Flavor Boulevard

These days I keep craving noodle soups. There’s just no end to it. Plus, it rained this morning. If I were in Houston, I would go downtown to get this: a crab noodle hotpot (lẩu riêu cua đồng).

The crabs are tiny freshwater paddy crabs, pounded into a paste and strained to make the broth. Throw in some crab meat and fried tofu, some light seasoning, and you get a bubbling soup to dunk your noodles and vegetables. The size of the hotpot in this shop is enough for two, you have to pay a few dollars extra for some chrysanthemum greens (cải cúc or tần ô) and some thin rice vermicelli (they absorb the broth better than the flat kind), but the package doesn’t taste complete without them.

What does this hotpot taste like? Imagine yourself in a remote area on a mildly hot day (not blazing though), sitting on a low chair under the shade, looking out to some green rice paddy in Can Tho, a canal in Giethoorn, or some other kind of open field with flowing water. You’re hungry but not famished, it’s hot enough that you just want something light and sweet but not ice cream. Something that goes down with no effort on your end (and requires little effort on your stomach later too). That’s what this hotpot tastes like.

To spice things up a little, there are skewers. Organ meats and grilled fish. A brief trip to the countryside for $35.67. Slightly overpriced compared to other Houston restaurants, but worth it.

Now where can I get something like this in the Oakland-Berkeley area though…

Address: One Hot Pot and Grill
12148 Bellaire Blvd, Suite 111
Houston, TX 77072
(281) 564-4063
Light dinner for 3: 1 crab hotpot ($15.99) + 1 saffron grilled goby fish (cá kèo, $4.99) + 1 lemongrass grilled pig heart and kidney ($4.99) + 1 chrysanthemum greens ($3.99) + 1 rice vermicelli ($2.99) + tax = $35.67
The service is also nice.

My love for these will never cease.

I’ve written way too much about banh cuon (Vietnamese steamed rice rolls) over the years, and if we’re friends, it’s highly probable that I have made or will make you try them the first chance I get. How much you like them kinda determines how much I like you.

Bánh Cuốn Thiên Thanh focuses on the northern-style(*) bánh cuốn Thanh Trì, where small, flat steamed squares (banh uot) are served with cha lua (silk sausage) and/or shrimp flakes on the side. They also serve 2 other types: rolls with pork and mushroom – banh cuon thit (pictured above), and rolls with grilled pork – banh cuon thit nuong. The owner told my mom that the younger kids (pointing at me) often liked the third type the most. I always stick to the second.

Compared to Tay Ho (which is inarguably the best places to get banh cuon in America – just what In ‘n Out’s fans claim about their favorite burger, only more factual), Thien Thanh’s rolls are much bigger, have more stuffings, taste just as good, and because they’re so big and flat, they can be rolled again (doubly rolled!) for easier handling. The only (personal) downside: the dipping sauce (mixed nuoc mam) has too much chili pepper. My lips were burning.

Address: Bánh Cuốn Thiên Thanh
11210 Bellaire Blvd. Suite 140
Houston, TX 77072
(281) 564-0419
Dinner for one: $7

Foodnote:
(*) – Technically, all banh cuon are northern. Banh cuon originates from the North.

Quite possibly the cheesiest name of a store I’ve ever seen: Bánh Canh Quê Anh & Quê Em – “bánh canh [from] your hometown and my hometown” (it doesn’t sound cheesy translated into English, but trust me, it’s like Twilight’s Edward Cullen in noodle soup form). Which is actually fitting, since banh canh is commoner’s grub, not a bourgeois lunch. You won’t find a classy madame dressing up just to go out for banh canh. The poor thing will never be elevated to the level of pho. I love it.

I grew up eating it before I was born (literally). Backstory can be told in person, but despite eating so many bowls, I never knew that there was so many types of banh canh. Que Anh & Que Em offered 30 types (see menu at the bottom), 14 of which are no more traditional than the Spider Roll, but the other 16 are attached to geographical regions in Vietnam, and thus, in this case, more meritable.

Banh canh is a thick, chewy, slippery rice noodle (with tapioca starch). It’s similar enough to udon in appearance and texture (as the shop aptly translates it to “Vietnamese udon”), but also entirely different (udon is made from wheat).

