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.