In my walk to work over the last few weeks, I've been monitoring the status of my favorite Mulberry trees along my route. I'm happy to report that with the hot summer weather in the last few days, Pittsburgh's mulberry trees are now bursting with ripe fruit. I've added another public tree to the database on the excellent Neighborhood Fruit site, which I talked about last year as a resource for people to find and share fruit in their communities to prevent waste.
If any locals like these bright purple berries, I encourage you to go out to one of these public trees with a bucket and pick until your arms get sore. The fruit won't be around long!
Monday, May 31, 2010
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Rex, La Barra, Uruguay
After a few days of fine dining in Uruguay, including our sublime lunch at El Garzon as well as excellent whole grilled fish on the beach at La Huella in José Ignacio where we were staying, we decided that our final dinner in the country would be a meal of chivitos, a regional steak-based sandwich. A quintessentially Uruguayan dish, the chivito is the national riff on the universal idea of packing carbs and protein into a meal that fits in your hand.
On the recommendation of our hotel staff, we made the short drive from José Ignacio to La Barra to go to Rex, a diner whose marquee promised us "The Best Chivitos in Town." Keeping things simple, we both ordered the Chivito Completo, which somehow crams five different forms of protein into a single dish. When our plates arrived, we were able to enjoy the architectural assembly of our sandwiches.
Each starts with a solid base of churrasco, a thin cut of steak grilled until juicy and tender, before being layered with two forms of pork (both pancetta and ham, in case omitting one or the other would be negligent). A generous layer of melted provolone binds the three meats together, and a fried egg tops them off. A few slices of lettuce and tomato, a dollop of mayo, and a sesame seed bun round out Rex's version of this national dish.
We washed our meal down with a large frosty bottle of Patricia, a decent Uruguayan lager which complemented our salty meal nicely. Were they the best chivitos in town? Well, they were the only ones we tried, and judging by our empty plates and happy faces, they earned our stamp of approval.
Rex is located on the main drag of Ruta 10 at km 161 in La Barra, Uruguay. You can call them at 00598-42-771504 or visit their website for more information.
Locals, how did we do? Is there a better chivito in the area? Where do you go for the best chivito in Uruguay?
On the recommendation of our hotel staff, we made the short drive from José Ignacio to La Barra to go to Rex, a diner whose marquee promised us "The Best Chivitos in Town." Keeping things simple, we both ordered the Chivito Completo, which somehow crams five different forms of protein into a single dish. When our plates arrived, we were able to enjoy the architectural assembly of our sandwiches.
Each starts with a solid base of churrasco, a thin cut of steak grilled until juicy and tender, before being layered with two forms of pork (both pancetta and ham, in case omitting one or the other would be negligent). A generous layer of melted provolone binds the three meats together, and a fried egg tops them off. A few slices of lettuce and tomato, a dollop of mayo, and a sesame seed bun round out Rex's version of this national dish.
We washed our meal down with a large frosty bottle of Patricia, a decent Uruguayan lager which complemented our salty meal nicely. Were they the best chivitos in town? Well, they were the only ones we tried, and judging by our empty plates and happy faces, they earned our stamp of approval.
Rex is located on the main drag of Ruta 10 at km 161 in La Barra, Uruguay. You can call them at 00598-42-771504 or visit their website for more information.
Locals, how did we do? Is there a better chivito in the area? Where do you go for the best chivito in Uruguay?
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Hungry Canuck welcomed to 2008, joins Twitter
I have a few food-related side projects in the works right now, and thought that the time was right for me to join Twitter so that I can broadcast news about all of them in one place, when blog postings might not always be appropriate.
So, for those using the service, you can now follow me @hungrycanuck. I'll be tweeting when a new blog entry is posted, as well as random food-related musings, or when my other projects get off the ground.
So, for those using the service, you can now follow me @hungrycanuck. I'll be tweeting when a new blog entry is posted, as well as random food-related musings, or when my other projects get off the ground.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
El Garzon, Garzón, Uruguay
December 2009 and January 2010 were a blur. Our budding family experienced two PhD defenses, a wedding, and a number of out-of-town family and friends visiting to celebrate such auspicious occasions. By the time February rolled around, Tam and I were ready to flee the cold snowy weather in Pittsburgh and our recently hectic lives, and so we did, choosing to honeymoon in South America.
