Easter Sunday in Madrid
April 24, 2011
Pate and gazpacho at La Finca de Susana.
In stark contrast to Saturday, today (Sunday) was near-perfect: Yesterday dawned cold, rainy and dreary; this morning was crisp and sunny. Yesterday’s walk along the Paseo de Prado began amid lush greenery but veered into the harsh concrete of Nuevos Ministerios; today’s expedition through the Parque del Buen Retiro was idyllic start to finish. Yesterday’s afternoon meal was a hastily chosen, overpriced, mostly bland filler on the Plaza Mayor; today’s main meal was sophisticated, delicious and affordable.
After our now-habitual breakfast buffet, we set out to erase yesterday’s shortcomings. Our walk led us to Madrid’s well-manicured version of Central Park where we spent several hours amid the maze of rose bushes and trellises of the Rosaleda (rose garden), the peacock party in the Jardines de D. Cecilio Rodriguez, the park’s central lake thronged by families and brimming with rowboats, and surrounding neighborhoods. Afterward, we ambled west in search of a friend-recommended restaurant: La Finca de Susanna near the Sevilla metro stop. La Finca had a line forming at 2 p.m., so we added our name to the hour-long wait list and headed around the corner to a cafe with a pastry-laden front window.
Hontanares has a coffee-shop vibe but a taberna menu. We sat at the counter, ordered wine and olives from the genial tabernero and recounted our walk. We were tempted by toasted bocadillos, meat- and cheese-filled pastries and more tapas, but did our best to avoid filling up before our scheduled meal.
At 3, we returned to the bright yellow awnings that mark the exterior of La Finca de Susanna. The interior is a study in bustling efficiency. Putty-colored walls, oversized black-and-gold barrel chandeliers and wall of wine are markedly contemporary, while rustic wood floors, crisp linens and palm-flanked windows give the space its namesake country-house feel.
The menu’s hearty Mediterranean and Spanish dishes make ordering a challenge. We started with a refreshing gazpacho laced with minced onions, red bell peppers and crunchy croutons; and a creamy chicken-liver pate enhanced by fruity olive oil. Hot fresh-baked bread did sopping duty as we awaited our entrees. J’s succulent braised pork ribs arrived accompanied by perfectly cooked couscous. My lamb shoulder, falling off the bone and bathed in a earthy pan juices, was complemented by sweet caramelized baby onions. We finished our two rather large plates, but dessert was out of the question — though a rich-looking wedge of chocolate torte sent to neighboring tables flirted with us briefly. Next time.
A beautiful day capped by a satisfying meal — a perfect Easter Sunday. We dedicate today’s meal to Julia y Pedro, the patron saints of the weekend “linner.” Mwah.
Northwest-Andean Mixto at del Inti
April 16, 2011
Pork belly and braised cabbage.
You might be thinking, “Really. Out to dinner two nights in a row?” Believe me, it’s not the norm. But after having moved to the neighborhood, J and I feel a responsibility to contribute to Alberta Street’s success. And if that means eating out two nights in a row, so be it. It had been a few months since we visited del Inti, our neighborhood Peruvian bistro, and we could not stand the guilt if, god forbid, it closed its doors.
Not that it needs our humble contribution. By the looks of the steady clientele, this spot is a local favorite. Del Inti’s welcoming patio with its piped-out Latin tunes and roaring fire pit mark the spot on Alberta and 23rd. Inside, the open space contains a bustling exposed kitchen, a lively dine-in bar, and a comfortably spaced dining area. Colorful artwork, globe lighting, cork flooring and a garage-type door that opens from the bar onto the patio complete the sleek neighborhood vibe.
A half-dozen colorful ceviches open the menu, and choosing presents a challenge. We selected the ceviche mixto with cubed mahi, whole shrimp, thin-sliced octopus, red onion and a fiery rocoto leche de tigre sauce, all capped by a jaunty dime-size slice of habañero. Sweet potato provided textural contrast and cooled the palate.
