Eat At Joe’s
When I was a young man living in New York City, I lived about three blocks from the best pizza in the world. You don’t have to take my word for it; Joe’s Pizza – at the time on the corner of Bleeker and Carmine, now a few doors north at 7 Carmine – has long been called the best by many. It appeared in another smarmy GQ article on the subject just a few months ago. It is considered the real deal in a world of Famous Ray’s and The Original Famous Ray’s and The True Original Famous Ray’s. The sauce of this pie is so particular, when you get to the crust end of the slice and are only getting bread and sauce it doesn’t taste quite right. What I mean is, the sauce is the perfect compliment to sauce and cheese. If one is missing, the balance is off.
So you understand it is with a very high standard that I enter a place like “Za” – 801 Broadripple Avenue – the new home of “New York Style” pizza in my town. The storefront is the right demeanor for this kind of pie and the hours clearly cater to the drunk nightclub scene (open to 4am Wednesday through Saturday); lunch only one weekend day. The demeanor of the guys behind the counter seem to fit as well. Friendly, but more interested in business than anything else.
I had to get “a slice” (that’s cheese only) and something called “A Slice Of Goodness” (red and green peppers, red onions, prosciutto in addition to the sauce and mozz). The slices are big enough to fold in half and you can always get cheese, peperoni and whatever the special of the day is. I visited during the week and the place seemed a bit slow (I drew the employees inside from a break with my arrival). This leads to the reheated pizza slice, which is commonplace around the world I suppose. The danger, of course, is ending up with the “mall slice.” That is, the slice that has been sitting in the window for around three hours and now is getting heated through, much to the dismay of the crust, in particular. This crust held up well, the reheating adding just the right bite. I don’t know how long ago the slice had been fresh, but it was the last one of it’s kind. Za is keeping their pies in a warming oven, not just under glass at the counter. I suppose this means the heating was just to crisp the crust, but I couldn’t really tell the difference. The sauce is excellent, subtle and fresh tasting. The peppers stood out as the freshest flavor, as I would expect at this time of year. The menu said prosciutto was featured, but it was hard to find. I dug around to look and found a few shavings, certainly not enough to provide a flash of flavor I expected. The whole thing goes down fast, easy and filling. And I was sober.
Twenty years is a long time, but I remember being able to poke around my college digs and drop $2.10 on the counter for my “slice and a coke” at Joe’s. I was just back there in August of this year and the price had increased, to a mere $4.25. Joe’s is a world famous dive, residing in some of the most expensive commercial real estate in the world, and I can get a lunch for four-and-a-quarter. Why, then, must I feel ripped off being charged $4 for just the slice in little ole’ Indy? (Okay, the chalkboard says $3.50, but the to-go menu says $4.50. I split the difference.) Add a second piece and a drink and I’m almost to $10. What this world needs is a good meal under $4 and a pizza joint should be able to pull this off!
For starters, let’s bring back the small fountain drink. I guess if you handed a 12 ounce cup to a guy in the Midwest he might punch you in the jaw for insulting his masculinity. But if you only charged him $0.45 for the thing he might not. I worked in food service once. I know the margin on those soft drinks (astronomical, in case you didn’t know) is supposed to be the bread and butter. But the restaurant business has become greedy. $1.50 for 24 ounces at Za is reasonable compared to other places, but still absurd. Hey, Joe’s doesn’t provide the fountain out front for refills, either. But nobody complains when they get change back from a $5 bill. And when your main product is pizza, where the margins are already crazy high, you should be looking for ways to get people to talk about your store. Sure, the pizza is good – maybe worthy of comparison to the best pizza in the world even if it can’t possibly measure up – but if you want to make friends in Broadripple Village, I suggest you open for lunch, drop the prices in half and start cranking out those pizzas so fast they can’t possibly need more than the slightest toasting when ordered.
Of course, this is America. There are (drunk) suckers born every minute. And plenty of P.T. Barnums to take advantage of them.
I didn’t yak.
