It's been awhile

It's definitely been awhile since I've reported my eating escapades, and you can thank the common cold for this post. An apology may be in order, but considering the hiatus I may have to issue another after the brevity (and deficiency) of this entry. Here's a rundown of the places serving the most popular food in the world by population: Little India and Chinatown. These are just the ones I've been to in the past few months, since my memory is shot from heavy drinking...

For Indian, best to worst, Naan on Devon, Hyderabad House, Hema's Kitchen, Sher a Punjab, Ghareeb Nawaz.

Naan, Hyderabad, and Ghareeb, if you're out late. Hyderabad and Naan had the grimiest, yet most tasty biryani. Ghareeb is about as consistent as a box of chocolates. You never know what you're going to get.

Hema's for a date, just because its clean, but it's about as bold as 6 point Arial, no caps. If you go here, I don't think you've really haven't tried Indian food.

Sher a Punjab is the mean--neither exceptionally late nor clean, and the food does what its supposed to do.

On to Chinatown, where I have very recently (um, last night) found my new favorite Chinese restaurant: Lao Shanghai. This is the Chinese place I've longed for--one that features a"Very Chinese" menu. No joke. The heading for one of the menu pages actually read "Very Chinese". I wouldn't go here for the kung bao blank, mongolian blank, blank chow fun, or the blank fried rice (although I've sure they perform those well too). We impressed the manager when we ordered the Dong Po pork knuckle, some fried eel served on a sizzling plate, the xia jiang style lamb, fried beef liver--Chinese style obviously. Perhaps it was that we enjoyed our meal for the most part without the pretentiousness of chopsticks (cmon, steamed pork knuckle with chopsticks?) She came out to ask if it was our first time and how I heard of the place (Yelp and word 'o mouth). Like I mentioned, they probably do some of the more Americanized staples brilliantly, so don't be afraid if you aren't as adventurous. I will try their xiaolongbao next time, as I hear those are good too.

A dim sum place to check out is Triple Crown, not to be confused with Triple Crown Seafood Restaurant. This Triple Crown you can't miss because you'll find it right on Wentworth. All I had there was the chicken feet and congee, but I realized immediately this place deserved my repeated business.

Now excuse me while I marinate in my rhinovirus and polish off the last of this eel.

Dim sum anyone?

Dim Sum Sunday was long over due, so it was time for it at Phoenix in Chinatown, home to arguably the best mini-plate food cart derby in town. A charming little lady, who we came to so affectionally call the “Dim Sum Lady”, dazzled us with a collection of plates filled with parts of animals many people in this country seem to think as garbage...

We beckoned her over to see if she had any chicken feet, a dim sum staple for us. 

            "No.  Later."  Polite, through a distinct Chinese accent.  Fortunately, we had enough food in front of us to tie us over for a little while longer. 

On her second pass, she wheeled by some egg tarts yellow like the sun, and dumplings which we had already dabbled in earlier.  No feet.  

            "I know.  Chicken feet.  Later."  Maybe she could intuit our waning patience, but it was probably the plates now almost empty with little more than puddles of garlic and green chili sauce and the paper tablecloth speckled with hot chili oil and sauce stains that indicated to her the fervor of our eating endeavor.   

            The third time is the charm, so they say.  A final pass:

            "Chicken feet!  I know you want.  More?"

The more didn't mean more chicken feet, as one small plate was good for two. She was implying she had the good stuff, the stuff the potsticker-loyalists don’t know about because they taste with their eyes and preconceptions instead of their palletes. Pandora’s Box was opened, as a flurry of edible evils was unloaded from her cart of mini bamboo steamers and surprises hidden under dainty aluminum lids. One by one they came.  

            "You like?"  

            "Yes. We'll take that.  And that too.  Thank you!"

            Indeed.  Thank you, Dim Sum Lady.        

The Silver Palm

“This is a work of genius, in an evil way…. A two-fisted symphony of pork, cheese, fat, and starch… that sandwich is the greatest sandwich in America. This is the apex of the sandwich-making art… the sandwich that dreams are made of.”

--Anthony Bourdain

If you were looking for the best pork sandwich in Chicago (and quite possibly the known universe), you'll find it in an old dining car installed at the corner of Milwaukee and Chicago.  The Silver Palm (768 N. Milwaukee) was one of those lucky places to be on the Bourdain tour of Chicago, as seen on No Reservations.  If you've seen that episode, you'll remember that Mancow took Tony to this eatery to show off the Three Piggy Sandwich.  I decided to meet the guys there Friday after work.  Unfortunately, some of us weren't as prepared as we would have liked to have been going into this mad experiment.  We knew very well what we were getting ourselves into: a panko-breaded pork cutlet, multiple slabs of smoked ham, a layer of bacon, Gruyere, an onion ring, and two fried eggs, all stacked high on brioche.  Brilliant and sublime.  My caloric appraisal would be no less than 2,500, but I wouldn't be surprised if it was 1,000 more than that. 

