Category Archives: Eating my feelings and paying for it

I had to go to Philadelphia last week for just a few hours, but I knew that while I was there, I had to make time to eat.  No, I didn’t visit Tony Luke’s, Pat’s, Gino’s, or Jim’s.  After living in Philadelphia for about 9 years, I know exactly where to find the best food.  At a Vietnamese restaurant called “Nam Phuong,” tucked a way in the corner of the Wing Phat shopping plaza on Washington Blvd.

Vietnamese soups always come with veggies & limes. If you see lemons or nothing at all, leave.

While I was there, I definitely didn’t appreciate how amazing the Vietnamese food at Nam Phuong is.  In fact, I was annoyed that every time my parents came to visit, they only wanted to go to Nam Phuong.  Not once would they try Amada by Jose Garces or one of the many, amazing BYOBs in the city!  Nope, just Nam Phuong.  Spoiled as I was by the spot-on flavors of all the Vietnamese fair, I would sigh and begrudgingly drive to Wing Phat, fighting off the sea of Asian drivers all battling for 1.5 parking spaces in which to park their cars… diagonally, of course.

Vietnamese restaurant with a Vietnamese/Chinese zodiac placemat -- always a good sign. I'm a monkey... shocking, I know.

After I spent the summer in Vietnam and then moved to New York, I realized why my parents had been so addicted and devoted to Nam Phuong.  It’s not fancy and you could basically go in your PJ’s (which are worn quite often around the streets of Vietnam) to dine.  When you walk in, there are giant round tables everywhere and all you can hear is the frantic sound of plastic chopsticks on ceramic bowls and slurping of noodles through hot soup.  You can see steam rising up from below the hunched over faces of the guests who on occasion, look up from their bowls to breath in cool air, blow their running noses, or sigh deeply to try and make room for the next bout of noodle-slurpage.  In short, it’s wonderful.  It’s a symphony of food joy.  It brings tears to my eyes to see people enjoying their food in such an honest and loving way.  There’s no discussion about plating, no talk of seasoning (go on, season and garnish it yourself with your plate of bean sprouts, mint, thai basil & limes), and little talk at all except for those deep, labored sighs that only accompany food so good that you can’t stand to leave any leftover.

banh xeo - it's an eggy crepe filled with shrimp and pork that's served with pickled veggies and herbs to be wrapped in lettuce

So when my mom and I found a parking spot right in front of Nam Phuong in the middle of the day, and then walked in to find it uncrowded with no wait… it was like a little pho miracle sent from Buddha.  We shared a banh xeo that was so good wrapped in lettuce and garnished with mint, thai basil, cucumber, and pickled carrots & daikon (although nothing beats the banh xeo made and served in Danang).

assembling your banh xeo lettuce wrap

For our entrée, we didn’t even have to ask each other what our orders would be.  My mother is from Hue and I inherited her spicy, salty Hue blood (read that however you like).  These two Hue girls ordered bowls of Bun Bo Hue – spicy pork and beef broth soup served with spongy, round rice noodles, thin slices of brisket, and congealed pork blood.  The flavor is intense.  The heat is intense.  The spiciness is intense.  This soup is not for the weak or the ignorant of palate.  If you don’t like this soup, if you can’t handle the heat, then you need to train yourself to enjoy it or risk dying a bland and boring life.  I could say, “it’s OK, to each their own…”  But I just don’t feel that way.  When it comes to Bun Bo Hue, there is no other right answer.

bun bo hue - savory, spicy, meaty and perfect.

We squeezed fresh lime juice into our giant, steaming bowls of bun bo, and then added additional bean sprouts, mint, and thai basil.  There’s only one size: warrior-portion.  For baby & sissy-portions, go elsewhere.  I used to not be a fan of the congealed blood, but I was young and stupid.  It has the meaty, nutty, gamey flavor of liver with a little marrow, and its mellow earthiness is perfection with the spicy, tangy broth.  The spongy, round noodles are fun and happy, like skinny udon noodles, and have the right amount of slurping slipperiness.  My mom and I barely spoke as we focused intently on the mission at hand: eat, savor, & enjoy.  Of course, our silent enjoyment was only broken when one of use would need to come up for air and a break from the steam to blow our nose or breath out to make room for more noodles.

yup, it's congealed pork blood and it's delicious

Had there been time for dessert, I would have gotten a shaved ice, coconut milk, mung bean, and pandan jelly noodle dessert, but alas, our time in Philly was short this go around.  But Nam Phuong… oh Nam Phuong… I can’t wait to visit you again (cue the dreamy, Vietnamese string music, mist, and then… fade out).

do you see that red clay color??? if you order bun bo and it doesn't look like this, push the bowl away from you and ask for the check.

Since Tam works in midtown and it’s on my way downtown to Soho, we’ve been having our own little midtown lunch.  Our lunches are filled with yummy foods and picture-taking madness, followed by slow waddles to the subway and our jobs, still lamenting not having ordered one more thing to try.

