I’m going to deviate just a touch from the topic of eating food for a second…but there’s still food preparation involved.

Lady Camp was one of the most inspiring things I’ve done in a long time. I travel across oceans all the time, but here, just 45 minutes from my house, I met people from the foreign lands that we call “across the mountains” with strange religions (I believe they’re called “republicans”). They were tall and short, old as my grandmother, and young enough that I had to use the phrase “back in my day,” more than once. The common thread? They were as enthusiastic as I am about spending time outside, and many even more specifically, about catching, killing, and preparing their own food.

I stumbled on what I came to call Lady Camp while searching for a way to learn to hunt that didn’t involve having friends who hunt (I have none, and there isn’t one, by the way). I still might not know much beyond book learning in how to hunt, but I’ve picked up a new annual tradition: Lady Camp.

Think back to summer camp. The long, sunny days, the arts and craft classes with friends, the evenings around a campfire. Now imagine doing it as an adult: instead of arts and crafts, you can take outdoor cooking or nature photography. Instead of sneaking candy after a bad dining hall meal, you can sip from your flask. And those campfire stories? They’re a lot raunchier.

Lady Camp is actually Washington Outdoor Women‘s yearly Fall Weekend Workshop. It’s a Friday evening to Sunday afternoon thing, staying at an actual summer camp. They’re a non-profit, and the $250 price tag is pretty reasonable when you consider that you get two nights housing, all your meals, and each person gets to select three skills classes to do while they’re there.

I had chosen to attend because two of the classes were on hunting. While I’m no more ready to go out and shoot an animal than I was before the classes, I at least know what I need to do to get there (um, it’s still find friends who hunt).

My first class was Field to Freezer. Our instructor, Sharon, was in her early 60s and told stories of field dressing every animal under the sun, explaining technique and tactics with the enthusiasm and encouragement of a kindergarten teacher demonstrating finger-painting. I am 100% sure that if Sarah Palin were to actually have to field dress a moose, Sharon would be the one who would be called on to teach her.

We started with an explanation, using a stuffed animal–Anatomical Andy–she had sewn herself (seriously, this lady is amazing) so that it had all the necessary parts to demonstrating field dressing.

Later, I sawed the rib cage of our demo animal in half while women twice my age helped to crack the spine and remove the innards. It was a bonding experience, to say the least.

At the end of the class, the eight of us had broken down a lamb carcass and wrapped it to be freezer ready. We split up the parts between the group, and I went home with about 25 pounds worth of lamb. For those interested in less…primal classes, I also took kayaking.

Other than the animal carcass, it was pretty much like camp. On the first day people mingled and met new friends. On the last day we traded email addresses and promised to write (but never did). And now, like in those childhood summer camps, I hope I get to see my camp friends again this year.

I’ll be at Lady Camp again this year, if you’re also in Washington, you should definitely join. If you’re not, I hope your state is cool enough to have something similar.

The post The Time I Went to Adult Summer Camp appeared first on The GastroGnome.

Let’s just get this straight: I was the worst server ever. On my second day as a waitress, I dropped chicken fingers on the floor of the Quito pub I worked in, and under the judging eye of both chef and co-worker, I picked them up and served them. As a pizza server in northern Mexico, I probably ate more cheese than ever made it onto one of the pies I was preparing. This is why I work on the marketing side of the food world. So I understand that serving is not an easy gig. But it doesn’t seem so hard to remember not to ask, “Sir, did you forget to take your shower today?” (True story: this was actually asked to someone at a table with me. Admittedly, I was in the fifth grade, and he was my vice-principal, so this was the FUNNIEST THING EVER).

Luckily, I’m a taste kind of girl. Service is secondary, ambiance tertiary, to me, following how good the food tastes at a restaurant. That said, if I’m laying down the big bucks, or really, more than about $15 an entree, I’d really prefer that my server not say any of the following things:

1. “Everything!” as a response to “What’s good?” I’m asking because I’d like your opinion, and you’ve told me you’re either a waiter-tron that can’t make decisions for yourself or you’re too concerned with offending me to pick one item. I asked because I want your opinion. Even better if you can back it up with a reason why–that isn’t just “it’s my favorite” (the spot prawns arrived fresh this morning, asparagus is chef’s favorite, so he treats it like gold, etc.)
2. “Who had the fish?” If you can’t remember places, write down the orders. Nobody minds if the waiter writes down orders, so don’t treat it as some sort of mental pissing contest to see who can remember the most orders. Please, when my table of six orders a pile of shared apps plus individual entrees, don’t try to keep it all in your head and then auction off our dishes when they arrive.
3. “And yours will be right out,” Deliver all the plates or don’t deliver them at all. This one feels like it should be obvious, but somehow, it still happens. Three of our four dishes arrive, and we’re told the fourth will be right out. That three minutes? Feels. Like. Eternity. Everyone else’s food is taunting them “eat me, my mashed potatoes are steeeeaaaammming hot,” and the plate-less person is experiencing endless guilt, saying “eat, eat, don’t wait for me.” If they do eat, then conversation is silent, and plate-less is just sitting there, with nobody to talk to. If they don’t, conversation flow is interrupted as the elephant in the room (or the salmon that’s not in the room) blocks it.
4. “My name is _______ and I’ll be your server tonight,” Let’s be honest, if you’re introducing yourself, you probably already work at a place that makes you wear a name-tag, not to mention I’m going to forget it the second it’s out of your mouth. And telling me you’ll be my server? I’m assuming that’s why you’re over here asking me if I’d like anything to drink. I’d imagine the only people who couldn’t figure that out would be people who are on their first restaurant trip, in which case I hope they stick out their hand and say “Hi, I’m _______ and I’ll be your customer today.” Also, if I need another beer, I’m damn well not going to worry about which one of you is MY waiter, and I’m sorry, I know that’s not convenient. But if my beer gets to empty and nobody’s offered me another one, I’m going to start flagging until somebody brings me my brew.
5. “Oh, we’re out of that,” when I’m placing my order. Restaurants run out of things, it happens–some nights there’s just a run on the fried chicken. But this is knowledge that should be passed on as the menu is handed to the guest, not when I am attempting to place the order, having already dreamed of crispy-fried bird skin, tender thighs and that fluff-tacular biscuit.
6. “Is everything okay?” Sorry, waiters of the world, I know this is a common one. But what a watered-down, non-question. Put some spunk into it or ask me a question with meaning. “Are you enjoying your meal?” even, at least gives me the opportunity to be enthusiastic. If my summary of your restaurant is “okay,” are you going to be happy with that? Better yet, just ask me if there’s anything you can get me, because that’s really what you’re asking: do you need more ketchup, water, cocktails, or, worst case scenario, a different entree because this one sucks. Also, whatever the question is, please let me try the food and drinks you’ve just dropped before you ask it. I know it’s hard to time it for when my mouth isn’t full, but just let me sample before you ask.
   
7. “Did you save room for/would you like dessert/a dessert menu/to order dessert?” Even as an infrequent dessert order-er, I still always want to see the dessert menu. I want to see what is on offer, and you, as a waiter who makes more money when I order dessert, should always want me to see the dessert menu, just in case you can tempt me. I’m a big girl, if you bring a dessert menu and I don’t want any, I’ll let you know to just bring the check.
8. “Are you all finished with that?” If you must ask this type of thing, “Shall I clear this for you,” is a better phrasing, but really, signs I might be done with my meal include: a) I haven’t eaten it for a while b) there’s a napkin over the plate c) it’s pushed away from me d) the entire table is done with eating–as in forks are no longer going to mouths.
9. “Have you been here before?” Your restaurant is not that special. Yes, I can see these are small plates and those are large plates. If there’s something truly confusing about your menu, you should explain that on the menu. And if you must explain it in person, please, just explain it. The one guest who hasn’t been here before doesn’t need to be called out on that.
10. “No,” with disdain, or the accompanying eye-rolls that mean “no” while you say “yes” or “I guess,” when I ask for a substitution or special order. I’m pretty low maintenance  but a pregnant friend recently told me about the attitude endured in getting restaurants in town to serve her food that would be safe for her pregnancy. These were not impossible-to-avoid foods (no fresh/raw cheeses, no under cooked meat, that sort of thing), and her requests were consistently met with eye-rolls, eyebrow raises, and general push-back. Another friend, when ordering a non-alcoholic cocktail, reports that the bartender made fun of her for not drinking, going so far as to pretend to snore, insinuating that anyone who doesn’t drink is that boring. Seriously, Seattle servers, this is the best we can do?

What’s your server pet peeve?

The post 10 Things I Don’t Want to Hear My Server Say appeared first on The GastroGnome.

“I’m having a girl!” the text came in yesterday from my best friend.

I couldn’t be happier for her. THERE IS A TINY HUMAN INSIDE MY BEST FRIEND. What could be more exciting than that? Nothing. But this is my blog, not hers, so that’s not my story. Instead, here’s the second most interesting thing going on in my world.

I’ve been gestating a little something myself for the last nine months: a tiny, electronic baby. If I were texting my friends about it, the message would say: “I’m having an app!”

I’m not texting, though. Even just saying out loud, “My app is releasing today” feels ridiculous. Who has an app? I just keep envisioning the scene from 30 Rock where Angie (Tracy’s wife) tells everyone “My single, ‘My Single is Dropping, is dropping.”

And yet, from this day forward, if you need to find a huckleberry shake in Government Camp, Oregon; a place to eat a taco in Victoria, British Columbia; or maybe some Kenyan food with killer hot sauce here in Seattle, there’s an app for that.

Unique Eats of the Northwest covers from Salem, Oregon in the south up to Whistler, BC, and details 45 restaurants that are serving unique, exceptional food. Some are unique for location, boasting the best Peking duck outside of China, others for attitude, turning Seinfeld’s ‘Soup Nazi’ into reality. One restaurant qualifies as unique because it’s invented a new burger style (involving the deep fryer), and others for simply preparing the best bites of heat-kissed sushi or brick-oven Turkish bread you’ve ever tasted.

The map will show you what’s near by (and you can set it to alert you when you’re near something good or a place that you’ve marked as a favorite), give you directions, and business information. Each restaurant is not only hand-picked by me, but has a description of why I loved it and some photos to offer a taste of what you’re in for.

You can download the app here. It’s only $1.99, and contains at least $2.03 worth of information, so it’s a steal. I’m sorry to say that at the moment it’s only for iOS, but hopefully Android will be coming soon.

Friends don’t let friends eat bad food, so download the app, send it to all your amigos, rate it in the app store, and help me spread the word about amazing food in the Pacific Northwest that is off the beaten path—both literally and figuratively.