Close-up of my order: banh canh Tra Vinh – pork, pig trotter, quail eggs, pig blood in a clear, light broth. The classic when people think of banh canh. I can do without pig blood, which I transferred to Dad’s bowl, and the quail eggs (fresh quail eggs are great, but these taste like the canned version). In fact, the noodle and the broth alone are sufficient.

From left: Dad’s and Mom’s orders: banh canh 3 mien (“banh canh of all three regions”) and banh canh hoang gia (“royal banh canh”). Both names are only meant to illicit interest, the same way “Pho Dac Biet” is really not all that special. The broth of both bowls is thickened, yellow (with turmeric?) and taste richly of seafood, as both are loaded with crab meat and shrimps.

Desserts, of course. che long nhan hat sen – longan and lotus seed che… (I got the same thing at Danh’s Garden too, it’s gently sweet, fruity, and hard to get tired of.)

… and che khuc bach – lychee, some chewy tapioca thing, some chewy milky jello thing, and some nuts. A popular che in Vietnam these days.  Here’s a video to make che khuc bach, which the author loosely calls “almond panna cotta lychee dessert”.

I miss Vietnamese food. It’s been only three days since I left for the mountain on another observing run. Every time I’m in the mountain I’m reminded of what a privileged life I have. I miss being a stone’s throw away from darling nigiri, banh mi, mordin, etc. There’s no Asian restaurant in Big Pine, the nearest congregation of human from the observatory. Then again, it’s already a huge privilege to stay at CARMA, with a private bedroom and bathroom, eating juicy fresh apples and having nutritious meals hot and ready twice a day…

Address: Banh Canh Que Anh & Que Em
11210 Bellaire Blvd, Ste 133
Houston, TX 77072
(281) 416-5316

Even if you don’t like anything at Cafe Rabelais (I didn’t), this mini-mountain of profiteroles loaded with ice cream is still as resistible as a pool in the summer, and worth every second you spend with it too.

To top, it’s HUGE. THREE orange-size puffs, for only $6.50! We thought it was going to be just one cream puff, you know, like how desserts are usually portioned… but no, the pastry chef has a heart of gold. Next time I’m at Rive Village, I’ll swing by for a profiterole recharge. 😉

Sidney and the cream puffs. See how big this dessert is?

Address: Cafe Rabelais
2442 Times Blvd (West University, steps away from the big shopping mall of Rice Village)
Houston, TX 77005
(713) 520-8841 (They don’t take reservation though)

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Now… a few more shots of Rabelais’ foods, but the menu varies daily and is only written on the blackboard so we might never see these dishes again:

Pate de campagne – meaty and well seasoned.

Salmon salad with raspberry vinaigrette.

“Roasted leg of lamb with raspberry demi” – Well, I don’t like the smell of lamb and this one didn’t change that.

Bavette steaks with caramelized onion.

The above steak, in bread. Looks tough.

Lemon sole meuniere – too much lemongrass, lemon and salt, but so much more edible than the lamb.

Creme brulee. Too sweet, of course.

Chocolate mousse – I might as well swim in sugar. I like the chocolate stick though!

“Fondant au Chocolat sur Croute de Noix” – basically the chocolate mousse on a nut crust.

By the way, the service is just plain negligence. But if you come only for the profiteroles, you won’t see the waitress enough to notice the service anyway. 😉

Juicy, tender duck packed with sweet-savory marinade, you know, the typical red roasted duck that you see hanging by the neck at cleanliness-questionable Chinese eateries in Chinatown. But in this case, we don’t see the hanging ducks, the restaurant is Thai, and at least from where we’re sitting, everything looks clean(*).

The noodle, too, is flavorful. The same sweet-savory vibe. Chewy and not soaking wet.

I was doing well until the last maybe 3-4 bites and I could feel the part under my diaphragm harden, like a water balloon. I can’t ask for a box for 3-4 bites, so I stuffed it in. To the very last noodle.

