Cleopatra

So it's been a while since I've posted, but a bout of Achilles Tendonitis has kept my happy ass parked on the East Bank, "working remotely" as they say in office jargon.

Today, I was joined by DEE and Mama's Boy at Cleopatra. Now you may notice my photograph is blurry and not-too-appetizing. I would like to apologize. It's because I was hungry and not particularly interested in composition. Or neatness. Or appetizingness.

This is all because Cleopatra is delicious, delightful and always spot on.

They bake their own bread. Before the meal, they bring out pickled vegetables and olives. My meal, with tip and drink came to $13. That's with the bread, soup, hummus and rice. Not to mention the perfect gyro meat. And that stuff you dip stuff in. No idea what it is. I only know I want to marry it.

Speaking of weddings, DEE announced he planned on proposing to his girlfriend when he takes her to Paris this weekend, so congrats to DEE Z. He showed Mama's Boy and I the rock he's going to give her.

"It's the size of Alaska!" I exclaimed, wondering how quickly I could kill him, steal the ring and get out of the country.

Mama's Boy simply vomited, right there in the middle of the restaurant. Then he looked up at DEE, shook his head and vomited some more.

At which point I looked up for the waiter. "Check please."

Soup is Good Food

Today, took a trip with Mama's Boy and DEE to Pho Tau Bay, a restaurant located in the most run down strip mall in the universe, on the West Bank Expressway between Stumpf and Lafayette.

In most respects, Pho Tau Bay is like many other Vietnamese restaurants, with the different soups, rice or vermicelli dishes and a few Vietnamese po boys. But what really sets PTB apart are its soups, or more specifically, the beef broth.

I find it hard to explain to people, but there's something sublime, complex and, yet, still completely simple about the broth there. Which is exactly the reason it is my favorite--- this simplicity allows you to enjoy pho for what it is without being distracted by other notes.

For comparison's sake, eating the pho at Tan Dinh, while not an unpleasant experience, throws too many flavor bells and whistles at your palate. It loses the basic beefy backbone that Pho Tau Bay delivers and keeps delivering until the bowl is dry.

Today was Mama's Boy's first pho eat (his throat was sore), and he loved it. Earlier, we also had some spring rolls dipped in fish sauce. MB was also a fish sauce virgin, whose cherry burst with the delight of a girl from Westwego on her 11th birthday.

DEE, just back from a trip to Destin, sand in his brain, had one of the vermicelli dishes with the egg rolls. Nearly emptied his plate, which is saying something as DEE usually eats like a rabbit.

So, if you're hungry for soup and it's not a Thursday or a Sunday (they are closed on those days... must be some kind of strange Antarctic Orthodox religious thing), go there. And eat soup.

Mama's Boy Guest Column: Sahara

The bathroom at Sahara has a rather unique mid-wall wallpaper banner that circles the entire restroom:

Don't most of them look a lot like Saddam Hussein?

If you notice as well, there are a few guys that are looking directly at you as if they are saying,"You had better wash your hands after you finish that business. Or we will get Saddam to shoot your ass with a gold plated AK47 that he has hidden under his waiter apron."

Sahara Cafe

First, let's start with the God-awful: Baba Ganoush (pictured below).

Due to the simple fact I was starving, I had to eat some of it, and even though I shared some of it with Mama's Boy, this was all that we could eat, and let me reiterate: we were STARVING. This Baba Ganoush was lumpy, bland and even had a sort of chemical taste to it. Very disappointing. Thankfully, things were going to get better for us at the table, albeit slowly, very slowly.

The Sahara Cafe has two employees, one in the kitchen and one to serve the customers; we customers would quickly number twenty, which meant that the pace of service would be charitably described as glacial. Tectonic is probably more appropriate.

I arrived about five minutes before Mama's Boy, Doppelganger, Falcon and THE MOLE, and was lucky to be the only person at the restaurant. Therefore, I was watered without having to wait the fifteen minutes my lunch companions endured without beverage.

Our lunch conversation wasn't better. Doppelganger was obsessed by an anus, particularly the anus owned by THE MOLE, and what we would rather do, hypothetically, as opposed to tossing THE MOLE's salad. Doppelganger had set the conversational bar rather low. And as children often do, we proceeded to remove the bar altogether. At least there weren't any _actual_ children in the restaurant. The trauma would have resulted in years of therapy.

