Baohaus - NYC

For a face, Menelaus launched a thousand ships and burned the topless towers of Ilium. For street food at the hole-in-the-wall restaurant that is Baohaus, I launched a new subset of blogposts and burned...well, I didn't actually burn anything...clearly my approach was far less heroic...and far less excessive. I wouldn’t have launched any more than a hundred ships for Diane Kruger's Helen.

When you go to Baohaus, try not to be deterred by the across abomination known as IHOP. Whoever allowed such an eyesore in the quaint quiet of the Lower East Side should be shot...or forced to drink a pitcher of syrup. Tomato, tomato.

So squeeze through the stiffly-hinged, impossible-to-open door, squish down the narrow aisle between the food prep area and the wall and order your Chairman Bao at the register. Greasy slab of pork belly between two fold-over slabs of soft steamed bao leaves nothing to be desired. Except one more bao. One is never enough, even if you get other stuff. If you don't eat/don't like pork, the Haus Bao is a beefy alternative, and there's a broccoli bao and a tofu bao to appease the vegetarians/hippies/girls too prissy to eat meat. At a whopping $3-3.50 each, just drink one less beer next time you go out. Though if you had done that in the first place, maybe you wouldn't have ended up at Baohaus.

The Taro Fries with Haus sauce are tasty and better than any potato.

If you're not feeling the Taro Fries, the sweet Baofries with black sesame or glowing green pandan glaze are a crispy carb. These little bao bites just might be your cup of tea...or box of Bao...Though why would you ever back down at the sight of taro fries?

If you're thirsty go for a refreshing sugar-water Ai Yu Jelly Lemonade or any other unique made-in-China-just-like-everything-else bottled teas or juices.

So yes, I have just compared Baohaus to Helen of Troy...and a Brad Pitt movie, in case you missed the reference. But all mythological hyperboles aside, Baohaus is the ultimate late-night New York experience. A hole-in-the-wall serving up otherworldly street food after hours is the foundation on which the city that never sleeps builds its reputation. So when there’s no drivin’, no sleepin’, and you live it up like it’s the weekend, make sure you end your weekend at Baohaus.

Egg Puffs - Boston

After stuffing myself with Avana’s sushi, I was devastated to find that I couldn’t conclude my culinary conquest properly. I was definitely missing the mochi that day, but before I could despair, the answer to my dessert-prayers dashed across the corner of my eye.  Within arm’s reach, little golden egg puffs were unloaded from an egg-puff iron (what the heck would you call that thing?).  A mere $3 buys 30 of these semi-sweet pull-apart nubbins of pastry that proved to be my semi-sweet salvation. So save yourself when you’re salivating for something semi-sweet. These could be yours for the price of 1.5 songs on overpriced iTunes.

Cheap Eats, a New Frontier

You're starving. You're hung over. You're poor. You're all 3 of the above. Or just this once you're tired of those exquisite, high end meals your daddy's (or sugar daddy's) credit card pays for and you just want something off a truck. Or you're a fine-dining foodie with the overwhelming urge to unearth the unsung, to obliviate obscurity, to holla at all those hallowed hole-in-the-wall hovels that make a miraculous meal. So here I am, here are my posts, here is my chance to be Robin Food, to steal the business from the rich restaurants and give them to the poor. Though I'd really rather just steal the food for myself - forget altruism, that's for Robin Hood.

Like cheap eats, these posts should be simple. Cheap eats are basic, made with primal ingredients, eating with a feral instinct to survive whatever hangover, heartbreak, craving, or inkling urge lies in your path to nirvana or salvation...or salivation. So these posts will be simple. Coded under "cheap eats", they will be thumbs up or down. I go or I don't. You go or you don't. Thumbs up, you miss out, thumbs down, you back out. No crazy criteria, just how good it tastes. Service is NOT a factor, even if it's atrocious - if your food is practically free, you're not getting service. No deductions for food poisoning either. You knew what you were getting into though most cheap eats will be so coated with a layer of sanitary grease that not a thing can grow. I'll rate a few nearby drug stores for their ability to sell immodium and alka-seltzer if it really becomes an issue.

