Category Archives: Eating Out

Pizza Overload (or Total, Unabashed Laziness)

Posted on May 23, 2012 | Leave a comment

Friends, I did not think I’d hear myself say this, but I’m quittin’ pizza for a while.

Yeah. Let’s take a moment to process that statement, its severity.

Last week was the Week of Pizza, practically and theoretically*. If I were to be honest with myself and y’all — and, DUH, I’m gonna be totally upfront — I ate pizza on five occasions last week. FIVE. I’m embarrassed even to write that, but confession is a form of catharsis, is it not?

Gee, Kate, you might wonder, How were you able to eat so much pizza? Lemme break it down. One night, happy hour with Bree turned into many happy hours, and when I got home I ate half a leftover frozen CPK pizza (BBQ Chicken variety; not recommended). I heated these leftovers in the toaster oven so generously given to me by Sabina. But, unfamiliar as I was with the settings of said oven, I burned the hell out of that pizza. Did I eat it anyhow? Oh, yes I did: in secret and in shame.

The next night, lazy as I was, I ordered pizza and a Greek salad from Serrano’s. Which was much more food than I thought it would be — half the salad and two pieces of pizza left me feeling uncomfortable. Friday, I had pizza for lunch AND dinner. Sunday, after a day of so-called revelry, I horqed (oh god) the remainder of my St. Francis’ Chef’s Mess and a slice of SARAH’S LEFTOVER PIZZA.

When you’re eating your roommie’s leftover pizza, you know you have a problem. I staged my own intervention.

See that? That’s one of my lovely quinoa salad casserole things, a dish I make (almost) weekly because 1) It’s simple; 2) It’s delicious; and 3) It provides more nutrients than most ‘zas. I made this Quinoa Thing Monday night — an effort, however small, to right my seriously off-course eating habits.

This Quinoa Thing included the following ingredients: Quinoa, prepared per package directions; Bacon, pan-fried, cooled, and crumbled in at the end; Brussels sprouts and chickpeas, tossed in EVOO/maple syrup/s&p/red pepper flakes and roasted for half an hour; One Fuji apple, diced; Salt-and-pepper pistachios; and lemon-parsley vinaigrette adapted from one in this month’s Bon Appetit. Oh, and goat cheese, because I eat goat cheese every day of my lyfe.

Quinoa Thing is delicious and masquerades as healthy food. Sure, it’s got bacon, cheese, nuts, and oil, but it also has protein! And a vegetable! At the very least, it doesn’t have a crust. Monday night, I took pride in my Adultish dinner, and the pride has lasted this entire week.

*Lest you think I forgot about Theoretical Pizza, you’re wrong. Last week was Pizza Week because of what I ate (obvs), but also because  I was seeking comfort in all realms of my life. I burrowed in my bed, wearing my new AmApp hoodie. I listened to tons of Nite Jewel. And I leaned heavy on my oldest comfort food. Not the greatest week, to be sure, but hey! It’s a new week. Yes, it is.

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Joy of Joys

Posted on April 9, 2012 | Leave a comment

I’ve been gone; I’m back now, if only brief & flittingly. I’ve got no real excuse for the non-posting, my only sort-of excuse being the visiting of family, the suddenly warm and breezy weather that makes me want to abandon all my formal tasks and just walk.

Though I wasn’t posting them, I gathered a lot of meals & stories these past few weeks, one of my favorites being a simple quinoa salad that I dressed up with a new vinaigrette. Besides the grain, the dish contained roasted chickpeas and sweet potatoes, bathed in olive oil, s&p; salt-and-pepper pecans; golden raisins; fresh snap peas, cut into sections; roasted grape tomatoes (not yet burst); a dressing of olive oil, lemon juice, s&p, dried tarragon, and fresh mint; and, finally, goat cheese, mixed in after the salad had cooled a bit.

Yes, I just spelled out the ingredients list for that salad, that’s how satisfying it was. I’m going to replicate it; I have just the sweet potato prepared.

My favorite story, though, is my first trip to The Jelly Donut. Since I first saw it, perched at 24th and South Van Ness, I’d longed to go. I put off visiting, in part out of fear that the donuts might not meet my expectations (what if they tasted like old grease?). Really, though, I enjoyed the longing: the anticipation of the day I’d cross the bootscuffed threshold and pause before the display case.