From the small plates, we chose the empanada, a flaky, deep-fried turnover stuffed with beef, potato, raisins and olives served atop a mild, nutty ocopa sauce. Next, the “chancho,” a pork belly confit, crisped top and bottom, served atop braised purple cabbage and finished with crunchy green apple chimichurri. The cabbage and apple provided sweet-tart crunch to contrast the salty pork, which disappeared on the tongue. Beautiful.
For entrees, J’s soy-glazed hangar steak cooked to a tender, pink medium rare, complemented by portobello mushrooms, fried potatoes and rice. For me, a pan-roasted corvina with manila clams, pork sausage, tapenade alongside buttery carrot “pasta” cut into pappardelle-like ribbons, cooked to al dente. All delicious.
Apple crisp with carrot-lemon ice cream (yep, I said carrot and lemon) rounded out our Saturday night meal, and we walked home, satiated and so grateful to be living in this neighborhood.
Del Inti, you continue to surprise us with your flavors and unexpected contrasts. Nos gusta mucho y hasta pronto.
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- Pork belly and braised cabbage.
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- Ceviche mixto with a habanero hat.
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- Empanada, perfect with a squeeze of lime.
50 Plates in the Pearl
April 15, 2011
Pan roasted halibut, fiddlehead ferns, black trumpet mushrooms.
A dank spring Friday in Portland. The rain-flogged daffodils cower. It’s the kind of evening that begs for a cocktail and comfort food to properly usher in the weekend.
Big bro James suggested dinner at 50 Plates in the Pearl after having met one of the owners through work. The hunt for a parking space frayed nerves a bit, but it was nothing a vodka martini couldn’t smooth over.
The vibe of this spacious corner place combines clubby (sleek wood-paneling, high bar tables and textured white quartz wall tiles) with old-school diner (comfy booths and banquettes, smooth-top white dining tables). The menu features a cross-section of comforting American traditions. Our first bite was a petite California date stuffed with Vermont cheddar, wrapped in bacon. Sweet, salty, not too crisp — we could have eaten a bucketful. Next was a half dozen oysters spiked with beer, a drop of hot sauce, lime and cilantro. Hola, mis pequeños amigos.
After little bites, we moved on to small plates. The four of us shared two chopped Cobb-esque salads from the specials list: addictive with bay shrimp, avocado, cherry tomatoes, egg, croutons and a crunchy mix of lettuces tossed with buttermilk blue cheese, lemon anchovy dressing. Zandra opted for the Knuckle Sandwich, a buttery mini lobster roll. She reported it as tasty, her only gripe being that the bread overwhelmed the lobster. James ordered, and we all dipped into, a steaming bowl of pan-roasted mussels in a verdant broth of IPA, green tomatoes and chile paste.
For entrees, James, Zandra and I were unable resist the much-hyped pan-roasted halibut atop fiddlehead ferns, black trumpet mushrooms and an herb butter sauce. The rich flavors and textures bolstered the raves from our server, and we were converts. And when she declared that 50 Plates is known for its burger … well, you can guess what J ordered. A perfectly juicy Cascade Natural patty dressed up with Amish gorgonzola and thick cut bacon. “Best burger I’ve had in Portland so far,” he said. High praise, indeed. On the side, perfectly crisp hand-cut frites (twice fried in beef fat, no less) from the snacks menu. We polished off one serving and ordered another. God bless America.
We briefly considered splitting another burger for dessert, but level heads prevailed. James and Zandra went for the recommended key lime tart, a smooth-textured beauty topped with plump fresh berries and raspberry sauce. J and I ordered the cheese board — a trio of teleme, ale washed aged goat and that haunting Amish gorgonzola, complemented nicely with a drizzle of unfiltered local honey, fruit mince and crackers.
50 Plates: You transformed a gray, drizzly day into a mini road trip across America. Top down, wind in our hair, refreshed. We will see you again soon.
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- Lobster roll
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- Fries, round one.
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- A trio of delectable cheeses.
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- The remains.
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- Pan roasted halibut, fiddlehead ferns, black trumpet mushrooms.
Burger Fix at The Mash Tun
April 10, 2011
Mushroom Swiss burger and tomato, bleu cheese soup. Damn. Good.
