St. Louis Eats and Drinks

Ann Lemons Pollack: A Well-Seasoned Life

“Sometimes, dreams do come true,” Ann wrote in the opening of a 2014 article about the Chelsea Flower Show. Adorned with photos of lush flowers from “one of the great rituals of the London year,” her article in the Ladue News inadvertently captured a symbolic element of her colorful spirit.

Never a shrinking violet, Ann Lemons Pollack moved between many different worlds during her 76 years.

She was as comfortable picking wild blackberries in Southeast Missouri as browsing the formal gardens of London or the Christmas markets of Switzerland, as happy eating chili five-way at Steak ‘n Shake as dining at a five-star restaurant in New York, as passionate about helping terminally ill cancer patients as covering the St. Louis theater scene.

The number of roles she played is lengthy: nurse, writer, cook, eater, mother, wife, traveler, volunteer, neighbor, friend.

At times, her life unfolded like acts in the plays she would eventually write about, filled with unexpected twists and turns. She transformed herself, going from a struggling single mother on welfare while in nursing school to fulfilling long-held dreams as an accomplished author and world traveler. In a sense, she may have been the Lead Belt’s version of the Unsinkable Molly Brown, both Missouri natives who not only survived adversity but thrived.

Childhood Twists and Turns

Ann’s story starts in Tennessee. Her mother, single and a nurse, became pregnant during a brief wartime romance with a married man. No doubt a bit of a local scandal, her mother was discretely whisked away to The Willows, a famed home in Kansas City for unwed mothers, for the final months of the pregnancy. Ann was born on Bastille Day, 1945, a touch of foreshadowing for the future history buff and sometime revolutionary.

The blonde-haired baby was quickly adopted by two schoolteachers from Desloge, a small town in southeastern Missouri anchored by work from the neighboring lead mines in St. Francois County. Harold and Ruth Daniels, unable to have children on their own, stayed busy with a smart and precocious daughter – who quickly developed a voracious curiosity and an appetite for reading. Oddly, those qualities did not carry over into food; she was a self-confessed “picky eater” early on.

Mary Ann – as she was known growing up – was already reading before kindergarten. She excelled early in school, but not without a few bumps. Most notably she found herself in the first-grade class that her mother taught – in the same school where her grandfather, Frank Cozean, served as principal. The mother-daughter relationship, at times strained at home, struggled in the classroom. The solution, the school decided, was to move Mary Ann up a grade after school had started. The arrangement worked.

It was a different kind of storm Mary Ann weathered in May 1957. A devastating string of tornadoes roared through St. Francois County on “Black Tuesday,” destroying nearby homes in Desloge and neighboring towns. In a scene reminiscent of The Wizard of Oz, with the wind roaring outside her window, Mary Ann hid under her bed, clutching her little dog, a snowball-white Spitz named Scamp. A few yards away, a tall oak tree smashed the family garage. A few blocks away, the tornado decimated the high school.

In the days ahead, the devastation forced students to take classes in rail cars, with her father even teaching his shop classes in one. Photographers from Life magazine hustled in to record the aftermath.

The rest of her school years took other twists and turns. In high school, she had her first brush with the media, heading a fan club for “Spooktacular,” a monster show that aired on KTVI in St. Louis.

1960s: A Decade of Challenge and Change

Life began to move quickly for Mary Ann. In high school, she had an early marriage to Terry Starkey on November 24, 1961 – with her parents’ blessing – at age 16. They moved to Springfield, Massachusetts, where he was stationed in the Air Force. She finished high school there and conceived her son, Terry, born in 1963.

Moving back to Missouri, her early marriage crumbled, ending in divorce in 1964. She briefly went to Barnes Nursing School before meeting and marrying her second husband, Jim Lemons, on March 18, 1965. She gave birth to their daughter, Jennifer, on Memorial Day 1968 while the Indy 500 aired on the radio in the Farmington hospital room. Bobby Unser took the checkered flag, but the real winners were Ann and Jim, who finished the day with a daughter.

During this period, Ann – as she was now known – and Jim moved frequently. He sold cars at a string of Ford dealerships, racing in short order from Herculaneum to Hannibal and eventually to St. Louis.

The early 1970s presented unique challenges. Ann navigated raising two young children, complicated by the stress of a struggling marriage and financial difficulties. Separated from her husband, she moved back to St. Francois County to a farm outside Farmington.

While on welfare and living in a small house converted from a one-time chicken coop, Ann made a critical decision. To support her children, she needed to take matters into her own hands. So she returned to her earlier dream of becoming a nurse, making a last-minute decision to enroll at nearby Mineral Area College in 1970.

Taking Matters Into Her Own Hands: From Nursing To Writing

It was a life-changing choice that put her back on track. Juggling school work with weekend work at a local hospital, she stayed on top of her classes, parented her two children and met her best friend, Mary Mallory.

Ann even played a role in the school’s theater production of “The Night Thoreau Spent in Jail.” As she found her voice on the stage, she started to find her voice in other areas. She graduated with honors and earned an associate degree in 1972 at “MAC,” soon leaving St. Francois County for a nursing job in St. Louis and moving to the LaClede Town neighborhood in midtown St. Louis. She reconciled with her second husband, though the marriage ended amicably in 1975.

Following the whirlwind series of events, Ann made her initial foray into writing while in LaClede Town. In the local community paper, the Mill Creek Valley Intelligencer, she wrote a travel piece about the Great River Road in Illinois in November 1973.

Ann’s interest in food pulled her down the same Mississippi River to New Orleans, where summer trips in the mid-1970s led her to write letters to a local New Orleans food newsletter. The publisher of New Orleans Menu liked them so much that he invited her to write actual articles. Inspired by her love for food writers like M.F.K. Fisher and Julia Child, her fledgling writing career began to simmer.

During this period, she also continued her other passion – nursing. Ann took an encore turn balancing working and parenting with attending school, graduating with a bachelor’s degree in nursing from St. Louis University in 1977. She cared for patients in several St. Louis hospitals, frequently working the evening and night shifts at places like Booth Hospital for unwed mothers, Barnes Hospital in the medical intensive care unit and Lutheran Hospital with terminally ill patients.

At the same time, Ann's writing continued blossoming. She joined St. Louis Dining in 1984 as an editor-at-large, picking up bylines and columns in numerous other publications in the decades to come, including the St. Louis Post-Dispatch, St. Louis Magazine, Sauce Magazine and the Ladue News as well appearing on St. Louis radio and television stations.

Nourishing her food writing was her own work in the kitchen. Ann spent years experimenting with recipes on food, both routine and exotic, from octopus to oxtail, which she noted occurred “over varying degrees of protest” from her children. Terry and Jennifer survived, being paid off handsomely in the long run after her move to the Central West End in the early 1980s with gastronomic triumphs like lamb doused in fresh tarragon and white wine, apple tarts exploding with Granny Smith slices and the Amazon Chocolate Cake from her well-worn Cafe Beaujolais cookbook sprinkled with handwritten notes and the occasional spill.

With longtime friend Ron Jinkerson frequently in tow, Ann was as comfortable noshing on a hot dog from Woofie’s or a double-decker burger from Carl’s Drive-In as she was ordering veal chops at Tony’s or demanding authentic dim sum for brunch. Ultimately, Ann’s varied background and experiences in life and with food shaped her approach to writing.

The Perfect Pairing

Eventually, her food writing led to crossing paths with Joe Pollack, the venerable critic who covered restaurants, movies, theater and wine for the Post-Dispatch for several decades. Pulling them together was a shared fondness for a generous glass of Jordan Cabernet Sauvignon – and at the other end of the spectrum, a root beer tasting for St. Louis Dining that was one of their earliest collaborations.

Ann’s relationship with Joe took a dramatic turn in the fall of 1994. One evening, Joe complained of an unusual stomachache. Alarmed that it was more than that, the nurse prodded her recalcitrant patient to visit the Barnes Emergency Room. It was a life-saving decision. When the initial review by the medical staff suggested he go home, Ann stood her ground and insisted something much worse was at hand. A scan ensued – confirming that Joe had a massive aneurysm erupting in his abdomen. He nearly died that night. Shaken by the near-death experience as he recuperated, Joe and Ann decided it was time to move up their plans to get married. Not later, but right there, while he was still a patient at the hospital where Ann once worked.

Despite the unusual circumstances that hastened the wedding on November 20, 1994, Ann frequently noted that she finally got marriage right on the third try. Just like a good meal with fine wine, Ann and Joe made a perfect pairing.

And like Ann and Joe themselves, their marriage had many dimensions. They were precinct volunteers for the St. Louis County Board Elections on many election days at Glenridge Elementary. They enjoyed friendships with people throughout their Moorlands neighborhood in Clayton. And they were true frequent flyers, traveling stateside and abroad to places like Norway, to visit Joe’s family members there.

They also found a partnership in their writing and media work, doing joint appearances at places like KWMU and writing together for St. Louis Magazine, where they co-authored a column called “The Well-Seasoned Life.” With Joe retired from the newspaper and Ann taking off her nurse’s cap, they turned to writing books centered on St. Louis. They co-wrote three books: Beyond Toasted Ravioli in 1998, Beyond Gooey Butter Cake in 2001 and The Great St. Louis Eats Book in 2005.

A New Chapter

Following Joe’s passing in 2012, Ann found solace in her writing. At the urging of friends, she also expanded into covering theater in St. Louis. Ann penned articles for Ladue News on travel and St. Louis Magazine on dining, restaurants, travel and nostalgia. Among many other activities, she became a board member for the St. Louis Media History Foundation and the local chapter of the Americans United for Separation of Church and State while also frequently brandishing yarn and needles with fellow members of her “knitting posse.”

Ann's work in the food arena led to her return to book writing, this time as a solo author for Arcadia Publishing. She wrote the history-themed Lost Restaurants of St. Louis in 2018. A successor book, Iconic Restaurants of St. Louis, came out in 2020 with a focus on current eateries.

The relationship between food critic and restaurant owner, by nature, can be a tenuous one. But Ann at times viewed her role as an ambassador for St. Louis restaurants – and the arts scene as well – all of which she regarded as underrated on the national level.

“Ann went really deep. She was equally discerning and encouraging,” observed Danny Meyer, the St. Louis native who founded New York City’s Union Square Hospitality Group and, among other restaurants, Shake Shack. “It’s rare for a restaurateur to be on the receiving end of that from a restaurant critic. Ann was a one-of-a-kind treasure and will be missed.”

A constant throughout Ann’s life was her ability to connect with people from many walks of life. She seemed to pick up new friends wherever she went – as an adolescent acquiring a lifelong pen pal in Wales, as a companion accompanying Joe on trips to Chile or as a solo traveler visiting Southeast Asia. In a similar vein, she picked up new family members along the way, gaining stepchildren and grandchildren through her marriages.

A Surprise in the Final Act

In yet another theatrical twist in Ann’s life, the results from a DNA test in 2017 produced an unexpected result. The tests revealed members of her own birth family, with several cousins in Tennessee. That – along with a change in Missouri law allowing birth details to be shared with adoptees – helped fulfill Ann’s long-held dream to learn more about her roots, discovering the Maples and Brewer families. Not only did she reach out to her cousins, friendships quickly bloomed. The common ancestry thread underscored a shared gene for good food and good conversation.

The revelation of her biological family was yet one more world – out of many different ones – that Ann connected to during her journey from Southeast Missouri to St. Louis to Tennessee and around the world.

Ann leaves behind a rich recipe of family and of friends, of writing and cooking, of caring and laughing. Blended together, these ingredients helped her make a difference in her well-seasoned life.

From Ann's Celebration of Life on July 24, 2022 at The Grandel in St. Louis. Updated for her birthday, July 2023. 

Appreciation: A Buffet of Ann Lemons Pollack’s Writing

With the passing of Ann Lemons Pollack in April and preparations underway for the July 24 celebration of her life, we’ve been enjoying re-discovering some of her early writings. Tucked onto dusty bookshelves and archived in old wine boxes, we’ve found dozens of dog-eared hard copies and tear sheets of her old writings, largely lost in time and some predating the Internet era. 

These are musings on food and travel and life. Her old St. Louis Magazine column on food and cooking in the early 2000s was called “The Flavor of Lemons,” and that seems an apt description for these excerpts and anecdotes from various publications. We’ve highlighted a few amusing passages so we can share, ahem, a little Lemon zest with you.