After a 24-hour blur of in-flight movies, airports, security checkpoints, and lost luggage, we made it from the gray, gridlocked 376 Parkway in Pittsburgh to the clear two-lane Ruta 10, which weaves its way along the sunny South Atlantic Uruguayan coast, our home for four days of rejuvenation and relaxation before our itinerary took us to Argentina for the next three weeks. After a few blissful days on the beach, we decided to take an our rental car inland to see what the rest of the country was like. Without a map or a destination in mind we pointed our car away from the ocean, found a dirt road, and started driving. Under a big sunny sky, we passed countless cattle grazing on gentle green hillsides. Small wooded glens dotted the landscape, but for the most part, we were driving through empty green fields, with no settlements in sight.
At one point, we saw a sign indicating the direction of Garzón. Recognizing the town name from some pre-trip research that I had done on food options near where we were staying, we decided to go there, more out of a need for a specific destination to avoid getting lost than to seek out a meal. By the time we made it to Garzón, we were sweaty, dusty, and starting to get hungry. We weaved our way through the few streets that make up this tiny community, marveling at how far we'd traveled in just a few days, before deciding to check out El Garzon, probably the only restaurant in the country that has been written up in the Wall Street Journal.
We opted for the sunny poolside courtyard instead of the cool, antique-furnished interior, and we quite literally had the entire restaurant and service staff (one chef and one waiter) to ourselves. We were seated under the shade of a massive palm tree, whose trunk protruded from an opening in the table. Ordering modestly out of the need to conserve money for the rest of our month traveling, we decided to split two (astronomically priced) courses between us.
The kitchen brought us a light salad instead of an amuse bouche. It was composed of mandolined slices of raw baby zucchini, Parmesan scrapings, chopped, toasted almonds, a dusting of mint chiffonade and lime zest, black pepper, olive oil, and a splash of lemon juice. The contrast of bold flavours and textures as well as the freshness of the ingredients let us know that we were in for a special meal.
Our next course, a cold almond soup with fresh figs, floored us. I know I can go overboard with my prose in some of these reviews, but let me state this clearly: this dish was the single best food item that either of us has ever eaten.
As best as we could determine, the base of this soup was made of pureed almonds cut with stock, a splash of cream, and some acid (white balsamic vinegar, perhaps?). It was topped with a raw, quartered, exceedingly-ripe fig, some coarsely-ground black pepper, and a few drops of pungent olive oil. While seemingly simple, so many clean flavours were displayed by this plate. The acidity and saltiness of the broth hit us up front, followed by the sweetness of the figs and vinegar, and then nutty and grassy hints from the almonds and olive oil respectively. Finally, aromas of cream and pepper are left lingering on the tongue until the next spoonful starts the cycle once again. Really, truly, a masterpiece of a dish.
Knowing that Uruguay is one of the few places in the world to claim to have better beef than Argentina, we decided to get our first steak on the continent and split an order of bife de lomo (filet mignon) served with Patagonian potatoes. While the steak was sizzling over the wood-burning fire in the restaurant kitchen, we saw our chef stroll out to the poolside herb garden, pick a few sprigs, and return inside. A few minutes later, out came our steak, encrusted with the fresh herbs, garlic, and pitted black olives, cut in half and served with a few endive leaves on individual beds of potato.
The potatoes, sliced paper thin and artistically arranged, were fried until crisp in fat rich with the floral, complex aromas of the Uruguayan butter that we were starting to love. Strategically lining the plate, the potatoes soaked up the juices from the beef, giving them another level of richness. And what can I say about the steak? It was a fantastic piece of beef, no doubt expertly raised and butchered down the road by a culture that values meat, and perfectly cooked to the rare side of medium rare. Some purists would probably be shocked that the flavours of the meat were complemented with brash olives, garlic and herbs, but eating this meal under the South American summer sun, sipping a beautiful Uruguayan red wine (again, with a strong buttery bouquet) it seemed like the only possible way it could have been prepared.
Tam was exploring inside while our cafes (con leche) were being prepared. She saw milk slowly being hand-whisked until frothy over a gas flame before the addition of shots of espresso. Served in fine china, we enjoyed world-class coffee after a world class meal. In a town with just a few hundred inhabitants in a remote part of a remote country that we never really planned on visiting. This is a meal that we'll remember for a long, long time.
Restaurante El Garzón is located just off the town square in Garzón, Uruguay. Check out their website to plan a stay at the hotel or a visit for a meal. It is operated by Francis Mallmann, one of South America's most well known celebrity chefs, so expect to pay handsomely for your experience. Francis himself was reading a paper with a local dog outside the restaurant when we arrived. We can only hope that he oversaw the preparation of our meal. You can also enjoy some of his recipes, including the delicious zucchini salad that we ate, on youtube.
