A Chain vs. a Local in Battle Over Blueberry Pancakes
I don’t often eat pancakes, but when I do, I prefer them stuffed with blueberries. And doused with maple syrup. In the first Friday Food Fight to feature pancakes, I wanted to see if I could tell much difference between versions: (1) mass market pancakes at a breakfast-all-day chain that was named after our food in question (IHOP). (2) artisan (my word) pancakes at a small local restaurant with exactly one type on the regular menu: blueberry (City’s Bistro in St. Pete). I get a hankering for pancakes about twice a year. What’s it like to eat them twice in two days? Let’s find out. IHOP Fun facts: International House of Pancakes first opened in California in 1958. When do you think the company officially changed its name to IHOP? (Pause for you to answer). 1973. I thought it was much later. And I bet you did too. Okay, moving on. We arrived at the IHOP in Pinellas Park at 7 p.m. Tuesday, the setting sun offering a glimpse of pink behind the building. Inside, the colorful decor was tempered by warm lighting, which made the nearly empty place kind of homey as we relaxed in our booth. Light pop music on the dining-room sound system tangled with the speed-metal emanating from the kitchen. Neither was loud enough to be much of a distraction, but I’ve heard better mashups. I ordered a Double Blueberry Pancake Combo ($11.79), a short stack with two poached eggs and two strips of bacon. Bonnie ordered a short stack of regular pancakes ($6.59). Appearance Blueberries inside and blueberries piled on top, with a mound of whipped cream over that. Add in maple syrup and my sugar high (and ensuing crash) awaited. Taste and Texture Solid. That’s the best way to describe these pancakes. They were not too fluffy, had some heft. As you’d expect, they tasted strongly of our chosen fruit. The portion — including the eggs and bacon, but especially the pancakes — was just the right size. I finished the entire meal. We drove home to a large full moon sitting low in the sky. I was full, too — but not stuffed. CITY’S BISTRO City’s Bistro is tucked into the south end of a strip center at 4th Street and 35th Avenue North. The place gets stellar reviews for service, and that was certainly on display Wednesday at 10:40 a.m., 20 minutes before pancake cutoff. Our server, Kate, was all smiles and cordiality. She set down a plate containing four little blueberry muffins. A blueberry amuse-bouche. I saved them for later so I wouldn’t be over-blueberried. Value cleanliness in you eateries? While we waited, I saw Kate vigorously spray down and clean off a table and seats at a booth — then sweep up around it. The smallish rectangular space let in plenty of natural light. We sat at a two-top and I ordered Wild Blueberry Buttermilk Pancakes ($12.50) and chose a sausage patty over bacon. Appearance I admired the homemade appearance of this tri-stack. The pancakes were big, but not ridiculously so. The syrup came in a small container. I asked for another. Taste and Texture Here was the test: Could I enjoy pancakes 15 hours after I’d just eaten them? I did. The cake itself had a slightly rustic texture and taste, but the X factor was the blueberries. Sourced from Michigan, they were plump and popped with natural flavor, adding moments of delight. The fruit was concentrated in the middle, so if I wanted to taste more pancake, I ate toward the outer edges. About halfway through, I hit the pancake wall. No sense bringing the leftovers home, although I did box up the mini-muffins for later. At some point years ago, I went on a bad run with sausage patties and switched to links, but this patty (by Boar’s Head) was thin and perfectly cooked. Bonnie ate half. And the Winner of the Battle of the Blueberry Pancakes Is … City’s Bistro. An easy call — but not meant to disparage IHOP. That place served me worthy pancakes, to go along with worthy eggs and bacon. IHOP was up against a small restaurant that scratch-makes its pancakes and goes the extra mile with ingredients. Going in, I wanted to find out if there would be a notable difference. And there was. I liked the vibe at City’s Bistro. The place really has its game together. It’s close to home, so I’ll probably go back. But no pancakes. I’m good on pancakes until, oh, mid-2026.
Two Vietnamese Restaurants in the Battle of the Bún
Before we begin, it’s pronounced “boon.” Short, sharp. Bún. Knowing that will help you in reading this. A signature Vietnamese dish served in a bowl, bún consists of bed of rice vermicelli covered with thin-sliced vegetables, a variety of meats, herbs and other goodies. A topping I’ve frequently seen is egg rolls chopped into bite-sized pieces. Called chả giò, it came into vogue in the mid-20th Century as Vietnamese street food. Because bún is a decidedly Vietnamese dish, I chose two decidedly Vietnamese restaurants — not French Vietnamese or pan-Asian. They are Nambo Kitchen in Pinellas Park and Pho 813 in Tampa. NAMBO KITCHEN The small, stand-alone building that houses Nambo Kitchen sits just west of the Shoppes at Park Place. This section of Park Boulevard is commerce-heavy and often traffic-jammed, so its best to keep a sharp eye out for the restaurant. The building is kind of ramshackle, like a roadside dive, but it had an inviting air. Maybe it’s the porch, which was empty during our visit at 7:30 Monday. Inside, the place is well-lit (just this side of too bright), basic — it has a drink case — and comfortable. Our party of two hungry people out for a late (for us) dinner ordered the combination bún with grilled pork, shrimp and egg roll ($16.50); grilled pork spring rolls (2, $6.95); and fried dumplings ($7.95). I got a mango smoothie ($6.95). Appearance I saw thin-sliced cucumber, julienned carrots, chopped shallots and what looked like crumbled peanuts mixed in with the proteins. The vermicelli peeked through in places. I knew my chopsticks would soon be discarded in favor of a fork. Taste and Texture This bún, like most of the others I’ve eaten, tasted like a fresh spring morning. The vermicelli, slightly warm, acted as an accompanist for the other ingredients, but without these skinny rice noodles, the dish would be much diminished, if even worthwhile. My favorite topping was the egg roll, which added a flaky, comfort-food element to complement the slurpy noodles and crunchy vegetables. I liberally dosed the bowl with a house-doctored fish sauce, which a added a welcome wave of sweetness. We were impressed with the spring rolls, the dark brown of the grilled pork showing through the clear rice paper. We dipped them in a thick peanut sauce and make them disappear. The velvety smoothie — lighter than a milkshake — came in a cute branded cup. Pho 813 Pho 813, which the owners of Yummy House opened in early 2021, is located on Henderson Boulevard just north of the clogged intersection with Dale Mabry. We had the scheduling misfortune of heading there during early rush hour, arriving at 5:15 on Thursday. The spacious interior has an airy, modern feel, with light hues of brown and beige complemented by white chairs. We ordered the combination bún with beef, pork, chicken, shrimp and a sectioned egg roll ($19.99), plus grilled pork summer rolls (2, $8.25) and a beef bahn mi ($11.99). Appearance The bowl was big and deep, loaded with toppings, with a smaller bowl of fish sauce on top. It looked like a lot. The noodles were buried. Taste and Texture This bún was harder to attack than its competitor. I had to dredge the noodles to the top and pair them with proteins. The small egg rolls were rendered all but inconsequential. The meats had a nicely grilled flavor. My fave was the beef, which was more tender than expected. The meats came in large pieces, which required me to split them into smaller pieces by hand. It was either that or pull them out of the bowl and cut them with a knife. Sorry, I’m not that refined. As for the acouterments, the daikon was a nice touch, but the abundance of lettuce got in the way. The fish sauce was not as sweet as that of Nambo. The spring rolls had hefty cuts of grilled pork, noodles, mint and a leaves of romaine lettuce bound in rice paper. They were next level. The bahn mi was thick with beef, which was also notably tender, but its toppings lacked the pickled punch that I’ve had in other versions. And the Winner of the Battle of the Bún Is … Nambo Kitchen. No question I liked both versions, but the relative simplicity of Nambo’s bún gave it the edge. The components stood on their own while working as a whole. Two other factors: bigger, better egg rolls and the sweeter fish sauce. Pho 813 served a bigger portion with a lot more stuff, so if you like your bowls loaded, this would probably be the one for you. I gave the nod to Pho 813 in the spring/summer roll competition.
Two Chains Tangle Over Which Makes the Better Fish Sandwich
We were choppin’ it up over dinner in Atlanta, trying to come up with new ideas for Friday Food Fight, which is not as easy as it seems after more than three-and-a-half years of weekly columns, when my daughter said, “Hey, you should do fish sandwiches at two fast-food places.” I packed the idea away for down the road. Its time has come. Instead of featuring high-profile chains (MacD’s, BK, Wendy’s), I thought it better to try places with lower profiles and introduce them to you, dear readers. Contestant #1: Culver’s, a burger-centric brand that has only been in the Tampa Bay market for a decade but has built a strong presence. Its fish sandwich gets strong grades online. Contestant #2: For a local angle, Salem’s Fresh Eats, which first opened in Tampa in 1988 and has 14 locations clustered mostly around the Bay area, the farthest away being Winter Haven. We ate at locations in St. Pete. Rather than bring the sandwiches back to the the FFF Lab + Photo Studio™ and risk them getting cold, we ate on site. CULVER’S At 7:15 Tuesday, we opted to dine outdoors, with woosh-woosh-woosh of 4th Street traffic on one side and a spectacular sunset on the other. This Culver’s has servers that are friendly and seem to really care about their jobs. We ordered at the drive-thru: a North Atlantic Cod Sandwich combo with fries and a drink ($12.69). And I couldn’t resist a milkshake ($5.79, large) A young guy brought our meal out, and said we should let him know if we needed anything. Appearance I hadn’t eaten fast food in a while, and this meal looked the part. The sandwich came in a small box, which beat a paper wrap. The cod inside the roll was impressively thick. Taste and Texture I first took notice of the delicate crust, which offered a mild crunch but was well short of crispy. Kudos to Culver’s. I’m not a fan of fish sandwiches that hide the actual flesh amid a mound of deep-fried breading. The cod was meaty and tender (but not flaky), and not the least bit “fishy”-tasting. The soft bun lacked personality but, like a classic role player, it supported the fish. The cheese was subtle, as was the tartar sauce, both pluses. (I’ve had the misfortune of sitting down to $20 grouper sandwiches that were sloppy with cheese and tartar sauce.) The fries were solid, not over-salted, another plus. All told, the Culver’s North Atlantic Cod Sandwich looked like fast food but didn’t eat like it. SALEM’S FRESH EATS For our first ever visit to a Salem’s, Bonnie drove westward through a driving rainstorm. The downpour had abated by our arrival at 12:45 Thursday, and we walked into the place to the smell of fresh rain on asphalt. A sign on the window touted a deal on gizzards, which would not be part of our dining experience at Salem’s. We decided to eat in — because there’s no place to eat outside. The restaurant’s interior is beige-y and nondescript, but comfortable enough. I ordered the fish sandwich platter, with fries and a drink ($12.59). The manager, Craig, explained that I could get the sandwich with mayo, tomatoes, onion and pickles. “The works,” I said. He waived the $1 fee for a small container of tartar sauce. Appearance This presented more as a meal than what we had at Culver’s. Two slabs of fried tilapia protruded from the bun, and the plastic plate was filled out by basic fries. Taste and Texture The fish was nicely breaded, with a touch of crunch. The tilapia was a tad nondescript but was not beset by the dessication that can plague a sandwich like this. There was a lot stuffed into this beast, but it never fell apart and became an unholy mess. I especially appreciated the briney punch provided by the thin dill-pickle slices and the crunch of the onion and lettuce. Add in the juicy brightness of the tomato and it amounted to a winning combination of flavors. The fries were solid. And the Winner of the Fish Sandwich Skirmish Is … Salem’s Fresh Eats. A close one. I tilted toward the fuller flavor of Culver’s cod, but as an overall sandwich the Salem’s version had more character. Overall, the meal was surprisingly unlike fast food, which might seem counterintuitive here because the premise is based on fast food. The best way I can put it is that the Salem’s version came off as more made to order (and served hot). As someone who rarely eats at fast-food joints, I was pleasantly surprised that, in each case, the meals were well thought out, well prepared, flavorful and — while not exactly salubrious — neither were they unhealthy gut bombs. I’d eat them again — but probably won’t.