It’s an appetizer, if you will, for celebrating Ann’s life at 12:30 p.m. Sunday, July 24 at The Grandel theater, 3610 Grandel Square, in St. Louis. Everyone is invited. In the meantime, cheers and enjoy! 

On the Great River Road north of Alton, Ill., from November 1973 in the Mill Creek Valley Intelligencer, Ann’s first published article: “The (Mississippi) River that comes so close to us here might as well be 30 miles away for all the attention most of us give it. Go and look at it - smell it, ride on it, taste what its communities eat. Throw a picnic lunch, a cooler, or nothing, if it’s really an impulse, in the back of the vehicle and head north.”

On eating strategies, from 1983 in New Orleans Menu: “The word serious probably ought not to be applied to the pleasures of the table. Unlike the kitchen – where art is being fashioned – a dining room should be marked by relaxation and indulgence. And with any luck, glee, too. ‘Serious’ in this connotation brings to my mind a slit-eyed evaluator descended from the Cromwellian Puritans, noting instead of enjoying the meal.”

On food and relationships, from 1986 in St. Louis Dining: “I somehow had an ongoing relationship with a fellow who had a large appetite for food but whose interest in it was strictly intellectual and, at that, rather lukewarm. One evening we were in an excellent and extremely elegant restaurant. Waiters bowed and scraped. A senator dined at the next table. The first courses, his fish soup and my salmon mousse, had been exciting. The entrees arrived. We were perhaps two bites into them, when one of those intermittent drops in the room noise occurred. Just as it did, he turned to me, and said in a voice that carried, ‘Why can’t you cook like this?’ The entire room, including the waiters, broke up. This from the man for whom I had prepared chicken Rochambeau and marquise au chocolat on his birthday. It was the beginning of the end of the relationship.”

On food and relationships, from a 1982 letter exchange with legendary food writer M.F.K. Fisher. The California food icon noted this in a neatly typed letter to Ann on onion-skin paper: “I myself cannot imagine wanting to spend my whole life, or even part of it, with someone who had absolutely no comprehension of reading or Mozart or a good ripe tomato.” Ann later wrote: “Sounds about right to me.”

On food and relationships – do you detect a theme? – from February 2000 in St. Louis Magazine: “After years of being single, I learned that early in a relationship – really early, like the first date – is when you hear a great deal of truth. For instance, if a guy says, ‘I’m not much on fancy food,’ this almost guarantees you won’t be visiting any Asian restaurants. It puts a big question mark over the possibility of dinners at French and contemporary American ones, even Italian.”

On eating peculiarities from February 2000 in St. Louis Magazine: “I once knew someone who wouldn’t eat whole animals, thus precluding shrimp, sardines and gingerbread men, among other things. (Once I yanked the leg off a soft-shell crab and popped it in my mouth. He turned absolutely pale and, briefly, I thought he might faint.)”

On food adjustments after marrying Joe Pollack, from February 2000 in St. Louis Magazine: “Anglo-Saxon that I am, my sandwich-making skills had to be sharply adapted for my delicatessen-going husband. I knew better than to use white bread or mayonnaise on a corned-beef sandwich, of course. But apparently I was far too skimpy on the meat.” Family note of amusement: We never saw Joe turn down food that Ann made.

On brunch at the old Schneithorst’s restaurant at Clayton and Lindbergh, from 1985 in St. Louis Dining: “ ‘What’s that?’ I asked a server. ‘Ah … seafood Lindbergh,’ said the young squire behind the line. He promptly got an elbow in the ribs. ‘Seafood Newburg,’ hissed the fellow next to him. By either name, the old Delmonico’s classic is a good idea at breakfast, the white sauce spiked with wine and generally well seasoned.”

On eating outdoors from June 2000 in St. Louis Magazine: “The French eat outside without a moment’s hesitation. It’s a tendency that I admire immensely. Living in the Central West End, I wait for the time of year when I can take my morning coffee, juice and newspaper out to the miniscule balcony, balance my feet on the rail (to the censorious stares of a neighbor just beyond the fence) and spend as much of the morning as I can outside.” Family note of amusement: Ann’s bare feet not only drew the ire of gentrified condo dwellers, her fondness for walking barefoot while living in the Dog Town neighborhood in 1969 prompted anonymous letters to be dropped into the family mailbox. Such behavior, the letters warned, could be subversive to the neighborhood children.

On visiting European Christmas markets, from November 2016 in Ladue News: “Call me a rebel, but I love leaving home at Christmastime and traveling to locales across the globe. Doing so constitutes a sociology lesson akin to a wedding – interesting to experience even if it’s not your own.”

On the pleasures of pot roast, from January 1999 in St. Louis Magazine: “Most of our recipes for that kind of food are heirlooms, the way my grandmother’s bed and her pressed glass are. Such traditional food is striking today, in this world of Chilean sea bass with shiitake mushrooms and a coulis of raspberries. What, as children, we greeted with ‘Oh, no! That again?’ is now something like a big, soft, wooly red sweater, simultaneously comfy and fashionable. Like the sweater, it seduces us into wanting it.”

On porch suppers, from August 1999 in St. Louis Magazine, discussing her childhood living in Desloge, the Southeastern Missouri town where she grew up: “My great-aunt had the best back porch I knew. I gravitated toward it on any visit when the weather was suitable. It, too, had awnings, and plenty of trees, so there was no sky, only green, the feel of being under water. The porch itself had a day bed and plenty of reading material, a magnetic combination for me. In addition there was a table where they often ate supper.”

On food resolutions from January 2, 1999, in the St. Louis Post-Dispatch: “Food resolutions? Tell me one person who doesn’t have any, and I’ll send him to Crown Candy Kitchen.”

Terry Lemons, June 2022

Ci Siamo

A recent fast trip to New York had some great results: 

https://www.stlmag.com/dining/st-louis-native-danny-meyer-opens-ci-saimo-in-new-york-city/

New Mexico, Part 2

One of the evenings in Santa Fe began with a stop at the Gruet Winery Tasting Room in the historic Hotel St. Francis. (If you want to sound knowledgeable , Gruet is pronounced Gru-AY, in the French manner.) The Gruet family is from the Champagne-Ardenne region of France; they came to New Mexico in 1984 and began making mostly sparkling wine, using the traditional methode champenoise. Don’t look down your nose at this; it’s very respectable stuff and often leaves serious wine folks surprised and happy. There’s a nice pinot noir, too.

It’s only about a half block from Gruet to perhaps the first of Santa Fe’s big name restaurants, the Coyote Cafe. Opened in 1987 by Mark Miller, there’s a large second-floor dining room and a cantina with a separate, more casual menu and some outdoor seating. (No reservations there, though.) Miller is no longer associated with it, but the standards remain high, and it stays busy.

Squash blossoms emblems are frequent in Native American jewelry, but it was coincidence (or was it?) that the special appetizer that visit was zucchini squash blossoms stuffed with lobster and goat cheese. Fortunately four of them came out – otherwise there would have been squabbling over dividing these delicious morsels up. Rich, crisp-chewy, they were so light, nevertheless, they almost hovered over the plate. Duck confit tacos, anyone? To die for, certainly, with a sauce of green pumpkin seeds, and caramelized scallions.

Elk tenderloin (above) rubbed with telicherry peppercorns, with morel mushrooms and a fine pan sauce with black truffle was a hit, hearty but only lightly gamy, perfectly rare. Points for the pork chop with green chile mashed potatoes, just tangy, not killer-hot, a black pepper hollandaise, and a cider-based glaze. They make their own excellent ice cream, including a creamy coconut, and we were going to settle for sharing a little of that when temptation overcame and the chocolate sphere arrived. The shiny chocolate orb contains coffee gelato and a crème anglaise sauce is warm enough that the sphere cracks open to reveal the gelato. Plus strawberries and shortbread underneath. Quite a show. The night we were there, the only quibbles were that several tables had entrees arriving at less than optimal serving temperature. The problem was quickly and gracefully rectified, and I’d go back at the drop of a squash blossom.

Another evening, two of us began with a sunset drink on top of La Fonda on the Plaza, their rooftop bar which closes – well, just after sunset. This isn’t a city with a great skyline, but the mountains were nice and the New Mexico sky is pretty stunning most of the time. It’s easy to understand why artists have gravitated here. A fine spot for a preprandial quaff.

After the fine dining of the previous evening, it was time for some just-folks food, like a green chile cheeseburger, which is pretty much the state dish. We headed off the tourist track for Atrisco Cafe, a family-owned business full of locals. The service was warm and easygoing, kids were tumbling over each other in a couple of booths, and the waiter was happy to answer any questions.

Excellent guacamole, chunky, a light hit of heat with it, and fresh, warm chips kicked things off. Happily, they offer menudo every day. It’s more apt to be found on weekends, since folk wisdom says it’s a hangover cure, but there it was. I first tried it many years ago at Ruiz’ on North Lindbergh, the first time I’d eaten tripe. I loved it, the earthy flavor in a rich broth that’s usually made with pork. If you like posole, this will be an easy transition. Atrisco’s version – I just got a cup – comes with the expected chopped white onion, dried Mexican oregano, lime to squeeze in, and either red or green chile sauce. I added a touch of the red and pushed it toward MM. “Here,” I said firmly, “this is what this is supposed to taste like.” And it was.

The cheeseburger was a thick one, juicy and oozing not only the beefy juices but the cheese and pieces of chiles, quite proper. We also had, instead of a burrito, a sopapilla stuffed with thinly sliced roast lamb. Divine; I salivate thinking about it. There was also on the menu a dessert I’d only read about, natillas. Had to try it, couldn’t remember anything about it. “Warm or cold?” asked our young server. “Your choice,” we said. A soft custard arrived, lightly warmed, a little cinnamon on top, less dense than, say, a pudding. Comfort food indeed; this and a really good chicken soup could cure many of the world’s ills.

New Mexico: On the Road, part 1

It’s taken me decades to get back to New Mexico. I was there briefly as a young teenager – first trip without the parents!! – and always wanted more time than a few hours in places like Taos, Santa Fe and what I learned was called the High Road between the two cities. This year, with my pals MM, the Potato Queen and Mr. T, I finally got there.

We took Amtrak out, picking up the train in Kirkwood and changing in Kansas City. It arrived more than an hour late, but Amtrak held what was once the Southwest Chief for folks like us arriving from points east. It was midnight when we climbed on board the Chief. The roomettes are basically upper and lower berths in a small compartment, a reduction in size since the last time I did this sort of thing when Joe was alive. Fun crawling into the upper, of course. But the Amtrak personnel were all very nice, especially the conductor on the late-running train from here to Kansas City.

Food on the train? Surprisingly good pancakes at breakfast, watery coffee.Chilaquiles at lunch, very appropriate, and they were quite good. But generally it was humdrum, and one employee said that Amtrack is planning to offer only box lunches on trains running on the East and West Coast. Time to reinstate the old tradition of taking picnic lunches on the train – or buying food from trainside vendors like they do in Asia.

Santa Fe was preparing for the annual Indian Market, so everything was abuzz. It also made for great people watching; the lobby of the Hotel la Fonda on the Plaza for that. Talk about dramatic, artsy clothing style – absolutely wonderful necklaces the size of breastplates were common, and I’m not talking about silver and turquoise in the traditional styles for this crowd.

But we’re here to talk about food, right? New Mexicans insist their food is definitely not Tex-Mex, and they’re right. But there are plenty of enchiladas and burritos and their friends, to be sure. The most obvious thing to a visitor is the ubiquitous chile, often first encountered in the form of a server’s question: “Red or green?” This translates as What kind of sauce do you want on that​? Green chile sauce is chunky, and always made with fresh or frozen but definitely not dried chiles. The red is from dried ripe chiles that have been ground, seasoned and cooked. Which is hotter? It seems to vary with the restaurant. Just ask; servers are used to it. Be aware, though, that “sweeter” doesn’t refer to sugar in the sauce, in my experience, it refers to a higher level of the vegetable flavors that are more easily noticed. As in wine, sweetness is a nuanced term. It’s okay to ask for the sauce on the side or, more commonly, to respond, “Christmas, please,” which brings you both red and green chile sauces on the dish. Another interesting thing we found was that sopapillas(shown below) are sometimes used as bread or rolls. No cinnamon sugar on them, but honey in a squeeze bottle, and they were always fresh, sometime still hot from the fryer.