I’m feeling sentimental.
It’s Sunday night, and J and I are in different cities. With our schedules you’d think we’d be used to separation. But we are seldom apart on weekends. So I am thinking about weekends past, and one in particular: last weekend and our Saturday-night burger fest at The Mash Tun.
Conveniently (and temptingly) located two blocks from our house, The Mash Tun is an Alberta Street brew pub with free pool, darts, a full bar and house-brewed suds. It’s the first restaurant we went to when we moved to the neighborhood, and is usually the first place we think of on nights that we’ve made the effort to get dressed, but can’t muster any more energy than that.
Two giant brew kettles mark the entry on NE 22nd Ave and Alberta. Inside, the feel is casual and convivial with wood paneling, a central pool table and a jukebox that spins everything from 80s pop hits to downtempo jams. TVs hang in three corners for those with an eye on the game, and a pooch-friendly patio beckons in good weather. Most tables are filled with friends out for a casual night of conversation, pool, board games or tasty food.
The menu lists a range of pub favorites — fried apps, sandwiches, mini-pizzas, salads and the like. In an attempt to mask this as anything but an indulgence, J and I typically start with the big, beautiful beet salad. The greens are fresh, the beets plentiful, a little goat cheese adds tang and hazelnuts crunch it up. After that, it’s on to the entrees, and we’ve tried a few: the bratwurst is one tasty, tangy dog with sauerkraut; the BLATO (bacon, lettuce, avocado, tomato, onion on sourdough) is a good bet, always. But, truth be told, we’re here for the burgers. Big beefy patties are juicy and flavorful enough to laugh in the face of the tabletop condiments — I go without. My top choice is mushroom Swiss. J switches it up, but last weekend, it was the bleu burger with bacon. (Specify your burger temperature when you order or you’ll get medium.) Fry fanatics, listen up: the frenchies here are hit and miss, and it breaks my heart. But too often they are tepid and mushy. I now avoid them in favor of crunchy tots. A handful of house-brewed beers on tap wet the whistle, but there’s a full bar if your whistle cries out for a cocktail.
Sweetie, I miss you. I miss The Mash Tun. Here is to many more almost-lazy Saturday nights in our neighborhood haunt.
A Birthday Beast
March 26, 2011
Steak tartare + quail egg on toast = two bites of heaven.
Honestly, birthdays are getting a little old. (Pun sort of intended. Not really. They are getting really old.) I’ll spare you the self-indulgent details. But if mark them I must, what better way than by spending a Saturday evening with some of my favorite people at one of he most lauded restaurants in Portland? The company did not disappoint, nor did our meal at Beast.
James, Zandra, Margaret, J and I shared a communal table with a group of four that seemed content to keep to themselves, which was fine by me. Diners at the other, larger table in the room made acquaintances early, but in the end appeared to interact mostly with those they came with. (I mention this only as a point of solace for anyone uneasy about communal seating, as I, ever the introvert, tend to be.) The setting for dinner is snug, dusky, casual yet refined. The room features whimsical graffiti, a working kitchen that hums with quiet precision and a sizable plating island that seats two, maybe three, lucky diners. A seating, of which there are two nightly Wednesday-Saturday, accommodates perhaps 30. Two brunch seatings on Sunday round out the week.
We opted for the wine pairings, and once all parties had arrived, the feasting began. We commenced with a rich, inky French onion soup, its crouton oozing with Gruyere, paired with a bubbly Brut rose. Next was a colorful palette of charcuterie whose standouts included a silky chicken liver mousse on a crisp leaf lard cracker; toast topped with steak tartare and a delicate quail egg; and a tiny square of sauternes gelee perched on a rich, chilled fois gras bon-bon — a creamy mouthful that might have stood in for dessert. The main course brought a fork-tender braised duck accented by pickled sour cherries and a syrupy duck demi-glace alongside crunchy pink spring radishes with their greens. After that, a refresher: a bright arugula salad slightly wilted under an aged-sherry, bacon, balsamic vinaigrette with shaved Reggiano and tempura-fried lemons. The only jarring moment of the meal came during the cheese course, which included a spunky goat’s milk cheese; a salty, tangy blue; and a wow-invoking German cow’s milk cheese redolent of barnyard. (If you haven’t guessed, the last one was the jarring bit — a conversation stopper and most definitely an acquired taste.) After all that, dessert: spicy, chilled hazelnut cake alongside Armagnac prune frozen mousse.