The nice thing about this restaurant: you can get roasted duck (or mock duck, which is made with seitan) with pretty much every dish. So my friend asked for Veggie Delight with roasted duck. I asked her if it was delightful, she said yes. 🙂

Address: Nara Thai Dining
18445 W Lake Houston Pkwy
Humble, TX 77346
(281) 812-0291
www.narathaidining.com

(*) The restroom is also clean and flavorful. Raspberry air freshener with black-raspberry-and-vanilla hand soap. As soon as we walked in, we could smell the overflowing raspberry. However, the floor of the hallway leading to the restroom is sticky, so I guess they only keep it clean where it matters?

Veggie Delight with roasted duck – $14.95

Tofu fried rice – $8.95

My junior year of high school was my first year ever in America, and I was still learning the rope of living here, high school dance among other things. A friend invited me to Homecoming. For the pre-dance dinner, he talked about going to a Vietnamese restaurant named Mai in Houston. I didn’t know exactly where it was or what it was (this was 2002, Google Maps and Yelp didn’t exist), but I thought that was considerate of him. In the end, we went to a steakhouse instead, I thought it was because Mai was a bit too far away, and I was left wondering what Mai was like.

A few years later, my host parents mentioned Mai again in passing conversation, and suggested we went together sometime. The place, dated back to 1978, is known as the very first Vietnamese restaurant in Houston, and pretty much every Houstonian knows at least its name. My parents and I were interested, but again, days passed and we forgot. One day in early 2010, news came that the restaurant had been destroyed by a fire. We sighed, somewhat regretful.

Luckily, it reopened. I forget how and when we came to know of its re-opening, but this summer, we decided that as Houstonians, it’s about time we should check this off the list.

As usual, my mom told me to order anything I want, and I did. But I overdid myself, and we struggled to finish a few plates fast enough to have room on the table for the next plate. It was a marathon. The portion was dinosaur-mongous. The three of us packed half of the food home.

APPETIZERS:

Fried shrimp with garlic butter sauce

This plate was the first to be move out of the way. Guess what I poured on my dress? The garlic butter sauce. I smelled “good” for the rest of the day.

Chao long – rice porridge with “dau chao quay” (youtiao) and pork offals.

Yes, this is an appetizer, although the bowl can probably fit me in it.

ENTREES:

Breaded fried catfish steaks – Crunchy and not too oily, but I wish they were not breaded and simply pan fried.

Canh chua – sour soup with fish, tomato, pineapple, okra and celery. So refreshing for the summer!

Banh hoi – thin rice noodle mesh with lemongrass grilled beef

This one is to be wrapped in rice paper, which my mom artfully put on her bowl like a mini table cloth (the first picture).

DESSERTS:

Green tea ice cream

Banana tapioca pudding

One of those extremely common desserts in Vietnam that you never see in American Vietnamese restaurants. This one is good (but I like my version better ^_^).

Mai’s menu has a lot of stuff, but nothing strayed from the usuals that you would see at any Vietnamese restaurant in town. Although few things jump out at me, anything that we ordered tastes exactly how we want them to. They make traditional Vietnamese food in the honest, straightforward traditional manner, with abundance to boost, which is also characteristic of Vietnamese food. Their home-styled comfort delivered, and we wouldn’t ask for anything better.

Mai’s Restaurant is at 3403 Milam Street, Houston, TX 77002 – (713) 520-5300

What defines a good macaron?

I googled, but found only “10 signs of a bad macaron“. My pâtissière friend Hanna Lim told me a few criteria: a good macaron should look smooth on the surface, crunchy (but not crumbly) on the outside and a little chewy(*) inside, it should not fall apart when you take a bite, it should be a clean bite – no crumbs, no cream spewing out on the side. Looking through the Facebook page of The Pastry of Dreams, I see gliding smooth macarons and beautiful cookie-to-cream ratio. Visually, they are perfect.

But what impresses me most is their taste. These almond cookies reflect what real fruits and nuts taste like in a cookie. Instead of being masked by sugar, the flavors that each cookie is supposed to contain shine through. “There are no shortcuts in our pastries,” says Liz Laval, the chemist-turn-pastry-chef who started The Pastry of Dreams. For something as simple as vanilla, she uses special vanilla beans imported from Madagascar to France and shipped to her by family living in France. “The one from here and the one that people import here is useless, you have to use 2 vanilla beans to get the amount that one of mine would produce,” she explained as I took a bite.