The food: not bad, really. I had a gyro sandwich (tasty) and a small plate of falafel (tastly, but very salty, and coming from me, that's pretty serious as I'm a saltaholic). Around the table were a variety of sloppily assembled but well proportioned plates of meats with hummus and salad, which were mostly cleaned by the end of the meal. Falcon had some kind of meat pie thing that looked pretty cool.

At the end of the day, however, Sahara suffers from two fatal flaws. 1. The service is too slow. It should not take an hour and a half to eat what is, essentially, fast food. 2. It's biggest problem is that it's only a couple of miles from Cleopatra, which is, hands down, a far superior restaurant serving better food at lower prices.

Two more notes:

THE MOLE is a figment of our imagination. He's far too slovenly and uncool to occur in nature.

Also, following this post, Mama's Boy will again do a guest review, this time of the Sahara Men's Room.

That is all. Please return to your regular programming.

Went to Rotolo's; Don't Make that Mistake too.

Okay, so it wasn't _that_ bad. It wasn't worth the fifteen minute trip to Belle Chasse, either, that's for sure. I was accompanied by Falcon, Doppelganger (who scared the women at the table next to us by reading the menu in a very menacing voice, as if he were the announcer at a monster truck rally), Mama's Boy (no report from the loo), and last, and probably least, Scott Baio who was dressed like Scott Baio.

I ordered an appetizer of breadsticks and a calzone with this unfortunate name: "Sweep the Floors," a moniker so unappetizing, I had no choice. It had to be ordered.

And they came out at the same time, which rendered the breadsticks about as useful as a second appendix.

Doppelganger (who had graduated to a sort of Tourette's-like stream of curse words for the benefit of the six year old at the table behind him. "Mommy, what does 'Felching a chicken's anus mean?'") and Mama's Boy both had Blackened Chicken Alfredo sandwiches, which they both described as boring and bland.

Scott Baio loved his Chicken Caesar sandwich. I got a little creeped out when, in the middle of our meal, he named it Joanie and then had to get up and go to the bathroom for a little "Chachi-time."

Falcon was there the whole time, but somehow was also missing. I think it had a lot to do with the virus I gave his computer also acting on the human body.

Still, all in all, if you want to eat something that's an approximation of good, but only if you have to concentrate really, really hard on convincing yourself it's good, then Rotolo's is right up your alley!

A Message From Mama's Boy

Yesterday, after eating our lunch at Kim Son, Mama's Boy required a trip to the men's room, during which, he felt compelled to photograph and describe the urinals therein. Below is his take. The Mama's Boy Speaketh!

Even though I am a frequent restroom user during lunch hour, never have I seen such ingenuity applied to something that doesn't really need it. I guess this is the pre-precursor to the auto flush? Seems funny that the whole time you are relieving yourself the water will be flowing. I wonder how many people are actually confused when they step up to these or are actually scared by this technology and decide that the stalls are safer. Needless to say, the guy that designed this didn't like touching the flush handles. It actually made me come to the realization that urinal handles prolly got other guys junk juice on'em. Just sayin'.

Kim Son

According to my lunch mates (Falcon and The Snowman, Mama's Boy and Doppelganger), what I ordered is called the penis platter: (pictured below)

It's actually called Charcoal Broiled Onion Beef Roll on the menu. However, since I dine with children... but I digress.

It comes with a garden full of stuff (lettuce, cucumber, carrot, basil, mint and cilantro) and wrap all this up in rice paper.

It's entirely unlike pho, which makes sense because it's not a soup, nor does it require a spoon to eat it, even though they give you a spoon, which is something I haven't figured out yet.

Later on, I will be posting something from Mama's Boy. He visited the loo at Kim Son and found it more interesting than his meal. So hold your breath!

Mexican Can Be Blurry

Especially if Falcon orders the Taco Salad from El Mesquite Mexican Grill, because something is wrong. Falcon doesn't order anything with "Salad" in the name of the dish.

After rushing him to the emergency room, we discover that it doesn't matter what you order at El Mesquite: everything is good. Not to say that it's like eating at the Taj Mahal or anything... it's certainly not the best restaurant in the world, but if you're looking for above average Tex-Mex, using good quality ingredients, at a place where they're not afraid to actually season their food, you can't do any better than El Mesquite, at least, not on the West Bank.

