Food in the Bay Area : Part 3

Food in the Bay Area : Part 2

Lunch at an izakaya place.

Sansai Soba

Food in the Bay Area : Part 1

Yep, the CC has a new toy! The pictures are better.


Seafood Paella

Rules for Restaurants

Over the years, the CC has evolved a set of rules for selecting restaurants. Naturally, they are tuned to the CC's preferences, and if you don't like that, you can just go write your own blog (make sure you send the CC a link.)

The CC will state his biases up front.

The CC prefers "performance" over "flash 'n sizzle". He doesn't need white tablecloths and fancy interiors. He will happily eat at a rickety formica table as long as the food kicks ass. The memorability of the meal depends only on the food and the company.

The CC simply doesn't care about "service". Rarely does the CC ever go to a meal pressed for time, and he prefers that the meal unfold leisurely (how Italian!) If a dish takes an extra 30 minutes to make it better, so be it. The CC doesn't pack his social calendar tightly.

The CC also loves "authentic" food whatever the hell that word means. If authenticity is sacrificed to please the gringos or even the vegetables, the CC generally tends to get very upset.

The CC happily chows down all kinds of food. Pig skin, pickled jellyfish, grasshoppers, langoustine brains, horse tartare? No problem, bring them on. There are many rooms in the CC's house but a sensual enjoyment of food is a prerequisite.

The CC has only lived in urban locales so the rules are, to state it mildly, not applicable outside urban or semi-urban locales.

The CC is a "value" hound. This is a dispositional thing. There is nothing he can do about it. However, even if you're rolling in the benjamins, the rules below still apply.

The CC evolved some of these rules independently but Tyler Cowen (economist, GWU) did a better job of "systematizing" them than the CC's ad hoc heuristics so he happily acknowledges his debt.

Take a deep breath now. Here come the rules:

[1] Don't eat in "high rent" areas.

The reason for this rule should be obvious. The only restaurants that survive are expensive ones, or chains that can use the franchise to subsidize the rent. You are unlikely to eat a great meal at the latter, and the former you can get anywhere.

The corollary for those living in semi-urban places is go search for places in strip malls. Seriously. It's all about the rents.

Even in cities, this holds true. You can certainly eat very well on the main strip of Chicago's Chinatown but if you just pop around the corner to the completely non-descript strip mall barely two blocks away on the north-west side, then tucked in the back are some truly amazing restaurants.

In the Bay Area, the best "home-style" Japanese restaurant (not sushi) is in far-out non-descript mall. Similar for the Cambodian place (much mentioned on this blog.)

You'd never guess if you didn't understand the reason behind the general principle.

[2] Go eat where the "natives" eat.

This is equally obvious. Go where the immigrant population lives. The restaurants there know where to source the ingredients best. Also, the populace is pickiest about their own food, and they will whittle the restaurants down until the mediocre ones shut down.

Pure survivorship bias (as they taught you in statistics class) but here it works in your favor.

[1 & 2] Corollary: Be prepared to travel.

Equally obvious after the first two points. Rents are cheapest further away from the "center". Immigrants tend not to be the richest of the populace. Please note that we're talking about fairly modest amounts of travel here (urban, we're talking urban, here.)

In New York, that means heading to Queens. Flushing for regional Chinese; Woodside for Thai and Filipino; Jackson Heights for Indian; Elmhurst for Indonesian; Astoria for Greek and Egyptian.

Also, in Manhattan, Harlem for Ethiopian, Senegalese and Haitian; Spanish Harlem for Mexican; Curry Hill (Murray Hill) for Indian, etc.

In Chicago, this means heading to Lincoln Square for Thai, Argyle (near the lake) for Vietnamese, Pilsen for Mexican, Devon for Indian, Edgewater for Ethiopian.

[3] Talk to the owner.

After you listen to the first two suggestions, have a chat with the owner. Ask them what's best. They will tell you. Don't ask them what to get. They will water it down thinking you're a n00bie.

This is a subtle point.

The difference between asking "what's best" and "what to eat" is vast. The latter suggests cluelessness; the former hints towards connoisseurship.

The first time the CC went with his Chinese friend to a great Sichuan restaurant in Flushing, he told his friend to tell the waiter that if the food was "dumbed down", the CC would send it back until they got it right. Unsurprisingly, they got it right. Not only that, the CC's presumptuousness got him major brownie points with the staff.

Everyone loves an appreciative audience. They will come out and chat with you, and tell you what to get. They will insist on packing you stuff to take home. They will also remember the "strange arrogant" Indian who insisted on the real deal.

Even better, if you are into cooking, ask them where they source the ingredients. They will tell you about the strangest grocery places that you would never ever have figured out on your own.

Be bold. Language holds no barriers for a love of food. The CC has chatted with Italians who barely speak English, and Vietnamese who can only manage a modicum of the language. None of this matters. They will be thrilled to chat.

[4] Be a repeat customer, and vary what you order.

This goes hand in hand with the above rule. Ask them what's good today, and be prepared to try something new.

Also, tip handsomely if you like the meal. These places survive on the barest of margins so consider this a form of "enlightened self-interest". You are ill-served if the best places shut down due to a lack of patronage.

[5] Scour the net.

In the good ol' days of blogging and forums, talk to others who are as enthusiastic about these things as you. They will tell you where to go, and you will find new stuff (most likely they will tell you the same things listed above but they will name specific names.)

Even if you are in a strange town, and forced to pick a restaurant with virtually no data at all, these rules will tip the balance in your favor. Seldom will you get a totally mediocre meal.

