Oh Canada! Thursday: Shuffle off to Buffalo

Amongst all the confusion of visiting this cousin and that cousin, I somehow ended up missing the ride to the next destination. I looked at the railroad map and realized that we were all supposed to meet up eventually in Niagara Falls, so why didn’t I just take a little side trip to Buffalo for some hot wings?

The train trip wasn’t that long, but they kept us at the border forever, so I managed to read an entire book on the way. Luckily I had packed up some of the fruit and cheese I’d bought from the markets, so I had a nice picnic instead of microwaved train burgers.

A Scottish couple sitting behind me bitched the entire way about every little thing. You can even hear them quietly bitching in the background of a video I took of the bridge.

I rented an SUV with GPS in Buffalo and almost immediately started talking back to the disembodied voice. The Courtyard by Marriott I’d booked was right by the freeway (damn you, google maps!). The room was spartan compared to the Westin, but it was comfortable and had these groovy lamps.

The view from my room:

I went for a drive and passed a cemetery. They aren’t set apart and surrounded by hedges and walls like they are here. There is a block of houses, then a block of gravestones, then another block of houses. It’s like every vacant lot has been turned into a little cemetery.

I stopped in at Wegman’s for supplies. I love Wegman’s; they even had Purple Haze cheese.

For dinner I hit Duff’s. Even though hot wings were invented at The Anchor Bar, Duff’s has a reputation for serving the best wings in Buffalo. The room was crowded and raucus. Teenage boys videotaped each other in hot wing eating contests for YouTube.

The floor looked clean, but was really slippery. I shuffled over to a waitress and asked why it was so slippery. Without missing a beat, she shrugged and replied, “Chicken grease.”

The menu warns:

Medium is HOT

Medium Hot is VERY HOT

Hot is VERY VERY HOT

I ordered ten Medium wings to fill me up and 10 Hot wings for the adventure. I ordered a side of milk, which is my secret weapon for eating spicy food.

The medium wings were incindiary. I moved on to the hot, and wasn’t that impressed. I guess it’s like getting punched in the face. The difference between getting punched really hard and getting punched really, really hard isn’t that noticable.

I found myself longing for Bob’s hot wings. He cuts the heat with lemon and gives them a final pass in the broiler to fuse the sauce onto the wings. It’s funny how you have to travel so far only to discover that what you were looking for was right there at home all along.

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Oh Canada! Wednesday Continued: Canoe Canoe

Canoe is a well-reviewed restaurant serving nouvelle Canadian cuisine. It is part of a restaurant group similar to Patina. I was surprised to be dropped off at a high-rise office building with instructions to take an elevator up to the top floor.

Sometimes I order things that sound strange because I am daring the restaurant to make it taste good, which is how I ended up drinking a “Locust.” It is a combination of Grasshopper wheat beer, ginger ale, and Limoncello. And you know what? It worked. Far better than a shandy. After that one experiment, I went for my usual champagne – they had my favorite, Perrier Jouet with the flowers on it.

I started with a chowder of Ontario fiddlehead ferns and BC spot prawns. Fiddleheads are kind of like asparagus, only grassier, maybe a little like pea shoots. It was topped with a wild leek and yukon rouille, a Provencial French sauce for soups. Yes, only the French would think a soup needs a sauce.

Next I was a little daring and had a plate from the tasting menu – Potato gnocchi with crispy sweetbreads and foie gras. The sauce/foam was rich with cream and morel mushrooms. The person who was delivering plates and explaining the ingredients had a very strong French-Candian accent, and I couldn’t understand hardly anything he said. In the dim restaurant, it was difficult to make out what was what. The waiter, who I was loving, was staring at the plate trying to help me make out the individual ingredients. You know you are in an expensive restaurant when the waiter is willing to stand and ponder your dinner with you. Suddenly I remembered in a pack-for-emergencies moment I had thrown a Mag light in my bag. So I shone a spotlight on the dish, sweetbreads were identified, and voila!

I was brought an intermezzo of a celery foam. I expected a light refreshing palate cleanser, but there was a layer of salt on top that was so intense, instead my palate received an intensive salt scrub by a vicious Swedish masseuse. Uncle! Uncle! I’m cleansed! My palate is immaculate! I give in!

For my main dish I ordered the bison striploin with North woods mushrooms, confit potatoes and a peppercorn sauce that was similar to a bernaise. There was such a treasure trove of exciting new mushrooms to try – Black trumpet, cinnamon cap, yellow foot, blue foot, and more, that I ate them all before I remembered to take a picture. The confit potatoes were so delicious I am just going to start cooking everything in duck fat from now on. Meatloaf? Confit! Apple pie? Confit!

The buffalo was lovely – kind of like beef with a taste of the wild. It’s strange that I am not usually a fan of game, but I love buffalo. Maybe it is my native roots. Or maybe it is the fact that when I was growing up my mom had a freezer stuffed full of buffalo meat. I never knew where it came from. Or if it was really buffalo. Recently when I asked about it she told me she had traded for it.

Check out this crazy Dr Seuss garnish

I only have one memory of my great-grandmother Hopkins. We were at a rare family picnic somewhere in BC. I was asking her what saskatoons looked like. She said, “Well, they look…like that!” We had stumbled upon some wild bushes and picked enough to bring back to the picnic. Canoe had a dessert that came with saskatoons, which the waiter was kind enough to bring me on the side, and they made me a little maudlin.

I have been going easy on desserts, but I had to try Sticky Toffee Pudding made with Glen Breton Rare Whiskey, Toffee Sauce and Parsnip ice cream. Seriously. Standing alone, the parsnip ice cream was successful, but didn’t do anything for me. When my waiter convinced me to try it together with everything in one bite, it did actually make it good. Trippy. This is the third time in a month I have seen kumquats in a fancy restaurant, so I guess they are an up-and-coming fruit.

I loved the service, I loved the atmosphere and I loved the food. I loved the chef, Anthony Walsh, so much I sent him a glass of champagne. The dishes were all creative, but based upon local ingredients. They definitely disproved the theory that restaurants with views all suck.

Downstairs there were two city blocks of taxis waiting. Normally you go to the first taxi in the line, but it was cold, and that first taxi was really far away. So I opened the door of the nearest taxi and asked what the pecking order was. He said there wasn’t one, so I hopped in. Within seconds, there was another cabbie at the driver’s window, screaming in his face that he was stealing fares and he knew I should go in the first taxi. I thought about getting out and going to the first taxi, but then the guy screamed in the window, “I am going to fucking stomp your fucking face in!” I didn’t really want to get in his taxi after that. So my cabbie and I drove off with the guy still grabbing at the window.