It’s an unfair title, to be sure. Yats eatery (now with something like five locations around Indy) is hardly a sickening place to dine. In fact, most everyone I know loves the place. Crave it, as a matter of fact. I’d eaten there before, but all I could remember was that I didn’t like it so much.
The wife sent me out to get some (she’s kinda crazy for the stuff and we only live two blocks away). I decided to give it another try. The staff is great and gave me as many samples as I could handle. Cajun food worries me as I have pretty wimpy taste buds in relation to spice. The things I tried steered away from fiery and they were very good. I settled on something called Cheese Chili. Not a chili in site, however. Rather, a savory mix of crayfish, something melty, beans, corn and who knows what. They glob a big spoonful over white rice and toss on some oiled bread. I headed home.
The dish was delightful, rich and warm. The rice added some heft, but no flavor. Perhaps in some dishes it’s needed to tone down the fire. Then I had a few more bites. And a few more. And more – truly enjoying them. I looked down to discover I’d only eaten about half of the generous portion. And I wasn’t sure I needed another bit. Oh, I was still hungry, but spoonful after spoonful of savory and rich had worn me out.
When you get a bucket of hot wings you can only plow along so far until you need to take a break and have some celery with blue cheese (or some such thing). Why can’t Yats understand that, while delicious, they need a little something on the side to break the taste. Some fried okra or the cajun equivilent of cole slaw. Give me less of the steaming pile of goo plus something to crunch on, leave it at $5.50 and I’d be back as often as the lines of people who crowd your stores every single day.
Oh, I guess the Ignored Critic is missing the point. Yats does just fine without me, thank you very much.
You’re the Tapas!
Upon arriving at BARcelona Tapas Restaurant last night, I really had no idea what the concept entailed. I was soon to discover a friendly, fun, delicious dining experience. Tapas is dining on small, appetizer sized plates passed around the table. Yes, it requires you trust your fellow diners and not have many hang ups about sharing. If you can do this, however, the rewards are worth it. I recommend going with a group of six or more. We each ordered two (or even three) things that sounded good and passed them all around.
Standing out especially was a combination of a jumbo shrimp, sausage, bread and a sort of Spanish bar-b-que sauce. While a single shrimp may not seem like a very good portion, it’s indicative of the size of a plate brought to the table. The prawn was the largest I’d ever seen and all six of us got at least one good sized bit (to the person who ordered went the leftovers). When you order a skewer beef, you get a single skewer of beef. Delicious beef. The lamb dish was three small chops (only slightly overcooked). We would have liked a little more sauce with the cod cakes and I thought the duck was a touch overcooked as well. And yet, every dish was a bit of a discovery.
Shared desserts yielded one of the best Creme Brulee ever tasted, a remarkably well balanced chocolate brownie and an amazing Three Milk Cake with Caramel sauce. All quite simple in concept and way above average on the tongue.
The service was good, especially the host/front of house manager who checked in with us often. The eager waiter was a good sport with our naive approach and ribbing. We even got a visit from the Executive Chef (visiting from their flagship restaurant in St. Louis) who brought us two extra plates of off-the-menu items. Late in the meal we joked with the manager that we would like to become secret shoppers for the place and he revealed he thought we already were (we weren’t). Perhaps that garnered the extra attention, but maybe we were having such a great time we attracted good things!
We didn’t keep track of everything we ordered, so I was concerned the tab might be running away from us. In the end, the price was on par with an upscale, but not unreasonable, establishment.
On the corner of Ohio and Delaware streets downtown. Open seven days a week. Reservations recommended. www.barcelonatapas.com
The Salt(s) of the Earth
I understand salt is a vital part of cooking. I’ve read Alton Brown, thank you very much. I tend to forget to season during cooking and that leads to overuse of the shaker on the table. Not the best way to season food because I mostly taste salt instead of the the food (works good on mashed potatoes).
My brother also cooks, so I knew to be grateful for the box of six varieties of “finishing salts” he had shipped to me from California for Christmas. He must know something I didn’t know. But, what, exactly, was I supposed to do with these things? The Alea Volcanic salt is an interesting orange color; the Turkish Black Pyramid a bizarre crystalline shape. Maybe they are molecular gastronomy’s little decorative touches?