In previous visits, I've had the fajitas, which have always been much more flavorful than at most places serving the same dish. My default order is a cup of the Mexican Cowboy Bean Soup (a must eat, thoroughly delicious - Falcon is converted as well) and the Quesadilla lunch. They use queso fresco which tells me, right away, that they mean business and shredded chicken, another dead giveaway in the quality department. The quesadilla is then flattop grilled with some butter. Sides of rice and beans, but really, who gives a rat's ass about rice and beans?

Mama's Boy ALWAYS gets the Supreme Burrito, but what's really strange is that every time we go, he has a different addition / subtraction from the dish, as if he's trying to mold it into something that his pre-pubescent taste buds can wrap themselves around. I've thought about recommending he order the grilled cheese off the kids menu, but Mama's Boy is a lot bigger than I am. If I insult him, he might give me a wedgie.

El Mesquite: It's kind of like getting picked second for the pick up team. You're not the best player in the world, but you're good enough that they want you to play with them.

Worst. Analogy. Ever.

Yesterday and sorry for today

But I'm going back to Diawa for lunch today. I know, I know, I know. This is no way to run a food blog. You can't concentrate on one restaurant over and over again. It just gets monotonous. Except that it doesn't. The food there has been just that good. DEEEELicious.

About yesterday's lunch: It was at Banana Blossom on Belle Chasse Hwy. Everything was good, but, as is always the case there, paying $4 for two pieces of bread and a dipping sauce is NOT overpriced. The naan bread there might be the single greatest bite of food in the world. That's right, in the WORLD.

One day, I'm going to go there with a pair of twenty dollar bills and order 10 of them. And you will all be very jealous of me.

Falcon ate something, but I didn't pay any attention. Cake had something as well. I didn't, couldn't pay attention. I was in naan withdrawal.

Gattuso's

I've been going to Gattuso's for a few years and I have my favorites for good reason: when I veer off the beaten path, I've been disappointed more often than I've been happy. Which is why yesterday's visit, for both reasons listed above, was so unfortunate. I have a sneaking suspicion there is a new chef in the kitchen, one who hasn't fixed their existing problems and has introduced a few more of his own.

With Falcon and the Snowman in tow, we waited for about 10 minutes before finally snagging a tiny bar table for three.

I suggested the French Onion soup which Gattuso's runs as a recurring special. What used to be a floral, silky, oniony bowl of goodness ended up being a thick, gloopy, bland mess. Even the cheese: the crouton sank it to the bottom of the bowl where it required a knife to break into edible pieces. The soup: What an utter piece of crap, an insult to both the Frogs and onions.

With the exception of Falcon's Dirty Bird, our sandwiches are disappointing as well. I've noticed a meat to bread proportion problem at Gattuso's po boys: not enough meat, too much bread. The Snowman's corned beef po-boy (pictured) suffered from that fate. Usually, it's smarter to order sandwiches here on regular bread. On those, the proportion works. To add insult to injury, the bread was stale.

I decided against my better judgement to order off my reservation by getting the Muffeletta. It suffered from the meat to bread problem to the extent that the outer half inch of bread was bereft of anything but bread. Very disappointing.

I really do like their regular sandwiches, their gumbo and their burgers. But since none of that was ordered, Gattuso's gets the turd bomb award. Poop in a toilet.

Diawa Redux

Today, Brain and I went to revisit Diawa, a relatively new Sushi place near Barataria and Lapalco because I couldn't stop thinking about the Kimchee Kampachi Roll.

In essence, it's more of a spring roll than a traditional sushi roll, with soy paper around assorted veggie bits, some yellowtail and Japanese Kimchee. But Ken, the sushi chef / owner of the place gave me some extra Kimchee sauce to dip my roll pieces in. One word: Heaven.

But that wasn't all that was great about the place. I started off the meal with Special yellowtail sushi-- chopped yellowtail belly with green onions and wasabi tobiko, stuffed into seaweed the same way you see scallop sushi served. Brilliant execution for a simple, sublime bite of food.

Brain had the Chirachi, which was, well, it is what it is, raw fish atop rice. It was a mistake in ordering because the real gem of this restaurant is Ken. He knows how to combine and balance flavors in a way that, for me anyway, leave me wanting to try things again and sample other dishes. It's a sure fire recipe for a successful restaurant.

Brain's other order was a much smarter move: the Ceviche Salad, a bunch of chopped up fish tossed with lime, cilantro, avocado and some ponzu (for the Japanese effect), atop a bed of arugula and some sliced cucumbers. I had a taste and I can say that the dish every element on the plate seemed to compliment each other.

