The Piglet School of Thought: A Meatball Syllabus

In general, I subscribe to the piglet school of thought that more is always less gooder than a lot more. This occasionally leads to minor discomfort, and, more often than not, retreating back to the homestead to beach myself on our couch. And this attitude not only informs portion size, but also spicing. I’m always giving the pepper mill an extra twist or three, telling the Thai restaurant to make our delivery order 3 out of 4 stars spicy (do not ever do this), and asking for banana peppers on top of pepper relish on top of pickled jalapenos for my foot long at Subway.

But last weekend, Café Monti’s spaghetti and meatballs reminded me that simple meals can be just as delicious as meals that deploy the whole spice rack. We’ve been working our way through Café Monti’s menu for the past several weeks, and there are many items that are probably more noteworthy than their spaghetti and meatballs: Austrian goulash with bread dumplings, jaegerschnitzel with spaetzle and red cabbage, and eggplant parmigiana. We'll write about those items, as well as their amazing desserts on another occasion. Today, it’s spaghetti and meatballs.

Being a big fan of high weirdness, I wouldn’t normally order something as staid as spaghetti and meatballs. But La Piazza and Faccia Luna’s own contributions to the meatball canon had me wondering how Café Monti might compare. Both La Piazza and Faccia Luna mix a fair amount of herbs, chopped onions, and minced garlic into their meatballs, so I was expecting Café Monti to do the same. Instead, Café Monti offered a relatively Spartan presentation. The meatballs were garnished with a sprinkling of fresh parsley and a little parmesan, and contentedly idling in Café Monti’s mildly sweet and tart tomato sauce. Slice one of their meatballs in half and their greatness reveals itself: no herbs, onions, or garlic, but rather an abundance of meaty juiciness reflected in the sheen of the knife. Most meatballs that I’ve had are relatively dry inside, which not only makes the meat bland but reduces the ability of any herb and onion embellishments to truly perform. In these instances, it’s all up to the tomato sauce to make everything come alive, but too often that’s simply not enough.

The only underachieving component of Café Monti’s spaghetti and meatballs was the somewhat less than al dente pasta. But it was satisfactory enough, and could ultimately be forgiven as the delivery system for their superlative meatballs. -AC

The Right Rice Part 2: Rice Pudding

Generally, I'm not a fan of rice pudding, mainly because of the added texture. Also, most of the time, the rice is al dente, not creamy like I need it to be. But, as I mentioned in a previous post, I thought, due to the small grains and inherent creamy deliciousness of sushi rice, it would make for killer rice pudding. And I was right.

One of the things that befalls me when I'm planning on making something new is that I forget to take inventory of what I have and don't have before going out to procure ingredients. That usually results in either overbuying baking powder, or forgetting eggs, or some combination thereof. In this case, I forgot to buy milk. Generally, we are soy people, except we require dairy in our coffee and tea, and we love yogurt. So, the result was, unhealthfully enough, that I would be using half-and-half. That's right, folks, I made rice pudding with half-and-half, and it was amazing. Sure, I was thinking the whole time how I will need to do a few extra RPMs on the bike this week, but it really was heaven. Even AC approved, and he is rather particular about his rice pudding.

And in case you're interested in committing a similar crime against your arteries, just take this painfully easy recipe, and substitute milk for half-and-half (truth be told, next time I will probably use equal parts milk and half-and-half). Other modifications included adding a bit of almond extract and cooking the pudding a couple minutes longer for extra-extra thickness. And that's it, really delicious, not-so-good-for-you rice pudding. Enjoy.

And speaking of doing wonderful things with limited means/supplies and a whole heck of a lot of creativity, I urge you to check out my friend Sarah's new video blog, The Pink of Perfection, which teaches us how to live a luxe life on little.

—AK

Chinese Chili Mac

While Szechuan cooking easily answers the American chili mac (you know, spaghetti, chili, and onions all mixed together) with dan dan noodles, A&J Restaurant offers its own Chinese chili mac variation: “noodles with ground pork and bean paste sauce.” Dan dan noodles, at least the ones that I’ve had at places like Formosa Cafe, are thin noodles swimming in a bowl of molten chili oil, topped with ground pork, and flecked with scallions. A&J’s noodle dish is somewhat more exotic, but a chili mac, nonetheless.

A&J specializes in northern Chinese cooking, which others have described as more bread and noodle focused than the rice centric Chinese meals with which most Americans are familiar. The DC area is blessed with two A&J locations in Annandale, VA and Rockville, MD, just two lonely outposts of the sprawling A&J empire: A&J apparently has roughly a dozen or so restaurants scattered throughout the world.

