Salty / Savory / Sweet

End all, be all banana bread

noreply@blogger.com (soopling) — Mon, 29 Aug 2011 16:28:00 +0000

It's not like I haven't made banana bread before—and I've tried my hand, too, at a unique Vietnamese (or Japanese) banana cake. But now that I've found this recipe, I'm not sure I'll ever go to a different one.

Not only does it bake up a wonderfully moist loaf of banana bread, the recipe is based on ingredients that I usually have on hand: oil, flour, sugar, salt, baking soda, vanilla extract. As long as I have bananas and enough eggs—and typically I do—I can whip up a loaf or two without having to leave the house. The only tricky ingredient is the crème fraîche, but I've subbed in plain yogurt, vanilla yogurt, or milk on different occasions and the banana bread still bakes up beautifully. Taking after my dad, I usually cut down the amount of sugar in the recipe, and a few extra bananas never seems to hurt the loaves any, either.

Instead of walnuts, I've been adding in toffee bits that I purchased from Vern's Toffee before I left Fort Collins. The broken almond toffee kind of melts into the crumb, lending an overall richness and nuttiness to the banana bread rather than asserting itself in large chunks. The bits make a fine topping for muffins, too.

Banana Bread
adapted from Flour Bakery
yields 2 loaves or 24 medium-sized muffins

3 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons baking soda
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon salt
4 large eggs at room temperature for 30 minutes
2 1/3 cups sugar [I typically cut this down to 1 3/4 cups]
1 cup vegetable oil [I typically cut this down to 3/4 cup]
3 cups coarsely mashed very ripe bananas [6 large, or more]
1/4 cup crème fraîche [I sub in plain yogurt; if using sweetened vanilla yogurt, I cut down the sugar by another few teaspoons]
2 teaspoons vanilla
1 1/3 cups walnuts (4 ounces), toasted and chopped [or, 1 1/2 cups toffee bits, chocolate chips, etc.]

Preheat oven to 350°F. Butter and flour 2 (9- by 5- by 3-inch) metal loaf pans, or line several muffin tins with paper liners.

Sift together 3 1/4 cups flour, baking soda, cinnamon, and salt into a bowl.

Beat together eggs and sugar in bowl of electric mixer at medium-high speed until very thick and pale and mixture forms a ribbon when beater is lifted, about 10 minutes. Reduce speed to low and add oil in a slow stream, mixing, then mix in bananas, crème fraîche or yogurt, and vanilla. Remove bowl from mixer and fold in flour mixture and walnuts, toffee bits, or chocolate chips gently but thoroughly.

Divide batter between loaf pans, spreading evenly, and bake in middle of oven until golden brown and a wooden pick or skewer comes out clean, 1 to 1 1/4 hours. If baking as muffins, bake about 15–20 minutes.

Cool loaves (or muffins) in pans on a rack 10 minutes, then turn out onto rack. Turn right side up and cool completely.

Virtuous burgers at Larkburger

noreply@blogger.com (soopling) — Fri, 26 Aug 2011 16:51:00 +0000

Occasionally, I have a good meal at a restaurant but find that I never visit again. It's rarely a conscious choice, in that nothing turned me off—not bad service, not bad food, and not bad atmosphere, either. Usually everything is just fine…except maybe that nothing really turned me on, either.

That's where I am with Larkburger. Don't get me wrong, it's good stuff. When I went with MC for lunch at the Fort Collins location, the lightly seared tuna filet in my tuna burger was cooked perfectly, and complemented nicely by a toasted soft bun, fresh veggies, and a creamy wasabi-ginger sauce. MC liked her turkey burger. And we both dug the addictive thin-cut fries showered in truffle oil, parsley, and grated Parmesan cheese, which called to mind the ones I enjoyed at Big Al's Burger's and Dogs.

Still, there was something that seemed to fall flat. Maybe it was the emptiness of the place when we went, or the slightly higher price tags on the menu, or the overly sterile-feeling atmosphere—but none of that really mattered, either. It didn't hit me until I read this quote about Larkburger from Sunset Magazine: "At last, a burger joint that makes you feel virtuous." You know what? If I'm eating a burger, I don't want to feel virtuous. Chances are that if I'm going out to get a burger, I want a big, greasy, sloppy one, and I want my fries hearty instead of dainty, my meal down-home instead of gourmet. Larkburger is a great option for a healthier fast food…I guess I just don't crave a healthy burger.

Korean style meat coma: Q Table BBQ Buffet

noreply@blogger.com (soopling) — Fri, 26 Aug 2011 16:15:00 +0000

Got twenty bucks? Q Table BBQ Buffet in Northglenn, CO will trade you for unlimited access to assorted Korean banchan and main dishes, sushi rolls, and as much marinated beef, pork, squid, and chicken as you can grill and stuff in your gullet. ES and I were there after overhearing a server at Al Bae Nae mention their restaurant's affiliation with the place; always game for a new Asian restaurant, we took ES's parents with us to check it out. As with any buffet the key here is quantity, but the quality wasn't bad either…just be prepared for your clothes and hair to smell like grilled meat for hours afterward. But such is the sacrifice for all Korean BBQ, right?

Now covering the 303!

noreply@blogger.com (soopling) — Fri, 12 Aug 2011 01:16:00 +0000

With a new zip code comes a new column. In the past few months I graduated from my MFA program and moved from Fort Collins to Denver—leaving behind restaurant reviewing for The Coloradoan, but taking on happy hours, dining, and food events for 303 Magazine's blog. Check out my first two posts, below, and if you want even more Salty / Savory / Sweet, be sure to subscribe to the Facebook page!

Fork It: The Über Sausage: "While Denver isn’t new to gourmet hot dogs, the recently opened spot The Über Sausage is bringing a new perspective to the table.…"

Happiest Hour: The 9th Door: "Enter The 9th Door’s darkened lounge, complete with flickering candles, lush red sofas, and sultry music in the background, and even the most stoic won’t be able to help but feel a tingle.…"

China Taipei, bringing home to the table

noreply@blogger.com (soopling) — Wed, 10 Aug 2011 18:01:00 +0000

In America, Taiwanese food isn't always easy to come by. Even a large city like New York has just about a handful of restaurants specializing in the cuisine, and not all of them are the best that they can be.

