Wednesday, 22 April 2009

Savor Scottsdale: Whataburger


Admittedly, the title is somewhat misleading. "Savor" implies that the following restaurant is delicious or at least worth enjoying, but this is not the case. My entry for Whataburger is a warning instead. "Savor Scottsdale" is simply the name of my Scottsdale series. See a good Arizona burger at my Stax entry.

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I first heard about Whataburger from a San Antonio native who described it to me as the "In-n-Out" of Texas. So when I finally saw a branch of this Southern institution, I was determined to give it a beefy audition.



Upon receiving my meal, a Whataburger combo, I realized immediately the Texan appeal. Apparently, size is everything in the South, because taste sure isn't a factor. They serve 5 inch patties for their classic Whataburger. That 32 ounce drink is a medium. Fries undersalted and underflavored, burger dry and boring. I've had more interesting burgers that come out of my microwave. As you can tell from my Counter and Father's Office reviews, I'm now a big advocate of simple burgers made with quality beef. All the fancy toppings can't save poor meat, and good meat can easily trump any accoutrements. Whataburger was almost as disappointing as my first trip to Sonics, although not nearly as bad because I wasn't constantly bombarded by commercials for a fast food chain that didn't exist within fifty miles of me. Honestly, where the hell is the a Sonics and why do they spend so much advertising in markets without restaurants?

But back to Whataburger, what a garbage interstate import. You can keep your Whataburgers Texas, we'll just keep sending you avocados so you can continue to make everything "Californian."

Update: Whataburger rep for Arizona actually emailed me and invited me back to the restaurant as a guest to try "what a What-a-burger should be." While I won't be back in town, I would go back because I appreciate the effort they go through for customer satisfaction. It may not change the burger, but it speaks volumes about the company.

Whataburger
9990 N 90th Street
Scottsdale, AZ 85258
(480) 767-9281
$5 for a classic Whataburger, fries, and humongous drink

^

Monday, 13 April 2009

Sensory Overload: The Urasawa Experience



If Urasawa is not what a perfect dining experience should be, then I doubt anything else in LA could be. Granted, the cost is prohibitively expensive, and if I were to come back more than once, it would weigh more heavily on my review. But for a one-time visit, I felt good dropping $540 for the six-hour dinner. I suppose the cost just didn't bother me because I knew exactly what I was getting into fully anticipated handing over my paycheck to the Urasawa Corporation.

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Hiro in intense concentration
Hiro in intense concentration

The most common response I receive when describing my meal is always, "Was it worth it?" To most people, the idea of paying this much for a dinner is outrageous. But to them I reply that it is precisely that type of thinking that makes it so expensive. It isn't just a dinner, it's an experience. Why would you pay for a concert when you can download the song for a dollar? On the surface, if you view dinner as just a form of sustenance, you're doing yourself a disfavor. A life of subsistence is not a life worth living. People take pleasure in different ways; this happens to be my vice. But hopefully I can convey to those who don’t already know the multi-faceted pleasures of eating.

Throughout the night, I constantly found myself rubbing my palms and fingers against the silky smooth blonde wood of the bar. The attention paid to this counter was indicative of the meal to come. No varnish, no sealant, this wood was sanded daily to a soft finish. It was a theme I noticed throughout the night, elegance in simplicity. All ingredients served a purpose; the experience was sensory on all levels. Whereas most use of gold leaf is ostentatious and completely unnecessary, its effect as a visual stimulant spoke to the complete sensory arousal in this meal. Too often sushi is too flashy, especially in American rolls, monstrous creations often appropriately named Godzilla. Elegance in simplicity comes with care and expertise, not with a squirt of rehydrated “eel sauce” and hastily battered tempura. Our first course had the weighty responsibility of setting the standard for the night, but the toro senmai-maki demonstrated a graceful interplay of seared tuna belly wrapped monkfish liver, garnished with shiso, topped with caviar and dashed with ponzu. Layer after layer of flavors hit me, as each ingredient harmonized yet played its own melody. Like the successful concerto, culminating in rich euphony, this was a great way to start the meal.