The post App Release: Unique Eats of the Northwest appeared first on The GastroGnome.

Some phrases that make my heart hurt:

• “We got there and we were tired, so we just ate at the hotel”
• “I didn’t know what anything was, so thank god there was a [PICK ONE: TGIMcFunsters/Magic Panda/Burger Sovereign] nearby”
• “We wanted to eat where we could see the [INSERT MAJOR TOURIST ATTRACTION HERE].”

Brett, contemplating the table full of excellent dim sum we found not far from our hotel in Beijing.

 The average tourist decision, anywhere in the world, on where to eat goes like this:

Joe Schmoe spends hundreds of dollars on flights and hotels to get to EXCITINGVILLE! He spent the whole flight reading the guidebook entry for FAMOUS PLAZA. When he got there, he looked around for a little while, took some terrible selfie photos Instagram, and then decided it’s lunchtime. He didn’t look at where to have lunch, and god forbid he get too far from FAMOUS PLAZA (is there even more to EXCITINGVILLE than that?), so he ends up at Hairy Sam’s Plaza-side Authentic Shack of EXCITINGVILLE Specials or the fancy looking place that Slimey Scouterson just slipped him a menu to: The food all sounds like what you’re supposed to get in EXCITINGVILLE, but there are no prices on it. (Hint: They’re as embarrassed to charge you those prices as you’ll be to pay them).

I’m constantly asked for where to eat by people who are smart enough not to pull a Joe Schmoe on their trip, where to find the best food while traveling. While I’m always happy to give advice, the truth is, I haven’t been everywhere (I so, so wish I had been, though). So I can’t always give an answer. What I can give is the way that I do my own research on where to go in a new-to-me city, and how I pick where to eat.

The Kung Pao Pastrami from Mission Chinese Food in San Francisco is a travel food-find favorite.

1.  Reach out to my network: I start with the easy targets. A quick tweet, or a question on Facebook will usually turn up a few good leads (especially with domestic travel). Even if I don’t get a direct recommendation, I can often get a lead to somebody who does know what he or she is talking about. Sometimes, I even get a local to show me around. Facebook has twice hooked me up with old college pals that I didn’t know were living in a place I was travelling to, and in Beijing it was a lifesaver, as Nick did a heck of a lot of translating for us, in addition to an excellent survey of the areas regional Chinese food.
2. Search food boards: Once I’ve exhausted the people I have a connection to, I have to start trusting people I don’t know, but who care enough about what they eat to spend time chatting on food boards. Here I advise careful judgment. About 70% of the time I get good suggestions from Chowhound, Mouthfuls, and Egullet. The other 30% of chatter is that of raving lunatics. Stark. Raving. Mad. People who suggest preposterous restaurants, who poo-poo those who don’t agree with them, who say things like “the Cheesecake Factory really isn’t that bad, and it’s right near your hotel.” It’s like Yelp minus the hipsters, plus extra snobiness.
3. Record the results: It might seem like the obvious suggestion, but you don’t want to be standing on the street corner in Quito, looking up at the sky, going “Now, what was the name of that ceviche stall The GastroGnome suggested?” while some local hooligan snatches wallet. Nor do you want to hike all the way across New York City just to find your Liberian restaurant is closed on Tuesdays and now you’re hungry, in South Jamaica, and the cops are wondering what a young white girl is doing here alone (hint: they think you’re buying drugs). So I use a two prong approach here: a spreadsheet that has name, address, hours, website/phone number, and any comments about best dishes/what to order, and a map. The map (I use Google Maps to create) is also useful for marking where your hotel is and any sights you want to see, so you can pick a path that hits all the good restaurants on your way.
4. Find bloggers: Unless you’ve hitch-hiked your way onto a sailboat headed for Nauru or you and your buddy Dennis Rodman are making haste for North Korea, someone has probably been there before. It’s nearly as likely, in this day of Internet ubiquity, that someone has written about their experience. And even if your search for connections turned up emptier than Nauru’s tourism bureau, maybe somebody else was more successful. Especially helpful if it’s a blogger whose tastes you already know or trust (I have a few bloggers who seem to run in similar circles and to similar places as I do, who I always turn to first, like Gastronomy Blog, Mmm-Yoso). Even if you’ve never seen the blog before, it is infinitely more helpful than other resources because (we hope) the fact that their writing a blog indicates: a) They care about what they eat, b)They may be able to articulate what is good or bad about various places, and c) If you’re not sure if you trust them, you can look in their archives to see what they think about places you have more experience with.
5. Read about local foods: Sure, you know that when you’re headed to Mexico you want tortas because you like Mexican sandwiches. But if you’re heading to Puebla, you should know to look for cemitas (sesame-bunned towers of meat topped with string cheese), and in Queretaro you’ll want to look for pambazos, dipped and fried sandwiches of potatoes and ham. And where to eat them? I subscribe to the Bourdain method here: locate two cliché places that serve it, and post on a local food board asking which is better. Locals will quickly jump in to supply you with the much better, non-cliché version.

So now, you tell me: What are your best tips and tricks for finding great food while you travel?

The post How to Find the Best Food While Traveling appeared first on The GastroGnome.

