The New York restaurant scene is full of concepts, plates and experiences that are mostly devoid of personality. Going on my fourth year in the city, I still have the gnawing feeling that New York restaurants are often more brand than food – a name to an investment that happens to take the form of an aged steak, an overcrowded noodle joint where the hidden menu item is cool-ass couches, or a Korean taco. And when a sit-down New York restaurant is more food than brand, I sometimes wonder why the food is so immaculate and divorced from its own context that the most inspiring expression one might draw from his empty plate is that money gets you nice things.

Every time I leave New York to visit a town or city that isn’t teeming with the next hot shit, this feeling subsides and amplifies in one sitting. In plenty of other places, it seems like the par for dining out in style is never as overpriced, onerous or obnoxious as it is in Manhattan. Maybe once you drain the saturation of restaurants fueled by hype, disposable income and population density, the filter for quality becomes more exacting. It’s more probable that I’m living inside my head as a cheap New Yorker, allowing the daunting volume of $30+ meals to transform too easily into a $30+ bias.

My recent dinner at Philadelphia’s Koo Zee Doo is a case in point. Vacations with Girlfriend are an opportunity to spend money on nice things, not least of all the type of food that New York dates are made of in theory but are never made of in reality. Philadelphia’s restaurant scene, not beholden to reservations and asterisked intermittently with the letters “BYOB,” is the perfect setting for this change of pace, offering its fairer share of market-priced seafood, intimate settings, and affordable ales and wine to accompany each meal.

Koo Zee Doo, a BYOB restaurant with a Portugese-influenced menu, resembles a trendy East Village joint without any of the accoutrement or clientele that make trendy East Village joints an overbearing place to focus on food. Upon entry we were seated immediately at the counter, peering directly into the open kitchen, where the restaurant’s two cooks prepare every single order. Their execution was flawless, the food was stunning, and the vibe was gratifying if not compelling: a competence-centric restaurant, professional in form and warm in tone. Koo Zee Doo, by the way, is a play on the word “cozido” – Portugese for “cooked.”

Koo Zee Doo’s menu advertises “family-style portions to be shared.” Quite far from false delivery, the Salada de Marisco ($18) easily serves two and is better than any seafood dish I’ve tasted in New York.

It’s listed as a “spicy seafood salad” with hearts of palm, orange, and watercress. That description doesn’t begin to do justice to the dish, which splashes a robust melange of shellfish and squid with citrus, tosses the seafood with tender hearts of palm, blood orange slices, and watercress, and dresses the mixture with a spicy kick to make sure every taste bud springs into bloom.

This the type of food that makes me doubt my curmudgeonly dismissal of “chef de cuisine”, served in the type of place that makes me rethink my dread of New York’s restaurants. It’s unlikely that I’ll be able to shake off the feeling once I’m back on the sidelines of the scene, but the memory of a wonderful meal will survive.

Koo Zee Doo
614 N. 2nd St.
Philadelphia, PA 19123
215.923.8080

A while back, Layne Mosler of Taxi Gourmet approached J.O. and me with her newest project: a series of self-guided food tours, written by local experts and sold through a mobile app used to explore good food throughout the world.

I signed on because Layne’s approach to food is very much like my own: Go to a new place, find the special bites that you can only take in that place, and make good on life. I’m not linguistically skilled enough to hop into a cab in Argentina and ask where the best sausage sandwich is, but I’m happy to know someone out there is doing so on a regular basis.

Rama Food is free to download from the Apple App Store; however, each tour is sold for a price set by its author. An Android version is slated to follow.

The app’s goal is to immerse readers in the food and the culture of its subject, while showcasing some of the best dishes in town. I’ve contributed two tours as part of Rama Food’s initial release: a NYC BBQ tour and a double Chinatown tour. The former will point you to the city’s best smoked beef ribs, pork ribs, burnt ends, pulled pork and brisket – a difficult task, given how inconsistent barbecue menus can be around here. The latter will take you on a 6-stop tour of regional Chinese cuisine, with tips on how to make the trip from Manhattan to Queens quick and stress-free.

