Reading Terminal Market - Philadelphia

I hadn't been back to the northeast since they first handed me my MD, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel homesick for my 6 northeastern years. Even a two-day trip to Philly (where I've never lived) felt familiar, and a stroll through Reading Terminal Market (where I've never been) was a stroll down memory avenue.

Profi's Creperie 

 The Strawberry Banana Caramel Crepe was sweet and refreshing...

but it was the Apples and Caramel Crepe that brought me back. One bite and I was picking prized apples from the lofty branches of a fruitful tree. The crepe didn't taste so different from all those apple cookies we baked. 

Sometimes we pour too much caramel over our memories, and it tends to over-sweeten them. I'm often nostalgic for the north, but the moment I stepped out of the airport, the cold hit me like the shock of a thousand needles, biting and stinging every inch of exposed flesh. That 50-degree weather was a painful reminder of how much cold weather turns me into a ho-hum homebody.

I though it would be easier to brave the cold when everything is close together, but it turns out I'm much more willing to take the elevator to my car. There may be ten different restaurants right outside my building, but there was no way I was facing the instant frostbite. Plus it's just not acceptable to be unable to dine outdoors in October. 

Kamal's Middle Eastern 

The Lamb Shwarma Plate is the embodiment of a city street - so many things squeezed into a tiny space. Mouth-watering strips of lamb sit atop a bed of rice, and pitas get dipped into a hummus with a bitter aftertaste. The forgettable salad and standard tabbouleh cool the combo down. So many things on the same plate, like so many restaurants on a not-so-stellar street. Mary may have wanted a little lamb, but this is too little lamb for ten dollars.

Golden Bowl

Times moves slower on the west coast. The Veggie Fried Rice may have been cooked up in a New York minute, but just like you can get run over by busy bankers if you walk too slowly through Midtown, you can get pretty buried by Golden Bowl grease if you choose your Chinese too quickly.

The Famous 4th Street Cookie Company 

There are two sides of every country, and there are two sides of every city. I'm slowly starting to think that west coast is the best coast, but I still can't quite commit. The west side is a softer embrace. But I get the best of both sides with a tasty Black & White Cookie. The white half is sweet and creamy, but the black half has more of a chocolatey bite. But maybe it isn't so much about picking a side. Maybe it's more about just enjoying every bite.

Oyster House - Philadelphia

I'm a physician so people assume I'm rich. What people don't know is that I'm a resident physician. As a physician, I make a 6-figure salary, earn my own mansion and spend my days on a private yacht. As a resident physician, I make the salary of secretaries and earned enough in loans to fill a mansion and sink a private yacht.

Translation: I am poor. But being poor doesn't mean being deprived, and there's nothing like an oyster happy hour as a reminder that you don't always need to shell out to eat well. Oyster House features buttery one-dollar Oysters with just a touch of brine and tender, wave-kissed Littleneck Clams. Judging by the full-flavored mind-blowing quality of every bite, there's a huge difference between value and price.

The happy hour Kelly's Punch is sparkling with gin and a splash of something pink. The girly grace doesn't pair all that well with salty shellfish, but at $5 a drink, I'm too busy sipping to complain. Plus everything tastes better with a happy hour buzz, so all I can say is bottoms up!

Harmonious Han Dynasty - Philadelphia

When I first made that drive from the east coast to the west, my guilt grew with every bump in the road, my remorse multiplied with every pothole, and I felt like I was cheating on New England, the love of my life. But after spending a year in SoCal, I'm not sure my love will last. This year I felt like I was cheating on the west coast when a conference forced me to fly back east.

Apparently Han Dynasty handles the conflict better than me. A once-modest hole in the wall, the new vaulted ceilings and mood-lit sky-high bar contains an air of subtlety similar to P.F. Chang's. But the sizzling Szechuan cuisine is unmistakably authentic with just a touch of Chinese-American, a marriage between the east and west.

The mouth-warming Dan Dan Noodles are peanutty-sesame-sweet, and the sauce brings on the heat without the mouth-numbing Sichuan signature spice.

The Tofu Garlic Sauce Style was more just salt and spice. The garlic is just enough to turn on the heat and not quite enough to end a relationship in a single breath. 

The Szechuan Sliced Fish was tenderly boiled in a red-hot pot of broth. This one was made with silken tofu instead of cabbage, which my dining companions didn't particularly care for. I grew up slurping silken tofu from my father's soups, but I think my friends felt the tofu could use a little Viagra.

East meets west at Han Dynasty and results in a harmonious marriage of authentic Szechuan with a tolerable level of spice. I don't know if I'll ever love both coasts without conflict, but I can only hope to handle it as well as Han Dynasty did.

Somewhat Satisfactory Seafood Unlimited – Philadelphia

When I was ten years old, my summer camp arranged for us to take a boat ride aboard the Liberty Belle. Sweet name. Worst name EVER for a boat. What idiot found it fitting to name a floating vessel after a historical treasure made famous by a gigantic crack? He might as well have named it Titanic.

The good news: Liberty Belle was a misnomer. There were no cracks in the boat. The bad news: Seafood Unlimited, which is about a mile from the Liberty Bell was also a misnomer. There is nothing unlimited about edible seafood and very well there shouldn’t be. Still I tried it for the promise of a happy hour menu (which turned out to be identical to their regular menu), and despite the 5-dollar margaritas, this place didn’t exactly float my boat.

