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.
A Bruschetta Vendetta
Every now and then you just want a light bite — quick and easy, in a quiet dining room or on a patio, during off hours, just the two of you. There are myriad appetizers to choose from in these occasions, but one I’ve come to appreciate is bruschetta. Its combination of (usually) diced tomatoes, an Italian cheese, olive oil and a considerable spectrum of other ingredients piled atop small pieces of toast manages to be at once comforting and zingy. And you can eat it with your hands. Bonnie and I set out on two excursions to have a relaxing light bite of bruschetta — and bruschetta only — in two St. Pete restaurants: Taverna Costale and Beau & Mo’s Italian Steakhouse. TAVERNA COSTALE Tuesday, 3:30 p.m. — The downtown St. Pete restaurant’s elegant dining room was understandably empty. Besides, the bruschetta was on the Happy Hour menu (3-6 p.m.) and only available in the bar area. We could hardly have picked a more beguiling environment. Taverna Costale’s bar is open-air on two sides, one facing Central Avenue. We could’ve sat at a couple of outdoor barstools, but chose a two-top inside, within an arm’s length of the bar. The balmy exterior air took a bit of nip out of the air-conditioned interior. The light was lovely. We ordered Seasonal Bruschetta ($10), and Bonnie got a Sea Sun Chardonnay ($8). I’m programmed not to drink alcohol on Tuesday at 4 p.m. — it might be 5 o’clock somewhere but it’s not 5 o’clock here — so I opted for plain old non-bubbly water. Appearance The restaurant’s seasonal twist on the dish replaces the tomatoes with roasted red peppers. Fluffy ricotta cheese was slathered on the toast. And although the menu didn’t mention it, thin slices of proscuitto draped across the top. Texture and Taste This version lived up to the markings of a first-rate bruschetta. First, all of the ingredients were fresh and energetic. Their contrasts stood out — creamy ricotta, lush roasted red peppers, crunchy arugula, salty and potent prosciutto, hints of tart balsamic glaze. Foremost, the ingredients blended splendidly, complementing each other. For instance, there was just enough prosciutto to add punch without it taking over. The toasted sourdough was on the chewy side. The two-piece portion was small(ish), it being a Happy-Hour deal. Bonnie kindly left me a little of hers. Taverna Costale’s antipasto turned out to be an ideal mid-afternoon snack. We should’ve gotten two. BEAU & MO’S ITALIAN STEAKHOUSE Wednesday, 4:45 p.m. — Bonnie scored a parking spot right in front of this place on 5th Avenue North in Historic Kenwood. We walked from the sunny lot into the dark confines of a Chicago-style hangout circa 1950s, replete with crooners singing old standards on the sound system, the waitstaff clad in all black with ruby-red bowties, and black-and-white photos of starlets from decades past hanging above the booths. We chose to sit at the far side of the small bar. Beau & Mo’s has a Happy Hour menu (from the 4:30 open to 6), but our chosen antipasto wasn’t on it. We ordered the four-piece Bruschetta ($20); Bonnie got a Chardonnay, and I stuck with water. Our bartender Mitch was a hoot, and we had some fun chats with him. The entire staff — which at this time of day probably outnumbered the customers — was accomodating and friendly. Appearance The dish came out within a few minutes. This was more traditional presentation of bruschetta, with diced tomatoes and a drizzle of balsamic. A coating of goat cheese peered out from under the toppings and atop toasted Italian crostinis. Texture and Taste This bruschetta ate tidily, with the toppings held together by olive oil and balsamic glaze. The crostinis were perfect, its outer edges just the right level of crusty. The bread gave way easily to bites, no gnawing necessary. I’m not a fan of goat cheese — I tilt toward milder types (ricotta, hint hint) — but I was fine with it in combination with tomatoes and onions. This bruschetta had stronger flavors all around than the competition’s. Tart, sweet, salty, puckery. We easily polished off our appetizer. Bonnie, who likes goat cheese, ate her full share. Even with the chit-chat, we were in and out of Beau & Mo’s in about a half an hour. Next time we’ll make it more of a Happy Hour. In fact, Mitch told us about the new Happy Hour menu. One of the items is a Wagyu Hot Dog for 12 bucks. The Winner of the Bruschetta Vendetta Is … Taverna Costale. The decision, more or less, boiled down to goat cheese (-) and prosciutto (+). A matter of preference. In two afternoons over three days, we experienced two vastly different versions of bruschetta and two very different vibes. We’ve got to start doing light-bite Happy Hours more often.
