A Brawl Over Biscuits and Gravy
When I first arrived in Florida decades ago, I’d never heard of biscuits and gravy. I soon found out it was a Southern thing — and apparently it still is. Just for grins, I checked the menus of several diners in and around my hometown in Rockland County, N.Y., in search of biscuits and gravy … Nope. Nada. Not even biscuits. Which, to my way of thinking, is a good thing. I’ll add here that, although I’ve tasted biscuits and gravy over the years, I’ve never taken to it. It screams cholesterol gut-bomb. So why, you ask, and am I featuring it in Friday Food Fight? Good question. Let’s see. Our two contestants are just a few blocks apart in St. Pete — Central Diner and Dads’ Kitchen. We decided to hit both on the same Tuesday morning. They proved to be a study in contrast. CENTRAL DINER We easily found a nearby parking spot on Central Avenue at 10:45. This heritage restaurant, which dates back nearly 50 years, has retro vibe, right down to a couple of cooks working the griddle just inside the door. The long, narrow space has four-top booths on both sides and a few tables. A pre-teen boy and what must’ve been his grandfather were engaged in an animated conversation — a heartening sight. Whitney Houston’s “How Will I Know” played on the sound system, at medium volume. I ordered Biscuits and Gravy ($11) with two eggs scrambled, and coffee. Appearance The meal came out in four minutes — fast, even by diner standards. I was quickly reminded that biscuits-and-gravy is not a photogenic dish. Pieces of sausage were visible in the beige stuff. Taste and Texture Biscuits fluffy. Gravy appropriately thick, but not overly so, and appropriately salty, but not overly so. I appreciated the sizeable bits of sausage, which added some meaty zip. I forgot to order my scrambled eggs soft, and they came out the opposite of that. I could even see brown marks. My bad. I ate about a third of the portion. I had more biscuits-and-gravy in my immediate future. DAD’S KITCHEN We drove a mile-and-a-half west on Central and lucked into a parking spot near the diner, which has been open since February. People were eating at picnic tables under rainbow umbrellas on the sidewalk. We chose to sit inside, where the walls were covered with clever, black-and-white art. (We touched; it was real.) At 11:30, Dad’s enjoyed a mini-rush. Problem was: only one server — for inside and out, which led to a fairly long wait. I can’t fault Josh, though. He was hustlin’, man, even broke into a trot a few times, all the while maintaining a cheery (and apologetic) manner. Here’s where I pause to mention a moment of serendipity: “How Will I Know” was playing over the system. I like the tune well enough, but twice in an hour? I ordered Biscuits & Gravy ($19.50) with two eggs over easy and bacon (which I asked to be cooked medium), and a coffee. Appearance Similar to that of Central Diner, but with enticing eggs and charred bacon. Taste and Texture The gravy was thicker and a smidge saltier than the competition’s, with similar sausage bits. Biscuits were up to standard. The fried eggs were perfect and played well with the gravy. The bacon was not cooked as I ordered, so I left it alone. And the Winner of the Brawl Over Biscuits and Gravy Is … Central Diner. It’s a challenge rating a dish you’re not favorably disposed toward. This FFF fieldwork did not change my opinion of biscuits and gravy. I don’t hate it, but it’s not something I’d order outside of a professional context — which is to say, probably never again. My guess is that if you’re a B&G fan, both of these versions would be A-OK. After five decades, Central Diner has its service game locked down. It seemed to me that Dad’s, open for four months, is still working out some of the kinks.
Specialty Sandwiches: A Tiff Over Tri-Tip
Tri-tip is trendy. At least in my world. I hadn’t heard of the small, triangle-shaped cut of beef until a March trip to California’s Central Coast, where tri-tip is a mainstay. I ate it in a barbecue place in San Luis Obispo and, candidly, wondered what the fuss was about. Then during my FFF research last week, I randomly encountered two restaurant menus that included a tri-tip sandwich. I was fated to give it another go. Our contestants are: Parkshore Grill in St. Pete and The Brinehouse in Safety Harbor. With tri-tip, I probably should’ve featured three restaurants. But I just didn’t have the time — and I’m not sure there is a third. PARKSHORE GRILL The Shaved Prime Tri-Tip Steak Sandwich ($23) is only served at lunch (’til 6). We made it a late one, arriving at 5:30 on a Thursday. The hostess walked us to the back dining room, and we wrangled a table next to the window. The dining rooms were beginning to fill up, most likely for dinner service. Our server, Trevor, was attentive and efficient, and didn’t betray a hint of disappointment at having a table of two seniors splitting a lunch. Appearance The sandwich was … not exactly small — more like, compact. The parmesan fries sat in a fan of paper inside a silver container. A refined presentation refined, especially for a sandwich. Taste and Texture Tri-tip has been described as a cross between a steak and a roast, and I’d say that’s pretty on the nose. The beef had a robust flavor and, while tender(ish), it required a measure of jaw work. The bread was perfect — a bit of crunch on the outside, soft beneath. Carmelized