Happy noshing!

Lemongrass Sorbet

This was the other wonder the CC encountered at the restaurant in San Francisco in August.

This is truly an object of greedy lust, and any of you who know that the CC is not that fond of dessert should know that when a dessert item inspires food lust in the CC, well...

Ingredients

7-8 stalks lemongrass (outer leaves peeled)
2 cups water
2/3 cup fine sugar
1 cup mint (torn into pieces by hand)
1/4 cup fresh lime juice
large pinch of salt

Recipe

Cut the lemon grass into vague rounds. Smash them once with a pestle.

Add the water, sugar, and lemon grass together. Bring to a rolling boil.

Do not boil. Remove from the flame immediately.

Toss in the mint leaves, and let it steep for at least 20 minutes (until cool.)

Add the lime juice and salt, and blend in a blender.

If you want a sweeter presence, tone this down. If you want a traditional "sorbet", leave it tart. Remember that as it chills, the acid is going to lose a large portion of its edge so the solution may be quite tart but the sorbet will be "refreshing".

Line a sieve with several layers of cheese cloth, and filter the mixture. Toss the residue. (Yes! you need both the cloth and a fine sieve.)

Now, do the "sorbet" thing. Freeze, and every 30 minutes break up the mixture with a whisk/fork until you get fine crystals.

Food Deconstruction

Well, it's trendy and all but is it any good?

The CC having consumed a "deconstructed burger" at a cocktail party (mini-bun, meat, tomato, onion on a toothpick like a mini-kebab) and a "deconstructed gazpacho" at a fancy restaurant in San Francisco can say, "Yes, provided it's well thought out."

In fact, the CC was so impressed by the above "deconstructed gazpacho" that he spent a whole day making a "traditional gazpacho" and the "deconstructed version" side by side.

Just for the record, the scary quotes ("") are de rigeur. There's a difference between deconstruction, deconstruction, and "deconstruction" (insert literary theory joke here; or is that "literary theory"?)

Which brings us to a food riddle:

Q: Why is Derrida like a piece of wilted lettuce?

A: Because they are both wrinkled and rank-led.

(Get it?)

Anyway, back to the gazpachos. They were made a few months ago but in the spirit of exuberant discovery, and in the fading memory of a vanished summer, the CC will post the recipes soon.

The "Right" Restaurants

Well, the CC hied himself to one of his favorite restaurants in the Bay Area, a hole-in-the-wall. We've already heard about this in an earlier entry.

The owner (who's also the server) has the right attitude to food. When he goes on vacation, the place shuts down. If he thinks something is better, he tells you that you should change your order (which brings the CC to question why the original item is on the order but let's not get too analytical about these things.)

The absence of a certain I-wont-eat-pork-or-chicken-ista provided the rare indulgence of a feast of flesh. We had catfish (amok), beef, and catfish topped with shredded chicken.

The CC was told in no uncertain terms that he should upgrade to a different catfish dish from the one he ordered, and the CC did so unhesitatingly. Only the need to look dignified stopped the CC from licking the plate clean of the wondrous lemongrass sauce.

Frittering away time with a summer frittata

Well, the CC and his friends were ambling away in sunny, freezin'-cold San Francisco, and what did we see?

A farmers' market!

Well, we had no plans, and even though it was just before noon, we decided to see if we could salvage a late lunch.

Copious amounts of fresh vegetables were obtained; a quick trip to the next-door cheese store netted some buffalo mozarella, and a loaf of bread; and eggs were obtained from a nearby grocery store.

The CC should mention the existence of a sprightly, middle-aged, white-haired lady who held a rotating chakra over all the vegetables. The CC wondered whether it would rotate, vibrate or sing? Apparently, the asparagus did not speak to her inner chakra but the kiwi fruits did.

The asparagus definitely spoke to the CC who was happy to get some for the summer frittata.

We had:

a salad with a lemon-clementine dressing,

olive bread,

chopped heirloom tomatoes (with salt),

a tomato-basil-mozarella hors d'oeuvre, and

a summer vegetable frittata

During the preparation, a few of the heirloom tomatoes were inhaled by the worker bees. If you don't know what inhale means in this context, this is where someone stands near a tomato, and whoooosh! the tomato is gone. Only happens with good tomatoes.

Much fuss was made about how many eggs the CC used to make the frittata (twenty-two, in case you were wondering) but there was nothing left of the huge repast which we ate out in a lovely outdoor backyard garden.

(Recipes to follow.)

Cambodian Food (in the ghetto)

First stop, the day after I arrived was a Cambodian lunch place in some suburban ghetto. Gritty surroundings, lots of barbed-wire, geeks galore from Silicon Valley, and some amazing food.

We ordered a catfish hamok (also spelled as h'mok and amok), and a dish with long beans. (I'm sure I'm not doing justice to the pronunciation.)

The h'mok is fish chunks mixed with coconut milk, and ground coconut meat. It's heavy on the galangal, kaffir lime leaves, lemongrass, and particulary kapi (or gkapi) (fermented shrimp paste.) All of this is wrapped in a banana leaf and steamed.

The aromas are simply sublime! My sister was generous enough to let me have the "first smell".

The CC openly admits his addiction to gkapi (watch for a post on this later), but this is not for the faint of heart, and is definitely an acquired taste.

The CC was also just impressed that the long bean dish contained long beans. Far too often, restaurants substitute French beans (what a copout!)

Talk about an auspicious beginning to a vacation!