Fresh Catch of the Day: Salt Rock Grill vs. Middle Grounds Grill
I don’t have much experience eating fresh fish. For starters, I don’t fish. Neither do I have friends or neighbors who go out on their boats, bring in a big haul, stop by and gift me a stack of filets. So that leaves restaurants. And I don’t often order fish there either. But I’d like to change that — mostly because I’ve heard that fish is good for you — and I’m starting with this week’s Friday Food Fight. My primary criteria is featuring restaurants that serve fish recently caught from our Gulf waters. I’m also going upscale, eschewing mid-price brands where it’s almost certain that the fish ain’t fresh, and avoiding beachy fish shacks. Finding two qualified contestants was not as easy as I expected. A knowledgeable source within the wholesale fish industry, who asked to remain anonymous for fear of being paddled with a flounder (but whom I’ll call Buck), suggested two places that, in his experience, reliably serve fresh-caught fish from the Gulf of Mexico. They are familiar names: Salt Rock Grill on Indian Shores and Middle Grounds Grill on Treasure Island. They sit seven miles apart and overlook the Intracoastal. SALT ROCK GRILL Tuesday at 6:30, tail end of June, and we’re circling Salt Rock Grill’s vast parking lot hoping for a spot. Is there another fine-dining restaurant in Tampa Bay that does this kind of business? I can’t think of one. Mercifully, it took us only one lap to find a space, albeit on the far western end of the lot, a few cars from Gulf Boulevard. I’d made a reservation for six, and the host took us all the way to a corner table next to a window with a lovely view of the Intracoastal. Arguably the best seats in the house. From our climate-controlled perch we could see the restaurant’s small fleet of boats that brings in its fresh catch. The menu’s Just Caught section offers black grouper, mahi-mahi and American red snapper, with a few basic cooking options that can be customized. I chose the snapper (market price: $35). Our high-energy server, Brent — whose boomy voice sounded like he gargles with gravel — made some recommendations on how to have it cooked. I settled on lightly blackened over a wood-fire grill, topped with a signature preparation of diced tomatoes, onion, lemon, capers, garlic and fresh basil. I opted for a side of garlic mashed potatoes, and ordered my beloved wedge salad as a starter. Appearance The Salt Rock kitchen did not go out of its way to make the presentation fabulous. It’s as if the restaurant is saying, “we’ll let the eating do the talking.” Texture and Taste How to say it? Eating this American red snapper was not the transformative experience that fresh-fish aficionados like to wax rhapsodic about. My first few bites, taken from the end, were on the dry(ish) side — which I attributed to the blackening. The flesh moistened up as I reached the thicker part, but fell short of sublimity. At one point, I extracted a small bite of just the white fish, and focused on really tasting it. According to my palate, this snapper didn’t have much flavor at all. The blackening livened things up some, and provided an agreeable exterior crunch, but the bigger boost came from the topping, which added a level of brightness to the overall flavor. The mound of mashed potatoes was terrific, its smooth texture balancing the fish’s flakiness, the garlic adding some welcome zing. The portion size was just right. I ate my meal down to the plate. MIDDLE GROUNDS GRILL Having forgotten to make a reservation the night before, we arrived at Middle Grounds at 6 to discover a 45- to 60-minute wait for a table. Perhaps I was a bit hasty in proclaiming Salt Rock the busiest restaurant in the Bay area. (It’s worth mentioning that Middle Grounds is far more popular with the gray-haired set.) Then a stroke of luck: A table opened up in the bar area (first come, first serve). Not so lucky: It was a six-top that we’d be sharing with at least three other people. Still, it beat an hour wait. Soon enough, a round four-top opened and Bonnie and I grabbed it. A solo acoustic act was tuning her guitar about 12 feet away. Not great. Upon closer look, though, I saw that it was Kaleigh Baker, the lead singer of my favorite local band, Someday Honey. So — kinda great. Middle Grounds opened in 2007, but its interior says, oh, 1987. The decor is built around dark wood, and the space is dimly lit. Small lights hang over each table or booth. The raucous din of the packed joint engulfed us as soon as we walked in, but once seated and acclimated, our ears adjusted and the sound was less distracting. It helped the Bonnie and I sat shoulder to shoulder. The day’s Fresh Gulf Catch was yellowedge grouper ($40, market price). Mo, our server, said it came with green beans. I asked if garlic mashed potatoes were available, and she wrote it down on her pad (no up-charge). Appearance With a lemon wedge and some flecks of green sprinkled around the plate, Middle Grounds put more thought and creativity into its presentation than Salt Rock. The fish looked less blackened than the night before, and the addition of green beans was a plus. The towering wedge salad (half, $6) — drizzled with balsamic glaze and topped by a ring of red onion — was impressive. Texture and Taste We’re in slightly unsteady waters here, because I’m comparing grouper to red snapper. But we taste on. It was readily apparent that this piece of fish was marginally more moist and tender than its counterpart. It was also notably denser, which gave it a heartier, “steaky” texture. Unlike the snapper, this grouper had a flavor that stood on its own — although it was not “fishy” in the least. The
Chicken Tenders: Which of These Two Chains Does the Tenderest and Tastiest?