So it was a great delight to discover China Taipei, a restaurant in Centennial, CO serving up reasonably authentic versions of some of my favorite Taiwanese dishes. Drunken chicken—chopped wings and drumsticks steamed with scallions and ginger and then marinated in wine—was tasty and flavorful,

and so was ES's bowl of rou gen mien (pictured also at top), featuring thick wheat noodles and slivers of pork and bamboo shoots in a thick, savory broth.

But it was the lu rou fan that really won China Taipei my unadulterated love. The mix of ground pork and chopped mushrooms had a meaty, deeply layered flavor and its rich juices soaked into the mound of rice below; the soy sauce egg was tender and perfectly marinated. The whole thing was a far cry from the version that had accompanied my fried pork chop at Tao Tao Noodle Bar. While it might be cliche to describe a dish as comfort food, I found each bite deeply soothing, homey, and familiar—and if that's not comfort food, I just don't know what is.

New heights at New Saigon

noreply@blogger.com (soopling) — Tue, 09 Aug 2011 15:03:00 +0000

Early on, around when ES and I were first getting to know each other, he took me to have Vietnamese food in Denver. I'd been eating phở and bún at restaurants in New York City for years—plus similar meals in cities like Boston, Philadelphia, and San Francisco—but when I sat down with ES and his friends at New Saigon, they steered me away from the standards and deep into strange new territory.

I haven't looked back since.

So with my parents in town, I knew that a meal at New Saigon was definitely on the list. I wanted to share with them 1) the insane and amazing "salad" I'd been ordering every time since, a hefty pile of shrimp, pork, squid, snail, jelly fish, thinly sliced pig ear, red onion, lotus stem, and slivered carrot and daikon, all scattered with peanuts, tossed in a sweet, pungent, fish sauce dressing, and served with puffy fried shrimp chips on the side;

2) the dish we simply call "that appetizer," though the portion size is anything but: grilled pork, grilled beef, grilled shrimp, and a crunchy, lacy, deep-fried shrimp paste concoction all meant to be wrapped in rice paper with lettuce, cucumbers, bean sprouts, carrots, daikon, and herbs—and then dipped in nuoc mam for eating;

plus 3) canh chua cá hoặc tôm, a bubbling fire pot of bean sprouts, tomato slices, pineapple chunks, bạc hà, celery, and catfish fillets in a spicy-sour lemongrass broth, to be spooned over rice and consumed like some kind of sweet, tangy, fish-based porridge.

My parents loved their meal at New Saigon, just as I did when I'd first eaten there, and it wasn't long before I was back with ES and his friends again, this time valiantly trying to branch away from the dishes we were so used to ordering. So in addition to "that appetizer" we ordered thit bo luc lac, often known as "shaking beef,' plus a sweet curry with scallops, potatoes, and kabocha squash which tasted strangely like a thick pumpkin soup.

Better was our order of nghêu hấp, a dish both undescribed and untranslated on the menu, but which names a platter of large steamed clams dotted with fried shallots, scallions, and herbs, and served with a sweet and spicy nuoc cham sauce. The clams were chewier and brinier than I was expecting, but the bright Vietnamese flavor profile made every bite both surprising and delicious.

Since moving to Colorado, I've concluded that the Vietnamese food in Denver surpasses anything I've had in other American cities so far. New Saigon has long been considered one of this city's best, and it's dishes like these that make me understand why. Am I now spoiled? Am I now unenthused about a bowl of phở on Baxter Street in Manhattan's Chinatown? The answer to both questions is yes—and now you know the restaurant to blame.

Diner favorites with a twist at Sam's No. 3

noreply@blogger.com (soopling) — Wed, 13 Jul 2011 14:43:00 +0000

My parents were arriving to Fort Collins so they could attend a reading I was giving, and I'd rented a car for the occasion. (Most students in my MFA program give a reading of their poetry or fiction in their final year, and mine was taking place the week before graduation.) As I've mentioned before, I'm not terribly experienced with driving, and after getting myself down to Denver to have dinner with ES before I picked them up from the airport, it seemed necessary to reward myself with a meal at someplace casual and low-key.

Sam's No. 3 has a few different locations, one of which is not far from ES's house. It's a restaurant that combines a Mexican menu with Greek and American diner classics, meaning that you can get a burger or chili rellenos or pork souvlaki—or that chili-cheese fries will come drowned in a spicy, salty, pork green chili rather than a red one. One order is more than enough for two people, and really, it's probably best shared among three or four.

ES was enticed to order the "One of Each" option under the Coney Island Specials menu—a quarter pound burger and a split, grilled hot dog each topped with mustard, onion, and a thin red chili. Not a bad deal for six bucks.

Wanting something lighter, I went with "Mom’s Greek Salad": romaine lettuce, tomato, slivered red onion, cucumber, bell peppers, kalamata olives, and feta cheese in vinaigrette, served with pieces of pita bread. I added on gyro meat for another two dollars, not expecting the huge pile that showed up on the plate; while it seemed like typical mass-produced gyro meat with its uniform texture, flavor, and appearance (no twirling spit in the kitchen, here), it was nonetheless good with the fluffy pita and cucumber yogurt sauce that came with it.

Thus fortified and suitably unwound from the drive, ES and I went back to his house until it was time for me to get in the car—again—to receive my parents at the airport, and bring them back to Fort Collins for a weekend in Colorado.

Salad as entree, not side: Sweet Tomatoes

noreply@blogger.com (soopling) — Mon, 11 Jul 2011 18:54:00 +0000

Sometimes I'm in the mood for a salad, but I can't think of a place where I can get a good one or not be tied to two or three options on a otherwise non-salad menu. A few times I actually turned to places like Old Country Buffet; I'd forgo the steam tables with cooked food and just hang out at the salad bar, mixing and matching my own vegetables and getting as much (or as little) as I wanted. Still, I did feel a little silly doing it.

Enter Sweet Tomatoes, also known as Souplantation in some areas—a buffet actually focused on the leafy green stuff. For about nine bucks, the place allows you to fill up unlimited plates of either pre-mixed salads or ones of your own creation, making salad the star of the show, rather than supporting cast.

