Killer Dumplings at Tanxia Wang Fu Zhou Cuisine

I'm back.

Like I said in my brief post repping for Real Cheap Eats, the past month and a half was spent almost exclusively preparing for (and ultimately losing) a trial. That's over now, and I've returned with one of the choicest pieces of Chinatown knowledge I've acquired in ages. Tanxia Wang Fu Zhou Cuisine is on Eldrigde, just south of well known hand-pulled noodle spot Sheng Wang, serving a succinct menu of Fujian classics.

The dumplings here are the main draw, and they're brought steaming on styrofoam plates almost as soon as you've snagged a seat (sometimes before you've even finished ordering). The waitresses speak barely any English, but you can always point at the menu along the long, constantly crowded wall. It's a busy spot, but turnover is high, so you're likely to find a seat soon enough.

Back to the dumplings. They're filled with copious greens mixed in loosely amidst slightly sweet, ground pork. With just a bit of grease–enough to coat your mouth, alerting you to the presence of fatty pork juice–these dumpling don't easily wear out their welcome. The dumpling skin (likely a commercial wrapper), is just thin enough and more than up to the task.

At just $9 for a bag of 50, it's worth bringing some home. 

Second Annual Obligatory-Later-than-Usual Best of the Year List: 2011

Hey you guys... it's me, Noah. It was sort of a big year here at Law & Food (emphasis on "sort of"). I haven't had much to write about in the past few weeks (on top of being extremely busy and due to the fact that I'm currently in France), but as a food blogger, it seems necessary to somehow wrap up "2011 in Food" in a nice little package. So without any further introduction, here's my favorite eats of the year broken down into completely arbitrary categories.

Favorite new restaurant: Do or Dine. In a year where I was bored and jaded by the high-end, Do or Dine snuck in through the back door, crashing the party. Where else could you find a try-anything-experimental-vibe while still experiencing a backbone of excellent service, inventive drunk food and creative dishes (like the now infamous foie gras doughnut)? Right now, these guys are the kings of Bed Stuy "fine diving." The picture of "A Fish and Some Chips" is from the pre-Roehawk version (check this one out on Serious Eats).

Best Sandwich: The chicken liver and bacon sandwich at Post Office in Williamsburg. The only reason I haven't written about Post Office yet is because it's nearly impossible to get a good picture in the dim light of this small bar on Havemeyer right near the BQE (OK, and I'm lazy). Picture an American riff on a banh mi. Thick, smoky bacon plays backup to funky chunks of chicken liver, while pickled cucumber, carrot and shallot with frisee mixed with a green apple vinaigrette balances the caloric onslaught. A slightly spicy mayo and crusty baguette completes the effect and you realize that this sandwich is much more than a mere riff.

Best Pizza: Shockingly, my two favorite pies this year were both eaten outside of New York City. Zuppardi's clam pie in West Haven, Connecticut was a revelation of freshly shucked clams on a cold, snowy day. The sausage pie was nearly as good. Almost as good was a pie I ate earlier this year at Star Tavern in New Jersey which proved to be the pinnacle of the bar pie form. Also, for a NYC rec: Best Pizza, Best Pizza, Best Pizza.

I Swear I'll Stop Writing About Georgian Food After This Post: Brick Oven Bread

I know you're all probably tired of hearing about Georgian food by now, but wandering along Brighton Beach a few weeks ago, my friends and I came across "Brick Oven Bread," a Georgian bakery on a residential block, just east of Coney island Avenue.

Photo courtesy of Robyn Lee

Completely and utterly full from a long day of butter and cream-filled Russian treats, we decided to simply note the location before vowing to return as soon as humanly possible. Unfortunately, Thanksgiving and preparation for a trial got in the way, but I was finally able to return with my friend Lizzie and two colleagues of hers visiting from London.

As we walked inside, Lizzie's friends started asking about Georgia and Georgian food. "That's where Stalin was from," I said, summing up about 50% of my Georgian knowledge.

"Stalin?" He replied. "He was a bit of a tinker, wasn't he?"

Take what you will from that, but a "tinker" was described to me as a "cheeky fellow."

I'm a Food Blogger and I Ate a Sandwich!