The slug recoiled in horror, seemingly just as scared that his comfy—if crunchy—bed of green lettuce had been disturbed, as I was that he was on it. He recovered more quickly than I did, returning to slithering about, leaving a faint trail of slime on my chivito. Translating to ‘baby goat,’ a chivito is a the Uruguayan national food: a sandwich in which mayonnaise, ham, steak, hard-boiled eggs, and cheese are stacked upon each other without regard to either cleanliness of shirt or heart-health of the eater, all while packed into an oversize hamburger bun. Slugs, which, according to my handy-dandy Spanish-English dictionary translate as babosas, have no place in traditional versions of the chivito. Uruguayan food tends toward watered down versions of German and Northern Italian cuisine (think ham and cheese, mostly peering out of or up from pale carbohydrates including, but not limited to potato, bread, or pasta). The babosa incident, early in my time in Uruguay, did serve a valuable purpose: it kept me from drowning my culinary misery over the bland cuisine in jumbo sandwiches. It was also not my only bug incident in Uruguay.

At that point in my middle-class, American life, filled with dried pasta and lettuce that came triple-washed in plastic bags, bugs were a sign that something was wrong with my food. The idea that bugs could be my food, rather than invaders of my food had not yet crossed my mind. I was a college girl whose diet generally involved ramen dinners washed down with buckets of beer, thus necessitating the hangover-curing breakfast sandwich at the dining hall the next day. Lather, rinse, repeat. If any bug could even have crawled into my late-night breadsticks order, surely it would have fallen off in the bath of ranch dressing they took en route to my mouth. Accidental bugs were not entering my food, and the concept that they might be there on purpose was still years away. But the second time I ran into bugs in Uruguay, I actually considered eating them.

“I smuggled them in from Argentina,” my Uruguayan friend’s dad whispered conspiratorially to us as we sat down to a creamy pasta dish. My eyes widened and my heart quickened as he reached into his shirt pocket, pulling out a hamster-sized bag of red pepper flakes. Spice! Flavor! Color! I double-checked that my mouth was closed so nobody would catch me drooling. After lightly sprinkling his own pasta with the contraband, a barely visible amount, like someone building up a resistance to a poison, he passed me the baggie. Smiling, I started throwing the red gold onto my food. I looked down, with love, into the sea of flakes, rising and falling with the—movement of the many tiny worms that had invaded the bag? I had a hard decision to make: pretend I don’t see them and get a few sweet, sweet bites of flavor, or break the news, as I should, and lose the opportunity to remind my tongue what it means to be alive? After a moment of soul searching, I did the right thing and politely pointed out the worms, trying to hide my disappointment. But it was a seminal moment: the first time I considered eating a bug voluntarily.

While my time in Uruguay may not have made me worldlier, it offered me a deep appreciation of any food, cuisine, or culture that had even an iota of flavor. Shortly thereafter, I did finally eat a bug: on a nature tour in the Ecuadorian Amazon jungle, I nibbled a lemon-y tasting ant straight off a stick. There was almost no detectable texture from the fingernail-clipping-sized creature, making it an easy sell. Wait, back up. The bug had no bad texture AND it tasted like a familiar, loveable all-American food? Perhaps these bug-eating heathens could be onto something?

The difficulty in translating bugs from creepy-crawlies into food is an issue of ignorance throughout modern American culture. In a New York Times article, famous eater of ‘bizarre’ foods Andrew Zimmern called it a “psychological handicap.”^[1] While correct, he and others—see Fear Factor—don’t help by fetishizing the practice. It is not weird or bizarre by the standards of the people for whom this is part of their daily diet, for the Poblanos who enjoy chapulines (fried grasshoppers from Puebla) with their beer or the Ghanaians who make bread from termites (very high in protein—higher even than beef^[2]). It was a lesson I came to slowly, on the journey from babosas in my chivito to lovely lemonade ants.

I’d venture a guess that most Americans, if they ever think of bugs as a food source, assume that people who eat them do so out of necessity, from poverty and lack of other food sources. Having traveled around the world in search of unique foods and the most delicious things around, I dispute that.

Following the lemon-ants incident, my mind was more open. Perhaps it was while eating Egyptian-style lamb brains in Queens or chewing on grilled uncleaned pig intestine at a Southeast Asian outdoor market. It finally got through my head that people eat bugs (and slugs, snails, pig intestine, and brains) because they’re delicious. I began to seek out opportunities where bugs were offered not just as crazy things for tourists to ogle (see Wangfujing Snack Street in Beijing), but cooked and respected for their flavor, texture, and culinary value. Bamboo grubs might look like tiny worms, but they taste like potato chips. Wasp larvae are somewhat less flavorful, but incredibly fun to eat: pop them from their honeycomb-shaped home and bite in, letting the liquid spurt out like those old Gusher fruit snacks. One large, cricket-like bug I ate in Laos surprised the table as it sang with a light lavender flavor. These small creatures, the six-legged invaders of personal space, tasted like food. Eyes closed, mouth open, I imagine it would be difficult to discern a well-prepared insect meal from any other tasty but new or foreign treat.

Even with my top priority for foodstuffs satisfied (great taste), I’m sad to say, I don’t see the insect’s journey from pest to plate being a quick one here in the land of Happy Meals. It took the lobster two hundred years to go from “filthy, bottom-feeding scavenger unfit for consumption by civilized people”^[3] to the gastronomic star that it is today. Surely at least two features of bugs-as-food are top notch in today’s food-world concerns: they’re extremely healthful, with high protein (most are considered superfoods), and sustainable for long term harvesting (they don’t use up water resources the way cows do^[4]). But I’d say there is one real sign of hope that the tide is very slowly turning in Americans’ attitude toward bugs: They’ve been given Angelina Jolie’s blessing^[5]–she states that her kids eat fried crickets like they’re Doritos.

