Monster Munching

Pho So 1 - Irvine

2012-01-24T05:06:00.000-08:00

I remember eating at a Pho So 1 in either Reseda or Van Nuys or whatever mini-mall-blighted part of the San Fernando Valley I happened to be at the time. Point is I was visiting a friend, and he took me there after proclaiming that it was the only worthy Vietnamese place in the area. I don't remember much about the meal, except that I was hungry. I would have to assume that I liked it well enough, because when a Pho So 1 opened recently in Irvine, I immediately recognized the name.

The first thing I have to tell you about the Irvine Pho So 1 is that it looks un-Irvine. It has to be the most utilitarian dining space in the entire city--a pho joint, which like the best of them, doesn't bother with much decor. If there is pho in the distant utopian future where bald people in all-white jumpsuits have bar codes as nametags, the restaurant that serves it might look like this--clean, sleek, so large it echoes, and so brightly lit it wakes you up even before you order the ca phe sua da.

I like that it gets down to the basics, that there's not much to see or distract. You eat. You pay. You get out.

I ordered what I always order, which if you know me or this blog, isn't the pho, but the mi. And the broth is everything it always is: the same recipe for the sweet, salty, clear yellow soup that I've slurped at every pho joint and Vietnamese restaurant that serves the dish. The main differentiators are the toppings, and it is very good here. The roast pork is plentiful and thick, so tender and so soft it can be masticated by the toothless. The shrimp isn't overcooked and the noodles are still firm enough to be called al dente.

I didn't have the pho, but I did taste a sip of the broth and steal a few meats like the tripe and the tendon, and it was fine. A more thorough review of the pho will have to wait until I recover from what seems like a permanent case of pho-tigue.

Pho So 1
3831 Alton Pkwy. Ste. B
Irvine, CA 92606
(949) 251-8829

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Boiling Point - Irvine

Zcafe - Costa Mesa

2012-01-16T07:39:00.001-08:00

There are several areas of refuge in the shopping mall of shopping malls we all know as South Coast Plaza. Macy’s Signature Kitchen is one of them. In the deserted food court where no one really eats, Marcus Samuellson’s MarcBurger still puts out one of the best frozen custards around. But even that oasis of calm isn’t as good or as cozy as Zcafe’s semi-outdoor lounge.

So let’s just keep this tip between you and me, mmm’kay?

Zcafe’s space, shaded by the building’s overhang but otherwise open to the air at the west end of the Bridge of Gardens (the pedestrian bridge that connect SCP to Crystal Court), has plush couches, TVs, heat lamps, Wi-Fi, and what appears to be an actual futon for napping. I have used this space to sit, rest my calves, and even taken a five-minute snooze.

So far the only souls who seemed to have discovered this hidden asylum are the Apple Store employees who routinely use it as their unofficial breakroom.

But first a background: Zcafe used to be CPK ASAP (the fast food arm of California Pizza Kitchen), but since the Z Pizza conglomerate took it over and the space outside, the pace seemed to have slowed down for the better.

I’m not even going to touch on the pizzas here, which are fine but not great. I will, however, talk about the hummus--the only thing you should ever need to order. It’s the perfect food for the space, which I treat as a rest stop, a respite from my chores--a refueling station, if you will.

You don’t want to be weighed down with anything leaden with cheese. A light iced tea should be the beverage to sip with the hummus, a decidedly Mediterranean meal with spears of cooling cucumber, piquant olives, sweet as sugar marinated peppers, and a crispy plank of pizza bread doubling as pita with which to scoop up the dip. I didn’t expect it to be good, let alone supplied with fresh vegetables, but it was this and more.

On top of Mt. Hummus a pool of olive oil shimmered. And it’s relatively cheap for SCP. This $5.95 appetizer plate will feed two easily and could constitute a light lunch for vegetarians or a mid afternoon snack for the rest of us.

ZCafe
3333 Bear St. Ste. 316
Costa Mesa, CA 92626
(714) 545-5500

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Mamon from Red Ribbon - Anaheim

2012-01-10T05:00:00.000-08:00

I've been eating Red Ribbon's mamon for quite a while now. But it wasn't until recently, before a busy morning, that I can say I thoroughly enjoyed one. I realized then how very good they are. Isn't it amazing how life and food taste so much better when you take the time to savor?

I took my first bite with sip of tea, and in that moment, I was sent into a Zen-state of mind. The eggy richness bloomed in my mouth, the cake's texture is fluffy beyond what's imaginable, so airy it almost wants to float. A swipe of sticky sweet butter and a smattering of grated cheese on top seemed the only thing weighing it down, keeping it from lifting away like a helium balloon.

Despite being packaged like a Twinkie, the pastry cake cuffed inside what seems like a coffee filter is the picture of wholesomeness. It list egg whites, sugar and other pronounceable things as ingredients. The expiration date was about two days from when I bought it. After the first one I ate, the rest didn't last nearly as long.

Red Ribbon Bake Shop
601 N Euclid St
Anaheim, CA 92801
(714) 635-0256

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Gen Korean BBQ - Tustin

Maycar Foods' Crackling - The Ultimate Pork Rind

2012-01-03T23:49:00.000-08:00

I have a bag of these that remain half eaten in my cupboard. It's not that I don't want to finish them; it's that I am afraid that I will. This would be the third one I've consumed, and no other foodstuff I've eaten in recent memory has given me more pleasure and levied more guilt than this item. They are literally dangerous--everything that someone with an elevated cholesterol level should not eat.

But oh are they great. They are, in my opinion, the very best pork rinds on the planet. Actually, I'm not sure they can technically still be called pork rinds. The label simply says "cracklings" with the comically matter-of-fact addendum of "fried out pork fat with attached skin" as a descriptor. Actually, I suspect that the product is actually made from fatback.

They are certainly not the garden variety type of pork skin treat. It's noisier by a few decibels, a loud crunch on the lower frequency like Barry White's deep-throated rumble.

There are two separate and distinguishable strata of porcine material at play here: the outer curl, which is puffed-up and light-as-foam, and then the attached inner curl, which is dense and vaguely meaty. When my bite penetrates the latter, a surge of what feels like melted fat gushes out. I know it's not melted fat because the pieces are bone dry and are at room temperature, but it's a thrilling, if somewhat disturbing sensation, all the same.

I've only found them sold at one place, at the counter at Magic Wok in Artesia next to the other chips. I brought a bag to the office once and a co-worker and I finished it in fifteen minutes while we discussed its inherently salty, sweet, magical, and mystical qualities. As he ate, he examined every piece like a curious scientist and concluded that by the end of the bag, we probably just consumed the equivalent of a pack of bacon between the two of us.

No, I never compared the bag's nutritional facts with an actual pack of bacon to see if he was right. I don't want to know.

The Magic Wok
(562) 865-7340
11869 Artesia Blvd
Artesia, CA 90701

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Dos Chinos - Orange County

2011-12-27T23:00:00.000-08:00

Face it folks, this food truck fad isn't going away soon. Of the many newfangled food trucks out there, there are few that didn't take its cues from Kogi, the one that started it all. Dos Chinos' Latin-Asian imitation of what Kogi does is flattery at its most sincere. But then, Kogi itself wasn't exactly original. It got the idea from a blogger.

I think Krusty the Clown summarized it best when he said, "If this is anyone but Steve Allen, you're stealing my bit!"

But I digress. Imitator or not, Dos Chinos is great. If you're going to find your inspiration from something as iconic as Kogi (yes, Kogi is now an icon), you couldn't do it better than what Hop Phan and crew have done at Dos Chinos. In actuality, apart from the fusion-y aspects it shares with Roy Choi's concept, Dos Chinos has a flavor profile all its own.

As most of you who've already tried both will already know, Kogi tends to favor the heavy, the cheesy, the bold. Dos Chinos is lighter on its feet and in what it puts into its tacos and burritos. Rice inhabits most things, as does cabbage, cilantro and salsa.

A shrimp burrito actually does taste like something out of a Hawaiian shrimp truck, a scampi-like preparation that mixes so well with the Mexi components that it boggles the mind why no one did it sooner. The Korean BBQ beef is sweeter than carne asada, but it still makes sense wrapped up inside a toasty and pliant tortilla.

But perhaps the best thing the truck produces is the fries, a deceptively simple and humble mound of fried-from-frozen garden variety spuds. It's sprinkled garlic butter and crumbles of cotija cheese to become an addictive substance that is immediately better than the sum of its parts.

It shows that in the end, it matters not who you take your inspiration from. What matters is that you put out something good...that just might inspire someone else to copy you later.

Dos Chinos
doschinos.com

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Sushi Imari - Costa Mesa

2011-12-20T06:40:00.000-08:00

If you fancy yourself a sushi purist, you might have dismissed Sushi Imari as a roll-peddler, an entity that would initially appear so diametrically opposed to the respected raw fish masters at Sushi Shibucho and Sushi Wasabi that it becomes like comparing a graffiti artist to Michelangelo and Botticelli. Yes, it has a menu that features rolls with names including but not limited to the "Marilyn Monroll" and "Me Soy Horny".

But if you were judging by only that, you'd be as misinformed as I was when I walked in.

Nearly everything I ordered from the specials board turned me from snobby skeptic to instant fan.

I've been eating a lot of live amaebi lately, some better than others, but Sushi Imari's special was immaculate. I was floored how good it was. The flesh was predictably crunchy and sweet, dispatched just seconds before it's laid on top of the ball of rice; but the way they do the heads was a different beast entirely.

The antennae extended past the boundaries of the plate, arching towards the stratosphere, and were gilded in a thin shimmer of tempura batter that hung off like dew drops. The care taken in cooking the head was remarkable--every millimeter of the carapace was rendered crisp into a sea chip, the best fry job of its kind. It's greaseless and perfect, with just the right amount of salty.

And then there's the uni, so sweet I swore it was made of some sort of heavenly custard, and so sparkling fresh it seemed as if it were just fished out of the lapping waters of the Pacific just a minute before.

When we left, we talked about it again and both agreed: that was some great uni.

The hamachi kama, which I order just about anywhere I can get it, has to be ranked in my top five. The grilled fish collar--skin covered in char, supple flesh imbued with sweet, sweet smoke all the way through--was nothing but two thin bones picked clean by the end.

And yes, the rolls were unexpectedly enjoyable too. There was a cucumber-wrapped crab and tuna thing threaded by toothpicks that gushed flavor and a chillingly cool sensation, like a icy surge of arctic air down your spine.

Sushi Imari was excellent, and for the record, I also like well-done graffiti art just as much as I appreciate Michelangelo's masterpieces.

Sushi Imari
375 Bristol St. Ste 40
Costa Mesa, CA 92626
(714) 641-5654

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Gourmet Grill Masters - Irvine

2011-12-12T07:36:00.001-08:00

This lamb shawarma wrap is probably not the thing you ought to order if you go to Gourmet Grill Masters in Irvine. The signature item that put their catering truck--which does rounds at LA’s farmers markets--on Jonathan Gold’s list of Bests is the rotisserie chicken. The Pulitzer Prize winner honored Gourmet Grill Master’s hens as the best roast birds in LA, which is high praise when you consider what’s out there.

But alas, when I came to GGM in Irvine (their first brick-and-mortar store) I was at lunch break and had no desire to mack on a juice-gushing chicken with my good shirt on. A full-on rotisserie bender complete with finger-licking and toum fouling up my breath would have to wait.

In the meantime, it was the shawarma, and it was still more food than I intended to eat in an hour. I was not prepared for its girth. This was a shawarma that beats just about all other shawarmas I’ve had in magnitude. For all intents and purposes, it was a giant Middle Eastern burrito, especially when you consider that it uses the very same pliant and pleasantly stretchy flour tortillas places like Alberto’s employ for their carne asada gut bombs. This "burrito" is just as similarly mottled to crispness in spots, a thin barrier holding back a barrage of onions, tomatoes, lettuce and seasoned lamb meat shaved from an ever-rotating spit.

Along with the excess of filling, there’s an excess of flavor within those tortilla walls. For sure they’ve slathered on a bit of garlic paste, and probably some tahini (and perhaps just a tad too much onion). Not that the lamb really needs the assist: the crumbly and griddle-singed edges of this ground meat loaf-like thing sings of spices like cinnamon, nutmeg and oregano. Also contributing to distend my tummy: they gave out complimentary baskets of deep-fried mini pillows of tortilla with a minty dipping sauce on the side, just because they're nice.

Yes, I’ll try the rotisserie chicken soon. I’ve got a shirt ready to sacrifice for the occasion.

Gourmet Grill Masters
14141 Jeffrey Road
Irvine, CA 92620
949-988-7554
http://ggm-irvine.com

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Macarons at Pascal - Santa Ana

2011-12-05T07:23:00.001-08:00

Cupcakes, schmupcakes. I never came on board that train; but you can count me in as a passenger on the macaron bandwagon. A few years ago, there was a run on these crispy, chewy, multi-hued and flavor-filled pastries that look like mini burgers. I vaguely remember more than a few exuberant posts Chowhound touting the macarons at Boule, a now defunct bakery. Now, macarons are everywhere.

The best I’ve found so far are made by Pascal Olhats, the chef I most associate with anything French that’s worth consuming in OC. I’m not the only one that thinks so. A co-worker routinely compares Pascal’s macarons to those he’s had in Paris. They’re just as light, he says. To beg forgiveness for his transgressions, he buys them for his wife in lieu of flowers.

The merits of a good macaron, he says to me like an expert lecturer on the subject, is measured on how close it is to eating air. After all, macarons are pretty much a meringue with almond flour added for structural integrity. It can’t be at all dense; and it has to be crispy, leading to a delicate tacky chew on the inside. Ideally it should crumble and melt upon contact with your mouth, whereupon it just caves in on itself, subsiding like a sandcastle at high tide.

Available on the day I went to Pascal at Hutton Center were pistachio, lemon, strawberry, chocolate and chocolate banana. At $0.85 a piece, they’re half the price most bakeries would charge. I’ve seen macarons retail at prices around $1.60 per piece elsewhere. It must be said that Pascal’s macarons are, however, smaller than most. You can conceivably put two your mouth and still have room for one more—their diameters just slightly larger than a quarter…with the cost of about three and a dime.

Pascal
2 Hutton Centre Dr
Santa Ana, CA 92707
(714) 957-3087

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Flaming Spice - City of Industry

2011-11-28T20:28:00.000-08:00

If you may indulge me on a juvenile analogy: If Japanese shabu shabu was Super Mario Brothers; then Mongolian hot pot would have to be Worlds of Warcraft (apologies to anyone reading who isn’t a nerd).

Hear me out: In shabu shabu as in Super Mario, you start with a single character—plain water for the shabu shabu cooking broth, Mario for the game. By contrast, in Worlds of Warcraft as in Mongolian hot pot, you begin with a myriad of options. WoW lets you start out by choosing a character from a range of classes, whether it be a warrior, mage, hunter, etc. In Mongolian hot pot, you choose your starter soups, whether it’s the spicy fish slicked with enough chili oil to burn a hole through your esophagus; a not-as-spicy tomato fish brew; a spicy chicken soup; a duck broth made drunken with beer; or even a mushroom soup.

From there Mongolian hot pot, like the popular MMORPG, can be whatever you want it to be. It can veer into territories unknown. Your eating adventure is whatever you make of it. In every bite of Mongolian hot pot, as in every WoW quest, you will encounter textures and flavors of your choosing. Therefore, whatever you’re putting in your mouth will most likely be unique to you, different from what the next guy is experiencing.

At Flaming Spice in the City of Industry, not only do they have these varied options of boldly-flavored soup, every yin of that is paired with a yang that balances it. That is the function of a murky, milky broth that the restaurant supplies on the other side of the pot. You’ll need it because sometimes, actually, most times, the flavored soups are too intense to handle without the milder one there as a reprieve.

I chose the spicy fish and the first dip of meat I ate from it caused ripples of sweat to stream from my brow. In fact, whatever it was that I rescued from this demon broth with my chopsticks came out coated in thin film of red chili oil, like something fished out of the waters after the Exxon Valdez. I’m convinced that if the liquid completely evaporated, whatever solid matter that remained in the pot would effectively get shallow fried in the oil left behind.

One thing is certain: Those who complain that Japanese shabu shabu is bland would be summarily silenced here. Upon eating this Mongolian hot pot, someone like that would also become a convert. There’s an excess of flavor of the throat-burning, how-have-I-lived-without-this, and hurts-so-good variety. And when you consider that there's a counter of sauces to mix and match, there is actually a danger of thoroughly exhausting your already overwhelmed taste buds.

And if I may be allowed to continue the video game analogy for a moment longer: Here at this restaurant, an eating session can be just as never-ending as a game of WoW. For $19.99, you can continue picking up items, dipping, swishing, slurping until you’re just as over-stimulated like too many online gamers I know.

There are other all-you-can-eat Mongolian hot pots restaurants around. I wrote about a place called Red Pot in Garden Grove once. But Flaming Spice is different. At the former, there’s paper work when you require more meat. At Flaming Spice, the proteins are carted around dim-sum style. Nothing more than a whim allows you to pick up more sliced raw beef than you can possibly melt in the broth; more head-on shrimp than you can possibly peel; more clams than you can possibly scrape off with your two front teeth; more fatty lamb than you can possibly boil; more meatballs than you can possibly chew.

Then there are the vegetables, like the meaty king mushroom, the tofu (fried, firm or silken), the taro, and the greens, all of which soften to scalding mouthfuls that you eat in between the scalding mouthfuls of meat. And if someone in your party still complains that they're essentially paying a fee to cook their own meals, Flaming Spice has a small buffet with some notably well-made items like wontons in chili oil; thin slices of spicy, ruddy beef; and chicken wings that are as equally hot as everything else. Sesame balls, fried bread, egg custard, and pan-fried dumplings round out the offerings.

Like Worlds of Warcraft, however, there are a few minor bugs in the code: the dumplings can be a bit greasy, the catfish in the spicy fish broth is frustratingly characteristic of the bottom dweller (read: muddy); and every other slice of lamb can be a chore to chew. But overall, my meal was good, and with this trip, my spicy food experience went up at least three levels.

Flaming Spice
18518 Gale Ave
Industry, CA 91744
(626) 964-6569

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Eating in Rarotonga - Cook Islands

2011-11-22T07:30:00.000-08:00

When I told people that I just came back from Rarotonga, they'd ask "Where?" When I told them it's in the Cook Islands, they'd ask "Where?".

Frankly, before I went, I too had no idea. All I knew before I booked the flight was that it costs just as much to go there as it would Hawaii.

Rarotonga is the main island in the Cooks, a round-shaped land mass in the South Pacific with strange-looking mountain peaks in the center. If you look at it on Google, you'll notice that it is rimmed by a halo ring of reefs which has the distinction of turning most of the beaches into calm-watered lagoons. This meant that anywhere you dipped your toe is a good place for snorkeling.

Most hotels, including mine, offered free rentals on the equipment. Most tourists come to wile away the hot, humid days with their faces submerged under the crystal blue water to get acquainted with Nemo and his pals. I didn't go more than a few steps from shore to be surrounded by schools upon schools of fish, some of which looked very delicious.

Which brings me to the food of the Cooks. There are very few indigenous dishes offered at the island's eateries. The most popular place in the town of Avarua is a burger joint called Palace Takeaway. The cheapest burger retailed for about $5 in New Zealand dollars...and this is as good a bargain as it gets in Raro. Since practically everything is imported from New Zealand and Australia, prices are inflated to factor in shipping costs.

The signature sandwich at Palace costs $10, and it towers so high it must be secured from toppling by way of a bamboo skewer driven through the middle. In the stack, the coleslaw, local lettuce, two fried eggs, bacon, pineapple, and ground beef patty must be smashed and pressed down if you ever hope to get your mouth around it.

There is one dish distinctive of the Cooks more than any other. Called ika mata, it's a cross between ceviche and poke. Like ceviche it is pieces of fish cooked by the cold, acidic heat of lime. Like poke it exists in cubes. But ika mata is its own thing. It is tossed in coconut cream to make it unique to this place, and it eats like a distillation of the land and sea. Diced cucumber, onion and red peppers dot the dish and the best place I found to eat it is at an inexplicably named Cafe Salsa, which served pizza and salads.

Island Nights, which is the Rarotongan equivalent of the Hawaiian luau, will feature ika mata as its central dish, but it was never as good as the one Cafe Salsa made. Hmm, I wonder if the people at Cafe Salsa have ever heard of Taco Bell.

Cafe Salsa
Next to CITC store, Avarua
Phone 22215

Palace Takeaway
On Ara Tapu, Avarua

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Sanukiseimen Mugimaru - Costa Mesa

2011-11-13T18:22:00.000-08:00

Sanukiseimen Mugimaru ain't messing around with their udon. They treat their noodles with the care of a mother bathing an infant. This is appropriate as the precious strands are born right there, in the narrow kitchen within view of anyone who cares to peek in at their stall in the Mitsuwa Marketplace food court.

I've not been patient enough to witness the entire process take place, but I can imagine it could take hours to make proper udon. And if there's anyone obsessed enough with creating an optimally chewy udon noodle, it's these guys. With nets, vats, steaming hot vessels, and ice cold baths, what happens down the line is done as a hallowed ritual here--a far cry from those vacuum-packed squares we're all used to.

Barely anything is done to the noodles when it's served to you. It can be had hot or cold. Ask for hot, whether it is with a broth, some curry, or a concentrated kind of sauce, and a worker will temper an empty bowl, dipping it in hot water and turning it until it comes to temperature and thus, ready to receive the noodles. The udon is then dropped in with nothing more than the basic components required. Add ons of green onions, tempura crumbs, and red pepper are your duty to apply.

My favorite way to take the udon is in a soup with one of those silken eggs that's cooked low and slow until the yolk and albumen take on the same homogenous consistency somewhere between liquid and solid. Cracked and released into the broth where it floats as if in a lava lamp, it is almost as good as the noodles.

Udon, famous for its thick and toothsome chew, is especially bouncy, slippery, elastic here. The natural foil to them is tempura, which exists in a pick-your-choice, pay-by-the-piece bar near the cashier. But despite all the reverence, however you eat the tempura with the udon, whether you decide to dunk it daintily in the liquid, submerge it completely in the soup, or munch on it like a side dish, there is no wrong way. Slurping, by the way, is completely acceptable.

