The Halal Guys – NYC

After two years of living in NYC, I never got around to the Halal Guys. For reasons unknown, I deprived myself of one of New York’s greatest culinary treasures, a prize of such international fame and universal acclaim it’s even earned its way to the ear of the common street vendor…in Israel.

Being a New Yorker and never having Halal is wrong, and part of growing up is righting your wrongs. So I grew up in line one sunny day and grabbed a white sauce-doused platter of Lamb over Rice from the yellow-shirt clad vendors of New York’s Best. I usually hate things drowned in sauce, but that white sauce was clearly a flood from heaven. A single drop of that fiery hot sauce was enough to jumpstart my waterworks, but anything that made me eat more white sauce was fine by me.

The lamb over rice was awesome and the Falafel was phenomenal…Until I realized that I’d been duped. New York’s Best isn’t the Halal Guys, it’s the imposter. Same shirts, same corner but about as authentic as a Coach clutch from Chinatown.

Shamed by my newly discovered deception, I went back for the Halal Guys. The white sauce was awesome, the hot sauce hot as ever, but I couldn’t detect a difference in the lamb. The rice was harder and drier compared to the plump orange grains of the imposter, and somehow that whole plate of bootleg had tasted that much better. Maybe it was the sunlit day, maybe it was the radioactive rice, maybe it really is about the size lamb loaf.

I'd be happy with either or both in my stocking this year, but I hope Santa is forgiving otherwise I’m getting coal. I’ve been naughty, and chef Santa may disown me when I divulge my dastardly deed: I tried the Halal imposter and I liked it...better. 

Faithful First Printer – Cambridge

I like First Printer, but I object to its name. The website marks it as the former site of the first printer in America, but thanks to the ambiguous name, I passed it by for months thinking it was a bookstore. Further research reveals that America’s first printer was a man by the name of Stephen Daye. Deskjet is a terrible name for a restaurant, so I’d call it Daye’s Inn…and pass it by for years thinking it’s a hotel.

We started our meal at this historically reliable establishment with a good ole order of Hush Puppies of the Day. I’m not sure how these relate to the printing industry, but each dense, fried, golden-brown mouthful of tender crab and flaky cod is an exact, awesome duplicate of the one before.

The best thing about a printer is the consistency. As long as you have ink, every printout is as consistently accurate as the original. The thing is, consistency is rarely noticed until it’s no longer there, and that’s how I noticed the Shrimp & Grits. The grits were pretty perfect, but merely topping grits with shrimp does NOT make shrimp & grits. Bring that dish down south, and you’ll be as popular as evolution.

I wasn’t impressed by the southern cuisine, but the French Onion Bison Burger was like upgrading from a basic printer to laser. Any printer can spit out the black-and-white copies of hush puppies and grits, but this meaty French onion soup is photo quality all the way. A thick, gamier version of the classic burger, the gravy and gruyere soak into the bun, which quickly becomes a toasted bread bowl. The French onion has all the sophistication of a lady, but the bison puts a little hair on your chest.

The bison burger was awesome, but every meal improves with a good drink to wash it down. The Godfather is an ideal mix of scotch and amaretto for a man with a burger (or a girl with a burger who drinks like a man…), and the hard cider is a sweet choice for festive fall.

When you go to Kinko’s, you pay a little more than you want to for a consistent print job that will faithfully produce those flyers for your bake sale. When you go to First Printer, you pay a little more than you want to for a solid high-end meal that will faithfully fill your belly by the end of the night. The thing is, no one is ever excited about a trip to Kinko’s, and First Printer was more like a culinary errand. The menu is as diverse as America itself; a little bit of this, and a little bit of that. Yet it dabbles but does not invest. There are southern dishes interspersed among the dishes that look like they were fished fresh from the harbor. But everything’s been done and I see no inspiration or thought. The menu looks like it’s trying to marry north and south, but even that’s been done. Go see Lincoln in theatres if you don’t know what I’m talking about.

La Estrella – Bronx

Nothing breaks up your work day like a good hot lunch. My lunch at La Estrella was served piping hot but the service was cold as ice. Actually, I don’t know what the service is like because our server never acknowledged me and only spoke Spanish to my dining companion Tomas. My Spanish sounds like nails on a chalkboard except the chalkboard is lodged inside your ear.

“I would like the Pernil with a side of Maduros.” The server didn’t even start writing until Tomas translated. This wasn’t hard, but I can say “yo quiero pernil” about as accurately as the politically incorrect Taco Bell Chihuahua.

