Traveling Feast

It was the match book.  I saw the name of the restaurant and the picture and thought “Ah, Asian food with an attitude.”

A moment more of reflection and I wondered if it might even be a vegetarian place with a sense of humor.  In my experience most vegetarian spots do earnest and self-righteous much better than playful.

But no… read a bit more carefully below the title and the true nature of the Tummy Temple becomes evident.  This is not the place to to go for lunch.

A month ago I decided to compare the acclaimed maple bar from Countryside Donut in Montlake Terrace (north Seattle) to the bar I consider the national standard: Spokane’s Donut Parade maple bar.  Countryside’s bar was a respectable entry, but not in the same league as those coming out of the fryer at the Donut Parade.

Countryside also loses ambiance points for its suburban strip mall setting that sucks out location character faster than a Dyson vacuum.  I’m happy to go food foraging in strip malls, but I’d always prefer a beat-up downtown cafe to a line of generic storefronts facing a sea of parking.  But I digress.

Donuts are the point; maple bars in particular.  When I originally mentioned my January maple bar hunt, several Facebook connections claimed that the BEST maple bar in the Puget Sound wasn’t Countryside’s at all.  CHUCK’S DONUTS in Renton was the real destination for a serious maple bar pilgrim.  Unfortunately I didn’t get to investigate their claims last month.  Today, though, I did.

Back in Seattle and with a need for a visit to IKEA, I slipped off 405 and headed to Chuck’s first.

Like Countryside, the current location of Chuck’s is a new strip mall.  But this wasn’t always the case.

Chuck’s started in another spot in the mid 1960s by Charlie O’Neil with a closely guarded recipe for his famous maple bar.

Other owners followed O’Neil, but each time the secret recipe was sold with the store and the testimony of faithful patrons is that the bars have remained transcendent through each change of ownership.

I tend to be a dining optimist – hopeful that the next meal or bite on the agenda will turn up something truly wonderful.  In this case, Chuck’s delivered.  The current owners are Vietnamese and probably look nothing like the original Chuck, but they can turn out a donut that should make O’Neil proud his name is still on the sign.

The best maple bars I’ve had before today came with a glaze-style frosting, and Chuck’s secret recipe calls for a whipped frosting that is quite different and quite wonderful.

Once you get past your wonder at the frosting, there is the bar itself to consider.  I found it to be soft and moist with just the right amount of bite.  I’ll certainly be back, but noticed the whipped frosting is unexpectedly rich compared to the more common glaze.

Back home at Donut Parade I can get through two or even three before the threat of a sugar coma becomes real, but Chuck’s bar presents clear and present danger after just one.  This should save me at least a $1.25 a visit.

Is Chuck’s the best maple bar?  Possibly.  It certainly is wonderful,  but I think a hot bar from the Donut Parade might still be my personal standard.   Barely.  And I think I’ll have to stop by Chuck’s almost every time I’m in town just to reconsider.

I’ve been home for two days in bed with a vicious cold and cough, and during my infrequent trips to the kitchen for something to eat (and one trip to the store) I realized that I was looking mainly for comfort.  Not health.  Comfort.  I’ve tried the Special-Ops-combat-that-cold-with-fibervegefruitoxidans and it seems to have no discernible effect on the length of the cold.  So now it’s comfort, baby, all the way.

Stress kicks up a craving for Frosted Strawberry Pop Tarts.  Comfort, though, requires more salt than sweet in my case.  Grape Nuts will do in a pinch or milk and toast with a big pat of butter, but today it was Nacho Cheese Doritos with more cheese melted on top.  I loved Nacho Cheese Doritos as a kid, and once ate an entire bag by myself when I was supposed to be practicing my saxophone.

Yet it wasn’t until high school that I witnessed Todd Kotila do the unthinkable.  He buried a plate of Nacho Cheese Doritos in a mound of grated cheddar and popped the resulting orange and yellow mass into the microwave.  I was stunned.  Real cheese on top of fake cheese?  It seemed wrong somehow: a Frankenfood perversion.

Todd just laughed and shoved the molten pile in front of me.  “Try it, Finch.”

It still feels wrong, but on those guilty occasions when Doritos find their way into our typically self-righteous shopping cart, a portion of the chips disappear under Cheddar, Colby, or Colby Jack.  Today was one of those days.  There was a pre-Superbowl sale on chips, Tillamook at a discount, and my resistance to the unnatural lowered by a raging virus.