All things considered: If you’re a regular Chowhound or a seriously dedicated New York eater, you might find that my tours don’t add a ton to your own experience. However, if you’re a reader of this blog, a casual fan of good food, or a traveler wanting to make the most of your meals, then by all means check out Rama Food and purchase one of my tours. You should check out J.O.’s tour of Little India in Queens while you’re at it.

Once downloaded, each tour is fully functional without 3G or wifi access, which is great for those of you who hate waiting for things to load while you’re making your way to the next bite. So try this out, and let me know what you think! I’ll be making changes and additions as I get feedback from readers, so the more I hear from you, the better. This could be really cool, and I want to make the experience worthwhile.

Not one to mince my own foreignness, I announced, “Hi! We just got in from New York-”

“Well, congratulations!” He quipped in response, taking the posture of a slightly sarcastic boulder.

I broached the topic of hunger. He offered some terse advice on crowds and noted that the International Flower show was underway at the Convention Center. With a little give and a little take, the voice of brotherly love tore a map from the stack, circled the 13th St. station, and sent us off to the green line train.

Tommy DiNic’s – Reading Terminal Market

Our destination was Reading Terminal Market, a Mid-Atlantic bazaar whose legacy predates the 14th Amendment. The Market is a contender to be the stomach of Philadelphia, if not the heart: a city block of commerce close to the gullet, pumping locals and visitors through aisle after aisle of stalls, display cases and makeshift lunch breaks. Neon signs act as halos for merchants of all things edible. A full complement of dining counters does triple duty: giving patrons a place to dine, anchoring the bustle of bodies to architecture, and quietly exercising the power of a tangible history.

It’s the kind of place that begs the word “essential.” The Market sat at the top of recommendation lists from nearly everyone I spoke to before traveling to Philly, with few qualifiers regarding the presence of tourists. It’s the kind of place where bonnet-bearing girls from Pennsylvania Dutch country sell three-dollars slices of pie, just steps away from an open-kitchen breakfast diner and just a few aisles over from a shoe-shine station, three sweets stalls, and an American Thai take-out.

It’s the kind of place that doesn’t have to cater. And at its center is Tommy DiNic’s, the sandwich stand with the longest line. DiNic’s is the rare piece of broken bread between town hero and cult hoagie: a tourist magnet that is worth its weight in jus no matter where one’s appetite was conceived. Like the man at the bus station, the staff at Dinic’s are able to identify visitors immediately and offer their service without ever giving the impression that out-of-town business is a priority.

“What are you having?” asked the waitress a few minutes after we’d taken a seat. I put in for a roast pork with broccoli rabe and roasted peppers.

“You’re sharing, right?” She shot back with certainty, knowing which customers are on lunch break and which are just here for a taste. I nodded, and she turned to the next task, not wondering if we’d like a bag of chips with that.

“What are you having?” she sounded to the mother and daughter next to us.

“Whichever one is best!” one of the exuberant first-timers exclaimed. The waitress offered a blank stare in return. Laughing nervously and turning her eyes back to the menu, the customer asked for a roast pork with broccoli rabe – to share.

Minutes later, we were all introduced to Philly’s essential roast pork sandwich. Carved from a whole roasted ham and rested in a potion of its own Italian-seasoned juices, each thin slice of pork inverts the all-encompassing experience of porchetta into a trim sandwich meat, juicy as a rare steak. There’s little mystery to the end product, and none is needed – as workman’s pride goes, this sets a standard.

John’s Roast Pork – Pennsport

DiNic’s, however, doesn’t need to hog the spotlight in a town stuffed to the edges with incredible sandwiches. Girlfriend and I hopped into a cab outside the Market and headed southeast. We hopped off near city limits to meet a littered train track, laid next to a shipping warehouse with at least several hundred windows and at most several employees. A big box strip mall sat next door. Across the street was another of Philly’s officially adorned temples of roast pork.

John’s Roast Pork has just as much spirit as Reading Terminal Market, but its charm is of a different kind. While DiNic’s routinely serves one perfect sandwich after another to a churning mob of visitors, John’s dishes out its own commotion from behind the counter. Diners shuffled in from the sandwich shop’s sprawling surroundings and quietly joined the line as cooks, trading barbs and working with force, unfurled several pounds of fresh sirloin onto a hot grill just feet away. A waitress eyed anyone who might be looking for a hoagie or a roast pork sandwich, verbally yanking newcomers out of line to fill their order at the register.