After a 24-hour blur of in-flight movies, airports, security checkpoints, and lost luggage, we made it from the gray, gridlocked 376 Parkway in Pittsburgh to the clear two-lane Ruta 10, which weaves its way along the sunny South Atlantic Uruguayan coast, our home for four days of rejuvenation and relaxation before our itinerary took us to Argentina for the next three weeks. After a few blissful days on the beach, we decided to take an our rental car inland to see what the rest of the country was like. Without a map or a destination in mind we pointed our car away from the ocean, found a dirt road, and started driving. Under a big sunny sky, we passed countless cattle grazing on gentle green hillsides. Small wooded glens dotted the landscape, but for the most part, we were driving through empty green fields, with no settlements in sight.
At one point, we saw a sign indicating the direction of Garzón. Recognizing the town name from some pre-trip research that I had done on food options near where we were staying, we decided to go there, more out of a need for a specific destination to avoid getting lost than to seek out a meal. By the time we made it to Garzón, we were sweaty, dusty, and starting to get hungry. We weaved our way through the few streets that make up this tiny community, marveling at how far we'd traveled in just a few days, before deciding to check out El Garzon, probably the only restaurant in the country that has been written up in the Wall Street Journal.
We opted for the sunny poolside courtyard instead of the cool, antique-furnished interior, and we quite literally had the entire restaurant and service staff (one chef and one waiter) to ourselves. We were seated under the shade of a massive palm tree, whose trunk protruded from an opening in the table. Ordering modestly out of the need to conserve money for the rest of our month traveling, we decided to split two (astronomically priced) courses between us.The kitchen brought us a light salad instead of an amuse bouche. It was composed of mandolined slices of raw baby zucchini, Parmesan scrapings, chopped, toasted almonds, a dusting of mint chiffonade and lime zest, black pepper, olive oil, and a splash of lemon juice. The contrast of bold flavours and textures as well as the freshness of the ingredients let us know that we were in for a special meal.
Our next course, a cold almond soup with fresh figs, floored us. I know I can go overboard with my prose in some of these reviews, but let me state this clearly: this dish was the single best food item that either of us has ever eaten.
As best as we could determine, the base of this soup was made of pureed almonds cut with stock, a splash of cream, and some acid (white balsamic vinegar, perhaps?). It was topped with a raw, quartered, exceedingly-ripe fig, some coarsely-ground black pepper, and a few drops of pungent olive oil. While seemingly simple, so many clean flavours were displayed by this plate. The acidity and saltiness of the broth hit us up front, followed by the sweetness of the figs and vinegar, and then nutty and grassy hints from the almonds and olive oil respectively. Finally, aromas of cream and pepper are left lingering on the tongue until the next spoonful starts the cycle once again. Really, truly, a masterpiece of a dish.
Knowing that Uruguay is one of the few places in the world to claim to have better beef than Argentina, we decided to get our first steak on the continent and split an order of bife de lomo (filet mignon) served with Patagonian potatoes. While the steak was sizzling over the wood-burning fire in the restaurant kitchen, we saw our chef stroll out to the poolside herb garden, pick a few sprigs, and return inside. A few minutes later, out came our steak, encrusted with the fresh herbs, garlic, and pitted black olives, cut in half and served with a few endive leaves on individual beds of potato.
The potatoes, sliced paper thin and artistically arranged, were fried until crisp in fat rich with the floral, complex aromas of the Uruguayan butter that we were starting to love. Strategically lining the plate, the potatoes soaked up the juices from the beef, giving them another level of richness. And what can I say about the steak? It was a fantastic piece of beef, no doubt expertly raised and butchered down the road by a culture that values meat, and perfectly cooked to the rare side of medium rare. Some purists would probably be shocked that the flavours of the meat were complemented with brash olives, garlic and herbs, but eating this meal under the South American summer sun, sipping a beautiful Uruguayan red wine (again, with a strong buttery bouquet) it seemed like the only possible way it could have been prepared.
Tam was exploring inside while our cafes (con leche) were being prepared. She saw milk slowly being hand-whisked until frothy over a gas flame before the addition of shots of espresso. Served in fine china, we enjoyed world-class coffee after a world class meal. In a town with just a few hundred inhabitants in a remote part of a remote country that we never really planned on visiting. This is a meal that we'll remember for a long, long time.
