Flavor Boulevard

– Guest post by Paul Simeon –

While in Oxford for two weeks attending a summer school, I rarely needed to find a place to eat.  We were given generous dinners in the large dinning room of St. Edmund’s Hall, lunch at the cafeteria at the Culham Science Centre, and breakfast at our dormitory, the William R. Miller Building, just outside the hustle and bustle of the main campus.  So what do we eat on the rare occasions when we aren’t fed?

I found that eating out was a little more expensive in England than in America.  They had a few fast food chains, but not too many, even if I wanted to eat there.  The sit-down restaurants were pretty expensive, around 9-12 pounds per item.  Luckily, I found a nice place quite close to my dorm that was both affordable and noteworthy: Cous Cous Cafe.

This Moroccan cafe served several types of sandwiches and wraps, as well as plate dinners with meats, vegetables, and, of course, cous cous. I probably would have gotten a falafel wrap had I not eaten it the night before at 11 pm from a food truck on a walk back from a pub with some friends. Yes, a food truck served fish & chips, hamburgers… and falafel. What caught my eye was a Brie and cranberry sandwich. I asked the lady which bread would go best (wrap, ciabatta, panini), and she said panini. The British and Irish have paninis everywhere. They must really like them. Then I wanted to add roasted veggies. She said it might not fit on the panini, which is thinner, so she recommended ciabatta. So, I got Brie and cranberry on ciabatta.

She put thick slices of Brie, cranberry sauce with whole berries in it (kinda like Ikea’s lingonberry sauce), eggplant, tomatoes, sun-dried tomatoes, yellow bell peppers, cucumbers, and what I think was sliced up peperoncini. There was a lot on there, but nothing was overpowering. I could taste everything when it came to its turn on my tongue. The veggies doubled the stuff on the sandwich, at least, but they were only 50 p extra, well worth it. In case you’re not familiar, p is short for pence, but people mainly just say “pee”.

I got a little thing for dessert, named Briouat, but spelled “brawit” on the display case. It has a flaky crust, shaped in a triangle, with honey, cinnamon, and almonds ground up inside. The filling is like a gritty paste.

They charge an extra 20-40p for eating in, a common tradition in England that I have never seen in America.

I went there on another occasion for dinner after the summer school ended, and we had to fend for our own for food. I had one of the plate dinners, warm cous cous with vegetables. It had carrots, chickpeas, zucchini, potatoes, and seasoned with tomatoes and onions.

It was warm, soft, healthy. The cous cous was soft and buttery, although I don’t actually know if there was butter in it. The vegetables were all very soft but not mushy.

It was a lot of food. I had to force myself to finish the cous cous. It was 5.25, a little high compared to their sandwiches for under 3. The place had people sitting outside at a table smoking from a hookah. I guess this place offers that as well as tea. It’s a nice place, and I’d eat there a lot if I stayed here longer. It’s cheap, healthy, and really close.

Address: Cous Cous Cafe
19-20 St Clements
Oxford
OX4 1AB

Cowley Road Area
7.30 – 20.00
Telephone: 01865 722350

Other bites in England:
– Oxford dinners – part I and II
Soon-to-be new posts:
– Indian food in Oxford: Mirch Masala and Fire & Stone’s Bombay pizza
– Pie and mash at the Ship Inn Upavon and Pieminister
– England’s healthy fastfood chain: Pret A Manger

Maybe I’m still holding everything in comparison to Texas, and maybe it’s unjust to do so, but South Berkeley is seriously the hole-in-the-wall haven. It’s like the folks here just woke up one day and decided hey I’m gonna swap out the sofas downstairs for some huge stoves, place in a few tiny tables and a few tiny chairs against the walls, and maybe an umbrella out on the pavement for style, a receipt printer, a sign that says “Cash only”, and a drink dispenser (or water pitchers). Voilà, mon restaurant! Or in this case, more humble and descriptive, Razan’s Organic Kitchen!

The wraps take center stage on the chalkboard menu, and the snugly enclosure doesn’t invite a serious course, so we opted for two wraps. The veggie one, named Egyptian (did Egyptians not eat meat?), came out as soon as we filled our water paper cups.