On my first visit, I got two plates: one for the romaine lettuce I loaded up with tomatoes, chick peas, cauliflower, broccoli, chopped egg, butternut squash, and zucchini; and one for some of the different pre-made salads: an Asian chicken salad, a broccoli salad (sort of like my very merry broccoli salad), and tuna pasta salad. While I found the pre-made selections to be too heavy on dressing and somewhat too sweet overall, I was happy with the fresh veggies and add-ons in my own salad, as well as the dressings I tried. Obviously, at a place like Sweet Tomatoes there's a lot of control in what you create, so it's easy to come up with something to your liking.

And the place doesn't just limit you to salad for your meal—there are soup selections, a few pastas and hot dishes, a dessert section, and more. While the choices aren't extensive, there are just enough to complement rather than overwhelm the meal. And for what it is, the quality isn't bad, either—the last time I went, I sampled some okay fettucini alfredo, a perfectly fluffy baked potato topped with bacon, cheese, scallions, and sour cream (add your own toppings, of course), a downright tasty curried lentil soup, and a warm, gooey chocolate brownie/muffin. No sense of missing out on anything here, and more than enough satisfaction to last until the next meal.

Finding Filipino: Sunburst Grill

noreply@blogger.com (soopling) — Wed, 06 Jul 2011 17:14:00 +0000

A decade ago—while still in undergrad—I was dating a man who introduced me to the glories of Filipino food. Suddenly, there was crispy pata, kare kare, and dinuguan; chicken adobo and lechon; spaghetti made with banana ketchup, hot dogs, and cheese. These were dishes I'd never tried before, or even heard of. I loved the mix of Spanish and Chinese influences in the cuisine, and whenever I had the good fortune to attend one of RO's family gatherings, I happily filled my plate from steam tray after steam tray of Filipino home cooking.

Now those days are gone, but luckily Filipino food isn't. Near ES's house is Sunburst Grill, a tiny restaurant featuring nearly all of the dishes I so fondly remembered. During lunch a few months ago, we started off immediately with an order of the lumpiang Shanghai, umami-rich, cigar-shaped eggrolls filled with a mixture of pork and shrimp.

I was curious about the dish of taro leaves and pork stewed in coconut milk from the first time I visited, especially since Sunburst Grill had sold out of it that day. This time, I managed to secure myself a plate, but the musty flavor of the taro leaves took some getting used to and I wasn't sure that chasing down this dish had actually been a successful move. Better was the breakfast, mine featuring three plump links of pork longanisa, a sweet grilled sausage that has always tasted to me like a fresh version of Chinese sausage. The plate came with two fried eggs, a bit of pickled papaya, and a mound of ketchupy, pork-studded java rice.

ES had a bowl of their chicken and noodle soup, a version thankfully nothing like those wan American versions plagued by mushy pasta and pallid meat. No, this featured dark-meat chicken and springy noodles floating in a salty broth imbued with fried shallots and scallions; after one spoonful, I ladled myself a small bowl so that I could keep on enjoying its flavor. In the end, Sunburst Grill's dishes may not be home cooking, but they sure come close.

Neighborhood Korean at Al Bae Nae

noreply@blogger.com (soopling) — Tue, 05 Jul 2011 18:50:00 +0000

ES and I discovered Al Bae Nae back in winter, a Korean restaurant tucked away in a small Aurora strip mall next to M Mart (not to be confused with H Mart) and the intriguing Havana Spa. Pleased with both the dishes and their price point, it was only a matter of time before we returned with friends in tow. Seven people at the table means more dishes to sample, and that night we did a pretty thorough job of trying something from each section of the menu.

Makguksu, a bowl of cold soba noodles topped with assorted vegetables in sweet and spicy sauce, was rather watery at the bottom but no less refreshing for its complex layering of textures and flavors. An oxtail soup, kkori gomtang, was soothing and deeply flavored with beef and scallions. And a dish of jajangbap took the same porky, oniony, roasted soybean sauce that typically appears on noodles and stir-fried it with rice to great effect. Actually, the huge, steamed "Pyeongyang-style" dumplings were the only real disappointment: big and bland and impossible to eat without their mushy fillings disintegrating.

When we'd tried to order the kkampunggi, described on the menu as "fried chicken with hot pepper sauce," we'd been informed they were out. Undaunted, we agreed to the shrimp version instead, and it turned out to be my favorite dish of the night. Whole shrimp were coated in some kind of tapioca or potato starch batter, giving the fried crustaceans a wonderful and interesting gluey and chewy—yet crisp—shell. The barely spicy, overly sweet sauce might have been reminiscent of a Chinese takeout joint's sweet-and-sour, but it also shared the same addictive quality.

Then there was Al Bae Nae's tteokbokki: chewy cylinders of rice cake paired with red peppers, scallions, onions, cut-up hot dogs, and fish cake and simmered in a gochujang-based sauce. It was sweeter and less spicy than usual, but there's always something about the odd, junk-food mash-up quality of this dish that makes me love it no matter what. (Though I should say that the cheese version ES and I tried the first time involved American cheese and maybe shredded mozzarella swirled into the sauce—a experience I only advise if you're down with tasting processed cheese food in your Korean meal.)

Seven of us managed to pretty much clean up all the dishes, a feat no less impressive for the relatively small bill we received at the end. With plenty more to try on the menu, Al Bae Nae might just become a regular destination.

Earth Day at the Fort Collins Food Co-op

noreply@blogger.com (soopling) — Sun, 03 Jul 2011 16:01:00 +0000

The temperatures had dropped and the wind was chilly, but the cold didn't stop a group from gathering on the street in front of the Fort Collins Food Co-op all afternoon in celebration of Earth Day. After lunch with SD and CH, we showed up just in time to hear Edgewater Juke performing a lively set of rock and roll, blues, and modern groove, a six-man band that managed to transform a whole sidewalk into a party.

