Flavor Boulevard

With vision unstoppable by foliage, Mudpie saw the sign above hidden behind rows of trees as we were roaming Menlo Park for a lunch spot on a Friday afternoon one month ago. Question asked, “should we go there or keep looking for something else?”, as we drove past another block. It should be noted that we missed a turn once, chose direction by random illogical preference (as I had no idea where which direction led to). We also passed a bunch of places with clarity and apparent popularity, or places that Mudpie has tried before. But we were out for a food hunt, not chicken shopping at grocery stores, and this place fits the adventure. Answer made, “let’s go there.” So turn we did, a parking spot was not too hard to find on the side of the place, passing by the nonchalant gaze of customers sitting outdoor and in we went.

I can’t quite call it a restaurant. Some call every eating stop with chairs and tables a restaurant, but this is an example of one that doesn’t fit into the category. A restaurant is brisk. The bistro is relaxing. Paintings on the wall for sale, empty wooden seats painted blue, wooden tables with a filled glass water jug to help yourself and a trifling vase of fresh flowers. The usual small box of sweetener and salt, which I play with while waiting. I can’t remember if there was AC, but it was comfortable. The menu says it’s a family business, and it sure looks like it. A friendly but quiet young lady greeted us at the counter, and as we stumbled around the menu overhead, a stocky man in his 30s, who turned out to be the chef, cordially invited us to seat ourselves and gave us two menus in print. We felt better as we were no longer blocking the narrow entrance to the counter. There was no customer inside.
Normally I like to plunge right into something weird catchy on the menu, but since I had such a hot wonderful savourastic chicken crepe one wintry night on the street right outside the WSCTC, I couldn’t resist the memory and ordered Chicken & Creamy Dijon Sauce savory crepe this time. With a little persuasion, Mudpie overcame the American disgust distrust for pâté, and ordered Duck Rillettes (duck meat pate with cornichon on baguette). (I felt elevated as if I could speak French.)

A peek inside.
It is so simple, just like the atmosphere of the bistro itself. A layer of rillettes, a few cornichons (pickled gherkins), sandwiched between two pieces of bread. As Mudpie noted, it’s something you can make at home, if you know where to get or how to make rillettes. The additional quirky cornichons were perhaps supposed to be a contrast to the smooth, tender, savory rillettes, but sometimes contradiction doesn’t really enhance things. I took them out and nibbled them by themselves. (Had to drink a lot of water after each nibble). Meat pate is a little different from liver pate and a little similar to spam. It is not at all bitter, a little crumblier than spam, and far tastier. I’m getting hungry… For me pate is ranked right up there with marinated cha lua and a real brown crispy cha gio. I never grow tired of them. I even had rice mixed with pate. Mudpie, once muttered “… gross pate…”, also agreed that the sandwich was good.

It’s Crepes Cafe, so how’s the crepe? Looks big and fantastic. Not to mention a really good salad tuft. I usually cringe every time I fork in my mouth some leafy bundle dripping with some sour salad dressing, but this time I didn’t. I finished every leaf and twig. It was creamy and gentle. Next I cut the crepe, folded each half so that they covered the embarrassingly exposed chicken cuts, and forked in. The chicken was tender, but not flavorful enough to excite the crepe. It was good. It satisfied every requirement of a standard crepe. Was it memorably good? I’m not sure. Maybe the lack of a cold, wet, wintry Seattle night makes it less desirable than my first steamy encounter outside the WSCTC. I’m a wanderer, I like wind and rain in my food. (A little butter might do just as well.) Was it a filling lunch? You bet. Even the young lady at the counter said so. We couldn’t go for dessert.

Would I come here again given the chance? Yes, if it’s just for an escape from the busy life. The air of this place is French. Bring your laptop here, or a newspaper. Who knows, you may even find your soulmate under one of those parasols. It’s casual and relaxing.

…Maybe not so relaxing for the chef. Those pancakes were being made right behind the counter, isn’t that neat? For such a quiet emollient lunch hideout, I was hoping they didn’t have a website, but here it is. Can you ever escape the internet these days?

