Flavor Boulevard

A guy waved a bottle in front of me. “Nesquik?”, he asked. I shook my head no thanks. Five seconds after he walked away, I realized my stupidity. I missed a free bottle of Nesquik! I don’t remember drinking Nesquik for the past 15 years, or ever, but I know what it tastes like, and I like chocolate. Why did I say no?!

Because I live in Berkeley. One thing Berkeley trains you very well for is saying no. Each time you walk pass a homeless man or woman, whether he or she asks for spare change or curses you off or shouts “nice dress”, you silently say no. Each time an activist steps up to you and says “Hi how’s it going? Would you have a minute to talk about …?” and you can barely tell what it’s about because he or she squeezes those two sentences in the hundredth of a second you lift your foot, you say no, usually with a smile because you feel bad. So you prepare this automatic respond when a stranger sticks something under your nose: No thank you. And you end up missing the free Nesquik.

But Berkeley also makes you nicer. And it’s not because the hippies convince you about world peace or anything. First it’s because you travel by bus. The bus always comes late, and not everyone sitting next to you has showered in the past 30 days, so you learn patience. Second, it’s because, as the saying goes, “it’s Berkeley, you can do anything“, and people, including you, wouldn’t bat an eye, so you learn acceptance. Then there’s the protests (boy do Berkeley students love protests, although those never yield any result beside some kid ending up behind a police car). I could list a dozen other reasons. But mostly, it’s because you see everybody from every corner of the world. My first encounters with the Serbian, Iranian, Bosnian, Tibetan, Korean, Japanese, Eritrean, Ethiopian people, and the smell of marijuana all happened in Berkeley. And those encounters (except the marijuana) quickly became friendships.

So I used to get a little uneasy, and I’m ashamed to admit this because I know it’s mean, when I saw Chinese people selling Vietnamese food. Here’s what I think: they don’t make it right, so they shouldn’t call it Vietnamese food. (I’m disturbed when Vietnamese people sell bad Vietnamese food too, because that’s disrespecting your own people.) And I avoided Vietnamese restaurants owned by Chinese. But when I strolled all over Oakland Chinatown last week, there were some occasional raindrops, the sky was grey, it was getting cold, and I just visited the Japanese Buddhist Church for the O-bon festival. All of those things put me in an exceptionally good mood. Although I set out to find Vietnamese snacks, it quickly became clear that I wasn’t going to find any, so when I walked by a window sign of “banh mi, bun bo Hue, banh canh” and a list of other Vietnamese staples, I caved.

Five minutes later, I ordered a cơm tấm (broken rice) with grilled pork “for here”. The lady pointed me to Table 2 (Let’s refer to her as Lady 2 from now on, many ladies worked at this joint). I put down my bags.

Then she exchanged a couple of words including “xiè xiè” to a couple sitting at Table 4. Yep. It’s Chinese people selling Vietnamese food.

Well, that’s okay, I diverted my gaze to the TV, Lady 2 also made herself a bowl of noodle soup and watched a Vietnamese movie while eating. It was hard to hear the TV because the following things happened during the course of my dinner: a customer dashed out into the street while Lady 2 shouting after him in Vietnamese to tell him to run slower, Table 4 chatted loudly in Chinese upon his return, Vietnamese customers coming in to buy banh mi and cha lua to go (the only dine-in people were Chinese and me), and as I scooped up the few last spoons of rice, a fight broke out outside, which caused Lady 2 and everyone else rushing to the street. I had to stop Lady 2 to pay, her eyes still directed a yearning gaze door-ward.

When I told my mom about the fight, she suggested against going back to such place, who knows when the fight will take place in the restaurant. I see her point, but I think I’d risk it. The com tam, and that includes the grilled pork, the broken rice, the nuoc mam and the pickled carrots and daikons floating in it, was beyond perfect. 🙂

Price: $6.75
Address: Ba-Lê Deli, Coffee, Restaurant
812 Franklin St (between 8th and 9th St.)
Oakland, CA
(510) 465-3522

Ever since the steamed duck at Shanghai Dumpling King, I’ve been haunted by the juiciness of a duck done right.