Between sets I picked up a bag of these wild rice sesame sticks from the Co-op, which proved themselves to be instantly addictive. They're the kind of snack that pretends to be healthy, what with its wild rice and all, but are really just toasty, crunchy, throw-'em-down-by-the-handful junk food. Find them in the bulk section at Sunflower Market, if you happen to be far from the Co-op, but be warned: I can't stop eating them, and you might not be able to either.

Music, sun, and snacks—we might have frozen a little out there that afternoon, but Earth Day, I'm glad to report, was still celebrated with style. Hooray Edgewater Juke and the other participants that day!

Time in Taos, Day 3

noreply@blogger.com (soopling) — Thu, 30 Jun 2011 16:44:00 +0000

Catch up here! Time in Taos, Day 1 and Time in Taos, Day 2

Our final morning in Taos began with another plate of assorted mini muffins and scones, as well as a plate with kielbasa sausage, two cheese blintzes drizzled with passionfruit sauce and chocolate sauce, and fruit arranged along the rim. Orange juice, coffee, and a bowl of granola with honey made the meal more than complete.

We checked out of our room after breakfast, but not before walking around the Adobe & Pines Inn a bit longer to say hello to the goats and chickens. In the reception area, I held a tiny baby chick in my hand before putting him back into the warm, lit cupboard I'd taken him from. I'm a city girl at heart, but being around so many sweet farm animals made me fantasize—just for a moment—about raising some of these creatures myself.

We left the Adobe & Pines Inn with reluctance, but fortunately lunch at Ranchos Plaza Grill was still ahead. ES and I stuck to what we loved at our first meal there and split a plate of the Carne Adovada, smothered in a red chili made from crushed red chile pods and served with rice and beans. The pieces of marinated and grilled pork were just as smoky and delicious as when we'd eaten it in burrito form.

We also asked for two side orders of green chili, wanting to enjoy New Mexico's version to the fullest. The one at Ranchos Plaza Grill was smooth and buttery and swimming with little pork bits; it was strong with green chile flavor, and tasted more like a sauce than anything else. We did notice that in New Mexico red and green chili seemed to be more often served as an accompaniment rather than a main event; anyone know if this is actually true? Does anyone in this area just offer a big ol' bowl of the stuff with tortillas on the side?

Before getting on the highway we made one last stop, at a truck on the side of the road peddling roasted piñon. Having seen similar trucks lining Alameda Ave in Denver, I'd been curious about just what the nuts were and what they tasted like, so I dashed out of the car and purchased a bag.

Back in the passenger seat, I tried them. The woman had assured me that the shells could be eaten, but when I had more than a few in my mouth the shells proved to be sharp and gritty, an unpleasant sensation akin to swallowing rough shrimp shells. Still, they weren't cheap—the bag had cost a good ten dollars—and I was determined to enjoy them somehow. I ended up shelling a bunch of them one by one, though the shells weren't easy to get off and the whole process slow going. ES even went so far as to stockpile the nutmeat so as to savor an actual mouthful. With enough patience, it was possible to get a real hit of piñon flavor as the nuts dissolved in tiny bursts of fragrant oil on the tongue.

And then, finally, we were off. ES had planned this trip to celebrate the completion of my thesis, and though the semester still wasn't over at this point, it was a welcome and much-needed weekend away from home. Even now—a few months later, as I write this—I remember the road stretching out into the horizon, leading us farther and farther south, away from the work and the grading and the lesson plans—just a few days of sun, sleep, sightseeing, and gloriously little else.

Time in Taos, Day 2

noreply@blogger.com (soopling) — Wed, 29 Jun 2011 14:12:00 +0000

Catch up here! Time in Taos, Day 1

When ES and I awoke the next morning, we wandered down to the sunny, open patio room of our B&B for breakfast and were greeted with glasses of freshly squeezed orange juice, hot coffee, and a plate of assorted mini muffins and scones.

Jars of wildflower honey, collected from beehives on the premises, graced each table.

While on the side there were cold cereals and milk for the taking, the main attraction of breakfast was this entree of huevos rancheros with bacon. As you can see, pieces of fruit were beautifully arranged all around the edges of the plate, creating a cheerful presentation that set the tone for the rest of the day.

And what a day it was! We went to the Rio Grande Gorge, a breathtaking sight behind the rails of the bridge we stood on. Vendors in the parking lot just before the bridge sold handmade goods as well as local honeys and jams, and I ended up getting some beads and a necklace with a teeny, stone pendant on copper chain (you all know I love jewelry).

We also went to check out Earthship headquarters. "Earthship" refers to a completely sustainable, self-contained home built entirely from recycled and re-purposed materials—for instance, glass bottles embedded into walls provide both light and structural support; electricity and water come solely from sun, rain, snow, and wind; food comes from vegetables and fruit grown on the premises. I'll admit it's a bit kooky, and the buildings do look like a somewhat odder version of something Gaudi might have built, but I admired the devotion to sustainability that Earthship homes demonstrate.

Later, in the tiny little town of Arroyo Seco, we shared a cup of ice cream at the ice cream shop Taos Cow. Ours was half blueberry flavor and half Cherry Ristra: dried cherries, piñon nuts, and chocolate chunks in a rich vanilla base.

The word ristra came up again when we visited Taos Pueblo, a living Native American reservation. Turns out ristra refers to the huge bundles of red chili peppers hanging from the awnings and doorways of the homes we saw all over New Mexico, placed there for both functional and decorative purposes. At the reservation we didn't eat anything with chilis, but we did share a freshly made frybread drizzled with honey, as well as a piece of prune pie.

With all that snacking, it took ES and I a while before we felt hungry, but after going back to our B&B, lying around in the two-person hammock, raking the giant zen garden, and strolling the on-premises labyrinth, it was dinner time. We headed over to La Cueva Cafe, a small, relatively new Mexican restaurant that used to be called Rellenos Cafe. We started off with an order of the Ceviche Mexicano, consisting of lime-marinated fish chunks mixed with pico de gallo, topped with avocado, and paired with chipotle mayonnaise. I'm more familiar with the Peruvian style of ceviche, but I was delighted with the flavor and extra creaminess that the avocado and dipping sauce added to the dish. 'Twas a large bowl of deliciousness, and cheap, too!