Address: Crepes Cafe
1195 Merrill Street (at the corner of Oak Grove Ave)
Menlo Park, CA 94025
(650) 473-0506

Let me say this before I forget: chocolates need to have simpler, more absentminded-friendly names. Back to my introduction. As much as I enjoy reading the menu ahead to know what I’m getting into before stepping into a place and stepping out in silent indifference, I have a thing for places I just happen to find. Actually I don’t remember how I found this place. Was it a short walk from one of our dinner spots? Was it online? I doubt it was online because it doesn’t quite exist online yet (not to be confused with restaurants of similar names in San Francisco and all). Anyway, we went there, we saw a guy sitting at one of the coffee tables with his laptop who informed us “She’s busy but she’ll be out in a minute,” we did some sightseeing along the glass cabinets of chocolate. I did marvel at their collections of chocolate truffles and the like, but perhaps my stomach has grown bigger so it prefers something bigger than little bitty truffles. My gaze stopped at the cakes. Chocolate cakes of course. (I don’t know how old Penhryn was, but I was surprised to see that people on yelp went there for the bubble tea and not the chocolate. To me that’s like going to college to have parties. At the shop the bubble tea was way in the back and the chocolates were everywhere. Maybe they believe in affirmative action?. I digress…)

We are pretty indecisive when it comes to chocolate. We stood there, we stared, we discussed, we were close to tossing coins had we had coins. The lady came out from the back and sold some chocolate for another lady who arrived after us, meanwhile we were still trying to decide what to get. They all looked inveigling. But we were full from dinner and we had more desserts at home than we could eat, so we got only 2 pieces of cakes, whose names I can’t remember now.

This one was something ganache something. 😛 Getting that overweight son out of that box without smashing it was a demanding task, lemme tell ya.

This one was violet something. I remember the violet part because the flowers on top were purple icing. Maybe there was a hint of raspberry in dark chocolate? I can’t remember. If you’re in Palo Alto, take a walk downtown and make a swift turn into this place and take notes of the names of what you get. I’m no connoisseur to remember rococo names and all, so this is the only name I can think of for these species: Spoon-licking Good.

Address: Blue Danube Cafe
165 University Avenue
Palo Alto, CA 94309
(650) 321-5588

It’s amazing how Wikipedia updates its stuff so efficiently, there is no way we could have read our encyclopedia about a hurricane the same day it is hitting the coast of Louisiana if we were trying to 10 years ago (or if we’re in New Orleans right now, as there’s no power anyway). On my flight back to Houston, I remember how happy I felt to see the plane streak through thick fluffs of cloud, as I was too filled with sunshine in California any small shade of tree was a blessing. For a whole week after that Houston was soaked. It rained and rained and rained. And now Louisiana too is getting a bath. How about California? As dry as a frying pan.

As we waved goodbye to our friendly hostess at Cafe Renaissance, we still had some room for dessert (or so we thought, little did we know the Persian food had a surprisingly delayed effect), so we set out for Nola a stone’s throw away, hoping to get some beignet. This was not my first attempt to try the French pastry that I’ve heard about during commercials on the Little Saigon Radio, and it won’t be the last. Nola (short for New Orleans, Louisiana) was out of beignet on a Saturday afternoon at 6pm. The waiter kindly told us so and assured us if we came back the next day there would be some, so albeit the guilt we felt and the balcony seat we got, we thanked him for the water, stood up and left. Perhaps it was our fault for not coming back the next day, but we returned on Monday, asked for beignet, our sweet waitress disappeared into the kitchen, then came back gently apologized that their frying pan had broken, hence no beignet. She also did not forget to assure us that if we came back later in the week there would be some. At this point I started to wonder why they hadn’t just taken the beignet off the menu and avoided all the troublesome customers like me. But anyway, we were hungry so we stayed and ordered jambalaya and etouffee, which were as Cajun as you can get.

For dishes this red, nothing but a white plate can enhance the color so well. The jambalaya above was as spicy as it looks, although not intolerably tear inducing spicy. It would have been nice if the sausage cuts were a little more generous, though. (I know, you can’t see any sausage in the picture.)

I thought the etouffee was good. Mainly because of the rice. Sadly it’s not Cajun rice, but basmati rice mixed with green onions. The little curled up chaps are the crawfish, not too intimidated by two big shrimps also curled up and lots of marshmallowy chunks of scallops. No offense to the scallops, but I think their texture didn’t quite belong there. Nonetheless, I finished everything on my plate except the green onions and their white bulbs. See the dinner menu for more of what’s in there.

We didn’t have to wait very long for our food, but we had to wait quite a while for our bill. Such is the loving attention of the restaurant: they didn’t want you to leave. It was early in the evening, the restaurant only had a few tables occupied, both up and downstairs. Some waiters casually leaned against the wall chatting away the hour, a few waitresses walking around in miniskirts, putting colorful Mardi Gras beads on the tables. It was such a peaceful scene. Despite our obvious display of finished plates on the table, no one came our way with a black leather envelope. At first we were unsure whether we needed to go to the cashier to pay, but we asked and a waiter lackadaisically delivered the bill to our table. Meanwhile our waitress was nowhere to be found. We put in the card, and waited some more. Finally our waitress came to take the card and let us sign, and we were released. Restaurant California. Perhaps the Eagles came here before?

