The Best Stuff I Ate (at Restaurants) in 2024
It’s not too late, is it? Due mostly to a hectic Holiday and post-Holiday season, including a couple of road trips, I pushed back my year in review. Actually, truth is, I forgot about it until this week. So yes, this column is a little tardy, but how could I deprive my readers the highlights of my gastronomical adventures from 2024? BEST OVERALL MEAL Cinellos Tacqueria I was leaning toward a fancy, white-tablecloth dinner for this most prestigious of categories but my sense memory kept coming back to the tacos at this little place in Kenneth City. Victor, the owner, is proudly Mexican, and insists on serving tacos autenticos, right down to offering only soft corn tortillas, made in-house. My 3 Taco Platter had carnitas, pollo asada and chicken tinga, each of them full-flavored, at turns crispy, chewy and moist in all the right places. And the green tomatillo sauce straight-up rocked. BEST SPLURGE MEAL Branzino at Allelo My favorite fish elegantly and deliciously prepared. The Half Branzino ($47) ate bigger than it looked. The skin was lightly salted and the flesh inside was heavenly. Our side dish of pesto linguini, with pea pods and small pieces of asparagus, provided an ideal accompaniment. BEST VEGGIE MEAL Kadai Paneer at Cafe Masala The paneer — a soft cheese cubed like tofu, but with a firmer texture — is made in-house. The seraphic blend of spices seduced ours nose as well as our tastebuds. The sauce had a hint of heat. Onion and tomato completed the dish, which I poured over a generous portion of basmati rice. For my money, Indian cuisine has the best plant-based dishes. BEST HOUSE SALAD Teak I find most house salads to be routine, uninspired. Not this one. Greens, strawberries and croutons blended for a complexity of flavor and texture. Little slices of mandarin orange provided explosions of sweetness in my mouth, and a refreshing sesame pineapple ginger dressing topped it off. We ate this perfect summer salad on June 7, which, despite what the calendar says, is very much summer in Tampa Bay. BEST BREAKFAST AT DINNERTIME Chicken and Waffles at Social Roost I always thought chicken and waffles was an odd combination so was never motivated to try it — until I did. And I dug it. Two enormous boneless fried chicken breasts — impeccably tender, lightly breaded — sat atop thick, earthy waffles. I didn’t expect the maple syrup to work well with the bird, but I was wrong there, too. Bacon butter added to the delightful decadence. BEST BIG BOWL OF SOUP Special Phở This bowl of Phở looked big enough to bathe a baby in. As meat choices, I got the sliced filet mignon, beef brisket and meatballs (and could’ve done without the latter). I chose the wider house noodles over standard vermicelli and was glad I did. They made the meal more substantive. The broth was stellar. BEST HAPPY HOUR APPETIZER Bruschetta at Taverna Costale We ordered the Seasonal Bruschetta off the Happy Hour menu. The ingredients were fresh and full of energy: creamy ricotta, roasted red peppers (instead of tomatoes) on toasted sourdough with greens sprinkled around. But it was the thin slices of prosciutto that put this app over the top. BEST BBQ One Family Korean Restaurant No ribs, coleslaw or collard greens with this barbecue dinner. Instead, we had Beef Bulgogi, a staple of Korean barbecue. Marinated slices of tender meat commingled with onions and a sweet(ish) sauce. The Bulgogi came with a menagerie of small side bowls, including cabbage, cucumber, and daikon (radish) kimchi, bean sprouts, and white radish cut julienne-style. It all added up to delcious K-Food. BEST ADD-ON THAT MADE US GO ‘WOW’ Steak Flatbread at Bacchus Wine Bistro Our FFF mission was French onion soup, but it was this remarkable flatbread that prompted Bonnie to say, “It’s been a while since we ate something that made us go ‘wow.’” Cheese, sun-dried tomatoes, arugula and a house-made chimichuri were slathered atop bread that was firm, not crusty. But it was the perfectly cooked, medium-rare pieces of filet that took this delectable rectangle to unexpected heights. BEST SWEET TREAT Ice Cream Sundae at Small Batch Creamery For our Hot Fudge Sundae, we chose two (house-made) ice cream flavors: first vanilla; and then, feeling frisky, Butter Cookie Crunch (with bits of Biscoff cookies). Everything clicked — ice cream, chocolate sauce, whipped cream, a sprinkle of sprinkles — but it was the waffle-cone shell that made this sweet treat the crème de la crème. That’s 10. Why not 10 more? Charred Brussels at District South — Adding small slices of chorizo raised this appetizer to higher heights. Steak Frites at Cassis — A carnivore’s dream, with splendid French fries. Cuban Sandwich at The Floridian — Probably not one of the “Finest Cuban Sandwiches on the Planet,” like the restaurant’s sign says, but first-rate all the same. Chocolate Milkshake at Zeko’s Mediterranean Grill — An American classic at an ethnic eatery. Who knew? A most memorable shake. Mango Lassi at India’s Grill — A sweet and lovely yogurt-based “shake.” Chicken Shawarama at Petra Restaurant — That’s a wrap! Impossible Burger at Burger Monger — Tasted like beef, for real. Philly Cheesesteak at Colonial Corner Hoagie Shop — The place has been open almost 48 years, and for good reason. Franco Avocado Burger at Go Stuff Urself — The food truck’s creation was indescribably delicious. Singapore Noodles at Hawkers — One of the pan-Asian restaurant’s 2,314 menu items that you don’t want to miss.