An abridged history of fast-food chicken: Nuggets were developed in the 1950s by a food science professor at Cornell University. Wings took flight in the Anchor Bar in Buffalo in 1964. Fingers emerged in 1974 at the Puritan Backroom restaurant in Manchester, New Hampshire. McDonald’s rolled out the ignominious McNugget in select markets in 1981. Remarkable the kind of esoterica you can easily find online. Which brings us to chicken tenders. They fall under the rubric of fingers, but use the tenderloin part of breast, which is commonly held to be the most tender part. Their exact origin is murky. One clue might be that the first Chick fil-A opened in the Greenbriar Mall in Atlanta in 1967, but it’s unclear if the shop used actual tenderloin. Time to to dig myself out of the rabbit hole. We will not be calling Chick fil-A into the ring. Instead, two other chains will duke it out: • PDQ, which first opened in Tampa in 2011 and has 68 stores in five states, 52 in Florida. • Huey Magoo’s, which opened in Orlando in 2004 and has 50 stores in 10 states, 30 in Florida. Both brands crow about their chicken being of the highest — and tenderest — quality. Huey Magoo’s goes so far as to call its product the “filet mignon of chicken.” I decided to get takeout at each place and bring the goods back to the FFF Lab™. I ordered the basic fried tenders, although both restaurants offer them grilled. PDQ The location I chose is three blocks away from a Chick fil-A that routinely has cars spilling out onto 4th Street waiting to get into the drive-thru maze. This PDQ, by contrast, is close to empty whenever I cast a glance its way. I won’t comment on the questionable wisdom of planting a PDQ on this spot — anymore than I just did. At 3:30 p.m. on Tuesday, I pulled up to the first window with no cars in front of me, and placed my order: a 3-Piece Crispy Tenders Meal, which came with waffle fries and a soft drink, ($9.49). I paid and drove to the pickup window. For kicks, I put a timer on it. I got my bag of grub in 48 seconds. That’s either good or bad, depending on your point of view. Appearance Pretty standard — I mean, how creative can you get? The chicken’s outer shell was a bit darker than most of the tenders I’ve seen (i.e. Chick Fil-A), and had a reddish brown hue. The waffle fries looked hearty and there were plenty of them. Texture and Taste Tender, but not the most tender I’ve had. The outer crust was on the thick side, chewy but not tough. It had an inviting flavor, with the slightest hint of spicy heat. The meat inside was fine, although not quite as moist as I’d hoped. The waffle fries were moderately crunchy on the outside, with a winning potato flavor beneath. Their salt quotient was spot-on. I chose the PDQ Sauce out of the nine on offer. Orange with dark flecks, it added a bit more spicy heat. I could taste horseradish, though, and that made this dip a non-starter. After a couple of swipes, I pushed it aside. HUEY MAGOO’S Because Huey Magoo’s is located on a busy stretch of Park Boulevard (at 46th Street) and shares a wall with an optical shop, and because I approached from the west, I didn’t see the drive-thru until I pulled out with my bag of food. I didn’t mind ordering inside. At 1 p.m. on Thursday the place was moderately busy with sit-down diners. There was also a couple of tall stacks of takeout bags behind the counter. I wondered if I was in for a long wait. An amiable young fellow took my order at the counter. A 3-Piece with crinkle cut fries and a slice of toast ($8.55). When I casually informed him that I’d almost certainly not eat the toast, but to leave it anyway (for the photos), he told me I could sub out the bread for something else. “Coleslaw?” I asked. “Sure,” he said with a smile, which I returned. We had a mini-moment. I sat at a table near the door and started my clock. The counter guy brought it to me himself, and threw in another smile. One minute, 39 seconds. Appearance Unlike PDQ, Huey Magoo’s sent me home with a standard takeout box, so my lunch was ready to eat as soon as I walked into the FFF Lab™. The most appealing thing about the presentation was that there were four tenders instead of three. (Did my bud behind the counter hook me up?) They lacked the reddish tint of those at PDQ. The crinkle cut fries looked like they were harvested from the same crinkle-cut-fry farm where they grow all the crinkle cut fries. Texture and Taste The tenders’ outer crust was thinner and not as chewy or flavorful as that of PDQ. But the chicken within was moist and succulent. It was as if PDQ sees the outer coating as the primary taste driver, while Magoo’s puts more emphasis on the meaty innards. The crinkle cut fries tasted like they were harvested from the same crinkle-cut-fry farm where they grow all the crinkle cut fries. And they’d gotten cold on the drive home. The little container of coleslaw presented a viable accompaniment to the tenders. The finely chopped slaw mix was not drenched with mayo, and therefore offered a pleasurable crunch. It didn’t do much for me taste-wise, though, it being more peppery than sweet. The house sauce had a mayo consistency with a hint of spicy heat. And the Winner of the Chicken Tenders Tilt Is … Huey Magoo’s. PDQ won the fries battle by miles, but this is a Food Fight about chicken tenders, so Magoo’s takes the belt based on its easy-eating morsels that were impressively juicy and, above
Fish Story: Tampa vs. St. Pete in a Fish & Chips Fracas
It was near the end of a bus tour through Scotland that I looked down at my plate and said, “I’m done with fish and chips.” We’ve all had those occasions when too much of a good thing makes that good thing not so good anymore. My fish-and-chips embargo is going on four years — so batter up, let’s put the dish under the withering scrutiny of Friday Food Fight. Fish and chips is a British invention. It was introduced to the country by Spanish and Portuguese Jewish immigrants as early as the 16th century. The first “chip shop” was opened in the early 1860s by Joseph Malin, who sold “fish fried in the Jewish fashion.” It seems only fitting that we feature two British-themed restaurants in our fish-and-chips face-off: Mad Dogs and Englishmen in South Tampa and Jack’s London Grill in St. Pete. The main difference between their two versions: Mad Dog’s uses cod whereas Jack’s uses haddock. By the way, we’ve missed National Fish & Chips Day by a week, but it’s a British observance, so no matter. MAD DOGS AND ENGLISHMEN The restaurant’s name originates from a song written by Noël Coward, first performed in 1931 as part of his The Third Little Show stage production in New York. But the pub’s vibe suggests that the motivation came from a 1970 Joe Cocker album of the same name. We pulled in around 4 p.m. on Sunday next to a large sign featuring a photo of the mid-period Beatles, beneath which were the words “Mad Dogs and Englishmen: Open Eight Days a Week.” Black & white photos of famous Brits covered the walls — from Churchill to Michael Caine to Sid Vicious. While waiting for my meal — Bonnie and I split a single order ($17.95) — I had some fun trying put names to faces. Overall, Mad Dogs’ interior mixes classic English pub elements with a somewhat brighter, Florida feel. Appearance The kitchen had graciously split our order onto two plates, each of which included containers of tartar sauce and ketchup, and a mini-pitcher of malt vinegar. A nice touch. Most impressive was the portion size of the fish. The half-orders were big. Two hefty chunks big. (See photo at top.) All told, an appetizing presentation. Texture and Taste I can reasonably say that I’d never paused and truly tasted fish and chips before. And after a four-year hiatus, I can reasonably say that this plate of fish and chips tasted pretty damn good. The cod had no hint of the “fishiness” that puts me off. It had a mild flavor, but flavor nonetheless. The flesh was moist and just the right degree of chewy. The batter, dosed with Smithwick’s Irish Red Ale, had an agreeable crunchiness. Above all, it wasn’t puffed up so that there was air between the fish and the coating. The fries were standard-issue, with a nice potato taste and spot-on saltiness. JACK’S LONDON GRILL The small, boxy building on a bland stretch of 62nd Avenue, just north of MLK Street, has a cozy — call it pubby — interior. Deep brown wood is the chief motif, but the place is not overly dark. There were TVs aplenty. On Tuesday at 6, the biggest screen was showing a football match (“match” being the operative word). The restaurant must’ve done some hubbub around the coronation, because little cardboard placards with images of King Charles III and mini-Union Jacks hung from strings overhead. We grabbed a two-top and I sat on the long bench across from Bonnie. The padding was a bit lumpy. Eighties British pop (I heard The Police) played at moderate volume, but the music was drowned out by a loud-talker at a nearby booth. Appearance Jack’s presents its fish and chips English-style, wrapped in faux newspaper. Cute touch, but unnecessary since we would be halving our order ($16.50) and using knives and forks rather than our hands. The slab of haddock, an enticing golden brown, completely obscured the fries. I didn’t bring a tape measure or scale, but the eye test said that Mad Dogs’ two halves clearly outsized the full portion at Jack’s. Texture and Taste Haddock vs. cod. Sorry, I could find no discernible difference here. Jack’s fish was gentle and flaky and easy to eat, and maybe — may-be — a tad oilier, and a bit denser. Our server said that the restaurant uses Stella Artois — a mild Belgian lager — in its batter. Perhaps that’s why this outer crust had less character than its counterpart. Kudos, though, for not frying it in a way that rendered the chunk bloated and airy. The steak-style fries were fine, but needed more salt. At Mad Dogs, I had passed on the malt vinegar in favor of tartar sauce — or nothing. I tried some here. Not bad. Added a bit of tang, but I won’t be using it regularly. And the Winner of the Fish and Chips Crown Is … Mad Dogs and Englishmen. A pretty close call. I enjoyed both meals, and was glad that my fish-and-chips revival went well. Mad Dogs gets the nod based on a bigger portion size, a more thoughtful presentation, and livelier fries. Overall, the Tampa pub served a more satisfying meal.