Busan Eel Bowl

Our most recent Blogged Lunch was at Busan on 53rd St. between 2nd & 3rd Ave for some Korean fare.  When I met Tam there, the window walls in front were wide open and Tam had picked a table that allowed us complete access to the outside world, and great natural sunlight for lots of picture taking.  The wait staff was incredible attentive and the atmosphere was very sleek, which may explain the high price tags relative to Korea Town.

Busan salad

I needed something substantial and decided on a rice bowl with broiled eel while Tam ordered a hot bowl of rice cake soup.  Both were presented beautifully and came with HALF a battered & fried egg and two little tempura asparagus spears.  What’s up with this half an egg stuff, people?  And to go to the lengths to batter and deep fry only half an egg…  Why?  Why not just give us a whole egg?  And while the HALF egg and asparagus were lovely, there was NO KIMCHI.  Yeah, I kid you not… an absence of kimchi.  Nor were there any fun little condiments or a small deep-fried fish like at BCD Tofu House, just a small salad that was oddly dressed with unagi sauce, which was a little too sweet just dumped onto plain salad.

Tempura asparagus spears on HALF a deep-fried egg

This is what a deep-fried half egg looks like

Luckily, the flavor of the eel rice bowl was pretty damn good, but what rice slathered with unagi sauce isn’t, right?  Under the eel, there was a good amount of sautéed peppers, onions, and zucchini that were needed to compliment that earthiness of the eel (although kimchi would have also done that better).  And the rice wasn’t just plain white rice, it was this delicious wild mix of purplish rice that had a nice nuttiness to it.  The half an egg wasn’t bad, either, but it wasn’t anything special… especially not special because it was only half an egg.  I do wish that the rice had been cooked-til-crispy on the bottom, but it hadn’t, and I was left wishing that I had something more.

Tam and I decided to get shaved ice with red bean and coconut milk.  We have a similar dessert in Vietnamese cuisine, so we thought it would be a comforting way to send us back to work.  Ladies & gentlemen, this is where Busan shined.  Where they saved money on only serving half a fried egg, they splurged on topping our red bean shaved ice with plenty of strawberries & blueberries.  The red bean was also surprisingly balanced, not sticky sweet the way red bean can sometimes be.  The shaved ice, coconut milk, red bean, and tart berries made for a fabulous dessert that was refreshing, not heavy.  It was the best way to end a warm summer’s lunch.

Busan shaved ice with coconut milk, red beans, & berries

In the end, while I enjoyed dessert, I think I’m going to keep my Korean meals to Korea town.  But I can’t wait for my next Blogged Lunch with Tam!

Tam photographing our dessert

Whenever we head to Chris’s house in Connecticut, he and his family always call it “the country.” I don’t know that I would call Greenwich “country,” but it definitely feels like taking a mini-vacation when we get out of the city and start driving through the windy, tree and boulder-filled landscape. This summer, we’ve been heading to the suburbs country more than usual to make use of Chris’s most recent, and now that I think about it, only purchase… ever.  A sailboat.  Yup, he bought a sailboat.  Granted, it was on major sale/discount, so you know I appreciate that.  Still… he bought a boat.  When you marry a guy who basically never imposes on anyone and never asks for anything, you just can’t say “no” the first time he has a request.  I’m just happy he didn’t ask for a space shuttle or something.

You know what confuses me?  I grew up outside of the NYC in a town in New Jersey.  We called it a suburb.  Why is Greenwich, “the country?”  Is that just fancy-speak for suburb?  I don’t think anyone heading into Jersey calls it, “the country.”  In fact, I know they have worse names for it (my husband has a couple of choice nicknames for my beloved Jerz that I’m going to pretend I forgot).  Oh well, I’ll continue to play along.  So we usually catch a late train out of the city, which tends to jazz us up a bit, only to spit us out into a town where the bar looks like a J.Crew catalogue photo shoot just let out and all the models are running for booze to drown their madras sorrows.  Confession time: I have madras, seersucker, preppy wear, etc. and I like it – not the point here.  All I’m saying is that I want a chill place where I don’t feel like my only options are to kick back with my boat shoes and wrinkle my polo.

Once again, the Suarez family (I think I should just start calling them a Food Dynasty) steps in to address a food void.  They just opened up Lolita in Byram (Greenwich), a quick walk away from the Port Chester train station.  Open until 2AM, the EPIC tequila menu and beautiful bar area have answered my swanky booze-prayers.

If you can make it a little earlier, you can partake in the full Mexican menu at a table either inside or in the garden/patio area – perfect for summer.  Chris and I basically ordered our weight in food, enjoying some spicy guacamole, queso fundido, carne asada fajitas, fish tacos, and a side of zocalo corn.  There was a lovely “welcome granita” made with pink grapefruit juice and topped table-side with a swirl of tequila blanco.  Next time (and there will be a next time), I’m going to try my hand at the bistec tampiqueño – all 18oz of that bone-in ribeye.

