Eating Out My Asian Secret

I suppose that the R-N Market on Herndon and Cedar isn’t so much of a real Fresno secret, in that I see their weekly ad all the time. But what their sales in the paper have failed to reveal to me is that the R-N Market is a treasure trove of obscure and interesting Asian ingredients! Don’t get me wrong, I love Central Fish for their Japanese section and the Korea market for their obvious offerings. But R-N market seems to be all over the Pacific Rim with their stock.

Want some fish sauce? They’ve got 4-5 different varieties. Need some sambal oelek? How about 2 freaking gallons?!? Not to mention dozens of different and interesting tinned items, from pickled shallots to tamarind sauces to fearsome fermented fish concoctions. There is a veritable rainbow of new, interesting and downright frightening items available as potential ingredients for kitchen madness.

Their most pleasing section had to be their produce area. It’s a little bit tumbledown in appearance, with some packing boxes doubling as floor displays. But with prices so low and such good looking veg, it’s hard to ding them on presentation. Almost everything was less than a buck a pound, with only red bell peppers edging that out at $1.50 per lb. Which is still insanely better than a buck a pop at the regular supermarkets. Plus they again have an interesting variety available including taro root, daikon radish, varied greens and fresh sprouts. We definitely hit this area so hard that our crisper won’t shit right for a week!

Then we moved on, threading through the aisles and nosing through each section like Indiana Jones, looking to steal cultural artifacts from their native peoples to “preserve” them in a London museum. Ok, maybe not quite that obtusely misguided. Afterall, this is a funtime weekend shopping romp that started out as a quest for green peppercorns so that I can finally make proper Steak Diane, that exploded into a full blown culinary adventure. Certainly more entertaining than going to the movies.

We found a lot of other fun items, green tea mochi, various flavors of shrimp chips (the cheese are actually pretty tasty!), a bunch of different sambals and hot sauces, cookies, wafers and the coolest looking peeler/finger-mangler/lockjaw delivery device I’ve seen in a while. Plus we grabbed some items for curries, udon, rice and some fresh Chinese noodles. AND! We found my guilty pleasure…the Pepsi Throwbacks! And a buck cheaper per 12 pack than anywhere else in town! So, we certainly cleaned them out of those.

The final lap was through the meat and freezer areas. First off, the butcher was fairly well stocked. Not so much in the New York steak area, but more along the lines of stew meats, a few basic steaks and simpler cuts. One big plus is that they carry uncured pork belly, otherwise known as bacon before it hits the smokehouse. I’ve been looking forward to experimenting a bit with this in the future. And of course the fish area was delightfully fresh. And I say that without irony. Too often a fresh fishmonger ruins your appetite with the less pleasant odors of the sea. But their whole meat area smelled like…nothing! Just like a clean butcherey should. Their fresh fish included the usual catfish, shrimp and also bass and a few trout that looked from around these parts. One of them had a bulldog tattoo at least.

And the frozen area was even more insane. Fishcicles from waters all over the world. Some of which I’ve only seen on National Geographic much less on a plate. And a wide selection of varied quick frozen Asian specialties, like dumplings, spring rolls and tons of frozen ingredients, side dishes and desserts. Not to mention here is where they keep their sho jou, which I’m told is pretty much the widowmaker of blackout drunks. We even saw a jug labled: Cooking Liquor; NOT FOR HUMAN CONSUMPTION! Which sorta blew my mind, since if you’re cooking with it, wouldn’t it be consumed by a human? But then again, I’ve tasted a few bottles of booze that probably should have carried the same label. Lucky Lager anyone?

Anyway though. After our deep and thorough rooting through their stock, we finally pushed our overburdened cart to the checkout stand. Scant minutes before they were preparing to arm themselves to chase us out so they could finally close up shop. Here’s where I’m really impressed. Not so much at the checker, who was fairly cool, all things considered. But the bill total that she handed us. We exercised nothing resembling restraint. We grabbed anything that appeared shiny or interesting, including medieval vegetable torture devices and new teapots. But after all of that and 3 hours of shopping, our total was only about $150. In a regular market we would have easily been out double that amount and came out with less actual food.

If you’ve been searching for a 1 stop shop for all your Asian cooking needs, or if you’re looking for some obscure ingredients for your favorite dish, you can do a lot worse than stopping into the R-N Market for a minute or 180. Not only do they have a wide and varied selection of Asian dishes and ingredients, they also carry a decent selection of regular Western market items like cereals, bbq sauces and all that. And even if you’re not an adventurous cook, their fresh produce alone is the perfect excuse to find oneself north of Shaw.


-Pook

P.S.  Oh yeah, and the green coconut curry soup we made for dinner that night curled our toes in Tom Kha Gai rapture. (recipe to come)

Eating Out My Esteem for Mangosteen

Holy shit! A restaurant review? Here? On Eating Out Fresno? Pshaw! But it’s true! I somehow got out of the house and let some other poor schmuck do the cooking in exchange for hard earned shekels. And as always, it’s a crap shoot on whether or not I’m going to feel like a dumbass for parting with the greenbacks to get something I probably could have ruined better in my own kitchen.

Case in point, Mangosteen, the cute bistro that took over the old Lyon’s building that Kim’s Vietnamese once occupied. I’ve read a fair stack of eater reviews and seen tons and tons of positive feedback on the various restaurant review sites that actually are aware that Fresno exists and has places to eat. So, on a hot summer’s Sunday, it made sense to finally stop in and see if this moderately priced eatery was actually all it had been cracked up to be.

On first impression, it’s quite nice. I can still totally see the old Lyon’s layout, but somehow the architects had subliminally added in Asian elements. Like the main supports of the dining room in the rough shape of the pillars of heaven. Pretty cool. And the mural work on the side and back walls is quite beautiful. And another big plus for a sweltering Fresno day is good air conditioning. Too bad the customers were cooler than the produce in the back, but more on that later.

We’re seated promptly and strangely, before seeing a menu, we’re asked what we would like to drink. Since I’m interested in what unique beverage items they might have, we opt for waters. Odd that I would have to establish that, since it’s pretty much the universal constant of a sit down restaurant. I’ve got that sinking feeling in my guts. Like I’m going to have one of those, “Oh yeah! THIS is why I blog!” moments. Damn it, I really wanted to like this place.

With menus in hand, we peruse their offerings. It’s a decent little menu, reasonably priced and as usual, should have been spell checked before going to the printers. And then it happens. The first little domino is tipped, flips the man into the pan which cuts the string on the iron hovering over the open tube of toothpaste…well you get the idea. Mrs. EOF orders a Thai iced tea and I notice that they have whole young coconuts on the menu. If you’ve never had a young coconut all to yourself, you are missing a piece of the grand puzzle of decadence. Sweet, thin coconut milk is just the side benefit. What makes them so amazing is their tender, young, gelatin textured flesh. It’s like it’s insides are coated with an astoundingly light and airy coconut custard of delightfulness.

And so the death knell came. “Well, our freezer went out, so let me check and see if we have any.” Wait, what? Your fucking freezer is down? Isn’t that where all restaurants keep the lion’s share of their perishables, only to be thawed for use on the same day? Shit! Half the menu is seafood! And why in the hell are the coconuts in the damn freezer? This does not bode well for our intrepid eaters.