A Titanic Taco Tussle (Soft Shell Edition)
As a white suburbanite who came of age in the 1960s, I only ate hard shell tacos. Seasoned ground beef, grated cheddar from a bag, tomato and lettuce stuffed into a crunchy Old El Paso casing and topped with sour cream. We were glad that was part of Mom’s culinary repertoire. After arriving in Florida in my 20s, at some point I came upon the soft shell taco. First wheat, then corn. Imagine my good fortune. Then — what? You can put stuff other than ground beef inside? I’ve been a soft-shell man ever since. I still have the occasional crackly version, but overall I don’t miss shards of deep-fried tortilla and taco innards crumbling in my hands. This week’s taco competition — soft tortilla division — features Chinelos Tacqueria in Kenneth City and Guac ‘n’ Cheese, the downtown St. Pete location. CHINELOS TACQUERIA This small restaurant in a strip center at the junction of 54th Avenue and 62nd Street North has been open about three years. At 6:30 Tuesday, the parking lot was empty but there were a few customers inside. They all spoke Spanish. How’s that not a good sign? Victor, the owner, is a gregarious man, a proud Mexican with an accent to match. He took orders at the counter and hollered them to his kitchen staff in the back. His food, he proclaimed — loudly — is authentic Mexican. Therefore he uses only soft corn tortillas made in-house. Every ingredient is fresh, he stressed, nothing frozen, nothing from a bag. I ordered the 3 Taco Combo ($13.95): carnitas (pork), pollo asado (grilled chicken) and tinga (shredded chicken), with beans and rice, plus a Sidral Mundel Apple Soda ($2.99), a Mexican brand. Bonnie and I did not go splitsies. She got her own 2 Taco combo. Appearance I’ve never been to Mexico, but I was definitely buying that this was an authentic Mexican meal. Texture and Taste All of the tacos were splendid. Here’s how I rank them, although they’re not separated by much. The carnitas managed to be moist and have some crispy bits mixed in. The pork was lean and just the right level of chewy. Similarly, the pollo asada had small chunks of chicken that were grilled a light brown on the outside but stayed moist and succulent within. No complaints about the tinga. I simply liked it slightly less than the other two. (If I’m nitpicking, the shredded chicken may have been a tad chewier than I prefer.) The tortillas had a subtle corn taste that blended well with the other ingredients. They were thin and did tend to fall apart, though. But — I … did … not … care. Chinelos eschewed the shmear of sour cream you get in most Mexican restaurants. The green tomatillo sauce was divine, providing a tinge of spicy heat for some bonus zip. It this stuff were available in bottles, I’m in for a case. GUAC N’ CHEESE MEXICAN GRILL As we approached at 6 p.m. Wednesday, our jackets zipped and me sporting a fedora, the place’s exterior looked invitingly festive. Guac n’ Cheese, which opened in late October, is tucked into a coworking space on 8th Street between Central and 1st Avenue North. The flagship restaurant opened in South Tampa in 2019. Two guys leaned over the long bar that occupied the left side of the narrow(ish) space. Guac’s ambience is considerably more refined than Chinelos’s Business was slow and the space was quiet. Four of us sat at a table next to the front window. Our server was efficient and unintrusive, almost stealthy. Instead of hollering to the kitchen, he punched our orders into a tablet. No splitsies tonight, either. I got the Tacos ($14.99), a platter of three in the same combination as that of Chinelos, with beans and rice, and a Negro Model draft ($7). (The eatery also offered soft wheat tortillas and hard shells.) Appearance As expected, Guac’s pesentation was more polished than the one at Chinelos, with each taco nestled in its own slot and sprinkled with shredded cheese. There was sour cream on the plate, but, at my request, our server also brought me tiny containers of red and green sauce. Texture and Taste By any measure, this was a first-rate plate of tacos — without the rustic authenticity of the competition’s, but tasty through and through. I won’t rank them — I’ve kept you long enough — although I slightly favored the pollo asada. I knifed on some sour cream, then caught myself and remembered the sauces. They were first-rate, the green nosing out the red. The white corn tortillas, with an understated flavor, were firmer than those at Chinelos, making the tacos more tidy to eat. The viscous refried beans poured luxuriantly over the yellow rice, making for a sultry blend. It was an ample meal, but I easily cleaned the plate. And the Winner of the Titanic Taco Tussle (Soft Shell Edition) Is … Chinelos Tacqueria. As the talking heads on sports debate shows like to say, no disrespect to Guac n’ Cheese but Chinelos’s tacos were that good. They rank with the best I’ve ever had. And the place’s ramshackle energy made for a fun, quirky experience. But Guac n’ Cheese was no distant second. It’s close to home and I’ll gladly go back. And if you’re doing a first-time dinner with a couple, and the spouses have never met, and you want a comfortable place that allows for lively conversation, Guac is probably the better bet. One caveat: I can’t say what the place is like when it’s busy. Bonus bit: The reason I grew up on hard shell tacos is because they’re an American invention. The cripsy, U-shaped casings were developed by Mexican-American restaurateurs in the 1940s. They became the standard throughout most of America with the spread of Taco Bell, which was founded in California in 1962.
Holy Schnitzel! St. Pete vs. Clearwater
We got hit with the coldest temperatures in a couple years for most of the week. I loved it. Got me thinking of German food. And that led me to schnitzel. For the uninitiated, schnitzel is an escalope, a piece of meat that’s pounded thin, breaded and fried. It can be served as is, or with a variety of sauces. I chose to feature one contestant that’s a purely German restaurant — German Knodle in downtown St. Pete — and another one that’s not: Clear Sky on Cleveland, which calls itself a Global Bistro. Why? Because I rarely get to Clearwater for FFF, because the contrast seemed interesting. And because I can. GERMAN KNODLE At 6:30 on Tuesday, it hovered around 50 degrees when we lucked into a parking spot directly in front of this small eatery a half block north of MLK Street on Central Avenue. I didn’t even need to wear my beloved Scottish-bought newsboy cap, but I did anyway. German Knodle’s brightly lit interior reminded me of a creatively designed kindergarten classroom — with bottles of wine in the cubbies. I asked our server how to pronounce “knodle.” She said, in a German accent, “c’noodle.” Later, when I ran “knodle” through a German-to-English translator, it came up … “knodle.” (Okay, then.) I ordered Porkloin Jeger (with mushroom sauce) Schnitzel ($18), with fries instead of potato salad. Bonnie added plate Spätzle ($12.99), egg noodles with cheese and the same mushroom sauce. We each got a pint of Kulmbacher Pilsner draft. Appearance Man, it was a lot of mushrooms for someone who’s not wild about mushrooms. I expected someting more gravy-like with ‘shroom bits. But that’s on me. The two huge cutlets were a lovely golden brown. The fries, which I’ve had before on their own, looked fetching as ever. Texture and Taste The knife cut easily — but not too easily — through the cutlet. The breading was at once crisp and tender, and blended well with the meat inside. I ate slowly, slicing small-ish pieces, occasionally dipping them in the cheesy sauce in the spätzle bowl. I tried a few forkfuls with mushrooms, but didn’t have much use for them. Had I a do-over, I would’ve gotten the schnitzel Vienna-style — plain, with a slice of lemon on the side. The fries were as splendid as I remembered. In a 2022 Food Fight, I wrote, “the rugged outer shell [gave way to] sumptuously moist potato.” I’m sticking with that. The spätzle was like an elevated, zestier mac-and-cheese; the pasta, about double the thickness of spaghetti, was more al dente, the cheese sauce less creamy. I pushed the mushrooms aside. Bonnie liberated some pieces of schnitzel from my plate, but even then we left half a cutlet remaining. I’d say that, in all, this was a German-sized meal. CLEAR SKY ON CLEVELAND Wednesday night’s temps passed for bitter cold in Florida. I loved it. We entered Clear Sky just before 7 and the place was full. My hunch was that quite a few of the patrons were headed to the Los Lobos concert at the Capitol Theater, which is right across the street. We were. A Lightning game showed on several big-screen TVs. The conversational volume was turned up high, but well short of 11. Our foursome sat at a table along a wall, the wives on the banquette, the husbands in chairs. Bonnie and I decided to split the Pork Tenderloin Schnitzel ($19), with a lemon butter sauce, sided by mashed potatoes, vegetables, and a charred lemon. Appearance A handsome dish. The cutlets were smaller than the competition’s, but I saw that as a good thing. The charred lemon added an artful touch. This schnitzel ate easily. Scrumptiously, too. The breading was firm, the meat sublimely tender. The slightly tart sauce added a welcome dimension, making it unncessary to squeeze the lemon on top. That would’ve been overkill and, besides, why disturb such a pretty piece of citrus. The mashed potatoes were the way I like ’em — with skin interspersed, finding the middle ground between smooth and rugged. The vegetable medley was exemplary, with thin-sliced squash, onions and other healthy materials adding an element of crunch to the meal. And the Winner of the Holy Schnitzel! St. Pete vs. Clearwater Clash Is … Clear Sky on Cleveland. The schnitzels themselves were comparable, but what enabled Clear Sky to forge ahead was the sauce and the sides. Clear Sky’s menu is legitimately global — other items include Pork Belly Ramen, African Curry and Cajun Pasta, not to mention flatbreads, steaks, fish, burgers, tacos, sandwiches, even sushi and oysters, raw or chargrilled. With such a vast menu and wide range of cuisines, it’s impressive that Clear Sky nailed its lone German entry.