Those who remained gazed across the counter, where John’s cooks were putting together one of the best cheese steaks in town. At the head of the grill line, a man with a complexion worth a carton of cigarettes negotiated steak orders with customers, one on one. Grilled onions? Can’t help you with that, but raw onions are ready now. Half with provolone, half without? That’ll work.

Pinned to the wall was a list of “Lent Specials,” needed to accommodate those willing to give up cheese steak and roast pork for the sake of penitence, yet totally unwilling to give up their spot in line for a surly rejoinder and a “fish cake” hoagie.

I never got to try the eponymous sandwich, but the cheese steak at John’s Roast Pork was unrepentant in its pleasures. The steak, chopped into fraying strands on the grill, crumbled at the edges and put up a brief but earned fight with each chew. Its flavor was beefy in a way that sandwich meat rarely is, the taste sharpened by salt and pepper. The seeded, toasted Italian roll holding everything together was hardy in a way DiNic’s was not.

The entire sitting was one heavy drop in my bucket list of American sandwiches. After waiting over half an hour for a cab service to find us a ride back, we hopped into a car that had just delivered some craving-possessed woman to the nearby IHOP. I guess I know how she felt, I confessed to our cabbie. After all, we’d stranded ourselves in pursuit of a sandwich because John’s Roast Pork is only open on weekdays.

“That’s a good spot,” he replied in approval.

Paesano’s – Italian Market

The next day we stepped into Paesano’s. As I turned to shut the front door behind me, I realized two things:

1. Philadelphia’s store fronts have something against automatically closing doors.

2. This is the first sandwich shop we’d visited that wasn’t prefaced by a declaration of birth.

The latter is no small detail. Muscled between Darigo’s Fish Market and Capuccio’s Meats in Philadelphia’s Italian Market neighborhood, Paesano’s offers the phrase “Philly Style” in place of its own age, which every business in Philadelphia that’s at least a generation old seems to bear with pride. In a city as storied as Philadelphia, age carries currency.

John’s Roast Pork was “Est. 1930.” DiNic’s has been in business “Since 1954.” Paesano’s, a relative newcomer touting chef credentials and “Italian inspiration,” makes up for lost time with a bundle of inexcusably good sandwiches.

Landing somewhere between gourmet up-sells and loving odes, the inspiration at Paesano’s is real. It’s also stuffed into a crusty, seeded Italian roll that crunches through the memory of any other sandwich bread before this encounter with Philly style. The fillings on offer, ranging from suckling pig to deep-fried meatloaf, were so tempting that we passed on the universally loved “Arista” in favor of the “Giardina” and “Bolognese.”

The Giardina, an eggplant sandwich that doesn’t draw its power from an overdone oil bath, is one of the best vegetarian sandwiches I’ve tasted. Thick slices of roasted eggplant are paired with thick slices of fresh mozzarella, then brushed with a basil pesto, topped with roasted sweet peppers, and garnished with fennel and caramelized onion before being sealed into Paesano’s wonderful bread. We found the bolognese (deep fried lasagna with smoked parmesan and a fried egg) too ham-fisted to be savored, but the Giardina left me with no regrets over roast pork.

Wawa

Lacking an “Est.” date but not at all lacking in establishment, one of several local branches of Wawa served me my last sandwich of the weekend.

I could make this into more than it actually is. It’s not hard to do when one comprehends the value of stepping into a convenience store that serves sandwiches like Subway’s without the gut-wrenching odor of Subway. I still hold on to a fond and distant memory of doing exactly this in Pennsylvania Dutch country, during a hot summer week with limited access to food and ten minutes to the nearest Wawa.

There and then, a lunch break with air conditioning, carbonated beverages and passable 10″ hoagies that I could order from a touch screen was a blessing. Here in Philly – after two days of some of the most well-crafted, historically weighted and humbly served sandwiches in the country – I couldn’t possibly dig up that same enthusiasm.