The post From Pest to Plate: An Essay on Eating Bugs, Slugs, & Insects appeared first on The GastroGnome.

Yummy Mammy is the Zooey Deschanel of Chinese restaurants. It’s got her quirky looks and takes hints from the way she hides behind big glasses to fool people into thinking she’s not so  hot. Digging in deeper, ignoring the garbage bag full of dried red peppers sitting on the hostess stand, I found my manic pixie dream girl restaurant.

Yummy Mammy’s name alone gives it points in the “most adorkable” competition: awkward to get off the tongue and giving no hint of the stellar Chinese food hidden within. Emulating Zooey’s Jess, from New Girl, it’s just different enough, without crossing into “weird” territory. It stands out in a sea of competitors, a crowded field of Chinese restaurants in Vancouver, by serving Guizhou cuisine

For those unfamiliar with the food of China’s Guizhou province, here was my take, after eating it in Beijing: American breakfast+chili peppers=Guizhou. Living up to this quick definition and rash overgeneralization is the Farmhouse Fried Chinese Bacon. The intensely smoky, thick-cut Chinese bacon awakens tastebuds that American bacon has always left sleeping. It adheres perfectly to the Manic Pixie Dream Girl formula: Take totally sexy (hello, bacon) and tweak something small to individualize it (lightly stir-fried snow peas and peppers).

Of course, the MPDG needs to have some mystery about her. That’s where the Xinjiang Hot Chicken (with noodle) came in. What was this dish? The bone-in, bite-size chicken reminded me of curry, but with deep-fried potatoes mellowing the spice and boosting the chunkiness. Space was in short supply on the table so the waitress offered to dump the noodles on top. How it was meant to be eaten was never clear, but the incredible noodles had soft, chewy, handmade texture, and if I had my choice, they’d be eaten by mainlining.

For a quick foray into the familiar, we ordered a classic Sichuan dish. Labeled here on the menu as “Boiling Fish with Chili,” it was as true to the authentic version as any water-boiled fish/fire fish/spicy hot fish fillet in broth that I’ve had this side of the Pacific. Chunks of fish floated about in a sea of broth and red, spicy oil, falling apart at the gentlest nudge from a chopstick. Lurking under the surface, bean sprouts and Chinese celery offered a supporting crunch.

Sometimes MPDG just goes crazy, because, like, I mean, she’s JUST SO QUIRKY. Well, if you serve MPDG a crispy flatbread, similar to a roti canai, and she was in that crazy mood, she just might RIP IT UP INTO TINY PIECES. What you’d have then would be Yummy Mammy’s Xinjiang Handmade Pancake. Confusing, yes, but also delicious. Best when used as a crunchy blank-slate vessel for the powerful–in chew and in piquancy–Flavored Beef & Triple [sic] with Spicy Sauce.

Finally, much as I seem unable to stop watching New Girl, I can’t to resist an intriguing dish called “House Special Spicy Noodle with Spinach Sauce.” Fortunately, the dish turned out to be far better than a half hour of watching a mindless sitcom which has so quickly ruined what I felt was the best character (seriously, how did Nick go from adorable brooder to creepy malcontent SO FAST).  The phrase “house special” often means “whatever leftover meat scraps” when it comes to Chinese noodles, so it was a surprise to see such a minimalist dish. The spinach mentioned seemed to be deeply infused into the noodles themselves, while they relaxed in a spicy chili oil sauce. Peanuts peppered the dish randomly, and the bean sprouts formed a clique to the side, but the noodles alone sprang so cheerfully when bitten and harbored so much of the secret spinach magic, I would not have complained about just eating them plain.

As with any good Zooey Deschanel movie, this is the part where the happy romantic comedy wraps up, and the boy gets his Manic Pixie Dream Girl and rides off into the sunset. BUT WAIT. This is Zooey’s guest starring role on Weeds where she runs off  kidnapping Shane and being chased by Abumchuk, the Alaskan bounty hunter. See, I got a little excited and ordered seven dishes for two of us (in all fairness, we ate the leftovers for three more meals) and the place is cash only (and Canadian chip-enabled debit). So I had the pleasure of running around to three places (the mini-mart across the street was also chip-debit only, and the ATM in the Skytrain station was broken) before finding a place that could give me cash. Still, totally worth it.

The post Love at First Sight: Yummy Mammy appeared first on The GastroGnome.

America loves the cock. The big red bottle with the outline of the rooster on it has climbed to bacon-esque levels of zeitgeist, and to be quite frank, I’m over Sriracha. As a heat-hound, I crave spiciness in every meal, and as an educated eater, I also want flavor. In the world of over blown excitement over it, I think that the Oatmeal nailed the Sriracha problem much better than Bon Appetit’s 25 ways to use Sriracha. Oatmeal understands that the powerful yet unexciting flavors of Sriracha are best used to cover for poor quality and bad technique, while Bon Appetit encourages readers to use it to create 25 dishes that likely all taste the same.