Tampa Bay vs. Athens, GA: A Charcuterie vs. Antipasti Altercation
Prior to this week, my experience with charcuterie and antipasti had largely been relegated to people’s homes. I’d never ordered a board of assorted meats, cheeses and acoutrements at a restaurant, although I must’ve poached a morsel or two from platters at the table. The difference between charcuterie and antipasti? Not much. Charcuterie is French, antipasti Italian. Both rely heavily on cured meats. My online research showed that charcuterie focuses more on the meats, while antipasti tends to have more variety, with equal emphasis on meat and cheese, plus olives, pickled vegetables and other savory items. Purists, feel free to nitpick away. Near as I can tell, however, charcuterie and antipasti are pretty much interchangeable in American restaurants. It’s up to the chefs what they include. Due to Holiday travel, I decided on another edition of Tampa Bay vs. The World: The Left Bank Bistro is a French restaurant in St. Pete; The Expat, located in Athens, Ga., is a bistro with an Italian focus. THE LEFT BANK BISTRO Established in 2019, The Left Bank is situated in a converted old house on MLK Street a mile north of downtown. On a Saturday in mid-December at 6:30, our party of five was seated at table in the corner with banquettes. A cozy spot. On the other side of a wall, our friend David Downing performed with his jazz(ish) trio. We could hear the group play Holiday songs, but the music didn’t impede our lively conversation. I ordered the Fromage & Charcuterie Block ($38) for the table. We each got our own entrees. Appearance Truthfully, I was a little underwhelmed. Where was the board, for starters? Instead, the meats, cheeses, bread and grapes came arrayed on a plate that I found rather small. A mini-bowl of honey sat nearby. I’m not much interested in honey. Too sticky. Being a charcuterie novice, I asked our server to name each item. He gladly obliged, while I scribbled notes in the dimness. Texture and Taste The charcuterie plate provided a solid starter for a group of five. We ate and discussed the merits of each offering, but I didn’t take notes so don’t remember which ones got the best grades. Besides, mine is the only opinion that counts. Of the meats, the sopresetta and chorizo were appropriately bold-flavored and chewy. But the most inventive pieces on the plate — house-made duck prosciutto — were too fatty for my liking. Of the cheeses, the brie was a standout, and the dill havarti and semi-soft truffle cheese weren’t far behind. The buttermilk bleu proved too sharp. Of the breads, the toast points were extra-crunchy, and the thin, crackly pieces of lavash weren’t terribly spreadable. THE EXPAT The Expat is a hot ticket in Athens, especially during the Holidays, so I made a reservation several days in advance for 5 p.m. on the Saturday before Christmas. Bonnie and I showed up right on time. The restaurant occupies a converted house in the hip Five Points section of town, less than a mile from the University of Georgia campus. The placed was festooned, inside and out, with Christmas decorations — so much that interior had a muted red glow. The cheerful staff showed us to a two-top in a dining room outfitted with a lavish Christmas tree, stockings and assorted lights. One wall appeared to be covered in red-and-white wrapping paper. We ordered the Antipasti Board ($35) to start, and Tagliatelle ($25) to split. I got a locally brewed Classic City Lager ($6). Appearance Ah, there’s my board — made of wood. My eyes were drawn to the queue of goodies running diagonally down the middle — assorted olives, pickles, pickled okrah, skinless almonds and a helping of whole-grain mustard. In all, a fetching presentation with a festive air. Texture and Taste This antipasti board had some delicious stuff on it. We enjoyed mixing and matching items to place on the slices of crispy ciabatta. The presentation included small jars of honey and strawberry jam, the latter being a real enhancer. My combo of pimento cheese and Calabrese salami topped with jam was terrific. Bonnie’s blend of Drunken Goat cheese, prosciutto and honey was another winner. And on it went. In between creations, I nibbled on the nuts, pickles and olives. Bonnie, not so much. This antipasti mixed splendid flavors with the kind of fun you hope to get from a dish like this. Knowing that we had an entree coming, we left some to take home to family. And the Winner of the Tampa Bay vs. Athens, GA Charcuterie vs. Antipasti Altercation Is … The Expat. Its version was more substantial, with more choices, more stuff that wasn’t meat or cheese, more spreads. And more wood. In other matters: A belated Happy New Year to all! And for all of you embarking on dry January, I wish you the best of luck. May you make it to the end.