First course: Toro Senmai-maki
First course: Toro Senmai-maki

Even if it's not his intention, Chef Hiro Urasawa is an entertainer. The fact that this is dinner and a show helps to soften the wallet blow. With your seat in front of the master himself, you are privy to watching the exquisite knifework and attention to detail. Had I not been seating in my prime spot, I wouldn't have enjoyed the experience at quite the same level. He answered our questions cheerfully, and I could tell when he took out his prime Ichigin junmai daiginjo sake that his passion is really in his craft. Our Cristal failed to impress him; he’s seen all manner of victuals over-hyped. It was Brian’s bottle of Nihonbashi 2007 Gold Medal winner sake that made Hiro’s ears perk. I would’ve scoffed at any hip hop glamorizing this bottle, but it was music to my ears to hear Hiro exclaim “so good” after a taste. That was how the entire evening felt; he was enjoying it right along with us, talking, joking, sharing.

Hiro displaying his Ichigin Sake
Hiro displaying his Ichigin Sake

While there were several dishes I've never encountered before, most of the menu was fairly familiar for a regular Japanese food consumer. Of course, it was the highest quality examples of said items. I didn't mind that there was nothing so rare I would find no where else. The Saga beef, wagyu from the Saga prefecture was unique enough by itself. No Kobe here; I’m convinced now that Saga is the only way to go. The beef, whether seared lightly on top of sushi or braised for three-days with snow pea, had tenderness without sacrificing meaty flavor. Carved from the block of cow behind Hiro, the meat could be chewy in one moment, and melting the next. Texture influences so much of the sensation of flavor that we too often forget that the touch of your lips, tongue and teeth are integral to the eating experience.

 Seared Saga Beef Readied for Sushi
Seared Saga Beef Readied for Sushi

 Three-day braised Saga beef
Three-day braised Saga beef

I'm certain that the menu would be quite different coming here at another time during the year. For our early Spring dinner, the variety was not quite so extensive. One seasonal difference—the shabu shabu course of amaebi, Saga beef and foie gras came in metal bowls instead of the summertime paper. A quick dip in the broth and the shrimp was ready. Sweet as is, a splash of dashi helped bring out flavor depth. The unctuous beef and goose liver inundated the soup, making the resulting broth richer than many French stocks and so full of umami that I hesitated to swallow, lest one mouthful be gone. As indescribable as umami is as a flavor, I would direct you to Urasawa’s shabu shabu for a demonstration of its full potential.

Individual Shabu Shabu
Individual shabu shabu

The orchids along the wall are supposedly hand-picked by Hiro. I’ve heard of chefs personally picking the fish for the day, but Hiro goes beyond the food. He knows that he has staked his reputation on more than just the food; he has to make everything beautiful. While “stunning” is not usually a word used to describe Japanese food, the hand-carved ice block with Spanish toro, Kyushu tai and Toyama kanpachi flanked by a clean white orchid and bright orange slivers of Kyoto carrot was much more stunning in person than in the pictures. Colors abound, the taste almost took a backseat to visual appeal in this course…almost.

Sashimi
Sashimi platter

Most of the night was marked by a myriad of aromas, sometimes in front of me, sometimes wafting in from behind the curtain. The smell of the shiitake mushroom, grilling on the back-counter made me anxious for the renowned shiitake sushi, the only place I’ve heard it served before. Though the flavors of the fungus and the rice were slightly incompatible, the smell of wood permeated my nose. Yet this course paled in olfactory indulgence compared to the kani miso korayaki grilled hairy crab innards topped with uni. Each diner got his own hibachi with a simmering shell. Each bursting bubble sent waves of crab aroma into the air. My favorite course of the night.

 Simmering hairy crab
Simmering hairy crab

We got to walk behind the bar after dinner and witness a huge kitchen for such a small front. I was somewhat dumbstruck by the massive mechanism behind the scenes, pushing forward twenty-six dishes or so to ten anxious diners. Come to Urasawa with an open mind and ready body. Hiro’s dishes hit all your senses, putting your body at ease so that your mind can enjoy. With your head floating in the Nirvana of culinary delight, you can truly forget the weight of your wallet.

Special thanks to Yoko for providing the photographs. Thanks to Kevin for his notes and borrowing his kick-off phrase. To all else who joined me on this adventure, I appreciated you sharing it with me.

For the play by play, please visit Kevin or Kung Food Panda's blogs.

