Carnival Food Fair – St. Thomas

Clearly this island had more food than the regular carnival stalls could hold. Which is why, for just one day of Carnival, Emancipation Park turns into an unrecognizable sea of stalls, with each booth washing up something special like seaglass in a surf.

Advertised by islanders as the can’t-miss-it food event of the year, they hyped up this Carnival Food Fair even more than DJ Cypha hypes up himself. Though he IS the best DJ in the Virgin Islands…just ask him. And if you’re too shy to ask him, just turn on his radio station. This is a guy who makes you miss half a song so that he can chant his own name like a séance.

So I didn’t miss this food festival. I even got there at 11 AM on my day off because I heard they’d start running out at noon. I started with a cold Passionfruit Juice and probably spent half my money on drinks that day. The sweltering sun showed no mercy so this tropical fruit and others like it were worth their weight in sugar. If you don’t already have a passion for this fruit, you’ll discover it in a couple sips.

Unfortunately, for everything there is a price, and the price for the food entrees was quite high. So high, in fact, that I couldn’t try more than one main dish and spent at least an hour walking in circles trying to decide what to have and where. Good thing I had these Tamarind Balls to hold me over. These spicy little sugared sourballs are dense yet strangely refreshing no matter how hot the day. Just make sure to find the pits so that you don’t spit out your molars too.

I finally decided on the Crab and Rice. I really wanted some shellfish, and after those Carnival Village whelks, I wasn’t about to make that mistake again. I rarely get crabby about the price of good food, but $15 is a bit much for legs in a ton of rice. Apparently mine had less crab so they only charged me half, but I honestly wouldn’t pay more for more crab. Then again, the rice was plump with all the sweet juices of the crab infused all the way through, and this palatable yet monotonous pile left me nothing less than totally satisfied. Good thing this curbed my seafood craving or I’d provide all the crab my rice was missing.

If I’d skipped the food festival this year, I probably would have cried. If I skip the food festival next year, I probably decided not to go. The food is good, no doubt, and clearly it’s something you need to do once. The colorful variety of canned fruit stews and bundles of baked goods are truly spectacular, but when it comes to buying food, I don’t really recommend anything that you can’t take home in a bottle or jar. The entrees look pretty good, but you can get more for your money almost anywhere else.

Carnival Village – St. Thomas

Every year Carnival comes to St. Thomas. People parade through the streets, a queen is crowned, and nightly performances of live music really add some life to this little island. And with large-scale celebrations like this one, it takes a village. This village just happens to be bordered by colorfully painted food booths. Ranging from French fries to tofu to roti, this village easily houses some of the best food options on this island. Some are hits, some are misses, but overall, I’d eat here every day if I could.

I don’t give a Flying Fish about your food-stand qualms. These people from Barbados are clearly onto something. Flaky like cod, darker than butterfish, firmer than tilapia, this breaded filet packs some serious flavor. And no food is complete without a slice of fried-dough Johnnycake, and at a dollar a pop, there’s no reason to miss out.

This King Fish had potential. Meaty fried fish resembling a non-pink salmon steak looked like a sure thing, but this one was fried tragically dry.

Well the Stewed Whelks were a mistake. Too much stewing and no other flavor turned these giant snails into a giant disaster. Snails already sound gross, why try extra hard to make them taste that way? The Shrimp in Butter Sauce was solid but nothing to write home about, and the Rice & Beans were pretty tasty. Overall, not a bad deal for $9.

Sometimes it’s all about the simple things. I’m never too chicken to try something new, but sometimes a perfect Chicken Wing is all you need. I’m not sure if the island chicken is less processed or more farm-raised, or both, but these wings have an amazing flavor – probably the best chicken wings this southern girl ever had. Now if only they sold it with syrup and waffles…

Fresh out of empanada country, I decided to give the Caribbean pate a try. Pronounced like mashed up liver, this flaky pastry shell held some serious potential. The Conch Pate was chewy with a sauce that I can only describe as salty, savory, and darkly delicious, but they skimped on the filling just a bit. The Shellfish Pate was stuffed full of shredded crab, and the Chicken Pate had flavorful marinated meat.

Sadly all good things must come to an end, and carnival ended only a day ago. And with it went some of the best food I’ve had in St. Thomas. I’m hanging onto the hope that the food will get better, but I’m not hanging onto much. I’m sure I’ll find some chicken wings elsewhere, but I’ll miss that flying fish.

St. Thomas So Far – St. Thomas, USVI

Two weeks in paradise and the only culinary comments I have on St. Thomas are about a hospital, a couple of food stands, and a carnival. And no wonder. On an island with no ethnic foods/local dishes to speak of, where everything is shipped and nothing is grown, we’ve been subsisting on ramen to avoid the extra cost. On the rare occasions that we do eat out, we find that the better foods are borrowed, mostly from the other islands.