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Oh Canada! Wednesday: Dim Sum and other Delights

Wednesday I woke up and headed straight to Lai Wah Heen. It is quite possibly the best dim sum in Toronto. At the very least it is definitely the most elegant. The elevators have different paintings but I love this one because it looks as if they are deciding what button to press.

The menu is filled with exotic and glamourous-sounding temptations that sometimes border on the mysterious, as with the “rainbow chopped in crystal fold” and the “Billionaire egg white fried rice flavoured with shredded conpoy.” The pan-seared foie gras arrived with a sweet sauce, mildly touched with ginger alongside tempura asparagus.

I ordered the shark fin soup – just because. The dumpling was really the star of the dish. The shark’s fin were long strands of clear straw like Barbie hair. Mmmm, cartilagenous.

The dumplings pictured starting on the left are the Phoenix eye purse (fish maw and sprouts), steamed crabmeat, corn and cured ham dumpling, chicken and scallion, and steamed duckling dumpling with foie gras. The Phoenix eye purse was interesting looking, but did not stand out. It was adorable that the corn dumpling was folded to look like an ear of corn, but the simple chicken and scallion was actually the best of the dim sum.

It is so wrong that the duckling dumpling is made to look like a little duck – but in a good way. The foie gras flavor was so mild as to almost be absent.

The chilled duo of lychee and jasmine tea puddings was clever and definitely tasted like tea. They were probably made with agar agar.

Afterwards, I checked out the Bata Shoe Museum. It not only had the pop culture and fashion shoes I expected, but a number of interesting anthropological exhibits.

Bowie’s shoes from the “Serious Moonlight Tour”. I wanted to smash the glass and steal them so I could burn them and salt the ground so nothing could ever suck that badly again.

I took a cab over to Kensington market. My cabbie was from Trinidad, so we sang calypso songs along the way. He got so caught up in singing, he forgot to put on the meter. He offered me a free ride, but I know they are hard up so I gave him a fair sum and asked for a recommendation for a Trini restaurant.

Kensington Market has a lot of cool hipster and hippie shops, like Blue Banana.

I especially enjoyed a store called Blue Banana where I bought some gifts for friends back home and some bath bombs to spoil myself.

A fellow Roadfooder had recommended the debrezini sausage at European Meats and Sausages. By the time I got there near closing they were out of debrezini, so I enjoyed a knockwurst, which was scored and resembled a stegasaurus tail in a bun.

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Toronto Wednesday: Spadina

The neighborhood around Spadina was the epitome of eclecticism. On one corner alone was a Korean place, pho, and dim sum. I took a quick break in Rol San, the dim sum joint. I ordered a Tsing Tao, and I wasn’t that hungry so I asked for the deep fried crab claw and an order of dumplings.

Soon a guy who looked like David Crosby and a heavily wasted girl in a Ramones jacket sat behind me. She whined at him in a cheap English accent, “BUDDY, I feel awful, Buddy, I feel dirty.” He tried to get her to lower her voice, “Relax we’re across the border now. It’s over.” His voice had an ominous midwestern undertone like Steven Jesse Bernstein. She would not let up, “But Buddeeeeee, BADeeeee, I feel sooo awful, you know, so bad.” Soon they were bickering over 20 dollars and the entire room stared. I didn’t dare turn around, and waved for my check before I finished my beer. The waiter who had been so accomodating now treated me coldly, as if I had brought them in with me.

I took the dumplings to go, and later abandoned them in the room when I left, so the only thing I really remember about the food was how spongy the shrimp around the crab claw was – somewhere between a shrimp chip and styrofoam packing peanuts. For some reason they made me think about the Australian Kiwi birds and what they would look like deep-fried.

They did have an extremely cool poster on the wall

Next door was a little dim sum bakery called Dong Dong Pastries – how could I resist? I picked up a few treats for later.

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Oh Canada! Tuesday – In Which I Run off to the Big City

On Tuesday I took off for a little solo exploration. I lucked into a killer room at the Westin Harbour Castle – if you are going to Toronto, this is definitely the place to stay.

 

The view from my room:

I headed over to the St Lawrence Market to Paddington’s for a peameal sandwich. Remember the backbacon Bob and Doug McKenzie were always talking about? This is real Canadian back bacon.

Butter tarts are a Canadian specialty similar to pecan tarts. They can be served simply, but are usually baked with raisins and walnuts in the filling.

 

Cheese-stuffed peppers

At the St Lawrence Wine Market the process of pressing ice wine was explained to me in a strong  accent, “We have to wait until the grapes, they freeze for THREE days. Then we hand-pick the grapes. Then we press the grapes. You get ONE DROP of liquid from each grape. With the red wines, you have to get the skin. You know how hard it is to get a drop of liquid from a frozen grape skin?” Because I am a sucker for a colorful story, and because it did sound pretty hard I bought the wine.

Alex Farms, whose theme was “An adventure in cheese” had an interesting Guinness cheese.

That night I had dinner at the Asian fusion restaurant Monsoon

 

I was surprised to see such a well-reviewed restaurant so empty. But that turned out to be the case for most of Toronto. Tourist traffic is down and cabbies were fighting over my fare.

I ordered a flight of sake. They had 2 flights, as well as wine flights.  The Tozai “well of wisdon” was very gentle. Onokoroshi junmai daiginjo “demon slayer” sake had one hell of a kick. It had a “raw silk” texture. I am still not a big fan, although I enjoyed the Moonstone Asian pear-infused sake. The Nigori Pearl antique-style, which was roughly filtered, was kind of like what I imagine the liquor you make in prison by spitting on fruit must be like.

I started with a dim sum platter that was kind of a disappointment. The chicken satay was fine, but the beef satay was pure gristle. If you’re only going to offer one single bite of beef, it should be the perfect bite. The fried shrimp dumpling, Thai fish cake and salt-cured salmon with the texture of tapioca weren’t worth more than a test bite. But the papaya salad was refreshing and delicious.

The tempura vegetables cooled quickly, and probably should have arrived as an appetizer instead of a side dish.

Pork belly is normally served in French restaurants; it worked well with Vietnamese flavors.

I wasn’t sure what to do with myself after dinner. But I looked up and the answer was right in front of me.