While A&J has garnered a fair amount of praise from the Washingtonian and the Washington Post, among others, until recently, I had yet to discover any one item that was truly revelatory. I really wanted to like A&J, as it offers an abundance of cheap eats oddities, particularly small plates and dim sum, like the “steamed spareribs with spiced rice powder” and  the “Chinese sesame biscuit with sliced beef.” Unfortunately, the rice powder lent the spare ribs an unsettling texture, and the sesame biscuit was stale and stuffed with dry, tired beef. Even their version of sesame noodles, hot and spicy and topped with peanut powder, was disappointing- not especially spicy and hardly enough peanut and sesame presence to satisfy.

But the noodles, themselves, captured my imagination. A&J offers its customers the choice of thin or thick noodles, and I, being somewhat of a piglet, always opted for the thick noodles. The thick noodles are wide like Japanese udon, and so pliant and doughy that they must be homemade. I couldn’t stop thinking about them, and so I was drawn back to A&J despite my earlier disappointment. This time, I decided to try their “noodles with ground pork and bean paste sauce.” As I’ve found in numerous ethnic restaurants, the tersely worded listing on the menu barely described the actual reality of the dish.

The ground pork was cooked in a bean paste sauce that lent it an appealing reddish hue, and was not too sweet and only mildly spicy. And much to my surprise, the substantial mound of pork and noodles turned out to be flanked by a pile of cucumber shreds and another pile of fresh bean sprouts. The cucumber shreds may have had a touch of rice wine vinegar, but seemed otherwise untreated, as were the bean sprouts. But here’s how A&J presented the cucumber in an ingenious format for this dish: they shredded it lengthwise into long, thin, noodle-like pieces of cucumber. This enabled me to easily wrap both the noodles and the cucumber around my fork, spear a few bean sprouts with the exposed tines and coat the bound parcel in ground pork. Awesome. The combination of the two crisp, refreshing vegetables was a perfect counterpoint to the savory ground pork, and the thick noodles were the perfect starchy bond to bring all of the elements together.

Okay, so my chili mac definition is a bit expansive, but if you squint long enough at this dish it morphs into Hard Times’ three-way chili mac with Cincinnati. I swear. Or maybe I’m just an insane person.

Though most of A&J’s menu features small plates, this dish is a kingly portion, practically enough for two to share, and a bargain at only $5.95. -AC

Pan Gravy or Cream Gravy? Both.

AC and I love Southern food, and whenever we find an opportunity to grub some collard greens, pork chops, or succotash, we're there. And we're ready. However, my particular weakness in this department is chicken-fried steak (hereafter referred to as CFS). And therefore, when we moved back here from New York, it was quite a relief that Southside 815 restaurant, a mighty excellent CFS purveyor, was just a two-minute drive from our apartment.

My love affair with CFS really began in the fall of 2002, when I brought AC to Dallas (my hometown) for the first time. It was our mission to hit up all the great country-food places and barbecue joints we could, and in the process, I tasted two of the best CFSs I've ever tasted. In fact, that week, I ate three chicken-fried steaks—two with pan gravy at the now-defunct but universally lauded Gennie's Bishop Grill and one with cream gravy at Celebration. Both equally fabulous. I'm certain my cholesterol reached its peak that week.

Getting back to the virtues of Southside, the restaurant does many things right, but the CFS is top notch. The portion is substantial with its delicate crispy crust poking out in all directions and topped with a light cream gravy (not enough, methinks). And while it certainly stands on its own, it is my opinion that a great CFS is only as good as its accompanying side dishes, because the experience depends entirely on what you can combine with each bite of meat 'n' crust. At Southside, one can substitute, which is critical, as I'm not crazy about their default greens. I go with the mashed potatoes (skins on) and the succotash stew. With the vinegary vegetables, the starchy potatoes, and the foundation of a hardy steak, the meal is unstoppable.

If you have the occasion to enjoy CFS or anything else (also try the pulled pork and the Dixie Chicken Sandwich) at Southside, you must save room for the homemade butterscotch sundae.

—AK

Krupuk or Belinjo Nuts?

Despite granting Satay Sarinah the honor of perennial inclusion among the Washingtonian’s 100 Best Bargains, the Washingtonian’s actual reviews for Satay Sarinah, two of which are archived online, are perfunctory at best. The reviews read more like a dull recitation of items on the menu with very little
description, and no mention of some of Sarinah’s more exotic offerings.