Tampa vs. St. Pete in a Steak Frites Scuffle
Things have more or less returned to normal for us, so no Post-Hurricane edition this week. I write those words with all due love and sympathy for those whose normal is a long way off. It’s been a while since this column featured a premium dish. And it’s been a while since I’ve had steak, anywhere. Steak Frites is French for “steak and fries.” I wasn’t sure, so I checked this: “frites” is pronounced “freet,” with no “s” sound. Although the dish includes French fries and its name is in the French language, the country of Belgium claims to be its place of origination. With those details cleared up, let’s continue. We chose a couple of semi-upscale restaurants: Cassis in downtown St. Pete and District South Kitchen & Craft in South Tampa. CASSIS We’ve had a couple of light meals at this popular eatery on Beach Drive in downtown St. Pete, always outdoors on the front patio. This was our first dinner here, so even though the weather was lovely we chose to dine indoors as a change of pace. The interior is spacious and tastefully designed. Most of the customers were eating al fresco on Monday at 6:15, so the hostess put us in the corner of a large leather banquette, providing both me and Bonnie ample couch space. I like eating dinner for two at corner positions rather than across the table. Makes for easier conversation. We opted to split our meal: Bar Steak Frites ($41.90), cooked medium, with a starter of Crispy Brussels Sprouts ($16.50). Appearance A fat chunk of sirloin (that looked like filet mignon) luxuriated in a pool of dark-red wine sauce, with fries stacked in a separate container. A dollop of garlic butter perched atop the meat. Nice touch having the Cassis logo on the plate. Texture and Taste I’m glad we ordered the steak medium. It was perfectly cooked to our liking, the ideal level of pink. I’ve had sirloin that was unpleasantly chewy, even push-it-away tough. This was the polar opposite of that. Clearly a superior cut, the steak was surprisingly tender, but not melt-in-your-mouth tender like a filet. It took an agreeable amount of jaw work. The steak had an earthy flavor that stood on its own. I alternated between taking naked bites and dipping the meat into the rich brown sauce, which had just enough wine flavor. The thin frites had a lightly crispy exterior that gave way to a firm innards that retained their potato taste. And they weren’t greasy in the least. I’m not a big fan of Brussels Sprouts, but these won me over. They came in a big white bowl, dark husks on top, littered with chopped shallots. The orbs were crispy on the outside, but delightfully moist and green on the inside. The bitter(ish) vegetable was punctuated with garlic and dosed with a secret weapon — a chili-infused honey that added a subtle sweetness. In all, the appetizer’s creative blend of complementary flavors rendered it a cut above. DISTRICT SOUTH KITCHEN & CRAFT At 7 p.m. on Wednesday, business at this South Tampa hotspot — the sister concept to District Tavern in the Channel District — was picking up. By 7:30, the place was full, buzzing with energy. District South has patio seating that faces Dale Mabry Highway so we chose to sit at a four-top in the tastefully appointed interior. We only saw one server working the room, and although she was in nonstop motion, she was pleasant and upbeat with us. We ordered Steak Frites ($34), cooked medium, a starter of Charred Brussels ($12), plus Bread & Butter ($7). I got a Tampa Export on draft ($7), which I’d not heard of. I was excited to try a new local lager. It’s a product of Barriehaus Beer Co., based in Ybor City. Appearance The 12-ounce New York strip, a beast, had an inviting char. The fries were piled on the plate with the meat. Containers of ketchup and chimichuri aioli sauce nosed their way on as well, like the last entrants on a subway car. Texture and Taste Two perfectly cooked steaks within three days. This piece tracked a tad more rare than the one at Cassis, and it took some extra knife and jaw work, but I chalked that up to the difference in the cuts. The sirloin had a hearty flavor and was succulently juicy. This slab of beef was big enough that, even though Bonnie and I split the meal, we couldn’t finish it. The fries were bigger and thicker, with a crispier exterior, than those at Cassis. The Brussels sprouts were considerably different as well. Their bitterness was not mitigated by sweetness, but rather made salty by tiny slices of chorizo. Dipping sprouts in the lush aioli sauce added a smoothness that benefited the bold-flavored dish. Kudos to the Tampa Export beer. It was smooth and full-bodied, easily drinkable but with lots of character. I had two. And the Winner of the Steak Frites Scuffle Is … Cassis. Cassis edged out a victory. It was a pleasure having two first-rate splurge-y meals in a week.