Our entrees were less notable, though not bad. I went with the Plato Combinado, consisting of one chile relleno, one enchilada, and one taco all smothered in green chili, while ES went with a two-taco plate.

Once our meal was done, we wandered over to the Adobe Bar at Doc Martin's Restaurant. A live band was playing in the main area, and we managed to snag a small table by the window, close enough to hear the music but far enough so that we could still chat. With eminently sippable margaritas in front of us—classic for ES, pomegranate for me—hanging out in the bar was the perfect wrap-up to a long and busy day in Taos.

Time in Taos, Day 1

noreply@blogger.com (soopling) — Tue, 28 Jun 2011 14:56:00 +0000

We'd miscalculated. Armed with Spam musubi for an on-the-road breakfast on our way down to New Mexico for the weekend, ES and I had planned our pass-through of Pueblo, Colorado to coincide with lunchtime, a plan entirely based around both an episode of Food Wars and this article on Serious Eats about the city's local specialty, the Slopper: a whole hamburger or cheeseburger smothered in green chili. But having misjudged the driving time, ES and I found ourselves in Pueblo at ten in the morning, far too early to actually eat lunch.

How else to pass an hour? We went to the Pueblo Zoo, where we watched some really cute otters diving in and out of the water. We also saw sad ostriches, sad lions, sad monkeys, and sad llamas (but no sad panda). Oh, the things we do for a meal.

The clock ticked past eleven and it was finally a respectable time for lunch. At Sunset Inn, one of two places in town famous for their Slopper, the menu offered two versions—one with beans (red chili) and one with pork (green chili)—and the waitress couldn't tell us which one was better. So we ordered both, along with a side of onion rings.

Unfortunately, through some kind of miscommunication we ended up with two green chili Sloppers instead of one of each. And in this case, two green chili Sloppers = two dishes of disappointment. The bun was tough and the beef patty dry and tasteless; the green chili was okay, but still did nothing to elevate the crappy burger sitting in the middle of it. The whole thing was kind of cold, too. After several bites, I concluded that this particular venture was a bust. Maybe Sunset Inn's competitor, Gray's Coors Tavern, should have been our destination instead.

Little else to do, then, but speed our way out of Pueblo, leaving our fallen Slopper dreams behind. And in a mere three hours, we reached the Adobe & Pines Inn, our very lovely bed and breakfast in Taos, New Mexico. Just look at our room! A fireplace, a private patio on the roof, an oversized jetted tub, and the most charming decor you could ask for.

We were also greeted by a bottle of chilled champagne and a plate of chocolate-covered strawberries, part of the package we'd booked our reservation with.

Given how comfortable and cozy the room was, we ended up lazing around in there until it was time for dinner. Ignoring the book of menus laid out for guests in the reception area, we headed instead to Ranchos Plaza Grill based on MSJ's recommendation, a restaurant less than a half-mile away from Adobe & Pines.

Based solely on the restaurant's excellent salsa and guacamole, the meal would have already sent our sad memories of lunch into oblivion. But bring in an enormous carne adovada burrito stuffed with pieces of smoky, marinated grilled beef and ladled with a buttery green chili, and the wretched Slopper didn't stand a chance. ES was thrilled with his dish, and even suggested that we come back to Ranchos Plaza Grill another time before leaving.

I wasn't inclined to argue, since my mixed plate of enchiladas and chili rellenos in red chili was proving to be equally delicious. Sopapillas, which had arrived hot along with our entrees, were good even eaten at the close of the meal, especially once we doused each bite with honey.

Bellies satisfied, we left the restaurant and walked next door to the San Francis de Asis Mission Church, a beautiful and humble adobe structure immortalized many times by various artists and photographers. The church is still in use by the community, and we happened to arrive around the beginning of one of the services; I took advantage of the opening and closing doors to step inside to take a peek. If I were ever one to worship, this just might be the kind of setting I would want to be in.

As night fell, we went back to our room and built up a fire in the fireplace, using the wax-and-sawdust fire starters and wood thoughtfully stashed right in the corner. It took a little while to get things really blazing, but once it was going we were rewarded with the warmth, sweet smell, and crackles of a cozy fire, just the thing to eventually lull our tired bodies into sleep.

Homemade Spam Musubi

noreply@blogger.com (soopling) — Mon, 27 Jun 2011 15:47:00 +0000

I don't know where I first heard about Spam musubi—it was a long time ago—but I do recall the moment I decided to make it myself. ES and I were having lunch in L&L Hawaiian BBQ, and we'd just ordered two musubi, one made with Spam and one made with Portuguese sausage. Both were delicious, of course; both were also about two bucks each, and it struck me that a whole can of Spam doesn't cost much more. "Oh yes," I muttered, doing the math in my head as I ate. "I can totally do this myself."

By all accounts Spam musubi is excellent travel food, and with a weekend trip to Taos, New Mexico coming up (more on that, to come!), I decided that then would be the perfect time to give it a try.

And so, a few weeks later—the night before ES and I took off for Taos—I gathered my ingredients. Actually, all I had to do was buy the Spam, since I already had everything else on hand.

Following this tutorial from Serious Eats, I cut the block of Spam into eight pieces, placed them in a frying pan, let them fry on each side for a few minutes, and then added a mix of soy sauce and sugar. Soon enough, the pieces of Spam began caramelizing, taking on the added sweet-saltiness of the soy sauce glaze.

It was here that we hit a bit of a snag. I didn't have a musubi maker, and we didn't have anything that could cleanly (and safely) cut off the bottom of the Spam can. With some experimenting, we figured out we could still pack in the layers of rice, Spam, and furikake, and then simply whack the packed can upside down a few times on a sheet of nori, encouraging the layers to fall back out.

(Note that this only works with real Spam cans; I tried this with a knock-off brand of "luncheon meat," and its can lacked the nonstick properties of Spam's. I had to improvise with that one, in the end lining the can with plastic wrap—leaving an overhang over the sides—so that once I added the layers of rice, etc., I could pull up the plastic "handles" and retrieve the firmly packed layers. It was tedious and a bit messier, but it worked…now you know what to do if you're in a pinch.)