As far as content goes, I didn’t expect much from a package of falafel, hummus, tomato, cucumber, lettuce, and tahini (sesame paste) wrapped in wheat tortilla, which isn’t really different from pita. But the package did surprise me with its freshness and harmony. Tomato and hummus made it a bit runny, but the lettuce crunch was a perfect complement for the falafel’s meatball-like texture. I’m not sure if the falafel was made Egyptian-style with only fava beans, but it is the distinguisher between the veggie Egyptian wrap and the other nine veggie wraps (Jerusalem, Lebanese, and less regional names) on board.

The meat wraps are three fewer than the veggie ones. The three main choices are chicken, beef, and salmon, in increasing order of price. Being in the safe mode that day, I went for the beef shish kabab, with roasted vegetables, brown rice, hummus, sumac and parsley. Every bite strikingly resembled a steak burrito from Chipotle. Not bad, but not wow-enducing either. Rice falling out from all sides is not a pretty sight.

They were big, tight wraps. The stuffing was as compact as the place itself. Even so, putting together the size, the taste, the ingredient freshness, and the location, $7.95-$12.95 a sandwich log is still a steep edge. I know I should support free range chicken and grass fed cow yada yada, but we students have to support ourselves too.

Address: Razan’s Organic Kitchen
2119 Kittredge St
(between Fulton St & Shattuck Ave)
Berkeley, CA 94704
Neighborhoods: UC Campus Area, Downtown Berkeley
(510) 486-0449

The yellow-and-green parrots ain’t seein’ da Cup this year. I was overjoyed. Seriously, best news to start the day since summer began. To celebrate I walked half a mile down Shattuck and hit Brazil Cafe for the first time (my students strongly recommend their tritip sandwiches). You know, kinda like warriors in the old day eating their defeated enemy’s liver or sum’. It’s supposedly opened today 11am – 9pm. I got there at 11:45, but they were closed, grief-stricken perhaps?

Feeling pretty defeated myself, I swung by Bongo Burger on Center St. and scored a bacon bun in revenge. They say they’re proud to serve Niman Ranch, and I say I’m proud to refuse the alluring offer of Miss Cashier to pay extra for fries. $6.04 for a third pound burger and water only, please.

The problem with big burgers like these is that they don’t fit in my mouth. I nibbled around like a squirrel on a tough nut,with melting cheese stringing from side to side and lettuce shreds falling like autumn leaves. Part of the problem is with the bun. So freaking puffy! When you go to McDonald’s and Burger King they give you these tired soft breads that stick flat to the patty like white on rice, and nothing falls off as long as you got a good grip on the bun. Here it’s like fresh-out-of-the-oven bread. Warm and crusty and pillowy and bready.

The bacon was the opposite. Thick and chewy like spiral ham. Nothing like the smoking crispy strips sizzled in lard they show on ads. All good though. Even better, they didn’t sneak in any pickles, so I didn’t have to pick any out.

Now I’m full for the rest of the day.

In the orange spirit, it’s time for a clementine.

In one bite you taste a garden. Minty fresh coriander, crunchy pickled carrots, a load of soft white pickled onion, but most special of all is the aromatic burnt lemongrass. It makes the charcoaled pork here extra flavorful just as crushed peanuts make Huong Lan’s texturally delish. Microwaved, the pickled sweet onion and meat grease make the bread somewhat like a slice of steamed baguette dressed with chives and lard (bánh mì hấp mỡ hành). Thumbs up.

Kim’s Sandwiches (in the Lion Supermarket area)
1816 Tully Rd 182, San Jose, CA 95111
(408) 270-8903

The owner is supernice. More from this store later.

Another day, another banh mi.

And another. And another. I couldn’t decide whether I wanted thịt nguội (Vietnamese cold cut, also called “ham”), chả lụa, or pâté, and I didn’t want to settle for the special ($3.20) which has all three, because that means there is less of each. Like a good girl I got all three ($2.75 each), then mixed and matched. Cha lua is nothing beyond expectation, smooth and pure, sliced as thin as chicken skin. To its left is the firm rosy thit nguoi, made from cured pork and fat strips, similar to pork belly. To its right is pork liver pate banh mi. The brown spread looks like nutella with pepper,  feels grainy and silky on the tongue, and tastes magnificent. In one bite of oozing goodness, you can find something nutty, something sweet, a bit fatty and rich, a lot of salt, no sign of bitterness, all tempered by the mildly sour pickled carrots. Pork liver pate is my favorite.

