A Lobster Roll Ruckus: Tampa Bay vs. Bar Harbor, Maine
I’ve never been big on lobster, mostly because of all that cracking, pulling and prying. The few bites I’ve had have fallen well short of wowing me, so I figure — why bother? Which brings us to lobster rolls, which, to the best of my memory, I’ve never had. But I like the idea of someone else doing the work, and the tastiest and tenderest parts of the lobster (so I’m told) being stuffed inside a bun. So here’s to hoping I have a good experience. This week’s edition is another in a series of Tampa Bay vs. The World. Bonnie and I are taking a cruise that stops in Bar Harbor, Maine, so it seems an ideal time to feature lobster rolls. Our two contestants are: Mason’s Famous Lobster Rolls in downtown St. Pete and West Street Cafe on the waterfront in Bar Harbor. I ate cold lobster rolls in each. On paper, it looks like a mismatch. Let’s find out. MASON’S FAMOUS LOBSTER ROLLS Founded in Annapolis, Maryland in 2014, this chain has 30 locations, the farthest north being in New Jersey, so thus far the company has stayed away from the lobster-roll hotbed of New England. The St. Pete franchise, the first in the Tampa Bay area, is located on 1st Avenue North and 5th Street, on a stretch that’s pretty barren. At around 7 p.m. on a Wednesday, we entered the smallish space, which was bright and clean and featured counter service and a few basic four-tops. I ordered a Classic Roll combo with coleslaw ($21.50) and a Maine Root Beer ($3.50). The Mason’s Famous website states emphatically that its lobster rolls are done the Traditional Maine Way, made with crustaceans pulled from the seas off Maine, then immediately cooked at a facility in Saco, Maine. Appearance I admit to a bit of sticker shock. The prime lobster meat, flecked with pepper, sat inside a lightly toasted, flat-bottom hot dog roll that was smaller than the price would suggest. I thought: I really hope I like it, or at least don’t hate it; and if I do like it, eat it slowly. The cup of coleslaw looked as if might be over-mayo’d. Texture and Taste Phew. I’m really glad, relieved even, that I liked my first ever lobster roll. I can’t imagine trying to write a Friday Food Fight about a dish I actively dislike. That said, I enjoyed my maiden lobster roll way more than expected. The lobster meat was very light on the mayo, so the sandwich wasn’t the least bit soggy. A glaze of lemon butter amplified the flavor, albeit subtly. The lobster chunks were tender and mild — you could argue a bit too mild. The pepper and celery salt were barely detectable, but did their part. All told, the sandwich’s innards were well balanced, although its flavor was a tad too gentle. (Mind you, I’m not basing these remarks on prior experience.) The bun was not plagued by the doughiness found in conventional hot dog rolls. Each bite gave way easily. The slaw was first-rate — wet, but balanced out by a sweet-but-not-too sweet flavor and a potent crunchiness. WEST STREET CAFE BAH HAHBAH, Maine — 1 p.m. Tuesday, 66 degrees and sunny in a charming New England town. Sorry St. Pete. When it comes to atmosphere, how do you compete with heaven? (In September, at least.) West Street Cafe was a football field away from where our ship docked, but a local traffic person strongly recommended the place, saying that the food was really good and we “won’t get robbed.” The sit-down restaurant had loads of natural light. Floor, booths and tables were outfitted in blonde wood, the walls painted light blue. Large plants hung from the walls and ceiling. After a 20-minute wait, which we didn’t mind, our party of five was seated in a booth. I ordered the Seaside Special ($38): lobster roll, a cup of clam chowder, fries, coleslaw and a slice of blueberry pie. (Just the lobster roll with one side was market-priced at $28.) Appearance The plate was crowded with the lobster roll (a shade larger than the competition’s), the two sides and a dill pickle. (See the main photo at top for the full effect.) The roll was appropriately packed with healthy chunks of lobster meat, fresh off the boat (I asked), sitting on a thin bed of lettuce. Texture and Taste The chunks of lobster were very lightly mayo’d, and didn’t have the lemon butter glaze that Mason’s Famous’s did. The meat itself was mild, but with a distinct seafood flavor, and a texture that was coarser than the version I had in St. Pete. It was slightly chewy in spots, but I didn’t mind. The roll had an ideal density and made for effortless bites. The lettuce added a desirable hint of crunchiness. I enjoyed the soup, but can’t say that it was appreciably better than the many versions I’ve had over the years. The sides, however, were lackluster — the fries over-salted and tough, the slaw crispy but with a nondescript flavor. The pie. The pie! It was terrific, in large part because it was made with wild Maine blueberries (culled from nearby farms), which are smaller than the ones you find in conventional versions. A scoop of vanilla ice cream and a dollop of whipped cream beautifully complemented the warm slice, which ranked with the best I’ve ever had. And the Winner of the Lobster Roll Ruckus Is … West Side Cafe. Ultimately, this contest was closer than it should’ve been. Mason’s Famous serves a first-rate lobster roll, but in the end West Street Cafe’s had more character, and was fully fresh vs. frozen. And then there were the lovely New England surroundings. While it’s unlikely that I’ll be back at West Street Cafe, I will return to Mason’s Famous. Above all, I’m pleased that my first experience with lobster rolls was a rousing success.
The Battle of Bolognese — Tampa Bay vs. Venice (Fla.)