My history with donuts is a long one, more storied than you might assume. I’ve waxed nostalgic for Hans’ Bakery, the donut shop of my youth where you could get a glazed donut as large as a plate, its interior lighter than spun air. I’ve also mentioned my fond feelings for Swedough’s, whose burnt-orange decorating scheme and aging clientele make one feel as though they’ve fallen into a wormhole and landed in 1976. In both cases, I love these donut shops not simply for their wares (though DAMN, do I love donuts), but for the experience they provide: temporary relief from the exigencies of daily life.

My first Jelly Donut experience was wholly unexpected. Having eaten dinner and had a cocktail, Alex and I faced a long wait for the bus. Rather than sitting in the [relative] cold, A. suggested we get a donut. And, despite having just eaten, the lure of fried dough was irresistible: time and time again, I’d passed by that smudged plate glass, only to walk on past, but not that night. “OK,” I said, when I really meant, “Oh HELL yes!”

I knew immediately which donut I wanted: that one, the chocolate-covered behemoth pictured above. When in doubt, I opt for the largest-available, chocolate-frosted treat. (When not in doubt, I opt for the same thing.) My standby didn’t let me down. I undid the golden dough from the coils into which it had been fried, trying not to get chocolate all over my hands and face; mostly, I succeeded. Contrary to my initial prediction, the donut did not taste like old grease — in fact, it was airy and not-too-sweet, though the frosting may have given me insta-diabetes.

What I enjoyed most about the trip — indeed, what I enjoy about most donut jaunts — was occupying the dining room. Those well-wiped tables and serviceable chairs make me feel I could be just about anywhere. Donut places have about them a certain desolation, a silence that isn’t replicated in other establishments, even those with a similar price point and customer base. There’s a loneliness, a desire for a moment of peace and quiet; it’s reflected in the charred-coffee smell and the fluorescent lights’ flicker and the pleasant detachment of the woman running the till. It’s a mild, meditative disengagement from The Routine: a respite I’ll never give up, despite the barrage of bad news about refined sugars.

I don’t have a donut shop here (“my” shop). I love Bob’s, but it’s too far away to establish itself as a haunt. The Jelly Donut, though lacking some of Bob’s charm, has a solid product and a grittiness that resonates with me. It’s miles closer, too, and open late. I foresee more J.D. trips in the future: the late-night future, replete with unpopulated muni rides, wind-whipped scarves, adventure.

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Posted in Eating Out, Nostalgiafest, Restaurant Review, Uncategorized

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Meditations on Dim Sum

Posted on March 12, 2012 | 1 Comment

Another too-short weekend! I’m mightily glad the evenings are lighter — all the better for post-dinner strolls, my dear — but I have Strong Negative Feelings about waking up when it’s dark out. Once again, daylight savings has made this unenviable condition a personal reality.

Back to the start, though, the start being Friday night. Hit up Southern Pacific Brewing Company for burgers (I got the Black and Blue, as last time), Brussels Sprouts, and beers — or Manhattans, for those not in a beer-drinking mood. My Manhattan was on the sweeter end of the continuum; not undrinkably sweet, but sweet enough. Lesson learned: stick with beer. The burger and fries — oh, the fries! — were totally solid. The fries, slender and golden, were better than solid. They were impermeably good.

These are homemade Micheladas, created/enjoyed on Saturday night. They're not related to our trip to Southern Pacific except that these are alcoholic drinks, and we consumed alcohol at S.P. #tenuousconnections.

Southern Pacific may feel warehousey (which, duh: it’s in an old warehouse) and be packed with startup bros, but it’s meeting a critical consumer need: the need for good, decently priced food & drinks. Try finding that on Valencia, and ye shall be lost.

Saturday’s adventures took us to the Richmond, that infrequently visited land o’ yore. We’d planned to bike from our houses* to the ocean, stopping on the way back for lunch (ambitious!). As it happens, hunger waylaid us. (Are you surprised? We were not surprised.) We stopped at Good Luck Dim Sum — Alex’s favorite dim-sum joint in the city — for sustenance.

Full Disclosure: When Alex suggested dim sum, I made the “Hmmmmm” noise I make when I’m thinking “HELL NO!” but want to appear more open-minded than I’m actually feeling. Those who know me know this noise. Alex responded, “Wait, do you not want to go because you’re not in the mood for dim sum, or because you’re afraid of it?”