So thumbs up or thumbs down, it really can be that simple. It's parcels for the poor, savories for the stingy, and vittles for the vinos. And as always, practice safe eating and enjoy at your own risk.

Shakin’ it at Shake Shack UPDATE - NYC

Sometimes I'm not sure what kind of girl I am, and I’m often not sure what kind of girl I want to be. But if you asked me what kind of girl I’m most proud to be, I'd tell you I’m proudest to be the kind of girl who eats her burgers. The little roll that obscures my potential six-pack is my testament to the fact that I butter my bread, and the grab-able handles on my back are where my burgers go. I don’t just eat my burgers, I finish them. Because the only thing worse than a girl who doesn't eat burgers is a girl who doesn't finish her burgers. If you have reasons for skipping the beef, more power to you, but if you spring for the soft pink-blooded juice of a Shake Shack patty, you better eat every bite. Real girls eat their burgers.

The only real Shake Shack burger Ben and I will get is from Madison Square Park. A place called Shake Shack should be a shack in a park, not a modernized midtown burger joint with granite countertops. And what could be better a better accompaniment to a burger from a shack than soaking up the sun between the towering buildings of fancy Flatiron?

My shack Fair Shake bring all the yuppie-liberal boys to the yard (or park?), and they're like, it's better than yours. Though if yours is Vanilla or Oreo, it's probably pretty close to equal. Just less fair. But give it a shake – it’s the Beastie Boys’ embodiment of "I like my sugar with coffee and cream".

The double Shackburger is as American as grease, a no-frills grilled, BLT, which stands for burger, lettuce, tomato.  The shack sauce completes it even more than Jerry Maguire, but I’d eat the burger over the man any day. Maybe my shack shake will bring that man to the yard and I’ll eat a burger with him. Hey, I can dream…

My Burger of the Day should be a burger every day. I don't usually like bacon, but I happily oinked to the cheddar cheese covering this one. I don't know what's in that lip-smacking shack sauce, but I do want some to take back to my Boston shack.

Dollops of ketchup make the French Fries as American as the burger, but my cheese fries will always be better than yours. And they'll always be better with cheese.

It's been a whole year since I've commented on the prowess of Shake Shack, but now that I’ve finally tried the burgers, I’m hooked. So head to Shake Shack with your boys next time you crave a burger and a shake. If your shake doesn’t bring your boys to the yard, mine will.

Loco for Orinoco - Boston

Orinoco and I were star-crossed lovers. But the good kind, not the Tristan and Isolde kind. No one died. That's all the explanation you're going to get. I walked by Orinoco so often, and I tried to go to Orinoco so often, but I always caught it on a night when it was too full of other dining suitors or closed after a heartbreak. I finally ventured over on a steamy summer night with the roomie, and thus began the love affair of legends.

Our affair started with the Tequenos, which, like most affairs, are such a bad idea they're good. Cheese egg rolls dipped in ketchup conjures the image of a smelly bachelor sporting a dingy beater living on canned beans, but a crispy crunchy fried-wonton-like wrapper with chewy cheese dunked in chipotle ketchup with a kick becomes a Latin luxury. My roomie describes them as Spanish mozzarella sticks, but that does them no justice - when has anyone chosen an Italian lover over a Latin one?

The Datiles are like any character from Real Housewives - so rich they're ordinary. Soft sweet dates and almonds wrapped in crispy bacon could do no wrong, but the bacon is coiled 3 times like a roll of love handles. You feel like you've been stood up because it tastes like bacon with no real date.

The Maruchuchitos are a long-term love - so familiar it’s foreign. Starchy, bread-y plantains stuffed with stringy cheese is basically grilled cheese on a toothpick to warm your winter nights, but the queso paisa has a fresher, more summery flavor of its own, and the plantains remind you that you're merging your grilled cheese with someone else’s.