Sanukiseimen Mugimaru
665 Paularino Ave
Costa Mesa, CA 92626
(714) 557-6699

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Balcony Grill & Bar - Irvine

2011-11-07T07:12:00.000-08:00

When Balcony Grill & Bar first opened at Diamond Jamboree, it was eviscerated online. For one reason or another, no one seemed to like it much. But as the years passed, it somehow got in good with the cool kids. Before long it became a kind of a sleeper hit, winning loyalist and gaining a cult following. I’ve actually eaten there more than I have at Tokyo Table, more than Capital Seafood, and yes even more than 85°C.

And it’s not because I was necessarily rooting for the underdog. Their Happy Hour was decent with alcohol-appropriate bites they called “Drunk Munchies”, and their snow ice was unique to the area; but most of all, I went for their shabu shabu, which exists in at least a dozen different permutations, with flavored broths from ranging from a basic miso to a kimchi-inflected soup to something that I recall used either milk or cheese.

The meat was frozen into hair-curler tubes, stacked like logs and stored that way until someone ordered it. And almost everybody that came to Balcony did. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t sliced to order the way a proper shabu shabu restaurant would. The rib-eye reacted in the same way in the boiling liquid: it melted into tenderness. The veggies were basic. Cabbage. Baby bok choy. Carrots. And the cooking vessel was nothing more than a campfire pot heated by Sterno gel that sputtered blue flame. But I loved it.

It was priced right (somewhere in the ballpark of $13) and it satisfied me more than meals I’ve had at some shabu shabus, places where I’m liable to pay almost twice the price. And then, there’s the element of danger. Here, you’re really playing with fire, not an induction heater.

I heard from fellow forker Brekkie Fan that Balcony Grill & Bar was recently taken over by new ownership, and I hope they read this and resist changing their shabu shabu offering. There’s increased competition now with SWSH, an actual shabu shabu restaurant that opened right next door; but I hope they’re wise enough to leave well enough alone. Let Netflix be the cautionary tale. Stick with your pricing model and do not alienate your cult!

Balcony Grill & Bar
2710 Alton Pkwy. Ste. 215
Irvine, CA 92606
(949) 387-0888
www.balcony-irvine.com

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Jollibee - Anaheim

Thai & Chinese Express - Irvine

2011-11-01T06:20:00.000-07:00

Pad Thai is a fine dish. But to me the Thai noodle to eat is pad see ew. In my humble opinion, it is the truest expression of a stir fried noodle as any. Forget about chow mein or even chow fun.

The components of a pad see ew is dead simple: sweet soy sauce, beef, some sort of green vegetable but preferably something with a crisp stalk like broccoli, and then rice noodle ribbons rendered to silk. Pad see ew should have just the slightest chew, a little sticky, a little tacky; but it needs to ultimately slide into your gullet as if it were lubricated in KY jelly.

Everything else is execution and depends on the talents of the wok jockey charged to make your dish. There was once a food court vendor called Zesty Thai in the now defunct Palm Court Cafe in Irvine that used to do a pad see ew of unequaled splendor--a masterpiece that bested even Buena Park's Thai Nakorn and Vegas's Lotus of Siam--but they've been gone for years now.

Now I think I've found a close enough replacement. Like Zesty Thai, Thai & Chinese Express is a food court denizen, and it prepares its pad see ew to order. Eaten seconds from the blazing heat of the wok, the noodles have that wok-seared flavor and soul that lasts only a few fleeting minutes. Plus, it's also got the most vegetables I've seen in a pad see ew, which isn't a bad thing--I could always use more vegetables...especially when I order the fried bananas for dessert, a banana deep fried in egg roll skin, which is all it needs to be.

Thai & Chinese Express
2540 Main St. Unit J
Irvine, CA 92614
(949) 724-1813

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Sky Express - Costa Mesa

2011-10-24T06:08:00.000-07:00

At Sky Express, the lone Chinese food stall at the predominately Japanese Mitsuwa Marketplace, stick with the simple and starchy. No matter how tempting the plastic dim sum mockups appear to look, you’re better off saving your cravings until you can get to Arcadia for Din Tai Fung or the San Gabriel Valley in general. They simply don’t have enough turnover on the dim sum to make it the way it should be made.

What you want here is whatever’s on special, a bowl of noodle soup, or anything that comes with rice.

For dinner one night, I took the dish you see above: fried swoops of battered pork chop, smothered in a cornstarch-thickened black bean sauce, the whole thing dumped over a mound of steamed white rice and framed by ring of baby bok choy—a work-a-day meal that works.

On the plate is everything that fits in my definition of comfort food: it starts with rice and involves something pork, something gravy and something green. What I loved about it is how positively homey it was, how accessible it would be to all palates; but at the same time, slightly funky thanks to the presence of fermented black beans.

With all due respect to the thickening powers of roux, for me, there’s no better mouth feel than when a cornstarch-silkened sauce mingles with rice to form spoonfuls of what I call “yum.”

Sky Express
665 Paularino Ave
Costa Mesa, CA 92626
(714) 437-7198

THIS WEEK ON OC WEEKLY:
Tavern On 2 - Long Beach

Lobsta Truck - Orange County

2011-10-17T06:42:00.000-07:00

You needn’t look further than The Lobsta Truck to realize that this whole food truck thing isn’t about pinching pennies or getting a lot of food for your buck. Until a Foie Gras Truck debuts, The Lobsta Truck is probably the most premium of all the premium-priced, new-age luxe loncheras.

The lobster roll toll is $12. You know how many tacos acorazados from the decidedly old-school Alebrije’s Grill that buys? Three. Three tacos that could feed three healthy-sized people until they slap the table for mercy on how full they are.

But I digress. Look at the thing! There is what I estimate to be a half-pound of the costly crustacean stuffed in that bun. To expect them to charge any less is to be ignorant on how business works.

Is it good? Well, yes. It’s lobster, after all, soaked in butter, shoved into a griddle toasted torpedo-shaped roll-—a vessel that does its due diligence as a transport device to get the meat into your mouth and nothing more.

I much prefer the crab roll though, not because it’s that much cheaper at $11, but because I’ve always liked crab more than I’ve liked lobster. In those strands is a uniform sweetness egged onwards by a subtle seawater brine. The lobster, by comparison, has a bitterness hiding behind its firmer flesh.

And then I think about all the labor and effort involved in extracting crab meat. By comparison, disrobing a lobster is child’s play. Also, since the crab has a finer grain meat, it's able to fill every available nook-and-cranny with a suffusion of flavor.

Even with an expensive and decadent treat like this, I’m always thinking about how to maximize my investment. But that’s just how I am.

Lobsta Truck
http://lobstatruck.com/
twitter.com/lobstatruck

THIS WEEK ON OC WEEKLY:
Broadway by Amar Santana - Laguna Beach
Best of 2011
Winner's Circle - Dee Nguyen

Takoyaki Tanota - Orange County

2011-10-10T06:12:00.000-07:00

If there was one Japanese food that I would've expected to be instantly adaptable to the current food truck phenomenon, it wouldn't be sushi; it would be takoyaki, which are the pancake-like, ping-pong-shaped delicacies native to Osaka—the perfect street food with the unfortunate stateside translation of “octopus balls”.

The most memorable moments I’ve had eating takoyaki has been from street vendors and other non-permanent sources, never a brick-and-mortar. Yet there are at least two sushi trucks rolling the streets; but only one (correct me if I'm wrong) takoyaki truck, which occasionally makes an appearance at the Tuesday night Din-Din-A-Go-Go food truck gathering at Irvine Lanes.

Actually, calling Takoyaki Tanota a truck is too generous. It is a cart—nothing more than a propane powered griddle on wheels with a trailer hitch. But in its stripped down existence lies the hook. Essential to the experience is watching your takoyaki being prepared. If it were a truck, this wouldn't be possible.

On the cart, you see its birth from the beginning, starting from the batter. You witness the liquid being poured into the greased dimples, a nugget of cooked octopus meat dropped into the middle. And then you see them being coaxed and teased by an attendant equipped with nothing more than a sharp stick until they miraculously transform into perfect spheres.

The popovers are then drenched in a sticky-sweet glaze, showered with pulverized aonori (seaweed), squiggled with drizzles of Kewpie mayo and a fistful of chopped green onions.

You eat it right there, standing, within seconds of cooking, because the crispness of the outer layer is tenuous. If you’re not huffing and puffing at how insanely scorching the custard-like interior is, then you’ve waited too long to let them cool. To eat them any other way than scalding is to miss the point of takoyaki.

Read Chubbypanda's review of Takoyaki Tanota here!

Takoyaki Tanota
http://takoyakitanota.com/
twitter.com/takoyakitanota

THIS WEEK ON OC WEEKLY:
Red Table - Huntington Beach

Sticky Fingers - Irvine

2011-10-03T06:39:00.000-07:00

It would seem like a shooting fish in the proverbial barrel to open a candy shop at Woodbridge Village Center, arguably the most kid-friendly of all of Irvine Company's many properties. It boasts a dance studio where aspiring ballerinas practice their pirouettes; a Kumon tutoring office where multiplication tables are memorized; and a music center where the talents of the next Lang Lang are nurtured. There’s even a children’s dentist called Tiny Teeth. But with every yin, there is a yang, and Sticky Fingers is the yang. It sings the siren song of sweets and junk food.

But rather than a temptress in a sea of virtue, I can see it being used by parents as a motivator: "Johnny, be a good boy, and I’ll take you Sticky Fingers."

Sticky Fingers is not a faceless corporate outfit. From what I can tell, it is owned and operated by a middle aged Korean couple, who couldn’t be warmer to you if you were their own children. If you come in with anyone under 12, they’ll coo like a grandparent and coddle your tyke like he/she is part of their extended family.

The store is a cross between Mr. Magorium’s Wonder Emporium (did anyone see that movie?) and a neighborhood convenience store. Shelves are stocked with sugary treats of every teeth-rotting persuasion. There’s ice cream, and most popular of all, shave ice packed into a dome on a plastic flower cone and drizzled with up to three syrups of your choosing.

I was pulled in by a poster they put up in front of the Woodbridge theater, which features dollar movies on Tuesdays. It advertised two snow cones for $5: the right price for a hot afternoon treat. The ice isn’t milled as finely as I’ve had at Tropical Shave Ice Truck, but this is a good and honest snow cone all the same. The syrups are never too cloying and if I wanted, I could've asked for red beans and ice cream to be added for a nominal fee, just like they do it in Hawaii.

The best syrup is the coconut, which seems to be homemade from actual coconut milk. It is thick, white, and creamy, almost like it was just squeezed from the freshly grated pulp. The result is a icy-milkshake like amalgam that comforts like milk and cookies and, yes, made me feel like a kid again.

Sticky Fingers
4612 Barranca Pkwy
Irvine, CA 92604
(949) 651-1137

THIS WEEK ON OC WEEKLY:
Luigi's D'Italia - Anaheim

Don Don Tei - Costa Mesa

2011-09-26T00:04:00.000-07:00

If you've not been into the Mitsuwa Marketplace lately, you'll hardly recognize the place. Santoka is still there, serving what is still arguably the best bowl of ramen outside of Japan, but more than half the food court surrounding it has been remodeled to make way for three new purveyors. The Loft Hawaiian took over the spot previously occupied by Sanuki Udon. And where Maestro used to serve curry, now there is Sanukiseimen Mugimaru, which seems like it's an even better udon restaurant set on bionic overdrive.

Next to that, and possibly employing workers on the same payroll, is Don Don Tei, which takes the spot where Italian Tomato used to be. It serves donburi, and it does it reasonably well. I say "reasonably" because while I've slurped many a bowl of ramen, I've not exactly been searching for or given much thought about what constitutes the best donburi. Donburi is simply just a rice bowl. If you've been to Yoshinoya or The Flame Broiler, you've technically had donburi.

But there's more to the classification than just that. When I have donburi, it's usually an oyakodon (a chicken and egg rice bowl of comfort), or a katsudon (a deep fried pork cutlet over rice). I've tried the latter here and it's good, dutiful, even if it is kind of forgettable like all other katsudons I've had in my life.

For me, the revelation is the tendon . No, not cartilage (think of the Japanese pronunciation). It is a bowl of rice with tempura'd veggies and seafood laid on top. Simple, yes. But also unexpectedly great and I would argue, better than anything else they've got on offer.

The tempura that coats the fish, shrimp, squid, eggplant, squash and bell pepper straddles the line between crisp and soggy as the whole thing is doused and pre-soaked in the dashi-based sauce you normally dip your pieces in. Pre-assembled and resting on pristine pile of rice like this, the bowl takes on a special resonance I can't put my finger on.

It must be the way the richness and decadence of the deep fried foods edges itself closer and closer to cloying. But then, when it is just about to get sickening, it gets pulled back by a mouthful of rice.

It's kind of like a relationship between opposites. One person might be impetuous but fun; the other conservative but grounded. That's what I equate this bowl as. And I hope it will be just as good the next time I have it.

Don Don Tei
665 Paularino Ave. Ste. 150
Costa Mesa, CA 92626
(714) 557-1145

THIS WEEK ON OC WEEKLY:
2nd Floor - Huntington Beach

$1.99 Chicken Meal at Ikea - Costa Mesa

2011-09-19T06:27:00.000-07:00

IKEA has never been more blatant than now in recognizing that their cafeteria is basically their loss leader. A few weeks ago they effectively said, “To heck with the 99-cents for breakfast. On Mondays, it’s freakin’ free!”

As part of their embrace of the idea that cheap food brings in cheap people who buy cheap furniture, they’ve also discounted their roast chicken and mashed potato plate on Thursdays to $1.99. It must be said that I’ve never been compelled to try their chicken meal until now. But then it must also be said that before they started discounting the breakfast from $1.99 to 99-cents, I never gave IKEA’s food much credence to be edible.

The breakfast is, for the record, edible. While the eggs aren’t great (kind of curdled with a processed flavor), the potatoes are a good example of home fries and the bacon, well, it’s bacon.

And the chicken and mashed potato dish? I can honestly report that it is the best $1.99 chicken and mashed potatoes meal I’ve ever had that isn’t deep-fried and doled out of a fast-food drive-thru. The chicken is remarkably moist and remarkably flavorful, even if the predominant flavor is salt (cue Marge Simpson’s classic line of “You might say the secret ingredient is salt!”).

Before I came I actually brought a packet of Tapatio as insurance, but I never needed it. Besides, the sauce would’ve clashed with the mashed potato, which was everything mashed potato needed to be, creamy and hot, and made from what I believe are actual potatoes with bits of skin in it.

It’s also nice that you can request for any cut you like (white’s the way to go here) without an up-charge. It makes you almost forget that a whole rotisserie bird at Costco, which has always retailed at around 5 bucks, is probably the better deal. Cheapness is a trait that renders you blind sometimes.

Ikea
(714) 444-4532
1475 S Coast Dr
Costa Mesa, CA 92626

THIS WEEK ON OC WEEKLY:
Nhu Y Ca 8 Mon - Fountain Valley

Kogi's Sweet Chili Chicken Quesadilla - Orange County

2011-09-12T06:46:00.000-07:00

I'd been doing it all wrong. Every time I found myself in line at a Kogi truck stop, I become risk-averse. I always settled for the tried and true: one of their burritos. Granted it's only been three or four instances where I've actually stood in line for Kogi; but since most of these visits were made during the height of the craze, I wasn't ready to gamble with any of their other experimental stuff then. When you've already invested an hour or more of your time waiting, you play it safe and order what you know.

And Kogi's burritos has always been dependable, even if every successive taste seems less exciting and more predictable. It's like an awesome song that you once thought was revolutionary and groundbreaking. Now that you hear it being used for every TV commercial, you count the minutes before it's covered by Muzak.

What I should've been trying all along was everything else. I seemed to have forgotten that the whole Kogi business model is to go for the unexplored and unusual. Roy Choi's crazy drug-inspired mixups shouldn't work, but they do. Their Blue Moon mulitas look like UFO discs of strangeness, ugly but endearingly addicting--the best greasy, griddle-crisped tortilla/taco/sandwich thing that's shellacked in an unidentifiable purple-ish substance that might as well be made of delicious alien blood.

I loved it just as much as the sweet chili chicken quesadilla, which seems to inhabit not just Korean flavors with an omnipresent flavor of kimchi; but also Thai with the spicy/sweet/sour sauce restaurants typically use on egg rolls and Thai BBQ chicken. And I'll be damned if all of it isn't perfect with the Mexi components of oozing jack and cheddar cheese, chicken and an enveloping tortilla that's been properly seared to a crisp golden brown.

And thank goodness the Kogi hype has died down enough that I can now get it anytime without standing in an hour-long queue. Kogi's OC-based Naranja truck has settled into a comfortable groove. They prowl Irvine Company apartment complexes during some weeknights and when they do, there will hardly ever be more than two or three people in front of you. Now that's the kind of normal I can get used to.

Kogi's Naranja Truck
http://kogibbq.com/

THIS WEEK ON OC WEEKLY:
Kentro Greek Kitchen - Fullerton

Orochon Ramen - Los Angeles

2011-09-06T06:51:00.001-07:00

There I was in Little Tokyo, at the Weller Center and in front of Orochon Ramen, arguably the busiest storefront in the entire plaza. So busy was it that the seats overflowed out into the outer walkway.

No one there was older than 35. There was a good ratio of Asian faces to downtown hipsters (I saw a twenty-something mustachioed man with a skull cap and an ironic purse). Everyone slurped wash basin-sized bowls of soup with gusto, a few dabbing themselves with napkins since Orochon, if you don't already know, is known for the spiciest ramen on this hemisphere.

Rameniac calls it a "gimmick ramen", and I would have to agree. There is a so-called "Wall of Bravery" where Polaroids of past victors (presumably with led-lined stomachs) are holding up their licked-clean bowls of lava. A better photo would be what they looked like the morning after. A sound clip that records their bathroom agony would be worth a listen.

If he hasn't been here already, this is fodder for one Adam Richman (UPDATE: He has been here, CLICK HERE FOR VIDEO). Orochon actually sells milk as some sort of futile antidote for those who attempt to finish the bowl in 30 minutes.

I am not such a man. Though I can handle my share of spice, on the mention of a hot spicy soup that attacks on both fronts (Fahrenheit and Scoville) I squeal in fear. My insides might as well be made of cheap tissue paper. I envision all sorts of medical calamities that my insurer would surely not cover citing a stupidity clause.

Instead I chose the miso ramen at two notches above "no spice", and it was enough. It stung pleasantly, but I could still taste the slightly nutty, slightly milky rich broth. At this level of hotness, the soup is a thrilling suspense movie instead of an all-out gruesome slasher picture.

The noodles were surprisingly unlike ramen and more like spaghetti. The usual extras like egg (nicely boiled to a still creamy orange yolk) are literally extras here: you have to order them separately. Meat consisted of thin shavings of pork, not the usual thick cuts of chashu (which is another nominal extra), but I enjoyed the bell peppers, the kikurage (wood ear fungus) and the bamboo shoots, which crunched fresh and clean.

But the best of all were their gyoza, which looked more like they cross-bred it with a Chinese shumai. They had open tops like one, but browned crispy bottoms like a typical potsticker. A dip in a slurry of vinegar, shoyu and chili oil weren't required but did well to contrast the pork and onion sweetness that burst forth from each morsel. If the restaurant served this and only this, I'd still recommend the place. And if they ever held an eating contest centered around them, I'll put down my gauntlet and say I can eat about a hundred.

Orochon Ramen
123 S Onizuka St
Los Angeles, CA 90012
(213) 617-1766
www.orochon-ramen.com/

THIS WEEK ON OC WEEKLY:
The Sky Room - Long Beach

AnQi - Costa Mesa

2011-08-29T06:14:00.000-07:00

A deal is a deal and a $30.11 prix fixe at last week's Costa Mesa Restaurant Week for three courses at AnQi is certainly one of those. AnQi is arguably one of more expensive if controversial OC restaurants among people who go out to eat as a hobby (read: me). I'd reviewed AnQi before, but since that time, they hired a different chef--a new chef whose style is culled from the school of Ferran Adria, Grant Achatz, Wylie Dufresne, which is to say he does molecular gastronomy or modernist cuisine or whatever new label they call their food these days.

So I was looking for something to the level of that kind of experience: A little of the MIT mixed in with the CIA, a meal that plays to both the science and food geek in me. What I got wasn't exactly that. The two main courses on offer were like the meals I had previously under the old chef. This was fusion-y stuff that attempts to upgrade the Asian with a few unAsian ingredients. I'm not saying it wasn't good; just not what I came to try.

The best dish out of the two they offered as a main course was a Cornish game hen, presented in an rectangular tray, the diminutive bird cut is into four pieces, each quarter roasted to a nice doneness with slightly charred skin, served with roasted sweet potato and jicama spears, arugula, and pistachios in a salad.

The sauce that bridged the veg with the protein was nouc cham, the classic and workman-like Vietnamese fish sauce that sloshed around as a puddle at the bottom of the dish. I liked how both the sweet potato cubes and the chicken absorbed the stuff. But I ask you: What can't nouc cham improve?

There was a salmon dish, where a square of fish was laid on top of a tangle of green tea-flavored noodles, the whole thing dressed in an opaque and creamy wasabi-miso sauce and tasting like a hastily edited highlight reel of a tour of Japan. While well-intentioned, it was too much to process and ended up being a muddled representation of Japanese flavors when it should've been reverential.

Much better were the duo of apps. An ahi tuna poke taco was not unlike a lot of other ahi tuna poke tacos I've had; this particular one delicate and well-balanced between the slightly tart raw paste of fish, the rich avocado, and the salty-bursts coming from jet-black bits of caviar.

Next to it was something they called a beef tongue wonton, which should've been called a taco since it used the same swooping crunchy shell as its plate mate. I liked it just the same: a braised, tender bite of meat and crunch gone too soon.

It wasn't until the lychee panna cotta arrived did I see the what appears to be something new. Here was the mouthful I've been looking for: a combination of a well-made, jiggly, perfectly set Italian cooked cream, joined by a scooped dome of freezing rosewater that seemed to exist fleetingly like frigid sea foam out of the Arctic.