Zocalo Corn

Lolita Fish Taco

And don’t worry, eating at the table doesn’t mean you have to miss the bar  – it comes to you.  Should you choose to order a margarita with your meal, a gorgeous young lady in a black, fitted, asymmetrical dress (FYI – this place is STACKED with beautiful people) will wheel the margarita cart over to your table and custom blend your drink to order.  That cart is also prepped for tequila shots if you’re in the mood.

have margarita, will travel... to your table (that's Chris in the background checking out his menu and not our margarita-chica -- gotta love him)

the Lolita Margarita

As my dad-in-law and I toasted tequila shots from one such cart wo-manned by a particularly stunning young lady, he noted that smart restaurants need two things to be successful: steak-and-sizzle.  Lolita definitely wins big on both fronts offering carne asada and bistec served to you with a side of are-those-waiters-or-models sizzle.  Those model-esque servers just happen to be SUPER-attentive as well – I think our table was visited by no less than 5 different, beautiful people.  I also really dig the diversity of this stylish staff; something that isn’t always represented out in the country.

Carne Asada

So if you’re too old to do the “home from college for the summer” bar and too young (either in age or spirit) to call it a night at 9PM, Lolita is calling.  Complete with bongo players, you feel like you’ll either stumble out of Lolita onto the streets of NYC or out onto the beaches of Miami.  Just do me a favor and call a cab if you’ve hit that tequila cart too many times – a disaster I may be, but a drunken-fool-behind-the-wheel I am not.  Thank you, Lolita, for bringing a little nightlife to the country.

Oh, and they brought a massive cotton candy mountain to each table that had a nice surprise of little pop rocks speckled throughout. Chris and I picked the pop rocks out like monkeys grooming our cotton-candy-monkey-baby.

As I’m not exercising and haven’t been exercising for the past few months, I’ve tried to resist one food-obsession-binge: the Cheeseburger.  In my mind, everybody just hushed at the name of such a divine food; something so flavorful, so delicious, so ingenious, that the Vietnamese MUST have invented it!  I tease, I tease.  Obviously we weren’t rocking a lot of cheese outside of “la vache qui rit” (laughing cow) spreadable cheese triangles that amazingly, were never refrigerated when I ate them in Vietnam.  Those crazy French – sure, they may have colonized my people, engaged in a terrible war when the Vietnamese just wanted to be free, and burned our libraries on their way out (post getting their asses served to them like a steaming bowl of pho), but dude, they gave us spreadable cheese that can just hang out on the counter.  Cool.

I think the love of a good burger may be genetic.  My mom says that when she and my dad were poor, immigrant, hippies,they would sneak food into the movie theatre.  Not just any food: full-out burgers.  She said it was slightly embarrassing as they loudly pulled back the foil wrapping from outside the burger and then crunched in through the lettuce and onion.  Yeah, not embarrassing enough to stop, but whatever.  By the time we came along, we were microwaving bags of Orville Redenbacher and rushing to the theatre to enjoy it while it was still warm.  FYI – my dad was also balding in his hippie days, so as his already protruding forehead became even more prominent and his hair started reaching shoulder length, the more and more he looked like a Klingon.

This is me waiting to eat my first In-N-Out burger. That one's not Animal-style, which is now my favorite. I'm also throwing this in b/c my friends said I don't have enough pictures of me on my blog... this is why.

All I know is that I could probably eat a cheeseburger every, single day and not get tired of it.  This may be why the universe decided to give me a metabolism that instantly places fat on my hips, thighs, and arms when I even think about fattening foods.  If I had one of those ridiculous skinny metabolisms, I would probably be dead already from a cheeseburger-induced heart attack.  I dream of a medium-rare, buttery-beef burger topped with a strong cheese (although I like a good In-N-Out burger with just plain American, too), some fried onions if you’re lucky, a few bread-and-butter pickles, at least 3 slices of crispy bacon (I hate when it’s too chewy and I have to try and saw it apart with my front teeth), and then slathered in ketchup and both dijon & grainy mustard…  Oh, and maybe some lettuce, tomatoes, onions and what not for health purposes and a little crunch…  Brioche bun, sesame seed bun, whatever – but it HAS to be a bun.  Don’t throw a tougher roll at me – I want a doughy soft-centered BUN that’s been lightly toasted.  Oh yeahhhhhhhhhh.  A side of perfectly crisp, golden fries and a milkshake (or Arnold Palmer if you’re counting calories) would really do the trick.  Follow that with a root beer float and you can see why it’s a good thing that I can’t eat that everyday for fear of how it would impact my waistline.