The latter, sadly. Prior to this weekend, I’d had dim sum once — and that was only by accident! I’m skittish about eating foods I can’t identify, foods with gelatinous textures, or foods that may or may not contain shrimp. BUT, in the spirits of Progress/Open-Mindedness/Overcoming Personal Failings, I said, “I’m scared, but let’s do it.” And we did.

What I liked most about this meal was the element of choice. Choice — choosing what I want to eat, how I want that food prepared, the fork I select, where I sit, etc. etc. ad nauseam amen — is one of my favorite parts of cooking and eating, and the choices available at Good Luck were damn impressive. As we waited to order, I gazed into the display case, admiring the tender coconut shreds blanketing the desserts, the golden symmetry of the sesame balls.

Perhaps I should modify that statement: I enjoyed the coupling of choice and excessiveness. I knew when I placed my order that there was no way I’d be eating all that food, but it was uniquely gratifying to carry that orange plastic tray, heaped with food, from the counter to the table, other diners looking on in curiosity or aghastness. The woman behind me in line actually said, referring to Alex’s order, “Oh, I thought that was for the two of you.” WHAT?

“Nope,” I said. Pause. Another pause. Woman looked a little nervous. “We do like to have leftovers,” I finally said.

Alex, looking so dapper and about to dig in.

My favorite bite, to be sure, was the sesame ball. I’m gaga for sesame: seeds, oil, whatever form I can get. It’s difficult for me to write about the ball because I have no basis for comparison, but I’ll say this: the interior bean paste kicked up the depth of flavor in a way that pleased me. Murky red, one shade darker than a kidney bean’s coat, the paste tasted ruddy. It tasted like it looked. Beautiful in contrast to the ball’s light exterior.

On the other end of the enjoyment spectrum was the scallion dumpling, the loser in my Personal Food Judgment Zone. I love scallions, and I love dumplings, so what could go wrong? MANY THINGS. I’ll break it down nice & simple: first, the dumpling’s skin was ueber-gelatinous, a texture that greatly displeased me. Second: the dumpling’s interior had only two visible ingredients: chopped scallions and shrimp (which were not listed in the item description!). Third: Well, I don’t have a third. I’ll just restate that the dumpling contained shrimp.

Scallions rock, but shrimp do not. Sorry, seafood lovers, but shrimp (to me) look like outsized bugs. Someday, I will try one, but that day is going to take weeks — months? Years? — of preparation. As it was, I was unprepared for shrimp and did not eat more than a nibble of the dumpling’s skin, and that was good enough for me.

Man, writing this is making me crave a sesame ball.

Dim sum. It’s not a Garky Tradition yet, but it’s on its way.

In other exciting news unrelated to everything I’ve just mentioned, my mom and sis are heading to town tomorrow (cascading applause!). Yep, We Three Troublemakers will be reunited and ready to nosh. Mom and I are going to bake Sys a special birthday cake, but we’ll undoubtedly sneak out for some treats, too: likely Papalote (sys’ favorite salsa in the city), Boulange (mom loves their breakfastssssss), and, if I have anything to say about it, MISSION PIE. It’s been a few weeks since I’ve had one of their scones, and I’m getting itchy for one.

***

*Well, from one of our houses, but just imagine us starting from a point directly between our two houses, if that is easier. Which it isn’t, because maybe you don’t know where Alex and I live? To simplify: we set out from Alex’s house.

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A Clean, Well-Lighted Sandwich

Posted on January 30, 2012 | Leave a comment

It is Sunday night; I’m bundled in my favorite loungewear hoodie, sipping some ice water, and hearing the fire engines roar past. This past week was long (too long), and the weekend felt painfully short after such a hectic spell.

Still, I feel rejuvenated & ready to start my week. I had some gorgeous meals this weekend: brunch at Chow with Courtney, where I had mimosas and fries and a gussied-up peasant sandwich of ham, roast tomato, gouda, aioli, and a fried egg on grilled sourdough; dinner at Nombe with Alex and Willow and Joe, where our table spilled over with food: miso and bacon-wrapped mochi and a delicately gridded grilled eggplant, which was drizzled with miso. A chocolate souffle that really wasn’t, but that was a solid dessert nonetheless. My cutest meal was at Jay’s Cheesesteak 2, the Western Addition cousin to the Mission shop. Friday, I had plans to meet Sabina but no time to run home for food, and I found myself wandering Divis in search of a bite. I considered (briefly) Bus Stop Pizza, but reasoned that any pizzeria named after a bus stop couldn’t provide more than novelty. The brand-x sub shop next door was empty but for a forlorn clerk wielding a baguette. In light of my unwillingness to venture more than a few blocks from the Page, Jay’s became my last chance.