This substance electrified every spoonful I scooped up with a tangy zing. Surrounding it was a raspberry coulis and Thai basil gelee in cubes, which didn't so much taste like Thai basil as it reiterated the silken smoothness of the cream, just by the contrast of its firm jelly bites.

If the dessert was just a tease of what modernist/molecular spins Ryan Carson has to offer for their so-called "Molecular Mondays", it worked. Now I'm as curious as ever.

AnQi
South Coast Plaza
3333 S Bristol St
Costa Mesa, CA 92626
(714) 557-5679

THIS WEEK ON OC WEEKLY:
The Lime Truck - Orange County
and
Food Issue - Bunch of Brunch

Gatten Sushi - Irvine

2011-08-22T05:42:00.000-07:00

Be prepared to be yelled at. No, they're not mad; they're happy to see you. That's how they say hello here. As soon as you enter, everyone who works at Gatten--whether they're in the middle of wrapping a ball of rice in nori, cutting cucumbers, or clearing a table--will look up and acknowledge your presence with an enthusiastic "Irasshaimase!"

And since the restaurant attracts a lot of customers with its $2-$3 per plate sushi, be prepared to hear the salutation at least a half-dozen times during your meal. And oh, when someone leaves, they'll also bid farewell with the same amount of energy. With this and the plucky koto soundtrack they've got on a constant loop, Gatten is as lively, noisy, and busy a sushi purveyor as you'll ever encounter. And because this is another one of those conveyor belt sushi mills (which makes three for Irvine), turnover is what you want. As I've said before, this is sushi as food, not as art.

Everything is in constant motion. Interesting things, tasty things, things you wouldn't think to order will whiz by on the sushi Shinkansen. This is the kind of restaurant where Travel Host Andrew Zimmern's credo of "if it looks good, eat it" can be applied.

I had a sweet piece of scallop butterflied and sprawled over a morsel of rice; a decent uni gunkan maki; and excellent chicken karaage (that I actually ordered from our waitress to ensure it was fresh out of the fryer).

There was a steam-emitting balls of takoyaki zig-zagged with mayo and sauce just waiting to inflict a first-degree burn on your tongue. Everything else I had in the three separate visits seems to blur, flavors and texture merging. All I know is I enjoyed myself more here than I did at Irvine's other two kaiten sushi joints; and I did it without spending more than $12 before I got full.

Every visit, I ordered the salmon skin hand roll. One out of those three times, it wasn't great; the skin was chewy as leather. But the other two times, the deep-fried curls of the sea chicharrón was immaculate and crunchy enough that it drowned out any and all ambient noise...which is saying a lot here.

Gatten Sushi
4517 Campus Dr
Irvine, CA 92612
(949) 679-8322
www.gattenusa.com

THIS WEEK ON OC WEEKLY:
Slater's 50/50 - Anaheim Hills

Cafe Hiro's Osso Bucco Pasta - Cypress

2011-08-16T06:52:00.000-07:00

I have this habit of taking food pictures wherever and whenever I go out to eat. It's a compulsion. I have a camera in my pocket at all times. No, not the one on my phone: An actual camera dedicated to taking pictures and only pictures. I carry it because sometimes, even at restaurants that I can safely call myself a regular, such as Cafe Hiro in Cypress, there's always going to be something new I want to document. Why? Well for posts like this.

The camera had to come out to snap a pic of the dish you see above. It was on the specials board that night, and simply put, it's kismet, a dish that Hiro Ohiwa should've been making all along. It takes two of the menu's strongest dishes and combines it into one. This is his osso bucco pasta.

In the bowl, the pasta bites as the definition of al dente, lubed in a creamy (but not laden with butter or cream) sauce that doesn't overpower but complements the hunk of braised meat. The beef falls apart with a nudge and together with the noodles, the dish becomes a sort of hyper-realized, almost-Stroganoff.

The effect is as serendipitous as when peanut butter met jelly for the first time. When milk met cookies. You know what I mean? Well, you can see by the picture. That's why I took it.

Cafe Hiro
10509 Valley View Street
Cypress, CA 90630
(714) 527-6090

THIS WEEK ON OC WEEKLY:
Barth's Continental Cuisine - San Juan Capistrano

Tropical Shave Ice - Orange County

2011-08-07T22:20:00.000-07:00

Of all the food trucks I wouldn't have thought I'd get addicted to, it's this one: Tropical Shave Ice. But it makes sense that I would be. This sunny weather has something to do with it.

And there's the fact that anytime I see the Tropical Shave Ice truck at OC Din Din A Go Go at Irvine Lanes on Wednesday nights, it feels like a block party. Of course, I can't discount that shave ice always reminds me of Hawaii.

But theirs is somehow even better than those I've had in the island state. Their machines doesn't just shave the ice as much as turns it into soft-pack snow.

The flakes are such that it fluffs and almost floats. It's so fleeting and precious that just the short walk back to my car is enough to turn half of the mound back into liquid water. This is shave ice that must be eaten straight away the moment you take possession.

The syrups they use are somehow not syrup-y, not cloying or too artificial. Lamentably, they do seem to always run out of the lilikoi (passion fruit) before I get there.

I always opt for ice cream to be deposited to the bottom of the cup/cone, because when the whole thing does liquefy, the icy/milky slurry that's left behind becomes like the pensieve in the Harry Potter books and movies: it contains all my fondest Hawaiian memories.

Tropical Shave Ice
(714)519-9443
http://www.tropicalshaveice.com/

THIS WEEK ON OC WEEKLY:
Cafe Seventh Home - Buena Park

New Golden City - Rowland Heights

2011-07-31T10:07:00.000-07:00

At this spot where New Golden City sits now, there was once a place called Noodle House. That was the English name, anyway. There might have been a Chinese name that I never knew, but the most defining characteristic of the restaurant was a large framed picture of the geeky, bespectacled owner kneading noodles and smiling as Arnold Schwarzenegger has his arm around him.

Noodle House was already gone before the recent Ahnuld scandal. It was gone before he took office as The Governator. But I still remember the food it served. My taste memory is as vivid as ever on it. I can still feel the chew of the noodles in their house spicy seafood noodle soup. We always ordered it because the strands were made right there, in the back. You knew this because to eat there is to hear the constant thwacking: the loud and dull noise of something being hit against something else, as if someone was repeatedly being tortured for information.

It may not be a reassuring sound to hear for those who weren't regulars. There was the fact that the kitchen staff seemed to always be yelling at each other. Person-on-person violence would not have been far fetched. But we knew better. We knew it was the sound of noodles being properly made. It was a pity there wasn't a window that showcased it being stretched, pulled, and thrown. That would've ensured its survival.

I heard no such sound when I dined at New Golden City, which for those in the know, is loosely connected to Earthen in Hacienda Heights. They both serve the same kind of food. Their onion pancakes are pretty much identical, down to every last, thinly rolled, crisp, buttery layer. Their pork dumplings burst with so much pork broth it almost invites comparison to Din Tai Fung's juicy pork dumplings.

We started our meal with a simple, refreshing, bowl of cucumbers, brined in soy sauce, sesame oil and bits of garlic. It's one of those dishes that you bite into and spend the rest of the time trying to decipher the recipe. You conclude that you can make it at home, but realize you never will because, well, they do it so well here.

For a main course, there was a combination fried rice--a mildly-flavored thing with egg, chicken, pork and shrimp that disintegrates upon contact with my mouth. I have to assume the dish owes its savoriness to MSG, which isn't necessarily a bad thing with me.

And then there was the spicy seafood noodle, which I liked, even if the noodles seems too uniform, a tell-tale sign it was made elsewhere, probably in a noodle factory. The broth didn't seem as fiery, but it was just as complex as the dish should be, chock full of scored squid, shrimp, the slippery presence of a sea cucumber.

As I slurped up the bowl, I wondered: we know what's happened with Ahnuld, but what about Noodle House's noodle guy?

New Golden City
1015 S Nogales St. Ste. 128
Rowland Heights, CA 91748
(626) 965-6822

THIS WEEK ON OC WEEKLY:
Posch - Irvine

Magic Wok's Crispy Chicken - Artesia

2011-07-25T07:16:00.000-07:00

I've lost count on how many times I've waxed poetic on this cozy as a your aunt's living room, hole-in-the-wall Filipino restaurant in Artesia. It has tables worn down by a thousand elbows; booth seats that have lost their bounce decades ago. But oh the food! There was the time I entitled my post on their sisig as "The Greatest Pork Dish in The World". And the many other instances where I just wrote about whatever I just happened to eat there the night before. Magic Wok isn't just my favorite Filipino restaurant; it is one of my favorite restaurants. Ever.

The past two weekends I've dined there twice. And both times I ordered the Crispy Chicken and wondered why it has, until this point, escaped my attention. "Crispy" is understating it. This is chicken turned to edible gold. Look at the skin. It wants to come off in rigid, porous shards, slightly puffed from the fryer and as greaseless and light as a wafer.

There's not a trace of batter, not a speck of breading used. It gets this way from nothing but mad cooking skills, the grace of God and a whole lot of oil. This is the same oil, by the way, that Magic Wok cooks its Crispy Pata and its Lechon Kawale in. Both, no doubt, melts a good amount of pork fat into the medium--an unintentional but not unwelcome contributor of flavor to the chicken. Submerged in it, the entire half bird transforms into an unreasonable object of desire. Nudge it and it falls apart like a house of cards.

The meat, by the way, becomes kind of secondary to the skin. Any piece you eat without a scrap of the bronzed chick-chicharrón you'll want to dip the thimble of banana ketchup they give you; or better yet, the lechon liver sauce, which is not usually compulsory but should be.

If you're trying to avoid the Lechon Kawale (deep fried pork belly) or the Crispy Pata (deep fried fatty pork leg) because of its cholesterol, this isn't the healthy alternative you're looking for.

But by eating the dish instead of my usual Magic Wok pork staples, I'm currently under the delusion that I'm not contributing to my elevated LDL levels. Besides, I'm eating it with lots of bittermelon and vegetables from the ampalaya with egg and pinakbet, respectively. That should cancel out the effects of the chicken, right? Right?

Magic Wok
(562) 865-7340
11869 Artesia Blvd
Artesia, CA 90701

THIS WEEK ON OC WEEKLY:
Il Garage - Stanton

Oranges From Nisson Ranch - Tustin

2011-07-18T06:38:00.000-07:00

I must have driven past the thatched hut fruit stand on Walnut Street near Redhill in Tustin at least a thousand times without ever stopping.

If the ramshackle wooden structure seems from another world, another time, it is.

The property it is attached to belongs to the Nisson Family, a Danish clan that settled in Orange County at the turn of the century. The story goes that Mathias Nisson came from Denmark in 1876 and started growing oranges in Santa Ana.

His son Clarence bought land in Tustin to do the same in 1915, and what remains there today is still owned by his descendants, who still live there and still maintain the remaining 4-acre orange grove, one of the last orange groves in a county named after oranges.

(To see what few orange groves remain in OC, check out Gustavo Arellano's map here).

At ground level, you can kind of guess how big the property is; but the satellite view reveals how the small, lone rectangular patch of verdant green slowly gets swallowed up by concrete, asphalt and tract homes the more you zoom out.

To see it from the overhead perspective is to observe a game of Farmville in reverse.

View Larger Map
But you can still, quite literally, enjoy the fruits of their labor. In this day and age when no one leaves their door unlocked, the Nisson shack still sells oranges by the bag using the honor system. The fruit stand is unmanned. You drop your $2 in the metal lock box, grab your bag-o-oranges and hope that the next guy has the decency to do the same.

The shack, despite looking ancient, is ingeniously designed. The oranges are deposited in the front part of the structure, inside a see-through slot. So if you drive by, you can immediately see if there are any available--a fruit fuel gauge, if you will.

The bags weigh in at about five pounds (I think) and the fruit you get is seedless and pristine, so sugary it would make a great glass of OJ; and so juicy I peeled and ate them over the sink. You can't get closer to OC history or more localvore than this.

Nisson Ranch
On Walnut Rd. near Redhill,
Tustin, CA 92780

THIS WEEK ON OC WEEKLY:
Burger Parlor - Fullerton

The Service at Din Tai Fung - Arcadia

2011-07-11T07:10:00.001-07:00

For every blog post that I've written about Din Tai Fung (there are two thus far: read them HERE and HERE), I've made at least five more visits to the restaurant that remain undocumented. Really, there's not much else I can say about the food. It remains as excellent as it's always been. The crisp snap of their flash-fried sauteed green beans; the anise aroma and vinegar tang of their dark-as-tea spicy beef soup; and, of course, the reason there is a Din Tai Fung: those perfectly steamed, broth-spewing juicy pork dumplings--a creation that has inspired two hour lines, and a few years ago, a second restaurant right next door.

In terms of the food, my most recent visit this weekend was no different than others; but their service seems to have been transformed. What was efficient but cold has become a model that all Chinese restaurant, nay, all restaurants should follow. The staff is all smiles, even obsequious and, dare I say, caring?

One uniformed hostess offered cups of ice water to those waiting outside in the Arcadia heat. When we were seated, our table was ready and spotless, the chopsticks and other accouterments in place.

We asked for water and they provided an icy carafe that was constantly changed out with a fresh one when they saw we were running low. Meals were still delivered promptly, the dishes ticked off from our tableside roster as each one came. Empty plates were whisked away to make room for what was next.

Another notable change: menus with pictures that eliminate the mystery of ordering for customers who, these days, aren't just Chinese speakers. Because of this picture menu, I discovered Din Tai Fung now offers marinated cucumbers: slightly salty, perky, sesame-oil scented rounds stacked like green bricks and whose cool and crunchy bite sent a frigid shiver up my spine.

And when we couldn't eat another bite, they took away our leftovers, packed it neatly in boxes, the soup in an air-tight lidded container, everything wrapped and tied up in specially-designed carry out bags that has a tie-down strap in the middle. It's probably the most ingenious plastic bag in the country. Yes, I'm obsessing on the bag...the same way they seem to be obsessing on customer service these days.

Din Tai Fung #2
(626) 446-8588
1088 S. Baldwin Ave.
Arcadia, CA 91007

THIS WEEK ON OC WEEKLY:
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Bun at Saigon Basil - Irvine

2011-07-05T07:26:00.000-07:00

Any temperature past 80 degrees Fahrenheit is bun weather. What's bun (pronounced boon)? To put it simply: Vietnamese noodle salad, which seems to be what my mind wanders to when my forehead starts to bead sweat from the heat of the day.

And I'm not that picky with where I get my bun, so long as it's chilled, and countered with herbs, cucumber and a good fish sauce. I ate the above bowl at Saigon Basil near UC Irvine. Saigon Basil is a Vietnamese restaurant that also does Thai food, which should tell you exactly what kind of Vietnamese restaurant it is.

They make a good bowl of bun, though, and it does exactly what it requires; the noodles cool as they jiggle, the effect is that it immediately lowers your core temp--the perfect summer food if there is such a thing. If you live near a Vietnamese restaurant, they will do a bun just like this, even better if they've got bun cha Hanoi, where the meat is pre-soaked in the fish sauce and the noodles are served separately.

When you are given your bowl, you either douse or dip each tangle of those noodles in the fish sauce, which is to the dish as refrigerant is to an A/C system. The protein, charred grilled pork, shrimp and crispy cha gio (egg rolls) are like the croutons in a salad, and make it a meal. That Saigon Basil is within steps of Strickland's, my favorite ice cream shop, is also another reason why you'll see me here a lot this summer, especially when the temp goes above 80.

Saigon Basil
4533 Campus Dr.
Irvine, CA 92612
(949) 737-1318

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The Boiling Noodle - Westminster

2011-06-27T07:29:00.000-07:00

As far as I know, The Boiling Noodle is not affiliated in any way to The Boiling Crab. Even if there was a connection, familial, aspirational, or otherwise, the only thing The Boiling Noodle has in common with the Cajun Vietnamese crawfish restaurant is the font it chose for the sign.

The Boiling Noodle, as you may have deduced, peddles noodles, rice, and more noodles and rice. They don't do pho, but as with pho shops in Little Saigon, expect to be served quickly but not warmly. It reminds me most of Mi La Cay. Except it's not like Mi La Cay. This is a cheap noodle joint that doesn't look cheap. Not in the least. The solid wood chairs are heavy, expensive-looking, and embellished by marble. The tables are actually made of polished stone.

So far, within weeks of its opening, everything sparkles and gleams. You'd expect them to host lavish wedding banquets with room for a dance floor and maybe a dancing lion.

But the reason people come is the reason I did: for the $2.95 bowl of wonton noodle soup. It's on special for the grand opening. Since the price is also printed on the laminated menu, it'll probably stay $2.95 for some time to come.

The noodle crinkles, has good bounce, and is stretched as thin as an egg noodle can be stretched without disappearing. In the bowl beneath, micro-cubes of pork cracklings float in a clear, golden broth that nourishes like amniotic fluid. This is the same soup that most mi joints in Little Saigon serves, almost genetically identical down to the molecule. Sugary, umami-rich, and salty, it's like the concentrated essence of bird and hog. I could drink nothing but this soup and survive an Alaskan winter.

The wontons, however, were merely decent. These aren't the fat, bulging, bursting globes that would fill the mouth with pork and shrimp you will find everywhere in SGV; but rather just a thimble-sized pocket of meat, the kind I'd serve my customers if I were charging $2.95.

The Boiling Noodle
9081 Bolsa Ave., Ste. 105-106
Westminster, CA 92683

THIS WEEK ON OC WEEKLY:
Summer Issue - A Treatise on Icy Treats

Berkeley Dog - Irvine

2011-06-20T06:56:00.000-07:00

I've never been to Top Dog, but have known Cal alums who swear on its greatness the same way a Chicagoan would bleed for Superdawg or Portillo's. But I had my doubts. This is why: I've been disappointed by highly-touted hot dogs before. When I tried Pink's at their Knott's Berry Farm store for the first time, I found it kind of...ordinary. It turned out to be just another dog that just happened to have a bit of history and the enviable monopoly of what represents an L.A. hot dog on food and travel shows.

So when Berkeley Dog opened in Mission Viejo, then Brea, and finally Irvine, I tempered my expectations for this unaffiliated outlet of Top Dog, the hot dog joint that's been feeding collegiate bellies at UC's oldest campus since 1966. They purportedly do everything that Top Dog does, including the use of its sausages and buns, just without the Top Dog name.

The Irvine store resides where the old Arriba's used to be, the place where I used to get my fill of $1 greasy tacos on Tuesdays. Berkeley Dog has transformed it into a spotless and clinical space so clean and hygienic you could perform surgery there. The chopped onions, relish and pickles can be found behind a sneeze guard with not a drip dropped or errant piece out of place. It also gets points for plastering the place with UCI banners and pennants. Obviously, it wants to be the Anteater's own version of Top Dog; and after tasting the food, I think it deserves to be.

The fries are done well, cooked to a golden and rigid crunch at least two decibels louder than the drive-thru. The sausages are roasted properly to a shiny burnish flecked with char and bursting with juice. Along with frankfurters, their menu boasts an eclectic array of tube steaks from a rattlesnake sausage to a milky bockwurst made of equal ratios of pork and veal. Sauerkraut is free, but you could top your dog with kimchi for small upgrade fee should you want to channel your inner Roy Choi.

But what I like most about the are the buns, which aren't just buns but a sesame-seed-crusted, crackly-on-the-outside, soft-on-the-inside baguette-type roll. They're exactly the kind of bread that can answer the thick snap of the natural-skinned Lousiana Hot Link I chose with the sturdy and tactile crispness of its crust. Too offset the hotness of the sausage, I slathered it with a sweet Hawaiian mustard and a touch of sauerkraut; but it still kicked my ass. My forehead became soaked with sweat halfway through it.

Berkeley Dog also has one of those newfangled Coke machines with the computer touch screens and the infinite flavor combinations. Now if it were somehow tapped to a keg, they'd have a hot dog joint no college crowd could argue with.

Berkeley Dog
4249 Campus Dr. B148
Irvine, CA 92612
(949) 387-2111
www.berkeleydogs.com

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Chef Chen - Irvine

2011-06-13T07:27:00.000-07:00

A pang of sadness hit me when I heard that Nice Time Deli in Irvine closed. It wasn't because I was particularly attached to it. To be honest, it had been ages since I last visited. But the fact that it would no longer be there was again a reminder that nothing lasts forever and a lesson that we often take everything for granted until its gone.

The dish that I will miss most is their pai gu fan, better known as pork chop rice--a simple cut of pork, pounded into thin, flat fingers that spanned an area as big as my face. Beneath was an unglamorous plate of rice soaked with soy-sauce cooked ground pork, a humble piece of tofu and a simmered egg.

The dish was comfort food. No bones about it. It's the kind of meal that doesn't aim for anything but sustenance; but one that you come back to, again and again, because of how warm it made you feel.

Pai gu fan is almost a commodity in Irvine. In fact, just next door I found a worthy and close enough replacement. Chef Chen's pork chop comes as a swooping, grand gesture of pig, flattened to a pamphlet's thinness and cooked crisp under its own brand of a sweet golden batter. The requisite rice mound below is moistened with a corn-starch thickened oyster-sauce gravy with bits of ground pork and bok choy.

Like me, other fans of pai gu fan have a Nice Time Deli surrogate in Chef Chen, and it is good.

Chef Chen's Restaurant
5408 Walnut Avenue # B
Irvine, CA 92604
(949) 786-8898

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Breakfast at Da Lu'au - Irvine

2011-06-06T06:02:00.000-07:00

There's nothing particularly Hawaiian about two fluffy pancakes, fried eggs, breakfast meat, and fast-food style hash browns formed into a rectangle. Take away the Portuguese sausage from the breakfast I ate at Da Lu'au in Irvine and opt for the available options of bacon or sausage links and you have the prototypical meal some Americans eat every day.

Gloriously priced at $4.97 daily until 11 a.m., the basic model with maple syrup and plain pancakes (and all of the above) is Da Lu'au's least island-inspired breakfast. For an additional fee, there are choices to make the flapjacks with banana, macadamia, or coconut. Other plates feature rice as the starch. But we chose this because it was cheap and on sale. We ate it there with ukelele music and Hawaiian melodies washing over us like a frothy wave.

