'Soft-Eating'

Real meals are hard to come by when you’re going to be in the air and at airports for a combined 15 hours. I usually bring individually wrapped healthy snacks like Luna Bars or something, but there’s a point at which eating another “Nutz Over Chocolate” will become a self-fullfilling prophecy.

I was recently in Spain for a work event, and on my way home, one of my colleagues and traveling companions presented me with a bag of Black Opal Real Australian Soft Eating Raspberry Licorice, which, oddly enough, his wife had procured at a suburban Target. Usually I’m not one to jump at the opportunity to eat licorice, but I noticed the descriptor “soft eating,” and thought, “hey, I like Starburst and other so-called soft-eating candies,” and with that, I went for it. Also, I hadn’t previously been aware of the candy-making genius of the Australians, and I was curious.

Ultimately, I ate most of the bag. But the point is Black Opal makes one of the most delightful chewy candies on the market. These “rods”—industry term—of candy are so soft and rich with raspberry flavor that the licorice taste, which I don’t like, is rendered almost nonexistent. And for the health conscious among us, they’re kind of good for you: no animal products, very little fat, and some natural stuff.

After I ate the last piece, I stashed the bag in my carry-on so I could share this revelation with AC, who I knew would flip for the soft-eating licorice just as much as I did. How nice of my coworker to allow me to retain possession of a piece of his trash!

And if the product itself isn’t amazing enough, the packaging is first rate. I love it when companies write their big opus on the back of a bag or box. A choice selection from Black Opal is “Whether it’s koalas, crocs, kangaroos or the Great Barrier Reef, Australia is where adventure awaits! … Soft, smooth, and bursting with flavor, this licorice is sure to please even the most sophisticated palate.”

Finding the stuff in my neighborhood was impossible, and after downing 10 rods in just a few minutes on a transatlantic flight, I was experiencing withdrawal symptoms. As is typical, the employees at my local Target were clueless. So I resorted to the Internet—the perfect tool for weird imported goods.

The first thing I found was a $50 bag of five-inch rods. I gave more than a minute’s thought to actually buying this, but AC reasoned that perhaps a big bag wouldn’t stay as fresh and several small bags would serve us better. I agreed.

Ultimately, I came across Licorice International, a site run by a major licorice enthusiast based in the Midwest. The good people of LI not only sent my product to me superfast, but they also included some free samples of Kookaburra Licorice, another Australian licorice purveyor (who knew?). I brought some Black Opal to work to share with friends, one of whom is Australian, who remarked, "Cool—I would have no idea how to get my hands on this stuff here!" So in addition to some tasty candy, I scored some street cred as well. Time to get yours.

For your stash of soft-eating Australian licorice from Black Opal, follow this link.

—AKC

Staff Infection

There are times when the food and ambience are secondary and tertiary in a restaurant experience. And our dinner at Comet Ping Pong was exactly one of those times. Though we enjoyed the pizza and the ambience was funky enough to be interesting, the staff was out of The Twilight Zone.

The erratic behavior, total lack of decorum, and excess of hipster attitude and aesthetic, was profoundly unbecoming. But the weirdness was so pervasive and unwavering, it became amusing in a "Tony and Tina's Wedding" sort of way, like we were about to be dragged into some interactive theater nonsense where misanthropic hipsters attack the general public with their powers of rudeness and insanity.

We actually began to believe that what we saw as shortcomings might have actually been part and parcel of Comet's mission—to alienate and confuse patrons, which would be entirely consistent with owner Carole Greenwood's well-documented abuse of patrons at her other restaurant, Buck's Fishing and Camping. So to illustrate what we believe to be intrinsically bizarro about Comet Ping Pong, we have created a Staff Manual/Code of Conduct that accurately represents what we experienced this past weekend at Comet Ping Pong.

I. Hostess Behavior

A. Arriving Guests

1. Under no circumstances will you greet patrons politely. "Hello, how are you this evening," for example, is unacceptable. Hostesses must ensure all diners feel alien in their environment from the moment they walk in until the moment they leave the establishment.

2. If a patron is waiting on other members of his/her party, take pains to make sure he/she does not take up valuable space in the booth for more than 30 seconds. If he/she is still waiting after 30 seconds, get up in patron's grill and ask several probing and inappropriate questions until said patron feels awkward and uncomfortable. [Our friend, KC, was asked "are your friends really coming?" Check in with KC's blog for her forthcoming relation of the experience.]

