Skillet Doux

Hue Gourmet

Mì Quảng	Dominic Armato

This one's at least a year overdue.

I first fell into Hue Gourmet back in October of 2010, I believe shortly after they'd opened. I tried a couple of things, rather enjoyed them, and resolved to go back to work my way through the menu. Then I became distracted by something or other (a sudden move necessitated by a landlord foreclosure, probably) and it wasn't until months later, while perusing PHX Rail Food, that I fell upon David Bickford's writeup of the place, and returned with renewed vigor. I've... um... been there a lot since.

It's endlessly frustrating to me that Vietnamese cuisine is always reduced to pho. I love pho. Who doesn't love pho? But come on. There's a whole nation's worth of cuisine out there, so much of which is barely represented at most of the city's Vietnamese restaurants. What's especially compelling about Hue Gourmet -- aside from the fact that an unusual amount of care goes into the food -- is that it specializes in the cuisine of Hue, a city in central Vietnam, the foods of which are particularly difficult to come by around these parts. The reason it receives so little attention, I think, is that it's a food court stand, tucked away in the back of Mekong Plaza. Lan, an engineer in a previous life who changed careers to follow her passion, runs the show along with a small army of cooks who are as busy with large catering orders as they are with bowls of rice and noodles for the food court crowd. You place your order at a busy counter and sit at a table in a cavernous mall under fluorescent light. Serving pieces are mismatched and you're as likely to get plastic utensils as metal ones. Food kind of comes out when it's ready, sometimes quickly, sometimes not as quickly, and don't expect anything to be timed or coursed out. But humble surroundings can be deceptive. Hue Gourmet has become my favorite Vietnamese joint in town.

	Bánh Bèo	Dominic Armato

Bánh Bèo are closely identified with Hue, little disc-shaped rice cake a couple of inches across, topped with ground dried shrimp, fried pork skin and scallion. They can be served laid out on a platter, but I prefer them like this, steamed in little individual cups, dimpled in the center and ready to receive a splash of nước chấm -- seasoned fish sauce -- before you scoop them into your mouth. The rice cake has a pleasantly gelatinous texture and mellow flavor, offset by the salty shrimp, tart sauce and crunch from the fried pork skin that's a perfect example of Lan's attention to detail. It's easy to buy bagged chicharrones and crumble them over the top, and the majority of restaurants do. Most folks won't even know the difference. But for Lan, the texture isn't quite right. So she dices pork skin and fries up tiny 4mm cubes, devoting a significant amount of time to such a small detail. And if the value of this attention isn't immediately evident, step around the corner to Com Tam Thuan Kieu, also in Mekong Plaza, and order the same dish. The difference is stark even to the most inexperienced when it comes to Vietnamese cuisine.

Bánh Khọt	Dominic Armato

More a dish of South-Central Vietnam than Hue, Bánh Khọt are nonetheless a delicious dish and a nice change of pace from the ubiquitous pancakes that are found at every pho joint. Their composition is similar to Bánh Xèo, a rice flour batter seasoned with turmeric and sometimes enriched with coconut milk, shrimp within, shredded mint atop. But instead of being cooked flat and folded over, these little discs are fried in dimpled cast iron pans, so that the underside and edges gets brown and crispy while the center maintains a spongy, moist texture. I love that the crispness is a given, I love the textural contrast, and I love the additional richness afforded by the coconut milk. Wrapped in lettuce with some fresh herbs and dipped in fish sauce, these little fellows are delightful, and I have a hard time ordering Bánh Xèo when they're available.

Nem Chua Huế, Wrapped...	...and Unwrapped	Dominic Armato

Nem Chua is fairly easy to find, usually cut into small lumps the size of a large sugar cube, or short cylinders tied up in plastic wrap. And though they're not always available at Hue Gourmet, I prefer them as they're made here, squat little pyramids wrapped in banana leaves. Nem Chua is about as close as most will want to get to consuming raw pork (probably closer), but I've always adored these little cured meats. Ground pork is mixed with slivered pork skin, sugar, garlic, chiles and pepper and treated with curing salts before being allowed to rest for 2-3 days. The result is both sour and fiery, like a tender salami that maintains much of the character of the raw meat of which it's composed. The slivered skin plays almost like vermicelli noodles, adding a compelling texture as well as more porcine flavor, and this version, cured in banana leaves, picks up a hint of an almost floral scent. I realize that these aren't everybody's cup of tea. But as a tiny taste of explosive flavor, I always find them hard to pass up when they're available.

	Bún Bò Huế	Dominic Armato

Two dishes that are all but synonymous with Hue are Bún Bò Huế and Cơm Hến, and while the former is easy to find in Vietnamese restaurants around the city, I've yet to have one as spicy, deep and intoxicating as Hue Gourmet's. Want to get my hackles up? Be the 7,382,411th person to refer to this as "spicy pho." It's not even beef. At least not primarily (though a pork/beef mix isn't uncommon). It's a fiery pork broth, heavy with lemongrass, onions and garlic, made ruddy with annatto and featuring all kinds of funky meats that send squeamish Westerners packing. The noodles are thicker -- perhaps 2.5mm -- and round, and they're hidden underneath slices of pork pate, beef tendon, chunks of pig's trotters and cubes of congealed pork blood. The final step -- mandatory in my book -- is mixing in a small dab of fermented shrimp paste, served on the side, which rounds it out and gives it even more complexity and a hit of salinity. The flavor is immense and deep and punctuated with fragrant aromatics all at once, and I always encourage those who fear the funk to simply work around the scary chunks and focus on the noodles and broth. This is a beautiful soup, and you may find yourself experimenting with the totality of the bowl's contents sooner than you think.

Cơm Hến	Dominic Armato

Another Hue specialty, and a wonderfully unique dish, is Cơm Hến, listed on the menu as "clam rice," an apt descriptor. It's served as a kind of dry chaotic mess, a small pile of broken steamed rice buried under a mix of thin vermicelli noodles, roasted peanuts, baby clams, some kind of sesame brittle, shredded herbs, bean sprouts, slivered green apple (a substitute for starfruit, which Lan has trouble getting a hold of) and large sesame crackers, all served next to a small bowl of hot, salty clam broth. You break up the crackers, mix everything up, and give it a splash of the broth -- not to make a soup, but just to kind of moisten the rice, tie all of the elements together and add some necessary salt. The clam flavor is strong, and it's accentuated by fresh aromatics, nutty undertones and a whole mess of textures that I find fabulously compelling. This is a dish I've never had anywhere else, but now I'm anxious to try.

Another specialty of Central Vietnam, if not Hue specifically, is Mì Quảng (pictured above), which I have yet to find as exciting as the others, but it nonetheless a tasty and interesting change of pace from pho joint Vietnamese. The noodles are egg noodles flavored with turmeric, and served with things like roasted pork, shrimp, chopped peanuts, bean sprouts, shredded lettuce, hard cooked quail eggs, shredded banana blossom and more, with a small amount of pork broth in the bottom, just enough to moisten everything when you mix it up. It's another chaotic mess that comes together harmoniously, even if it doesn't quite feel as cohesive to me as the Cơm Hến. But this is an exceedingly popular dish in central Vietnam, which tells me I probably need to try it more.

Bún Vịt Xáo Măng		Dominic Armato

Leading up the Absurd Value category is the Bún Vịt Xáo Măng, a duck soup that feels like two dishes for the price of one. On the left, a clean, clear and rich duck broth, beautifully balanced and touched with just enough aromatics to bring out the bird's natural flavor, served with thin rice noodles, dried bamboo and fresh herbs. On the right, what seems like an entire quarter of a duck, steamed (I think), chilled, chopped into chunks, and served atop shredded cabbage with more fresh herbs and a vibrant sweet and sour dressing made with an abundance of pureed ginger You have a sip of hot soup. You dunk some chilled duck in the sauce. You put a little duck in the soup. Maybe you add a touch of the ginger dressing to the soup. You go back and forth, duck hitting you from both sides, not overly complicated by a horde of accompaniments, and this whole setup runs six dollars. Absurd.

	Bún Riêu Cua	Dominic Armato

More Southern than Central, but still exceptionally done here, is the first of two crab soups, Bún Riêu Cua. This one's a little more delicate than some of the other offerings (though not so gentle as the duck), a pork and crab broth sweetened with tomato and a touch of rcck sugar. The bowl also features rice noodles, chunks of puffy fried tofu, cubes of pork blood, pieces of roasted pork, and little quenelles of what Lan calls "crab cakes," more like poached crab dumplings made with a little bit of ground pork, intensely flavored and delicately textured, evoking every bit of the crab, not just the meat. It's an assertive but cleanly flavored soup, one that you appreciate more and more the deeper you get, as more of the oils coat your mouth, and more of the crab's natural funk comes out of hiding. With better tomatoes, I think this would be dynamite. But though I'm speculating, that may be a supply issue.