Awesome Buco! Two Braised Pork Shanks Slug it Out
Ossobuco is the culinary embodiment of the proverb “the nearer the bone, the sweeter the meat.” The dish, which dates back to the early 1800s in Northern Italy, centers around a slow-braised meat shank — beef, veal or pork (I’ve only had the latter, as far as I know). Translated from Italian, ossobuco means “bone with a hole.” The meat is definitely bone-adjacent — thus tasty and tender. And sweeter. Two locally owned Italian restaurants square off this week: Buona Ristorante on St. Pete Beach and Gratzzi Italian Grill in downtown St. Pete. BUONA RISTORANTE First, kudos to Buona for resilience. The small space in Dolphin Village was hammered by last year’s hurricanes and underwent a three-month rebuild. Then in mid-May, a large portion of the shopping center — including a CVS and a Publix — burned down. Buona, unaffected by the blaze, closed for a couple of days per the fire marshal, but news reports said the untouched storefronts would be shut down indefinitely. That confluence of events, plus the ongoing construction nearby (as can be seen in the photo) have seriously hampered business. Yet Buona persists and will continue doing so — so said Alison, the manager I spoke to. We arrived at 6:30 Tuesday, and even though Buona has outdoor seating in the front and back, we chose a four-top inside for our party of three. Bonnie and I opted to split the Rosemary Osso Buco ($34) and added a house side salad for five bucks. Appearance In my experience, ossobuco always looks striking, and this version made the grade. The bone jutted upward, with a sprig of rosemary on top. The pork shank was joined by a generous helping of parmigiano risotto and sautéed broccolini. A bonus: the dish arrived with steam wafting upward. Taste and Texture Part of the fun of eating ossobuco is fork-peeling delicate pieces of meat from the bone, and seeing it all fall apart. Even better is eating the sublimely tender morsels. It’d been several years since I’d had the dish, and Buona’s version lived up to my high expectations. The rosemary demi-glace was vividly rich, accentuating the flavor of the pork. I’m not much of a risotto fan, but I enjoyed this cheesy version. The broccolini was crispy to the point that it needed cutting with a knife and fork. A sizable piece of the shank remained, and it’s sitting in my fridge as I write this. GRATZZI ITALIAN GRILL News accounts have noted how difficult this summer has been for Bay area restaurants, with several closing. Gratzzi — open for 15 years, but it seems like longer — is an exception. At 7:15 on a Wednesday, in September, the restaurant was at capacity. Our party of three was fortunate to score a four-top in the quieter dining room, away from the bar, without a wait*. Gratzzi presents as an old-school Italian eatery — as in, dark. With velvet curtains on one side of the room. You get the idea. Our eyes widened a little when we saw that the Pork Ossobuco cost $52. We wondered aloud why Gratzzi charges such a hefty price. “Because they can,” I said. Appearance “Where’s the bone?” I asked with a twinge of panic. After a bit of inspection, we saw that it laid horizontally, buried under braised pork. Phew. This version wasn’t pretty, although it did have a purple flower, which seemed out of place amid a mound of brown. The vegetable medley included carrots, a good sign. Taste and Texture The meat’s texture was firmer than the competition’s, with a slightly bolder flavor. I consulted the menu later and saw that Gratzzi uses “Kurobuta” pork, which, according to the AI machine, refers to a Berkshire breed whose meat is often called the “Wagyu of pork.” The demi-reduction was more like a gravy than Buona’s. And the ample portion soaked the porcini mushroom risotto that sat beneath the meat. (The dish did not taste of mushroom, for which I was grateful.) The soft carrots were a bonus, as expected. And the Winner of the Awesome Buco Battle Is … Gratzzi. This was a close call, and I’d gladly order either one again. The factor that tipped the decision toward Gratzzi was its “gravy.” * A Closing Note: We at first sat down to eat ossobuco at Cafe Cibo, whose pricing is closer to Buona’s. When our server told us that it was no longer on the menu, we got busy on our phones and were relieved to discover that Gratzzi serves it, so we pivoted and hustled downtown. The Gratzzi menu says to “ask for availability,” of ossobuco, so we lucked out. Sometimes field work for Friday Food Fight can be downright harrowing. More from the AI machine: “The nearer the bone, the sweeter the meat” proverbial saying, late 14th century. Usages reflect both the belief that meat close to the bone has the best taste and texture, and the idea that it is valued because it represents the last vestiges of available food. In another search, I turned this up: The final part of something is the most exciting.