onions were a welcome addition. The creamy Boursin cheese had melted to the consistency of mayo, which made for a drippy sandwich that required me to make use of the cloth napkin between bites. All told, this tri-trip sandwich was a no-fuss, straight-ahead affair that hit all the right notes. The fries earned good grades for balancing crisp and potato flavor, and keeping the parmesan subtle. Bonnie had a few bites, but otherwise I easily polished off the meal. THE BRINEHOUSE We nearly always do our FFF fieldwork on weekdays, but upcoming travel made Friday the optimal day schedule-wise. The upshot was that it took 20 minutes to find a parking spot in downtown Safety Harbor at 6:15. The Brinehouse has an interesting concept. It has the feel of a barbecue restaurant, but instead of smoking its meats, they’re brined and marinated, then finished off on a wood-burning grill. Our server, Elaine, was a pro. After a brief phatic exchange, we got to the menu, which she knew inside out, as well as the beers and wine. Elaine informed us that the brine includes dried coffee. I ordered The Steak Rustler ($18) — “grilled tri-tip, tobacco onions, poblano peppers, plum tomatoes, pimento cheese spread and smoked paprika aioli on a Brioche bun.” Ambitious. I chose Mama’s Macaroni Salad as a side, and added an extra side of Gorgonzola Mac-n-Cheese ($7.50). For libations, I got a Stiegel Goldbrau Lager draft, Bonnie a Three Thieves Chardonnay (both $7.50). Appearance The hefty meal was served BBQ-style. The sandwich stood out for its thickness. Three slices of crisp dill pickle on the serving tray were an enticing touch. Taste and Texture The sandwich was a messy monster. I asked Elaine for an extra stack of paper napkins. The tri-tip was more thickly cut than that of Parkshore Grill, with straightforward, sapid beef that didn’t announce its brined-ness, although I’m not sure what that would’ve meant. Suffice to say it was damn good meat. A lesser version might’ve gotten lost amid the other ingredients. The poblano peppers were a nice touch, but overall the Steak Rustler would’ve benefited by omitting an ingredient or two. It had a lot going on. I nearly finished the beast, and that was while paying considerable attention to the sides, both of which were top-drawer. And the Winner of the Tri-Tip Tilt Is … Parkshore Grill. I’m split on this decision. I very much liked both sandwiches, but in the end the simplicity of Parkshore Grill’s won out. That said, The Brinehouse outdistanced Parkshore for the sheer volume of quality food it served for a similar price. But in the end this is a competition between tri-tip sandwiches, and thus the St. Pete restaurant edges out a win.
On the Waterfront: Spotlight on Salt Shack
Registry Tampa Bay poll respondents — you’ve been heard. When asked which type of dining experience you prefer, nearly three-quarters of you chose “waterfront.” We took that to mean you also would like to read about it right here in FFF. Ask and ye shall get. This week I’m shining a Spotlight on Salt Shack on the Bay, which sits next to Tampa Bay just south of where the Gandy Bridge meets land, in a spot unofficially called Rattlesnake Point. It’s a massive restaurant complex — all under huge roofs and umbrellas that line a narrow “beach” next to the waterfront. None of the customer areas are air-conditioned. The restaurant’s capacity is a whopping 546. Arrival Salt Shack was hummin’ when we showed up at 6:45 Tuesday — a Tuesday. We queued up briefly, then were immediately shown to a high-top in a covered bar area with a lovely view of Tampa Bay. The evening, still and warm, pushed the edges of my comfort zone. Our server, an energetic young fellow named Parker, brought each of us (me, Bonnie, Vicki) a draft beer in a plastic cup. I am not a fan of plastic cups. The brew quickly grew warm, so I asked Parker if the wine glasses were in fact glass, and if they were, would he mind bringing me one in which to pour my beer. He gladly obliged. We ordered a Fresh Fish Basket (grouper) with fries ($20) and a Jerk Pulled Pork Sandwich with a side Caesar salad ($15.74). Vicki got Shack Style Calamari Rings ($12.50). Salt Shack had gotten even more busy, but the symphony of boisterous conversation wafted into the night air, and we were able to talk easily. Eat, Drink, Gab Grouper nuggets sat atop the fries. This fish, lightly breaded and deep-fried in the usual beach-restaurant style, was tender and mild. I dipped pieces by hand in the house-made tartar sauce (a force of habit), then realized they were mighty tasty on their own. The pulled pork sandwich came open-faced, the meat covered with the house jicama slaw. I’d had it here before and wasn’t crazy about the stuff, so I pulled it off and set it aside. The shredded pork, while tender, was generic. I did not detect any Jamaican seasoning. The jerk aspect was left to the Bajan BBQ sauce, which mixed a tinge of sweetness with a modicum of heat. This is a Spotlight edition and not a competition as such — but for FFF posterity’s sake I’ll choose my favorite of the two dishes … Fish Basket. A table overlooking the water, a few drinks, fish nuggets — that set the mood for plenty of storytelling and laughs among our trio. And we were treated to a stunning sunset. A final note: Salt Shack is well located — 15 minutes from downtown Tampa, 20 from downtown St. Pete, and 30 from Clearwater.
