Tupelo Honey, I’m Trying to Get to You – Asheville, NC

I went to Tupelo in Cambridge and then I went to Tupelo Honey in Asheville. Both places serve up some strong southern cooking so clearly the name is a thing. I just wasn’t sure what thing. Turns out Elvis Presley was born in Tupelo, Mississippi so I’m going to guess that’s the connection. Because when it comes to a big hunk o’ love like the king of rock and roll, the only thing bigger than his fame was his appetite.

When I was a kid, I really liked word searches so today I made one. Go through this review, I dare you, and see how many titles of Elvis songs you can find. There are 14 total including the title. Rolling your eyes yet? Try a Beer Flight with four local drafts of your choosing. The Pigash Pale Ale, Highland Gaelic Ale, and Scotch Ale were among my selections, and one of these flights plus a pint of your favorite should help you take out that highlighter. It’s now or never, Elvis fan, but I’m guessing you’re going with never.

I wouldn’t call Tupelo Honey a king of any southern cuisine, but I could at least dub them the duke of Shrimp & Grits. I love me tender jumbo shrimp, and the grits made gooier by goat cheese got me all shook up. I wouldn’t have called the red pepper sauce spicy, but it’s perfect with the goat cheese. My only problem with this dish is that a portion this big of a dish this good is nothing but t-r-o-u-b-l-e.

The Vegetable Plate sounds like something you choked down as a child before you could get to dessert, but veggies this good don’t need a dessert. And at a little less than $10, keep your money honey, this one is on me. The fried okra creates a love shack in my mouth, and I was howling like a hound dog for the crisp brown butter Brussels sprouts. I wasn’t a fan of the benne coated asparagus, but that’s just my personal distaste for sesame oil. Your mama always said to eat your vegetables, but cleaning your plate never felt so good. Even my mama can’t make veggies like these.

Tupelo Honey, I love you because you’re so subtly special. The southern cooking is strong, it’s not the stuff of legends. Although it won’t shock and seduce like Elvis’s pelvis, I can’t help falling in love with this charismatic café. So next time I’m in Asheville, Knoxville, or wherever my southern sojourn takes me, these blue suede shoes are made for walkin’ into Tupelo Honey because honey, I sure am stuck on you.

Nibbling at North Carolina Seafood Restaurant – Raleigh

When I heard that the most creative creators of NC Seafood Restaurant (three guesses on what kind of food they serve) erected a calabash-style joint right in the famed farmer’s market of Raleigh, I was confused about the definition of calabash. So like a good med student, I looked it up.

Googling things like “what to do when you have no idea what is wrong with your patient” is immensely helpful, and I got plenty of answers for “what the heck is calabash style seafood” as well. Answer: A style of seafood which includes a barrage of cornmeal battering and a draught of deep frying. The term originates in the modest fishing town of Calabash, North Carolina, the self-proclaimed seafood capital of the world. Calabash is traditionally accompanied by hush puppies, which sounds suspiciously like something they cooked up in an effort to get rid of leftover batter. But while we’re on hush puppies, the only thing I wanted hushed was this little town’s ego.

Now back to NC Seafood. In line with the calabash tradition, anything you order is deep-fried clear to Durham. Word from the wise, everything might be fried in the same oil so if you have an allergy, speak now or forever hold your anaphylactic throat.

The seafood isn’t the only thing that’s small-town style here. Things seem to move at that pace as well. I got pretty crabby waiting for my combo of Deviled Crab, Oysters, and Trout to go. They said 15-20 minutes over the phone, but when I arrived 40 minutes later, they hadn’t even started making my box. Then again, the food was fresh out of the fryer so the trout was flaky and crisp, the oysters were soft and warm, and the deviled crab was better than any stuffing Thanksgiving could come up with.

I’ve never had Crawfish calabash, but I found no reason to bash it. They give you enough to feed a family of four, and as much I prefer the flavor of good ole crawfish boil, there’s something to be said about not having to dig out the tail yourself.

The thing I love most about NC Seafood is that the food is just okay. The seafood is fresh enough, the home fries are whatever, and the hush puppies and cole slaw are hardly memorable southern staples. But all these things speak to the sweet simplicity of the surrounding farmer’s market, and NC Seafood fits right in with its unpretentious picnic benches and come-to-the-counter-when-called wait staff. You won’t get a gourmet meal here but good luck finding this many types of seafood served in such a laid-setting. So sit down when you stop by or grab some seafood on your way out the door. Either way, don’t let my Styrofoam take-home box seat you. The china doesn’t get finer just because you’re dining in.

Going to The Gallows UPDATE – Boston

As a rule, I won’t write an update more than once unless the restaurant undergoes a significant change, for better or for worse. (1) Because my reviews are already pretty comprehensive and my updates rarely offer extra insight. And (2) because no matter what you say politely, do you really need to hear me babble about how much I loved a place for the third time?

This will be my third update on The Gallows. (1) Because I tried the brunch for the first time, (2) because it was too good to keep to myself, and (3) because I can. You may want to make your own gallows at the sight of yet another Gallows gush-fest so hopefully this will be my only extra update.