If you’re interested in making your food both spicy AND delicious, I recommend you trash the fashionable red bottle, and find a sauce that matches your meal. The sauces below are the five sauces I like best that are also widely available throughout the U.S. (and on Amazon–follow the affiliate links to purchase and you’re supporting your local food blogger!)

1. 
   Matouks Hot Pepper Sauce: Caribbean sauces use the powerful scotch bonnet pepper, and this one wields it dangerously. By aging and pickling the peppers, the sauce has a lot of depth and a slight sweetness, tricking you into thinking you can handle more of the heat. Wake yourself up with a dollop on your eggs in the morning or test the taste buds of guests at your next barbecue–it goes great on ribs.
2. 
   Lao Gan Ma Chili Oil: Or as it’s called more informally at our house, “The Lady.” While it is titled as an oil, it is in fact an oil chock-full of flakes that I assume are chili, giving it the hint of sweetness. If you get the right version (see the green stripe? you want the green stripe) there are also peanuts floating about. The heat is only mild, but the sweetness pulled from caramelized chili with the crunch of peanuts makes for a full-flavored sauce. For a punch of savory heat, a spoonful mixed into a bowl of rice will do,  but you can also layer in flavors by adding it as the final ingredient in a stir-fry. I know people are big on Sriracha in their pho, but I’d take this in there over it any day.
3. 
   Lee Kum Kee Peppercorn Chili Oil: Continuing down the Chinese path for a moment, this Sichuan peppercorn-infused spicy oil offers what is called ma la heat. That means it offers both the chili type of spice and the tingling-numbness from Sichuan peppercorns. Because it’s in true oil form, it can be used both to cook a dish (turn on the fan/vent!) and to finish it. A few drops in your chicken soup will clear those sinuses right out (and maybe cure your cold too), or for a bit of excitement in your greens, cook a few cloves of garlic in it and toss in some kale. This is also another one that is damn fine in a bowl of pho.
4. 
   Valentina Salsa Picante: The extra hot (look for the black label, generally) version is not, as promised ‘extra hot,’ really, in the grand scheme of things. It won’t blow out your tongue, though it might punch it in the face a few times. Lightly vinegar-y, this sauce avoids the all too common vinegar-heavy mistake of other hot sauces, letting the vinegar preserve while the peppers give off the flavor. As it is a Mexican sauce, it does best on Mexican food, but is also darn good on almost any American food: chicken wings, burgers, bloody mary, what have you.
5. 
   Crystal Hot Sauce: A finishing sauce, if you will. Tabasco-lovers can have their thin vinegar (wait, but leave me a little of the chipotle flavor), Frank’s fans can keep their garlic. To me, Crystal is what belongs on the table. Perhaps it’s the time I’ve spent in New Orleans, but at some point in the last couple years, I’ve become convinced that Crystal is the sauce to beat. Pour it on grits, eggs, greens, creamy pasta sauces, it will give a lift to just about anything. If I were allowed only one (commercial, widely available) sauce, this just might be it.

So there it is. Of the 30 or so varieties of hot sauce currently in my house, these are the ones I recommend to help cut yourself off from Sriracha cold turkey. I have another few I would love to tell you more about–but you can’t buy them. Sauces brought by friends, purchased in tiny restaurants, or from faraway lands. More on those later. In the meantime, what is your go to spicy sauce?

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1/8/13

Okay, people, listen up. I went to the French Laundry, and obviously I’m the most qualified person to offer this review, even though there are fifty one-star reviews already on the site, because this is going to be the first person to give a ZERO star review! FIRST ONE HERE! Also, I actually went to the restaurant, so that puts me a leg up on more than half of those silly one-star people.

I thought this place, was, like, super exclusive, or something? I was extremely angry that I got the exact day and time I wanted for my reservation (by following the instructions on this site) on my first try. This place must be getting commonplace. I have to take away a star for being so proletarian.

It lost the second star because we were thirty minutes late. I know it’s not the restaurant’s fault that we got stuck in traffic, and I’ll admit the host was as gracious as could be, both when we called and when we got there. But that was stressful! Maybe if it were in San Francisco, I could give the star back.

I was going to give a star for letting me use the beautifully decorated toilet upstairs, but really, why is there a ribbon on my toilet paper? I can’t wipe my ass with that. DEDUCTED.

By the time we got our first course, the restaurant only had two stars left. Sigh. What a useless restaurant.

The amuse bouche was one of Chef Thomas Keller’s most famous dishes, an ice cream cone of smoked salmon and crème fraîche. For the little girl who grew up with smoked salmon and cream cheese flowing through her veins, this was like Proust’s madeleine. Unfortunately, the memory it brought up was my mother going “Stop eating all those bagels! How will you ever find a nice Jewish doctor if you weigh 300 pounds?”

This was followed by another dish whose reputation preceded it, oysters and pearls. Now, I’ve never been one to complain about either oysters or pearls, and when some of the pearls are made of caviar, it’s one of the best bites I’ve ever had. How good this dish is should earn a star back, but I’ve been talking to too many other, cooler food bloggers, and apparently they all ate this dish years ago. Thanks, French Laundry, for making me late to the party. MINUS A STAR.

I wanted to give a star for serving me foie gras. So hotly anticipated, creamy soft torchon, so soon to be contraband, but then the waiter stole my toast part way through. Sure, the waiter set down a new piece of warm brioche (identical to my half-eaten one). And sure, the waiter told me “Chef doesn’t think there’s any sense in cold toast.” Listen, Thomas, if I can call you that (I will), maybe I LIKE cold toast (I don’t). BOOM. That’s the sound of another star falling away.

