Flavor Boulevard

You can hardly ever go wrong with a cheeseburger. When the cheeseburger also comes with a blue lake, a blue sky, a few palm trees too tall to shade off the daring sun, some chilly wind here and there, and extra good company, then you simply cannot go wrong.

Talk about mood lifting food (read it both ways).

Gwyn takes Aaron and me for a ride through the tree-lined roads somewhere in Magnolia to Papa’s on the Lake, right off 105. After an hour long horseback riding in the sun, or more precisely speaking, an hour long sitting on the horse and having him walk around the block, the breeze from Lake Conroe is so inviting I daydream about jumping into the rippling waves. First time riding, what can I say, the old man kept wanting to eat his grass and I kept having to pull his heavy head up to match Aaron’s pace. But as much as my hands get scratched by the leather reins and saddle horn, I’d sit on that horse forever if I could. We hadn’t had lunch and I was full on enjoyment.

Until the blond waitress comes with a laminated hot pink 3-page menu that looks like a folded A4 paper, the entries being country appetizers and sandwiches whose prices are in the single digit range. When Aaron orders some potato skins and I get my first ever bite of those burnt shells covered with chewy dried melted cheese and too generous a drizzle of sour cream, then hunger really kicks in.

While waiting, we also nibble on some stuffed jalapenos, breaded and fried, just as mild as a warm bath.

By the time we wipe our fingers clean of grease with the hastily torn brown paper towel, the sandwiches arrive. Gwyn doesn’t make any comment on his fried chicken strip sandwich, but from its blazing orange look and Gwyn’s speedy finishing, I can only assume it’s a tasty deal.

My cajun shrimp poboy hits the spot. But since I don’t squeeze in any mayo or mustard, the scruffy shrimps and the airy loaf make one dry bundle that’s not much to write home about. Good fries, lots of water, and good chatting end the lunch on a high note. 🙂 Everything together for a bit over $40, and I don’t know if I’m still high from riding the horses or what, but I like this place.

Address: Papa’s on the Lake (a hot pink building by Lake Conroe)
14632 Highway 105 W
Montgomery, TX 77356
(936) 447-2500

Two dollars for every three of them. A square, fluffy pillow of dough deep fried to flakiness and powder-sugared. Gripping each donut with two fingertips, I bend as close to the tiny plate as I can and hold my breath, the anticipation mounts as to not blow away the sweet white dust (and to avoid unwanted makeup powder on my face).

We confectioner the year end with beignets from Cafe Du Monde in Metairie, Louisiana.

And the six-hour drive just spirals off in the invisible gust of some unjustifiable self-indulgent joy. We’ve had beignets before, but these strike us differently: refreshing, comfortable, and better. They offer nothing more than a combination of leavened, fried and sweetened, but also nothing less than an immersion into the food itself, skillfully and quickly enough to make you forget your whereabouts.

With all that said, they’re products of a chain. Eight Cafe Du Monde’s spread both sides of Lake Ponchartrain, the first in 1862 on Decatur Street (formerly Camino Real in 1762-1803, just FYI for no apparent reason) down at the French Quarter, and the second in 1985 in the now Kenner. There is nothing bistroesque or vaguely French about the modern shiny seats in the cafe, the only reminiscence of old days is that they take cash only. But it’s charming, like all simplicity done well.

Just as the donut has many ways to savor, the beignet, according to Blake, is best without sugar and dipped in coffee.

So here, a Happily Sugar-coated New Year to all and an Aromatic Coffee-soaked one to Blake!

Address: Cafe Du Monde
4700 Veterans Blvd
(504) 888-9770

It takes us six years and a cross country drive to set foot into one of the Cracker Barrel, thanks to Mudpie waking up right as a sign comes into view to show which exit to take from I40. (In my defense, Cracker Barrel doesn’t show up in the Bay.)

There are as many people in the store as antique candies on the tables and shelves near the cashier. We put our name on the list, then quickly merge into the buzzing about knick knacks and candles, preparing for a thirty minute wait. A mere ten minutes later our name echoes on the microphone, we get seated near the dining hall entrance, four menus swatted onto the wooden table, the waitress is a little disappointed that we aren’t ready to order yet.

Then it comes our turn to wait for the food, and we play games.

We get the usual Southern flavors: chicken fried chicken with brown gravy, mashed potatoes, fried okras and green beans,…

… and the creamy chicken and dumpling with two side “vegetables“, choosing among cabbage, turnip greens, beans, corn, fried okras, macaroni ‘n cheese, cole slaw, fried apples, and a few others. The fried apples (pictured), almost crystal clear and melting like butter on hot pan, taste like wedges of soft brown sugar, but Little Mom and Mudpie love ’em.