They discovered that they do indeed have some left as the server brings out our appetizer (to be enjoyed with our waters) of Roti Prata. As it arrives, I understand why he seemed perplexed at us only ordering one. For $2 you get one piece of a weird naan-crepe like affair with a coconut curry dipping sauce. For all I know, the bread could have been a poorly mixed tortilla thrown on a flat top. A little flaky, kinda chewy, but not terribly impressive. Really, the appetizer is all about the coconut curry sauce. That stuff is tasty enough to make a straight man happily gobble down a cock and ask for seconds. But great sauce does not, a great appetizer make. All it did was harden my resolve to learn curries so as to avoid this shade of ridiculous in the future.

Dick in the ear #2: The drinks arrive. The Thai iced tea is pretty straight forward and what I expect. Chai tea extract mixed with some soy milk over ice. Not exactly innovative, but whatever. The real embarrassment was the young coconut. It comes with it’s little baby dome chopped off and a straw tossed into it’s depths. Not exactly the Jaques Pepin school of plating, but again, whatever. I’m giddy with anticipation. And so, I lift it’s little lid and scoop out the first bit of…hey! This shit is hard as hell to get off the shell! And it’s…it’s fucking hard! What is this crap?? Maybe the milk will…taste like the fry cook was soaking his toes in it! Mother. Fucker.

You know what enters into a kitchen refugee’s mind when they hear the freezer is out? Oh shit, what is the manager going to try and save, despite the loss of quality and potential risk to the customer? Most often, the contents of a restaurant’s freezer is worth over ten times more than what they have in their safe. And so, if it looks like that stuff is going to have to be trashed, whoever is doing the books will do their damndest to make full use of whatever they think they can squeeze past their customer’s blunted palates. Well Mr. Mangosteen Manager, you picked the wrong dude to try and slip shoddy coconuts past. And your sins are only compounded by the remainder of the meal.

Somewhat foolishly, despite a strong gut feeling and some fairly strong proof that this is going to all go to shit, we order fairly robustly. Her, going with their Daddy-in-Law’s Fried Rice (beef basil fried rice) and the Laksa (coconut curry soup with shrimp, ramen and surimi) and myself with the sambal udang (prawns in chili sauce) and the Hot Hot oelek tofu. And we wait…and wait… Then I hear bellowed from the kitchen “I NEED LAKSA!”. Nothing like a well behaved kitchen enhancing the eating experience by making sure I hear every call and every plate up. I especially liked how they would double their volume if the lone server didn’t immediately abandon the customers they were helping.

So they’re down soup and we’ve got 3 sautee dishes. Do you think that they either waited to make the sautee’d food or remade it if it had been sitting too long? If you do, then you have a poor sense of foreshadowing and likely should seek out some reading comprehension classes. But wait we did, after we had been given soup bowls 20 minutes before it was prepared. It, however, was fairly tasty. The base of the soup is the same curry that we had with the mutant naan bread.  So as aforementioned, it could make penises taste good enough to fill up on. Hell, it was tasty enough that I didn’t get TOO depressed at the sight of krab (surimi fish paste, flavored and formed into crab shape) in the soup. Though again, looking at the components, once I learn how to make the curry, I’m sure I can toss a couple shrimp, some scallops and a block of ramen into the broth at home. The basil fried rice wasn’t awful, but I’ve had much better. The basil flavor was getting lost in the mushy rice and what little beef there was, didn’t bring much flavor to the party. And those were the best 2 dishes.

I apparently, struck out. Given my recent obsession with all things spicy, I wanted to line up for the hottest stuff they had. And (according to the menu) they had dishes that use my absolute favorite Asian chili sauce, sambal oelek. It’s hot, but not the type of spicy that makes you dive for the milk or hate your best friend forever for letting you take a bite. It’s got that wonderful pungent punch without the overly vinegar taste that most hot sauces have. Great on pizza, great on steak, great on burritos.

But not great in the hands of whatever chef was on shift at Mangosteen. First disappointment was the Hot Hot oelek tofu. It should have been called, Bitter Bitter plate of crap. The “crispy” tofu was already soggy and it’s just awash in onions. Nothing else, just onions. Probably 8-1 onion to tofu ratio. And the “hot” part was a joke! A child wouldn’t have been intimidated by the spice in this. And the flavor was downright crap. Here I’m expecting some nice pungent pepper flavor and all I get is a washed out sweetened burnt soy sauce. The coconut curry was hotter!

And the prawns? What image is conjured in your mind when you hear prawns? Big, meaty shrimp as big around as a working man’s thumb? Me too! But apparently whoever is buying for the restaurant seems to think that they’re more along the size of salad shrimp. You get bigger tails in a shrimp cocktail ring! Prawns my left nut. These sad little lumps of food borne illness waiting to happen had been languishing at an unsafe temperature for god knows how long, were rinsed off and sautee’d in the exact same wretched sauce and with the same lame ass accompaniment. And to add insult to flavor injury, they cooked the dog shit out of the poor things in hopes of not killing me and then left it to languish under whatever heat lamp they have hidden in the back, until the lost Laksa soup had at last been cobbled together from extract and canned goods. They were bland bits of flaky rubber that I would have been embarrassed to serve myself, much less look a customer in the eye and say “Yes, that is worth money.”

But Pook, you say, it can’t possibly get worse can it? Oh yes dear reader, yes it can. You see, having already sent back 1 item and finding myself with another 2 unpalatable messes, rather than send them back as well and have a pout, I simply asked for some plain sambal oelek to dip my food in. Such is it’s powers, that straight from the bottle it can overpower the flavor of shitty food. And I get…coconut curry sauce… What in the motherfuck? I’m not some rubeish redneck using imaginary Tennessee Thai terms for what I want. I asked for what was supposedly the main flavor component of my dish. For fuck’s sake, it comes in a JAR! It’s not like they had to make it fresh. So, try number 2. MORE OF THE SAME SHITTY SAUCE ON THE SHRIMP THAT I’VE ALREADY STATED WAS CRAP! Okay, now I’m wondering if I’m on another planet. If I go to a damn Italian restaurant and ask for more parmesan for my eggplant parmesan, I don’t get a look of constipated confusion.

Right when I think I must be mad or the label on the jar has been lying to me. Suddenly, amazingly…they fucking figure out that they offer it as a goddamn dip for their spring rolls!! Finally, I can grimace my way through potential food poisoning with something resembling some aplomb. At the very least, it was able to cover the semi-rotten flavor of the tofu and gave me something more interesting to chew than the old pencil erasers that were the shrimp.

Man, where do I start on the wrap up? If I had filmed dinner tonight from start to finish, I could make the perfect training video of how not to operate a restaurant. While I personally appreciate candor, telling a customer that the freezer is busted is a fast track to making a smart (smarter than me) eater run out the door and never come back. An even faster track though is for the kitchen to fulfill every nightmarish scenario running through my head. Seriously, trying to salvage bad shrimp? The chef should be fined and horse whipped. Just for ruining my coconut moment alone, they have earned my eternal nutritional enmity.