A Game of Chicken — Fast Food, Not Fried
KFC, Popeyes, Church’s, Chick-fil-A, Bojangles, Dave’s Hot Chicken, PDQ, Raising Canes — all of them chains that focus on fried chicken in some form or fashion. I’m not looking for fried chicken this week. Give me some fast-food bird that’s grilled. I thought of two places off the top of my head, both of which I’ve eaten at multiple times: Yaya’s Flame-Broiled Chicken and Pollo Tropical. YAYA’S FLAME-BROILED CHICKEN Yaya’s used to be one of my go-to’s, back when it had several Tampa Bay locations. The brand was founded in 1985 in Seminole, but moved operations to Michigan at some point. The chain contracted over time, and I effectively stopped going. I was ready for a revisit. It was a warm and muggy night amid many warm and muggy nights to come when we arrived at the St. Pete location on Roosevelt Boulevard at 7:45 Tuesday. I ordered a Three-Piece Dinner (breast, thigh, leg, $13.99) with mac-and-cheese and corn & peppers as my sides. The counter guy handed me my meal a minute later. That seemed a little too fast. Appearance Like the Yaya’s chicken I remembered — medium-sized (⭐️)* pieces , with an attractive char on the outside. The dinner came with a round piece of pita bread and honey butter, just like the old days. Taste and Texture For me, the baseline test of any chicken dinner is how the breast rates on the dry-to-juicy meter. This one was neither, but tilted toward moist. The charred skin added extra flavor and a bit of crunch. The restaurant’s marinade, made of a “secret blend of natural herbs and spices,” has always appealed to me, but I’m at a loss to describe it here. Let’s go with … yum. The succulent thigh was the star attraction. I ate it with my hands, down to the bones. The mac-and-cheese was a yeoman’s version that did the trick. The corn & peppers side was more ambitious, and I had mixed feelings about it. The generous piece of pita was warm and hearty. Together with the honey butter, it hit me with me with a flash of flavor déjà vu. POLLO TROPICAL No sooner do I write a mopey line about the many warm and muggy nights to come than a front rolls through and the weather turns comfortable and breezy. A brief respite, but I’ll take it. That’s how it was when we arrived at the Pinellas Park location just before 7 on Wednesday. Alas, this Pollo Tropical does not have outdoor seating (that I could see) and, besides, it was a little too windy for eating chicken. Azalea, the counter person, was a feisty, funny Latina — a native of Miami, where the Pollo Tropical was founded in 1988. She was perfectly on brand. I ordered the Half-Chicken Platter with black beans and yellow rice ($10.29), plus a Strawberry Lemonade ($3.79). It took a few minutes for our number to be called. As we waited at a two-top near the window, I sipped on the drink, which was first-rate (not too sweet). Appearance Everything as hoped for: a generous helping of chicken, with pieces that were not bloated. The yellow rice had peas and small pieces of carrot in it (⭐️). I quickly disposed of the dinner roll; I find them useless, a waste of stomach space. Taste and Texture Delicious. And, for good measure, scrumptious. The marinade, a blend of citrus and spices, graced the chicken with a subtle Caribbean flavor. The bird was tender, juicy and flavorful through each piece. I even gnawed every last morsel from the wing. The black beans and rice were top-shelf, the equal of versions I’ve had at Cuban restaurants run by Cubans. It was a big meal. I took some home, because I wanted a second stab at it. And the Winner of the Game of Chicken — Fast Food, Not Fried Is … Pollo Tropical. “I have nothing but good things to say about this dinner,” I said to Bonnie as I continued to eat well past sated, purely for flavor. By the way, my decision does not demean my meal at Yaya’s, which I very much enjoyed. Although value didn’t factor into my call, it’s worth mentioning. A more-than-substantial meal for a little over 10 bucks? Pretty much unheard of — especially one that’s as good as Pollo Tropical’s. I was left marveling at how it could be fast food. Just so ya know: Pollo Tropical in Pinellas Park has a drive-thru. * I use the ⭐️ emoji to express approval for a particular detail. A gold star, if you will.
A Ravioli Rave-Up
I’ve never been much for ravioli in my adult years — probably because of one too many cans of Chef Boyardee during my youth. Ravioli isn’t part of Bonnie’s home-cooking repertoire, either. But here we are, trying fancy versions at two Italian restaurants: Bavaro’s Pizza Napoletana & Pastoria — with locations in Tampa (the flagship), St. Pete, Clearwater and Sarasota — and Da Sesto Italiano Ristorante e Vino in Pinellas Park. BAVARO’S PIZZA NAPOLETANA & PASTARIA At 6:45 Tuesday, we turned west on Central Avenue in St. Pete and lucked into a parking spot on the same (900) block as the restaurant. A few tables on the sidewalk were occupied, but the FFF team has reached the time of year when we eat indoors under air. The small(ish) dining room, about three-quarters full, was outfitted in different shades of brown. We were seated at a four-top near the window. Our server Bella (a recent graduate of USF’s journalism program) exuded kindness. We ordered Ravioli Al Formaggio ($24) and added sausage ($9). As a starter, we got a Strawberry Burrata Salad ($16, a special). Appearance The cornucopia of colors in the salad complemented the uniformly orange hue of the entree. The sausage, rather than coming in separate links or slices, was blended into the sauce in chunks. Taste and Texture Bonnie and I attacked the salad like fiends. We emitted many mmmmm‘s. The slight bitterness of the arugula blended beautifully with pops of sweetness from the strawberries, the saltiness of the lush cheese, and a bit of extra saltiness from pistachios. Myriad textures, too — from creamy to crunchy. The salad was dressed with just the right measure of balsamic glaze. A small slice of hearty (not-crusty) bread was a welcome add-on. We slayed the whole shebang — fast. Adding sausage to the ravioli’s vodka sauce was a good choice. The meat provided some heft and a bit of spicy heat to the velvety elixir that had a hint of sweetness. The pasta, nicely al dente, was rather flat — as in, not very stuffed. I couldn’t detect much cheese (mozzarella, parmigiano reggiano and ricotta, per the menu) inside the raviolis. But that didn’t dampen my enjoyment (too much). All told, it was a tasty Italian entree. Bonnie had a few bites and I finished the rest. DA SESTO ITALIANO RISTORANTE E VINO At 6:45 Wednesday, just inside the door, we were greeted by a this fella: ➡️ Da Sesto, which opened in 2007 and moved to its current location on 66th Street 10 years later, is set up as the kind place where one imagines Frank holding court with his Rat Pack retinue in a private room and mobsters raising a ruckus at a big table. None of that happened during our visit. This kind of mob theme starts with … darkness. The host showed us to a two-top in a dimly lit back dining room. The tablecloth was black. The napkins were cloth. Our server, Diandra, dressed head-to-toe in black, was all smiles and eager to please. We ordered Ravioli di Formaggio Gorgonzola e Pera (Pear & Gorgonzola Ravioli, $33), which came with a house salad. Sausage was not available so we added an order of Meatballs (2 for $15). Appearance Tuesday’s orange, Wednesday’s yellow. And red with the meatballs. Overall, ravioli is not a particularly photogenic dish. Taste and Texture DaSesto’s “saffron cream sauce” was thick, satiny and salt-forward — all told, quite rich. The raviolis — larger and thicker than those at Bavaro’s — were amply stuffed, but try as I might I could not detect pear flavor. Perhaps it’s supposed to be that way, but I would’ve appreciated some pear on the palette. It could’ve added a little brightness. The fall-apart meatballs, which had a kind of grainy texture, bathed in a tasty red sauce. The salad — a mix of greens, cucumber slices and tomato wedges — came heavily dressed with balsamic glaze. Little pools of it lay on the bottom of the bowl after we finished. And the Winner of the Ravioli Rave-Up Is … Bavaro’s. An easy decision.