Salad Days: The 9 Best I’ve Eaten This Year (So Far)
Salads were always something I shoveled in my mouth as a preamble to the real food. Then a few months ago — probably out of food-writer obligation — I started paying more attention, ordering salads that looked interesting on menus, carving out space for them in this column. Yet I never got to the point where I featured two salads in an actual Friday Food Fight. So I went with something better — I think — by putting together a list of the best ones I’ve eaten in ’25. Nine of them made the grade. I’ll reveal my favorite at the end. Cognac Cognac Romaine Salade à la Lyonnaise This French restaurant that opened in downtown St. Pete in February offers a salad with a fancy French name. Its X factor is a poached egg that runs throughout the romaine lettuce and thick pieces of bacon. Hmm, a salad with bacon-and-eggs (dressed in a tangy vinaigrette). Count me in. Tryst Watermelon Burrata Although this place on Beach Drive is more known as a night spot, its food menu includes an impressive grouping of four salads. We chose the Watermelon Burrata and were glad we did. A big bulb of the smooth cheese mixed with golf-ball-sized pieces of watermelon to evoke a sublime fruit-to-salt/crispy-to-creamy blend. It all sat on a bed of arugula, and was finished with salted, roasted pistachios. Fresco’s Waterfront Bistro Fresco’s House Salad Sometimes it’s the little things. The tomatoes in this salad were sliced lengthwise, making them less seedy and amplifying their flavor. Same with the red onion. The carrots were julienned. Pepita seeds provided little morsels of delight. A sesame ginger dressing tied it all together. Rumba Island Grill Rumba Bacon, bacon, candied bacon. You can never have too much bacon — candied or otherwise — although this salad pushed that envelope. The cured meat was joined by thick rounds of red onion, tomato slices that were far better than we tend to get around here, greens and other good stuff (blistered street corn!), coated in a sweetish dressing. In all, a winning combo. Beacon Sample Salad at Tampa Bay Food Fight We ate this wonderful assemblage at the annual food event in Amalie Arena. The small portion served in a paper bowl blended assorted greens, cranberries, grapefruit, a slice of prosciutto and small bulb of burrata. A sweetish dressing topped it off. So good we went back for another round. Unfortunately, the salad does not appear on the regular menu of this rooftop lounge in downtown Tampa. Even so, I had to include it. Teak House Salad I’ve eaten this one twice — and dug it both times. This imaginative array accents its greens with hefty helpings of strawberries and mandarin oranges, which render it altogether refreshing. A “roasted sesame pineapple ginger dressing” adds to the delight. BellaBrava Misticanza A superior house salad of romaine lettuce, radicchio, red onion, little tomatoes and other goodies, liberally topped with grated grana padano cheese. We were all in on the honey basil dressing. Bascom’s Chop House Bascom’s House Salad Iceberg lettuce, yes! Julienned ham and Swiss cheese, nice! Green olives, uh huh. Topped with a tangy parmesan vinaigrette dressing, liberally sprinkled with grated parmesan. A classic steakhouse salad. Sunshine City Tavern The Belle Salad And lastly, a salad with a side of heavy sadness. Sunshine City, the dream concept of celebrated local chef Ted Dorsey, opened in late March on 4th Street in St. Pete. A month later, Dorsey received a diagnosis of Stage 4 pancreatic cancer. Due to his health issues, the restaurant closed in early August. We ate there in April and mightily enjoyed the Belle Salad, which had a cornucopia of flavors: apricots and candied pecans for sweetness, red onions for a touch of bitterness, smoked gouda for sharpness. A lovely Honeycomb Vinaigrette with a subtle flavor of horseradish. We ordered it with chicken tenders, which were moist and flavorful and had a perfect crust. I got to know Ted while he was working on opening The Mill in downtown St. Pete and I was reporting on restaurants for the Tampa Bay Business Journal. We struck up an easy rapport and stayed in touch. He’s a great guy and a fabulous cook. We wish him nothing but love during his cancer battle. My Fave Watermelon Burrata at Tryst. Runner up: The Belle Salad at Sunshine City Tavern.
Spotlight: Ford’s Garage—Beef vs. Bison in a Burger Battle
I’ve eaten infinity beef burgers, a smattering of plant-based burgers and zero bison burgers that I’m aware of. Suddenly, I’ve become bison-curious. I chose a different tack for this week’s edition: Rather than square off bison burgers at two restaurants, I chose to pit a bison burger against a beef burger in the same place: Ford’s Garage. We decided to make it a blind taste test. Simple, right? Not for us. And not for the Ford’s Garage service staff. The exercise did make our outing more fun, though. I racked my brain trying to figure out how to do a dramatic reveal between beef and bison in this space, but I guess I’m just not smart enough. I will, however, reveal which one I preferred. FORD’S GARAGE We arrived at the downtown St. Pete location — there are three on the other side of the Bay — at 6:30 Tuesday, and sat inside amid the wild assortment of Ford paraphernalia. Our server, Jared, was game for the blind test. We opted to put basic toppings on each burger: American cheese, lettuce, tomato, onion. (The beef burger cost $14.99, the bison version was $19.98.) Jared explained to the kitchen people and the manager that we should not know which was which. After about 10 minutes, a woman walked towards us with two plates. She presented them with a flourish. “And heeere’s the bison bur…” “No!” I exclaimed. Her name was Tracy, the managing partner, and we had a good laugh about it. Fortunately, I had turned my head away quickly enough to preserve the blindfold test. Appearance I’ve stacked the two photos above so you can play along. Can you determine on a screen which is beef and which is bison? One burger looked fatter and more pink inside. But there was no tell-tale evidence differentiating the two. One dish had fries, the other onion rings, and we hoped that Jared and/or Tracy would remember which was which. Bonnie and I debated how we could best keep track of each burger as we taste-tested, and ultimately found that a third plate helped. Taste and Texture I alternated between burgers, reluctantly setting aside my regular ketchup or other condiments to better taste the meat. Such hardships. We had fun analyzing each burger almost as much as we enjoyed eating them. The fatter one had a meatier flavor, and — if I chewed slowly enough — a more grainy consistency. I could detect in the darker one a more pebbly texture. Neither was noticeably more juicy than the other. Bonnie and I made our beef-or-bison determinations early on, both of us on the same page. As I ate further, the differences between the two began to diminish, and I had pangs of doubt about my choices. The Reckoning While I pause to build suspense, take a moment of have a look at the restaurant’s bar area. Notice the antique Ford hovering above. Dig the rims. Bonnie and I decided that the pinker/fatter burger (the upper photo) was the bison. We asked Jared for the reveal. He looked over the remnants of each and declared it was the other way around. I didn’t buy it. We called Tracy over. She had kept track of the fries and onion rings, and informed us that Bonnie and I were correct. Yay! And the Winner of the Beef vs. Bison Burger Battle Is … Bison. Mostly due to the novelty of trying something new. And being right. And getting to talk trash to Jared and Tracy after it was all said and done. This verdict does not mean I’m a convert to bison burgers. But I’ll order one again — some time, down the line, probably out West. Our burger competition was sloppy and silly and the polar opposite of scientific. Thanks to the Ford’s Garage crew for accommodating us and joining in the spirit of the project. We had a blast.