Bolognese, the ubiquitous red sauce, so similar and yet tinged with subtle differences from one restaurant to the next. Its origins date back to the Middle Ages in the city of Bologna in northern Italy. Over the centuries, bolognese has become a staple of, not just Italian restaurants, but dinner tables far and wide. I didn’t know the stuff was called bolognese until adulthood. In our house it was simply “spaghetti with meat sauce.” This week’s edition is another installment of Tampa Bay vs. The World. Our combatants are a couple of white-tablecloth establishments: Made in Italy in Venice and Gratzzi Italian Grill in St. Pete. MADE IN ITALY The restaurant sits in the heart of Historic Downtown Venice, right on the main drag, Venice Avenue, which is populated with upscale restaurants, boutiques and shops. Our party of four arrived at 7 p.m. on Saturday night. Made In Italy’s front dining room, which included the bar, was kind of boomy, so I was glad when the hostess showed us to a back area that had been outfitted to resemble an Italian village. The room was better lit and less noisy. Bonnie and I ordered Pappardella Alla Bolognese ($21, plus $2 split charge) and also split the Cesarino salad ($11). I had a Stella Artois draft ($5.50). Appearance I was heartened by the sight of the wide pappardelle pasta, like fettuccine(2). In my experience, the bigger the noodle, the more you can taste it. Our portions were hefty, especially considering we had half-orders. A couple sprigs of basil added a bit of color contrast. Similarly, our half-portions of Caesar salad were larger than expected. Texture and Taste The bolognese was not consistently textured throughout, and that’s a good thing. Some of the least satisfying versions I’ve had were when the meat was near pureed or, conversely, filled with little else but large lumps of beef. Here, a few chunks served up mini-meatball moments. Overall, the sauce had a pleasing tinge of sweetness. The pasta was as advertised, although in a perfect world it could’ve been a smidgen firmer. The Caesars proved suitable starters, although before chopping mine up I should’ve removed some of the parmesan shavings, which ended up dominating the flavor. GRATZZI ITALIAN GRILLE Once a fixture at Baywalk (now Sundial) in downtown St. Pete, Gratzzi has occupied its current location at 2nd Street and 2nd Avenue South for a dozen years. The exterior is marked by a long black-and-white-striped awning. Business was relatively brisk for 6:30 on Tuesday, but Bonnie and I had plenty of space in the back dining room, and really took to it quaint farmhouse ambience. With no music and minimal bustle, we could converse easily. We ordered Spaghettini Bolognese ($24), with a $3 up-charge for pappardelle, plus two small Caesar salads ($7 each). I was pleased to learn that the restaurant had my favorite local beer, 3 Daughters Beach Blonde Ale, on tap. I asked our server to set me up with a pint ($6), and had second with dinner. Appearance No-nonsense. A white plate with some pasta and sauce sunk in the middle. Go’head, mangiare. I was okay with the lack of presentation, although our portions did appear smaller than the competition’s. I left my measuring tape in the junk drawer, but the pappardelle noodles looked narrower, too. It was a different story with the salads. They featured stalks of romaine lettuce, drizzled with dressing and topped with parmesan shavings. The croutons looked as if they’d been carefully placed by a gloved hand. Texture and Taste Although I encountered a couple of mini-meatballs, Gratzzi’s bolognese was more evenly textured than MiI’s. It also had more acidity than sweetness, and was spicier, which resulted in a somewhat bolder flavor. The pappardelle was just the right measure of al dente, and stood on its own in terms of flavor. It was not just a vessel for the sauce. The Caesars were satisfying, redolent with crunch, but the sharp parmesan was overwhelming at times. And the Winner of the Battle of the Bolognese Is … Gratzzi. This was the closest Food Fight in a while. I liked both sauces quite a lot, although neither one knocked me over. MiI won on portion size; I preferred the taste of Gratzzi’s ever so slightly. Let’s call it a tie. Gratzzi’s ambience was calm and intimate. MiI’s was more animated, marked by laughs and spirited conversations with the Dillons. So what if we had to raise our voices some. A tie for atmosphere. Gratzzi earns the W based on pasta that was a cut above and a superior salad course. Another deciding factor: MiI’s Stella vs. Gratzzi’s Beach Blonde. No contest.
Chinese Takeout: A Chop Suey Challenge
It’s been a about three decades since I would call China City in St. Pete, order a pint of chicken chow mein and a couple of egg rolls, then hear a woman bark “10 minute!” followed by a hang-up. After a while, I made a game of it to make sure I hung up first. Pickup — never delivery — was similarly graceless. That cozy wave of nostalgia inspired me to feature Chinese takeout this week. I wanted to try a different dish, though. After perusing some online menus, I decided on chop suey, mostly because I don’t know what it is, other than a stir-fry. Rather than research it online — or plug “the difference between chop suey and chow mein” into ChatGPT — I chose to cut out the middleman and eat it. The two restaurants I selected are not far from the old China City, which closed in 2016 and is now a Chicken Salad Chick. Great Wall 2 and Asian Wok are a half-mile from each other in northeast St. Pete. We picked up a pint of vegetable chop suey from each place in one short trip, then brought them back to the FFF Lab (™). We opened the bags to discover packaging that was virtually identical. GREAT WALL 2 Tucked into a shopping center at 4th Street and 32nd Avenue, between a food service store and a storefront injury clinic, Great Wall 2 is easy to miss. A faded yellow sign doesn’t help matters. Although the interior had a few basic tables, this was clearly not a dine-in establishment. A man and woman were busily cooking well behind the counter. A young woman, who was playing with two small children, hustled behind the counter and graciously executed the transaction for a total of $6.63. Appearance At first blush, kind of gelatinous, most of the vegetables overcooked, especially the onions, which were thin-sliced and congealed. Texture and Taste The amorphous sauce, which imbued the entire dish with a shiny glaze, is difficult to describe other than “Chinese takeout flavor.” This version was a bit thicker than I remembered from decades past, adding to a general gloppiness. Most of the vegetables were limp(ish), save the green squash which provided a modicum of crunch. The clumps of wet onions were off-putting at first, mostly because of their texture, but at a certain point I started to appreciate the tinge of sweetness they added. The rice was requisitely sticky. ASIAN WOK This restaurant resides in more upscale environs than its competitor — in Northeast Park shopping center next to a Publix. Asian Wok, although a bit more well appointed, is not designed for eat-in either. A genial young fellow handed my bag of food over the counter and charged me $7.22. Appearance When compared to that of GW2, this chop suey had more robust color, with larger vegetables — especially the onions — that I hoped would provide some crispness. Texture and Taste Looks did not deceive. Asian Wok’s vegetables were passingly crisp, cut large enough that they made an impactful flavor. The sauce, a bit thinner than the competition’s, carried that same hard-to-pin-down Chinese takeout flavor. What is it about broccoli in these cheap stir-fries? Flaccid — like if you flung it against a wall it would stick. After a small bite, I ignored the rest. The late emergence of a few pea pods added a touch of verve. The rice was … the rice. And the Winner of the Chinese Takeout Chop Suey Challenge Is … Asian Wok. I did not enjoy either meal, but I can’t be too critical of these establishments. They are what they are: places to get very inexpensive food very quickly, and you can call it in rather than filling out an online order. Pick-up or delivery. These eateries fill a need, just not one of my needs. Aggh, it just occurred to me: I forgot the egg rolls. Postscript: I asked people at each restaurant the difference between chop suey and chow mein, and their answers were the same, and simple: chop suey has a bigger variety of vegetables.
Tampa Bay vs. Atlanta: Which Fried Chicken is the Finger-Lickin’ Best?