I am not a stereotype

So I have to stand in this Star Trek thing and the guy says “I’m going to check you for explosives”

Suddenly, hard jets of air hit me right in the face and I make a sound like, “Aughhhh!”

The guy says, I told you I was going to check you for explosives.”

I asked, “Why would I hide explosives on my face???”

Phallic symbol, what?

 

 

 

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Oh Canada! Monday – Small town life

Monday

The company was founded in 1931 by Walter P. Zeller as “stores for thrifty Canadians”. The chain began with the purchase of the fourteen Canadian locations of American retailer Schulte-United, all of which are in southeastern Ontario. Almost immediately, Zellers began an aggressive expansion strategy, and within 25 years operated sixty stores, and employed 3000 people.

Today, Zellers operates stores from St. John’s, Newfoundland and Labrador, to Victoria, British Columbia, and employs over 35,000 people. Almost every Zellers location features a pharmacy and an in-store restaurant, the 1950s themed Zellers Family Diner.

Multi-level stores are gradually being equipped with a new, state-of-the-art shopping cart system known as the “Cartveyor”, which is designed to transport carts between floors next to a standard escalator.-Wikipedia

I ate this. Actually I poked it with a stick. I won’t go into detail.

You can buy anything you want at Zeller’s

Apparently, even something nice for your grave.

I wandered around the mall, and after perusing the bookstore I found a Laura Secord chocolate shop.

The women working the counter were playing a strange game of good chocolatier/bad chocolatier. The first lady smiled and tried to be helpful, rushing to get a bag as I ordered a cardamom truffle. The second lady looked up from stocking shelves to interject in a warning tone, “It tastes like cinnamon.” Ummm, OK. I ordered one each of the more adventurous flavors. The second woman looked up again and admonished, “They cost A DOLLAR each.” Umm, OK, lady.

I asked Nice Chocolatier if they had a guide booklet so I would know what the flavors were later. Nope. No guide. So I asked if I could photograph the cases so I would remember the flavors. After getting permission from Good Chocolatier, Bad Chocolatier yelled at me for taking these pictures, “They don’t like it.” Maybe they don’t publish a guide or like photographs taken because Recchiutti might notice that they totally ripped off their style.

Down a few shops. I had a better experience with Purdy’s, a popular chocolate company out of Vancouver. The lady at the counter was friendly, and all the customers chatted with each other. The whimsical little hedgehogs are rich with chocolate and hazelnut. In true Canadian fashion, they had maple leaf chocolates and ice wine truffles.

Opa, a pretty good franchise, had a stall at the food court. I needed sustinence, having just pushed my sliders and gravy around the plate. I ordered up a fava bean gyro, which was similar to falafel.

At dusk I went for a walk around the lake. I saw some adorable Canadian goslings by the side of the road. They are everywhere. Naturally.

I also fell in love with the old Crosley Shelvador refrigerator in my aunt’s garage. Its door handle opens with a plunger mechanism, like a hypodermic needle.



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Oh Canada! Sunday – I am Not Struck by Lightning

Sunday

Today I awakened to a strange whiny sound. My aunt asked, “Did the geese wake you up?” We’re not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy. Actually, I guess we ARE in Kansas. Newmarket, Ontario, Kansas to be exact.

My aunt’s grand-daughter, Catherine, had her confirmation today. I made it through the long ceremony by reading the entire missal, and was impressed by this quote:

The best prayers often contain more groans than words.

They finally found a way to get me into church:

If this were a calendar, I would have bought it:


The church requests that you don’t drink and drive! Who’s guzzling that much sacrificial wine?

For dinner we went straight to the Crow’s Nest pub where I was sated with a Killians.

My mom ordered the prawns to start. They were nicely charred with a flavorful homemade cocktail sauce. This is only half a serving, because certain people have very fast fingers.

One nice thing about Canada is that you can get peirogies anywhere, including an Irish pub. The creamy potato and cheese filling wasn’t too bland, and the pierogie were deep fried to a lovely crisp and sprinkled with bits of bacon. It was almost like a stuffed potato skin encased in pie dough and deep fried. With sour cream.

A thousand calories later, our main dishes of fish and chips and roast beef arrived. The haddock was dense in contrast to the light batter. The fish squares were more similar to English fish and chips than the American version. The chips were nice as well.

The prime rib was a little overcooked, but still tender. Mom forgot that Canadians cook the hell out of their meat.

It’s important to stay well-armed. The pierogies must be guarded at all costs.

 

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Oh, Canada! Saturday – Less than an Hour from Landing to Tim Horton’s

Saturday

Sometimes I feel like I’m related to half of Canada. My parents come from big farm families; I have seventy-two first cousins on my mother’s side alone. We have relations dotting the eastern and western edges of Canada, with a few provinces in between.

One day my mother and I were driving the long, lonesome plains of Alberta and stopped in at a tiny café. Since phone books in Los Angeles have about 20 pages of people who share my last name, I peeked at the phone book out of curiosity. It was about a quarter-inch thick.

My mom pointed out, “See, that’s your Uncle John. That’s where we’re going. And that one there is his sister.”

I asked, “You mean there are only 3 people in the phone book with our last name and we’re related to two of them?”

She said, “Oh, we’re related to HER too, but we’re not speaking.”

One cousin tells the story of wandering into a hall of records to research the family tree. The desk clerk called into the back for someone to come help her after hearing the family name. The woman just happened to be a second cousin.

As a result, my mother is part if a giant network of Canadians who travel the country, to and from each other’s homes, staying in an endless array of guest rooms. They stay up all night drinking tea and visiting. They hardly ever go out to eat.

These relatives usually don’t understand my aversion to restaurant chains. They don’t understand my dedication to exploring local cuisines. They don’t understand my mission. When I try to explain that I want to eat something that I can’t eat back home, I am usually met with blank stares. They don’t believe Canada has a “local cuisine.” And so Iusually have to make do, Tim Hortons after Tim Hortons. Luckily most of my relatives are excellent cooks.

Auntie Jeanette’s Nanaimo Bars

½ cup melted butter
¼ cup brown sugar
¼ cup cocoa
1 egg, beaten
2 cups Graham cracker crumbs
1 cup shredded coconut
½ cup chopped walnuts
1 can sweetened condensed milk
1/3 cup lemon juice
4 squares semi-sweet chocolate (1 oz. each)
2 Tbsp. unsalted butter

Mix together butter, sugar, cocoa, egg, crumbs, coconut, and walnuts. Press into a 9×9-inch pan.

