Sal Tlay Ka Siti

24 Mar

When I was in Salt Lake City, I did wonderful things. I got to perform:

I look like a hippie muppet.

I look like a hippie muppet.

 

I experienced the Mormon Tabernacle Choir LIVE!

The sounds that high school chorus teachers DREAM OF.

The sounds that high school chorus teachers DREAM OF.

And I had some of the best Mexican cuisine this side of…well…Mexico.

The name says it all....except they don't serve iguana.

The name says it all….except they don’t serve iguana.

I accompanied my friend Haley to Red Iguana after reading nothing but raves about their mole (pronounced mole-ay, or molé) sauce. A mole is a generic name for various sauces used in Mexican cooking which often contain dozens of ingredients from chili peppers to bananas.

Chips and salsa--my healthy appetite kryptonite (I also rap on the side).

Chips and salsa–my healthy appetite kryptonite (I also rap on the side).

I started off my meal with a well-balanced margarita (no salt). The freshly made chips and smoky salsa were delicious, though tortilla chips are my downfall when it comes to dining in a Mexican establishment; if you bet I can’t have just one, you win.

Boozy goodness.

Boozy goodness.

 

At Red Iguana, they do various different types of mole, but I got the insider info that one can ask to try all of them to help them decide. How could I not?! I got a plate full of seven different mole sauces. They all had incredible depth of flavor after cooking for hours, and they ranged from spicy to sweet (and look at those beautiful colors!).

The colors, Duke. THE COLORS!

The colors, Duke. THE COLORS!

I settled on the chicken enchiladas that were drenched in the mole negro. The chicken was shredded and stuffed into two soft tortillas. The enchiladas were then covered in the mole negro which had a deep richness to it. It was made with chilis, raisins, Mexican chocolate and bananas, in addition to a plethora of other ingredients. I could have licked the plate clean…

…I may have licked the plate clean.

A plate of Mexican Magic.

A plate of Mexican Magic.

I washed that down with a horchata; horchata is a rice milk beverage (though different latin countries have different base ingredients) usually spiced with cinnamon and vanilla. This was one of the best horchatas I have ever had; sweet, with just enough spice, and a pleasant richness.

Morechata, please.

Morechata, please.

I know it sounds strange to tell you that some of the best Mexican I’ve ever had is from Utah, but if you find yourself the city that is Salt Lake, get thee to the Red Iguana.

Always crowded, always delicious.

Always crowded, always delicious.

I Don’t Even Know Myself Anymore

27 Feb

Wow, Michael. Four months and no posting. You are not nailing it.

A short while ago, my life was changed, and I never got around to posting about it. My experience was ignited by something that I had less than enthusiastic feelings for; something on the periphery of my existence that prior to this, never wooed me or made me experience any profound feelings. On this day, this glorious day, I was destined to taste a dessert that I have longed for ever since:

A carrot cake.

IT'S A SIGN! ...pretty sure I've used that caption before.

IT’S A SIGN! …pretty sure I’ve used that caption before.

I went to Fiorello’s Jack Stack Barbecue in Kansas City, expecting to have a delicious barbecue meal. My entrée was delicious. I had lamb ribs (I’m all for lamb anything) which were smoky, tender, and had a pleasant slight sweetness from the lamb’s gaminess and the fantastic rub.

Lambtastic.

Lambtastic.

But I digress.

My fantastic server suggested we try the carrot cake. “CARROT CAKE?!” I thought, I’ve never been partial. Meh. There’s usually too much going on and the frosting is always too thick, rich, and cloying.

I was so, so wrong.

THE STUFF THAT DREAMS ARE MADE OF.

THE STUFF THAT DREAMS ARE MADE OF.

This carrot cake came out in an individual portion (who doesn’t love that?!) and was warm, with a glaze instead of frosting. And. It. Was. EVERYTHING. A pillowy, just-sweet-enough cake with a glaze that actually complemented the cake instead of battling it. Simply adorned with some chopped pecans, after one bite I knew I was having a revelatory experience.

I went back the next day and got more cake. The server recognized me. Was I ashamed?! Slightly, but it only lasted until the cake came out. You know how sometimes the second time you eat something delicious it has lost its spark? This was not the case.

Some light reading.

Some light reading.

If you’re anywhere near this place, GET THIS CAKE. Your soul will thank you.

Poutine, eh?

18 Oct
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Ain’t it quaint?



I have been to Canada a few times, and I always seek out poutine (and everything maple). While in Ottowa, I was fortunate enough to be close to Smoke’s Poutinerie; a chain of poutine restaurants which dot the Canadian landscape.