Though it's located in another Irvine Company-owned neighborhood center, Da Lu'au would make every Hawaii-loving mainlander like me yearn for his next island vacation just by the choice of its soundtrack alone. It's possibly the same mix they play in continuum at breezy Hawaiian hotel lobbies during check-in.

But it's the breakfasts that transports me to road-side shacks and short order diners owned by locals that put out so-called "local breakfasts." With Spam and scoops of rice and Aloha shoyu as condiment, even Hawaii's McDonalds have their own version.

Of course, I asked for Da Lu'au's bevel-sliced Portuguese sausage for my meal--a breakfast meat rarely seen stateside except at places like Da Lu'au. Spicy enough not to require Sriracha or Tabasco, it is imbued with chili flakes and sweats red grease. And the pancakes, oh the pancakes. So thick, so airy, you could conceivably lay your head down on it to take a snooze.

The yolks on the eggs, however, were lamentably undercooked even though I requested over-medium, and the hash browns were just hash browns. But this is a breakfast that lasts, a fuel of protein, fat and carbohydrates that no mortal really needs unless he's going to drive a hatchet into a tree.

I am not a lumberjack, so shortly after I consumed this meal, I slipped into what can be medically classified as "nap time". I went home, collapsed on the couch, and slept for two hours, my body's resources presumably redirected to deal with digesting the meal. I dreamt a pancake was my pillow.

Da Lu'au Hawaiian Grill
14151 Jeffrey Road
Irvine, CA 92620
(949) 748-8855

*To read my review of non-breakfast food at Da Lu'au, click here.

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The Red Pot - Garden Grove

2011-05-31T06:25:00.000-07:00

As soon as you open the door, the aromas will hit you like an invisible wall. You don't walk into The Red Pot, you wade in, like you're swimming through a sea of smells. If there were such a thing as smell-imaging, waving your arms would show the turbulence your presence has on the environment--a room filled with the thick, delicious odors produced by dozens of steaming, gurgling pots that might as well be cooking up potpourri.

Customers leave reeking, ripe of curry, spices, dried fruit and herbs. The dew that dots their brow either perspiration or condensate from the billowing steam of whatever they were boiling. Everyone exits rubbing their stomachs from a meal well eaten and slurped.

The Red Pot is the very new Mongolian hot pot restaurant that replaced the old hot pot restaurant called Four Seasons.

The new entrant and the recently departed served essentially the same food, but they couldn't be more different. The service at Four Seasons barely existed because the owner was practically deaf in one ear. The Red Pot is staffed by the second generation--youthful faces who are attentive and are fluent in English as they are on customer service. Of course, they're on Facebook.

Also The Red Pot is an all-you-can-eat for $19.99. This frees the individual to try new things one might be hesitant to spend money on otherwise. AYCE here is a license to explore. And there's a lot for the itinerant explorer to discover beyond just chicken. There's pork blood cubes, tripe, intestines, even tendon, which cooks down to chewy Jell-O.

You order the things you'll boil from a list of meats and veggies that has the check boxes in three columns for each "round". You check off what you want and servers bring it out nicely presented, ready for boiling in a flavored broth of your choice. No one I know has made it to that third column. My dining partner (the esteemed C. Thi Nguyen from The Los Angeles Times) and I barely made it past our second round of meats and before we tapped out. Imagine if I asked for rice.

Key to the experience is the broths. Those who would pooh-pooh shabu shabu for plainness will be forced to reevaluate their positions here. Mongolian hot pot is anything but plain. The cooking liquid is often spicier than most ready-made soups, some with a red oil slick that finds and clings to meat like pieces of metal to a magnet. And then there's the sauce station, where a virtual painter's palette of chili paste, oil, and soy begs to be blended into unique dipping concoctions.

The beef isn't as meltingly tender here, but the lamb is immaculate. Squid balls puff up in the heat to the fluffiness of cotton. Inside the springy spheres hides a chewy cube of real squid. Ton ho, the snappy green that looks like a common garden weed, bites with a refreshing peppery note, swabbing the decks so that the palate is cleansed for the next mouthful. And since this is an AYCE, you will have many more mouthfuls. Budget at least two hours worth of time in this steamy, sweet-and-spicy smelling sauna. Save the shower for after your dinner.

The Red Pot
12119 Brookhurst St.
Garden Grove, CA 92840
(714) 636-7168

*To read Brekkie Fan's review of The Red Pot, click here.

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Cream Pan's Korokke Pan - Tustin

2011-05-23T07:09:00.000-07:00

We literally buy our daily bread from Cream Pan. It makes great toast, which leads to even better sandwiches. And then, there's Cream Pan's strawberry croissants, which have become the thing people expect us to bring to potlucks. And since I wrote a blog entry about the salmon onigiri, I now have to get there extra early to claim those rice triangles before they disappear--not because my post has created any sort of awareness, but because I think everyone who has tasted them have also realized how very good they are.

So if you're already tired of me talking, yet again, about another Cream Pan product, stop reading now. This is my ode to a recent find: their korokke pan. This, as you can see by the picture, is a potato croquette sandwich--a simple thing really. A panko-breaded, deep-fried mashed potato patty is stuffed inside a roll of their own making, along with leaf lettuce, tomato, a slice of cucumber, a smear of Thousand Island and a drizzle of tonkatsu sauce.

From the recitation of the ingredients alone, you'd expect that this would be a dull sandwich, or at the very least, one that defies the rule that you don't put starch inside another starch. But you'd be wrong. This is a great sandwich. Flavorful, filling, and rich, not to mention vegetarian (though not vegan because of the mayo). This is a sandwich that easily surpasses their egg salad and their katsu, which are merely okay by comparison.

And oh, that bun. Made in-store, it's a soft roll that any other sandwich shop would kill to have as their own. You could imagine it elevating pastrami, corned beef, chicken salad. But here, it fulfills its truest purpose, hugging the at-once crisp-mushy korokke and everything that surrounds it.

The only way it could get even better is if it can be had when the korokke has just come off the fryer. If that ever happens, expect another post.

Cream Pan
602 El Camino Real
Tustin, CA 92780-4310
(714) 665-8239

THIS WEEK ON OC WEEKLY:
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Hong Kong Fishball House's Fishballs on a Stick - Rowland Heights

2011-05-16T06:33:00.000-07:00

We don't nearly have enough foods on sticks in American cuisine. The corn dog, sure. Ice cream bars, yes. But apart from carnivals and county fairs, there isn't much of an impetus to impale or thread things onto wooden dowels or bamboo skewers for easy consumption.

There are even fewer foods with the word "ball" in it. Yes, there is the "meatball" you're apt to find tangled up on a plate of spaghetti or served with lingonberry jam at your local Swedish furniture retailer, but put the word "fish" or "squid" in front of the word and you get snickers as if you uttered an obscenity.

To find the two food styles together, you have to go ethnic, to Asian joints like this, Hong Kong Fish Ball House, a walk-up counter which specializes in fish balls with noodles in soup, or straight up, skewered and coated in flavorful goo (sate, spicy or sweet-n-sour).

Opt for the sticks and you get a snack, the kind common to night markets in Asia and street vendors in Manila. Two skewers come to an order, with a string of ping-pong sized spheres. A mess of pickled cabbage rests beneath, the crunchy accompaniment to the fish ball's squishy, springy, squeaky, soft orb of vague fishiness.

The toll you fork over is $2.50, measly compared to the real price you pay: to order it, you have to stand in an alleyway that reeks of stinky tofu, a sour stench emanating from the kitchen belonging to the next restaurant over. The smell is an assault on your olfactory senses as if you're repeatedly being slapped in the face with dirty gym socks after they've festered in an open sewer.

Now "stinky" and "tofu", two more words you rarely find in American cuisine; but that's another post.

Hong Kong Fishball House
18414 Colima Rd #Q
Rowland Heights, CA 91748

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Tapa Boy - Orange County

2011-05-09T05:00:00.000-07:00

It's with sadness that I review Tapa Boy. No, don't get me wrong. I loved it. It's just I had hoped to have tried Manila Machine first before it retired to do just private catering events.

You see, I've long been a fan of Manila Machine's owner and chef, Marvin Galputos (a.k.a. Burnt Lumpia), whom I regard as one of the funniest food bloggers in the country. As a reader, I witnessed his growth from an assimilated Pinoy with a "retarded appreciation of Filipino food" to a well-rounded Filipino food scholar, chef, and upcoming cookbook author, who passionately chronicled his efforts in an often hilarious blog.

Manila Machine was a culmination of his journey, and I was proud to be one of the first members of the press to report on the roll out, the first Filipino food truck in L.A. But then I was bummed when it announced it would stop prowling the streets last month after garnering much kudos from the likes of Jonathan Gold.

It leaves behind at least three other Filipino food truck to pick up the slack in LA County. One of them is this truck, Tapa Boy, which actually made the trek to Irvine and parked right where I just happened to be during my lunch hour.

Tapa Boy is a silog specialist. The Filipino answer to the American bacon and egg breakfast, "silog" is a concatenation of two words: sinangag (fried rice) and itlog (fried egg). Together they form the suffix and anchor for things like the tocilog, which features tocino, a cured pork product cut from the fattiest parts of the pig.

Tocino is a breakfast meat that glistens like no other. It beams with a ruddy color almost akin to Chinese char siu, but thanks to annatto it's even brighter, as if it's been dipped in Maraschino cherry syrup. Once its cooked, tocino takes on a candy-like sheen and wiggles in your mouth before melting like an unctuous piece of pork belly.

To beat back the richness, Tapa Boy supplies a spicy vinegar of its own making that it thickens to the consistency of bottled Italian dressing. Also there to temper and contrast: plain-diced tomato, cucumber, and achara, pickled shreds of green papaya. The latter does it best of all, pairing with the pork more naturally than sauerkraut to a hot dog.

Together, it's a breakfast that I'd gladly have for lunch, dinner, or any meal in between. The egg is cooked in a ring mold, like McDonald's does with its McMuffins, but the yolk is left runny to bleed its nectar onto the rice below. The starch then accepts. The grains moisten slightly, each forkful not sticky, not gummy, still loose and flowing like basmati. Strewn bits of golden fried shards of garlic burst from microscopic granules.

Turon, crispy egg rolls filled with sweet plantains, were dessert. I washed it down with a drink made with shredded melon suspended in a sugar-sweetened mix of water and its juices. A boba straw is supplied to suck it all up.

And I even like the truck's exterior design, which is dolled up to look like a ultra-pimped out Jeepney, the highly stylized and colorful form of public transportation that patrols the Philippines.

You can find the Tapa Boy truck in Orange County this week, before it retreats to L.A. It will appear Wednesday night, May 11, from 5:30 p.m. - 9 p.m. at Irvine Lanes (3415 Michelson Dr, Irvine, CA) and Friday, May 13, from 5 p.m. - 9 p.m. for a fundraiser at Fullerton High School (201 East Chapman Avenue, Fullerton, CA).

So to both Manila Machine and Tapa Boy, I say, "Mabuhay!"

Tapa Boy
(310)737-TAPA
http://tapaboyla.com/

THIS WEEK ON OC WEEKLY:
Tilted Kilt - Long Beach

Crepes Bonaparte - Orange County

2011-05-02T23:52:00.000-07:00

It has been a year since Crepes Bonaparte rolled out to prove that you can, indeed, do crepes out of a truck and make it a viable business. Of course, some of it has to do with the instant celebrity status that comes from being a contestant on The Great Food Truck Race.

That they were eliminated somewhere in the middle of the Food Network series doesn't matter. The fact that the show did wonders to their concept is obvious. When I finally ran into the truck today in Irvine, owners Christian or Danielle Murcia weren't in it. Their signature berets were now worn by two dudes who I assume were employees they've hired.

Their formula, however, remains the same, and it is one that is identical to any crepe maker, and I don't mean the batter. Crepes Bonaparte knows the most essential part of a crepe is that the customer must bear witness to the creation. You can gild your end product in white truffles and fairy dust, but if the customer isn't seeing it, the customer isn't buying it.

Crepes Bonaparte's truck, unlike others, has low slung windows that you can see the whole process: batter being squeezed out of squirt bottles, wooden squeegees twirling in Zamboni circles to spread, skinny spatulas flipping the thin mottled membrane of pancakes over into half moons. Grated cheese finally goes on. Then meat, egg, or what ever must be laid on top before the two corners are brought together to hug the filling in an embrace of the crispy and the browned. You see your crepes from conception to consumption.

We took the Ranchero, an egg, cheddar, grilled onion and bell pepper filling goosed by a tart chipotle, and the Baby Bleu, a crepe filled with white meat chicken in snowy chunks, crumbles of bleu cheese, spinach and a squirt or two of raspberry vinaigrette. The structural integrity of both, um, sandwiches, succumbed to the weight and dampening might of their cargo.

The Baby Bleu, with its heavier load, was more than too much for the pliant pancake to contain. Picking it up meant losing some of the filling. The Ranchero was better able to be hand-held but not by much. We resorted to a knife and fork on both. Crepes, as it turns out, is kind of a wuss when it comes to being used as a wrapping medium.

But it is this delicateness that makes Crepes Bonaparte's classic Nutella and banana a better application for the crepe. The triangle tears easier than wetted tissue, apt to be drug across whipped cream. The supple nature of the pancake covering the mating of chocolate hazelnut spread and bananas like a blanket over two lovers.

Crepes Bonaparte
(714) 595-9995
www.crepesbonaparte.com

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East/Borough - Costa Mesa

2011-04-25T06:51:00.000-07:00

When you've consumed your volumetric weight in pho broth, you need a detox. I chose a back-to-basics bowl of bo kho, Vietnamese beef stew, a dish more likely to be cooked and eaten at home than in restaurants. This isn't to say it is simple or dumbed down by any means. A typical bo kho will contain chunks of beef, long-stewed to softness, potatoes and carrots, simmering in a dark, caramel-colored, crimson-red-by-annatto, tangy-by-tomato broth redolent of ginger, star anise, lemongrass, cinnamon, curry powder and a touch of Chinese five-spice. It ain't a can of Dinty Moore.

Since the liquid is thin, it's more apt to be sipped or sometimes combined with noodles--closer to a soup than a stew. Outside made-by-mom renditions, bo kho can be found when you dig into Little Saigon menus. Le Croissant Dore does it ladled out on plates and eaten with torn scraps of crusty French bread. I'd go to Le Croissant Dore, but the travel time from the office would gobble up a good chunk of the lunch hour. East/Borough, on the other hand, is within minutes.

That it is from the new school of Vietnamese eatery (think Nom Nom and others), should be obvious when you know it's at The Camp, a breeding ground for the outdoorsy, the unique and the hippie.

East/Borough's owners are young entrepreneurs who grew up eating the foods cooked by mom, now out on their own with a fistful of family recipes. Like the Nom Noms, their specialty is banh mi, but since it is at The Camp and because they can, their stew is served in compostable bowls and eaten out in a patio area covered by tarp. The cashiers and servers are young things and everyone speaks perfect English; but the flavor of their bo kho seems as though they recruited grandma to cook in the back kitchen.

I soaked my foot-long baguette piece by piece like donuts to coffee, dipped the boiled skin-on potatoes into a thimble of pepper-flecked lemon juice, slurped up the soup and enjoyed the dish just as if I ate it in Little Saigon or some Vietnamese friend's kitchen.

To the right of me sat two Asian twenty-somethings chatting about wedding showers, birthday parties, and idle office gossip as they ate spring rolls. Curious at what I was served, they stopped their chit chat and asked me what I was having.

"Oh, this is beef stew."

"It looks great!" one of them said, "I should try that next time."

"You should," I replied.

East/Borough
2937 Bristol St. Ste D102
Costa Mesa, CA 92626
(714) 641-5010
www.east-borough.com

THIS WEEK ON OC WEEKLY:
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Papaya Thai Bistro - Irvine

2011-04-18T06:53:00.000-07:00

Papaya Thai Bistro operates not unlike the Pei Wei's of the world. Order almost any dish and you have the option of the protein you want to put in it, whether it moos, clucks, oinks, or...whatever the sound a shrimp makes. The interchangeable meat is like a character you create for a role playing video game. Both the game and the overall dish remain the same, but who the protagonist will be is up to you.

The vegetables and seasonings are the NPCs (that's non-player characters for you non-gamers). These are the constants that its creators include to propel the story.

And it's the vegetables that Papaya respects most. Whether sliced, julienned, or chopped, anything that once came out of the ground tastes as though it just did. Carrots snap, verdant Chinese broccoli bites firm and crisp, and everything plant-based appear on your plate just barely cooked, as it should be. This is Thai for the person who isn't afraid of chewing their veggies. Some dishes are better than others. Some actually use a bit too many veggies for my taste. But the green curry is the best thing I've had in a long time.

As far as I'm concerned, Papaya Thai's only purpose is to cook this dish. Here the matchstick thin bamboo shoots, green beans, cucumbers and peas join forces to occupy a bowl of liquid comfort. The veggies are welcomed as liberators by a gravy that hugs everything together and makes your meal. From its coconut-milk thick and creamy depths wafts up scents of kaffir lime, galangal, coriander and cumin.

You need rice, plenty of it, to sop it all up. Every time I order this dish for take out, I plan ahead to be sure I have the rice cooked and ready at home. I require mounds and mounds of it on which to spoon over with curry, and to soak up every drop. Slightly sweet, slightly spicy, but altogether magical, it's one of those toe-curling meals you want for a cold, rainy night.

When you're asked for the meat to include, don't get anything but the pork. Their slices of pig are so silky and tender it's obscene. Coated lightly in cornstarch (I think), each pinkish piece melts with barely a chew.

Papaya Thai Bistro
2700 Alton Pkwy. Ste 141
Irvine, CA 92606
(949) 502-4488

THIS WEEK ON OC WEEKLY:
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Chomp Chomp - Orange County

2011-04-10T08:30:00.000-07:00

Inherently, I like the idea of food trucks. Of eating outside. Of the impermanence of it all. There's something romantic here, something that answers the basic hunting and gathering instincts of the human animal.

But more than that, I like how much easier it is to get to know the individuals making your food. These loncheras, whether newfangled or old-school, have passionate, dedicated, and proud people behind them. Find me a food truck entrepreneur who isn't easy to talk to and I'll show you a failed one.

Chomp Chomp is no exception. They offered me an extra basket of taro and lotus root chips eventhough they didn't have to. Building customer relationships, perhaps more important than the food, are core driving (pun intended) principles.

For me, however, Chomp Chomp is different from the rest because it represents the flavors that I grew up eating. These are the tastes that formed my food sensibilities and obsessions. As a kid, I ate rendang and sate with peanut sauce. As an adult, I made the pilgrimage to Singapore, the Mecca of food in my world, to eat at hawker stalls. But as I said before on my last food truck review, I got tired of the Twitter tracking, the driving, the chore of the chase. I didn't seek out Chomp Chomp so much as I ran into it at Irvine City Hall's parking lot, where one food truck is invited to sell daily near Bill Barber Park.

If Chomp Chomp were a brick and mortar, I would've tried them sooner. I would've discovered early on that their sate's peanut sauce (sambal kacang) is pretty damned spot on, with all the depth of homemade. More importantly, that it comes with virgin white cubes of lontong, compressed steamed rice cake traditionally with sate. Though the chicken sate ($5), grilled chicken skewers, could've been bigger, longer, and firmer (that's what she sa...no, not the time), and also more charred, the spirit of the original dish is there. And so is the flavor, with shades of cumin and turmeric in the marinade.

While I appreciate the reverence and retraint in their sates, I like the creativity and a playfulness in other dishes. Singaporean food culture, a delicious mish mash of Malay, Chinese, Indian among others, is more apt to reinterpretation than most.

Their hot dog ($4)--a surprisingly potent and spicy hot link splayed down the middle and laid down on sweet, Hawaiian-bread-like bun--has a sweet, sticky, and flourescent chili sauce drizzled in zig zags and a base layer of more peanut sambal. The slaw they applied did little to add to the flavor barrage and became just unnecessary roughage.

My favorite dish, however, turned out to be something I am pretty sure is an original, not really Singaporean or Indonesian as it is just playing off the familiar flavors of the region. Here is a dish that knows that coconut milk, sweetened condensed milk, and fruit is used in a lot of South East Asian desserts and repurposes them on something distinctly un-Asian: French toast ($5).

I liked how the coconut flavored frothy whipped cream dollops the top of a butter-soaked and eggy griddled bread and tastes more naturally fit for the task than maple syrup. And I like how, even as the toast already works by itself, the medley of cubed star fruit, lychee, mango, jackfruit, pears and papaya brings it home...in both senses of the word.

If I only had one request for Chomp Chomp, it's for a lot more Singaporean hawker standards. I hope, for instance, they consider taking on laksa, noodles swimming in that distinctive coconut-milk rich, curry hell broth. The danger of a sloshing boiling liquid in a moving vehicle notwithstanding.

Chomp Chomp
949-637-1688
http://www.chompchompnation.com/
Various locations in OC, check website or Twitter

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Commonwealth Lounge - Newport Beach

Hen House Grill - Irvine

2011-04-04T23:59:00.000-07:00

Persian rice is something of a miracle. Light and fluffy as if it were made of cotton ball clouds, it is also just slightly tangy, a streak of yellow on top of the basmati mound as bright as mottled sunshine. Hen House Grill does it well and as it should be.

Oh, did I mention the quantity? If there's one other constant with Persian rice at restaurants, it's always doled out in ridiculous portions. A typical serving is always more than enough to feed two. And in Hen House Grill's special chicken koobideh lunch, $7.99 not only gets you the starring starch, but a freshly-baked flatbread the size of a small pizza, two meaty tubes of one of the best char-flecked koobideh's around, two grilled tomatoes, and a drink.

We shared a plate, shoveling the rice, smooshing the tomatoes into an impromptu rice-moistening sauce, shaking flurries of sumac and squeezing lemon juice over our meal. The koobideh, ground and seasoned chicken cooked over flames on a metal sword and unsheathed, simply melts, and in my opinion, trumps the version made at the Wholesome Choice food court next door. And oh yeah, so does Hen House's rice.

