Ford's Filling Station

If you don't know what Ford's Filling Station is, then you don't live anywhere within 200 miles of Los Angeles. This is the latest venture by Ben Ford, who previously ran Chadwick and now currently has two Filling Station locations. The original one is in Tulsa, Oklahoma and the new one is in Culver City. We flew out to Tulsa to check out what all the buzz is about.



Of course we didn't. I happen to be lucky enough to work not too far from the Filling Station, and they have now opened for lunch. Seemed like the perfect Friday lunch. My first recommendation is reservations are mandatory if you want to get anywhere near the place. At one o'clock, it was bustling, loud and packed. Business is great, owing to it's pristine status of being a hot new restaurant, his reputation for adherence to a fresh, organic product, and Ford's notoriety (again, if you're within 200 miles of Los Angeles, the fact is apparent).

Inspired by the rugged and sweeping landscape of Wyoming's ranch country, he has brought a midwestern sensibility to the menu.

I have read mixed reviews about the service and portion size, so I wasn't sure if I would be giving the Filling Station a wholesale endorsement. Indeed, upon arrival, we were greeted by a relatively intimate space overflowing with people. It had the energy and liveliness of The Border Grill, and 1/3 the space. We were promptly sat, and found the need to scoot the table a couple of inches for me to fit. When you see below, you'll note I have gained weight as a result of all this gluttony, but not that much.



So, I was starting to think maybe the cramped point was well taken. Not really. We both found the table to have plenty of room, and enough personal space to have a conversation without having to shout at each other. Also, a restaurant can't be held responsible for the dramatic onslaught of people vying to get a reservation. In fact, it solidified my thinking that business is doing damn well.

The lunch menu is a no-holds-barred gallery of hearty American food. Fancy enough to peak a gourmand's interest, but lacking any sort of pretentiousness. One side of the menu is devoted to selections of a variety of salami and cured meats, the other side introduces the diner to appetizers and entrees.



Another criticism I had heard was portion size related to cost. I don't know which Filling Station these people are referring, but it wasn't Ford's. It may have been an AMPM, and that would make sense.

The portions are large and satisfying. I started with a three salami combo: Coppa, Sweet Sopressata, and Winter Salami. It was an amazing contrast in how three meats are prepared to produce such varying flavors. The Winter Salami was hard and spicy, perfectly sweating as some of the fat starts to warm and bead.



The Coppa was rich and fatty, embodying a perfect balance of spice and saltiness. The Sweet Sopressata was a very unique flavor that I can't even perfectly describe, but had a nice punch of flavor.



All this came accompanied by a bowl of olives bathed in infused olive oil. The infusion is a biting mix of orange peel, pickled fennel and garlic. It made an incredible dipping sauce.



My co-worker ordered the wedge of butter lettuce salad, topped with creamy blue cheese, shaved red onion, grape tomatoes croutons. Wedge salads have been growing in popularity the last few years, and this is one of the better one's I've tasted. Fresh, crisp with a nice bite from the bleu cheese.



It is at this moment I will arise a cry of caveat emptor. The portions are generous. So generous, in fact, I took only one bite of my hamburger before calling it quits.

The shame I felt. I knew upon reheating later it would never taste as good, but I was firmly stuffed. However, the burger was an enormous, delicious patty of ground chuck, crowned with caramelized onions and bleu cheese.



I've had this combination before, but never so well executed. I will have to have another to determine where in the top tier of burgers it belongs, because it is definitely a contender.

Liya ordered the pulled pork panini, pressed with melted jack cheese and a hot pepper relish. If I did not re-read the menu, I would have sworn it as a creamy horseradish sauce. They paired very well.



Subtle smoky flavors of the pork married with the cheese and pepper relish without any one flavor being overpowered by another. Learn that people, it's called complimenting flavors! I can't tell you how many times I've ordered a sandwhich where the primary ingredient is completely overpowered by an overzealous chef looking to impress his audience or add enough ingredients to justify the markup.

Yes, it's not incredibly cheap, but do you want to eat at McDonalds every day? Spend a little for crying out loud. $14 for a lunch entree isn't a very high price point, especially with the quality and volume of food. I don't have a problem paying for good food, and I walked out of there completely stuffed.

But not before I barged in on Ben, obviously having a meeting of some sort. Although he was busy, I had a few questions I wanted to ask, and I took the chance he would tell me to pound sand.



Not so. He was accomodating and friendly, and I have to say very patient and informative. He walked over with me to provide me with some information, took a photo, and was eminently cordial.

A good leader exhibits the qualities they want their crew to possess. If they take his example, and it seems like they do, Ford's will be around a long time.

Middle Eastern Influenced Lamb Ribs

...because they are the bomb!

I was at an undisclosed grocery store, known for premium food at exhorbitant prices, and I was casually walking down the meat aisle. I had no intention of buying anything other than a bottle of rum. I took a close look at the lamb section and thought "Wow, are they having a sale?" These lamb ribs, cut individually, were only $7.99 a pound. They weren't green. They didn't smell like an unflushed toilet.

Did they mess something up? Of course they did. Four of the packages were accidentally mislabeled with lamb stew meat. The actual price of lamb ribs were supposed to be $24.99 a pound.

I know it's not right, but tell me, could you resist? Whatever, Mother Theresa. Quit lying to yourself. With a mind dominated by WWSD, I effectively stole them, each package only costing around $5.00.

But my de facto dishonesty was put to good use.