What a Rib-Off! Chain vs. Chain
When it comes to barbecue ribs, I have one inviolable rule: They must be fall-off-the-bone. I have no interest in gnawing on ’em. I want the bones to end up shiny as freshly brushed teeth. This week, I’m homing in on chain barbecue restaurants. There are really only two in these parts: Dickey’s Barbecue Pit (est. 1941, Dallas, Texas), with four locations in the greater Tampa Bay area, and Sonny’s BBQ (est. 1968, Gainesville, Florida), with six. Both menus indicate that I could expect their ribs to fall off the bone. DICKEY’S BARBECUE PIT Monday’s weather had been all-day dreary, although it had stopped raining when we arrived at 6:30. The Tyrone-area restaurant’s’ gray exterior matched the drab sky, but once inside I got energized by the thought of eating BBQ ribs for the first time in many, many months. Right off the bat, I hit the counter woman with, “Are your ribs fall-off-the-bone?” “Always,” she shot back, before I could finish the question. Okay, then. Let’s get’r goin’. We ordered a half-rack Rib Plate ($18.99) with two sides: hand-cut fries and barbecue beans. For sauces, we got one container of the Dickey’s house flavor and one sweet. Appearance Your basic presentation of a rib meal at a counter-serve barbecue joint. I was rarin’ to dig in. Taste and Texture The counter woman was true to her word. These ribs fell off the bone — but not so much that they came apart at the slightest touch. These were ribs you could pick up and eat. And they were damn good — the meat sublimely tender, with just the right measure of smokiness. I wasn’t interested in sharing too much of my grub with Bonnie, although I kept that to myself. One rib in, she announced, “I’m done,” and my face lit up. The fries were nice: long and bordering on limp. It was like eating, y’know, potato. The beans held their own, but they had a bit too much of a congealed texture. Of the two sauces, we preferred the house version, tangy with a hint of spicy heat, although we only sampled it. I generally don’t dip my ribs in sauce. I wiped out the rib plate, which I knew would happen even when Bonnie tossed in her napkin early. SONNY’S BBQ We arrived at the Pinellas Park location at 4:45 Thursday, a blazing hot, rainless, puffy-clouded afternoon. The aroma of smoke swaddled us just inside the front door. The large dining room is outfitted like a Western roadhouse, with different tones of wood offset by bright red chairs. We had our choice of tables so set up at a six-top by the window on the back wall. Our server, Stephanie, arrived promptly. All of Sonny’s ribs are fall-off-the-bone, she said, but the St. Louis style has more fat, and therefore is more juicy, and she strongly recommended them. How could we not? I ordered St. Louis Ribs ($18.29) with BBQ beans and coleslaw as sides. Bonnie got tater tots with her pulled pork sandwich. Appearance Compared to the competition, this presentation of a barbecue rib meal was durn near elegant. Then again, Sonny’s is a full-service restaurant, so that’s to be expected. Like a few days prior, I was rarin’ to dig in. Taste and Texture Fall-off-the-bone redux. These ribs had a prominent char that added to the smoke quotient and required some extra jaw work. They were tender and smokey and flavorful, as expected, but not as moist as those at Dickey’s. My half-rack included an end cut, which had very little meat and was mostly burnt black. I gave it a go anyway. (Stephanie told me later to order “center-cut ribs.” Useful information, indeed.) The sweet beans were so syrupy that they came with a spoon. The coleslaw had more sauce than I prefer, but I finished it all the same. Bonnie’s tots, a few of which I stole, were perfectly done. A welcome bonus was a splendid cornbread muffin — moist and sweet. And the Winners of the Chain vs. Chain Rib Ruckus Is … A split decision … Dickey’s Barbecue Pit. I preferred the vibe at Sonny’s. I preferred the beans. I preferred the potatoes. I far preferred the cornbread over the so-called Texas Toast at Dickey’s. But ultimately I preferred the ribs at Dickey’s, so I’m duty bound to declare it the winner by the thinnest of margins. As to where I’d choose to go for another rib plate, it’s Sonny’s. A final note: Even though my two rib dinners in a week covered my fat-intake quota for a month, I have no regrets. Well, maybe one: I wore tan shorts to Sonny’s.
Cod Piece: Tampa Bay vs. Catalonia, Spain in a Fish Fight
I’ve always wanted to take Friday Food Fight international, make it global, huge. Not really. I’d just hoped to do one pitting Tampa Bay against a foreign country. Dream fulfilled when we recently took a 10-day trip to Spain, where we stayed a couple nights in Barcelona and then the rest in the hilly part of a small town called Vall-Llobrega*, about 70 miles northeast. The plan was to survey the culinary scene in Catalonia, and then see if I could match a dish with one here. Initially, paella seemed the obvious choice. But I did not like paella, at least the stuff in Barcelona. It was during a side trip to a medieval town called Pals that I found my food. Cod. At a restaurant called La Vila. Now, cod (bacallà in Catalan) is common there, but not here. So finding a Tampa Bay competitor took a little effort. Up popped one close by: Bonefish Grill on 4th Street in St. Pete … I know what you’re thinking. Cod at a medieval town in Spain vs. cod at Bonefish? Hey, I get it. On paper, it’s a grievous mismatch. Let’s find out. LA VILA After strolling along hilly cobblestone streets in mid-90s heat, under full sun, and needing shelter and food, we found La Vila. Our party of six did not have a reservation, but after a 15-minute wait and some mild truculence from the staff — shame on us for being walk-ins — they found us a table on a covered patio just before 2 p.m. The extensive menu was in Catalan and Spanish. Our waiter, a middle-aged fellow, spoke little English, so we had some trouble ordering (and he could barely conceal his exasperation). He didn’t know the word “cod,” so I looked it up on my phone. Bacallà. I was surprised there was only one Bacallà dish (€19) on the menu. Translated: baked cod with crumbed garlic and cherry oil, over potato gratinate. Appearance An impressive presentation for a lunch that cost about $22. A healthy portion, too. And I’m predisposed to dishes in cast-iron serving bowls. Taste and Texture As a decades-long resident of Florida — the land of grouper and snapper and grocery-store tilapia — I haven’t eaten much cod. This version was a splendid change of pace. It had plenty of flavor, but not in a “fishy” sort of way. The Catalan cod was meatier and oilier — and less flaky — than the Florida Gulf fish I’ve had. The bed of potatoes was scrumptious, just the right mid-point between creamy and firm. I’ve never knowingly eaten cherry oil (I tasted no cherry), but the velvety red sauce provided a first-rate obbligato. The portion size was spot-on. I polished it off. Who needs leftovers on a European vacation? BONEFISH GRILL First, kudos to Bonefish for serving cod. We showed up just after 6 p.m. Thursday at the flagship location (which opened in 2000) and had a 10-minute wait. The interior is dark(ish). The design, let’s call it old-school. We sat at a high-top in the bar area, which was close to capacity and thrummed with robust conversation. Our young server, Gwen, was delightful — energetic, witty and knowledgable. I’d like to have a fraction of her pep. She gladly helped me improvise a cod dish: Cod Imperial ($25.90), the filet lightly grilled then baked. I ordered the Imperial — a mix of shrimp, scallops and other rich stuff — on the side. Garlic whipped potatoes and asparagus completed the meal. Appearance I could’ve done without the Imperial — its ingredients are outside my wheelhouse — but Bonnie wanted to try it. The cod was dusted with some type of spice, I’m not sure what. Stalks of asparagus draped across the potato, adding a smidge of flair. Taste and Texture A worthy chunk of cod — similar in flavor and texture to its counterpart across the pond. The spiced exterior provided some zest, but I wonder if adding a bit more to create a crust would be an improvement. In all, I found the density of the cod to be a welcome alternative to the flakier fish common in local restaurants. I liberally buttered my potatoes, and scarfed ’em up. The asparagus could’ve been firmer to add some crunch, although it wasn’t limp. And the Winner of Tampa Bay vs. Catalonia Cod Clash Is … La Vila. The match was closer than expected. The cod itself was actually comparable between the two places, but La Vila’s unique red sauce and potato gratinate won the day. As far as service, Bonefish Grill wins — Hands. Down. Gwen was the kind of server who makes the dining experience better. *About pronouncing Vall-Llobrega: I could find no clear consensus. I didn’t think to ask a server at a restaurant in town so resorted to online research. I couldn’t find audio, just ph0netics. I’m going with the Spanish version: Bye-Yo-Breh-Gah. And finally: Another big congrats to Emmitt and Albane on their nuptials. (I presume you’re still married.) We had a blast.