DBGB crispy, golden fries. They kept trying to clear them away, but the 3rd time I slapped their hands, the bartenders left them for me to finish off

Obviously, you all know how I feel about a Shorty’s .32 cheeseburger.  I loves it.  I loves it like an illegitimate child.  Sometimes I get it topped with cheddar, sometimes with blue, but that little bastard is always filled with meaty love.  When I read about DBGB, which, I kid you not, stands for Daniel Boulud Good Burger (WARNING: if you’re at the office, make sure your speakers are off before clicking that link – it sounds like you’re in the middle of that talking VW Bug commercial), I called up to try and get a same-day reservation.  I literally read about it online and called before I was finished reading the article.  A lovely lady picked up and I basically yelled into the phone: “I WANT A CHEESEBURGER!”  Sadly, no openings – completely booked. Hmmm – do you have a bar???  Of course, but it’s a limited menu.  Are there burgers on that limited menu?  Yes ma’am, all 3.  See you in an hour, lady!

I called one of my eating buddies, Nick Wong (winner of FCI’s hot dog eating contest – destroying his competition by a good 2 minutes or so), and off we went to sample the magical combination of Daniel Boulud meets burger.  How can it be anything less than stunning?  A piece of art?  A piece of meaty, savory, cheesy, art?  We walked ourselves to the Bowery at a sprint and busted through the DBGB glass doors.

Holy cheez its, the place was PACKED at 7PM on a Wednesday night.  There’s a bar area with tables that’s the size of (probably bigger than) most restaurants.  The fancy pants dining room is in the back with an open kitchen, where our buddy, Ed Cho, looked like someone had shot his puppy as he hauled ass to plate terrines.  We tried to find a table, but again, the place was filled and as we passed by and tried to ascertain whether or not a table was about to be finished, we’d get a contemptuous look saying, “I had to kick a pregnant lady and her toddler to get this table, so I’m planning to move in.  Keep walking.”

Nick Wong, sharing my bar bench with me

We pushed through to the actual bar, all the while trying to tame my many bags (I always have at least 2 on me and usually there are nesting bags within those bags), which kept whipping about every time I turned my body, accidentally smacking the heads of some poor people just trying to drink their sorrows away.  When we finally made it to the bar, we had to ask two gentlemen to slide over so we could share a bench.  They were gracious about doing it, but I could tell they weren’t super-comfortable.  Here’s the thing: there aren’t bar stools at the bar, there are bar LOVE SEATS.  Yeah.  There’s this handy shelf underneath where you can store your stuff, but your ass is going to touch the ass of the person next to you.  If it’s two girls, whatever, who cares.  A couple on a date?  Not a problem.  Two straight guy friends?  Starting to get uncomfortable.  Two straight guys who don’t know each other?  Yuh oh.

Donny's Manhattan

We ordered some perfectly smooth manhattans from Donny, the very attentive and funny (check out his business card) bartender who was taking care of us.  Nick Wong (aka The Wanger, aka Rachey) and I ordered (to split, of course) both the classic Yankee burger and the Piggie – a burger topped with pulled pork on a cheddar-cornbread bun.  We ordered and we waited…  not that long, but it felt like forever because of the Post-Order-Famine effect: you know, it’s when you’re fine before you get to the restaurant, but once you order your food, your brain starts expecting instant gratification so your whole body starts suffering hunger pangs, which makes you cranky, and sometimes you have to slump in your chair and put your head down on the table and groan.  No?  Never happened to you?  Oh, ok.  Just me then…

Yankee doodle dandy - that's what a burger should look like

Yankee profile - bacon and cheese are always good things

When our plates arrived, we weren’t disappointed.  These are some good-sized burgers, especially for the very reasonable price tag.  And the construction of the burger itself was perfection: you could see all the layers of fixings, there was great height, and the bun was topped with a pickle (Yankee) or a Jalapeno (Piggie) before being skewered  down. Regardless of whether or not I’m splitting a burger (vs. sharing, because sharing implies that I just gave away half my burger without something in exchange… which I just wouldn’t do), I always cut my burger in half.  Firstly because I hate when you eat a burger whole and then you get to the end and you’ve either pushed the burger meat all the way through to the other side of the burger and there’s not enough bun left, or vice versa.  Secondly because I love the way it looks.  Thirdly because I like to not only put condiments in my burger (i.e. loads of ketchup, dijon, and grainy mustard), but I also like to dip my burger into the condiments,  and somehow I feel that a cut-meat surface is a better grabber/absorber of condiments than a seared-side.  Yup, I got issues.  When we cut into the Yankee and the Piggie… well, let’s just say that this is what a Daniel burger should look like.  Just looking through my pictures now, I’m so impressed with the thickness of the burger patty and how incredibly precision-cooked it is to a vibrant, pinky-red medium-rare.