Gotta Lotta Latkes (Hanukkah Edition)
The first night of Hanukkah fell on Christmas this year, but the sacred Jewish holiday has six more days left, so what better opportunity to feature its most recognized traditional food than this week’s FFF? Latke, pronounced “lot-key,” is a potato pancake fried in oil and seasoned with salt, and maybe some pepper and a bit of garlic. Sometimes onion joins the potato. Think of latke as the anti-fruitcake. This simple dish symbolizes the miracle of Hannukah, where a small amount of oil lasted for eight days in the Temple. Why potatoes? They were cheap and readily available in Eastern Europe, where the Ashkenazi Jewish custom of eating latkes during Hanukkah originated. Not many places serve latkes, but I managed to find two in St. Pete: Jo-El’s Kosher Deli and The Nosh Pit, which bills itself as a “Jew-ish” deli. JO-EL’S KOSHER DELI Located a block north of 22nd Avenue, Jo-El’s has a warehouse-like exterior that belies the wonders within. I haven’t had this much fun in a deli in, oh … ever. The place pulsed with joie de vivre. We weren’t in line 30 seconds when a woman approached us and handed me and Bonnie small plastic containers of beef and mushroom soup, which was scrumptious. “What’s your name?” I asked. “Lana Turner,” she replied with a playful smirk. We had just met Chef Lana. That encounter set the tone for the rest of our visit, a veritable funhouse of witty repartee, singing, clapping, lessons in kosher from Sharon, and a steady stream of samples. We ordered two latkes ($2 each) — one with onions, one without — with applesauce, a standard side item, and a bowl of that soup ($6), plus a pound of remarkable potato salad ($7.99) to go. Appearance A more basic presentation I cannot recall. Two latkes — well-browned, roughly shaped — on a paper plate with a plastic fork, a small container of applesauce on the side. Texture and Taste These latkes tasted like … potato pancakes — not that I have much experience with them. They had a hefty crust that took some work to chew through. It gave way to shredded potato that was agreeably firm. These latkes were flavorful in an inherently plain way. I slightly preferred the one made with onion, although the onion flavor was subtle. The applesauce provided a desirable sweetness. The most popular condiment for latkes is sour cream, but Jo-El’s didn’t serve it to us for reasons having to do with keeping kosher. THE NOSH PIT The Nosh Pit was doing a brisk business when we showed up at 2 p.m. last Thursday. While the deli didn’t burst with mirth like Jo-El’s, the counter people were cheery and welcoming. We felt the buoyant mood as soon as we entered. The compact space has a service island in the middle, and seating on either side. We placed an order of three Latkes ($7.50) and added a sandwich — roast beef on rye ($10, with a side of potato salad) — and a soup ($4.50). We sat at a simple four-top. Because The Nosh Pit is Jew-ish — and therefore not strictly kosher — we got sour cream with our latkes. Appearance These were bigger, thicker and more uniformly round than those at Jo-El’s. Flecks of salt decorated the latkes and the plate. A piece of lettuce added a touch of color. Texture and Taste The crust had a modicum of crunch, making it easy to access the shredded potato within. Combined with a mixture of applesauce and sour cream, each bite had a hearty and hefty presence. The portion was big enough that I could have made this a latke lunch, but I was hankering for that roast beef on rye and New York-style potato salad. The sandwich was terrific, and the sweetish potato salad reminded me of my youth in suburban New York. And the Winner of the Gotta Lotta Latkes (Hanukkah Edition) Is … A Split Decision — The Nosh Pit gets the nod for the latkes, due mostly to their plumpness and easy eatability. Jo-El’s Kosher Deli takes prize for atmosphere. I can’t imagine a better mood-elevating experience in a deli/market. I’ll be back — with some of my goy friends. And I’m not waiting for Hanukkah season, either.
Tampa vs. St. Pete in a Shish Kebab Showdown
Lamb is the traditional meat used in shish kebab, but, being lamb-averse, I went with beef. I’ve long been a fan of roasted meat on skewers, so I sought out Turkish/Mediterranean/Middle Eastern eateries for the authentic item. I chose Istanbul Mediterranean Grill & Market in North Tampa, which I’d not previously heard of, and Baba Restaurant in St. Pete’s Grand Central District, where I’ve eaten a few times but never had their shish kebab. ISTANBUL MEDITERRANEAN GRILL & MARKET IMG&M is situated on a stretch of Florida Avenue, just south of Busch Boulevard, that includes an eclectic array of businesses, among them a smoke shop, a check-cashing joint, a lumber store, a Bitcoin ATM, and a strip club called Chics Playhouse. We arrived on Monday just before 2:30 under a blue sky with pillowy clouds. The eatery’s interior radiated with natural light. Tables were spaced well apart, and we sat at a four-top by one of the large, arched windows facing Florida Avenue. Piano jazz played softly on the sound system — an odd choice for a decidedly Turkish establishment, but a welcome one. Our waiter spoke rudimentary, Turkish-accented English, some of which we could not understand. But whatever small problem that caused he compensated for with his eager-to-serve smiles. I ordered a Beef Shish Kebab Platter ($22) with rice, and a Turkish soda called Frutti Extra, mandarin-flavored ($3). Our server immediately brought us a basket containing two small, round, fresh-from-the-oven loaves of bread. No charge. Appearance A massive meal. Eight large chunks of beef (sans skewers) were topped with a grilled tomato and jalapeño pepper. The meat was accompanied by a generous portion of white rice pilaf, an enticing pile of pickled red cabbage and a clump of chopped, plain iceberg lettuce I had no idea what to do with. Texture and Taste The beef’s flavor was enhanced by a marinade that was subtle but distinctive. The meat had a heavy grain, which gave my jaws a workout. Each piece required quite a few chews, so I started cutting them smaller. This obligatory technique required slow eating, which made the portion seem that much larger. The pickled cabbage added a piquancy that further livened up the flavor. A bowl of white rice could’ve been dull, but this portion had tiny noodles interspersed, enriching the taste. The white sauce was more liquid, tangy — and better — than the thick tzatziki I’ve had in other Greek/Mediterranean places. I made respectable progress on my Beef Shish Kebab platter, but still took half the beef and some of the sides home. BABA RESTAURANT Baba bills its food as “Greek and Lebanese with an American twist,” with, let me add, an upscale bent. The large indoor/outdoor space is surrounded by trees and shrubs, its only street signifier a sign with “BABA” in vertical letters on the corner of Central Avenue and 27th Street. At 5:30 Wednesday we walked through the gate that opened to a vast patio in two covered sections. Baba has a handsome indoor dining room and bar, but we opted to sit on the patio — because the weather was perfect, 72 degrees according to my phone, 75 according to my body. Our server, Madison, was relaxed, engaging and knowledgeable — and had a keen sense of when to stop by to check on us. We ordered the Shish Kebab ($28, cooked medium), plus a couple of spreads — Muhammara and Melitzanosalata (both $5) — with Bread ($4). I asked for a ginger ale ($3) with minimal ice. Appearance Baba’s shish kebab presentation provided a stark contrast to Istanbul Mediterranean Grill’s. There was a lot less on the plate — five pieces of beef on a stylish skewer, with a small side of sumac onions and a bowl of white sauce. Texture and Taste The Melitzanosalata (a Greek eggplant dip, and probably the most unpronouncable food I’ve ever ordered) was lush and oily in a good way. It was an ideal complement to the Muhammara, a dip that originated in Syria whose main ingredients are roasted red pepper and walnuts. The spread had a tangy flavor and an agreeable crunch courtesy of the chopped nuts. Even better was the bread — house-made pita that was soft, puffy, and thicker than most. We cast aside concerns about filling up before the main event. The starters were that good. (And we needn’t have worried.) With our first bites of the steak, Bonnie and I shared nods and mmm-mmm‘s. Tender, juicy and perfectly cooked. Madison told us that the meat was rubbed with a house-made “schug” sauce, which added a tinge of spicy heat. The sharp-flavored sumac onions were a winning complement, but there was not enough of them, so I asked for another portion, which Madison quickly brought. The beef was so good on its own that we made little use of the creamy tzadziki. This plate could’ve used a more substantial side dish. My kingdom for some rice — but Baba doesn’t serve rice. Had I do do it over, I would’ve requested the spreads-and-bread to be served with the shish kebab. We easily finished the entree, relishing every bite. And the Winner of the Shish Kebab Showdown Is … Baba. This was a matchup of two sharply different restaurants — one a basic ethnic eatery in a hardscrabble part of town, the other a fine-dining establishment in a hip section of downtown. I could draw comparisons about price and value, but I try to avoid that in this space. The bottom line: This contest features beef shish kebabs, and Baba’s — while a smaller portion and more expensive — was notably better. Plus the spread and the pita helped bolster Baba’s case.