Friday Booze Fight: A Three-Martini Mashup at Mandarin Hide
Remember the three-martini lunch? Neither do I. At least not in practice. The mere idea of slurping a trio of potent liquor drinks in the early afternoon seems the height of Don Draper-esque madness. For our three-martini Spotlight at Mandarin Hide in downtown St. Pete, we gathered at a more sensible time — 6:30 p.m. Sydney, the youngest member of the Registry Tampa Bay team, strongly suggested Mandarin Hide, mostly because the place makes “the best espresso martini.” Okay, sold. And she showed up! Two other martini testers were in attendance: Tom duPont, publisher of RTB, and David Downing, a regular FFF consultant and expert libation photographer (all photos are his). Both have considerable expertise regarding the iconic drink. Me, not so much. I’ve had maybe a half-dozen martinis in my life. The four of us grabbed stools at the corner of the bar nearest the door. We ordered three martinis — all with vodka instead of gin, which David met with mild disdain. They were: 1) dry, 2) dirty and 3) the aforementioned espresso. I portioned out small samples in plastic cups to the team members, and drank from the glasses myself, including the all-important first sip. I’ll pick a winner — or more accurately my favorite — and reveal it at the end. DRY MARTINI We got into a spirited discussion about this drink before it was served. Tom said the dry martini is made with (in this case) vodka and three olives stuffed with bleu cheese. “If it’s just vodka, why don’t they just call it vodka?” I pleaded. “Why call it a martini?” Our good-natured bartender, Ben, two weeks on the job, made an attempt to intervene, saying he could make it any way we wanted it. Another bartender came over and said that the Mandarin Hide dry martini is prepared by rinsing the rim of the glass with dry vermouth. Settled. Tom asked Ben to use Ketel One vodka. As I lifted the glass to my lips, I was prepared for the bite of clear liquor but was surprised to find it smooth and refreshing — in a 80-proof way. The martini was cold, for starters. I didn’t actually taste any vermouth, but somehow it made its presence felt. My first thought was, “I don’t want to share. I don’t want these people to have any of this martini.” But I dutifully doled out a thimble’s worth to each, spilling some on my pants, and leaving me with a couple thimble’s worth. The three men each took an olive. I took a bite of mine — appreciating the tang it emitted with the sharp cheese — and dropped the rest on the floor. I swear I was only mildly buzzed. I’d only had one Bud Light as a palette-cleanser. I was unaware of the custom that mandates bartenders must use one or three olives when making a martini. An even number is bad luck. I did some searching and could find no definitive reason for this superstition, but the number of olives didn’t matter much to me. All I know is that I enjoyed my dry martini far more than expected. DIRTY MARTINI One olive accompanied our dirty entry. I don’t remember who got to eat it. I do remember that it wasn’t stuffed with bleu cheese. I knew going in that a dirty martini included olive juice (or brine). I like green olives, but I didn’t expect the olive flavor to be so powerful. If part of the raison d’être is to mask the taste of the liquor, it does a good job. The olive imbued in the martini an intense saltiness. “It’s amazing how two drinks can be part of the same family and look so much alike, but taste so different,” David said. That about sums it up. ESPRESSO MARTINI Sydney informed me that the espresso martini is a favorite among the young bar crowd, especially late at night, because of its blend of booze and caffeine. This tidbit clearly had no bearing on my life, but I was pleased to find out that at least some of the kids had moved on from vodka and Red Bull, a most vile concoction. We were clearly in different martini territory here — different color, different ingredients, different glass. And froth, lots of froth. Way different flavor, obviously. Mandarin Hide uses 360 vodka and Borghetti Caffe Espresso in its version, and tops the foam with coffee beans from Kahwa (a local brand) — three of them, representing, per Tom, “health, wealth and happiness.” I was down with that. I carefully sipped, hoping to spare myself the indignity of a froth-covered mustache. The drink combined sweetness with a bold coffee flavor. The vodka was just about undetectable, which — I’m guessing — is part of the point when young folks are trying to push on into the wee hours. And the Winner of the Three-Martini Mashup at Mandarin Hide Is … The dry martini. This was an easy choice, and I see another dry martini in my future. The others, probably not. Just to be clear, my “winner” makes no comment on how well Mandarin Hide made the other two. My assumption is they’re first-rate. The dry version was the preference of a martini dilettante. Someday I’ll say to a bartender, in my best suave voice, “Vodka martini, dry, three olives.” I do not like gin. Sue me. A final note: I had a terrific time, and I think the others did too.