Combine sweetened condensed milk and lemon juice. Pour over base. Cool in the refrigerator until set.

Melt chocolate and butter over low heat. Cool. Once cool, but still liquid, pour over second layer and chill in refrigerator.

Uncle Pat’s Irish Cream

8 ounces Irish whiskey
1 cup sweetened condensed milk
2 eggs
I Tablespoon chocolate syrup OR ¼ cup Kahlua
1 Tablespoon vanilla.
Blend well. Keep refrigerated.

(You can add 1 cup table cream if you’re a big sissy)

Saturday as we headed to Ontario, I was trying to stay positive, but the trip was grueling. It involved changing planes and hours of walking. We had a Chicago dog from Gold Coast Dogs on our layover – I had a nice Polish dog with Chicago toppings – except I didn’t try the crazy green relish. I like the crunchy exterior and greasy insides. Mom had the dog with the day-glo relish.

The peppers perked me right up.

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The Best Cupcakes in LA???

Last Sunday Eat:Drink:Play hosted a Cupcake Challenge at the Montmartre Lounge. The event was sponsored by Fiji Water, K & L Wine Merchants and KozmoDeck> part of the proceeds were donated to the Elizabeth Glaser Pediatric Aids Foundation. LAist’s own Lindsay William-Ross and Caroline-on-Crack were on the official judging panel, as well as Sophie Gayot (who we all just watched frighten the finalists on Hell’s Kitchen this week), Tara de Lis from Citysearch, and Sam Rubin from KTLA. Guests were also given ballots to vote in three categories.

Thank God they had cheese to cut the sugar and alcohol thanks to Tom Martinez of K&L who kept my glass filled with their sparkling wines. I took the high road while others gorged on cupcakes and got drunk instead.

The ballots worked on a points system 3 points for your 1st pick, 2 points for 2nd pick, 1 point for 3rd pick. 3 categories: Best Traditional, Original and Overall Best. The judges votes were counted as half the score, with the guests counting as the other half.

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all guests received a KozmoDeck a cross between an entertainment book and ValuPak coupons. Handy you can carry a few in your wallet for favorites, or the area you are headed. 15-dollars off a bill of 50 dollars or more. drawback – alcohol doesnt count towards 50 bucka and some places, like the BBQ joints, a couple would be hard-pressed to spend 50 bucks. But marketing works, the pictures are appealing and will encourage me to try new places. I shuld have hung around and traded them like baseball cards to collect all the Ciudad coupons.

Drumroll, please…

Best Traditional

1st place: Vanilla Bake Shop Red Velvet (judges’ choice)

2nd place: Yummy Cupcakes Red Velvet

3rd place: Hotcakes Red Velvet (public’s choice)

Best Original

1st place: Sugar Jones “Paradise” (judges’ choice)

Reminiscent of 1950s fad with layers of coconut, pistachio, mandarin orange and pineapple that did not really fall into any category, so they were just called “dessert”. Mostly tasted like pineapple and coconut. Another crowd favorite – one of only two where I ate the entire cupcake.

2nd place: The Oinkster Peanut Butter and Jelly

3rd place: Essential Chocolate Desserts “Blood Orange Fudge”
a very sophisticated flavor combination with a nice ganache

**Public’s choice was Leyna’s Strawberrilicious

Best Overall:

1st place: Leyna’s Kitchen “Strawberrilicious”(public’s choice)

2nd place: Sugar Jones “Paradise” (judges’ choice)

3rd place: The Oinkster Peanut Butter and Jelly

OK, so I always end up with a weird story and today this is it: I asked the lady at Paradise cupcakes if she had leftovers, and she was like, “Oh God, please take these off my hands!” As she reaches for the box of cupcakes to hand me, Sophie cuts inbetween us like Im not even talking to the woman and says she’d like to take a picture of an open box of cupcakes.

Sophie had such a commanding presence, the woman just opened MY box of cupcakes, thinking she’d take a quick pic and go. But no, Sophie had to pose with the cupcake lady in the photo too, holding the box of cupcakes strategically between them. and we all had to stand there while she told the sucker taking the photo where to stand. And we had to wait while people kept getting in the way. And I just want my frigging cupcakes so we can leave.

So Sophie says to me, “I don’t want anyone in my picture.” I thought she needed crowd control, and ever helpful, I shooed grazers away from between her and the camera. I was standing like 2 feet away from her and she says to me really nastily, “I don’t want YOU in my shot either.” I wanted to say, “Then get your grubby paws off my cupcakes, Frenchie.”

Later when I told this story, Caroline said, “but she’s so nice…” and Lindsay said, “You do realize that’s Sophie Gayot of GAYOT don’t you?” I don’t care if she’s Lord Zagat – a lady does not touch another ladie’s cupcakes.

Except maybe when they are as tempting as Caroline’s

Voting commences

That special smile that can only come from cupcakes – or alcohol

Plenty for everyone, folks

Recap:

Best Traditional
1st place: Vanilla Bake Shop Red Velvet (judges’ choice)
2nd place: Yummy Cupcakes Red Velvet
3rd place: Hotcakes Red Velvet (public’s choice)

Best Original:
1st place: Sugar Jones “Paradise” (judges’ choice)
2nd place: The Oinkster Peanut Butter and Jelly
3rd place: Essential Chocolate Desserts “Blood Orange Fudge”

**Public’s choice was Leyna’s Strawberrilicious

Best Overall:
1st place: Leyna’s Kitchen “Strawberrilicious”(public’s choice) (picture attached)
2nd place: Sugar Jones “Paradise” (judges’ choice)
3rd place: The Oinkster Peanut Butter and Jelly

Leyna’s sister made the cupcake tree Letu Floral Designs and gifts

People were also impressed with the root beer cupcakes from Yummy

Lucky Devil’s had a very original entry. But they absolutely worked.

Violet had some lovely entries as well. These ones had chunks of brownies inside

Not only did Vanilla have a beautiful display, the workers at the table were always aware that they were “onstage”, always smiling and keeping photogenic poses – I have a lot of other pics of cupcakes with bent-over behinds in the backgrounds from a few of the other tables who forgot about the cameras. No, I won’t post them. I do have some class, you know.

After awhile, the whole room started looking like this

But I still brought this entire tray home – I did have to mud-wrestle Sophie Gayot in a giant tub of pistachio frosting for it, though.