You'll need to make a spice mixture, and here is what went into mine, again, no exact measurements:

cinammon
cumin
salt
tumeric
nutmeg
cardamom
garlic powder
cayenne

Sound like a curry? Well, it's similar except I made it as a dry rub. Very simply, I coated the ribs with the mixture and seared in an oiled pan for about two minutes on each side, then popped it under a broiler.

It soon made the house smell like a Pakistani kitchen with a small invasion force of Punjabi Indians. To finish, I used a demi base mixed with cumin which admittedly had more viscosity than I would have liked (see picture above).

The Border Grill

The Border Grill has some history with me. It is the first place I ate when I rolled into Los Angeles, literally the first night. I had watched the Two Hot Tamales on Food TV (back when it was still interesting), and they really had the best show out there. I love Mary Sue and Susan's on-air personalities. I had the privilege of attending a benefit dinner created by Michael Shafer, owner/chef of The Depot and Chez Melange. Among his guest chefs was Susan Feniger, and she was an absolute hoot.

I don't watch much Food TV anymore, and the Two Hot Tamales have relocated their show to a local AM station here in Los Angeles. The world's loss is our gain! LA is also the home to both of their original restaurants: The Border Grill and Ciudad. Their original City no longer exists.



One thing I love about their restaurants is how fun they are. There is nothing regal or sedate about either place, but Border Grill is the pinnacle of loud and active. Eating at the Border Grill is like eating a meal in the middle of a stadium. Frantic activity swirls around you, conversations are loud, laughter echoes off the walls. Even the internal contruction and decoration is designed to increase, not dampen, the fury.

Last time I was there, I ran into Kevin Bacon and his family, and I now had the responsibility of informing all my friends they were now two degrees from Kevin. So I got that going for me.

So, Sunday or Saturday afternoon is a great time to go. The crowd was even crazier on this Sunday, and it turns out later they were watching the George Mason/ UConn game. I didn't know this at the time, figuring nobody on the west coast would get that fired up about a couple of east coast teams.

I did not want to pay attention. I was Tivoing the game for later, so we could hang out at my place and watch the game. If I didn't mention, George Mason is my alma mater. Go Patriots!



Like any good Mexican restaurant, they start off with a bowl of tortilla chips, but the salsas are something special. They have a blaze neon green tomatillo, with just the right pucker, a tomato base that almost reminds me of a seasoned marinara and a smoky chipotle sauce that packs a nice roundhouse kick to your tongue. They puree all the salsas, so they are smooth like a sauce.



Everything about The Border Grill is about whimsey. And so is the food. This next playful dish is ceviche three ways.



The plated ceviche was a strong hot and sour melange with an equally strong fish taste. Not in a bad way, but in an unapologetic way, and I can respect that. Each of the shot glasses of ceviche were topped with creamy quacamole. One ceviche offering a thai flavor by accenting with coconut milk, the last, a traditional ceviche. You know, it was a bit deceptive. I thought I was getting full shot glasses of ceviche, but halfway down my fork hit slaw. It was good, and I was a bit relieved since I wasn't incredibly hungry.



It gave us a break to look around and desperately hope Mason would pull out a win. Because it was Sunday brunch time, she ordered banana pancakes. They looked real good on the menu, but I'm not much of a breakfast eater, so I stuck with real meat.



However, the syrup was a perfect balance of maple and coconut. Rich and buttery, it make a perfect accompaniment to a tropical enlightened pancake. I just wasn't too hip on the coconut flakes, I'm averse to the texture. I would have prefered coconut milk but a) people probably like the texture difference and b) it wasn't my meal. It was accompanied by a side of fresh cut fruit and a mild chicken sausage.



I ordered the Cochinita Pibil. Why even try to describe it? Here's the menu description, ripped right from their menu.

achiote marinated pork slow roasted in banana leaf with grilled onions, orange, and cinnamon served with white rice, black beans, and roasted plantains

Mmmm. The rich, crimson-walnut hue of the sauce was overflowing with a resounding punch of spicy, sour flavor. It was really a unique clash of flavors that got my attention. Not overly spicy, but rich with a dizzying gallery of spices. A fantastic head turner.



I always leave here stuffed, or in this case, with a doggy bad. Don't know if they'll actually get to taste any of the food, but I'm the one who pays the bills around here, so they can just have a bit of rice.



If you like quiet restaurant to reflect on your sappy love, or look longingly into his eyes for your three year anniversary, go somewhere else. If you want a brash environment that is fun and unique, go to Border Grill. The food is fantastic, the room lively. Just bring some earplugs, it's as loud as a tarmac.

Yeah, all this writing about food, so we shouldn't forget who makes it for us.

You could land a plane in here

Or several. Where's the food in this picture? Is this plane porn? No, it is a visual euphamism to show you the size of the Restaurant Depot. The pisser for you is that it is not open to the general public. The benefit for me is I know someone who has an access card.

What a wonderland of cooking and food products that stretched to a dense horizon. I love the complete lack of delicacy, and I mean that nothing is delicate or dainty. But Restaurant Depot puts Costco sizes to shame. Mayonnaise comes not in a barrel, it comes in a vat. Oil doesn't come in drums, it comes in a refinery.

Primal cuts of meat are on display, a greusome museum of rended animals. To me, they're red gold. Whole wheels of parmesan cheese make nice stools to rest while walking the miles of hallway.

My favorite room is the refrigerator cavern. I could live in here (literally). It is kept at a rigid 38 degrees, and they even have a few coats to borrow while shopping. While I was walking around in a tshirt and shorts, I wish I brought a lawn chair to take advantage of the refrigeration. I know where I'll be hanging out on hot sunny days.