I don’t mean to be a Jamaican jerk about it, but paradise is supposed to look AND taste good, and I’ve had one too many grilled cheeses and fries from beach shacks and one too many orders of wings from touristy dives at happy hour. They definitely don’t taste bad, but it’s only a matter of time before I start demanding that we start ducking into sketchy side-of-the-road shacks where the menu is in pencil and the sanitation grade is nonexistent. So hopefully you’ll suffer through a few of my duller reviews to date and bear with me as we both wait for things to get better.

Splendid Saint Jacques French Cuisine – Raleigh

By writing this review, I give away my best kept secret: this wise-cracking New-Yorker-turned-Bostonian foodie was once a Carolina girl (North Carolina the state, not the terrible tar-heeled team who will always be inferior to Duke in basketball). But some places are worth the risk of revealing my humble culinary origins, which are no longer quite so humble - Some places in NC are actually worth their verbage.

One such place is Saint Jacques, lauded as the best French restaurant in Raleigh. Although the regiment and restraint of traditional French cuisine can be pretty ho-hum these days, especially in light of forward-thinking fusion and spin-off classics like truffle mac n’ cheese. But no worries, Frere Jacques, you won’t be able to dormez-vous once you see the menu at Saint Jacques. Though this menu does cultivate the classics, the wide selection with diverse ingredients are prepared with all the simple yet savory elegance that only the French pull off.

While the amuse bouche of Asparagus and Goat Cheese Mousse didn’t exactly explode with flavor, this spoonful of creamy chevre was well-balanced with flecks of green. It amused me anyway and got my night off to a strong start.

No French meal could be complete without a Homemade Country Pate. This one was new for me - crumbly rather than pasty with a bitter-fresh finish.

The Coquille Saint Jacques is clearly a study in luxury. The tender little scallops taste fresh-caught, and there are no sheets with thread counts high enough to match the silkiness of the cream. Served in perfect scallop shells that conjure the image of the Little Mermaid, these definitely win points for presentation.

If any duck could be made into bacon, it would be this Duck.  The breast is seared beautifully red, and the alternating strips of crispy skin, flesh, and fat give it a the unmistakable resemblance to a moist strip of bacon. The underlying chutney adds a fruity hint, and the fluffy spinach flan is fit for Popeye…in his nicest suit because in a restaurant like this you should probably wear something with sleeves.

Then came the Filet Mignon Forestiere, a moooo-ving dish. Pan-seared medium rare, it grazes atop a potato and mushroom casserole and sweet baby carrots. The blue cheese gratin was just light enough to not be overpowering – just make sure to put no more than one or two crumbles on each bite.

The Pot de Crème Trio was three times the fun. White, milk, and dark crèmes, all interchangeably tasty…kind of like the Hanson brothers back when I was in middle school. Mmm…bop…Oh come on, you liked them too back then!

The last time I saw this much attention to detail from anyone, never mind a restaurant, I was staring at George Seurat’s pointillism at the Art Institute in Chicago.  Much like pointillism, nothing about my night actually stood out, but together each little dot made for a beautiful picture. The setting was too tranquilly beautiful to ignore, the sommelier was too knowledgeable not to consult, and the menu was too incredible not to peruse at least a dozen times.

Mike’s Diner – Boston

In light of my impending move, I’ve been feeling rather guilty about under-appreciating the better parts of Boston. I feel especially guilty about forgetting to praise the under-appreciated cheap eats such as those of Mike’s Diner. In the foodie’s paradise of South End, good food abounds, but be prepared to pay for the myriad menus that extend beyond the basics. But sometimes we just want to go back to basics, and thanks to this adorable little diner next to Toro, you can always get the basics for a handful of singles and maybe the occasional five.

Mike’s is as much a standard diner as a diner can be. Small and simple with barely enough tables and a counter for the drink-coffee-and-read-paper regulars, Mike’s maintains a minimalist modesty with a side of warmth. The dining area buzzes, and the kitchen hums with the hustle and bustle of scrambled eggs, sizzling bacon, and flying pancakes.

There’s not much more I can say about Mike’s other than that the food is pretty good. Huge portions like this slab of French Toast will never leave you wanting, and the eggs of any style will never disappoint. The Pancakes come in fluffy stacks of four, and it’s $3.50 for a Fried Egg Sandwich if you’re really just that broke.

Mike’s Diner is a simple diner at best and satisfying at worst. The food is good and not very memorable, but that’s expected from a diner. Besides, I have a soft spot for Mike’s. This diner has seen me stressed, listened to me vent, and fed my soul when nothing else would do. Mike’s fed me along the hard road to doctor-hood, and when I do get my doctor hood at graduation and prepare to go, I can only hope to graduate to a diner as good as Mike’s.