Did we come back to try again for the beignet? We’re not that desperate over a dried well. Well, if you’re drinker, it’s definitely not dried. The food is decent, but I’ll patiently wait until I can go to New Orleans to try New Orleans food. Until then, we’ve bid farewell to fake Palo Alto Nola (Panola? Nopa? Anyway…).

Address: Nola’s Restaurant and Bar
535 Ramona Street
Palo Alto, CA 94301
(650) 328-2722

It’s almost certain that outside the big Vietnamese communities any Vietnamese restaurant you see in America has the word pho in it. People must eventually have the impression that Vietnamese eat nothing but rice noodle soup. Of course, Japanese eat nothing but sushi and Americans have only hamburgers.

Mudpie found this place earlier in Los Altos, about 10-15 minutes car ride from SLAC. We strayed from the usual pho and ordered a gargantuan set of appetizers and main courses. Starting off was the familiar goi cuon, a salad wrap with some lettuce or garden herbs, some halved shrimps (mainly for decoration), a razor blade thin slice of boiled pork, some fresh bean sprout, and a little bundle of rice vermicelli. I took a bite by itself, and the meat couldn’t quite buff the plain veggie up, so a dip into the peanut sauce nearby was essential. It was a very light appetizer, and no matter how slowly you go you’re gonna finish the roll in at most 3 minutes. I don’t know what kind of sauce they serve with in Vietnam, but the peanut sauce here is just really good.

Next came the supposedly called cha gio (stated “in rice paper” on the menu). As I had lived in Vietnam for 17 years I believe I’m qualified to judge whether a roll of cha gio is actually made of rice paper (banh trang) or the fooling wheat sheet that makes the Vietnamese cha gio synonymous with the Chinese egg roll. So here goes: “rice paper” my foot. It’s not any more rice paper than the average mediocre egg roll you find at any Chinese buffet. Can you ever find a real cha gio in America anymore? I’d give them some credit for trying: the wrapper is indeed thin. But rice paper is translucent, this is as opaque as Venus’ atmosphere. Good egg roll, but honestly, I feel cheated.

Pictured above is goi ngo sen tom thit (lotus stem salad with shrimp and pork), which appeared suspiciously in the appetizer section, since we both ate some and even took the rest home for another meal. One thing to be noticed is Vietnamese salad is nothing like our usual American garden salad or Caesar salad. The waiter is not going to ask you what kind of dressing you’d like, and you need not innocuously remind “on the side, please”. There is no reason to fret over some little Ranch or bleu cheese dressing that will cause your calorie level to shoot up, or vinaigrette to make your taste buds sour. The salad is simply soaked in a mixture of salt, lemon juice, and sugar. Every piece of lotus stem, sliced carrot, sliced onion, cilantro, even the thin slices of boiled pork and the shrimp halves, has almost the same taste of that mixture, thoroughly and evenly. The lotus stem is a little crunchy, the pork is tender and mild, but not plain in the least, topped with crushed peanuts for some nuttiness. The salad is a meal in itself, so simple and elegant. And healthy.

But we didn’t stay healthy for long. For main course we had com tay cam (English name: clay pot) and old timer bun thit nuong (cold rice vermicelli with grilled pork).

The rice came with a small cup of pho broth, which I’m not sure what to do with. I’m pretty sure the rice wasn’t cooked in the pot, only served in it, because the pot wasn’t hot and the rice was almost flaming. The first spoon was excellent, the second revealed that it’s a rather oily combination of fried rice, fried shiitake mushroom, fried Chinese sausage, and fried chicken. The pot could be smaller than your cereal bowl, but it’s like the pot of Thach Sanh, it’s so filling you keep eating layer after layer but you just can’t finish it in one sitting.

Now this had been my craving for a long time. A bowl of chargrilled pork chops atop a soft bed of bún, some bean sprout and sliced cucumber at the bottom for a taste of freshness, sprinkled crushed peanuts and many a spoonful of nuoc mam pha (fish extract diluted in water, mixed with lemon juice, salt and sugar, and very little chopped garlic). I like the bun, the nuoc mam, and the veggie, but I would whisper *just* a little disappointment with the pork. It was definitely flavorful, but it was too thinly sliced. It wasn’t grilled long enough to bring out all the flavor. And it’s a little, just a little, dry. Beside, how are you supposed to cut that monstrously wide sheet of meat with chopsticks?