This little Piggie was pretty, but needed more salt

The burger meat itself is a blend of shortrib, chuck tender, chuck roast, and beef knuckle (ground fresh everyday) and the pulled pork is by way of Daisy May’s BBQ.  The Yankee had tangy Essex St. pickles and a personal favorite, Vidalia onion.  I love Vidalia onions.  Actually, I’m not really sure why people don’t use more raw Vidalia onions in salads.  Thinly sliced and soaked in whatever vinaigrette you’ve made, your salad is instantly elevated to a main course vs. appetizer.  Ok, that’s not quite true, but it’s definitely a better salad than it was without the thin slices of Vidalia goodness.  Obviously I added both bacon and cheddar to my burger; the savory, smokey bacon flavor and nutty cheesiness complimented the juicy burger nicely.  I’m not going to lie, I like my burger a little more seasoned, but that’s probably because I need it to hold up to the onslaught of condiments that I put it through.

Half a Piggie

The Piggie definitely had a nice kick to it from the jalapeno mayonnaise and the jalapeno juice that the bun had soaked up.  The cheddar-cornbread bun was less cornbready than I had been expecting and I was a little saddened by that.  Again, the burger was not as seasoned as I would like, but it was the pulled pork (not made at DBGB) that both Nick and I found to be lacking.  It didn’t have a lot of other flavor outside porkiness, which is usually a good thing when well-complimented by good salt & peppering, but in this case, we both looked at each other and just shrugged our shoulders.  Now, to be fair, we DEVOURED everything and cleaned our plates, which means that these were 2, very decent burgers.  However, the Piggie just didn’t live up to my expectations – probably because I had placed it on a burger pedestal.  The Yankee definitely stood out in how tender, thick, juicy, and expertly-medium-rare it was.  With a little more seasoning, it would be everything that I expect from a Daniel burger — of course, I do have a slight sodium addiction, so everyone else will probably think it’s perfect.

Yummy Yankee

All-in-all, the DBGB experience was pretty great.  It’s all the Daniel quality and Daniel level-of-service for a low-low (relative to Daniel) price tag.  I’m looking forward to donning some fancy pants and trying to get into the back dining room when I can pull together a little more funding.  In the meantime, my burger hunt continues.  I’m planning a burger crawl to sample the “best” burgers in the city.  Where’s your favorite???  Please comment and let me know so I can add it to the list!

Beyond my favorite Shorty’s burger, I also enjoy good fast-food-esque burgers from Burger Joint helping and a Shack Burger – although I try and go to the Shack only in winter because I hate lines, so my enjoyment is seriously affected by the whole freezing cold, shivering, runny nose thing…  Maybe I should stop getting that milkshake with it…   I’ve eaten a lot of Five Guys in my life as well since it used to be down the street from my office when I worked in Philadelphia.  To hear from better people about burger madness, definitely check out A Hamburger Today.

I’m craving me some takeout after spending the day behind-the-scenes of a food commercial. That’s a really long story that I’ll post about tomorrow when I can do it some justice… There’s some classic Mindy in there. Well, on my way home (actually a 6-block detour at sprinting speeds), I picked up some takeout from my favorite Bowery shop: Yummy Noodles (cash only). I thought my friend, Angie, first brought me here, but I just recently found out I’ve been eating takeout from here since I was a child. Shows how perceptive I am, right?
I’m on my way home now packing half a Peking duck and 2 wonton noodle soup. Yes, it’s all for me. No, I’m not eating it all in one sitting – I plan to have it for breakfast tomorrow, too.  When I get my duck home, I throw it under the broiler for half a minute or so to crisp up the skin.  Then I put it in my wonton noodle soup with crispy skin side up and the bone and meat submerged.  Ok, here’s where it’s going to get a little dicey for you non-Asian folk.  After I eat the meat off the duck bone, I put the bone BACK into my soup and shove it back down into the liquid.  Yeah, I know, so ladylike.  It’s not that I’m too lazy to get a separate dish to throw away the duck bones in, it’s that the delicious bones sit in the broth and season it with five-spice-duckiness that elevates wonton noodle soup to an elysian level.  Yup.  It’s yummy… noodles!  Hah!  Get it???  Get it?  Yeahhhhhh.

When I say I get food-obsessed, it’s not an understatement. It’s not like having one night a week dedicated to pizza, either. I’m compulsive. I’m a bloodhound. I get the scent of one type of food and then go crazy. It happens all the time (soup dumplings, fish tacos, biscuits, etc) – I eat a particularly delicious something-or-other and I’m basically lost without it for a good week or two.  And living in New York city where if you can think of a cuisine type, you can find it (and pay for it)… well, it’s like an alcoholic living on a boat in the middle of a bourbon ocean.