Because of a looming eight-hour car trip and uncertainty about a certain hurricane, I got this week’s FFF started early by eating fried chicken for lunch at Salt Factory in the Reynoldstown neighborhood of eastern Atlanta. After arriving home on Monday, I hustled over to Noble Crust in St. Pete, one of the few semi-upscale restaurants in the Bay area that features fried chicken. In between, we ill-advisedly stopped for lunch at a Chick-Fil-A in a mall food court near Gainesville because I was jonesin’ for a chocolate shake. The uber-popular chain pressure-cooks its bird, but still — that’s a whole lot of chicken in a two-day period, fried or otherwise. I know, it’s not exactly stackin’ days in county lockup, but it’s also not something I’d willingly sign up for. It’s Tuesday afternoon as I write this, and I just saw chicken thawing on the kitchen counter. … All-rightee, then. Before we begin, you should know that I rank slightly above novice when it comes to fried chicken. SALT FACTORY As I perused my menu during a family lunch, I spied an item called Chicken Fried Chicken ($20.99), which sparked the idea for this week’s competition. It was 99 degrees out, and my kids poked fun at my selection. Hey, I’m just a humble food scribe doing work, I shot back. The Salt Factory — part of a five-restaurant chain (four clustered in and around Atlanta) with an unfortunate name — was a roomy and boomy gastropub. We sat in a comfy booth next to tall windows. Appearance I guess I didn’t fully digest the meaning of “Chicken Fried Chicken.” There are plenty of folks who would find the sight of this dish salivation-worthy. Not I — not with the primordial ooze of country gravy smothering virtually all beneath. I’m a city boy, after all. A few green beans jutted out like tentacles. I was beginning to think my kids were right for razzing me. Texture and Taste I went immediately to the chicken, and it was good — juicy and flavorful on the inside, highlighted by a rustic brown crust that was the best thing on the plate. After a bit of probing, I discovered that I was eating a boneless breast, which made for efficient consumption with a knife and fork. I ate the entire (medium-sized) piece, save for a few bites of crust that Bonnie stole. Continuing my exploration, I lifted the chicken to discover green beans arrayed in rows like two-by-fours on a palette. Weird — and way more than I wanted. I had a few, and they were okay, a bit soggy. I made but a small dent in the imposing heap of mashed potatoes. The country gravy was a problem. Heavy stuff, man, with a flavor that turned out to be both bland and off-putting. (To be fair, I don’t know from country gravy.) I fork-scraped most of it away. My Chicken Fried Chicken came basically as advertised. To avoid a Sunday afternoon gut bomb, I left about half of it on the plate. Box it up? Nah. NOBLE CRUST At 6:30 on Monday, this popular spot that hugs 4th Street at 83rd Avenue was doing brisk business. Pre-hurricane frivolity or just another Monday? I think the latter. We sat at a long table that had been separated into a four-top by the simple placement of a potted plant. Clever. Contemporary dance-pop played loudly, further amplifying a room that’s already loud. I’m used to it. We’ve been dining here since it opened in 2015, and have always enjoyed doing so, despite the din. I ordered Southern Fried Chicken ($19), which I didn’t recall having before. It included two sides, and I chose garlic mash potatoes and a small Caesar salad. To help wind down from the drive and quell some pre-storm anxiety, I got a Postcard Pilsner draft ($5) by St. Pete’s Green Bench Brewing. It’s one of the better light beers made locally. Appearance A half-chicken, coated a golden brown, sat in the middle of a rectangular tin, sided by a small crock of potatoes. No country gravy in sight. Instead, two sauces: Tabasco honey and (a much lighter) black pepper gravy. The tray provided bonus space for bones and other remnants. Texture and Taste I started with the drumstick, and was pleased that it wasn’t steroid huge. The crust gave way easily, and then I was treated to that familiar, luscious mixture of crunch, salt and juicy bird. An altogether different kind of Southern flavor than Salt Factory’s. The wing fell apart, enabling me to eat all of it. On a roll, I dug into the breast and was enamored with its moistness. And so it went. I didn’t finish this fried chicken, but I did come close, and I did take the leftovers home. I tried each sauce, and both were commendable, if a bit too rich for my liking. I ultimately preferred to eat this chicken sauce-less. The silky garlic mash provided ideal accompaniment. Earlier, the salad — pleasingly soaked in house Caesar dressing — had proven a substantial starter. And the Winner of the Tampa Bay vs. Atlanta Finger-Lickin’ Best Fried Chicken Contest Is … Noble Crust. An easy call. The St. Pete eatery simply made fried chicken in a fashion that far surpassed the “chicken fried” concept of Salt Factory. For those keeping score at home, this was our fifth Friday Food Fight pitting Tampa Bay against another city. Tampa Bay is 4-1, with previous wins over Santa Fe, N.M. (fajitas), Athens, Ga. (jerk chicken), Atlanta (barbecue brisket), and a loss to Seattle (coffee, muffins). We should pray that the Buccaneers start so well.
Friday Booze Fight: A Battle of 3 Bourbons (Plus Some Food on the Side)
Horse Soldier Bourbon — it’s not just a catchy brand name, but one with real history. The four men who founded the craft spirit — which is headquartered at Urban Stillhouse in St. Pete — were among a small group of special-forces soldiers who stealthily entered Afghanistan shortly after 9/11. These Green Berets saw a lot of action fighting the Taliban, making their way through the county’s brutal terrain on horseback. Hence, horse soldiers. The ownership group also includes Elizabeth Pritchard, the wife of former horse solider and company CEO, John Koko. But an inspiring backstory only goes so far. The product must be good. At 5:30 p.m. on a Wednesday earlier this month, I met up with Tom duPont, founder/owner of Registry Tampa Bay, so we could find out for ourselves. We grabbed seats on comfy stools at the bar in an immense room, impressively outfitted with dark woods, brick and stone. And a fireplace. That was burning. We split a bourbon flight (three shot-sized pours, $25), enough for each of us to sample the three Horse Soldier types: Premium Straight, Small Batch, and Barrel Strength. As accompaniment, we first ordered Spinach & Smoke Gouda Dip, with grilled sourdough bread ($16), then followed it with Wood-Grilled Asparagus ($17). Because we’re doing something different for this Food Fight, we won’t pick a winner, per se, but select our favorite among the three bourbons we sample. I’ll follow that with an appraisal of the food. Just so ya know, I’m no bourbon connoisseur, although it is my go-to brown liquor. Tom does not claim to be an expert either. So you liquor aficionados hoping to learn about notes of caramel and oak intensity — sorry, you won’t be getting that here. BOURBON Horse Soldier Bourbon is currently made in Columbus, Ohio, and will soon be moving into its new $200 million Horse Soldier Farms Distillery in Kentucky. Why not down here in the ‘burg? The steamy Florida weather is not conducive to distilling brown liquor, said our bartender, Matt. We started with the Premium Straight (87 proof), which is what the bar uses for its bourbon-based cocktails. Tom and I each stuck our noses into the curvy glasses and took deep inhales. Because that’s what you do, right? Or is that wine? Whatever. It smelled like … sophistication. We lightly clinked glasses and each took a small sip, let it rest in our mouths and swallowed. Smooth. This spirit easily exceeded what you’d think of as a “house bourbon.” The Small Batch (95 proof) cleared our sinuses. Emboldened, we took bigger swallows. Tom coughed. I chuckled. “Don’t breathe in the middle (of a sip),” Tom said with a sly grin. This one had a slightly more vivid flavor than the first. Onto the Barrel Strength, which Matt told us was “sitting at 121 right now, so a little hot.” It had been a very long time since I drank 121-proof booze. This was potent stuff, but not the least bit harsh. It had a richness and boldness that appealed to both of us. All told, we enjoyed a convivial tasting, with little disagreement. Tom and I both gave a slight edge to the Barrel Strength. For me, that might’ve had something to do with being a manly man who could knock back 121-proof bourbon and not grimace. (Perhaps “knock back” is not the best way to put it; more like: sip gingerly.) We enthusiastically recommend all three Horse Soldier bourbons. FOOD The Spinach and Smoked Gouda dip came in heavy metal crock atop a heavy metal platter, where the bread was artfully arrayed. It tasted as good as it looked. We dipped pieces of the (not too) crusty sourdough into the decadent bog, which was salty and sharp and played well with the bourbon. We laid waste to it. The Wood-Grilled Asparagus was even better — the lower part of the stalks providing crunch while the greener heads brought forth a robust veggie flavor. I’m not a mushroom guy, as a rule, but these tender slices were mild and did not have the rubbery texture that can be a put-off. They also made for a creamy sauce that oozed flavor. A soft poached egg was the pièce de ré·sis·tance. A slight puncture with a fork let loose the runny yoke to pool with the rest. Between the two dishes, we didn’t leave the bar hungry. Nor did we leave it particularly buzzed. Just two mature adults having a relaxed, upscale experience.