Tampa Bay vs. Athens Ga: A Jerk Chicken Taste-Off
You can probably imagine some of the headlines I mulled over for a Friday Food Fight about jerk chicken. But after pitching a couple to the RTB team … let’s just say that taste prevailed. Why, you may wonder, is it called “jerk” chicken? Most historical accounts agree that it derives from a Spanish term, “Charqui,” imported from Peru, that means dried strips of meat. Jerk cooking dates back to the 1600s, when runaway African slaves in Jamaica, called Maroons, mixed with the island’s indigenous Arawak Indians and adopted their spices and cooking style. Obviously, jerk has evolved over the years. I always enjoy my Food Fights that pit Tampa Bay vs. another city. This one came about because Bonnie and I spent 10 days in Athens, Ga. helping care for my precocious 2.5-year-old granddaughter. Child-care logistics caused me to opt for takeout at Kelly’s Authentic Jamaican Food, so I did the same at Ti Bamboo Caribbean Restaurant and Lounge in far northeastern St. Pete. Kelly’s Authentic Jamaican Food Despite its yellow paint job, this place was easy to miss. It’s set back from Lumpkin Street in the Five Points section of Athens, across the parking lot from the most beaten-down Subway shop I’ve ever seen. I popped in on a Wednesday around 7:30, the only customer, and approached the cafeteria line. Everywhere I looked there were images of Bob Marley. I get that he’s a legend and an important Jamaican signifier, but how about sprinkling in a little Marcus Garvey, or even Usain Bolt as a change of pace? A dour woman took my order — large jerk chicken with rice & peas (actually red kidney beans) and spicy cabbage ($16) — and shoveled mass quantities into a classic three-compartment styrofoam container. I could’ve done some curls with it on the way back to the car if I didn’t know it would spill out on the parking lot. Appearance Back at the FFF Satellite Lab, I opened the container, which was fit to burst, and scooped out healthy portions. Everything looked moist and tasty. The vegetables were cooked down to mush, which is standard for Jamaican fare. The skin of the chicken had the requisite dark char. Texture and Taste The chicken fell apart at the jab of a fork. A good sign. Took a small bite. Moist, tender, but then it came on. Heat. Serious spicy heat. I paused to consider: Would I be able to enjoy this? The answer came up a guarded yes, although I knew it would be a test. At least the spicy heat did not obliterate the taste of the chicken. I sampled the cabbage. Oddly sweet at first, but then the heat came on hard, about double that of the chicken. I took a couple more bites for due diligence, then tapped out on the stuff. The moderately spicy rice & peas provided a counterbalance, and I included some with every bite. It was the best part of the meal. It took a good 30 minutes for my mouth to “cool off.” Ti Bamboo This small, cute building on a large lot at MLK Street and 93rd Avenue North features a mural of … you guessed it: a smiling Bob Marley (eye roll). The interior was tidy and comfortable, with a few Jamaican totems, but not to the point of overkill. If there were more Marley images, I don’t recall them. It was about 3 p.m. on Wednesday, and I was the only patron. Candice, the counter person, exuded an amiable Island charm. I ordered the Jerk Chicken entree ($11) — which includes rice & peas and cabbage — and chatted with her while I waited a short while for the packed (but not bursting) styrofoam container to arrive. Appearance Virtually identical to the Kelly’s takeout box, except not as stuffed and thus more kempt. One thing jumped out: The chicken was coated in a dark brown jerk sauce, something that Kelly’s didn’t have. Hungry, I hustled back to the FFF Lab. Texture and Taste For starters: less heat. Way less, but enough. Eating this meal was no sweat. The outer char on the chicken was more pronounced than that of Kelly’s, which made for some enjoyably chewy moments. Our dog Niko liked what he saw so much that he photo-bombed and begged for a piece. (I gave him two.) Some of the white meat had a chalky feel, so the dark was preferable The rice & peas were fine, if a tad on the dry side. The cabbage, though, was exemplary, combining subtle sweetness and piquancy. Candice threw in a small plastic container of sauce, which I put to good use for dipping. It was more sweet than spicy, and had a hint of vinegar. And the Winner of the Jerk Chicken Taste-Off Is … Ti Bamboo. I suspect that the Kelly’s version was more authentically Jamaican, but Ti Bamboo gets the W based on sheer eatability. And at 11 bucks, Ti Bamboo’s jerk chicken meal is a terrific value. There was enough in that container to split.
It’s In the Can: Rating Seven Local Beers
This week we engage in a wholly unscientific, marginally informed survey of local beers in a can. It’s a departure from my unusual one-vs.-one contest between restaurants. Because craft beer is so big in Tampa Bay, with dozens of independent breweries, and because I didn’t want to limit my tasting to just two, and because there was no way I was going to drive around to different establishments and drink tap beer — although that would’ve been the best way to do it — I hopped in the car and drove a mile to the nearest ABC Liquors, where I picked out seven locally brewed beers encased in aluminum tubes. First, a few words about my choices. I drink Bud Light. I am neither proud of that, nor ashamed. It does the job. Because of my pedestrian leanings, I sought out light lagers, ales and pilsners — in effect mirroring Bud Light the best I could — and threw in an Irish red ale because I enjoy one on occasion. No porters, stouts, or sours. And definitely no puckery pale ales. I bought a single can of each, which further narrowed my selections. You will not find in the descriptions below any references to flavor notes like orange peel, clementine, toasted coconut and the like. I lack the sophisticated palate necessary to detect that stuff. I’m a ham ‘n’ egger who likes an easy-drinking beer and the buzz it provides. Bench Life by Green Bench Brewing Co. (St. Pete) Light Lager, 4.6% alcohol by volume (ABV), $2.59 12 oz. can This is Bud Light for folks who want to drink local. Bench Life went down easy, with only the slightest bite on the front end. My pour into a pint glass produced plenty of froth. This is the one brew in this lineup that I could knock back four or five of, but I found it generally nondescript. I already have my Bud Light, which is a whole cheaper. Dead Parrot by Florida Avenue Brewing Co. (Tampa) Light Lager with Sea Salt & Fresh Limes, 4.2% ABV, $2.99 12 oz. can It is me, or does the name of this beer a put-off? Let me suggest a tweak: Dead Parrothead. I’m happy to report that this Florida Avenue flavor does not contain any remnants of deceased birds. It does, however, have lime. I generally like to keep my fruits and my brews separate, but Dead Parrot was the closest I could find to my parameters. The good new is that I rather liked it. Most important, the lime was present but not overwhelming, giving the brew zing and a touch of pucker. I’d stop after one, maybe two, but they would hold my attention. Beach Blonde Ale by 3 Daughters Brewing (St. Petersburg) American-Style Blonde Ale, 5% ABV, $2.49 12 oz. can I admire the sly pun in the