The first night we went to The Shed , which has been around for years. Very traditional menu, a patio and several dining rooms. We were lucky we’d made reservations – the wait on a Tuesday night was almost an hour, said the hostess. We were hungry, the enchiladas, soft tacos, stuffed poblano chiles and tamales were great, but the pictures were awful. Sorry. A nice prickly pear margarita, I’d add. Don’t be surprised when garlic bread shows up; it’s a tradition at The Shed. Overall it feels almost like New Orleans, between the courtyard-like patio, the succession of rooms and the busy, busy air. I’d certainly go back and the crew agreed. Every time we walked by during the rest of the visit, there seemed to be a line, so think about reservations, even if you only call thirty minutes ahead of time.

Right on the plaza in Santa Fe is the Plaza Cafe. For such a prime location it’s surprisingly modest, and very much in the diner mode. Lots of locals here for breakfast even in peak visitor season, as the Santa Fe Opera was still working, plus the Indian Market. The menu is very mixed, some local food, some standard things – blue corn/pinon nut pancakes and French toast, for instance. I got posole. That usually means, as it does here, a pork-and-hominy stew that the eater adds Mexican oregano, chopped cabbage, chopped onion, cilantro and lime to as they prefer. Here, of course, there’s chile on offer. Technically, posole refers solely to the hominy (which was available as a side with The Shed’s entrees the night before), but usually it’s the brothy soup. All those add-ins add up quite nicely, although the Plaza Cafe is light on the salt, I found.

Papas fritas are not what you find in a tapas bar in Barcelona. In some ways, it’s not far from a slinger, but better. Angelically better, I’d say. Arriving in a cereal bowl, it’s home fries (with onions, thank you), topped with a couple of eggs, cheese, chiles, sour cream and chopped green onions. My pal had asked for the chiles on the side, and not having them was no hardship. This was just heavenly, and adding a piece of diced green chile to a forkful just made the stars glitter a little more. An unsung hero of the breakfast menu, but a don’t-miss dish.

Even a French bakery-cafe has chiles. Clafoutis is run by the Ligier family from eastern France. The name refers to a classic granmere-ish dessert who was often made by a dear friend of ours, now sadly gone. Breakfast (croissants, crepes, gaufres or waffles, quiche) and lunch only. We knocked off a couple of large salads, a charcuterie plate, some crepes and of course a piece of clafouti. Tres tasty.

A short Lyft ride from the center of town, and the ride will take you through residential neighborhoods you might not see otherwise. No reservations; be prepared for a little wait.

 

More to come in Part 2!

On the Road: LC's in Kansas City

I was just on 107.3, Radio Arts Foundation, talking about food, and I mentioned that I had been in Kansas City earlier this week. This is my favorite hole in the wall there, although, as I admit, I have a soft spot for the lamb ribs at Jack’s Stack – the place whose name I forgot. You can read about those here.

I found rib tips, not so common in Kansas City, at LC’s Bar-B-Q. It’s not far from I-435 south of its intersection with I-70, a simple, old-style spot. They were great, a generous serving with a sweet-hot tomato-ish sauce cooked until it darkened.

The fries are hand-cut, in the traditional KC style, the fried okra was good, and I’m ready to go back to try the spicy green beans. The gentleman in the photo who was tending the pit, said he had family hereabouts, and had lived here for a while. He also pointed out that if you don’t go for the texture of the rib tips, the burnt ends, which LC’s does as pork as well as beef, are solid meat.

 

Open Monday-Saturday for lunch and dinner. The website has Sundays listed as “Royals holidays” and “Chiefs holidays” with varying hours – so I’d call to make sure they’re open, not knowing what constitutes a holiday.

 

LC’s Bar-B-Q

5800 Blue Parkway, Kansas City, MO

816-923-4484

http://www.lcsbarbq.com/

How Much Did That Beer Cost?

St. Louisans never seemed to begrudge Gussie Busch his luxuries. There was seemingly even a quiet pride in them, especially when they involved taking good care of the baseball team. Then the Belzilians came and we all think differently now. 

Here's a story where some of their profits are going. Has anyone you know been there?

Pescadero, CA: Duarte's Tavern

Years ago, Joe and I stopped for lunch at an oyster shack north of San Francisco. It was a quiet autumn weekday. Only one other couple were there enjoying the oysters and the weather. Eventually, the woman asked me where we were from and a pleasant, brief chat ensued. They lived just north of Los Angeles, and, she said, they were having their “Highway 1 fix”.

That wasn’t hard to understand. To call it addictive seems quite reasonable. California’s Highway 1 runs close to the Pacific Coast for most of its length. If you’re a curious traveler who likes a varied landscape, it’s a fascinating and often stunning drive. I was, indeed, due for a Highway 1 fix, and for the first time in almost ten years, last week I had a chance to do that.

I’d wanted to go to Duarte’s Tavern for a long time, but never managed to hit the tiny town of Pescadero south of San Francisco around mealtime. This probably was because we were inevitably making a beeline for Randall Grahm and his merry band of winesters at Bonny Doon Vineyard, which is perhaps 25 miles south of Pescadero. Winemaker Grahm was a big fan of Stanley Elkin, the novelist who taught at Washington University. Joe was going to introduce them, an event that unfortunately never happened. Grahm survived the disappointment and continues to turn out first-rate beverages.

But I digress, as I so often do. Pronounced DOO-arts, the tavern has been around since 1895. Despite the road trippers from Baghdad-by-the-Bay and Silicon Valley, an appearance on the Food Network and a James Beard Award for American Classics, this is still mostly a very unassuming place. Several small dining rooms and a bar feel much like a few ancient spots in south St. Louis, with wood paneling, family photos and a seemingly random collection of art.

An early evening dinner visit started with a herd of unmanned fire trucks parked nearby. Inside, a sign announced self-seating, although they do take reservations – see their website, which has wonderful photos and even suggestions about what to do while waiting for a table. Sure enough, in the first dining room there were three or four tables of CAL FIRE guys, the folks who fight wildfires in California. Talk about local atmosphere – this was more promising than truck drivers.

It’s artichoke country hereabouts, the fields of the quirky-looking plant often seen from Highway 1, and the signature soup is cream of artichoke. Creamy and rich, it satisfies. The other house soup is cream of green chile, and the kitchen wisely offers half and half, a bowl with some of each ladled into it. The combination punches up the richness a little, and it’s a good pairing My pal and I shared a bowl; they don’t do cups. The bread seems to be made in-house, baguette-like, served hot and roughly cut, another mark of the home-cooking feel of things.

A couple of days of deeply inhaling the scent of the Pacific had made me hungry for oysters. The Fanny Bays on Duarte’s menu were large and dazzling, a fine example of what people talk about when they say an oyster is creamy. Certainly that mineral-y saline taste comes first, but after a moment’s chewing, the texture evolves and the tongue realizes there’s something else going on.

The Duarte family came from the Azores, so the roots of the cooking tradition is more or less Portuguese. The first clue may be linguica on the sandwich menu. But it’s particularly evident in another signature dish, cioppino. Despite its name, cioppino isn’t from Italy, it began in San Francisco, apparently out of the Italian-American community in the neighborhood of North Beach. The stew uses several kinds of seafood with tomatoes, onions, celery and parsley. Duarte’s includes cumin in theirs, which they say is Portuguese.

The star of the wide bowl of cioppino is a generous amount of Dungeness crab. The supporting cast includes shrimp, clams, mussels and a piece or two of fish. Nearly all are perfectly cooked – I found one of the large shrimp that had been overcooked, but that was the exception. The ruddy, surprisingly vegetal liquid, was not overwhelming with its notes of cumin at all, but I had hoped for a stronger flavor of fish stock in it. It arrives, of course, with a cracker for the shells, although they were often easy enough to do by hand before popping a segment of meat directly into a waiting diner’s mouth, and real cloth bibs, none of these static-y plastic things. It’s the most expensive thing on the menu at $40, but a very large serving.

Going in another direction entirely, a pork chile verde stew was satisfying, the meat tender but lean, the sauce thick with chile and with a fair amount of heat, easily calmed by the rice that accompanied it. A crisp red cabbage slaw with celery seed rode shotgun, the texture a nice contrast. This, and a number of other options were in a second menu that changes often – make sure you see both before final decisions are made, because this is the sort of spot that may well have quite a few local dishes arousing curiosity, things like sand dabs and abalone.

Duarte’s is a pie house, and while that cioppino was really good, I can certainly see making a meal out of soup and pie. For instance, the Pacific coast grows some berries we don’t see here in the Midwest. Thus, it’s wise to take advantage of the chance to have olallieberry pie. A 20^th Century hybrid of the loganberry and the youngberry, the flavor hits somewhere between blackberry and raspberry, a lovely spot indeed. The pies arrived slightly warm, clearly never subjected to the duress of refrigeration, the crust remaining flaky and showing the irregularity that marks pies made by human hands. My pal went for pear pie on the list of specials, its honeyed flavor strong rather than the wan-ness pear can sometimes lapse into, and the lattice crust equally satisfying.

Service was small-town casual, very friendly and obviously used to folks asking detailed questions about items like the crab sandwiches. (Turns out it’s not a crab cake, more like a crab salad sandwich.) The presence of sandwiches is important to note. The prices are higher than most of us Midwesterners would expect from a place like this, but careful choices can help the budget. I suspect walking in at 10 a.m. for coffee and a piece of pie is far from unheard of. Speaking of time, they close at 8 p.m. every day. Do take a peek at the garden behind the tavern if you’re there in daylight.

Duarte’s is a worthwhile, atmospheric stop. It’s just not cheap.

 

Duarte’s Tavern

202 Stage Road, Pescadero, CA

650-879-0464

duartestavern.com

Breakfast, lunch and dinner daily

Credit cards: Yes

Wheelchair access: Difficult

Smoking: No

Entrees: $18-$40

On the Road: Potatoes in New York City

It’s no secret that I’m pretty crabby on the subject of morning potatoes. The last place I expected to find platonic antemeridianal spuds was New York City. But there they were, smiling and waving at me from a plate across the street from the Whitney Museum, in an eatery with the unlikely name of Bubby’s. (This is also at the southern end of the Highline elevated park.)

Styled home fries on the menu, they’re slices of panfried potatoes of varying thickness, some fried to dark crispness. They’re laced, indeed, loaded with enough onions, also cooked to varying degrees of doneness but all lending their sweet savor to things. They’re seasoned with just a wee bit of heat, scarcely noticeable until the mouth is empty.

Bubby’s is not a diner, although they serve three meals a day. And it’s not cheap – an omelet with local goat cheese and a fresh New Jersey corn-and-tomato salsa was $22. But frankly, the omelet was superfluous with those babes. All the potatoes really needed was a couple of over-easy eggs – which the kitchen is willing to do. And breakfast is served until 4 p.m. (Take that, dratted hangover!)

Bubby’s is also proud of their pie; I had a nice slice of cherry, or “sour cherry”. (Surely even in New York, they’re not making cherry pie with the dark sweet cherries?) It clearly wasn’t fresh from the oven, but warmed a bit and served with a buttery-thick scoop of whipped cream. They also have a counter in the back serving ice cream from Ample Hills Creamery in Brooklyn, including “ooey gooey butter cake” ice cream. Inquiries about th etiology of that have gone unanswered by the creamery thus far.

The location means the competition is Danny Meyer’s Untitled across the street in the museum. But Danny’s not doing breakfast. I’m sure he’d like these potatoes.

Bubby’s also has a second restaurant, at 120 Hudson Street in Tribeca.

 

Bubby’s

73 Gansevoort St., New York City

212-206-6200

www.bubbys.com

Breakfast, lunch and dinner daily

Credit cards: Yes

Wheelchair access: Good

Smoking: No

Breakfast Entrees: $15-$24

Suburban Baltimore: Conrad's Crabs

Folks don’t dress up for seafood in Baltimore.

