The Taco Truck – Boston

There was a lot of hype surrounding The Taco Truck. So I had to go. The hype was what hype usually is – hyped up.

I had palpitations waiting for the Aguacate Tostada Tacos, and I nearly had a heart attack trying to eat them. The black beans were little gallstones drowning in what reminded me of a salty murky biliary sludge. I had to choke it down, despite the stingy solitary slice of fried avocado. I wouldn’t touch that taco again even if the avocado had twins.

The Carnitas Michoacan Tacos were decent, and the guacamole topper is worth paying extra. But it was forgettable at best. Nothing wrong, nothing right. I can barely recall the taco, and I’d just as soon forget the truck.

Pleasing Park Restaurant and Bar - Cambridge

From the moment I saw that parking was validated (on weekdays only) for the garage directly above the restaurant, I knew that it was going to be a good night to Park. Though I should probably pronounce it Pahk if I'm extolling the awesomeness of a restaurant in Hah-vahd Square.

Park houses the ultimate casual, unpretentious, tavern-esque ambiance with food far better than the no-frills unfinished wooden tables and booths would suggest. It's the ideal place to grab a beer and a couple appetizers to snack on or to go out for a fun dinner date. My night started on a lovely note with the goat cheese dip – no boring bread served here!

The Roasted Beets in red and yellow are sweet and juicy with creamy goat cheese and a tangy citrus dressing. This cool-as-a-cucumber salad is the sweet summer Blue Moon with a slice of orange. That first cold sip of a Belgian beer brightens a summer day and whets the appetite when Boston's stifling heat and humidity overwhelm it.

The Crispy Duck Leg with a sharp blackberry glaze is a Guinness – meant to whet the appetite but becomes a meal. The bed of lentils stick to your belly with all the solid density of a frothy stout, but the dark-meat duck remains light and juicy, smooth as a Tsingtao with all the full-bodied flavor of the Guinness.

  

The Summer Tomato Risotto is the ultimate successful adaptation of a warm winter dish into something light and summery. It tasted nothing like bitter parmesan, and the cool, fresh mozzarella with tangy tomato make it as light as an ice-cold Allagash White.

I didn’t know that belly was a cut of lamb until I ordered the Grilled Lamb Belly. It’s a lot like pork belly with a thin, crispy skin and a thick layer of fat, but the strong flavor of lamb prevails to add a gamey quality. The fat also mollifies the lamb in turn, achieving the perfect balance of pure alcohol vs hops, as harmonious as the Delirium Tremens we drank.

The Peach and Plum Pie was filled with a chewy, non-goopy fruit, just the way I like it, but at best, it’s the ordinary Coors Light you pop open at a friend's summer barbecue – nothing special. The crust was a bit too hard, probably baked too long. I appreciated the lack of added sugar, but the fruit didn’t have much flavor either.

The rich, dense Triple Chocolate Terrine is Young's Double Chocolate Stout all the way. A stout so thick it might as well be served on a plate, so rich you slosh it around in your mouth to break it up before swallowing. Like the stout, the terrine is the perfect eat-it-slow texture, a dense, not-too-sweet chocolate loaf, a nightmare of indulgence for the Puritans that once ruled in Mass.

Speaking of Puritans, Park is as Bostonian as Sam Adams and as laid back as Harpoon. It is the ultimate Cambridge restaurant. This dimly-lit den of dining radiates warmth, and the little hearth in the middle adds to the pre-revolution spirit of the casual yet unified American tavern. The wooden tables are unpretentious, and the general attitude is one of chattery contentment. It is almost puritanical in its simplicity…except you’re allowed to drink…and wear colors other than black…and be happy… Basically, Park had me at the beer. Everything else was just icing on the cake. Park is the right mix of all that is good, and it is my cup of tea, my flagon of ale, and my stein of beer.

Pho Pasteur - Boston

After the first pilgrims landed on Plymouth Rock, most didn’t make it through their first cruel New England winter. But if Squanto had had the foresight to feed them pho instead of maize, I wager at least 90% of them would have survived. Then again, if Columbus had asked for directions, they might have actually found Vietnam as well as the Indies…

Nowadays, few people die in Boston during the frigid frost, and I attribute most of that to Pho Pasteur. At Pho Pasteur, a measly $7 buys you a gigantic (size small) steaming bowl of beef noodle soup (Pho, duh) with tripe, tendon, and rare steak. Brisket and well-done flank steak are other options, and every permutation is available depending on what you want in your bowl. A few drops of Sriracha and this almost-two-meal bowl warms you to the core. I was almost sweating despite the arctic air conditioner and anyone who knows me knows that the sun is more likely to rise in the west.