name, and I also enjoyed drinking this beer. It’s an ale, but it’s not pale — not dry or cloying. Beach Blonde is more substantial than the lagers I’ve tried, but still offers easy drinking. A sly citrus flavor sharpens the slightly hoppy base. Beach Blonde would work well as an occasional alternative to Bud Light. I’d be good for three of these. Fail Safe by Woven Water Brewing Company Czech Pilsner, 4.8% ABV, $4.59 16 oz. can Czech (or Bohemian) was the original pilsner — named after the town of Pilsen in what is now the Czech Republic. I looked it up. Failsafe uses Barke Pilsner malt and Czech Saaz hops, so its claim to being an authentic Czech pilsner is legit. What does that mean taste-wise? The beer was a bit hoppier than than the lagers I’ve tried (including Bud Light), and had more bite going in. It had a creamy, full-bodied texture. I could go for a couple of Fail Safes. I appreciate the can’s subdued, artful design. Green Dart By King State (Tampa) German Pilsner, 4.4% ABV, $5.19 16 oz. can Although the beer-geek world says that Czech and German pilsners have vastly different flavor profiles, I really couldn’t tell the difference between Green Dart and its Bohemian cousin, Failsafe. Green Dart was probably a bit creamier. I should’ve done a sip-by-sip comparison, but I had already knocked off the Failsafe. My bad. It’s comforting to know that, according to the can, this is “The Original” Green Dart, and not one of the multitude of copies out there. Day Donkey by Tampa Bay Brewing Co. American Pale Lager, 5.2% ABV, $4.59 16 oz. can Ooops, there’s that word: pale. Although this seasonal summer brew by TBBC is a lager, it has a dryness that characterizes pale ales. I finished all 16 ounces, although I drank it slowly, which, come to think of it, isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Day Donkey was crisp and bright, but had that lingering pale aftertaste that I can always do without. I cannot see drinking multiples of Day Donkey out on the boat on a summer afternoon. One was my limit. Red Right Return by Marker 48 Brewing (Spring Hill) Irish Red Ale, 6% ABV, $3.29 16 oz. can And now for our outlier, the Irish Red. Marker 48, located in the northern nether regions of the Tampa Bay area, has a crude website that doesn’t market its canned beers. The establishment is by and large a brewery and tasting room, so I was a bit surprised to find a can of Red Right Return on a shelf at an ABC in St. Pete. Overall, a nice surprise. The potent brew, an inviting reddish brown, was bold but not overbearing, and pretty smooth as Irish reds go. It makes an impression when it hits the throat, and doesn’t leave an unpleasant aftertaste. RRR retained its character to the very last gulp. And the Winner of the Local Beer in a Can Contest Is … BUD LIGHT! I kid. Beach Blonde Ale. No beer was wasted in this exercise. By all means,
Avocado Toast: Which of These Two Boho Restaurants Makes It Better?
I had originally conceived of this avocado toast Food Fight as a kind of love offering to my vegan friends and family, several of whom are regular readers. Lord knows they’d have every reason not to be, what with all the animal-based dishes I feature. But then, a brain fart. As I ordered my avocado toasts, I was given the option of adding an egg. I gladly did so, absent-mindedly, thus rendering my vegan intentions a failure. Egg or no egg, I was very pleased that I ventured into avocado-toastdom. Chowing on this healthy dish was a revelation. I’ll be back for more, no question. As contestants, I chose two independent, boho-leaning restaurants a bit north of downtown St. Pete: Karma and Flatbread & Butter (or FB&B, as the logo on the door says). Karma Karma serves bowls, smoothies, made-in-house juices, and an array of salads, sandwiches and other treats. The brand now has three locations — the flagship on 4th Street and 18th Avenue, where we ate, one in Clearwater, and a new spot in downtown St. Pete. Despite its name, Karma doesn’t go big on the Eastern/mystical vibe. From the covered patio out back to the cozy interior to the affable staff, the place just felt comfortable. On a sunny Monday at 2 p.m., I ordered Cado Toast ($9.50) with a hard-boiled egg (agh) and red pepper flakes on the side. I added a Twisted Dragon juice ($6) that included an array of fruit flavors, and offered a vivid, tart taste that wasn’t too sweet. Appearance The single slice of toast was generously slathered with luscious green avocado spread, flecked with seasoning. The hardboiled egg was neatly sliced, and the red pepper flakes sat in a plastic container, destined to be ignored. Texture and Taste The avocado was creamy, as expected. Creamier, actually, like edible satin. That was due in part to the olive oil mixed in. I occasionally put avocado slices on my salads at home, and as a result I expected bland. But somehow this smashed avocado was damn near bold. Lemon added some bite, and there was a blend of savory flavors in there that gave the stuff a whole lot of character. Must’ve been sprinkled with some kind of cosmic dust. The bread was nicely chewy, but the avocado spread was the star attraction of this dish. I ate it ravenously with my hands. Oh, and the egg (yeesh) turned out to be a nice complement. Flatbread & Butter This place is situated in a weathered building just west of 4th Street in Historic Uptown, one of St. Pete’s more boho neighborhoods, populated mostly by young people with hair of many hues. The eatery is wedged between a yoga studio and a juicery called The Works. We arrived at 1:55 on Tuesday, five minutes before the restaurant stopped serving its brunch menu, which includes Smashed Avocado Toast ($12). I added a poached egg (oy!) for three bucks A quick aside here: I recommend putting this item on the lunch menu as well. What’s the harm? Appearance FB&B’s version (show in photo at top) was surprisingly colorful, with pickled onions, heirloom tomatoes, seeds (poppy, pumpkin, sunflower), seasoning and, of course, avocado green. The piece of sourdough toast on which all of this sat was bigger than the competition’s. the poached eggs — they mistakenly gave me two — rested in a small metal container. Texture and Taste FB&B’s Avocado Toast offered a delightful complexity, made even better by the addition of the runny egg (one last mea culpa to you vegans). I was concerned that the pickled onions would overwhelm the dish, but they were agreeably mild. The smashed avocado, more thinly applied than at Karma, was a role player in an ensemble cast. The seeds and seasoning provided crunch and just the right level of saltiness. I ate the large portion greedily — with a knife and fork. It made for a hearty late lunch. And the Winner of the Avocado Altercation Is … Before I reveal the victor, let me say that this was one of toughest decisions I’ve had to make as your Food Fight correspondent. I even considered calling it a draw. But instead … Karma. Their avocado spread was more scrumptious and forward. This is, after all, a bout between avocado toasts. On the other hand, I would likely opt for FB&B’s version as a meal. It featured a terrific combination of really good things — and lots of them. But my biggest takeaway from this week’s Friday Food Fight: Who knew avocado toast could be so substantial and so, so good? Next time I’ll have it without the egg.