Friday Booze Fight: Puttin’ on the Spritz
“Is a spritz a girlie drink?” I asked Sydney, by far Registry Tampa Bay’s youngest team member, hoping (assuming) she would pick up on the mischief in my voice. Sydney paused, considered, and replied, “Yes,” with a smile. It was Sydney’s idea to feature spritzes in this edition of Friday Booze Fight. We needed her on hand for expertise. I drink Bud Light — and while Bud Light is arguably the spritz of beers, I had no experience with spritzes themselves. We scheduled a group girlie-drink excursion for Wednesday at 4 p.m. at Sorsi Waterfront Lounge, a spritz-centric bar on Harbour Island in Tampa. Then things got complicated. Sorsi was closed — something to do with a massive military convention downtown. Sydney saved the day by pivoting to Buchette Spritz Bar on Davis Islands. We arrived at 4:30, just as the place was opening. My plan: Sample a few spritzes and rank them. A HOLE IN THE WALL (IN THE NICEST POSSIBLE WAY) Buchette, derived from the Italian “buchetta,” roughly translates to “little hole.” This serving window on Davis Boulevard is a side hustle of Oggi Italian Restaurant, which sits next door. Our group of six mingled out front as I decided which spritzes to try. Buchette has a fundamental difference from many other spritz bars: Because it only has a beer-and-wine license, it cannot serve liqueurs, which meant no Aperol, which meant no Aperol Spritz, which sparked the current spritz craze in the first place. Buchette offers a simulacrum called the Amaro, which subs in a more wine-based alternative for Aperol. Along with the Amoro, I selected the Lavender Haze and the Lychee. Our bartender, Sarah, informed us that it was Happy Hour, so each of them cost $6, half-price. The rest of our group ordered their own spritzes. We got a lot. PUTTIN’ ON THE SPRITZ — OR DOING OUR BEST Raindrops began to fall, so we adjourned to a large table under a roof in a breezeway to the side. The rain intensified and a series of brief downpours caused quite a racket above us. We didn’t mind. The temp was in the mid-80s. The scene had a Europe-meets-Florida vibe, and proved a charming stage-setter for our drinks. Buchette delivers its libations by placing them in a small window in the breezeway. A cute touch. It didn’t take long for Sarah to call out my name. I gathered my trio of spritzes and took photos. The ice was melting — fast. I sampled my spritzes amid a torrent of amiable jabbering. It was hard to keep track. With each passing minute they became more diluted. FINALLY, A TASTE TEST More than an hour after we first sat down — with Bonnie, Sydney and me the only ones remaining — we decided it was best to get another round. That would allow me (we) to more closely concentrate on the flavors. It was 5:45, still Happy Hour. Time to rank them. Don’t expect much in the way of flavor descriptions. 1 — Lavender Haze (wine-based “vodka,” lemonade, lavender, soda) With an overall floral vibe, a hint of alcoholic punch and a lemon wedge, this one elegantly blended sweet and tart. 2 — Lychee (Prosecco, sweet vermouth, lychee syrup, soda) Had a nice tropical flavor; a lychee bulb floating in the liquid added an exotic touch. 3 — Amaro (Prosecco, Amaro, soda) It tasted … vague. I detected a general sourness. The orange slice helped some. Sydney summed it up: “That’s not an Aperol spritz.” Overall Takeaways I’m not sure how much my spritz excursion was compromised by the absence of liquor from Buchette’s menu. I found the drinks refreshing, ideal for summer, especially outdoors. But overall, they didn’t have near the alcoholic bite that I like. Which makes sense — a spritz being a girlie drink and all. (When I’m not drinking Bud Light, I’m inclined toward brown liquor with a tiny bit of ice.) I didn’t keep track of how much spritz I consumed; it seemed quite a lot. I ended up with a light, pleasant buzz. (Bonnie drove.) I opened a Bud Light as soon as we got home. One thing is indisputable: We had a terrific time. ______ I am not identifying the people in the photo below in order to protect their anonymity. It’s not out of the question that one or two of them is in the witness protection program.