For instance, it’s not every day that I commit to ordering the whole fish anywhere, so if I’m going to stuff myself stupid, I’d like to know a little more about something other than that the reviewer thought it was “very good.”

So despite knowing very little about what to expect from Satay Sarinah aside from the imprimatur of the Washingtonian’s 100 Best Bargains designation, we decided to make it our Saturday destination.

After perusing the menu, I had to restrain myself from over-ordering. Sadly, we will have to wait until next time to try items like belinjo nut crackers, “belinjo nuts, crushed and packed into slightly bitter and salted chips,” or the chicken topped with “candle nut sauce.” So it will be at least another few weeks before I can truthfully proclaim myself a belinjo nut enthusiast.

Being homemade pickles fanatics, we opted to start with the Indonesian pickles appetizer. The pickling is on the light side and not too spicy, bathing the shredded vegetables (carrots, cucumber, tiny cauliflower florets, and baby corn) in a thin, yellowish brine. For those so inclined, the Indonesian pickles could serve as a surprisingly refreshing starter salad to offset the heavier entrees.

We opted to share the Nasi Rames platter to sample as many of the restaurant’s high points as possible. The platter included steamed Jasmine rice in the center surrounded by all the elements of a feast: rich and mildly sweet yellow curry chicken, green beans with flecks of red chili pepper, a chicken and beef satay, krupuk, and an egg. The krupuk, which are white, crispy fried rice crackers, are shaped like fallen leaves, and have a robust shrimp flavoring. They tend to be included in many Indonesian platters, though I’m not entirely sure how to properly deploy them aside from bulldozing stray bits of food. The beef satay was outstanding, sweet and spicy, nicely charred and underscoring the choice of the proprietors to tout their satay abilities in the name of the restaurant. The biggest surprise turned out to be the egg, which was hardboiled, then deep fried in a thin batter and topped with menacing chili sauce. It was a pity that we had to share just one between the two of us.

I also ordered a side of rice rolls, which are actually gelatinous cubes of mashed, long-boiled rice. The owner was kind enough to provide a bowl of their peanut sauce to accompany the rice rolls, which she explained was the condiment of choice for this odd rice permutation.

We also tried the Bogor fried chicken, which is hardly Indonesia’s answer to the Colonel’s eleven herbs and spices. Rather, the chicken is deeply marinated and fried with only the thinnest coating. The six chicken pieces arrive the color of mahogany. And though the chicken is savory enough to stand on its own, a side container holding a thick mixture of soy and chili sauce adds a welcome wetness and sweetness to the chicken.

For dessert, I opted for the Es Telur, described on the menu as “mixed tropical fruits including rambutan, young coconut, jackfruit, and grass jelly topped with shaved ice, pandan syrup, and coconut milk.” The bowl arrived with a heap of shaved ice, topped with pinkish pandan syrup. The waitress advised to mix everything up for optimum effect, and so I discovered a layer of yellow tropical fruit, brownish grass jelly cubes, and coconut milk buried beneath the shaved ice. Asian desserts largely seem to be textural sensations, and Es Telur is a fascinating blend of crunchy, flowery (the pandan syryup) sweetness, gummy blandness (the grass jelly), and rubbery fruit (lycheelike rambutan, jackfruit, and young coconut). I happen to love it, but it is definitely an acquired taste. AK will have no part of these Asian ice desserts ever since I subjected her to Ice Kachang in New York.

Make sure to order one of their sweet and potent Indonesian iced coffees to accompany dessert. -AC

The Right Rice

I have found my rice passion: sushi rice. Here's why:

1. I've burned my fair share of pots of rice. But this stuff, it doesn't burn. It just won't.

2. The grains are small, and when it's cooked just right (about 15 minutes), it comes out so fluffy and a bit sticky. And I love rice that seems to cook itself in to a giant monolithic rice pallet.

3. It's great with anything. Mexican, stir fry, and it just dawned on me that it's probably amazing for rice pudding. I'll get back to you on that.

—AK

PS: I get my sushi rice at the trusty Cash Grocer natural foods store in Old Town Alexandria.

White Trash Shepherd's Pie

I love the Discovery Health channel. I can learn all about Siamese twins and people born with two sets of DNA all in the space of a Saturday afternoon.

Today, it was all about the Duggars, a religious family of 16 (now 18) in Arkansas. It was both fantastic and also totally infuriating. These kids are seemingly perfect: They dress alike, obediently do their chores, and are home schooled. Even the oldest says of dating, "i want to find someone who will love and care for me, not just get carried away with their emotions (read: just wants me for a hook-up)." The freak-show aspect of the documentary included showing the family driving around town in a small tour bus, attending a convention for religious homeschoolers, conducting church services in their home with another family of 10, taking turns to use the house's two bathrooms, and—the best—shopping for groceries.