They even say that it’s better than the glazed apples in my cider-braised roast pork shoulder. Mai disagrees. But they can’t deny that the supertender, honey-like pork triumphs today, accented with dried cranberries and pecan bits. Deservingly being an in-store special, it is so good I forget all about my backache and fork right in.

We could consider a fruit cobbler for dessert, however the check comes just as quickly as the food got served. They rush us out for the waiting patrons, which is understandable but makes Cracker Barrel’s atmosphere less countrily charming than Pickett House in Woodville. It turns out there’s a CB ten minutes drive from my parents, busy like a beehive even on Monday, and when it comes to chicken and dumpling, Little Mom decides she prefers CB’s to Pickett House’s. But if it’s country food, I prefer a little country style (and space).

Or perhaps a Goo Goo, “a nourishing lunch”? 😉

Money talk:
1 chicken fried chicken ($8.99) + 2 chicken ‘n dumplings ($7.39/each) + 1 pork roast ($8.99) + tax = $35.05
Address: Cracker Barrel Store #617 (I never saw it before, now I see it everywhere)
5700 Redlands Road N.W.
Albuquerque, NM 87120
(505) 352-5430
Exit 155 from I40

Usually people go to church on Christmas Eve, but we (kind of) do on Christmas Day. At 9, we leave the hotel and beat the traffic to St. Charles Avenue, a historically elite thoroughfare delineated with mansions and century old oak trees, themselves decorated by dangling Mardi Gras beads from last seasons. Hardly any traffic presents, except for a streetcar chugging up and down the cable lines. If not for these black lines, the scenery would have resembled Tự Do Street (now labelled Đồng Khởi) in Saigon, especially with the Holy Name of Jesus Church looking out to Audubon Park, like the Saigon Notre-Dame Basilica and the greenery to its left front side.

Parting from the arches of oak branch weaving across the road, we head to the French Quarter. Hardly any trees now, but many more colorful skinny houses adorn the sidewalks. A flimsily dressed, green-shoed man jumps rope on Canal Street, in the mist and sprinkle of Christmas Morning, disturbed by neither cars driving by nor the onlooking of another man, black-jacketed and huddling to himself in the corner.

A mule pulls a carriage.

We loop back for dinner at Mudpie’s Aunt Mamee and Uncle Mike’s residence, starting with some melting-cheese-veiled etouffee in mini pastry shells, chips and dips, and trouts on bread that go faster than hot cakes.

We are seated in the dining room, surrounded by Nativity sets (some inside Christmas tree ornaments), a collection of pine trees and white chinas, and pampered with velvety mashed sweet potato and crispy browned marsh mallow, brown sugar glazed carrots,

crumbly dirty rice, stuffing, gentle and buttery red fish,

juicy turkey, and Little Mom’s crunchy chicken cabbage salad dressed with tempered lemon juice. We all come back for seconds, and would have come back for thirds if not to save room for Mamee’s scrumptious chewy chocolate chip cookies. 🙂

You may say it’s shabby, and in fact it is. The single restroom has a questionable floor, a toilet with enamel-cracked seat and a sign to forbid disposal of paper in the toilet, and a faded red door with a knob that doesn’t invite contact. On this windy Saturday late morning, a few pick-up trucks pull up, a few old, beer-bellied, bearded men in plaid shirts stand around to wait for their orders or chow down at the wooden tables and attached benches, crows and pigeons peck at the sandy surrounding parking lot, making this Original Burger Hut of Route 66 the most alive place in Needles.

This hut is not related to these huts. This hut is a rectangular kitchen with one sliding window for taking orders, occupied by two women, a quiet chef that swings between the stoves and the counter where she rolls burritos and boxes up food, and a stern cashier that also fixes drinks. It takes ages for the burgers to get out the window, then again with roughly 5000 residents, time seems to go by more slowly in this town.

Their burgers are okay. At $2.90 with added cheese, it fills but not too much, like a burger you’d grill out at home casually every now and then. The same goes for their carne asada burrito. I save some bread for the birds, who appreciate it dearly.

We switch gear for dinner, as the long foggy drive through Flagstaff fogs up our will to eat out, especially when the Quality Inn in Winslow has a orderly-looking restaurant and lounge and very amicable staff.

The golden crispy fish and chips ($7.99) with Texas toasts wow my mom, while my dad’s New York pork strips ($7.99) are well seasoned, albeit a little tough.