We Take to the High Seas in Search of the Best Chicken Wings
(You know the tune) “Five passengers set sail that day for a three hour tour, a three hour tour.” Let’s see how much I can wring out of the Gilligan’s Island reference. On Tuesday, five of us “set sail” — not on a “tiny ship,” but a 40-foot Tiara Coupe with twin diesel engines. Our “captain brave and sure” was Mike Fusek, who had invited me and three other pickleball pals out on his boat for stops at two waterside restaurants. I anointed him curator of this week’s Friday Food Fight, and Captain Mike chose chicken wings. Our destinations: The Getaway, on the St. Pete side of Gandy Boulevard, and Tiki Docks, at Maximo Marina in far-south St. Pete. The crew, besides me and the Skipper: Max, Dan and Daryl. Geezers all, save for Cap, a mere 52 years. We boarded at 11 a.m. at Snell Isle Marina and immediately huddled inside the air-conditioned cabin. The mercury was already in the low 90s, so this was not shaping up to be a wind-in-your-hair day. I asked the Captain what the water temperature was. He checked a gauge and replied: 95.8. So no diving off the boat only to land in a salt-water sauna. We set sail for my first (and probably last) nautical Food Fight under bright sun and pillowy clouds. THE GETAWAY It was a short jaunt over smooth waters to this sprawling complex — a pretty fair facsimile of a tropical paradise — with no indoor seating. We found a table under a capacious thatched-roof structure with a lovely view of Old Tampa Bay. The excursion was the first time the five of us had been around each other away from the courts, so it was surprising — and refreshing — that we talked very little about pickleball. Injuries, ailments, test results (inevitable geezer topics), real estate and money monopolized the banter. I was on my own with the wings, so ordered a basket of 8 ($19) with mango barbecue sauce on the side, and a Coke ($4). I’m pleased to report that the heat was noticeable but not suffocating. Appearance A respectable basket of wings — flats and drumettes — joined by chilled celery sticks, ranch dressing and the sauce. Texture and Taste These medium-sized morsels had an appropriately chewy outer crust, but were on the dry side and came up a little short on smoke. They were the kind of wings that are perfectly serviceable as an accompaniment to a lively group conversation. I ate only three because I knew my second lunch was coming up. Then a faux pas. When our server bussed the table, she nonchalantly cleared my basket. “Um, can I get a box for those?” I asked in a neutral tone. She brought me one. We boarded the boat, hustled into the cabin and the Skipper pointed us south. The voyage was longer than the first leg — probably 40 minutes. TIKI DOCKS The pickleball pals sauntered along the decking like Reservoir Dogs. An intimidating group. Tiki Docks, like its competition, is a large complex, although mostly paved and therefore less paradisiacal. Not too much of a view either. We commandeered a table in a large tiki structure. An ample breeze and heavy industrial fans set napkins to flying. I ordered 8-piece wings ($15.99), with Hawaiian BBQ sauce, and a root beer ($3.25). Max and Dan, not being double-lunch types, went the dessert route with Key Lime Pie ($8.50). Appearance The wings were clumped together and looked mighty sticky. That’s because, amid the spirited conversation, I forgot to ask for the sauce on the side. I picked one up. Yup, mighty sticky. We’re gonna need a bigger box of napkins. Texture and Taste These jumbos really grabbed my attention. Plump and juicy, they had a distinctive char and a just-off-the-grill flavor that restaurants rarely achieve. I liked the sweet coating well enough but wish I could’ve tried them naked. I ate three and greedily boxed up the remainder to take home. (Yesterday afternoon I gobbled down three while standing at the kitchen counter.) And the Winner of the Nautical Chicken Wings Battle Is … Tiki Docks. A fairly easy choice. Their wings were exemplary. However, I give the nod to The Getaway for atmosphere and scenery. But the real winner? The trip itself. And the boat. And the company. Many thanks to Mike for captaining and curating. If you’ve read this far, thank you. To those readers who know boating or are good counters: I’m aware there was one skipper and four passengers who set sail that day for what turned out to be a five-hour tour. Chalk it up to creative license. I couldn’t get the Gilligan’s Island theme out of my head.
Get It While It’s Cold! Gotta Lotta Gelato
Know what “gelato” means in English? “Ice cream.” That’s kind of a letdown. Ah, but there are differences. Gelato has less fat and more sugar than ice cream. Gelato is richer and denser; ice cream is airier and creamier — in large part because gelato is churned slowly and ice cream is churned fast. Need I explain why I think early/mid-August is a good time to conduct a gelato Friday Food Fight? I think not. But just in case: weather hot, gelato cold. I’ve chosen a couple of places that specialize in this distinctly Italian dessert. Mammamia Gelato Italiano in St. Pete’s Grand Central District, and Paciugo Gelato & Caffe near the downtown waterfront. Both are located on the bottom floor of residential buildings. MAMMAMIA GELATO ITALIANO This cute and immaculate gelateria opened in October 2021 in the Artistry building on Central Avenue between 16th and 17 streets. Mammamia’s Italian-ness is legit. The company is based in Naples and, according to its website, has been making “traditional artisan gelato since 1911.” The St. Pete store is a franchise owned by Patrick Lefevre, a Frenchman who was raised in West African country of Côte d’Ivoire and learned gelato-making in the Boot of Europe. He forges his product in-house with ingredients shipped from Italy. At 8 p.m. on Tuesday, a slow stream of folks stopped by to pick up frozen treats. While the summer scorch had abated considerably, we opted to sit indoors — in large part to avert serious meltage while I took photos. I ordered a large cup ($10.14) with three scoops: Dark Cioccolato, Tiramisu and Mammamia, a blend of vanilla, chocolate, hazelnut and pistachios. Appearance Our counter person crammed as much gelato as she could into a cardboard cup. The dark chocolate stood out because it bordered on black. Texture and Taste At Mammamia, all gelatos are not created the same: The dark chocolate was thick and velvety, with an intense but not overpowering flavor. I liked it a great deal, but any more than a third of the large sampler cup would’ve been too much. The tiramisu, on the other hand, was notably lighter and airier. Its flavor was milder — pleasant, but I had to use my imagination to detect tiramisu. The Mammamia had a little too much going on flavor-wise, so it lacked definition. But hey, it was a sweet, cold treat on a hot summer’s night. I don’t want to nitpick too much. I was happy to let the flavors