If patron seems unfazed by the onslaught, ignore said patron and glare in his/her direction occasionally. If and when the remainder of the party shows up, be sure to treat them like second-class citizens. [Our hostess greeted us not by saying, "Good evening," but rather "Oh, she's been waiting for you for a while." Editor's note: KC was there for eight minutes, and she was early, a fact that she shared with the hostess.]

B. Leaving Guests

1. Servers, the guests are leaving! Under no circumstances will you say "thank you" or "have a good evening" or anything else that suggests that you would like them to return. [Apparently making eye contact with the hostess on your way out doesn't garner you a "thank you" of any sort.]

II. Server Behavior

A. Describing the Menu

1. The average person cannot read a menu, especially one as painfully simple as ours, therefore you must read it to them. But do not rehearse or memorize the menu; your delivery should be slow, dim-witted, and should reflect exactly what the patrons see in front of them. ["We also have salads, two salads, one's a house salad, and one's a Caesar salad."]

2.  Add detail about the pizzas at your peril. The only detail you are authorized to share with diners is that the pizzas are "rich in flavor." We are nothing if not a pizzeria that delivers small, asymmetrical pizzas that are rich in flavor. RICH IN FLAVOR. [Our server's ad libbing included an apologetic monologue about how the pizzas are "not that filling" but that "we have a lot of pizzas, and they're all rich in flavor."]

B. Periodically Checking in on Diners

1. Do not do this.

III. Food & Beverage Preparation and Price

A. All pizzas should be small and delivered on large cookie sheets to underscore their "smallness."

B. Prices of pizzas and salads should far exceed their worth.

C. Wine glasses should actually be small orange juice glasses. Charge at least $3 per fluid ounce for fair to middling wine. [It's also worth noting that the year and vineyard of the wine is presented on the menu in 3-point type, rendering the text almost completely unreadable].

Stay tuned for AC's evaluation of the actual food and ambience.

—AK

The Silence is Broken

Hello dear readers,

We apologize for the inconsistent posting over the past few months. Our silence should not be interpreted as lagging interest and consumption of delicious (and sometimes questionable) food. We have been chewing and swallowing away and have much to share with you in the coming weeks. So stay tuned for more content, and thank you for bearing with us.

—AK & AC

Quite Foul: A Story of Weird Service

Great service is rewarded by generous tips, genuine “thank yous” and smiles. Bad service can certainly ruin a dining experience. And most of the time, we hope, service is forgettable—you get our food in a timely fashion, you have a pleasurable experience, and that is that. But then there are times when there’s no designation for the kind of service you get. I had one such experience in the DC area.

I was with a group of friends, and our waitress, seemingly peppy and friendly, began a silent commentary on some of the items we were ordering. For example, I ordered sweet tea (forgetting they only served the regular brew), and she responded NOT by saying “I’m sorry, we don’t serve sweet tea, but we have natural and artificial sweeteners for your convenience.” Instead she nodded “no” in quick, nervous shakes. I, looking at her askance, said, “oookay, I’ll take regular.”

When she returned to take our orders, I inquired about the beet and potato soup they were offering as a special. I asked, “Is this a cream-based soup?”
She said, in a very hyper “Gilmore Girls” fast-talking kind of way: “Oh, well, usually we try the soup, but today we were afraid.”

Me: “Okay.” [Soup base aside, I’ve obviously already decided I’m not ordering the soup.]

Her: “I’m going to go ask the chef.”

So before taking any other orders, she dashed off to the kitchen to do some forensics on the soup. She came back and said “It’s kind of creamy, but kind of not. But, actually, it looks really good.”

Me [not falling for this obvious act of back-pedaling]: “Okay, thanks. But first I’d like to know why you were afraid to try the soup today.”

Her: “Oh, well, you see, yesterday, the chef made this soup from Peruvian potatoes, and it was purple! And, well, it was quite foul.”

Me: “Foul, okay.”

Her: “But today’s soup looks really good.”

Me: “I’ll skip the soup,” and I placed my order.

Later when we were ordering dessert, she reprised her nervous shaking syndrome when one of our friends ordered a particular dessert. “Oookay,” he said “I’ll have the pie instead.”