The Mechada Empanadas are the best kind of dates - so cheap they’re luxurious. Inexpensive they may be, but the thick, grainy coarse-ground cornmeal adds even more layers of texture to the shredded beef, and the mixed-green salad is always crisp and fresh with a light touch of salt, pepper, and oil to bring out the bitterness of the arugula.

The dinner plates are like most men, so simple they become complex. The standard sections of rice and black beans sit alongside the sweet plantains, which hold hands with the neighboring blander starches. The shredded beef of the Pabellon Criollo is salty and savory to balance the bland and sweet. This plate has many complex parts, but together they make one authentic Latin meal, a no-frills serving with a perfect blend of spices.

The Asado Negro is another simple-yet-complex Latin meal in a dark, heavy sauce. The sides are the same, but this one is slices of beef in a sauce the color of A1. It's good but the shredded beef is better. Just get that or the empanada version. Sometimes you find a love that keeps you coming back, and the shredded beef is it.

With all its catchy contradictions, Orinoco is so wrong it's right. The dishes are so mismatched they form a set, the service is so casual it's high-end, and the menu is so disjointed it makes sense. The only thing that makes sense in this tumultuous love affair is that no matter how often I stray, Orinoco has me coming back. My affair with Orinoco is so crazy it makes sense, and though I don't pretend I possess any sanity, I can rationally say you'd be loco to refuse Orinoco.

Itchy for Ten-Ichi - Natick

Ten-Ichi is Asian fusion. Fusion, especially the Asian kind should be approached with caution. Like stingrays...too soon? Asian fusion has the potential to be delicious, but it also has the potential to be a deadly. Fusion is diverse when done right but can sometimes spread itself too thin. Fusion can be a good-sized collection or a huge variety of assorted disasters. Believe me, quality always beats quantity. Needless to say, I was weary of a Natick sushi place that serves dim sum, but I was pleasantly surprised by both. In sum, it turns out the chefs here are anything but dim.

The Rice Crepes with Fried Dough are a fun way to start. It’s a fun texture – usually the deep fried stuff is on the outside so this one shakes things up even more than Sean Paul. Just dip it well – water-based sauces don’t stick well to rice noodles so your bulging mouthful can get bland quickly.

We also get dessert first but don’t judge. I finished my oshinko and Yash finished his vegetables - take that, mom! Although to be fair, vegetables are all Yash can really eat in an Asian restaurant… When it comes to desserts, the Nile may be huge, but the Egg Custard Buns are baked with denial longer than any measly river. These not-so-sweet buns are unspoiled by the sting of refined sugar, but the soft filling and crunchy topper make a deadly combination, almost as deadly as drinking water out of any given river.

The Egg Custard Tarts have a crust flakier than the second season of Firefly…thank for cutting the best show ever, Fox. Will never forgive you for that one. When was the last time you ran a brilliant TV show? That’s what you get for doubting Joss Whedon! Angry rant aside, there’s nothing angry about the egg custard tarts. They’re good. I’d go with the buns because they’re exceptional and I’ve never seen them anywhere else, but sometimes, tradition can win too.

When it hit me that the dim sum was delicious, I was filled with more dread than a drug-seeking patient in no real pain when I realized that the sushi I ordered was coming next.

The sushi and Japanese dishes were surprisingly awesome. Thailand Café in Central Square once taught me that a restaurant can only make one cuisine well, but it looks like Ten-Ichi is the one exception. The Idaho Maki was a light sweet potato tempura with much less tempura than most places. The sweet potato was actually sweet, and if I were a vegetarian I'd probably eat sushi anyway because I love it that much, but I could settle for the Idaho maki pro tempura. Both maki had perfect rice. The Avocado Roll was an avocado roll. It was there. Then it was gone. It was gone quickly. That means it was good in case you’re slow.

The Sake Don is topped with sweet salmon, fresh and pretty pink on a bed of exceptional vinegared rice. I know I shouldn't be all that impressed that an Asian restaurant makes fantastic rice, but this was particularly good. The flavor and the texture were just right and just the bed I was looking for...I guess I'm Goldilocks but Asian. So Goldilocks minus the gold. But not Blacklocks because that make me sound like a serial killer…or a pirate.