The eight oldest children and parents (mom's pregnant with No. 15 in this taping) remove two bench seats from the minivan to accommodate the groceries and then pile in and head to Sam's. Five or six shopping carts  ("We're going to need a flat of peas, too.") and $800 later, the Duggars head back home to stock the pantry. Ah, the pantry. If their "pantry" was in my house, I might call it an "enormous walk-in closet" or a "spare bedroom." This thing was insane. It was stocked immaculately with flat after flat of canned goods and hundreds of other packaged goods, probably full of trans fats and preservatives. Though I got a glimpse into their culinary lifestyle, I still wasn't sure what kind of things they ate on a regular basis. Certainly, a family that huge had to have a few mainstays that Momma serves up when there's a time crunch.

And then I learned all about "One of Daddy's Favorites!": tater tot casserole (or TTC).

Now, I'm the last person to dis the frozen treats—mini pizza bagels, hot pockets—they all have their place. But for cryin' out loud, God did not invent tots for the purpose of a casserole. But I soldiered on through the rest of the show, as the narrator promised to share the recipe. Here goes (keep in mind this is for a family of 16): three 2lb bags of tots, two pounds ground turkey (?), two cans cream of mushroom, two cans cream of chicken, and two cans evaporated milk. Layer meat at the bottom of the pan, mix the soup and milk together, pour the soup and milk mixture on top of the meat, and bake for an hour at 350. Easy. (Oh, and really disgusting and terribly unhealthy for an army of growing children.)

Still curious about this atrocity of a casserole, I Googled it, and found that this is not just a Duggar anomaly; it's celebrated on numerous recipe sites, many with varying ingredients. Some include sour cream. Some throw in Worcestershire sauce. Others like corn flakes (!). I've enjoyed trashy casserole after trashy casserole and loved 'em, but TTC takes the idea of a quick dinner to a very dangerous place. —AK

Pink for the Sweetness, Powdered for the Nobility

Executive Summary: a round-up of three French treats- nougat, Fossier’s Biscuits de Reims, and cherries in brandy.

Until recently, I never considered myself a fan of French cuisine: too saucy, too much beurre, and way too much enthusiasm for dressing up offal. Our trip to Paris nearly two years ago, however, somewhat softened my attitude. In fact, this attitude adjustment can be entirely attributed to nougat. No, not the kind of gum sticking nougat found in a Snickers bar. French nougat is never just an incidental confection to be briefly endured on the way to the caramel and peanuts pay-off. Rather, it can stand on its own with ease: soft, sweetened with lavender honey, possibly flavored with vanilla, and studded with either pistachios or hazelnuts.

After marching around the Champs d’Elysee, we happened upon a tiny haute confectionery tucked away on the shabbiest, most unremarkable side street. Inside, we discovered a birthday cake sized wheel of nougat that looked so pillowy and heavenly that even the 9 Euro per slice sign did not deter me from throwing down such a substantial sum for something that is essentially a piece of candy. Who even knew that nougat could ever come in such an absurdly large cake-sized format? For normal people, the amount of nougat that we purchased would probably have lasted three days. Instead, I repeatedly found my hand greedily digging around in the bag for ever more nougat as we wended our way through the city. In a mere 10 minutes, we (or mostly me) had made $10 or $11 of nougat disappear. Sadly, I forgot the name of this shop, and no amount of Google sleuthing seems to have turned it up. But, I’ve managed to find contentment with the various nougat bars stocked at places like Dean & Deluca and Balducci’s. Most of them seem to have originated in Montelimar in Provence, which is considered to be the nougat capital of the world.

In the course of my electronic nougat quest, I discovered yet another French extravagance: Fossier’s pink biscuits de Reims. These delicate pink biscuits are apparently intended for dunking in champagne. Now I’m a big fan of the Kir Royale, but for the most part, champagne, particularly the sort that’s too good to be wasted on a Kir Royale, hardly needs accompaniment, let alone a starchy accompaniment. But, I am sufficiently intrigued by the idea that the French have devised a biscuit specifically to complement champagne, that I absolutely must try it out. Hopefully this dunk sensation will work out better than these rancid looking Shrek Dunkaroos. Here’s Fossier’s own description of their novel creation:

Pink for the sweetness, powdered for the nobility, crunchy for the pleasure, the characteristics of seduction of the pink biscuit are carefully preserved by the confectioners of FOSSIER. Since the origin of Maison Fossier in 1756, the secret of the recipe has been jealously kept. The recipe is simple but delicate to make: made of fresh eggs, sugar and flour, vanilla-flavoured, slightly tinted with cochineal (a natural colouring) and powered with icing sugar, the dough is baked twice successively, which gives the biscuit (baked twice) the particularity of not being flaked of when it is soaked in. The quality granted to this unique and genuine biscuit has inspired the fine tradition of dunking it in a glass of red wine from the vineyard of the Champagne region or in a flute of champagne. Moreover, this quality is at the origin of its use in the charlottes and other cakes. The inventive housewives and chefs are crazy about it.