Laughing at the experience, we all agreed honesty is valued from a waiter, but that there’s a classier way of saying “quite foul” when you’re trying to steer guests toward something they might like better. Still, our meal was pleasant, and we enjoyed ourselves. And if nothing else, this case of bizarre service was fodder for good cocktail conversation. So, I suggest you pull up a chair, pour a glass, and tell us about a weird experience of your own.

—AK

We Ate the Whole Thing

I was in Atlanta for work recently and had the chance to dine at the newest installation of the B.E.D. restaurant chain, which is located in the boutique hotel, the Glenn. Normally, I wouldn't succumb to such a overtly cheeky trend, but they have beds, which reminded me of a rather fun nightclub in New York called The Apartment, or APT. And there are times, rare times, when submitting to hype doesn't bother me (too much).

My colleagues and I went on a whim, so we didn't have the luxury of dining on one of their beds, but perhaps that was a good thing. Gingerly cutting into a steak while balancing plates and sides on a mattress doesn't sound easy or fun. Still, we enjoyed a delightful meal that included a rather weird twist on a Southern favorite: a WHOLE fried green tomato stuffed with an andouille sausage corn sauce and a side of bacon jerky.

The menu description isn't clear, so we waited for our starter, expecting the small rounds of golden, crispy tomato, until we received what looked like a mangled Granny Smith apple. Naturally, we dove right in. The tomato was bizarre, as it was a bit harder than the soft fried slices I'm used to, but it was still pleasant and refreshingly tomoatoey. The stuffing, on the other hand, seemed to be a mismatch even though it tasted wonderful. The sweet and spicy ragout of sausage and corn seemed like it would have fit better over rice or pasta than stuffed into the green fruit.

The vanilla-braised short ribs with crème fraîche mashed potatoes and haricots vertes was an amazing dish—basically a haute cuisine version of meat-n-potatoes, a combo that never disappoints. Just the right amount of vanilla was used, as it came through in the beef, but didn't overwhelm the olfactories or the taste buds. The mashed potatoes, as you might imagine, were velvety rich, and the green beans were perfectly seasoned and had just the right amount of crunch.

If the notion of eating a whole fried green tomato excites you and you happen to be hanging out in downtown Atlanta, go for it. But much more can be had here—juicy pork chops, excellent filet, and some pretty awesome sides such as polenta fries and cornbread mac n cheese. So while I would recommend trying the tomato for its novelty factor, don't expect it to be the highlight of the meal.

Go to B.E.D. Atlanta:

110 Marietta Street
Atlanta, GA 30303
(404) 222-7992

—AK

Remembrance of Hoagies Past

Every morning as I drive to work, I always seem to hit the stoplight right before Table Talk. Even at 8 a.m., their parking lot is already stuffed with cars, and as I idle at the light I like to imagine that the scene inside must be a veritable who’s who of old school Alexandria.

After three years of feeling pangs of nostalgia at this stoplight each morning, I recently made time to hit Table Talk again, so that I could experience one of my childhood delights for the first time as an adult.

Table Talk is just up the street from my parents’ office building, so it was a frequent destination for breakfast and lunch when I was a wee one. While most of the menu is standard diner fare, their version of the hamburger hoagie stands out as their great contribution to the sandwich canon.

Sure, it sounds kinda trashy, but twentysome years ago I spent many a happy summer afternoon in some spare office in my folks’ office building hunched over a hamburger hoagie and a copy of Bridge to Terabithia (yeah, I shed a few tears at the end).

I don’t believe that the hamburger hoagie is a widespread phenomenon, but then the sort of places that offer it aren’t likely to turn up on Google. But even if the hamburger hoagie is common in other parts, I’m confident that Table Talk’s rendition would trump all others.





Their genius move is to simply stuff a couple of fried hamburger patties into a sandwich that otherwise has all of the same accompaniments as a standard Italian hoagie: lettuce, tomato, mayonnaise, red onions, red pepper flakes, oregano, oil and vinegar, and a sandwich-sized slice off of one of those enormous dill pickles.

And just so there's no confusion, this is not like an ordinary hamburger, where the meat itself takes center stage. The patties themselves are unremarkable. Rather, it's the totality of all of the elements taken together that's the key to appreciating this sandwich.

