Electric Sliders: Two Vastly Different Restaurants Wrestle Over Mini-Burgers
Back in my teen years, when I was more apt to have coins than bills in my pocket, I occasionally indulged in the original sliders. We’d pull into a White Castle, get an oil-stained bag of the mini-burgers and scarf them down in seconds. We knew the greasy squares were not good for us — and we … did … not … care. For the record, it’s widely understood that sliders were born when White Castle opened in 1921 in Wichita, Kansas. The restaurant grilled small burgers on a bed of chopped onions, placed them in square buns, and sold them for a nickel a piece. Folks bought ’em by the sack. My White Castle days ended sometime in my early 20s, probably after a late-night stop there led to a wretched morning. Yet sliders have persisted and spread to restaurants of all stripe, and are no longer confined to burgers. This week, we sampled sliders at two restaurants that feature them: Tryst, a “Gastro Lounge” on Beach Drive in St. Pete; and The Kitchen at Mastry’s Brewing Co. on St. Pete Beach. TRYST Tryst never made it onto my FFF radar because I assumed it was more of a nightclub. Which it is — after dark. We arrived at 6 p.m. Tuesday and decided to dine indoors. The sidewalk seating was mostly full with young folks, while inside a few seniors were eating. Bonnie sat on a blue velvet banquette, me on a chair across from her. The place was cool and dark(ish). Contemporary dance music — but not, thankfully, thumping techno — played loudly, heavy on the bass. We ordered the Slider Trio ($18) and a Watermelon Burrata Salad ($18). Appearance Sitting on a wooden tray, the three sliders at first looked a tad meager, but on second thought I admired Tryst not fancying up the platter with useless bibelots that go uneaten. It was like: Want three sliders? Here’s three sliders. Burger, chicken, pulled pork. The salad consisted of an enticing bulb of burrata cheese dripping with balsamic glaze and four golf ball-sized pieces of watermelon on a bed of greens. Taste and Texture Starting with the burger, I wished there were more of it — not because it was puny but because it was so good I pined for a full-sized one. The beef, perfectly cooked medium-well, boasted a rugged crust and a juicy interior that induced a kind of flavor nostalgia in me that’s hard to explain. The pulled pork slider included nothing but the shredded meat soaked in sweet barbecue sauce. Terrific. The fried chicken slider was the most adventurous. A maple Buffalo sauce mixed sweetness and tang, and lent a scintilla of spicy heat. The fried bird, with a healthy crust, sat on coleslaw — an apropos accompaniment — rendering it the messiest of the three. A house-made dill pickle chip showed up about halfway through. A welcome surprise. The salad was a charming starter. The creamy saltiness of the cheese blend nicely with the refreshing crunch of the melon. THE KITCHEN AT MASTRY’S BREWING CO. We arrived at 7 p.m. Wednesday as musicians were setting up for open mic night. Even though Mastry’s Brewing sits on busy Blind Pass Road and has no water views, it maintains a decidedly laid-back, beachy vibe. Nearly all of the seating is outdoors under sails and umbrellas. The Kitchen is a food truck that blocks the dining/drinking area from the street. We ordered at the counter with a helpful server named Bari, who set us up with a sampler ($15) — one each of the three sliders. (Note: samplers are not available on the menu). I’d never had a Mastry’s beer, so ordered a Breezy Blonde ale ($7). The sliders came with fries so we skipped the salad. We sat at a basic four-top away from the stage. Appearance Not as elegantly presented as Tryst, but I had no expectation that it would be. I was hungry, and these sliders and fries certainly looked inviting. Taste and Texture The Smash Burger Slider was, true to its name, thinner and crispier than the competition’s. Smoked gouda cheese and a tomato added some flavor complexity. The Mahi-Mahi Slider melded the fish — which appeared to be lightly blackened — with veggies and smoked aoli. The most ambitous of the three was the BLAT! Slider, which included thick, crispy pieces of bacon, beer-battered tomatoes, vegetables and a “touch of fig glaze” (which I found undetectable). The ingredients mushed together for a flavor unto itself. The fries were thin and crispy, but lost their luster as they cooled, which didn’t take long. The Breezy Blonde was eminently drinkable — smooth, with just enough bite. And the Winner of the Electric Sliders Contest Is … Tryst. The downtown restaurant clearly went above and beyond to develop and deliver excellent, next-level sliders. About the name “sliders”: White Castle didn’t originally coin their nickel burgers as such, but they somehow earned the nickname. The restaurant ultimately copyrighted the name “Slyders.” One origin theory: In White Castle’s early days, the employees were clad in pristine white aprons and paper caps, and put on something of a show. The servers would slide the mini-burgers down the counter toward customers. Another origin theory: During WWII, U.S. Sailors ate mini-burgers that were greasy enough to slide down their throats. How that connected to White Castle is anyone’s guess. And a couple of final notes: Tampa Bay does not have a White Castle — never has, as near as I can determine. But it does have White Castle’s cousin, Krystal, with a location in Tampa on Hillsborough Avenue. I was pleased to discover that the White Castle I mentioned at the top of this column — in Nanuet, N.Y. — is still open. I don’t plan to dine there, or at Krystal, for that matter. If you’ve read this far, I thank you.
