delectable meatiness; and the mayo, jalapeno, hot sauce, cilantro, and pickled daikon and carrots bringing liveliness and piquancy and crunch (well, not the mayo and hot sauce; don't make me re-write this for clarity). The flavors were bold and harmonious; this sandwich had lots of things going on in there!

Maybe two or three weeks later, I got a call at the office. The woman on the line cut to the chase: "This is Gail Green. Liza told me that you had a great sandwich recently. Can you give me the address to the place?" Yeah, okay. I hung up and turned to ask Nick, whose desk was near mine, "Who's Gail Green?" In this small world, it turns out to be Gael Greene, who knows Liza's dad, who's not only a novelist but a journalist and worked with her (I think), so word of the banh mi "discovery" didn't take long to get to the right ears and, I believe, out to the eating public.*

Banh Mi Saigon has moved to what I think are more spacious quarters in Chinatown; I haven't been to the "new" location. When we moved further away to offices in the Woolworth Building, my colleague Jon would kindly take orders from banh mi craving co-workers and bike over to pick up sandwiches for us. Nowadays, I will occasionally get a banh mi from some place nearby, but they seem either way overpriced (my friend Arnold would refuse to buy a banh mi that cost more than $4.50) or just disappointingly blah.

I fear like I sound like an old codger ("back in the day I could get a great banh mi!"), and I'm sure I could enjoy a perfectly lovely banh mi if I actually got out of my chair and looked for one. In fact, I may just try the Lin-sanity banh mi one day soon. The craze continues.

* I can't recall or verify what happened after that call - I assume Greene wrote something about Saigon Banh MI but can't find traces on the interwebs. Maybe I should have titled this post "speculative history," as I'm perfectly happy to speculate rather than verify my role in popularizing banh mi. Actually, I could care less about getting any "credit"; I just think this is a funny story. What I really want to know is how my mom or sister found out about Saigon Banh MI in the first place. To be continued...

Chowing down with the Ch(i)us

I heard about Bobwhite Lunch and Supper Counter through one of my favorite food blogs, Eating in Translation. The description of a pork chop sandwich with chow chow piqued my interest, first because I like pork chops, second because I wasn't sure if I'd had chow chow before.

A few Facebook posts later, and I was meeting up at Bobwhite for lunch with my friend Thom, who was going to be on the Lower East Side anyway. I "see" Thom mostly on FB when he posts pictures of food that he's cooked or at places where he dines; some of my favorite pictures are those of his dad dining when they go out to eat in Chinatown. Thom comes from a family that clearly knows and enjoys food, but he doesn't have a snotty attitude towards food (or "foodietude"), so dining with him is a treat.

We ordered a pork chop sandwich and a fried chicken sandwich. For sides, we settled on tomato pudding and creamed kale. I got a sweet tea, as that just seemed like the right thing to do.

Getting ready to tuck in

We split the sandwiches to allow both of us to get a crack at the pork and the chicken. Both sandwiches were very good - the fried chicken was crisp, juicy, and flavorful, as was the pork. I really enjoyed the chow chow, which added piquancy and pep to the pork. The sandwiches were also just the right size to satisy without overstuffing. Thom said the tomato pudding - baked with bread cubes, tomatoes, and onions - reminded him of a dish called "train wreck," which I'd like to try. (I just realized that the tomato pudding probably served for me as a substitute for ketchup, which I usually like to dip fried chicken in.) The creamed kale was the only disappointment: somewhat chalky, mostly bland, and just filling.

Notice the guy behind Thom, staring at our dishes.

Overall, Bobwhite gave us a good meal at a good price in a pleasant space. You can dine at the counter or at the bar-height tables. Order up front, have a seat, and they'll serve you. Look out the big windows facing Avenue A (while we were eating, Thom spotted his dad driving past; it was my version of a celebrity sighting) and eat your meal slowly.

I forgot to mention that a three piece fried chicken meal with biscuits and a salad is only available for supper. Meaning: I'll be back.

Any takers?

I'm in the mood for Szechuan food, and I'm keen to go back to Legend Bar and Restaurant in Chelsea. My friends Tim and Sue, who were in town over Thanksgiving last year, suggested it. I was eager to find a place that could replicate or approximate my experience in San Francisco with ma po tofu, so we met there for lunch. Our meal of ma po tofu (with fish, if my memory's right), dan dan mein, and dry sauteed string beans, really hit the spot. I want to order a fair number of dishes and could use a couple of "good eaters" (in this context, people who have hearty appetites, aren't naifs about Chinese food, and can take spicy food) to join me. Any takers?