If you love cows or want to watch your girlish figure, the Pho Chay is the same-priced vegetarian answer with soft tofu in a veggie broth. Sriracha is still a must, but for once, the vegetarian option is not inferior.

So skip the line at Gourmet Dumpling House if you lack the patience and save your money if you’re not feeling My Thai. If you’re low on time and high on hunger before catching the latest flick, duck into Pho Pasteur for a cheap bowl of Chinatown chow.

Spectacular Sushi Yasuda - NYC

Wow is one of my favorite words in the English language. It’s one of those words that clearly conveys what it means. There is the exclamatory “WOW”, where even the letters look excited and explosive, with the wide-eyed W’s and the O like an open mouth of shock. Then there is the sad “oh wow”, when something tragic or gruesome occurs, and the little o’s look sympathetic, and the w’s become furrowed brows, and the word is accompanied by a shake of the head. Then there is the ever-sarcastic “wowwww” when you hear or read one of my really badly nerdy jokes, where the o’s are rolled…and so are the eyes.

Sushi Yasuda was the first kind, the kind in all caps. The kind that widens your eyes and drops your jaw except you quickly close your mouth when you realize it’s agape to avoid spilling even a drop of that spectacular sushi . Just don’t open your mouth when you’re drinking their amazing Green Tea.

I used to see appetizers as a teaser to the meal, but I’ve been to entirely too many places where the appetizers have all the WOW, leaving none for the entrees. The Kane Miso really did have all the WOW. Crab roe mixed with a grainy touch of miso makes for a mouth-melting, eye-popping wow.

The Kane Miso was undoubtedly tops, but the lowercase wow provided by the Hone was a salty, welcome contrast. And by lowercase, I don’t mean sad, I mean quiet and subtle. The crunchy crisps of flash-fried eel have none of the in-your-face richness of crab butter, but the sea salt and soft savor of the eel emerges seconds after swallowing. And it holds all the addictiveness of Japanese Pringles – once you pop, you can’t stop.

From left to right, Toro, Shimaji (?), Red Snapper, Sockeye Salmon, New Zealand King Salmon, Sepia, Mirugai, and California Uni. It is impossible to describe each piece separately, and if I were to try, I can clearly picture the head-shaking wows from each reader as one by one, they stop reading. So notable highlights only. The toro is rich and savory, the sockeye salmon is unbelievably sweet and tasty, and the NZ king salmon melts on the tongue. The mirugai is one of my all-time faves, and it’s rare that I catch the chewy-brine of giant clam in season. The uni was brinier than what I had in China, but sea urchin roe is always amazing.

The next two courses are the heavier enders. The value of a fresh Ebi is always grossly underrated, but this one was nothing special. The Sawani Eel is out of this world, and it has rendered me incapable of enjoying eel ever since. Its sweet flesh required none of the corruption of eel sauce, and it was unthinkable that so much flavor came from something so pure and white.

Our omekase was over, but we still hungered for more. Let’s just say the Ocean Trout and another melt-in-your-mouth salmon were the smoothest finish to a perfect meal.

Our server was as sweet as the sushi. Soft-spoken but bubbly and ever-so-polite, she made sure the dirty dishes never dwelled. Just be prepared to abide by the rules in Yasuda-san’s house. Eat your nigiri with your fingertips and don’t add soy or wasabi - it's too perfect to drown in sinus-clearing green stuff or rivers of black. Especially when supping at the sushi bar, be prepared to shut up, snag your sushi with clean fingers, and shove the soy sauce aside. If you'd rather indulge with your own free will, you will find Sushisamba becomes a superior substitute.

At Sushi Yasuda, even the biggest WOW is unable to capture the explosion in your mouth when Yasuda's sweet sushi hits. Most people wouldn't describe sushi as sweet, but there is no better word to capture the umami uproar, and there is no better description for the feeling that comes after.