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Bite the Big Apple: Monday

Without a trace of regret we cancelled our lunch reservations at Le Bernardin Monday. We had more upscale dining experiences than we had planned already, and we had a mini-fridge full of knishes and cheese.

We went to the Guggenheim, which was closed except for the rotunda – but that was OK. I wanted to see it for its architectural merit more than anything. Maoist artist Cai Guo-Qiang had a varied ouvre. The gunpowder art was fantastic – controlling the uncontrollable power of fire. The clay figures from the days of Cultural Revolutionary propaganda were disturbing with their real eyes and crumbling faces. The exhibit was timely, and I was surprised it was not at all controversial considering all of the dust bunnies that the Olympics have swept up. 99 taxidermied wolves ran into a plexiglass wall and crashed, in a statement about dogmatic thinking. I still don’t understand the tigers.

We walked along the park and bought a hot dog from a street vendor. All of the flavor was boiled out of it, but it had that miraculous mustard. We passed by the Met, but it was closed in preparation for the big Costume gala. There were more movie stars there than at the Oscars, but for us it just meant no Met.

We had a nice walk through the park, and visited the Alice in Wonderland statue I have always wanted to see.

On the way home, we stopped at John’s and bought a pizza to take back to our room. We ate almost the entire thing without coming up for air. Mmmm, pepperoni.

Later that evening we had reservations at Baldoria, run by Frank Pellegrino Jr., a member of the family that owns the world-famous and impenetrable Rao’s. The room was far more casual than I had anticipated and there was not a whiff of tourist-trap. It was like traveling back in time except for the fact they were piping in Bon Jovi’s greatest hits instead of Sinatra.

I immediately fell in love with Carlo, our waiter. After reciting the daily specials, he gave me the most endearing smile, and I realized no one had smiled at me like that since I had been in New York. Then he shrugged his shoulders and held his palms up near his face, like, “That’s what we got. You like it – great, you don’t like it – that’s OK too!”

I tried the Baldori martini, which was infused with orange, and would have knocked me on my ass if I had drank the entire glass. We started with Rao’s famous red peppers. I wondered what they would serve them with. I mean, who can just eat a big plate of red peppers? They were presented alone, mixed with pine nuts and sultanas. I immediately found out who can eat a big plate of peppers – me, that’s who. They were cool, and delicious. I sucked them down like octopus tentacles. Maybe we were just getting scurvy from all of the pizza and cheese, but we ate those peppers ravenously.

Bob ordered shrimp with tagliatelle. The shrimp were 3x the size of my thumb! They were monsters! The sauce was very lemony – this place digs lemon. My papardelle with artichokes in a cream sauce was rich and filling, but I couldn’t stop eating it. We had to beg off dessert, the portions were so generous. Definitely the most charming service and most cozy under-the-radar spot yet.

Walking home I was a little self-conscious in my gown, heels, good jewelry and pricy camera. But walking through the lights was so thrilling we didn’t want to take a taxi. One of those bicycle carriages offered a ride, and we figured, what the hell. Tourists always look soooo stupid on those things, but I have to say it was great fun zooming through Times Square with the wind in our hair.

The next day we didn’t have time for Grey’s Papaya, but the taxi driver ordered a dog from a cart at a red light. Boiled and watery, not quite the same. With one more day, I would have hit Grey’s, the Metropolitan, and maybe seen a Broadway show. It was too bad we had to leave so soon because I had finally perfected my New York don’t-mess-with-me glare. It was a combination of “I’m cold” “I’m angry” and “Something smells bad”. It was pretty easy, because most of the time two out of three of those things were true.

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Bite the Big Apple: Sunday Night at Lupa

We had late reservations at Lupa at 10:30(Thanks, JG!). Basically we ended up going right back to where we had spent the entire day, so bad planning on my part. We ordered a tasting menu, which they told me could be tailored to suit our tastes. After much thought and a peek at the menu, I went with NO sardines, organ meats, or broccoli rabe/rape. YES to pig’s jowls, homemade pasta and oxtails.

Our starter or amuse bouche were a pair of tiny little prosciutto balls. They were like sausage balls coated with a light crumb – delicious. Next they brought out a giant selection of antipasto. Everthing was superb – beets w pistachio, asparagus with pecorino, Baccala with Potatoes, white beans with tuna, radicchio with lemon and wild mushrooms with. There was also fresh prosciutto and homemade coppa cotto, coppa cruda and sporasetta

If they had just brought out the dessert next, we would have gone home remembering that as one of the best meals of our lives. Unfortunately it was a case of diminishing returns. The asparagus and marscapone cappelleti were lovely and perfect for Spring.

The spaghetti with pig’s jowls and spring onion seemed like it was made in consideration of our tastes. However, the jowl was incredibly salty, which would have been enough for the entire dish. But the pasta was also salted, making the dish difficult to enjoy even if the spaghetti had not been underdone. If it was intentional, their pasta is the al dentiest. To be honest, it seemed like right before that dish the good chef went home leaving instructions for a less capable hand.

The rest of the meal was not served in cute little individual portions as the rest of the meal had been. Standard menu items were plopped down on our table for us to split. We were the last seating, so maybe they just wanted us to get the hell out of there. The skate was not similar to calamari as I had expected. It was more like delicate whitefish with the texture of shredded chicken breast. It was nicely coated and pan-fried. The Pork was a bit sweet and actually reminded me of shoulder cooked with Coca Cola. The potatoes were lovely, and we were pretty full by this time anyways.

The cheese course consisted of a goat cheese that we inhaled, a pecorino, and something akin to a sharp white cheddar (again, they don’t tell you these things in The City). The stewed apples were a nice accompaniment. But the dessert – the dessert was spectacular! Tartufo!!! Oh my God, delicious chocolate embraced hazelnut ice cream and a chocolatey core. I had to stop after a few bites, but Bob reported a glaceed cherry sat in the center.

We hailed a taxi back to our room, and I’m surprised he didn’t add on a freight charge for the two of us.

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Bite the Big Apple: Sunday Day

We were due to meet the Roadfooders at 11 am, and we somehow managed to pick the one taxi in all of Manhattan that wasn’t in any big hurry. He lazily meandered along, pointing out local points of interest as the clock ticked. We finally made it to Katz’s about 20 minutes late, still half asleep.