The heavily peppered haricot vert, which also comes with my honey stung chicken, is definitely worth the bucks.

From the name “honey stung chicken” ($8.99), I expect a roasted game, but golden battered fried chicken shows up in front of me. Although the fried chicken is good, it isn’t as satisfying when I’m not in the fried mood.

The closest-to-perfection is Mudpie’s harvest salad ($6.49), with walnut, cranberry, goat cheese, apple, and fried sweet potato chip. I wonder if the carnivorous side in me is starting to get old.

Address: Route 66 Burger Hut
701 West Broadway
Needes, CA 92363

DJ’s Restaurant & Lounge (inside Quality Inn)
1701 North Park Drive
Winslow, AZ
(928) 289-3274

For the past few days we’ve been behind the wheels from dawn to dust, making our way across three time zones. In the first, we happen to stumble upon the best seafood restaurant in Salinas, or so they claim.

Sitting on a corner lot on Main Street in a peaceful little hometown of John Steinbeck and fewer than 150000 people, Salinas Valley Fish House looks homely attractive with an old-fashioned bistro touch. Little Mom instantly gives an approval nod as she walks into the spacious dining room, seeing fresh flowers on white cloth tables, and Santa hats on the fishes. It opens for lunch only during the week, good thing we drive by on a Friday.

Despite being in a seafood restaurant in a seaside town, Little Mom fixates on an order of pork chop ($13.95), oak grilled, medium, no condiments. First time I see her liking a pork chop other than her (awesome) own. 🙂

Mudpie and I also set out for some grilled deals…

From the sea, a half order of snapper…

And a half order of calamari steak, which looks exactly the same as the snapper fillet. Mai prefers the squid’s soft yet springy and compact texture to the fish’s flakiness, while both has a lovely smoky touch of the grill.

Dad branches out of the pack and goes for linguine lightly dressed in a butter garlic sauce with sauteed clam in shell ($13.95). The gentle chewiness pretty much hits the spot.

About an hour past our usual dinner time and a hopelessly lonely drive through the foggy and mountainous Los Padres National Forest, we reach Santa Clarita, make a few loops and turns to figure out the entrance to the parking lot of La Quinta Inn, and have no strength left to look for a dining exoticus. International House Of Pancakes sounds more appealing than anything else with a big sign visible from the highway.

This time Little Mom turns around and orders a grilled tilapia, the new addition to IHOP menu. Understandably, it’s just alright. They don’t claim to be an IHOF anyway.

But she does get overwhelmed by the amount of food, including two crumbly buttery pieces of toasts and a cheesy potato soup, which Dad has to finish instead of his giant big steak omelette.

The other man in the quartet takes off more healthily on an International Crepe Passport with fresh fruit crepe, two bacon strips, two sausages, and two fried eggs…

… while the usual meat-eater now opts for a vegetarian plate: four Swedish crepes with lingonberries and lingonberry butter. The crepes here are thicker than those at Millbrae Pancake House, and the butter is not as fruity either, but what counts at that hour is how it satisfies our rumbly tumbly. And it does. All 4 orders for $36.72 and 20 minutes wait.

Address: Salinas Valley Fish House
172 Main Street
Salinas, CA 93901
(831) 775-0175

IHOP
24737 Pico Canyon Rd.
Stevenson Ranch, CA 91381
(661) 254-1537

Direction: Montclair. Shattuck & Durant. The man sits at the first row, holding a bouquet of lilies and chrysanthemums wrapped in brown paper, whose wrinkles almost blend in with his hand. He asks if anyone knows what time it is. I say “Twelve” a few times, he just gazes at me half blankly, half confused. The bus driver says “Twelve o’clock”. He nods, then mumbles something about hoping that “she will be there”. When the bus turns onto Martin Luther King Jr., he gets off, thanking the driver four or five times, looking lost.

Direction: Montclair. Martin Luther King Jr. & 46th Street. A woman in her thirties waddles on, asking how much the fare is. Two dollars. She reaches in her grey windbreaker’s pocket for a handful of coins. Missing a quarter. She waddles to a seat, searches her purse, asks if anyone has change for a dollar. Silence. Silence. For 20 seconds. Finally another woman searches her purse and find some coins. Just enough time for the first woman to drop the last quarter into the slot, then she gets off. Her steps heavy, torpid, and somewhat lost.

The bus is unusually light today. Its four passengers glue their eyes on the window as it glides pass old houses covered in fading blue and orange paints. Tilting fences. Barb wires. Old couches in tiny gardens full of weeds and pots. Graffiti. Empty parking lots. Porches without people because of the chilly winds. A few overweight black men crouching in their coats, waiting for a bus. A few black boys languidly crossing the streets.