Restaurante El Garzón is located just off the town square in Garzón, Uruguay. Check out their website to plan a stay at the hotel or a visit for a meal. It is operated by Francis Mallmann, one of South America's most well known celebrity chefs, so expect to pay handsomely for your experience. Francis himself was reading a paper with a local dog outside the restaurant when we arrived. We can only hope that he oversaw the preparation of our meal. You can also enjoy some of his recipes, including the delicious zucchini salad that we ate, on youtube.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Patty King, Toronto, ON
Seventh grade was a big year. Growing up in Montreal, seventh grade meant high school, and for a pre-pubescent thirteen year old, high school meant being suddenly thrown into the same hallway with much larger, older, bearded seventeen and eighteen year olds, which was more than a little terrifying. In case thirteen isn’t an awkward enough age, my high school’s dress code mandated that we wear what seemed like an impossibly embarrassing school uniform. So I was undersized, felt like a dork in my uniform, and now had to function in an atmosphere where my female classmates had traded in their tie-dye t-shirts from sixth grade to experiment with cigarettes and push the envelope on the “pleated kilts must not be shorter than one inch above the knees” rule. Yes, in Montreal, there was a big difference between sixth and seventh grades.
Another difference between schools, which will eventually lead to the point of this entry, was the cafeteria. No longer limited to the brown bag or lunch box our parents packed for us in elementary school, now, the cafeteria served food. I can’t honestly remember a single meal they served for lunch (probably because I still brought in a packed lunch every day – thanks Mom!), but for a guy who was still many years away from getting the courage to ask out a girl, recess in the cafeteria was probably the most exciting thing about seventh grade. I think we had two options at recess (at least, I can only remember two): gooey, half-cooked (if you chose carefully), hot-out-of-the-oven chocolate chip cookies and Jamaican patties. We only had fifteen minutes, but that was just enough time to race to the cafeteria, pick up either a stack of cookies and a cup of milk in those individual cardboard cartons or a Jamaican patty and eat it before our next class. I’m not sure how the Jamaican patty became a ubiquitous lunchroom staple in the WASPiest neighbourhood of Montreal, but their flaky crusts and spicy meat fillings provided a nice alternative or supplement to the melt-in-your-mouth cookies.
(And while I’m in the process of churning out 1000 words on transitioning to adulthood and Jamaican patties, if the Royal West Academy cafeteria still makes chocolate chip cookies and I could get my hands on a hot batch of them, I think I could produce the War and Peace of food blogging.)
For the uninitiated, Jamaican patties are a Caribbean version of the classic meat-filled-dough foodstuff. Ravioli, empanadas, Jamaican patties… all riffs on the same theme. Jamaican patties really only consist of two components, both of which need to be good to make a good patty: crust and filling. Patty crusts are flaky like a pie crust, owing to a high fat content, but thinner and lighter. If done properly, there should be just the slightest crispiest exterior covering pillowy, steamy dough. The crust is golden yellow due to the addition of turmeric to the dough. Patties are generally filled with ground meat, curry blends, and hot peppers. I grew up on beef patties, but chicken and vegetable patties are relatively common too.
I’m not sure why I bothered with such a long preamble to get to a post about Jamaican patties. Did they represent some newfound freedom that high school brought about? Not really, but they were really, really good and since the early ‘90s, the Jamaican patty has been a staple snack or meal for me. There were two patty shops only blocks away from my house throughout high school, and my father often picked up a bag of them for lunches on weekends or for sustenance during long car trips. In college, when I moved into my first apartments with my buddies, frozen Jamaican patties (Lloydies: inferior in every way to a fresh bakery patty but much more convenient after a night at a bar or studying in the library) were always in our freezer. So while moving to Pittsburgh for graduate school was a huge step for me academically, personally, for my maturity, and so on, I was also unknowingly leaving behind a steady stream of quality Jamaican patties. The only specimens I’ve been able to track down here are barely worth mentioning: frozen for so long in a grocery store freezer that the crust ends up brittle and crumbling and filled with a dry, pasty gray meat. Disappointing to say the least, and the end of the 12-year Patty Era in my life.
So when one of my high school friends moved to Toronto last year and gave me an excuse to drive up there periodically, the one place I asked him to take me on my first visit was his neighbourhood patty shop. And he obliged. The Patty King, in Toronto’s Kensington market, looks like dozens of similar bakeries across Toronto or Montreal which are run and frequented by expatriate Caribbeans and a generation of young Canadians who grew up on patties in our high school cafeterias.