I suppose I was hoping for something that couldn’t be dropped off just as easily by a bus from New York.

“These food malls are like chucky cheeses for us.”
“You are right. I definitely peed in the ball pit at Savor Fusion.”
“Omg”

Who said what isn’t nearly as important as the analogy. I’ve been to the row of Chinese food stands on Maple and Main twice now, barely scratching the surface. Like the Golden Mall, the New World Mall, and every other Flushing food court I’ve encountered, it’s a setting ripe with possibilities, most of them distinguishable by aroma.

The court’s names – “Maple Snacks”, “Savor Fusion” or “Savoy Fusion” depending on which set of window print catches your eye first – hint at a disheveled clamor of cuisines but belie something of a handpicked showcase of regional cooking. The menus tilt on a snacking tip. The court’s manager and his wife can be found strolling from stall to stall during the weekday lunch hour, leading the cooks in a warm welcome to anyone looking to nosh.

I was first drawn to Savor Fusion when Joey D. announced the return of a wonderful dan dan mian at Chengdu Snack, the court’s Sichuan star. As my group set to noshing, my appetite quickly fixated on the back corner of the court, where a stall translating its name to the phrase “Steam Dumplings” continues the proud Chinese tradition of describing holy foods in the most perfunctory terms available to the English language.

From what I know of Mandarin, these translations don’t land far off the mark in terms of spirit. Chinese dumplings, the festive food made available to pretty much anyone at any time with a passing fancy for hunger, are a bite-sized celebration of what makes every day special. When they’re done well, words are an afterthought, and life is good.

The boiled dumplings at Steam Dumplings, then, come a shock to anyone used to ordering a batch of shuiijao or guotie as an appetizer or side dish to the main attraction. In this court, the plates of dumplings boiled to order at Steam Dumplings are worth the trip to Flushing entirely on their own. Each dumpling takes the form of a small, ridged dome, more rounded than the typical Chinatown potsticker. The dumpling skins, formed from leavened wheat dough, are thick but not dense, with a sturdy, accomplished chew. The wider shapes and substantial skin are no accident; they’re needed to hold in the small rush of juices packed into every bite by way of unmitigated genius.

The fillings available each have a distinct personality. The local Chowhound favorite, “three treasures,” is a melange of pork, shrimp and leek, listed in English as “three mixed meat.” I’m partial to the pork-and-cabbage dumplings, complicated by a bit of ginger and more flavorful and juicy than any pork and cabbage dumpling I’ve nibbled on elsewhere. At Steam Dumplings, small variations carry big payoffs; pork-and-celery dumplings retain the vibrant notes of fresh celery, while our one dalliance with “Chinese vegetable” turned up a fearless pinch of dill. Vegetable dumplings, available as an off-menu order, pay full respect with a payload of egg, freshly chopped vegetables and herbs.

In short: Everything is highly recommended. Unless you happen to be vegan, in which case the ball pit is over there.

Steam Dumplings will pan-fry any order by request. It’s a worthy option, especially when it comes to the stall’s lamb dumplings, which find enrichment in crunchy bottoms when fried. The flavor of the lamb filling is sweet and uncompromising. The marriage of juices, golden-browned edges, and steamed bodies is intoxicating enough to inspire this lurid sentence, yet short-lived enough to justify this lurid sentence. At 33.33 cents a piece, they’re mandatory.

It’s unclear to me whether the cooks at Steam Dumplings hail from Hebei or Hubei. My conversation with the proprietors of Savor Fusion suggests the former, a region sandwiched between Shaanxi and Shandong in the Northern reaches of China, where the local dumpling is probably less an exoticized delicacy and more a general expression of competence.

Ultimately, the dumplings that draw my appetite from Brooklyn to Queens can be summarized in perfunctory English as “a common food” – not just in Hebei, but throughout Northern China. While the description might not capture the giddy thrill of my amusement park dining, it’s a perfect fit for how Steam Dumplings holds court: one stall in a gauntlet of Chinese cooks, each branding its own everyday specials on a mislabeled street corner in downtown Flushing.