A Cheesesteak Scuffle
The best cheesesteak I’ve ever eaten was at Pat’s King of Steaks in South Philly. But that could’ve been because we stopped there before a 76ers/Lakers game in 1983, a gift from Bonnie’s Uncle Bernie. We waited in line outside, braving the January cold. The servers were hustling, impatient with anyone who didn’t spit out their order. “Wit wiz?” the guy asked. (I froze. “Whuh?”) “Wit wiz?” he barked. “He means Cheez Whiz,” Bernie said, smiling, and suggested I get it. Perplexed, I replied, “Okay, with Whiz.” The sandwich was sloppy and delicious, and the Whiz was fine. I was about to see my favorite athlete, Julius Erving, play live, so they could’ve put boiled mutton inside that Amoroso roll and I would’ve gleefully scarfed it down. As it turns out, Pat’s (established 1930) is widely considered to be the birthplace of the Philly cheesesteak. So I got off to an auspicious start. I’ve since eaten many worthy versions at the Jersey Shore, but don’t recall having one in Tampa Bay that I’d write to my in-laws in Philly about. Continuing my quest, I chose Little Philly in St. Pete’s Grand Central District; and Colonial Corner Hoagie Shop in Pinellas Park. Twenty years ago, Philadelphia magazine published an article saying that the place made the best cheesesteaks outside the City of Brotherly Love. LITTLE PHILLY It was a bright 75 degress at 3:30 Monday when I parked in front of Little Philly, located at Central Avenue and 21st Street. The restaurant opened in April, and was co-founded by chef Sean Ford, Philly born and raised. Sun shone through the open garage door to reveal walls plastered with graffiti and Philly memorabilia. Sophie — the young, dry-witted counter person — was busy drawing a Pittsburgh Steelers logo on a promotional card for Sunday’s Eagles-Steelers game. Turns out she’s from Pittbsburgh, and a Steelers fan. She was too fun and chatty for me to hold that against her. I ordered The Plain Steak platter ($15, plus $2 for fries) with American Cheese and fried onions, with “sweets” (sweet peppers) on the side, plus a (Philadelphia-made) Hank’s Vanilla Cream soda ($4), Appearance Although I was seated at counter, Sophie served me the sandwich go-style: rolled up in white wax paper. The fries came in a separate small bag. I opened the package, spilled the fries onto the paper. The sandwich looked like it had plenty of potential, although the 9-inch roll was smaller the ones I’ve had in the past. The thin-sliced ribeye was appropriately well done. It wasn’t as juicy as some cheesesteaks I’ve had, but neither was it dry. Tender and gristle-free, it delivered a robust beefy flavor. The sandwich could’ve used more chopped onions, I would’ve prefered the American cheese more melty so it oozed into the beef. I added the peppers after a few bites, which provided some extra spark. The bread was exemplary, staking out the middle ground between fluffy and firm. Sophie informed me that it’s made at a bakery in Orlando that uses its own recipe for Amoroso rolls. Little Philly gets deliveries every other day, and if the rolls get finished off, the place shuts down and puts up a sign that says Closed Due to Lack of Fresh Bread. The fries were MacDonald’s-shaped, but without the grease and excess salt — which is to say, they were really good. COLONIAL CORNER HOAGIE SHOP The one-day cold snap on Thursday had started to warm up at 2:30 as we pulled into a parking space of a strip mall at 49th Street and 72nd Avenue. Colonial Corner’s sign looked as if it might’ve been the original one when the place opened in 1977. As soon as we walked in, our noses got hit with that smell — y’know that cheesesteak smell … It smelled like … Philly. The small place was pretty busy for a mid-afternoon. The founder and owner, Joanne Casciato, 83, was kibbitzing with customers. She’s from Chester, Pa., about 13 miles southwest of South Philly. She told us she comes to the shop every day. Bonnie and I decided to split the Cheesesteak ($10.99) with grilled onions and sweets on the side. We also got French Fries ($3.99) and pulled sodas ($1.99) from the drink cooler (which had a small TV on top playing a Hallmark movie with the sound off). We sat at a plain four-top and waited. The only music was the clacking of a metal spatula against the grill. Appearance The sandwich was served on paper in a red basket. The meat was more finely chopped than the one at Little Philly. No cheese was visible, meaning it had melted in with beef. The fries were. your standard crinkle cut, golden brown. Joanne told us that she only uses imported ribeye in her cheesesteaks, and it tasted as such. Hearty, sapid. The American Swiss cheese had indeed melded with the meat, and if I’m picking nits, I’d say that the sandwich could’ve used a bit more cheese. Likewise with the onions, which were finely chopped. Clearly, the recipe called for the beef to be the star attraction. The bread was a marvel, airy and soft, effortless to bite into. (Joanne said she has a bakery in St. Pete that makes the 9-inch rolls according to her recipe.) The fries, piping hot at first, provided the kind of flavor and familiarity that you get at a good diner. And the Winner of the Cheesesteak Scuffle Is … Colonial Corner Hoagie Shop. These restaurants represented two basic schools of cheesesteakery — one where the individual ingredients stand on their own (sliced beef, sliced cheese); the other with the ingredients more finely cut and combined, evoking a more homogenous flavor and gooey(ish) texture. While I like both types — and I liked both of these sandwiches — I generally prefer the latter. Ergo, the decision.