Farmer's Rigatoni

Dan made a solid rustic meal, which will be featured in an upcoming audio segment.

You'll need:

1 lb of rigatoni
2 zuccini
3 oz pancetta
a handy bottle of extra virgin olive oil
kosher salt
8 oz crimini mushrooms
8 oz roma tomatoes
fistful of basil
italian parsely
5 glugs of chardonnay

Instead of telling you the entire saga, I will present the ingredients to you now, and you can listen to the segment later for the entire process. It turned out delicious, and if you leave out the pancetta, it is a vegetarian dish.

The Only Thing Worse Than Being Talked About, is Not Being Talked About

More press for CPN, I'm sure all of you will never get sick of my self promotion. But it's not for me, it's for the children.

Article from the Seattle Post Intelligencer

Fleur de Lys

I had about my fill of haute cuisine lately, spending hordes of money and receiving just an OK experience in return. Yet, Las Vegas has so many good places to eat, it's hard to relegate myself to a buffet when I know all the options. This was a spur of the moment trip, where I figured the dinner would be an afterthought.



I had no special plans to scout out a good restaurant, check out the hot chef, or write an article about anything I did that wouldn't incriminate me. The problem is, it's hard to ignore the wealth of offerings in LV's culinary menagerie. Many people still deride Vegas as a shallow bastion offering poorly replicated apparitions of the original restaurant. Bobby Flay's Mesa Grill, Emeril's Delmonico, Commander's Palace, The Border Grill, ad infinitum.



This is a valid observation, but just because they are replicants of the real thing, are they any worse? In terms of purity, I could see where a person would feel like they are eating in the wax museum equivalent of the masterpiece that put the chef on the map. The chef that will not be cooking in this Vegas outlet. The chef that will not be there to assure day to day quality and consistency of his or her product.

There will always be a snobbish confederacy of people who have the privilege of eating at the original, and then at the one in Vegas, and can actually compare the quality of the two. Invariably they will conclude the original is better, and I couldn't argue with that reasoning. But that doesn't make the replicant bad per se, it just means it is not an exact copy of what made the original distinctive.

Which brings me to Fleur de Lys in Mandalay Bay. Consistently spoken of in high regard, I landed on this option through Opentable.com. At once a casual online scouting expedition for Saturday night regalia and a curious investigation of what was new and hot in Vegas, I was drawn to several editorial and user reviews of Fleur de Lys. All of them positive.

Chef Keller (Hubert, not Thomas) has recreated his San Francisco restaurant with the help of interior designer Stanlee Gatti. In contrast to other replicants, he did not xerox his menu from SF and bring it over to Mandalay Bay. He opted to bring a new variety of flavors, and present new preparations of French food in a modern space.



Fleur de Lys occupies the space previously home to Shanghai Lily. The space itself has a club feel, punctuated by a dj mixing electronica and light hophop throughout the whole restaurant. Orange lighting in the bar area is provided by Himalayan salt crystals, similar to the salt lamps sold in cart kiosks at the mall. In this setting, though, they looked cool.

We were sat promptly and were pleasantly relived to see a fun, casual environment that was upscale, but didn't take itself as seriously as The Mansion. No jackets required and even a few designer jeans. Bonus point number one.

Our white chocolate martinis arrived, garnished with a strawberry. I know, it's not really a martini just because they put a girl-drink in a martini glass, but I played along. The maitre d' was friendly, the staff was attentive, and the bartenders were hot, and wearing sexy leather Xena bustier. Don't know if that was supposed to be part of the atmosphere, but it worked for me.

[ed note: my apologies for the saturated look and poor quality of the pictures, the lighting was very low, and the pictures have to be taken with no flash]



The prices were reasonable for the three pre fix meals offered. Three course for $74, four course for $82 and five course for $94. Its almost a no-brainer, just like buying gas. Overall, for an extra $20 per person, you get two additional courses, like super unleaded. It was also done a la carte. You pay for five courses, but you get to choose what you want from the appetizer, fish, meat and dessert selections. We opted for the five course, which includes a cheese course, of course.

Yeah, well, there was this other cozy little offering, but I'm saving my money for a new house:



The amuse bouche arrived before the bread guy did. It was an ovid of salmon tartar in cradled in a bath of fennel cream sauce. It was fresh and delicious. The salmon was chopped fine, but there were some nice chunks that gave it body and texture. It paired perfectly with the cream. Nice beginning.



There were only two bread choices, a pillow of whole wheat bun and ciabatta.



I preferred the ciabatta, with a chewy interior that had well distributed air pockets. The whole wheat bun did taste a bit earthy.



The first course arrived, and it a complex and artful dish. I had the quail breast topped with foie gras and tart salad. It was accompanied by a quail egg resting on a pistachio custard and flanking the other side was a mushroom compote cleaved by a thin flag of dried procuitto. They were even nice enough to roast the little quail legs, and I dispensed with etiquette and ate the meat right off the bone. I know I shouldn't, but logistically it is impossible to cut the meat off without the aid of a laser saw.



She had a bowl of lump crabmeat in a bath of melon gazpacho and cantaloupe. It paired very nicely, although it slightly overpowered the crab.



Between courses I admired the atmosphere: very relaxing, chic and unpretentious. Simple curtains stretched to the vaulted ceilings, which contrasted to the stacked-stone look of the walls. High up in one corner was the latest trend in Vegas: the exposed wine cellar...or attic. Partitioned by glass, it gave the viewer a bare glimpse of the treasures inside, and of the people eating at the exclusive table positioned between the wine and glass wall. Did they realize people were watching them like they were gawking at a salt water aquarium?