It’s true. Her vanilla butter cream has the richest and sweetest aroma of any vanilla-flavored things I’ve ever eaten, and there was the nuttiness of vanilla beans that the extract simply cannot have. It was more vanilla-y.

The same principle applies for other flavors too, lemon zest and juice for lemon macarons, real lavenders in the cream and cookie shell of lavender macarons… Except for the chocolate macarons, Liz goes as far as avoiding using ganache as a shortcut to stabilize the cream, relying instead on a technique she learned from France which she asked me not to reveal. Of course, I have no intention of making macaron myself either. After tasting Liz’s macarons and learning about her 3 years of studying, including macaron classes at Le Notre and l’Ecole de Cuisine Alain Ducasse in Paris, and her 6 months experimenting in the kitchen, I figure it’s best to simply enjoy the work of the professional.

After all, it would be difficult to match her skill, which is repeatedly recognized by chefs and consumers alike. One of Liz’s favorite stories is the macaron match against the pastry chef at Hôtel Cloitre Saint Louis à Avignon, which she won. Another was the Saint Honoré, a puff pastry with rose chantilly, lychee cream and raspberry compote, which was made specifically for the Valentine’s Day menu at La Colombe d’Or, Houston this year, and it was the most ordered dessert that day. As I’m writing this post, she just got home from Le Grand Concours Macaron, a macaron contest hosted by the Texan-French Alliance for the Arts, bringing with her two awards. Her white-and-dark-chocolate Phantom of the Opera macaron won 2nd place for People’s Choice and Best Macaron by the judges.

During our dinner at her apartment in Houston, we talked about how desserts can be so overwhelming with sweetness that you can’t take more than a few bites. The dainty size of the macaron and its light texture, if done right, help alleviating the problem. “Making a macaron is about making art, you want it to be the last thing the person remembers from their entire meal. At the end of the meal, I want you to have the feeling of wanting more.” That’s her motivation. But as I watch her lively two-year-old son Liam playing with his lego crocodile and listen to her husband Sébastien telling stories of the crazy hurdles that are American immigration, I suddenly realize what it is that makes her pastry taste so good. The happiness of her family. A beautiful son, a supportive husband, a dedicated young lady – it’s a little family that makes onlookers want to have family or are reminded of their own familial love, the picture-perfect family. Liz is a happy chef. Intentionally or not, she lets that happiness seep into her pastries. We eat them, and get infected with a smile.

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The Pastry of Dreams is based in Houston, Texas.
Photo courtesy of Elizabeth Laval
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(*) In macaron language, as Liz told me, “chewy” is like tootsie roll chewy, which is of course not what I mean here at all. Because macaron are meringue-based sweets, macaron chefs want the macarons to be melt-in-your-mouth. As you bite into the macaron though, “melt in your mouth” is not how I would describe the sensation, in fact, you go from something dry to something moist, and that moistness is what I call chewy. 😉

In this unassuming restaurant, I found the best sugarcane juice I’ve ever had.

When the waiter asked if we would like three glasses of fresh-squeezed(*) sugarcane juice for the table, only my dad was persuaded. The waiter was quite earnest too, he insisted that it was good and that it would induce no extra cost (the meal is buffet-style for a modest $8.99/person, roughly the cost of a bowl of pho in Berkeley). However, the sugarcane juices I’d had before, although good, were soon too sweet, and for a hot summer day I find sugar particularly less appetizing than plain water, so I declined.

Immediately after I took a sip from my dad’s glass, I changed my mind. I asked the same waiter for a glass, he laughed at me of course, “Told you it was good!”. It was not sugary, but sweet in a vegetal way, somewhat like an intensified goji berry tea. My dad ordered a second glass for himself.

The restaurant, operated under the name of Tinh Luat Buddhist Temple and by Vietnamese buddhists, serves exclusively vegan food. Besides the usual vegan fried rice, noodles and stirfries, their vegan soups are surprisingly flavorful. In fact, I liked all of their soups. Mom got a “mì giác ngộ” (“enlightening noodle soup”), which she said tasted similar to a braised duck noodle soup. My bún măng (bamboo shoot noodle soup) was a bit heavy on the ginger but contained enough variety to entertain the eater. The canh chua (sour soup) was refreshing, and my favorite, a taro and mung bean soup, was slightly sweet, very nutty and cool enough to transport you from summer into late fall(**).