Savor Fusion Food Court
42-01 Main St.
Queens, NY
718.886.6966

The bakers’ “crusty bread” ($4.95) – a heavy loaf with a deeply toasted, beautifully cracked crown and taught, rustic belly – is my new high water mark for the daily slice. Referred to by Russians as “serii” (grey), this type of dark bread is a meeting point between German and Russian traditions. The body of the bread is satisfyingly dense. Its flavor is low on rye, slightly sour, slightly salty and subtly aromatic – as if fresh black tea had been baked into the dough. Taken with high-fat, sweet cream butter and a cup of tea, it’s sustenance of a kind sorely lacking on American breakfast tables.

Brighton Bazaar
1007 Brighton Beach Ave.
Brooklyn, NY 11235
718.769.1700

A good egg tart, thanks to its price and a lifespan of about eight seconds, can also inspire cravings where none exist. When Max proposed, on a recent trip to Flushing, that we cap a lengthy food crawl with egg tarts from the unassuming New Flushing Bakery, suggestion and imperative sprung together into one overstuffed paper sack.

My favorite is the Portugese-style tart ($1.25 for one, $3.75 for four). Fresh out of the oven, it’s almost too delicate to hold. After a few minutes, its texture is perfect: Edges are toasty and browned, puff pastry flakes and dissolves in the same bite, and a light, creamy filling quivers at the touch. A hint of almond rounds out the flavors of the tart, which is an edible seminar on the subtleties of good baking.

New Flushing Bakery
135-45 Roosevelt Ave.
Flushing, NY 11354
718.539.6363

To recap my recent work for Serious Eats, in case you haven’t kept up with us on Facebook:

Serious Barbecue and Birria in Chicago

After writing about Uncle John’s and the style of barbecue on Chicago’s South Side, I devoted an entire column to the smoky miracle of the Chicago-style rib tip. A feature on Birrieria Zaragoza, one of Chicago’s best (and most affordable!) restaurants, followed.

Serious Grilling and Smoking in Santa Maria

Later that summer, I got my first taste of Santa Maria-style barbecue on a road trip to the Central Coast. This column was followed by a feature on the region’s smoked tri-tip – in particular, the expressive tri-tip at local favorite Rancho Nipomo.

More Serious Eats stories are on the way! Hopefully I’ll be putting in more serious columns and features this year, as I continue the pursuit of better food writing. ]]> http://theeatenpath.com/index.php/2012/02/13/serious-eats-tales-from-chicago-and-santa-maria/feed/ 0 http://theeatenpath.com/index.php/2012/02/08/rameny-misoya-shiro-miso-ramen-129-second-ave-east-village-manhattan-nyc/ http://theeatenpath.com/index.php/2012/02/08/rameny-misoya-shiro-miso-ramen-129-second-ave-east-village-manhattan-nyc/#comments Wed, 08 Feb 2012 07:08:08 +0000 James Boo http://theeatenpath.com/index.php/?p=11428
New York’s ramen rage has finally gotten to the point where an East Village spot can sustain itself on miso ramen alone – and I couldn’t be more grateful.

Ramen Misoya, a Japanese brand that pulls strands of miso ramen from their Japanese locales, opened a New York branch at the peak of last Autumn. Of the three types of blended miso broths on offer – kome, shiro, and nama – kome is the most distinctly tasty, especially when ordered spicy. I find myself, however, coming back to the shiro (listed as “white miso, Kyoto style”) on repeat visits. The broth, slightly sweet and unassumingly rich, shimmers on the surface. A pork-chicken-miso blend with hints of garlic and ginger, it’s a cozy departure from more robust pork broths – flavorful without too much intensity, filling without too much weight.

The seal to the deal is Misoya’s choice of topping for its “shiro basic”: a large pinch of bean sprouts, a tablespoon of heartily marinated ground pork, a nice afterthought of cabbage, and two magnificent cubes of fried tofu. When the ramen arrives, the bottom of each cube has already soaked up more broth than it can handle, but the delicate construction holds together. Each bite of tofu is firm. Each crisp, unexposed edge is a delightful precursor to a warming respite.