Bánh Canh Cua	Dominic Armato

One that needs no adjustment to achieve "dynamite" status is the Bánh Canh Cua, a more assertive crab soup that's another specialty of Hue. It doesn't look like much, but like the restaurant itself, that's highly deceptive. Where the Bún Riêu Cua is clean and refined, the Bánh Canh Cua is big and intense, with a viscous consistency, thickened by the flour used to keep the noodles from sticking. The noodles in this dish are hand-cut to order, thick like udon but only a few inches long, made with a mix of rice and tapioca (I think) lending them a translucent appearance, slippery texture and subtly pleasant chew. The broth is big and intense, a little spicy, screaming of crab and garlic, and it's laden with chunks of lump crabmeat, hard cooked quail eggs that almost pop to expose a still-soft center, shrimp that are just barely cooked -- still a touch sticky -- and a sprinkling of fresh mint and scallions and white pepper. A little splash of fish sauce adds a bit of brightness, and it's a joy to dig into. The last time I had this, it was one of the most delicious noodle soups I've had all year. And I've had some pretty freaking outstanding noodle soups this year.

	Cuốn Tôm Chua	Dominic Armato

In addition to big bowls of noodles and rice and soup, Hue Gourmet does a big catering business, making large volumes of little bites by special order. I recently went with a bunch of friends and piggybacked on a couple of large orders, sampling a number of items that aren't ordinarily available in small quantities (though they do pop up from time to time -- it's work asking). One of them is called Cuốn Tôm Chua, and it's a really unusual shrimp dish. The shrimp are mixed with galangal, chiles, garlic, some sort of flour paste, curing salts and other aromatics -- secret recipe type stuff -- and over time it creates a bold but well-rounded flavor, and softens the shrimp shells to make them completely edible. The shrimp is then mixed with tender meltaway slices of steamed (I think) pork belly, and this is where you step in.

The Fixings	Wrapped	Dominic Armato

Anybody who's spent a lot of time in Vietnamese restaurants is familiar with the roll-your-own format, where you dip stiff rice paper into hot water, turning it into the supple wrapper that you fill with your featured item (the shrimp), and things like lettuce leaves, rice noodles and fresh herbs. Mine are always this expertly wrapped. No, sorry, I don't have any other photos to prove it. I don't have to answer your questions.

Bánh Tôm Chiên	Dominic Armato

What's not to like here? Bánh Tôm Chiên are similar to Bánh Cóng, but featuring an abundance of sweet potato. The bottom, though it's hard to see, is made from a fairly thick batter that develops a light, almost fluffy consistency as it fries, with a predictably crisp exterior. On top is a bird's nest of slivered sweet potato, and whole head and shell-on shrimp, fried hot enough that they become crisp and edible whole. Again, attention to detail, the nước chấm served with these is adjusted to the dish, a little less tart, a little sweeter, They're piping hot, exquisitely textured, and the added complexity from the sweet potatoes make these something I continue to think about. I wish they were a little easier to come by. (Anybody want to place an order with me?)

	Bánh Lọc Trần	Dominic Armato

When I first asked about the Bánh Lọc Trần, Lan asked, "Are you sure? They're really chewy." And so they are. Made with cassava, these dumplings are dense and glutinous and the result is something of a workout for your jaw. It's not at all unpleasant, but very mildly flavored and not something I'd go back for if not for the burst of flavor waiting inside. When you work your way through that sticky cocoon and hit the center, it all makes sense. You're chewing, chewing, chewing, chewing, chewing and BAM, there it is -- a sweet, sticky and boldly seasoned pork paste enrobing and a small whole shrimp, shell-on to provide a little bit of crunch. It's some seriously big flavor lurking within, and the whole thing as a unit works wonderfully well.

I enjoy Hue Gourmet more and more every time I go. And I think they're getting better too, as Lan's minions -- who she says are sometimes too timid to take on the more complicated dishes -- gain more experience and are better-equipped to execute her recipes. Hue Gourmet is a rare treat, particularly in a city like Phoenix. It's an uncommon subset of a fabulous ethnic cuisine, executed with exceptional care by somebody who has a real passion for what she's doing. And it's cheap. Most of these dishes are about $7, give or take. I always get frustrated when places like this that make exceptional food in a humble setting are continually overlooked. There's a lot of great food coming out of that stall. Not to mention a fascinating bit of culinary education. Go. Please. Show that there's an interest in this kind of thing, and with a little luck we'll get more of it.

Hue Gourmet
www.huegourmet.com
Mekong Plaza
66 S. Dobson Rd.
Mesa, AZ 85202
Thu - Tue	9 AM - 3 PM	5 PM - 8:30 PM
Closed Wednesday

Can We Talk?

PHXfoodnerds.com	Dominic Armato

Here's hoping this is the start of something special.

I've been in Phoenix for nearly two and a half years, now. And while there's so much exciting food stuff going on, I can't pretend that I haven't had my frustrations as well. Some of them I can't do anything about, short of, you know, moving to northern Thailand, getting into a fabulous kitchen, learning all of their secrets and returning to open up a restaurant. This is not going to happen. But there's one thing I think the food scene here desperately needs that I might actually be in a position to provide. So for at least one of my frustrations, I've decided to see if I can actually do something about it.

Phoenix is not lacking for folks who know good food. I meet them all the time. But you wouldn't know it from the state of online food discussion here. It's been a weird transition for me, coming from places where the food nerd communities are tight, and where they have a place to call home where they can really dig deep and meet up and discuss and organize and make their community even stronger. The community here, it has always seemed to me, is weirdly fragmented, strewn across multiple different sites and multiple different formats, none of which are especially well-suited to community building. Twitter's great at moving news far and fast, but you can't have a real discussion in 140 character snippets. Yelp's no good. It's all about reviews and output. With the elite and rankings and firsts and user ratings it's focused on the individual, not the community. The only area that can handle discussion is practically an afterthought. And as a corporate entity, it's designed to generate more traffic at the expense of better traffic. Chowhound is okay at times, but there's a reason its staunchly anti-community design and policies have spawned so many groups of disgruntled posters who have gone off to build their own successful community boards. Trying to strip the personality out of a community may work on a national level, but at the local level it's killing our greatest strength. It's impossible to carry on a real conversation when any post that veers even slightly off the path gets nuked or whisked away to a different board that's viewed by a completely different group of people. And when there's no sense of continuity or community, nobody's invested, discussion dies and it becomes the restaurant and ingredient want ads. Blogs are great when written by thoughtful folks, but even though a little discussion might occasionally break out in a comment section here and there, it's an inherently uneven playing field, and discussion that could be all in one place ends up scattered across a dozen locations. Plus, to say there's more food knowledge in this town than that which a handful of bloggers possess is a comically colossal understatement, so why should a few individuals drive the conversation? Though Phoenix's food nerds are scattered all across the city, we have knowledge. We have energy. We have enthusiasm. What we don't have is a home.

So as of today, I'm officially launching PHXfoodnerds.com.

My hope is that PHXfoodnerds can gather all of these folks who are throwing their thoughts into space into one virtual room so they can start throwing those thoughts at each other, having some real discussions, feeding and responding to each other's ideas, challenging and learning from each other. I hope that PHXfoodnerds will serve as a hub for people to meet each other, make plans to get out and eat with each other, and develop a stronger and stronger community. I hope that we can turn PHXfoodnerds into a megaphone, so that we can shout from the rooftops when we find people who are doing awesome things to make our food scene better. I hope that PHXfoodnerds can become *home* for people -- I've met a bunch of you and I know far more are out there -- who feel the same way about this stuff as I do.

It's a little old school. Perhaps dangerously so. I've been told that nobody actually wants to discuss things anymore. I've been told that a website won't hold people's interest without bells and whistles and badges and achievements. I've been told that social media is the very lifeblood of the universe and it's crazy to even attempt any format that was conceived in the pre-Twitter and pre-Facebook era, as though all previously good ideas simply ceased to exist when Zuckerberg and Dorsey came on the scene. But if you really want is to dig in, share information, have serious discussions, exchange news and opinions and knowledge and ideas and actually learn from each other, there's still no better format than an old school bulletin board.