But what a phenomenal chance! I desired only the most basic food; if I’d had my way, I probably would have conjured up a peanut butter sandwich on thick, seed-crusted bread. Jay’s offered a close second: a no-frills BLT served on toasted baguette. It’s tough to tell in the photo above, but the cook made the bacon precisely as I like it: half a step too close toward burned. Nestled in its wreath of shredded lettuce and mayonnaise, crowned by tomatoes, that bacon was crisp salty satisfaction. (Sometimes, all it takes is salt.)

I felt ultimately cozy in that dim-lit shop, alone except for the cook, the clerk, and another diner, reading the Guardian and pausing, now and then, to take a thoughtful bite of fry. I’m already excited to go back — not as the result of a pre-planned trip, mind you, but the next time I find myself in the neighborhood, in want of a fine, simple meal.

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What I Can’t Live Without

Posted on January 27, 2012 | Leave a comment

KRONNNNNNCH! Yep, it’s Crunch Week at my office (read: end of the production cycle), and most everyone is going a little nuts. We’re all of us sleep-deprived, overcaffeinated, a just a tetch cranky; don’t we sound lovely to chill with? Heh heh heh.

As you’ve probably noticed, my increased workload has really cut into my blogging — a tru bummer, but one that will be reversed soon enough. (I swear!)

I haven’t been cooking at all — the one proper dinner I ate this week was lovingly prepared by Alex, and it was the Most Beautiful Meal. Instead, I’ve been getting weird fast-casual food or eating snack dinners: crackers spread with hummus, small hunks of cheese, Korean pears rinsed quickly and sliced. It’s nourishment, right?

Even though my foodlyfe has been mundane, I want to get back in the blogging saddle, and so I present to you the following list of Trader Joe’s food items I could not live without. The next time you find yourself up shit creek without a paddle (or, like, a granola bar), consult this list. I guarantee you’ll have the best no-cook dinner around.

Trader Joe’s Items I Could Not Live Without

1. Tuscan White Bean Hummus I’m prone to getting myself in food ruts — periods of time during which I’ll eat the same thing over and over and over again until one day, I can’t fathom eating one more bite of the previously revered food. I’ve been in a Tuscan white bean hummus rut for months, which is to say there has been no span of time during which I haven’t had some of this in my fridge. Serious shit, this.

Hummus either blows my mind or turns me off completely. Once in a blue moon, I’ll make my own, but my version inevitably ends up far too garlicky for everyday consumption. Most store-bought hummuses are so pale and mediocre that they don’t warrant a second thought, or glance, or even this mention.

The one exception? Trader Joe’s Tuscan white bean hummus. Ooooh, baby! It’s garlicky but NOT so much so that you can’t eat it at work. It’s unbelievably creamy and spreads like a charm. Unlike its cousins, it’s the perfect shade of ecru — a small advantage, but an advantage nonetheless. Finally, this hummus is cheaper than many of its competitors (and the tub is larger, too). Score, score, score!

2. Apricot Stilton

I became a Stilton convert the weekend of October 15th, 2011. In preparation for our trip to Treasure Island, I hit up TJ’s with instructions to purchase beer, scotch, bread, cheese, more beer, cheese, fruit, and salami. Beyond the standard brie and cheddar, I grabbed a wedge of apricot Stilton. Sure, I hoped for the best; little did I know I’d just discovered a soon-to-become-favorite cheese.

Similar in texture (and pungency) to blue cheese, Stilton is best enjoyed as part of another dish. Let me rephrase: it’s hella crumbly, and you can try to eat it in chunks — just know that cheese crumbles will end up all over your table/counter/desk/other surface. For the most part, I add Stilton to salads; I’m sure it would improve any pasta dish, as well.*

3. Corn Tortilla Flat Breads (Multi-seed edition)Do you like everything bagels? How about snacks that are as crunchy as potato chips but not as greasy as potato chips? Do you like things ostensibly made from other things? Well, you’re in luck: these corn tortilla flat breads are crispy, salty, and perfect for making snackwiches: ramshackle little sandwiches of hummus, arugula, cheese, olives — whatever you might have in your fridge or cupboard.