Delicious simplicity

Salad and steak frites. That's it, that's all your options at Le Relais de Venise L’Entrecôte in midtown Manhattan. What wonderful simplicity. I don't know what makes the sauce that tops the slices of steak so good, all I know is that I've been thinking about it for days. Butter clearly plays a prominent role, and mustard must be in there, too; I've read that there's also blanched chicken livers and thyme in the mix.

For $25, it's an understatement to call this a bargain. Note that they serve your meat and frites up in two servings, keeping the second half on reserve 'til you finish your first plate. The total serving size left me feeling perfectly satisfied. I polished it off with a good coffee and the Vacherin du Relais (a tower of layers of ice cream - either hazelnut or vanilla - and meringue, topped with chocolate sauce and whipped), shared with four other folks.

No frills, no fuss, just flavor. What a tasty, tasty relief.

False memories of 2011?

After I saw the lustrous Edward Hopper exhibit at the Whitney Museum last year, I went down to the museum's eatery, Untitled, which at the time was still being soft-launched. (Hmm, maybe restaurants should use the term "half-baked" or "soft-boiled" instead of "soft-launched.") Either undeterred by the long line or dim-witted from hunger, I waited a short while and lucked out, scoring a seat at the counter.

I ordered a BLT, a soft drink, and a dessert. The BLT and dessert tasted fine, but what really stood out for me were the drink - an apple and ginger soda from Brooklyn Soda Works (BSW) - and the pickle from McClure's Pickles that accompanied the sandwich. The soda was crisp with lots of bubbles, sharp from ginger, and sweet, but not too apply sweet; well balanced and bright, it made me feel, well, kinda perky. The pickle was also crisp and bright, and wonderfully tart and puckery, with a bit of a garlic kick.

That was some time in April, right before the close of the exhibit. Since then, I'd thought a lot about the pickle and the soda (which, unfortunately, is not the title of a forthcoming motion picture by Noah Baumbach). Both fell into Untitled's locally sourced category but weren't local enough for me! I postponed a schlep from Queens to find the two Brooklyn-manufactured goods until mid-December. That's eight months of mulling and salivating over the remembered flavors of those foods. Finally, as I was scouting online for a used manual typewriter to purchase, I noticed that both BSW and McClure's had vendor stalls at the Brooklyn Flea.

An easy 20 minute LIRR ride from Jamaica to downtown Brooklyn, and my lazy self was finally in tasting range of the things that I'd been craving for so long. I grabbed a soda from the BSW stall conveniently located right next to the entrance of the old Williamsburg Savings Bank (aka Skylight One Hanson) and started wandering around in search of the McClure's stall. I stopped to pick up a sandwich from Porchetta; I quickly got full off half of it, which had lots of tasty porky flavor and crispy skin but couldn't quite compare to Oink. Then I sampled some wasabi pickled green beans from Rick's Picks and bought a jar. Finally, I got to McClure's and got a jar of garlic dill spears.

Once I got all the loot home (which included a new-to-me Royal typewriter; thanks or blame to college friend Eliot for stoking my typewriter interest), I got down to business. After an eight month wait, was I correct in thinking that the soda and pickles were that good? Sadly, no; they seemed flatter, less sparkly, sharp, and vibrant than I'd recalled. I've been wondering why that might be. Had I hyped the flavors in my mind, either over time or even right in the moment? Had the flavors changed, these being "artisanally" made and perhaps not as formulaically reliable as, say, Coke or Heinz 57 ketchup? Had my own tastes changed within such a short span of time? Or, maybe, just maybe, did I get at least one of the suppliers wrong, even though I made a point of writing both names down? Just now, as I've been looking up the links to add to this blog, I saw on Untitled's page that they get their pickles from Brooklyn Brine - was that true in April, and must I now hunt for those?

Sigh. Wait until 2013. Maybe your unreliable narrator will get a hold of the Brooklyn Brine pickles by then, before the pickling craze goes kablooey.

Burger barrage

It's been a while since my last post, so in this installment I'll keep it simple and recap two burger places I've been to earlier this year, both of which I recommend.

First up, Bareburger. In August, I went to the location near NYU as part of a going away party for my former colleague and FOCOT, Professor Mike L. Bareburger's deal is its organic focus and grass-fed meats, but folks who know me know that I don't really care about that stuff. On the other hand, I got excited because I saw elk on the menu. On a recent visit to Seattle, I had hoped to get an elk burger at Uneeda Burger, as it had been favorably reviewed by my college classmate Chris, but I didn't get a chance and was wondering where I'd get my hands on elk back on the east coast. Problem solved.