Baohaus - NYC

For a face, Menelaus launched a thousand ships and burned the topless towers of Ilium. For street food at the hole-in-the-wall restaurant that is Baohaus, I launched a new subset of blogposts and burned...well, I didn't actually burn anything...clearly my approach was far less heroic...and far less excessive. I wouldn’t have launched any more than a hundred ships for Diane Kruger's Helen.

When you go to Baohaus, try not to be deterred by the across abomination known as IHOP. Whoever allowed such an eyesore in the quaint quiet of the Lower East Side should be shot...or forced to drink a pitcher of syrup. Tomato, tomato.

So squeeze through the stiffly-hinged, impossible-to-open door, squish down the narrow aisle between the food prep area and the wall and order your Chairman Bao at the register. Greasy slab of pork belly between two fold-over slabs of soft steamed bao leaves nothing to be desired. Except one more bao. One is never enough, even if you get other stuff. If you don't eat/don't like pork, the Haus Bao is a beefy alternative, and there's a broccoli bao and a tofu bao to appease the vegetarians/hippies/girls too prissy to eat meat. At a whopping $3-3.50 each, just drink one less beer next time you go out. Though if you had done that in the first place, maybe you wouldn't have ended up at Baohaus.

The Taro Fries with Haus sauce are tasty and better than any potato.

If you're not feeling the Taro Fries, the sweet Baofries with black sesame or glowing green pandan glaze are a crispy carb. These little bao bites just might be your cup of tea...or box of Bao...Though why would you ever back down at the sight of taro fries?

If you're thirsty go for a refreshing sugar-water Ai Yu Jelly Lemonade or any other unique made-in-China-just-like-everything-else bottled teas or juices.

So yes, I have just compared Baohaus to Helen of Troy...and a Brad Pitt movie, in case you missed the reference. But all mythological hyperboles aside, Baohaus is the ultimate late-night New York experience. A hole-in-the-wall serving up otherworldly street food after hours is the foundation on which the city that never sleeps builds its reputation. So when there’s no drivin’, no sleepin’, and you live it up like it’s the weekend, make sure you end your weekend at Baohaus.

Egg Puffs - Boston

After stuffing myself with Avana’s sushi, I was devastated to find that I couldn’t conclude my culinary conquest properly. I was definitely missing the mochi that day, but before I could despair, the answer to my dessert-prayers dashed across the corner of my eye.  Within arm’s reach, little golden egg puffs were unloaded from an egg-puff iron (what the heck would you call that thing?).  A mere $3 buys 30 of these semi-sweet pull-apart nubbins of pastry that proved to be my semi-sweet salvation. So save yourself when you’re salivating for something semi-sweet. These could be yours for the price of 1.5 songs on overpriced iTunes.

Cheap Eats, a New Frontier

You're starving. You're hung over. You're poor. You're all 3 of the above. Or just this once you're tired of those exquisite, high end meals your daddy's (or sugar daddy's) credit card pays for and you just want something off a truck. Or you're a fine-dining foodie with the overwhelming urge to unearth the unsung, to obliviate obscurity, to holla at all those hallowed hole-in-the-wall hovels that make a miraculous meal. So here I am, here are my posts, here is my chance to be Robin Food, to steal the business from the rich restaurants and give them to the poor. Though I'd really rather just steal the food for myself - forget altruism, that's for Robin Hood.

Like cheap eats, these posts should be simple. Cheap eats are basic, made with primal ingredients, eating with a feral instinct to survive whatever hangover, heartbreak, craving, or inkling urge lies in your path to nirvana or salvation...or salivation. So these posts will be simple. Coded under "cheap eats", they will be thumbs up or down. I go or I don't. You go or you don't. Thumbs up, you miss out, thumbs down, you back out. No crazy criteria, just how good it tastes. Service is NOT a factor, even if it's atrocious - if your food is practically free, you're not getting service. No deductions for food poisoning either. You knew what you were getting into though most cheap eats will be so coated with a layer of sanitary grease that not a thing can grow. I'll rate a few nearby drug stores for their ability to sell immodium and alka-seltzer if it really becomes an issue.

So thumbs up or thumbs down, it really can be that simple. It's parcels for the poor, savories for the stingy, and vittles for the vinos. And as always, practice safe eating and enjoy at your own risk.