El Pelon Taqueria - Boston

Dear El Pelon,

It’s finally hit me that I’ll be leaving Boston in just one short month, and LA isn’t close. I’m excited about a fresh start, but I’m sad about the things I’ll be leaving behind. I think one of my biggest regrets will be you. I noticed you for your food first because let’s face it, your food is just plain awesome.

I’ve tasted at least 60% of your menu, and I swear it never gets old. I could eat anything over and over and never get bored. Remember that girl who always stands at the register and takes forever to decide? Yes, I am THAT girl. Sorry, people behind me…

The first thing I ever tried was your Torta with carnitas. The carnitas will cater to any carnivore, the onions keep it crisp, and spicy mayo and guacamole make the world a tastier place.

The tortas are tempting, but I’m one for variety so your Tacos have become my go-to. The Pescado Tacos are full of fresh squares of cornmeal-encrusted cod, the carnitas are as juicy as can be, and the carne asada tastes marinated and freshly charred over flying flames. Topped with limed onions, lightened by pickled cabbage, and salsa, there is no bad time to indulge in one of these. The tortillas are perfect, and the cool cukes make you think for just a fleeting moment that hot sauce isn’t scorching your tongue…and your mouth…and your fingers...and the table. My biggest issue with the tacos is that the carnitas are so juicy that the juice pools at the bottom and soaks the tacos so they split down the middle faster than you can pick them up. Then again, there’s nothing more boring than a neat taco.

The Burritos are solid, but all those rice and beans can get pretty dry so I end up adding a lot of hot sauce…and eating more to stave off the burn…then adding more hot sauce…El Pelon, you’re making me fat. And I LOVE it.

I thought the burritos were filling, but they’re nothing compared to the Quesadillas. You stuff that tortilla for a middle so thick I can barely fit my mouth around it. Despite being a little hard to eat, these are pretty perfect on those days when I feel like a bottomless pit.

I don’t know what you put in your hot sauce, but I’m addicted to the burn. No meal is complete without it, and I add it to everything. And this is coming from a girl who despises large amounts of sauce.

El Pelon, I noticed you for the food first, but then I started to notice more. I’ve come to respect and admire you over the years because of who you are and what you mean to the city of Boston. Your food captures this city’s youthful spirit, a city teeming with colleges in double digits, three major med schools, and countless other institutions of higher learning. Students live simple lives, limited by our debt, and I can’t think of any affordable food that captures our sweet simplicity so well.

Boston is a young city, and you are a classic that stays forever young. There is nothing more comforting than a hot meal from you the night before an exam, there’s nothing more celebratory than a mouthful of Mexican munchies, and there’s no better end to a long day or night. And on a snowy winter day, nothing warms me from the inside out like your hot sauce.

I noticed your food first, but your character will make me remember you. Literally a phoenix from the ashes, you rose and rebuilt after a leveling fire. You came back stronger than ever, and you came back better than ever if UrbanDaddy and every friend and yelper I’ve ever consulted are to be believed. Not only did you come back strong, you had strength to give. The strength and generosity you showed after this year’s tragic marathon, working tirelessly to provide food, drinks, and resources to anyone in need will never be forgotten, though at these affordable prices, your food is practically a giveaway as it is. I’ve eaten your food countless times, and as far as I’m concerned, so little has never bought me so much.

When times are tough, I will remember your strength. When I am selfish, I will remember your generosity. And when I am hungry, I will remember your carnitas. Thank you, El Pelon. You remind me all that there is still good in this world.

XOXO,

Foodie Houser, MD

Cryptic Cocina Sunae – Buenos Aires, Argentina

The wise traveler to any foreign country will walk the walk, talk the talk, and dance the dance. I’d like to think I was wise in Argentina. I did a lot of walking because the subway wasn’t running and I couldn’t figure out the buses. I tried to talk the talk, but we both know how that went. And most importantly, I tried to dance the dance.

I hardly need to expound on the merits of Argentine tango, but I also did a different kind of dance in BA - the culinary kind. Because isn’t a good meal just the successful execution of choreography from a chef?

After the tango, the best dance in Argentina is the puerta cerrada. Spanish for “closed door”, these places hold all the mystery of being set in a private home and sit in top-secret locations, which are not revealed until you repeatedly confirm your reservation. I went for the thrill of the chase because with no location disclosed, I was literally hunting my food…and because I can’t afford a hunting license…

The dining room at Cocina Sunae is set off from the rest of the house so you don’t feel like an intruder, with beautifully serene modern décor. Mood-lit like a dance hall, this room is flirty in the right places, romantic in others, always leaving you the option of adding a little heat.