Elk was the recommended meat (among the other fleshy options: turkey, beef, ostrich, lamb, and bison; veggie options also available) for the Jalapeno Express burger, which I ordered for what sounded like a blast of spiciness: pepperjack, red onion, jalapeno relish, horseradish mayo, and chipotle ketchup. The burger as a whole was very tasty, although the spiciness didn't really materialize. I deeply enjoyed the medium rare elk meat, which was rich, juicy, and tasty without any gaminess. I'm not sure if others would agree, but it tasted somewhat bacony-y, as if someone had ground up and added a couple of strips of bacon into mix. That alone should make you want to get some. I will have to try another elk burger soon, one that's very simple, so that I can get a better fix on the meat's flavor. Oh, the hardships of research.

Dispatch from a three hour tour

Wherein my cousin Nick from Australia, visiting NYC for a less than a week, hits the ground running while I nearly hit the ground...

Our starting point: The Standard Hotel in the Meatpacking District. Nice room, floor-to-ceiling window with view of the Highline.

Stop #1: Hogs and Heifers. A fine contrast, in all its biker glory, to the overwhelming hipsterdom of The Standard and its denizens. Me: a Yuengling. Nick: a Red Bull and diet Coke.

Stop #2: Old Homestead Steakhouse. We don't dine here, as we've got Friday set aside for Peter Luger's, but I figure cocktails here would provide a nice view of the old school dining room (although it looks like it's been done up since I was last there) and another kind of contrast. Me: a Hendricks gin and tonic. Nick: sparkling water.

Stop #3: The Jane Hotel. Nick stayed here the last time he was in town but did not have a pleasant experience, finding the room small and moldy smelling. He did find the hotel's bar, the Ballroom, worth returning to, although when we arrived there were only 4 or 5 people there, roughly 296 people less than when he last visited. In any case, it was quiet enough to have a chat about our relatives over a drink. Me: The Raj - gin (Plymouth?), St. Germain, and something; not as flavorful as I'd anticipated. Nick: a virgin cocktail, mostly minty.

Stop #4: The Spotted Pig.The much ballyhooed gastropub, this counts as one of Nick's favorite spots; in his words, it's like a British pub without any English people in it. We're there on a slow night and saunter right on in for dinner on the ground floor, seated next to a group of heavily bearded white men wearing glasses who all look alike and who talk about the food in Portland, Oregon (yay, Portland!). Me: the "It's Complicated" cocktail (ugh, I really had to say that when I ordered it) - Plymouth gin, cucumber, tonic, fresh squeezed lime juice, fresh cracked pepper and a dash of olive juice. The verdict: excellent. Refreshing, and the bite of the pepper makes me think this would be a good replacement for a Bloody Mary at a Sunday brunch. Nick: ...a sparkling water??? To eat:

• Radish salad with parmesan and basil - hefty helping, quite tasty; we agree that the parmesan makes the salad. I did not detect any basil.
• Pot of pickles. That's pretty accurate. So so. Considering that NYC is going thru a pickling renaissance, which causes one of my friends to roll his eyes every time he sees artisanal pickles, these are underwhelming and make me think longingly and lovingly of the one glorious pickled onion I had in a cocktail in North Adams, Massachusetts (which will be the subject of another post).
• Me: milk braised pork with some kinda green, slightly bitter vegetable. Good, reminded me of a dish I'd have in a Chinese restaurant, but too salty for my taste. Could have used more bitter veg or maybe something vinegary or spicy to cut the unctuousness; would the chef have been aghast if I'd doused this with Tabasco?
• Nick: roasted halibut with summer squash. Quite tasty. Good crunch on the fish. (Remind me to tell you of the halibut steak anecdote later.)
• Me: wedge of lemon dredged in sugar with a dash of bitters. My go-to hiccup cure, 100% effective and very tasty.
• Caramel ice cream with a shot of espresso. Freaking delicious. I wish I could have this every day, but reducing the amount of ice cream to a tablespoonful to chase the espresso. Lovely. Thumbs up also to the French press coffee.

Stop #5: Employees Only. It's hitting midnight, and I can tell this is my last stop. Me: Campari and soda. Nick: &^%~)*?@! sparkling water or an item in that category. Now he tells me that he's been staying away from drinking in order to, in my words, reduce caloric intake. Hmm. You think I'd have noticed earlier. Well, I was kinda preoccupied in ranking my cocktails and making sure I kept track of where we were and what we had. Anyhow, the bar is well occupied though not uncomfortably crowded; it's not quite the place I'd normally hang out at (where would I hang out at? if I had my druthers, the Pegu Club, Rye House, Beer Table, The Brandy Library) but one of the benefits of going out with my cousin is to try new stuff.

I'll have to check with Nick to see how he wrapped up the evening and make sure that he adds some contributions to the blog while he's here. Considering that I got home at 1, woke up at 3 wondering who had poured a bottle of gin on me, and then fully woke up at 5:30 and started writing this blog, I'm doing pretty well. More to follow...