The Patty King’s patties are better than most, and on each of my last three visits to the city, I’ve crossed the border back to the US with a dozen spicy beef patties in the trunk of my car. A new Patty Era is born! We try to make them last, but Tam and I usually end up finishing them off within a week or so. It’s not ideal, but zapping a frozen Patty King patty in the microwave and then baking it for a few minutes in our amazing new toaster oven beats anything that I can find in Pittsburgh by far.
The Patty King also serves up an array of Caribbean dishes and cakes: ox tail, curried goat, ackee, doubles, and so on, but I usually stick with the patties that I grew up on. One of my comfort foods.
Know a good place to get patties in Pittsburgh? I’d love to hear it!
Patty King is located at 187 Baldwin Street in Toronto's Kensington Market neighbourhood. Call (416) 977-3191 for more information.
Another difference between schools, which will eventually lead to the point of this entry, was the cafeteria. No longer limited to the brown bag or lunch box our parents packed for us in elementary school, now, the cafeteria served food. I can’t honestly remember a single meal they served for lunch (probably because I still brought in a packed lunch every day – thanks Mom!), but for a guy who was still many years away from getting the courage to ask out a girl, recess in the cafeteria was probably the most exciting thing about seventh grade. I think we had two options at recess (at least, I can only remember two): gooey, half-cooked (if you chose carefully), hot-out-of-the-oven chocolate chip cookies and Jamaican patties. We only had fifteen minutes, but that was just enough time to race to the cafeteria, pick up either a stack of cookies and a cup of milk in those individual cardboard cartons or a Jamaican patty and eat it before our next class. I’m not sure how the Jamaican patty became a ubiquitous lunchroom staple in the WASPiest neighbourhood of Montreal, but their flaky crusts and spicy meat fillings provided a nice alternative or supplement to the melt-in-your-mouth cookies.
(And while I’m in the process of churning out 1000 words on transitioning to adulthood and Jamaican patties, if the Royal West Academy cafeteria still makes chocolate chip cookies and I could get my hands on a hot batch of them, I think I could produce the War and Peace of food blogging.)
For the uninitiated, Jamaican patties are a Caribbean version of the classic meat-filled-dough foodstuff. Ravioli, empanadas, Jamaican patties… all riffs on the same theme. Jamaican patties really only consist of two components, both of which need to be good to make a good patty: crust and filling. Patty crusts are flaky like a pie crust, owing to a high fat content, but thinner and lighter. If done properly, there should be just the slightest crispiest exterior covering pillowy, steamy dough. The crust is golden yellow due to the addition of turmeric to the dough. Patties are generally filled with ground meat, curry blends, and hot peppers. I grew up on beef patties, but chicken and vegetable patties are relatively common too.
I’m not sure why I bothered with such a long preamble to get to a post about Jamaican patties. Did they represent some newfound freedom that high school brought about? Not really, but they were really, really good and since the early ‘90s, the Jamaican patty has been a staple snack or meal for me. There were two patty shops only blocks away from my house throughout high school, and my father often picked up a bag of them for lunches on weekends or for sustenance during long car trips. In college, when I moved into my first apartments with my buddies, frozen Jamaican patties (Lloydies: inferior in every way to a fresh bakery patty but much more convenient after a night at a bar or studying in the library) were always in our freezer. So while moving to Pittsburgh for graduate school was a huge step for me academically, personally, for my maturity, and so on, I was also unknowingly leaving behind a steady stream of quality Jamaican patties. The only specimens I’ve been able to track down here are barely worth mentioning: frozen for so long in a grocery store freezer that the crust ends up brittle and crumbling and filled with a dry, pasty gray meat. Disappointing to say the least, and the end of the 12-year Patty Era in my life.
So when one of my high school friends moved to Toronto last year and gave me an excuse to drive up there periodically, the one place I asked him to take me on my first visit was his neighbourhood patty shop. And he obliged. The Patty King, in Toronto’s Kensington market, looks like dozens of similar bakeries across Toronto or Montreal which are run and frequented by expatriate Caribbeans and a generation of young Canadians who grew up on patties in our high school cafeterias.
The Patty King’s patties are better than most, and on each of my last three visits to the city, I’ve crossed the border back to the US with a dozen spicy beef patties in the trunk of my car. A new Patty Era is born! We try to make them last, but Tam and I usually end up finishing them off within a week or so. It’s not ideal, but zapping a frozen Patty King patty in the microwave and then baking it for a few minutes in our amazing new toaster oven beats anything that I can find in Pittsburgh by far.
The Patty King also serves up an array of Caribbean dishes and cakes: ox tail, curried goat, ackee, doubles, and so on, but I usually stick with the patties that I grew up on. One of my comfort foods.