What the Cluck? A Chicken Cacciatore Clash
Of all the common Italian chicken dishes — parmesan, marsala, piccata among them — my favorite is cacciatore. (The one exception being my later mother’s chicken parmesan, which was in a class by itself.) When I set out to feature cacciatore this week, I found parmesan, marsala and piccata on nearly every menu, but had to spend copious time searching online to find two restaurants that serve cacciatore. That surprised me. True, there’s no Little Italy around here, but we’re not short on Italian restaurants. It’d be nice to see cacciatore on more bills of fare. Our two contestants are: BellaBrava, with three locations — St. Pete, Tampa and Land O’ Lakes — and Frankie’s Italian Chophouse in St. Pete. BELLABRAVA First, congrats to BellaBrava on its 20th anniversary this year. The restaurant opened on Beach Drive and 2nd Avenue — a block west of the St. Pete Pier — well before the area became busy with locals and tourists seven days a week. That activity proved true on Monday at 6:30. BellaBrava’s dining room steadily filled up during our hour-plus visit. We were seated at a cozy four-top next to a window looking out on 2nd Ave. It was splitsy night, so we ordered the Misticanza (mixed salad, $13.99) as a starter for Nona’s Chicken Cacciatore ($24.99). Minor complaint: The entree reached our table when we were about half way through our salad. Followed by a compliment: A plate of fluffy focaccia bread arrived shortly after we settled in — and it was free. A potent oil/garlic dipping sauce punched it up. A lagniappe much appreciated. Appearance Most chicken cacciatore I’ve seen has pasta beneath or beside it. This version uses polenta. Intriguing. It augured well that BellaBrava makes it cacciatore with chicken thighs rather than breast meat. Taste and Texture The polenta turned out to be a winner. Creamy rather than solid — similar in texture to grits — it mixed splendidly with the chicken, sauce, mushrooms, peppers, onions and whatever else. The delectable bird fell apart in layers. The red sauce was darker and more rustic than most I’ve had. In all, this sublimely savory version paid homage to the dish’s 14th Century origins as “hunters-style” chicken. The Misticanza was a superior house salad. Our server, James, brought us containers of Italian vinaigrette and honey basil dressing to try. The latter was so tasty that I didn’t bother with the former. FRANKIE’S ITALIAN CHOPHOUSE The last time I was in this building it was a gaudy Mexican restaurant stuffed with Day of the Dead iconography. It had horse saddles as barstools. Cute idea, horrible ergonomics. The place closed down in a blink. Frankie’s’ ownership remade the large space with a front bar and a dark dining room that celebrates its Italian-ness without going overboard on the Rat Pack vibe. At 7 p.m. Wednesday, the parking lot was nearly full, and so was the bar. But the dining room was all but empty. David Downing, my friend and frequent FFF consultant, joined me for dinner. We sat in a comfortable booth near a window. The sound system played mostly Motown, but at low volume, allowing us to chat easily. We ordered, to split, the Half-Chicken Cacciatore ($37), and added the Frankie’s Salad ($15), plus a Three Daughters Beach Blonde Ale for each of us. At $6 for a 16-ounce can, it was the best deal of the evening. I had two. Appearance An imposing mound of food sat in a shallow bowl. The chicken and spaghetti were barely visible, smothered in a red sauce that contained large pieces of pepper, onion and mushrooms cut in half. Taste and Texture I paused briefly to formulate a plan of attack — ultimately just plunging in with a knife and fork. I found a bone-in half-chicken and carved it to split with David. He ended up with the thigh and leg, me with the breast. We agreed after eating that it should’ve been the other way around. Whereas the BellaBrave cacciatore was polite and tidy, this version was random and messy — but not in a bad way. The sea of sauce had a winning sweet tinge, and the extra ingredients enhanced the flavor. My white-meat chicken was moist and tasty. The spaghetti was proved a little hard to get on the fork — buried, as it was, under chicken and sauce. The house salad consisted of chopped lettuce, a generous amount of cubed ham, pepperoni and cheese, plus slivers of egg and black olives, accompanied by ranch dressing. We scarfed it up. Alas, no bread. And the Winner of the What the Cluck?—Chicken Cacciatore Clash Is … BellaBrava. The polenta and the boneless thighs — and the focaccia — were the differentiators for me. It’s quite possible that the next person would prefer the bone-in chicken with the more traditional spaghetti. Both cacciatores were more than worthy. I found BellaBrava’s exemplary.
A Juicy Fracas Over French Dip
Here’s a shocker: The French dip isn’t French. It harks back to Los Angeles in the early 20th Century. Cole’s Pacific Electric Buffet and Philippe the Original — both of which opened in 1908 and are still in business — claim to have invented the sandwich, which features sliced roast beef on a French roll, served “au jus” (with juice), for dipping. Me, I’m going with Philippe. Sounds more French. And it’s “the original.” Although I do favor the Cole’s origin story: that a sympathetic chef added the jus for a customer complaining of sore gums. At any rate, the French Dip has endured. Over the years, most versions have come to include cheese (usually Swiss) and maybe grilled onions. Our two contestants are: Harvey’s 4th Street Grill in St. Pete and Miller’s Ale House, with two locations in Tampa and one in St. Pete (and 114 overall; I had no idea). HARVEY’S 4TH STREET GRILL I hadn’t been to Harvey’s in eons so was somewhat surprised to see it packed at 6:30 Tuesday. The place has been open since 1984 — which was probably about the time I first went — and it looks as if all ownership has changed are the lightbulbs. And why should they change? Harvey’s remains a go-to joint for denizens of northeast St. Pete — the senior set, if our visit was any indication, many of whom have likely been regulars since early days. I didn’t check IDs, but the eye test told me that there was one couple in the place under the age of 60. Harvey’s is dark and pubby, the kind of place where waitresses call you “hon’.” We managed to score a two-top in the main dining room. I got coleslaw as a side dish for my French Dip Sandwich ($15.70). Appearance This version resembled just about any French Dip ever served. The requisite bowl of deep brown juice elbowed its way onto the plate with the sandwich, the slaw and a big beautiful wedge of dill pickle. Taste and Texture I look for three basic things in a French Dip. Let’s do a Harvey’s checklist: Tender beef piled high, thinly sliced, with no gristle or fatty parts. Check. A fluffy roll that’s easy to chew. Check. A jus that’s full of potent flavor but not overly salty. Check. No check mark for the Swiss cheese, though, which made scant impression. And the onion was barely there (I could’ve used some more). The slaw was just how I like it: finely chopped, not too mayo’d, and with a hint of sweetness. MILLER’S ALE HOUSE We’ve driven by the St. Pete MAH, located in the Gateway Mall on MLK Street, innumerous times, but neither Bonnie nor I could recall ever going there. We walked in at 2 p.m. Thursday and what jumped out at us was how big this place is. Take out the booths and the bar and you could play some full-court hoops. The dining room, split in two by a sizeable bar, is floor-to-ceiling dark(ish) wood. We sat in a booth — there are mostly booths — near a window, and decided to split the Prime Rib French Dip ($17.79), with fries on the side (no coleslaw available). Inoffensive pop music played on a speaker over our table, but at a moderate volume. I did hear that 1974 yacht-rock chestnut by the band Ace … (We pause for a round of Name That Song) That’s right: “How Long” (“has this been going on?”). I survived it. Appearance No surprise, the sandwich looked similar to the one at Harvey’s — except: I could see onions. An encouraging sign. The fries were long and pulpy and flecked with pepper. Taste and Texture This sandwich checked all the same boxes as the one at Harvey’s. So, in all, an estimably edible French dip. There were a few differences. The beef was not shaved as uniformly as the Harvey’s sandwich, making it a little sloppier. While the cheese was all but undetectable, the onions were really there, adding a genial crunchiness to what is by nature a soggy sandwich. The jus was not too salty, but in an unexpected turn, I didn’t find it quite salty enough. This juice was a touch short on potency. The fries were first-rate, plump and and full of potato flavor. And the Winner of the Juicy French Dip Fracas Is … Harvey’s 4th Street Grill. By the thinnest of margins. Each sandwich was top-notch. I feel slightly bad having to choose a winner. But the FFF bylaws prohibit ties. And besides, as we like to say here at FFF: There are no losers, only runners-up. And this one was the closest decision I can remember. Maybe it was that big beautiful dill pickle.