There, as in New Orleans, it’s an ordinary part of everyday life, not something that calls for nice shoes and something a step up from a t-shirt. Sure, there are fancier spots, but there are also neighborhood hangouts and restaurants folks say their parents took them to when they were kids. Conrad’s Seafood Restaurant, in Perry Hall, one of Baltimore’s northern suburbs, feels like that sort of place. (Baltimore, like St. Louis, is a city not in a county – although, strangely, there are no incorporated municipalities in it.) They’ve only been open since 2003, though, when Tony Conrad, a commercial waterman, decided to open his own spot. Now there’s his seafood market, which also serves food, and this restaurant.

Our clan ended up here to celebrate the biggest and the last of a series of three graduations over the spring and summer. As the matriarch, I was under considerable pressure to lead them to a spot that worked on multiple levels, including for my two vegetarians. But it was Baltimore. Surely we had to have seafood at least one night! The careful choice of Conrad’s turned out to be a hit.

 

The feel is deeply casual, with a busy bar, a couple of dining rooms, a rooftop dining area and sinks in the dining room for post-prandial cleanup. An order of steamed crabs is preceded by a large sheet of heavy brown kraft paper that’s laid over the table, the easier to clean things up with. For good measure, there’s now an in-house bakery that serves desserts a step beyond what you might expect in such a place.

Things kicked off with a couple of baskets of popcorn seasoned with what turned out to be the house version of crab seasoning, similar to Old Bay brand, but with less celery seed. The crab neophyte and the vegetarians agreed with the Old Hands that this was a tasty start.

The rather Greekish Conrad salad wore feta bits mixed with tomato, cucumber, red onion, kalamata olives and greens; its dressing used white balsamico, producing a mildly sweet note to go with a little oregano. Housemade Caesar dressing was deeply savory, the croutons were crisp but not tooth-breaking, and the romaine lettuce chilly and crisp, a fine version of the classic.

Crab wontons? Yes, indeed, obviously made by hand, absolutely delicious because they were very crabby, with the proper dipping sauce of soy and some black vinegar, although the sauce was superfluous. Littleneck clams on the halfshell didn’t fare so well, simply because they had been carelessly opened with bits of shell in more than half of them.

The Young Carnivore had his first encounter with steamed crabs. Next time he and I will split a bigger order of larger crabs, but these were an encouraging introduction, the house seasoning sprinkled generously over them rendering things spicy but not palate-numbing, the shellfish carefully cooked. Wooden mallets are the instrument of choice; I admit on these little guys I missed having a pick to winkle out bits from the carapace.

And then, sweet heaven, there were the crab cakes. This is the reason people who know get so fussy about crab cakes. Large lumps, barely held together, not a huge amount of seasoning, just molecule after molecule of delicate, briny flavor, rich and satisfying. The menu says it’s a 5-ounce crabcake, and I think that’s accurate. To touch these with tartar sauce or cocktail sauce would be desecration. Maybe if you lived next door and could eat them every day, it might be okay. Otherwise….

Cioppino, the fish stew from the Left Coast showcased a lovely seared fillet of rockfish, plus mussels, more clams, shrimp and plenty of calimari. The seafood broth was a dark bronze and slightly thick, a change from the usual, a little peppery and clearly seriously full of seafood juices. In any other place, it would have been a star; here, it took a back seat to the crab dishes. Our vegetarians fell all over themselves with the pasta primavera, fettucini with things like broccolini, spinach, peas and several cloves of sweet roasted garlic, all lightly hit with pesto, a very different version of the dish.

The french fries are house-cut, piping hot; it was difficult to find time to eat the equally skinny roasted asparagus that our consciences made us order, too. Jambalaya is available as a side, a Creole version since it includes tomatoes. Moist as a risotto, the holy trinity of Louisiana cooking, onion, bell peppers and celery, giving lots of flavor, it probably should have been an entree.

In a move vaguely reminiscent of dessert time at Pastaria, the Young Vegetarian and I went trooping off to the bakery case near the front of the house to inspect our options. Someone is doing some serious pastry work there. I’d hoped for a version of the multi-layered Smith Island cakes, but since this isn’t a place that caters to curious tourists, I suppose it would be coals to Newcastle. What we did find was more than worthwhile, ranging from the traditional to contemporary.

Closest to the usual was a large chocolate eclair, very proper with its chocolate glaze and vanilla custard filling, the choux pastry damp and chewy from living in a refrigerator case for a while. That’s an accepted deviation from the norm. In fact, the chewy factor is part of the charm of an eclair. Very tender indeed was the coconut custard cake, its narrow vertical slab having crunchy sugar sides, the top showered with coconut shreds. “Tastes like the Zinger of your dreams,” remarked someone.

The king of the course, though was titled merely “Lemoncello”, although if there was any of the increasingly popular Italian liqueur in the dessert, it wasn’t noticeable. No loss, though; there was plenty of serious lemon flavor in the layers of cake, lemon mousse and a shiny lemon layer thickened with gelatin on top. Lovely textures and still moist despite having been assembled an unknown amount of time previously, it beguiled.

This is just the sort of place that ought to have reliable help, the sort that stays on the job for years, both in the front and the back of the house. Our server certainly filled that bill despite her youth, answering newbie questions and able to go into deep detail on certain dishes, keeping things moving although it was a busy weekend night.

If you’re considering a visit, remember, this is a menu with plenty of options for non-seafood eaters, rather than just that obligatory pasta dish. (Fajitas? Rack of lamb?) We did make reservations, and were glad we did; people were waiting when we arrived. For a party of six, as we were, it’s foolhardy not to unless you’re eating at a very odd hour. There’s valet parking. Belair Road is a commercial street but it’s surrounded by neighborhoods and the parking lots are smaller than the capacity of the restaurant.

Next time: Both kinds of crab soup. More crabs, more crabcake, and possibly the softshell crab Cuban sandwich. More fries and that lemoncello!

 

Conrad’s Seafood Restaurant

9654 Belair Rd., Perry Hall MD

410-529-FISH

conradscrabs.com/perryhall

Lunch and dinner daily, Sunday brunch

Credit cards: Yes

Wheelchair access: Fair

Smoking: No

Entrees: $15-$29 and crabs at market price (just ask)

On the Road: ATL, Hartsfield-Jackson Airport (and two other suggestions)

Can we agree that most airport food is pretty unsatisfying? Accordingly, when good stuff pops up, it’s worth noting. I have a few standards I always suggest – but with the reminder that part of the trick is being in the right terminal. It’s no good to hope for Danny Meyer’ Shake Shack at JFK if you’re in Terminal 1, 2 or 3,and you have only an hour between planes. It’s in Terminal 4 – two of them, in fact – but you’d have to go through security to get to a Shackburger. Not a pretty sight.

One choice spot that’s before security is Dooky Chase’s in the Louis Armstrong International Airport in New Orleans, in the West Terminal. That fine fried chicken keeps its flavor for your onboard meal, too.

If you’re flying Southwest through Atlanta, which means you’re on Concourse C, there’s definitely a choice worth nothing. Pay no attention to the Chick-Fil-A. Next to it is a branch of the legendary Varsity. I was moving too fast to check the chili dogs for which they’re known but I succumbed to an order of onion rings after I spied a long rod of single rings being dipped in batter. Lovely, light beer-batter type of ring, worth one’s while for sure. But, like most o-rings, eat ‘em while they’re hot.

Note also that while the menu board lists only meals – two sandwiches and fries, for instance – I saw several people ordering just one burger and dog.

They’re apparently also on Concourse F.

 

The Varsity

Concourses C and F

Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport

Atlanta

and other locations in and around Georgia

Breakfast, lunch and dinner

thevarsity.com

Just One Bite: Kansas City Barbeque

An overnight run to Kansas City last week found my pal and me knocking back ‘que at Fiorella’s Jack Stack. They’ve been around since 1957, and there are five locations, all rather large. We hit the one in Country Club Plaza – only in Kansas City would there be a barbeque spot in such an upscale location. I’d eaten at another location before, a good while back, and felt generally that while they were good, there were better spots around. (The sheer mega-size is off-putting to me, I admit.) Still, I remembered some first-rate chicken wings and interesting sides.

This isn’t an inexpensive place. $6.99 for 3 onion rings? Yes, they’re large, and very thickly cut. But for those of us who consider a batter-to-onion ratio a serious consideration, that’s way too much onion for a single ring, or, more accurately, a small bowl rather than a ring, because they’re cut from the ends of onion, to give them what seems to be a signature curve.

But I’m willing to forgive them quite a lot, it seems, because they serve lamb ribs. Ribs, I tell you, lamb ribs. (Yes, they have beef ribs, too.) It turns out to be the bones from a full rack of lamb – I believe I had nine bones. They’re dry rubbed and cooked really slowly. This is a very fatty cut – much more so than pork ribs, especially if they’re trimmed so what we call rib tips are removed – so it’s a rich meat, and this truly is falling off the bone without having the feeling that they were steamed or oven-baked first. Absolutely wonderful.

To me, their sauce is superfluous. I tried all three kinds, the mild, the spicy and the hot. They’re tomato-based, but to a palate used to St. Louis-style sauce, there is almost no discernible sweetness. There’s a fair amount of cumin, and the hot is moderately pungent. But all of them overwhelm the delicate flavor of the lamb.

If there’s a lamb-reluctant eater sitting across the table from you, this is a fine introduction. On the other hand, lamb ribs are extremely hard to find, so you could be creating a monster.

$23.99, includes fries and slaw – any other sides require an upcharge.

 

Fiorella’s Jack Stack

4747 Wyandotte Avenue, Kansas City, MO and other locations.

jackstackbbq.com/

Brunch: 12 West

A road trip? Yes, please. En route to any number of places, Ste. Genevieve's historic sites or the Ste. Genevieve County wineries, or across to Elephant Rocks State Park or down to the whitewater at Silver Mines, 12 North in Farmington would work well. You can read about their brunch here. No guarantees as to whether there's space available on Easter Sunday, but after that, you're apt to find a spot. 

New York City: Union Square Cafe 2.0

Sometimes life is just too rough. I made a fast run to Manhattan to see the new location of Danny Meyer's first-born restaurant, Union Square Cafe. It's bigger, it's brighter, and the food is just as good. One reviewer hints that the food is note quite au courant enough. That just talks about how far restaurant food has come in thirty years. I still say this is the best lamb shank I've ever eaten. And here's a red snapper dish that was thrilling. 

Here's the link to the review in the DINING blog of SLMag.

Eating Saigon

How did the chicken cross the road? If the chicken, or the faint-hearted food writer, was crossing the road in Ho Chi Minh City, the answer is VERY CAREFULLY.

Ho Chi Minh City, or Saigon as many of us still think of it, is a huge city, more than 10 million in the metropolitan area. The primary mode of transportation is motorbikes. I’ve seen estimates of more than 2 million to nearly 8 million of them in the city. And there are, comparatively, very few traffic lights. 

That was the biggest thing I was worried about when I made an eating trip there. I’d heard a little about it, and my friend Barbara, an Australian who lives in HCMC, wrote about it in her book. The bikes are everywhere, including parked on many sidewalks. Those security guards so often seen on the street? They’re there to watch the bikes, the biggest capital investment many of their owners have made, not because violent crime is rampant. And speaking of that, as a woman traveling alone, I never felt unsafe.

But the sidewalks are tricky to navigate for another reason, especially in the mornings, because women – somehow it never seems to be men – are operating al fresco feeding operations making and selling pho, the Vietnamese noodle on lots of blocks People cluster around, and eat off their knees sitting on low, very low plastic stools. I saw kitchen help at the very nice hotel I stayed at chowing down next to the employees’ entrance, for instance.

Pho (pronounced “fuh”) was the focus (or fuh-cus?) of a food tour from Barbara, who, with her husband Vu, runs Saigon Street Eats. Three of us, plus Barbara, went to a small family-owned spot to eat pho and talk about food. I had the chicken pho, the guys had the beef.

Both were wonderful, but did you know all those things that come with pho, the leafy stuff and so on, aren’t just for flavoring?

Well, I’m sure you understood about the bean sprouts, but the greens are considered the vegetables in the soup. So tear them up and throw them in with abandon. It is, of course, one of those dishes that everyone’s grandmother makes differently. Someone could make trying different pho spots the focus of an entire trip to Vietnam.

On from there to go through several markets. It’s heaven for foodists and photographers, beautiful and fascinating stuff. We learned how to tell the difference between Thai basil and holy basil, both of which were on the platter that came with the pho. (Clue: holy basil has purple stems.) 