I’ve heard about the brunch, I’ve dreamed about the brunch, and I’ve always wondered the brunch was better than lunch. The answer is a resounding yes, mostly because the lunch menu is just an abbreviated version of dinner.

My French Quarter was a taste of the heart of the N’awlins, all in (1) circular stack. The stack starts with the famous fried oysters, straight off the nearest burger. The oysters are strategically placed on top of one so-called semolina dumpling, which tastes like a round grits cake struck by a polenta asteroid.  One fried green tomato adds a tart freshness to contrast the andouille sausage gravy, which runs in place of an egg yolk in this stack of southern Benedict.

(2) entrees are better than one, and the light-yet-filling Breakfast Crostini will definitely make you look twice. The grainy-smooth fava bean puree is a no-no for those with G6PD deficiency, a yes-yes for everyone else. The asparagus spears enhance the light, fresh theme of this dish, and although the crisp crostini are initially hard to saw through, they’ll come apart in as little as two cuts after soaking up the yolk from two perfectly poached eggs.

I had never gotten around to the famed Fluffernutter until now. Previous visits left me too full for breathing, never mind for dessert, but considering my upcoming move to LA, I dug right in to my last bite of Boston. One bite and I was a fan, two bites and I was enthralled, (3) bites and I was obsessed. The marshmallow is melty, the peanut butter is buttery, and the chocolate is just chocolately enough to make this the best no-bread version of my favorite lunchtime sandwich. The Gallows may be a one-dessert-wonder, but this one is a number one hit.

Rather than re-enumerate the reasons that The Gallows is my (1) and only, let’s just conclude by saying that it shouldn’t be your number (2). In all of my (3) reviews, The Gallows has been consistently amazing for many more times than that and for many more people than me. So if you haven’t been, go, if have been, go again. If you’ve already been three times, make sure your next visit number (4). No matter how many times I go, I will continue to give (5) stars to The Gallows, and I hope you will too.

Tossing and Turning for Tasca UPDATE – Brighton

Tasca may be Spain’s biggest accomplishment since Rafael Nadal. The décor is tall, dark and handsome, the food flaunts major muscle, and despite lacking an official title like the “king of clay”, everything about this restaurant screams king of cuisine.

Those who have mastered an art should teach, and Ten Tables could take some lessons from the Pulpo de la Gallega. A sprinkle of sea salt on already-tasty paprika tentacles turns spectacular into the best pulpo I’ve ever had. I said it at Casa Mono and I’ll say it again: no one makes octopus like the Spanish.

Unfortunately, someone must have spilled the sea salt on my Carcoles. It takes an awful lot of salt to drown out herbed garlic butter and cognac so I consider it a small miracle that my snail didn’t shrivel.

The minor meltdown with the mollusk seems like a fluke as Tasca shows some major backbone with the Salmon Ahumado. You just can’t go wrong with a slab of smoked salmon of epic proportion atop a potato pancake so good it could have stood alone.

The salmon seemed inspired by the Jews, the escargot by the French. The Brie a la Plancha is also not exactly Spanish, but I bet even Spanish brides aren’t above something borrowed. The brie is grilled into goop and jammed with an apple and raisin chutney. With all that runoff brie, this plate is hardly aesthetically appetizing, but have you ever met a shallow foodie?

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Why borrow when what you have is already so rich? The Stuffed Red Peppers are as red as a Spanish flamenco dress, stuffed with a seafood paella as traditional as the dance. This concoction of rice with generous portions ofseafood including lobster and scallops is served with so much flair that they stamped to their own beat on top of my tastebuds.

Nadal isn’t the only thing from Spain that gets a girl hot and bothered. This sensually succulent Confit de Pato glimmers with more grease than a bullfighter’s hair. The leg sits on a bed of cabbage and apples as red as a scarlet cape, with a combination almost as sexy as a matador destined to defy death.

I’m wondering if maybe they had lamb fights instead of bullfights in Tasca considering the various parts of lamb. The grilled-with-couscous preparation of Lamb Merguez may be as predictably conservative as a Spanish Moor, but I dare say even a native of Spain couldn’t have predicted how good it would taste.

The sausage was promising, but I was reluctant to give the Lamb Mollejas a try. After Craftbar’s sweetbread of legend, even Toro has managed to disappoint. Fortunately, this was one of my better decisions. These sweetbreads were less gamey than I expected, but they were simultaneously dense and light with a hearty mushroom gravy-esque sauce containing the only white wine flavor I’ve ever liked.

Tasca may not be the only tapas restaurant I’ve ever liked, but there’s very little stopping it from being one of the restaurants I like best. I always knew I’d fall for Tasca, but honestly, for all the trouble of venturing out to Brighton on a weekend, I might as well hitchhike to Spain for tapas. Even trans-Atlantic passenger ships are easier to come by than the green line trolley. But if anything is worth going out on a limb for, and Tasca lives on a very remote limb. So move over Toro, with the amazing prices, generous portions, and unbeatable appeal, it looks like I’ll be giving my heart to Tasca on a small plate too.