melt into each other (and over the sides) and join together on the spoon. PACIUGO GELATO & CAFFE Uh oh. Wednesday, 3:30 p.m., high sun, sidewalks blistering on Beach Drive, the parking attendant at BellaBrava about to spontaneously combust — and inside, not a seat in sight. The counter guy, exquisitely tatted, was very helpful, handing me a sample spoon of dark chocolate without my asking. He told me that the gelateria, which has been around several years, is locally owned and the product made in-house. I ordered a large (excuse me, Grande) cup ($7.25) with three flavors: Fondente (dark chocolate, for a direct comparison with Mammamia), Strawberry Cheesecake and Cannoli. Outside we went. Let the melting proceed! It did — quickly — even though we were in shade. Appearance I took the main pics (see photo at the very top) indoors. Pieces of strawberry from the cheesecake flavor added a dash of color. Also, the chocolate was not near as dark as its counterpart. The brightly colored, translucent spoons were a cool touch. The logo’d cup was a shade smaller than Mammamia’s. Like an aging diva under hot stage lights, this helping of gelato didn’t take long to wilt. I struggled with the rapid meltage, and immediately upon finishing had to wipe up an unholy mess, then dart to the restroom to rinse my hands. The next morning, I cleaned my cell phone with an alcohol wipe. (Bonnie told me that I have a poor ice cream/gelato eating technique. Hey, Hon’ — I get the licking part, but this was a cup not a cone.) Texture and Taste The messiness did not inhibit my enjoyment. The dark chocolate was not as exotic as the one at Mammamia, but it was lighter and easy to eat. (It could’ve been a tad more chocolate-y.) The cannoli mimic’d the taste, and even the texture, of that other heavenly Italian dessert. Mmmm-hm. The strawberry cheesecake emerged as the star among the six characters in this episode. The chunks of fruit were nice but not necessary. All the flavor — remarkably evocative of actual cheesecake (but colder and meltier) — was packed into the creamy, white(-ish) stuff, no pink swirls required. And the Winner of the Gotta Lotta Gelato Contest Is … I hate to pick one, but … Paciugo Gelato & Caffe. Both places proved eminently enjoyable — and delizioso. Mammamia’s gelato was more exotic — and I get the sense it was more authentically Italian — while Paciugo’s landed more easily on my palate. Mammamia’s portion was bigger (shareable), but a bit more expensive. Most important in a close contest, Paciugo produced the star attraction with the Strawberry Cheesecake. Mammamia had the better vibe, a place you could hang out for a while. As for Paciugo: There’s room for at least a couple of two-tops under AC. The gelato cart inside the door is charming, but the space could be put to better use. At least during summer.
Tampa vs. St. Pete: A Kebab Conflict of Epic Portions
Back when we were kids, Dad would grill shish kebabs. I liked them a lot, and I liked saying “shish-k’bob,” although I couldn’t quite understand why the chunks of beef came stabbed with a long, pointy metal prong. Sword fights after? No! — you can put an eye out with those things! We had no idea that roasting meat on a stick or skewer dated back to when early humans began cooking with fire, or that the word “kebab” was first used as a reference for food in a Turkish script from 1377. No, the four Snider kids were too busy making sure we each got our share because we knew that our next dinner might be fish sticks. For this kebab challenge, I chose two well regarded Mediterranean/Middle Eastern restaurants: Bayshore Mediterranean Grill in Tampa and Zaytoon Grill in St. Pete. Will one of these places get skewered? BAYSHORE MEDITERRANEAN GRILL Stormy Monday. We arrived at the restaurant, located in a tidy strip center in the Ballast Point neighborhood of South Tampa, at 6 p.m., dark clouds bruising the sky, but the nasty weather still in offing. Despite its generic name, Bayshore Mediterranean Grill is a proudly Turkish eatery. The simple interior has a group of nicely spaced two-tops and four-tops. We grabbed a spot next to the window. Turkish music played faintly on the sound system, making conversation easy. Our server, Rania, greeted us enthusiastically and made menu suggestions. BMG is big on kebabs. There are — I kid you not — 30 different ones on the menu. We played it safe and went with the Chicken Shish Kebab ($19.99). Also: Mixed Cold Appetizers (small, $16.99), Lavas Bread ($4.99),and, for me, a Turkish gazoz soft drink, mixed fruit flavor ($2.50). We figured it would be enough food for us to split. Appearance For an no-frills restaurant, this place turned out some very attractive dishes. Lots of color, which tends to happen when, y’know, vegetables are included. Let me start with something that had no color at all. When Rania poured the gazoz into the glass, it came out clear. Imagine that: a fruit-flavored soft drink without fake fruit coloring. The appetizer sampler (photo above) was artful and salivation-worthy. The lavas bread arrived puffed up, then deflated into a roundish beast, covered with sesame seeds. Finally, the kebab (photo below) — 10 hefty chunks of chicken, skewers removed (thank you) covering portions of white rice and bulgur, along with a scoop of red cabbage and a small salad. All of it elegantly arranged. Texture and Taste Let’s do this chronologically: The clear, bubbly gazoz, not too fruity, had a crisp lightness that set the tone and proved a refreshing complement to the food. We aggressively tore off pieces of the lavas, at once tender and chewy, and dipped them into the quartet of spreads. While each was first-rate, we agreed that the babaganoush (vaguely smokey) and the eggplant-based soslu patlican (sweetish) stood out. Onto the main event. The cubes of chicken were appropriately succulent, although a bit light on seasoning. I salted them. The bird worked best when joined on the fork by its neighbors — especially the cabbage, which I could’ve used more of. I stole some pickles from the app platter and they turned out to be valuable role players, their bold dill flavor adding zip to the chicken. It was definitely enough food for us to split. Nothing was overly rich or heavy, and I left full but not stuffed. The storm kicked in on our way back to St. Pete. Lightning hit a power pole and sent sparks flying earthward. After-dinner fireworks. ZAYTOON GRILL Breezy Wednesday. High clouds covered St. Pete’s Grand Central district, mitigating the early August heat. When we entered Zaytoon’s small storefront at 6:10, it was readily apparent that this was a different caliber of restaurant than Bayshore Mediterranean Grill. Counter service, a few simple tables, napkin dispensers, a fridge with soft drinks, no alcohol served — all of it suggested a budget-friendly takeout place. (I’d never been here, and chose it based on the eatery’s consistently high rankings online.) We