Finally, I just watched the French movie Le Boucher, Claude Chabrol’s morally ambiguous film about the burgeoning relationship between an attractive small town headmistress and an awkward butcher who may be a serial killer. What could this possibly have to do with French sweet treats? Well, during an especially suspenseful moment the butcher shows up with a jar of cherries in brandy to share with the woman that he’s wooing. They quietly enjoy the cherries in brandy with the sort of abandon that could only be inspired by the tension of mutual suspicion. I’ve seen cherries in brandy previously, but had always thought that they were meant to be incorporated into some fancypants dessert, never to be enjoyed on their own. Now that this movie has proved otherwise, I’m intent upon scoring a jar of French cherries in brandy this weekend. But, am I actually willing to throw away $26 on such an experiment? I shall report back. -AC

Dried, Fried Mint

About six months ago, my old man shot me an email at work declaring that he had been seized by a “mad idea” to go have falafel at the recently established (at that time, at least) Alexandria outpost of Georgetown’s George’s King of Falafel. Somehow, we never made it there, and evidentally, the self proclaimed “King of Falafel” barely lasted six months in Alexandria. In George’s stead, Sultan Kabob has just opened the first Persian restaurant in Old Town proper since the fall of the Shah.

So last Thursday, my father and I stumbled into Sultan Kebab on what turned out to be just their second night of business. Indeed, the service at times alternated between cool brusqueness and cordial welcome. In fact, the sixtysomething owner practically shoulder checked my old man on his way back to the kitchen while we were waiting for our table. In fairness to the owner, my father was in the way.

But the owner later stopped by our table to inquire in all earnestness as to the quality of their grub. And on a subsequent visit last Sunday with AK, during the course of clearing our table the owner actually picked up stray grains of rice with his fingers. I think AK was struck by this, in particular, because of the sweet old man ineptitude of his table clearing methodology.

Despite being in just their first week of business, every dish we tried was just as good as anything we’ve had at the other more established Persian kebab restaurants in the area. There are, however, two stand-out dishes that blew us away, and will therefore be the focus of this particular post.

The Kashke-Bademjan, described on the menu under the appetizers as “sauteed eggplant mixed with grilled onions, garlic, and whey(?)” turned out to be far more exotic than the baba ghanouj we were expecting. The eggplant is presented with two toppings: the “Kashke,” which the owner described as a lighter, healthier Persian take on sour cream; and what, at first glance, appeared to be a mysterious dollop of oily poppy seeds, instead turned out to be dried mint fried in olive oil. While the Kashke added a bit of dairy tart to the eggplant, the dried, fried mint added a surprising smokiness to the eggplant along with its seedy texture. The resulting mixture is perhaps the most unusual (and wonderful) eggplant dish that I’ve ever had.

Sultan Kebab features one set daily special, most of which are either stews or rice and meat pairings. The menu’s description of Saturday’s special, the Bhagali Polo with Lamb, lavishes all of its attention on the rice only to unceremoniously refer to the lamb as simply “a shank of lamb.” In fact, the generous portion of lamb, substanial enough for two to share, arrives glistening, and the tender, slow-cooked meat hardly needs any fork tine coaxing before it falls of the bone. But the rice also demands respect. Though it appears, at first, that the rice itself is green, it has actually been thoroughly mixed with shredded dill and flecked with lima beans. At points, the dill has been added with such a heavy hand that it appears as tiny, weedy clumps amidst the buttery rice. The only shortcoming of this dish is that the rice was ever so slightly too buttery, though in my mind, such a shortcoming only adds to this dish’s home-cooked appeal.

Check out Sultan Kebab in Old Town at:
1024 Cameron St. (at Henry St.)
(703) 549-4500

-AC

Tales of Hot Chocolate and A Homemade Marshmallow

In general, I am an open-minded eater. But there are a few things that I'm a snob about: chicken-fried steak, tomatoes, and, most vehemently, good ole-fashioned hot chocolate.