A Fracas Over French Onion Soup (St. Pete vs. Safety Harbor)
When we left Atlanta early Monday morning it was 30 degrees, and upon arriving home we were pleased to see that Tampa Bay was enjoying its own (not that cold) cold snap. As we pulled into the driveway we knew we had to run out and get some soup before the weather warmed up. We opted for decadent — French Onion. Onion soups date back to Roman times, but the modern version of French Onion Soup can be traced to the mid-19th Century at a large, open-air market called Les Halles in Paris. Restaurants in the market served the soup with a generous topping of grated cheese. It was known as a peasant food, but also a hangover remedy for the swells who frequented the cabarets into the wee hours. For this week’s contestants, we chose one French restaurant — Parts of Paris Bistro & Bar in Safety Harbor — and one French-ish eatery, Bacchus Wine Bistro in downtown St. Pete. Because one cannot live on soup alone, we chose, and split, an entree in each place. PARTS OF PARIS BISTRO & BAR There’s something about restaurants on neighborhood streets — streets made of brick. We were charmed as we strolled a block or so to Parts of Paris at 5 p.m. Tuesday. It helped that we wore jackets over our sweaters and I had on my beloved newsboy cap purchased in Scotland. The restaurant is situated in a restored 1930s bungalow. The ceiling is low, the vibe intimate. The music was divine — recordings of hip jazz ballads with an emphasis on tenor saxophone, played at a perfect medium/low volume. Due to our early reservation, we had the dining room to ourselves. “By 6:30, we should be busy,” said our server Chris, a personable and knowledgable fellow. “If you like a quiet dinner, you came at a good time.” Chris quickly brought us out some crusty French bread — and get this: It was free. Bonnie and I each got a French onion soup ($10) and for an entree we chose Fricassee de Poulet ($24), chicken thighs in a creamy mushroom sauce. Appearance Interesting that this version did not have a coating of cheese on top, but rather two pieces of bread. The entree looked heavenly. A helping of mashed potatoes joined the chicken, which was piled with mushrooms, all of it swimming in the alluring sauce. Texture and Taste French Onion Soup is almost always delicious, but it can be a chore to eat. It depends on how the cheese behaves. Does it adhere to your spoon? Does it ball up in your mouth like chewing gum? That wasn’t a problem with this crock. The gruyère Swiss was artfully integrated with pieces of onion and the bread. It could have been as simple as this recipe using a little less cheese. The broth was sumptuous. Chris told us that it was made with a veal stock. (I’m not a veal eater, but made allowances for it being in a soup stock.) On to the Fricassee de Poulet. I prefer dark meat over white, so this chicken was right in my wheelhouse — moist and firm. I’m not a mushroom man, but, feeling bold, I ate few — then ate some more, and thought, “Maybe I could become a mushroom man.” As for the sauce, well, it tasted as good or better than it looked. Liquid velvet. BACCHUS WINE BISTRO On Wednesday at 6:30, as we strolled the block or so to Bacchus, we wore jackets over sweaters, although we probably didn’t need the jackets. I had my hat on. The bistro was doing a brisk business. We were transfixed by a couple across the room who appeared to be on a first date. The guy talked and talked and talked, gesticulating with his hands, while the woman nodded and nodded and nodded — such that I thought she might have to see a chiropractor in the morning. Ain’t people-watching fun? Our waiter, Rick, was a lively dude who gave good service. Bonnie and I each got our own French Onion Soup ($12.75) and we added a Steak Flatbread ($29). Appearance The soup had the familiar coating of cheese on top, with little bits scallion in the middle. The Steak Flatbread made us salivate. Green chimichuri spilled off the sides. The steak looked perfectly cooked. There’s hot soup, and then there was this. We tried blowing, considered ice, but waited it out. The cheese misbehaved, clinging to the spoon and balling up — but in the end the soup was satisfying, with a lovely broth and a onion pieces that had a bit of firmness rather than being competely flacid. On to the Flatbread. Bonnie summed it up thusly: “It’s been a while since we ate something that made us go ‘wow.’” Wow. The bread was firm but not crusty. Points for that. Sun-dried tomatoes joined the chimichuri (house-made, per Rick) to add a bit of tangy bite. The mozarella was ideally proportioned and arugula provided a touch of crunch. But the steak was the star. Pieces of filet were elegantly tender and flavorful, and the restaurant did not skimp on them. We couldn’t quite finish so took the three remaining squares home. And the Winner of the Fracas Over French Onion Soup Is … Parts of Paris. But this was definitely a split decision. We preferred PoP’s soup, but Bacchus takes honors on the entree. Bacchus a vibrant energy, but we were thoroughly won over by the rustic quaintness of Parts of Paris. By the way, if you haven’t been to Safety Harbor lately — we hadn’t — go there. It’s a lovely village with lots of locally owned restaurants. If your coming in from the south, take Bayshore Boulevard off of Gulf-to-Bay and check out the mansions on the left, water to the right.
Did Some Dim Sum (in Tampa and St. Pete)
I never did dim sum until last week. At the behest of colleagues, I endeavored to discover the Chinese cuisine that, according to Wikepedia, encompasses, “a large range of small Chinese dishes that are traditionally enjoyed in restaurants for brunch.” Those dishes often include dumplings and steamed buns. Here’s a major takeaway from my first dim sum experience: You’d better like pork. And shrimp. (Full disclosure: I’m averse to shrimp.) We didn’t do brunch. Instead, we had an early dinner at Ho Ho Choy in the USF area of Tampa and a somewhat later dinner at Ha Long Bay in St. Pete. HO HO CHOY The restaurant is located in a Chinese-centric shopping center near the junction of Fletcher Avenue and I-275. We stopped in at 4:45 on a Monday, and took seats at a four-top near the window. The place was comfortably quiet. The plastic-covered, two-sided dim sum menu had numbered, postage-stamp-sized pictures of 63 items. A large range of dishes, indeed. Where to begin? We asked our server. She gave us some tips, and after some perusing we decided on: Vegetable Spring Rolls ($5.95), Pork Taro Dumpling ($5.95), Xiao Long Bao ($5.95, a steamed soup dumpling with pork), and Beef Chow Fun ($13.95, a larger noodle dish). Appearance An attractive, eclectic spread. We found the Pork Taro Dumpling the must curious looking. It appeared to be covered in a kind of fuzz. Nevertheless, we were game. Texture and Taste Our favorite was the Xiao Long Bao, four of which came in a tin. Bonnie and I had previously enjoyed soup dumplings in New York. These were far less soupy, with ground pork the dominant ingredient. A bit of broth added a flavor burst, and we appreciated the silky texture of the noodle. These were one-bite morsels, although you had to open wide. We found the Pork Taro Dumpling rather perplexing. Three of them came in paper baking cups. They caved easily to bites and then formed a kind of paste in our mouths. The Beef Chow Fun was tasty, with wide slippery noodles. The meat could’ve been more tender, though. HA LONG BAY Ha Long Bay — named after a body of water off the coast of Vietnam — is the largest restaurant in a Vietnam-centric shopping center on 34th Street North between 54th and 62nd avenues. We showed up at 6:45 on a Wednesday and found a seat at a four-top. Ha Long Bay has a Vietnamese menu and a Chinese dim sum menu. The menu was vast, although not as vast as that of Ho Ho Choy. Our server, a young fellow named Hoi, made some recommendations, pointing us toward the steamed buns. We ordered (pork and vegetable) Chinese Egg Rolls ($4.99), Chicken and BBQ Pork Steamed Buns ($4.75 each), Pork & Shrimp Dumplings ($5.75) and Beef Chow Fun ($15.99). Appearance The steamed buns and dumplings came in round tins. The colorful dumplings caught our eye. The Beef Chow Fun was noticably fortified by generous slices of onion and bamboo shoots. (The full spread — sans the egg rolls, which were served first — is pictured at top). Texture and Taste The dumplings featured thin noodle casings filled with large portions of mixed pork and shrimp, which blended well. These were two-bite morsels. We didn’t understand the steamed buns, sorry to say. Large balls of spongy dough contained small amounts of filling in the middle. The dough had the slightest hint of sweetness but was otherwise bereft of flavor. (For what it’s worth, the images of steamed buns I viewed online had much more filling.) The bean sprouts and onions added welcome elements to the Beef Chow Fun, although — like the Ho Ho Choy’s — the meat was on the chewy side. And the Winner of the Dim Sum Scuffle Is … Ho Ho Choy. Although it was a close call. A final note: I hope that everyone had a wonderful Thanksgiving. Because we traveled to visit family this week, we did our FFF field work the week prior. I understand that dim sum might seem an odd choice to feature during the week of a classic American holiday, but that’s how the schedule fell.