Strolling Through Central Park (in St. Pete). Eating and Drinking, Too
Central Park opened its first phase, the ground floor, in late February. The bar, which sits at the edge of the cavernous space and is open to the sidewalk at 551 Central Avenue (formerly The Dome Grill), quickly became a gathering spot. It took a few weeks for the seven dining concepts to open, and now that they are, it seemed like an apt time to check the place out. We chose three eateries on a whim — Kojo Wok, Speaks Pasta and Palm Avenue Deli — and arrayed our four dishes on a sidewalk table for photos and a feast. Although this week’s FFF is not set up as a competition, per se, I’ll rank them at the end for posterity’s sake. VIBE We dug the layout. How many food halls have brick walls, industrial floors, giant-screen TVs and a big, railway-inspired clock over the bar? We dug the energy. At 6:45 on Wednesday, the bar was buzzing and several tables were occupied. The patrons ranged from young folks assembling for happy hour, to a quartet of middle-aged fellas out for a bite and a beer, to one geezer sitting at a table watching the big screens. It took some doing for us (well, Bonnie) to navigate the centralized digital ordering system, but we (she) got it done. We then adjourned to the bar, where I got a Czech pilsner ($7) and Bonnie a Chardonnay ($12). The food orders came up fairly quickly — although, understandably, not all at once. So it took me a couple of trips to … GATHER THE ITEMS AT OUR TABLE At 7:25 we dug in, starting with … KOJO WOK The Shanghainese Noodles ($15) had a smokey flavor that we enjoyed, but struck us as unusual for Asian food. Small(ish) pieces of dark-meat (⭐️) chicken were tender and flavorful, and a few chunks of bok choy added crunch. Overall, this dish would’ve benefited from more sauce. SPEAKS PASTA The combination of Spaghetti Pomodoro ($12) and Homemade Meatballs (3 big ones for $14) made for a splendid Italian dinner. The meatballs, bathed in a robust red sauce, were hearty and moist (⭐️). They blended perfectly with the firm (⭐️) spaghetti, whose sauce was a bit lighter, a nice contrast. If this was all we had ordered, it would’ve easily fed us both. We — actually I — still had room for desert. PALM AVENUE DELI Our (my) order of Millie’s Blintzes ($12) included three rectangular crepes stuffed with sweet farmer’s cheese, joined by little containers of sour cream and raspberry preserves. I picked one up, dipped it, took a bite and the cheese squirted onto my thumb. I went to the knife and fork. Um, how to sum it up? … Yum. That should suffice. The combination of semi-sweet cheese, uber-sweet preserves and obviously not-sweet sour cream, all wrapped in a tender crepe, made for an elegantly balanced treat. Okay, let’s rank ’em … 1 — Homemade Meatballs (some of the best I’ve had in a restaurant) 2 — Spaghetti Pomodoro (an excellent accompaniment to the meatballs) 3 — Millie’s Blintzes (a delightful capper, even if I was already quite full) 4 — Shanghainese Noodles All told, we spent $86.58 for a terrific food spread, a pint of beer and a generous pour of wine. And we took quite a bit of grub home. Factor in a fun, relaxing experience, and it all adds up to an exceptional value. Central Park is set to eventually become a five-story food, drink and entertainment venue, with a rooftop bar and a basement speakeasy. Let’s hope — expect — subsequent phases to match the current one.
Got the Shakes
Driving through the Southern California desert, we stopped at a nondescript restaurant fittingly named John’s, where I ordered a chocolate milkshake with my grilled cheese. “Sorry hon’, we’re out of chocolate ice cream,” our server told me. Um, okay. Such a conundrum. I wanted a shake, but I only order chocolate. After some cajoling from my travel mates, I went with vanilla. It was … okay. I had several shakes on that SoCal trip in early March. Then I got on the scale. I don’t think I’ve had one since. It’s time. I chose two chain places that opened within a few months of each other in 2022, within a few blocks of each other in downtown St. Pete: The Milkshake Bar, which also has a location in Tampa, and La Diperie. For good measure, I also went with a local: Old Farmer’s Creamery. All of them had the chocolate ice cream necessary to make a chocolate shake. I’ll rate and rank them at the end. THE YARD MILKSHAKE BAR We lit out at 5 on Wednesday, intent on making quick stops at both downtown St. Pete spots. It was bright and toasty in the city — milkshake weather. We started at The Yard, and found a shady table in the alcove. I ordered the chocolate shake (a pint, $8.25) at the counter and it came out in a couple minutes, which made me wonder if it was poured from a machine like at fast-food joints … Taste and Texture … It definitely did not taste like it. The Yard scored high on my scientific taste-and-texture criteria: It had a near-perfect level of chocolate-ness — potent but short of dark, well past meek. The liquid flowed easily through the straw. It’s terrible when your mouth has to make like a Hoover just to enjoy a sip, or, worse, you have to wait 20 minutes for it to melt enough to drink. If I’m picking nits, these 16 ounces of liquid luxury could’ve been a smidge thicker. I like to milk my shakes, and this one all but forced me to gulp it down. LA DIPERIE This small place, decked out in turquoise, is wedged into a row of small places in the 400 block of Central Avenue. I ordered my pint-sized shake ($8.75) at the counter and watched as the server quickly made it. Taste and Texture I had the shake-maker add a bit of whipped cream, mostly for the photo op, but it didn’t make much difference. The straw was skinny, so at first it took a bit of effort to suck the fluid in. But that didn’t last, and it started to flow easily. This shake scored slightly lower on the chocolate meter than The Yard’s. I finished it on the ride home. At 6:30, I was a happy guy with a quart of milkshake in my gut. OLD FARMER’S CREAMERY This cute building has been a fixture on 4th Street North for two decades. (Before that, it was pink and called Alley-Oops Super Scoops.) I walked in at 1:30 Thursday amid ongoing milkshake weather. The interior is considerably more colorful than your basic farmhouse — with walls painted in blue, yellow and green, and lights strung over the cases, complementing brown floors and tables. I chatted with one of the owners, Beth, as she made my chocolate shake ($9). She told me that tomorrow would be their 20th anniversary. So that makes it today. Congrats! Taste and Texture I had held out faint hope that one of my contestants would serve me a shake in a chunky glass with a base. It was not to be. When I see a milkshake in styrofoam, I’m immediately concerned that it’s too thick. And this one included a spoon to go along with the straw — another red flag. I needn’t have worried. This shake had a sublime consistency, although it came up a little short on my chocolate meter. I shot pics, took a few sips, then brought the remainder home to finish with my lunch. And the Winner of the Got-the-Shakes Showdown Is … The Yard Milkshake Bar. Rating on Eric’s Choc-o-Meter: 9 Rating on Eric’s Thickness meter: 8 (It also had the best container.) A Tie for Second: La Diperie Eric’s Choc-o-Meter: 8 Eric’s Thickness Meter: 7 Old Farmer’s Creamery Eric’s Choc-o-Meter: 6 Eric’s Thickness Meter: 9 A final thought: Milkshakes sure cost more than they used to.