I know there are food nerds out there who are more interested in substance than flash. I know there are enough people out there in Phoenix who know food well enough and who care enough to make for one heck of an online community. I know that if everybody who has told me that Phoenix desperately needs something like this threw themselves in and tried to make it work, it would blossom into something beautiful.

See? This is why I should never write passionate pleas at 2:00 in the morning.

I'll let the board say the rest. If any of this speaks to you, please, come check it out. I've watched food communities coalesce before, and if we can come together on this, it could be a really, really, REALLY good thing.

Fingers crossed.

Cafe Ga Hyang

Banchan	Dominic Armato

Just a couple of months after I arrived in Phoenix, I got an email from a fellow food nerd (and now good friend) who'd noted that I'd moved here and generously wanted to welcome me to town. The question of when we should get together to get some grub and hang out led to my usual suggestion that late night is easiest, since I can slip out once everybody else is asleep. He informed me that Phoenix wasn't much of a late night town, and though I was marginally aware of this at the time, I figured we could always just fall back to the late night failsafe.

"So let's go get some Korean BBQ, then."
"There isn't any late night Korean BBQ."
"C'mon, there's always late night Korean BBQ. That's why Korean BBQ exists. Baltimore was a way earlier town than Phoenix, and there were two joints open until 4AM right next door to each other. I'll find some and drop you a line."

This little bit of hubris culminated in two hours of internet searching, capped by stunned surrender after finding just one Korean restaurant in the entire city that was open after 9:00. It closed at ten. This was a bit of a rude awakening when it comes to just how lacking Phoenix is in the late night department, but as of two weeks ago, consider at least one late night wish granted.

	Banchan	Dominic Armato

Well, two weeks for me, anyway. Cafe Ga Hyang has been around for a number of years, but it was about ten months ago that Sun -- the current primary server, culinary architect and hosting matriarch -- left Takamatsu around the corner to run her own space. She took over the restaurant, completely revamped the menu, extended the hours, and fulfilled one of my top personal wishes for the Phoenix restaurant scene: a really, really good late night Korean joint. It's a dim but cozy space when she kicks on the mood lighting around ten, done in faux Korean village style with photos of dishes adorning the walls. Though the disco ball and laser lights, even if they lie dormant, make me wonder if "closing time" is just when they close down the kitchen and crank up the K-pop. Sun's a pip, possessed of grandmotherly years and sprightly energy, a chatty and enthusiastic chef/owner who's not only happy to recommend dishes, but is just as eager to tell you how they're made and the best way to eat them. In fact, sometimes she'll be quite insistent about the best way to eat them. And the next thing you know, a pair of chopsticks has materialized in her hand and she's preparing a plate for you the way it should be done. With the discovery of Ga Hyang (thank you, Helen!), I have obtained both a new favorite late night haunt and, apparently, a new Korean grandma. But the latest hours and friendliest staff would just be a letdown if the food weren't up to snuff. What has me doing backflps is that Ga Hyang would be my favorite Korean joint in town even if it weren't for all of the fringe benefits.

Mandu	Dominic Armato

It starts with the banchan, those dishes full of little nibbles that come, by default, with anything you order. It's immediately evident that there's a lot of love and attention lavished upon this food. Sun prepares all of her banchan fresh, and it shows in crisp textures, bold flavors and a slowly rotating selection that means something new usually pops up every time you stop by. The quality is head and shoulders above anything else I've had in Phoenix, and the impressive variety -- even ordering a bowl of soondubu as a single diner netted me nine items -- is delightful and doesn't seem to mitigate their quality one bit. When mandu (listed on the menu as gyoza) like this are a weak point, that's a really, really good sign. The wrapper, to me, leaves a little bit to be desired, crisp and not too oily but a little thin and lacking character. But the pork and cabbage filling is warm and flavorful and fabulously moist. The first one I bit into squirted halfway across the table. And the dipping sauce, spiked with a number of aromatics, has a little more life and complexity than usual.

	Duk Boki	Dominic Armato

Though Korean isn't all about the chiles, there's no denying their prominence, and nowhere on the menu is it more evident than in the duk boki. This appetizer consists of cylindrical rice cakes, about two inches long, thick as a robusto, with a chewy, glutinous texture, which are stir-fried with onions and chiles and a thick sauce with the consistency of Italian-American Sunday gravy. The rice cakes are simple and unassuming with a pleasantly gummy chew, but their mild-mannered flavor is offset in the most aggressive way possible by a sauce that's pure fire. Though the sweetness meant that my instantaneous first instinct was to think tomato, I believe it's pure pepper. But lest you think this is only about heat, it actually strikes a surprisingly pronounced balance that evokes the sweetness you expect from a roasted red bell pepper and the blistering fire you expect from the hottest Asian chiles. Capsaicin junkies will find it delightfully piquant, but mere mortals need be wary.

Sam Gyup Sahl	Dominic Armato

There are no table grills at Ga Hyang, so I can't call the BBQ a strength, but that isn't to say the BBQ dishes -- prepared in the kitchen -- aren't worthwhile. Kalbi and bulgogi are beautifully marinated and come out on hot cast iron plates atop a bed of sizzling onions. It's no substitute for a live coal grill in front of you, and somewhat disappointing when you're accustomed to meat that goes straight from the fire into your mouth, but even if the sizzle is somewhat lacking, the flavor is excellent. One dish that doesn't seem to lose too much, however, is the Sam Gyup Sahl. Slices of pork belly a quarter inch thick are grilled and served with shredded lettuce tossed with oil and rice vinegar, salted sesame oil for dipping, the sweet and salty fermented bean paste called ssamjang, and raw chiles and garlic. Here, little details make the dish. Unlike many K-BBQ joints that slice the pork on a machine, Sun hand slices thick slabs which stay moist and juicy rather than drying out like their thinner bretheren. Also, the edges are carefully clipped, so that the pork lays flat and doesn't curl while cooking. It seems like such a little thing, but it makes a big difference. I wouldn't do the kalbi or bulgogi unless I just had to have piles of meat, but the Sam Gyup Sahl I'll enjoy without feeling like I'm missing out on the grill.

	Pork Belly with Kimchi and Tofu	Dominic Armato

Another pork belly dish that will definitely be in my personal rotation is listed on the menu as Kimchee Je Yook Bokeum, and it's one of those dishes where the whole thing put together is more than the sum of its parts. My first bite was of the pork belly, sliced similarly to the Sam Gyup Sahl, but glazed here with a thick, sweet and salty marinade made sticky by the cooking. This was tasty enough, except that I'd missed the kimchi beneath, and when Sun insisted they be eaten together (I would have if I'd seen it!), the result was a perfect pair, spicy and tart pickled vegetable lending balance and punch to the meaty, fatty sweetness of the pork. The third element, thick slabs of firm tofu, could be seen either as a third player in this mix or as a mellow respite between bites of explosive flavor. I dug this one.

Beef Soondubu	Dominic Armato

Soondubu is always hot, in both senses of the word. Chiles are no problem for me, but I've yet to make my peace with the Korean practice of serving soups that resemble bubbling magma. When something is served at a full-on boil, in a vessel that retains heat and ensures the boil lingers, my desire to eat always ends up at odds with my desire not to turn my tongue into a permanently scarred and disfigured nub. The struggle is particulalry difficult when the soup is this tasty, when the broth isn't just about the chile paste but has a really nice roundness and depth as well, derived from fresh beef or a variety of abundant seafood, depending on which version you get. The tofu within is silky smooth, and the freshly-cracked egg hidden at the bottom -- if you get to it quickly enough to mix it in before it cooks through -- adds another level of richness. This is some delicious soup.

	Haemul Pajeon	Dominic Armato

The Haemul Pajeon inspires, for me, a reaction that's all-too-common when tasting a simple dish that crosses every T. Why can't everybody do this right? Why is this so hard? Pajeon isn't something I've made in my spare time, so perhaps it's a far more finicky food than I imagine, but for whatever the reason, pajeon like this is the exception rather than the rule. That it's jam-packed with tender vegetables and an assortment of fresh seafood is good, that it's delightfully eggy and perfectly seasoned is better, and what puts it over the top is that they absolutely nail what I consider to be the perfect texture, browned and unashamedly crispy on the exterior, tender and warm and moist in the center. Served steaming hot with a little splash of a light soy and vinegar-based sauce, I presume that pajeon can be better than this, but I haven't had it.