Indeed, as far as the meat goes, I would have actually preferred it to be a tad greasier, as the patties were a bit too dry. And I’ll definitely ask for extra oil and vinegar next time, so that the bread is properly saturated. Still, it was pretty much identical to the sandwich that I enjoyed as a lad, and I’ll likely be back a few more times before Table Talk’s inevitable demise. If you happen to be in the area around lunchtime, go ahead and take a chance on it. At the very least, you’ll appreciate the quaint diner atmosphere.

As a side note, I’ve noticed a placard in front of Table Talk for the past couple of years touting some future office development in its stead. I asked the woman at the counter how much longer they were going to be around, and she seemed surprised. “Do you know something we don’t know?” she asked. I mentioned the sign out front. “Oh, that sign has been out there for five years now,” she replied. “These things take time.”

Check out Table Talk’s hamburger hoagie:

1623 Duke St.
Alexandria, VA
(703) 548-3989

—AC

Curtido Bandito

During my year and a half of living in the Mt. Pleasant neighborhood of DC, I got quite an education about Salvadorean food, as the area abounded with taquerias and pupuserias, my favorite of which was Haydee’s. My standard order was a cheese pupusa and a side of fried plantains (okay, and a few Tecates), which were served with refried beans and fresh crema. Over the years, I’ve certainly enjoyed more than my share of pupusas and plantains, but none as perfectly prepared as those at Haydee’s. 

But as it turns out, Mercado Latino Pupseria, a hole in the wall in Annandale, just outperformed Haydee’s by a long shot. This tiny place in a nondescript shopping center is easily missed. It is flanked by a shuttered Korean joint and a Chinese herbs purveyor and doesn’t make much noise about its superb offerings. Just a lone sign, “Pupuseria Newsstand” lets you know of what’s inside: magazines and pupusas. But the sign really should say “Plaintains Fried to Perfection and Pupusas to Be Rivaled by No Other” and just leave it at that. No menu needed.

We each ordered a cheese pupusa, and we shared a plate of tacos (one al carbon and one chorizo) and a plate of fried plantains with fresh crema. Normally, I am not picky about pupusas. If it’s a fried tortilla with cheese in it with a side of pickled slaw, I’m happy. But after enjoying of the newsstand’s expert creations, I now realize that I’ve been settling for sub-par preparation. My past pupusa experiences have involved tasty but somewhat hard cheese. The pupusas we had on this day oozed with soft, cheese lava that tasted fabulous and went down the hatch smoothly and seamlessly, instead of hitting the bottom of my stomach like a brick. Also the curtido, a lightly pickled cabbage slaw that comes on the side and which is usually an afterthought, was made fresh at Mercado Latino. The cabbage had a nice cold crunch, and the salsa ladled on top was homemade and refreshing. This is a critical detail to the pupusa experience, as it perfectly complements the fried cheese-filled tortilla in substance, texture, and taste.

Though we enjoyed the generous tacos, served with ample filling on a single, thick tortilla (at first we thought it might have been a pupusa), we’ve enjoyed superior al carbon and chorizo tacos elsewhere. Plus, we prefer an alternative presentation at other taquerias in the area—the filling is piled on two thin tortillas, the second to be used to make an extra taco with excess filling. Next time, we will skip the tacos in favor of the sopa de res, which was the entrée of choice of most of the other patrons. A piping hot beef soup featured a prodigous portion of corn on the cob and a generous serving of vegetables.

Far too often plantains are under cooked, forcing us to chew and chew and chew on a lukewarm chunk of green/yellow fruit. But not here. The plantains came to our table charred to all hell, the look of which pleased us immediately. Because a blackened, dangerously hot plantain can mean only one thing: a very soft, yellow, and sweet inside. The crema was a refreshing topping for each sizzling bite, and the refried beans were a fine salty companion.

We washed this feast down with a couple of our favorite authentic beverages: horchata, a drink of rice milk and cinnamon, and tamarindo a somewhat sweet and sour agua fresca.

We have learned over the years that it’s very easy to screw up horchata; it’s usually way too cinnamony, rendering the drink cloying and a bit like drinking sand. Gross. But here, we have discovered the second best horchata north of the border (the first of which is served in a shack somewhere on First Avenue in NYC). Just enough cinnamon in a glass of cold rice milk is simply heaven.

Enjoy a great Salvadorean meal at Mercado Latino Pupuseria at:

6653-E Little River Turnpike
Annandale, VA
(703) 333-5242

—AK