There is one tiny speck of light in all of this though. The server. Honesty may not be the best policy for a server with most customers. But with me it’s golden. It may have been a bad idea to mention to me that the freezer was out from a professional point of view. However, had I been wandering into that wretched coconut and pathetic shrimp without forewarning, my sense of disdain would have rapidly morphed into indignant rage. Probably accompanied by calls to the health department. They did their best to give me the hints that would have lead me to more pleasant experience. But I was more interested if the kitchen was so stupid as to sell inferior product. The poor thing was mortified, as I sat staring at the kitchen, politely waiting for them to figure out how to put jarred sauce into a bowl so I could cover their mistakes for them. They even offered to comp us a desert. Which would have been fine if they had forgotten our appetizer or something. But, since it would likely come from their own pocket, I wouldn’t hear of it. Then they upped the ante by offering us 10% off the meal. Again, I’m not down with that. My meal wasn’t 10% awful. It was 85% awful. And the restaurant shouldn’t feel that it’s ok in my book because I got a White Sale discount. (It’s a Labor Day thing) Plus, I hate the idea that folks might feel I’m pulling the ole scumbag scam to eat on the cheap. I’d rather leave with my dignity and pay full price and vow never to go back. But the pro pulled rank on me at the credit card machine and gave us the discount anyways. That’s a pretty stylish move in my book. If they ever quit, I’ll be overjoyed to have them as a server anytime. I hear there are openings down in the Tower District . So, by their magnanimous gesture we ended on a high note. And for that I’m thankful. Well, for that and the fact that I immediately ran across the parking lot and bought myself my very own mega-jar of sambal oelek. Now to learn curry!


-Pook

Eating Out A Landmark

Actually, THE Landmark. You see, after we didn’t totally screw up during the premier of the Cooking With Pook segment on Central Valley Buzz! 4-6pm weekdays on channel 33.1 and webcast, (Like that artfully rammed in plug? Thought you would.) so we felt that we deserved a bit of a victory dance after our premier and dropped in for a bite. More about the mighty ‘Mark later.

Let’s talk about MEEEE! Oh my god! I cooked on TV! And it was a ton of fun! I got to make my pasta carbonara recipe. And you know that old saying about watched pots and boiling water? Multiply that by 10,000 when you’re doing your best not to look like a complete ass on TV! Oh my god, it took that pot of water damn near an hour to go from tap to boiling. But beyond that, it was all smoothies. The pancetta rendered nicely, the sauce came out an acceptable texture, the pasta wasn’t too bad. And it looked ok. Creamy pasta isn’t exactly going to jump off of your screen in brilliant HD. My real boner though, was off-camera. I didn’t make enough for the crew! There’s a small army of hungry interns who are looking to jump me. Lesson: bring more next week. Look maw! I is on the Tee Vee!

And on to dinner. We took a wander around the Tower after the show, so that I might annoy any who would hold still, with tales of my nouveau célébrité. After having my inflated head booted out of a few living rooms, the hunger was upon us. First I thought about the take out pizzas over at Karch’s, since I could also get it home to the camera I left there. But alas, it was after 9pm. So we settled on the all night happy hour at the Landmark and a sad lack of food pics.

I’m actually at The Landmark quite a bit. So I found it a little strange that this is the first time that it occurred to me to review more than a couple plates of appetizers during the Rogue. It’s really a very nice Basque restaurant, with a medium sized back patio that they lovingly heat in the winter and have misters up to help beat down the raging Fresno summers. Their back dining room is fairly large and nicely appointed. And most importantly, even if it’s raging at the bar and on the patio, you can still hear yourself think while you’re eating in the dining room. A big plus when the restaurant is also a popular night spot. And rather than clear out the tables for a dance floor, the kitchen stays open late so drinky pants can get their grub on and level out their buzz.

Menu stuff! And a gin and tonic, please. They’ve got a pretty wide menu, Basque style seafood dishes, lamb, beef, frogses. Even the terrifying escargots of snailness. But the spouse lady was down for some clamsian goodness for the appetizer. So, I chose the scalone, an apparent fusion of scallops and abalone (which I’ve never before seen on a menu for under $40), egg dipped and fried, similar to a calamari steak for my entree. The lady chose the shrimp scampi and we both went for the pasta alfredo as our side.

Their clams were pretty good. Only a couple were sporting the hated clam-sand-poop. Nothing sets you back as you’re mentally getting over the concept that you’re eating an entire animal, poop chute and all, than a nice, crown-damaging crunch to remind you that there’s an artfully stewed turd in that chewy little fellow. Doesn’t mean I didn’t finish ‘em and then dip some of their garlic bread in the butter, white wine, shallot and poop broth. Mmmmmm. And if you think that’s a little too gross, I’ll tell you a few tales of the dark side of sausages! To know what worcestershire sauce really is will make you faint dead away.

The salads were ok. Not much in the greens to get too excited about. My bleu cheese was fairly mild. Although the pickled beets on top were a fun touch that harkens back to the fancy salads of my youth, like the Lime Lite’s. Overall it wasn’t going to sink or float anything on it’s own. So we move on to our entrees. Both were hot and seemed to be fresh from the kitchen. There was a small delay, since our server was also handling the madhouse of the patio, so I was a bit worried. But he seemed to be well in synch with the kitchen and got our plates out within their tastiness tolerances.

I really liked the scalone! It was 3 medium sized, egg dipped and fried patties. Very similar to a calamari steak. But it’s all the difference when you bite into them. There is a much lighter texture than you get with squid, or even with scallops alone. And I finally understand the abalone obsession. When handled properly, they’re extremely tender and sweet. Absolutely perfect on their own, it’d be a sin to even add a squirt of lemon. Now I must find an abalone festival, that I might sate this heretofore unknown need.

The alfredo was fairly meh. It was certainly better than Lipton’s. But I think I may have had overly engorged standards by that point considering I had lunched on carbonara, destroyed the clam appetizer and already sampled the scalone. I was reaching the Danger-Full level. The clams had also done their damage to the spouse. But she bravely trooped her way through her shrimp scampi. I got a taste and really liked the flavor. Nice sized butterflied shrimp in a tasty garlic butter sauce with something new. Mushrooms. It makes complete sense now that I think of it, but they had to show me the truth of it. The shrimp themselves were a wee bit overcooked, but didn’t detract too much from the dish. Overall, we were really happy with dinner and our service. Not for the first time and most certainly not the last.

So, we’ve got ourselves a bit of a Tuesday spot on an awesome local TV station! I feel like I’m finally living out my dream of being a character in Weird Al’s movie “UHF”. I hope I get to jump out of a closet in a Channel 30 office and yell “Supplies!” while attacking their hired goons with mops during a clandestine mission to rescue Chuck’s abducted janitor, who will later go on to say some very regrettable things on stage in LA. With that fantasy in my head and a belly full of new and interesting seafood, I gotta say. Damn, it feels good to be a blogga!