When my friend Kristen and I walked down Piedmont looking for dinner, we passed several doors but like shopping for clothes, as Kristen pointed out, none “jumped out” to us. There was one sign that we read “Pork Avenue” and crossed the street all excited for, but it was “Park Avenue“. On the way was also the curiously crowded Fenton Creamery, to me their selections aren’t that interesting. When the street started to look devoid of both restaurants and humans and hope had dwindled from a tteok in tteok bokki to a strand of angel hair, we found Bay Wolf. The duck liver flan and roasted duck with polenta sold us.

Bay Wolf specializes in duck. Their menu changes weekly but they always have two duck dishes, one appetizer and one entree. Both sing. Even the polenta was good, must be that honey-lavender gastrique that we had to wipe clean with bread after we ate the duck leg to the bone. 😉

After dessert, some unknown force compelled me into the washroom, where I saw the Pinot & Double Duck Dinner dated September 17, 18, 19, 2002. Every dish was a duck dish: duck prosciutto with curly cress, grilled duck neck sausage with caramelized onion, duck lasagna Bolognese; even dessert: Espresso duck egg pot de crème.

So I did what I’ve never done (because I’m a foreigner and still feel nervous talking on the phone in English): I called the restaurant three days after my meal, thanking them, and asking if Bay Wolf will have another Double Duck Dinner like that in the future. Mark your calendar, pals, September 16-18 this year.

Address: Bay Wolf
3853 Piedmont Avenue
Oakland, CA 94611
(510) 655-6004
www.baywolf.com

Dinner for 2: $77.76

Duck liver flan with grilled Acme bread, pickled onion, cornichon and olives ($8.50). The pate is smooth and rich. The pickles add just the right zing.

Grilled prosciutto-wrapped apricots with ancho cress and parmesan ($9.50). The apricots were a bit too tart, another two layers of proscitto would have balanced it out.

Slow-cooked lamb shoulder with vegetable tian and red wine reduction ($23). The tian consists of zucchini, tomato and eggplant. The lamb was a little stringy.

Liberty Ranch duck with polenta, rapini and honey-lavender gastrique ($24). A truly flawless delight.

Seasonal sorbet: chocolate-coconut, ambrosia white melon, and watermelon-mint ($6.50). The two melon scoops have a faint taste of melon seeds. Combining all three in one bite is the way to go.

Put me next to a pig foot and I turn into a total nut case. But boy, these chunkies, sweet, salty, chewy, just a little spicy… I cleaned the bones until they were white.

A feeble attempt at including some starch to our lunch: ground beef and pork coins covered in batter and fried.

Dessert: ho tteok (호떡) – chewy sweet pancake with some kind of syrup or melted brown sugar filling, and the best part? They’re not too sweet!

Ready-to-go lunch for two: ~$15
Address: Koreana Plaza
2370 Telegraph Avenue
Oakland, CA 94612
(510) 986-1234

There seems to be a new trend in the East Bay restaurant business: it has to be hidden and/or without a sign. First it was embarrassing walking up and down the street to find Commis, and now the same thing happens with Plum. Is this some kind of scavenger hunt joke?

Plum‘s menu is short and sweet like its name. However, the same thing can’t be said about the majority of its dishes, which either tip a bit over to the salty side (pate ciccioli and bacon) or stay way back in plaindom (crispy pig ears and trout). There are bright notes, too. The turnip soup with yuzu kosho, pear and cilantro is a light, heart-warming start. The short ribs with peanuts and sweet potato has a deep Asian flavor. The caramelized brioche with coffee ice cream makes a comforting finish.

Ironically, the yummy dishes didn’t have good pictures. But here’s a small album to get a taste of Plum.

