St. Louis - Give me MO'

Back when I was sowing wild oats as a foreign student in Japan, one of our assignments was to write a descriptive essay about American food. My friend chose to write about fresh Krispey Kreme doughnuts. He asked his roommate, a native Japanesian named Kio, how to say “orgasmic” in Japanese, to which Kio suggested “すごいです　ね！ ”, which is the equivalent of, “jeepers, that was awful swell!”

I think about that incident now as I try to translate into words the intense physiological reaction to the half rack at Pappy’s Smokehouse (3106 Olive Street). There’s a reason why this place appeared in Man vs. Food. I could attempt to describe the delicate interplay between the perfectly smoked ribs and 3 different kinds of sauces, and yet words appeal to reason when the appropriate reaction should be something much more guttural:

U-City Grill (6696 Enright Ave) has won local accolades as “St. Louis’s best Korean food,” which is damning with faint praise as much as anything else. Its bulgogi lacked the playfulness of Crisp’s. Still, if you find yourself a long-term resident of STL, and you have to choose between U-City or Qdobo Grill, the bibimbap will satisfy certain East Asian cravings, though probably not the ones that matter most. And on another level, I really enjoyed having a proprietor that makes it clear that our patronage of his establishment is interrupting his TV watching in the back room.

However, not all Asian food in STL needs be qualified as “great…for STL.” Banh Miso #1 (4071 S Grand Blvd), Vietnamese for ‘#1 Sandwich’, would be a gem in any city (if only Banh Miso #1 had been located in LA rather than STL, I can just imagine skinny-jean-clad voyeurs flocking in droves after a canonization from St. Jonathon Gold). The Bun Bo Buong Cha Gio and Salmon Chien alone would make Charley leave his foxhole for the carpet bombing your taste buds will receive (too soon?). Even a week eating every meal there would not suffice to exhaust the treasures at this establishment. And while there, why not take a picture standing next to the picture of the MO governor standing in front of the restaurant?

St. Louis: high crime rate, but a higher taste rate. No. Never mind. That crime rate is pretty high.

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Chicago gets Cole-d, so head to Jimmy's and Nuevo Leon

This week our readers get two reviews for the price of one. Our story starts on Wednesday. After an effervescing Wine Club event at the HPC, the recently engaged couple StarLight and StarBright, WD-40 the social lubricant, and I, all walked over to the Woodlawn Tap (aka Jimmy’s, 1172 E 55th St). There we were joined by Chittlins; he had just completed the Nautilus circuit and was still glossy with sweat. (A word of caution to all our single Catholic women readers that may have a Pavalovian response to any mention of sweat and Chittlins; I’m told the image in your induced hallucination is called a Chittlins-Chalupa. I have no first hand knowledge but I’m fairly certain state laws are broken and it may also involve fantasy characters from the Redwall series – yes, those are warrior mice).

Jimmy’s is your standard neighborhood bar, and by standard I mean awesome. I don’t remember the exact price breakdown, but for $30 (including tip) we picked up a pitcher, a grilled cheese sandwich, large fries, two burgers and an unidentifiable meat sandwich. Our discourse that evening may not have been as erudite as Jimmy’s patrons past (Saul Bellow and Dylan Thomas apparently) or present (current UofC undergrads and neighborhood theologians), but we managed to cover topics such as your standard ‘remake vs. sequel’ debate and the futility of being a Buffalo Bills fan this decade. Neither of which reached a satisfactory conclusion.

Alternatively, if company bores you, pick up a copy of your favorite Bellow bildrungsroman, for me it is The Adventures of Augie March, that great Jewish counterpart to the gentile/atheist Catcher in the Rye, and grab a seat at the bar. You would not be the first, and you will not be alone. Order a Leinenkugel to go with that grilled cheese sandwich and then I dare you to tell me that doesn’t taste great.

If Jimmy’s is the place to go for cheap booze and cheaper food, head to Nuevo Leon (1515 W 18th St) for brilliant Mexican done the way your grandmother might cook it. That is if your grandmother works in a kitchen in Pilsen that primarily serves food tourists and discerning locals. Nuevo Leon is loud, the waiters are unfriendly and broad shouldered, there seems to be an ever-present take-away line that snakes around most of the restaurant, and the neighborhood is slightly out of the way from your average El-rider. But the food, and the three salsas that come with it, makes up for all the inconveniences.

Our companions that evening were the stuffy (nose) Huggy Bear and his counterpoint (and my favorite piece of apparel), Hole-in-my-Sock. The focus was firmly on the food. Upon seating, you are served the house starter (some combination of tortilla, meat and sauce, and looked like a taco) and nachos. I compare Mexican restaurants by the quality of salsa, and Nuevo Leon finishes near the top. I ordered the Tostadas, Hole-in-my-Sock had the Tacos, Huggy Bear the Fajitas Norteñas [Chittlins interjection: the steak fajitas were fit for a fiesta...a Donner fiesta. The meat strips were thick, flavorless chords of flesh], and Chittlins the Milanesa de Res; no one tried the tripe soup.