Friday Booze Fight: A Cosmopolitan Confrontation
We hadn’t done elegance in a while so decided to treat ourselves to a cocktail hour on Saturday night. I donned a shirt with a collar and long pants that required a belt, then at 5:30 Bonnie and I rendezvoused with our friend and cocktail consultant, the redoubtable David Downing. Beforehand, though, we had to select a cocktail for this edition of Friday Booze Fight. Having previously done Manhattans, Old-Fashioneds and straight bourbon, I leaned toward something lighter and brighter, and hit upon the cosmopolitan. Bonnie informed me, with a wry grin, that the cosmo is, ahem, a womans’ drink, a favorite among the gal pals on Sex and the City. I almost switched, but thought, “No. Let me stake a cosmo claim for hetero, cisgender males. I don’t care if the drink is pink. I like vodka. Not as much as Bud Light, but still … I like cranberry juice — sort of — and lime juice. I’m cointreau-curious. Bottoms up!” We chose two St. Pete establishments to minimize driving: Rococo Steak, which is its own upscale outpost in downtown St. Pete, and Juno & the Peacock, a three-month-old concept on Beach Drive that has generated considerable buzz. ROCOCO STEAK Rococo, which occupies a large former YWCA building, looks resplendent at night. As we walked past the pillars to the front entrance at 6:15, two gentleman opened the doors for us. We took seats at the corner of the restaurant’s small bar, which is separate from the dining room. The space was quiet, at least as restaurant bars go. Our charming bartender, Colleen, wasn’t terribly busy, so we had had time to kibbitz. She informed us that not all cosmopolitans are the same, and that her recipe includes vodka, cointreau, cranberry and lime juices, garnished with an orange peel. Appetizers were certainly in order for our Saturday cocktail hour. From the Happy Hour menu, we selected Meatballs ($10) and housemade Rococo Chips ($8), with a bleu cheese sauce. Our cosmo cost $16. Appearance Served in a martini glass, the cosmopolitan was an alluring dusty pink, fairly begging to be sipped. Three medium-sized meatballs came in a bowl with brown sauce and a couple pieces of crostini. The chips were drizzled with sauce. Texture and Taste Before I took my first-ever sip of a cosmpolitan, I cleansed my palate with a 3 Daughters Rod Bender Red Ale ($6). I picked up the martini glass with care, protruded a pinkie for effect, and drank. … Quite tasty. I particularly liked Colleen’s artful bend of sweetness and tartness — which added up to refreshing. Unlike the brown-liquor drinks that have appeared in this column, the cosmo masked its liquor taste. My guess is that’s part of the point. The tender meatballs were accented by a sweetish sauce that made the flavor pop. We all complimented the potato chips, which didn’t try to be anything other than potato chips, and got a nice boost from the bleu cheese. We wished there were more. It didn’t take much effort for three adults to lay waste to our appetizers. And our drinks. We were out in less than an hour. Onward to … JUNO & THE PEACOCK At 7:15, we found a parking spot right around the corner on 5th Avenue North. Let me pause here to say that miracles come in many forms. Juno & the Peacock — its name comes from an Aesop’s Fable — was lit, man. The large dining room was packed, every seat at the bar taken. I think we commandeered the last available high-top near the bar. A random server stopped by and put a glass of white wine in front of each of us. “Complimentary,” he said, smiled, then moved on. A gaggle of service employees hustled to and fro, whizzing by our table. We ordered a Juno Cosmpolitan ($16) and I got a Mastry’s Brewing Breezy Tropical Blonde ($8) as a palate cleanser. For appetizers, we chose Crispy Brussels ($15) and Spinach-Gouda Mornay ($12). Our server, Tiffany, returned with the drinks within a couple of minutes. I don’t know how she did it. Appearance This cosmo came in a champagne coupe (aka glass). It was a bit lighter in color and frothier than the one at Rococo, and had a lemon twist. I raised a suspicious eyebrow at the bright orange sauce that accompanied the Brussels sprouts. Texture and Taste This cosmo was fruitier and sweeter than its counterpart. There wasn’t much tang, and it had a slightly syrupy texture. I couldn’t detect much in the way of vodka flavor — no surprise there. In all, the drink went down smoothly. The appetizers were exemplary. A half-dozen crostinis gave us plenty of real estate on which to spread the luscious spinach-gouda dip. That eyebrow-raising orange sauce turned out to be an ideal sweet sidekick, offsetting the bitterness of the sprouts. We finished everything and were out in less than an hour. And the Winner of the Cosmopolitan Confrontation Is … Rococo Steak. Rococo wins on the Cosmo. (Downing signed off on this.) Juno wins on the food. As far as atmosphere, well, let me put it this way: Ask two Baby Boomers and a Gen X’er if they’d prefer an early-evening cocktail at a quiet restaurant bar or a similar drink amid the bustling energy of a packed, trendy new restaurant. Which one do you think they’d choose? Ask some younger folks and you’re likely to get the opposite answer. Had I to do this exercise over, I would have flipped the sequence, hitting Juno & the Peacock first, to take in the vibe, then heading over to Rococo, where we would’ve kicked back and probably ordered another round. Hey, drink and learn. Top photo by David Downing.
Which Club Sandwich Will Clobber the Other?