Beast strikes a balance between rich and bright, sweet and tart, crunch and cream, with generous dashes of whimsy and elegance for good measure. We feel fortunate to have this cozy spot in our neck of the woods, and look forward to many (40-something?) celebratory meals to come.
Friday-Night Tradition: Bandini
March 19, 2011
Sausage/green pepper and Canadian bacon/onion.
I don’t know when it started — in Chicago, probably — but somewhere along the line, we adopted the oh-so-original tradition of Friday night pizza. We have made it our quest, wherever we go, to find the best delivery joint: the crust must be thin, crisp, oven-browned; the salads must be big (nothing worse than paying $10 for a paltry tin of dying lettuce and dead shaved carrots).
The quest continues in Portland, but our current favorite is Bandini. I confess to being a skeptic when we first walked by the restaurant on MLK. The place looks cozy and inviting enough, but the menu seems scattershot: appetizers, pastas, salads, sandwiches, desserts and, of course, pizza. A real red-sauce, family-style, kid-in-booster-seats kind of place. But we took the leap and ordered delivery one Friday night last November, and it’s been our go-to Friday-night date ever since. Ordering can be tricky, especially if you are trying to communicate the concept of “easy cheese” or even “light cheese” to the sweet, non-native English-speaker on the phone — but who cares? The pizza arrives lickety-split, and the delivery guy is courteous and friendly.
Pizza crust is delicious, though it never quite achieves the crispness we crave. It has a pretzel quality: Definitely thin, slightly chewy, with a pretzel-style sheen. I love it. J wishes we could convey the desired well-done effect, and we’ll keep trying. (“When it’s finished, leave it in the oven for an extra 5 minutes.”)
Toppings are fresh and flavorful (we’re talking to you, sausage). Salads are plentiful. (Yeah, the Caesar dressing conspicuously lacks garlic and anchovies, but we won’t complain: The lettuce is fresh and there’s lots of it.)
Bandini: Thank you for being our Friday-night steady. We’ll call you. *Kiss.*
Pork au Coke
March 13, 2011
Pork au Coke
The star of this evening’s meal was a J production. He felt like cooking a barbecue-style Southern meal, and the rib recipe was improvised. First, he marinated pork ribs in a dry “Memphis rib rub” (in a tin) and a half cup of kalbi marinade overnight.
Next day, in a large cast iron pan, J caramelized red onions and green cabbage (salt and pepper to taste) in oil till golden. Then he added an 8 oz bottle of Coca-Cola, half a cup of apple cider vinegar, two tablespoons soy sauce, one teaspoon of red pepper flakes and good squeeze of sriracha.
Simmer, simmer, simmer.
Meanwhile, he seared the ribs on a hot grill, then braised ribs in sauce for about four hours. Low and slow.
He removed ribs. Let ’em rest in a warm oven while the sauce reduced until it was a rich, brown cola color. (About an hour.)
Ribs went back into the sauce for a bath. The result: fork tender, tangy, spicy, slightly sweet deliciousness. We served it up with greens and mac and cheese.
This recipe, it’s a keeper.
Wildwood Restaurant & Bar
March 12, 2011
We won’t deny it: We love going out to eat, and we don’t mind spending money on a nice dinner. We love cooking at home, too, but there is something about the anticipation of an evening out — whether it’s just the two of us, or with family and friends — that imparts a celebratory feeling. Tonight, we met James, Zandra, David and Karen at Wildwood in the Pearl District to celebrate David’s birthday, so the scene was set: delightful company, cool spring evening and a lovely high-end restaurant. David knows wine, we all love to eat and drink, not a picky person in the group. So, it was perfect, right? That we were disappointed came as a surprise.