Taking Tart to Heart: A Clash Over Key Lime Pie
My first time eating key lime pie left a sour taste in my mouth. I was in my 20s, not long from upstate New York — where all you could really develop were pedestrian culinary tastes — and I didn’t understand a dessert that was not all-the-way sweet. I scratched it from my personal menu. Bonnie did not care for it, so we dug our heels into an I-don’t-like-key-lime-pie stance. High time for a reappraisal. And I think I’m ready. Rather than buy whole pies from a bakery, we chose the restaurant route, both of them coastal-themed: Rumba Island Bar & Grill on 4th Street in St. Pete and The Toasted Monkey on St. Pete Beach. RUMBA ISLAND BAR & GRILL We arrived just before 7:30 Tuesday to a nice surprise. Rumba Island offers a new special: dinner-for-two for $25. As a bonus, you can add a slice of key lime pie, with vanilla ice cream, for $4.99, a dollar off the usual price. We each got an entree from the generous twofer menu, and added the Rumba Salad ($9.99). Rumba Island’s interior is functional — roomy, with plenty of space between tables, a lot of beige. The interior features nothing pirate-themed (that I could see), and for that the restaurant has my gratitude. We sat at a four-top next to a window. Only two other tables were occupied, so ambient noise was all but nil. Appearance I didn’t recall having key lime pie with a side of ice cream, but I was game. The meringue, lightly browned on top, was a plus. (Curious, I checked images online, scrolled down quite a bit, and didn’t see a key lime pie with meringue — or a side of ice cream.) Kudos to Rumba Island for being different, if not exactly innovative. Taste and Texture First bite: not too tart. Off to a good start. I could feel my I-don’t-like-key-lime-pie stance starting to wobble. The yellow stuff was cold, bordering on crystalized, as if it hadn’t fully thawed. That made the texture more solid than creamy. I had to press down with my fork to free up bites. They gave my mouth pops of cold. Add in ice cream and I nearly got a cold headache at one point. This is not a complaint, exactly. I would’ve prefered the pie warmer, but I was still enjoying it. It’d been a long time since I’d had meringue. Fun. THE TOASTED MONKEY We arrived at 7:50, about 25 minutes before sunset. The outdoor patio was humming, with a one-man band playing a drum kit, singing and running programs to perform classic rock (he had the flowing locks to match). We chose to sit inside — a large, plainly decorated space with a concrete floor — at a four-top next to a window. I saw that the light was fading fast so asked our server, Miley, if she could bring out an order of Key Lime Pie ($7.50), stat, before the room got too dark. She gladly obliged and hustled it to our table in a couple of minutes. After photos, she returned the pie to a refrigerator while we ate our entrees. Appearance I prefer my pies to come in slices, but the three squares were a niggling matter. It all comes down to flavor. Taste and Texture The Toasted Monkey’s menu say it makes key lime pie in-house, impressive for a beach bar that only serves drinks in plastic cups. The yellow stuff was firm and walked a fine line between bold and mellow. It had a graham-cracker crust, a plus. Some crumbles of cinnamon atop the whipped-cream icing came as a welcome surprise. And the Winner of the Clash Over Key Lime Pie Is … I made a smart play and brought home pieces of each pie for direct comparison. I referigerated them overnight, then pulled them out and let them warm for a few minutes. I alernated bites. It was a rewarding way to spend some time on Thursday afternoon. And the Winner Is … The Toasted Monkey. In a close, spit decision. The Toasted Monkey pie was firmer than its competitor, and a bit more tart, with more lime flavor. I preferred the graham cracker crust and appreciated the hint of cinnamon. Overall, it was a more stout helping of pie — one that, after decades, I was ready for. The Rumba Island version was creamier and went down smooth. I liked the airy tastes of meringue. The ice cream provided a major bonus. I’m pretty sure the portion was bigger, and I preferred the wedge over the three squares. (Bonnie liked this version better, although her vote doesn’t count.) As an overall dessert, I’d probably lean — ever so slightly — to Rumba Island’s. Hence, the split decision. But this was a contest over key lime pie, so The Toasted Monkey gets the final nod. A Parting Note: I can say now, without equivocation, that my I-don’t-like-key-lime-pie no longer applies. I will order it again, and I may even pick up a whole pie at the grocery store.
Jamaican Brown Stew Chicken: A First-Round Knockout
An 11th-hour detour this week, unprecedented in the annals of Friday Food Fight. I had orginally planned to do the usual 1-on-1 match between two restaurants — in this case a joust over Jamaican brown stew chicken. As it turned out, one restaurant was so superior to the other that I’m going to feature it and it alone. To square the two off would’ve resulted in a first-round KO. I don’t think its fair to name the other place, which was — let’s just say … not good. Besides, why waste words on it when I can spend more describing my delightful meal and experience at Island Flavors and Tings? All told, Thursday (yesterday) afternoon turned out to be a fun culinary adventure. I had originally planned to use Miller’s Jamaican Spice Cuisine in south St. Pete as a contestant. Brown stew chicken is on its Thursday menu. I called just to make sure, and was told the dish was not available. No biggie. I pivoted to another Jamaican place. After walking in, I started chatting with a woman customer and told her what I was up to. “Go to the place on 49th Street,” she murmured. After a little back-and-forth with her, I looked it up on my phone and — less than two miles away — there it was: ISLAND FLAVORS AND TINGS The restaurant is located in a rundown strip center on a worn-out section of 49th Street South that’s the eastern border of Gulfport. Island Flavors does not have a sign that’s visible from the street. It does not need one. When I arrived at 1:15, about 10 folks were queued up, waiting to be served cafeteria-style. (When I left 50 minutes later, the line was a longer.) I liked the vibe straight away. Several women worked the cafeteria line and checkout, slipping in and out of the kitchen. They looked to be in a good mood and weren’t in in a hurry, so I decided to be in a good mood and not in a hurry. Had I wandered into Island time? Shelves held West Indian products, joined by an eclectic array of bric-a-brac. The checkout spot had a thatched tiki roof. Reggae played at modest volume on a decent sound system. I ordered a small Brown Stew Chicken ($10.95) with rice & peas (actually