A Scrap Between Two Wholly Different Types of Nachos
Ah, nachos — one of the great communal dishes. I have fond memories of ordering them at a sports bar after city-league basketball games. Five or six hungry fellas grabbing sloppy, loaded chips right off the platter, no individual plates necessary. No forks, either. I don’t remember us washing our hands. Sadly for me and my hands, those days are well past, and my nacho experiences have been few and far between since. I’m wondering: During the field work for this edition, will I eat them in a more civilized fashion? For this week’s FFF, I stepped away from the apples-to-apples paradigm. One of the contestants — Nueva Cantina in St. Pete — is a traditional Mexican restaurant that serves conventional nachos. The other — The Hangar, also in St. Pete — is an eclectic American-style eatery with a unique take on the dish. Nueva Cantina This rustic place is located on 4th Street South, a mile-and-a-half from Central Avenue. We arrived on Tuesday around 6, having forgotten that it was Taco Tuesday. The restaurant was nearly full. The interior lighting had a colorful, nightclubby vibe that accented the campy Mexican-themed images on the wall (skeletons, Lucha libre wrestlers, et al). We sat a booth next to a window, ordered the Nachos ($10.95) and added ground beef ($3.95) Our charming server, Lauren, took time with us first-timers, even though the joint was bustling. Appearance The huge portion sat on a tray that measured about 12×8 inches. The tortilla chips were topped with plenty of enticing stuff: black beans, lettuce, tomato, black olives, and hefty slices of jalapeño, topped with poblano crema sauce. Then I spotted something odd: A large piece of ground beef lurked on the side, resembling a dry meatball. It was as if the beef we ordered had all gathered into one big clump. I brought this to Lauren’s attention, and she gladly granted my request for a new round of beef. Texture and Taste I went at these nachos old-school, with my hands. It made for some messy going. I avoided the slices of jalapeño, but Bonnie ate them and said they were medium hot. The flavors blended together nicely, although the beef could’ve used some more seasoning. One of the hazards of eating nachos is that when you get to the lower layers the chips are soggy. Alas, this inevitable development required the use of a fork. The lettuce had wilted, the tomato had sagged, the beans had congealed. The taste became homogenous. In all, it was a typical nacho-eating experience. We over-ordered. It being Taco Tuesday, we selected three different ones to check out. In all we got about halfway through the tacos and halfway through the nachos. The remainder didn’t seem like good doggy-bag material. The Hangar The Hangar is located on the second floor of the Albert Whitted Airport building. At 2 p.m. on Wednesday, it was seasonably hot, but not terribly humid, so we opted to sit on the patio that overlooks the landing strip. We were bonused with a lovely breeze. Founded by downtown restaurant mogul Steve Westphal, the Hangar was purchased last November by its longtime chef, Matt Smith. He’s added a few new items, but the menu hasn’t changed much. The Hangar Nachos ($14.50) have been a staple for quite some time, according to our server, Alicia. It’s always fun watching the small planes take off at Albert Whitted, less fun when an eight-seater pulls in nearby with a deafening din. Learning from our wasteful ways the evening before, we ordered the Hangar Nachos to split. Appearance I’m about to write a sentence that I know I shouldn’t. But try as I might, I don’t think I can stop my fingers from doing so. These were nacho typical nachos. They included pulled pork, tomatoes, and blueberry barbecue sauce, drizzled with smoked gouda cheese, spread atop — get this — house-made (and blasphemous) potato chips. It all came on a simple white plate that was considerably smaller than the loaded tray at Nueva Cantina. Texture and Taste Compared to the night before, eating these nachos was positively dainty. We each scooped some on our own small plate. I eyed a ridged potato chip with suspicion, then added some of the toppings and opened wide. Hmm, tasty. The pulled pork was a standout, and worked well with the melted gouda. I was also leery of the sauce, but that turned out to add a touch of unusual but welcome sweetness. And there were actual blueberries in there, too. Although I prefer tortilla chips, these potato chips (which weren’t salted) did not wilt. Surprisingly, I didn’t miss the beans. However: Once we finished the toppings, we were left with a layer of chips lightly sprinkled with the barbecue sauce. In particular, the amount of pulled pork was kind of paltry. Bonnie beat me to the last chunk, but I didn’t pout. We ate the entire portion, and left full but not stuffed. And the Winner of the Nachos Scrap Is … The Hangar. Although you could argue that The Hangar’s are nachos in name only, I give chef Smith credit for innovation, putting together an odd mix of ingredients and succeeding. Nueva Cantina’s dish was big and hearty and gooey and unkempt — in a generally good way. A family of four could probably have split the portion, as long as that family didn’t include teenaged boys. As a final note, neither of these nachos came close to the best I’ve ever had. Last November, at the the lobby restaurant of the La Fonda on the Plaza hotel in Santa Fe, N.M., Bonnie and I and another couple ordered the Buffalo Nachos (featuring buffalo short rib) for a late-afternoon snack. When four seniors rave on and on about a plate of nachos, that’s saying something. About a week later, on the day we left for home, Bonnie and I stopped in for another round. They were just as good.
New York Pizza: Tampa and St. Pete Slug It Out
Nicky’s Pizza is 35 miles north of Midtown Manhattan, an hour’s drive if traffic is light. So while some provincial folks in the boroughs might claim that you can’t get authentic New York pizza in the ‘burbs, I steadfastly maintain that you can at Nicky’s. Or could. I haven’t been there in decades. But man, do I remember. Nicky’s, located on Route 59 in Suffern, N.Y., made the pizza I grew up on. Most every Friday night — this was the ’60s — Dad would drive down and grab a couple of large pies for the family. As teenagers, my pals and I routinely stopped in for a slice or three. I’m telling you this to establish my bona fides. I know from New York pizza. In my adult years, I’ve tried an array of pizza styles: Neapolitan (pretty good, but hit or miss); Sicilian (meh); Chicago deep dish (a useless pile of dough), St. Louis, Detroit, California (have I even tried ’em? Can’t remember.) Chains like Papa John’s and Pizza Hut? (Puh-lease.) New York-style is my go-to, always will be. These days, you can find alleged New York pizza from Yakima to Yeehaw Junction. And Tampa, of course. St. Pete, too. I chose two urban pizzerias whose names proclaim legitimacy: Eddie & Sam’s New York Pizza in Tampa; and Joey Brooklyn’s Famous Pizza Kitchen in St. Pete. Both sell pizza by the slice, a requirement. JOEY BROOKLYN’S This place, located on the northern side of the Jannus Landing block, is a true hole-in-the-wall, and I doubt ownership would object to the characterization. I walked in the door and a few feet to the counter, where a middle-aged fella greeted me warmly, which was not very New York but much appreciated. He wrote down my name and order on a pad: the lunch special — two cheese slices and a can of soda for seven bucks. I dug the low-tech, old-school vibe. I had a seat outside at a picnic table, and my guy brought the goods out within a couple of minutes. “Here ya go, Mr. Eric,” he said. Appearance The traditional presentation (shown in top photo) stirred in me a pang of nostalgia: the slices laid on overlapping paper plates, the kind that are ringed with ridges. This pizza looked legitimately New York, with a thin-but-not-cracker-thin crust and a little droop at the tip. The cheese and tomato sauce melded together as they should. Texture and Taste The slice folded easily, but it was a bit too hot to eat at first. Better that than not hot enough. My first bite had everything I was looking for: gooey but not (overly) greasy, meaning