Although most scoffers stay at Saigon Express for no more than 10 minutes, just enough time to grab a quick sandwich or a phở to-go, I dined in just to sample more food. Seemingly everyone comes here knowing what they want, I wonder if some of the dishes are forever hidden in the multipaged menu. I dug one out from the clay pot section: tofu and prawn claypot, served on white rice. For only $7.75, I can’t complain that its quality isn’t up to par with Le Regal’s ca kho to. There’s plenty of thin, almost broth-like sauce to soak your soft fried bean curd and wet your rice. The shrimps are plump. Mushy onion slivers encase tiny, juicy, salty outbursts.

Having stationed here for fifteen years, Saigon Express weathers the ebbs and flows of the competitive eatery market by setting its price low. The most expensive items are $7.75, easily portioned into two meals unless you’re preparing for football practice or something of sort. It also takes credit card.

Address: Saigon Express
2045 Shattuck Avenue (at the corner with Addison St, and in the same block as Biryani House)
Berkeley, CA 94704

Older posts on banh mi:
– banh mi ba chi pate (pate pork belly sandwich)
– banh mi thit nuong (grilled pork sandwich): from Lee’s Sandwiches and Huong Sandwiches

When Mother is a good cook, too often she’s also a dainty diner. Her standard of a good outie consists of a spotless floor, a high ceiling, white table cloth, classy customers, and fine china. So when it comes to taking Mother out for dinner, I have to be extra careful. French is always a safe choice. A French restaurant in the City of Trees is even better, as the rows of Eucalyptus loftily overlooked us driving through, bringing her back to memories of Saigon’s Duy Tan Street. The good mood was set. We arrived at La Boheme in the midst of a sun-bathed afternoon Farmers’ Market, white tents made the variegated crowd all the more picturesque. A step into the open-doored restaurant and the ambience transformed into cool air, quietude, and refined elegance.

Seeing that it was past noon, we skipped the appetizers. The benefit of having company is the ease of trying out different categories in a menu: from land to sea to bakery, from duck confit stew to pan-roasted salmon to sandwich la Bohème.
It would be almost contrived to go about describing the taste. The look says it all. Tenderness shows on the lustrous russet hue of the duck skin, succulence is embedded in the creamy tone of “ground apple” purée, garden’s and oven’s crisps join harmonically in vibrant colors. Perhaps the only setback was the acrid zest of dijon mustard on the sandwich, a taste I have yet to acquaint.

Like a palette with no fixed sets of color patches, this pâtisserie does not have a fixed dessert menu all year round. The business goes by daily creations, but the mousse and the mille-feuille are as irresistible to the chefs as they are enticing to the diners: the window counter cannot lack their beauty, nor can the palates refuse their luscious embrace. Just this once I actually let go of the wicked craving for chocolate and chose the fruity mousse, every morsel of which I adored. Indeed, nothing can beat the citric acid’s touch of delight.

Was it the drowsy sunbeams that made this cafe more removed from its neighboring reality and closer to some distant realm one can only find in books and old movies? Two ladies in their late 60s and wide brim hats softly sipped the afternoon away at a nearby table. Their presence furnished the luncheonette with a whiff of Chez la Père Lathuille – minus Manet’s humorous romantic air, of course, and plus a few walls.

La Bohème Café & Pâtisserie

1425 Burlingame Avenue
Burlingame, CA 94101
650-347-3331

Lunch (and dessert) for Four: $81.94

Two hours north east of Kingwood is this town Woodville. So peaceful is the thirty-some-mile long hilly road from Livingston to it, a thin ribbon through the verdency. Every year mom and dad find it rewarding to make the drive to eat chicken and dumpling at a local restaurant there, when the wind turns cold and the sky is covered in mesmerizing gray. But this year the pilgrimage took a different turn. We missed the chicken dumpling by half an hour, and starvation is not easily appeased with only a tranquil landscape. We drove further to downtown Woodville, found Jack in the Box and Z’s Fillin Station. It was God’s will? We pulled into Z’s Fillin Station.