Then there needs to be a glass of milk to wash it down.  Milk that must… comfort dictates… be drunk from a small glass.

Last week I followed up on a tip from Josie Urbick about a Seattle taco truck with a unique item on the menu: a Mexican hot dog ($4.50).  She described it as an almost unthinkable gut bomb that had to be eaten to be believed.

At 9 pm last Thursday I decided it was time.

I found Flair Taco on just off the main drag between Fremont and Ballard (North 36th Street that turns into Leary Way).  The beat-up truck sits in a parking lot at the corner of North 36th and Phinney Avenue North.  When I arrived, 0wner Angel Aguilar was unloading food for Flair’s Friday and Saturday bar close rush.

“The cops stand right over there on the corner,” he said, “and when guys come out of the bars they have a decision to make: try to drive or come eat tacos.  Most choose tacos.  This parking lot will be packed tomorrow night.”

I had already ordered my Mexi dog, and asked about the story behind it.  I make it a point to eat at nearly every taco truck I drive by and never had seen a hot dog on another menu.

“These are how everyone eats hot dogs in Mexico,” Aguilar said.  “I grew up eating them just like this.  Then I came to the states and saw a hot dog on a menu.  I ordered it only to be stunned.  This wasn’t a hot dog.  It had nothing on it!  Finally I saw the relish off to the side and thought at least they had jalapenos. But when I took a bite, I said ‘What the hell is this?’”

Long story short, when he opened Flair Taco with Johnny Flair, Aguilar added to the menu a hot dog the way Cardiac Arrest intended it.

I doubt I’ll eat another dog again without thinking about Aguilar’s Mexi version.  I’ll also be back with friends.  Sure it is a gut bomb, but some gut bombs are worth it once in a while.

I’m also making a note to bring my passport because Flair has another unique item on the menu called the Passport Meal ($9.00).  It is whatever Aguilar decides it is when someone orders it, but he categorically refuses to sell you one without seeing your passport.  His iPhone has picutres of everyone who orders the meal and comes with proper documentation.

I’m in love.  Mocha love.

This comes from a guy who only orders coffee if it might go well with what I plan to eat.  It is a good thing I don’t live anywhere near Redmond WA or my wife might look at our VISA bill and begin to ask questions.

“What are all these charges at Kitanda Brazilian Bakery and Espresso?”

“Uh…”

“This isn’t like you.  Are you meeting someone?”

“Well… um…”

“What is it?  Tell me! There are 100s of dollars of unexplained charges here.”

“I’m too embarrassed.  I didn’t think it would go this far.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m in love… but wait… before you do anything rash.  It is only coffee.  Nothing more.  Delicious, beautiful Brazilian coffee, but that’s all.”

Counseling would probably be required.  Things would be rough for a while.  We’d make it.  I’d probably be drinking green tea again within a few months, but there would be times I would break down and cry.

Yet since I live in Spokane I hope to never need to have the imagined conversation above.  Our VISA bill won’t reflect daily charges at Kitanda and I won’t need to invent excuses to drive to Redmond day after day.  But you can be sure I’ll be back when I’m in the Seattle area and I suggest you do the same.

One sip and you just might be in love too.

I claim that Spokane’s Donut Parade has the best maple bars in the Western Hemisphere (possibly the planet since large swaths of the world have no access to this pinnacle of raised donut perfect).  Yet food gurus Jane and Michael Stern have a different opinion in their fun volume entitled 500 Things To Eat Before It’s Too Late.

They claim the best maple bar they’ve had is at Voodoo Doughnuts in Portland where the iconic bar comes topped with strips of bacon.  I’m looking forward to trying a Voodoo bar, but believe a truly classic maple bar needs to stand on its own without a pork assist.

This leads me to their second recommendation: Countryside Donut House in Mountlake Terrace in the Seattle metro area.

Chance would have it that I’m in Seattle today for a family emergency, but I have a break this morning in my duties long enough to head to Countryside.  Who knows?  Maybe a fine maple bar delivered at the right moment could help in the family emergency.  I’m willing to try.  And I’ll get a chance to see how the bars at Countryside compare to Donut Parade.

One of the best moments of my East Bay eating tour last week was the first bite of the Zachary’s “pride and joy.”

That would be the Spinanch and Mushroom pie that you can’t even order thin.  It is deep dish or nothing.

Up to that moment, the only Bay Area pizza worth a drive was the New York style pies served up with a bit of borough attitude at A Slice of New York in San Jose.  But Zachary’s Chicago Pizza is a real contender.