Ramen Misoya
129 Second Ave.
New York, NY 10003
212.677.4825

“You’ve never had xiaolongbao? They’re the bomb.”

Typically, when “the bomb” is used is a predicate, I expect disproportionate amounts of irony or gravity. Not so in this instance: When Boykji drops “the bomb,” the delivery mechanism tends to be an oversized grin. The target tends to be my stomach.

Since we first shared a steamer of pork soup dumplings at Oakland’s Shanghai Restaurant, I’ve gone on to drop the xiaolongbomb wherever it seems the obvious choice. But the more food enthusiasts become aware of this humble yet refined Chinese delicacy, the more I come across conversations that leave the binary charm of “the bomb” and enter the tedious tabulation of “best soup dumpling” comparisons.

It’s not that I don’t believe in culinary standards. It’s just that after eating xiaolongbao at locally and internationally revered outposts like Arcadia’s Din Tai Fung and Queens’ Nan Xiang Xiaolongbao, I’ve learned that xiaolongbao in this country are either “the bomb” or “not the bomb.” Anyone who pays attention to the details of what she’s eating will be able to pick a side immediately. Anyone who can describe the finer points of soup dumpling structure is capable of expressing his preferences without being dogmatic about how to measure a bite of food.

At the end of the day, most Americans who talk about xiaolongbao – present conversationalist included – have never been to Shanghai. And even in Shanghai, soup dumplings don’t play by one set of rules. This attitude is what allows me to declare that the soup dumplings at Manhattan Chinatown’ 456 Shanghai are just as enjoyable as the soup dumplings I’ve had at Nan Xiang Xiaolongbao, Din Tai Fung, Shanghai Restaurant, and any other restaurant in America that consistently drops the bomb. I happen to gravitate towards small, thin-skinned and delicate xiaolongbao – more at the dumpling end than the bun end of the scale – and 456 churns out steamers of this type without pause.

My stance on shengjianbao is even less militant. My experience with these pan-fried, juice-filled pork buns is extremely limited, but that hasn’t stopped me from relishing 456′s enormous plates of “tiny fried buns with pork” (absurdly priced at $4.95 for eight bao the size of McDonald’s hamburgers).

While more dense than I’d like, they’re as good as 456′s soup dumplings. The bottom of each bun is anointed with a golden brown ring, the body of the bun pleasing upon service but completely lifeless when left to cool. One bite releases a small stream of fatty pork juices, and the mildly flavored nugget of meat inside is satisfying. If this bao isn’t the type to end an argument, it’s still the kind of food that sparks conversations, and a welcome start to any meal.

As it turns out, the megaton player at 456 Shanghai is neither bun nor dumpling. It’s “Ningbo Fried Two Delights,” a platter of filleted yellow fish, deep fried in wrappers made of tofu skin, then presented in a circle anchored by breaded, fried pork chops. The fried tofu skin matches hefty crunch with meaty chew, while the fish locked inside remains delicately tender, as if freshly steamed. As with xiaolongbao, attention to detail in this dish belies the simplicity of its enjoyment; it’s refined, not ornate.

Highlighted by former Times dining critic Sam Sifton, 456′s eggplant in garlic sauce is more obviously a knockout of flavor and texture: slightly crisp edges, succulent flesh, and a seasoning job that brightens the taste buds with a skillful balance of sweet, spicy, and savory flavors. It’s an undeniable crowd pleaser, not to be left off a group order.

From the restaurant’s mix-and-match starch menu, rice cakes with seafood is a nice counterpoint to 456′s bolder offerings. The oval-shaped cakes are wok-fried with bits of green and a generous spread of scallops, squid, shrimp, turning out a clean-tasting bowl of seafood with smoky undertones. This combination would be too redundant to enjoy on one’s own (I would prefer a stronger sautee), but when shared with friends alongside more heavily seasoned selections it’s an appreciable addition to the table.

Is 456 Shanghai the bomb? Examined defensively, it certainly is not. Taken in stride, it’s good enough to make me play the Chinatown card. After all, I’m not one to turn down an excuse to eat soup dumplings or romanticize Doomsday.

456 Shanghai Cuisine
69 Mott St.
New York, NY 10013
212.964.0003