So yes, I had ramen again. While you’re judging, I might as well fess up to having it two days in a row. Tam emailed me a blog review for Tsushima in midtown. This sushi joint only serves ramen at lunch on Wednesdays and Fridays, and in limited quantities.  The review Tam sent me basically said that if you didn’t get there by noon and order on your way to your seat, you could kiss your ramepportunity goodbye.  Tsushima, you had me at hello.  I’m the idiot who falls for trying every gimmick AND I happen to love ramen AND I happen to be in the midst of a ramen kick.  So Tam and I made plans to meet outside Tsushima at 11:50AM on Wednesday.  After finalizing our plans, I couldn’t focus… I needed instant ramen satisfaction to quell the growling in my stomach, onset by the expectation of a future ramen meal.  You know where my first stop was: Ippudo.  As usual, the wait for a party of 3 was about 1.5 years, possibly 2 (one of those being a leap year, so tack on a day).  Couldn’t do it – I needed me some ramen.  We decided to march on over to 1st Ave and have a little Ramen Setagaya.

A few gyoza later (plus a lost-in-translation ordering fiasco when my friend’s husband wanted ramen with no scallops, then just noodles, then just broth with fat noodles, then just nothing seafood because he’s allergic… which he then told us he actually isn’t), my shio ramen arrived, complete with HALF (not a whole, but HALF) of a custard-yolk egg.  Ummm…  ok.  Half an egg.  So not a whole egg, just half of an egg.  Just half.  1/2.  Not 1.  1/2 in mine, 1/2 in your bowl.  Oh, you didn’t order ramen?  Just me?  Then I’ll just go ahead and toss this other half away.  Half.  It was delicious, though, but it wasn’t cold-marinated in soy overnight.  Probably because you can’t marinate an egg after you cut it in half…  Overall, I enjoyed my ramen there and would have it again if (and when) I next try and go to Ippudo just to find out that I need to wait until the Armageddon to get a table. And it did the trick in quelling my ravenous ramen craving for a few hours while I slept.

Setagay custard egg yolk... actually just a half of an egg

The next day, I was late. Unfortunately, I was the only Vietnamese running on peninsula-time that day and Tam had to wait a few minutes for me as I sprinted towards 47th & Lexington. Luckily, Tam is awesome and busied herself taking pictures while waiting for me. WHICH, brings me to a really cool realization: I LOVE eating with other bloggers!!! They don’t care if you take a thousand pictures of your meal, ask to take pictures of their meal, and re-adjust your plate like a thousand times to get the right shot. They don’t care, because they’re too busy doing the same thing. AWESOME. Anyhoo, we hurried into Tsushima to fight for a table, prepared to order the ramen on our way to our seats.

Please insert your own soundtrack of crickets chirping here. We were literally only the second (and third) people to arrive. Oh, ok… how old was that blog review that we read? Tam asked to sit at the bar (which I also love to do! I think I’ve found another dining soulmate) and we were escorted past a long row of empty seats to the very beginning of the bar and asked if these two stools were ok. Sure. Ok. I mean if that’s all you have…
I had yet another lost-in-translation-ramen-ordering experience. The menu said “ramen lunch” and then underneath it, “ramen,” and then underneath that, “barbecued pork.” I asked how I got ramen WITH pork – do I have to order pork separately? A longer-than-necessary back-and-forth ensued, after which I inferred that there was pork in the ramen, just not a lot. Ok, whatever, I will take my chances with the standard.  There was a nice, ordinary but delicious, mesclun salad with ginger dressing while we waited.  I hadn’t even finished my salad (probably because I was too busy snapping photos that I realized later were rather boring) when my ramen arrived.  It was a shio broth ramen like Setagaya…  I immediately dipped my spoon into the side of the bowl to take a sip, careful to not disturb the contents, which I had yet to take a picture of.

This shio (salt) ramen was in a category by itself.  Listen, I love me my hakata/tonkotsu pork-broth ramen and do prefer it to all other ramens in a Sophie’s Choice situation, but this shio ramen was Dy-No-Mite!  Beyond the perfect savory balance that shio usually offers, this broth was smokey and a little sweet.  There was depth to this broth that tasted like roasted crustacean shells.  Just writing about it makes my mouth water – but that’s a new daily side-affect from the whole blogging thing.  The broth also benefitted from stealing a little of the earthy, nutty, piggy notes from barbecued pork belly.  Damn.  I love moments like that first taste… these are the moments that always convince me it’s better to carry a little meat on your bones than to refrain from these sense-memories-in-the-making food moments.  Don’t even think of commenting about how exercising helps offset blah blah BLAH BLAH.  I don’t want to hear it – shhhhh… don’t disturb my ramen memory.

We dug into our bowls and Tam was the first to find it… a delicious scallop surrounded by its egg sack.  Mine was colorless and ugly (a lot like me after a long and dark winter), but Tam’s was a captivating coral color.  Story of my life, people.  Luckily, Tam let me take a picture of hers to show all of you.  I may get dealt a pretty bad hand with most things, but I tell you what – I really luck out when it comes to dining partners and friends.