beans) and mixed vegetables. The server asked me if I wanted extra sauce. “All you can spare,” I replied, and she obliged with a couple of large spoonfuls. On impulse, I added a quarter Jerk Chicken ($4.50), then noticed Helena’s Mango Bread. I added a thick slice ($3.75) in a plastic container. I sat at a bar across the room and placed my takeout box on a plastic placemant shaped like a banana leaf. The bottom part of the container broke when I opened it, spilling out some of its contents. Within a few moments, two women sat next to me, and one asked me my name. We introduced ourselves and had a pleasant conversation. It was warm at the bar, and a fan blew hard on me. I didn’t mind. Taste and Texure So good. Way better than good. All of the chicken consisted of thigh pieces, my favorite part. No leg, no wing, no white meat. Fall off the bone, delicious. At a certain point, I ditched the plastic knife and fork and ate the bird with my hands. And if my fingers got messy with sauce, so much the better for lickin’. This stuff was nectar of the gods — velvety, with a hint of sweetness. Rich, but not cloyingly so. And the ideal consistency, midway between gravy and juice. The rice & peas, well-sauced, provided excellent accompaniment, and the veggies — broccoli, peppers, green beans etc. — were firm and mildly salted to enhance their flavor. I took a few bites of the jerk chicken — another winner, with a smidge of spicy heat — and saved the rest for later. Even after I made a significant dent in the meal, a lot remained. And remember, this was the “small” portion. I packed up the leftovers and cleaned my placemat. As I turned to leave, there sat a large fella next to me. He said hi. His name was Don. He had an easy smile and a remarkable basso profondo voice that oozed warmth. We chatted amiably for about five minutes. Rising to leave, I quipped, “I’m sure you’ve got to get back to your radio show.” He laughed. It was one of those moments. In fact, my entire visit to Island Flavors & Tings felt as if it were ringed by a halo. I played Peter Tosh on the ride home.
Croque Madame Madness (and an Existential Food Question)
When Bonnie suggested Croque Madame for this week’s dish, I nearly demurred. Just the name sounded too chi-chi for a ham ’n’ egger like me. On closer inspection, though, I discovered that the Croque Madame actually includes ham and egg (one, fried or poached). And cheese. And bread. It’s — what? — a sandwich. Man, I’m all about sandwiches. Croque Madame translates, roughly, to Mrs. Crunch, a nod to the crisply toasted bread. No surprise, it originated in France in the mid-1900s as an offshoot of the Croque Monsieur, the same sandwich without the egg. (I can’t resist pointing out the reproduction metaphor here. Discuss.) As contestants, I chose two French (or at least French-ish) restaurants: Cognac, a new place in downtown St. Pete that bills itself as a French brasserie, and La Croisette, a cafe on St. Pete Beach that dates back to the 1980s. COGNAC The restaurant, which opened in February, sits at the corner of 2nd Street and 2nd Avenue North, a spot most recently occupied by Dirty Shirley, which closed down within 10 months, probably because of its name alone. Cognac exudes a casual elegance. At 6:30 Tuesday, the dining room was bathed in natural light courtesy of large windows all around. French pop played at low volume, adding to the cozy ambience. Small chandeliers, each one different, hang from the ceiling, a charming design element. Simple wooden tables and chairs are well-spaced. Bonnie and I sat at a four-top near a window. Our young server, Matt, was friendly and attentive. We ordered our Croque Madame ($17), with house-made fries. Appearance My first impression: decadence. Two large halves of sourdough bread were blanketed by melted Swiss cheese. Sexy, too. The egg, sunny-side up, eyed me seductively. The ham was all but invisible. Texture and Taste This Croque Madame raised an existential question: Is a sandwich a sandwich if you need a knife and fork to to eat it? Discuss. I made sure my first slice went through the egg, so the yoke ran onto the plate. Better for dipping. I knife-and-forked my way through most of her. It was slow going, but in a good way. The bread had a bit of burnt crust on the edges; the rest was soft and chewy. In all, the Croque Madame was the very definition of savory. The ham, several slices worth, provided saltiness but took a backseat to the cheese, which lent a hint of sharpness. The ingredients blended well, making for an indulgent meal. The thick fries were soft on the inside, with an authentic potato flavor. LA CROISETTE The pink building is situated on Beach Boulevard at the western edge of the Corey Avenue Shopping District. We arrived at 1:30 Wednesday, 30 minutes before closing, amid a light rainfall that glistened the pavement. La Croisette has an elevated diner vibe. Three black-clad female servers hustled around the small(ish) dining room, which was nearly full. Dana, the GM, similarly dressed, pitched in. The women gave the place some zing. The unfussy interior design consists of simple tables and booths under a white drop ceiling. We made ourselves comfortable in a booth next to a window. I ordered my Croque Madame ($14) on sourdough with the egg sunny-side up and home fries as the side (with onions, for an 80-cent upcharge). Appearance Expectedly, this Croque Madame had a more diner-style presentation than the one at Cognac. The most notable difference was the lack of cheese slathered atop the sandwich. The home fries had a decidedly reddish hue. Taste and Texture In general, this Croque Madame was more polite than the competition’s but was not a sandwich to pick up and eat. So, back to the knife and fork. The cheese coated the bottom piece of bread, muting its presence and pushing the ham forward. The egg was cooked a tad past “easy” and therefore the yoke did not run onto the plate. The bread was nicely toasted. The home fries were exemplary. Paprika and some other secret spices (according to Dana) gave the potatoes their red tint and a tinge of unique flavor that set them apart from your basic ham ‘n’ egger versions. The pieces came in various shapes and were ideally sized. Adding the onions was the best 80 cents I’ve spent in a while. Perfectly cooked, they added a welcome level of crunch. These were the kind of fried taters than I could eat as a meal. And the Winner of Croque Madame Madness Is … Cognac. It boiled down to a matter of preference: a thick coating of cheese on top — or not. I preferred yes, Bonnie went with not. (But her “vote” is purely ceremonial.) The runny egg yolk at Cognac played a key role in my decision. La Croisette won the battle of the sides. I must remember to eat more home fries at lunch — and dinner.