While I was kicking around ideas for this week’s edition, it suddenly occurred to me that it had been a while since I added to my collection of fancy toothpicks with colored wraps on one end. And that meant only one thing: club sandwich. It’s an American invention, the club sandwich, dating back to the late 1800s. Conflicting origin stories say that it was developed at the Union Club, a private social club in New York City, or, 180 miles north at the Saratoga Club, a private casino. Fun fact: Most histories say that the club sandwich did not start out as a double-decker with three pieces of bread. That third slice started to show up in published recipes in 1901. The sandwich really caught on during the 1904 World’s Fair in St. Louis, where four vendors served their own version. Over the years, the club sandwich has become an institution, as common on fancy room-service menus as it is in corner diners. The club sandwich poses an eating conundrum. Human mouths don’t open wide enough to take bites in any normal way. I was up for the challenge. Our contestants are Trip’s Diner, with locations in St. Pete and Tampa, and The Burg Bar & Grill in St. Pete’s Grand Central District. TRIP’S DINER I’ve driven by Trip’s in St. Pete — the Tampa location is in Seminole Heights — countless times, but this was my first visit. We walked in at 5:15 Monday, and I instantly dug the vibe. The place didn’t try too hard to be a diner of yore. On the eastern side sat a small lunch counter with stools — a nostalgic touch — but the rest of the seating consisted of walled booths. The woman at the counter greeted us cheerily and said to sit anywhere we liked. We grabbed a corner booth, and I immediately noticed how comfy the benches were. The space became our little eating outpost, cozy and private. As I ordered our Club Sandwich ($10.99) on toasted sourdough with fries as a side, Bonnie piped up, “Eric, they have milkshakes.” She’s well aware of my weaknesses. Our effervescent server, Jenny, chimed in, “I’ll make you one.” Sold. I ordered chocolate. ($4.99) Appearance The meal had all the markings of a classic club sandwich, cut in quarters and tipped sideways showing the layers of meat, cheese and veggies within. The toothpicks for my collection had red flags. Texture and Taste Trip’s uses thick-cut bacon, rendering it the sandwich’s predominant flavor. That’s fine with me because everything tastes better with bacon. The bread, toasted lightly as requested, was coated with basil mayonnaisse. Swiss cheese added a touch of sharpness and red onion provided surprise moments of bitterness. The ham, turkey, romaine lettuce and tomato blended well, making for a sandwich that was at once complex and familiar. The fries had a soft outer shell and were aggressively salted. The chocolate shake was lovely, jazzed up by a dollop of whipped cream drizzled with chocolate syrup. The paper straw was thin, requiring more than ideal suckage. Bonnie suggested I try using two. Whoa! Radical. But it worked. After finishing my meal, I double-barrelled my way to the bottom. THE BURG BAR & GRILL This hole-in-the-wall — and I say that in the most affectionate way — is located just east of the I-275 overpass on Central Avenue. It’s a tiny, no-frills bar with dollar bills plastered on the walls and a reputation for serving good burgers. As we walked across Central at 5:15 on Wednesday, a familiar skunky odor wafted from (I presumed) the balconies at the 1701 Central apartments. Some folks were eating at tables on the sidewalk. Not much was going on inside besides an older fella intently watching ESPN without the sound. That’s because The Burg was playing an excellent mix of oldies (Beatles, Beach Boys, Elton John, etc.) at moderate volume. We sat at a four-top near the door. Carla — she of the radiant smile and trucker’s cap — took our order: Turkey Club ($11.99), plus fries ($2.50). Bonnie got a five-ounce burger ($8.99). Appearance Uh oh. The sandwich was held together by plain wooden skewers instead of fancy toothpicks. And … it was cut into halves instead of quarters. Was there no end to the club-sandwich rule-breaking at The Burg? Elsewhere, there was a whole lot of turkey between these slices of bread. And the fries really spoke to me. Texture and Taste A fistful of sandwich. Whereas the Trip’s version emphasized bacon, this one was turkey forward. In fact, while I am predisposed to thick sandwiches, this one had too much turkey (although it was good quality). For the second half, I removed some of the turkey. That gave this beast a more balanced combo of flavors, which included avocado (more rule-breaking). All the meat, cheese and veggies were set on adroitly mayo’d Texas toast, which added to the overall heft. I plowed through this monster — sloppily. Good thing there was a roll of paper towels on the table. I got schmutz on my mustache and beard, on my nose, even a smudge on my glasses. It all added up to — yum. Big ups to the fries. Sliced in-house, each sliver was its own. Some were long, some were short, some were thin and crispy, some were fat and droopy. All of them were rustic and real. I surprised myself by eating the entire meal, athough Bonnie pilfered some fries. Which Club Sandwich Clobbered the Other? Neither. This was a close call, but I’ll make one: The Burg Bar & Grill. The Trip’s sandwich was more refined and I preferred its bacon-ness. I enjoyed the atmosphere in each place. I hadn’t been to a diner or a hole-in-the-wall in a while. And while I appreciated The Burg’s lawless approach to the club sandwich, I did deduct points for it not having fancy toothpicks. Ultimately, the fries tilted the decision in The Burg’s favor.
A Thai Curry Clash (Panang Edition)
Red, yellow, green, massaman, panang. Any habitual consumer of Thai food knows these to be the types of curries you’ll find on offer in nearly all Thai restaurants in America. I can’t do all five this week so let’s go with panang, the curry that’s most often top-of-menu. Panang, which has about a half-dozen different spellings, is named after Penang, a small island off the coast of Malaysia, which borders Thailand to the south. According to Food & Wine, panang is a variant of red curry, but it is richer and sweeter and therefore considered its own type. The primary ingredient is coconut milk. Makrut lime, indigenous to tropical Southeast Asia, is another, plus lots more that I won’t list here. As contestants, I chose two basic Thai restaurants in St. Pete that have been around a long time: Thai Am Restaurant and Siam Garden Thai. I picked chicken as my protein. As far as spicy heat, I usually go with just a hint, but this time I elected to live dangerously and ordered straight-up “medium.” I hadn’t used the FFF Lab + Photo Studio™ in a while, so got the Thai curries to go. I added fried spring rolls to my orders. SIAM GARDEN THAI The restaurant’s main sign got blown away during the hurricanes. Only “Bring Your Catch. We Will Cook It!” remained, making the place look like a seafood shack. I hadn’t picked up food at Siam Garden in decades, so — due to the lack of signage, and just to make sure — I asked some people in the parking lot who confirmed that this was the place. The storms had also done a number on the patio’s canvas covering, making it droop sadly on the ground. Appearance What can you say about the appearance of Thai curry other than, once you choose your flavor/color, they essentially all look the same? Texture and Taste The burning question was: How would I like my panang curry medium hot? Had I have lived too dangerously? As it turned out, no, although it took some getting use to. This wasn’t the type of spicy heat that creeps up on you. Rather, it hit right away, and then kind of mellowed. Or maybe I just got used to it. I appreciated that the chicken breast was sliced thinly, and in small pieces. The fowl integrated well with the vegetables (mostly onion) and the lush sauce, flecked with red pepper flakes. All told, it was a sweet heat that delivered on the promise of Thai takeout. THAI AM RESTAURANT Although I’m not a regular consumer of Thai takeout, this is my go-to place, essentially for two reasons: proximity (4th Street in St. Pete) and consistency. I walked in the door last Friday at 1:30. My order was ready, the woman at the counter was pleasant, I paid and left. To the best of my memory, Thai Am has never messed up one of my takeout orders. They didn’t this time either. Appearance This version of panang curry looked much the same as Siam Garden’s. No surprise there. The pieces of chicken were larger, as were the vegetables. It was remarkable how similar these restaurants’ versions of medium-spicy were. Is there some sort of finely calibrated heat meter in their kitchens? Thai Am’s bigger and thicker pieces of chicken breast required some more vigorous jaw work, and some fork-cutting. The vegetables retained a lively crunch. In all, a substantial, reliable, meal. Just what I’d come to expect. And the Winner of the Thai Curry Clash (Panang Edition) Is … Siam Garden. A razor thin margin, mosty because Siam Garden’s chicken was cut more thinly, rendering it more tender. Also, Siam Garden’s spring rolls were less chewy, and had a more defined flavor. Overall, though, the meals were strikingly similar. I originally ate them four days apart, which was not ideal in this case. So being a conscientious Food Fight arbiter — and out of medium curiosity — I warmed up small portions of leftovers on Thursday and ate the curries side by side to see if I could better detect a difference. Not much. Any contrast in the spice-heat was undetectable. Siam Garden’s sauce was a shade thicker and sweeter. Bottom line: These curries made for one good lunch, one good dinner, and one good leftover snack.