It was great to hang out with everybody – Ruby Rose is so much fun, Traveling Man, Wandering Jew and Lexi never stoppped laughing, and Aleswench, Alesrus and family were charming. I somnambulistically made small talk and ordered a half-pastrami, half-brisket. Our friend John, who lives upstairs and is addicted to the garlicky hot dogs, also came down to join us.

Our pastrami sandwich was on a very mild seedless rye, almost more of a wheat bread. The pastrami was made from thick slices of flaking brisket, none of the thin, chewy, overly peppered strips that pass themselves off as pastrami. It was like tasting it for the first time. The brisket was good, but I have to confess that I think my brisket is better.

Really, they might as well serve only pastrami. It’s just not fair – the other sandwiches might as well take their ball and go home. Aleswench asked me how it compared to Langers. Still lost in a playground metaphor, I told her, “Langer’s pastrami would go crying home to its mommy.” Katz’s has a light hand with the mayonnaise in the potato and macaroni salads, but the best side were the pickles. The uncooked “counter” pickles are always a special treat, but no match for the garlic dill.

For dessert, there was raspberry rugelach

Afterwards, Lexi led us down the street to Yonah Schimmel’s Bakery for knish, which was a real find. I picked up a mushroom, sweet potato, and blueberry to go. I couldn’t believe how heavy the bag was. Later, when I sampled them I discovered the dough was paper-thin, and although they would have been better warm, they were peerless. The blueberry knish was more like a hearty blintz and made me want more.

After we went our separate ways, John, Bob and I headed for Little Italy. I was in search of homemade mozzarella tied in little knots that I had seen once on TV. John kept insisting there was lots of cheese at the Whole Foods, hoping to get it out of the way so we could hit some art galleries. Bob finally said, “It’s not about the cheese. It’s about the journey.”

Our first stop was Alleva Dairy. Wheels of cheese as big as tires, arancini and giant salamis soon had John on board. I picked up prosciutto bread and homemade mozzarella, although alas, no little knots – only braids.

The gelato sign at Cafe Roma beckoned. The boys ordered pastries and I sampled a little pistachio gelato, which was good, but not fantastic. But the cannoli – heaven opened up and angels sang. Now THAT was cannoli!

Across the street I noticed a stand called “Vinnie’s Nut House”. Unfortunately, they did not have any nuts, “You see, we are new.” They did have buttons with the pope on them and giant slabs of toronne nougat candy. The nougat candy was rich with honey and roasted pistachios.

Next we hit up Caffe Palermo, home of Baby John, the cannoli king. “Baby” John Delutro had a very intense accent, enough to make my companions wonder if he was milking it. I have to say that their cannoli was no match for Cafe Roma’s cannoli. However, they did have one treat that Bob has been waxing rhapsodic about ever since I met him. In Italy he had once eaten profiterole filled with cream and buried in chocolate pudding. And he has never forgotten it. It was a little messy for street food, but so worth it.

We noticed cheese-topped garlic bread on one of the outdoor cafe tables and had to go inside and order a basket at Il Fornaio. John and I split the gnocchi, which was heavy and dull, and Bob had a caesar salad that he loved. The bread was delicious – I am a sucker for cheesy bread.

The crowds at Ferrara drew us over. The long, shiny cases held row after row of decadent treats. Miniature pastries and cookies were displayed in rows next to fruit tartlets glistening with berries. A man in front of us asked, “Don’t you have anything smaller?” Bob picked up miniature biscotti for his colleagues at work, and I picked up a veritable doll museum of teensy delights.

We started heading back towards Bleecker and passed a churchyard. I wondered if that was where the body of Mother Cabrini lay in a shrine. It wasn’t, but what is one of my trips without a photo of a cemetery?

We walked through The Grand Italian Market, but we were too stuffed to take advantage of their beautiful pizzas.

We passed DiPalo’s. By now I had given up on the little mozzarella knots, and as Bob said, it was about the journey. I wandered inside and was deterred by the long line. I wandered back outside, where John and Bob encouraged me to go ahead and wait. Louis DiPalo was giving cheese tastings and expounding on the merits of each cheese. The attention this store is famous for was nice, but a little frustrating when you are waiting in line and your feet are starting to hurt.

I have to say, this was the one place in all of New York that I experienced true comraderie amongst strangers. In other places, when a group of strangers is thrust into a similar situation, they start to chat – but not in New York. People stood silent and steely-eyed as elevators closed on strangers and refused to meet my eyes while waiting for the train. At DiPalo’s everyone opened up and commiserated about the line, “Oh, this is the best time to come. This is nothing.” One customer said his father insists on making DiPalo’s his first stop in the city and takes home and entire soprasetta in his suitcase.

I didn’t end up with Louis, but scored Sal instead. I asked, “Culatello isn’t what I THINK it is, is it?” That made Sal decide I must be a wise guy and he told me joke after cheesy joke.
“So this guy asks me to make him a cheese with no liquid in it – and I says ‘No whey!'”
“How do you kill a circus? Go for the juggler!” (The latter joke only works when told in a New York accent).

I picked up the recommended soprasetta, wine cheese, homemade mozzarella as well as some Piave Vecchio and homemade ricotta that I brought home in my suitcase. Although I was tired at the time, my visit to DiPalo’s is one of my fondest memories, a moment where I really felt connected to the city.

We wandered through Chinatown, where every other storefront advertised foot and back massage. I had started complaining about my feet, so I was ferried into the basement massage parlor. It was kind of strange that with 10 young girls there, the one middle-aged man took me. After we were behind the curtain and already started the massage, he asked, “You’re here for massage?” I wondered what else I would be there for. But Bob and John didn’t report anything unusual from their masseuses, so it must have been a language thing. At 30 bucks for 45 minutes, it was one hell of a deal.

Passing by a mission, I noticed a strange bible quote on the front of the Jesus van. As I walked over to take a picture I barely missed stepping on a hypodermic needle. Now this was the gritty New York I had expected. We headed over to Morrison Hotel, an art gallery in the space that formerly held CBGBs. There was a display of rock photography that was just amazing.

After a quick latte across the street, we bid John a fond adieu and went back to our room with arms full of goodies from Little Italy.

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Bite the Big Apple: Saturday

Saturday we moved hotels, since we had a good deal at the Westin Times Square – thanks to my brother’s awards points and generosity. Our room wasn’t ready yet, so we entrusted the front desk with our corned beef from Stage Deli and my medication, which they promised to refrigerate. Then we headed off on the Q train to Coney Island.