Before I could answer that question, the second course arrived. We both ordered the lobster on a bed of pureed carrots surrounded by a moat of mint infused oil and curry orange sauce. I liked this dish, but two things struck me. First, the pureed carrots reminded me too much of Gerbers, and I've heard that some chefs are actually using Gerbers because of the purity of the puree. It tasted fine, though.

Second, the lobster tail didn't have that distinctive Maine lobster sweetness. No big deal, it tasted just fine, but there was a tiny room for improvement. At this moment I realized something: I was getting a tad full.

That's unusual with haute. Usually portions are small because you have to chew your way through five or more courses, plus palate cleanser, plus bread, amuse bouche, petit fours. At the Mansion, we left downright hungry, and that is a sin. At Fleur de Lys each portion was a meal in and of itself.



Speaking of meal, our entree course arrived. She had the beef tenderloin with oxtail tortellini and a cylinder of potato gratin. The tenderloin was...eh, tenderloin. I'm not dissing this dish, it had great flavors and was seasoned perfectly, but as any meat conneseur knows, tenderloin is expensive, tender and flavorless. So, for what it was it was very good, but I would choose steak tartare over rare tenderloin 100% of the time. The potatoes were cheesy and al dente. It was a nice accompaniment to draw the flavor out of the tenderloin. The tortellini were little pockets of flavor, not even requiring sauce for enhancement.



I got the veal two ways. One was a center cut veal tenderloin (which makes me a hypocrite, I know) and the other was braised veal cheek. The veal cheek was the highlight of the entire meal. Tender, packed with intense flavor, this stood out above all the other items. Contrasted to that, the tenderloin occupied the same pedestal as the beef tenderloin. It was juicy and tender, but it had no distinct flavor. In fact, veal has less flavor than it's full grown counterpart.

To my derision, and with three impending courses marching down the line, I was really getting full. I would have to force my way through the rest of the meal.



I didn't have long to wait, as the cheese plate came out next. The plate was a heavy marble slab, crowned with four cheeses. Unfortunately, he fired off the cheeses before I had a chance to assimilate the information. There was a spoonful of nuts and dried fruit, a creamy cow's milk, a creamy sheep milk, a sharp blue cheese and an aged cow cheese. To the other side was a small grape salad. It was accompanied by fig bread.

It was all great and lovely, each cheese was distinct with a different level of sharpness and nuttiness, and the fruit was balanced and a perfect pairing. But, I was really struggling to polish it off. This was turning into competitive eating. I'm not complaining in the least. I was thoroughly happy to know I was being stuffed for my money.



After a welcome delay, I had one last difficult choice to make: dessert. I was effectively, done, I would not finish this course. I ordered the pina colada ice cream tower with caramelized bananas in a cup of banana cream tarte. It tasted spectacular, with fantastically fresh pineapple and banana flavors competing for my attention. But I couldnÂ' take more than a few bites.



She ordered the Gran marnier soufflee, which we both picked through. It was sweet, balanced, fruity and had a vanilla cream soaked through it. It was accompanied by a canella of orange-cardamom ice cream. Perfect, but each bite was like a lead weight. I was starting to sweat.



Wow! What a fantastic meal, I am giving Fleur de Lys an absolute endorsement. Even the petit fours were enticing enough to nibble through. Now when I evaluate Fleur I can say it was worth the money and then some. I am writing this 4:30pm the next day and I still haven't eaten, nor am I feeling the least bit peckish.

Ok, I'm not evaluating Hometown Buffet, the point wasn't to get overstuffed, but I commend the executive chef for deliberately taking a conscious decision to not scale back the portion size. Nor did they for artistry or flavors. Each plate was meticulously assembled, and presented in a gracefully choreographed ballet of plate delivery.

I've have had a string of relatively mediocre experiences with Las Vegas dining recently. This year hasn't presented the greatest offerings, despite the reputations of the chefs and restaurants. Hopefully this is a turning point for the next several trips. As a side note, we also had a good meal at a tapas restaurant, so we're batting a thousand.

Does that help the debate of the quality of celebrity chefs and replicant restaurants in Las Vegas? Yes, it does. It means that each endeavor should be judged on its own merits, and it is partially the fault of the consumer for making such comparisons.

Yes, celebrity chefs and restaurant management companies are co-opting the good name of the original establishment to generate interest, but only a fool would ever think it can exactly replicate the feel and taste of the original. That can only be achieved by cookie cutter, factory processed fast food, not haute cuisine.

Skyrocketing Infamy

Through a series of fortuitious elements, I've hooked up with some amazing bloggers and podcasters. Things have taken off so much lately, I might have to hire a staff, which would be my kid, dont'cha know.

In here, in a fit of unrepentant self aggrandizing, I wanted to post a link to what Adam Curry said about CPN and the podcasts associated with it.

Snippet

Funny enough, if you are subscriber to CPN and have come here via an external link or because of a podshow, you've probably heard this snippet about a google times. Yeah, remember when google was just a number? They stole that from us too!

James Beard Awards 2006

When I say on the podcast I am a culinary hack, I mean it. My marginal ruminations about the quality of food, varying ingredients, and inexact measurements all conspire to mark me with that dubioius label.

Case in point. While I enjoyed The Mansion, I mentioned in this post that, for the price, it didn't blow my skirt up. On the rare occasion I wear a skirt, its a mini, so it shouldn't take that much effort to blow it up.