Know a good place to get patties in Pittsburgh? I’d love to hear it!
Patty King is located at 187 Baldwin Street in Toronto's Kensington Market neighbourhood. Call (416) 977-3191 for more information.
Saturday, January 9, 2010
Udipi Cafe, Monroeville, PA
At the end of the 1970s, George Romero put the Pittsburgh suburb of Monroeville, PA on the map by filming his Dawn of the Dead zombie classic at the local shopping mall. Around the same time, the opening of the Sri Venkateswara temple one mile from the mall was also establishing the area as one of the country's first hubs of Hindu and Indian culture. Since the 1970s, a handful of businesses have opened in the vicinity of the temple to provide services for worshipers, including, most deliciously, Udipi Cafe: an affordable diner-style restaurant specializing in South Indian vegetarian cuisine. Tam and her family have been frequenting Udipi for years, and we make regular visits for meals.
On one recent weekend afternoon, Tam dragged me out of my thesis-writing cave to enjoy lunch there with a couple of friends. I like to start my Udipi meals with a sip of salty lassi, a drink consisting of yogurt and milk laced with salt and whole toasted cumin seeds. Can you tell that I hadn't seen natural light in days?
We almost always start our meal with the dahi vada, an appetizer consisting of deep fried lentil doughnuts which are then soaked in water, chilled, and topped with yogurt, tamarind chutney, spices, and fresh coriander. This cool refreshing starter goes particularly well with a fiery bowl of Udipi's rasam.
Tam always orders her favorite, the chana bhatura (chick peas with fried bread). The chick pea curry comes served with raw onion and a piece of dough fried in oil until it blisters and puffs up with steam to an intimidatingly large size, like a deformed beach ball. It is always rushed piping hot from the kitchen to the table in its impressive inflated state.
Piercing the bhatura with a fork deflates the bread balloon which generally gets torn apart by hand and used to scoop up mouthfuls of curry and onion.
Udipi's dosas are excellent. They are large and expertly prepared: thinly spread like a crepe on a cooking surface until crispy on one side while being just thick enough (a few millimeters) that the other surface stays slightly soft. They are served wrapped or folded over a choice of curries and fillings, and accompanied with small bowls of spicy sambar and cool coconut chutney for dipping. The masala dosa filled with potato curry is particularly good.
Udipi is a no-frills Indian restaurant in the suburbs, but it probably serves the best Indian food in the Pittsburgh area. It's definitely worth a special trip, but you might want to keep your eyes on the Hindu calendar because on holidays, Udipi can be overflowing with worshipers enjoying a post-temple meal.
Udipi Cafe is located at 4141 Old William Penn Highway in Monroeville, PA. Call (412) 373-5581 for more information.
On one recent weekend afternoon, Tam dragged me out of my thesis-writing cave to enjoy lunch there with a couple of friends. I like to start my Udipi meals with a sip of salty lassi, a drink consisting of yogurt and milk laced with salt and whole toasted cumin seeds. Can you tell that I hadn't seen natural light in days?
We almost always start our meal with the dahi vada, an appetizer consisting of deep fried lentil doughnuts which are then soaked in water, chilled, and topped with yogurt, tamarind chutney, spices, and fresh coriander. This cool refreshing starter goes particularly well with a fiery bowl of Udipi's rasam.
Tam always orders her favorite, the chana bhatura (chick peas with fried bread). The chick pea curry comes served with raw onion and a piece of dough fried in oil until it blisters and puffs up with steam to an intimidatingly large size, like a deformed beach ball. It is always rushed piping hot from the kitchen to the table in its impressive inflated state.
Piercing the bhatura with a fork deflates the bread balloon which generally gets torn apart by hand and used to scoop up mouthfuls of curry and onion.
Udipi's dosas are excellent. They are large and expertly prepared: thinly spread like a crepe on a cooking surface until crispy on one side while being just thick enough (a few millimeters) that the other surface stays slightly soft. They are served wrapped or folded over a choice of curries and fillings, and accompanied with small bowls of spicy sambar and cool coconut chutney for dipping. The masala dosa filled with potato curry is particularly good.
Udipi is a no-frills Indian restaurant in the suburbs, but it probably serves the best Indian food in the Pittsburgh area. It's definitely worth a special trip, but you might want to keep your eyes on the Hindu calendar because on holidays, Udipi can be overflowing with worshipers enjoying a post-temple meal.
Udipi Cafe is located at 4141 Old William Penn Highway in Monroeville, PA. Call (412) 373-5581 for more information.