-Pook

Eating Out Ferrous Avians

Well, after a wild romp through the Taste and Toast of the Tower this evening (which I’m secretly hiding away from my forebrain to be regurgitated by my alter ego at Valley411.com) and I am beat. No, one little food and wine festival couldn’t put down our intrepidly drunken glutton! There was more! So much more. Somewhere towards the end, there was the 3rd worst Long Island iced tea I’ve ever had in my life. But that bartender might still be banging someone I know from high school, so they avoid being thrown under the blog-bus this time. This time…

So! Why in the hell am I still typing? My reasons are twofold. One ulterior, one posterior. Wait, wouldn’t that be a butt reason? Whatever, I’ll run with it. The reason I’m still making the squawky talk is because Fresno’s own Inner Ear Beat Down Poetry Slam has moved into the single most buzztastic java joint Fresno has ever seen. I’ve had folks literally pouring hot, sticky, molten praise for this place into my ear on a nigh daily basis. I’m on a weekly text message round up to get me out of the Hobbit Hole and shuffle out to drink caffeine and bask in the awesomeness of pure café bliss.

Right. And I should totally let you stick another finger in my butt too. I have been to the mountaintop and it is tastefully lighted in hues of unattainable high school memories. There can be no contemporary coffee joint in this age where words like corporate, gourmet and coffee somehow can all come out in once sentence without the vengeful spirit of a beatnik ripping their soul out of their stinkholes. Right? Well, you were a year ago.

But what’s that? Up in the sky! A police chopper? The CIA? A bronze sculpture that makes you fondly remember Jacko dangling his offspring over a balcony? Ok, yeah, that’s there too. But no! It’s…IRON BIRD! Nuh nuh nuuuuuh! Like a smoldering beacon of awesome come to rest in the unlikely cradle of downtown, snuggled underneath chic art condos and terrifyingly south of Olive. Iron Bird seems at the outset to understand the chaotic currents of ‘No-town and has the short and curly’s to spit in the face of that fickle tempest to create it’s own reality bubble. Like an acid crazed, axe wielding transient, she sits astride a sociological median and rather than beg for change, establishes change and dares your oh-so-expensive Escalade to try to budge them from their concrete island of etherial delights.

Huh? Ok, that allegory got a little out of control. But it’s astounding the comfy and welcome vibe that this place puts off. It might helped that as I was approaching, U could hear the soulful ramble of Fresno’s own Kilroy opening his farewell set. And then I walk up and see that the entire sidewalk has been taped off and there are close to 100 people all seated and enjoying the show, the well lit stage is actually 3d sidewalk colorfully applied to the environment…ok, it was a perfect storm of awesome sent by Poseidon himself to wash away my snarky preconceptions. The final stab in the heart of my Eternal Grump was a quick taste of a friend’s blended mocha. I know what you’re thinking. And fuck you very much for thinking it. This isn’t some lame ass Washingtonian canned milk and coffee syrup frap-crap. This is an honest-to-fire-crotch mocha tossed into a blender with ice. Espresso, chocolate, dairy, ice and violence. Plus the beloved barista (and decent rhyme artist) was such a pimp that he made some chocolate whipped cream as a topper. Straight took me back to the mocha java shake from back in the day. Just needs a little ice cream added to the mix and some burnt coffee beans on top and I’m 15 again ditching school and reading Shadowrun novels in the back of Java Café. And REASONABLE! No fucking way?  It can’t be delicious and reasonable! But, I’m here to say that I got the shakeadiddle and an iced tea and it totaled just over a fiver. Suck on THAT Starfuckers!

I think I mentioned some stuff about poetry earlier too. Mr. Brian Medina said it best for me to paraphrase, this ain’t no Mary Had a Little Lamb jive. It’s also not a venue for failed or failing MCs to throw around tired ass rhymes. Folks at the Beat Down have something to say. Words that resonate and communicate. It’s not just people speaking with or about their feelings. It’s about them tapping into their own vibe and pinging it out amongst the audience, bringing everyone into the same harmony as they speak. Shedding their humanity for a moment and revealing themselves as biological tuning forks, harmonizing us all together into the same key. And for budding poets who might be a bit hesitant to step up in competition, the Inner Ear also hosts the Open Mic Jam at Full Circle Brewery the following Thursday. Oh, did I forget to mention the Slam is a competition? Well, that’s what makes it a slam! 10 poets, 5 bucks a head, $50 to the winner and a hearty handshake to the rest. So how can you go wrong? Coffee poets to the left of me, beer poets to the right! Oh whatever is a poor blogger to do? Get wired one week and hammered the next. Absorbing soulful mouth sounds the whole way through.

Fucking poets, how do they work?

-Pook

Eating Out My Uncle Vin's Ribs n Eyes

I sit before you, dear readers. Full to the gills, simmering in a fabulous gut stew of well wrought culinary artistry and not a little bit of the vintnery, distillation and brewery arts. And though the booze doth drive me to write out the insanity that dwells in my brain, the food is what gives me a subject by which to humble myself.

So has Veni Vidi Vici made me this evening. As Tower jewels go, this is the Star of India of the district. We all hear about it, but far too many people have never seen it’s beauty. I mean, we’ve all had drinks with friends on the most awesome patio in the entirety of the Tower. But how often do you eat there? I’ve studied the menu many times and for some reason the dishes never seemed to fire my imagination. They’re certainly not lame, boring, same old same old. But somehow it lacks the WEIRD that most “gourmet” restaurants have. No smashed duck livers or baby cow cheeks or artfully sautéed buttholes in a fabulous doo doo sauce.

What a fucking pretentious dick I have become. By reading a few French cookbooks and figuring out how to make a not-ass cream sauce, I have somehow joined the ranks of “holier than thou who dost not watch Alton Brown” set. If it doesn’t have the stench gland of a Micronesian weiner beetle in it, it’s not cuisine, right?

Thank god for Veni’s showing up on the set this evening to remind me what a high-falootin’ jackass I am. Their cuisine isn’t boring or plain by any means. But despite the many compliments that wiser Tower goers than I have offered, I always looked at the menu outside and felt that it just didn’t challenge me. Dinner tonight taught me beyond any doubt that familiar ingredients can be used in new and fabulous ways. Foods you know can turn into amazing nutritional chameleons of flavor.

Kicking off dinner we had the goat cheese appetizer. A nice little pond of olive oil, with a modest tower of peppered chevre and a flotilla of calamata olives in attendance. Tasty and nicely spicy from the coarse black pepper. Good amount of acid and tang from the olives, smooth creaminess from the cheese and a bit of girth from the olive oil. Smash some of the garlic confit into the bread and you’re in heaven.

Middle course was the absolute weirdest! This was the first lesson. I knew each ingredient fairly well. But what they became in combination in my gob was astounding. We ordered and split their pear salad with arugula, spinach, bleu cheese and candied pecans with a mustard vinaigrette. I swear to you, with the whole affair in your mouth a’chewin, it tastes just like a strong cumin pork. Not a lick of meat in the salad obvious. For a neophyte still learning what food means as an art form, it was a big epiphany.

Ok, touchy feely hippy crap over. Main courses are on and it’s animaltastic. First there’s the juniper crusted pork chop. Sweet! Crusty, the flavor of fire mixed with spice and the flavor of sweetness. Juniper didn’t leap out at me, but it blended well with all the other players. Then there was the portabella ravioli with andoulli sausage and cherry tomatoes. Lord how I hate un-pureed tomatoes. But this rocked! Earthy and shroomy as hell. The evil woman stole all the sausage goodness, so I assume it was fabulous. And I scored on their rib eye.