Kot Gae Chigae	Dominic Armato

The menu's chock full of stews, many of them spicy, and I've had a couple of varieties that I enjoyed quite a bit. The Kot Gae Chigae is crab-based, a spicy and briny broth with a large crab cleft into quarters simmering within. What matters most here is that the flavor of the seafood comes through in the broth, which captures both the sweetness of the meat and the funk of the innards, making for a soup with crab flavor that isn't overpowering, but is still all-encompassing of the beast. The Saeng Sun Maeun Tang looks the same on the surface, but man, is a lot of stuff crammed in there. Sliced chiles, onions, carrots, zucchini, green onions, fresh herbs, shrimp, mussels, squid, pollock, three kinds of mushroom, tofu... more I'm forgetting, probably. And all of these bits and pieces come together to generate a delicious, full-flavored stew. While I was devouring this one, Sun's cook wandered out of the kitchen and mentioned that they do a similar version with monkfish. I'm a little ashamed that I haven't tried it yet.

	Naeng Myun	Dominic Armato

There are a handful of noodle dishes on the menu, including the obligatory Jap Chae, which is appropriately slippery and bold and extra good paired with kalbi and some kimchi. But one noodle dish that I'd somehow managed to avoid tasting until now is the Naeng Myun, and come August this will be my favorite dish in the entire city. Extremely thin, gelatinous buckwheat noodles are swimming in a light, thin, and lightly sweetened broth, along with sliced cucumbers and Asian pear, sliced beef brisket, pine nuts and hard boiled eggs. You cut the noodles with a pair of scissors, squirt in a little hot mustard, mix it all up and dive in. Thing is, it's cold. No, I take that back. Cold is an entirely inadequate adjective. The dish is downright frigid, due in no small part to the fact that it's topped with handfuls of shaved ice, dumped right into the bowl. This is genius on multiple levels, because not only does it ensure that this sweet and spicy concoction hovers at about 32.2 degrees while you eat it, but the ice shavings also add a really cool and pleasurable textural angle. It's the very definition of refreshing, and I can't imagine a savory dish that would be a better break from the desert heat. I have no frame of reference here. I've passed over Naeng Myun on Korean menus countless times before. What what I was missing always this good?

Cham Pong	Dominic Armato

Another great noodle composition that also demonstrates Sun's attention to detail is the Cham Pong. For reference, you could fit a basketball in this bowl. It's a huge stew, a full-flavored and spicy broth brimming with delicious seafood and whole shrimp so fresh and tender that there's some prime headsucking here for those who care to partake. It's spicy, but not so much that the seafood gets lost. And on the basis of all that, this dish is good enough, but the bonus is that the broth hides a pile of thick noodles which Sun hand-prepares in house, and they're fabulous. They have a light flavor and a nice dense, resistant chew. At $12, this dish is a total steal. It's kind of ridiculous.

I've managed to try a few more over the past two weeks, but hopefully that's enough to make the case. I love this place. No, it's not going to impress somebody who's been hanging around K-Town in Los Angeles, but it's really, really good -- undoubtedly my favorite in Phoenix. And it's a happy blessing that it's run by a welcoming and entertaining character who seems committed to maintaining late hours. Still, if for no other reason than the continued sanity of this humble food blogger, let's not leave this to chance, huh? Screw Delux and Carlsbad Tavern and every other hip joint with middling food that defines Phoenix's late eats scene. Let's stop pretending that dinner until 11 means late by any objective measure. Twenty lashes for anybody who complains that Ga Hyang is on the wrong side of the 17 (twenty lashes for the suggestion that there IS such a thing as a wrong side of the 17). Throw some friends in the back seat, roll down the windows, crank up the music and go for a little ride... what's more invigorating than cruising through the city at night, particularly when there's some killer Korean waiting for you on the other side? Hell, I'll even drive you. Drop me a line at midnight and there's at least a 50/50 chance I'm in. This is not a joke.

Cafe Ga Hyang
4362 W. Olive Avenue
Glendale, AZ 85302
623-937-8550
Mon - Sat	11 AM - 2 AM
Sun	11 AM - 11 PM

The McDowell Project - 44th to 36th

McDowell	Dominic Armato

It took a while, but we're finally cruising, here. Perhaps more accurately, I'm trying to cram in as much as possible before the kids are out of school for the summer. I'd love to get to Central before the end of the year and I figure I'd better make it to the 20s by June or it'll never happen.

Eight more blocks in the books...

	Tamale, Enchilada, Taco	Dominic Armato

Adrian's Cocina Mexicana
4310 East - 602-275-1707
Just a couple of months ago, this was Rock 'N Taco. Before that, apparently it was Adrian's. But this Adrian's is unrelated to that Adrian's. Or the Adrian's in Mesa, for that matter. Which is completely not confusing. In any case, Adrian's has an enormous, if predictable, menu that's mostly Sonoran-influenced, with lots of combination platters, the kind of items you might find on combination platters, and a surprising amount of seafood for a place that isn't dedicated to the same. Coctel de Camarones, thin and served with ketchup, hot sauce and crackers, might've been nice if not for the fact that the shrimp were more than a little rubbery. Items like enchiladas, tacos and flautas were... fine.... gooey and often smothered in cheese. Tasty enough, but not enough to elicit excitement, particularly in a niche that's beyond crowded in Phoenix. You could do worse. But you could do a whole lot better, too.

Hot Wings	Dominic Armato

Buffalo Brown's Wings and Things
4220 East - 602-231-9659
The exterior of Buffalo Brown's doesn't exactly inspire confidence, but while it's undeniably kind of divey, it's considerably more welcoming on the inside. The "things" refers mostly to run of the mill fried accompaniments and variations on burger toppings, with a few other sandwiches thrown in for good measure. But it's clearly about the wings, and the wings are totally worthwhile, if ridiculously oversauced (and kind of hilariously served on Chinese-themed melamine). But they're served at that perfect point with crispy edges, chewy exterior and juicy center, and a request for light sauce does the trick. Sadly (for me), it's a ranch-only establishment, and a cheap ranch at that. And those who dig celery will be disappointed. But if you're in the mood for crisp wings and a cheap beer, it's a worthy stop.

	Hillib	Dominic Armato

Blue Ocean
4111 East - 602-275-5800
Here's an odd and inconsistent little joint. I'm pretty comfortable with dives, but this one's pushing it for me. Spartan, sure. Cheap, no problem. Dirty... eeehhhh. Still, every time I've walked in the door some fabulous smells were coming out of the kitchen, and that's what kept me coming back... for a while. On my first pass, I thought there might have really been something here. It's a mostly Somali menu, small enough to be manageable, and the goat I ordered with the intention of making a head-to-head comparison with Juba was quite delicious, tender and delicately seasoned, nicely seared but still moist, served with fluffy cumin-scented rice and a nondescript salad oddly tossed with Thousand Island. But that goat got me excited. Until subsequent visits revealed a lot less life -- dull, tough chunks of meat, all seemingly seared off on the flat top with tomatoes, peppers and onions no matter what the dish. It would seem that that Blue Ocean is a one trick pony, which I'd consider a good thing if the trick were tasty more than once. If I were jonesing for some simple roasted goat, I might head back for the Hillib. Maybe.

Pepperoni Pizza	Dominic Armato

Pizza Casa
4105 East - 602-267-1555
The challenge with a place like Pizza Casa is figuring out how to write enough that this paragraph gets to the bottom of the photo and doesn't leave a gaping chunk of blank background in the middle of the page. Yes, these are the things I think about sometimes. This is cheap pizza, emphasis on cheap, the kind of place that plays like a national chain (even though it isn't) where you expect to see deals like two large pizzas for $15. Did I mention it's cheap? It tastes cheap. It could be worse. But its cheapness really is its strongest asset. Which is why I don't have much to say. Did we make it to the bottom of the photo? Okay, good. Moving on.