It’s interesting that there were plenty of spice mixtures available, and pre-chopped vegetables to shorten prep time for home cooks, plus some pre-made foods. It could be as easy as picking up your evening meal from a supermarket here. Ever hear of betel nuts?

Lots of those for sale, along with things like fresh turmeric, lotus seeds, and live prawns. We ended up sampling what we bought in a park that surrounds what looks like a temple, but is actually the elaborate tomb of a general.

That’s a walking tour, but we were picked up at our hotels and brought to the restaurant where we began, and then again taxied back to hotels. But for the evening Street Food tour, the usual transport is by motorbike. The reluctant can opt for four wheels, but I threw caution to the wind and rode pillion to our gathering place, out in a neighborhood. The first stop was a banh mi stand, the sandwich that’s become more common in the United States. They warm the bread over a charcoal fire, and remove a little of the crumb, or white inner part of the bread to make it easier to fill. The slight smokiness the bread acquires is part of the flavor profile. Lots of options for filling, as can be seen.

 

Next we tried banh xeo, the so-called Vietnamese pancake, which is really more like an omelet. I often order them here at Mai Lee, where it arrives with a plate of greens, both lettuce and herbs. Binh, who was the guide this evening, showed us how to deal with that. Place a piece of the egg mixture on the firmer end of the lettuce. Tear off leaves of the various herbs and layer them on top. Then tuck the sides in and begin rolling the whole thing away from you, just like your great-grandmother did when she rolled up blintzes or stuffed cabbage.

Then you may dip one end in the dipping sauce and attack. I could have eaten this all evening, but both the sandwich and the banh xeo were appetizers, so to speak.

Restaurants around us didn’t just spill onto the sidewalks, they often quadrupled their capacity with their outdoor seating. The streets became giant outdoor living rooms, lots of chatter going on between tables and with passersby. Apartments tend to be very small for most people, and kitchens miniscule, so dinner at neighborhood spots is very common. We went to one on a cul-de-sac, alive with lights and people and conversation.

Seafood began coming. Scallops on the half shell. Steamed clams, shrimp. But the greatest dish was conch in an incredible butter-based sauce. Garlic, a little red pepper for heat, and some condensed milk to give just a little sweetness.

The conch was chewy, as is its nature. But it was the sauce that made us beg for more bread, a sauce that made the garlic-parsley butter for French snails seem like something in a school cafeteria. The last stop of the night was for Vietnamese sweets, but we were all so full of seafood and its predecessors, we just nibbled – and those Asian sweets are rather different, texturewise, than the Western ones.

And riding the motorbike was a lot of fun.

Another experience that turned out to be more about food than I’d anticipated was a Mekong River tour with a company called Les Rives. It was a speedboat trip that went off the Saigon River into the byways a good distance out of the city. Very comfortable, a small group – there were six guests total the day I went, with visits to a farm, a small town, and a temple, with lots of real-world life seen from the boat, like a wedding and a funeral. Lunch was lovely – here’s one of the things we ate:

but equally intriguing were the fruits we were offered as snacks on the boat. Little finger-sized bananas, thin-skinned and sweeter than what we get here. Clementines that were the size of the canned “mandarin orange” segments one can by, both sweeter and tarter than expected. And jackfruit, with a texture that was a cross between a pear and a peach, neither of which was quite perfectly ripe, but a slightly melon-like flavor, easy and un-drippy to eat. Not inexpensive but a delightful day and very worthwhile.

Restaurants? I went to several out-of-the-way unnamed dives whose locations I could never find again. But here are two I liked:

A deeply authentic dumpling experience that Barbara took me to is Quan Ca Can Banh Bao. These fat, fluffy guys are made with pork or chicken or even vegetarian. It’s pretty much point-and-eat, but they’re used to that. Lunch and dinner until 10 p.m. daily. You can read about them here, and there’s a map – it’s in District 5.

 

If you’re craving non-Asian food downtown, look for L’Uisine, a cafe-bistro upstairs, entered off a sort of populated alleyway. The shop is full of lovely modern things, and the (English) menu has sandwiches and desserts, beer and wine. 

Saigon is a great shopping city, and prices can be very good indeed. Small shops, big markets and indoor shopping centers that are very modern. I was there right before Christmas, and saw this bunch of kindergartners roaring over to look at a display of penguins and polar bears on a pretend ice rink.

 

Don’t forget to have some of the wonderful Vietnamese iced coffee when you stop for a break.

As to crossing the streets: I mastered it in a couple of days. The trick is to think of it as wading across a moving stream of water. The bicycles will go around you as long as you don’t panic and stop. I waited until there were no four-wheeled vehicles coming and stepped out with confidence, just as though I were jaywalking in New York. Not even any close calls.

Siem Reap, Cambodia

Going from the civilized melting pot of Singapore to Siem Reap, Cambodia, was something of a culture shock. It’s easy for Americans to forget that the fighting there raged on even after the US left Vietnam, and didn’t end until 1991. It’s still a very poor country, so the ride in to Siem Reap from its large airport rolled by cattle roaming, five goats grazing at the roadside and various types of poultry wandering on the outskirts of the city of around 110,000.

I didn’t come to Siem Reap for the food. I came to see Angkor Wat. It seemed a shame to be in that part of the world and not drop by, you know? However, I spent as much or more more time prowling the markets than prowling the temples. Yes, temples plural; there are quite a number of them in easy distance. And I’m glad I did. I learned a lot, ate some very good food, and met some great people. No downside there.

There is food at Angkor Wat, a long line of tents, but I passed on that. At Bayon temple, the one with the huge faces, I found a banquet being served, in the carvings of what’s clearly a kitchen in full feast mode.

The foodstuffs produced by the country are intriguing. Visitors will find lots of curries that are closer in style to the Thai than the Indian, utilizing lots of coconut but seldom very hot-spicy.

One of the best things I did was an evening with Siem Reap Food tours. Glaswegian Steven Halcrow picks folks up in a tuk-tuk, one of the motorbike-carriage vehicles ubiquitous in Siem Reap, and off five of us, plus Steve, went.

It was a great learning experience, including a small restaurant that is next to the garden where much of its food is grown.

We ended up at the night market, where we sat on the platforms to eat the kebabs and other things he purchased from the stalls.

Siem Reap Food Tours

www.siemreapfoodtours.com

 

Two restaurants, each very different, stood out. Cuisine Wat Damnak is owned and run by Joannes Riviere, a French chef, and his wife, Carol Salmon. He uses local ingredients to create tasting menus, 5 courses for $24 or 6 courses for $28. (Please note that the US dollar is the unofficial currency in Cambodia. Even the ATMs give dollars. You may get small change in Cambodian riel, though.)

The food is fabulous. Riviere makes his own creations, combining French technique, local Khmer traditions and ingredients with his own imagination. Mekong River shellfish and black sticky ride porridge with mushrooms and glazed turnip? Right here. And take a look at this dessert, a jack fruit cookie with meringue sweetened with palm sugar and pandan whipped cream.

Three of us (Hi, Zakia! Hi, Kathryn!) debauched our way through the two alternative tasting menus with wine and cocktails. Advance reservations are pretty much a necessity and can be made through their website. It’s in a roomy rehabbed home, and while we were in the un-air conditioned part, it was quite comfortable. And, no, no problems with flying insects at all – in fact, I saw or felt few of them the entire trip.

Wat Damnak

Dinner Tues.-Sat

cuisinewatdamnak.com

 

The other restaurant is Marum, a lovely place on a side street that is run by an organization helping street children. One of their projects is training young people for the hospitality industry. English may be a little slow here, but everything else is shining.

There was a killer pineapple-mango frozen daiquiri to start out with, a proper antidote to tropical travel, and a prawn and pork curry that was meant to be served as a dip but was good enough to eat with a spoon.The high point of the meal, however, was a one-layer chocolate cake, moist and slightly brownie-ish, that was made with the local Kampot pepper and served with a sauce of passion fruit and green Kampot peppercorns, an unforgettable combination.

 Marum

Lunch and Dinner daily

Credit cards: Yes

Website

 

And on a totally not-food topic, a few notes on shopping. The Old Market downtown is better than the Central Market, although the Central Market is less overwhelming. Visitors are beset on all sides by greetings of “Madame, madame!” by vendors, but no one’s feelings seem to be hurt by ignoring them, hard as it is to do at first. The Old Market is for both food and non-food things, so you can buy vegetables, a pot to cook them in, and silk scarves for gifts to take home.

In a totally different vein is a nearby shopping street called Hup Guan. Lovely little old buildings and some more sophisticated wares.I particularly loved a place called Trunkh http://www.trunkh.com/, with home accessories, jewelry and some clothing. It’s run by a Californian (and his cat Pepper), and has lots of distinctive items. I ended up with a large denim tote bag with a zippered pocket and an impressionistic design of the shutters so common here.

When I came home, I thought I was Asia-ed out. Now with a few weeks to catch my breath, I want to see (and taste) more of Cambodia.

Eating Singapore

Is Singapore one of the great eating cities of the world?

Quite possibly. I spent some time there in early December. Less than 90 miles from the equator, it was quite warm, of course, hitting around 90 most days but with far less humidity than I remembered from a visit years ago. But I wasn’t there for the weather. I was there for the food.

There are plenty of food tours offered through places like Viator and TripAdvisor, but I was lucky enough to have a Chowzter buddy who’s a native Singaporean. Juliana gave me pointers and sometimes shepherd me around. Singapore is such a mixture of cultures that the eating possibilities are immense; there were plenty of things I wanted to try but didn’t manage. Much of what I’m talking about here are foods out of their multicultural traditions, which means that everyone’s grandmother made them differently. That means that the arguments are endless over what constitutes The Best, of course, but with the ever-keen Juliana keeping me up to date, I had a great time.

The best dish of the entire trip may well have been a bowl of laksa. I wrote to my daughter, the first Apprentice Eater, after having this, “I’ve eaten fish soups from above the Arctic Circle to near the equator, and I can honestly say this one was mind-blowing.” Laksa uses a coconut-seafood broth, shrimp, rice noodles and varying mysterious seasonings, including things like galangal and dried shrimp. It’s apparently often quite spicy, but one of the nice things about the laksa I had was that the chili paste was politely smeared on the lip of the bowl so as much or little of it could be nudged into the liquid. I like things really spicy, but the small dab I added after my first bites was just enough that I could still revel in the wondrousness of that broth. Laksa is available in many places – the lunch buffet at my hotel had it, for instance – but you’re better off trying it in one of the spots more patronized by locals. They argue about which version is correct the way Americans argue about barbecue, so don’t be surprised by what you find on the internet. Juliana urged me to go to a place quite a distance from the center of town, six or seven miles,. But cabs are cheap and Uber even cheaper. I paid about $4 for the laksa and a cold drink, less than the one-way fare, but it would have been worth five times the price. It’s in a shopping mall, not the fancy Western kind but a building that holds many small businesses. Go in the ground-level door, and it’s almost immediately to your right. Order, pick your drink and pay at the counter. There’s at least one other location for this particular outfit, by the way.

Note the hours. I was there mid-afternoon and it was quiet, but I’m told it’s particularly jammed at Sunday lunch.

The Original Katong Laksa

Roxy Square

50 East Coast Rd.#01-64, Singapore

Daily 8.30 a.m. - 5.30 p.m.

 

The many of the variations of chicken and rice have, over the years, come to be favorites of mine. I’d heard about Singapore’s Hainanese chicken and rice, but the one version I’d tried was disappointingly wan. I suspected the problem was that version, which turned out to be correct. Juliana took me to Zion Road Hawker Centre for my first lunch, and that was what I had – or, more accurately, part of what I had.

White meat of chicken is poached in a broth that’s strengthened by dozens, probably hundreds, of pieces of chicken that have been poached in it before, the liquid seasoned with ginger, garlic, and, often, pandan leaves. Some of that liquid is used to prepare the rice. It’s served with a dipping sauce of seasoned dark soy sauce. If I hadn’t had lots of other things about to arrive at the table, I could have made a pig of myself on this. It’s a good dish for those hesitant about digging into the local cuisine. Juliana got it from Boon Tong Kee, which has several sites throughout Singapore.