A quick aside about the eye o’ the rib as it was described. I was thinking it was going to be a rosemary and blue cheese with maple syrup affair. How pleasantly and non-advertizedly surprised was I going to be! It’s still on it’s roasted new potatoes (CRISPY! Look burned, but that’s the caramelized spices on the top) and broccolini. But my toppings were a crust of goat cheese with a ribbon of Guilden’s Brown mustard and stripe of Sriracha, or as I prefer to call it, Cock Sauce (there’s a rooster on the bottle!). Food snob says, “I can totally tell what’s on here, this is therefore crap!”. But fortunately, people I consider wise have given Vin’s food much praise, so I STFU and saw some meat into my face. And….dare I say?? Toppings made from shit I have at home can actually taste so hella good I won’t whine about it being served at a restaurant! Ok, doesn’t hurt that a friend was comping dinner…but still! I’m a huge pain in the ass about restaurant meals and this shit tasted good as fucking on a school day! I'm totally stealing their recipe and plating. Now I just need their meat vendor and I’m set!

So, I’ve picked on my foodie-wannabe ways for a bit. Time to pat myself on the back. For, you see, my dinner mates had no stomach for attempting to further stuff their frames with the wonders of dessert. But there’s friggin bananas foster out there! Braving the first step, we also score some of their white chocolate ice cream. The foster was fab. Nice caramel sauce, ripe sautéed bananas and a filo crisp for a bit of crunch. The white chocolate ice cream was really subtle, maybe a tiny bit icy-crunchy but really nice. But the (raspberry?) sauce at the bottom was hard as heck to taste outside of the vanilla base.

Hands down, great experience. We had all psychically decided on goat cheese for the appetizer, and from there we ate nothing but recommendations from our server. Everything was damn well made, my steak done to actual medium rare perfection and even then, rested properly. And the one taste I got of the pork chop was a huge reminder that swine can be divine when well cared for. Veni’s rep is safe and even well deserved in my eyes. There might not be fois gras on the menu, but that doesn’t mean that they’re not turning out meals that are well worth the ticket price.

At first I was a wee bit worried being the Eating Out Fresno guy offering to show a good friend where to eat well in town. Especially since I had my own worries about the lack of oddities on the menu, but I wanted to take them where it’s easy to relax and have fun. In the end, it couldn’t have been a better call. Erna’s Elderberry might have been fancier, Trelio might have been more haute cuisine. But Veni Vidi Vici perfectly fit the bill for friends to enjoy wildly delicious food and to feel able to be very casual and catch up on each other’s current lives. Right now, Vini’s is holding the trifecta top spot in my heart with Cracked Pepper and Tower Dogs. Odd combo, but to me it means love.

-Pook


P.S. and special shoutout to friend of EOF Tracy and her magical Italian stallion.  Many heartfelt thanks for a wonderful mealsperience and fun ass evening of draining the local watering holes of all of their booze.  This must occur again in your neck of the woods.  So it is written, so it must be!

Eating Out My Buddy Sam

No, not friend of EOF and our buddy’s wife Samantha. Ewww! She’s pregnant! That’d be like Turducken or something, right? No, no. Sick, dirty, people. We’re talking about Fresno’s own, Sam’s Italian Deli and Market! Where they actually do stuff things into other things. But, with a much more pleasant and delicious surprise.

A family owned and operated Fresno landmark for roughly 3 decades, Sam’s is your go-to spot in Fresno for all things involving lovingly preserved meats. Oh yeah, they sell a lot of Italian foodly goods as well. Not to mention fresh bread, wines, cheeses, frozen homemade pastas, fresh made sauces, olive oils, fine vinegars. Pretty much anything you can think of to make a delicious Italian meal. Easy way, hard way, Sam’s offerings and service just give you a warm sense that they want you to eat well, no matter how much effort you want to put into the meal.


Want to make life easy? Pick up a bag of their frozen handmade raviolis, a pint of their marinara sauce, a half loaf of their pre-prepped garlic bread and a little parmesan and you’re golden. Boil the pasta, heat up the sauce, toss the bread in the oven. Mix, slice, serve. Done! Or, you can pick up some fine canned San Marzano tomatoes (4 different styles, 13 different brands), fresh or dried herbs, your choice of several different romano or parmesan cheeses, 3 different styles of Italian sausage, a mind blowing selections of pasta or everything you need to make your own, and a robust selection of different olive oils…see what I mean?

So let’s split it up a bit and tackle the grocery area first. The first thing you notice on your way in the door is their wine section. Not being much of a vino fiend, I can’t really speak with great authority about their selection. I can however say that their selection includes a large rack of Under $10 wines. Which always works for cheap ass, wine-ignorant me. But I also noticed that they had a few vintages that were climbing well over $75. I assume that makes it really great, bad grape juice.

Moving on! They have a nice, compact area for pickles, preserves and canned fish. Great selection of capers and anchovies. Plus, numerous toppings and spreads involving red bell peppers, eggplant and the like. Then we scoot around to the wall of tomaters. I’m pretty sure they stock enough to arm an entire Jr. High for a Spanish style tomato street war. Pretty much all San Marzano plum tomatoes, concasee’d whole or puree’d. And some of the nifty toothpaste tube Euro style tomato paste, so you don’t waste a whole can if you don’t need a whole can. I wonder if those will ever take off here.

Then we come to their frozen section of mass awesomeness. Here you can buy just about any delicacy that their kitchen can turn out. Soups, pastas, sauces, desserts and even 1 serving meals. Onto the cookie rack! If you like amaretto, you will lose your freaking mind over these little amaretti cookies by Lazzaroni. And shuffle next, to the wall of olive oils and vinegars. Pretty impressive! Much like the wine selection, there are decent olive oils priced just a low as anywhere else and there are very fine olive oils that one would use when you’re not just frying some veg and chicken. Some good looking basalmics and even some reasonably priced truffle products. I might have to hit these up to ease my morel withdrawls soon.

We’re ever so tempted to peek at the meat counter…BAD! No! Bad monkey, no sock for you. Next is produce! Got it? Ok, produce…kinda sad. But it’s understandable, with folks either shopping at farmers markets and organic hippy joints or just buying the cheapest stuff they can find, with little middle ground, a small grocery store’s fresh produce section just isn’t going to make them money. Sad little packets of sliced mushrooms were testament to this fact. But hidden in sadness is joy! For, a safe distance from the ‘shrooms, there were dirt cheap end-pieces of prosciutto!! Happy dance! Don’t get me wrong, I like fancy as much as the next guy, but this stuff was like 1/3rd the price of the full sized shank pieces. And, if one were INSANE, just the right size for a pot of beans…hmm maybe cassoulet? Cheese island is nice as well. Small hunks of parm and romano, a few other sliced bits and some odd looking little salamis.

Along this wall also, is the cold beverage case. Chilled wines, champagnes and beers. Strange as hell to watch a guy pull a 6 pack a Corona out of the same area there is Peroni and Moretti and other interesting Italian brews RIGHT THERE! No accounting for taste I guess. Once, I knew a full blood Irishman who loved the asshole right out of Budweiser. Still makes me weep on rainy Sundays. A Pelligrino Orange soda will make me happier. And so does the pasta section. We’ll just call it robust as hell and point out that they’ve got 3 different choices for risotto rice too!