Urasawa
218 N Rodeo Dr,
Beverly Hills, 90210
(310) 247-8939
$350 omakase pp

^

Tuesday, 31 March 2009

Savor Scottsdale: Stax Burger Bistro


I'm being sent where? I know my work is relatively transient; I work a few weeks at a client before grabbing my laptop and heading out again. In fact, I don't even have a desk. When I go into the downtown office, I have to "hotel" a cubicle. But so far, my work has kept me around Los Angeles. Sometime in January, I was told that I was being sent to Arizona to help with an audit. Although I'm now stuck in Scottsdale for the workweek, I'm armed with a $59 per diem and free breakfast buffet. That's quite a bit of change to explore Scottsdale's dining scene.

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Of course, I'd be much more enthusiastic if Arizona actually had a dining scene. As a relatively newly populated area with little but white retirees, Scottsdale has a dearth of novel restaurants. Everywhere I turn, I'm confronted by imported Los Angeles and national chains. On my commute from the hotel to the client site, I pass a Flemmings, Houstons, Fogo de Chao, Mastro's, PF Chang's, McCormick's, and at least a dozen other casual-to-upscale restaurants you'd recognize. I've decided that due to the lack of diversity and youth, there's only a market for recognizable brands of the same boring food. Steak is the lay of the land, even in an area too dry to support cattle. Also, apparently old white people like sushi; though I still wouldn't trust raw fish so far inland.

That's why I decided to write a series on places actually worth trying out if you're ever on some corporate retreat out in the middle of the Sonoran Desert. Leave the chains; there's more to be tasted.

Hence, the first of my Scottsdale recommendations:

Stax Burger Bistro
4400 N Scottsdale Rd
Scottsdale, AZ 85251
(480) 946-4222
~$4 a slider

On recommendation from a coworker previously sent to this client, I went to Stax after work one night. Things were dying down by that time Thursday night. The location was in "Oldtown" Scottsdale, which only signifies that the buildings are five years older than the rest of town. Across the street from Saddlehouse Ranch, yes there's one here too, is a burger bar specializing in three-ounce sliders.

Though the server may tell you to order three sliders per person, I'd stick with two sliders and split a few sides. The sweet potato fries with various dipping sauces is a great choice. Each sauce is only $.25, so go crazy with the chipotle aioli, red pepper aioli, honey mustard aioli, jalapeno aioli, or just plain ketchup. The mac & cheese and buttered corn were mediocre. Actually, seeing "corn off the cob" on the menu made me think they just uncanned a Jolly Green Giant and melted a stick of butter into a bowl.

The restaurant really shines with its namesake sliders. Although I was bummed that they were out of the exotic sliders (made with boar, ostrich, venison, or whatever cheap wild meat they have that week), the three I chose were plenty satisfying. In the picture above, from foreground to back, I got an original beef slider with caramelized onions, mushrooms, and cheddar, a lamb slider with feta cheese, grape tomatoes and tabouli, and a kobe slider with asparagus. My verdict: order the first two, ditch the last. The kobe burger was a novelty at best; and from a taste test, did not have the marbling of real Wagyu. The lamb was my easily my favorite though. For the lamb lover, the intense flavor of the animal permeated my mouth with the first bite. Ground lamb is an unfortunate rarity in this country, so when you can find it, make sure to indulge.

At a burger bar like this, you can expect a fine selection of beers. With this kind of food, nothing pairs better. My local Tempe brewed Four Peaks Kilt Lifter Ale was no exception.

This is my second week in Scottsdale so far. Stax was one of the first restaurants to show me that there's might be something to eat in this town after all. But over the last few days, I've found a few more that I'd love to share. Support the independent restaurants!

^

Thursday, 12 March 2009

South Bay Japanese Marathon


What do bloggers do in their free time? We eat; that's a given. But we also meet up to eat. In this case, we journeyed the South Bay one Saturday afternoon, searching for our Japanese fix.

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Organized by the multi-talented Fiona of Gourmet Pigs, this marathon had been in the making since our last expedition into the concrete Jungle. We teamed up with Javier the "Teenage" Glutster, Mattatouille, Choisauce, RumDood, Pepsi Monster, and budding blogger Danny for this trip. My girlfriend Yoko proved essential for some of the translations and the photos on this entry.