A few tips on dining at hawker centres, which are like the old Miss Hullings’ Seven Kitchen concept gone wild – lots of small vendors cluster around picnic tables. Find a place to sit and hold your place with a packet of Kleenex or an umbrella or something. This is Singapore; the spot will be respected and your belongings will be safe. Wet-wipes are helpful to have, as well as tissues; napkins seem in short supply. This is a good idea throughout southeast Asia, although sanitation in Singapore is generally impeccable. You may have to share a table. Look for stands that have a line – this means the locals think the food is tasty, and there’s a rapid turnover of food. Usually there is someone who’s bussing the tables, but look around to see what locals do. The hardest part will be deciding what to eat.

Another well-known dish is chilli crab. Again, lots of arguments about which is best; I ended up at a spot on Robertson Quay, near my hotel, called the Red Box  The dish varies in pungency from restaurant to restaurant; theirs is not wildly hot and in fact, the sauce has a little sweetness to it. Mantou are rolls designed to sop up the sauce, a wise addition. The crab these days is imported, and it’s not an inexpensive meal – my check for the crab and a beer was around $65 American, a decided contrast with the laksa and any hawker centre food.

 

For upscale Chinese, I had a delightful dinner with Julianna, her husband Guillaume, who’s French (and a chef with two Michelin stars), and another friend, at his favorite Chinese restaurant, Jade Palace. It’s inside a very nice shopping center, much more upscale than the one holding the laksa place, on the big, almost Rodeo Drive-like Orchard Road. Razor clams? Foie gras? Pigeon? Yes, in a Chinese restaurant. Wonderful, and a very good wine list.

For something authentic, non-touristy but only a little exotic, think about a kopi shop, a coffee shop. Kopi is coffee that comes with condensed milk, hot, milky and sweet, not unlike the Vietnamese coffee many of us order over ice. There are other ways to order coffee – here’s a chart, if you’re interested. The traditional accompaniment to the coffee is kaya toast. It’s a sandwich of toasted bread, often crustless, that contains kaya, often described as coconut jam. It’s actually more of a curd – think lemon curd in terms of consistency and method of preparation – but that’s quibbling. One piece of the toast has a slice of cold butter on it, the other is spread with kaya. Some folks like the butter melty, others praise the contrast between the cold, firm butter and the ooze of the kaya. Many people have a soft- or semi-soft-boiled egg with it, using the bread to wipe up egg yolk. Definitely worth investigating. There are kopi shops all over, even chains that are shiny-bright and perhaps less intimidating for the rookie, like the one where I took this picture.

That should do for a kickoff. More adventures in other parts of Southeast Asia sooner or later.

Strasbourg and Montreux: Christmas Markets

This time last year, I was heading for Europe and the holidays, both to visit family and friends who are almost like family, and to do a little business. Of course, when your business is pleasure, that’s not too hard, and I had long wanted to sample the European Christmas markets. I wrote about it and here’s the story on line.

But the on-line version lacks the photos that the paper version does, so I thought I’d share some of those, as well. Almost three weeks in French-speaking Switzerland, Strasbourg and Stavanger, Norway, led me to good food and interesting things, not to say a great deal of happiness.For instance, this is an example of a log I found for sale at a small market in Switzerland, meant for, I assume, post-skiing warmups and other outdoor cheer. Pretty remarkable, I'd say.

In Montreux, My pal Martha and I found a stand with langosh, or langos, a sort of Hungarian fry bread - just mouthwatering. 

I saw stands for foie gras sandwiches both in Montreux and Strasbourg, and as good as the langosh was, the foie
gras was even better. And how about rainbow reindeer cakes?

The market vendors sell from individual chalets. Here's a night shot. The fire in the back is at a stand with a man who was smoking fish over it.

And here's beautiful Strasbourg, worth a visit any time of the year.

To drink, perhaps some vin chaud? Or hot apple cider with honey and cinnamon?

To go with roasted chestnuts sold out of a mini-train engine?

I'd thought santons, the figures that go around a creche, were only found farther south in Europe. But here are some in Strasbourg. Notice the Pope making an appearance. Naturellement.

A riotously OTT tea room, like stepping into a mad woman's jewel box:

They decorate the streets there, too. The cathedral in Strasbourg dates back a thousand years.

The non-food items for sale - which were the great majority of the wares (although one of the 10 markets in Strasbourg was for local food and wine) - were not quite the made by grandfather by the wood stove sort of thing one might imagine. But the experience was great, and occasionally downright magical. 

The Baker's Store, King Arthur Flour, Norwich VT

Specialization can be a good thing. There are those who bake, for instance, and those who eat what the first group bakes. But some of us live in the gray area in between the two. For us, we want, perhaps even need, lots of things. Inspiration. Motivation. Equipment. Knowledge.

The search for those provides a great excuse for a vacation in a lovely part of the country. Near the Connecticut River dividing Vermont and New Hampshire is the Norwich, Vermont, campus of King Arthur Flour, sometimes called The Baker’s Store. Right across the river is Hanover, New Hampshire – can you persuade a young family member they should make a campus visit to Dartmouth College, perhaps?

The low, modern wood building features a store, a bakery-cafe, windows to watch the bakers, and two classrooms, where they offer hands-on instruction for everyone from kids to professional bakers. It seems to be a mecca for people throughout the area, whether it’s locals coming for lunch or breakfast, folks from a little farther away who make a day of it, or those who settle in to one of the area’s interesting bed and breakfasts for the purpose of taking a class. (I met two women, living about 300 miles apart, who meet there every year or so. This time they were taking a class on making croissants.)

The store is large, with everything from large bags of flour to plenty of examples of how King Arthur has risen to the gluten-free challenge.

Lots of equipment, some of it delightfully esoteric, kitchen linens and t-shirts are some of the non-edibles found. Ingredients? Oh, yes, way beyond flour. Chocolate, of course. Six kinds of vanilla? Right here.

High-quality extracts and lots of things like sprinkles. And mixes. You might think a place like this would look down its collective nose at something so plebeian as cake mixes. Oh, no. They understand things like the time crunch in contemporary households and, uh, well, let’s be honest, the intimidation factor. I bought some Lemon Magic Cake Mix for the Lemonses in our Washington Bureau, and two boxes of mix for Liege waffles, which they were making in one corner of the big salesroom and handing out as samples. (Liege waffles are Belgian waffles that have coarse sugar in them, which keep their crunch.)

The building, which is shaped rather like two arms reaching out in an embrace, has positioned the bakery-cafe in the middle. They offer light-ish breakfasts and lunches, sandwiches, salads, soups, and in the morning, egg sandwiches, granola parfaits and two kinds of hot cereal – and of course those pastries. Cases with local cheese, frozen pizza and pizza dough, and other goodies hold items for retail sale.

The northern wing, where the bakery and classrooms are, has a hall paneled with wainscoting from a barn originally built in 1753 (“only 37 years before King Arthur Flour began”, as a small sign points out.) A bench is near a sideboard with cookbooks for perusing and some handsome bread specimens for admiring. The class schedule is online.

Most non-baking partners of shoppers seemed to be taking advantage of the cafe or tagging along in the store making hopeful suggestions. In nice weather, there’s plenty of outdoor seating, both for dining and just being thoughtful. It’s definitely a spot worth a detour.

The Baker’s Store

King Arthur Flour

135 US Route 5 South, Norwich, VT

802-649-3361

kingarthurflour.com/visit/

Open daily except holidays

Credit cards: Yes

Wheelchair access: Excellent

Smoking: No

Open daily except holidays

Credit cards: Yes

Wheelchair access: Excellent

Smoking: No

Savannah: Gryphon

People who know the visual arts don’t have to be told about the pleasures of Savannah. The city’s architecture is a delight, the proliferation of small squares each a mini-vacation, and the presence of the Savannah College of Art and Design an ever-increasing factor in giving the city continued vitality. Rather than tearing down old buildings, they have repurposed many around town and use them, spreading students and energy in many places. No edifice complex for them.

I spent an afternoon in Savannah, a fast visit to SCAD and some riding around to rubberneck with the daughter Formerly Known As The Apprentice Eater driving. I hit the SCAD bookstore, too – and realized there’s no bookstore quite like a bookstore for a school like this. We had lunch at another SCAD establishment.

Should Gryphon be called a tea room? For many, the phrase evokes quiet preciousness and a feeling of department stores in the 1930’s. It’s on one of those lovely squares, Madison Square (hello, New Yorkers!), an old pharmacy with big windows, lots of wood and lots of room. There’s stained glass, including mortar-and-pestle representations, and a tiled entrance with the original owner’s name.

Open for lunch, Sunday brunch and late-afternoon refreshments, the menu includes entrees as well as salads and sandwiches. I succumbed to the Southernness of it all and had a pimiento cheese sandwich. We’re not talking Kraft spread on Wonder Bread here, naturally. Yes, properly home-made style pimiento cheese, topped with caramelized onions and crisp, very smoky bacon. The menu said it came on jalapeno cornbread. It didn’t look like a skillet cornbread, but rather a yeast bread that perhaps had cornmeal as part of the flour ration. The jalapeno was pretty much unnoticeable, but it would have been superfluous. Toasted to a farethewell, although certainly not burnt, it combined the crunch of the bread with the softly oozing cheese mixture, the sweetness of the onions and the snap of the bacon to make a fabulous sandwich. The other entree was an individual quiche with tomato and spinach, an excellent pastry whose custard filling wasn’t overcooked and thus not watery.

The green salad alongside the quiche showed a little tarragon in dressing the tender leaves. My potato salad, described as French, didn’t have an oil and vinegar dressing, but rather a creamy one, quite acceptable, just surprising; I admit when I think French potato salad, I assume a vinaigrette. We asked for some of the asparagus as a side, which came pencil-thin and carefully cooked. A bonus was the frozen fruit salad with the quiche, a mini-muffin cup’s worth of whipped cream and berries.

We succumbed to red velvet cake with a cheesecake filling – purely professional interest, you understand – which was rich and moist. Red velvet is a good backdrop to rich cheesecake; to me, it’s a relatively bland cake by its very nature, so it worked well here, especially the visuals. We also saw one of those three-tiered servers go by with teatime-type things, although it wasn’t on the lunch menu.

Gryphon is not really a Ladies Who Lunch sort of place. The guests included a few students, some couples and, yes, groups of women. The server was a young woman from Nigeria who was a student at SCAD, and an absolute delight. It’s not a fast-food place, but one never felt neglected.

There are tables for outside dining, to enjoy the neighborhood. When you leave, note that there’s a shop across Bull Street that sells items the students have made, along with other selected pleasures. And then cross into the square and look up to the top of this delightful building and enjoy that, too.

 

Gryphon

337 Bull St., Savannah, GA

912-525-5880

scadgryphon.com

Lunch and later, Mon.-Sat., Brunch Sun.

Credit cards: Yes

Wheelchair access: Poor

Smoking: No

Entrees: $12-$15

Road Trip: Hanover, NH, Boston and Manchester, PA

A recent road trip of five cities in 9 days brought some good food in fairly widely scattered locations. I hadn’t left home intending to write, so there are no pictures – and you should be glad because most of these places turned out to be PRETTY DARK. But the tastes – ah, that’s another story, one I intend to tell you.

In Hanover, NH, home of Dartmouth College, we hit The Canoe Club. The atmosphere is informally preppy, they have live music every night, and the crowd covered an age range of about five decades. I had intended to spend this trip off duty, so I have no photographs of any of these spots, or the food they served.

Nevertheless, I can happily commend the mussels, huge fat boys that were topped with french fries, the old Belgian moules frites combination, but then drizzled with a divine aioli. It’s the best mussel dish I’ve eaten in years, and the broth was splendid. The potato gnocchi with wild mushrooms were also good, but nothing beat those mussels. And charming service.

Worth a stop if in or near Hanover, but if you go, be warned this is an idiosyncratic town when it comes to transportation. The rental car agencies close early – we had to arrange car service to get us to our B&B at 6:30 p.m. – and taxi service is, to put it politely, limited. When we finished dinner at The Canoe Club, it was almost 10 p.m. on a Thursday. We asked the bartender to call us a cab. One eyebrow went up and he headed for the phone. When he hung up, he turned to us and said regretfully but in no surprise, “It’ll be an hour, they say, maybe more.” One of the (sober) regulars at the bar ferried us back to the B&B. He says he does these runs often.