A Tussle Over Tikka Masala — A Gateway Dish to Indian Cuisine
I love Indian food. Three or four times a year. I could probably increase the frequency, but thus far I’m comfortable with my arbitrary quota. I felt the tug recently, so here we are. I chose chicken tikka masala because of its name recognition, although it’s not my go-to. I’m more of a saag and biryani guy. After selecting tikka masala, I consulted the AI machine, which told me that it’s the most popular Indian dish in the U.S. For those unfamiliar with South Asian food, consider it a gateway meal. Our two contestants are Lajawab Indian Cuisine in St. Pete and India King Tandoor & Wine in Clearwater. LAJAWAB INDIAN CUISINE We arrived on Monday at 7:45, later than our usual dining window because we got halfway there and had to return home so I could record the Magic/Pistons game. The sky was a brush-stroked with dark clouds, but nothing portending rain. Lajawab is big enough to command three signs on a strip center near the I-275 ramp on 54th Avenue North, but it’s by no means cavernous. The interior was comfortable and brightly lit. Our server was also the front-of-house guy, so we skipped introductions. I ordered Chicken Tikka Masala ($19), medium spicy; Garlic Naan ($5.50); Tandoori Roti ($4); and a Mango Lassi ($5.50). Appearance Orange! a brighter orange than the dozens of photos I looked at on Google Images. I was heartened to see a bowl of basmati rice the way only Indian restaurants can make it. Taste and Texture Because I don’t order tikka masala, I’d forgotten how two-dimensional it can be: In this case, white-meat chicken and sauce. The medium spice turned out to be barely spice. Some heat would’ve helped because the velvety sauce was considerably sweet. The bird came in large pieces, which I cut into smaller pieces. It wasn’t dry, exactly, but could’ve been moister. The loose-grained rice was nicely done and lifted up the dish overall. Bonnie cornered the roti; my bowl of naan included several large pieces, far more than I could hope to consume. It was tasty when dipped in the sauce. The mango lassi — served in an elegant glass and also a vivid orange — was lusciously sweet, if thicker than I prefer. I finished it. The drink is said to be digestive-friendly. INDIA KING TANDOOR & WINE The restaurant is set off of Ulmerton Road in a small shopping center, and it required a few turns (and Google Maps) to find. We were the first customers at 5:30 Thursday. The small dining room is outfitted with bright red chairs, white tables and an ornate faux-copper ceiling. Bollywood played on a TV, with the soundtrack playing at medium volume. We sat by a window. The chef, Sarath, came out to greet us, all smiles. He said with gusto in a lilting Indian accent, “You get the best food.” I ordered Chicken Tika Masala ($18.99), with a 5 (medium) on the spice scale; Garlic Naan ($4.99); and a Mango Lassi ($6.99). Appearance Less orange. (A photo of the original serving is up top.) The pieces of chicken were smaller. I saw bits of green pepper, an encouraging sign. Taste and Texture This tikka masala was less sweet than the Lajawab’s, and the spice had a creeping heat that grew more intense the more bites I took. The thick mango lassi came in handy for tamping down the spice burn, which never got to be too much. Here were two Indian eateries with vastly different versions of “medium spice.” The cubed white-meat chicken was tender and, if not exactly juicy, certainly not dry. The peppers added a subtle extra dimension. The rice was nice. The naan was amply garlicked. As we finished our entrees, the server brought us each an oversized thimble of rice pudding, gratis, which proved a welcome mignardise. And the Winner of the Tikka Masala Tussle Is … India King Tandoor & Wine. While I enjoyed both meals, I preferred the less-sweet-more-spicy, smaller-pieces-of-chicken version at India King. I’ll probably choose another dish next time I hit an Indian restaurant — in about three months.