Long menu. The hostess waited patiently for our order, but exhaustion showed on her face. She was also the cook. The host, big and friendly like any countryman of Texas, eagerly checked on us and was happy when we cleaned our plates. A few men in cowboy boots swaggered in, nodded hi to us. This part of Texas is rural and secluded, but it’s nice precisely because of that. People here are home-folk like the land they’ve settled on. The food, too, is bawdy.

Philly cheese steak, crawfish poboy, and grilled catfish all came in good portions. A hearty meal with good grease and good salt, with black pepper and bell pepper, with half-boiled broccoli fighting an uphill battle against cheese and butter. But at the end, although the food was absolutely life-saving on that day and quite delectable in its earthy nature, it wasn’t the memory-trigger for me about this “filling station”. What did it were the painted wooden bird houses, the doorbell connected to an iron weight by a rope and a pulley, the collection of car plates from all over the States – some dated back to the time Texas needed only three letters to identify a vehicle. It’s the pure romance in the rust. This place preserves a part of time for those who will not change no matter how the world transforms.

Address: Z’s Fillin Station
307 N Magnolia
Woodville, TX 75979
409-283-5300

Price: Lunch for 3 – 36.64

And here it is, I finally got a chance to blog about the chicken and dumpling joint that we missed.

It was 7 PM in Houston. Cold winds crept up the rustling trees. We were in the mood for kolaches. No kolache store was opened. (I would be surprised if I could even find some right after noon, it’s usually sold out by 9 AM at any local Shipley Donuts.) Desperate as we were for something small and meaty, we pulled into this backyard parking lot on a dark little street of Montrose. The name is cute, but… “Go Horns”?!*

A few years ago I would have shy away from any place resembling a shady, fuming pub with TV screens blasting out a football game, hoards of muscles with beer in one hand, cigarette in the other, and a gigantic burger streaming cheese and lard in front of the mouth. That’s what Little Big’s looks like from the outside. But the patio was empty. And so were our tummies.

Inside, it was a tamed ambience with three or four rows of long tables and high stools. It has a TV, and football was on, but no attentive enthusiasts screaming at the screen or banging mugs on the table. There was little room between the door and the counter to stand looking at the overhead menu, but luckily we had an expert of the area with us to quickly order and moved out of the way. Everyone walking in here seemed to know exactly what they were hungry for. Not that there are much to choose from on the card.

This joint doesn’t have mayonnaise out for a squeeze. I was in great despair, considering the array of mustards on display. Although the special house sauce was white and good, I thought I felt a tidbit of jalapeno or something equally mordant; besides, it lacked the creamy consistency of mayo. My worries quickly diminished, though. It was instant love at first sight between me and the sliders – baby burgers that can fit snuggly in your cupped palm and come in herds of three. Each herd will set you back by 5.79, an addition of cheese constitutes another 69 cents. Who needs the busy shebang of tomato, lettuce, and those of vegetable origin that keep falling out embarrassingly every time you take a bite? The beef patty admits a layer of rich, juicy grilled onion, and the fried chicken breast was comfortable with a slice or two of pickles. (As Katie put it, Chick-fil-A knows their stuff.) But that was it. A slider epitomizes the way to eat a burger: if you want one, don’t let guilt cover it up with skimpy fresh bits of greens. There is no such thing as a tasty healthy burger, beside one that is only savoured by the eyes.

*Texas A&M was the only school I applied to, so I consider myself a pure bred Aggie.

Before you say hey dummy foreigner, learn how to spell, no, I did not come up with “potatoe”. Potatoe Patch did. And I think it’s pretty cute.
These days it’s been hard to find wholesome meat within walking distance and spending measure (for a frugal grad student). The best one can afford around Berkeley is little slivers of chicken in a *huge* bundle of pad thai, or minced pork in cheap dim sum. I can’t help but posting about this now to ease the carnivore’s mind.