At the end of our meal was a surprise dessert from the kitchen: fried bananas topped with mango ice cream. I have nary a sweet tooth, but even I was impressed. The hot fried banana slices with the frigid ice cream was a nice, semi-light, delightful end to an extremely satisfying meal.

I will be going back to Diawa on Friday for lunch, but I don't feel like I'd be going out on a limb if I said this might be the best sushi place in town. It's definitely in the top three, based purely on the creativity of the chef.

Diawa. Really good stuff.

Tan Dinh

We descended upon Tan Dinh an unholy, dirty mob of testosterone.

It was me, Falcon and the Snowman. With us were the Doppelganger, Mama’s Boy and, just back from a three month stint in Turkmenistan (not kidding), was the Dumbest. Engineer. Ever. (DEE)

Got a chance to catch up with Doppelganger and Mama’s Boy. Doppelganger, on his current relationship’s status: “There’s a toothbrush at my house but no dedicated drawer of clothing.” Mama’s Boy on being an thirtysomething and temporarily suddenly living back at home with his mom: “I was playing a video game at one a.m. She told me I needed to go to bed because I had work tomorrow.” We all feel great pity for Mama’s Boy.

DEE just sat there and drooled on himself. His brain does enough work just remembering to breathe.

I wasn’t particularly hungry because of an unfortunate morning’s bout with a jar of peanuts. But we were at Tan Dinh so something had to be eaten. DEE and I shared an order of the grilled pork spring rolls. Light, herby and delicious; mine dipped in fish sauce, not the default peanut sauce DEE insisted on plunging his food into.

Falcon continued to surprise with his newfound sense of adventure at the Vietnamese establishments by ordering the Pho. He ate it all and did not complain once, so it must have been decent.

The Snowman had the grilled pork plate, never a bad deal, although I always order the pork buffet: grilled pork, shredded pork, Vietnamese quiche and a sunny-side egg. I’ll give the guy a break, as it was his first time there. He’s easing himself into the cuisine gently.

The Doppelganger had a clay pot full of rice and sausages and the such. He ate. Mama’s Boy ate vermicelli and chicken. He ate. DEE went a little off the beaten path, getting the grilled shrimp, but instead of the regular rice, he had them with the sticky rice, a seared rice cake sweetened with a little coconut milk. Personally, I think they’d be a lot better if done in more of a savory style, but I’m not Vietnamese, so what do I know about what tastes good?

I've also decided I'm not a fan of shrimp at Tan Dinh. Just an observation.

After we finished eating, we probably spent fifteen minutes inflicting Mama’s Boy with the myriad things we had to deal with his kid. We asked him about his curfew, if he had to check in if out after dark, whether we could come over and ask his mom if he could come out and play. Lots and lots of fun at MB’s expense. But at the same time, you could sense a palpable sense of tension at the table, as the rest of us asked ourselves, “What if this happened to me?”

Sushi Friday

Johnny Quest continues.

Johnny was our sushi chef, but then he decided to close up shop and we had to find a new sushi restaurant.

So far we'd been through Sakura (tiny rolls), Tennou (crunchy sushi rice (how can that even happen, not to mention happen consistently?)), and Tokyo (way too slow).

Today, we tried Daiwa, located in a small strip mall across the street from the aforementioned Tokyo.

I think this is where our Johnny Quest ends and our Ken worship begins.

Ken is the name of the sushi chef and (I'm assuming) owner of Daiwa. It's a nice looking place with plenty of light. Today, there were three waitresses (all very pretty, except one of them had this expression on her face, the whole time we were there, that she was scared to death of everything she saw). There was never a wait; our water glasses were refilled promptly. Which is important when one is eating sushi as we all know sushi is made from fish and fish require water.

But I digress.

So they have all the standard stuff and a few things that are unusual. And one of the unusual things is now one of my favorite sushi items of any kind at any restaurant: The Kimchee Hamachi Roll. *(I really wish I remember to take a picture of it.) It's soy paper wrapped around a Japanese kimchee, yellowtail, carrot matchstcks, cucumber, asparagus, and some aruglua. The kimchee here, is the star. Ken said it was a Japanese Kimchee: sweeter and not as spicy as the Korean style. All I know is it was completely delicious. Sushi Fridays have refound a home.

As for the rest of my lunch companions, Brain had some kind of fried roll (he was ordering without reading the descriptions, as usual. 2003 RE/MAX World Long Drive Senior Champion had some hamachi and a couple of rolls. The Reindeer had a very shiny nose. You would even say it glows. And she over-ordered and had too much and now has a styrofoam box with sushi to go bad.