A Crispy, Asian Duck Ruckus
I came late to duck. As a suburban middle-class kid, I was about as likely to sit down to a duck dinner as drive an Aston Martin to school. During my adulthood, chicken did the heavy lifting, and I didn’t give duck much thought, other than not wanting to eat it. Then about a decade ago, on a trip to Santa Fe, N.M., a waiter at a French restaurant convinced me to try the duck confit. Turns out I liked it — quite a bit. Even so, 10 years on, I rarely eat duck, and only in restaurants. I’m traveling this week, so it’s another edition of Tampa Bay vs. the World: Crispy Duck at Pin Wok & Bowl in St. Pete takes on the Fresh Ginger Duck at Mana Ning’s Thai in Watkinsville, Georgia, just south of Athens. Different dishes, yes, but about as close as I could get. THAI WOK & BOWL Revelry — drunken or otherwise — was in effect as we walked north on Central Avenue toward Pin Wok & Bowl on Saturday. And it wasn’t yet 6:30. At one point, we strolled alongside an apparent bride-to-be, out on her bachelorette party, who couldn’t walk without the aid of two woman holding her elbows. Many happy returns. The restaurant, located on the 400 block of Central, provided a calm respite. The interior was basic in a good way, with little in the way of kitschy Asian signifiers. We sat at a two-person booth. The Crispy Duck ($27) comes with a choice of chili, Panang curry or Thai basil sauces. We opted for the latter, and added Basil Vegetable Fried Rice ($15) plus an order of Egg Rolls ($6). Appearance The dish had strong table appeal, which was a bit of a surprise in an unassuming eatery like PW&B. The reds, greens and oranges of the veggies really popped next to the enticing slices of brown duck. Likewise, the fried rice had an elevated presentation. Taste and Texture For starters, expert crispiness — kind of important when it comes to crispy duck. The rugged skin gave way to sumptuous meat that was perfectly cooked (sans pink, thank you) — tender, moist and rife with savory flavor. We chose well with the basil sauce, an understated brown nectar. The vegetables were deftly cooked, adding a salubrious flourish. An ample helping of onions joined the peppers, green beans, carrots and cabbage. Bonnie and I were duly impressed with the crispy duck, as we were with the fried rice, which was a few levels above the usual. MAMA NING’S THAI I’ve eaten several times at Mama Ning’s, which is located on Watkinsville’s quaint Main Street, while visiting my son’s family in Athens. The food has been consistently good — enough to make it our go-to Asian restaurant, be it takeout or eat-in. Our party of five — including my 4-year-old granddaughter — arrived at 6 p.m. Tuesday. The late-afternoon sun shone harshly on our table. Install a set of blinds, maybe? Along with my Fresh Ginger Duck ($21.95), Bonnie got Basil Stir Fry ($12.95). While waiting for our meals, we quizzed granddaughter on her letters, which she dutifully wrote into my notebook (and I later used for reference). Appearance The presentation was more stew-like than PW&B’s, with the morsels of duck strewn among the veggies. Different, but no less enticing. I didn’t spot peppers. I did spot mushrooms. Taste and Texture Although not touted as crispy duck, this version still had the crunchy skin, which I welcomed. Combined with the meat, it offered sublime chewability and luscious flavor. The vegetable pieces were smaller than the competition’s. The crinkle-cut carrots, in particular, made little impression. I missed the refreshing punch of the peppers. The ginger provided a potent flavor, an overall sharpness, considerably different than the easygoing basil sauce. And even though, I ordered “no spice,” I detected some agreeable heat. And the Winner of the Asian Duck Ruckus Is … Pin Wok & Bowl. A close decision. This ruckus came down to the vegetables. We preferred the bigger, more vibrant ones in St. Pete. The sauces provided a marked contrast, and I can’t say that I preferred one over the other. In fact, they made eating Asian duck twice in a week a pleasure. If you ever find yourself in Athens/Watkinsville craving Thai, head to Mama Ning’s.
Feudin’ Flatbreads
Yeast. That’s the fundamental difference between pizza and flatbread. Pizza has it, flatbread doesn’t. Further, pizza is generally round. Flatbread comes in an array of forms — oval, rectangular, misshapen. This week we focus on pizza’s unleavened cousin. I selected two places in St. Pete a half-mile apart: The Tap Room at the Hollander Hotel, just north of downtown, and The Lure, on the 600 block of Central Avenue. I chose a tomato-y one as a baseline, and then picked an enticing specialty flatbread from each. THE TAP ROOM AT THE HOLLANDER HOTEL The temps had crept into the 90s on Monday, but at 7 p.m. it had dropped into the high 70s, so we sat out on the porch overlooking 4th Avenue North. With ceiling fans gently swirling the air, we were perfectly comfortable at a round two-top. The vibe was rather Hemingway-esque. Along with the Margherita Flatbread ($13), we ordered the Boursin Spinach Flatbread ($14). Our attentive server, Alexander, suggested we add blackened chicken ($6). We bit. Appearance I’d call these two flatbreads torpedo-shaped. Importantly, the crust did not look crackery; it had some bulk. The Boursin Spinach, in particular, was loaded with inviting stuff. Texture and Taste The crust was not doughy, but neither was it crispy. It wasn’t too thick, wasn’t too thin. In other words — just right. The specialty flatbread stood out. The savory Boursin, which is a French brand of soft cheese, blanketed the generous chunks of chicken and the spinach, the latter playing a bit role. The blackening could’ve used a touch of spicy heat, but that’s a niggling point. The red sauce on the Margherita had an agreeable sweetness. This flatbread could’ve used more mozzarella, but overall it lived up to expectations. THE LURE As we approached The Lure at 2 p.m. Thursday, a young couple was having a tender moment out front. I didn’t realize I’d photographed them until I looked at the pic later. They definitely add to the tableau. It was around 90 degrees, so a little too warm for outdoor dining. The Lure was big and fairly dark inside. The space is fun — a U-shaped bar on the far end, a couple of large fish murals painted on the brick walls, original art (presumably by locals) hanging. We sat at the booth closest to the window looking out on Central Avenue. We ordered the Wake Up Maggie (an apparent homage to Rod Stewart, $16), which paralleled the Margherita at The Tap Room. For our specialty, we chose The Fig and the Pig ($16.50). Appearance If you used your imagination, and squinted, you could see these flatbreads as fish-shaped. They were slightly smaller than those at The Tap Room, but not by much. Texture and Taste The crust was thinner than the competition’s, but it was not overly crispy — and that’s good, because too-crispy is a deal-breaker for me. The Fig and the Pig had an interesting confluence of flavors: sweetness from the figs (the best part), sharpness (a tad too much) from the “truffle four cheese blend,” and a touch of saltiness from the prosciutto (of which there was not enough). The Wake Up Maggie was more cheese-forward than the Margherita down the street, and it was topped with diced tomatoes, which added brightness to the bites. And the Winner of the Feudin’ Flatbreads Is … The Tap Room at the Hollander. A tough call. I preferred The Lure’s Maggie over The Tap Room’s Margherita, but the latter’s Boursin Spinach with blackened chicken won the week. All told, I liked ’em all. I would gladly sit down to any of these flatbreads again.