First stop: Gaja for okonomiyaki, a type of Japanese crepe/griddle cake. Made from yam flour, filled with ingredients, and fried on a teppan, this was my first experience at an okonomiyaki-ya. Thanks to the hot tip from I Nom Things, we were able to discover this fun DIY place. She even has several recipes if you want to try it at home. Of course, if you can't figure out the Japanese instructions, you can also get help from the friendly staff. Remember to proclaim "Yes!" in a tone as to indicate to your waiter your satisfaction for his efforts.

Here's the waiter helping with spicy cod roe, mochi, cheese monja-yaki, a creamier, more gooey relative of the okonomiyaki. The monja-yaki is fried to form a crust, but then mashed and eaten with individual spatulas. This particular monja-yaki had the miniature texture of the cod roe and the runny mochi and cheese.

Pre-cooked

Not terribly appetizing in appearance, but fun to eat nonetheless


Our Modern Mix Okonomiyaki had beef, squid, oysters, noodles, egg and preserved ginger, a seemingly odd mix, but formed a satisfying pie. Topped with the special sauce, Kewpie mayonnaise and bonito flakes, this could easily make a decent meal for the hungry traveler. Unfortunately, the life of a marathoner is tough; it was one slice, then out the door for our next stop.



Second stop: Patisserie Chantilly, a delightful Japanese desserts shop. The picture at the top of the page is from Chantilly. Our large group rolled in and took over the small place. We laid down $3 each and partook in a foodie communism experiment. A communal order of three macarons; black sesame, vanilla, and chocolate profiteroles; passionfruit mousse; cheesecake souffle; cheesecake bar; chocolate tart; and a white sesame blanc manger was put down and quickly devoured. Luckily, Pepsi Monster bought additional treats and donated it to the still hungry citizens. Funny how even in desserts, communism doesn't work.






If given the chance, make sure to try the souffle fromage, it is cheesecake heaven; at least you'll feel like you're eating clouds.


After a failed stop at Otafuku, our valiant troupe ended up at Hakata Ramen. Given that our soba stop fell through, we entered into a furious debate over a suitable replacement (I only say furious because at this point we were starting to get hungry again). Before our table was ready, we hopped back into the caravan and drove down to Ichimiann Bamboo Garden for homemade soba

It certainly doesn't take much to constitute a "bamboo garden." But I guess if it took acres of bamboo to be considered a forest, pandas wouldn't be so endangered. Of course I quickly got over the lack of foliage when I sat down to my platter of cold zaru-soba, a refreshing mound of buckwheat noodles served with accompanying dipping sauce. I found each noodle to have springy integrity...chewy, a little before al dente. According to Matt, the sauce is mixed with soba water afterwards and drank. I preferred the brown rice tea instead.




Last stop: Izakaya Bincho, the charming mom and pop restaurant with extremely demanding chef/owner. On that day, the staffing situation was even worse. With a sick wife, the husband manned the entire place by himself. Although it's not unheard of for him to turn away customers, the restaurant stayed especially empty that night. This was my first visit since its closure last year as a yakitori. The tsukune chicken meatballs, which were godly last time, disappointed this time, probably due to the lack of bincho charcoal. Juicy as usual, but there just was no depth of flavor you'd get with the ashy charcoal. Instead, the braised pork belly shined. Despite the overexposure of pork belly these days, the chef managed to bring out the melty texture of the pork and supplement it with a rich braising sauce. He doesn't rely just on the fat of the dish as so many restaurants do. In fact, the long braising time made the whole slab fall apart enough to eat with a spoon. The tebasaki fried chicken wings with sweet and spicy sauce stole the show. Amazing flavors hit me all at once, intense at first, but gradually fading and lingering on the palate. The wings were deep-fried, but they didn't weigh me down. All I could feel was the crispy skin and the sticky sauce. With the decline of the tsukune, I believe the tebasaki is the new gotta-have-it dish. Though I will still give runner-up position to the agedashi tofu. The chef's dashi shows amazing care in its umami complexity. Plus large slabs of silken tofu make this a hearty dish for tofu.