	Chicken Boti Kabob	Dominic Armato

Z-Grill
1638 N. 40th St. - www.zamzamworldfoods.com
This is a total tragedy. Not the restaurant. I've had a couple of really delicious meals at Z-Grill. But they were so good that I'd planned on making this the first stop on the McDowell Project that would get a post all its own. And then I somehow managed to delete all of my photos except for this one. So even though it gets equal billing visually speaking, know that this one stands head and shoulders above everything else I've posted about on this venture so far. Z-Grill is tucked into the back of Zam Zam World Market, a medium-sized grocery and Halal butcher, and though its street address is on 40th, I've chosen to invoke my "if I can see it from the corner, I can add it at my discretion" rule given that you could chuck a baseball into its parking lot from McDowell. And a good thing too. It's an Indo-Pak joint, and though I've heard it's had consistency issues in the past with different kitchen crews drifting through, recently it's always been the same folks, and always on. Bihari Kabab is tender and tangy, with a smoky scent and some spicy kick. Beef Nihari provides huge cubes of tender beef in a bright red and vibrantly flavored stew that plays almost like a full-flavored, chile spiked gravy. Small vegetable dishes are hearty and bold, but my favorite, though it lacks the aromatic garnishes that typify the dish, is the Goat Haleem, a sludgy-looking bowl of goat meat, wheat, lentils, onions and all kinds of spices, simmered down into a rich paste with incredible depth of flavor. There's much more for which I'm missing the details -- sadly, my photos are my notes -- but suffice it to say that I've had a couple of really delicious meals at Z-Grill over the past few weeks. We'll just ignore the fact that the best stop so far on the McDowell Project isn't technically on McDowell, K?

The Quarterly Report - Q1 2012

Lobster Roll @ Nocawich	Dominic Armato

	DISCLOSURE: Eliot Wexler, who runs Nocawich, is a friend. He throws food at me. I make up for it in the tip jar, as usual.

It's The Quarterly Report, Non-Cranky Edition! In all seriousness, I'd started to worry that TQR was becoming the repository for places that annoyed me so much I hated the idea of going back. And yet here they are... a whole bunch that I totally dig, but that wouldn't quite fill a full post! Well... mostly. Still, a good quarter.

As usual, in order determined by random.org:

	Pollo al Carbon	Dominic Armato

Mercado Y Carniceria Cuernavaca
2931 N. 68th Street, Scottsdale AZ 85251
This has become my go-to lazy I don't feel like cooking weekend evening stop. The only thing that annoys me is that I took so long to stop by. I've been eyeballing the place for the better part of a year, I only finally got around to it recently, and it's been an almost weekly stop since. Cuernavaca's a tiny little bodega, its most notable feature from the street being the drive-through liquor window. But there's a tiny taqueria squeezed into the back (that I haven't yet sampled... I probably should have learned not to wait by now), and on Saturdays and Sundays, a huge lump charcoal grill covered with dozens of spatchcocked chickens. This place has cheap family dinner written all over it. $10 nets you a chicken, tubs of rice, beans (with chopped hot dog, natch) and salsa, and a packet of tortillas. The chickens can sometimes be a little inconsistent -- a little scrawny, a little heavy on the salt -- but even off-peak, they're smoky and deliciously seasoned and tastier than any grocery store bird. And when they're on, they're killer. I don't want to oversell it. This isn't a cross-town destination. But if it's anywhere near your 'hood, it's a great weekend stop.

Beef Ribs	Dominic Armato

Bill Johnson's Big Apple
3757 E. Van Buren Street, Phoenix AZ 85008
It's a dangerous thing to come in from another city and, after only a couple of years, wade into the controversy over culinary landmarks. But with the future of Bill Johnson's Big Apple uncertain at best, I was only too happy to accept an invitation (from a friend, not the restaurant) to check out the original location for lunch one day. It's immediately easy to see why this place endures. This is where you loved to come as a kid, a family restaurant that's a cheesy monument to cowboy kitsch, but of the charmingly homegrown rather than the imported corporate variety. With sawdust on the floors and fiberglass steers on the roof, it's the kind of place where you're happy to roll your eyes a little and take the kids 'cause they love it, so long as the food's decent. Problem is... well... it's barely that. Starters are mostly of the out of the bag and into the fryolator variety, and are neither notable nor terrible. The signature BBQ, all three items I tried, were unevenly cooked, slathered with half a quart of sickly sweet sauce, tasted like they'd been held a lot longer than they should have, and had a smoky tang the origins of which were... dubious. And when the kids' mac and cheese is Kraft or a Sysco clone thereof, you start to ask yourself if the quirky yet oddly charming milieu is worth it. Unless you have history with the place... and I don't... I really don't think it is.

	Lechon Kawali	Dominic Armato

Hey Joe!
Food Truck - click above for website with schedule
Call me food truck suspicious. It isn't that I don't love it when a deserving place that can't quite swing a brick and mortar space gets their food out through other outlets. But sometimes I wonder if Phoenix's zeal for a food truck scene makes for some overly rosy assessments of the quality thereof. And then Hey Joe! makes Lechon Kawali, and the food truck scene is AWESOME. This is one of the veterans, slinging a rotation of Filipino street food which ranges from pretty good to downright awesome. Pancit is solid, if lacking a little zip, meaty lumpia are fabulously light and crisp, but I find myself lusting after the lechon kawali, as pure and fabulous an expression of pig lipid as there is. Simmered for an obscenely long time in some aromatics before being deep fried, making for a crisp exterior that yields to pure, melty pork fat -- this, I'll chase around town.

Duck Confit Sandwich	Dominic Armato

Nocawich
3118 E. Camelback Road, Phoenix AZ 85016
Noca's been rocking out fabulous food for a few years now, and though its lunchtime alter ego was temporarily put on hold by the executive chef shuffle, Nocawich is up and running at full strength, and turning out some killer sandwiches. It's a casual affair, with a small counter set up in back selling sandwiches, sides and a couple of soups and salads out of paper lunch sacks while the kitchen crew does its dinner prep. Given Wexler's penchant for hunting down killer ingredients, it's no surprise that everything's on. Wagyu pastrami may seem like overkill, but there's little room for complaints when it's this silky smooth, pressed on marble rye with slaw and aioli. Ingrid's lobsters make an appearance from time to time, anchoring tender, sweet lobster rolls with creative touches that might offend pureblood Mainers, but honor these premium beasts if you can welcome the departure from tradition. The one I can't get out of my head, however, is a special that's popped up with slight variations, a duck confit with strawberry mostarda, arugula and duck cracklings on a soft pretzel roll. Without the cracklings, it's luscious and sweet. With the cracklings, it's... well... like crack, dangerously addictive. They're a touch on the pricy side, but personally speaking, I'll take a killer $10 sandwich over a mediocre $6 sandwich any day.

	Paleta Cereza	Dominic Armato

Paletas Betty
96 W. Boston Street, Chandler AZ 85225
In a city that's more than 40% Latino, we should all probably feel a little guilty that it wasn't until paletas were sold in downtown Chandler and Mill Avenue from gleaming white upscale storefronts with HDTV menus that we decided they were press-worthy. But that doesn't change the fact that Paletas Betty is pretty freaking delicious and deserves the accolades. These are truly exceptional paletas, made with ripened fresh fruit, nuts toasted in house, and other fabulously fresh ingredients. The quality and care comes through, whether it's a spicy Mexican chocolate, deliciously sweet piña, or the fabulous cereza -- brandied cherries suspended in frozen almond milk. Even if paletas' place in the non-Latino public's consciousness is long overdue, you really couldn't ask for a more worthy ambassador.

Beaver Choice

Gravlax	Dominic Armato

When it comes to restaurants I feel a great urgency to visit, I have a "short" list, scare quotes highly intentional, since "short" loosely translates to "containing more new restaurants that I can really expect to get to before the end of the year." It's more of a crowded customs clearinghouse, where certain spots are fast tracked through immediately upon arrival, and others somehow get lost in a bureaucratic morass, until a year and a half later I find myself saying, "Man, I still haven't gotten to that place?" Such was the case with Beaver Choice, which has turned out to be yet another reminder that no matter how much ground I cover, it's never enough.

	Norwegian Pastafarianism	Dominic Armato

Beaver Choice has been open since the end of 2010, and though it's a small, relatively new, family-run joint, it hardly qualifies as a charity case when it comes to getting the word out. With glowing Yelp reviews in the triple digits and copious love from the New Times and Seftel, I'm definitely behind the curve on this one. But I'm thrilled that a humble little shop has gotten so much attention. There's nothing fancy here, six or seven Ikea tables (natch) and a counter to place your order, plus a mantle covered with coloring books, dominos, card games and other diversions, a tacit admission that the food might come out of the kitchen at a leisurely pace. But I will personally come out and egg the house of anybody who complains about this. Priorities, people. This is a laid back joint, where Polish-born Hanna Gabrielsson and her family cook up and serve the specialties she's picked up in Sweden and Canada en route to the United States, and the food's hearty and simple and all kinds of wonderful.