Direction: Albany. 12th & Webster. 1:40 pm. The wind isn’t so bad like in the morning.  The bus has nine or ten passengers. One man with dirt on fingers and gloves in pocket loudly voices his disapprovals at construction work condition to another. One man quietly cleans his glasses. The rest stares out the window. Everyone travels alone.

But, everyone receives a softly “Happy Thaksgiving” from the driver as they get off. Somehow, that makes the bus feel warmer. 🙂

*As far as I’ve riden Bus 18 connects downtown Oakland with North Berkeley. Usually it’s overpacked with people in suits and in rags, stale air, the smell of homelessness… But yesterday it seems to transport only lonely lives. – 25. November 2010

There are two types of fish that you are guaranteed to find in American diners: catfish and salmon. Catfish is almost always filleted, battered and fried. Salmon is either grilled or smoked. Because the choices are so unlimited, I never order them. And this is the prime example of what you would miss out if you stick to your prejudice: had it not been because of Vân, I wouldn’t have had a tasty salmon burger and a tasty salmon-on-baguette today.

Nation’s Giant Hamburger (NGH) is a small local chain spanning the Greater Bay Area, serving burgers, breakfast, hot dogs, and also pies. Of the 24 locations, Berkeley’s NGH on University is a little oasis of the ’80s rural: small dusty parking lot with old cars, highly-walled-up booths in dark colors, the smell of fries and oil and the grill twirled with the smell of old people and homeless people and unkempt teenage boys, the pies fluffed with whipped cream in glass cabinets, the chili, the wallpaper, the red and white theme. It doesn’t speak clean. It isn’t cheap either, a third-pounder costs anywhere between $3.70 to $5.70, depending on the type of meat and if you add cheese or bacon. When in mood for burgers, I would definitely choose Burger King over NGH. But King doesn’t have salmon, Giant does.

I want my grilled wild Alaskan patty with 2 slices of American cheese (60 cents), mayo, no mustard, no onion, and no pickle. It comes out to $5.55 with a distinctive smell of the legless animal, dripping tomato juice, and big folds of iceberg lettuce. I don’t know if it is my little expectation for fish burger or the amazing talent of the chef, but the fish taste and texture couldn’t have been better enhanced.

For dinner, the salmon again surprises me through the hand of Monsieur Alain at La Bedaine, North Berkeley. Layered between halves of a rough, concrete baguette, on top of thinly sliced red radish, cucumber, tomato, a few spinach leaves, and smeared with feta cheese, the smoked salmon shines like amber and tastes like silk. In terms of food, I always prefer legged animals to legless ones, but this salmon sandwich boasts mouthfuls of superiority over the boar terrine sandwich (ground boar meat and fat in sausage form, also on baguette).

Thank you, Vân, for suggesting Salmon today. 🙂 Happy birthday! 🙂

Addresses:
Nation’s Giant Hamburger
1800 University Avenue, Berkeley, CA 94703 – (510) 843-7326
La Bedaine
1585 Solano Avenue, Berkeley, CA 94707 – (510) 559-8201

Not barbecue.

That stuff is everywhere in the South. I’m talking about something that only Texas has. Something a little sweet, a little pillowy, a little chewy, a little cheesy, a little meaty. Something that after you eat one, you just have to get another. Something that 99.91% of the time is chosen over donuts (I made up the stats, but I’ve never met anyone who picks a donut when they’re given this). My Texas friends, I miss the kolaches.

If you haven’t had it, you’re gonna say “That’s a pig-in-the-blanket, Whole Foods has loads.” No, it is far from a pig-in-the-blanket. I repeat, kolaches is NOT pig-in-the-blanket (PitB).

The difference is in the bread. PitB bread is plain, flare it up with poppy seeds and oily butter or not, it’s plain and must not be eaten without the sausage. Kolaches bread is sweet, like a Hawaiian roll*. PitB bread is dry and flaky. Kolaches bread is pillowy, slightly chewy and moist. The sausage is there for protein surplus and does not really add fireworks to the flavor. If you insist on an either-or, I’d choose the bread and toss the sausage every time. Donut shops in Houston would ask if you want the kind with cheese, say yes. The very thin inner lining of cheese makes its salty-sweet.

Then you’re gonna laugh at me and try to crumble my Texan pride, “It’s a Czech thing, not a Texas thing” and tell me to read Wikipedia.  Well, look again, the Czech kolache (pronounced |koh-lash|) is a sweet pastry with fruit jam on top. The Texan kolaches (pronounced |koh-lah-chee|) is savory with a little sausage link inside. The Texas kolaches isn’t any more Czech than the hamburger is from Hamburg.