I didn’t have to dab it with a napkin; chewy but not tough; and kissed with that ineffable magic that says New York pizza. The only slight detraction was a tinge of crunch in the crust, probably from warming it in the oven. It was about 1:30 and I hadn’t eaten lunch, so I scarfed down both slices — save for the end crust. People who say the crust is the best part of a pizza should have their frickin’ heads examined, know what’m sayin’? The best part of a pizza slice is the tip, and the goodness slowly diminishes as you go. The crust is a waste of stomach space. EDDIE & SAM’S Pardon my rant: Remember when driving from St. Pete to Tampa in the middle of a Wednesday afternoon might actually be a breeze? Let me say, through gritted teeth, that such has not been my experience lately. A backup on I-275 caused us to get off at Kennedy Boulevard, which was of course backed up because other folks had the same idea. After a 75-minute drive that included some interminable lights downtown, we parked in the lot across Twiggs Street from Eddie & Sam’s. In 90-degree heat, we fumbled our way through the pay station. We had to pay $12 for six hours, when all we needed was an hour. By contrast, I paid a buck for an hour in St. Pete. We entered the pizzeria — a bigger hole-in-the-wall than Joey Brooklyn’s — and found … more pay stations! Kiosks where you push buttons on a screen until you get carpal tunnel. At this point, I was well into Aww, come ON mode. While I took deep breaths, Bonnie ordered: two cheese slices and a fountain drink for $7.79. At our table by the window, I heard a woman say sharply, “what’s up with the garbage overflowing?” Ah, the ambience. Appearance Our two slices came in a small pizza box. When we opened it, Bonnie and I both did double-takes. The slices were enormous, positively Flinstonian. The tip dripped well over the paper plate. The crust looked a little thinner than that of Joey Brooklyn’s. Pools of grease were visible. Texture and Taste The Eddie & Sam’s mondo-slice was a bit too foldable, to the point where it sagged. After one bite, I turned it downward to let the grease roll off. (For those of you who find this repugnant, it’s not that unusual for New York pizza, although not ideal.) Nevertheless, the early bites were legit NYC-tasty — good enough that they eased me out of my agitated state. The grease made quite a pool on my plate and soaked through to the table. But at least it wasn’t in my stomach. The late going was a bit laborious, especially as I approached the end piece and only tomato sauce was left. The lunch special was definitely enough for both of us. Where else do you get a meal for two for $8.38 with tax? I don’t think I could’ve finished both slices no matter how famished I was — especially if that included the end crust. And the Winner of the New York Pizza Slugfest Is … Joey Brooklyn’s. Both of these places earn NY-style cred, but the St. Pete spot wins based on a far lower
The Battle of the Eggs Benedict
I’m all but certain that the only time I’ve ever had Eggs Benedict is from a breakfast buffet. I have no recollection of what the dish is like. But as your intrepid restaurant referee, I must chart unknown courses. Lay my tastebuds on the line. Before I commence: Who’s this Benedict fellow, anyway? There’s no definitive answer, unfortunately, but here’s the one that’s most probable (endorsed by none other than the American Egg Board): In 1894, a stockbroker named Lemuel Benedict was wandering around the Waldorf Hotel in Manhattan in search of a hangover cure. He ordered “buttered toast, poached eggs, crisp bacon and Hollandaise sauce.” Chef Oscar Tschirky was impressed with the combination and added it to the menu. Over time, the toast was replaced with English muffin, and the bacon became Canadian. Our Eggs Benedict competitors are The Frog Pond in St. Pete and Benedict’s Family Restaurant in Pinellas Park, both of which are breakfast-centric eateries. These days, Eggs Benedict can include a variety of ingredients — The Frog Pond has 11 types on its menu — but for this Food Fight I chose to stay with the traditional version. BENEDICT’S FAMILY RESTAURANT Featuring this place was kind of a no-brainer, right? I asked one of the servers if Benedict’s was named after Eggs Benedict. She didn’t know, and the place was so busy on Sunday at noon that I didn’t want to bother anyone else with the question. The restaurant — near the corner of Park Boulevard and Belcher Road — is one of five locations, all in Pinellas County. The interior is a strictly functional space, crowded with tables, although the C-shaped breakfast counter near the front adds a nice old-school touch. On this Sunday, Benedict’s was populated with a lot of seniors. Mustaches and white New Balance sneakers were common sights. A brigade of servers — all women — buzzed around. There was little time for niceties, and that was okay. Appearance Having never ordered Eggs Benedict before, and given the dish’s haughty name, I expected a more elaborate presentation. But then again, this wasn’t the Waldorf. The two Benedicts — or is it two halves of the Benedict? — looked pretty imposing. I figured I was in for some richness. I had a hunch that the home fries would be my salivation. Texture and Taste One flavor grabbed my palate by the collar and shook it. The Canadian bacon was so smoke-flavored it was like it had sat next to someone’s fireplace in Saskatchewan for the better part of January. Too thick, too. I struggled to give the Benny a fair shake, and Bonnie finally suggested I eat it without the meat. That helped, but even then the Hollandaise sauce was too lemony for my taste and overpowered the egg yolk. I tapped out after eating just one (or half). Big, big ups to the potatoes, though. They were the ideal size, perfectly cooked, moist, tender, delish. And the addition of a small bowl of fresh fruit was a nice addition. THE FROG POND When we showed up on Tuesday at 11, it was a gorgeous 80 degrees with low humidity, perhaps the last gasp of spring. The Frog Pond is a couple of blocks east of Tropicana Field in a tidy shopping center. I wore my faded Rays shirt. The large, homey interior is outfitted in dark brown carpet and woods, offset by green walls festooned with cartoon frogs. Large vertical windows let in plenty of light. Palms and bushes lined a generous patio. We opted to dine indoors. The original Frog Pond opened in 1982 on Redington Beach, followed by one on St. Pete Beach. The St. Pete location opened in 2017, shut down during the pandemic, then reopened under new ownership in April of 2022. It’s the only one of the three that’s a franchise. Even though business was slow, a woman greeted us warmly as we entered, and our server, Heather, was a real pro. At one point, Donna Summer’s “On the Radio” played faintly on the sound system, flashing me back to my days of bellbottoms, rayon shirts and high-heeled shoes. (What can I say? I liked to dance. Still do.) Appearance These Bennies (shown in photo at top) didn’t stand as tall as the ones at Benedict’s. A bit of fluffy white something oozed onto the plate, giving me pause. Could it be some kind of whipped cheese? Whipped cream? It turned out to be egg white, a telltale sign of one well poached. The potatoes, cubed, were not as appetizing as the competition’s. Texture and Taste Thankfully, the Canadian bacon wasn’t nearly as smokey as that of Benedict’s. I detected a hint of smoke, but it added to the overall flavor rather than dominated. The meat was also thinner and thus easier to cut and chew. I don’t have much history with poached eggs, but these were so delicate and downy that I may have to add them to my repertoire. The velvety Hollandaise had just a hint of lemon and played well with the runny yolk. The English muffin was chewy but not tough. All the elements combined for a nicely integrated flavor and texture. I effortlessly ate both Benedicts — or both halves of my Benedict. The home fries, though, were a letdown: dry-ish and not nearly warm enough. I left half on the plate. And the Winner of the Battle of the Benedicts Is … The Frog Pond. A lopsided decision, for one essential reason: I couldn’t get past the suffocating smokiness of the Canadian bacon at Benedict’s.
