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.

Pig Out at Pigalle – Boston

I can’t afford Pigalle. I’m well aware that I can’t afford Pigalle. And I would never have gone to Pigalle if not for a sweet Bloomspot deal of dinner for two at a price I could afford. And when I finally arrived for this night of stolen indulgence, the quiet ambiance of maturity set in elegant simplicity was a manifest sign that this sleek sophistication was far out of my league. The thing is, I really didn’t need a separate menu to remind me.

My idealistic mind insisted that a place this good wouldn’t skimp so I went into the appetizers with hope only to find that the Duck Liver Terrine was a silkier version of the mousse/pate I get at Trader Joe’s. My slice was so generous that I had to take more than half of it home, but the same amount costs $5 at TJ’s.

I always say call a rose a rose, and I’ve never been a fan of sugar-coating the truth. So I guess the Simple Arugula Salad (translation: pile of leaves drenched in vinegar) is my kind of salad.

My reaction to the salad is clearly a hate, but my reaction to Pigalle’s Cassoulet is almost as ambiguous as Kristin Stewart’s feeling for Robert Pattinson. So does she actually like him? Served in a cast-iron skillet, this cassoulet was every bit as hearty as you’d expect, but all the meat and the stew itself were pretty bland. And while the seemingly random assortment of meats made me feel like I was eating a huntsman’s catch in a log cabin in the woods, I can’t help but feel in the back of my mind that Pigalle just served me every piece of meat the kitchen had left over.

The Wild Mushroom Risotto was just plain delicious. No need to sugarcoat anything here. I dare say Pigalle’s true potential lies buried beneath these plump, buttery grains of savory rice tempered by chewy root veggies and an essence of mushrooms that made me wild. If everything else on the menu is like this, I’d come back for just one more bite.

The risotto renewed my faith in the Bloomspot menu…and kinda in all cooking, but the “Mini” Crème Brulee turned out to be the icing on the condescension cake. It looked like a very reasonable portion to me, and I couldn’t imagine wanting more, so I’m not sure why the name was there to remind me that my status didn’t warrant a full dessert. The crème brulee itself was as good as any other I’ve had so no need to describe. If you don’t know what crème brulee tastes like yet, look it up.

I thought the crème brulee was insulting, but the Caramelized Pineapple was a joke. I never complain about portion size, and I definitely never complain about fresh fruit, but come on, two slices of pineapple with burnt sugar on top is a pretty poor excuse for a course. The teaspoon of Greek yogurt sorbet was amazing, but there wasn’t enough of it to appreciate.

So thanks Pigalle, for letting plebeians like myself have a taste of fine dining we can’t otherwise afford. But thanks to this special menu, which looks the culinary equivalent of the short bus, I can barely rate you considering only two of the items I tried were from your menu. You see, Pigalle, you haven’t quite mastered the definition of a deal. When you offer a deal, the purchaser should benefit. Even Shakespearean groundlings at least got the front row. And after a whole two slices of pineapple, merci, but non.

Rooting for Russell House Tavern - Cambridge

Wikipedia tells me that the concept of a gastropub originated in Britain, a term coined to describe a bar and restaurant that serves high-end food and beer. And since Wikipedia also tells me how to practice medicine, clearly this definition is a fact.

Gershwin was American in Paris, and Russell House is British in Cambridge. And I guess the Hickory Smoked Pork Loin Sandwich is a Cuban...in a British gastropub…in Cambridge. The pork has a soft-spoken, mellifluous flow with a sweet accent of apple, but there’s no way this sandwich can stand in a city as deeply-rooted in American tradition without a bang of cheddar and aioli. Shoestring fried onions also break the formality of proper English and adds that loud crunch that can only be the refreshing taste of American.

When it comes to burgers, my biggest pet peeve is when the bun outgrows the burger. Burger patties inevitably slide forward as you keep taking bites, and by the time you get ready to savor that last bit of scrumptiousness, you find that the only remaining delight is a sliver of cheese in a face full of bun.

The Russell House Grass Fed Burger wins Boston Magazine’s Best Wrapping award, a prestigious commendation for the unsung English muffin, a bun that eliminates this problem. My favorite part about the English muffin is the size because bigger isn’t always better. Usually the burger fits snugly into a sesame bun, but here the thick, monstrous patty juts out from every side of the muffin, and yes, smart ass, I’m well aware that circles don’t have sides. Regardless of the container, it’s hard to argue with juice-dripping ground beef and thick slabs of bacon, topped with sweet caramelized onions.

Only one gastropub has managed to make its way into Michelin, because if that’s what Wikipedia says, then clearly that’s the truth. That gastropub is not Russell House, but it still puts 4 stars in my eyes. Besides, the British aren’t exactly known for their cooking so high-end bar food could really just mean it’s warm. But Russell House is an all-around win for lunch/brunch - their sandwiches are sublime. Now feed me a dinner entrée ducky, and we’ll see how it goes.

Alluring Asia SF – San Francisco

Walk into Asia SF and you’ll find that everyone but the bouncer is a female “gender illusionist”…or are they male? I don’t know. Now I’m confused. That’s why they should be called gender confusionists…or gender confucionists to go with the Asian theme. Call these ladies what you want, but the bottom line is, they’re stunning. And I don’t know their gender, which is part of the illusion, but I became pretty disillusioned about my own after a few minutes in this place.

The appetizers were expectedly abysmal. Clearly we came to feast only our eyes. The Porcupines tasted like a previously-frozen can of preservatives, an assaulting medley of shrimp and scallops with a flavor as prickly as the name suggests.

But pair that with a Katy Perry number, and it suddenly might taste like what you did Last Friday Night. Also, am I the only person who thinks that serving a plate of pricks is in poor taste in this particular setting?

I don’t know why the Miso Glazed King Salmon sits atop a throne of black muck called “forbidden” rice, but I do forbid you to eat it. The salmon itself is nothing to write home about either, but it may have been the most edible entrée.

There was nothing tender about the so-called Filet Mignon. The dipping sauce did very little to improve these sinewy strips, and the five potato stars on my plate were in no way indicative of the rating I gave this dish.

The potato stars may not have any star quality, but this lady sure did. Too beautiful to be a woman, too much a woman to be a man, the only illusion she casts is one of silent admiration.

I don’t remember what this dessert was, but the dark chocolate mousse/crème was a pretty good accompaniment to the fresh cubes and spears of mango. I think this might have been the best dish of the night, and I’m guessing that’s because it required the least cooking.

The Banana Beignet Split was pretty edible, consisting of bananas with a crispy coating drizzled with chocolate sauce and stuck into a generous scoop of vanilla ice cream. And I’m not sure how appropriate it is to serve bananas…

One star for the food, five stars for the experience. I hate even posting a review for a place that is minus-one for the money and plus-two for the show, but there is just no scene like this one so go at least once…but only once.