This is the closest one could get to Vietnamese food from Palo Alto, and unarguably a good find (a decent one, if you’re uncompromisingly picky about real cha gio). It’s cheap and takes credit card. We didn’t have to wait long for our food to arrive, but if you expect attentive service coming to ask “Is everything okay?” and refill your water every 10 minutes, don’t come here. Vietnamese restaurants respect privacy of their customers, so no need to worry about putting food in your mouth the correct way (as there is none). The only thing that bothered me about this place was the chatty nature of the hostesses. When the restaurant wasn’t packed after prime lunch time, our ladies comfortably spilled out to each other, across the counter and tables in Vietnamese with heavy Southern accent, numerous pieces about friends and relatives. Not that many could understand them, but some background music would be more pleasant I think. See menu.

Phở Vỉ Hoa Restaurant
4546 El Camino Real Suite A12
Los Altos, CA 94022
Lunch for two: $21.81

Ten minutes walking from Studio 3, dwindling around blocks of old houses with small flower-filled garden, crossing Yale Street, you reach the Sunday morning Farmers’ Market on California Avenue. (Click on the image above to see more pictures) Tents are set up alongside the carless road. Housewives scrutinize the artichokes, the blueberries, the fresh caught, filleted fish, the vinegar and oil. Little kids keep tugging their parents’ shirts’ lower hem. Teenagers crowd the fruit tent, continuously chewing and filling up their mouth with pieces of plums, pineapples, grapes, peaches, and apples put out for sampling. It’s not the most busy market, but it has cooked food, vegetable, meats, fruits, flowers, handbags, coasters, jewelries, spices, a lot of things to entertain your eyes and remind you of the old days in Saigon, where markets are more common than grocery stores. The only difference here is it’s a little more pricey than a grocery store, and it doesn’t have various kinds of cereal for your morning bowl (in fact I don’t think they have cereal at all at Farmers’ Market, is it not something handmakeable? What did people do before machine age to make cereal?).
We didn’t get much, just a couple of artichokes, 2 boxes of eight truffles from the Barlovento Chocolates tent (the old couple and their tiny samples were just too inviting), 4 little Suha Suha coasters (which came with an unexpected (handmade?) card of choice, and are 3 times more pricey than each truffle box), and something else.

No, the something else isn’t the chocolate. I have indulged myself in all kinds of chocolate multiple times, but I must say munching this something else is far more soul-fulfilling. I found it the best buy of the day, thanks to Mudpie.

Gems indeed they were. Firm, sweet, juicy, totally enticing treats. Luv ’em.
Dunno about the other seasons, but it gets hot walking back in August, and nothing was more satisfying than eating a cold plum after that walk (not right after, unfortunately, we had to put them in the fridge).

I’ve been back to Texas heat and rain for a week, but my blog will still be on California for who knows how long. With my snail fast speed *maybe* we’ll finish talking about California when I graduate.
Anyway, 3 years after leaving Saigon guess where I had my first Vietnamese banh bao in America… Lee’s Sandwiches in Houston.

My first impression? Decent. That’s all I could say about Lee’s banh bao. But that was then. Now I can say something else: Huong’s banh bao is better. (I blogged about Huong’s Sandwiches here and here)

Both have half a boiled egg, seasoned ground pork, one piece of boiled Chinese sausage (lap xuong), and some kind of vegetable relatives, which is green pea in Huong’s version and some diced carrot in Lee’s. Both are coated with a thick layer of wheat dough, then steamed, hence banh bao can be called steamed bun. The piece of boiled Chinese sausage, remnant from the Chinese ancestor baozi, is a letdown in both Huong’s and Lee’s (the moral of the story is never eat your Chinese sausage boiled just because it tastes good when it’s fried). So what’s the difference? Well, the coat is one difference. Huong’s has it fluffy and light, it looks thick but it tastes lighter than the inner fluff of a biscuit, and the inner most side is wet with sauce from the stuffing. The stuffing is the other difference. Huong’s is slightly sweet, slightly salty, slightly peppered, and it was just down right savory. I savored it, every bite. That clump of meat couldn’t be any better seasoned, the egg also sipped some of the savory sauce and became seasoned itself. For only $1.50, it surely makes your tummy happy for a while.

We got one banh bao with 4 banh mi thit nuong and a tray of banh bot loc, all for $15.50, and the lady took only $15 (we believe she didn’t want to break our 5-dollar bill, since we didn’t have 50c in change). She doesn’t know a whole lot of English, but we could tell she was happy that Mudpie could speak some Vietnamese. 🙂 I don’t know when I will be in the area again, so I’m counting on Mudpie to do more exploration with the wide variety of labelless food items in that little shop.