Well, James Beard proved just what an idiot I am by nominating The Mansion in the category of best new restaurant of 2006.

But, while you're at it, check out the link above and see all the nominees. Fellow podcaster Don Genova's All You Can Eat has also been nominated. Congratulations! We are in good company.

It's Not Pizza

The beautiful thing, is that it took no effort at all. I made it up as I went along. Well,I should never say it took no effort, the actual process took about an hour and a half of flailing around in the kitchen, but I didn't really have to think about it, it just came together.

You'll need:

three pounds of wax potatoes
three large leeks
1 cup cream
another cup of cream
1 package of butter
Dubliner cheese
gruyere
salt, lots of it
fresh ground pepper
four pounds of meat
fistful of shallots
two cans of concentrated beef broth (settle down)
more salt
more butter
more cream

Have you figured it out yet? Sheperd's Pie, my friend. Upscaled for your snobby palate.

Brown off all the meat, salting with a heavy hand. Simultaneously, peel and boil off all the potatoes. Use waxy potatoes, not russets or baking. Salt the water well. This is a celebration of salt! While you're draining the meat, sautee the leeks and shallots together.

When the potatoes are done, drain, put them back in a huge bowl and start fustigating the potatoes. Add in the full extent of butter.

Salt, salt, salt.

Add cream until it hurts a bit less in the shoulder, but not so that it resembles traditional, creamy mashed potatoes. These potatoes should have chunks and a hearty rustic feel. They should also carry a ton of flavor. Butter and cream and salt as necessary until you want to shovel it into your mouth. Then you know it's ready. Set it aside.

Take the browned meat and throw it back into the pan with the shallots and leeks, sweated off to perfection by now. Stir it all together, and add two cans of the beef broth concentrate. If you have some demi base, throw it in. If you want to use consumme, go crazy, just use something that will impart a beefy flavor, hamburger alone won't do it.

Simmer for a spell. I went nuts and added some cream for extra flavor, salting along the way. At the very end I added flour to thickent it a bit. Remove from heat after about five minutes.

Preheat your oven to 400 degrees. Fill the bottom of a pyrex dish with the meat, and press it down a bit for structural integrity. The potatoes, because they are not whipped up into a fluffy pile, will be a little laborious to spread on top of the meat without mixing it. Who cares? This is the ultimate peasant dish. It doesn't need to look like Escoffier himself made it.

Shred gruyere or cheddar or parmesan or whatever on top and broil for a few minutes, just to brown everything. Remove and let cool. Dig in!

Four Things in LA Meme

Alright, I've been tagged for this so here it is:

four Jobs I've had in LA (paid and unpaid)
Improv Comedian at LA Connection
Manager of Network Operations
Network Admin Contractor
Prep Cook at a Country Club Kitchen

four movies about LA I could watch over and over
Blade
To Live and Die in LA
Any Porn
Independence Day

four places I've lived all over LA
Sun Valley
West LA
Santa Monica
Los Feliz

four places I would vacation in LA
Le Meridian
Raffles L'Hermitage
The W
The Standard

four LA based websites I visit daily
Mine, to answer my hate mail
LA Times
LA Foodblogging, to answer my hate mail
LA Weekly

four favorite foods in LA
Sushi at Asakuma
Buffalo Three Ways at Saddle Peak Lodge
Foie Gras Three Ways at Spago
Mojo Combo at Versailles

four places in LA I would ratehr be right now
Tokyo Rose Massage Parlor in Santa Monica
Ms. Saigon Massage Parlor in Santa Monica
Keiko's Tea and Massage in Santa Monica
Kim Kim's BBQ 'n' Rub in Santa Monica

Phillips is Haute Cuisine

Phillips is BBQ on a scale only rivaled by JR's in this, our fair city of Los Angeles. LA has never been known for, well, really any food, except expensive tiny portions of sushi or Mexican.

Journey south on Crenshaw from the 10 and you find yourself in the heart of a thriving community that has some of the best food in the whole city. Very few soul food restaurants exist north of 10, but there is a seemingly endless strip of hearty soul food joints stretching as far south as you can see.

Phillips has three locations, one on Leimert, one on La Cienega in Inglewood and the latest installment is on Crenshaw, just a few blocks south of 10. Don't worry if you don't see the sign, you'll smell it from a half a block away.

It is a wall of smoke. A range of smoke. A fierce apparition wreaking delicious havoc across the street. Put your fog lights on.

There is only a stand up shelf outside to eat, or a small park bench. Nobody eats here but me. If you know soul food you already have the menu seared in your cerebrum. In case you've forgotten I'll spell it out for you. Ribs, rib tips, pulled pork, beef brisket, hot links, 7-Up cake, peach cobbler, sweet potato pie, and the ubiquitous badge of soul food: a sandwich bag with two slices of white bread, wrapped in a napkin with a fork jammed in there.

Their hot sauce is hot. JR's has a slightly sweeter nose, but Philips is a raw, smoky slow burn that you always order on the side. No, it's not a tradition. If you don't ask for sauce on the side, all soul food restaurants will slather the entirety of the meat with sauce. You do not want to mask the flavor, get it on the side and dip the meat in it. Try the meat naked, there is a deep smoke flavor to everything.

The hot links have an amazing spice mixture. Differing from JR's short cut char, these are more lengthy strips of meat with a pop of skin on the outside. Don't misunderstand me, I love JR's char.

So, who is better? Flip a coin. JR's has personality and hominess, with a true family feel. Phillips is all attitude, with no predilection towards fellowship or invitation. Just straight up, two-fisted BBQ, and that counts for a lot.