I’m particularly fond of the flat breads’ size, which makes them ideal for topping with goodies, and their seediness, which adds flavor (and a health halo). Bonus: they’re pretty durable, so far as crackers go; this is to say, they rarely smash into millions of tiny pieces, even if I carry them home in my jostly bike bag.

4. Tempeh Here’s the scoop: TJ’s tempeh looks gnarly (like something you might buy at a community college pottery sale), and it tastes a little gnarly, but give it a chance — it’s packed with protein, slow to perish, and inexpensive. I buy a few bricks to keep on hand for quick dinners: stir-fries and pasta dishes, mostly, but I’d like to try tempeh tacos some night.

My favorite way to prepare tempeh is to 1) cube it; 2) simmer it in coconut milk spiked with spices (cumin, curry powder, smoked paprika, pepper); and 3) serve it with veggies over udon. Naturally bitter, the tempeh is sweetened a bit by the coconut milk.

There are other TJ’s products I LOVE — crack chips, sesame-seed-encrusted cashews, mochi — but these are the ones I’d perish without. And, yes: that’s it, for now. Wish me luck as I head into the final few hours of CRONCH…

***

*Any pasta dish that would benefit from a gentle sweetness, that is.

Image Sources: [1], [2], [3], [4], [5]

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Small Pleasures

Posted on January 23, 2012 | Leave a comment

Kind of an odd, rainy weekend around these parts. Well, it wasn’t kind of rainy — it was entirely rainy — but it was kind of odd. Off and on, I experienced the type of displacement tempered with longing that I felt most acutely in high school and college: the sort of mood whose frequency diminishes as one gets older, but never disappears completely.

Schedule craziness prevented me from cooking anything rad this weekend, but I managed to enjoy some stellar foods + beverages, despite My Hectic Lyfe. Saturday, I spent the morning researching for an article and the afternoon co-hosting an open house. By late afternoon, I was ready for a jaunt. I called Alex to see if he’d like to walk to the Castro to check out a soon-to-be-opened restaurant (more research!). Because he is the sweetest, he accompanied me on my work-related trip. We walked to Dancing Pig BBQ and snapped a few pics, and afterward, we had some walking left in us. We walked right up to The Lookout, about which we’d both been curious but had never visited.

I’m glad we finally visited: the drinks were strong, the view stellar, and the music DANCY! Manhattan in tow, I burrowed deeper into my coat and watched the foot traffic below, feeling cold and alive and five years younger — all one could hope for on a Saturday night.I woke up Sunday morning fully rested and with my stomach a-growl. Rather than hitting Mission Pie for a latte and scone (weekday indulgence), I joined Alex for tea and soup and croissants at Local: Mission Eatery. See that croissant? That was a butter pecan croissant, and it’s maybe the best one I’ve had since I was in Paris. (Note: I never had a butter pecan croissant in France, but I had piles of plain ones. This croissant blows all others out of the water.)

Regular readers and IRL friends know that I’m a pastry fiend — if it has flour and butter, I’m all about it. For a long while, I was smitten with the almond croissants at La Boulange, though I haven’t had one of those in some time. I maintain that Thorough Bread & Pastry has the best chocolate croissants in the city, but this croissant was some seriously next-level shit: with my fork, I pried apart each golden layer of dough, taking tiny bites of the nutty, buttery filling to ration it.

I saved half of my croissant “for later,” by which I mean I ate the second half as soon as I got home. Heh heh heh: that croissant! It was otherworldly. I’d go back tomorrow for a repeat performance, but I feel that such treats should be eaten only occasionally, lest overconsumption diminish their deliciousness.

It’s raining now, and I can hear the slick sounds of tires on the wet road. I didn’t do the best job of cooking this week, but tomorrow begins a new week: one that will be filled, I hope, with polenta and fresh herbs and sandwiches on seed-crusted bread. And coffee: lots of coffee, brewed strong and evened out with almond milk.