Most people would be put off by this kind of linguistic snobbery, but I thought, “This is my kind of place.” A place that is so authentic they will ignore you for not speaking Spanish is bound to have fantastic food. The pernil came steaming hot, the rice and beans were perfect, and the maduros were soft and sweet. I expected the bill to be huge, but this table full of food cost me a mere $7.50 and an extra $3 for the side. With food this good, I can learn Spanish just to order at La Estrella. With prices this low, I can save up for Rosetta Stone.

Café China – NYC

If service were scored like golf, Café China would give Tiger Woods a run for his money. And I didn’t even sit down. I ordered the Mouth Watering Chicken for takeout and discovered the Husband and Wife Special in its place after I got home. And considering I’m crashing with various friends in New York who are playing a game I fondly named “pass the third wheel”, this mix-up actually seemed a bit cruel…The thing is, when I called and told them in Chinese, without looking at the menu, which dish they mistakenly gave me, the appropriate response was not “Have you ever had mouth watering chicken? Do you actually know what it looks like?” It’s a fair point – I’ve never had their mouth watering chicken. But I’m pretty sure I know what chicken doesn’t look like. For starters, it doesn’t look like beef. And it really doesn’t look like beef tripe. This would be a good time to go to India and try on a sorry.

The Mouth Watering Chicken had a surprisingly large amount of tender, juicy chunks floating in a sea of Szechuan chili. The red glow of agonizing spice makes your eyes water more than your mouth, but you won’t regret a bite of this. I’ve had better but this one’s pretty good, and the $9 I spent leaves little room for objection.

The Cold Noodles Szechuan Style are a safe option. A hint of spice and a dash of peanut-y sweetness is a two-snack-size steal at $6.

We don’t choose gas station bathrooms for their cleanliness and we don’t pick authentic Chinese restaurants for their stellar service. Chinese restaurants are better enjoyed when thought of as gas stations in every state except New Jersey: self-service. But if you’re like me and constantly craving Szechuan but never in the mood to sit down or wait, Café China just might become your go-to for takeout.

D-Dog House – Miami

Like so many singles nights in steamy Miami, my night started at a happy hour and ended in D-Doghouse. Unlike most people, I actually chose to end up there. I imagine most people commit a ridiculous blunder of hour-long happiness. That’s circumlocution for “I did not get drunk and do something stupid”.

They call Miami the “gateway to the Americas”, and I couldn’t agree more. So in the spirit of Miami, I ended my night with a Columbian. A Columbian Dog. I know what you were thinking. It was not that kind of happy hour. The Columbian Dog is a cheesy sauce-n-slaw-drenched hot mess which takes at least 3 bites to unearth the huge slice of bacon wrapped around a hotdog. A tiny, delicate, cracked-into-a-Sapporo-by-Japanese-businessmen-in-designer-suits quail egg tops if off, a ludicrous little blip of Humpty Dumpty on a wall of coleslaw.

The Pari is way better than sub-par. It’s the same thing as the Columbian Dog except it’s vegetarian and the best cold coleslaw –sloppy Joe I’ve ever had.

I wouldn’t begin a night at D-Doghouse. It’s definitely the kind of food that tastes better at the end of a night, and the flavor is undoubtedly positively correlated with the lateness of the night. Wait as long (and happily) as you can. That shouldn’t be hard in Miami.

Svelte Stella - Boston

I’ve walked by Stella for years, and I’ve admired her beauty. But I never met her. I gazed longingly on my rare trips to Foodie’s, and I would have pressed my nose to the glass on many a cold winter night, but I was afraid I’d smudge that perfect polish.

Stella is a lady through and through. Her marble tabletops are joined by sterile white chairs that speak of sophistication beyond what ordinary me can attain. The modern décor eludes to undeniable elegance, and Stella just felt so above a med student of modest means.

It took me three years to finally approach her. I strolled through the great glass door and sat down to a simple Caesar Salad, my first introduction to her ladyship. The romaine was crisp and clean in its simplicity, and it was presented as elegantly as Stella herself.

I moved on to the Spicy Mussels, a lavish indulgence of saffron cream. The mussels are tender and juicy, and without the hindrance of shells, they soaked up every possible drop of cream. This silky luxury is dish fit for a queen, but you can bet this pauper dunked her bread in every last drop of sauce.

Stella may be classy, but she eats like a real girl. Her Short Rib Pizza is an upscale comfort, reminiscent of marathon movie nights with the girls. Stella’s spin-off features sweet figs with a pungent gorgonzola.

Stella’s status as lady of the upper crust is manifest on every sterile plate, in every spotless corner, and in every perfected dish. She is beautiful and formidable, a testament to her status as a long-standing South End staple.  What surprised me about Stella was her modesty. Every entrée was an affordable plate of comfort, and nothing on the menu felt anything less than perfectly reasonable. Though Stella may appear aloof, she opens up readily to anyone with an appetite, and her composure quickly converts to warmth.

