Pomme Frite - Palm Springs, CA

One weekend, one restaurant. I love this romantic little Belgian nook, and I don’t even need to try the others. 

Two dinner means double the dishes, and I love every dish. It’s bistro-style with generous portions of both entrees and apps, and the prix-fixe is a steal. They have an impressive selection of Belgian beer that smells pretty good from where I’m sitting. The wine list looks like a winner as well - indulge if you can. 

A small dish of Mediterranean Olives is a starter that’ll carry you through a rich, meaty dinner. The olives are juicy and plump, and the acid keeps your palate sharp. 

The Escargot is a must, a plate of fresh, imported snails soaked in butter, butter, and butter. 

The French Onion Soup boils in a porcelain tureen, encased in a crust of gruyere so thick you need scissors. 

The salads hardly qualify as lighter fare. The Cesar Salad comes in sliceable whole leaves dipped in a creamy dressing, cheesy croutons, and a breath of citrus. You don’t have to love anchovies to appreciate them here. 

The Saturday night special, a tender half Duck a L’Orange, sweet in a syrup glaze, permeating a rich side of roasted veggies. Crunch into their namesake fries - you can’t just have one. 

All this would be better with beer or wine, and I still found a way to wine. No alcohol allowed, but the Mussels in white beer will get you some of the flavor with none of the content. 

One of few places where the desserts are on par with the mains. The Gateau of Belgian Chocolate is a rich, dark mousse in a river of nutty cream. 

I haven't had a Floating Island in over a decade, and this decade is better because of this one. The meringues are impossibly fluffy and light. They melt in your mouth, sweet and fleeting. 

Sweet and fleeting, much like this Palm Springs weekend. I regret leaving Pomme Frite almost as much as I regret going back to real life. Hopefully it's still here when I come back, otherwise it was one heck of a mirage. 

Pomme Frites – NYC

If your restaurant only serves one thing, it better be good. Props to Pomme Frites for sticking to what they do best. And nothing else. Major props for not bending to the continuous pressure to supplement their servings. With no caving to customer cravings and no willing the whims for wilder ingredients, Pomme Frites is a restaurant for those with a one-track mind.

In case you haven’t figured it out yet, they serve French fries. In French. And nothing else. Sounds boring at first glance, but their massive sauce menu ranges from mundane barbecue to every flavor of mayo including organic black truffle and smoked eggplant and covers more continents than the wine list at Ayza.

We split the large, dunked in Curry Ketchup and Blue Cheese. The fries are a perfect golden brown, crisp on the outside, soft within. The perfect snack during an East Village stroll, the perfect cure during an East Village stumble. 

From South End to Saus – Boston

I was really hoping to get soused at Saus after the worst exam of my life, but it turns out that they don’t serve beer. Not that it matters – the food did wonders for the symptomatic management of my post-medicine shelf PTSD. Still, if they started doling out beer that was as Belgian as their waffles, I would truly be in heaven…or Tucker Maxx hell…

If I were to go to Europe and order Poutine off the street, this is exactly what I would get. The poutine gravy is a bit too salty and the starch in the gravy was separating like day-old hot and sour soup as we ate, which made the fries a little soggy in the middle. But it’s somehow still good, and the boulder-sized chunks of cheese curd melted into the gravy, and if I had a hangover and a genie, I would wish for this.

Saus is Dutch for sauce, and it really is all about the sauce here. The Spicy Frikandel is as urgently good as its name. This surprisingly well-seasoned but not too salty sausage in a toasted bun doused in chipotle and jalapenos is one of those things that if you’re starving and need a classic meat-and-bread meal, you’d say something like “GET ME A FREAKING-DEL!” We were told that the special is even better than the spicy despite being an acquired taste, but I just couldn’t bring myself to choose curry ketchup and mayo over chipotle…Maybe next time…

The name Saus is a harsh sound, but there’s nothing harsh about a crispy Belgian waffle drizzled with half lemon cream and half salty caramel. The salty caramel wasn’t actually salted, but who can really object to caramel?

Saus is actually quite difficult to find. It’s buried between the expansive Union Oyster House and the looming Bell in Hand Tavern so it’ll force you to look hard for your food. But you are rewarded handsomely for scanning storefronts…So when you having one of THOSE nights, you’re clearly soused, and your night is going South, drink water, pop a multivitamin, and pass out (hopefully in your own bed) and dream about just how well Saus will cure your hangover in the morning.