The room was enchanting, and the Gai Tom Kha was magic. Laugh all you want, but I’ve never had a dish go from bland to flavorful over the course of a bowl. The first sip actually sucked. It started as a bland white broth that progressed to savory and flavorful as a single thin slice of Thai chili released all the notes of sweet coconut with sweet’n’sour lemongrass and gingery galangal.

Over the past few years, I’ve developed a fear of shrimp almost as great as my fear of dance partners with two left feet. I’m not much better, but my concerns are centered in foot-stepping. Shrimp is easily overcooked at which point it becomes rubbery, and even the smallest of feet become bigger, easier targets when you dance. But I had no reason to fear the shrimp in Sunae’s Yum Mamuang. This salad had only the sweetest flesh. It’s hard to make a salad stand out, but this one had an element of polish and finesse that comes only with mastery. The ingredients were well-proportioned, and you rarely find natural combinations better than shrimp, avocado, and mango. The citrus dressing enhanced the entire salad subtly, adding the finishing touches to complete the package.

It’s dishes like the Sisig that put the belly on my belly. I think the tender, fatty, finely-chopped belly of pork goes straight to the ring around my belly for storage, and I can only hope it will recede if I tango just enough. Depressing nutritional facts aside, this dish progresses much like a dance. When you first learn to dance, you start with the basic step. A basic sisig sizzles on a skillet, and Sunae has clearly mastered the tender-yet-crispy pork. Then you build on the basic. Change the pattern and you move in a different direction. Add a turn to spin or twirl, and change your grip to do a dip. Applied to the plate, the pork belly is a solid basic, but it’s the egg and chicharon that add a twist to the melt-in-your-mouth quality of the dish. Break the chicharon into the pork belly like crackers into soup to add a satisfying crunch to the soft pork. No dance is complete without good music, and the garlic fried rice accompaniment was so simple yet amazing that I couldn’t decide which side of the platter I liked better.

When it comes to dance, I’m all about the innovation. Creative choreography gets my juices flowing, and there’s nothing more stifling than a dance that’s been done. Props for the creative fruit fusion in the Halo Halo, but sometimes even the most carefully choreographed steps just don’t go together. Here the grapefruit with its usually bitter finish played the overly-dominant partner who leaves little room for others to shine. This bitterness compounds with the darker bitters of the green tea ice cream, drowning out the softer, sweeter notes of lychee and passionfruit.

Despite the dessert, there’s not a single thing I regret about Cocina Sunae and almost nothing I would change. Their dancing dishes capture the spirit of all that is delicious and express all the joy of the indulgence. Cooking really is a dance - the chefs just spin and twirl on a different kind of stage. Some are lighter than air, some are a little heavier-handed, and others are dynamic, and all styles converge for an experience you won’t forget. All dance is beautiful (except for the more garish side of modern), and like a dancer well-trained, Sunae executes her choreography with unparalleled grace.

Maybe, Maybe Mott – Buenos Aires, Argentina

Soaring ceilings, a covered outdoor lounge with earth-tone couches and a loft lit entirely by a vaulted skylight is a scene straight out of Soho. Except this time it’s Soho Palermo. Other than the obvious appeal of outdoor dining on a beautiful day in BA, Mott’s market-fresh theme holds obvious appeal for the traveler who has grown weary of meat-heavy mountains and carb-loaded pasta. When I saw the word “market”, I was half a minute from moving into Mott.

Market-fresh is a bold claim to make, but not as bold as the straight-off-the-vine flavor of the Butternut Squash Soup. Sweeter than pumpkin, stringier than summer, and smoothed by a tiny touch of cream, this soup is absolutely perfect.

The potatoes in my entrée were blissfully buttery, but they butchered my Bife de Chorizo. Unfortunately butchery is only appropriate for cows, not steak. (It’s ok, I groaned too.) I should have known when the waiter walked away without asking me how I wanted it cooked. I shouted rare at his retreating back, and judging by my almost-well-done steak, either he didn’t hear me or the chef chose not to hear anyone. Since my mott-o is that steak should always bleed so this particular cut wasn’t exactly my cup of mate. And it’s a sad day in Argentina when you scarf down the sautéed peppers and onions…next to your steak.

Scream all your want to ice cream, I’ll scream for this cream. It’s rare that a dessert becomes cream of the crop in a three-course meal, but the flavor of dulce de leche made this one the crème de la Crème Brulee.

The fact of the matter is, Mott messed up big time. They ruined a steak, which was the main reason I ordered this meal. But with a flawless setting and forever-fresh feel, Mott is the only place I’ve ever been where the ambiance actually improves the food. Natural light, fresh air, and food that claims to be fresh from the market, a winning combination hampered only by an overdone steak. I walked through much of Soho, and no one does design quite as well as Mott. I’d come back just to sit and soak it in. I’m not sure I’d eat another full meal, but that crème brulee would be simply irresistible.