Address: Plum
2214 Broadway
Oakland, California
(510) 444.7586

The difference between a bowl of ramyeon at Gomnaru and a six-course dinner at Commis is the ratio of satisfaction to expectation. This is how I rank my foods, which allows me to enjoy a Cheetos just as much as any prime ribs done well, perhaps even more. There are certain extremes, like the cafeteria at Berkeley and LBL, no matter how low I set my bar, they manage to wow me with their ability to ruin everything, including fried rice. Anyhow, I figured that it’s only respectful to the chefs that I go to a well applauded, top ranking restaurant with high expectation. But for Commis, I think my expectation was a bit too high.

The ingredients: fresh, interesting, nothing to complain about. The techniques: nothing I know enough to comment about. The combinations: hmm… An hour after dinner, Rob asked me: “How would you describe your dinner tonight in four sentences?” “Four?” “Three. Ask me again and I’ll say two.” The truth is I would rather sum it up in one: “I don’t remember”.

I can remember vividly the banh mi a vendor sold in front of my high school ten years back, the way its charred meatballs melted in my mouth, its yellow mayonnaise, its crumbs broke free into the motobike-exhaust-filled air. I can remember equally vividly the chicken crepe I bought a rainy night in Seattle four years back, the running warmth of its cheese, its springy softness, my frozen fingers. Just how was the poached egg, or the soup, or the dessert at Commis last Wednesday night? I can’t even remember what’s in the soup.

For every course, like at any fine restaurant, our hostess arrived with a gently toned, slurred-together string of ingredients, of which I could hear the first and the last words and consonants in between. I am not skilled enough to detect a sprinkle of tarragon just by tasting, so I base my judgement on the harmony. Scallop-like monkfish paired with grainy beans was the most discordant in texture, and its accompanying sauce was a bit too fishy and too salty. The opening cookie excited us in its rock-like appearance but hit a dry tune, I suspect a pebble size would be more palatable. The ending nectarine jelly invited little attention and tasted too sweet. Intermittently flared a few high notes, such as the dill weed‘s tanginess in a cauliflower-potato-salad combo, or the pistachio sauce tightened with a radish zest of horsegrass (one of these days I will find it on Google).

The most memorable piece of the night was a cucumber, green apple, and eucalyptus palate-cleanser. It was what it sounds like: a sorbet. The cucumber made a profound impression. I would trade the whole dinner for another shot glass of this. But the sorbet alone does not make the meal worth its hundred dollar value or make it stand out.

It was neither too good nor too bad. It was like a landscape painting with excruciating details and no focus. There could be a better night, but tonight’s impression was not enough to prompt a revisit, so there won’t be a better night. The next time I pass by Commis‘ signless glass door, I’ll just pass by.

Every time I ride the bus on Telegraph, Kang Nam Pho stands out to me like a supernova. (There are these “sorta” cosmologically important exploded stars that have been on my mind for quite some time now, which is an excuse for the sparse blogging of late.) I’ve seen Chinese-owned pho places, but they never have a Chinese name. Pin Toh on Shattuck, which used to be Phở Hòa, has pho cooked by Chinese chefs, but it’s a Thai diner (talk about incognito). In my American pho encounters, Kang Nam Pho is the first instance of a Korean-owned Vietnamese diner with a Korean name. They even put the whole “Phở” with accents on their white-on-red sign, next to “강남 윌남국수” (Kang Nam Wilnam guksu, i.e., Kang Nam Vietnamese Noodle). I like this place already.

Their menu is also all in Vietnamese, again, with complete accents albeit some misspellings; there is English description under each name and very little Korean. I vaguely remember bibimbap and bulgogi at some bottom corner of a page, but Kang Nam has things that even a common pho joint wouldn’t always have, such as hủ tíu Nam Vang (kuy teav Phnom Penh) and mì bò kho (noodle with beef stew). The tables are even equipped with green chopsticks, hard-to-eat spoons and sauce bottles. If only the customers didn’t flock every table that day and keep the ladies moving like shuttles in a loom, I would have asked what inspired them to make the place even more Vietnamese than a Vietnamese would, for better and for worse (the spoons…).