A Mahi Mahi Melee
Mahi Mahi — aka “dolphfish.” I prefer “mahi mahi.” Even though dolphinfish does not refer to the adorable mammals, I still imagine forkfuls of Flipper. Can’t help it. I’m pleased to see that most restaurants use the Hawaiian-language name of the ubiquitous warm-weather fish. Some restaurants refer to it as “mahi,” assuming, I suppose, that their customers are in a big hurry. Okay, enough rhetorical silliness. This week I ate at two restaurants to see which one serves the better blackened mahi mahi: Root + Clay and Fourth Street Shrimp Store, both in St. Pete. ROOT + CLAY Root + Clay is the resident eatery at the Racquet Club of St. Petersburg, a half-mile east of 4th Street North. The space has housed several restaurants (including a short-lived Filipino concept), but Root + Clay — which opened in 2024 with a covers-the-bases American menu — looks as if it’ll stick. We arrived at 6:30 on blustery Monday under a cerulean sky, and sat at a four-top on the large outdoor patio under a sail shade that matched the color above. Wind rustled the trees, accompanied by the thwack of tennis balls from games being played on clay courts. It wasn’t chilly, but, given the wind gusts, I put on a light jacket over my Orlando Magic T-shirt. I ordered the Blackened Mahi (they forgot the second “Mahi”) Entree ($19) with “root mash” and broccolini. Bonnie got the Coconut Shrimp ($13) appetizer. Appearance The hefty plank of mahi mahi, well blackened, sat atop the orange(ish) mash. A lemon wedge was welcome, a container of tartar sauce unnecessary. Taste and Texture At first bite, I thought the mahi mahi might be a little dry. I was wrong. It was just the blackened seasoning announcing itself. The fish was more meaty than flaky, which I appreciated, and had a faintly sweetish flavor. The spice provided a hearty crust but could’ve been a little stronger to add some heat. The mash — made of sweet potato, potato-potato and celery root — was terrific, with a subtle flavor all its own that was new to me. I favored bites that combined fish and mash. The broccolini was, quizzically, closer to cold than warm. FOURTH STREET SHRIMP STORE I’d been to this 42-year institution, a few blocks north of downtown, once before, but had little memory of it. Apparently, I didn’t feel the need to return. Seeing as I’ve driven by the place countless times, I figured it was time I gave it another try. With two dining rooms and ample outdoor seating. Fourth Street Shrimp Store is far bigger than I remembered. At 6:30 Wednesday, wanting to avoid traffic noise from busy 4th Street, we sat at a four-top in the back dining room, which mixed a nautical theme with bric-a-brac signifying St. Pete history (i.e. Webb’s City). Our server, Kelsey, was energetic and all smiles. I ordered the blackened Mahi Mahi dinner ($18), which came with coleslaw, and chose rice as my side. Bonnie got blackened salmon ($18). Appearance An apt representation of what you get a no-frills seafood restaurant. We were glad we didn’t split the entree because it would not have been enough for two. The meals came out quickly. Taste and Texture When compared to Root + Clay’s, this filet was notably thinner, and therefore a bit dry in spots, chewy in others. The blackened seasoning was barely evident. The large-grain rice was clumpy and mostly dry. As for the coleslaw, it was standard budget-restaurant fare — overly wet, but not enough to prevent me from eating both my portion and Bonnie’s. I also stole quite a few of her fries, which were nicely done. And the Winner of the Blackened Mahi Mahi Battle Is … Root + Clay. One of the easier calls I’ve had to make in quite a while. Note: In case there is any doubt, Root + Clay is open to the public.
A Bitter Tussle Over Brussels Sprouts
What once prompted groans at the dinner table has become a staple of restaurant appetizer menus. How could it be that Brussels sprouts made this leap? Here’s how: In the 1990s, growers developed less bitter variants through selective breeding. Chefs started using high-heat roasting, frying and sautéing instead of boiling. Brussels sprouts began to pop up on restaurant menus, and by the 2010s, often doctored up with other ingredients, they became trendy. Somewhat surprisingly — at least to me — the trend stuck. With new FFF dishes harder to come after four years, I relented on Brussels sprouts. Let’s see how it plays out: Our two contestants are Stillwaters Tavern in downtown St. Pete; and Olivia, with locations in downtown St. Pete and Hyde Park/Tampa. And because one definitely cannot live on Brussels sprouts alone, we split an entree at each place. STILLWATERS TAVERN We’re running out of time to truly enjoy al fresco dining, so at 6 on Tuesday — with the temp at 80 and a light breeze — it was a no-brainer to eat on the sidewalk under the restaurant’s covered patio. The traffic on Beach Drive was light and the foot traffic moderate, making for a low noise level. We settled in at your basic four-top and ordered the Tavern Brussels appetizer ($10.99), with maple bourbon glaze and bacon; and the Birria Grilled Cheese sandwich ($18.99). Appearance The Brussels sprouts were amply charred, the bacon barely visible. I’m used to cast-iron crocks being hot. This one wasn’t. Taste and Texture I don’t eat this particular vegetable enough to determine if it has become less bitter, but the bitterness was definitely there. In this case, the accompanying ingredients helped tempered it. I’m no chef, but I think the kitchen made a good decision by keeping the glaze subtle, giving the dish an understated sweetness. The charred husks gave way to supple innards. The bacon pieces were small and the dish would’ve benefited from having more. Regarding the sandwich: The damp, shredded birria beef, Mexican-style, blended well with the melted white American. The sourdough toast wasn’t stuffed to the hilt, so the sandwich ate tidily enough. A one-napkin affair. OLIVIA It sits on the busy corner of 1st Avenue and 2nd Street North at the base of the Ascent apartment building. The only sign — an elegant muted gold — faces east. It all adds up to an upscale Italian restaurant that exudes confidence. And it should, because Olivia is helmed by prominent Bay area chef Chris Ponte, who has shown a Midas touch in his quarter-century as a local restaurateur (Cafe Ponte, On Swann, Ponte). We arrived at 5:30 Wednesday and sat at a banquette next to a window amid an expansive, elegant dining room that seats 136. Our young server, Enzo, was attentive and fun. We ordered “Brussel” Sprouts (I couldn’t resist pointing out the misspelling), $10, from the Contorni (sides) menu; then, with Enzo’s help, went big by getting Tableside Chicken Parmesan ($35) with an add-on of rigatoni and bolognese ($8). (The Olivia in Tampa has the same menu as the one in St. Pete.) Appearance A small, gold-colored crock (also not hot) was stacked high with grated parmesan and crispy prosciutto, the sprouts mostly hidden. As for the chicken, which came later, a food-runner brought us a plate holding two boneless, breaded breasts, followed by another food-runner who poured on a cheese-infused vodka sauce, which oozed over the bird like lava. Taste and Texture Like at Stillwaters, the accompanying ingredients served to ameliorate some, but not all, of the sprouts’ bitterness. (And I appreciate that a certain level of bitterness is at least part of the point.) Instead of a sweet tinge, this version used a parmesan aioili to emphasize the cheese flavor. The sprouts were well charred and firm. The prosciutto provided both saltiness and crunch. Boneless chicken breasts in the hands of lesser kitchens can be chalky. These were moist and tender. The velvety sauce was rich but not overly so. The rigatoni was perfectly al dente. The bolognese leaned brown and beefy, whereas I prefer mine with more tomato flavor. And the Winner of the Bitter Tussle Over Brussels Sprouts Is … I equivocated on this one. The two versions were so different. I’m actually still equivocating as I write this … Okay … Olivia. By a husk. While I credit the effort and creativity that each place put forth to make a worthy serving of Brussels sprouts, I would not order either one again. That’s on the vegetable, not the restaurants. I would, however, order both the grilled cheese at Stillwaters and the chicken parmesan at Olivia again.