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Weekend of Delights

Posted on January 9, 2012 | Leave a comment

Man: I just wrapped up one of the best weekends in recent memory. Spent most of this morning on a recipe-organization project (which is still underway, if you were wondering), then met up with Alex for an afternoon of record shopping & other adventures. Oh, were there adventures! I got a Barbadian folk guitar album & a few others, and then it was well beyond lunchtime and Alex and I felt as though we both might pass away, so we hit Zeitgeist for refreshments. Bloody Marys, because they are the spiciest — cough & sputter spicy — and because they have the saltiest olives. Burgers with homefries because I recently discovered that I like mayonnaise (WHAT?), and because a burger sounded good. I’ll tell ya, Zeitgeist does homefries right. I don’t know their secret (though I suspect it’s rooted in oil), but their fries are golden-orange-and-crunchy on the outside, pillowy within — a rare find.

Lest you think I subsisted entirely on candy and mayo this weekend, think again! The above photo depicts the veggies — Brussels sprouts, broccoli florets, and fennel — that I roasted with chickpeas and golden raisins and served over quinoa.

The dish was partially inspired by a recipe in this month’s Bon Appetit; my take includes a few random ingredients — ones that make for small, indisputable improvements. It was also inspired by my desire to cook from my pantry, if only partially. The resulting dinner was relatively light and diverse of texture — an 8 of 10, in Garkypoints.

Quinoa with Fennel, Brussels Sprouts, and Golden Raisins (serves 4)

Ingredients

  • Six ounces Brussels sprouts, cleaned and halved (or quartered, if you have unusually large sprouts)
  • One fennel bulb, sliced into rounds
  • Approximately one cup broccoli florets, found near the back of the fridge
  • One cup chickpeas, rinsed and drained
  • Scant 1/2 cup golden raisins
  • Extra-virgin olive oil
  • Salt, fresh black pepper
  • Red pepper flakes
  • One cup (uncooked) quinoa
  • One tablespoon lime juice
  • Crumbled goat cheese (for serving)

Method

  1. Preheat your oven to 400. While the oven heats, prepare your veggies for roasting. Place sprouts, fennel, broccoli, and chickpeas in a bowl; toss with olive oil, salt, pepper, and red pepper flakes. Spread on a baking sheet, creating an even layer.
  2. To the layer of veggies, add your golden raisins. Bake the veggie/raisin combo for about 35 minutes, flipping once.
  3. As the vegetables roast, prepare your quinoa. Fill a saucepan with 2 cups water and your quinoa; bring to a boil; and reduce to a simmer, cooking until the grain has absorbed all the liquid. Remove from heat and transfer quinoa to a large bowl.
  4. Once the veggies have cooked, allow them to cool for a moment before transferring them to the quinoa bowl. Blend ingredients well, adding lime juice as you stir.
  5. Serve quinoa salad topped with crumbled goat cheese.

I’m especially fond of the flavor combination produced by the fennel and golden raisins (which aren’t as intensely sweet as their cousins). Perhaps I should add to my list of resolutions a plan to eat more fennel…

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Sunday Morning

Posted on January 8, 2012 | Leave a comment

Happy Sunday, all! I’m gearing up for what promises to be an excellent day: breakfast at the Jelly Donut, a record-shopping adventure, and temperatures in the high 60s (California, I love your winters).

This weekend has already been pretty fabulous: Friday, Alex and I made a leisurely dinner of Tortilla and got a drink at the Phone Booth (where I never fail to feel as old as I am — neither here nor there: just the truth). Yesterday, Nathan and I embarked on a Retailventure, wandering the length of Berkeley’s Solano Avenue, grabbing lunch at a pseduo-Bistro, and getting scoops at iScream — the gingersnap was spicy and rich and studded with the proper amount of cookie bits: an all-around pleasure.

A & I have some exciting, bloggerly news, so STAY TUNED. (A vague statement, I know, but I don’t want to spoil any surprises.)

Finally: toast: man, is that stuff good. I ran out of homemade muesli a few days ago and have been eating Josey’s toast instead, and I’m really digging the change in routine. Not gonna abandon my cereal pattern — no way! — but toast  has been a nice shift in breakfast conduct.

And until later, that’s a wrap.

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Best of the Midwest: Dinner at Dino’s

Posted on December 29, 2011 | 3 Comments

Before hittin’ the skies, I laid out a few eating-related goals for my visit to Minnesota. I knew at the outset that I wouldn’t meet all the goals — I was only home for a few days, and I can’t eat that much, despite my best efforts — but I’m pleased to report that I made it to Dino’s Gyros, home of the killer fries.

Here they are in all of their greasy glory.