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Duff's Famous Wings, Buffalo, NY
Is there something about eating food in the city after which it was named which makes it taste better? I've never had a hamburger in Hamburg, or a cheesesteak in Philly, but since moving to the US, I've had several opportunities to enjoy Buffalo wings on their home turf in Buffalo, NY. I don't know if they are actually the best wings I've tasted, but something about digging into a plate of them in northwest New York makes them seem impossible to beat.
Buffalo is located along the most direct route between my current residence in Pittsburgh and both Toronto and Montreal, and on one road trip, a quick internet cellphone search pointed our group toward Duff's Famous Wings, conveniently located only five minutes from I-90. Craving an alternative to the McDonalds-infested rest stops along the New York State Thruway, we decided a short detour was in order.
From the outside, Duff's seems to meet the requirements one would expect from a solid wing establishment. Neon lights? Check. Giant marquee advertising both how hot their wings are and the upcoming football game? Check and check. Inside there are more promising signs: televisions everywhere (including in the men's room), a bubble hockey table, and very large patrons wedged into cushy leather booths.
On all of my visits, ordering has been simple: wings and beer, and plenty of both. The wings come exactly how I like them. Wing flats and drumettes are deep-fried until crispy on the outside while staying juicy and tender on the inside. Then, from the fryer, they get tossed in lots and lots of sauce. Look at them glisten!
Before elaborating, let me digress by listing my six rules for a great order of buffalo wings. Duff's adheres to these rules pretty closely.
Rule #1. Wings shouldn't be obtained from undersized birds. I don't want wing flats that are so small that I need tweezers to pick out the meat from between the two bones. I want to be able to tear off most of it with my first bite so that I can wedge a finger in there to pry the rest of the meat loose.
Rule #2. Wings shouldn't be obtained from oversize birds. On the other hand, I don't want anything that looks like it came from a turkey. There should be a couple good mouthfuls of meat on a drumette, and that's it. Anything bigger, and I'm going to have too much meat in the interior that's under-seasoned and not in contact with any sauce.
Rule #3. The wings shouldn't be overcooked. I don't want wings that are dry, tough, or leathery. Too long in the deep fryer or too long sitting under a heat lamp and the wings are ruined.
Rule #4. Wings should be accompanied by fresh, crisp, chilled celery and blue cheese dressing. Buffalo wings are warm, the celery shouldn't be too! And is there anything less refreshing than limp celery? The creamy blue cheese dressing is great not only for dipping the celery, but for offsetting the heat with an occasional dip of a wing.
Rule #5. Sauce quality: I want them spicy, and I want some decent acid content. I don't want teriyaki wings, I don't want honey-glazed wings, I don't anything mesquite or dry-rubbed. Just emulsify a vinegary cayenne pepper-based sauce with some fat and go nuts. Keep it simple!
Rule #6. Sauce quantity: the sauce should be plentiful. I can't stress this last point enough. I hate it when an order of Buffalo wings comes with just a few tablespoons of sauce dripped over it. I want every square inch of wing surface area drenched in sauce. I want enough sauce on the bottom of the serving plate to swish my wing in both before and after taking that first bite. I want enough sauce to dip my celery in too. And if the sauce is good, I'm likely going to want to dip my fingers into it and lick them clean. I once had a roommate who used to keep the leftover liquid at the bottom of the bucket from our local wing take-out joint and incorporate it into his homemade pasta sauce. While I don't go that far, I do appreciate the sentiment and similarly treat a good sauce like the valuable commodity that it is.
So, how do Duff's Famous Wings fare? Perfectly sized and perfectly cooked, positively drowned in a quality sauce and accompanied by cool, crunchy celery and creamy blue cheese dressing. 6/6! I've had the medium, the medium-hot, and hot wings. I'd recommend the medium wings for people who like a bit of heat but have relatively sensitive palates. I didn't notice much difference between medium-hot and hot wings. Both caused a healthy amount of mouth and lip tingling without bordering on being unpleasant (for me), but I have a pretty high heat threshold. Some of my dining companions have struggled with anything hotter than medium. The folks over at the Hot Sauce Blog have tested the Armageddon Wings and their advertised 850,000 Scoville Heat Units, but I haven't been that brave yet. Maybe next time?
Duff's draft selection is relatively uninteresting, but I don't think you can go wrong with pitcher of Sam's Adam Boston Lager. Straightforward American beer for a straightforward American food in a straightforward American city. Since that first visit, a drive to or from Toronto or Montreal isn't complete without a quick pit stop in Buffalo.