After ordering the inevitables, gỏi cuốn to start and phở chín nạm gầu gân sách (brisket, tendon, tripe) to fill, I followed the usual practice of a lone diner: pull out a book and pretend to read while eavesdropping on my neighbors. However, just barely 3 minutes into opening the book, the summer rolls arrived. Casting aside my literate facade, I started rearranging the roll halves for a good pic when the noodle soup swiftly got placed in the way. They did it fast. That’s how pho should be: you got a pot o’ broth, cooked meat, and blanched noodle ready, an order comes, they all go into a bowl. It shouldn’t take more than one minute. The problem is with me: too little time for a good picture and unable to decide what to eat first. The pho won. The rolls wouldn’t get soggy waiting.

This is one of the best pho I’ve ever had (mom-made pho not included). Deep and subtly sweet broth, chewy noodles, lots of tripe and tendon. A clean aftertaste and a warm broth until the last morsel. Little Mom, a frequent pho craver albeit a picky patron, would like this pho. Why didn’t they struct their business a little closer to campus so that I could come here for lunch? Would they serve blanched beansprout or pickle onion if I ask for it? Next time…

Whenever I ride the bus on Telegraph, I contemplate pulling a stop request for a bowl. Perhaps I’ll go tonight in the name of celebrating Little Mom’s birthday. 😀 We’re Vietnamese, but just to go along with this post’s blending spirit: 생일축하해, 엄마! 🙂

Address: Kang Nam Pho House
4419 Telegraph Ave
Oakland, CA 94609
(510) 985-0900

UPDATE: A 5-second roaming on the ‘net reveals that the Koreans like pho (I’m not surprised, they have plenty of beef based noodle soups) enough to make Korean pho restaurants, and generally Korean pho broths are described as more bland (if disliked) or more clean and fresh (if liked) than Vietnamese pho. For Kang Nam, I side with the latter. Which reinforces the consistency of my pho style. Those who have eaten pho with me often shake their heads at my indifference toward the sauces and the herbs: I don’t put veggies into my pho (not a single leaf), and I don’t adulterate my broth with Sriracha or the black bean sauce. I like my pho pure: beef and noodle. More Korean pho samplings are necessary before I can confirm the difference. When the supernovae start making more sense, the new quest will start. But is this quest possible in the Bay Area?

This post is submitted to Delicious Vietnam #16, August edition, hosted by Chi Anh from Door to My Kitchen.

For a foodie, I dare say nothing beats dining with other foodies. Foodies want to try new places but have a fair assessment of the food, regardless of “the trend”. The food can be scraps and you’d still have a good time dissecting how that kind of scraps made its way into a diner. But more importantly, you’re not the only one taking pictures of food, your companions also remember what you got and write about it too. In his calm, knowledgeable, matter-of-fact way, Bob Fukushima beat me to writing about Hawker Fare today, which drives me to push this post ahead of the other thirty backlogged.

First, the credit must go to Robert Bergstrom for recommending this lunch spot in Oakland. He and Bob are barbecue buddies. How I got to know Rob is another post. We sat and chilled over rice bowls, among other things, for more than 2 hours; I could almost feel the sneer from the line of customers waiting to get seated. Hawker Fare opened in late May, why they have such busy lunch time is probably because of their off-the-norm, concise menu and accessible location (the corner of Webster and 23rd, paid parking lot right across the street).