Poutine	Dominic Armato

Though it would seem incongruous on the menu if not for the family's stop in Canada, the poutine is nonetheless the kind of warm, hearty food that fits right in. A bachelor weekend in Montreal (not mine) put me off poutine for a great many years (there are only so many times you can eat the stuff in a three day span while maintaining a positive experience), but in recent years I've returned to the place where I can enjoy it again, and Beaver Choice's version is appropriately authentic and gluttonous. Poutine's the "dress up a junk food" du jour, and it's nice to get a version that's as straightforward as it comes, thick fries topped with chunks of soft cheese (not curds here, I think, but no complaints) and a smothering coating of thick, rich, beefy gravy. Somewhat classier, if equally delicious in very different ways, is the house gravlax, dill-cured salmon that's only just barely so, right on the edge of straight-up raw. It's got a delicate, silky texture and freshly herbed aroma that's really exceptional.

	Jansson's Temptation	Dominic Armato

Swedish specialties aren't my strong suit, but a couple of dishes make the case that they ought to be. My Italian genes find a special cross-cultural kinship with the Jansson's Temptation, a casserole of sorts made with shredded potatoes, Scandinavian anchovies, onions and heavy cream. Though Scandinavian anchovies are a different beast than those abundant in the Mediterranean, they have a similar impact, and this is a combination of flavors that's unimpeachable, and it's delivered in a warm, creamy format with a crusty hash brown-like top. Like a few of the other items marked as such on the menu, Jansson's Temptation takes about 45 minutes to come out of the kitchen, so calling ahead might be wise if a leisurely lunch isn't in the cards.

Flying Jacob	Dominic Armato

Another dish on the 45 minute list is the Flying Jacob, and if you'd served me this dish and asked me to guess its ethnicity, I never in a million years would have come up with Swedish. A recent addition to the culinary lexicon (most sources peg its creation to the '70s), my first thought upon tasting it was that I have no frame of reference for something like that. Another casserole, this one's composed of chicken, bananas and peanuts, smothered in a sour cream sauce that's spiked with curry and commercial tomato-based chili sauce. I mean, really, where and when does something like this come from? A Swedish air freight worker in the '70s, apparently. And though there's something completely haphazardly over the top about it, as if its invention were either chemically induced or the love child of a voracious appetite and an almost bare pantry, it's oddly compelling, a freakish cross-cultural combination of sweet, tart and spicy that I have a very, very hard time putting into context. But I know I really like it.

	Golabki	Dominic Armato

Far more conventional is the golabki, a straightforward expression of Gabrielsson's Polish roots, and a gentle, comforting version of a dish with which I don't have a ton of experience. Stewed cabbage leaves wrapped around fist-sized lumps of ground meat (Beef and pork? I only got a couple tastes of this one.), doused with a lightly sweet tomato sauce or, at your option, mushroom sauce, this is Eastern European comfort food at its simplest and most heartwarming. The meat's tender and delicately seasoned, the cabbage cooked to a perfectly tender consistency before reaching the point where it starts to fall apart, and the tomato sauce -- lightly acidic and just a touch sweet with a little hit of cream -- finishes the dish with aplomb. That I lived so long in Chicago while only tasting this once or twice is bordering on criminal, but this provides an excellent opportunity to make up for lost time.

Frikadeller	Dominic Armato

Meatballs of a less gargantuan size come in multiple varieties, the familiar Swedish version beefy and spongy and smothered in a creamy gravy. But the one that really caught me off guard -- and I mean that in the best way possible -- was the Danish version called Frikadeller. I'm not certain the Danes would identify these as such, since I understand they're generally flattened and pan-fried, but I'll leave the semantic debate to those who are well-versed in the finer points of Danish cuisine and simply express the important part, which is that these are freaking delicious. These pork meatballs would be a winner if served completely naked, impossibly light, tender, moist and... dare I say... even juicy. They're the antithesis of every bready, leaden lump of meat that's ever caused you despair. But if that weren't enough, they're doused with a delightful sauce, a light sweet and sour gravy heavy with dill. I got two meatballs. I wish I'd had two plates. I love these.

	Schnitzel Cordon Bleu	Dominic Armato

Seftel has waxed rhapsodic about Beaver Choice's Chicken Schnitzel Cordon Bleu, going so far as to list it among his favorites of 2010, so I felt a certain obligation to try it, or at least its kin. I opted for the porcine version thereof, two thinly pounded pork paillards sandwiched around brie cheese and sliced ham, breaded and pan-fried in butter. Served with a light, creamy and very peppery mushroom sauce, this falls into the category of "nothing here not to like," and even if I'm not quite as enamored of it as I am some of the other offerings, I say that only in relative fashion. It's perfectly done, molten cheese oozing from between lightly crisped schnitzel, and it's nice to have a sauce that's unafraid to feature pepper so heavily.

Rösti	Dominic Armato

Clearly, this fare isn't hearty enough, so almost all of the entrees are served with a standard complement of sides. These start with a single side dish, which may as well be called the potato dish since five of the six offerings feature them. French fries are unremarkable, but rösti is a respectable preparation of the Europeans' version of hash browns, though, to my personal dismay, more tender than crisp. Creamy dill potatoes are tender and warm and simple and a perfect accompaniment to just about anything on the menu. You also select three from a lengthy list of "side salads" that includes, in part, a lightly creamy beet salad, simple sauerkraut, and a really exceptional herbed cole slaw that's notable for how successfully it keeps the focus on the vegetables rather than the binder. It's a seriously killer slaw.

	Beaver Cookie	Dominic Armato

Desserts like Beaver Cookies, Beaver Balls, and Beaver Supreme inspire snickers and smiles in equal quantity. I didn't have the opportunity to sample the Beaver Supreme, a layered chocolate and meringue concoction, but I was reasonably enamored of the Beaver Balls, a chocolate and coconut concoction with a delightful texture. My undying love, however, is reserved for the Beaver Cookies, which ensured that somebody who ordinarily glosses over desserts would be forced to stop and sing its praises. It's two cookies, actually, thin, crisp and crumbly, made with oats and caramelized sugar, between which is spread a not insubstantial layer of lime butter. It was, to me, a novel combination, and it was all I could do to limit myself to two.

This is the kind of restaurant that makes me glow a little bit. Great food, great people, a family bringing their recipes to Phoenix from far-flung locales, a casual place to stop in and get some killer food wihout a lot of fuss. There's a ton of love here, and the only thing I like better than the restaurant's food and vibe is the fact that I'm one of the last people to write about it. When I get frustrated (read: despondent) that some fabulous places are overlooked, seeing the love for a quirky little restaurant like Beaver Choice gives me hope again. It's a wonderful little spot, and I wish I'd gotten here sooner.

Beaver Choice www.beaverchoice.com 1743 E. Broadway Tempe, AZ 85282 480-921-3137 Tue - Sat 11 AM - 9 PM

The McDowell Project - 52nd to 44th

McDowell	Dominic Armato

I didn't give up on this!

Quite the contrary, I've been trying to tackle it whenever possible. The holidays, trip to Asia and subsequent 30,000 word epic got me a little sidetracked. But while I've gotten past 44th, I figured it's time to start posting some findings. Still, it's slower going than I'd hoped, so I'm going to officially extend my initial pledge to two years or Central, whichever comes first. But for now, here's the first chunk:

	Mixed Grill	Dominic Armato

Indian Delhi Palace
5104 East - www.indiandelhipalace.com
A friend's mother, upon hearing that I was headed to Indian Delhi Palace, is reported to have said, "Why would he want to go there? Does he not know it tastes like feet?" And while I can't say my assessment is quite so dire (though it is undoubtedly less informed - Indian is not my strong point), I confess that I'm unsure why this seems to be a popular darling. Too many dishes, like palak paneer and lamb vindaloo, had a certain indistinct, muddy quality that I'm not quite ready to dub footlike, but lacked a certain necessary brightness. And a mixed grill plate was dangerously low on sizzle. On the other hand, tandoori chicken had beautiful color, tender texture, vibrant flavor and a nice, smoky bite, so I can't say the dozen or so dishes I tried across three visits were all lacking. Still, on balance, Indian Delhi Palace strikes me as serviceable rather than exceptional, and I'll have to try a lot of other flops before I feel compelled to return again.