A Sub Sandwich Showdown (Italian Division)
Italian is not my go-to sub. Come to think of it, I don’t really have a go-to sub, although the Italian falls somewhere south of roast beef, ham-and-cheese, turkey and meatball. But I try to sub an Italian into the rotation now and again. They are — a lot. In fact, I rarely get past half an Italian, although I often want to keep going. If I do, though, the potent mixture of meats, provolone cheese, toppings and dressing can conspire to conjure in me a regrettable gut bomb. I plan on averting that. For this week’s edition, I chose two establishments whose mere names suggest Italian-sub bona fides: Mazzaro’s Italian Market on the busy 22nd Avenue corridor of St. Pete; and DeCosmo Italian Market on the busy 49th Street corridor of Pinellas Park. Bonnie and I picked up both subs during a single run and brought them back to the FFF Lab™. Before I begin: To those folks who say “hoagie,” “hero” and even “grinder,” I went with the most commonly used term. Plus, “sub” is what I grew up with. Mazzaro’s Italian Market I don’t use the word “legend” lightly, but I will for Mazzaro’s. Local legend, 30 years and counting. It’s a fair bet that a random couple living in a Westchase subdivision have at least heard of Mazzaro’s, and likely made a pilgrimage to check the place out. I rarely pop in, though. Most of you know why. It’s the crowds. Forget Saturdays, forget lunch hour — at 2:30 p.m. on any given Tuesday, the place is usually jammed with people perusing its narrow aisles, waiting for sandwiches at the deli counter, sipping joe at the coffee bar. So early Tuesday afternoon I ordered and paid for my Italian sub online and picked it up at a takeout counter. Took less than a minute. On the menu, the sandwich is called: #1 Ham, Genoa, Capicola & Mortadella …….. $8.00. Blandly descriptive, but it exudes confidence, does it not? We don’t need to give our sandwiches fancy names. Heck, we don’t even need to call this one an Italian sub. You’ll figure it out. Appearance The bread looked darker and crustier than most subs. The meat was mostly hidden by a large swath of Mazzaro’s trademark Italian slaw, with chopped squares of roasted red pepper and red onions peering out. The #1 sandwich is clearly the product of a well honed recipe that doesn’t follow the crowd. Texture and Taste I expected the “half loaf of [Mazzaro’s] own wood-fired oven bread” to be chewier, perhaps annoyingly so, but instead it gave way without much effort. This roll had a distinct, earthy character that was as fundamental to the sandwich as any other component, perhaps more so. It wasn’t just a fluffy housing for the stuff inside. The sandwich was so thick that I could’ve used an extra hinge in my jaws. I’ll mark that down as a negative. I’m all for abundance, but I prefer to chomp rather than nibble my way in. Soon enough, I got my chomp on. The combination of meats and cheese was tasty, although in a few bites the provolone proved too sharp and dominant. The toppings make for an exquisite mixture. The Italian slaw — which I have bought by the pint to jazz up my own sandwiches — is heaven sent. The peppers added tang, and romaine lettuce had flavor as well as crunch. The slices of red onion, however, were so bitter that I removed them all. DeCosmo Italian Market A painted sign in one of the store windows said “Stretched Mozzarella,” suggesting that this place is serious. DeCosmo, which has only been open since last September, is located in a strip mall among a stretch of strip malls. Its interior is long and narrow, with a few signifiers of its Italian-ness. At 1:30, a handful of folks were shopping. I called in advance to order my “DeCosmo” sandwich ($10.99 for a large) — ham, salami, capicola, provolone, tomato, onion, lettuce and house dressing. The guy who answered the phone was polite and upbeat, and the same when he handed me the sub over the deli counter. (In my experience, deli personnel can be cranky.) Appearance This sandwich was ready for its closeup. Is one of the deli guys a food stylist? The bread looked more like a conventional sub roll than the one from Mazzaro’s. The menu made no claims that it was baked in-house, and I didn’t ask. Texture and Taste The bread tasted like it looked, with perhaps a bit more heft than the conventional airy sub roll. My first bite was a big bite, which is to say that I could get my mouth around it. The ham was the most prominent flavor, with the cheese taking a backseat, both of which were fine by me. This Italian sub was one of the spiciest that I’ve tried (I suspect it was the capicola), even leaving a trace of heat in my mouth. That was fine by me, too. The toppings were standard fare, as was the oil-and-vinegar dressing. By the way, I slathered a healthy layer of mayo on both subs because other than peanut butter and jelly I can’t think of cold sandwich that I eat without mayo. And the Winner of the Italian Sub Showdown Is … Mazzaro’s. Some readers may have predicted that this FFF would be no contest, what with an upstart rookie taking on a seasoned legend. But it was closer than I expected. DeCosmo made a yummy sub that’s a cut above most. But Mazzaros’s had the more complex flavor, even if a couple of those flavors didn’t land well. And Mazzaro’s had the bread. How was DeCosmo supposed to compete with that bread?
Roll Another One — Two Sushi Restaurants Slug It Out
Several years ago, a friend from my college days in upstate New York was in town for a few hours. We had time for lunch so I threw out a few ideas. “How ’bout sushi?” I said, to which he replied in his Long Island tough-guy growl, “Nah — undercooked.” I was too busy laughing to explain to him that you could get sushi that was cooked. I was well into adulthood before venturing into a sushi restaurant, and it was several more years before I took the dive into raw fish. I like it — especially tuna — but only once in a while. For this week’s episode, I chose two contrasting restaurants, both in St. Pete: Hook’s, a no-frills sushi mainstay that’s been at the same location on 4th Street for 20 years; and Good Fortune, a newer, larger and fancier place, situated in the subterranean room of the Station House downtown. I tried my best to find comparable rolls in each place, but wasn’t all that successful. And I didn’t include sashimi, although I probably should have. I guess it just wasn’t my week for hefty slabs of raw fish. HOOK’S Hook’s lost a good part of its soul when founder/owner Hook Atsavinh died unexpectedly in 2009 at age 44. An irrepressibly gregarious character, he was the face of the restaurant, as well as a first-class sushi chef. Quick story: As senior editor in charge of arts coverage for Creative Loafing in the aughts, I took on the role of food photographer — essentially by default. I went to shoot pics for a review of Hook’s, and asked Hook to make a couple of sushi dishes mentioned in the piece. Ignoring me, he set about creating one of his elaborate sushi boats, plus two or three more rolls, talking all the while. After the shoot, Hook insisted that I take home everything he’d made. No charge. Bonnie and I tried our best to make the biggest dent we could, which wasn’t a lot. Fast-forward to this week: We arrived on Tuesday at 6 and asked for a table by the window up front. A bored-looking teenage boy mumbled that we had to sit in another section. Um, okay. I didn’t bother asking why. The kid showed us to a two-top near the back of the small dining room. I had a seat on the bench against the wall. Bonnie got the chair. I ordered three rolls: Spicy (raw) Tuna ($8), Tampa ($6.50) and Vegetable Delight ($9). Appearance My entire order came on a long, narrow plate. The veggie one was wrapped in dark-green nori (made of dried seaweed; I looked it up). Next to the clump of wasabi stood a tall pile of sliced ginger, nearly all of which would go to waste because I don’t care for ginger with my sushi. The only ginger I do is in ginger ale. All told, it was a basic presentation, certainly when compared to the imaginative and artful ones I’ve eaten in the past. (Let me pause here and acknowledge to sushi-philes that it could’ve been due