We started off the Asian-street-get-together way: peanuts with beer. No plastic blue stools and middle-aged lady fanning over a coal grill, though. I think I heard they said that the (Singha?) beer Hitachino Red Rice Ale was good, but I haven’t had beer since I was three, so I can’t comment. The Siamese Peanuts, though, is an interesting affair. Covered in a sweet, salty, and sticky mix of semi-spicy shrimp paste and chopped green onion, the nuts kicked in strong and went down dry. A drop of lemon juice gave them a soda feel on the tongue, which faded quickly, leaving you thinking “hmm, that was kinda weird?”.

Bob seemed to enjoy his Beef Short Ribs, marinated in coconut milk, chargrilled, and served with loads of chopped herbs.

Rob was also happy with his Lemongrass Chicken, which was coupled with a strong tangy fish sauce mix. How could I tell? Well, one of the waitresses attempted to take away his unfinished bowl while he was talking, and he held it back. 😀

As for me, I knew what I wanted as soon as Rob suggested this place: the 24hr Pork Belly, “tom khem” style accompanied by pickled baby bokchoy, onion, and daikon. The three thick, mildly flavored chunks, though had a lot of fat, were neither fatty nor chewy. Their soft yet dense texture makes you want more than three. For a deeper taste, there’s the preserved vegetable mustard that looks almost like a normal brown peanut sauce, but I would prefer more sweetness instead. Guess I was expecting it to be similiar to the Vietnamese braised pork belly, and it wasn’t.

To wrap it up, we spooned into an “Affogato”-styled condense milk soft serve with Thai coffee and a salted caramel Sundae with red beans and puffed rice for crunch. If you like the quick melting, relatively warm feel of soft serves, Bob says this is the place to go. I think I like ice cream better.

Similarly, if you have an hour for lunch, you’re in downtown Oakland, and you want a somewhat refreshing touch on Southeast Asian cooking in a clean, decorated, English-speaking, Caucasian environment, this is the place to go. For $9, the rice bowls were a little scarce on the rice but efficient on the meat. They wouldn’t blow your mind, but they would make you satisfied, as long as you don’t expect them to blow your mind. And like Bob said, who you eat the meal with already decides half the success of the meal.

Head to Bob’s Brew and ‘Que for some mouth-watering pork and steaks. This guy freaking makes his own bullets, you bet he’s serious about meats. 🙂

Address: Hawker Fare
2300 Webster Street
Oakland, CA 94612
(510) 832-8896

On one bright Sunday afternoon, I found myself spinning with a guy named Don in lederhosen to quirky Bavarian tunes. Black, red and yellow balloons swinging almost in sync with the “hoi hoi” cheers from honey-shining beer mugs. And I had my fill of meat. 🙂 May started, lively and carefree.

This part of Alameda is old timey. A short green iron bridge over a narrow canal, fading painted warehouse signs with German names, old cars… It’s drowsy, almost. ‘Cept for this one corner of Lincoln and Park Street today. The German restaurant bloomed like a Royal Poinciana in June. We felt flamboyant too. What’s this… deciding on a whim to get lunch together at Speisekammer, and it just happened to be the one day Speisekammer held their Mai Fest (my name makes me feel special at times like this :-D). Everyone sitting out at long wooden tables under the parasols, sleepy dogs lying under the sun. It hasn’t been this warm for weeks. A band, balloons, flags, traditional clothes, dancing, food. A special menu.

Weisswurst – “Bavarian white veal sausage with pretzel and sweet mustard”. It’s no veal. It’s velvet.

Elderflower soda. A spiky chill all the way down.

Geräucherte Scheinehaxe mit Kartoffelbrei – “Smoked pork shank with mash potatoes”. Juicy inside, crusty outside.

The band played a heart-warming favorite of mine. “Die kleine Kneipe in unserer Straße, da wo das Leben noch lebenswert ist. Dort in der Kneipe in unserer Straße, da fragt dich keiner was du hast oder bist…”
(“The little bar on our street, where life is worth living. There at the bar on our street, where you’re not asked what you have or who you are…”)

If you ever feel gloomy, find a German festival.