Back when AC and I lived in New York, we would try hot chocolate everywhere: coffee shops, bakeries, street vendors, wherever, and nothing was quite right. Either it was cloyingly sweet, had way too much chocolate and not enough sweetness, or the consistency was wrong. And forget Swiss Miss or any other powder that comes with those freeze-dried marshmallows. I won't go there.

Anyway, we finally came across Sticky Fingers bakery, located in the East Village, a total hole in the wall that could accommodate no more than about five customers standing up. I know at one point we tried their baked goods, but to be honest, I don't remember a thing, because once we feasted on the homemade hot chocolate, everything that occurred that day prior to going to Sticky Fingers was soon forgotten, as my day started anew when this chocolaty liquid heaven entered my life. The beverage was piping hot and had just the right mixture of chocolate and sweetness. But what elevated the cocoa to the next level was the bits of chocolate floating around in the cup, which were rich and delicious. I was sure, once we moved back to the DC area, that nothing could come close.

But, luckily, I've been proved wrong.

Misha's, a local (but also world-renowned) coffee joint in Old Town, serves a top-notch hot chocolate. Again, key to an excellent cup of cocoa is that it not be too sweet nor to chocolaty. It has to have the perfect combination, and I know this is hard to achieve, because I've tried it in my own kitchen, and failed. But we rarely ever right about things that are just amazing, there's always something else that tips the scales from "amazing" to "totally unbelievable," and this time, it was the homemade marshmallow brick that we got for an extra 50 cents. It's worth noting that the marshmallows come from a Wisconsin-style custard place in the Del Ray neighborhood of Alexandria called The Dairy Godmother (it used to be called the Dreamery but was sued by Edy's, a sub-par brand of iced confection).

The homemade marshmallow is vastly underrated. It makes me wonder if those who make them know their power—to take something so simple and usually underwhelming and turn it into a special treat all its own. The Dreamery's marshmallows can and should be eaten as a snack, but floating and slowly melting on top of a small cup of totally unbelievable hot chocolate, it's perfection.

—AK

Sweet Potatoes

I rarely buy food items off of web sites. I do it only in extreme situations—when I know I can't get something at a local store or if it's so freakin' bizarre I have to try it.

One one fine day, clad in pajamas and warm socks, I did what I frequently do in the evening—watch the Food Network. And during one of these food specials where they go to some factory out in the middle of no where and feature some amazing person who makes the tastiest whatever, I was introduced to Spud Fudge, fudge made from cooked Idaho potatoes. Apparently, it replaces a 1/3 of the sugar. Whatever, I was just intrigued because each of the chocolates was fashioned into little baked potatoes with chocolate made to look like sour cream and a pat of butter, all clad in aluminum foil. How cute!

I had to have this, so I immediately ordered a sixer of 4-ouncers. I was beside myself with glee that these lil chocolatey potatoes would be arriving. And since my mail situation in New York was not one to be envied, I had them sent to my work address. One day, one of our receptionists walked into the office I was sharing with three other people and said, somewhat worriedly, "you just received a box of potato-based fudge."

"Ah-ha!" I said, running over to receive the bounty. And boy, these things might have only been 4 ounces each, but they were heavy and dense. I took a small knife and shaved off a small sliver to taste, and it was amazing—super creamy, rich, high-quality chocolate. Another sliver, and then another. I also felt obliged to share it with the receptionist lest she think I was some kind of insane person slicing potato fudge with a plastic knife at my desk (which I was).

AC was also intrigued by the notion of Spud Fudge when we saw the show on the Food Network, but he's not the type to just up and buy something off the Internet just to try it. He would have to carefully consider the situation, weight the pros and cons, and then, most likely, decide that it wasn't a good idea (AC, you know it's true). And when I brought the product to him, he was still a bit cautious about it. But he quickly became a believer once the spuds settled into his taste buds. If I remember correctly, he might have killed a 4-ouncer right then and there.

Two years later, I still think about Spud Fudge, and I've since visited the company's web site a few times since my first purchase. The site is much slicker, and the company is offering a wider variety of products. It might be time to procure another stash. And maybe you should, too. —AK

Corporate Test Kitchen Follies

Judging by the two hideous pizza alfredo abominations being touted in the latest Papa Johns promotional mailer, Pizza Hut’s saboteurs must have successfully infiltrated the Papa Johns corporate test kitchen. How else can one explain the existence of not one, but two alfredo sauce based pizzas among the current roster of Papa Johns’ specialty pies?