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Cool glasses, brah.

This unassuming corner eaterie is open until 4 a.m. on the weekends. Could you ASK for better late night dining after a night out on the Canadian town?

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I don’t know about you, but I’d eat fries at 4 am.

Poutine at its core is a Canadian staple of french fries, gravy, and topped with cheese curds. Looking at poutine, it’s kind of a mess in a box. A DELICIOUS mess in a box.

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POUTIIIIIINNNNEEEEE!

I got the special curry chicken poutine; a beautifully spiced curry chicken gravy on top of crisp, pillowy fries and topped with squishy, salty, creamy cheese curds. The sauce was a cross between a well seasoned curry and a traditional brown gravy. I wouldn’t necessarily approve if this was covering a plate of chicken in an Indian restaurant, but for a poutine, this was exactly what I want (especially if I had been drinking).

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So many options. So many fries.

The gentleman serving me poutine claimed that they were talking about opening a Smokes in New York. PROVE IT. I WILL EAT THERE.

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This is sort of a built in caption.

When in Baltimore….

26 Sep

While in Baltimore, I was on a quest to find some of the most crab filled cakes in the city. After a short jaunt, I found myself at Lexington Market and waded my way through to get to Faidley’s Seafood.

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SO MUCH SEAFOOD SO LITTLE TIME.

 

I’m sure every Baltimore native has his or her own take on where to score the best crustacean cake, but this was a home run for me.

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I like my crab cakes like i don’t like my pancakes; lumpy.

The jumbo lump crab cake was served simply with some lettuce and tomato. The cake was packed with sweet, tender crab. It was well seasoned with hardly any filler. The crab cake is served with a little packet of saltines as if to say, “You want filler? ADD IT YOURSELF, FOOL!” No tartar sauce or cocktail sauce is really necessary when a crab cake is this full of flavor.

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Spotted!

 

I also ordered a back fin crab cake, made with meat that is not as flawless as a jumbo lump crab cake. It was tasty, but just not as unctuous and sweet as its big brother. I definitely did not leave this establishment feeling crabby! No one? Just me?

 

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Delicious, but missing those lovely crabby lumps (Fergie reference, anyone?).

Kansas City: One city. Two states.

15 Sep

While in Kansas City, Kansas, I hopped in a cab and headed towards Kansas City, Missouri. For sight seeing? Nah. For the sake of saying I was in two states in one day? A little. But my main reason was to sample the world famous eatin’ at Oklahoma Joe’s BBQ.

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Unassumingly delicious

The cab driver knew exactly where he was going, but I thought he misheard me when he pulled up to a gas station. It turned out to be a gas station that was fueling people with deliciously smoked meats (and gas. They also sell gas).

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This gas station is hiding a DELICIOUS SECRET.

Communal tables and long lines cover this converted space, and wood smoke perfumes the air. If you aren’t hungry when you walk in, you will be by the time you order.

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And this was in the middle of a random weekday.

What I want to discuss is the sandwich that dreams are made of. A creation so heavenly surely angels are secretly smoking this beef and frying these onion rings; a sandwich known as the Z-Man.

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AHHHHHH!!!!!!! AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!

The Z-Man is a sandwich consisiting of smoked brisket, smoked provolone, crispy onion rings and a smattering of barbecue sauce. It is served on a toasted Kaiser roll, though I’d probably still enjoy it if it was served on stale English muffins.

The cole slaw and beans I ordered were great; creamy cole slaw, rich, tender beans, but who needs sides when a sandwich is this delicious??!! WHO I ASK YOU, WHO?!

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A cross-section of happiness.

The beef was so tender and had a gentle but flavorful smoky taste to it. The smoked provolone enhanced the barbecue experience and the onion rings provided a textural crunch to balance out the fall-apart quality of the meat. The barbecue sauce gave it that needed zing and the toasted roll held everything together nicely. At under ten bucks, why would you NOT order a dozen of them and hoard them in your hotel room like a Gollum preserving his one true happiness in life? Oh. That’s right. You’re probably sane. Stop judging me.

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This ain’t NYC prices.

If you’re in either Kansas City, head over to this gas station barbecue mecca and give thanks for all things smoky and flavorful.

 

Chino Bandido Is Keeno In Phoen-o!

18 Mar

I’m the worst. At updating. But So Good. At Sentence. Fragments.

While near Phoenix Arizona, I insisted my friend and I try a place I saw on “Diners, Drive Ins And Dives.” As I’ve said before, the restaurants on the show are on a very broad spectrum between amazing and disgusting (this is only based on my personal experience), but Chino Bandido in Phoenix, Arizona hit the spot that night. A good spot. A tasty spot. A Mexican-Chinese fusion spot.