Canh chua – with tomato, okra, rice paddy herb and beansprout

Mi giac ngo (“enlightening noodle soup”)

Bun mang – with bamboo shoot, seitan, beansprout and rice noodle

Taro and mung bean soup

Dessert – jelly coconut che

The restaurant is clean, the staff prompt and friendly, the price comfortable for retired elders and social workers, the menu so aptly designed in tune with the season – Tinh Luat restaurant overflows with consideration for its patrons. I’m eager to come back in the winter.

Address: Tịnh Luật Vegetarian Buffet
11360 Bellaire Blvd #380,
Houston, TX 77072
(281) 564-1839

(*) What verb do you use to describe the act of running the sugarcane stalks through a machine to extract their juice into a cup?
(**) I was reading this short Texas recipe book and got a bit confused: why does a hot place like Texas host such hot foods like chili? Wouldn’t you want to cool yourself down instead of heating yourself up to as hot as the air you sit in?

Been one measly week since I got back to the West Coast, and my stomach is already shifting in discomfort with the regular irregular dining pattern of a student, or perhaps of just someone living alone.

At home, on weekdays, we have dinner at 5 while watching TV. For lunch there are banh bao that Mom made, each as big as a small fist with a pork ball and a half an egg inside, refrigerated. I just need to microwave it for 1 minute. On Saturday or Sunday, I’m in charge of choosing a restaurant for lunch, preferably somewhere near Bellaire, where Mom buys a couple of banh gio, which I can also have for lunch during the week, and a pound of cha lua. For dinner, usually something small, since we are already too full from lunch. This time home, my favorite dinner has been toasted french bread with pâté and cha lua. (Mom tucked 2 cans of pâté into my backpack before the flight. Airport security didn’t like the look of them on screen so they had to do a bag check. The lady asked me, “what is this?” I said, “pâté”. “What is it?” “Pâté…” Her quizzical look… “Um… you know… like… a paste?” “When you open it, is it liquid or a chunk?” “It’s a chunk” – well, this is liver pâté, it’s not exactly a chunk, but I know what answer would give me my pâté in tact – “Ok… cuz if it’s like guacamole then we can’t let it pass…” “No no it’s not like guacamole.” I got to keep my cans. I’m still not entirely sure if pâté is like guacamole.)

Anyway, the meals at home…

It goes without saying that the meals at “home” home were Vietnamese. Rice, rice paper rolls with slow-cooked pork and pickles, mung bean xoi with sesame mix, pho, mi Quang, homemade jam from fruits in the garden. But when we went out, somehow it all turned to Japanese(*). Hibachi in Port Arthur, shabu on Christmas Eve, and sort-of-izakaya on the Sunday before I flew out because Red Lantern, a Vietnamese restaurant downtown, closes on Sundays. (I don’t understand restaurants that close on Sundays.)

At Shabu House, we asked for desserts. The girl pulled out a pot from under the bar counter where we sat, a fading aluminum pot that looks like something you would see grandma uses to boil eggs. She ladled a soupy mung-bean-and-rice pudding into three bowls.

– Oh? Is this Japanese?! We have something just like this too.
*Smile*
– No, it’s Taiwanese…
– Oh… are you… Taiwanese?
– No, I’m Korean. *grin*

The dessert was too bland in Mom’s and Dad’s standard. Actually, yeah, it was bland, maybe 10 sugar grains per bowl or something. But I thought it was the perfect cooling end to a hot pot lunch. I also like that pot. So homey.

Or maybe it’s just because I was eating with my parents that I was more forgiving of the food. Company matters. 😉

(*) Ach no, I lied. There was one Korean lunch. The mandu was too oily, the grilled fish too charred, the seafood jeongol too spicy. But there was one very good thing about Seoul House: the banchan cart next to the wall where you can get as much and whatever kind of kimchi and other side dishes as you want. And I like their sweet soy sauce potato (gamja jorim). In fact, I like all gamja jorim. 😉

Addresses:
Shabu House
9889 Bellaire Blvd
Houston, TX 77036
(713) 995-5428
Lunch for three with dessert: $33.51

Seoul House
10603 Bellaire #107
Houston, TX 77072
(281) 575-8077
Lunch for three: $51.80

Curry rice with tonkatsu – $10.95 – a bit more peppery than the curry rice at Musashi in Berkeley, but still mild enough to my taste, pretty good.