The only unlimited thing at Seafood Unlimited was the shellfish.At $1 each, I could have eaten any amount of Oysters…without knowing what I was eating. Oysters are characterized by a briny, salt-water flavor, but these were totally tasteless. A friend in the restaurant business tells me that this happens when oysters are placed in ice but the ice melts and rinses out all the flavor. Translation: this seafood restaurant that doesn’t know how to store oysters. On the plus side, the flavorful Clams were also $1 and I could have easily enjoyed any number of those.

We moved on to the Crab Stuffed Calamari, for which I have only unlimited praise. The calamari was tender but chewy, they didn’t skimp on the succulent crab, and the basil oil added a silky luxury.

We moved on to Crab Spring Rolls, which were crammed with moist crab, but sadly the deep frying sucked out all the flavor. The oil worked for the calamari, but the spring rolls could have done without.

A seafood dinner may not be unlimited, but a seafood dinner feels utterly incomplete without a steaming bowl of Mussels. We picked the Thai green curry because it just sounded so awesome, but that combination turned out a little more like Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes: sometimes putting two good things together doesn’t necessarily make either one better. In this case, neither did putting two mediocre things together.

I know I deserve a scolding for expecting decent seafood in a city known for the lack thereof. There are definite limits to the quality of seafood in Philly in general so I guess any reproach is warranted. But from every less-than-stellar experience comes an important life lesson, and if Seafood Unlimited has taught me anything it’s that the seafood diet is a bad idea. Looks like I’ll have to a new motto next time I go to Philly because “see food and eat it” sure as heck didn’t work this time.

Assessing Audrey Claire - Philadelphia

I went to Philly to take a test of my clinical capability, and my patients were actors, paid to scrutinize my skill. I also went to Philly to test out a restaurant, and my patient was a BYOB establishment named Audrey Claire. When I started assessing restaurants, what I didn’t realize was that I ate while wearing my clinical cap. I had taken my white coat off, but I still assess restaurants much like I assess patients. When interviewing for an effective H&P (that’s history & physical, for those of you not in medicine but patient enough to read this far), I eat efficiently so I don’t prevent the restaurant from moving on to another customer, much like my need to transfer my attention to another patient in a timely manner. But a non-acute patient encounter should never feel rushed and neither should a dining experience. Like food, everyone has a different idea of exactly what comprises a good H&P. There’s no real right or wrong way if your information is, in fact, what the patient actually told you and your food is, in fact, what you actually ordered.

My chief complaint on my visit to Audrey Claire was my grief. My exam was a disaster, and the one palliating factor for my pain was the BYOB rule that allowed me a soothing glass of red wine minus the 300% markup, minus the exorbitant uncorking fee. Philly's slew of BYOB restaurants has me ready to relocate. The rest of my HPI (history of present illness) unraveled with the Mussels, an appetizer that cured my complaints. The mussels were absolutely perfect. Each and every morsel was juicy and all the shells were cooked wide open. The marinara sauce was a thin liquid with just the right amount of enhancing flavor. Its tantalizing tang clung to each mussel, a feat I had never seen any chef accomplish until that day. This prodigal platter drowned my grief even faster than the wine.

The Potato Crusted Ahi Tuna entrée was the more objective part of an H&P, a summary of relevant physical exam findings and labs. The tuna was observed to be a pretty pink crusted with the right number of breadcrumbs. The horseradish topper was tasty but somehow simultaneously unremarkable. The green beans were afebrile, which translates to steamed without being nuked, and the rice was too cheesy for me but overall the low end of normal.

Unfortunately, it was the Feta and Garlic Crusted Baby Rack of Lamb that abated my initially enthusiastic assessment of Audrey Claire. My lamb chops were undoubtedly baby lamb chops because they were tiny. There was no skimping on the portion so I was delighted by the delicate presentation. The problem is, anything with baby in front of it also has a more delicate flavor and cries easily. I cried when I realized that I couldn’t taste the baby-gamey flavor of the lamb under the heavy foot of what tasted like a giant box of Shake n’ Bake. But the asparagus and mashed potatoes were good and the mint labne was an amazing dipper – a dense, almost-sour cream that miraculously appeases those who hate sour cream. What Audrey Claire lacks in breading, they definitely make up for in sauces.

After every assessment, I make a plan to write. When writing, I try to capture the story of my meal, the tale my patient tells. I describe the courses, the complaints, the progression of how my night unfolds, the steps that brought my patient here. Like each patient, no two stories are alike. Some stories are abrupt and nonsensical and some stories just flow from my fingertips like a smooth ganache. But no matter what the story, I tell it like it is.

My final assessment of Audrey Claire is that she is a saucy, mature woman who lacks just a pinch of sophistication and innovation. The crust on the tuna tasted similar to the crust on the lamb and the sides were well-made though unimaginative. I still wonder if all that breading was an attempt to soak up the alcohol from the BYOB. I left confused and not just because of the wine, but one conclusion rings true. Despite the flaws, Audrey Claire’s mussels have won my allegiance all the way.