I saw the sign! I'm pretty sure I've made that terrible joke before.

I saw the sign! I’m pretty sure I’ve made that terrible joke before.

 

Chino Bandido riffs on Asian and Spanish flavors, by making things such as Chinese BBQ pork AND chile rellenos. Why isn’t this a thing everywhere? WHY?!

Old School signage, brah.

Old School signage, brah.

To order, one has to fill out a card with numbers and initials corresponding to what they want and how they want it prepared. They also let you try most of the dishes to help you decide. Since I’m the most indecisive human being in the history of the universe, this was a welcome help. I decided to try the jade red chicken, the emerald chicken, the jerk fried rice and refried beans.

 

This ginormous plate of food was rich and flavorful. The jade red chicken was crispy and covered in a sweet and tangy sauce. Like general tso’s chicken on crack. The chicken itself was tender and juicy.

Their mascot. An asian panda. Amazing? Yes. Racist? Probably.

Their mascot. An asian panda. Amazing? Yes. Racist? Probably.

 

The emerald chicken was grilled and topped with a chunky sauce (an asian salsa almost) consisting mostly of ginger and scallions. The tangy sauce complimented the slight smokiness of thegrilled chicken well though the chicken was a little dry.

So much food. Dreams.

So much food. Dreams.

 

The jerk chicken fried rice had a great subtle jerk flavor. I’m not the hugest fan of jerk seasoning, but this wasn’t overwhelming, and it was a great accompaniment to the smooth, creamy, rich refried beans. I could have had an entire plate of them.

It doesn't score a ten on ambiance, but the food makes up for it.

It doesn’t score a ten on ambiance, but the food makes up for it.

 

The meal ends with a complimentary snickerdoodle (my favorite!). A soft, sweet, cinnamony (not a word), perfect way to end this meal of decadence. Can they expand and come to the east coast? Great thanks!

COOKIE.

COOKIE.

I Couldn’t Help Myself.

15 Jan

Fine. I know I said the last post was my last Paris post, but it wouldn’t be fair of me to not quickly mention Pottolka, my first (and hopefully not last) Basque experience.

A menu in English. A sight for sore eyes.

A menu in English. A sight for sore eyes.

Ladies who lunch!

Ladies who lunch!

 

I need to head back to this place; almost every single option on the prix fix menu was something I would LOVE to have tried. I begged my server in desperation to help me choose.

Who can resist wine when eating food in France?!

Who can resist wine when eating food in France?!

A big ole glass of delicious.

A big ole glass of delicious.

 

After she poured me a glass of wine and looked at me like the overdramatic, hungry fool I was being, we decided to go with the smoked bacon and pumpkin soup with crispy suckling pig.  Holy friggin crap.

Holy cow...I mean pig. Holy suckling pig.

Holy cow…I mean pig. Holy suckling pig.

The soup was rich and smoky from the bacon, but had deep earthy notes from the bacon. That suckling pig was in a crispy wrapper; it was fatty and rich; I had to stop myself from inhaling it.

For my entrée I went with preserved ox cheeks with mushrooms, potatoes, and Jerusalem artichokes.

So. Much. Roast.

So. Much. Roast.

 I don’t know what preserving them added to the flavor, but it was like the Sunday pot roast to end all Sunday pot roasts. It was a HUGE serving of meaty goodness, in a gravy that would make you want to slap yo’ mama. The vegetables were tender but not cooked to death, and can we just take a moment to give praise where praise is due to the Jerusalem artichoke? I’m so glad they’re becoming a thing.

I was told I had to get the basque cake and it was EVERYTHING. It’s an almond cake with cherries in the middle. It was crumbly and dense, almost like the best blondie you’ve ever had in cake form, featuring cherries. It came with a huge bowl of creamy vanilla ice cream with little crispy streusel bits. How do French people stay so in shape when the portions are huge?!

Cake cake cake cake cake cake cake cake. And ice cream.

Cake cake cake cake cake cake cake cake. And ice cream.

If only they sold it in pints.

If only they sold it in pints.

AHHHHHH!!!! THIS CAKE IS SO DELICIOUS!!!!!!!

AHHHHHH!!!! THIS CAKE IS SO DELICIOUS!!!!!!!

 

 

An AMAZING meal that I would love to relive over and over again. I need to spend weeks in Paris and do nothing but eat. Who’s down?

Oh hey.

Oh hey.

Until next time, Europe!

Until next time, Europe!

 

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