Ittyo – Cambridge

Sapporo had a line out the door…of the mall. Café Miami was bustling with business, and Tampopo is just soso. I’d normally wait for Sapporo, but my timing was pooro as I had less than an hour to eat before aerial silks practice. The food comes out fast, but I needed at least 15 minutes to digest.

People are all abuzz about Café Miami right now, and Ittyo just got tucked under their revamping wing. But judging by their grand total of one full table, I wasn’t the only skeptic in the house.

The Takoyaki fritters full of octopus shut my skeptical mouth pretty fast, and not just because it’s rude to chew with your mouth open. These great balls of fiery wasabi mayo were garnished with paper-thin flakes of something that wriggled like algae in an ocean, and they looked so unsettlingly alive that it took a while to get over and around them to the actual balls of octopus. But one little bite, and I was sold.

The takoyaki were a good size portion, and the size of the Shumai mattered as well. None of Tampopo’s itty-bitty-yo niblets but six sizable shumai stuffed with a bit of shrimp. The crab makes Tampopo’s taste marginally better but if you account for the size and barely-higher price, just say nono to Tampopo.

I’ve also tried the Noodle Soup with soba al dente and found no real difference to the wakame-flavored bowl of Tampopo. It’s a pretty basic seaweed broth so if that’s what you’re looking for, just pick one and gogo.

I had a crazy craving for a rice so I ordered the Teriyaki Chicken Donburi. I’d all but given up on this underrated classic that seems impossible to make well in an Asian kitchens. One common mistake is to douse a boiled, poorly-marinated chicken breast in sauce, but Ittyo definitely knew better. Here the teriyaki is a sweet glaze, which turned something ordinarily ordinary into something exceptional.  I licked my double-breasted bowl clean despite being optimistically half full from my appetizer.

I think I love Ittyo, but I don’t like long-distance relationships. Then again, the elusive, seductive Sapporo has proven its ability to make me go the distance, and Ittyo’s classic comforts have clearly caught a close second. And since it’s impossible to get a seat anywhere near Sapporo, I think I’ll spend more time saying “yo” to my new friend Ittyo.

Tarrying at Tampopo – Cambridge

I don’t know what Tampopo means, but personal experience translates it to udon. And that’s all I need to know. So who cares what gets lost in translation when you sit at a random restaurant to order a random dish? I’ll have my udon slower with more intensity.

No objections to snacking on four little Crab Shumai to start, but these are pretty much the microwaveable delights of Chinese-market freezer aisles status post legitimate steamer. And at $3.25, just wait for your weekly shopping trip to pay $4 for at least eight of these little half-bites.

The Pork Katsu Curry is a staple for the pre-midterm student or anyone who hasn’t eaten in days. The crispily fried cutlet is impressively resistant to sogginess as it clings to the curry but doesn’t soak. It’s a perfect fry job, but the breading is bland at best. The curry itself is a murky starch-thickened concoction in a generous portion in a size I can only describe as “Asian mom”. Unfortunately, I think all the salt went into…well…anything that wasn’t this dish.

Vegetarians need not fear, and the too-health-conscious-to-eat-meat-on-days-that-end-with-y need not starve. A piping hot Udon Bowl with veggie broth will douse your hunger pangs with a slightly briny side of wakame. The udon is al dente and the seaweed flavors this salty-sea soup. The chunks of soft marinated bean curd will fill you up and add a firmer texture so you’re not eating a bowl of mush.

Tampopo isn’t ideal, but the service is friendly and the food makes for a good square meal. And almost all the little Shops of Porter Square are practically cheap eats, averaging a little over $10 for most things and less for others. So make like a Pokemon master and try to catch ‘em all!

Sipping Sapporo Ramen – Cambridge

Porter Square may be far the heck away in Cambridge but I pronounce it Can-bridge. That’s not because I’m Asian. It’s because there is a little food court of epic proportions tucked away in the depths of Porter Square. This little food court with its modest array of little almost-small-enough-to-be-food-stands is rivaled only Allston’s Super 88 and stands as one of few reasons I CAN cross that BRIDGE.

Momofuku and Baohaus have ruined Pork Buns for me, and I never thought I’d find something respectable in Boston. I’m not talking about the sweet-then-savory pork boa of my dim sum days but the sweet simplicity of pork belly and hoisin sauce between two flaps of little white bun. At $5.50 for two, Sapporo’s are a steal. With moist cuts of shreddy pork, the lingering fatty savor makes even the fullest belly rumble.