Once I put down the camera, I started digging in.  I’ll be honest, I’m not a fan of overcooked seafood and there’s just no way to leave a scallop submerged in hot broth without it getting a little dense and mealy.  That texture kills me, but it actually blended in nicely with the grainy texture of the egg sack surrounding the scallop proper.  It all became pleasantly grainy the way pears are.  Luckily, where texture leaves something to be desired, flavor does not.  Even better was when, after nibbling the first part of the scallop to test, I then submerged and pulled it back with a spoonful of broth.  Ahhh, so this is the way shio broth was meant to be savored.

Again, pork belly gets tough when cut thick and submerged in boiled ramen broth, making thin slices ideal in texture, but not in aesthetics.  I appreciated the beauty of the thick cuts, but I have to say that I prefer a thinner slice.  Still, the flavor on this pork was entirely satiating: savory, wood-smoked, porky-sweet.

By now, the restaurant had started to fill and Tam and I began to quietly congratulate ourselves on getting there early.  I’m not sure if anyone else ordered the ramen – I saw a lot of sushi plates – but I felt extremely proud of ourselves for getting there early enough to guarantee sampling the umami deliciousness.  The noodles were a little softer and too close to Top Ramen noodles than I would like, but they did absorb the flavor of the broth nicely.  Oh, and the ramen came with what looks like mix-it-yourself-crab-congee that was nothing to write home about… so I won’t.  In the end, this shio ramen proved that it holds its own and cannot be measured against a different type of ramen.  I definitely enjoyed it and wouldn’t mind having it again… although it did leave me wishing that I had an “in” to get me past the hours of waiting at Ippudo – you know, some sort of “golden ticket” that will take me behind the scenes of its noodle and tonkotsu fabrication empire.  In fact, I’m adding that to my list of things to do with this blog: make an Ippudo-inspired parody of Willy Wonka complete with Japanese, noodle-slinging Ooompa Loompas.

I swear that this is a DIFFERENT noodle-shot of a bowl of ramen than my last one

After eating at Daikokuya in LA, I’m pretty sure that I could be a happy woman if all I did was travel around the world, tasting, comparing, and contrasting ramen joints.  When I told my friend, Lee Anne, how much I love ramen (I switch off between ramen and soup dumpling fits), she told me that she would take me to a ramen place in LA’s Little Tokyo that would blow my mind.  The verdict?  Daikokuya is more than just ramen, it’s a beacon of deliciousness for traveling souls who find themselves wandering around LA.

When someone takes you to their favorite ramen spot, a place where they go time and time again to enjoy the comfort of familiar tasty treats, you should defer to them when it comes to the ordering.  Sure, you could scour the menu to try and second-guess them, but I’m all about choosing the food-path of least resistance.  I’m there for the ride and I love when someone else chauffeurs.  And if Lee Anne Wong is your chauffeur, shut your mouth unless you’re opening it to eat the next decadent and exquisite bite of what she’s ordered for you.  

We started with the Tsukemono – a plate of assorted tangy, sweet, just-right savory pickles sprinkled with sesame seeds.  The acidity and crunchiness of the pickles made my already growling stomach even hungrier for the meal ahead.  Luckily, a plate of hand-made gyoza appeared to keep me from stealing the bowl of ramen that the neighbor on my left was showily slurping, rubbing in my face the fact that he was already enjoying his main course.  Tender, savory, faintly sweet pork filling was accented by the slight crunch and toastiness of the seared gyoza wrapper.  Delicious, delicious, but where was my pork broth ramen and shredded pork bowl combo???

Finally, my ramen arrived – I could smell the sweet pork broth before I saw it placed in front of me. Floating on top was a layer of extra pork fat that Lee Anne expertly ordered to increase the tasty porkiness of the rich ramen broth. Did I need more pork fat? No  Did I enjoy more pork fat?  The answer to that is always “yes.” As Lee Anne deftly garnished my bowl for me – adding pickled ginger, scallions, an extra swirl of soy sauce – I breathed in the decadent aroma and allowed the steam to engulf my face like a ramen facial.  One taste of the broth and I was instantly satiated, yet ravenous for more.  The noodles were just chewy enough.  Next time, I’ll probably order a more rigid noodle because I like a little more bite, but these were delightfully slurpable regardless.

Lee Anne expertly garnished my bowl for optimal deliciousness

What really wowed me was the custardy yolk at the center of the marinated egg.  I’ve NEVER had a yolk like this in a ramen bowl before – it was neither runny nor sulfur-green ringed.  It wasn’t created with an immersion circulator either; this baby was made the old-fashioned way and then cold-soaked in a soy sauce marinade overnight.  After this, I’ll never be satisfied by a poached or hard-boiled-to-death egg in my ramen ever again.  A custard-yolk adds intense creaminess and depth to a broth that you just didn’t think could get any deeper.  It’s like having a conversation with a gorgeous, book-worm genius who then drops that besides being a NASA engineer, he/she also drums for a rock band on the side… Damn.  This yolk-spiked-broth, like that rocker genius, just leaves you feeling inadequate.