I went the less macho, more intelligent route splitting it with a friend.  I told the server my intentions, so they cut it in half for us and brought it out on two plates.  Divide and conquer.  

For a moment (three to four seconds), I felt guilty eating this threesome on a bun, the cast of which could be deconstructed and reassembled to feed a family of four.  But then I rationalized its consumption believing it was created for some higher purpose, as Mr. Bourdain suggests.  Whatever helps me sleep at night, right?  Unless you are in peak physical and mental form, I would advise against hubris in this situation, as another friend decided to dance with all three piggies at once.  Getting it all down proved to be only half the battle, as the Three Piggies eventually got the best of him.  The ensuing gastric impasse brought a grown man to his knees.  A humbling experience, to say the least.  Consider yourself warned. 

I definitely plan to head back to the Palm for some of the other sandwiches on the menu.  In particular, one duck breast sandwich caught my eye.  The Three Piggy alone is enough to bring me back.  Now, if there was just some way I could work out a schedule of regular visits between my cardiologist and this place...     

Divorce on the horizon

I've been doing some thinking.  Being that this blog is the Chicago Smorgasbord, it should be my candid, uncensored, and eventually insightful take on Chicago food culture.  Yet as it is my blog, I do exercise the right to talk about whatever I want.  However, it may already be apparent that one of my causes for writing is to be a champion of Filipino cuisine.  Being as such, I feel it necessary at some point in the near future to divide my passions, so I can achieve a better focus in each regard.  More explanation, perhaps?

This is taken from the ultimate source of all knowledge in the universe, Wikipedia: (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Asian_American#Demographics)

The 2006 U.S. census recorded 14.6 million people who reported themselves as having either full or partial Asianheritage, 4.9% of the U.S. population. The largest ethnic subgroups are Chinese (3.6 million), Filipinos (2.9 million),Asian Indians (2.7 million), Vietnamese (1.6 million), Koreans (1.5 million), and Japanese (1.2 million). Other sizable groups are Cambodians/Khmers (206,000), Pakistanis (204,000), Laotians (198,000), Hmong (186,000), and Thais(150,000).^[25]     

As you see, Filipinos are the second largest Asian-American ethnic group in the United States, yet our cuisine remains one of the most obscure.  There are only about 150,000 Thais, but when I think of food trends and popularity in the U.S., Thai is near the top of that list.  I love Thai food just as I love Chinese, Japanese, Vietnamese (and whatever "eses" I'm leaving out), as well as Indian and Korean, etc. etc.  It's not that any of these are better or more worthy of attention, but Filipino cuisine lacks true ambassadors and lacks a common marketing scheme, after all this is the land of unabashed and shameless capitalism.  The Chinese and Japanese, great businessmen as they are, were able to adapt their cuisines for the American pallette.  (You think that Philadelphia Roll you're ordering can be considered sushi?  Wanna bet on who eats more egg rolls, the U.S. or China?  Yeah, I know they outnumber us 100 to 1.  You wanna give me those odds?)  Indians and Koreans have been less yielding of their authenticity, but who can in their right mind deny some spicy curry (as long as its on the plate and not infused into the fibers of your clothing,) and what American doesn't like a good barbecue, even if it is Korean?  Somewhere in the middle, between adaptation and authenticity, lies the path for Filipino cuisine in America.  

I think many Americans have tried Filipino food either in the form of lumpia or pancit.  We may have been at a potluck with a Filipino in attendence, and 9 times out of 10, he or she is in charge of making sure everyone gets their fill of fried spring rolls and noodles.  It's a start.  A grassroots campaign might work.  But not when some fat, bald dude on The Travel Channel decides to show off for amusement the infamous delicacy of "aborted duck egg", a.k.a balut.  Or how about when balut is featured on Fear Factor as the "how-the-fuck-can-you-eat-that" item of the day?  If you don't know what I refer to, youtube (v.) "balut" and let me know what you think.  I'm not bitter towards any of the bad press.  After all, there are bizarre foods all over the world per Mr. Zimmern.  But if our marketing campaign consists of sporadic doses of egg rolls, noodles, and mass media featuring victims triple-dog-dared into eating aborted duck eggs (as free as that press may be), we're doomed.  And so I will take it face the challenge, hopefully to be taken up by my fellow Filipino-Americans, to be the conduit of change as to how our food is celebrated in this amalgamated society called America.  If we're lucky, soon you will see how and why I care for this cause, whether its by showcasing various traditional dishes in my kitchen, taking you to establishments stateside, but also hopefully soon across the Pacific to the Motherland. 