ordered the Chicken Kabob Platter ($13.99, including a side order of three pieces of falafel) and the appetizer sampler platter ($10.99). Zaytoon (which means “olive” in Arabic) did not have gazoz soft drinks (sigh), so I opted for a can of Canada Dry ginger ale ($1.50). They didn’t have ice. I didn’t ask why. The counter person suggested we sit at a four-top because our meal would take up considerable space. All of the food came out at once. Appearance Given its quick-serve nature, Zaytoon understandably did not go out of its way to make its dishes look pretty. A trio of spreads (photo above) — hummus, babaganoush and foule — were separated into compartments on a white plate. Plain pita (no charge) and the falafel rested in cardboard containers. The five hefty chunks of chicken — which sat atop a bed of yellow rice, flanked by grilled vegetables — were not even arrayed in a neat, kebab-like row. Tsk tsk. At least they’d been de-skewered. Texture and Taste Chronologically: The round mounds of falafel were exemplary — crunchy on the outside, moist on the inside, with a deep, earthy flavor. The spreads were notably different than those of the competition. The hummus and babaganoush were fine, if a bit nondescript. We did not care for the foule (“fool”), made from fava beans (The Silence of the Lambs still gives Bonnie the willies). The pita, doughy and cold, was disappointing. The chicken kebabs had mild grilled flavor and we detected a hint of lemon, but the meat was on the dry side. The yellow basmati rice, which tasted of turmeric, had more character than the white rice and bulgur across the bay. Lightly grilled tomato, onion and pepper added crunch and flavor contrast. And the Winner of the Kebab Contest of Epic (Pro)Portions Is … Bayshore Mediterranean Grill. It
Quiche Clash: Two Independent Eateries Square Off
I don’t seek out quiche, but I like it when I have it. The savory pie deserves a place in the Friday Food Fight ring. Quiche dates to the medieval era in the Alsace-Lorraine region of France, which borders Germany, Switzerland and Belgium. The word “quiche” derives from the German “kuchen,” which is the word for both cake and pie. What — they can’t tell the difference?. In the 17th Century, quiche made its way to the French court of Louis XIV, who would remove one of his voluminous wigs and dig in. And because the king was into it, his French subjects got into it, too — quiche and wigs. During WWII, the Germans occupied the Alsace-Lorraine region, and the German soldiers dug quiche too. It was the subsequent Teutonic influence that added cheese to the original recipe of eggs, cream, bacon and whatever else might be laying around. Somewhat to my surprise, it wasn’t all that easy to find breakfast/lunch restaurants that serve quiche. But I managed. Our two combatants are: Neighborhood Joe in northeast St. Pete and Craft Kafe downtown. NEIGHBORHOOD JOE Joe, you had me at Coltrane. The legendary saxophonist’s 1963 version of the ballad “They Say It’s Wonderful” wafted through the urban/industrial space at 9:30 on Tuesday morning. As a tone-setter, it was indeed wonderful. Neighborhood Joe is a boho coffee shop in an easy-to-miss strip mall on MLK Street at 26th Avenue. It’s been open seven years, but I’d never heard of it nor noticed it until I embarked on this FFF. The space is larger than you’d expect, given its humble exterior. Basic tables, generously spaced, are accompanied by aluminum chairs. A counter is stationed on one side. Two women sat outside at a two-top. I wanted to stick my head out the door and say, “C’mon in. There’s AC … and jazz!” We placed our order with Thomas, the owner, who appeared to be the only worker. He told us that the food is made in-house and that he uses cheese but no meat products. I ordered two quiches: Mediterranean and Broccoli (both $8.25), with a 16-ounce coffee ($3). Appearance The Broccoli quiche was a whole lot prettier — a solid wedge showing plenty of green and two ripe strawberry halves adding more color. The Mediterranean had melted cheese dripping down the sides, and looked kinda gooey. Not as appetizing as its firmer cousin. The strawberries looked out of place. Texture and Taste I started with the Mediterranean and immediately realized I should’ve ordered one of the two or three other quiches offered. It was very feta-forward, with a tang I didn’t care for. The other dominant flavor came from the black olives, and I’m not a fan of those either. Further, this wedge had a gloppy texture that seemed to me quite un-quiche-like. I think it’s only fair, based on my poor selection, to exempt the Mediterranean from this competition. The Broccoli quiche was an altogether different story. It had spot-on firmness, the cheese was melted just so, and the crust was sturdy and provided a contrast in flavor and consistency. Best of all, the broccoli — which can be pushy and obnoxious — melded elegantly with the rest of the ingredients. CRAFT KAFE Set in a prime location at Central Avenue and 2nd Street, this popular eatery had about a dozen folks queued up at 9:30 on Thursday. The indoor kiosk area was loaded with an assortment of baked goods and breakfast items, including five different quiches. Behind the counter, three guys hustled out orders — all of the food is gluten-free — and it looked for all the world as if they were having fun. I opted for the Broccoli Cheddar Quiche ($6.75). Bonnie chose a blueberry muffin ($3.75) and we each got a small regular coffee ($2.75). Most customers sit outside in a spacious courtyard. It was a cloudy morning, so I broke my cardinal rule against eating al fresco in the summer and grabbed a table there, not far from Central. Appearance The order landed on our table just as my butt hit the seat. The presentation was as basic as it gets: a slab of quiche — which looked overly brown on top — and a knife and fork wrapped in a paper napkin. (No strawberries.) Serving the coffee in a hefty light-blue mug was a nice touch. Texture and Taste The quiche was eggier, fluffier and and not as moist as that of Neighborhood Joe. About halfway in, the broccoli went MIA. The crust was on the dry side. The cheddar, a bit sharp, shone through. In all, the flavors integrated well. I suspect that this slice of quiche may have sat on a shelf behind glass for just a smidge too long. And the Winner of the Quiche Contest Is … Neighborhood Joe. Both restaurant’s served worthy versions, but Joe’s quiche was moister and more balanced, plus the broccoli made a stronger impression. I enjoyed the atmosphere at both places. Craft Kafe was lively and energetic, and I expect that lounging in the courtyard with a coffee and scone (or quiche) in spring time would be sublime. (As it stood, I was a tad clammy when we left yesterday, but avoided a full sweat.) Neighborhood Joe was mellower and more intimate. Hearing John Coltrane in the air when I walked in — well, that more or less cinched it.