Thank goodness I was such a jerk and took a million pictures of my ramen bowl, slowing me from gulping it down the way Lee Anne and my other friend, Colby did. He literally didn’t look up from his bowl until the thing was empty, gasping for air when he emerged form his own, private ramen party with his face drenched in sweat and ramen steam.  I had completely forgotten about the shredded pork bowl when all of a sudden, there it sat, taunting me with its umami sweet & savory being.  It was like Christmas – one minute your looking at an empty room and the next, it’s littered with presents… pork presents in this case.  The shredded pork was broiled with an unagi-esque sauce until it was just a little dry.  Some may not like that, but it reminded me of the meat on the end of a rib that gets singed by the barbecue.  What the hell am I trying to say?  It was freaking yummy.  Tangy, bright pink, pickled ginger, sesame seeds, and scallions – always a good idea – covered the pork-topped sweet rice.  My head was swinging back-and-forth like a cartoon character, trying to figure out what to take a bite of next.  All the while, my stomach was expanding to the point of sheer pain.  The beer that I was using to “palate cleanse” between bites probably wasn’t helping either.

shredded pork bowl of deliciousness

You know how pregnant women get stretch marks on their stomachs from the skin pulling to make room for baby? Well that’s how the inside of my stomach looks from an equally impressive task of making room for things like more ramen and pork bowl. Sadly, I didn’t finish everything, but the lovely folk at Daikokuya wrapped it up for me to take home and have later for a snack. I never did have that snack since we never stopped finding something new to eat while I was in LA, but it’s the thought that counts, right?

So how does Daikokuya stack up vs. Ippudo? I wish I could tell you. I tried to go to Ippudo yesterday to do a fair comparison as I didn’t want to work from Akamaru Modern memories, but as usual, the wait was already over 1 hour. On a Sunday at 1PM. Oh, and since they don’t allow you to do ramen takeout or wrap up a doggy bag the way Daikokuya does, I may never be able to accurately measure these two up. Daikokuya wins by default, and may just win outright for that incredible custard egg and for creating something as magical as a “Pork Ramen & Pork Bowl” combo. Because at the end of the day, who doesn’t want a side bowl of pork with their giant bowl of pork?

I basically always have noodles on the brain.  It’s like a genetic thing, I think.  If you’re Asian, you love noodles.  If you don’t love noodles… well, I suspect that “they” take away your Asianness and you’re sent away to some deserted island, non-noodle-loving colony where you can’t hurt the rest of society.  I don’t know for sure, but how else can you explain never meeting a non-noodle-loving-Asian, right?

Thank the ramen gods for my friend, Lee Anne – she’s basically a ramen apostle.  For lunch yesterday, we dragged ourselves into a hot car and fought our way through traffic (seriously, LA, HOW do you deal with this???) to trek to Daikokuya on the premise, as preached by the ramen prophet Lee Anne, that this bowl of ramen would put all others (including Ippudo) to shame…  Strong words.

I’m running to the airport now, so I can’t write every detail now, but let me leave you with this image from my pilgrimage to the ramen land.  More to follow tomorrow…

So after I posted yesterday about my super healthy egg white-only breakfast with John Voight (ok, so it wasn’t with him, but he was in the diner), I immediately destroyed any chance of making yesterday a healthy eating day.  I met a friend for lunch at a place called Pann’s.  Ever heard of it?  Turns out it’s been in a few movies like Pulp Fiction and Little Miss Sunshine.  Cool, had no idea.  The only thing I knew is that my friend’s friend is a screenwriter, currently working on a screenplay, and wanted to meet at Pann’s for lunch.  Whoa – that’s so LA.

More importantly, this was the SECOND diner that I went to in under 3 hours.  That’s a record, even for a Jersey girl.  I took it as a sign that the Diner Fates were trying to give me a do-over, a chance to correct the diner wrong that I had committed earlier that day by not putting good old yolks and saturated fats into my body.  All it took was my friend’s screenwriter buddy to mention, “This place is known for it’s fried chicken and waffles,” and pointed out a nice combo platter that included a biscuit smothered in country sausage gravy on the menu.  And as it was written, so it was done.

oh, and that onion ring didn't come with my order, i stole it off someone else's plate

A delicious, crispy Belgian-style waffle came out with fried chicken wings and a side of grits.  The grits were OK, but the crispy fried chicken was delicious dipped in tangy vinegar hot sauce.  A warm, syrupy bite of waffle is best enjoyed followed by spicy, salty fried chicken.  Throw in that delicious, dense, 2″ in height biscuit smothered in country gravy (you know how I love biscuits), and I was instantly transported back to the east coast… even if I was listening to someone discuss their screenplay while I had a mouthful of fried chicken.  You can take the girl out of Jersey…