Low Brow Tour Part III: Schlotzsky's

Again, I am duplicating efforts on here and La.foodblogging. I posted it there to hopefully bring Schlotzsky's to a new audience, and I'm posting it here as part three of my Low Brow tour.

If you've ever had the misfortune of living in Texas, you have undoubtably eaten at a Schlotzsky's. It's about the only thing going for the state...and big breasts. But I live in LA, so I certainly don't have to be in Texas for the latter, unfortunately there very few Schlotzsky's out here. Damn those bastards at the Westwood location for shutting down, because now the two closest locations are down in the O.C.

For some ridiculous reason, there are no other locations in LA County, but there are two within five miles of each other, about an hour away from LA. But, I had some errands to run, so this was the perfect excuse to go. As part of my Low Brow series, in which I polished off an In 'N' Out, several pieces of Popeye's and now the Schlotzsky's.

Yeah, it's a chain, but so what. They are awesome sandwiches. Well, I don't know about other people. It seems the greatest appreciators have done time in Texas, because I've received tepid responses from others who have tried it for the first time and gave it a qualified "Eh..."

They have lots of different food: soups, varieties of sandwiches, pizza and chips. I wouldn't know anything about that. I always get the same thing: the regular original. What I got this weekend was a large original, and I must be remembering wrong but I never remember a sandwich that big. It could feed an ox.

A Schlotzky's is basically a muffaletta made with a very spongy, sourdough bread. This is their signature, in fact, the stock ticker is BUNZ. It is so perfectly spongy, it absorbes all the flavors as time goes on. The original is made of: Smoked ham, Genoa and cotto salamis, and melted cheddar, mozzarella, and parmesan cheeses layered with black olives, red onion, lettuce, tomato, mustard and a vinigarette.

I can't tell you what I love about this sandwich, only that everything is perfectly balanced. No one ingredient overpowers another, it is a choreographed piece of artwork, almost a shame to eat. But once I start in on it, it becomes a feeding frenzy. It's not nostalgia either. Every time I go to Vegas I make it a point to drive down Flamingo Rd, past the Palms, and it's in a dumpy strip mall.

I don't expect everyone to run out and drive an hour for a chain sandwich, but if you ever find yourself in Orange, Anaheim or in Las Vegas, swing by, I don't think you'll be disappointed.

Major Podcast Announcement

I am proud to announce that the Gastrologica Podcast is now part of The Culinary Podcast Network. We are in the company of some really talented podcasters and I think it will be a great alliance with some of the best podcasters out there in the pod-o-sphere. Welcome everybody who has come here via the network link, and to my regular readers and listeners, please visit the site and check out some of the great shows. If you love food, you'll love the interesting and different perspectives.

LowbrowTour Part II

As I said earlier, I avoid junk food, but found my way by a Popeye's tonight. This isn't about how much I love Popeye's spicy crispy batter, but rather an observation about how fried chicken might save us from living in a complete modernized, antiseptic society.

You see, chicken, fried chicken in particular, is one of the last vestiges of primal behavior we exhibit. It is one of the few areas the Polically Correct confederacy has not been able to infiltrate and tarnish with their scoffing and finger wagging. That's how they work, by the principal of gradient acceptance. They target a particularthe staunch tradition of tearing apart a fried animal and eating it.

In a civilization that has grown...well...soft, by the ease of life that prosperity and technology have afforded us, gnawing into fried chicken is a welcome release from the rigid protocol of genteel table manners. As we moved inexorably from an agrarian society the last fifty years, witnessing a growing pile of wing bones, necks and rib cages piling up in a carboard boat, somehow roots us in the commonality of experiencing a full fledged feeding frenzy.

Lowbrow Tour Part I

To keep my criticism of hamburger joints on the level, I felt obligated to eat at In 'n' Out for lunch today. I know, it's a tough life, but, and this will be undermined by my next post, I really like to avoid junk food.

I've already revealed my biases toward Fatburger, but I realized I hadn't eaten at an In 'n' Out in over two years, and that a fair assessment should be made.

I ordered a double-double animal style with fries and a 7-Up. A few minutes later they called my number and I picked up my red basket of food. It looked pretty good. The fries were a tan birch color. The burger was well proportioned with a picture-perfect edge of charred patty, melted cheese, lettuce and tomato arcing out.

Then came a roadbump. They double wrap the burger, and after peeling off the wax paper, I'm left with an internal diaper. I usually take off all the paper from a burger, usually driven by the paranoia of getting a mouthful of paper.

When I took off the wrapper, it started leaking russian dressing. Oops. My first bite was a good balance of all the fillers and meat. Not bad, no one taste overpowered another, which is always the goal. A flood of dressing squirted out of the bottom, forcing me to lean way over the tray. This is the same posture assumed while eating a philly cheesesteak on the sidewalk. Bend forward and bite, just watch your loafers.

I will never be a fan of the fries. They make them like you would make them at home, which produces an inferior end result, sorry to say. Commercial fries are shoestring cut, dusted with corn starch and fried twice. The first fry is low temperature to cook the inside, the second a higher temperature to crisp the outside. The fries are ho-hum, and the production of the fries leaves a bed of frylets, which are burnt nubs that are too salty and too tiny to dunk in the paper thimble in which you put your ketsup.

Overall, yes, my verdict stands, Fatburger is better. But In 'n' Out was better than I remembered, and I won't carry such a bias. The problem is, I will always feel I am getting half a meal, as the fries just aren't that satisfying.