Sorry for the sarcasm, but I haven't had anything interesting to say lately. That said, I'd like to announce that the other night, at Jodough, the new sandwich shop and second restaurant from chef and owner Joe Dobias, I ate a sandwich. I know, I know, this was a very important occasion, wholly worth writing about. I probably would have just gone on with my life, keeping my new-found sandwich wisdom to myself, had I not experienced a few minor irritations with, what on the whole was a good sandwich.

It was pouring outside when I walked into JoeDough, Dobias was cooking in back and a woman took orders at the long counter up front. Being a conflicted Jew myself, it seemed natural to order the "Conflicted Jew" sandwich which comes with chicken liver, bacon and onions on challah. However, I'd gorged on my grandmother's chopped liver over the Thanksgiving weekend, and was feeling momentarily less conflicted. Instead I went with the "L.E.S. French Dip," which comes with griddled tongue, a horseradish mayo and au jus (menu here).

I asked for a glass of ice water and the counterwoman replied, "we can't really give you water if we're selling it." Touché, I guess. Also be aware that it's cash only, and all sandwiches are $10 including tax, which makes me wonder what the value proposition is with the "Wedge Sandwich" of iceberg lettuce and blue cheese dressing. Someone else is going to have to order that to find out. (Just found a picture here. Doesn't seem worth it, does it?)

Anyway, after a few minutes my sandwich was complete and ready to be devoured. Alongside the sandwich, the au jus sat steaming in a tall, narrow "We are Happy to Serve You" cup. Not an ideal jus delivery system. The realization that I couldn't actually dip my french dip hit me hard, so I resorted to more drastic means. First, I tried to simply pour the jus over the sandwich, but this did little, as the salty jus simply flowed out the ass-end and onto my tray. Then I hit on a better idea, I'd take a mouthful of jus before taking a bite of the sandwich, ideally injecting the jus into the bread intra-orally. This worked slightly better, but was awkward as hell. It would help if the sandwich, served on a brioche-like roll, was cut in half (or better yet, served on a long baguette or roll like the classic French Dip), because once I was actually able to dip the bread, I got some excellent bites.

Regardless, I enjoyed the sandwich. The griddled tongue and horseradish sauce raised the obvious comparison to an Arby's roast beef sandwich, but the quality of the ingredients made it far superior. Being a tongue lover, I could appreciate the meaty bite of the sandwich versus the weak, almost paste-like consistency of a crappy Arby's roast beef. All that's needed for sandwich nirvana are a few minor adjustments. Seeing as they've only been open a few weeks, hopefully Dobias is still toying around with sandwich components and will hear my jus problems.

Joe Dough
135 First Avenue (btwn St. Marks and 9th St.)
New York, NY 10003 (212) 780-9222

More Georgian Food at Mtskheta Cafe

Once again I've found myself overly complacent. Mtskheta Cafe, a new Georgian restaurant near the end of the D train in South Brooklyn (in what may or may not be Bensonhurst) blasted onto my radar with a review in New York Magazine of all places. A scouting trip with Jared Cohee of Eating the World in NYC that same day confirmed that I should probably return.

That Friday, we showed up with a large group for a birthday party where we ordered much of the menu (and also had much to drink). Then, I sat on my post. Subsequent write-ups by Jared, Wilfrid of At the Sign of the Pink Pig and Dave Cook at Eaten in Translation showed that I really had a lot to add to the conversation.... Regardless (I've sold this quite well, I'm sure), I'll add what I can (having been to a lot of Georgian restaurants in the city, I believe my self-proclaimed expertise means my voice should be heard).

At the first meal with Jared, we decided to keep our order lean and mean with kupati, khachapouri and a Georgian salad. Also, the all-Russian menu was daunting, so we just named a few dishes to try. Our young, English-speaking waiter pushed the garlic chicken, but we'd already ordered too much. This type of food requires alcohol. I was unprepared, but ran to the Rite Aid down the street, where the best of a bad selection was Heineken tall boys. Those would do.

I returned to chewy lavash bread and soon our khachapouri arrived. It was buttery, almost like movie theater popcorn and overflowing with cheese, but otherwise unremarkable. Stick with Pirosmani or Georgian Bread for khachapouri.