The menu showcases local, seasonal ingredients, so in early March, we had a plethora of winter vegetables and hearty meats and flavors verging on Mediterranean. Appetizers were the night’s clear winners, in my opinion. Standouts in the starter arena included bright, fresh flavors of roasted parsnip and grapefruit salad with creme fraiche and a drizzle of aromatic truffle oil. And I’ll be honest: I would have kept the buttery pork belly and dungeness crab app to myself if I thought I could get away with it.
Among the six of us, we tried four entrees. Karen and Zandra both had the oven-roasted pork chop, a mammoth cut, nicely cooked, but topped with a preserved tomato sauce that seemed to overpower the dish. James and David ordered lamb which looked promising, but the meat was chewy. (Dare I say gamey? Yes, I dare.) My rib eye filet, the size of a small fist, was nicely browned on the surface, and a lovely medium pink inside, but the flavor was non-existent, and the meat … how could it possibly have been tough? J’s entree of crispy, flavorful duck confit with deliciously caramelized brussels sprouts and pancetta was the only redeeming plate.
First impressions are everything, especially when the competition is so strong. We might give Wildwood another chance, in another season. Maybe.
French Bistro in the High Desert of Southern California
February 25, 2011
When J and I lived in Venice, we made a tradition of meeting my dad (Levi Mike) and his girlfriend Christie (collectively known as D&C) in Borrego Springs over President’s Day weekend. They make the trek each January to escape the frigid winter temperatures of Boise for two or three months. A 3-hour drive from Venice, Borrego Springs was an easy place to meet them, and a welcome respite from the workaday stress of Southern California life.
Last weekend, J and I resumed the tradition. We drove down from Santa Monica on Friday afternoon, made good time, and commenced with the desert relaxation involving golf, wine, home-cooked dinners and lunch on the town. Saturday’s lunch took us to the most unlikely spot: a quaint French bistro called The French Corner.
For years, Christie raved about this little spot, and everything was she described: a cozy, well-spaced dining room/gift shop with tables topped with Provence-style linens, walls lined with decorative signs (for sale) and shelves filled with antique enameled French coffee pots. The owners, two Belgian fellows who spend summers in Provence (what a life!), charm with their dry wit and wry sense of humor.
The food? Delicious. D&C had crab quiche, with flaky, buttery crust and generous crab filling. J opted for a steaming bucket of plump Basque mussels with a sop-up-able tomato and olive sauce. (When J commented on the deliciousness of the mussels, owner Yves quipped, “From the Salton Sea!”). I am always tempted by croque monsieur, but I prefer the ham-and-cheese sandwich topped with a sunny-side-up egg. When I asked if I could make mine a croque madame, Yves, with a half smile, ribbed me about the request, but complied. The result was melty, yolk-y perfection.
French Corner: What an unexpected surprise in a tiny desert town. Tres bien. Que romantique!
Alberta’s Sushi Hana
February 13, 2011
The wind howled on Saturday, and we had slogged through it for two hours in the name of exercise and exploring. So, after a shower and nap, we were so ready for something casual and satisfying. Our first choice was a burger at Mash Tun — always delicious and easy — but we thought we’d give Sushi Hana a look before making any snap decisions. A quick scan at the menu and the welcoming-enough sushi bar, we decided to give it a go.
The verdict: Eh. It was all right.
Nigiri had fresh flavors (we tried yellowtail, salmon and mackerel) and the egg rolls and gyoza were piping hot. Of the long list of elaborate rolls, we landed on the Flaming Dragon Roll with tempura shrimp inside and spicy tuna on top. The biggest setbacks for me were the toro sashimi (semi frozen and grainy) the vegetable tempura. J liked the tempura, I was not a fan. The batter was too thin to make an impact, but the flavor and texture of the veggies were fine. Choosing well is the key, and next time I’ll likely stick to rolls. May even venture into the udon section of the menu.
Overall, Sushi Hana was slightly disappointing, but not a disaster. Certainly nothing a late-night cocktail and a couple of tacos at Cruzroom didn’t fix.
Chile Verde Chronicles 