In between courses, we were offered four choices of bread. This might not seem to be a problem for you, but it was for me. See, there were only two kinds of butter. Now, both butters were great, but why would you serve four kinds of bread with only two butters? Can’t you count to four, Mr. Keller? Can’t you?

You don’t need to count to four. You can count to zero, the number of stars left in my Yelp review. I mean, I guess some stuff was good. The lobster tail for example, tasted of the sweetness of the sea, if the sea were floated in a rich sauce that vaulted it high above the shoreline.

And our visit was timed perfectly for lamb. A dish that was such an epitome of May’s finest food that the baby beets, sweet with spring soil, kick you a little on the way down for forgetting that meat, too, could be seasonal.

But this is Yelp, and I can’t give stars for the cheese course. How does crispy fried asparagus and the tiniest radish in the world possibly make up for my waiter not knowing the answer to my question about the difference between two types of fish spoons????!!!!

Or the desserts. All of them. Yes, the chocolate one, the strawberry one, the Coffee and Doughnuts, (another classic French Laundry dish that I’d heard so much about), the plate of chocolates, and the shortbread we were sent home with.

So sure, I ate my way through 14 different dishes, enjoyed every single second of it, drank impeccably-chosen wines paired by the restaurant, and generally felt regally wined and dined, but still, I’m afraid this Yelp Review is zero stars. That’s five fewer stars than I give myself for being a good food snob.

That’s also a gazillion dollars per star. In answer to the question everybody always asks: I try not to add up the cost of the meal. Between the food, the wine, the plane ticket, and the car, it’s hard to say ‘this was the price of the meal.’ No, it was the price of the experience. I’m not inspecting it too closely, I’m not analyzing how many pennies I paid per minute, but I will say I enjoyed my experience. If knew then what I know now, I would do it again in a heartbeat. It was an amazing experience, starting with the reading out loud of select one-star Yelp reviews on the car ride up to Yountville.

The post The French Laundry on Yelp: A Zero Star Review appeared first on The GastroGnome.

Sure, the town is known for its sandwiches (and Rocky, obviously), but we did eat a few non-sandwich meals while exploring Philadelphia. What we found was a town full of food opportunities that we never get in Seattle, and a few that I don’t think are found anywhere outside of those specific restaurants. Taco pizza, anyone?

Read on for the bits, bites, and meals that are worth a stop in Philly.

Red Gravy at Villa di Roma

Ignore this entry if you’re in New York or New Jersey, because you can probably find this kind of thing near home. The food is nothing like the uber-authentic Italian food or new school regional twists chefs are serving up in Seattle. Instead, what’s served here is the same thing Italian-Americans have been serving up at Sunday dinner for generations. It made me nostalgic for a childhood I didn’t have, so it must be through some sort of collective memory. Or possibly from watching too many episodes of the Sopranos. Eating the perfectly classic spaghetti and meatballs, with, in the local parlance, red gravy, ordering from the waitress who looks like she remembers when the first meatball was made, is a quintessential Philadelphia experience. You, like me, might have forgotten just how amazing the classic dish is, and why it is so deservedly loved. This version will remind you.

Pizza al Pastor at San Lucas Pizzeria

I’m not even sure how this isn’t a thing already. Are we declaring new trends for 2013 now? Because I’m voting for this taco/pizza hybrid we found in Philly. I mean, look at it, it’s a slice of pizza, covered in street taco fixings. How is there not someone selling this on every corner? Yes, it is just as good as it sounds. It’s like tacos and pizzas had a baby and he got one of those crazy x-men genes that gave him superpowers and he used that superpower to be the most awesome food ever.

If you’re interested in eating this amazing thing, here’s the website to learn more, but I warn you that it plays terrible music on opening, and also it spells its own name wrong. Going in to the shop isn’t much more awe inspiring. While other culinary trends are being discovered in Spanish labs or Scandinavian forests, this one is straight out of a ghetto mart. You order through the plastic safety screen, and there’s only about three seats, so you might consider takeout. But trust me, it’s worth it. In ten years, when taco-pizzas are all the rage, you get to be all hipster and say “I had it before it was cool.”

New School Israeli Food at Zahav

It was like a myth. I’d heard about it for a while, stored it in the back of my brain for later use. Amazing Israeli food, Philadelphia. Filed away, for when it would be called forward. The time I had come. The salatim (pictured), a selection of small salads, started the meal out just I had imagined. The platonic ideal of hummus, surrounded by dips and salads highlighting various vegetables? This is all people need in life. Not that I’d complain about the kibbe naya (raw lamb, one of my all time favorite dishes), or the fried cauliflower either. In fact, one of the standouts of the meal was that there were at least ten different dishes on the table for the four of us, and not a single let down in the bunch. The combination of the traditional Middle Eastern foods I love (kibbe naya, hummus) and the same flavors reinterpreted with sweetbreads and foie gras was exactly what I had hoped for. Well, that and a tasty cocktail, which was also on offer.