 

No, I’m not making this up. Papa Johns offers both a spinach alfredo and a chicken alfredo pizza. The Papa Johns website proclaims that the spinach alfredo pizza (with its “creamy spinach and garlic cheese sauce”) is a “real winner.” Somehow, despite it’s “creamy white alfredo sauce” base, the grilled chicken alfredo pizza receives no such designation.

 

Okay, so I investigated further and discovered that Papa Johns’ alfredo pizzas have actually been around for about three years. They issued a press release in 2003 that heralded the re-introduction of the spinach alfredo pizza and the debut of the chicken alfredo pizza. Evidentally, “creamy white alfredo sauce” based pizzas have a much wider and far more vocal constituency among the pizza scarfing public than I ever could have imagined.

 

Interestingly enough, I conducted an extremely cursory and unscientific survey of consumer mentions (i.e. poked around through Google for a few minutes) and found that women mentioned enjoying the spinach alfredo pizza far more than men. I guess the dudes are content with grubbing on the potentially vomitous meatfest that is the Steak Fanatic from Domino’s, leaving the chicks clamoring for daintier fare.

 

Take for instance this testimonial that Google coughed up from Fattiesaurus Rex on MySpace (edited down for clarity):

 

I'm being a complete fat ass and eating almost an entire box of spinach alfredo pizza from Papa Johns. I even had to go back out to the soda machine to get another coke. Ahhhh....the joys of being a skinny bitch . . . Well I'm going to hunt down some more "Special Garlic Sauce" and continue feeding myself. . . *BURP*

 

Now that creamy white alfredo sauce based pizzas have found sufficient support in the marketplace, what’s next? How about a layer of sweet, creamery butter right under the cheese? Hell yeah, bring it.

-AC

Super Salad

AC and I don't really like it when a restaurant declares on of its menu items as "the best," even if it's a direct quote from a food critic or it won a load of awards or whatever. "The Best Chili in the Pacific Northwest," "The Best Chicken Fried Steak in Port-au-Prince". You get the idea. We just think it's ridiculous. Let the diners decide!

But after five and a half years of dining together, we've found one and only place that gets a pass: King Street Blues in Alexandria, Virginia. KSB's self-proclaimed "Best Small Salad in Town" is no exaggeration. It is the perfect mixture of fresh vegetables (including corn!), crisp lettuce, and—a key element—homemade dressing (our favorite is the tomato ranch).

And actually, AC and I are, generally, big fans of the starter salad. We love that cold, crisp lettuce and vegetables, maybe some cheese, all smothered in (hopefully) homemade dressing. The salad also provides us with some healthy redemption before a heavy meal, and well, all those fiber and vitamins do a body good. So when we moved back to the DC metro area and immediately begun our culinary adventures here, we began surveying area salads, and we've come up with our faves of Northern Virginia. In no particular order:

1. King Street Blues
2. Carlyle Grand Cafe
3. Faccia Luna
4. Chadwicks
5. Cafe Monti
6. Vermilion

—AK

Ride the Taste Buds

Ever since I scored my first can of Vimto from the West African Grocery in Hell’s Kitchen, NYC, I find myself scouting out every ethnic food mart with the hope of uncovering ever more exotic carbonated beveraging. Oh and in case you ever do hit the West African Grocery, here’s a hard-earned tip: Vimto is not a suitable chaser for the green kola nuts displayed in sandwich bags near the cash register. That is, of course, unless you’re a cabbie from Burkina Faso.

Anyway, I roll past an Indian grocery called Delhi Bazaar (6531 Little River Turnpike) on my drive to work each day. I finally worked up the energy to deviate from my mad rush home each night to survey their beveraging opportunities. At first I was excited to find bottles of Thum’s Up, but the grime encrusting the bottles was offputting, and I had already sampled Thum’s Up previously. In case you're curious, Thums Up tastes a lot like coke except that it’s sweetened with sugar cane instead of high fructose corn syrup.

Then I spied these hideous bright green cans, emblazoned with the name “Pakola.” One of the charms of seeking out foreign sodas is the typically antiquated design of the packagin, and, of course, the fact that most foreign sodas are still packaged in glass bottles. Sadly, the Pakola can’s design was not entirely dissimilar to any number of American soft drinks currently on the market: an eyepopping logo on a background dappled with faux condensation drops to better inspire thoughts of thirst quenching.

Fortunately, I took the time to scrutinize the can further, and discovered the somewhat ambiguous descriptor “Ice Cream Soda.” Now having sampled all manner of South Asian ice creams and kulfis, I had no idea what ice cream soda could possibly entail. This seemed like a potentially big beveraging score, at least if one of your metrics for such a score is “high weirdness.”