to my pedestrian order.) Texture and Taste The rice was sticky and chewy. The fish was tender. The vegetables were crunchy. The flavors and feels combined well, but nothing in particular stood out as exemplary. The closest to that was the Tampa roll’s panko white fish, which was smooth and added a bit of extra crunch. The spicy tuna could’ve been spicier. It worked best when dipped in my little bowl of wasabi-infused soy sauce. I’m not a fan of nori wrap, so that worked against the Vegetable Delight, whose mix of seven veggies was bright and crackly but needed a little something more to be delightful. GOOD FORTUNE Good Fortune, which opened last August, didn’t set the best vibe for a quick sushi stop at 3 p.m. on Thursday. The massive space, reportedly 6,000 square feet, has a distinct nightclub feel — dark, with neon accents and signs that say stuff like “Rollin’ with My Homies” over the sushi bar. The place is clearly targeted at a younger, nightlife crowd. And that included the thump thump thump of contemporary dance music, which, I’m happy to report, played at a modest volume. Good Fortune’s menu features a dozen signature rolls, and doesn’t allow for much customization. We ordered the Do Not Disturb ($17), with spicy tuna, cucumber, avocado and some other stuff (they were nice enough to hold the “shrimp chips”), and Seeing Green ($18), the vegan option, with Japanese sweet potato, emoki mushrooms, tempura asparagus and some other stuff. Appearance Arrayed on a pebbled metal platter, these rolls stood out for their bursts of color. The Do Not Disturb was topped with small cubes of raw salmon and the Seeing Green was impressively wrapped with sliced avocado. These also had little tentacles sticking out that I assume was from the plant family on Earth. Texture and Taste The spicy tuna in the Do Not Disturb was not spicy at all, and its flavor was muted by the other ingredients and a heavy, cloying sauce. The sticky rice was too stuck, and rendered a pasty feel. These rolls were so overstuffed that they were very hard to eat in one bite. I took to cutting them in half with a knife and fork. Overall, I did not enjoy. Seeing Green was a different story. The mix of ingredients made for a complex, pleasing flavor. The avocado added a creamy quality that played off the crunch of the asparagus. And the Winner of the Sushi Slugfest Is … Hook’s. This decision came down to value. While the Hook’s rolls were not as ambitious or elaborate or pretty as the competition’s, they cost about half as much. And Hook’s simple spicy tuna roll was superior to Good Fortune’s Do Not Disturb, which suffered from overreach. On the other hand, I would recommend Good Fortune’s Seeing Green to any vegan — or omnivore, for
Ramen Enters the Ring — A Chain vs. a Local
Remember when eating Japanese meant going to one of those gimmicky places where diners sat around a grill the size of a tennis court, and a guy would come out and do tricks with his knife and spatula while loudly cooking the food, flip a shrimp tail into his chef’s hat, give everyone an allegedly equal portion, and earn a round of applause? Thank the heavens America dug out of that rut. There’s sushi, of course, but that’s become so pervasive that it tends to transcend its Japanese origins. Enter ramen. It’s not just for poor college kids to microwave out of packets anymore. Our contestants are Buya in St. Pete’s Edge District and Token Ramen in the Maximo neighborhood on the city’s far southern end. To go along with my noodle dish, I decided to add a couple of Asian favorites: edamame and steamed bao buns. TOKEN RAMEN This growing chain, which was founded in 2019, has nine locations, seven of them in the greater Tampa Bay area. The one we chose was located in a cookie-cutter outdoor shopping mall at 34th Street South and the Pinellas Bayway. The interior was tidy, if nondescript. We showed up around 8 on Monday and ordered at the front counter: Grilled Chicken Ramen ($14.99), Edamame ($4.50) and Pork Belly Bun (2 for $8.99). We sat at a booth that was a little too tight to my chest. Appearance The large black bowl of stuff looked pretty appetizing. The chicken appeared nicely grilled, with the requisite char marks. Half a hard-boiled egg made the dish look sunny. I wasn’t expecting corn, but I like corn in almost everything. The edamame came in a white bowl with a supplemental bowl for the husks. The bao buns’ gleaming white dough looked too fat and spongy, and dwarfed the sauced meat and greens inside. Texture and Taste Ramen is hard to eat — at least for the untrained, or at least for me. I did everything wrong, and ended up with my face essentially in the bowl, shoving big masses of long noodles into my mouth with chopsticks, and then chewing them off. I tried chopsticking the noodles into the spoon, only to watch them slither back into the bowl. I had an easier time transporting the chicken into my mouth, but unfortunately that’s where the biggest problem occurred. I call a foul on this fowl. It felt rubbery in my mouth, although somehow not tough. The chicken had a strange flavor as well, one that I can’t put into words. The rest of the soup was okay, although the broth was rather bland. I appreciated the corn, and the egg was the best part. Elsewhere, the edamame was fine, not too salty. The dough of the buns tasted the way it looked, and stuck to my teeth. BUYA I entered the hip urban eatery on Tuesday at 6:30 with newfound swagger. After some Youtubing, I had learned how to eat ramen! Although I hadn’t practiced, I was confident I could pull the technique off without looking like a buffoon in desperate need of a bib. I was rolling alone, so sat on a bench at a two-top near the door. I ordered Char Grilled Edamame ($7), Pork Belly Buns ($11) and Grilled Chicken Ramen ($17). Before we begin, here’s how to pronounce Buya: Boo-yuh. (Not By-ya, not Boo-yahh.) Appearance The abstract-shaped plates that held the starters suggested that this was a next-level ramen experience. The Edamame was, as promised, charred, with plenty of black spots. The bao buns were smaller, and the dough looked more delicate. The ramen (shown in the top photo) was artfully arrayed with the noodles lurking out of sight. I was heartened by the appearance of edamame beans and noticed that the egg was more softly boiled than the one at Token. I picked up my chopsticks brimming with optimism. I probed, grabbed a small amount of noodles, formed my mouth into an O, inserted noodles and sucked them upward into my mouth. My newly acquired ramen consumption technique worked! Texture and Taste Let’s do this sequentially: The edamame was like none other I’ve had. The char-grilling gave the beans an agreeably smokey flavor to go along with just the right level of saltiness. The huge portion had a lot of loose beans hanging around on the bottom. The buns were, for starters, not too doughy. The pork belly inside was tender, with a few crispy edges. The diaphanous vegetables — led by thinly sliced cucumber — added a touch of sweetness. Buya’s bowl of ramen blended its various ingredients into a cornucopia of tastes and textures, each distinct but all working together. The broth was brown, nearly opaque, and had a complexity that transcended its chicken base. Ah, the chicken: moist, heartily delicious. Real. The noodles — thicker, darker and firmer than the competition’s — added substantial flavor, not just filler. And the Winner of the Ramen Food Fight … Hardly needs saying. Buya. This mismatch is on me. My unfamiliarity with local ramen restaurants led me to think I might’ve booked a fair fight. How both places have earned four stars on Yelp is a true head-scratcher. A couple of quick notes on Token Ramen: We also ordered the Tonkotsu ramen, which used a pork-based broth and had pork slices that felt and tasted real. It was notably superior to the chicken ramen. At about 8:40, 20 minutes before closing, while Bonnie and I were finishing up, the owners’ 4-year-old son was playing with his older sister near our booth. He looked at us and chirped, “Why are you here?” My mind went to the puzzling chicken and I almost said, “Good question, kid.” Almost.