Feat of Clay: Two Vastly Different Versions of Chicken Clay Pot
My friend David texted me on a Tuesday night in late May with a suggestion for Friday Food Fight: chicken clay pot. He’d recently eaten it at a restaurant and sounded enthused enough that it piqued my interest, so I filed the idea away. It’s time has come. After some brief research, I discovered that cooking in clay pots is global, but for this column we’ll focus on Southeast Asia. The dish usually features one of several meats or seafoods along with an array of vegetables, herbs and spices, cooked in a clay pot, which helps retain flavors and moisture. Further, the porous nature of the clay allows for even heat distribution, and slow cooking makes the ingredients meld together for more flavor. Finding two restaurants around here that serve chicken clay pot wasn’t easy, but I managed to uncover a handful, and chose: Green Pagoda, an Asian fusion place in northeast St. Pete, and Sila Thai & Sushi at 38th Avenue and 49th Street in St. Pete. GREEN PAGODA The place was doing surprisingly brisk business for a rainy Monday at 6:30. The building, on 4th Street at 80th Avenue North, seemed to be snake-bit before Green Pagoda opened last May. Two short-lived sushi places occupied the space previously. A full bar greets you as you enter, and a closer look indicates that its set up for sushi. Our party of four sat at a corner booth, next to one of the large, round windows. A little snug, but okay. I ordered a ginger ale and asked our server, Natalie, to ask the bartender to go easy on the ice. “I am the bartender, so you got it,” she said, smiling coyly, which set the stage for a fun flow of witty banter to go along with efficient service. I ordered Steamed Edamame ($6.75) and Veggie Dumplings ($5.50) as preludes to Chicken Claypot ($17.95), Something seemed amiss, however. The entree’s menu description read: red bell pepper, green bell pepper, carrot, Thai eggplant, basil, onion, coconut red curry. Curry? That didn’t jibe what I had come to understand as chicken clay pot. Appearance Hmm. It looked as if this colorful, tempting stew came in a clay crock, more so than a clay pot. A little later, I asked Natalie what “clay pot” inferred and she replied, “presentation.” Just to be certain, I called the next day and confirmed that the curry chicken with vegetables was served in a clay bowl, not cooked in a clay pot. That was certainly disappointing, especially considering this week’s premise. But it was too late in the game to find a replacement restaurant from the limited options available. Texture and Taste I had a decision to make — focus on the dish not being chicken clay pot, or file that away and enjoy what was in front of me. I made the sensible choice. Dig in and eat. The stew proved to be elevated version of the red curry takeout I’ve had from Thai restaurants. Vegetables were crisp and fresh (the eggplant was a nice surprise). The chicken was moist, although the pieces were too big and there was no reasonable way to cut them. The veggies were too big as well, but those I was able to chop in half. The curry sauce was sweet and flavorful, with a hint of spicy heat. When I ordered the vegetable dumplings, I did not hear Natalie say that they were deep-fried (my dinner-mates assure me that she did). I much prefer steamed dumplings and therefore these were a disappointment (that’s on me). The edamame made for an ideal starter. SILA THAI & SUSHI RESTAURANT No amount of blue paint could make this drab building at 38th Avenue and 49th Street look inviting. At 6 p.m. Wednesday, we approached with a tinge of trepidation. What lay inside? As it turns out, the interior — a single, smallish room — was clean and functional: drop ceiling, dark brown tables and chairs, Asian tchotchkes clustered here and there. Sila Thai did a robust takeout business during our hour-plus visit. Our server, Malaihak (Ma-ly-ha), was salty in a lighthearted way. I asked her, very clearly, if the chicken clay pot was cooked in a clay pot. She answered me, very clearly, that it was. I ordered Steamed Dumplings ($6.99) to go along with Chicken in Clay Pot ($19.99). Appearance When Malaihak brought the clay pot to the table, it was covered with a metal lid. Cool — a reveal. I removed the top and saw thinly sliced white-meat chicken covered with a smattering of herbs. And noodles — thin bean-thread noodles that were nearly translucent. A hefty cone of white rice accompanied the pot. Texture and Taste Hot hot, chicken-in-clay-pot hot. I waited a short spell for the enticing stuff to cool, but jumped the gun and burned my mouth. I’ll live. The noodles, which looked so delicate at first sight, were long enough to tie my adidas — and they clung together, which made them tricky to eat. But, man, when they arrived in my mouth, they were delicious. Peppery in a black peppery way (the flecks were everywhere). Spicy, but hot spicy hot. These noodles had genuine flavor — of a type that my tastebuds had not quite encountered. The chicken was fine, but ultimately played backup. Pieces of celery added agreeable crunch. I scooped stuff from the bottom and discovered small chunks of bacon, which added another flavor dimension. Eating this chicken clay pot took some work, but I’ll clock in any time. My only (niggling) complaint is that it could’ve used more broth. And this was like a bottomless clay pot. I left with a sizable to-go portion. And the Winner of the Chicken Clay Pot Contest Is … Sila Thai. This bout was over before Sila Thai entered the ring. I DQ’d Green Pagoda because its chicken clay pot was not chicken clay pot. But I’m happy to say that Sila Thai would’ve won
On a Big French Holiday, I’m Cuckoo For Coq au Vin
Let’s dispense with the niceties first. Joyeux Jour de la Bastille! Or as we’re more apt to say in the States: Happy Bastille Day! What good fortune that Friday Food Fight falls on such a hallowed occasion — a French national holiday honoring an 18th Century rebellion that defies explanation in a few short words. So I won’t try. At any rate, it’s fitting that I feature a French staple this week. I chose coq au vin, which, when run through an online translating program, comes out “cock in wine.” Here’s a more useful description: a classic French stew of chicken braised in red wine that yields a rich gravy. The dish usually includes small pieces of bacon, mushrooms and pearl onions. Julia Child, who popularized coq au vin in America, included carrots in her recipe. I’m all for that. I selected two categorically French eateries as contestants: The Marquise Cafe in South Pasadena and The Left Bank Bistro in St. Pete. Here’s wishing me bon appétit. THE MARQUISE CAFE I associate French dining with high-brow sophistication. This ain’t that. Marquise Cafe is squeezed into a tired strip mall on Pasadena Avenue South a half mile northeast of St. Pete Beach. The small dining room is outfitted with simple wooden tables and chairs. Basic but cozy — made even more so because we were the only customers when we arrived at 6:30 on Tuesday. And we remained the only customers until we left just before 8. We were serenaded throughout by vintage French pop playing quietly on small speakers. Philippe was our server. He runs the restaurant with his wife, Stephane, the chef. A charming fellow with a swoony French accent, Philippe had plenty of time to chat with us. The limited menu had four entrees and some desserts and appetizers. I asked for a salad ($5, not on the menu) as a prelude to my coq au vin ($27), and the restaurant obliged. Appearance A subdued presentation. The chicken thigh was covered in brown sauce, topped by pearl onions and mushrooms, and joined by a crock of finely whipped potato. No carrots (sigh). Texture and Taste The sizable bone-in chicken thigh was flavorful and moist, made more so by the lush sauce, which had the consistency of brown gravy. I could not detect much red wine flavor. There was a tinge of bacon, present but not overpowering. I’m not a mushroom man, but these were well integrated into the overall package. The entree could’ve used more than three pearl onions. I was mightily impressed with the pureed potato. Sprinkled with parsley, it had a more potent flavor than most mashed spuds I’ve eaten. I guessed garlic. Nope, said Philippe, just potato, milk and heavy cream. The crock kept it hot, and then warm ’til the end. I scraped out all I could with my fork, and lamented that the tines would not allow me clean the little bowl. Ah, for a spoon. The salad, dressed with simple oil and vinegar, was an adequate if unspectacular