The soda turns out to smell faintly of roses, even though the liquid itself is an otherwordly green. It turns out that Pakola is a lightly rose flavored cream soda. As for the ice cream inspiration behind the soda, falooda seems to be the most likely source, even though the falooda ice cream I’ve had has always had little bits of noodle in it.

The Pakola corporate website is surprisingly informative. It turns out that Pakola is not merely Pakistani (in retrospect, this seems stunningly obvious), but is, in fact, the “heart beat of the nation” as this following passage describes:

As per our slogan, “DIL BOLA …. Pakola”, we believe that Pakola is the heart beat of the nation and with its amazing taste holds the potential or ride the taste buds of the consumers at home and abroad. Although the green drink “Pakola Ice Cream Soda” is aynonyms with the name Pakola, but that’s not all, Pakola gives sensation by bottling other fruity flavors namely Pakola Orange, Pakola Lychee, Pakola Raspberry and Pakola Guava.

-AC

A Very Special Burrito

Sometimes,
even though you hate a place, there will be things that will lure you
back. Being a mentally stable, suburban resident of the DC area, I,
naturally, hate Adams Morgan. But occasionally, our pals, K and J, will
entice us to take part in the ridiculously cheap beer specials at
Asylum (not to mention the company of two excellent people and hours of
engaging conversation), and we invariably take them up on it.

But there's something else, the power of which I cannot deny, and
the tastes and smells of which I cannot resist, and that is: Tacos
Pepito's Bakery. First of all, the name is a misnomer. While, yes, it
is a bakery, it is really an authentic Mexican take-away, offering all manner
of tacos, burritos, agua frescas, and, of course, a wall of baked
goods.

At first, our friend S wasn't too keen on the fact that Tacos
Pepito's is purely take-away and doesn't have any tables and chairs,
but she soon saw mine and K's famished faces, and, in turn, realized that
if this place is as good as we say, then it must be done.

We all decided on burritos, and I went for chorizo, which was ground
and very spicy. It should be noted that the presentation of the burrito
is unique. The bread is more like a thin lavash bread rather than a
traditional flour tortilla that has been fried and arrives in the
styrofoam container rather crispy and halved, bursting with meat,
refried beans, Mexican rice, and pico. As I mowed my way down each half
of the burrito, I was surprised by pockets of guacamole and sour cream
nestled in the corners. There is nothing more satisfying than plowing
your way through an awesome burrito (did I mention we were sitting on a
stoop out side in 40 degree weather?), and then
finding the salvation that is the cold creaminess of guac and sour
cream, the greatest and tastiest of Mexican food sides.

As we ate in stone-cold silence, passers-by noticed our glut, and
frequently commented things like "bon appetit" or "hungry?" S observed,
wisely, that "people like to see girls really eat." And really eat we
did.
-AK

Christmas Loot

Here's the deal. AC and I don't host holiday parties or the family meal. And we don't send out cards or bake goodies for our friends. It's not because we don't care about these people, we just don't want to go to all the trouble. But—and I'm sure our cohorts will agree—we are extremely supportive of our friends' and families' parties, family meals, goodies, and holiday mailings. We finish our plates, and usually go for seconds, we always take a bag of leftovers home, and I, personally, get a thrill out of receiving holiday cards (even if they're auto-generated, like the one I got from the bridal salon where I bought my gown).

But this year, my devoted readers, was a veritable Christmas loot bonanza.

Much to our surprise, we received about 40 percent more cards than last year, and, as such, I was inspired to display them in our living room. AC protested at first, but soon saw, as I was gingerly propping up the final card, that there was no arguing with it. These cards were going up. And I will also admit that I frequently look at them, sometimes even re-reading the message inside, no matter how brief or canned it might be.

But while paper goods are certainly welcome and adored during this time of year, it's the homemade treats that get the blood pumping. This year, in no particular order, was what we received, some of which we are still chipping away at:

1. Martha Stewart-style white chocolate peppermint bark (thank you K and J)

2. Pecans dredged in a delightful spice mix (thank you K and R)

3. Mini muffin-shaped brownies (also Martha-inspired) that barely survived 30 minutes in the apartment (thank you K and J)

4. Mint chocolate brownies so rich it takes some doing to separate tongue from roof of mouth (thank you J)

5. Oklahoma-grown pecans, both raw and chocolate-covered (thank you J)

6. Homemade turtles, with caramel and chocolate so seamlessly integrated. The best EVER (thank you J).

7. Peanut brittle, one almost soft and chewy, the other traditional (thanks to mom and dad)

-AK