Hen House Grill
18040 Culver Blvd #A
Irvine, CA 92612
(949) 786-2000

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Tempe House - San Bernadino

2011-03-28T21:08:00.000-07:00

Two groups of people in the world know and appreciate tempe (pronounced "tem-pay"): vegans and Indonesians. The former have adopted what the latter has eaten for centuries. And as well they should. Tempe is a great meat-substitute, a soybean product that, unlike tofu, has the satisfying chew somewhere between a mushroom and a dense piece of meatloaf.

Though you can buy tempe frozen at most Asian markets, the best tempe is fresh. But to make it yourself is a dicey proposition. Though not as daunting as attempting to recreate Parmigiano Reggiano, tempe-making requires careful planning and the right set of conditions. Few even try. Tempe is, above all, temperamental. The climate has to be right before you can attempt the endeavor. To get the fermentation process going, it likes hot and humid surroundings similar to the balmy tropics from where the delicacy originated.

A good way to judge is to see if the room is comfortable for you. If it is, it is likely too cold and too dry for the spores of the fungus Rhizopus oligosporus that will to turn your soybeans into tempe. If a white fur develops, it would indicate the fungus spores have flourished and did its job.

But even before this, there's the laborious job of prepping the soy. You have to hull each bean, then cook them, acidulate them, add the specific kind of starter, stuff the whole thing in an aerated bag before you can let nature do its work. Since the process is left to the whims and fickle nature of microbes, it is fraught with pitfalls. If you don't know what to look for or what tempe should taste like (tangy but smooth), there's always the danger that your hours of labor will result in something that might make you sick.

Until now, there hasn't been a local producer of real Indonesian tempe so that you don't have to go through the trouble. Since it opened sometime last year, Tempe House is the only one of its kind I know of. Unfortunately for anyone reading this who isn't in the Inland Empire, to get to Tempe House takes at least an hour's drive almost to Palm Springs. But once you do find it in a deserted strip mall in a desolate part of town, you'll discover them selling the delicacy for $1 each--a bargain, if you don't consider the cost in gas. Each satchel is ready for what ever your culinary plans may be. The simplest way to enjoy them is soaked in garlic water and salt, then deep fried.

Of course, you can also just sample some of what the Tempe House has on offer in their turo-turo style set-up of ready-made dishes. They don't all have tempe in them, but there are more than a few that do.

The beef rendang has no tempe, but it is slow-cooked to tenderness, as sweet as it is coated in a reduced and intense spice paste. They have gudeg, the famous Yogjakarta sugary stew made of young jackfruit cooked with hard boiled eggs. You could get both as a $7 two-item combo that includes any rice (plain, turmeric-colored to yellow, or flavored with coconut-milk), piled to ample portions enough for two.

The kitchen prepares other things to order, like the ketoprak, tangles of rice noodle, tofu and rice cake drenched in a peanut sauce that you can request to be as scorching as you like. They have krecek sapi in baggies, a kind of chicharron made from cow hide and tapioca flour. Other items feature things wrapped in a sticky gooey substances, some fried and savory with tempe, other steamed and sweet with jackfruit and banana. And of course, there's tempe itself, covered in a crunchy batter and paired with a Thai chili garnish that is to be eaten in concert with it like a pickle.

Another item only available for order on some days is thick soup with tripe called soto, which on this trip is too heavy on the coconut milk and has bits of tendon too chewy to eat.

For dessert, there's tape (tah-pay), fermented cassava root that's actually mildly alcoholic, tangy and slightly sweet, served either in its unadulterated form or whirred up to bits in an icy slush with rose syrup and condensed milk.

Yes, we tried all these things. Since we didn't have to make the tempe, and we came all this way, we kinda had to.

Tempe House
24984 Third St.,
San Bernardino, CA 92410
909-889-2222
(Closed Saturday)

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The Candy Baron - Laguna Beach

2011-03-20T21:44:00.000-07:00

Now here's the kind of candy store I didn't think existed anymore. If Powell's Sweet Shoppe represents the here and now, The Candy Baron seems like it was unearthed from a time capsule buried back in the 30s.

You imagine Alfalfa, Buckwheat and Spanky with their faces stuck to the window drooling at the sugary bounty. This is a novelty candy shop where you believe the black and white photos of celebrities on the walls were hung when those people were still alive. Everywhere around you, there are relics that would be unknown to the target audience of kids who wouldn't know Woody Woodpecker from Richard Nixon.

The front half of the store is dedicated to that beach-side treat, salt water taffy, stocked in barrel after barrel, each morsel tied up in wax paper, sold by the pound, and in flavors you didn't expect of taffy. I tried a banana split and it kind of tasted like one. The dulce de leche was a spot-on impersonator.

The back half of the store has every conceivable permutation of teeth-rotting sweets. If it's made of sugar or HFCS, they have it. If you're in the market for an edible candy bra and panties, they will sell you a matching pair along with Pez dispensers galore, Squirrel Nut Zippers, Horehound Lumps, and candy cigarettes. Ah what I wouldn't give to have a pack of candy cigarettes when I was in elementary school. I'd act all cool until teacher took it away. Wait. I think that actually happened.

The Candy Baron
231 Forest Avenue
Laguna Beach, 92651
(949) 497-7508

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Elbows Mac n' Cheese - Cerritos

2011-03-13T21:23:00.000-07:00

In a world where cereal bars and an all-waffle restaurant can exist and sometimes thrive, an all-macaroni-and-cheese restaurant is an inevitability. Elbows in Cerritos and the others around the country that have taken up the idea figures that if people would actually patronize places like Cereality and Bruxie when they can pour themselves a bowl of Cheerios or pop an Eggo into the toaster, they'd also come and eat at a restaurant that serves nothing but mac n' cheese.

And why wouldn't they? It could be argued that no other American foodstuff comforts more universally than mac n' cheese. What household doesn't have a blue box of Kraft or Hamburger Helper in the pantry? What finicky kid would refuse a bowl of tube-shaped C's all covered in orange goo for supper? What is more inextricably linked than macaroni and cheese that it allows for the use of n' as conjunction?

More importantly, what diner hasn't been tempted by lobster mac n' cheese at all the high-end steakhouses? The proliferation of the dish to restaurant menus proves that people are willing to pay for something they can conceivably make at home.

To walk into Elbows is to realize the place is tailor-made for franchising. There is no doubt the restaurant has this as its ultimate goal. Though it's obviously family-run at this point, it's slick, sleek, and has its identity and mission statement hyper-realized down to the clever fork and macaroni logo that makes the "E" in Elbows.

They've also got the finer details of mac n' cheese clearly thought through. All mac dishes come in ceramic skillets. A crispy dusting of breadcrumbs tops each cheese-slicked tubular pasta entree--a simple finishing touch that, in my opinion, separates the good mac n' cheese from the bad. Flavors range from the time-tested (Cheeseburger Mac and Lobster Mac) to those that seem made up on the spot (Fajita Mac and Masala Mac, which has an Indian bent).

It didn't take much to convince my lovely dining companion, a self-professed mac n' cheese fiend who will order mac n' cheese anytime the opportunity should present itself, to try it with me. We shared one regular-sized bowl of their Spinach and Artichoke Mac, a play on the popular appetizer dip, which had three slightly crispy corn chips driven through the mound like shovels.

Though the skillet was just for show, the pasta tubes came hot and billowing, every forkful we lifted out saw stringy, melted webs of cheese trailing behind. The macaroni's texture is toothsome and the sauce is not left for want of the tangy presence of four distinct species of cheese. This was a gouda bowl of mac n' cheese. Sorry, couldn't resist.

If I had only one quibble it is that the ceramic vessel is just another serving bowl. As far as I can tell, the skillets never saw an actual broiler. However, this, like everything else about the concept, makes perfect sense. Keeping the bowls cool to the touch has no doubt saved a lot of children and careless adults from third degree burns and the restaurant unwanted lawsuits.

For an appetizer, we had to try something called a Chipstix, another product of fertile minds. A Chiptix is the bastard kid of a curly fry and a potato chip. It's mesmerizing as a Mobius strip and made from one whole potato spun through some sort of spiral cutting tool. The helix that results is then threaded through a long wooden dowel and then deep-fried and dusted with either salt, seasoned salt or chili. I told my lovely dining companion it reminded me of the bisected cross sections on one of the cadavers I once saw at Body Worlds. She did not appreciate the association.

Though the first piece is as crispy as a chip should be, the last few down the line tend to get soggy once you get there, some of them adopting the limpness of an In-N-Out French fry. Still, the thing tickled me just as the restaurant does.

The whole kooky yet simple idea of Elbows recalls episodes of Seinfeld, where some character on the show thinks up a wild but not entirely far-out scheme, such as the all PB&J restaurant or the muffin-top store. But unlike them, Elbows is grounded in reality, and already seems to have garnered a following. You might say Elbows has legs. Sorry, couldn't resist.

Elbows Mac n' Cheese
11405 South St
Cerritos, CA 90703
562-865-9999

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Mick's Karma Bar - Irvine

2011-03-07T21:51:00.000-08:00

Michael Schepers is Austrian and Dutch. Megan, his wife, is Persian. They lived in England for a while. Then they moved to America and now own a Thai restaurant in Irvine called Kitima. They bought the place from a Thai family around a decade ago. Next door, at a coffee and juice counter they've called Mick’s Karma Bar, they make a fine burger from meat they grind themselves.

So who is Mick? Well, that’s just the nickname an Australian friend gave him. It stuck. I admit, “Mick’s” has a nicer ring to it than if it was “Mike’s Karma Bar”.

You’ll hear their story yourself when you sit at the counter as it will be Michael or Megan who’ll serve you. The counter, actually, is the only place to sit. Or more accurately, it’s the only place you want to sit, for as good as the burger is, their hospitality is even better. During our conversation, we found out we knew a few of the same people. A neighbor of theirs used to be a co-worker of mine. We shook our heads in wonderment. It is indeed a small world.

The burger, made in the same kitchen that produces the beef panang next door, comes from the same sirloin. They tested out other cuts, Michael said, but found sirloin worked best. He’s right. It’s probably one of the leanest burgers I’ve had, but it’s still beefy, smoky and satisfies as a good burger should. In every bite, sauces and juices mingle, the bread soaking in it, but never turning soggy.

If you asked me to make you a burger, this is what it would taste like. Just like Mick’s, I’d form the patty to order just before grilling. Just like Mick’s, I’d use a leaf lettuce instead of iceberg, red onion instead of brown. And I’d find a bun that has some integrity in the crust, the way their brioche bun does.

Yet, there’s still some mystery to this burger. The “karma sauce” they’ve spread onto the bottom bun is not unlike the secret sauce other places guard as if we didn’t know it’s actually Thousand Island. This one isn’t Thousand Island, but it aims for the same sweet spot. There’s just a slight suggestion of spice. You see the red flecks, but it doesn't overpower. And there’s a little bit of shredded cabbage involved, which is worked into the mix to contribute additional texture.

Alone, the burger is $5.50. The price is just right for a burger this size and this caliber. For a few bucks more (a total of $8.75) comes an icy glass of refillable Coke (or any soft drink of your choice) and a pile of properly fried-to-golden steak fries. Should you devour your lunch and leave no speck left like I did, the need for dinner will be eliminated.

What I like most about this burger is how it doesn’t really fit any existing burger categories. It’s not fast food. It’s not The Counter. It isn’t over-hyped like Charlie Palmer's DG Burger or retails dangerously close to the $10 price tag like theirs does. Most of all, it seems unique to here. It’s burger made for you by a guy another guy nicknamed Mick.

Mick's Karma Bar
2010 Main St # 165
Irvine, CA 92614-7267
(949) 851-6316

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Ichiban Sushi - Downey

2011-02-27T23:59:00.000-08:00

If you ever find yourself in Downey, the first thing you should do is go to Porto's. But if you ever find yourself in Porto's, and somehow still have a space in your gut after all gorging on the wonderful pastries and Cuban goodies, you should walk across the parking lot and locate the dilapidated-looking green building you see above, especially if it's around lunch time.

Ichiban offers a good bento box for $6.50--a bargain, if you ask me.

Of course, it goes without saying that if you're reading this from anywhere outside a 10-mile radius of the place, I wouldn't advise trekking out of your way for it. What Ichiban offers some other restaurant near you probably offers. Their prices may be low, but your effective savings will dwindle the more you have to burn precious gas to get here.

It still must be noted that a bento box of equivalent size would go for twice as much in Irvine. Believe me, I've paid for it.

In this $6.50 lunch, Ichiban gives you everything you need, and nothing you don't. The rice is hot, the shredded cabbage salad cooling. The California rolls are luscious and creamy, and the teriyaki chicken appropriately smoky even if it's slightly pedestrian.

The best part of the meal, in my opinion, are the panko-breaded planks of "fish". I use quotes around the "fish", because as thin as these swoops already are, the breading accounts for what I gather is almost the entire girth and thickness. There's only a mere suggestion of any sort of ocean-dwelling protein; but it's one that I'll buy into only on the strength of its slightly oily, but raucous crunchy crust. A drizzle of katsu further bolsters it with flavor.

Pure and simple, I liked this bento box and I liked what I paid for it. This, above all, is a lunch that starts paying out dividends the minute the obligatory bowl of soothing miso soup (not pictured) arrives. In the two times I've been to Ichiban (the first visit was years ago before Porto's even existed), I have not tried any of Ichiban's actual sushi, nor do I think I really need to.

Besides that, these days, if I'm ever in Downey, there's usually a stash of Porto's desserts in the car awaiting consumption.

Ichiban Sushi
11020 New Street
Downey, CA 90241-3715
(562) 869-3082

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Gelato Paradiso - Newport Beach

2011-02-21T22:03:00.000-08:00

Every time I'm at Fashion Island, I am aware of Gelato Paradiso's presence inside its food court like the chocolatey Tootsie Roll center of a Tootsie pop.

As the food court changes and evolves, Gelato Paradiso seems a constant, the Rock of Gibraltar if it were made out of milk and sugar. I'm of the belief that if there ever came a time that Gelato Paradiso fails at Fashion Island, Armaggedon is upon us. There always seems to be customers lining up at the stand at all hours.

And this is a good thing for gelato. The product thrives on turnover. It is imperative that it is never allowed to freeze fully, lest you want a solid block of inedible frozen milk.

If you've been enjoying the gelato here, or if you haven't, this is a good time to go. From now until the end of the week, as part of a gloomy day special (or something like that, I forget), they are offering their medium cups ($4.25) for the price of a small one ($3.75). And in Newport Beach, especially Fashion Island, such a discount is a rarity.

I took the opportunity, as the cheapskate in me is required to do, to take advantage. I had them scoop up for my dessert half of the Milk Chocolate Hazelnut and half of the Hazelnut.

And it was good, tiny spoon-licking good, smooth as velvet where there wasn't itty-bitty chunks of actual hazelnut. It only occurred to me afterward that I missed the chance to pair the Milk Chocolate Hazelnut with their Banana to create a Nutella-Banana thing that I've only imagined in my Willy Wonka dreams. But then I realized, there's still time.

Gelato Paradiso
952 Avocado Avenue
Newport Beach, CA 92660
(949) 640-9256

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Banh Mi Cho Cu Bakery - Westminster

2011-02-14T05:02:00.000-08:00

If this were Amazon.com or Netflix, you'd see "People who like this also like Banh Mi Che Cali." This is true. If you are a Banh Mi Che Cali devotee like I am, you'll also like Banh Mi Cho Cu. If Banh Mi Che Cali was Pulp Fiction, I'd have to say Banh Mi Cho Cu is Reservoir Dogs, spare, lean and mean--the OG of banh mi. I can quote Pulp Fiction and have tried all of Banh Mi Che Cali's sandwiches, but once in a while I need to go back to pay my respects.

The bakery, as with most things noteworthy in Little Saigon, is crammed between a seedy liquor store and a laundromat. Every inch of counter space looks as if a cornucopia of foodstuffs exploded and what you see is the shrapnel. There are Vietnamese food-to-go products of every imaginable permutation--rice and meat wrapped in cellophane, banh cuon rice-noodle sheets wound around meat, sticky rice this and that--all stacked on top of each other in a chaotic tangle of colors and textures. On the side next to the register, cha gio (egg rolls) and pate chaud (Vietnamese flaky meat pies) heat inside hot boxes.

But raison d'être, of course, is the banh mi ($2.50 each; or buy two, get the third free). The dac biet, or house special, called to me: a combo of meats (mostly pork) stuffed inside a crusty baguette. Though it is like Banh Mi Che Cali's sandwich in many ways, the banh mi scholar will detect a few differences. The cucumbers are cut crosswise rather than lengthwise. The jalapenos and the usual carrot and daikon pickles are applied with a lighter touch. Also, no measurable amount of mayo is used.

What you taste is predominately the bread and the meat. You chew the gelatin jiggle of the pork fat from the slice of roast pig. You perk up at the salty funk of liver pâté. And you relish the smoothness of the white Vietnamese ham called cha lua. These are layers of pork-on-pork action, hugged by the pillow of what could be one of the best baguettes in Little Saigon--a bread with the lightness of helium, a crusty crumb that shed itself all over my shirt, and a refinement that plays against the rustic, uncensored personality of the cold cuts.

If you're a banh mi lover, I quote Vincent Vega when he said, "Yeah baby, you'd dig it the most!"

Banh Mi Cho Cu Bakery
14520 Magnolia St. Ste B
Westminster, CA 92683
(714) 891-3718

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Hashigo - Costa Mesa

2011-02-07T06:32:00.000-08:00

The subject of Kogi came up while I was chatting with a co-worker last week, which was odd because I hadn't thought about Kogi for quite a while. It seems a quaint subject now, like talking about a once-popular movie that's since been relegated to the DVD bargain pile at Target.

In any case, I asked a co-worker if he'd ever had it. "Don't have to," he replied, rather sure of himself, "I've had a Korean taco at Hashigo down the street. Don't have to wait. Don't have to go chasing after a truck."

I nodded in agreement, and made a note to visit the place, which I've known about for years but shunned simply because of laziness. Fortuitously, a few days later, Derrick and Jeff, a couple of readers of this humble blog, invited me to lunch there. I didn't have the tacos, but saw almost immediately that they do even more than that.

In particular, there was this Korean wet burrito, which Jeff ordered. Humorously named "The Korrito", it starts with bulgogi, kimchi fried rice and cheese stuffed inside a rolled tortilla. The whole boulder-sized lump is then doused with what looked and tasted like reduced soondubu (soft tofu soup). This, I thought, was beyond weird and weird-looking. Weird, but good--a Korean-Mexican mash up that easily trumps Kogi's own burrito on sheer cojones. I just wished the picture I took of it wasn't so blurry.

I opted for something I'd never get at the Kogi truck, the $8.95, 2-item lunch special that included a main dish (a ridiculously large kalbi bowl, a gurgling soondubu pot with seafood, or a shrimp tempura udon) and a side (kimchi fried rice, California rolls, or fried gyoza).

This trip, I chose the shrimp tempura udon, and it came in a bowl as wide as a sink. The usual squiggly-slippery chew of udon were submerged beneath an amber-colored broth both peppy and hot. As with most noodle soups, success begins and ends here, and this one had a lip-smacking umami sweetness leeching out of the toasted nori that made every sip invigorating. The hot elixir comforts the same time its subtle spiciness titillates. It didn't matter that the two criss-crossed spears of once-lacy tempura were now slowly dissolving into the liquid, turning into flavor-soaked and mushy broth sponge.

The gyoza that accompanied added nothing particularly noteworthy, except for a crunchy fried counterpoint to the hot, wet slurps of soup. Truth is, I think the kimchi fried rice would've been a better side; but starch followed by starch does not a balanced lunch make.

What was essential to the meal actually came for free: three capably prepared and flavorful banchan came as a complimentary appetizer. There was enough that it could've conceivably constituted a meal unto themselves, say, if you had a bowl of rice. The gamja jorim, a stewed potato side-dish so melting and sweet, might as well be labeled as a confection.

Hmm...there's an idea hasn't yet been embraced: an all banchan food truck! They could serve it inside tortillas and call them "tacos". Why not? That's what everyone seems to be doing these days.

Hashigo Korean Kitchen
3033 Bristol St., Suite M
Costa Mesa, CA 92626
(714) 557-4911

THIS WEEK ON OC WEEKLY:
The Kickin' Crab - Santa Ana

Peking Duck at Tri-Village - Irvine

2011-01-30T21:09:00.000-08:00

It was at a dinner with my esteemed OC Weekly colleagues when I realized I'd been going at it all wrong. The assumption I previously held was that I had to go to the Chinese food Mecca of San Gabriel Valley to get a proper Peking duck. I did just this a few months ago, making the pilgrimage to the much lauded Duck House in Monterey Park where I ate the dish and concluded that duck skin is a tease. After it all, I said I'd rather have the skull-rattling crunch of roasted pork skin, thanks.

On that post I wrote the following as my conclusion:

"Compare them to a Chinese roasted pig, or Filipino lechon, and the water fowl skin seems like a lightweight. It's like O'Douls next to a pint of Guinness. A Lay's chip next to a Kettle Brand. William Baldwin next to Alec Baldwin. You get the idea."

Then I had the duck from Tri-Village** in Irvine. And finally, I'd found what I'd been looking for, and to think it was here within arm's reach and a less than 10-minute drive all along.

Since that evening and every evening I've had this duck, I've decided that this will be the bird I'll be putting up against all others. To my friends who live the San Gabriel Valley, I'll say, ours is better than yours.

To look at the shaved skin in its crispy, caramel-colored shards, you could mistake them for sheets of spun sugar candy--shiny, translucent and ever so brittle. And to taste them is to conclude that duck skin IS candy. This was far and away better than anything I had previously.

If you want to order this duck, you must plan ahead and call it in at least two hours in advance of your arrival. It will cost you somewhere around $30 for the bird, a few bucks more for the soup they'll make from the rest of the carcass.

But what you receive is a ritual that respects the bird as more than just a meal. Eating Peking duck at Tri-Village feels like an event.

Compare this to The Duck House in Monterey Park and it's almost like night and day. Since The Duck House is in the business of turning out duck after duck, you never see your bird before it's sliced up and turned into a plate of skin and meat. It could be any other dish, really. You are then charged with wrapping your own duck crepes.