opening act. As far as portion size, one chicken thigh — however ample and however tasty — was less than I’d expected. LEFT BANK BISTRO Set in a converted bungalow on MLK Street a mile north of downtown, Left Bank Bistro has been a thriving concern since it opened in October 2018. Parking is a problem. The small lot was full at 6:30 Wednesday, but we managed to find a space on the street a block or so away. Left Bank’s interior has a relaxed elegance about it — tastefully appointed, nicely chandalier’d, with plenty of natural light and tables that are well spaced. Original paintings from local artists decorate the walls (make sure and check out Lance Rodgers’ large, whimsical The Lost Supper). Business was fairly brisk, and the room was boomy, but not to the point of needing earmuffs. We adjusted and were able to converse easily. Early on, a couple of house flies buzzed around us at our four-top, but after we shooed them a few times they moved on. I ordered a Large Garden Salad ($15) as a starter for the coq au vin ($28). Appearance A half-chicken as compared to Marquise Cafe’s single thigh. A bone jutted upward, making the dish look kinda fancy. The bird rested in a pool of brown sauce. Fingerling potatoes mentioned in the menu were nowhere in sight. And … no carrots. (sigh) Texture and Taste The chicken was on par with the competition’s, but the portion was bigger by half, and that’s a conservative estimate. The sauce was thinner, less gravy-like, with a piquant flavor and the wine more present. If the recipe includes bacon, I couldn’t tell. Quick aside: If anyone’s giving a class on how to eat a half-chicken with just a knife and fork, sign me up. The fingerlings were buried under the bird, which had turned them dark brown. They were small, and there was only a few. Thus I had to eat the morsels strategically, so I wouldn’t be left with chicken only. The first-rate salad had a lot of good stuff to go along with crunchy greens: onions, carrots (yay!), cucumbers, heirloom tomatoes, slices of radish, black olives and parmesan shavings. It was dressed beautifully with a red wine thyme vinaigrette. And the Winner of the Bastille Day Battle of the Coq Au Vins Is … Left Bank Bistro. Each place had its advantages. Left Bank was in a far more attractive neighborhood in a building with considerable charm. Then again, it’s hard to beat having a restaurant dining room all to yourself — like we did at The Marquise Cafe. The South Pasadena eatery had a leg up on service. Both meals were quite pleasurable. Left Bank easily wins the bird battle. The portion size and the different tastes and textures (thigh, breast, leg) were ultimately the determining factors. I’ll call the sauces a draw. Marquise Cafe’s potato puree provided the most delight of anything
A Sauerbraten Scuffle: Germany’s National Dish Enters the Ring
While chopping up ideas for this week’s edition, I noticed an omission — if not exactly a glaring one: Not once in the illustrious 21-month history of Friday Food Fight had it featured German food. High time to go Teutonic. But what dish? Wienerschnitzel is the most fun to say, but I found out it’s made with veal, so a nonstarter. After some poking around, I landed on sauerbraten, a pot roast of marinated beef covered in a rich brown gravy. Anything pot roast, deal me in. This endeavor required finding two categorically German restaurants, which have always been scarce in these parts. I landed on: Berlins Doener in south St. Pete and Sandra’s German Restaurant on St. Pete Beach. BERLINS DOENER The restaurant is sandwiched between a Subway and an IHOP on an improved stretch of 34th Street South, at 41st Avenue. It’s an unassuming place, easy to miss from the main road. On Monday around 6:30, business was predictably slow, it being 4th of July eve. The long, narrow interior is very basic, and does little to evoke a German vibe. No oom-pah music, just classic rock coming out of tinny speakers. Our energetic server, Lily, wore yoga pants instead of a puffy-sleeved dirndl. But 16 different German beers on tap trump ethnic accoutrements every time. A nice surprise was the makeshift beer garden on the 34th Street side, where a lone fellow sat enjoying a bulky liter mug. With local heat records teetering — and the hottest day in the history of Earth a few hours away — we opted to eat indoors under AC. We ordered sauerbraten with spätzle noodles and red cabbage ($20.95), plus a starter of potato pancakes ($9.99). But first, beer. After a bit of advice from Lily, I chose a half-liter of Ayinger Dunkel and Bonnie got a Schneider & Son Aventinus (both $7). I’m a Bud Light drinker, but when in Berlin … Appearance A hefty portion of hearty grub, eminently splittable (especially after potato pancakes). The two ample slices of beef were slathered with an inviting brown gravy. The plate was made prettier by my adjacent mug of creamy Dunkel, its once-foamy head depleted. Texture and Taste I’ll start with the pancakes — three of them, golden brown, sided by small containers of sour cream and apple sauce. A crisp exterior gave way to smooth innards, but the potato flavor was curiously muted, and needed the extras to liven it up. Who knew apple sauce and sour cream made for such a pleasing combination? Onto the main course. The beef was firmer and chewier than I’d have liked, and absent the tangy red-wine gravy it proved to be on the dryish side. Unlike most pot roast, we needed a knife to cut it. The spätzle, just firm enough, worked well with the sauce. The red cabbage, however, was so overwhelmed by an off-putting spice (cumin, according to Lily) that I took a couple of bites, made a face and pushed it aside. The single entree and starter were plenty enough for both of us. SANDRA’S GERMAN RESTAURANT Located in a barren strip mall on Gulf Boulevard, the restaurant’s fatigued exterior belies the charms within. We entered around 6:30 Wednesday to cozy decor with some German signifiers — shelves of mugs and steins, for instance — but nothing too heavy-handed. Royal blue tablecloths added vibrancy. We sat a two-top with padded chairs that were way more comfy than I’ve come to expect from restaurants. Sarah, who was handling server duties for the small dining room, oozed warmth and quiet charm. No dirndl for her, either — rather, a flowing, floral-print dress. Classical music at a modest volume lent an air of sophistication. My sauerbraten ($26) came with spätzle and red cabbage, plus a small order of bread and a house salad. We added potato pancakes ($15) as a starter. Took a pass on beer. Appearance Five thick slices of marinated angus beef engulfed in luxuriant brown sauce glowed from the plate, rendering the sides all but moot. Titillating, but more meat than I felt up to, especially after bread, salad and potato pancakes. Texture and Taste As above, I’ll start with the starter. Before Sarah even put the plate of pancakes on the table, a lovely potato aroma swirled around our nostrils. Unlike the round discs at Berlin’s Doener, these were ragged and real-looking. That’s how they tasted — rustic, each bite both crispy and lush. The sour cream/apple sauce combo provided a flavor bonus. The sauerbraten arrived. I place my fork on the beef, pushed down lightly and it gave way, producing my first sumptuous bite. Quality product, expertly prepared — like grandma’s pot roast, but coated in velvety, sweet-and-sour nectar. The spätzle was pleasingly firm and played well with the tangy sauce. The cabbage, however, had an off-putting flavor similar to that of Berlin’s Doener, although Sarah said the primary spice was clove. She asked if I liked it and I replied with a direct but polite, “no, that spice doesn’t work for me.” Then Sarah brought me out a takeout container of warm German potato salad, although I said it wasn’t necessary. I’m dismayed to report that I got less than half way through the sauerbraten before I surrendered and put down my fork (no knife needed). The leftovers are hanging out in the fridge, awaiting a date with the microwave. And the Winner of the Sauerbraten Scrap Is … Sandra’s German Restaurant. An easy call. Sandra’s wins on flavor, quality, portion size and value (although it cost five bucks more, the meal came with bread and salad). The restaurant also had a far superior ambience, with a relaxed intimacy and caring service. Antje, the owner and chef, stopped by our table for a chat as we settled up. We discussed the cabbage’s heavy clove flavor. She thanked me for the feedback. “I should look into cutting back on it,” she mused. That impressed me. Our dinner