The last minor nitpick is the proselytizing on the wrappers. Yes, most of it is completely unintelligible due to obscurity by condiment or collateral damage, but it is still there. I want a burger, not salvation.

Living the Tiki Life

I love Tiki. My house isn't a junkyard of Atomic Age collectables, but I love a stiff tropical drink. Nothing is more emblematic of Tiki culture than the Mai Tai. Created at Trader Vic's, the Mai Tai is a refreshing and deceptive. I like this twist on the traditional mix. This Kool-Aid is an atomic bomb.

I never give exact measurements, so get yourself a hefty glass and fill halfway with ice. Pour in two ounces of light rum. Splash some grenadine so the ice coats red. Swirl both together.

Now, pour in an ounce of amaretto. Fill the glass almost to the top with orange-pineapple juice. Leave about a 1/4 inch at the top. Dash in some aromatic bitters and stir well. Finally, float dark Meyers rum on top. Garnish with whatever tropical fruit you like or is in season.

Drink up! Not only should you not drive, you shouldn't walk, speak or soduku.

Get Militant About Food

Succulent Buffalo Shrimp

This is an incredible way to make Popcorn buffalo shrimp. These are fiery, crispy and healthy. First, preheat your oven to 375 degrees.



Remove the box from the freezer,



but keep your hand steady or you might suffer the effects of carpel tunnel syndrome.



This takes agility and precision. Open the bag with a steak knife.



Spread evenly the shrimp. Make sure each one contacts the metal understructure.



Monitor carefully. When sizzle balances browning, remove from the toaster quickly. Serve on a plate, and garnish with crud. This is what city life is like.

Kitchen Essentials

The Gastrologica Podcast has been running periodic segments on kitchen essentials. Although most of you are familiar with the items we have, and will, discuss, Dan took some pictures so you could see what some of the implements of destruction and refinement look like. Yes, we've all seen a chef knife, but these will give you an idea about what shape and size you might consider.



This is an example of an 8" vs. 10" chef knife. Note how much extra reach you get with the 10". It is the defining factor between Michael Myers and Jack the Ripper. Remember these are working kitchen implements, they get dirty and need to be cleaned regularly. This is an example of just before cleaning.

Look at this:





This lovely holdover from the French Revolution is a mandoline. It is an indispensible instrument to effect specialized, uniform cuts to your vegetables. It can slice thinner than any knife you manually wield, and it can produce the egnimatic waffle cut fries that have baffled consumers for eons. It is also an incredibly dangerous utensil in the hands of a careless schlamiel. One wrong move and you'll be serving your guests a skin chip. This thing takes no prisoners, but it takes a lot of fingertips.

You know what these are, do you know how to use one properly?



We discussed the point of a steel is not to create a new edge on your knife, it is used to preserve the edge that a knife-sharpener made. These are two types of steels, the regular and the diamond. The diamond is a flat edge, and the cross section looks like an almond.

You know what's cool? You do not need to steel your knife with the blazing speed of Robot Ninja. Hold the blade against the steel at a 45 degree angle, and pull back toward you as you slide the knife down the pole. Slowly. No need to get frantic. Just make sure you sharpen one edge the same amount as the other.



It looks like a stirrup, it peels like a Robot Ninja. We both agreed we prefer the traditional peeler, but this is the ergonomic preference of many chefs. This is great for long strokes that cut a wide, precise swath. The older one is good for rapid fire, automatic, NRA approved slicing, that piles potato peels like eagle's nests.

Tongs are tongs, just make sure you get a pair that have a good locking mechanism.

Gastrologica Podcast #7

Hey everybody. The new Gastrologica Podcast has dropped and I think you'll find it a fun diversion from the everyday rigors of life. Dan and I compare and contrast Lagavulin 16 year old Single Malt and a Glenmorangie 10 year old. You'll find the conclusion surprising and entertaining.

You may have also noticed the inclusion of those pesky Google ads, and a nice PayPal link. No, I don't have gambling debts, but as the site grows and the bandwidth for the podcast increases to exponential levels, it never hurts to put a link out there so some generously pious readers and listeners can kick in if they enjoy the content. That's what America is all about, after all!

Second Stop on the Isle of Islay

After comparing a few single malts these last weeks for the podcast, I can firmly say I will not find a single malt Scotch I dislike. I will probably end up just differentiating between them. Thus far, Lagavulin is the reigning champion. For that reason, I thought it would be fun to do a virtual regional tour to compare distilleries in a similar region.

So, I continue my tour of the Isle of Islay (pronounced eye-la, which I totally screwed up in the podcast), just of the Western coast of Scotland. I took a trip to Ardbeg. Following the road from Port Ellen to the southern tip of Islay brings the consumer to a lighter, friendly single malt. Contrasted to Lagavulin, Ardbeg possesses a gentle sweetness that compliments the characteristic ‘smoky-peaty’ Islay signature.

Whereas Lagavulin pounds you over the head with a smoky-woody presence that lingers like a visiting relative, Ardbeg is content to deliver fragrant, lighter notes that quickly dissipate. It has a woody-sweet nose that doesn’t overpower, and with a splash of water, it takes on a mossy overtone.

It doesn’t have an ‘outdoorsy’ taste, but a rush of caramel, vanilla and oak. It reminds me of a cellar. Overall, it is a nice contender. It doesn’t have the complexity of Lagavulin, but I am not going to use Lagavulin as a barometer, as I understand it is the strongest of all the Islay whiskeys. Ardbeg clocks in at $50 a bottle for the 10 year, and is well worth the investment.