My family grew to love Dino’s a solid decade ago, when Ali worked there part-time. (In fact, I credit Ali’s love of All Things Greek to this formative tyme in her lyfe.) Fairly standard as far as fast-casual places go, Dino’s offers sandwiches, salads, Pepsi soft drinks, and a few desserts, including the seemingly out-of-place French silk pie. My go-to order, established when I was a young lass of 16, is as follows:

  • One large soft drink, which is a mixture of Diet Coke (2/3) and Light Lemonade (1/3);
  • One Greek salad with chicken breast;
  • French fries, to be split with my dining companion.

Annnnnnnd, because I am the ultimate Creature of Habit, I did not deviate from my ordering pattern. Shown above is a close-up of my salad; the green pepper ring encircling the pepperoncini and the olive strikes me as beautiful — as in, if it could be preserved and dipped in silver, it would make a badass pendant. Not pictured is my large soft drink, but you all can use your imaginations.

How did my nostalgic meal stack up? Better than I expected, actually. The salad was basic: a bed of chopped romaine hearts topped with tomato slices, thin-sliced onions, a handful of kalamata olives (pitted, thankfully), cucumbers, chicken, feta, and a quartered, grilled pita. (Dressing — about 1/4 cup of it — came on the side.) To my great pleasure/surprise, these winter tomatoes didn’t totally suck; they were a little mealy, but not as mealy as they could have been. Olives were salllllllllllty and briny and delicious, and I ate every last one. Chicken was gorgeously browned and gristle-free. The romaine offered the only obstacle — about half of it was browning at the edges or otherwise wilty. A tad bit gross, but not gross enough to prevent me from chowing down.

Sys, stoked for our traditional meal.

 And how, you ask, were the fries? Quite tasty, thank you. Revision: our first order of fries was pretty bad — they’d clearly been re-fried* and sparkled with salt. Sis returned the basket and asked for unsalted fries, which the cook promptly provided. Hell yeah! The new fries (pictured blurrily above) were golden and slender and mercifully salt-free. Of course, we added our own salt and gobs of HFCS-rich ketchup, and the result was damn fine.

Yep, this trip to Dino’s was resoundingly successful. I ordered my traditional meal, which hasn’t changed a bit in the past decade, and took part in a good-ole-fashioned French-Fry Feeding Frenzy (F^4). No French silk pie this time around, but it’s on the to-eat list for my next Midwest trip.

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*Never be afraid to bring back re-fried fries, people! I worked for four years at my college’s diner, and I KNOW. Protip: ask for unsalted fries, and you’ll often have a fresh batch made just for you!

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Best of the Midwest: Costco Lunch

Posted on December 28, 2011 | 5 Comments

For most of us, the holidays are all about tradition: we prepare spiral-cut ham and serve it on the good china, or watch Home Alone while eating kettlecorn and drinking hot toddies, or go caroling, or whatever. It’s no different for my family, except one of our traditions is eating lunch at Costco.

That’s right: my sister and I have made a habit of eating a Lunch of Samples at Costco. Here’s how it goes down: we choose a day when we know the pickins will be good,* drive our patooties to Costco, and bolt from sample station to sample station, grabbing our snax before they fall prey to the grubby hands of ten-year-olds. Do I feel bad about elbowing 10-year-olds out of my way? Hell no! Do you think those 1o-year-olds are paying for Costco memberships? Again, hell no! They can wait a damn minute to scarf tiny pizza triangles.

Per our own set of instructions, Ali, Mom, and I hit up the Coon Rapids Costco just after noon on Xmas eve. The parking lot was full; we knew our competition would be fierce. We weren’t worried, though: we’re seasoned pros, and we can throw elbows with the best of ‘em.

We were in luck as soon as we stepped through the massive door: a lit’l old lady was serving miniature cups of Martinelli’s Sparkling Cider. It had been years since I’d sipped this stuff; aside from being a bit sweet, it wasn’t bad. (Note: the juice’s sweetness isn’t enough to prevent me from drinking it in the future; it’s more subdued than all sodas and many of the zany cocktails I get.) My mom tossed a four-pack of bottles in our cart, and we moved on.

This lady greeted us as we waltzed through the door.