Address: Speisekammer
2424 Lincoln Avenue
Alameda, CA 94501
(510) 522-1300
speisekammer.com

(*) “Speisekammer” means “Pantry”, and “Mai” means “May”

Isn’t she a fine beauty?

Stuffed to the brim. Peppery chunky crunchy meatloaf. Cucumber strips, cilantro twigs, carrot and daikon strings. And beneath it all, a layer of (possibly homemade) velvety vietnamesischer Braunschweiger, als ob es jeglichen Sinn ergibt. Ja, der Sandwich ist so explosiv gut it induces a spontaneous breakout of German.

Bánh mì pâté thịt nướng*. Not the usual chargrilled pork banh mi I’ve had elsewhere, this one has some kind of briny rich meatloaf. I ordered only two miserable loaves. Shoulda got 20!

On top of that I found the secret to a good spicy yet non-spicy banh mi.

I forgot to ask them to hold the pepper, so they put in loads of jalapenos, which I could only picked out when I got home an hour later. You can get rid of the pepper (and you should, unless you have a parrot tongue**), but you can’t get rid of the pepper sting (which you shouldn’t). That mere fire tail left behind in the bread and the veggies and the meat gives just the right kick without overwhelming the other tastes. But if you wait too long (a few hours in the fridge) to pick out the jalapenos, then you might as well not pick them out at all, the sting has already soaked deep.

Address: Bánh Mì Ba Lẹ (East Oakland)
1909 International Blvd
Oakland, CA 94606
(510) 261-9800

(*) I didn’t see “bánh mì pate thịt nướng” or “thịt nướng pate” anywhere on the menu, I just copied the customers who ordered before me and the ones before them. Seems like a popular combination, for obvious reasons. So bánh mì is really like cơm tấm, only your imagination, not the printed menu, can limit your options! 😉

(**) I was told that the if you feed parrots chilipeppers, which they actually can eat, their pea-shaped tongue can get thinner (the heat peels it off) and allow them to talk. I haven’t found a source to verify this though…

Emerald green. Chilled. Clear. Leafy. Mildly sweet (sugar is added). Every time I pass by a patch of fuzzy spring grass, I dream of munching a tuft and inhaling the lush, youthful aroma of those dew- and rain-soaked blades. This two-dollar drink in this plastic cup is my dream come liquefied.

Lately I have been slacking on the blogging front, mainly because I took on an editing job to compensate for my unwillingness to cook. Ironically, now my eating out budget has increased but I have neither time to eat nor to write about the stuff that I eat. On top of that, the last few weeks of the semester are, naturally, the time to sprint at the end of the marathon and the professors make sure that slacking means death (no joke). But sometimes it backfires when you’re too stressed, you ditch your homework, set out on an hour bus ride to your Vietnamese sandwich shop, order a cup of pennywort drink, and drown your sleep deprivation in eavesdropping others’ conversations.

Little Mom used to make pennywort soup, the best remedy for hot weather and rising body temperature it was. Dad used to eat them raw. The plants almost grow wild, so the leaves cost next to nothing (I wonder why its English name isn’t “pennyworth”). On the streets pennyworth drinks usually get advertised on the same raggedy carts that sell sugarcane juice and fruit smoothies. Those “Nước Mía – Rau Má – Sinh Tố” surrounded with pictures of pineapple and avocado painted on the aluminum sides are a part of every Saigon school front.

But the cup at Bánh Mì Ba Lẹ was my first. There’s the familiar leafy taste in mom’s soup of years back, but the chilled sweetness is refreshingly new. A few tables away, a boy with Tintin‘s hair and two girls were also sipping their rau má. They speak in my mother tongue, yet somehow it sounds so foreign.

Address: Bánh Mì Ba Lẹ (East Oakland)
1909 International Blvd
Oakland, CA 94606
(510) 261-9800

Previously on Sandwich Shop Goodies: bánh quy (turtle mochi)