Qutulaash	Dominic Armato

Juba
5050 East - www.jubarestaurant.com
If what I know about Indian is somewhat limited, then what I know about Somali is less than nothing, which is why I find Juba compelling, if somewhat less than excellent. Juba's menu is an odd mix of catchall Mediterranean and Somali dishes, which seems less of a mystery when poking around the intertubes suggests the Somali angle may have been added with a change of ownership a number of years back (don't bank on that -- couldn't nail it down). Since Hummus/Shawarma/Falafel places are a dime a dozen, I opted to focus on the Somali dishes, and had a few that were more than a little interesting. Hillib, oven roasted goat, was long on gristle, even for goat and even for my tastes, and somewhat short on flavor, though it warms my heart to see goat on a menu period. Soor, a dense and slightly creamy polenta analogue, comes in a massive brick accompanied by stewed greens and beans, and has a certain humble charm even if it isn't something I'm going to hurry back for. Whether or not the sambusas are being made in house, they're flaky with a well-seasoned ground meat filling, and are entirely enjoyable. But the dish I find myself thinking about is one called Qutulaash, ribbons of chapati (a thin, dense pita-like bread) sautéed with onions, tomatoes and beef, formed into a sort of caked and drizzled with a light, creamy sauce. Served like this, it's really good. Served at 3:00 AM after a night of heavy drinking, it would be amazing. I also dug the Somali iced tea, which was so sweet, so intense and so heavily spiced that I almost felt like it should have been served in a shot glass. In general, the food, though interesting, is rather rough around the edges, and I'll be curious to see if a second location opening in Tempe steps it up a bit.

	Suqaar and Fuul	Dominic Armato

Bisharo Coffee House
5040 East
Bisharo Coffee House has recently undergone an ownership and name change, so while the menu remains the same as of press, so to speak, my impressions of the food may already be outdated. Hopefully they're outdated, because they're not that positive. It was previously run by a lovely and friendly woman who lamented that her customers were only interested in greater quantities of meat. Still, as far as I can tell, the kitchen is little more than a hotplate in the corner, and while there are those who can work magic with the same, this is not what I'd call a food destination. Sambusas, undoubtedly made elsewhere, were tasty enough, toasted up hot, filled with ground chicken, a touch of curry and more sugar than I expected. Suqaar, sautéed beef, and Fuul, a sort of vegetable mash, were not at all good, the beef reheated and dry and the vegetables exclusively of the canned variety. As I say, this is (was) not a place to eat. The proprietor even suggested at one point that I go next door to Juba instead. Still, the change to Bisharo may bring something new. Perhaps a follow-up will be in order.

General Tso's Chicken	Dominic Armato

Asia Lee
5030 East - www.asialeeaz.com
Asia Lee is the epitome of divey, Americanized Chinese takeout and delivery, and if they have anything more back there, they're not sharing. The menu is packed with the usual suspects, and I tried a few of them with inconsistent results. General Tso's Chicken was refreshingly less than awful, fairly crisp and not too bready and doused with a sauce that wasn't 97% sugar, even if the accompanying fried rice and egg roll didn't reach such lofty heights. Lo Mein, however, was an overcooked mess, shrimp had been vulcanized, and the couple other dishes I tried didn't leave a much better impression. If everything were as okay as the General Tso's, I could consider it for a guilty, greasy Americanized Chinese fix every once in a blue moon. But enough of them were total washouts that I'm not anxious to roll those dice again.

	Buffalo Wings	Dominic Armato

Johnny's Eastside Tap & Grill
4729 East - 602-267-1010
Johnny's was one of the spots I got hung up on because I kept trying to return when they kept revamping the kitchen. It's a dive bar run by amiable folks, and a fine place to park and have a cheap beer. The first time I went to check it out, there was a standard if extensive bar menu that hit all of the usual suspects. Upon checking back a month later, the menu had been replaced by a BBQ truck parked out front. These ribs, I suspect, might have actually been pretty good had they not been smoked four days prior and reheated (not enough traffic, the pitmaster told me). So it was probably a good call to hand the kitchen over to Wise Guys Pizza, which apparently operates four locations around Phoenix metro even if their web presence is oddly absent (witness relocation?). Wings came hot out of the oven, and even if it makes me sad to see them any way other than fried, you could do a whole lot worse, particularly at a dive bar. The pizza was kind of a doughy, goopy booze sponge, which I suppose makes it appropriate even if I really don't need to have it again. But hey, it came hot out of the oven and I even watched through the pass as the dough was tossed and topped, which somehow seems like it's going the extra mile in this context. It's not someplace you're going to want to go to eat. But if dive bars are your thing, it's a friendly place and there's no reason to be scared of the kitchen once you've had a few.

Tokyo - Day IV

A Shrine	Dominic Armato

Day four got off to a start that would have been comical if it weren't so sad. For some reason, I thought it would be a good idea to save the two places I most wanted to visit for the morning we left. It wasn't entirely irrational. Neither kept especially late hours, and priority one was work... hitting them during the day would have taken us well out of our way. Still, in retrospect, I probably should have made the effort.

My first planned stop for the day was a cutlery shop on Kappabashi Dori, Tokyo's restaurant supply district, where I intended to seek out a fine Japanese knife while resisting the urge to tell the proprietor I was in search of Hattori Hanzo's steel (this clearly would have been funny only to me). And for some reason I can't possibly explain -- perhaps the sleep deprivation -- I thought it entirely reasonable to assume they'd be open at 9:00 AM. The prior evening, it was pointed out to me, in more polite language, that this assumption was stupid. So much for Hattori Hanzo's steel.

	Rokurinsha's Counter	Dominic Armato

My second boneheaded assumption of the morning involved number one on my ramen hit list. Rokurinsha, now with a satellite location in Tokyo Station, houses the rock stars of Tokyo's tsukemen scene. Tsukemen isn't a ramen style so much as it is a format, one that puts a sharper focus on the noodles. It works like this. Dedicated ramen chefs work hard to produce fabulous noodles with texture and bite. Then, after putting in all of this work and carefully cooking them to the proper consistency, they dump them in a bowl of hot soup. What this means is that your first few bites are perfect. But as the noodles sit in the hot broth, they continue to cook, so that by the time you're midway through the bowl, they're no longer at their peak. Tsukemen involves cooking and then shocking the noodles so that the cooking process stops. The noodles are then served side by side with the soup, presented instead as a dipping sauce, thicker and stickier than your typical ramen broth. You dip the noodles as you eat them, thereby ensuring that they're at their peak from first bite to last.

The problem is that Rokurinsha is popular. Wildly popular. And it isn't unusual for the wait to top an hour. So when I discovered that they were open for breakfast, it seemed obvious that the thing to do was go early in the morning, right when they opened. Surely, there won't be so much of a line at eight in the morning, I thought to myself. And on this count, I was right. When I arrived, there were only four or five people ahead of me in line and I waited no more than ten minutes. The problem presented itself when I arrived at the vending machine to purchase my ramen ticket. The button with the ramen... the ramen... Rokurinsha's famous ramen... was darkened and inoperable. No, in its place was a different type of ramen, a breakfast-specific ramen, and by the time their normal ramen was available, I'd be on a bus riding to the airport. What the precise differences were, I can't say. I have no point of reference. But at the very least, I could see that the magical powder of incredible seafood intensity about which I'd read so much was absent. For somebody with a dedication to maximizing every experience, this was (and continues to be) more than a little torturous.

Tsukemen	Dominic Armato

Still, I did my best not to let this snafu ruin my enjoyment of what turned out to be, even in this less potent state, one kick ass grade A bowl of ramen. I mean, wow. Starting with the noodles, because that's where it starts for these fellows, they're thick, bordering on udon thickness. And the chew, though not as aggressive as those I had at Gogyo, was incredibly satisfying, with a little give but only just so. They were almost cool, having been shocked to halt the cooking, and when I married them to the broth, the result was... formidable? Robust? Abusive? I mean these all in the most positive interpretation possible. That's one helluva soup, there. It wasn't as thick as I expected (Breakfast variation? Who knows?!), but the flavor was a tonkotsu base with some serious seafood swagger, like they captured the essence of a few large fish and crammed them in there. Those who haven't made their peace with Japanese fishy intensity probably aren't going to get along with this too well. Shaved bonito dreams of being this intense. But for me, it was gobsmackingly delicious. And though there's a vat of broth for you to water down your sauce to a soupy consistency once you're done dipping, I say screw the broth. I'm drinking this stuff in its full dippy consistency. You say dipping sauce, I say rich soup. I was simultaneously elated to have tasted such an incredible concoction, and tortured by the lunchtime broth I didn't get to sample. Still, to complain would seem ungrateful in the face of such a fabulous foodstuff. Should I return, I'll gladly wait that hour plus. This is some killer, killer stuff. I don't know that I'm sold on tsukemen. I'm considering the possibility that I would have preferred this ramen assembled in traditional fashion. The temperature contrast between cool noodles and hot soup means that when they come together, they meet somewhere in the neighborhood of lukewarm, and I do love a steaming bowl of ramen. But I'm not making any grand proclamations after just one bowl, and truth be told, they can serve this stuff to me however they like. I'll take it.