New York pies and Chicago pies really are only distantly-related culinary cousins.  Comparing them is essentially impossible.  You find your favorite NY pie and compare other thin crust pizzas against that standard.  The same is true for Chicago deep dish pies.  I have a vivid taste memory of my first real Chicago pie.  On a tip from a friend I left the Interstate and drove into downtown Chicago in September of 1990 and ordered a sausage pizza at Gino’s East.  It was a revelation.

Zachary’s Spinanch and Mushroom pie didn’t recreate the Gino’s sweet crust, but it is a remarkable pie in its own right and one I’ll be back to eat again as soon as I can find another excuse to fly or drive to Berkeley or Oakland.  If you beat me, expect a wait and enjoy the art while you do.

The text on The Forbidden Pizza poster:

The Forbidden Pizza
In Gargantuan Portions
Staring Psycho – Mad Max – Bleu Velvet
Spinanch Mushrooms – Cheese
Directed to your Alien Jaws
Produced by Zachary’s

I’ve always had vivid dreams full of shoot-outs, chases, and sinister characters.  Along the way, I taught myself to fly, and I can usually wake-up just before Frankenstein or one of his cronies takes my head off or hit the ground when I fall off the top of the Space Needle.  My first novel (still in progress) developed from a dream.

In junior high I even experimented with what foods eaten just before bed would produce the most vivid dreams.  Peanut butter and dill pickles on Standish Farms Honey Wheat was most effective.  Yet food itself typically was just a backdrop in the dreams.

Last night was an exception.  In a dream last night two students finishing up advanced degrees in architecture who were harrassing a friend of mine described to me a dish that had an experimental cuisine spin… something along the lines of what you might find on your plate at Greg Achatz’s Alinea in Chicago.

True to form, in the dream, the title of the dish was bizarre: they called the dish a “Baby Wedgy.”  But I woke up wondering if the dish itself might have some potential.  It featured a smooth puree of fresh green beans about the consistency of baby food served hot with a dollop of unsweetened whipped cream on top.   Mulling it over this morning, I wondered about the possibilities of savory whipped creams added to dishes like vegetables with hints of herbs or spices incorporated to add complexity.

What do you think?  Is it a culinary nightmare (possibly the after effects of a visit to Psycho Donuts) or is it worth a try?  Or have you ever come across a savory whipped cream?  I’d also be curious if you can remember any vivid food dreams yourself?  If not, let me suggest peanut butter and pickles.

The second to last day of 2009 started with an early morning visit to Psycho Donuts for the Cereal Killer and my first ever “hamburger donut.”

Psycho opened in 2009 to community protest and picketers on the sidewalk of their tiny strip mall at the corner of Winchester and Campbell in California’s South Bay Area.  It could have been the name.  Or offense at a case of donuts with names like Jekyll & Hyde, Headbanger’s Evil Twin, and Psycho Panda.  Maybe the protesters don’t like fried food.

I’m guessing, though,that the protests just helped business, and I would humbly suggest that there might be more urgent targets for protest than a donut shop with a slightly deranged theme.  Psycho Donuts staff wear nursing outfits reminiscent of Halloween, and they have an actual padded room inside the door (okay, it is more like a three-sided padded phone booth designed for photo opportunities).

Just for the title we had to try the Cereal Killer with its cargo of Cap’n Crunchberries on top.

The title is better than the donut truthfully.  But just the opposite should be said for the Apricotology.  It has my vote for the worst name on a menu with some other doozies, but the donut itself is brilliant.  I’ll never eat another apple fritter again without wishing it was a Psycho Donut apricot monstrosity.

Yet there is another great reason to go out of your way to visit Psycho and cross the picket lines (if they happen to reappear).  It is the Hamburger Donut.  For the sheer cheek of saying you ate one, it is worth $2.50.

But the truth is that this donut actually works: a donut sprinkled with sesame seeds is sliced in half and slathered inside with honey butter and strawberry jam before several sliced of bacon are slipped inside.  It is not what your taste buds expect of a donut, but by bite two or three, you just might have an epiphany and begin to ask why donuts are typically sugar bombs rather than pastries that combine sweet and savory in creative ways.

Or you can dismiss me as ‘nuts.’  You won’t be the first or the last.

This might have been the first year we’ve ever stayed home and simply eaten as a family for Thanksgiving. Our usual holiday agenda involved extended family or a meal with close friends where the actual meal preparation is divided up.