When Tri-Village brings out the duck you requested, whole and glistening, they'll allow you to inspect it before they do the carving. And the service doesn't end there. They will assemble your duck tacos for you table-side, taking round after round of the pliant crepe-like tortillas, painting them with a swipe of a special Hoisin-like sauce, placing some shaved curls of scallion, a few flecks of that flavorful and crunchy skin, scraps of meat, and finally rolling each one into lengthy cigars, one after another, each equally portioned so that every bite is as delectable as the last.

After you eat one, and the one after that, you'll come to the same realization I made earlier. By the time the soup comes, you're sold. This murky, soul-soothing simmer of the meat-stripped bones is equal to the majesty of the dish that preceded it. Bowl after bowl, you'll slurp clear noodles and sip a broth that reaffirms the best things in life are those that simple and close by.

Tri-Village
14121 Jeffrey Road
Irvine, CA 92620
(949) 857-8833

THIS WEEK ON OC WEEKLY:
Bistro Anju - Laguna Niguel

**Note: Please read the update regarding the change in ownership in the comments section.

Fried Bananas at Thach Che Hien Khanh - Westminster

2011-01-23T23:58:00.000-08:00

What is that golden-fried club, all crispy and glorious? Why it's a fried banana, of course, the donut of South East Asia (if you don't count the things they also do to fried dough).

We took this one after our lunch at Quan Hy last week. Thach Che Hien Khanh is located right across the plaza, donchaknow?! And it is the preeminent purveyor of all things sweet and dessert in Little Saigon. There are lines even when there shouldn't be, in the middle of the afternoon. People patiently queue up to order from steam trays filled with the sugary, the bean-based and the sticky-rice-anchored. What you order gets piled into take-out containers, sold and then consumed for later.

But we came in with the express desire to have fried bananas. I pointed at the tray, where they were stacked out in the open. "Two!", I said, holding up the appropriate amount of fingers for emphasis. Our cashier proceeded to pick up with tongs one, two, three, and four of the browned fat logs into a paper bag. She looked up, saw the puzzled look on my face and replied, "Oh I thought you meant two dollars' worth! Sorry!"

When we got back in the car, we couldn't wait until we got home to eat them. Biting into one was like that first tap of a spoon on a creme brulee: there was just a slight resistance that quickly gave way to the blubbery custard beneath.

On this fried banana, what seemed like a natural crust had formed on the batter--a sugary, caramel shield that made it still inexplicably crunchy even after sitting there out in the elements for probably at least an hour since its birth. It was delicious. One of the better and most unadulterated fried bananas I've eaten.

Now I'm wishing the cashier left the other two banana fritters in there.

Thach Che Hien Khanh
(714)839-8143
9639 Bolsa Ave., #A
Westminster, CA 92683

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Quan Hy's Xoi Ga - Westminster

2011-01-16T23:33:00.000-08:00

Xoi Ga is sticky rice with chicken, a Vietnamese street dish that, if I wanted to oversimplify, closely mirrors Hainan chicken--boiled or steamed hen presented in pieces over rice. And that's what I was expecting when a friend ordered it at Quan Hy one night.

But what the menu described it as and what it actually was are entirely different. Quan Hy's Xoi Ga ($9.50) is far and away better than the words on the menu make it out to be. Contrary to the description, the chicken isn't so much "shredded" as it is compressed and fried--fried to be one of the most delectable pieces of poultry I've had in recent memory.

To look at it is to marvel its inception.

In its uniform flatness is a shape as sleek as an iPhone. An entire, intact chicken thigh is squeezed into this compact frame like a contortionist. The flavor is concentrated through and through, an aromatic marinade that tastes as familiar as what is used in traditional Vietnamese fried chicken called ga chien.

What's more, the meat is well-cooked, crisped to dark brown on the edges exposed to oil, moist everywhere else. The rendered skin crackles, slit like gills at strategic locations on the patty so that it stays attached during cooking.

Equal to the wondrous discovery of the chicken is the reinterpretation of the sweet rice. Formed into rectangular spears and also deep-fried, the eyes expect either a tater tot and a French toast stick. However, the mouth experiences something even better: it has an oily, Rice Krispy-like crunch leading to a soft, rice-pudding-like center, an ooey-gooey substance that absorbs the sweetened soy dipping sauce like a sponge.

The lesson from all this? Like all Little Saigon's restaurants, Quan Hy's menu descriptions undersell what it actually offers. After all, does "steamed rice-cakes with shredded shrimp" even begin to represent the miracle of their banh beo, their most popular Hue dish?

Quan Hy Restaurant
(714) 775-7179
9727 Bolsa Ave
Westminster, CA 92683

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Porto's Bakery & Cafe - Downey

2011-01-09T18:00:00.000-08:00

Area bakeries, patisseries: the disturbance you feel in the Force can be explained. Porto's has opened in Downey. It's only the third Porto's in the Southern California area, but it's one that people like me have been waiting for.

It is perhaps the most anticipated bakery to debut anywhere in our vicinity and it is massive. This is a bakery of a different order. A bakery with its own gravitational pull. It easily dwarfs the one in Glendale, and is even bigger than the one in Burbank.

The building it occupies used to be bank, a Cal Fed. Sight lines disappear into the horizon.

Customers standing in its two queues ebb and flow like the surf. High tide is all the time, until the doors slide shut at 8 p.m. Around 8:01 p.m. there are bound to be stragglers who beg, plead, to get inside.

Everyone has their own reason to love this Cuban bakery. I have more than a few. First and foremost: their potato balls, orbs of mashed potato stuffed to the edges with seasoned, spicy ground beef, fried to golden-brown with a fine-grit breadcrumb crust. The thing weighs as heavy in the hand as a shotput, but on the palate, it's light and blubbery, gone in an instant.

Croquettes are kind of like the potato balls but forgo the spuds for shredded chicken-meat enconsed in a creamy mixture. They are formed into little footballs before being deep fried to craggle-crusted awesomeness.

Then there's the cheese rolls, a wonder rhombus of flakiness, the cheese danish of the Gods. Other bakeries make it, but none can do it like Porto's. We bought a dozen and ate a few while it was still warm. The sugar dusting on the top crackled 'neath our teeth, the layers of crispness parting in shards, and the salty/sweet/savory cheese inside, the soft landing we needed. Our eyes rolled back into our heads. Baked goods don't get more orgasmic than this.

Sandwiches range from the traditionally Cuban, to some that are sort of Italian, all with crispy plantains as long as tongue depressors subbing for chips. The empanadas are fine and tasty, so are the husk-wrapped tamales, which can be a bit dry. But there are literally hundreds of other delights to try; other discoveries to be made. Porto's has opened in Downey. And it is good.

Porto's Bakery & Cafe
8233 Firestone Blvd
Downey, CA 90241
(562) 862-8888

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Zon Baguette's Mi Dac Biet - Tustin

2011-01-02T09:44:00.000-08:00

There are only a few items your humble scribe craves when the weather gets this frigid. The Korean soft tofu soup called sundubu jjigae is high on the list, as is anise-scented bowls of pho. But generally, hypothermia usually sends my brain dreaming of any noodle soup, its country of origin not as important than that it is scalding hot and contains lots of things for my chopsticks to pluck out from the broth.

Our most recent bowl fulfilled all the requirements, and found in an unlikely place: a banh mi shop. Zon Baguette's has been plying soup and rice for a while on a separate menu list in addition to its sandwiches, but I've never taken them up on it until now.

And the soup I asked for isn't even on that list. We saw it scribbled on a white board, and things written in non-permanent marker is what I tend to gravitate to.

This is a standard, honest, good mi dac biet, crinkly thin egg noodles with protein odds and ends from tender crimson-rimmed BBQ pork, barely-cooked shrimp, and pieces of breast meat chicken that would've otherwise been stuffed into a sandwich. The soup is clean, uncomplicated, the essence of chicken, maybe pork, enlivened by a squeeze of lime, and exactly what I needed.

She opted for her usual sandwich, but the sight of me slurping noodles and noisily sipping my soup proved irresistible. We ended up sharing both the sandwich and the soup, alternating between them, passing the bowl and the sandwich back and forth, our cheeks becoming warmer and rosier after each successive gulp of broth.

Zon Baguette
14081 Newport Avenue
Tustin, CA 92780
(714) 731-1366

THIS WEEK ON OC WEEKLY:
Year in Review

Omakase at Sushi Shibucho - Costa Mesa - A Re-Review In Haiku

2010-12-27T07:20:00.000-08:00

It has been five years
Since my first haiku review.
This is the second.

It is still the same:
A temple of quality.
Consistency reigns.

We visit often,
Devotees of the master.
No one else compares.

His wife pours green tea,
As Shibutani slices.
Next to him, his son.

Say "Omakase",
To eat the best on offer,
The freshest he has.

Thick cuts draped on rice,
Sculpted by masterful hands,
Each one beautiful.

It starts with stewed fish.
An unctuous specimen,
As rich as sardine.

On the first platter,
Come bright hues, textures, and tastes,
Arranged to impress.

Some feel like Jell-O.
Others crunch, bursts, melts into
Pleasure-filled mouthfuls.

Salmon is pristine,
As brisk as a cold river.
A good silken piece.

Second platter comes
With even more loveliness,
Even more colors.

Toro is marbled,
As fatty as kobe beef:
Luscious and tangy.

Ocean-y crab meat,
Stripped from its shell and salty,
Reclines on the rice.

The ginger cleanses.
The miso soup is soothing.
But later comes more.

Cucumber salad
Has fish bits and sesame.
It tickles our tongues.

For dessert: pickles.
Cucumbers, seaweed, daikon.
Who needs something sweet.

Like I said before:
Shibucho makes sushi art.
Next door: In-N-Out.

Sushi Shibucho
(949) 642-2677
590 W 19th St
Costa Mesa, CA 92627

THIS WEEK ON OC WEEKLY:
Bruxie - Orange

Merry's House of Chicken - West Covina

2010-12-20T06:02:00.000-08:00

Go forth fellow Orange Countians, out of your comfy cul-de-sacs, to the equally quiet foothills of West Covina. There you will find the Southland's newest Indonesian restaurant, peddler of foods from the spicy archipelago and a fried chicken specialty that will result in more return trips north.

The chicken dish in question ayam goreng kremesan, which roughly translates to "fried chicken with crispy crumbly things"--a golden brown, half-bird deeply seeped of its marinade and showered with the granular crumbles of its disembodied crust. Think of this addictive substance also as a seasoning, because it is. This crisp rice-flour-based batter sings the same notes that the bird does, but concentrated in a molecular sense, a flavor present in every explosively crunchy, tempura-crossed-with-granola crumb.

This is the same kind of chicken that begat KFC-like empires in Indonesia, the least of which is called Ayam Goreng Suharti, arguably the closest thing Indonesia has to a homegrown Colonel Sanders.

Dollop each morsel of bird you tear off from the well-fried carcass (note: Indonesians prefer their chickens fried to the point of dryness) with the house-made sambal, an intensely sweet, and intensely hot chili and tomato paste inflected by the stinky, funky, umami-rich accents of terasi, Indonesia's indigenous fermented shrimp paste. Instantly, your lips numb, your tongue blazes, your brow begins to dampen. And yet you add more, and more, finishing the first saucer and asking for seconds. You admit to yourself that you can eat this homemade fire balm for days, your internal organs be damned.

Your tastebuds will not have fully recovered when you move on to the other dishes, like the nasi goreng petai, a fried rice dish with little bits of noodle, meat, chili, and most notoriously, petai beans (sator beans), a fragrant, nutty tropical legume with a lima-bean-like texture, and a propensity to make your pee smell worse than if you ate a whole bushel of asparagus.

And since you're already drenched head to toe in your own perspiration, Merry Istiowati--the Surabaya native who, by the way, opened this ode to the poultry (and Indonesian cuisine) after closing 368 Noodle House so many years ago--makes an estimable nasi bungkus, banana-leaf-wrapped-rice, which is what a take-out meal would look like if drive-thrus existed in the jungle. But be warned: this is a dish as piercingly hot and sweat-inducing as noontime in the tropics.

Once you unfurl the butcher paper and leaf packaging, you see a green-chili sambal waiting furtively, nay, dangerously in one corner. A hard boiled egg is stewed in more chili. A piece of beef rendang is covered with its cooked-down brown seasoning paste. On top of the pile, a turmeric-colored chicken leg and a spoonful of curried vegetable provides the only non-spicy reprieve. All are heaped into a football-mound of rice which has taken on the vanilla-like perfume of its botanical container.

It's about then you thank Merry's House of Chicken for supplying an ample amount of sweat-blotting napkins in a convenient basket next to the kecap manis.

Merry's House of Chicken
2550 E Amar Rd., Ste A5
West Covina, CA 91792
(626) 965-0123

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Hooters - Costa Mesa

2010-12-12T23:28:00.000-08:00

If you are of the opinion that Hooters objectifies women, I agree with you and so do Trey Parker and Matt Stone, who produced a hilarious send-up of the chain on South Park. In it, Butters becomes enamored by a waitress at Raisins. If you haven't, see it here.

But the truth is, come in and you encounter just as many women customers as men. And on this trip (my third in over a decade), there are more families with babies in tow than I expected. PG-rated posters a typical teenager would consider standard bedroom wall decor are the most risque thing about the place.

"Tacky" is the word they use to describe themselves. But a better word is "American". I would argue that Hooters is the truest representation of American culture in a themed-restaurant than Hard Rock or Planet Hollywood.

To me, and actually, to a lot of people, Hooters is more about the wings than breasts. I regard Hooters' wings as better than any of those from the major wing chains, including Buffalo Wild Wings.

And what is more American than Buffalo wings? Answer: All-you-can-eat Buffalo wings on Tuesday nights. This is the night where where you disregard all common sense (you really don't need to eat all the wings you can eat), pay $12.99, then spend the rest of your evening trying to recoup it by consuming about the worst thing a dietitian and your doctor could ever imagine: fried chicken soaked in melted butter and hot sauce.

Doing so is dangerously easy to do. I discovered a disturbing fact about myself that night: I can polish off a round of 10 wings in the time it took the television to take two commercial breaks. By the end of it, I had in front of me the remnants of my gluttony: the cleaned bones of 22 wings, a half-finished basket of curly fries, and a throughly soiled WetNap.

If you choose to attempt to break my record, you should know to avoid filling up on those fries. To quote Admiral Ackbar, "It's a trap!" It is included in the deal as Hooters insurance policy that you don't eat them out of their profits. For sure, resist the temptation to munch on them in the lull between when you've finished your current plate and are waiting for the next. That's what they want you to do.

There are two frying options for the wings: "naked" and breaded. The "naked" way, wherein the wings are dropped as is into the oil, lends itself well to a number of seasoning paths.

The best, in my opinion, is to have them "naked" and coated in Cajun spice, a caustic, sweet and salty dry rub popularized as "bammage". The skin, thoroughly rendered and expertly cooked (yes, I said expertly), takes on a thin-sheened crispness and the presence of a BBQ-potato chip.

A spicy-garlic sauce is second best, a butter-soaked and just-hot-enough lubrication to encourage and propel you to the lip-smacking break-even point on your $13 investment in over-eating.

If you opt to do the traditional hot wing, better to ask for breaded than "naked", as it absorbs the hot-sauce so well that you'll notice there's not a lot of it left to pool on the plate. And for goodness sakes just do the "Hot". The "Medium", it turns out, is equivalent to just asking for it to be soaked in plain butter. It's bland and tasteless.

You'll know you've done well when you toss and turn in bed, suffering from heartburn and swearing off hot wings and all-you-can-anything for as long as you live. And you'll know you are an American when you wake up the next morning and look forward to next Tuesday.

Hooters
1507 South Coast Drive
Costa Mesa, CA 92626-1529
(714) 427-0755

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*Special Thanks to Monster Munching location scout Cecile for the tip on Olives.

Rick's Atomic Cafe - Costa Mesa

2010-12-06T05:48:00.000-08:00

I've not been to Rick's Atomic Cafe enough to ask owner Rick LeBlanc what the story behind the "Atomic" name is. And I'm sure there is a story.

But since I don't know it yet, I'm going to use "atomic" to describe the smallness of his eatery. It is, in fact, atomic--the tiniest eating space known to man. His office-park lunch stop is akin to Harry's Deli. Both exist as an anomaly in unadorned, spartan kitchens buzzed by passing John Wayne-bound planes. Both are in rented office spaces in anonymous office parks, hidden unless you know it's there. The only difference is that Harry's is easily three times the size of Rick's.

More than half of Rick's Atomic Cafe is his kitchen, which if you've read Gustavo's review a few month's ago, he commands himself, whipping up things from scratch, salting things with care, being exactly what a short order cook isn't: a bonafide gourmet.

I ordered what I thought would be a normal $5 egg breakfast, but what I got was much more. The toast is from artisan bread, buttered by Rick, ready to be spread by a thimble of preserves he selected out of a bigger jar. And oh, the potatoes! It's from a batch freshly made. Onions are wilted and just barely singed by the heat of the griddle. The cubed spuds burst with flavor, steam, and toe-curling homeyness. The eggs? Cooked just as I requested: over-medium and seasoned ever so slightly with pepper and salt--whites ready to be forked up and yolks dipped into by the crispy points of that buttered toast.

I need a new paragraph for the bacon. Look at the bacon. It's as straight as rulers. You can spank naughty children with this bacon. No bacon I've ever had, and perhaps no bacon I ever will have can be as perfectly rendered as Rick's. It's crispy from end-to-end. The uniform consistency is almost unnatural, as if Rick somehow managed to arrange the bacon molecules to conform, yes, subatomically.

In between bites, I washed my breakfast down with orange juice, squeezed by Rick's own hand and a juicer by the sink. The sink, by the way, is stocked tall of whole oranges standing by for this very purpose. For my order, Rick filled up the glass to the brim with the pulpy nectar and juice of many, many citrus. $2.50 seemed a really low toll for all the labor he had to go through, and how many fruit he had to dispatch.

It goes without saying that I left with quite a bit more than a good impression of Rick's Atomic Cafe. It's small, but it is, by no means, insignificant, as other things dubbed atomic have shown.

Rick's Atomic Cafe
3100 Airway Avenue,
Costa Mesa, CA 92626
(714) 825-0570

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Chik-fil-A's Chicken Soup - Tustin

2010-11-29T19:52:00.000-08:00

I've never been brought down by a flu like this. In between the skin-burning fevers, there are body shivers and inexplicable cold clammy sweats. My head feels like my brain is set on tumble-dry-low, a constant throbbing as if a nightclub has taken up residence in my cranium. I'm constantly thristy, but my appetite is shot. The past three days have been spent tossing and turning in bed thinking "WTF is this thing? This sucks!"

I write this in the lull that Advil provides and after having eaten dinner of Chik-Fil-A's chicken noodle soup, which I requested because, well, it seemed the kind of thing to eat in this condition. It's not the best soup in the world. But it didn't have to be. The carrots, celery, and noodles seem to have taken on the same consistency: mushy. But the soup is hot and thick; the chicken, actual meat from an actual chicken.

Now if you'll excuse me, my lovely caretaker and chicken soup deliverer has told me to get off the computer and get more rest.

Chik-fil-A
2889 Park Ave
Tustin, CA 92782
(714) 258-1400

THIS WEEK ON OC WEEKLY:
Liang's Kitchen - Irvine

Dat Thanh - Westminster

2010-11-21T23:59:00.000-08:00

A post by Dave Lieberman on OC Weekly's Stick a Fork In It food blog started it all. That was the fuse that led to an explosion of press coverage for Dat Thanh, a tiny Little Saigon restaurant that has emerged into the limelight as The One that challenged the monopoly of Brodard, the Goliath of nem nuong rolls. From there, subsequent articles by the LA Times and OC Register followed. It was a lot of attention fast—a white hot fire of free and deserved publicity that begat building-wrapping lines for a postage-stamp-size of a place that only has, at most, four tables.

Its owner, Hai Nguyen, of course, has been ecstatic for all that’s happened to his family’s little eatery, though, quite honestly, it's hard to tell when the guy isn't happy. Come to his store these days (don't worry the fervor has calmed down a bit since those articles published) and you'll get to chat with him. He’ll tell you the past month has been insane. He’ll tell you that he’s honored, humbled and hopeful that his family’s diligence and hard work seemed to finally pay off literally overnight. He even told us that he’s now considering opening another restaurant.

If you’ve read all the press yourself, you won’t see any new info about the food here: only a reaffirmation of what everyone else has said. Dat Thanh’s nem nuong rolls are wonderful—every bit the worthy challenger to Brodard’s.

First, there’s the nem nuong itself. They make it in-house, of course. The chewy, ruddy, half-cylinder cut lengthwise can be compared to a sausage, though it isn’t one. It can also be said it’s kind of like luncheon meat, though it isn’t that either. It sports a peppery bite, a tactile and playful texture that bounces back up like a spring-loaded hot dog if it had this kind of personality. But above all you taste the honest, hand-made care behind each porky construct; how the Zen-simplicity and see-through translucency of the skin-tight wetted rice paper holds back such wonders.

Inside the roll, it is the heartiness of their nem nuong that sings more soulfully than Brodard’s.

There are other noted differences to the Brodard roll, as has been said. The tucked-in twirled cigar of deep fried egg roll skin is thinner here, resulting in a less skull-rattling crunch than its cross-town rival. And cilantro-averse people should be aware that Dat Thanh’s rolls contain chopped bits of the herb mixed in with the lettuce.

And then there’s the warm, pinkish, thick dipping medium; the nem nuong roll’s life-force; the ambrosial liquid that has become, at least in Little Saigon, the secret-sauce of secret-sauces. Brodard’s nem nuong sauce has intrigued and beguiled the masses more than anything else, a recipe more guarded than nuclear launch codes. And here it is cracked: Dat Thanh’s is everything Brodard’s formula is, except spicier, tangier and less sugary, with all of the magic.

Yes, the sauce and the rolls are great here. Your first pilgrimage should and will be made in sole search of them, but every subsequent trip should be for everything else on the menu. Though a few pages long, their roster is deceptively made up of just the basics you know, done well. The BBQ pork is luscious and a tofu-skin-wrapped shrimp mousse sheds its crispy shards like a flaky croissant— as good as any I’ve ever had. All these proteins are rearranged and combined with others on top of rice or a wispy cold noodle called bun an doused with an equally lip-smacking, if basic, golden fish sauce.