Of course, we had to try one right away, to get the full effect of the still-crisp nori against the warm rice, furikake, and Spam filling. Delicious, and even better than the version from L&L! They were still good the next day, too, when we ate them during our drive down to Taos, though freshly made was definitely best.

(Also, a month later, when my parents flew out for a visit, I made Spam musubi again, for us to take on a picnic. My dad spotted the bag of dried mango I had on the counter and came up with the idea to put a few slices into the musubi. It actually makes a fine combination, as the mango adds a hit of fruity sweetness that works well with the saltiness of the meat. If you try this yourself, the only recommendation I'd make it that you cut the mango pieces smaller—the strips tend to come out in one piece with the first bite.)

Anyway, now it's safe to say that I will rarely, if ever, buy Spam musubi from a shop again, given that it's so easy to make yourself—and so much cheaper. Though if I'm ever actually in Hawaii, I might have to take that back….

Kinga's Lounge: Polish that needs some polish

noreply@blogger.com (soopling) — Fri, 24 Jun 2011 17:48:00 +0000

ES had never tried Polish food before, and when he picked me up from MC and ET's place in Denver one Friday evening, he suggested that we try Kinga's Lounge, located not far from their apartment. When we walked in we found a nearly empty dining room, which didn't seem to bode well. Still, it was the end of happy hour, and our two beers, above, were only four bucks a bottle.

We started with two appetizers: bigos (described on the menu as "Polish national dish") and smoked kielbasa with caramelized onions. The former, while fine, wasn't the best rendition; it was watery and lacked the layered richness of stewed meat and sauerkraut that I was looking for. The kielbasa was better—splitting and grilling the sausage gave it a crackly skin that went well with the juicy meat inside.

We decided to also take advantage of happy hour by getting two orders of assorted boiled pierogi—each one stuffed with either meat, potato, and cheese—for the price of one (shown above are both orders in one dish). Unfortunately, a double order of thick, gummy wrappers surrounding gluey fillings is not always the best deal. Aside from their leaden texture, however, the flavor of the pierogi were fine.

I didn't end the meal completely dissatisfied, and in a city that seems to lack many other Polish restaurants, Kinga's Lounge might very well be your best bet. All the same, I'd be sad if this was ES's only experience with the cuisine. Suggestions, anyone, for a better Polish meal in Denver?

New Facebook page, and Coloradoan roundup

noreply@blogger.com (soopling) — Thu, 23 Jun 2011 18:13:00 +0000

Hello, readers! It took me a while, but I finally decided to set up a Facebook page for Salty / Savory / Sweet. In addition to being a place to find updates and additional random commentary, I'm hoping that the page can be a place where people can actually interact and congregate with some of the the others who are reading. I, for one, am certainly looking forward to "meeting" some of you…so please, won't you join me?

And while we're on announcements, here are the three latest Coloradoan reviews—a gig that I'll have to bid farewell to in a few months. But more details on that, to come…

"Ingredient adds new flavors to Old Town Fort Collins"

"Taps Sports Bar and Grill goes beyond typical bar fare"

"Johnson's Corner is on a roll"

A remedy of Korean soup, in H Mart

noreply@blogger.com (soopling) — Wed, 22 Jun 2011 17:56:00 +0000

The next day, after a late night celebrating Cambodian New Year, ES woke up feeling the aftereffects and requested nourishment in the form of something hot and brothy. "Pho?" I suggested. "Congee? Kimchi chigae?"

"Mmm…Korean food," he said, and, groaning, finally got out of bed and into the car to drive us to the H Mart in Aurora.

This branch of the national Korean supermarket chain has quickly become one of my favorites, both for its expanse and for the small shops and restaurants nestled inside the store itself. In addition to the grocery section, there is a branch of Dah Won Rice Cake, selling all variations of tteok; Honey Bakery, selling fresh Korean breads and pastries; a stand selling taiyaki; a stand selling house-made tofu; and our destination, a small and casual restaurant specializing in Korean homestyle cooking.

This restaurant is counter service only, and while it mostly serves stews and stir-fries, there is also a small refrigerated section with premade kimbap: the Korean version of sushi rolls, made with cooked ingredients and unseasoned rice. We picked up a tray to hold us over while waiting for our entrees, and it was quite good, with fresh-tasting rice and a good balance of flavors in the filling of cooked carrot, marinated cooked spinach, egg omelette, takuan, and pickled gourd.

ES settled in happily with his jjamppong, a giant bowl of veggies, seafood, and thick, chewy noodles floating in a spicy red broth. This always looks a lot spicier than it is, but the soup here still had a definite kick as well as a pronounced seafood flavor (in a good way).

I was happy, too, with my clay pot of bubbling soondubu—the combination of hot, spicy broth, soft tofu, assorted seafood, and cooked zucchini slices along with a bowl of steaming rice was perfect for my mood that afternoon. The mussels were a little overcooked, but not enough to prevent me from craving this dish again regularly ever since.

That day, our meal at H Mart was just enough to power ES through driving us back to Fort Collins—it wasn't long after we got back to my apartment that he crashed again. I suppose kimbap and a bowl of noodle soup can only do so much!

A Cambodian New Year at King's Land

noreply@blogger.com (soopling) — Tue, 21 Jun 2011 17:14:00 +0000

It wasn't until I stepped foot into King's Land, a Chinese restaurant in Denver, that I realized ES and I might be attending something a bit more involved than a dragon boat team fundraiser. There was an open dance floor, a live band and a singer up on the stage, and many of the women in attendance were wearing slinky, jewel-colored evening gowns that swished around their sequined high heels. "It's Cambodian New Year!" explained the friend who had invited ES to drop by.

And so began a long evening of partying with the Cambodian community of Denver, and though I did feel terribly underdressed, I felt honored to be in attendance at such an event. The food was good—unlike banquets where dish after endless dish continue to appear long after you've filled up, the menu here consisted of a modest selection of top hits, including a light and soothing pork egg drop soup, pieces of roasted duck in a sweet glaze, black pepper pork chops, and a whole fish, deep fried until the bones were crisp enough to eat whole.