When I’m with my friends, I’m usually the pasty one. But Sapporo’s Spicy Miso Ramen gives me a run for my money. Soft, dense grains of the white stuff glide down your throat, and if you add a red-hot kick of chili, you really start to taste the spicy ground pork. I’m relieved to find something pastier than me, but unlike me, the ramen actually pulls it off.

I’ve had few broths more perfect than the Kimchee Ramen. This combination of chewy al dente noodles sipped from a spoon of soul-warming soup is made more potent with the addition of spicy ground pork. The kimchee packs some punch, and the slices of juicy pork and a couple kernel of corn flavor the broth with a tolerable richness that almost made me ask for a straw.

The Charles River is beautiful, and it forms the division between bustling Boston and the cozy academia of Cambridge. Unfortunately, it often deters me from bridging the culinary gap. The prospect of crossing a bridge over troubled waters makes me groan even more than this shamelessly cheesy song reference, but for the surprisingly powerful food hub at Porter Square, I’d even let Jesus take the wheel of the red line train.

Comida Francaise at Chez Henri – Cambridge

I came to Chez Henri with no expectations, curious about just how a Cuban-infused Frenchman conducts himself. Does he smell of fresh baguette while he dances salsa? Does he add wine to his Cuba Libre (rum and coke)? Will the steak frites have habanero? Or will it be a menu of dueling cultures, a less bad version of Sibling Rivalry? Turns out, a miniscule bit of both.

The Ceviche Mixta was a fine fare, brought forth in martini glass within a vase. Yes, you heard me, martini glass within a vase. The ceviche itself was fresh and cold with a nice touch of mango and a tasty accompaniment of plantain chips. It was standard ceviche by all standards, but it served a higher purpose for me. Thanks to its bizarre presentation, I now know exactly what to do when I accidentally break the stem off one of my martini glasses after my b/f gets me flowers.

I usually steer clear of items like Chicken-Fried Quail, but I swear this was the sexiest quail I’ve ever had. Yes, quail can be sexy. I wouldn’t believe me either, but I tasted it. And it tasted sexy. I feared that the frying would mask the flavor of this seductive little gamebird, but it actually enhanced it. Like a well-tailored corset, the breading was a second skin (since the first was stripped off) and magnified the gamey-ness, giving the quail a dark, smoldering taste that conjures a dark-haired temptress from the Moulin Rouge.

The Steak Frites were the formal French fare you’d expect. Juicy steak, seared to the ne plus ultra of medium rare with crispy fries, frites by those who invented them. I’ve had far better, less mealy cuts of steak, but the bordelaise sauce was praise-worthy, and it hits the bullseye of cravings for French fare.

I tried the Criollo Bouillabaisse with great trepidation – any soupy seafood concoction will inevitably turn out to be either a fantastic feast or an utter disaster comparable only to the heinous proportions of fashion attained by the indescribably hideous Crocs. Fortunately, this was far better than Crocs. Not as thick as I’d like a stew to be, but full of fresh clams and mussels with a heaping helping of salmon and a white fish I can only guess was cod. A nicely fused dish, enhanced by a sprinkle of saffron and a kick of chipotle-garlic rouille.

The Chocolate Gateau dessert was Chez Henri’s number one endearing quality. As seductive as the quail, the long, dark, moist legs of chocolate cake interlaced with the best thick, buttery vanilla cream I’ve ever had in my life. It is rare for me to be seduced by a dessert, but for that one moment in time, it was enough to make me believe I no longer needed men.

So in the end, the “fusion” aspect of Chez Henri is, like the French, rather subtle. More understated that overstated, the bouillabaisse was probably the only item of true fusion. Aside from a sprinkle of saffron in a couple of entrees and the appearance of the classically Spanish ceviche, there is no real fusion in the food. Though the dishes were close enough to 4-star good, my disappointment in this establishment is slicing half a star off the top. Cuban cuisine opens myriad plumes of potential yet Chez Henri has not yet proven to be a capable multi-tasker. It seems that the food is mostly French and can only really be French or Cuban, not both. Though there is nothing truly reproachable about Chez Henri, and I could even see myself growing fond of it, I probably wouldn’t make the trek to Porter Square again. It’s far too far for far too few fusions.