Braised pork belly

Tebasaki (Deep-fried chicken wings)

Agedashi Tofu

As I've settled into my home in LA, I've found so much diversity in the cuisine. I don't know if there's anywhere else in the world with so many ethnic options within driving range. With denser communities, they start to blend and lose some of their uniqueness within each cuisine. LA's just large enough that you can find places that just specialize in okonomiyaki, Japanese desserts, soba and izakaya. We have so much at our fingertips; it's a shame if you don't take advantage of it. I appreciate that I can have a Japanese food marathon without even once mentioning sushi. That's the kind of dining city that LA is.

Gaja
gajamoc.com
2383 Lomita Blvd, Ste 102,
Lomita, 90717
(310) 534-0153
$18 per okonomiyaki though that can probably feed 3-4

Patisserie Chantilly
patisseriechantilly.com
2383 Lomita Blvd, Ste 10
Lomita, 90717
(310) 257-9454
$3-4 each dessert

Ichimiann Bamboo Garden
ichimiann.com
1618 Cravens Ave
Torrance, 90510
(310) 328-1323
$6 a bowl

Izakaya Bincho
112 N International Boardwalk
Redondo Beach, 90277
(310) 376-3889
Get here early on a non-weekend and pray for a seat
~$20 per person if you're eating at the end of a marathon

^

Sunday, 1 March 2009

Where Concert Patrons Go: Patina


For my birthday, my girlfriend surprised me with a dinner downtown. We drove up to the Disney concert hall and I knew right away where we were going.

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As the namesake restaurant of the Patina Group, which includes such LA eateries as Cafe Pinot, Nick and Stef's, I had high expectations. First of all, what is a patina? It's the oxidized change in color on bronze over time. The reason the Statue of Liberty looks green--false patina. It's a concept I considered when we entered. The small dining room nestled into the Frank Gehry concert hall was comfortably lit and quiet for a late Sunday reservation. We arrived just as the show was starting; an hour earlier and it may have been packed. Our French waiter, yes he spoke French, explained the specials and signaled for the bread cart. Bacon bread--already a good sign.


The amuse of white asparagus and aioli paired with a hot carrot ginger soup certainly surprised me in contrast. The crunchy asparagus in a creamy sauce paired with the soup well, though I expected the carrots to have much more sweetness.


Although this was my birthday, the tasting menu didn't offer anything eye-popping enough. My girlfriend chose the agnolotti filled with buffala ricotta with English peas, braised scarlet turnip, and speck ham. I don't know if it's just a coincidence or if it's a generally accepted practice, but pairing agnolotti with ham is an incredible idea. David LeFevre of Water Grill had served a spectacular dish of agnolotti at the 5x5 dinner. The buffalo cheese gave the delicate pasta a heartiness otherwise absent in the thin wonton-like skins. I was puzzled by the presentation of what looked like a green lawn. The speck ham, what looks like bacon, is actually more like a smokier panchetta from an area between Austria and Italy.





For my first course, I cheated and chose the Quartet of the Sea consisting of four immaculate square plates locked into formation. From the top: smoked trout blini, seared scallop with cipollini onions, lobster citrus salad, and tuna tartare with pickled cauliflower. The trout was much more refreshing than the all-too-often used salmon in this preparation. Grapefruit and orange garnished the lobster salad, though the color reminded me too much of ambrosia (a turnoff). I am a huge fan of seared scallops, and this was no exception. I also see cippolini onions so often at these kind of dinners. Apparently, they have a higher sugar content and the small, flat shape is conducive to roasting. Tuna tartare has been done to death, though the intensely tart cauliflower gave it a contrasting crunch that was innovative.


What makes a veal chop "authentic"? According to our waiter, grain-fed veal is "authentic." But isn't that how all veal is fed? My girlfriend's authentic veal chop with sauteed sweetbreads, maple syrup glazed cipollini onions, and chanterelles tasted better than it looked. The mushrooms were richly buttered and had enough bite to savor each forkful.


One of the reasons that my significant other chose Patina was for the game menu, which varies depending on availability. That night, I ordered the rack of venison with braised chestnuts, celeriac mousseline, and a pink peppercorn quince chutney. Though the smell of the plate had all the intensity of game, the flavor was quite a bit tamer. I'm familiar with the practice of combining gamey meats with fruity compotes, but I always feel like my preference for gamer is much wilder than the average palate. With the exception of elk, gamey is always my choice.