Tampa vs. St. Pete in a Lunch-Time Sushi Skirmish
A few years ago, an old college friend of mine was in town and had time for lunch. “How ’bout sushi?” I asked. “Nah,” Alvo grumbled in his Long Island accent. “Undercooked.” I’ve never forgotten that slyly hilarious quip. I, too, was like Alvo, avoiding sushi places and their undercooked fish until well into adulthood. I have long since come around but can’t say that I’m anything close to a sushionado. Nevertheless, sushi certainly deserves representation in Friday Food Fight. I chose a lunch special at Soho Sushi in Tampa, and came close to matching it up with a combo meal at Umami Endless Sushi & Bar in St. Pete. This spared me from having to use a stubby pencil to fill in X’s on a la carte menus. SOHO SUSHI Tuesday, 1 p.m., 80 degrees, pillowy clouds decorated the azure sky — ideal for an al fresco lunch. Alas, no outdoor seating. (That’s not a complaint.) Soho Sushi has a tastefully appointed interior, a cut well above your everyday sushi bar. We sat at a two-top near the back of the dining room. Our server, Sam, was pleasantly patient while two seniors peppered her with questions about the different types of sushi, then adjourned to our menus, then came up with more questions, then back to our menus, then finally ordered. Here is it is, verbatim: Combination Lunch ($19.99) — 1 pc each of salmon, crab, steamed shrimp + tuna nigiri, 2 slices tuna, salmon and escolar sashimi, with your choice of sushi roll (tuna/cucumber/avocado), plus your choice of miso soup or ginger salad. (The restaurant served me both.) Appearance Most sushi spreads are beautiful — so many shapes and colors — and this one was no exception. Also: it looked like a lot of food. I was glad Bonnie was there to help out. Texture and Taste Everything was terrific. Issuing an item-by-item appraisal would be drudgery to write, and probably more so to read. So I’ll go with highlights, starting with a big one: I have a strong aversion to salmon, so it was with trepidation that, in the name of professional responsibility, I decided to give this raw version a try. Wait, whaaat?! It was mild-tasting, odor-free and had just enough of oiliness to give it some heft. A revelation. I even liked the salmon better than the ruby-red tuna, which is is my go-to sashimi. Perhaps my palate is not fine-tuned enough, but I find raw sushi short on flavor. It’s a texture over taste thing. And that’s why the garnish is important. Ginger slices are a tad too strong for me, although I did try a few during my lunch. I used my soy sauce/wasabi mix, too, but my favorite accoutrement was mildly pickled cucumbers, sliced paper-thin, adding crunch and a touch of sweetness. My chopsticks skills have atrophied, and I struggled with some of the more slippery pieces. (Hey, that’s what the off hand is for.) Bonnie and I laid waste to her roll and my combo, as well as our salads and soups. We left Soho Sushi full, but not stuffed. UMAMI ENDLESS SUSHI & BAR Thursday, 2 p.m., 80 degrees and cloudless — but, again, no al fresco lunch, and that’s not a complaint. Umami, located in the Tyrone area of St. Pete, occupies a large space. The interior is mostly brown — booths, tables, chairs — with little natural light (although it wasn’t dark). We sat in a booth, but before we could order, an atrocity occurred that nearly caused me beat a hasty retreat. “Sweet Caroline” — arguably the song I hate more than any other — was playing on the sound system. I’m the worst kind of music snob, so you can see how hearing this was beyond the pale. Nevertheless, I gutted it out. Our server, Xin Rong, helped match us up with the spread in Tampa — the Sushi & Sashimi Combo ($25.95), chef’s choice of 5 pieces of nigiri, 10 pieces of sashimi and a spicy tuna roll, plus miso soup and ginger salad. Appearance Fancy. I’ll go so far as to say fancy schmancy. The nigiri and roll sat on a curved blanket of bamboo sticks, the sashimi in a bowl on a bed of ice. Embedded there was a tiny blinking light. I paused and looked both ways before starting to eat. Texture and Taste The chef chose tuna, white tuna, salmon, tilapia and yellowtail — so somewhat different than what we had at Soho Sushi. Like two days prior, I appreciated the salmon, although it had just a tinge of “salmony” aftertaste. I didn’t recall ever having raw tilapia, and was pleasantly surprised by it. The white tuna was the only piece that was chewy enough that I didn’t take a second bite. The tuna roll had a pinch of spicy heat that added some welcome bite. In all, it was an enjoyable lunch that we didn’t quite finish. And the Winner of the Tampa vs. St. Pete Lunch-Time Sushi Skirmish Is … Soho Sushi. The raw fish seemed fresher at the Tampa restaurant, plus I preferred the overall vibe there, especially the music — modern dance-pop. But what really made the difference were those little slivers of pickled cucumber. Umami didn’t have any garnish save for ginger. Perhaps that would be fine for a sushi enthusiast, but for me, the cucumber added a tinge of flavor and crunch that enhanced my appreciation of the, um, undercooked fish. Finally: In fairness, I may have fallen prey to raw-fish-overload bias. When we visited the Tampa spot on Tuesday, I hadn’t eaten sushi in a couple of years. Forty-nine hours later, I was at it again. Not to say that it was a chore, just that the novelty wasn’t there at Umami.