I can’t speak for the rest, but I knew the tostadas were great when I woke up the next morning and could still taste them lingering somewhere between my taste buds and good memories.

As an homage to Malcolm Gladwell’s critically denounced new book, let me try to connect all the dots into a easily digestible lesson. Righty-tighty, Lefty-loosey. Duh.

Sabai-Dee: changing leaves /changing plans

For Sabai-Dee (5359 N Broadway) I will break the ManDate's format of complaining about my first-world problems before writing about third-world food. Simply put: the Tom Yum Pho is possibly America’s most articulate pho expression (full disclosure: after the server suggested it, I punned “it’s got to be good – it has yum in the name!”). The broth was ambitious, flavorful, and tangy; without the oily aftertaste that typically accompanies pho at such a reasonable price. I usually reserve “ambitious” as one of my many terms for empty wine critiquing (see also my use of “complex”, “earthy”, and basically anything I ever say about wine); today I use it for a dish that fulfilled the exotic mystery of the orient for under $10.

I filed the steamed Lemongrass tilapia under “A” for Ape shit, as in where your taste buds will go once you douse it in the special sauce (I have a complicated archiving system). The pork sausage and veggie dumpling appetizers had an earthy complexity with a clean, almost nutty finish, but the mussels with the house fish sauce created a new touchstone in taste, as well as an interesting segue for Sizzlenuts to explore the divine. The tofu and curry dishes didn’t disappoint but neither did they alter my fundamental conception of humanity’s place in the cosmos.

Judging by the number of antique shops in the Edgewater neighborhood, it could be either the most gay or senior friendly neighborhood in Chicago. I like to think this is where mature gay couples go to raise their non-traditional families and decorate their tastefully arranged converted lofts.

Toupee and Sizzlnuts represented the Chosen Tribe for a second week in a row. We also had the pleasure of the two loveliest flowers in the Northwestern graduate cog-sci department meadow - Chłodnik Litewski (or Chłodnik for short) and Pointers. Certainly there’s a certain amount of how-you-say… “longing” for the intimacy of ManDates past when it was strictly a table for two. Still, ToucanSam has heard enough of me complaining about Chicago infrastructure, the uneven growth rate of fingernails, and how I didn’t want to work at company X anyways for him to feel more than a vague sense of ennui at the prospect of another evening listening to the same.

Is Sabai-Dee truly Laotian or rather a Thai/Vietnamese/Chinese fusion? A mute argument after a mouthful of good pho.

Sultan's Market - does that look red to you?

When life hands you Sizzlenuts and Toupee, go to Sultan’s Market (2057 W North Ave). That’s what Chittlins and I did last night and your favorite gastronomes could not be more pleased. I always know we’re starting off on the right foot when the evening begins with Chittlins wondering whether he has come down with yet another STD. (If there was a conclusion to this line of self-reflection I am unaware). The evening may not have filled my heart like last week but at least this time it filled my belly.

Last night we were joined by two of Chittlins’ friends, both with obscure connections to our host. The plot of our evening was quite simple, two friends are joined by other friends, have food, have drinks, talk about women that exist, talk about women that don’t exist, part ways. To my surprise, those are all the ingredients you need for endless Boston-accent jokes and a realization that Boston-accent jokes never get old.

I’m sure there are a lot of other really good things on the menu but there is really very little reason to stray from the falafel sandwich as your choice of main. Their tag line, not mine, “If its not our falafel, is freakin’ awful”. Fortunately, they are much better at frying chickpeas than they are at rhyming.

For appetizers, the four of us split some spinach pies, baba ghanooj, and zatter bread; one of two reasons to bring friends along to Sultan’s, the other being you’ll need someone to get up and refill the yogurt dip and hot sauce. Baba ghanooj tasted better when it was spelled babaganoush. This one was a bit too creamy and made you forget that it was made of eggplant. Pureed eggplant should taste like pureed eggplant, and that’s not a matter of opinion. Also, I can forgive the lackluster taste of the actual pita since I’m only paying $3.25 for the meal, but I cannot forgive the user-unfriendly trash bins that force me to shove garbage through a pinhole, let alone a restaurant that makes me clean up after myself. This germaphobe was not pleased.

The best part of the food is also the worst part. I ate my falafel sandwich so fast I skipped the climax altogether, going straight from ordering to denouement to clean up. Somewhere in between I remember trying desperately to keep everything together lest it breakapart. The sog spread too quickly.

We couldn’t just let the evening come to end there. The three of us followed Toupee to Rodan (1530 N Milwaukee Ave); the blue mood lighting and low-profile cubist couches had me reaching for my wallet but I was pleasantly surprised to see PBR on the menu. My favorite part of Rodan (really my favorite part of any lounge) was the Windows Media Player-like Visualization projected onto a giant screen. Its sort of like you’re at a rave, but wait, then you realize you can order a maki roll and get a half priced bottle of sake (Wednesday night special). Rave Sushi. I wish I had thought of that. I better watch myself here or this will turn into a lounge review.

As the holidays quickly approach, make Sultan’s Market a priority destination. Nothing says Christmas like Tabboule and Jerusalem Salad.