Deli Counter!!!! I’ve been yearning for this for an hour of power shopping. The little indulgence (ok, huge, expensive indulgence) that’s gonna make me titter every time I open my meat drawer. Well, after I’m done tittering at yanking open a “meat drawer”…sounds like a rude title for an extendable vagina. Excuse me miss, could I put my prosciutto di parma in your meat drawer? It’s sliced very thin.

Oh yeah, they got prosciutto, and Spanish Serrano ham, and pancetta. Tip o’ the iceberg. So many kinds of salami’s that you mystically find yourself rubbing your bum bum on the glass like an pants wearing baboon in heat (they frown on this by the way). Next door is the cheese zoo. Many kinds, several countries, all tasty. Sitting above them are more traditional luncheon meats like turkey, a few different hams and fabulous baloneys like their mortadellas and a new, nifty, smoky, Weaver's Lebanon bologna that tastes, hands down, just like a Slim Jim. Just without all the grease, bone and skin. Must try it! Just don’t think about my description when you do.


Onto the salad portion! They’ve got a really nice selection of olives. All kinds, various preparations. Nifty little deli type dishes like bruscetta topping, tortellini salad, marinated mushrooms (fuggin GOOD!) and a nice selection of single/dual serving fresh entrees that you can whisk off to home or office and reheat. And bless ‘em, they’re truthful about their seafood salad being made with surimi. I still think it’s more elegant and truthful than calling it krab.

And at last, my favorite punctuation to every trip here and the only spot that wars with my undying love of the salami/prosciutto section…fresh meat! As wide as the salami section is, the fresh area is much more focused. Check my earlier rant about produce, so they’re not slinging every cut from cow or pig. In truth, it’s chops, good lookin’ chops I might add. Chuck steak and ground chuck. But I’m not here for a barbeque. I’m pre-moistening my undies over their amazing sausages! Each of their Italians are awesome. Sweet, med-hot and Red-Hot-Italian-Stallion sausage. Good on their own, with some sautee’d peppers or as a foundation flavor for your favorite sauce. And then we come to the Prince of Sausage. He’s thin, long and coiled…ready to strike…your taste buds. Cervellata sausage is a thin, fairly long coiled sausage with a handy skewer for turning. I’m told it’s just a little salt and pepper in the meat. But it is addictively delicious. I could grill and eat these babies all day.


The final note on Sam’s should be the most definitive. And that’s certainly their sandwich service at the deli counter. Wonder what that weird sausage tastes like? Ask the guy for a taste! Like it? They’ll make it into a sandwich! Oh, and they do actually have a menu too. Great meat combos, hot sandwiches, sauced and not. Even braggable pastrami and steak sandwiches.

I’m sure that I’m preaching to the choir here for a lot of you. But if even one person who lives around the ‘No and hasn’t heard of or tried the wonderous wares of Sam’s…because of living in a religious cult deep in the wilds of Clovis, led by a one eye’d buck toothed prophet named Pepper… Anyway! If you haven’t tried them and then you do, you’ll like, thank me or something. Or try to kill me because I blew yer shot on The Biggest Loser. Whichever it is, prosciutto is more delicious than fame any day.


-Pook

Eating Out Comedy

So in a shift from our normal programming. I wound up scoring tickets to the LOL Comedy show at the Tower Theater this past Saturday. Don’t worry! I’ve got recipes backed up and ready to disgorge upon the starry fabric of the interweb. But about the only thing that wars with my love for food would be my love of yuk yuks.

But first, a story. About 15 years ago, I went to the Tower Theater with a girlypal and her family to see the wonder that was Howie Mandel. Things you do for love right? Anyhoo, rather than be able to judge the talents of famed Bobby’s World creator. I wound up just having to pity the poor soul. For, he knew not what he was wading into, this polite Canuck with poor crowd management skills. Fresno was very barky-outbursty at the time and his opening bits were peppered by random howls of “HOWIE!” for no apparent reason. Thinking he can get the better of the crowd, he turns to one of the bellowers and says “What?” assuming that attention equaled shame and therefore garnering silence. WRONGO IN THE NO-NO BUDDY! Without missing a beat the lady shrieks “Take a picture with my kid!”. And the fool buys it! She runs up and happily tells him that by the way…ain’t got no camera! Oh god, it’s all coming unraveled now Mandy-boy! Think quick! “Could I use someone’s camera so this lady will be quiet?” he asks in the same tone an explosive ordinance disposal guys use when the clock has hit 5 seconds. “Sure! If you take a picture with my kid too!!” Just when you think it can’t get any worse, Fresno steps up baby! The next hour was fascinating. I’ve never seen a man complete a set of light hearted jokes with a raging “FUCK ALL OF YOU!!!” in his eyes. After the show, the kids wanted to run up to him at his limo for autographs. I gently bring them back to heel with a simply spoken truth. “Kids, I don’t think Howie wants to talk to any Fresnans ever again. Just let him go.”

So with that nesting in the back of my mind, I opened up my e-mail to discover that I had won free tickets from the The Fresno Beehive (thanks again!), to check out the LOL Comedy show. The lineup is fairly new to me, but then I’m not exactly a walking encyclopedia of working comics. Which, also makes it kinda cool, since I really have no idea what to expect from these guys and no clue if they can handle a Fresno crowd.

The evening kicked off with the music of the Super Lucky Catz. A local group headed up by front man Robert Andrew Gushel-Barron. Described to me as a funk band, they challenged my idea of funk. When I think of funk I think P-funk, Soul Brother #1 James Brown, Bootsy Collins, Curtis Mayfield. Get down and get funky, funk! Super Lucky Catz’ style is a lot softer than I would have expected. That’s not to say that they aren’t good. Just the opposite. Everyone in the band was spot on in their performance. It’s just that deep inside me, I really wish that they would really unleash their bass player and keep that slap bass rolling, turn up the levels on their guitarist and really let him wail on those 4 guitars he has. To my uneducated ears, they’re a little more adult contemporary than funky. But still, a really good performance.

Oh yeah, isn’t this a comedy show? Finally, openers! The first comic out wasn’t on the bill and sadly, I have a memory like an alzheimer’s patient with a concussion. However, I do remember that his bit was actually rather funny. He had a riff on the “you might be a redneck” bit, but with the Fresno twist of “you might be a tweaker”. As well as a pretty good spread of meth themed humor and a couple character quick changes. First out of the gate was definitely a hit with crowd.

Up next was a local cat by the name of Feather Da’wyz. He had a more traditional comedy club style set, hitting various universal topics like ageing, penis size and the frustrations of dating. He owned his material very well and approached some pretty beat up topics with a fresh perspective and definitely got the laughs. He ends his bit with “The Cell Phone Song” in which he sings out 7 numbers and gets the crowd to sing along. Once you’ve done it 3 or 4 times, he lets you know that it’s actually his cell and to feel free to text him after the show to find out other spots he’ll be performing at. And you know, it worked. I’ll be happy to go check him out again, just to see the full spectrum of his material.

Quinn Dahle, a SoCal transplant from Minnesota is up next. Again, another polished comedy club act. He works the observational humor fairly well. And he REALLY skirted the dangerous edge in such a multicultural crowd. But damn it, he actually wrung a few bellows of laughter out of me before I realized I should be self conscious and shut the hell up. Gotta give him props for throwing down a bit of challenging comedy. For sure, a guy to keep an eye on. If he finds his groove you might be seeing a lot more of him.