The Canoe Club

27 S. Main St., Hanover, NH

603-643-9660

canoeclub.us

Lunch and Dinner daily

 

Three days in Boston were intended as a seafood safari and to visit a former Apprentice Eater (who has, happily, turned into a fine full-blown Adventurous Eater). It’s a little surprising that in the midst of one of the most deeply touristed neighborhoods, around Faneueil Hall in Boston it’s pretty easy to find good stuff.

So here are a dinner place, a lunch spot, and a market.

Union Oyster House says it’s the oldest continually operating restaurant in the United States. They’ve been feeding folks since 1826. It feels that old – in fact, it reminds me of places in London, especially in the upstairs dining room, dark and wood-paneled. We ended up in a booth that had a plaque proclaiming it John F. Kennedy’s preferred spot, and the cocktail menu offers some cocktails from that era, including a daiquiri, which the menu said was his preferred tipple. To my memory, he was a Scotch guy, and it was Jacqueline who drank daiquiris. It makes no difference, this is a real daiquiri, not the kind that comes out of a soft ice cream maker, just lime juice, rum and simple syrup, one of my favorite drinks made correctly, and this certainly was. I knocked back clams on the half-shell and fried clams, and became reacquainted with Indian pudding, which is molasses and cornmeal. I preferred the clams.

Union Oyster House

41 Union St., Boston

617-227-2750

www.unionoysterhouse.com

Lunch and Dinner daily

 

At lunch, starving group members needed to be fed with some urgency, so we ended up at a two-level pub in the Quincy Market. (The Q word is pronounced with a “zee” sound in Massachusetts, not a “cee” sound.) Ned Devine’s is known as a drinking and dancing spot at night, but there’s a large menu. The whole gang was happy with their food, but I was particularly struck by their clam chowder. New England style, natch, but a particularly flavorful version with just a wee little hit of heat in the liquid and lots of clams. It’s won awards.

Ned Devine’s Irish Pub

1 Faneuil Hall Marketplace, Quincy Market, Boston

617-248-8800

neddevinesboston.com

Lunch and Dinner daily

 

And then the AE took me to the Boston Public Market. It’s pretty mind-blowing, lots of vendors, both for raw ingredients and eat-there stuff, plus some tableware. They also offer free tours on Thursdays and Sundays. It’s a good look at what local purveyors in a climate that’s rather different than ours here are offering. Pretty much a don’t miss for chowhounds, I think. And it’s indoors – although some of it spills outside – if that’s significant.

Boston Public Market

100 Hanover St., Boston

617-973-4909

bostonpublicmarket.org

Open daily

 

One more city, rather off the beaten path. Near York, PA, is Manchester, PA. My family there took me to eat at Debbie’s Pizza. It’s a mom-and-pop spot that’s been around for decades. The pizza is good, but the stromboli is outstanding. Stromboli? No? Sort of a calzone, but long, the length of a forearm, filling wrapped in pizza dough. No sauce inside; that’s on the side for dipping.

The filling there is ham, cheese and sausage. Or, truthfully, it’s what Debbie’s calls sausage. By looks and flavor, it’s fine julienne of pepperoni, quite spicy. (This also is what goes on their sausage pizza.) But the stromboli is Where It’s At. Cut in slices about two inches long, it’s big, tasty and seductive. And thanks to that sausage, very different.

Debbie’s Pizza

229 S. Main, Manchester, PA

717-266-4484

no website

A.O.C.

Everyone needs a little French bistro. Even if it’s not in a nearby arrondisement, it’s a place to go in one’s daydreams, to escape the mundanity of vegetable medleys and garlic mashed potatoes. I found one, way not in our neck of the woods, but in a place that’s not totally impossible, at least for some of us.

A.O.C. is on Bleeker Street in New York’s Greenwich Village, just where it ought to be. The proper name is A.O.C. L’aile ou la Cuisse.(That translates as “The Wing or the Thigh”.) The storefront sports tall windows. As I sat looking out at the sidewalk, it seemed for a while as though everyone that walked by glanced inside. Between the two guys playing guitars and the posted menu, the place seemed a magnet.

The menu is not totally, totally French – for instance, breakfast, and, yes, they do breakfast, has home fries and bacon with the oeufs sur plat, as well as pastries, granola as well as a tartine. But it’s close enough, especially as the sun continues across the sky, and as the waitress put down our mussels and snails for a first course, the dining companions and I sighed happily.

We all know that snails are mainly a reason to eat a small lake of garlic butter, and the A.O.C. lake was slightly larger than average, lots of extra butter for the sopping up with the warm bread, and a good introduction for the snail rookie at the table. (If you’ve never eaten them, yes, they’re chewy. That’s the nature of the gastropod.) The mussels were huge and sweet and tender, steamed in white wine with shallots and parsley. My sole complaint was that the broth tasted more of wine and less of mussels than I prefer, a problem I’d run into earlier on this trip at another restaurant. Perhaps New York restaurateurs use the broth for other things. But the mussels themselves were exemplary.

More seafood? Sure. Tender, sweet sea scallops, shrimp and a few more mussels lolled in a saffron-laced cream sauce, all encased in a lacy-edged phyllo shell, a ring of spinach around its base. The spinach, too, carried the blessing of saffron, and who knew what a great combination that was? A salmon filet, grilled to the requested medium, had lemon and capers showered lightly over it, and sat on a base of ratatouille not cooked to mush, but with both individual flavors and the harmonizing of them apparent with each bite. There’s meat on the menu, too, and it took a great deal of self-control to pass up both a duck leg confit and some merguez sausage in favor of hanger steak with a rich red wine-mushroom sauce. Happily, the steak arrived already sliced – it’s best sliced on the bias, an angle far easier to find in a well-lit kitchen, rather than under a coat of dark sauce – and it was as flavorful as a hanger, or onglet in French, should be. Alongside was a bit of salad and a magnificently garlicky potato gratin, perfectly cooked with the potatoes tender but not falling apart, all making for an exemplary plate of food.

We succumbed to a single dessert (but I’m coming back for the tarte tatin). Chocolate mousse was dark, dense but not gummy, relatively un-sweet and with a note in there I’m still trying to recognize. Coffee? Just a wee, wee hint of cardamom? Quite worthwhile.

The music was great – they don’t have it every night – sort of Les Paul in the Forties and Fifties, and not once but twice, couples danced on the sidewalk in front of the door, close, romantic stuff, elbows bent and nearly cuddling. Our service was patient and precise, the setting, with the brick walls, just right. There’s a garden in the back, and now they stay open until 4 in the morning for jazz on Saturday nights. New York City is, to me, the best place in the world to stay out all night, and I’d love to give this a try. The kitchen stays open late, too.

Very romantic. But even more appetizing.

 

ADDED NOTE 10/14/16: That chocolate mousse? I got another chance to taste it. A little coffee, maybe. But definitely a touch of mint. Spearmint, to be precise. I'm more of a peppermint person than spearmint - enough that I'm not big on mojitos - but this was Just Right. Go for it. 

 

A.O.C.

314 Bleeker St. (west of Seventh Avenue), New York

212-675-9463

aocnyc.com

Breakfast/Lunch Mon.-Fri., Brunch Sat.-Sun, Dinner nightly

Credit Cards: Yes

Smoking: No (they don’t in Paris any more, either)

A Little BBQ Joint

I’m probably prejudiced when I say every Missourian should visit the Truman Library in Independence, MO. My parents were living in Independence when I was born during the Truman Administration. Furthermore, coming out of a family of Democrats (who worshipped FDR because he made sure teachers got paid during the Depression), it always seemed to me as a kid that Harry Truman was a sort of surrogate grandfather. My parents and grandparents reminded me of the Independence link and that he, too, had a little girl, although she was a big girl by then. One of my earliest memories is the photos in National Geographic of the White House’s big interior remake during the Truman Administration.

For the first time since a couple of years after it opened, I recently went back to the Harry S Truman Presidential Library and Museum, enjoyed it immensely, and will return the next time I’m in town. It’s a good reminder of what Missouri politics could be like, in the very best sense of the words. That Thomas Hart Benton mural – Harry and Tom got to be quite the pals – is pretty swell, too.

There’s a good lunch place very close by, and easy to find, which will only enhance things. A Little BBQ Joint (that’s really its name) is just across the street. The entrance in the photo is not what you see from the road; that door is from the parking lot behind the restaurant. The darkish interior as well as the spacious multi-level outdoor area (most of which is covered), is themed to recycled vintage automobiles, many of which are in less-than obvious locations. It’s obvious that the place has gradually expanded with a certain what-the-hell flow of ideas, and while that wouldn’t work at some white-tablecloth spot, it’s surely fun here.

Followers of serious barbecue know that Kansas City is the home of burnt ends, a dish that’s evolved from its origins when they really were the chewy-crisp ends of brisket or ribs, and presumably either scorned or sought-after, the way corner pieces of brownies are. Nowadays they’re cubes of meat – in my experience, usually pork, but I admit that could be a statistical blip – that are rubbed and cooked. They’re boneless, so they sometimes show up in sandwiches. But they are mostly very good eating, and A Little’s burnt ends are exemplary, so good that sauce is superfluous. Tender and smoky and flavorful from their rub, it’s a downright dreamy dish. A pulled pork sandwich, generous in the amount of meat, was juicy, but not so flavorful as the burnt ends.

The house sauces here are sweet, spicy and hot, named Sweet Sister, Mad Housewife and Mean Mother-in-Law. (Yes, sexist. Proceed.) I squirted on both spicy and hot and got things just right for me.

Sides include some standard stuff – fries, beans, cole slaw, a mayonnaise-based potato salad that was fine – and some not-standard stuff. That includes a hot potato salad, which is not German style, but was described as more like potatoes au gratin. It’s not – it seems cheese-free – but it’s a sort of nicely seasoned scalloped potatoes, pieces rather than slices, notes of garlic and thyme, and very tasty despite being a surprise in a barbecue spot. Another uncommon side was cheesy corn. At least it’s uncommon in St. Louis, and elsewhere, but it seems to be a Kansas City thing. Whole kernel corn arrived in a thick white sauce. The savory sauce and the corn, sweet and still slightly crisp, were a good contrast, although I didn’t find the sauce very cheesy at all, unless they’d thrown some cream cheese in it, which was possible. Other versions around town are gooier and use cheddar or another yellow cheese, but this was an easy initiation to the dish, and one can imagine seeing it on tables at a family Easter dinner or such.

Live music on the weekends, and a Wednesday special of smoked meatloaf that intrigues. Pleasant servers, too.

 

A Little BBQ Joint

1101 W. Highway 24, Independence, Mo

816-252-2275

alittlebarbqjoint.com

Lunch and Dinner Tues.-Sun. (close 7 p.m. Sun.)

Credit cards: Yes

Wheelchair access: Fair

Smoking: No

Sandwiches & Entrees: $6 - $24

New York City: Russ & Daughters Cafe

I made a fast run to New York City the other day, and took advantage of the brief visit to go to a place I'd been reading about. Since it was a weekday morning, I thought it wouldn't be impossible to get a seat for breakfast at Russ & Daughters Cafe.

The cafe is an outgrowth of an old New York appetizing store - that's the phrase there, "appetizing" referring to appetizers - that began in the early years of the Twentieth Century on the Lower East Side. Joel Russ had no sons, but he had three daughters who joined him in his business. They were the first business in the country to have " & Daughters" in its name. They sold - and still sell - smoked fish, salads, bagels and bialys, the traditional Jewish foods. Eventually they added caviar. Lines still run out the door at their retail store two blocks from the cafe, which they opened in 2014, the hundredth anniversary of the store.

When the doors opened at 10 a.m., a half-dozen of us were in line. (They open at 8 on Saturday and Sunday.) I sat at the counter, the best place to watch the action. It's a menu full of temptations. Lots of kinds of smoked fish in variations, including platters to serve several people. Three kinds of herring, and I'm hard-core enough that the sampler called to me. Smoked whitefish chowder. Salads. Blintzes, of course. French toast made with babka, the Eastern European filled sweet bread that's having such a revival. Eggs with all kinds of things, scrambled with lox and onions, the same with sturgeon, a "Benedict" with smoked salmon and spinach. I tell you, it was agony.