But that’s not all: the nem noung that filled the rolls can also be had on top of rice, basted with a sticky, sugary glaze and grilled till slightly smoky. As Hai will tell you, it’s the same meat, but it tastes completely different when you eat it this way. He’s right.

Drizzle the whole plate with a generous pour of their aforementioned nuoc mam from a carafe, a brew that Hai revealed they make by boiling down the best caliber of fish sauce to concentrate the sweetness.

After every bite and minute spent of your visit chatting with Hai, you realize you are no longer just at the hole-in-the-wall restaurant that dared to challenge Brodard. In fact, before long you forget all the articles, the hype, and the hoopla. You’re just at a good, decent Vietnamese restaurant, with a good, decent man taking care of you.

Dat Thanh
10032 McFadden Ave.
Westminster, CA 92683
(714) 650-0910

THIS WEEK ON OC WEEKLY:
Les Amis - Fullerton

Trader Joe's Hickory Barbeque Potato Chips

2010-11-14T02:35:00.000-08:00

They're the greasiest, crunchiest, saltiest potato chip I have ever encountered. They are also the greatest potato chip ever created. In my opinion, there is no better chip on this planet than these. Hold one up to inspect it closely and you see that the chip has pockets of oil trapped in every pore. Light shines through it as though it were stained glass.

The sugary/smoky/salty powdered BBQ seasoning is caked on, seemingly applied with no regard to its excess. Since it's Hawaiian-style (which really just means kettle-cooked), the slices are thick, sturdy, and have a raucous crunch and an intense potato-ness.

When the chips are gone, the bottom of the bag is speckled with the leavings, a greasy, salty, clumpy concentrate of crumbs, oil and seasoning that you can literally scoop up with a spoon.

If you're even a little bit squeamish on fat, do not buy these chips. If your doctor has curtailed your salt intake, do not buy these chips. If you're disgusted by anything I've said so far, do not buy these chips. If you're at Trader Joe's in Santa Ana and you see that there's only one bag left, do not buy these chips. Save it for me!

My cube mates and I have lost count of how many of these $2 bags we've bought over the last couple of months. We take turns buying the week's supply. At any given time, one is ready to go in our file cabinets. When the inevitable afternoon hunger pangs hits between two thirty and four, we look at each other and ask "Is it chip time?"

Then and only then do we tear open a bag and share.

We don't necessarily have to do this. Any one of us is capable of finishing an entire bag by himself in one afternoon. We eat it together as a sort of chip support group so that no one person goes on a potato chip bender he'll later regret. We also eat it together to confirm our shared belief in the greatness of these chips with intonations of "These...*CRUNCH*...are the greatest...*CRUNCH*...potato chips...*CRUNCH*...ever!"

THIS WEEK ON OC WEEKLY:
O Fine Japanese Cuisine - Laguna Beach

Wraps Xpress - Irvine

2010-11-07T07:29:00.000-08:00

Wraps Xpress might just be the most ambiguous restaurant name to have appeared in Irvine since Asian Tapas. It does not foretell of what's actually made inside the store in this innocuous Albertsons-anchored neighborhood shopping center called Quail Hill.

Every customer who strolled in from the cold had no idea that this place is, in fact, a lahmajoun specialist. Lahmajoun (also spelled lahmacun) is a Turkish pizza of sorts: dough stretched to a thinness of a crepe, baked with minced meat.

Greeted by a jolly, bald man with the pent-up enthusiasm of a car salesman, these customers come in meekly, not knowing exactly what they will be eating. The man explains, quite joyfully, that when you choose your "pizza", it's baked to order with either meat (beef or chicken), cheese, spinach or zaatar (herbs). After the oven, it's topped with a variety of veggies, sauces and condiments before being rolled up and eaten like a burrito, or yes, a wrap.

Behind him, you see a sparse and streamlined operation with two employees. The process is quite mesmerizing to observe. The first employee feeds a ball of dough through an upright contraption that flattens it thinner and thinner under a series of motor-driven rollers.

Once the overgrown pasta machine is done, she dots the now tortilla-flat dough disk to prevent puffing. A spiced minced meat, onion and tomato mixture is applied by an ice cream scoop and summarily spread thin across the surface. The "pizza" is then sent down a conveyor-belted oven to bake, fusing the meat onto the dough and blistering the edges.

When it comes out, the second employee intercepts it at the exit, whereupon he will ask what toppings you want added before it is folded, and yes, wrapped.

I chose parsley, olives, a bit more shredded cheese, yogurt, a special sauce he said would taste like chipotle mayo (he was right), some lettuce, and a side of hummus. From start to finish, the whole thing took about five minutes.

Eating the burrito-cum-pizza-cum-calzone took less than ten. The crispy crust is akin to, well, a thin-crusted pizza. The subtly spicy ground beef topping had hints of cumin. The yogurt was as coolly refreshing as the leaves of parsley was cleansing. Like its catch phrase says "It is more than a wrap". It is lahmajoun.

On second thought, perhaps the generic title of "wrap" is perfect. "Lahmajoun Xpress" would have those Irvine heads scratching, never daring to step even a foot inside. A little ambiguity works once in a while.

Wraps Xpress
6779 Quail Hill Pkwy
Irvine, CA 92603
(949) 464-8448

THIS WEEK ON OC WEEKLY:
The Capital Grille - Costa Mesa

Crepes de Paris - Irvine

2010-10-31T14:30:00.000-07:00

Never underestimate the power of suggestion. We just happened to run into the Crepes Bonaparte truck--the closest thing OC has to a Food Network celebrity after that Great Food Truck Race show--while it was parked on a random side street in Downtown Fullerton. And that was it: we needed, wanted, craved, demanded crepes for dessert.

The problem is that we were headed somewhere else for dinner. Somewhere not far from it, across the parking lot actually, where we were still able to see the truck serving a brisk and steady stream of customers from our seat. But it was too far away to run after it when it suddenly left before we finished our supper.

To be fair, it didn't just decide to retreat on a whim. Checking their Twitter afterward confirmed that they cooked their last crepe at exactly at 8 p.m., just when they said they would.

But its departure now left us with a crepes-for-dessert mission; a mission to satisfy a jones that no other dessert could fulfill--not frozen yogurt, not Strickland's ice cream, not cake. We desired nothing but a crepe, made hot and thin in front of our eyes, oozing with Nutella, bananas, covered under a furious flurry of powdered sugar, and served as a folded triangular envelope. Dollop of whipped cream, optional.

This is how we found ourselves at a Crepes de Paris at Diamond Jamboree in Irvine--one of a few non-Asian eateries at the decidedly very Asian plaza--and ordering exactly this. Inside, chick-lit cartoon drawings flitted about the walls like it was actually animated. A very nice woman took our order. Ours would be the last one of the night, she said. She relayed it to her partner, a man in the back whom I spied through a window where the crepe griddles were hot and visible.

He poured onto them a ladle-full of batter. His wooden squeegee swirled it around to spread the off-white liquid wide and thin. After a minute, he flipped it with a skinny spatula, revealing a browned, mottled reverse-leopard-spot disc of our soon-to-be-dessert. On one quadrant, a fistful of sliced bananas and a copious drizzle of Nutella went on. Then with two quick folds and a powdered-sugar and chocolate shower, our crepe was done.

Witnessing our crepe's birth was just as essential to the enjoyment as eating it.

We took it outside to the courtyard full of patio tables and chairs, where others were sinking teeth into 85C Bakery's breads. Our crepe we tore up ravenously--a slightly thick stock, chewy with a playful rubbery pull, Nutella turning into sauce, sugar melting into it, and banana slices lost somewhere in the milieu.

It was good, not earth-shattering, but exactly what we needed at the moment we needed it.

Now it must be said, I don't recall ever buying a crepe in my life until now. I have always made my crepes. Of all things in the Larousse Gastronomique, it is arguably the easiest dish to accomplish with nothing but common ingredients (flour, butter, milk, eggs, vanilla extract, sugar, and salt) I always have laying around.

So after paying the almost $7 toll for the treat, I'm still of the opinion that when it comes to this basic banana-Nutella model, the economics is wholly in my favor if I continue to make them myself. I've yet to sample their more elaborate versions.

But I won't rule out surrendering more money for even the bare-bones ones if the mood should strike, especially if that Crepes Bonaparte truck sashays in front of us again and plants the idea that we must have it that instant like DiCaprio in Inception. I think it has something to do with those irresistibly hilarious outfits they wear.

Crepes De Paris
2710 Alton Pkwy. Ste 125
Irvine, CA 92606
(949) 727-2096

Update: As an extra topping to this post, I'm adding the Will Ferrell/Sacha Baron Cohen crepe scene from Talladega Nights. Thanks to Anonymous and digkv for bringing this up in the comments section!

THIS WEEK ON OC WEEKLY:
Bari Bari Japanese BBQ - Tustin

Yum Cha Café - Westminster

2010-10-24T13:56:00.001-07:00

Readers from the San Gabriel Valley should already be familiar with Yum Cha Cafe. There are three there already (not counting the one in L.A.), all taking residence inside the armpits of large Chinese supermarkets.

They open early and get insanely busy fast. You know it's morning in the SGV when you see a jumble of bodies crowding the hot display cases like magnets. It is not uncommon to see little old ladies overtaking other little old ladies, elbowing themselves to the front of the line and jockeying for their turn at what is possibly the cheapest dim sum stash in existence.

Take a lesson from those women: You need to assert yourself. Forget shyness and decency. And also, forget about coming in the afternoon or in the evening, when all of the dim sum supplies are depleted and it turns into a standard, but equally cheap noodle soup shop.

This is dim sum at bargain prices, all freshly made and warming under heatlamps and in shiny aluminum baskets stacked tall behind a chin-high glass perennially fogged up with steam.

You order yours by screaming (it's the only way to get yourself heard above the din) and then pointing at stuff when you have to. You pay in cash and they package-up what you choose into Styrofoam containers with disposable chopsticks and hot sauce in little tear-away packets.

Orange County has two of its own, also following the same pattern as its SGV sisters. Both hide inside supermarkets and attract the same type of bargain hunters who salivate at the thought of getting the most out of their money. Read: quantity and prices before all else.

But if a Cantonese San Gabriel Valley resident should happen to come across our two Yum Chas, including this one inside the My Thuan market in Westminster, they'll find themselves more or less as a foreigner. Ours are decidedly Vietnamese, with Vietnamese translations for everything and Vietnamese speakers behind the counter.

Tip: take a number and watch the LED sign like a hawk. Chances are good that even though they'll yell the numbers in English and then Vietnamese, you won't hear it.

The prices are the same. Over 25 items are at 99-cents, usually with three pieces to an order. The rest top out $1.39. It is conceivable to spend more on the tea, tax, and tip at a proper dim sum house than an entire meal here. The spread I have pictured set me back exactly $11.22, and it fed the two of us until we were comatose.

Yes, you do sacrifice some of the refinement. The cheong fun can be thick where it should be delicate; the har gow is often pasty when it should be translucent; and the chao tom--deep fried balls of shrimp paste speared on sugarcane--are usually cold and dense by the time you get it home. But any complaints will be silenced when you again realize how little you paid.

Besides that, there are some really well-made items here. The taro croquettes crisps as it should, shedding its shredded-wheat-like fur in crumbles when you bite into it. Experience the same thrill of gnawing and nibbling the meat off of the braised pork ribs, just like usual. For dessert, enjoy the perfectly baked mini-custard pies called dan tats, as good here as it was at your last dim sum outing.

All you need now is to brew yourself a scalding hot pot of tea.

Yum Cha Café
8900 Westminster Blvd
Westminster, CA 92683
www.yumchacafe.com

THIS WEEK ON OC WEEKLY:
Aji Limon - Buena Park*

*Special Thanks to Monster Munching location scout Cecile for the tip on Aji Limon.

Kaju Soft Tofu - Irvine

2010-10-18T07:07:00.000-07:00

It occurred to me during the middle of my Korean soft tofu dinner what a perfect meal this was. Not just this particular one ($16.99)--which was good, soul-soothing, and body-warming in the cold drizzle of the night--but all soondubu combos like it.

No matter where I've had it, the hot rice, the kalbi beef short ribs, the fried fish, the vegetable side dishes, and the soup are like the A-Team. Each individual component has its quirky strengths, contributing its own unique talents to the mission objective.

As played out as the yin-yang analogy may be, everything balances out something else. A bite of something crunchy can be followed by something soft. A slurp of something scalding is countered by that which is briskly chilled. The chew of meat is answered by tofu or veg. Spicy meets sweet. The sweet then cleansed by tart.

Your mouth becomes a see-saw and everyone is taking turns.

As is often the case, Kaju had a handful of people waiting at its doors to get in on the experience, and desperately trying to get out from the cold. If I'm not mistaken, most of the customers are Chinese, as are the servers.

That it is one of Irvine's most consistently managed, consistently good soondubu joints is saying something, especially in a town with no shortage of soondubu joints. The panchan isn't as varied or interesting as Kaya, but it does everything it needs to do.

And doesn't it all sound good?

In the cold, wet, and nippy nights that are to come, there's nothing better.

Kaju Tofu Restaurant
5408 Walnut Ave
Irvine, CA 92604-2500
(949) 653-2849

THIS WEEK ON OC WEEKLY:
Izakaya Meijiya - Costa Mesa
Best of OC 2010
Valkyrie of Transcontinental Sausage - Ehrline Karnaga

Providence - Los Angeles

2010-10-10T23:59:00.000-07:00

This post is about Providence, one of only a few L.A. restaurants to be awarded two Michelin stars. Its chef and proprietor, Michael Cimarusti, appeared on Top Chef Masters, and has been referred to as the West Coast's answer to Eric Ripert, and his restaurant, Le Bernadin.

The post that you are about to read, however, will be the least informative on this acclaimed five-year-old restaurant as you'll ever come across. This, I guarantee.

If you clicked on this post from your Google Reader thinking "Oh, he finally went to Providence!", chances are you already know more about it than I do. If you've read any of the billion other food blog odes, the 600 plus Yelp reviews, or the Jonathan Gold write-up of 2005, this post will sound like an addendum, a post-script, a foot-note.

You already know that Cimarusti is known for seafood. You already know that among the many wonderful things to eat, there is the three-tiered pricing on its tasting menu, and that it starts with a cocktail encased in a globular film accomplished through spherification. You might also already know that its 5-course option, previously $85, was recently brought down to $65--a bargain for cooking of this caliber.

If you know this, like I said, you knew more than I did. Because when my friends and I arrived at Providence--an imposing building looking not unlike a pirate ship had moored itself in front of a residential part of Melrose--we were anticipating to pay $85.

Upon discovering it was now only $65, we didn't do the logical thing and take them up on the discounted price. No, we went for the more expensive 9-course option. We said to each other, "Well, since we budgeted for $85, and we drove all this way, why not $110?"

Our atypical behavior can be explained: we didn't have a bite all day save for a 79 cent corn dog eaten earlier. Our growling and empty stomachs were making all the decisions. Famished and nearly delirious, we deluded ourselves into thinking we could do 9-courses. That Adam Richman ain't got nothing on us, we thought.

But as we found out: 9-courses is a LOT of food. Too much food.

This, my friends, is why I stopped taking notes, why this post will be uninformative, why I spent the sixth course worrying about whether I would be able to force the seventh, the eighth, and God forbid, the ninth course down my gullet without throwing up in front of all the nicely dressed people on dates and the impeccable service staff who doted on us.

Our evening of relentless eating began with freshly baked hot rolls of our choosing, eaten with butter. At this point, I was ravenous, so I chose the bacon brioche and slathered it in that butter despite the fact it already contained bacon. Then came four amuse bouches that, by the way, did not count against the 9 courses.

Yes, there were four amuse bouches; a frozen mojito as a slushy cube on a spoon; the aforementioned cocktail spherification that burst in our mouths like a grapefruit juice-filled water balloon; a cheesy puff pastry with the soul of a Cheez-It; and finally, a shot glass filled with fish eggs, flecks of gold, and bits of something that reminded me of Rice Krispies.

My friends, who heard the description (I was in the restroom at the time) said it also had cured trout. It was halfway down my gullet before I could confirm.

When the first course of kanpachi with creme fraiche, crispy rice crackers and flowering cilantro came, we ooh-and-ahh'd the firmness of the flesh, its chewy, agar-like density slipping playfully between our teeth. Soon this too was gone.

Then came uni served warm, mixed with raw quail egg inside a chicken's egg shell. There was again a crispy topping, this time crumbled brioche, or something like that (I get hazy on ingredients around here). But I do remember that the yolk and the ultra-rich uni became a cholesterol double threat and tasted like it. I also noted that it was the first time I've eaten sea urchin at a temperature other than frigid (save for when it is dissolved into uni spaghetti).

The third course was the first real protein: a seared scallop with a buttery foam, boiled napa cabbage laid down like carpet, and braised buckwheat that ate like pearl pasta infused with boullion (but much better than that). And of course, the scallop couldn't have been more precisely cooked.

Cured halibut with cranberry beans and a tomatoey froth arrived as the fourth course. This dish, as my friends and I agreed, had very little to contrast the fish against the rest of the components. It quickly became the least favorite of the night, especially when the salmon came around as the fifth course.

With its skin rendered to a salty crisp, its flesh cooked just to warm, the salmon was already a textbook example of how salmon should be prepared; but there was also the matsutake mushrooms, both raw and sauteed. And of course, all of it was united by a puddle of sauce with bright, acidic notes the last dish lacked.

This was the point where we started to feel the weight of our decision. After close to two hours of eating, the food we had consumed began to settle. Compounding this, the bread basket had made its second visit and none of us said no.

My friend's face seemed to whiten at the sight of the two sous-vide medallions of veal tenderloin, thick steaks easily worth a third of a pound. It wasn't that he didn't love it (he did), it was the realization that this obscenely tender, thoroughly pristine, and absent-of-sinew cut of meat was just course number six. There was still three more to go.

We sighed with relief when our server came out pushing a cheese cart to our table signaling that from now on, starting with this seventh course, it would be dessert. But after he cut four generous wedges off of different wheels, the man paused for a moment and said "Normally, it's only four cheese to a tasting plate, but I'm going to give you five".

I shot a worried look across the table, but it was too late. As the last and fifth wedge, he had picked out a runny specimen that he was particularly proud of, a naturally coagulated cow's milk cheese that owed its existence to nothing but an open window. He said it would taste of grass and the barnyard, and he was right. He continued by suggesting that we eat the pungent, wasabi-strength blue cheese with apples and the candied walnut, and on this, he was also right.

Finally, we came to the eighth course, and wasn't surprised that it was called a pre-dessert. No really. A pre-dessert: A sweet amuse of melon soup, akin to a slushie, served in a shot glass with a dollop of ice cream meant to ease our palates into the real dessert course.

We barely managed to crawl across the finish line, scraping up the last of our compressed banana, bread pudding, and a barley ice cream dessert, when what should appear but the petit fours. The salted caramels went straight into our pockets while the macarons and the chocolate marshmallows we crammed into our unwilling mouths. They were good, but at that point we couldn't be bothered about how it tasted.

After we left, we asked each other what we thought of the meal, and it was unanimous: though we agreed that Providence was everything we expected to be, and that it was worth every penny of our $110, five courses would've been plenty. It was after the fifth course that our enjoyment turned into dread. It was also at that moment when we realized our eyes are bigger than our stomachs. And that Adam Richman? Freak of nature.

Providence
5955 Melrose Ave
Los Angeles, CA 90038-3623
(323) 460-4170

THIS WEEK ON OC WEEKLY:
The Pint House - Fullerton

Medieval Times - Buena Park

2010-10-04T17:04:00.000-07:00

It was OC Restaurant Week last week, and what discount did I take advantage of? Medieval Times at $30...practically half price.

Half price to get into the Kingdom of Kitsch. Half price to watch actors/stuntmen in shiny armor clang swords and charge towards each other atop galloping horses with bolsa wood lances that splinter into a million pieces.

Half price to see a dirt patch become the stage for pseudo-Shakespearean prose with words like "doth" and "sire", all of it unintelligible because of the poor acoustics and an antiquated sound system. Half price to have "wenches" serve you food out of troughs and that you eat sans cutlery while wearing a colored paper crown on your noggin.

Yes, it's been a while, and I am not ashamed to say I loved every corny, hokey, hammy, hollerin'-for-your-knight thrill of it: pro-wrestling for the geeky, Renaissance-fair-going, Lord-of-the-Ring fanboy set, and you get a meal with it.

I remembered fondly how I sold bags upon bags of Blow Pops for some high school club all those years ago, just to raise enough funds to cover our year-end dinner there. Medieval Times, like Sizzler, back then, was a special treat. Only The Velvet Turtle carried more panache.

These days, it's easy to get cynical about it. It has been, and probably always will be, a tourist trap--a side trip for the Disneyland-bound out-of-towner who happens to be from a metropolitan area that doesn't already have a Medieval Times in it.

The bill of fare hasn't changed much. Soup, a thin tomatoey thing with bits of veggies cut down to grain-size, is poured from a jug into a metal bowl which will sap the heat from the liquid and be too hot to handle for the better part of 10 minutes.

Next comes a butter-soaked garlic bread, and then the roasted chicken (something they called a "buzzard"), which is larger than I remember. It's followed by a teensy piece of tender pork rib, half of a skin-on baked potato basted with the same sauce as the ribs, and a warm apple turnover for dessert.

Drink was Pepsi, poured into our mugs from jugs similar to the ones they used for the soup, and already flat.

So did I enjoy the meal? Yes, especially at half price where most of money ($25 of it, as the receipt broke it down) paid for the show, which saw our Fabio-like Red Knight become the evening's champion, besting the evil and sneering Green Knight.

And to our Fabio-like Red Knight: We're sorry to have doubted you, and for mocking your striking resemblance to the oft-ridiculed male model. You deserved every bit of your staged victory!

Medieval Times Dinner & Tournament
7662 Beach Blvd.
Buena Park, CA 90620
(866) 543-9637
medievaltimes.com‎

THIS WEEK ON OC WEEKLY:
Seasons 52 - Costa Mesa

Pat & Oscar's Breakfast Pizza - Santa Ana

2010-09-26T06:02:00.000-07:00

It may not look it, but what you see before you is a breakfast pizza. Yes, a breakfast pizza. I repeat. A breakfast. Pizza.