Whole Foods Police in Hot Pursuit

Steve,

I wanted to let you know that if you would like our customers to know about GASTROLOGICA. com you should leave your card at the customer service booth with a supervisor so it can be posted on our community board. I also would like to let you know that it’s not cool to stuff your cards on all of our shelves, sign holders, or card holders.

Thanks

Finger wagging. Brow furrowing. Gnashing of teeth. Consternation. Redemption.

That was sent to me tonight. I had a bunch of cards printed up that I've been placing at purveyors of finer foods. I wouldn't say it was on all the shelves and sign holders, just a few strategically high profile ones. As I replied back, I would of course comply, but I don't think a little guerilla marketing ever hurt anyone.

For the record, I'm not a deadbeat. Every time I walk through those doors I drop a minimum of $50, and with their prices, that amounts to a soy chocolate shake and a medallion of center cut tofu tenderloin.

Welcome all new readers...and staffers of Whole Foods!

The Last Great Hamburger Stand

I usually don't like to cannibalize my material I submit to other sites, but I really like Fatburger.


Fatburger.

I'll say it again, Fatburger. The Last Great Hamburger Stand.

I sparked velvety dissention a while ago by soliciting people for their favorite burger joint, not a national chain. Of course, I violated my own criteria by throwing down for Fatburger, reasoning that even though they are growing through many states, and now even have an East Coast presence, they were still limited in overall markets.

Saying that my favorite burger is Fatburger, by implication, means In 'N' Out is not my favorite burger. This is frightening heresy to someone from Southern California, but I'm not from Southern California. Yancey Lovie opened the first Mr. Fatburger on the corner of Western and Jefferson in 1952. It has been an institution in LA since then, but honestly obscured by the reputation of In 'N' Out.

In a time where internal politics threatens to charbroil the good name of In 'N' Out, and the struggle over whether to extend the franchise beyond its cloistered borders, in 1986 Fatburger had already adopted a Machiavelian doctrine of expansion.

Fatburger's manifest destiny has not sullied nor faded the quality of their burgers, at least not the original locations dotting Los Angeles like yellow pushpins. I haven't eaten at any of the locations outside of California. Couple to that Magic Johnson's policy of investing back into the South Central community, proving there is a great deal of profit to be made by investing in lower income areas. Yet, other high profile entertainers are also quietly looking into franchising up and down the East Coast.

While In 'N' Out strives for historical purity by not changing its menu, there is a secret menu of modifications that every Californian knows. Its sort of an inside joke to play on the tourists that will never know to order a double-double animal style. Fatburger's only not-well-kept-secret is you can order it grilled or char-broiled.

Fatburger also has its own tradition known as the Triple Kingburger Challenge. Anyone who finishes a triple Kingburger (1 1/2 pounds) within six minutes wins a T-shirt, free meals for the week and their picture on the Triple Kingburger Challenge Wall of Fame.

Another important distinction is the toppings offered by Fatburger. Of course, I'm talking about the fried egg and chili. Tommy's may be known for the most widely proliferated chiliburger in LA, but it is also reviled as the worst. In fact, the chili at most burger places leaves much to be desired. Fatburger's chili is rich, spicy and dense with flavor.

That translates to the chili cheese fries also. Fatburger gets it right every time: they do not drown your food in the chili, after all, it is the meat you want to taste, otherwise you would just buy a bowl of chili. They confidently ration all condiments in perfect portion, so nothing ever overpowers anything else. In many burger chains, all the flavors are competing against each other for dominance of your tastebuds.

There are just so many unique qualities that separates this patty of meat slapped between a bun from all the other chains, but the quality is almost intangible. Everybody offers lettuce, tomato, mustard, pickles, onions.

It's the atmosphere. It's the fresh ice cream used in the dreamy shakes. The lemonade swirling through the plastic lemonade machine. Fresh, never frozen, meat. The shaker of salt they sprinkle on the patties while they're cooking. The fries at absolutely trounce In 'N' Out fries.

And their complete lack of advertising. I've lived in LA for eight years. Unless I'm blind and/or deaf, I've never heard an ad for Fatburger.

So, Fatburger vs. In 'N' Out. In 'N' Out is clearly dominant, and I started to ask myself why. I've eaten both in the same day to make a comparison, and I never got that turned on about the In 'N' Out burger. What could have catapulted In 'N' Out over Fatburger, a clearly superior product.

I'm going to play the race card. It is my assertion that because Fatburger was located in predominantly African American communities, owned and operated by a black woman, it didn't get as widespread exposure as In 'N' Out did until recent years.

But, it's really not a race deal, it's about location. Whites simply weren't exposed to a Fatburger in their neighborhoods until the 80's. Blacks had been savoring Fatburger since 1952, hoping, I'm sure, to keep the secret to themselves. All good things eventually get out and expand, and that's exactly what happened with Fatburger.

How did a white guy from the East Coast learn about Fatburger before he even got to LA?

No helicopter looking for a murder,
Two in the morning got the Fatburger,
Even saw the lights of the Goodyear Blimp
And it read 'Ice Cube's a pimp'

Don't get me wrong. I don't dislike In 'N' Out, I just don't have that clingy nostalgia that clouds my judgment in these matters. For that, I have White Castle.

Grilled Tortilla Pizza

Raw, burnt and rippling with fire. Blowtorch an earthquake of flavor by tossing a corn tortilla on your gas stovetop. It will char in a minute or two. Spread your favorite tomato sauce on and shave monterey jack on top.

Broil until the cheese is bubbling mahogany. Sprinkle with dried red pepper.