It was a cold and rainy day, so Coney Island was desolate. But we didn’t care, and neither did all of the kids on the train who completely lost their minds when the Cyclone came into view.

Our first stop, Nathan’s, was no trouble to find at all. I was surprised to discover a Kenny Rogers Roaster sandwiched between the hot dog and seafood counters. I went for a chili dog and a dog with peppers.

The mustard is so good in New York – this photo did not turn out well, but the mustard really makes NY dogs. Nathan’s was not the same as the Nathan’s you buy in the market. They were flavorful with a nice snap and an explosion of fat. I ate them both. Bob had a cheesesteak, but I was focused on my hot dogs. Did I mention the fries? I can see why the birds swarm this place.

I had also ordered frog’s legs and a lobster roll from the seafood counter, expecting to pick a little at everything. I sabotaged myself by wolfing down those two dogs. The frog’s legs weren’t nicely cut into drumettes as they had been in Paris, and the bright daylight didn’t hide the unappetizing black veins. They had also cooled already, so the frog’s legs just weren’t the same. Plus I couldn’t get the word “articulated” out of my head as I stared at them. The lobster roll was more like lobster-flavored mayonnaise, so we just picked at it.

We wandered through the rides, some of which are in Astroland and some of which aren’t. Astroland has been the subject of much debate as it is slated for demolition to make way for condos. Locals are up in arms about it, even though they promise to spare the historic Cyclone. Most of the rides are carnival rides that could easily be packed up and relocated, but it’s about tradition.

I loved the trippy artwork, especially the clowns. There were also a lot of devils. And dead rappers. It was a little like Thugland.

Bob went on the Cyclone first so I could take pictures and he could report back on its scariness. He said it wasn’t scary, but it was really painful.

I picked The Breakdancer as the next ride, since I love spinning and I had never been on that one before. It was dedicated to Ant, “Loved by Many, Hated by Few, Respected by All.” I can only hope when I’m gone I am hated by few. As the ride started, the MC started shouting, “This one is for you, Big A!” I realized, “Uh oh, this ride is in tribute to his dead friend. It is going to be one hell of a ride.” And it was.

After a few intense minutes of spinning, I decided to video the ride. It was really hard struggling against the G forces to get out my camera and I gripped it in my fists. After awhile, the ride switched to spin the other way. It seemed to go on forever. This ride was never, ever going to end. The hot dogs in my stomache considered relocating. The MC asked if anyone wanted off, but no way was I going to wimp out after not going on the Cyclone. So we started all over again. Spinning, spinning, spinning; it wouldn’t stop. I knew I was going to live out the rest of my life on that ride. I was going to die on that ride. Hated by few.

The video I took lasts for a full minute, and it was less than a third of one spin in one direction. So at the very least we rode for 9 full minutes. That is a conservative estimate. After the ride, we both had to sit down and we were not feeling so good. The hot dogs decided they had enough and started a fistfight.

We walked along unsteadily as the booths and rides started shutting down. I had hoped to go for pierogie while we were in a Russian neighborhood, but I knew if smelled cabbage I was going to hurl. So we jumped on the train back to Manhattan.

When we arrived at the hotel, we discovered they had lost my medication. After an hour of freaking out, it was finally found. Bob returned to the room triumphantly, and I asked, “Where’s the corned beef?” I will not even try to describe the look he gave me. Our room was fantastic, the view was spectacular, and I was sad that the experience of checking into a room like that had been marred with worry. I called the manager to get the name of the desk clerk who hadn’t been very nice about the whole thing. Instead he let me complain to him for about 5 minutes, then asked, “What can we do to make it up to you?”

“What are you offering?”

“Have you had dinner tonight?”

“No, we have been too busy freaking out.”

“May I offer dinner at Shula’s, our steakhouse?”

“Well, we were meeting a friend for dinner. Would dinner for three be pushing it?”

“It wouldn’t be pushing it at all.”

And so instead of heading down to SoHo as arranged, we ended up calling our friend John to come to Times Square for a free steak dinner.

The atmosphere was warm and cozy in the dim restaurant. The restaurant theme was the Dolphins’ 1972 winning season. Kind of a specific theme. In spite of that, the decor was tasteful and more reminiscent of a supper club than a sports bar. A bottle of champagne started at 130 dollars, and we decided to not completely take advantage of the hotel manager. John and I each had a 20-dollar glass of the champagne, but stopped at one and switched to beer. My mother always taught me to order from the middle of the menu when being treated, and we all chose steaks in the 40-dollar range, even though they had one for 80.

For starters, John had a bisque, which I didn’t sample since he had a cold. Bob had something that has completely slipped my mind and I ordered lobster cocktail. I didn’t know yet that in New York a lobster cocktail is comprised of one half a Maine lobster in its shell. So it was kind of a decadent meal after all. The lobster was thrillingly cold and sweet.

Our steaks were high quality and cooked to perfection. The sides turned out to be big enough for the whole table. I could have lived on leftovers for two days. The crab mac and cheese kicked total ass and I will be hunting down the Shula’s in LA for that specific dish. John’s twice-baked potato was rich with cream and cheese, and Bob’s lobster mashed potatoes were unexpectedly good.

The damage was around 360 bucks after tip, so the hotel still got off cheaper than if they had comped us a night. One hour of my worry is certainly pricy. While Bob waited for the leftovers, John and I hung around the landing where a lot of people wanted to know if they could help us.

We walked around Times Square to work off the heavy food, and hit Ripley’s Believe it or Not museum. I love visiting them when I travel because every museum has different stuff. John took exception with calling things “unbelievable” when they were just “unfamiliar”. “Can you believe people would be SO STUPID to think masks ward off evil spirits???” I have to concede that there is a really patronizing tone in a lot of the commentary. I will still happily pay 20 bucks to see the life of Christ in toast.

Usually each museum has one shrunken head – the Times Square museum had about 10, including one of a caucasion with a big walrus moustache. Later I would disturb passers-by on the street when I remarked, “I have never seen so many severed heads all in one place before!” I also discovered that when my head is in a jar I kind of look like Drew Barrymore. Maybe I will have a big jar made to wear around from now on.

Back on Times Square, things were jumping. I seemed to be the only person to notice that there was a huge fistfight taking over the corner across the street. When a bunch of the people fighting made a break for it and ran towards us, I grabbed Bob. When a huge phalanx of cops started across the street, I called out to John, and headed back towards the hotel. My cell phone rang, and it was John, “Where’d you go? You’re missing the riot!”