Two Restaurants Beef Over Egg Rolls American-Style
Egg rolls have come a long way, haven’t they? For decades, they were something thrown in the takeout bag along with the Moo Goo Gai Pan. Then at some point, someone realized they could put just about anything inside wheat-flour dough and deep-fry it, and it just might taste good. So we get Buffalo chicken egg rolls, Reuben egg rolls, chicken parm egg rolls, banana pudding egg rolls. I’ve always found the little tubes a decent enough addition to Chinese takeout, but never paid much attention to them. Lately, I’ve become curious about these new, presumably American-born, iterations. I knew that a new restaurant near my home in St. Pete, Sunshine City Tavern, has Smoked Brisket Egg Rolls. After poking around online, I discovered that The Joint in the Tyrone area has Philly Egg Rolls. A contest was hatched. And because it’s customary to pair American egg rolls with a salad (I made that up), we ordered one at each place. SUNSHINE CITY TAVERN We’d driven by the restaurant’s “Opening Soon” sign countless times, and because chef/partner Ted Dorsey conceived it as a neighborhood hang, we were amped to try the place out. In addition, the location — on 4th Street and 44th Avenue North, had churned through a number of concepts over the years — most recently The Oaks, which didn’t last long. It’d be nice to see something endure. We arrived at 5:30 Tuesday amid a strong wind and a slight nip in the air. Sunshine City’s interior memorializes St. Pete history, including posterized photos of vintage pics on the wall and plastic placemats with old postcards and maps. We sat at a booth looking out on 4th Street. Its table of distressed wood was a cool touch. The place was doing a robust business. We ordered the Smoked Brisket Egg Rolls ($14) and the Belle Salad ($15). Appearance Perhaps … underwhelmed is the right way to put it. They were the size of Asian egg rolls. Two of them were cut diagonally and placed on a dinner plate. The insides of shredded beef and cheese did look tantalizing. The salad burst with color, courtesy of red peppadews, yellow apricots, green romaine and other tempting stuff. Three ample pieces of fried chicken added heft. Texture and Taste The egg rolls’ smoke quotient in the brisket and cheddar cheese was spot-on. The casing had expert levels of crispy and doughy. The flavors and textures melded for consistent deliciosity. We gobbled them up quickly. A little too quickly, if you get my gist. The salad was terrific. A cornucopia of flavors — sweetness from apricots and candied pecans, the subtle bitterness of red onions, a hint of sharpness from smoked gouda. The chicken chewed easily, with a delectable crust. The salad was perfectly dressed with a Honeycomb Vinaigrette. A subtle horseradish flavor added an interesting twist. THE JOINT The Joint is set back off of Tyrone Boulevard near the junction at 38th Avenue. True to its name, it’s a no-frills place, the kind of bar/restaurant that softball teams go for post-game pitchers and cheap but credible eats. At 1 p.m. Wednesday it was dark and bustling inside The Joint. Out on the patio it was 75 degrees and sunny. We grabbed a shaded table under an umbrella. The barstools were too low for the table — a booster seat would’ve helped, especially for Bonnie — but we quickly adjusted. A breeze shook the bamboo branches next to us, drowning out the traffic noise on Tyrone Boulevard. We ordered the Philly Egg Rolls ($9.77), plus a House Salad ($6.97) with fried chicken ($6). Appearance The three egg rolls sat on a small plate and were crowded by a styrofoam bowl of queso sauce. The salad looked basic. We got ranch dressing for me, bleu cheese for Bonnie. The portion of chicken was just this side of enormous — five robust tenders. Texture and Taste These egg rolls qualified as par-for-the-course bar food — which is fine, because that’s what The Joint does. They were slightly larger than the competiton’s — and there were three of them — but the salty/juicy quality of a good cheesesteak didn’t quite come through. The thick queso masked their flavor. I took a couple dips and left it alone. Kudos to the fried chicken — tender, juicy, and enough so that we took a couple of pieces home. The salad was also par for the course: greens, julienned cheddar and tomatoes. And the Winner of the Beef Over Egg Rolls American-Style Is … Sunshine City Tavern. The was my first foray into nouveau egg rolls, so I appreciated the creativity, and the smoke, that went into Sunshine City’s version. Still, for $14, maybe put a third one on the plate. The Sunshine City salad was this week’s shining star. Note: You may have wondered, as I have, why the name “egg roll?” Doesn’t make much sense, right? Here’s what I found: A recipe in The Chinese Cook Book, published in the U.S. in 1917, featured “dan gun” (“egg roll” in Chinese), which had meat and vegetables rolled inside a layer of fried egg rather than the wheat-flour wrap we’ve come to know. Apparently, they forgot to change the name. And “wheat flour roll” doesn’t have the same pop. And, finally, nostalgia anyone? A photo of a Sunshine City placemat:
Friday Booze Fight: 4 Beachy Cocktails on Rooftop Bars
With summer-type heat descending on us this week — way too soon, I may add — it got me thinking that I should head beachward before it becomes climatically untenable. I’m not much for lounging on the sand, but I could warm to the idea of lounging on a rooftop bar. Unfortunately, a couple of the beach places with rooftop bars remain closed due to hurricane damage. The Berkeley Beach Club — where I’ve been plenty of times — and Level 11 at the Bellwether Beach Hotel come to mind. Here’s wishing you godspeed in your efforts to reopen. We chose Azura Rooftop at Hotel Zamora on St. Pete Beach and Vista at the Top at The Residence Inn Tierra Verde. The latter is not on the beach, but it’s close — and it has water views. We put together a party of four — locals having fun doing touristy things. Bonnie and I chose two drinks from the cocktail list at each place, and got a little something to eat as well. I’ll rank the drinks at the end of the column. AZURA ROOFTOP Our plan was to catch the sunset at this place, which is on the east side of Gulf Boulevard and offers your classic 360-degree views of St. Pete Beach. We arrived at 7 p.m. amid perfect weather — not too hot, with a mild breeze. The Azura Rooftop is vast. Remove the tables and chairs and you could play a game of 5-a-side soccer on the expanse of artificial turf, although there might be a slight problem with stray balls landing on the parking lots below. We decided to grab seats at the small(ish) covered bar. The glare coming from the sun made it temporarily hard to enjoy the view, but we knew that would abate. We ordered a whiskey-based Summer of ’75 and a vodka-based Blueberry Buck (both $17), and an order of fries ($12). The drinks came in standard