A Searing Tale of Two Tunas
Tuna that’s cooked all the way through is beige, bland, nugatory. Tuna that’s seared is ruby red, flavorful and, I’m told, good for you. It’s for those reasons and others that I chose to feature seared tuna this week. We’ll get around to cooked-through tuna … never. Our contestants are two relatively new restaurants that are part of established brands: Noble Tavern on the eastern edge of St. Pete’s Grand Central District; and Broke N Bored Bar & Grill on Madeira Beach. NOBLE TAVERN Monday, 5:45 p.m. — we’d forgotten it was the Rays’ home opener as we drove toward the restaurant, which is a four-minute walk from Tropicana Field. We worried about finding a parking spot on or near Central Avenue and whether Noble Tavern would have a wait time. Um, not to worry … Bonnie lucked into a parking space on the same block, and the eatery had no wait, probably because the game was in the 7th inning when we walked in. The large space is beautifully laid out, with two dining areas wrapped around a large middle bar. We sat at a comfy banquette. The sound design was impeccable. Even when the place got crowded post-game, the mix of lively conversation and music never became a hindrance. Noble Tavern — an offshoot of Noble Crust that’s been open since October — specializes in shared plates. We ordered the Ahi Tuna ($22), and because one cannot live on tuna alone, we added the Green + Mean Flatbread ($15). Appearance The tuna was beautifully presented, sliced into pieces larger than the usual. Wedges of avocado and a substantial salad filled out the plate, along with three sauces. The flatbread, just the right size for two, was covered in arugula and drizzled with pesto sauce. Taste and Texture The two dishes arrived together, so I alternated between them. I’ve had seared tuna where the raw part was chewy. This was not that. This tuna had a luxurious, melt-in-your-mouth quality and a mild flavor. One of the sauces contained wasabi, which gave the dish just the right measure of spicy heat. The salad was a welcome lagniappe. The flatbread had two cheeses — mozzarella and fontina — the latter providing sharpness. The crust was crispy in spots but, thankfully, not cracker-like. The complex flavor combo included bitterness from arugula and a hint of sweetness from caramelized onion. Finally, something I rarely do in restaurants — succumb to dessert. But this dessert was Cinnamon Roll Bread Pudding. “We would be doing ourselves a disservice if we pass this up,” I said to Bonnie. She gave me an if-you-insist look. It was heavenly — warm pudding with vanilla ice cream and whipped cream on top, surrounded by a decadent brown dulce de leche, its richness tempered by the ice cream. I took a few bites of banana, but mostly concentrated on the stuff that made me order it in the first place. Bonnie tapped out about halfway through. I was glad. BROKE AND BORED BAR & GRILL The second Broke N Bored — the flagship is on Redington Beach — is located at the eastern end of a small strip of bars and shops on Madeira Way. It opened late last year and shares a building with the five-year-old Cambria Hotel. At 6 p.m. Wednesday, the vast space was doing solid business, which would become increasingly robust as time went on. We joined a large table of friends. I sat across from a handsome Turkish man who didn’t quite understand why I was shooting pics and taking notes. I offered to put him on my FFF email list so he could find out. He balked. After some back and forth, I said, “I’ll add you. It’s the best thing you’ll do all month.” Our server, Chris, was brash and funny, a take-charge type who deftly managed our barrage of orders. I got the tuna entree ($30). In keeping with the healthy-eating theme, I chose saffron rice and broccolini as sides. For liquid refreshment, I got a Modelo draft. Appearance A handsome, appetizing plate of food. I was pleased to see the tuna flecked with sesame seeds. The halves of cherry tomato added a dash of extra color to an already colorful dish. Taste and Texture This seared tuna was just as it should be — tender and mildly flavored. The soy drizzle and Thai chili aioli added a hint of welcome sweetness. It’s been a while since I finished a helping of broccoli, but I scarfed this one up. These broccolini stalks were less fibrous than thicker broccoli and therefore easier to eat. The rice added balance, but was a bit too clumpy for my liking. And the Winner of the Searing Tussle of Two Tunas Is … Noble Tavern. From strictly a tuna standpoint, this was a tie. I slightly preferred Noble Tavern’s salad over Broke N Bored’s sides. The two experiences were vastly different — one a calm dinner for two at a refined downtown restaurant; the other a partying table of 12 in an elevated beach bar that got increasingly boisterous as time went on. It was trivia night, which we didn’t know going in. I’m not a fan of trivia nights, and neither were the guys I sat with. At our group dinners, the women sit together at one half of the table, the men on the other half — similar to a junior high dance. We sometimes mingle after the eating is done — if the women allow it.