Ghastly Gigi – Miami

When it comes to food, I’ve savored the good, I’ve sampled the bad, and I’ll try the ugly at least once. I’ve broken into a baguette warm from a Parisian oven, and I’ve broken bread with people all over the world. I’ve bitten into buffalo mozzarella in the heart of Tuscany, and I’ve pecked at Peking duck in the restaurant of its birth. Some say I’ve sampled some of the best things on earth while others wrinkle their noses and say I’ve supped with savages. But I’m hardly a braggart. I tell you this so that you comprehend the full meaning when I declare Gigi the worst restaurant I’ve ever visited.

This Midtown establishment was declared to be tasty and reasonably priced by most Yelpers. But there is nothing reasonable about charging for a bottle of tap water…per person. I understand that it’s filtered water, but I need a filter for my mouth more than I need one for my water. This is Miami, not Mexico.

Guard your water with your life. Mine was stolen off my table with no reasonable explanation when I went to wash my hands. My food was sitting on the table, but my water was nowhere to be found. It took 20 minutes, two reminders, and dehydration-induced delirium to get more water. It was 80 degrees outside.

I started with my comfort food. Pork Buns are the equivalent of the bodies of male soccer players - I’ve never seen one I don’t like. Until I tried the pork buns at Gigi. I guess the dry shreds of tasteless pork were a welcome contrast to Miami’s humidity.

When I was 12 years old, I was diagnosed with an overbite. That’s 2 years of expensive dental work, some of which went down the drain after I found bones in the last two of my five slices of Hamachi. Hamachi is yellowtail, but my server didn’t actually know that. So I had my five rubbery slices of lukewarm raw yellowtail on a bed of radioactive sweet potato. Though I’ve never bitten into the tread of a well-worn truck tire, this dish gives me a pretty good idea of what that would taste like. The bones even looked like pebbles after I dislodged one from my gums. I complained about the bones and was told that “some cuts have bone. It comes like that”. Do not order this dish unless you and your dentist have a serious score to settle.

I’m no expert on how to run a restaurant, and I can’t begin to comment on those challenges. But I assume it’s wise to settle the bill before the customer dies of old age. I gave my card to the server before I got the check because I had already waited so long. Big mistake. I was charged $15 for the $14 hamachi. My server snapped, “SIGH…I’ll ask” and glared at me. I said forget it and left. This is the first time I’ve ever paid a restaurant to let me leave.

Staying with family in rural China, ordering andouille in France, tasting Thailand’s street food, and chewing on Chinese street-corner skewers has given me a taste of the good, the grotesque, and both. Accordingly, I’ve recovered unscathed from bi-annual episodes of food poisoning, and I maintain that every episode of food poisoning combined was better than this one meal at Gigi. The food is terrible, and the prices are an abominable. The service is the worst I’ve ever experienced, and I can’t think of any restaurant that fails as miserably as this one.

Myers and Chang Chowdown UPDATE – Boston

Like all relationships, my relationship with Myers & Chang was in desperate need of rekindling after a dry year. Even Joanne Chang and Chris Myers probably have a non-culinary date night once in a while.

So I had a date night…with Myers & Chang. Before you snicker at my willingness to third wheel, remember that third wheels are necessary on several vital contraptions…like cars…and tricycles…although I think tricycles are now antiques. Shut up, I’m not that old…

My night at Myers & Chang started with the easy familiarity that comes with knowing who you’re dealing with. The Taiwanese-Style Dan Dan Noodles were predictably sweet with peanuts and chili sambai. No surprises, but why stray when you know what you have is good?

The date night hit a minor hiccup with the Wok-Roasted Mussels. A heavier hand on the lemongrass makes swallowing these juicy, flavorful, fully-saturated mussels a tad bit painful. Plenty of people prefer their mussels drenched so take my opinion with a grain of salt…of which this sauce had one too many.

The Black Pepper Shanghai Noodles were comfort with a kick. The tofu and portabella are old comforts you get to know over the years, and the black pepper kicks you awake with the novelty of an occasional moment of feistiness, an unexpected laugh, or a new inside joke.

The Corn with Sriracha Butter is the shocking burn when a little unexpected spice pops up after years of sweet predictability. Corn is tasty, especially at places like Toro, but once in a while you just need the spark of Myers & Chang.

I tried a lot of new things with Myers & Chang that night, but my relationship with them may never change. There is the constant companionship of the 5-spice Tofu Buns and the chocolate mousse with legendary meringue, but just when I think I’ve been through it all, they throw a some hot sriracha butter and a kick of black pepper into the flame. Myers & Chang may be what I like to call a faithful old favorite, and some nights, they’re all I crave.