I did not seek it out, nor would I have been interested in it if my co-worker didn't come back from lunch one afternoon and excitedly proclaim that he just saw it on a poster at Pat & Oscars.

By the time he finished describing it--that it came with country gravy, eggs, bacon, and sausage--another co-worker was already saying "When?".

"When were we going to pool a few bucks to try it?" the dude asked like an eager, bright-eyed kid who's just been told the circus is in town.

When? Apparently, the next morning.

And not only did he order one, he asked for the largest pie, retailing at close to $18, even after our protestations that it would be too big, that we only wanted a taste.

"If you guys can't finish it, I'll just have the rest for lunch!"

That's the kind of guy he is. Practical. And also, obviously quite confident that Pat & Oscars wouldn't make a bad pizza, a point that I had to politely agree to disagree with him on.

But as it turns out, as far as the breakfast pizza is concerned, he was right. It was a good breakfast pizza. Admittedly, there was no previous benchmark I could measure against. Still, the thing was much better than I expected. In fact, I ate two slices though I only really needed one.

The eggs, the thing I was most skeptical about when I heard of its existence, was not overcooked. Nicely scrambled and still somewhat blubbery, it accounted for most of the thickness and was covered with thin, insulating top layer of cheese. The pizza was so loaded with egg, it was just a millimeter shy of being called a deep-dish, or maybe, a quiche.

There was no sausage unfortunately, but there was bacon, crispy, crackly shards sprinkled over the top like pork confetti. And beneath it all, the country gravy was spread out like it was red sauce, but without any of its oomph. It didn't need to be there at all, and might as well have been omitted.

The sliced tomato and basil chiffonade was, in contrast, indispensable. It cut through the richness with a bright splash of fruit, refreshing acid, and cleansing herb. The only thing that was missing to help it out was a bottle of Tabasco.

After other cubicle mates gathered around to see and try the oddity themselves, we were all agreed that this was a much better idea than that time we went out to try the Double Down.

Pat & Oscar's Restaurant
(714) 689-3181
3811 S. Bristol St
Santa Ana, CA 92704

THIS WEEK ON OC WEEKLY:
Felix Continental Cafe - Orange

Mrs. Knott's Chicken-To-Go - Buena Park

2010-09-19T21:35:00.000-07:00

We are not cheapskates when it comes to food; but we are impatient. Height-of-the-hype Kogi days included, any line that wraps around a building is usually a sign we should go somewhere else. And so when when we saw what looked like a queue for Star Wars leading up to Mrs. Knott's Chicken Dinner restaurant, our hearts sunk, because by then, we had fried chicken on our brains and mashed potato cravings in our gut.

Then we saw salvation: a way to get our chicken without so much as a ten-minute wait. And even better: without paying a single dime on tip.

Mrs. Knott's Chicken-To-Go counter was mere feet where people were still standing around for the sit-down experience. These folks would all eventually get in, get served by probably a happier Knott's employee than the frowny-faced cashier who took our order at the Chicken-To-Go joint; but by our estimation, we were already licking our fingers and rubbing our tummies full from a meal well-eaten while they were still mulling menu choices.

And on top of that, it was inexpensive to boot. The dinner bucket we chose for $19.95 could have easily fed four people. It was certainly enough for the three of us with 9 pieces of hen, 2 tubs of mashed potatoes we couldn't even hope of finishing, 1 tub of gravy, 1 equally tall tub of a side of our choice, and more biscuits (of the tender and fluffy variety) with boysenberry preserves (a fruit that was popularized by Walter Knott, donchaknow) than we knew what to do with. They even gave us paper plates and utensils.

We took our haul to picnic tables conveniently located behind Pink's and promptly started diving in, slopping the creamy mashed spuds onto our plates, dousing the entire thing with a thick, white gravy so rich we saw it congeal to sludge the longer it was exposed to the cool night air.

Then we bit into the chicken.

Now, it must be said that none of us, in our decades as OC residents and food boosters, ever tasted the fried chicken at Knott's. I think I was the first one to say it: "What took us so long!?"

Though I can't unequivocally proclaim that it's the best fried chicken in the world, it's certainly one of the best in Orange County.

First thing we noticed is that it's not oversalted, not overbreaded, and not underfried. You know the lead-weighted feeling like you've just downed a cup of grease and salt after KFC? Not here. If it is possible, this fried chicken left us feeling light in our step, like what we ate was health food. I picked clean three pieces but I could've eaten a fourth. A fifth, however, would've probably killed my mobility. It's still fried chicken, after all.

But for sure, if this is the same chicken that Cordelia Knott produced to such acclaim that it begat an amusement park, then it all makes sense. In fact, I'd imagine it would have been much better back then. Of course, in the 1930s, there wouldn't be a Chicken-To-Go option, just a line that wrapped around the building.

Mrs. Knott's Chicken-To-Go
8039 Beach Blvd
Buena Park, CA 90620
(714) 220-5055

THIS WEEK ON OC WEEKLY:
Myung In Dumplings - Garden Grove

Jerry's Dogs - Irvine

2010-09-13T06:40:00.000-07:00

Jerry's Dog is homegrown and that's the way I like it. The chain, started seven years ago in Santa Ana by one Jerry O'Connell (no, not the guy in Piranha 3D who married Rebecca Romijn) has grown to four outlets, each with buckets of free peanuts, and all exclusive to Orange County and Orange County alone (at least for now). This one's the newest and to me, closest. So close it can be walked; but far enough that doing so can be called exercise.

I took the hike after some urging from my lovely companion who thinks I could do well with a little cardiovascular activity once in a while. I agreed on the promise that a glistening, fat-spurting sausage sandwich was at the finish line.

Yes, my carrot was a Jalapeno Hot Link flecked with nicely sooty black spots where a wood fire kissed it. The bun? It was grill toasted too. And that part's essential because since they use a particulary soft roll, you need the extra protection from the moisture that will leech out from all the free toppings you will be invited to pile onto it.

I've matured some over the years and stick with maybe just two sauces, grilled onions, grilled peppers and some tomato. That's about all I need. Any pickle (and they have a lot of that) distracts from the sausage in my opinion. And you want all the juice, all the fatty goodness, and in my case, the jalapeno-amped flavor of the grilled tube of meat to speak loudly and clearly.

Mine was nicely spicy even before I asked to get a drizzle of chipotle mayo squirted on top.

The bratwurst, seen here on the right, is a kinder, gentler dog. It cozies up to you with a sweet milkiness--a contrast to the rude and spicy bark of the Jalapeno Hot Link.

So yes, I walked to get a dog and it was a good one. On our next trip, I have my eye on a bacon-wrapped wiener they call the "L.A. Dog". I think I'll drive to get it, because nobody walks in L.A.

Jerry's Dogs
(714) 665-1480
13786 Jamboree Rd
Irvine, CA 92602-1202

THIS WEEK ON OC WEEKLY:
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Habibi's Funnel Cakes - Tustin

2010-09-06T17:50:00.000-07:00

The people at Habibi's Funnel Cakes in Tustin have guts. They've opened a funnel cake shop at just about the unlikeliest of places: in a corner minimall underneath a freeway overpass. But then, when you think about it, any place besides a county fair or an amusement park is an unlikely place for a funnel cake stand.

You can understand the impetus for the folks who started The Funnel Factory at the Irvine Spectrum. They're right underneath the plaza's ferris wheel. But ask yourselves this: why do funnel cakes make more sense there than here at the corner of some busy intersection in Tustin? Does twirling around on a ferris wheel suddenly spur appetites to crave funnel cakes?

I, for one, hope Habibi succeeds. And despite inciting spirited discussions on the business's viability between my friends and I when we tried it this weekend, we all liked Habibi's funnel cakes.

We walked into the tiny room and noticed it smells like a donut shop. And though we expected to be gouged, we found the prices are actually quite reasonable. In fact, they're cheap, as far as funnel cakes go.

And how were they? Well, they're funnel cakes. Quite honestly, I don't think I've ever had a bad funnel cake. Habibi's are just as good as any of them: light and crispy as they should be, dusted with powdered sugar everywhere not covered with strawberries (or your chosen topping).

About the only surprise is the big poster of Kobe Bryant displayed in a sort of reverential way reserved for a god. Makes one wonder: does he like funnel cakes? He probably does. Who doesn't?

But here's another nugget to think about for you armchair business analysts: a funnel cake food truck. There's already a crepes-only food truck, after all. Why not? Discuss.

Habibi's Funnel Cake
1450 El Camino Real, Unit B
Tustin, CA 92780

THIS WEEK ON OC WEEKLY:
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Bentoss - Costa Mesa

2010-08-29T06:21:00.000-07:00

Five dollars. The magic number that take-out joints and diners seem to be able to agree on. Any higher, as a customer, you'd balk that it's simply too expensive, verging on highway robbery. You might as well go to a sit-down, or heaven forbid, cook!

$5 is the sweet spot. Not for snacks, nibbles, or drinks. For full-on meals. A real dinner. Something that will satisfy your belly and make only a modest dent in your daily food allowance.

Five dollars, or $4.99 pre-tax to be exact, is the cost of the discounted bento boxes at Bentoss in Costa Mesa. There are exactly three offered at this price.

There's the teriyaki, which they advertise with a banner, because, let's face it, who doesn't know what teriyaki is.

But then there's there's the fried fish bento, a Styrofoam container stocked with everything you need for a balanced Japanese meal. Rice is layered in the main compartment, protected by a sheet of nori that becomes a resting platform for the panko-breaded filet of fish and a tempura-battered tube of fish cake.

Everything else becomes side dishes. In a foil doily: An umami-filled simmer of gobo shredded to sticks. Salad comes in two forms: macaroni shells and a ponzu-dressed clump of cut up iceberg. The macaroni is fortified with starch and mayo; the iceberg, briskness.

The chicken karaage bento feature balls of dark-meat chicken fried to a sublime and golden crispness outside, an absorbed sake-sweetness inside. Here, there's a scoop of potato salad and refreshing pickles. All are compartmentalized in a traditional Japanese bento box, cooked to order, and ready for a picnic (if you were so inclined and have a red-checkered blanket handy).

When you think about it, Americans have always been eating bento boxes. What are those Styrofoam containers that hold BBQ and fried chicken if not a cheap, non-biodegradable bento box? It is however, the Japanese that turned the entire endeavor of a packaged meal into an art, even when they use the same Styrofoam. They arrange it carefully, taking account color, contrast and balance. And at Bentoss, eventhough it’s technically fast food (an order never takes more than 5 minutes) the attention to detail would make a traditionalist proud.

You might recall that Mitsuwa Marketplace also does bento boxes. And that they discount them after 5 p.m. to clear out the supply left over from lunchtime. They still do that. But knowing that Bentoss offers three different choices for a lower price, not to mention that it's freshly prepared instead of just sitting around in a fridge, my opinion is that it's the better deal for your five dollars. I’d even pay six!

Bentoss
(714) 444-3401
675 Paularino Ave. #3
Costa Mesa, CA 92626

THIS WEEK ON OC WEEKLY:
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Izakaya Meijiya - Costa Mesa

2010-08-23T06:10:00.000-07:00

A guy walked into the new Izakaya Meijiya one quiet Sunday night. "Take-out?", he asked. Since the waitress didn't show up for work, it was up to the chef, a 30-ish guy with an affable face, to oblige him with a bow and the menu. But then, as if by telepathy or maybe intuition, the chef said "We don't have sushi or rolls" even before the customer had a chance to read a single word on their three-page menu.

"Oh," the gent said disappointed, "then nevermind."

The chef smiled and bowed again as the man left, presumably to get a Double Stack from the Wendy's drive-thru across the street. Pity he didn't stay, because if he had, he would've discovered the youngest and most charming izakayas in OC.

As you may already know, izakayas are, for lack of a better term, the Japanese version of a gastropub. The impossibly busy Honda-Ya in Tustin, for example, is an izakaya; and so is Kappo Sui in Costa Mesa, which also happens to be where Meijiya's cook defected from.

Here in this new and undiscovered place, he produces the same kinds of food typically consumed with chilled glasses of Sapporo, Kirin, or Asahi--items that run the gamut of cooking preparations: fried, steamed, stir fried, stewed, grilled and raw.

You'll see examples of the latter on their whiteboard, where a list of sashimi is constantly rotated. Thick slices of seared hamachi steaks rest on onion, ponzu and topped with a crispy fried slice of garlic. Ahi is presented plain to show off its vibrant maraschino-cherry red. Skin-on mackerel eats as tangy as yogurt; but skip their pasty and slightly bitter uni. For now, since the restaurant is still lacking in foot traffic, the raw sea urchin roe is too rarely ordered and thus, does not benefit from turnover.

I was suprised and delighted to find that their kani cream croquette isn't in the usual croquette form. Instead it's stuffed into a hollowed-out crab shell I assume previously held the meat. After extraction, the crab is mixed with a bechamel-based sauce, breaded, deep-fried and served aside lemon. You scoop out the blubbery-creaminess with a spoon as if it were crème brulée.

A runt-sized deep fried soft shell crab is done sans batter, its leathery carapace rendered crisp. Salmon is broiled simply, basted with a shimmer of sauce, and slightly overcooked. Looking like Pac Man ghosts, homemade shrimp shumai arrives fat and plump. We used ponzu sauce to dip and eat them emulating our favorite yellow video-game icon, though it's customary to use hot mustard.

In a small bowl, nostril-clearing wasabi and diced-up raw squid squiggled in a playfully chewy dish called shiokara--a term that encompasses a whole class of fermented seafood the Japanese usually chase down with alcohol.

Simply stir-fried spinach with garlic will be familiar to those who have dined at Honda Ya. Here it's not as oily and probably a few degrees healthier because of it. As a consequence, it's not as decadent. But decadent is the word I'm saving for the buta kakuni.

How else to describe the massive hunk of fatty pork belly simmered in broth flavored with sake, soy, and mirin. Meijiya serves it traditionally, with hard boiled eggs. The dish is one of my perennial izakaya favorites and here it melts even before you pick it up with chopsticks.

The yin to the pork belly's yang is a simply named seafood salad--a brisk, crisp, and well-constructed plate of iceberg lettuce and cuts of sashimi draped with ponzu perfect for cooling you off when the weather is hot and balmy.

No, they don't serve California rolls here, but who needs it? I hope that man who left enjoyed his Wendy's.

Izakaya Meijiya
1113 Baker St.
Costa Mesa, CA 92626
(714) 545-5175

THIS WEEK ON OC WEEKLY:
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Pink's - Buena Park

2010-08-16T22:02:00.000-07:00

If there was a hot dog stand more hyped than Pink's, I don't know what it is. You can't watch a travel show about L.A. without hearing about the lines and the celebrities who have wrapped their collagen-puffed lips around their snappy-skinned wieners.

For a while, the iconic stand insisted they never wanted to expand. I heard them say that their original location on La Brea near Melrose was good enough; and that it would dilute the brand to even think of exporting the dogs out from that spot.

One might wonder then, why they recently broke the vow by opening a Pink's at Knott's Berry Farm. But the fact that they did allows this hot dog skeptic to try it without schlepping it to L.A. to wait in a forever line.
And I'm glad I didn't have to, because while the Guadalajara Dog ($3.85) that I had was good--the skin snapped with a satisfying pop 'neath my incisors--it's still just a hot dog. What made it Guadalajaran? Why that thin drizzle of sour cream, of course! Duh!

My bun was softly steamed (I think) rather than toasted, which is how I much rather prefer it; but the toppings were done as if presentation counted for something.

The Brooklyn Dog ($5.55) used the same 9-inch wiener, but had an excess of pastrami piled on top, all of it chewy thick and remarkably flavorless. I didn't get to taste the Polish sausage ($4.60) a friend had, but he ended up knife-and-forking it. It came with chili regardless of the fact that it did not say it would...which is not a complaint, just an observation.

A side order of fries ($2.95) were cajun-battered, and the onion rings ($3.35) had a crust that reminded me of hush puppies despite the mushy onion beneath.

We ate all of it within earshot of roller coaster screams and smelling distance of Mrs. Knott's famous fried chicken, another lauded eatery that did not choose to expand (a theme park was just built around it). Any bets on when we'll see a Mrs. Knott's chicken franchise taking on KFC?

Pink's Hot Dogs at Knott's
(714) 220-5200
8039 Beach Blvd
Buena Park, CA 90620

THIS WEEK ON OC WEEKLY:
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Jersey Mike's - Irvine

2010-08-08T22:57:00.000-07:00

Geographic irony has never tasted better than in Jersey Mike's Famous Philly. The fact that the meat starts out as raw and thinly sliced before its slapped on the griddle when you order is reason enough to forget that Philly isn't in the Garden State (though it's really not that far).

Then the cheese goes on as soon as the pink is cooked out. And it ain't Cheese Wiz as it's usually done at Pat's Steaks. Instead you get your choice on what to melt. Whatever it is, realize that the cheese bubbles into a sauce that will eventually burn your upper palate. Calling it a sauce is incorrect. I should say scorching hot cheese lava.

I sunk my teeth into my sub and was immediately sorry I didn't wait. Best I could do was do the tongue dance, suck in air as fast as I could, and fan it frantically with my hands as if that would help. They weren't kidding when they billed this as a hot sandwich. And I like it that way.

The onions and bell peppers (red ones!) transform into sugary flavor boosts and the whole sandwich worked as a kind of sloppy wet, steaming meat stir-fry encased in an insulating pillow of bread.

I was surprised how much I liked this sandwich. I had little or no expectations for Jersey Mike's when it opened. But there's routinely a line out the door despite the hidden location in a practically deserted plaza where even Sam's Club couldn't manage to succeed.

I suppose it helps that it's the only lunch time alternative from the other fast-food purgatory options of Taco Bell, Burger King and Panda Express. There used to be a food court here, but that died long ago.

The second time I had the sandwich, the meat was a little less tender, and I knew better than to bite into it as soon as the torpedo-shaped, foil-wrapped thing was handed to me. Pausing to take a picture helps.

Next time I'll order a cold sub sandwich. They seem to do a little show when they assemble it, showering the open faces with a deluge of oil and vinegar from a tall bottle like an overzealous weather effects prop man on Gene Kelly.

And aren't you glad I went this long talking about something from Jersey without mentioning Snooky?

Jersey Mike's
(949) 955-2400
Von Karman Plaza
16525-G Von Karman Ave
Irvine, CA 92606

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Mami King - Buena Park

2010-08-02T18:21:00.000-07:00

There's a theory that every noodle dish in the world is descended from China. It may still be up for intense debate, but while I'm no food historian, I would tend to agree. If not all noodles, then at the very least just those with a striking resemblance to the Chinese idea of serving noodles in a soup.

Among many examples, the dish has been repatriated to become ramen in Japan, bakmi in Indonesia. As with every noodle soup in Asia, both have become an indelible part of those cuisines.

Same goes for the Philippines, which enjoy a similar dish called mami: the Chinese/Filipino version of noodle soup. And where you can get a bowl of mami, you can also get siopao: the Filipino take on the Chinese bao, steamed buns filled with meat.

In Orange County, the place noted for its mami is Mami King in Buena Park.

Take a look at that broth. Have you ever seen anything richer and more evocative of chocolate milk? If it were any creamier, I think it would actually have to be chocolate milk.

Those who are familiar with ramen would be mislead if they think this is a tonkotsu broth. It is not. The brownness comes from the slow-braised hunks of beef they put into it, which is not unlike the hulking tender chunks you'd find in niu rou mian, Chinese beef noodle soup. Here, the beef takes on a kind of sweetness that may be too cloying for some. It's so sweet it almost tastes like it's covered in caramel.

I shared a bowl and though I liked it, my tolerance was tested.

The broth, however, is poured on hot. And I mean tongue-scorching, napalm fire, scalding hot--exactly how I prefer it. It's so hot it even tends to overcook the thin and stringy egg noodle.

Below the soup hides what seems like an never-ending supply of that beef, and shredded white meat chicken and a few pork-stuffed wontons. You get your $6.50's worth in proteins with this dish.

Truth be told, I actually like the siopao ($1.99) more than the mami. The fluffy cotton-soft buns are thick, perhaps too thick. But its gentle, pillowy bite brings a sweetness that comforts as much a bosom to a baby. Whether you choose the bola bola, or the pork, or the chicken, you slather it with a dipping sauce that will kind of remind you of hoisin, but not really.

Take the bola bola over the others, even if it's more expensive by 50 cents. Why? The thing harbors salted duck egg, pieces of Chinese sausage and more pork. Chinese influence or not, what's not up for the debate is that the combo is delicious.

Mami King Restaurant
(714) 521-0108
6901 La Palma Ave
Buena Park, CA 90620

THIS WEEK ON OC WEEKLY:
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*Special Thanks to Monster Munching location scout Cecile for the tip.

Dippin' Dots - Huntington Beach

2010-07-26T06:43:00.000-07:00

What does it mean when something that bills itself as "The Ice Cream of the Future®" instills nostalgia? It means I'm getting older.

Unless you happen to frequent Boomers or amusement parks, Dippin' Dots--once the rage in malls along with Spencers Gifts and other 80's relics--are a rare sight these days. The novelty was invented back in 1987 by a university graduate student who took a good idea (to freeze ice cream droplets in liquid nitrogen) and turned it into a business. To put it perspective, that's the year of Dirty Dancing. Where we you then? If you were a teenage girl, you were possibly in a mall eating one, snapping gum, listening to Madonna, your hair in an Aquanet coif.

Me, I was probably with fellow nerds playing the original Legend of Zelda on an NES. Oh how that gold cartridge shined!

Eating these ice cream pellets thawed out memories frozen in time and made me realize how far we've come from our youth. Also, it made me remember how damned cold these things are! After the fifth spoonful, my tongue was thoroughly in a state of cryo-stasis, numbed and sapped of warmth. Before that happened I was actually able to enjoy the ice cream, which really did taste like banana split and birthday cake, two flavors created by mixing other pellets together.

Excuse me while I queue up Walk Like An Egyptian on the iTunes.

Dippin' Dots‎
(714) 963-4549
19742 Beach Boulevard
Huntington Beach, CA 92648-2988

THIS WEEK ON OC WEEKLY:
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