Burmese Food at Rangoon

Burma being one of the countries whose cuisine is unrepresented by a restaurant in Seattle (also looking at you, Ghana), I always jump at a chance to get my hands on a good roti canai (flaky pancake served with curry, above), or my personal favorite, tea leaf salad (pictured below). Rangoon’s versions of each did not disappoint. Burmese food brings in the crunchy, fresh textures of Thai food, the deep spices of India, and the crispy frying power of Malaysia. Does that not sound like a dream cuisine? Also, I’ve yet to find one restaurant that doesn’t churn out charmingly helpful eating advice along with delectable dishes. So go, ask questions, and enjoy the food of one of the best cuisines you can’t find in Seattle.

The post Unique Eats of Philadelphia appeared first on The GastroGnome.

Like so many of our trips, our Hawaii vacation quickly spiraled into ‘research.’ As in, I carted us all over creation looking for the best bites the islands have to offer. If you’ve been watching my columns on Serious Eats, you might have seen me talk about some of the things I ate. But right here, right now, I’m going to tell you about the seven best bites I had in the seven days we spent in Hawaii. **Note: The Hawaii Visitors and Convention Bureau helped out with my transportation and lodging costs for this trip, though I chose all meal locations and paid for all meals, except where noted. 

Spam Omelet, Liliha Bakery

I can’t explain what made this so good. Maybe it was the fact that it was 2 in the morning local time (5 in the morning on the time I’d woken up on), and I was in a new city with an old friend, who, it being Halloween, was dressed as Magnum P.I.–complete with eyeliner-applied chest hair and all. The salty meat was chopped up with nicely caramelized onions, the whole thing had the inverse ratio of messiness to deliciousness down pat. Friendly locals on the other barstools were happy to opine on our ordering, and it just felt right. Not pictured? The buttery bun with secret-ingredient house jam that came with.

Goat Barbacoa Tacos, Canoe House

It was actually a set menu media (read: free) dinner at this fancy-pants restaurant, and these were not on the menu. Luckily we were seated next to the PR lady, who kept mentioning things. House-made local-pig bacon? “Oh, would you guys want to try that?” She’d ask, innocently. Um, yes, yes, we would. “Oh, you guys like goat?” She wondered. The five people within earshot all started babbling incoherently at high volume about how much we love goat. “Chef will bring out his goat tacos,” she said, calming us down. We were not prepared for this. Yes, what’s inside is falling apart local goat meat, ‘Korean-braised’ according to the menu, and it was incredibly good, especially with the crisp daikon salsa on top. The clincher, the thing that made me declare this one of the best bites of my year, though, was that the whole thing was wrapped in a flaky pastry. She called it a bao bun, but it was less like a soft Chinese bao, and more like the crispness of a scallion pancake. It was the perfect foil for the soft goat, and I was won over.

Uni Nigiri, Sushi Izakaya Gaku

Really, I could put nearly anything we had at Gaku up here and feel comfortable. The whole meal, no matter what we ordered, was flawlessly fresh and perfectly presented. Uni happens to be one of my favorite foods, so it was the winner. Sitting at the sushi bar, we spent most of the time watching what went out and pointing at what looked good, as well as soliciting excellent recommendations from our server and chef. We were led to local fish like moi, which I’d never heard of, and Japanese specialties like something called tofu jelly, which I simply had never tried. If you have one dinner to spare on Oahu, you will not regret spending it at Gaku. Reservations are hard to come by, but we headed over at 7:30 and only waited about 30 minutes for a spot.

Pancake, Hawaiian Style Cafe

It was simply the best pancake I’ve ever had. Again, a restaurant full of stellar bites–we returned a second time, despite it being a 25 minute drive each way from our hotel. Among the many huge, impressive Hawaiian foods that were on order (the pulehu lamb ribs were a star), it struck me that the simple pancake could be easily dismissed as an afterthought. It’s only one of the sides available for the omelettes, a choice along with toast, hash browns, or rice. Not here, here the pancakes get far more attention then they deserve, and it shows, in the hint of sour in the dough, in the sweetness–just a touch, and the simple beauty of the massive stack.

Butter Garlic Shrimp, Romy’s Kahuku Prawns and Shrimp

Apparently shrimp is a contentious subject on Oahu. The North Shore is lined with various trucks and shacks serving their own version. We heard nasty rumors about some serving Costco shrimp from people. From others, complaints about service and waits. Everyone we talked to had their favorite and most were willing to get nasty to defend their shrimp spot. We chose to go to Romy’s because it’s vertically integrated–meaning they harvest the prawns right there, next to the shack where they cook them. I can’t compare them to anywhere else, all I can say is that both the butter garlic and the hot and spicy versions were (literally) finger-lickin’ good. It’s hard to go wrong with butter and garlic, but it’s not easy to go this right, where they meld perfectly, the browning on the garlic adding sweetness to both the butter and the shrimp.

Island Style Poke, Tamashiro Market

We ate a lot of poke, Hawaiian fish salad, while we were there. Like, at least once a day. As many times as we could. What better way to appreciate fresh local fish, a food near and dear to Hawaiian hearts, and stay reasonably healthy on vacation? Poke, all the way. Poke is everywhere, on every menu, in every store. Some of our favorite came from a fish market called Tamashiro. We were standing around, looking, I imagine, fairly confused by the gajillion options, when a nice guy directed us toward this particular poke. “This is the good stuff,” he told us, explaining that this is the freshest tako, or octupus, and this preparation was the only one locals love. We took him up on it, with no regrets. Tender octopus gave way with each bite, complete with a nice hit of spices from the chiles. A winner in the imaginary (very tough) poke competition.

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