Though my girlfriend rounded off her meal with a coconut soup with a floating island of pistachio ice cream and spherified mango juice "gnocchi" I asked to see the cheese cart instead. We enjoyed the presentation of her dessert, the components sitting in a saucer that's subsequently filled by the waiter. Those little flourishes certainly make the meal more memorable. Having consumed a pack of Red Vines per day at work, I had enough sugar in my system. I settled on a triple-creme brie, a hard Italian pecorino, and a strong roquefort. My waiter actually wasn't much help in explaining the cheeses. By this time in the meal, he had seemed to ignore our table and favored the French speaking tables instead. I hate to perpetuate stereotypes, but the rude French waiter certainly still persists.



As a post-dessert treat, we received a tray of mignardises and a napkin basket of chocolate and vanilla Milano cookies. From left to right, I think the plate consisted of a cocoa nib, passionfruit gelee, orange marshmallow, cashew twill tuile, truffle, and carrot macron. I could eat a million macarons, except they're always so expensive. Does anyone mass-produce these awesome almond pastries?

Stuffed and finished with the food portion of our meal, the manager was kind enough to take us on a tour of the kitchen. Unfortunately, Joachim Splinchal wasn't in the kitchen, but I met his sous chef Santiago instead. He explained the various prep areas of the rather large kitchen. It looked straight out of my Culinary Institute of America textbook. What struck me the most was that the kitchen was almost half the size of the dining room and still heavily staffed.

My overall impression of Patina was that I didn't feel like I belonged there. It caters to the concert hall patrons, the stuffy old white men. As out of place as I was, I noticed an Asian man scurrying his family out from a dinner too expensive to bring children. That's when it hit me. If patinas are meant to convey antiquity, this restaurant definitely has that old-world feel. Patina's certainly not part of the hot LA dining scene, but it could be a dependable standby. Plus a Michelin star doesn't hurt.

Patina
141 South Grand Ave
Downtown, 90012
(213) 972-3331
About $200 for the meal...and $8 for parking

^

Monday, 16 February 2009

The Omnivore's Dilemma by Michael Pollan


Like the proud lion, I step into my savannah, the cool air of the dusk wafting beneath my mane. I search diligently through the harsh terrain for that perfect prey, the one that I will rend from its bones and satisfy that deep primordial urge to consume. There, out of the corner of my predatorial eye, I see it. I circle, searching for the supreme angle to pounce. I leap, and crash on...a gigantic ear of corn? I peak up, startled, suddenly all I can see is gigantic stalks of corn rising up staight and uniform. I am surrounded. The golden ears loom over me, falling from their husks and burying me in a pile of yellow kernels.

The harsh reality of my supermarket experience sets in. I may never have to forage or kill for my meal; searching through the aisle of the local megamart is our modern equivalent of the hunt. However, after reading The Omnivore's Dilemma, I can never see the things I eat in the same way again.

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How much thought do you give to your meal? It's certainly a question too often avoided by the hungry masses. Why do we eat the things we eat, and should we be paying more attention to its impact? Those are the types of questions that Michael Pollan brings to the forefront in Omnivore's Dilemma. Having societally evolved to the point where food is over plentiful, we need to shift the emphasis from quantity to quality. We are literally what we eat; therefore, we owe our bodies due care in deciding how we refuel.

A good friend introduced me to Pollan's writing in an editorial addressed to the President Elect last October in the New York Times. It's a rather lengthy read, but it summarizes many of the relevant points of Omnivore's Dilemma. Having been introduced to this fascinating examination of the agricultural-industrial complex in America, I bought the book. As you may have heard me espouse before, since everyone eats, I believe food should be everyone's priority in life. Given its prominence, food has too often fallen to the wayside of people's complex modern lives. When convenience has triumphed over taste and nutrition, there needs to be a counter force to fight the indolence we have fallen into.

Whether trolling through the forests of Northern California hunting wild boar or visiting a corn farmer in Iowa, Pollan never ceases to bring the focus back to what's on everyone's mind--what's on our plates. Reading the irresponsible business practices and unsanitary conditions of Fast Food Nation had no where near the profound effect on my eating habits as Omnivore's Dilemma. The author's tone is never condescending; it appeals to a rational mind much more than the emotional one. Even the chapter on vegetarianism even gave me second thoughts about my carnivorous habits (albeit a momentary thought). Ultimately, if humankind has evolved beyond the point of subsistence eating, then we should also be smart enough to make healthy, sustainable choices with our food.