Soon I will divorce these two passions of mine--championing my own heritage and exploring food as a whole by way of this quintessential American city of Chicago--but only as two channels on the same television.  Flip back and forth as you please, but just don't break the set. 

  

New Poll: Tacos

Peeve #70: Flour tortillas with tacos.

I'm reminded of an experimentish-style-game-endeavor I conceived of a few months ago...  

Being that there is no dearth of Mexican eateries in Chicago, I would find it interesting to see what sort of new places you could find if you simply drove around aimlessly within city limits for 10 minutes and went into the next Mexican establishment you came across.  I would be willing to bet there are more Mexican places than McDonald's in this great city, so it could definitely work, and it might give a chance to those technologically challenged dives that get little or no press.  (I will throw myself off the soon-to-be-atrociously-named Willis Tower if I hear another word about, dare I say it, La Pasadita.)

If there is anyone willing to try this out, I'll let you report about your journey.  In particular, if you find a place with great menudo you can call me personally.  It goes without saying but I'll say it anyway:  Taco Bell, Chipotle and the likes do not count. 

No Reservations soon.  

Best Pho in Chicago: TANK?

Like true Americans circa 2004, you've all managed to vote Tank Noodle as President of the Pho in Chicago.  Idiots.

Just kidding.  I love you all...like I love Forrest Gump.

New poll shortly.  

Apology REJECTED

Sorry folks, but I've indefinitely postponed the Nathan's v. Vienna Throwdown.  I eventually did eat all those dogs (frankfurters for all you smart asses, although you can't put eating a canine past a Filipino), but for a few reasons I thought it best to just leave this one out:

1) I decided each Fred had his respective Ginger Rogers--Nathan's parlayed the kraut while Vienna could run a marathon in the garden;

2) I ate so many hot dogs by myself that I may need an emergency colon cleanse, assuming those exist--if they don't, they should for this very reason; and

3) They're fucking hot dogs, so who really gives a damn. 

It seemed like a good idea at the time, but believe you me it wasn't.  

In the meantime, stay tuned for some rapid fire blogging (relatively speaking).  I've hit a lot of new places in the past few weeks so I have some catching up to do, but I'm feeling inspired after realizing that my brother's photog career is T-minus 10 to liftoff.  Can't have the little bro show me up, although I am seriously considering the Ashlee Simpson route to fame--a leapfrog maneuver, if you will...

...or maybe I'll  just end up being the Tito to his Michael.  Cheers.

COMING SOON: Nathan's vs. Vienna

I promise to have this Duel up towards the end of the week.  Understand that I must punish myself after this past weekend.  I've consumed enough crap in the past 72 hours to bust a septic tank the size of Lake Michigan. 

Friday.  Sweet potatoes fries and Blue Moons at Townhouse Restaurant & Wine Bar.  Innocent enough, but  moonlighting at Hop Haus?  Nachos, buffalo wings, and mini cheeseburgers, all washed down with one part each of Alba Scots Pine Ale and Dogfish Head.     

Saturday.  A morning bowl of pho courtesy of the folks at Pho 888.   The night cap was a pair of Bacci's giant slices adorned with bacon, sauasge and pepperoni, dressed up with red pepper flakes and parmesan cheese.  Consider this halftime because I ran out of steam here.  I ate half a slice before passing out...

Sunday.  Second wind.  This time I pace myself by eating half a Bacci's for breakfast and another for a midafternoon snack.   The day winds down and I feel like Kobe about to take over the fourth quarter.  I owe Aussie a bowl of the good stuff so we head back to Pho 888.  I'm there so often these days, the owner mistakenly thought I was there that morning.  Needless to say, I absolutely punished that beef-noodle grand finale.  I could have sanitized the bottom of the bowl with my tongue, but I felt the sudden urge to act like a lady and leave a little behind.  

Monday.  The encore.  For lunch, some Kung Pao Chicken at Silk Road (winner of the most ironic name in the Loop). And if you did your math right, you'd realize I still had another half of Bacci's strategically rationed for dinner.    I resisted the primal urge to dredge the lettuce leaves of the accompanying side salad with poppy seed dressing, rationalizing that just maybe I'd have to take a drug test in the next week. 

After reading this series of unfortunate (or delicious, depending on your take) events, you must realize why at the moment I am in no condition to decide Nathan's or Vienna Beef.  But rest assured, unlike the US economy, I will recover.     