Brooklyn Risotto Ball Rumble

I've been eating lunch at the recently opened Catania Cafe on Atlantic Avenue a lot lately. It's close to the Kings County Courthouse and has the benefit of being ultra-cheap (pretty much everything on the menu is under $10). Plus they specialize in hard-to find Sicilian food (if you're looking for more of the same, check out Joe's of Avenue U in Gravesend).

But I'll write about the rest of Catania Cafe's menu some other time (if you need some other dish recommendations now, check out this Chowhound thread). Today it's all about the risotto balls.

Here, the arancini sit like a fat teardrop among a bevy of fried Sicilian snacks and come filled with a chunky beef ragu laced with fontina cheese. It's slightly sweet crust marks a stark contrast to the savory interior. Unfortunately, the arancini tend to fall apart, making a fork almost necessary.

Music Monday: Killer Miller

The late, great Jacob Miller is one of my favorite reggae artists ever. Together with his band Inner Circle (who later gained fame for the song "Bad Boys"), they became one of the most popular reggae groups of the late 70's "Rockers" genre. Unfortunately, as the charismatic Miller was about to gain international fame, he died in a car accident at the age of 27. Even still, he left behind a legacy of fantastic music. Check out the famously chunky musician in action in these two clips:

First, a live performance of "We a Rockers."

Staten Island Style: Rubirosa and Pier 76

Just over a year ago, a Staten Island specialty (complete with one of its most famous namesakes) was ferried to Manhattan in the form of Rubirosa. Setting up shop in Nolita, across the street from Torrisi Italian Specialties, together they've established a bastion of neo-classic Italian cuisine along the edge of the less-than-classics of Little Italy, just a block away.

Despite high expectations (especially for the pizza), I've yet to be disappointed with anything I've eaten on numerous lunchtime visits. 

Music Monday: Bobby Ellis

It's always nice to start off the week with some instrumentals. Why? I have no idea. Regardless, today's song is "Step Softly" performed by Bobby Ellis and the Crystalites. It's slow, swinging rocksteady beat is immensely catchy.


Have a fabulous Music Monday!

Tanoreen: A Study in Over-Ordering

Though not an official rule, it's by tacit agreement that Steve and I over-order whenever we eat out together. It's unavoidable (not that we try to avoid it anyway), especially with large groups, where we'll order an exponentially greater amount of food until a concerned waiter or waitress vainly presses us to relent. It seems as if we suffer from a lethal combination of wanting to try everything and the concurrent realization that the cost of said extra items will be spread evenly throughout the group (who invariably must be as willing in their eating habits as us).

A recent meal at Tanoreen presented textbook opportunities for our brand of over-ordering. OK, so we stuffed ourselves so full that my post-dinner tahini burps almost made me regret the meal (and make others regret it) as I staggered home. Almost. That said, I've passed my monthly quota of tahini.

It's Skyline Time

Growing up in the suburbs of Cincinnati, Skyline Chili was more than just a rite of passage. In a town wedded to its local dining traditions, it was simply What You Ate. You ate there after Reds games and before Bengals games (mostly to soften the blow of the inevitable loss), after school and on a date. You ate there late at night to settle the alcohol in your stomach, or early in the morning before a flight out of town.

I probably ate at Skyline once a week for almost 20 years. Not only did I never eat at another chili parlor, despite the many throughout town (and a fact that I should be embarrassed to admit in my willingness to try everything else), it never even occurred to me that I should.

An important note: people expecting a "real" chili are unfailingly disappointed. Think of it as a soft ragu or meat sauce. The spicing is also radically different, with an aroma of clove, cinnamon and chocolate dominating. Authentic recipes call for the beef to be boiled rather than browned and tenderized in vinegar for a characteristically mushy texture. I know, it's difficult to imagine how this could taste good, but stick with me. The chili is but one component of the whole, which works far better than it has any right to taste.

To be sure, this is not just a hard chili recipe to get exactly correct, the other ingredients are almost as tough, with the cheese being nearly impossible to replicate. A fluffy tangle of Big Bird yellow cheese forms a mountain over the chili and thoroughly cooked spaghetti, never clumping and only barely melting on the lowest layer touching the chili.

Finally, the proper dish is needed. See my picture below. The proper dish collects the copious chili juice, which provides a secondary yet crucial lubrication to the spaghetti. But the dish is also shaped so as to spread the juices and not concentrate them, like at the bottom of a bowl. I had no such dish.