plastic bar cups and were laden with ice. Both drinks were refreshing and beachy but could’ve done with a few less cubes. The fries arrived on a plain white plate with a small bowl of ketchup — nothin’ special — but they were chunky and tender and tasty, and disappeared quickly. VISTA AT THE TOP We arrived at 8:20, and although it was a half-hour past the official sunset time, I was treated to a last vestige of color in the sky. Also a lovely water view — of a pool. The Vista, a much smaller space than at the Hotel Zamora, has a nicely tiled surface, with stylish wood-topped tables and some couches. We sat at a four-top in the far corner by the railing. I was perfectly comfortable in my Coltrane T-shirt, no jacket required. Our server, Austin, was attentive and efficient. Bonnie and I ordered a vodka-based Rhythm & Views ($16) and a Blood Orange Smoked Margarita ($13) plus Island Pork Sliders ($15). The drinks were beautifully presented (see picture at top, courtesy of ace phone photographer David Downing) in different-shaped glasses. The tall-and-skinny Rhythm & Views was ruby red, courtesy of strawberry puree. The margarita came in a cocktail glass that was liberally rimmed with a colorful spice mixture. The pulled pork in the sliders was moderately sauced, unlike heavier barbecue. I put the accompanying slaw and pickle inside the bun and indulged in a tasty snack. On to Ranking the Beachy Cocktails on Rooftop Bars … 1 — Rhythm & Views (Grey Goose Strawberry, Cava Brut, fresh-squeezed lemon juice, simple syrup, strawberry puree). It had just the right blend of sweetness, tang and alcohol punch. My only complaint is that it disappeared too quickly. 2 — Summer of ’75 (Crown Royal, cantaloupe, Prosecco, lemon) In my, um, advancing years, I’ve become more disposed to brown than clear liquor, so this one had an advantage. It’s not easy to make whiskey drinks light and refreshing, but this one did a solid job of it. The whiskey flavor came through amid the cantaloupe and Prosecco, neither of which made much of an impression. The drink could be improved by using less ice. And a glass. I get that it’s a rooftop bar on the beach, but still — a $17 cocktail should be in a glass. 3 — Blood Orange Smoked Margarita (Sombra Mezcal, Cointreau, simple syrup, agave, blood orange) I’m not much for tequila/mezcal, and therefore margaritas, but I liked this one. It was the most creative drink of the group. The tajin spice (a spicy Mexican mix of lime, chili pepper and salt) was a little strong for my liking, but it had far more character than salt. I read that Sombra Mezcal has a “slightly smoky vibe,” but other than that I have no idea how the drink is “smoked.” I did, however, detect some smokey flavor. So there ya go. The blood orange had the effect of muting the mezcal, which made the drink all the more enjoyable. For the record: Bonnie, who chose this margarita, was impressed with it. 4 — Blueberry Buck (Tito’s Vodka, lime, ginger beer, blueberries, basil) It tasted strongly of basil, with the blueberry all but undetectable. It’s called Blueberry Buck. And finally — sunsets are hard to shoot with a phone camera. You look out at a lovely tableau with that orange-y orb; you snap a pic, and the resulting image makes the sun look like the head of a pin that’s been held over a cigarette lighter. Here’s the best I could do: Hotel Zamora, Azura Rooftop, St. Pete Beach, 7:48 p.m.
Special Edition: The Writer vs. Tofu
Have you ever heard anyone exclaim, “I love this tofu!”? Not me. I’ve had tofu quite a few times over the years — mostly out of curiosity — and have generally disliked it. The tabula rasa of foodstuffs, it’s flavorless, requiring spices, sauces, or surrounding ingredients to make it matter. For me, the bigger culprit is its squishy texture. What is tofu, even? Glad you asked. According to Wikipedia, tofu “is prepared by coagulating soy milk and then pressing the resulting curds into solid white blocks of varying softness.” Yum. And yet tofu has stood the test of time. It was first recorded during the Han Dynasty in China about 2,000 years ago. For this week’s column, I’d hoped to find two restaurants that serve tofu that stands on its own accord, not just as protein amid a stew or a soup or a stir-fry. I failed on that count. But I did find one such establishment. So I’m diverting from FFF’s standard format to see if one restaurant — Good Intentions, a vegan place in St. Pete’s Grand Central District — can win this writer over by serving some tasty tofu, in and of itself. As a bonus, I’ll choose a winner between two dishes at Good Intentions: Tofu Satay ($16) and Tofu Fries ($14). Without further ado, I give you … GOOD INTENTIONS Located on the southern fringe of the Grand Central District on First Avenue South, Good Intentions’ exterior gives it immediate boho cred. Behind the brick facade is a fully arched metal building, clearly a former industrial space. We arrived at 6:45 Tuesday, another typical late afternoon in spring — which is to say, nice. The restaurant’s large interior space is filled with modest tables and chairs, not unlike a cafeteria. There’s a bar on the far end. The curved ceiling generated considerable echo, but Bonnie and I could converse easily. Our effervescent server Lisa — a veritable fount of tofu info — assured us that between the satay and the fries we’d get two different takes on tofu. Appearance There’s really no way to pretty up coagulated soy bean curd, especially when served on its own — although these pieces were nicely browned. Some chopped scallions atop the satay provided a smidge of color, as did carrot and celery sticks with the wings — sorry, fries. Texture and Taste We started with the satay, which was grilled. The crispy brown crust combined with the, um, softer innards to make for enjoyable bites (surprisingly so), especially when dipped in the creamy cashew sauce, subtly flavored so it didn’t upstage the headliner. Whether by design or happy accident, the mild sauce allowed the tofu to come through. The fries (deep-fried) were chewier — in a good way — and, um, meatier in texture. A Thai chili sauce drizzled on top added zing and a measure of spicy heat. We got a side of ranch dressing (heavy on the dill). I dipped a few times, but preferred the fries without it. Bonnie and I — mostly I — finished off both dishes and left the restaurant sated. And the Winner of the Special Edition: Writer vs. Tofu Is … Tofu. And Good Intentions. And the Winner of the Tofu Satay vs. the Tofu Fries Is … Tofu Fries. Not by much. I liked both, but the fries’ heftier composition won out. And being deep-fried certainly helped. In all, these dishes did not make me a tofu convert. And without the delicious sauces, I’m not sure how satisfying they would’ve been. But I admired how Good Intentions took a bland protein of questionable texture and created two offerings that made this hater nod an go, “Mmmm, pretty good.”