Originally, it is a variety of the Czech kolache, referred to as “klobasnek” or “klobasnik,” which comes from “klobasek,” Czech for “sausage,” similar to “kielbasa“. But the Czechs consider the Texas kolaches a joke too far removed from their fruit-topped dessert pastries, for it has cheap cocktail sausage links instead of the huge Polish dogs. The misnomer “kolache” is perhaps due to the Houstonian Kolache Factory‘s successful advertisement of this savory breakfast on the go.

Black sheep to the Czechs or not, the Texas kolaches are extremely popular in Texas. Most donut shops have them, usually twice or three times more expensive than donuts, and all are sold out before noon. Sometimes 9 am. No kolaches left behind.

But you won’t be able to find it outside the Lone Star State. You probably will not even hear about it outside the Lone Star State. People just will not know what you’re talking about when you say “kolaches” (pronounced |koh-lah-chee|), unless they’re from Texas. Believe me, I asked my students here, in Berkeley-San Francisco, they gave me the confused eyes and directed me to Whole Foods for pigs-in-the-blanket. I’ve searched every donut shop in town, no luck. I’ve used Google Maps, AM Kolaches in Hayward is the only hit, but it’s the Czech version with fruits and cream cheese.

O Texas Kolaches, how I miss thee!

*Notes on the Hawaiian rolls: Get them! They make awesome sandwiches. Or spread pâté in the middle.

That pretty much sums up the In-N-Out buns.

Those burgers are not merely a matter of recharging one’s battery, though one of these joints might have been quite crucial to my friend’s survival on his way from coast to coast, as it was the only oasis between miles of burnt brown hills and deserts after he crossed the state line into The Golden Bear. His uncle always compares other burgers to In-N-Out’s, so when his dad visited the area, the man shrugged “well, I guess I should try it”. His friend, who later came here for conference, felt the same obligation as the other non-Californian conference attenders checked out lunch at In-N-Out. By hook or by crook, this chain gets the reputation of conjuring up a regional specialty that everyone should have while staying in California.

After living here for a year, I obliged. It was a sunny day driving back and forth between Milpitas and Berkeley, when I had zero gourmet craving and a simple need to eat a basic lunch. That’s a debatably good time for fast food. Don’t know if most people don’t get cravings, but In-N-Out was insanely busy when we got there. No parking. A waitress went outside to take orders from the loopy loop of cars. Almost all tables inside were taken. As Mudpie informed me, it’s always like this at lunch rush.

The service is nice. That’s one thing In-N-Out does better than other burger chains. People smile at you when they take, call, and give your order. It’s also fast. About fifteen workers scurry in the kitchen to cut, wash, fry the potatoes, flip the patties, toast the buns, that sort of thing. One good napkin comes out on the tray with each burger, so you can’t leisurely pull out a wad thick enough to pillow your dog just to later throw it away.

The visible menu is simple with only 3 choices: hamburger, cheeseburger, or double-double. They’re about the size of McDonald’s, which is much smaller than Burger King‘s and Fuddruckers’. You know how McDonald’s buns always have a distinctive smell that when someone at the back of the room pulls out a Golden Arches box, you sitting in the front immediately know that it’s a Golden Arches box? Well, In-N-Out doesn’t have that. In-N-Out’s $2.15 cheeseburger definitely tastes better than McDonald’s 89-cent cheeseburger, that much I can say.

The Yellow Zipline chain claims that their ingredients are fresh and free of preservatives and additives, as they “do not own a microwave, heat lamp, or freezer“. Their spread is mayo made pinkish with a mild flavor, which does not stand out. The patty is rather plain, however juiced up by copious chunks of lettuce and tomato. The fries, too, are much less salty than you’d normally get at other burger joints, but also denser and starchier, more potato-like so to speak.

As the end of our meal, we felt reasonably full. Though unimpressed. In some sense, kudos to In-N-Out for keeping burgers, fries, and shakes simple. It’s the fast food that defines America after all. However, in this case, the simple way is not the best way. This burger is nothing to swoon about. If you’re conscious about health when eating a beef patty and a slice of cheese sandwiched in a toasted bun, this is the place to go, although it’s kinda like ordering a mayo-laden sandwich and a bag of chips, then drink a diet Coke (which is a horrible liquid, by the way).

If you want cheap, big, good taste, go to Burger King.
If you want expensive, big, good taste, go to Fuddruckers.