This year we did the meal in-house and from scratch with a few key local ingredients such as a turkey from Gary and So of Rocky Ridge Ranch and wild rice from St Maries, Idaho. Here is the run-down and rating for the meal.

Herb Roasted Turkey.  We scored with a November 09 Saveur recipe and a Rocky Ridge Ranch 15 ¼ pound turkey that we brined overnight in an orange juice brown sugar brine and then roasted.  Brining consultant: John Sowers.  Turkey Rating: 5 stars

Butternut Squash, Kale, and Cheddar Bread Pudding. This was designed as the vegetarian main dish for Megan’s benefit and came from the Molly Wizenberg’s recipe in November 09 Bon Appetit.  Karen loved it.  Megan didn’t.  I might have used a bit less kale, but like the flavor profile.  Rating: three stars

Wild Rice Stuffing with Wild Mushrooms and Dried Pears. Megan also suggested we try a wild rice stuffing this year and the caramelized onions and mushrooms in this smelled wonderful in the pan.  The dried pears were an interesting addition, but the finally result wasn’t as stunning as I expected.  Puzzling.  The recipe came from Epicurious.com and I’ll have to chew on what might bump up the flavor while I eat leftovers.  Rating: three stars

Mashed Potatoes. We used some monster potatoes we received as part of our CSA deliveries from Rocky Ridge Ranch.  Overcooked slightly but workable with butter, cream, and salt.  Rating: three stars

Pan Gravy. Brilliant.  Crafted on the fly from email notes from mom using flour to thicken the seriously wonderful pan drippings.  Rating: 5 stars

Fresh Green Beans. Organic beans ala Huckleberry’s since Costco was cleaned out.  Blanched and than sauteed with a bit of butter and salt.   Rating: 4 stars

Cy’s Cranberries. The brandy gives these baby’s a great kick.  The recipe is Cynthia Brown’s and was passed along by her sister, Renee Dickenson.  Rating: 5 stars

Raw Cranberry Orange Relish. Unable to do just one cranberry side, this simple and stunning relish from Mary Beth Baker was a great use of the 2nd pound of berries.  Rating: 5 stars

Grandma Gould’s Butter Rolls. This was the second recipe from the Gould family along with Cy’s Cranberry’s and was possibly the biggest hit of the holiday.  Thanks Renee.  Rating: 5 stars

Homemade Lemonade. Mark Bittman’s How-T0-Cook-Everything recipe.  Rating: three stars (due to whimpy lemons)

Pumpkin Pie with Whipped Cream. The crust is Donna Brigg’s shortening crust that she taught me to make in high school and the filling came off the Libby can.  It has been a while since I’ve made a crust but it was a respectable effort, but I need your suggestions on a better filling recipe or else an entirely different direction to go for dessert.  Came within seconds of turning the whipped cream into butter.  Rating: 2.5 stars

The restaurant in Browne’s Addition with the most Inland Northwest mindshare is clearly The Elk. It is an institution and for good reason, but I find I head into Browne’s Addition more often to slip into Cafe Marron across the street.  It is a bit quieter, and I enjoy both the space and like the menu.  Yesterday it was for lunch and I settled on the roasted beet salad that tosses the greens with the beets, candied walnuts, and soft goat cheese.  A little Bouzies bread on the side rounded out a nice meal.

Full Disclosure: I’m not a coffee aficionado.  I know plenty: Lea Greene, Daryl Geffken, Jake Reidt come to mind immediately.

Maybe I’ve hung back a bit because I so mercilessly made fun of my mom for her coffee addiction when I was in high school.  Or I maybe the taste of coffee itself never thrilled me without so much sugar it made more sense to order something else.  As the risk of being expelled from the Northwest, I’ll admit we still don’t brew a pot at home except when guests (or mom) comes over.  But after hanging out with enough people who are borderline fanatical about their coffee, I’m working to develop an appreciation for different roasts and blends if only not to embarrass myself in public.

This said, I met two friends at Caffe Delicio on North Monroe yesterday, and I suggest you go out of your way to try not only their coffee, but enjoy the space they’ve created.  I’ve driven by their double lane commuter establishment for years and never turned in.  Yesterday I parked and walked in only to be surprised and delighted by the design work inside.  I also appreciated the collection of unique mugs they use to serve customers who plan to drink their coffee at a table rather than in traffic.