Tearing Into Tiramisu: A Chain vs. a Local
Looking for an aphrodisiac that doubles as a delicious dessert? Consider tiramisu. While some histories trace this seductively decadent Italian treat to as recently as the late 1960s, the Accademia del Tiramisu dates it back to the early 1800s, where it was invented by an enterprising maitresse at a “house of pleasure” in Treviso. The “Siora” who ran the premises developed it “to offer to customers at the end of the evening in order to reinvigorate them and solve the problems they may have had with their conjugal duties on their return to their wives,” the Accademia’s website states. Disclaimer: Friday Food Fight neither endorses nor denies the aphrodisiac efficacy of tiramisu. But we can state unequivocally that it’s damn scrumptious. For the uninitiated, tiramisu (“pick me up” in Italian) is a layered confection that includes ladyfinger pastries dipped in coffee and/or liqueur, with mascarpone and other yummy stuff. Our two contestants are: Carrabba’s Italian Grille, with nine locations in the Tampa Bay area, and Bonu’ Taverna Italiana, with one location in downtown St. Pete. CARRABBA’S ITALIAN GRILLE We arrived at the Carrabba’s on 4th Street in St. Pete, adjacent to Sunken Gardens, just before 7 on Tuesday. As soon as we walked through the door, the host, Daijane, greeted us warmly, and earned bonus points by making a fuss over Bonnie’s sweater. We sat at a large, cozy booth in the main dining room. Most of the tables were occupied, but the ambient noise was minimal. The expertly calibrated lighting gave the space a warm glow. After splitting an entree of Mezzaluna ($21.29), we ordered our Tiramisu ($10.99). Appearance Beautiful. A rectangular version with layers showing. This tiramisu was sprinkled with dark chocolate shavings, a straw made of dark chocolate perched on top, and squiggles of dark chocolate decorated on the plate. I really like dark chocolate. Texture and Taste The squishy middle layer of lady finger had just the right balance of subtle alcohol (courtesy of liqueur and rum) and espresso flavors. The Mascarpone — an Italian cream cheese — was heavenly, with a pudding-like consistency that I really took to. The bites blended together into silky pleasures — sweet but not cloying, and lighter than expected. The chocolate shavings added welcome moments of delicate crunch. The tiramisu didn’t last long. “I like this,” I said, to which Bonnie replied, “What’s not to like?” BONU’ TAVERNA ITALIANA Bonu’ was banging on Thursday at 6:30. The dining room was maxed and the sidewalk tables were starting to fill up. We scored a high-top across from the bar, right by the door. It was our first visit to this highly regarded restaurant on Central Avenue that’s been open nearly three years. With its white walls and large windows, Bonu’ lets in plenty of natural light. We immediately dug the energy. As a preamble to Dolce Tiramisu ($9), we ordered a Vegano Pinsa ($20), a type of pizza (more on this later). When Colby — our impeccable server — asked if we wanted to add cheese (mozzarella, $4), I couldn’t suppress a chuckle. He smiled. And waited. “Sure,” I said, with a grin. “Put some cheese on the pizza.” Appearance This version came in a round cup, with the layers only slightly visible. A mint leaf sat handsomely atop a dusting of chocolate. The tiramisu’s appearance my have been a slight letdown after the pinsa’s color burst. Texture and Taste This tirmasu was less sweet than the competition’s, which provided an agreeable contrast. It was also less formed into layers, and spooning it out of the cup didn’t provide much contrast in flavor or texture. I could detect a hint of coffee, but no liqueur. The chocolate flavor was minimal. This desert went fast. Every now and then, we’ll come across a supporting act that upstages the headliner. That was certainly the case with Bonu’. This pinsa delivered the “wow.” I usually maintain that pizza crust is a waste of stomach space, but not here. The bread was the main attraction, even though the melange of vegetable toppings (and yes, the mozzarella) was terrific. The rustic crust was chewy but not crispy, thick(ish) but not doughy, and had a flavor unto itself. We ate all of the pinsa save for one small end piece, which went home with us. It was that good. And the Winner of the Local vs. a Chain Tiramisu Tilt Is … Carrabba’s. This decision comes with some caveats. First, we greatly enjoyed both versions of the tiramisu. My gut tells me that the Bonu’ version probably tasted more authentically Italian, but my American palette prefered Carrabba’s’ more cake-like, more succinctly layered, slightly sweeter take. And then there was all that dark chocolate. Second, the pinsa opening act stole both shows. One of the owners, Antonio, stopped by our table. We asked him about the crust. He launched into an entertaining soliloquy, marked by his Italian accent, extolling the virtues of the flour. Bonu’ imports the DiMarco brand from Italy at more than twice the cost of conventional pizza flour. It’s a mixture of whole wheat, soy and rice flour, which not only enhances the flavor but is easier on the tummy. Antonio said its safe to eat for people with gluten intolerance. Let me close by strongly recommending that you stop by Bonu’ and try a pinsa. The restaurant offers 13 different types, with creative assemblages of toppings. As for tiramisu’s aphrodisiac qualities — Friday Food Fight has no comment.
Happy St. Paddy’s Day: Two Irish Eateries Squabble Over Corned Beef and Cabbage
Unless you’ve been clubbed by a shillelagh and rendered comatose, you’re no doubt aware that St. Patrick’s Day is Monday. So to recognize the holiday, Friday Food Fight is featuring corned beef and cabbage. But that’s only because we’re in America. You’ll rarely find corned beef and cabbage on the Emerald Isle. The dish originated in the U.S. in the late 19th Century as Irish immigrants substituted corned beef for their traditional meat of choice, bacon, which was more expensive. So it is with respect and affection to the Irish-Irish that we showcase two Irish-American restaurants in a clash over a definitively American dish. Corned beef and cabbage seems to be a love-it-or-leave-it meal. I’ve always loved it, and I keep it so by only eating it once a year. Will I enjoy it twice in one week? Our contestants are: Mary Margaret’s Olde Irish Tavern in St. Pete and Finley’s Irish Pub & Eatery in Largo. MARY MARGARET’S OLDE IRISH PUB Just before 7 on Monday, we battled gale-force winds to make our way to this small pub that’s located catty corner to Williams Park in downtown St. Pete. The narrow space was dark. The handful of barstools were mostly occupied. Women’s cricket played on one TV, women’s padel tennis on the other. Rock music, some of it Irish (think The Pogues), played medium-loud. We sat at the wall opposite the bar, me on a frayed leather banquette, split in spots to reveal the padding, Bonnie on a barstool, with a two-top between us. One of the bartenders, a congenial fellow with an American accent, came over to take our order: Corned Beef & Cabbage ($18.95) — which was on the Specials menu for March — and an ale. A ginger ale ($2.95). Appearance The meal was well organized on the plate. Curiously, the generous cabbage wedge looked like it had char marks. Baby carrots sat next to potatoes