I also tried a piece of this pickled mango, which was topped with a wonderfully salty and spicy chili paste. The flavors were strong and sour and strangely refreshing, though I could only eat a few pieces before my mouth started to pucker. One of ES's friends was going around swearing that if we ate the mango we'd have, um, stomach troubles the next day, but everyone around us was breaking off pieces nonetheless. "It's just so good," they said.

As I watched people eating and chatting, raising their glasses to each other in toasts, and getting into rows to perform line dance routines, I recalled the numerous Chinese banquets I'd attended in the past with my parents and marveled at the similarities. If this had been one with my dance-loving parents in attendance, they would have been the ones leading the Electric Slide for sure!

A broken heart, and then forgiveness, at Tao Tao Noodle Bar

noreply@blogger.com (soopling) — Mon, 20 Jun 2011 16:24:00 +0000

We had high expectations for Tao Tao Noodle Bar, especially once we read that they were serving Taiwanese breakfast. ES had visions of beef noodle soup; I had visions of egg pancakes, salty soy milk, and sesame bing; and even better, the place was located right near ES's place in Aurora. And so we drove over one morning, entering a corner restaurant that was once a gas station, with curious outside bathrooms to match.

Alas, the menu proved to be the first setback. Neither sweet nor salty soy milk were on the menu, nor the egg pancakes I craved. I settled instead for a sesame pocket with egg, thinking that it would be a close second, but it was one of those sandwiches that wasn't anything more than the sum of its parts: a plain seeded bread—which I think wanted to be a sao bing but was breadier and had less flavor—with a fried egg inside. No salt, no sauces, no seasoning; some scallions dotted the landscape, but raised no actual flags.

Still, I allowed myself to have hope for the pork chop over rice, a classic Taiwanese dish that when done well can make even the most stoic expat nostalgic. This version wasn't likely to make anyone recall fond memories of home, however—the braised meat spooned over the rice lacked flavor; the cabbage and soy sauce egg were forgettable, and the pork chop was a mere fried and breaded piece of meat, without the distinct flavor of five-spice that defines a Taiwanese-style preparation. It wasn't bad, but I just couldn't call it a proper pork chop over rice.

By then I suspected nothing coming out of the kitchen would be that great—I'd been broken. So I wasn't surprised by the mediocre soup dumplings, which seemed like any you could buy frozen and then heat up in a steamer, or the gua bao, which suffered from skimpiness in the filling and a simple overall lack of oomph.

The meal would have been a loss had ES's bowl of beef noodle soup not saved the day. Here was a rich, layered beef broth, with springy noodles, sharp pickled mustard greens, flavorful pieces of braised beef, and pieces of perfectly cooked bok choy. With each spoonful soothing my dissatisfied heart, I forgave Tao Tao Noodle Bar a little bit, for dangling the promise of Taiwanese food so close to home but for failing to deliver how I really wanted it. Oh Tao Tao, at least we'll always have the noodles….

Sundayyy, berry sundae

noreply@blogger.com (soopling) — Sat, 18 Jun 2011 14:57:00 +0000

Where can you get this large cup of rich, creamy, frozen vanilla yogurt—swirled with strawberry syrup and topped with several large pieces of whole strawberries—for under two bucks?

Those of you who are bulk shoppers probably already know the answer: the food court of Costco. I've had good experiences with their chocolate and vanilla swirl, too, but the berry sundae is usually the one that wins. Geddit!

Exploring the Mile High Marketplace

noreply@blogger.com (soopling) — Fri, 17 Jun 2011 15:09:00 +0000

One Saturday, ES and I were trying to figure out how to entertain ourselves when one of us brought up the Mile High Marketplace, Denver's year-round, outdoor amusement park, farmers' market, and flea market. We've both heard or seen a lot of the commercials (you probably have, too), and checking it out seemed as good an activity as any to while away a sunny weekend afternoon.

I wouldn't go to the Mile High Marketplace expecting to do any serious, high-quality shopping, as the place seems to specialize in cheap clothing and sunglasses, used power tools and toys, and just a bunch of overall junk. While we did find ourselves attracted to some enormous duffel bags selling for less than twenty bucks apiece, it might be better to simply think of the place as something like an oversized yard sale (and indeed, the marketplace encourages people to rent out a booth for the day in order to get rid of household items).

However, the place is good for cheap beers and carnival fare like turkey drumsticks, funnel cake, sausages, and corn on the cob. The temperature that afternoon was too high for ES and I to be enticed by the hot food, but we couldn't resist getting a cold beer and an enormous bag of freshly made kettle corn to keep us company while we browsed.

Aside from the flea market, Mile High Marketplace also boasts an extensive farmers' market, most of which is centered around Mexican produce. This grocery store, in the middle of it, carried rows and rows of canned and packaged imported goods.

The outdoor section of the farmers' market seemed to be less about variety than quantity, with identical arrangements of the same fruits and vegetables repeating at every other table. If I'd known what the heck to do with thirteen different types of chili peppers and endless rows of nopales, I'd have been all over this place. But since my Mexican cooking skills need a lot more work before I can tackle a meal, we simply picked up a few onions and avocados, brushed the kettle corn crumbs from our lips, finished the beer, and called it a day.

Chicken wings, cheap: Mo Jeaux's Bar and Grill

noreply@blogger.com (soopling) — Mon, 13 Jun 2011 22:08:00 +0000

If ES and I are hanging out in Fort Collins instead of Denver for the weekend, the declaration of "It's Saturday!" is oftentimes not just the overjoyed cry of the weekday-weary, but our excited realization that the Cajun- and Southern-themed bar and grill Mo Jeaux's is serving up their smoked chicken wings for a mere 50 cents apiece, all day long.

Indeed, it was the 50 cent wings that first got me to step foot in the place the first time, though it took me a while. I had long perceived Mo Jeaux's as being primarily an undergraduate hangout, and until ES came along with his love of chicken wings in all forms, I had little desire to swill drinks alongside the same students who could very well appear the next day in my classroom. There were also other obstacles—the first night we went, the bar was packed with post-game revelers and there was nary a seat to be found. Unwilling to wait, we left and decided to return another time.