The Deli Area is the best sampling zone: the stations are condensed, requiring less movement on the part of the diner, and there are no tall shelves that might block the diner’s line of sight. As is typically the case, Sys and I found the best tidbits near the deli: Cabot Habanero Cheese (which was actually, legitimately spicy — and good), Basha hummus served on an elongated tortilla chip, and “Margherita” pizza, plated on an oil-streaked paper napkin. Margherita is in quotation marks because I detected neither tomato nor basil atop the pie. In fact, the crust tasted more like a lukewarm Ritz cracker than anything resembling pizza dough, but oh, well: you get what you (don’t) pay for.

The hummus was so-so — pretty typical store-bought hummus, if you want to know. What puzzled me was the sample lady’s addition of salsa to the snack. Is there anyone out there who serves (watery, Pace-picante-style) salsa with hummus? If so, what’s your motivation? I’m curious — really, I am.

Hummus with tortilla-chip wands and runny salsa. It's tradition, baby.

Stage II samplingtakes place in the frozen and paper goods sections. Back near the pallets of Brawny, I grabbed a dainty cup of Boylan’s all-natural root beer and slugged it back, fueling my quest for MOAR SAMPLES! (Note: I’m no root beer connoisseur, but this stuff was solid: spicy, not too sweet, and highly carbonated. Max carbonation is one quality I dig in a soda.)

The tiniest pizza slice in all the world. Note: it contains no visible basil.

Stage III sampling — the final stage — takes place from the end of frozen all the way to the checkout lanes. In this region of the store, sample stations are placed at the ends of the aisles; they’re more densely clustered in the snack food area (which abuts the checkout zone). During Stage III, Ali and I nibbled ultra-sweet canned Dole pineapple (which, OK, who in this country has not tasted canned pineapple before? This was a total throwaway, IMO), mild cheddar on pretzel thins, and antipasto on crackers.** I feel as though I’m forgetting something — indeed, I know I’m forgetting something. I want to say we also ate pretzel M&Ms, but that can’t be it: if that were the case, I wouldn’t have forgotten, so deep is my love for those candies.

Of the noted samples, the Cabot Habanero cheddar was the clear winner. It’s the only product I’d buy voluntarily, the only product that was, to put it simply, appetizing. To be fair, the frozen pizza wasn’t cooked long enough, but it also didn’t contain its namesake ingredients. Canned pineapple does nothing for me (except when frozen and used in lieu of ice cubes in tropically themed cocktails — then it’s fine). The cheddar on a pretzel thin was total nursery-school fare, and the root beer was just root beer.

As you’d imagine, the joy in this tradition derives not from the quality of the foods sampled, which is highly variable, but from the rush of excitement the process brings. Driving to that giant, concretey warehouse store, Ali and I were aflutter with anticipation: Would the lecherous Muffins Roadshow dude be there, luring us to his table with giant chunks of Chocolate-Chocolate Chip? Would the Deli Hunk be at his post behind the plate-glass windows? Would we have to barge through a group of toddlers to get the last pieces of deep-fried eggroll? Only time would tell.

Of course, it’s not a trip to Costco without a behemoth slice of cafe pizza. When Ali and I used to live in Western Mass, we’d drive to the Springfield Costco, where we’d stock up on Babybel cheeses and then get pizza slices for dinner. Even now, I grin when I think of this homey tradition. With its fantastically chewy crust and inches-thick cheese, the pizza was only so-so: bland at best, oil-slicked at worst. But, it was a food we could agree on — a food of our youth. Tearing open that foil packet of red pepper flakes never fails to transport me to the distant past.

This time around, sys and I split a piece of pizza. (In the photo above, you’ll note the bifurcation line, made by the cashier at our request.) The slice was exactly as I’d expected it to be, and from this constancy I derived great joy: I didn’t have to worry about whether the recipe had changed — of course it hadn’t. Costco pizza will always be Costco pizza, progress be damned, and that’s why I love it. Reactionary food for the masses: it’s what Christmas traditions are all about.

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*The days prior to major holidays are a safe bet; last-minute shoppers will be out in droves, and the sample ladies will be at their posts, offering Dixie cups of Chex Mix and one-inch cubes of Monterey Cheddar. So it begins.

**Upon learning that this sample contained tuna, I tried to pawn mine off on my mom, telling the sample lady that I’m allergic to tuna. “She’s not allergic to tuna,” my mom countered, “she just doesn’t like it.” Which isn’t true: I like tuna! But I do not like the tuna surreptitiously included in weird, prepackaged, pseudo-Italian spreads, OK?

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