Crash course: a 3 Way is spaghetti, chili and cheese. A 4 Way adds onions or beans and a 5 Way contains both. Top with liberal amounts of hot sauce and oyster crackers to achieve synergy.

Music Monday: Crimson and Clover

It seems that every Music Monday I post is merely the song that was stuck in my head the previous day. For that I apologize. Apologizing, however, in no way means that I'll stop doing it. Today's song is "Crimson & Clover," which burrowed its way into my head while I was gathering ingredients for Cincinnati-style chili at the grocery store (more to come on that soon). As usual, it was the reggae version that I wanted to hear again, rather than the Tommy James & the Shondells original, which is pretty damn good in its own right.

Here is the fabulous version by The Uniques, one of my favorite Jamaican harmony groups of the 60's.


Have a fabulous Music Monday!

Also, I realize we haven't been posting as much lately, but I promise we've got some exciting posts lined up for the next few weeks. I have no idea what makes a post "exciting," but I think these fit that vague category. Unfortunately, after the next few weeks, I make no guarantees about the excitement level of our posts.

Maria the Tamale Lady

I would hardly consider myself a tamale expert, but every once in awhile a tamale comes along that's so terrific its deliciousness can hardly be disputed. (If you want to dispute me, I will gladly argue with you.) This is the story of that tamale.

Wandering down Roosevelt Avenue on a late night crawl led by Jeff Orlick, we stumbled upon a row of three tamale vendors directly beneath the 103d Street station. Though we were incredibly full by this point, we decided to try some tamales in the interest of science.

For a while I was content to ignorantly snack on the tamale I had purchased from the first vendor, a guy with a flashy sign and not much else. That was until I was fed a bite of Maria's tamale. I looked at my now disgusting tamale and couldn't throw it in the trash fast enough before pushing through the crowd now congregating around Maria. My fullness dissipated, I quickly ate two tamales.

A First Meal at Masten Lake

While looking for a small group dinner, Steve suggested Masten Lake, a new restaurant in Williamsburg featuring an Italian inflected menu by Chef Angelo Romano, formerly of Lupa and Roberta's. Entering the restaurant, previously a bar on Bedford Avenue, just south of the main drag, we found the room to be plain, but pleasant. Especially nice were the benches and groups of booths parallel to the long bar, providing comfort and privacy.

The menu is conveniently divided into "Cold," "Hot," "Pasta" and "Protein" sections for today's on-the-go diner. We ultimately elected to order every dish from each category except for the Cold, which, due to insurmountable differences in cuisine preference, we couldn't agree on a single dish. I hate hearts of palm, someone else doesn't like cucumbers. So it goes.

Let's break the meal down by menu section.

Hot

Zucchini with salmon roe, buttery breadcrumbs and a smear of ricotta was our introduction to Chef Romano's cuisine. Steve immediately pointed out the comparison with Roberta's in the plating, which definitely seems to be an influence, but portions were larger across the board, and this necessarily affected how they were plated. The zucchini evoked Italy, but with a common touch: salmon roe. Playing with textures-- the zucchini was crisp and accentuated by the breadcrumbs while the salmon roe burst in our mouths, all lubricated by the fresh, ultra creamy ricotta-- this dish was a promising start.

Music Monday: B.A.D.

I was lucky enough to see Big Audio Dynamite ("B.A.D.") play at Brooklyn Bowl last week. Consisting of former Clash lead guitarist Mick Jones and producer Don Letts (as well as two guys whose names I forget and won't bother looking up), B.A.D. seemed like a natural progression for Mick Jones' pop sensibility (and love of sound samples) after the break up of the Clash.

"A Party" is a song I didn't know too well before the concert, but it may have been my favorite song of the whole night. They got into a groove with it early on and never let go, while all the while Mick Jones showed off his playful side. The video is a live version, so the quality is not fabulous. However, the album version can only be played on Youtube, so check that out.


Have a fabulous Music Monday!

Phayul: From Tibet to Wisconsin

I've wanted to try Phayul Restaurant since the first time I heard about it. Tibetan food in a comfortable, second floor space-- a respite from the bustle of Jackson Heights below, seemed irresistible. Seated on high, it's almost as if you're atop a mountain.