Taking Flight With Chicken Wings (Post-Hurricane Edition Vol. 2)
After spending six days away from home, and returning on Sunday to a house that was intact but without power, and being emotionally wrung out, I considered bailing on this week’s Friday Food Fight. But then I thought, “Wait a second. Am I going to let something like the aftermath of a major hurricane deter me from the completion of my appointed rounds?” I quickly came up with an answer: Hell no! Chicken wings came to mind as an expedient food choice. Twenty months ago, I pitted Hooters against Buffalo Wild Wings in a showdown of wing chains. I’ve since wanted to feature a couple of local restaurants. But first I had to find a couple. As I’m sure you know, a lot of places are, or were, closed. After some online research and phone calls and driving around, I landed on The Horse & Jockey in South Pasadena and Whiskey Wings Sports Bar & Grill in St. Pete. It should be interesting to see how a British pub fares against a restaurant with “Wings” in its name. THE HORSE & JOCKEY It didn’t matter that the restaurant had a limited menu on Monday night — we were there for wings and they had ’em. The Horse & Jockey was hummin’ at 7:30. Way busier than usual, I suspect. After a short wait, we were seated in a booth. Tight quarters, but we had no complaints. The place was loud — several groups were cuttin’ loose, post-Milton — but our party of three was able to chat comfortably. The service team was hustling to keep up. I ordered 8 Smoked Wings ($13.50) with garlic seasoning (instead of Buffalo, sweet chili or nuclear), tacked on a side of fries ($4) and got a pint of Harp ($6.75). Appearance Looked like a tasty plate of wings. It was not accompanied by bleu cheese or another dipping sauce. We eventually asked and received bleu cheese dressing. Carrot sticks instead of celery seemed to me to be a step up. Texture and Taste The wings came out hot — hot hot, not spicy hot. I nibbled gingerly to start. The garlic sauce was baked in, so the wings were not dripping, which was a good thing. The char was spot-on, offering a crispy-chewy beginning to each wing. They didn’t have much smokey flavor, but I didn’t mind. The garlic quotient was just right. The wings held together well — and they were not tough or gristly — making for pleasurable bites. I ate four — slowly, savoring them. (I once knew a guy who’d put a wing in his mouth, chomp down and pull out the naked bone. Um, no thanks.) The large bowl of fries were actually “chips,” seeing as this was a British-themed restaurant. They came out hot-hot too, but were ultimately too thick and soft for my liking. I only ate a few. WHISKEY WINGS SPORTS BAR & GRILL Whiskey Wings — on Roosevelt Boulevard just north of Gandy — is five miles from my home and I’d never heard of it until this week. The place has been open five years. Furthermore, there there are four other locations in Pinellas County. That’s what I get for not being a wings (or sports bar) guy, I guess. As we walked from the parking lot on Wednesday at 7, it was wonderfully cool and breezy, a respite of sorts from post-hurricane stress. The restaurant’s outdoor deck was buzzing, with a boisterous crowd at the bar and a guy with a guitar strumming and singing. Preferring quiet, we opted for indoors. Quite a stark contrast. A server whisked by and told us to sit anywhere, so we grabbed a booth. Two others were occupied. A black ceiling and TV-lined walls accented by bright red booths and chairs made for a dispiriting vibe. Our server was covering a lot of real estate, but she was pleasant and efficient. We ordered 10 wings ($17.99), naked, with garlic parmesan sauce, plus a side of curly fries ($4.99). I got a Bud Light draft ($5). Appearance The restaurant fries its wings, so they lacked the inviting char of the ones at Horse & Jockey. As the menu promised, they were a golden color. A container of bleu cheese sauce was on the plate. Texture and Taste The skin had an acceptable level of crispiness, but also some flacid parts that felt a bit too much like … skin. The garlic and parmesan provided an adequate flavor combo. The meat inside was juicy and tender. Like two nights previous, I ate these wings slowly. Bonnie and I split the 10, and brought four home. We discarded the wings on Thursday, and put another unnecessary hinged-foam container into the trash. Kudos to the curly fries. They were long and lightly fried. Not too crispy, and not greasy. We — mostly me — finished the ample portion. And the Winner of the Chicken Wings Battle (Post-Hurricane Edition Vol. 2) Is … Horse & Jockey. A pretty impressive helping of wings for a restaurant more known for fish & chips, bangers & mash and cottage pie. And finally, a reminder: Stone crab season has begun! Lots of local restaurants will be serving them.