Little Big Burger on Alberta Street
June 28, 2014
LBB bacon and cheddar cheeseburger with fries.
Well, this could be a problem.
Just months after Bunk Bar opened up next to Salt and Straw, Little Big Burger moved into the space previously inhabited by Flywheel skate shop on Alberta and NE 21st. Painted ketchup red with the brief menu and appealing prices printed in white lettering on the exterior, LBB is hard to miss, and harder to resist.
Located 500-ish steps from our front door (not nearly enough to cancel out any inevitable calories) we headed over on a recent Friday night to welcome the new burger-focused inhabitants to the neighborhood. We ordered at the counter and had a seat at the bar to watch the staff hustle to fill dozens of orders with systematic efficiency.
LBB pepper jack cheeseburger.
“This ain’t made in Salt Lake City.”
Quarter-pound, burgers –not quite skinny patty, but not thick either — are cooked on the flat-top to a caramelized crust and ever-so-slightly pink interior. The perfect proportion to the toasted brioche bun on which they’re served, burgers come with what I consider essential burger toppings: pickle, onion, shredded lettuce, and your choice of cheddar, Swiss, chevre, pepper jack or blue cheese, should you swing that way. On the side, you’ve got one heavenly choice: truffle fries. Still sizzling from the fryer, they’re tossed in salt and truffle oil, pretty much transforming into crack. And though the Camden fry sauce bottle clearly and defiantly states “This ain’t made in Salt Lake City,” it does the hometown stuff proud.
Greedily thinking one burger each may not be enough — LBBs are deceivingly petite — we ordered three, plus two orders of fries, all of which turned out to be way more than we needed. Poof. It vanished nonetheless.
See what I mean by “problem?”
So, LBB, welcome to the neighborhood. We are glad you’re here and look forward to indulging in more of your skinny-patty, fry-sauce-laden goodness.
Food Memory: Tomato Sandwiches and Ramen
August 17, 2012
J + R + T = Love.
Some couples have their song. (“This is our song! We danced to it at our wedding.”)
Some couples have a place. (“We are going back to Cabo in the spring. It’s where we met!!”)
Jeff and I, we have a sandwich.
Ok, to be fair, it’s a sandwich and a side. So it’s really a meal. Our meal is the tomato sandwich and “dry” ramen.
Of course I’d had BLTs before, and everyone knows how I feel about ramen, but this combination is special. Early in our relationship, Jeff introduced me to this glorious partnership, which he and his brother had perfected during their college years. The sandwich requires juicy, sweet, still-warm-from-the-sun, vine-ripened tomatoes, which are so plentiful in Salt Lake. It’s not worth making if you don’t have this component (and I’ve griped about the lack of decent tomatoes since leaving Utah).
The focus on the tomato makes this sandwich different from a BLT, where bacon steals the show. This is a T sandwich all the way, and the other ingredients are supporting cast: Two pieces of toasted wheat bread, one topped with a leaf or two of lettuce (I like either iceberg or butter lettuce). The other piece of bread has a slather of mayo and Dijon mustard. Call in the tomato. It should be plump, sweet and juicy, not like the anemic grainy flavorless imposters you find in the supermarket. At home we grew Early Girls and Beefsteak, and both made lovely sandwiches. Lay two, three or four thick slices on the lettuce. Grind a little black pepper over the tomato and put a couple not-too-thick slices of cheddar on top. The other piece of bread sits on top of the cheese. (You’ll notice the cheese and the lettuce insulate the bread from all the juices from the tomato. Ingenious, I know.)
While one of us assembled sandwiches, the other started a little pot of water on the stove for the ramen, which is drained and dressed with a dash of rice wine vinegar, a drizzle of soy sauce, several good shakes of Tabasco, half the flavor packet and five or six grinds of pepper.
Beautiful.
Sandwich on the plate. Ramen on the plate. Nothing could be more beautiful.
During the summer in Salt Lake when the tomatoes were bountiful, Jeff and I would eat tomato sandwiches for lunch at least a couple times a week. We even considered serving it at our wedding, only half-jokingly, before we decided that Log Haven likely would not tolerate Top Ramen in their kitchen.
Every once is a great while we come across the rare tomato that is sandwich-worthy, like the ones Jeff found last week. We pounced and went through the delicious summer ritual of so many years ago. Hunched over our plates, tomato juice dripping down our chins, we thanked our lucky stars that we don’t have a song or a place. We have a sandwich.