that resembled home fries. The corned beef was shredded. When I’ve had corned beef and cabbage in the past, the meat came in chunks or slices. Texture and Taste As anticipated, the corned beef, while flavorful, had a stringy texture that made it drier than I prefer. I dipped a few pieces in a horseradish sauce — not bad, but not my sauce of choice. The cabbage added a little moisture, as did the carrots. The potatoes were more mushy than firm, which I appreciated. I did some fork work to build bites with all ingredients represented. All told, I enjoyed my meal, but this plate of corned beef and cabbage could’ve used some wetness. FINLEY’S IRISH PUB & EATERY FFF’s maiden sojourn to Largo. Finley’s is located in a shopping center on Belcher Road a couple miles west of U.S. 19. We arrived just before 7 on Wednesday under a brilliant azure sky. It was Trivia Night. And with the pub’s large interior packed to the gills with contestants, it was apparent that Trivia Night is a major deal at Finley’s. But we came to eat, so chose to sit on the covered patio. Bonnie and I occupied a round, wrought-iron table with pool-style chairs, which meant we got to sit next to each other, which was nice. Our server was hustling. We never got acquainted. I ordered the Corned Beef & Cabbage ($15.25) and got an ale, a ginger ale ($2.50). Appearance An attractive presentation, borderline eye-popping. Several thick slices of corned beef were flanked by two boiled potatoes, a massive wedge of cabbage and some plump slices of carrot. Texture and Taste Let’s begin with the headliner. The corned beef was too veined with fat, giving it a rubbery texture that neutered its flavor. I found a few tasty bites, and pushed the rest to the side. The cabbage was too crisp for my liking. I prefer it to be on the cusp of limp, so I can easily fork-cut it and mix it with the other components. I buttered up the potatoes, added some salt and ate them with the carrots. That combination made a meal in and of itself. And the Winner of the Corned Beef and Cabbage Squabble Is … Mary Margaret’s Olde Irish Pub. My primary takeaway from our corned beef and cabbage endeavor is that the meal is probably best prepared and eaten at home. This is where I introduce Dominic, my long-time friend, former neighbor and masterful home chef. For many St. Patrick Days, Bonnie and I joined Dominic and Susan at their home for a corned beef and cabbage feast. Dominic laid out a hearty stew where all the ingredients melded together to provide one sublime bite after another. His corned beef comes in chunks and falls apart easily. The meal is juicy and messy and tender. I eat it past the point of being full, and go to stuffed. So to sum up: When it comes to corned beef and cabbage, I’m completely spoiled by home-cookin’. I can’t imagine how a restaurant could compete. Happy St. Paddy’s Day — whether you have corned beef and cabbage or not.
Savannah v. Tampa Bay in a Showdown Over She-Crab Soup
Heard of she-crab soup? I hadn’t. With a short trip to Savannah planned, I looked around online for regional specialties that I could pair with a restaurant down here. There were a few examples, but because it was in the 40s and low 50s in Savannah late last week, soup made sense. She-crab soup is a bisque. You might be wondering: why “she?” Because the stuff is traditionally made with female, roe-carrying, crabs. I had neither the time, nor the tools, nor the inclination to check the gender of the crab in the soups I ate, so I took the menus’ word about their she-ness. Our two contestants are Vic’s on the River in Savannah and Rick’s Reef on St. Pete Beach. VIC’S ON THE RIVER Like the city itself, Vic’s exudes a stately, Southern charm — with chandeliers to back it up. Large windows let in plenty of natural light. It’s a large space, with considerable room between tables. We arrived at 1:30 last Friday, and with the lunch rush abating our foursome scored a four-top near a window overlooking the Savannah River. A nice set-up. A few tables of soignée seniors — locals, almost certainly — made us look shabby. Along with my She-Crab Soup ($13), I ordered a Cheerwine Short Rib Sandwich ($15). We got Fried Green Tomatoes ($11) for the table. Appearance A big bowl-a-soup, lush and lovely. Cream-colored, which made sense, with flecks of chive in the middle. My favorite part of the presentation was the cute little doily underneath the bowl. It made me wanna remark, “Whell — I do decla-ahh.” Texture and Taste The liquid was rich and velvety — but not too thick, which can make eating creamy soups like this a slog. The crab flavor came through, but this helping could’ve used more of the tender crustacean meat. I appreciated the sparkly crunches from the chives. I’ve no complaints about the helping size. In fact, even with Bonnie taking a few scoops, I didn’t quite finish the bowl. That’s partly because I was saving room for the sandwich. When our server put it in front of me, I did a double-take. This was a sandwich of Flinstonian proportions, the slab of brown meat a good three inches thick. The brioche bun was barely visible. Eating it sandwich-style was out of the question, so I took a bite with my fork. Unfortunately, the short rib was dry and stringy. I hailed the server and (politely) told her I wouldn’t be able eat it. She apologized profusely, and removed it from my tab. My only regret is that I forgot to snap a pic. I would’ve loved for you folks to see this beast. RICK’S REEF Our settings for she-crab soup could hardly have been more different. This beach shack has been home to a number of brands over the decades — Rick’s Reef opened in 2012. The place sits on Gulf Boulevard just east of Upham Park. At 6:30 on Tuesday, we snagged the last space in the small parking lot as the sun set behind the restaurant. We opted to sit inside, and I still needed the cardigan I wore over a T-shirt. Rick’s Reef was hummin’ for a Tuesday night, all but packed. We ordered a bowl of She-Crab Soup ($9) and a Rick’s Big Dipper ($16), shaved ribeye with onions, green peppers, and melted provolone on a sub roll. Sounded like a cheesesteak to me, but then I saw it included a bowl of au jus. Okay, then. We got tater tots as our side. Appearance Shucks, no doily. In its place was a paper napkin. A couple packs of saltines sat beside the bowl, which was notably smaller than the competition’s. The chives were scattered haphazardly. Texture and Taste I won’t bury the lead. This she-crab soup was blessed with a whole lotta tender crab — every bite a bounty. The seafood didn’t overpower the bisque, though, which had just a hint of tang. We ate it greedily — or I did. A few scoops in, Bonnie got the hint and backed off. The sandwich was exemplary. The meat tasted more steak-like than most cheesesteaks. It worked better sans au jus, which tilted the bites toward too salty. Bonnie ate a quarter and I demolished the rest. And the Winner of the Savannah vs. Tampa Bay She-Crab Soup Showdown Is … Rick’s Reef. Something of a surprise. She-Crab soup is concomitant to the South Carolina low country, which borders Savannah. But Rick’s soup was clearly superior. The deciding factor was simple: it was filled with crab. Vic’s, not so much. As far as the sandwiches, well, there was literally no contest. In all, a resounding hometown W! Winner Winner, She-Crab Dinner!