Windsor Dim Sum Café - Boston

I love the sound of rumbling wheels on a dim sum cart as it whizzes by, and there’s no thrill like snagging my fave dumplings before the cart rolls away. The age-old appeal of food on wheels is awesome, but with the recent advent of far less elusive food trucks, the madhouse basement of Hei la Moon has gotten old.

Windsor Dim Sum Café sounded almost royal so we gave it a try. We started with Steamed Shrimp Dumplings, and other than that the skin falls apart easily if you’re heavy-handed with the chopsticks (or just plain clumsy like me), no complaints whatsoever. On the other hand, the U-Choy is what I call a necessary evil. Without a crisp veggie to break up the meat and seafood, dim sum becomes sickening long before you’re full. This is the only veggie they have and it’s clearly for cows…who like oyster sauce…

The Pork Bean Curd Sheet Roll is basically tofu skin stuffed with savory pork. Probably the best dish here – the texture of the bean curd is awesome, and the pork is a perfect balance. On the other hand, the Shrimp Rice Noodle is an unnecessary evil. Hei la Moon may make you chase it, but at least when you finally snag your prize, you don’t find it lacking in shrimp. One measly little chopped-up shrimp in 6 inches of rice noodle? That’s just WRONG.

The House Steamed Mini Pork Buns were pretty authentic, they just weren’t that good. A little heavy on the salt, a little light on…well…everything else. Skip these and get them at GDH.

This is the only place I’ve ever seen Red Bean Cake, and it holds its own against the flaky, oven-fresh Egg Custard Tarts. Like most romance novels, the best part of this dim sum is the end. Save room for dessert and make sure you spring for both.

So if you’re looking for royal treatment at Windsor you may want to look…well…anywhere else. The food doesn’t come on carts, but the brusque service is just a testament to its authenticity as a Chinatown establishment. But if I’m craving dim sum, Windsor just might head my list. Unlike China Pearl and Hei la Moon, they serve dim sum at all hours, and though you’re still squeezed into crowded tables with total strangers, it’s somehow quieter and a few rays of natural light in this non-basement location will do wonders for your sanity.

Fickle at Forum – Boston

Being snowbound is fun in theory but only if said theory is being tested from your cozy window seat with a steaming cup of hot cocoa. Venturing out into a full force of flurries is a whole different corollary. I was pretty reluctant to brave the impending storm at Forum after reading some pretty unpromising yelp reviews, but I put on a hat and manned up.

My night at Forum started in a blizzard. We were seated at the most awkward table in the house, a tiny two-top island, afloat and exposed to the elements in the middle of the first floor dining area. The placement of this table is a transparent ploy to make the restaurant look full - the bar is too far back to be seen from the street, and the only way to look like people actually come here is to fill the two tables in front. No man is an island, but this woman sure felt like one. My back was also about a foot from the floor-length glass windows/doors that open into their summer patio. No draft, but that didn’t stop the cold from seeping in through the glass and up my spine. Isolated amidst a surrounding storm with a chill up my spine. Yup, that’s a blizzard.

The Stuffed Mozzerella boasts of being house-made but I think it was house-made a few weeks ago. If that came out of my house, I wouldn’t tell anyone. Good thing the menu doesn’t say anything about “fresh” or it’d be false advertising, and the veggie stuffing was a much better idea in theory. Something tasted sour and something else tasted bitter. My advice: deep fry this cold mess into a hot mess. Turn up the heat to turn the mozzarella gooey and use a crispy breading to hide the aftertaste.

It’s hard to get excited about a little flatbread, but the Spinach & Wild Mushroom Flatbread got my blood boiling faster than an Irish coffee. One little well-timed wind can chill you to the bone, and one well-placed morsel of kindling can blaze a spark. Lesson learned: a layer of sweet potato puree turns any flatbread into a pizza with pizzazz.

I played it safe with an entrée of Steak Frites. Hanger is one of my favorite underrated cuts, and it has to be pretty abysmal before I become displeased. The steak was juicy with a few dripping drops of red, just the way I like it, on a bed of crispy leaves of Brussels sprouts. If this is my shelter from the storm brewing behind my back, I just might stop shivering between bites.

The dessert was something I could really cling to for comfort. The warm Banana Bread Pudding clung closer than the pashmina I wrapped myself in, and it kept me warm far better than any scarf…but that’s probably because I’m wearing it on my hips.

Despite the initially chilly reception, Forum turned out to be far less frigid than the wintry natural disaster that kicked off my night. I’m conflicted about Forum because it’s only just fine, but what more do you need if everyone in your party can find something they want to eat? Just ask to be seated anywhere but at that awful table.