Highlights of our meal included Gyum Ngoe Ma ($7.99), which featured fried pucks of blood sausage along with peppers, chiles and Sichuan peppercorns. Apparently porridge is mixed into the mildly bloody sausage, giving it an almost creamy texture.

But the most interesting dish we tried was Tsak Sha Cu Rul ($3.99), a Tibetan rendition of cheese soup (or is it the other way around, with us Americans making a rendition of their traditional soup?). At first our waitress gave us the "not for you" speech, and throughout the course of the meal she continuously warned us that the soup would be strong. Wisely, we pressed on. When it arrived, a sulphuric funk wafted into my nostrils.

Swap the cheese and this could be eaten anywhere in America. Meat and potatoes floated in an intensely familiar soup spiked with Sichuan peppercorns and dried chiles. Thickened with zanba, a barley flour, the soup had the familiar consistency of a chowder, but with a deep spiciness (along with a faint tingling from the peppercorns). Meanwhile, the cheesiness was milder than I'd anticipated, with only the funky background notes providing a hint of the Tibetan cheese. Slurping my soup, I couldn't help but think of the numerous cheddar soups I've made and eaten at home in the Midwest.

Phayul
74-06 37th Road
Jackson Heights, NY 11372

Brunch Bets: Minetta Tavern

I zig when others zag.

After recently editing the Real Cheap Eats Guide along with James Boo of The Eaten Path and a host of others, I figured that I may as well write about Minetta Tavern, a restaurant that, unless we completely compromised ourselves, will never make The Guide. I posted about my first meal there late last year, a meat extravaganza of nearly epic proportions (and I don't just throw the word epic around like some people I know). I have yet to return for dinner. Instead, I've sought out their brunch.

First, an important tip. Always start with the Balthazar cannele instead of the full pastry basket. I know I shouldn't tell a reader to "always" do something, but ALWAYS DO THIS. I am right. Thank me later. While my mother and the maitre'd waxed rhapsodic over the cannele, sharing a silent moment over the the thought of its slightly chewy, caramelized crust, I ate mine in a single bite.

You can order the infamous Black Label Burger for brunch. I won't go into too much detail (just read my first post), but I will say that, while very good, I still prefer The Brindle Room Burger (especially at half the price). Still, this is a damn good burger unlike any other burger in the city.

Music Monday: Summer Tunes

Sorry for the impromptu vacation last week, Steve and I were overly busy catching up on work and were forced to prioritize. That won't happen this week, I promise. Also, be on the lookout for an exciting new project I've been working on....

Now back to your regularly scheduled Music Monday.

Summer in NYC. The only thing that cools me off is listening to some good reggae. Here's two tunes I'm listening to on my iPod while walking down the street.

First is the late, great Mikey Dread with "Reggae Hitshot," which, even though it screams 80's reggae, still kicks ass.

One more after the Jump.

Leading the Way to Tamada

Tamada is the latest stop in my halfhearted attempt to try every Georgian restaurant in the city.

Steve, who arrived first to an empty restaurant, was eyed skeptically by the owner. To convince him of the seriousness of our cause, Steve said "we're here for Georgian," and then angrily broke two plates with a bottle of Georgian wine (I may have condensed the timeline for the sake of narrative convenience). Oh, speaking of the wine, we purchased a bottle of red, Alaverdi Pirosmani 2005, which was inoffensive, meaning its the best Georgian wine I've tried. And, after one sip of the dry white wine, Tsinandali, I wisely decided to stick with the red. We also purchased the necessary amount of honey pepper vodka (to stimulate our appetites, of course).

Something's Fishy at Smorgasburg

My second visit to Smorgasburg, the food vendor version of the Brooklyn Flea Market, was much more pleasant than the first. Less crowded and not as oppressively hot, it was the perfect day to spend outside.

What's good for a hot day (besides cold beers, which I'll get to later)? Seafood and Salad! Sure...

Fryin' on a Prayer

Bon Chovie sells fried anchovies. I got Jersey style, which was described as down and dirty, meaning heads on. Served with a spicy mayo and a couple of pickled peppers, the anchovies were fresh tasting and well fried. There's no better way to start a day.