My decision process was lost in the haze, but I ended up with something called the Lower Sunny Side. Two eggs, sunny side up, Gaspe nova smoked salmon and latkes. And a bialy, please, toasted with butter. A bialy? Yes. Unlike bagels, bialys are not boiled first, and there's only a depression in the center, not a hole. Often the depression contains chopped cooked onions or poppy seeds, or (these days) other things, but this one was plain. They're more tender than a bagel, and they're flatter.

The salmon was paper thin, which is how the really experienced fish guys at New York deli counters do it. The texture was somewhere between silk and velvet, as tender as the egg white on the sunny-sides. But it was the latkes that stopped me in my tracks.

They were not - quite - the size of hockey pucks. Their shape and even the color brought the comparison to mind. Very thick, almost an inch, and dark brown from a trip through a deep-fryer. Deep-frying a latke? What heresy is this? I'm sure I must have glared at them.

Don't judge a latke by its looks. These were wonderful. Plenty of onion in with the potato, something that's always been a sore point with me on latkes. There may have even been a little garlic. The insides were creamy but not mashed-potato-like, with shreds of potato both distinct and disintegrating. Latkes are not part of my culinary heritage, so I can't address the authenticity question, but these were utterly beguiling.

By the time I left, cameras were rolling - the woman who made the film about the Russ daughters, "The Sturgeon Queens", was working on another project there. No wonder she came back for seconds. I certainly will.

They do take reservations. They've just opened a branch in The Jewish Museum uptown, too.

And a bonus recommendation: The Tenement Museum is a half block south on Orchard Street at the corner of Delancey. Even if you don't go to the museum, which is fascinating, it's got one of the best shops in the city.

 

Russ & Daughters Cafe

127 Orchard St., New York City

212-475-4880

russanddaughters.com

Breakfast, lunch and dinner daily

Credit cards: Yes

Kansas City: Webster House

Just by Kansas City's Kauffman Center is Webster Hall. It's an old school building, an 1885 Richardson Romanesque charmer of a place, surprisingly airy and light despite its advanced age. The first floor is a multi-room boutique with everything from art clothing to cookbooks. (Some online reviews describing it as an antique store. It's definitely far from that.)

Upstairs is the restaurant, via a wide stairway or an elevator. It's a series of rooms, the street-facing ones clearly big enough to use as a venue for private functions, a bar, and an open tile kitchen with yet another well-windowed room, perfect for a Saturday lunch, which is what my pals and I did.

Mussels steamed in white wine with fresh thyme and caramelized onions was a hit, the broth having clearly been reduced to make it even more flavorful.

A banh mi sandwich with what the menu termed house seasoned pork turned out to be a warm sandwich, an uncommon variation, but it was delicious nevertheless. Pickled julienne carrots gave piquancy, red cabbage added more crunch and there was a little heat from the mayonnaise. Definitely moreish, as the British would say.

Cassoulet crowned the meal. Perhaps not a traditional lunch dish, the hearty stew of white beans, duck and sausage was one of the best variations of it I've found. Long arguments in France rage about what ingredients are traditional and what aren't, including the presence or absence of tomatoes, but this one, which did have tomato, finished in an individual dish with bread crumbs atop it, the old-style presentation, was a winner. The salad alongside included crisp slices of raw fennel, one of those mysterious things with an elusive taste that make most of us think more about what we're eating.

A luxurious, relaxed Saturday lunch, its only blemish a young, eager server who kept snatching plates the minute they were empty. (This happened a lot in Kansas City this trip. I know, it's a controversial subject. But still....)

 

Webster House

1644 Wyandotte St., Kansas City, MO

816-221-4713

www.websterhousekc.com/dining/dining

Lunch Mon.-Sat., Dinner Wed.-Sat., Brunch Sun.

Credit cards: Yes

December Eating

Back from a road trip to Switzerland, France and Norway for a little business and a lot of visiting friends and family, including the fifth generation of Pollacks with whom I've shared a table. The photo is taken at a little street market in Switzerland, where these partly-split logs are apparently a combination hand-warmer and signature item. It wasn't very cold anywhere I went, but it's so distinctive, it was hard to resist, a sort of immense long-burning candle. 

I wrote about some of the food I had, including a lot about the traditional Norwegian Christmas dishes, on Facebook. I know some people Don't Do Facebook. That's fine, but if you want to see it, click here. Just scroll down to the entries that begin December 19. 

 

And happy new year to all my friends and family and readers I haven't met.

New York: Tacombi El Presidente

It's always been part of the New York mystique that you can see absolutely anything there. So on an evening not so long ago, I was amused but not nonplussed when, as I sat at a counter overlooking the kitchen at Tacombi El Presidente, the chef nonchalantly slammed down a sheet pan containing two hogs' heads. Not hogshead as in a large barrel, but the real things. Not native to the Flatiron neighborhood where the restaurant is located, I'm sure, but they showed no signs of freezer burn. I grinned broadly and watched a young couple nearby gasp and then quickly go into oh-isn't-that-quaint mode.

I'd wandered into the restaurant, where I'd been before, for a pre-dinner drink and nosh. El Presidente is part of what's become a five-restaurant group, all serving casual Mexican food that has nothing to do with the ilk of Taco Bell. It's not a place for a quiet dinner, all tile and hard surfaces, and not a sombrero in sight. I've learned that after about 7 p.m., it's loud, generally the habitat of well-dressed Gen X's getting off work. A few exceptions - one table, off to one side, of seven older gentlemen in near-identical dark suits all looked extremely serious, almost grim.

The menu is cocktails, tacos, two quesadillas and some sides. Interestingly, the two most expensive non-alcoholic items on the menu are on the side dish list. One is a seafood cocktail. The other is their guacamole, and despite it costing $12, it might well be the don't-miss item on the menu. If you want a floor show with your meal, ask to sit at the counter facing the kitchen. You won't see as much of the other diners, but the action is fun. Soup is ladled, tacos assembled, al pastor sliced off the rotisserie, and from time to time, a line cook tosses the contents of an immense skillet, maybe 16 inches across, in the air, revealing a shower of yellow corn kernels whirling and being caught as cooking proceeds.

That guacamole is fresh and not ice-cold, chunky with pieces of avocado and tomato, nicely seasoned. The chips are uncommonly tasty. My first visit, I asked about why it was so good and a waiter waved his hand in the air and said, "Well, you know they use a lot of pork back there." Maybe they cook the chips in lard? I thought. No, they don't, the chef told me the night of the hogs' heads, shaking his head at the server. But they're fresh, and thick enough to scoop up the guac without crumbling. Four house-made salsas are in squeeze bottles on the table, but it's good enough to down unadorned. And the serving is, in a word, immense. If you're dining alone, it'll be your entree.

Tacos? El Presidente answers the call with ten varieties, including two vegetarian ones, sweet potato and black bean, as well as corn, poblano chiles and cheese. Barbacoa is shredded, deeply beefy in flavor, wonderfully moist. Sonoran shrimp charmed, a little spicy, some crunch from a few bits of cabbage, the shrimp not overcooked and just the right size for a taco, altogether quite notable.

And then there was the pork. The hogs' heads had led to a conversation with chef Jason Debriere,
who told me that he goes through 900 pounds of heritage pork a week. His carnitas were crispy, with a little hit of cumin, but like all the other tacos, definitely not dry. And the taco al pastor, from the rotisserie, the axis being topped with a giant fresh pineapple (just like the one I talked about a few weeks ago at El Morelia on St. Charles Rock Road) , was genius. It included a half-circle of grilled fresh pineapple in it, a graceful touch considering how much al pastor is out there without the traditional pineapple.

That corn flying around the saute pan arrives in the form of esquites, the corn sauteed with cotija cheese and topped with a chipotle mayonnaise, a seriously substantial dish worthy of respect. I'm not quite sure where it would fit in with a menu like this, but I'd eat it happily at any point in the meal.

Thinking about St. Louis restaurant-goers, I asked Debriere, who said he'd made tacos of all kinds of ingredients, including rabbit and goat, if there was anything his customers wouldn't eat. Debriere, who isn't a New York native, said, "People here will eat anything, especially if you charge a little more for it." Ah, psychology and the human palate.

Serious cocktails with lots of references to the Latin part of the Americas - a pina colada, not the kind made in a blender with ice, but a serious shaken drink on the rocks, a daquiri, which had a surprising note of anise in it, and a paloma, tequila with fresh grapefruit and a little club soda, very dry and very refreshing.

Good food and interesting people- and kitchen-watching. If you need to talk, you can always go for a walk afterwards.

 

Tacombi El Presidente

30 W. 24th St., New York City

212-242-3491

Lunch and Dinner daily

tacombi.com

Credit cards: Yes

Wheelchair access: Good

Smoking: No

Tacos and Entrees: $4-$14

New York: Bonnie Slotnik Cookbooks

When I was a teenager I dreamed of living in New York. Visions of a tiny apartment in a brownstone and interesting people, subways and the Automat, and, oh, yes, loads of tiny shops with interesting merchandise, not the sort of thing I eyed at F.W. Woolworth in Flat River. Now New Yorkers revel in the appearance of big-box stores ("Can you buy that at Best Buy?" recently demanded an acquaintance who lives in Manhattan.) I don't completely understand it; the small-town dreamer still lives in part of my soul.

Said dreamer was more than happy, then, to finally make it to Bonnie Slotnik's Cookbooks. Somehow, on many trips to New York, I'd never gotten around to it, and when I did, the last couple of times, the shop was closing - but then moving, thank goodness, when she found a great new location. Now she's settled in and I headed for East Second Street, in the East Village, between the Bowery and Second Avenue. Located in one of those partly-below-ground-level basements (technically called an English basement), the new location is homey, welcoming and well lit. It even has access to the back garden, where there's a place to sit and peruse whatever books you're considering buying. While it's technically one room, there are niches and cubbyholes enough to leave a customer always finding something they'd overlooked.

Please note these are, almost entirely, used cookbooks. There are also old pamphlets and magazines - I came away with a vintage World War II cooking magazine. (For a major selection of new cookbooks, there's the great Kitchen Arts & Letters uptown on Lexington Avenue.) Prices are more than the Book Fair, but not heart-stopping. Cookbook geeks like me can spend an afternoon browsing, as long as they please don't pull the books out by the spine. Period pieces like an elderly stove and tablecloths from the mid-20th Century relax the atmosphere even more. Bonnie's as much a host as a businessperson - when she found out I was from St. Louis, her first question was, "Do you know Tim Brennan?" Well, yes, he made our wedding cake.

Usual hours are afternoons only, six days a week - the closing day may vary so check her phone recording. But she says she's willing to open odd hours if need be. The block also has some interesting interior decor shops if you need to kill time until the (usually 1 p.m.) opening. There's a subway stop nearby and several bus lines.

 

Bonnie Slotnik Cookbooks

28 E. Second St.

212-989-8962

www.bonnieslotnikcookbooks.com

News: Union Square Cafe

 Just in from New York: Danny Meyer's first restaurant, Union Square Cafe, which was unable to reach agreement on extending its lease into 2016, and had said it would close at the end of December, has found a new home.

Only  two blocks north of Union Square, they'll be at East 19th Street and Park Avenue South, in a building now occupied by City Crab. The restaurant will increase considerably in space, but not so much in seats - it'll go from 130 seats to 150. More room for the currently very crowded kitchen staff is the plan.

Good news for eaters. Good news for St. Louisans visiting New York. And, on a personal note, nice to have a place with so many good memories not disappear.

Eats Along The River

Okay, so it's hot. Maybe some river breezes? Maybe a road trip with plenty of air-conditioned options? It's July - you really don't want to stay inside. 

So here's some places to eat along the Mississippi and Illinois Rivers. It's a survey piece of an area I used to drive multiple, multiple times a year. Alas, Elsah Landing and its Scintillating Lemon Pie is gone, but there are still some pretty good options. 

The photo is of the relish tray at the Wittmond Hotel, by the way.

 

http://www.stlmag.com/dining/a-river-runs-through-it/

 

Paris: Musee des Arts Decoratif

Here's the last bit from the trip to Paris last autumn. The Musee des Arts Decoratifs isn't for everyone, and it probably isn't a must-do on your first visit to Paris. It's a branch of the Louvre with fascinating functional art - furniture, jewelry, toys. I wrote about it for the Ladue News and you can read that story here. There's also some restaurant discussion and you can click through more photos. But in the meantime, here's a great Art Nouveau bedroom.