At last, a break! Quick jaunt through the legions seeking a beer towards the doors for a smoke. So far, I have to say that I’m very pleased with the whole experience. The comedians have delivered actual comedy. And in general I’m actually somewhat shocked at the good behavior of the Fresno crowd. Sure, there are a couple gabblers and some shout outs to the comics. But the comics are comfortably in their element and my fellow show goers are having fun without being total jackasses. Go Fresno comedy crowd!

Headliner time! If you’re 30 years old or older and a Central Valley native that actually chilled with any Latino family, Rudy Moreno will absolutely kill. Maybe some of the younger kids with more old school households can get it, but as a farm kid from the outskirts of town many moons ago, his bits really hit home. Here is where you see a seasoned pro who has done his homework. Not only does he riff on themes from an old school Latino childhood upbringing contrasted against today’s modern snotty little so and so’s, but was able to pander to the crowd by tearing up the neighboring towns like Tulare and even picked on the poor portly security guard and used him as a sounding board throughout his set. It shows forethought and preparation for doing a good show here. It makes me feel good that the headliner REALLY wanted to give Fresno a performance we’d like. Top that off with actually being really funny, he really earned that top slot and did a fabulous job giving us the finale we wanted. Overall, a great show and easily worth the ticket price for 3+ hours of entertainment and comedy. And they served beer!

Oh. So since it’s a food blog, I’m required by internet law to talk about food in some capacity every post? Well, crap. Ok. We actually were pretty famished before the show, so we ducked into the mighty Tower Dog for a bite. My beloved rocked the California Dog, while I was trying to stuff down a Polish Dog like an anaconda sucking down a capybara. Every time I eat there I discover something else that makes me smile. This time it was my mouth telling me that they actually make their relish in some form of a fresh manner. I could be wrong though. Which is why I approached one of the men involved for an interview. Don’t get your merkin in a twist just yet. I’ve got a backlog of recipes I’ve got to spew all over the tummy of my dear bloggy- blog. But SOON™ we’ll give you a secretive peek into what makes these dogs my favorite.

-Pook

Eaiting Out from Behind

Many apologies dear readers for the belated follow up post. I figure I had best finish up the weekend review with the Sunday post before the next weekend is already here! So we left off at Saturday night, after I had been hustled into the waiting limo by my security team. Wait…that never happened. I think it was actually my girlfriend telling my drunk behind to get the hell in the car. Yea, that makes more sense.


Which brings me to Sunday! You know, art is a wonderful thing. It gives you a wonderful rush as you experience it. But a little known fact is that art also has one hell of a hangover. Combine that with the regular boozy hangover and Sunday morning is not my friend. Grub is definitely in order if we’re going to make it through the day. And drinks of course.


And then I’m told that Livingstone’s serves breakfast. WHAT?? I’ve been getting face-down there for over a decade and a half! I didn’t even know that they were open before noon. Stone’s it is then! Lead on, my magical breakfast leprechauns!


We settle in to grab a spot out on the patio and discover that our server from yesterday is again, ready, willing and waiting…on us again. Hooray! Nothing like not having to explain why everyone in your breakfast party is a board certified weirdo. So we tuck into our menus, booze is ordered and we get to make the hard decisions.

Overall it’s a pretty decent breakfasty-brunchy kind of menu. And then I see it. Dare I? I mean, after the last time I did this in Tower I was afraid that I’d be assassinated and dumped into the waste oil dumpster behind the Peach Pit. But no. I must do this. For me, for you, for America! I’m ordering their eggs benedict.

They’re pretty busy, but our food comes out before the ice in my screwdriver has much of a chance to melt. So here is my moment of truth. They look pretty good. A tablemate comments that their hollandaise appears to be bottled, but I’m not 100% sure and forgot to ask. It’s got a little pepper and what appears to be fresh parsley in it. That sorta breaks the absolute artistry of the plate, but hardly a reason to be upset. A little poke at the eggs reveals that someone in the kitchen has actually learned how to poach something! They’re a little overdone for my taste, but again, no reason for me to cry. Underneath, there is a decent slice of canukian back bacon. It’s ok, mildly smoky and has that slight nitrate tang that comes with wet packed pork. The muffin base is again, decently good. Thick and sturdy enough to hold up through the meal. It didn’t bring much taste to the dish, but it didn’t take away from it either.

In general it was a happy medium between the perfection I experienced at Gilly’s and the culinary insult that I had at Irene’s. This is what I expect from a restaurant that serves eggs benedict but doesn’t call them a specialty. It was tasty, well cooked and priced in the same arena as their other breakfast plates. I don’t know if I would outright recommend the dish to a fellow fast-breaker, but I certainly wouldn’t try to wave anyone off of it.

Also, as a pre-PS. Mrs. Eating Out Fresno wanted to jump in here with her opinion of The Works omlette with Stone’s country potatoes. She was quite pleased with her kitchen sink in an egg blanket. It was bursting at the seams with…well, everything! Looked to be spinach, avocado, mushrooms, red bell peppers and I’d guess some sausage. Hard to tell with that riot of color popping out from the egg. But she felt that the real star was her country potatoes. Personally, I flipping despise onions. I consider them a culinarily vulgar ingredient. That said though, I must admit these were some of the most beautiful country potatoes I’ve ever seen. The potatoes are crispy and nicely browned, while the peppers and onions aren’t mushy and overcooked. But the flavors are nicely mixed in the potatoes, so it’s not that they cook them separately and mix before plating. I can only guess that the potatoes are par cooked then the remaining veg is added and fried together. I might hate ‘em, but I’m sure you’ll love them.


So as we close the door on last weekend and are looking for the keys to open up the next one, I’ve come to one strong conclusion. There is a good reason that Livingstone’s is one of the only eateries in the Tower district that has survived the test of time and still resembles itself. They’re consistent, they’re kind and they love their customers. Whether you’re there for a nice dinner or just stopping in to wet your whistle, Stone’s is there for you. And I’m overjoyed about that.



-Pook

Eating Out In Pain

Dear lord!  I had no idea that one weekend of the Rogue Festival would leave me so battered, bruised and exhausted.  Not to mention exhilerated and virtually bursting at the seams with pleasure at being exposed to so much artistic energy.  And somewhere in all of this we managed to get out at eat at a few spots

First meal of the Rogue was at a personal Tower favorite, Tower Dogs.  They're known for running various imaginative specials on top of their usual menu.  This month's was a very intriguing corned beef and cabbage dog.  And unlike the caliente dog or their cali(fornia) dog, this one needs some serious re-thinking.  The corned beef that is wrapped around their usual sausage comes out too crispy from being fried, as well as having no real corned beef flavor.  Same goes for the diced and sautee'd cabbage.  Poor, mushy texture and zero cabbage flavor.  Most of the time I'm overjoyed with my dog from them, but this one was a bit of a flop.  Points that could be improved, steam your cabbage and corned beef together!  Crockpot those bad boys together the night before, shred the corned beef and slice down the cabbage, portion and refrigerate.  When it comes time to serve, take a portion, toss into the saute pan and add on top of the dog.  In theory that will enhance the flavor of both and maintain the texture one wants when dealing with corned beef and cabbage.