Food Memory: Slow-roasted Tomatoes
October 8, 2011
Caramelized, roasted tomatoes topped with fresh rosemary and thyme.
In Salt Lake City, J and I lived in a sweet little Victorian cottage in the 9th and 9th area. The house itself was a charming brick structure with a large backyard, and a good-sized, sun-soaked garden perfect for growing tomatoes and herbs. I’ve never considered myself a gardener, but somehow growing delicious tomatoes in the hot, arid Utah summers took little effort or skill. As long as you got them in after Mother’s Day, kept them watered and guarded against late frost and pesky snails, they pretty much grew themselves.
Starting around mid-July, we’d start enjoying the ripening Early Girls, Beefsteaks and Roma tomatoes in salads, fresh tomato sandwiches and pasta sauces and by September, you couldn’t turn around without stepping on a tomato. Well, now, where did you come from, my pretties? So plump and delicious, the mouth waters. All the better to eat you with!
Sometime in the mid-90s, I came across a recipe for oven roasted tomatoes with fresh garden herbs. Perfect for the end of September when the cricket thrums slow to the tempo of a porch rocking chair, these tomatoes go in a low oven for at least three hours. As they slowly give up their juices, they fill the house with an aroma so herbaceous and now familiar to me, it is a powerful symbol for the arrival of fall, and the comfort of home.
I make these tomatoes at least once a year in the fall, even though it’s been more than 10 years since we’ve had the “problem” of an exploding tomato population. What a shock it was moving to Chicago, and having access only to bland, waxy, hard grocery store tomatoes. Even so, this simple technique vaults even the most anemic tomatoes over the brink of caramelized deliciousness. Incredible on sandwiches, wrapped in a warm corn tortilla or munched straight off the cookie sheet, these gems don’t last for more than a few hours in our house. But if they did, I imagine they’d also be delicious on pizza, in pasta or atop crostini. Ladies and gentlemen: Welcome to autumn.
Slow-roasted Tomatoes
10 to 12 Roma tomatoes
4 tablespoons kosher salt or sea salt
4 tablespoons sugar
1 to 2 teaspoons freshly ground pepper
Extra virgin olive oil
1/2 to 2/3 cup finely-chopped fresh herbs (thyme, rosemary, sage, basil)
Pre-heat the oven to 250 degrees F. Line two cookie sheets with aluminum foil or a Silpat liner. Cut the ends off the washed tomatoes; cut into thick crosswise slices. 1/4 to 1/2 inch wide. (The thinner the slice, the more the tomatoes shrivel. I prefer thinner slices.) Arrange the tomatoes on the cookie sheets, and drizzle each slice with a bit of olive oil. Turn the slices over, and repeat on the other side.
Mix the salt, sugar and pepper in a small bowl. Sprinkle a large pinch of the mixture on each tomato slice. Sprinkle on herbs.
Roast for three hours or until the tomatoes start to dehydrate. (If your slices are thicker, they can stay in longer. Just don’t let them burn.) Or, roast for two hours , turn off the oven, and leave overnight.
Refrigerate in an airtight container — that is, if they last that long.
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- Caramelized, roasted tomatoes topped with fresh rosemary and thyme.
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- Store-bought tomatoes, unfortunately.
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- Thick-sliced Roma tomatoes, ready for roasting.
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- Drizzled with olive oil.
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- All dressed up and ready for the oven.
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- Tomatoes in the oven, smelling delicious.
Why “Chile Verde Chronicles”?
January 30, 2011
After months of hemming, hawing and exasperated sighing over blog names, J and I landed on “Chile Verde Chronicles.” We wanted our little sliver of the Internet to reflect who we are as a couple, food lovers, cooks, writers, editors and former Salt Lakers. We think our quest for the best chile verde best represents our food adventures.
Somehow, the pork-and-green-chile stew has become an icon in our families, and most of us can trace our love for the dish back to one Salt Lake City restaurant chain: La Frontera. Just about everyone in our family — siblings and parents alike — have their own versions of the stew, and many of us began by trying to achieve the flavor, texture and appearance of the LaFro original. The results, however, could not be more disparate. Nor could they be more delicious in their differences.
In looking for a blog name, we wanted something emblematic of our love of food and tradition, and our hunger for discovering new dishes, restaurants, cultures, techniques and recipes. We want this blog to be a place to chronicle our dinners out, home-cooked meals, happy gatherings, discoveries and travels. Of course, our posts will extend beyond the namesake dish, but like coming home after a long trip, it represents all that is welcoming, comforting and familiar.
Chile Verde Chronicles 