I would flat out say that this is our most-frequently-visited American restaurant. Great food. Good price. Excellent service. A serving here would freak out the health-conscious, nitpicking nimble diner, but who cares. We’re here for the hearty, generous embrace of baked potatoes in melting cheese and sour cream, of thick gravy, of sizzling steak, of tingling barbecue sauce, of a full rack of ribs so tender it falls of the bone.

Forget fork and knife. Ribs are sweeter and better with fingers, and so is a philly cheese, that which should be called philly meat not philly cheese. Gooey, mushroomy, beefy. Good fries, too.

But forget all that. Potatoe Patch is home of throw’d rolls. The best rolls I have ever had. It’s crusty outside, fluffy inside, the dough is so gently sweet. It’s warm. A guy goes around with a tray of freshly baked rolls, you raise you hand, and he throws it to you, sometimes from across the room. And you know it’s a good catch. I would go on TV and do a commercial for this even if they only pay me with unlimited fresh rolls. If it’s not a very busy time for the roll thrower, he’d be happy to throw you as many as you want, make sure you stock up on them. We do every time we come here. Makes perfect breakfast piece for the morrows.

I should be fair and say that they also have great muffins, which usually aren’t throw’d. But nothing, I repeat, nothing, beats the rolls. Even the meat.

Each serving of philly cheese or sirloin steak sets you back by roughly 9 dollars. A full rack of ribs costs 17.95. Total (including tax): $38.59

Address: The Potatoe Patch #1
2504 FM 1960 East
Houston, TX 77073
281-443-3530

You know how school kids don’t get tired of peanut butter sandwich even if they eat it every day for lunch? Well, every time I catch the BART down to Fremont, it’s hard to pass up the chance to stop by Huong Lan Sandwich in Milpitas for a fresh crusty loaf, or many of those banh mi’s – a week’s supply for lunch.

When in California, be liberal. The store has diversity. Above is packages of bánh bèo (white) and most likely bánh bột lọc (leaf-wrapped). Many kinds of cookies, crackers, shrimp chips, and other snacks unknown to ubercmuc. Below is the real goodies: nice warm bánh bao (steamed pork bun), bánh cốm (the bright green flat thing), bánh giò (leaf-wrapped pyramid), and mini bánh chưng (the squares).

Here’s the square unwrapped and cut in four. The pork is fatty, which is not quite right, but nonetheless it’s well done. So the story goes as follows: in a competition among the princes in ancient Vietnam, the king asked all the princes to find an exceptionally good food. The youngest prince, having no money and little power, couldn’t afford fancy stuff like ginseng and who knows what in the woods, so with the advice of a god in his dream, he took sticky rice, meat, and mung bean to make a bánh, wrapped in lá dong (Phrynium placentarium), and boiled for hours. The bánh is a green square, symbolizing the square Earth, pork – the animal, and mung bean – the plants. So I suppose fatty or lean pork doesn’t really matter to the story. After all, we have some really chubby animal, not just skinny ones. Mung bean seems to be Vietnamese’s favorite legume, just like red bean is to the Japanese. Perhaps because it’s good as a paste (in both sweet and savory bánh), a powder (on xôi), whole beans (in sweet deserts like chè), and as an ice cream flavor.

Don’t let size tricks you. Half of this mini bánh chưng definitely made a filling breakfast, the whole thing would be too filling. And if you’re too full you wouldn’t be able to eat a nice crusty bánh mì for lunch… uhm hmm…

Look at all that pickled carrots and radish. It’s a balanced meal. I usually get bánh mì thịt nướng (grilled pork), but that is proven quality, so this time gà nướng (grilled chicken) is up for test. I should stress that no matter what the filling is, a banh mi can never go wrong. You can put just soy sauce and a banana in it, and it would still be yummy. Something about the crusty, flaky bread that makes everything better. Back to the chicken. Well, it’s not dark meat, and it’d take some serious brining to make white meat flavorful. So let’s put it gently, I’ll be loyal to grilled pork.

Hương Lan must be a chain, or it’s just a name sandwich-makers like. They’re everywhere in this area, but I believe every store has a different touch to it. Here they put peanuts and nước mắm in the grilled pork bánh mì. The more flavors the merrier. Address: 41 Serra Way #108, Milpitas.

Oh, the end of the story is, the youngest prince, proved to be the wisest, was chosen for the crown. 🙂