The Una Don is good for the comfort-cravers or those who just want a hot meal. I'll get the salmon every time from now on because the eel doesn't come with vinegared rice, but the slices of unagi are tasty and well-grilled with just enough eel sauce. And the slices of oshinko are a good reprieve when the eel becomes too rich.

So all in all, Ten-Ichi scratches your itch whether you’re feeling the dim sum or the Japanese dishes or the sushi. I’ve heard that they offer hot pot too, and the tables look too wide and empty without a boiling pot in the middle. I’ll hafta try the hot pot one day, but I may need to wait for the day I’m sick of sushi. Guess I’ll never try the hot pot…Oh well, bring on the sushi.

Feasting at Fireplace - Brookline

I never understood why my favorite cartoons of all time were called the Looney Tunes. Sure, they were looney, and they got even loonier when I figured out that they weren't really for kids. But tunes? What tunes? Fireplace is almost as incongruous a name for the place as a name like Looney Tunes. Looney Tunes has a single theme song that is forever seared into my brain like Fireplace’s duck (more on that later), but "toons" would have made a lot more sense. Fireplace has one generic-looking fireplace that comes with every standard suburban home, yet everything that touches your lips here is anything but standard.

Looney Tunes appeals to all ages and its humor is timeless. Fireplace offers drinks for all ages, cocktails for the carefree grown-ups and mocktails for those in the throes of cramming for yet another board exam. I don't remember what cocktail Jo ordered, but I remember it being gabaliciously girly but not too pink to have two. My Raspberry Lime Crush mocktail was perfect for keeping the company of a friend who didn't want to drink alone.

Sufferin' sucotash, it really was duck season for the Crispy Duck. Daffy has an amazing breast filet and his legs filled the “Johnnycake” which was really just a sweet crepe. I’ve had real Johnnycake, and the crepe is the more appropriate choice. Never mind the bewildering conclusion that Elmer Fudd actually shot something, he clearly shot him in the thick of winter because there was a layer of oh-so-savory fat. Those who favor fowl would lisp that I'm despicable, but how does anyone say no to skin as crisp as an unruffled chip over meat is just red enough to be juicy but not red enough to bleed. Even the side of sweet little carrots looked almost too pretty to be real, but they suited me perfectly. I've been hearing "Ehhh, what's up doc?" a lot in the past year, and my rotations would be a lot less boring if I gave my patients these carrots to crunch during rounds.

Daffy is a high-maintenance duck, requiring lots of embellishments on his plate. Sylvester is his foil here, a minimalist kitty, who would have loved Fireplace’s Ribeye. Sylvester salivated night and day over a few bites of no-frills Tweety, no bread, no sauce, just a few juicy bird-bites. The red medium-rare ribeye needed no embellishments, just a simple enhancement from the so-called fireplace sauce. The hash brown potatoes were a casserole cheesier than Pepe le Pew's pickup lines, and every bite from this plate tasted like my Tweety.

The dessert menu was Fireplace’s inanimate Pepe le Pew. No means yes, and though you don't want it, you get it anyway. The Strawberry Rhubarb Pie was the best kind of gooey hot mess with a happy ending of honey-thyme ice cream, which Pepe never seems to get. Unlike Penelope, I actually wanted it.

The Ricotta Pie had a crust like sweet playdoh and a lighter-than-air cream with juicy berries that blows your minimalist mind faster than Speedy Gonzales. The lemon zest was about as easy to taste as Speedy is to catch, but it was an amazing pie so no complaints whatsoever.

Don’t let the location deter you. Looney Tunes may be off prime time but you can still get to it through youtube. Fireplace may be way out in Brookline, but I'd tread through brimstone and fire to get there, and I’d walk on water if it rained (because rain puts out brimstone and fire, duh). Don’t let the incongruous name fool you either, if I were to name the place for what it really is, I would have named it Fabulous.