Anywhoo. Daiwa. If you know where the Cox place is on Lapalco, you've already found it.

Best Chicken Sandwich in NOLA

Funny thing about restaurants: you can never predict the quality of their food based solely on the place's name. Case in point, New Orleans Food and Spirits. With a name like that, one would suspect food as generic as its name.

One would be mistaken.

Now, the menu isn't the chef's tasting menu at Commander's. Sprinkled with some tasty gumbo, a few pasta offerings, fantastic onion rings, and a little bit of seafood, familiar, casual, creole with Italian influence.

And they have a chicken sandwich. Not just any chicken sandwich. The best chicken sandwich that has been or will ever be invented. A photo does not do it justice, so I will describe instead. It's a blackened chicken breast served on po boy bread, topped with swiss cheese and mayonnaise. Still doesn't sound like anything special, right?

Brain doesn't eat chicken. Not that he has a particular aversion to the bird; it just isn't something he fancies. The day I made him eat the NOFS chicken sandwich, he said to me, just afterward, "That makes me want to start my own chicken farm. I'll even chop off their heads myself if I can get another one of those."

So since I won't give you a picture of the magical chicken sandwich, I will instead show you a picture of Falcon's lunch special, paneed chicken over angel hair, topped with alfredo and marinara. Which I will be trying next Wednesday.

Falcon said it was so good, "I would beat my mother with a broom stick."

Whatever that means. But here's a picture:

9 Roses and a Surprise

Went today to 9 Roses with Falcon and The Snowman. Falcon is a version 1.0 westbanker, a guy who refuses to try anything outside his comfort zone. And since 9 Roses has an extensive Chinese lunch menu, I knew exactly what his order was going to be: the number 9 lunch, General's Chicken.

But no. Falcon swooped in on the field mouse, bopping it on its head. "I'll have the pho," he said, almost with a French Colonial accent, as if to drive the point home further.

Falcon reported that the broth tasted sweet. As I haven't had pho at 9 Roses since sometime in 2006 (but I do remember it wasn't my favorite), I have no idea what that might mean, other than he liked it. It was all gone at the end of our meal.

The Snowman ate some shrimp with tiny minced jalepenos sprinkled on the crusts. Other than that, all I know is he kept thanking me for introducing him to the wonders of 9 Roses.

As for me, a plate of charbroiled pork, crushed rice and two fried eggs. A simple, wonderful Vietnamese plate of food.

And that menu? Was that written by the phone book people?

Mo's Says Westbank

Before heading out for lunch today, I asked Brain, "What place says Westbank to you like no other place?" Without hesitation, "Mo's." Which is exactly what occurred to me before asking Brain the question.

Mo's it was.

And with Mo's, the first trick is finding the place. Since I live uptown and the Brain in Slidell, although we've both been there on multiple occasions, neither of us had traveled without a westbanker (or wanker) as a guide. After fumbling around on Google Maps for a couple of minutes, it was located, on the second Avenue H between the building at the cliff off the end of the world, otherwise known as Bridge City.

The trick at Mo's is knowing how little to order. Because a single slice of pizza there is so large, they actually have to cut it into two smaller slices to make it small enough as to be fit for human consumption. The Brain made the mistake of ordering two slices. Which, of course, meant four. Which, of course, meant two came back to the office in a box the size of a normal takeout pizza box, just large enough to contain his leftovers.

While bigger isn't always better, there can be a case made for Mo's absurdly large pizzas. The crust is nearly perfect-- thin, barely charred, crunchy and a little chewy at the same time. The cheese isn't obnoxiously overloaded, and the pepperoni on mine tasted, well, like decent pepperoni. The only real problem I have, and have always had at Mo's is the pizza sauce is a little too much on the sweet side for me. Like it was developed for the palate of a teenager, or, since we're eating on the wank, the palate of your run of the mill wanker who refuses to believe there is life on the other side of the CCC.

So, is it the best pizza on the westbank? Yes. Does it even compete with the best pizza on the developed side of the muddy creek? Sadly, no. Cafe Nino knocks them out of the park, and don't even get me started on Domenica and Ancora.

But if you're stuck in an office in Harvey and have a hankering for a slice of pizza, you can do a whole lot worse than Mo's. Just remember you're not pregnant and there's no reason to order for two.