Livingstone's was a frequent stop for cocktails and meals over this weekend.  We were exceedingly well taken care of by our waitress and I regret not getting her name, if for no other reason, than to give her a shout out for being a prime example of excellence in service.  Thank you darlin'!

So our first meal was a post-show dinner.  Included at our table was the british burger, black and bleu pasta and their chicken nachos for me.  The burger looked tasty, good looking bacon, juicy burger without the bun being soggy.  Next was the black and bleu pasta, which was very enjoyable.  It carries a nice creamy beef flavor without being dominated by the bleu cheese.  Onto the nachos.  All around a great appetizer for a group and a fine entree for two (the full order).  The toppings are generous without turning everything into a soggy mess.  The salsa and pico aren't exactly challenging or even very warm, but they do taste good.  I'm just more partial to a spicy sauce for my nachos.  Add to this a couple of their famous (infamous when you're hungover) long island iced teas.  Another long time favorite of mine.  I don't know what makes theirs different, but Stone's LITs get you lit pretty damn fast.  And I don't mind that so much.  Definately a good base buzz before we head into the Uncle Bucky show.

After a shower of fried chicken and Mickey's big mouths, we head out with a mixture of the casts of Uncle Buckys and Cap'n Scurvy's for some after-show celibration.  Both casts were buzzing pretty strong from great performances and excellent attendance by a hip and interested Rogue crowd.  So it's definately time for some debauchery.  We move on to The Landmark where the beer is flowing and the mixed drinks float by as performers and artists mingle with fans and locals.  Rogue lends a very relaxed and happy vibe to the Tower District watering holes.  People are smiling and laughing and sharing their experiences.  They're also a bit hungry and order some french fries and some zuccini sticks to share with a tipsy food blogger in need.  Fries were normal.  Hot, crunchy outside and pillowy inside.  Not bad considering the late hour.  The zuccini sticks also were fairly good.  They came out hot and still crunchy, so there was no sitting around under a heat lamp.  The ranch was ranch.  Not exactly gourmet, but who cares?  Hot, tasty and NOW is what one's wants with their drinks and we got it.  And again, great, friendly service by our waitress.

And I guess all this silliness begs for explanation as well.  What you're witnessing here is the post show chicken feed behind the Uncle Bucky's show.  Including the artist known as the Reverend Ezekiel Ignatius Flatbottom, Cap'n Scurvy and Mr. July along with his beloved Margeurita partipating in what was called the Group Grope Wing Ding.  Room temperature chicken, excessive amounts of questionably created liquors and inadvertantly shared bodily fluids created a whirling tornado of faith, filth and unsanitary food holding practices.  Simply being in the vicinity has had me riding the red hot rocket thrust of ill conceived culinary comedy in my bathroom for the past 2 days.  C'est la vie I guess.  When food gets funny, there is bound to be some collateral damage.  And on that note, I think we'll save the review of Sunday's fare until after I can stop mewling on the little pee-catcher carpet in front of my porcelain throne.

-Pook

Eating Out Rogue Festival

Our own internationally famous Rogue Festival is about to kick off this Thursday.  And we're doing our part by make sure to sleaze our way into the booths and tables of the unsuspecting Tower eating establishments to leave them in complete disarray.  Covered and smothered in a film of crumbs and mysterious viscous fluids.


For the performers and volunteers of the festival, the work has already begun.  The setting up of venues, the plastering of flyers, online promotion blitzes.  Final rehearsals, tweaking costumes and art projects and itineraries of which shows are a must-see.  And speaking of a show that you simply must see, I must shamelessly plug and pander to friend of the blog Captain Scurvy's Apocalypse Hoedown Revival

Vaudevillian humor and miracle alchemical healings.  Chills!  Thrills!  And absolute abject terror!  Guaranteed to make Bob Hope roll in his grave every time you see it!  So go see it!

Pandering over.  Back to our regularly scheduled snark.  We kick off Eating Out Rogue Festival by doing what we do best.  Getting drunk!  So we're off to the The Sequoia Brewing Company for some beers and some snacks.

Sequoia is a more recent incarnation of the beloved Butterfield's brewpub.  As I understand it, along with the business, Sequoia also bought Butterfield's recipes.  I was always a fan of the tower dark, but I'm more in a refreshing beer kind of mood.  So I order their German kolsh, called the Sequoia Gold.  It's pretty damn good!  It's got the lightness of a pilsner, but the bitterness is mellowed to a mild afternote.  The flavor is almost sweet, just teasing that line from the dark Munich malt.  I loved it and will certainly wind up regretting drinking plenty more.

The last 2 minutes of the USA vs. Canada hockey match was on, so we were decidedly distracted during the ordering process as we cheered the tying goal.  Poor thing, she dealt with our sophomoric bellowing in stride.  Our group ordered: potato skins, chicken fried steak, green salad, sausage plate appetizer (a re-tread of a Butterfield's favorite) and garlic fries. 

The food arrived in good time.  Especially given how busy it was on a Sunday afternoon.  The potato skins appeared fairly average.  Not exactly artful presentation, but they had fairly generous toppings.  The chicken fried steak didn't really appear to be anything special.  By appearance alone it seemed to be a pre-formed and breaded frozen patty tossed in a fryer.  However the sweet potato fries that came with it were quite good.  They come with a rather tasty aioli.  The salad was salad.  Pre-mix with bottled dressing, croutons and a few raisins.  Nothing to write home about, but adequate.

Now we come to my old favorite.  Once upon a time, this plate introduced me to amazing and wonderful sausages I had never tried.  And it allowed me to try each as an individual, similar to a cheese platter or beer sampler.  Not any more.  What I got was a red, greasey mess of muddled flavors.  The plate is supposed to come with andouille, italian and bratwurst sausages.  With all the brick colored grease, it's obvious that they've thrown all of the sliced sausages in to fry together with the onions and jalepenos.  Sadly, this results in a poorly muddled mess that, while edible, does nothing to enhance the enjoyment of a good sausage.  The fries were all right, with a dusting of parmesan and parsley, though lacking in any real garlic flavor.  I'll address the real outrage next.

Prices!  Oh my god!  This is the most lopsided menu I have ever seen in my life!  Eight dollars for french fries?  NINE for fried pickles?!?  What planet are we on, where two of the cheapest ingredients around can run you just as much as an entree?  It's fucking potatoes and pickles!!!  A burger is a buck fifty more and it COMES WITH FRIES!  I'll concede that the food is edible, even tasty in some instances.  But if I'm paying entree prices for some damn french fries there had better be some sort of magical theater or art applied to them.  Send out a crying mime to weep over my empty wallet.  Instead of ranch, send them out with some lidocaine booty butter lubricant so we don't need butt doughnuts to sit down after we get the check.  Tickle my no-no's!  Something!

All in all, Sequoia is a fine brewery that still serves cold and tasty beer.  As a restaurant though, they need to make a decision to smarten up their menu as well as their presentation.  The sausages were a mess, the chicken fried steak was an embarassment and the price gouging for seasoned fries was outright astounding.  If you're peckish, their chips and salsa are only two bucks.  Is nothing complimentary any more?  Sheesh!  The dinner menu appears a little more on the reasonable side, but the appetizers just aren't worth what you pay.  So, you might want to toast your friends on a full stomach.

-Pook