So I read the insert that came in the package. It says, with faux modesty, “This may sound like hyperbole, but sprinkle the parchment fine flakes of Maldon sea salt (which was included in my assortment – a white, truly flaky salt) … and you will experience a chlorophyll dynamo of flavor that strums at the very heart of nature.” Wow! That’s a heck of a promise from this little bottle. Could it possibly be true? How about, “Let fall dark pyramids of Turkish Black Pyramid salt … and you will feel the turgid rush of Incan discovery.” Or, “Grind smoked salt on hand-churned ice cream and you will trade your house for an igloo.” Brave promises, indeed!
So last week I finally cooked a dinner that was high-end enough to justify the use of these jewels. I put four salts on the table, instructing my guests (with my tongue slightly in cheek) which to use where. I started with the Maldon on the salad. And, OH MY GOD, the taste explosion that was to send me to the moon and back actually happened! The simple dressing, with pears and blue cheese on romaine, was propelled to hero status! Now for the beef tenderloin. I was worried because the Port Reduction Sauce had turned out a little salty. Why add more salt? But it was amazing how the salt created an entirely new layer of flavor. Not only did it bring out the strengths of the recipe, it added depth and complexity. Green Beans with Lemon were similarly enhanced.
So thanks, Brother, for further educating me about this facet of life (and culinary prowess) I had been ignorant of. And for the rest of you, visit www.atthemeadow.com and see for yourself!
Cute as a Cupcake
We’ve gone on a cupcake binge at our house, and it isn’t pretty. What used to be a happy alternative to lob sided layer cake has become an obsession. Once content with a box that would make two dozen treats for $3, we’ve since discovered that a really good cupcake costs a minimum of $2 each – and that’s only if you do all the work yourself! Here’s how it happened:
My friend Vivi returned from Portland where she fell in love with a place called Saint Cupcake. She said the cupcakes were divine and her friends would go there when they needed a special pick-me-up. When her birthday rolled around, I thought cupcakes would be a great thing to do. She had let slip that her friends had discovered Sprinkles Cupcakes, a mix that can be purchased at Williams Sonoma stores. We choose Red Velvet for our first try. $14 for a dozen cupcakes seemed steep, especially since I had to buy unsalted butter, eggs, cream cheese and powered sugar.
The directions for these cupcakes (which are from a store of the same name in Beverly Hills, heh heh) are a little unnerving. A lot of huffing and puffing about the texture of the batter and scraping the sides and not over mixing. Make sure butter is not cool, but firm! Be certain to add the ingredients slowly! Be careful not to overbake! Making the icing was no simpler task and icing them as the experts do proved impossible.
And then we ate them and we didn’t care anymore. The best F***ing cupcake I’ve ever had. The texture of the cupcake, which had a nice bite at the start and then seemed to dissolve into pure flavor in the middle was amazing. The icing was overwhelming with sweetness, but the amount of butter proved the perfect savory counterpart to the rich chocolate flavor. Heck, we’d pay $15 for this cupcake, which I imagine is the going rate at the counter in Beverly Hills.
Not to be left out of the fad, my own town has birthed “The Flying Cupcake,” a tidy little store on the northside that smells of promising treats. When I found it, I called my friend Vivi who immediately drove over to give it a try. Unfortunately, the treat just didn’t live up to our previous experience. Sure, I didn’t have to make this one myself, but it I paid the difference. Their “Red Velvet Elvis” was good, and received extra points for the chunks of chocolate within, but not as good. Their chocolate was made up to resemble the Hostess Cupcake I ate for lunch almost every day of High School. Unfortunately, their texture was a little bit too realistic. The icing was drying out and the cake a little sticky/sweet. Worst was their small vanilla, just the right size for my 3.5 year old. It’s texture was straight from a mix and must have been cooked as long as the bigger models, which meant doom for the smaller cup. Trying to make up for the flavor with copious amounts of icing was a distraction, not a help.
So we’re sticking with home made and high-end. We tried the vanilla Sprinkles mix, but we’ll always be true to Red Velvet!