Another opportunity presented itself a few weeks later, when we found ourselves pondering our meal options after a tour of New Belgium Brewing Company. We made our way over to Mo Jeaux's, counting on the early evening to be more peaceful. Fortunately, we were right, and found ourselves a comfortable booth seat right away.

On Saturdays, along with the 50 cent wing special, Mo Jeaux's boasts $2 drafts of Coors and Bud along with their full menu of bbq, burgers, and sandwiches and everyday "pub grub" menu of $4 items. We'd just decided on an order of fried okra from this last menu when the enticing smell of another table's garlic and parmesan fries wafted under our noses, and we added on a basket of those, too. In truth, I wouldn't say either choice was particularly special, but they were still tasty and for $4, the portions were admirable.

Mo Jeaux's smoked chicken wings are sold in orders of five, and we started off with one order of the regular hot-wing flavor (pictured at top) just to test the waters. They proved to be juicy and huge—nearly twice the size of wings at, say, Buffalo Wild Wings—and quite delicious. With the classic wings a success, we quickly ventured into other territory: honey mustard, and naked. The honey mustard flavor was too light to make much impact, but ES thoroughly enjoyed the naked wings, which boasted a crisp, paper-thin fried skin around the smoky chicken meat. I liked that the creamy blue cheese dressing had big chunks of real cheese, too.

Another visit meant more wing flavors and more selections from the pub grub menu. The teriyaki wings were surprisingly complex, with a gingery kick to the sauce that did much to elevate their flavor beyond the sticky, palate-fatiguing sweetness of so many other versions. The sausage mac and cheese was a heaping pile of perfect, chewy-cheesy baked pasta topped with slices of andouille sausage. And I couldn't resist getting the menu's $1.99 "one rib" offering, after spotting it on someone else's plate when I went up to order: a wonderfully tender pork rib with meat that fell right off the bone.

Even though I discovered Mo Jeaux's late in the game—I'd lived in this town for over two years by the time ES and I finally tried it—now the place is a firm part of our dining-out rotation. At this point I don't have a lot of time here left, but you bet we're fitting in at least one more visit to Mo Jeaux's before I go!

Woody's Wings & (Asian) Things

noreply@blogger.com (soopling) — Wed, 18 May 2011 16:34:00 +0000

Can't decide between Asian or American for dinner? The answer is Woody's Wings & Things—a smallish chain of Denver-area restaurants specializing in hot wings and other fried items, but with one exception. Walk into the Westminster location, and along with the standard wing menu you'll be greeted with a thick hardbound volume filled with pictures of Cambodian, Thai, Chinese, and Vietnamese specialties.

ES and I had dinner there after returning from Black Hawk and Central City, and started with this dish of mussels and assorted vegetables in a green curry. I loved the tender mussels, and the thick, slightly spicy curry, rich with coconut milk and ground peanuts, was delicious over rice.

Delicious, too, was a creamy and soothing chicken-rice soup, as well as a Thai beef salad. We had originally intended to order the Cambodian beef salad, but the waiter insisted that the Cambodian version was bitter and that the Thai one was the best on the menu.

There was also a dish of pad see ew, with that wonderful slightly charred and smoky quality that I'm always looking for in this dish. It also struck the perfect balance between not-sweet-enough and too-sweet, and was less oily than usual; though I might have quibbled with the usage of what seemed like dried rice noodles instead of fresh ones, the flavor was so good that I didn't quibble for long.

From what I observed, neither menu at Woody's Wings & Things goes ignored; in the restaurant that night there were an equal number of tables ordering from the American menu and from the Asian menu. Some tables even boasted platters of hot wings alongside noodle soups and rice plates: those who couldn't decide which way their tastes were leaning, or those who decided that heck—they just want a little bit of both.

An elevated gamble: Ameristar Centennial Buffet

noreply@blogger.com (soopling) — Tue, 10 May 2011 05:16:00 +0000

On a bright Saturday afternoon at the end of my spring break, ES and I drove a half hour out of Denver and up into the mountain gambling towns of Black Hawk and Central City. While mellower than Atlantic City and certainly smaller and quieter than Las Vegas, these two towns boast a number of large casinos interspersed with humbler ones, all set along a gulch that had once been a hub for gold mining and processing.

Upon arrival, we stepped outside and breathed in the cold, crisp air. Behind the casinos tree-speckled mountains rose in the background, and the sun shone high overhead. Since we had arrived around noon, our first stop was Ameristar—one of the newer casinos to arrive to Black Hawk—to eat lunch.

Ameristar's Centennial Buffet is pretty standard "international buffet" fare, with the notable addition of a pho station amid the steam tables of American, Mexican, Chinese, and Italian offerings. ES got himself a bowl and declared it actually okay.

This, by the way, is also where I hatched a renovation idea for pho restaurants: installing a buffet station for the garnishes—sprouts, limes, mint, jalapenos, cilantro, etc.—instead of having servers bring over a pre-plated portion for each table. I don't know about you, but whenever I eat pho the garnishes never seem to match what I want; I rarely put in as many sprouts or herbs, and I always end up asking for more limes. A serve-yourself buffet station would allow everyone to get exactly what they need, and decrease waste for the restaurant, too. Brilliant…no?

Err, anyway. Back to the buffet. Pictured here are mac and cheese, corn souffle, meatballs in gravy, a king crab leg, breaded mini hot dogs, a spring roll, a piece of country fried steak with cream gravy, and a piece of smoked salmon with capers. All of it not bad, all of it not great.

The same could be said for the desserts, where one bite of each was pretty much enough. But that's how it goes with buffets, isn't it? You don't go for the high quality of each and every dish, but rather for the unfettered ability to sample your way through as much as you can.

We spent the rest of the afternoon letting our stomachs digest by taking a stroll down the main strip of Black Hawk. Afterward we drove a mile over to the much quieter Central City, where we found tiny casinos set up in houses and former bars and restaurants; it was delightfully strange to walk into a kitchen or a living room and to find it lined with working slot machines. All in all it was a wonderful day excursion, a unique little part of Colorado that I was happy to explore.

Also, one day I'm going to save up my money and buy these ten acres. With views, privacy, access, power, and its own gold mine, surely this is the perfect purchase?