I said, “Whenever I see more than 5 cops coming my way, I go the other way.”

He said, “That’s a good rule. See you guys tomorrow?”

“Sounds good.”

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Bite the Big Apple: Friday continued

We met my friend Anne-Marie at MOMA for an afternoon of Starry Night and Mademoiselles du Avignon.

A lot of the modern pieces involved lights and film and made me kind of dizzy. The photography exhibit was a study of light I would have liked to check out more. But by this time the museum, which was free after 4pm, was crammed with so many people it became uncomfortable.

Bob and I said goodbye to Anne-marie and wandered down the street to nosh along 54th. We happened upon London, and thought we would see what Gordon Ramsay has to be so cocky about. If the bar menu is any indication, he has every right to be a screaming bastard.

The lamb samosas were made with lamb confit rather than ground lamb. It was flavorful without being too gamey. I was unsure of how short ribs could be interpreted into bar food, but damn if they didn’t debone the ribs to make futuristic little squares topped with a rosette of mashed potato. Precious. They were also delicious and filling.

The ultramodern unisex bathrooms confused the British tourists, but they were clean and larger than our hotel bathroom.

As we enjoyed our drinks, I looked up and who was passing but Jean Baptiste. I called out, “Jean Phillipe!” Ramsay cleverly hires only men named Jean-something to keep things simple. We chatted about the upcoming opening of Gordon Ramsay in West Hollywood’s London Hotel. We could have happily dined on bar food all night, but we had seen a few other places that looked intriguing.

The Oyster Bar looked very Roadfood-y, but the overeagerness of the host and the resigned looks on the diner’s faces gave me cause for concern. We decided to have a beer and think about it.

The garlic bread was nicely seasoned, so we decided to order, but with restraint. I selected the cold seafood appetizer since it would be hard to muck up, and easier to tell if the seafood was off. The plate was a huge disappointment. The crab and lobster were overcooked and flavorless. The shrimp were just wrong. Bob tried one oyster and declared it bad. I worried, “Bad as in spoiled?” He said, “Bad as in not good.” The quality of the seafood was good, and the potato salad was delicious. It seemed like maybe once this place was loved a long time ago. Someone made sure the garlic bread and potato salad recipes were classic. But something happened – the place was sold, and now the restaurant is lonely and moribund.

We escaped the Oyster Bar and immediately spotted an Original Ray’s Famous.

I hear so much crap about California pizza from New Yorkers – how pineapple doesn’t belong on pizzas, blah, blah, blah. I was simultaneously disappointed and vindicated to see that the REAL New York slices had toppings like Buffallo wing, pineapple, BBQ chicken, and even broccoli. Broccoli! It’s a sin against God and man.

Our first slices in New York were nice and foldable, although my Margherita wasn’t nearly as good as Bob’s pepperoni and sausage.

We jaywalked across the street to the Stage Deli for rugelach, cheesecake, bagels and corned beef for breakfast. Checking out the standard celebrity Polaroids on the wall, I was amused to see instead of the usual pose, Sally Jesse Rafael was perched atop the counter hugging a giant jar of pickles.

I never understood the appeal of black and white cookies before. Stage Deli’s was a light, fresh and spongy cookie topped with soft royal icing. I think if a place becomes famous for something, it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. High turnover means fresh goods, and this is what their cookie had going for it. I don;t think I’d ever eaten a truly fresh black and white before.

The NY cheesecake was very familiar, not too sweet, and a little powdery. I have to admit I prefer creamy Philadelphia-style cheesecake. Although you have to give them points for the rugelach cheesecake, “Hey, you got cheesecake in my rugelach!” “No, you got rugelach in my cheesecake! Hey…”

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Bite the Big Apple: Friday at Nougatine

Friday we had reservations at Nougatine, the “casual” dining room of Jean-Georges. Of course, New York casual is not LA casual. Everyone was so stylish I could have snapped a photo in any direction and printed it in a magazine. I asked a man in a suit where the restroom was before I realized he didn’t work there. I was still coming off of working the graveyard shift and had not adapted to the time change. I had rolled out of bed and rushed to Nougatine on an empty stomach. So I was not interested in the prix fixe menu that had previously looked so appealing.

Bob ordered from the prix fixe, and I ordered an artichoke as well as a crab salad and ice cream/sorbet medley, and asked the server to let the chef decide the order in which the dishes should come out. Bob’s salmon confit was lovely, tasting very much like lox and served with toasts.

My artichoke arrived first. I was very pleased. They had cooked the hell out of it – exactly how it should be. At some point in the 80s, LA restaurants decided everything should be cooked al dente, especially vegetables. They have never quite recovered and continue to serve rock-hard artichokes. The homemade mustard mayonnaise was intense with lemon and horseradish. The horseradish began to sting about halfway through my artichoke, and I wondered why the chef had chosen such a strong dish as my starter.

When my crab salad arrived, I understood. The server poured the sauce over, which was made from lemon, horseradish, and reportedly melon, although it was lost in the horseradish. They really love horseradish. A lot. The peekytoe crab was sweet and cold, but the occasionally overwhelming bites of horseradish started to make my head swim. Halfway through the course, Bob and I switched plates. His chicken was moist with a crispy, salty, almost southern-fried skin. It was exacty what chicken should be. Bacon and olives are an unlikely duo, but were addictive and kept the chicken from being too mundane.

For dessert, Bob chose the chocolate biscuit with chantilly, which was like an upscale Devil Dog.

I went for the selection of ice creams and sorbets. Unlike Los Angeles, no one feels the need to tell you what is on your plate. There is a hesitation on their part to impose that can leave one feeling a little abandoned. I was also the only person in the entire restaurant drinking iced tea. In spite of the busboys waging a silent war on empty water glasses, it was hard to get refills for my tea.

Anyways, I am happy when they don’t tell me what is on my plate because then I get to guess. The first sorbet overshadowed everything else – it was a lime/mint bursting with flavor. The second sorbet was a mild cucumber, which was unusual and fun. There was vanilla malt ice cream and a strawberry sorbet. The final ice cream stumped me. The flavor was so mild, I could hardly taste it after that crazy lime/mint. I knew it was a fruit because it made my sour recepters twinge. I finally gave up and asked. The server had to check with the kitchen, which surprised me. I guess nobody ever asks. It was rhubarb. Although 4 out of 5 ain’t bad, I felt like I had lost the game.

(Thanks for the tip, JG!)

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