On the western edge of Yosemite National Park is a little town called Sonora. In Sonora there is Koto, the only Japanese restaurant in a 38-mile radius. In Koto, I had saba shio for the first time. It’s a grilled mackerel seasoned with salt, squeeze on some lemon juice if you like. I love homey things like that, especially when it’s so good I wanted it again the next day, but Koto was closed on Sundays. We left on Monday, with a hole in my heart.

Now before I go to any Japanese restaurant, I check if it has saba shio.

Not many do, but Kaneyama does. Only as an appetizer (which means half a mackerel instead of the whole fish) but better than nothing. A delicious crunching sound broke the air as Little Mom broke the skin with her chopsticks. We knew at that instant that the saba shio was the best dish of the day.

Saba shio – $6.25 – Grilled mackerel with salt. So simple and the best of the bunch.

Gindala – $10.95 – Black cod marinated in sweet miso glaze, and they weren’t kidding, it was really sweet. Nice and plump.

The gindala appeared fancier, took longer time to prepare, and I liked the moist, dense, almost doughy flesh of the black cod, but the miso glaze was too sweet. The spinach goma ae, another common Japanese sidedish that I was only recently introduced to and was eager to show Little Mom, didn’t impress her too much because the sesame sauce could also use more salt and less sugar.

Spinach goma ae – $5.50 – a bit expensive for some boiled spinach with black sesame sauce, and not as good as expected. The sesame sauce could use less sugar and more salt.

I was surprised to see okonomiyaki on the menu, however described as a seafood pancake. Feeling demanding for no good reason, I asked the waitress if they could add pork belly, but no luck. 🙁 I was even more surprised when the okonomiyaki was brought to me: instead of the usual round shape I’m used to, this one is two quarters of dough on an oval hot plate, the kind you see with dak bokkeum at Korean restaurants, with copious amount of mayonnaise and katsuobushi (at least this part is familiar). I don’t know where the seafood in “seafood pancake” was. Even the cabbage was scarce. Final verdict: I make better okonomiyaki. 😉

Luckily, Little Mom’s udon with shrimp tempura and Dad’s curry rice with tonkatsu, looking unassuming as they were, actually tasted good. I’m glad, you know, cuz I actually wanted to like this restaurant. Sure, its food needed some fixing to live up to its posh setting, and the saba shio was not as good as the one I had at Koto in that little town Sonora. But I did order things off the beaten path (should have gotten sushi maybe?), and the waitress was cute.

For dessert, I tried my luck again and asked for black sesame ice cream, although it’s not listed on the menu. But Kaneyama is no In ‘n Out with a hidden menu, the manager said no, adding “That was the first time I got this question. Not many people know about it.” Guys, next time you’re at a Japanese restaurant, ask for sesame ice cream.

Okonomiyaki – $8.95 – strange looking and too doughy. I make better.

Udon with shrimp tempura – $10.50 – The noodle soup looks pretty barren (seriously, just kamaboko and spinach?), but the broth is good. The tempura is also good, “not oily” always scores in my book.

Red bean, plum and green tea ice cream – $2.50 each scoop – Too expensive, not good enough, casual pho restaurants have better green tea ice cream than this, but the plum ice cream is good.

Speaking of ice cream, today I realized that I have become a sea urchin of a customer. I asked questions, and returned the wrong scoop of ice cream to the kitchen, although Little Mom said it was fine. (The right scoop turned out to be her favorite and the best flavor. I did something right, Mom 😉 ) In another year will I be sending back a medium well steak when I had asked for medium? (On a few occasions, I thought of sending back pork sausages that weren’t properly defrosted and still a bit pink inside. But I just didn’t eat the sausage.) What will I be then… a durian?

Address: Kaneyama
9527 Westheimer Suite D
Houston, TX 77063
(713) 784-5168
www.kaneyama-houston.us

Lunch for three: $67.76