Eating like a rockstar

What: Dogs with Rockstar monikers
Venue: Rockstar Dogs (corner of Chicago and Ashland), ~3:30 am.
Bottomline: Accessible late night dogs. Decent to boot. 

Flaming. Vedder. Tommy Lee.

Another Saturday late night, hungry as usual. Chinatown was considered, but coming from The Store, it was too far and frankly a cliché. Fortunately, I remembered that the Vedder Dog made Timeout Chicago's Dish Wish List of 2008, so we zoomed via auto. Parking--a cinch, but perhaps many were home having Valentine's sex. A cash only joint, but no worries because there's an ATM fee patiently waiting inside. 

I ordered a Vedder, Aussie a Flaming Lips, and Ian a Tommy Lee. Vedder was a cheesy, charred take on the Chicago classic. The Flaming was flaming, obviously. And Tommy Lee was an allusion to that infamous phallus. Good eats. The fries had Aussie raving all the way home. Definitely from a frozen package, but delectable nonetheless. 

So was the Vedder worthy of a Best 100 list? Nope, but I realized TOC's credibility was questionable after seeing Pork and Scrambled Eggs at Hon Kee on their list. True litmus: am I compelled to take a detour for a rockstar? Definitely not, but if it's past a weekend midnight, we happen to be in the area, and no one is craving Chinese grease, we'll be there.

(Tip: There is another location in Lincoln Park on Armitage.)

888

What: The best pho on Argyle. 
Venue: Pho 888 (on Argyle, off Broadway); not to be confused with any other digit thrice repeated.
Bottomline: A destination worth the pilgrimage for any zealous pho enthusiast. 

The Macapugay thumb of approval.

We were pleasantly surprised by a wait staff that would actually fill up our water, but even more surprised at the pho served up here. A symphonic broth with all the usual cast, each ingredient at an appropriate volume, and all in harmony with the melodic beef notes sung by bone marrow and braised meat. I'd pay double for this stuff if I had to, but please don't tell them that. 

If you've never had pho, this is a good starting point and a prime example of what pho should be.

BTW, peeve #163: pronouncing pho "foe". It's pronounced "fuck" without the "ck".

See my full review on Yelp:

http://www.yelp.com/biz/pho-888-chicago#hrid:KSUIxMaCw2d7paDS2-yDrg

Phood Porn

Watching Bourdain slide wet pho noodles through his lips was one of the sexiest things I've ever seen, and I say that with the utmost security in my sexuality. 

Hearing him call pho his death row meal has validated my previously sad existence, and I am eternally grateful. Hyperbole, pehaps. But I can't help but feel compelled to baptize my unborn children in a 12 hour broth muddled with beef essence and a potpourri of spices scientifically engineered to elicit oral orgasms. 

Thank you, Mr. Bourdain.

Sausage Fest

Ze double team.

After watching Bourdain house a foie gras and duck sausage on No Reservations, it was time for the Dynamic Duo to check out Hot Doug's on California and Roscoe. I personally made an attempt at the infamous line a couple years ago, but failed miserably so today Aussie and I made a blood pact to wait out the line at whatever cost to life or limb. An hour and a half later came the payoff.

The foie gras and duck sausage wasn't fucking around, although I do prefer a contrast in texture whenever I ingest something that rich.  Even charring the outside of the sausage would have given it something, but who am I to complain? Easily the greatest development in encased meat preparation, since some genius decided to stick these things in buns. 

As for the Gator Dog?  For starters, it smelled like God's sweaty socks.  You know--the ones He's been wearing since, oh say eternity?  I'm to blame knowing full well this Creation was topped with the holiest of Blue Cheese--St. Pete's.  I love the stuff, but this was like showing up to work in a tuxedo.  The sausage alone was worthy of extra salivation, but perhaps the gator was just my rebound when I really longed for more foie gras.  Either way, an A for effort, especially considering failures are still victories with this place, as such risks have eventually paid for themselves in the form of innovative ingestions.

Genuinely sad about the last bite.

I had a bite of Aussie's mountain man sausage (mind out of the gutter....now.  Thanks). Elk and venison among other manly mountain meats, not a hint of gaminess. The superfluous sauce and Comte cheese completed the yin and the yang.     

Nothing needs be said about duck fat fries. They're fries fried in duck fat.  Some might say you can't really tell the difference, but that's bullshit.  Name one food that isn't better tasting deep fried in rendered animal fat.  Game over. 

Hot Doug's: absolutely a place to check out, despite the cries from neighbors posing as annoying passersby that "it's just a hot dog".  I happen to be a big fan of Superdawg, but Hot Doug's is Chicago's premiere encased me at purveyor.