Pollan takes the reader through an exploration of food through three parts, each centering on a different aspect of the modern plate. The first detailed the rise of corn as a commodity and its importance in the agricultural world. The revelations in this part are what inspired my hallucinations of violent corn burial. While corn has done a great deal to advance American society, its detriments are too numerous now to be ignored. As much as Pollan vilifies malicious maize, we couldn't have progressed to the current level of overabundance without it. Just be forewarned, after reading this section, you'll be constantly scanning ingredient labels for high fructose corn syrup and other corn derivatives.

On the other side of the big agricultural complex, the second part is focused on the small farm. More precisely, the small sustainable grass farm, which relies on solar energy and not fossil fuels. It isn't organic, and Pollan explains why that may be a good thing to boast. By following the "grass farmer," the reader gets a sense that all is not lost. If only the rest of the nation could follow suit; there is another way to eat better.

Lastly, the author pursues his own meal in through hunting and foraging. "The Ethics on Eating Animals" chapter is profound and thought-provoking. Anything that can make me reconsider meat is certainly formidable. I won't go through all the arguments, but basically if you eat meat, you must accept a certain degree of "specism". The idea that we can eat at the expense of suffering animals isn't the most appealing, but it's important for the conscience of the meat eater. Just as in The Shameless Carnivore, eat meat if you want, but please eat responsibility by trying to prevent as much suffering as you can.

There are far too many concepts in this book to bring to full attention in a short blog entry. I can only advise you, as serious foodies, and even as conscionable human beings, give Ominvore's Dilemma a read. At the very least, read Pollan's editorial in the NY Times. You might not like what you see, but it's the hard truths that are most difficult to swallow.

^

Friday, 6 February 2009

Sanitized Chicken: Honey's Kettle in Culver City



Inspired by Tony's Fried Chicken Civil War, I thought I might share my own Honey's Kettle experience. Except I didn't venture into Compton to get my deep fried poultry, not because I was scared to go, but because Culver is right next to my friend's Battlestar Galactica party. If you haven't been watching BSG, you should; if you haven't been to Honey's Kettle, then go immediately.

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As I said, I wouldn't be scared away from food by the neighborhood. Anyone who has had decent soul food can tell you it's best served from behind bullet-proof glass. But for hipsters looking for a taste of the wild side without leaving the comfort of the Westside, Culver City's Honey's Kettle is perfect.


Even before LA Magazine crowned Honey's the "best fried chicken" in LA, I've been meaning to try it. As a lifelong fan of fried chicken, seemingly irreconcilable terms given the shortened life span, I would gladly check out any place that's good enough to move out of the hood. Hopefully, the Jeffersons of the chicken world is just as amazing as its Compton counterpart. I knew I had to get three things to properly evaluate Honey's--a drumstick, coleslaw, and a biscuit.


Normally, I don't choose extra crispy at KFC because I don't believe in fluff. Every part of the perfect fried chicken, meat, skin, batter, and even bone must be essential to the finished product. Double battering and frying at KFC doesn't add anything but fat. At Honey's the fried coating is different, enhancing the texture and flavor. The skin was crisp, not detracting from the flavor of the meat. I settled on a thigh and leg, and for those of you who only eat white meat, you're banished from eating poultry ever again. White meat is as close to bare sustenance as you should get. Of course, my disdain for white-meat is well documented. However, perhaps Honey's chicken is just juicy enough that the white meat may be somewhat palatable too.

The coleslaw and pickles were nothing to write about, which is a shame since my guilty pleasure is KFC coleslaw. I've been trying to find something to wean me off such a nasty habit, but so far nothing has the consistency and comfort of that industrial slop. The biscuits however, can only be captured by trying one yourself. There may have been an entire stick of butter in each biscuit to get that tenderness, but it certainly wasn't weighed down by fat. Biting into each tasty morsel delivered made me feel things that biscuits shouldn't make me feel. We'll leave it at that. Oh, and there were fries.


The best picture I could get with my iPhone

Honey's Kettle
9537 Culver Blvd,
Culver City, 90232
(310) 202-5453
$19 for 4 thighs, 4 legs, a pint of coleslaw, 4 biscuits, fries
Park at the Cardiff parking garage for two hours free

^