Duff's is located at 3090 Orchard Park Road in Buffalo, NY. It's a 5 minute detour from I-90 and worth the side trip. Call (716) 674-7212 for more information.
Buffalo is located along the most direct route between my current residence in Pittsburgh and both Toronto and Montreal, and on one road trip, a quick internet cellphone search pointed our group toward Duff's Famous Wings, conveniently located only five minutes from I-90. Craving an alternative to the McDonalds-infested rest stops along the New York State Thruway, we decided a short detour was in order.
From the outside, Duff's seems to meet the requirements one would expect from a solid wing establishment. Neon lights? Check. Giant marquee advertising both how hot their wings are and the upcoming football game? Check and check. Inside there are more promising signs: televisions everywhere (including in the men's room), a bubble hockey table, and very large patrons wedged into cushy leather booths.
On all of my visits, ordering has been simple: wings and beer, and plenty of both. The wings come exactly how I like them. Wing flats and drumettes are deep-fried until crispy on the outside while staying juicy and tender on the inside. Then, from the fryer, they get tossed in lots and lots of sauce. Look at them glisten!
Before elaborating, let me digress by listing my six rules for a great order of buffalo wings. Duff's adheres to these rules pretty closely.
Rule #1. Wings shouldn't be obtained from undersized birds. I don't want wing flats that are so small that I need tweezers to pick out the meat from between the two bones. I want to be able to tear off most of it with my first bite so that I can wedge a finger in there to pry the rest of the meat loose.
Rule #2. Wings shouldn't be obtained from oversize birds. On the other hand, I don't want anything that looks like it came from a turkey. There should be a couple good mouthfuls of meat on a drumette, and that's it. Anything bigger, and I'm going to have too much meat in the interior that's under-seasoned and not in contact with any sauce.
Rule #3. The wings shouldn't be overcooked. I don't want wings that are dry, tough, or leathery. Too long in the deep fryer or too long sitting under a heat lamp and the wings are ruined.
Rule #4. Wings should be accompanied by fresh, crisp, chilled celery and blue cheese dressing. Buffalo wings are warm, the celery shouldn't be too! And is there anything less refreshing than limp celery? The creamy blue cheese dressing is great not only for dipping the celery, but for offsetting the heat with an occasional dip of a wing.
Rule #5. Sauce quality: I want them spicy, and I want some decent acid content. I don't want teriyaki wings, I don't want honey-glazed wings, I don't anything mesquite or dry-rubbed. Just emulsify a vinegary cayenne pepper-based sauce with some fat and go nuts. Keep it simple!
Rule #6. Sauce quantity: the sauce should be plentiful. I can't stress this last point enough. I hate it when an order of Buffalo wings comes with just a few tablespoons of sauce dripped over it. I want every square inch of wing surface area drenched in sauce. I want enough sauce on the bottom of the serving plate to swish my wing in both before and after taking that first bite. I want enough sauce to dip my celery in too. And if the sauce is good, I'm likely going to want to dip my fingers into it and lick them clean. I once had a roommate who used to keep the leftover liquid at the bottom of the bucket from our local wing take-out joint and incorporate it into his homemade pasta sauce. While I don't go that far, I do appreciate the sentiment and similarly treat a good sauce like the valuable commodity that it is.
So, how do Duff's Famous Wings fare? Perfectly sized and perfectly cooked, positively drowned in a quality sauce and accompanied by cool, crunchy celery and creamy blue cheese dressing. 6/6! I've had the medium, the medium-hot, and hot wings. I'd recommend the medium wings for people who like a bit of heat but have relatively sensitive palates. I didn't notice much difference between medium-hot and hot wings. Both caused a healthy amount of mouth and lip tingling without bordering on being unpleasant (for me), but I have a pretty high heat threshold. Some of my dining companions have struggled with anything hotter than medium. The folks over at the Hot Sauce Blog have tested the Armageddon Wings and their advertised 850,000 Scoville Heat Units, but I haven't been that brave yet. Maybe next time?
Duff's draft selection is relatively uninteresting, but I don't think you can go wrong with pitcher of Sam's Adam Boston Lager. Straightforward American beer for a straightforward American food in a straightforward American city. Since that first visit, a drive to or from Toronto or Montreal isn't complete without a quick pit stop in Buffalo.
Duff's is located at 3090 Orchard Park Road in Buffalo, NY. It's a 5 minute detour from I-90 and worth the side trip. Call (716) 674-7212 for more information.
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