Kit Kats. Lots.	Dominic Armato

With time running short, I had to make a beeline for the hotel, but not without first stopping at a candy store across from Rokurinsha. What you see here are Kit Kats. Lots and lots of Kit Kats. In all kinds of flavors. Kit Kats are incredibly popular in Japan, and in their typical "Yeah, we're taking this to eleven" fashion, they've developed scads of different flavors for the Japanese market (Wikipedia's incomplete list names over 100), many of them available only as regionally distributed special editions. You thought green tea Kit Kat was a kick? *pfft* Pedestrian. Sakura Macha, Pickled Plum, Miso, Yubari Melon, Ginger Ale, Blueberry Cheesecake, Beet... the list goes on. I grabbed a few boxes and ran, and it was only later that I discovered I should have simply bought ten boxes of one of them.

	Hotcakes Kit Kat	Eden Politte

What you see on the right is a box of hotcake flavored Kit Kat, brought to you by Rilakkuma, which basically translates to "relaxing bear." I like this guy already. What I like more is what's within. Opening the wrapper releases the overpowering smell of butter, followed shortly thereafter by maple syrup. It's a slightly yellow-tinged white chocolate coating, but taking a bite reveals... well... hotcakes. Toasty griddled cakes, butter and syrup and all. I can't imagine that this much flavor was packed in by natural means. Surely, there's some hardcore confectionery chemistry at work here. And yet, it doesn't play like a fakey, cloying artificial flavor. It plays like hotcakes, sweetened and distilled down into three little wafers enrobed in a white chocolate coating. I don't have much of a sweet tooth, and when I do exercise it I almost never do so with a packaged candy bar. And yet I can state with great confidence that this is one of the greatest confections I've ever tasted, commercial or otherwise. Had I tasted them before leaving the shop, I might very well have walked out with ten boxes. Dear reader, should you ever encounter this sweet breakfast-themed ambrosia, do yourself the kindness of purchasing as many as you can carry, and then do the further kindness of sending two boxes to me.

And then, just like that, it was time to leave. But by god, I'd go kicking and screaming. Airports have restaurants, don't they? I can cram in a little more Japanese food while waiting to board the plane, right? There's nothing desperate about that, is there? Is there?!??

Tempura	Dominic Armato

My mind was reeling with things I'd wanted to sample but hadn't had the chance. Tempura! That's one! The tempura place I'd tried to visit in Tsukiji was closed, but surely there's a tempura place in the airport, right? As it would turn out, there is. Located on the Japan side of immigration in Terminal 2 is Tentei, with more tempura combinations than you can shake a stick at. I hurriedly picked one -- not too big, since I hoped to make another stop -- and shortly thereafter received a plate with tempura shrimp, squash, shishito pepper and a long slab of eel. And it was a crushing disappointment, because it was pretty damn mediocre, neither particularly crisp nor particularly flavorful, with an eel fillet that sure didn't taste all that fresh. This wouldn't do. This wouldn't do at all. I couldn't go out like that, could I?

	Tonkatsu	Dominic Armato

Absolutely not, because right next door there's Tonkatsu! Tonkatsu Inaba Wako is a sizable chain with locations throughout Japan. But Japanese chains have a tendency to focus and do something really well, and thankfully that would prove to be the case here. I can't say I haven't had better tonkatsu, but Inaba Wako's is a mighty fine breed of fried pork cutlet. The meat's tender, hot and juicy. The breading is fried to a deep golden brown, and exceptionally crisp and flaky, perhaps moreso than any breaded and fried item I can recall. Even something as simple as the accompanying cabbage, plain as can be but shredded into an ultrafine palate pleasing texture, is done with a level of precision that makes it more enjoyable than it seems like it should be. I poured out some tonkatsu sauce, added a little spicy mustard, and crunched my way through a pretty fabulous cutlet. Chain or no, this is some good stuff.

Last Glimpse	Dominic Armato

And then... and then... and... ah, crap, is it time to board? Trip's over, that's it. Homeward bound. No planning or finagling or sacrificing of sleep would allow me to squeeze in another bite, even though there was so, so much more I wanted to try. I look back at these five posts and feel like I shouldn't be disappointed. I should feel like I made good use of the time I had. But I can't help but think I could have tried more, gotten deeper into the list, shaved a couple of half hours here or there and squeezed in a couple more bowls of ramen, a do-it-yourself okonomiyaki joint, some sand pit robata, a trayful of takoyaki, a Wagyu steakhouse... yosenabe, chankonabe, ankounabe, ANY kind of nabe. The truth is simply that I wasn't even close to being ready to leave. I was certainly ready to be with my family, but I wished it was them coming to me rather than the other way around. It isn't evident from this blog because I stopped shortly after launching Skillet Doux, but for five or six years straight I was blessed with the opportunity to travel overseas every other month on average, and stops in Japan were an almost yearly occurrence. My first international trip since 2006 that wasn’t a surgical strike to Mexico brought into focus just how badly I miss it. The last time I looked out of an airplane window at the Narita tarmac like this, I never would have guessed that it would be six years before I'd return. Leaving is a very different thing when there isn't the assumption that you'll be back before long. I know, I know... cry me a river. Most folks dream of having just one chance at a trip like this. I'm so far beyond fortunate in this regard that I'm in zero position to complain. I don’t mean to suggest that I ever took it for granted, I guess I'm just trying to say that I feel the preciousness of these opportunities far more acutely than I used to. And I hope... I hope I did this one justice.

Tokyo - Day I   |   Tokyo - Day II   |   Tokyo - Day IIS   |   Tokyo - Day III   |   Tokyo - Day IV

Rokurinsha www.rokurinsha.com Tokyo-to, Chiyoda-ku Marunochi 1-9-1 3286-0166 Mon - Sun 7:30 AM - 10 AM   11 AM - 10:30 PM

Tentei www.narita-airport.jp Narita Airport Terminal 2, Main Building (0)476-34-6133 Mon - Sun 7:30 AM - 9 PM

Tonkatsu Inaba Wako www.r-wako.com Narita Airport Terminal 2, Main Building (0)476-34-6135 Mon - Sun 8 AM - 9 PM

Tokyo - Day III

The Menu	Dominic Armato

I'm unsure whether it was harder to get up the first or the second time that morning. Getting up at four in the morning when you crashed at two speaks for itself. Doing it again after walking four or five miles around Tsukiji and napping for two more hours has a certain Groundhog Day quality to it, but with more sushi and less suicide. Still, duty called, this time in Shinjuku.

Shinjuku is huge. And dense. And when your goal is to cover ground looking in shops, it's a little intimidating to realize that you could spend a week there and not cover everything within a half mile radius of the train station. Though it's considerably less ritzy, like Ginza, Shinjuku is anchored by massive department stores, and first on our hit list was Isetan, which turned out to have what might have been the most impressive food department of the trip.

	Canelés	Dominic Armato

Of course, they all start to run together after a while. But in terms of both size and quality, it was really something to behold. While perusing the fish department, my father was a little taken aback by one of our discoveries. He's has had his fair share of odd foodstuffs. Perhaps even more than me (exotic game restaurants in China can throw some serious curveballs). But upon encountering an orange-sized squishy grey mass that looked almost like a brain, he asked if I knew what it was. "Cod sperm," I replied, "Highly regarded delicacy. It's in season right now." He didn't reply, but the "oooooookay" look said it all, I think. On the less challenging end of the spectrum, one thing that's frequently overlooked by food writers, I think, is the availability of astounding pastry in Japan. The cultural obsession with quality and perfection extends to foreign cuisines as well, and though cakes and chocolates and pastries are, in the grand scheme of things, relatively recent imports to Japan, these food departments are filled with scores and scores of counters selling some of the most amazing cakes, cookies and candies you've ever seen. I'm not a big sweet tooth. But I know a good canelé is tough to come by. And by god, these were dynamite, with a thin but crisp crust, tender custard inside, and fabulous flavor. A cultural commitment to precision was never put to better use.

After a few hours of wandering the area, checking out a wide variety of stores (Shinjuku's offerings are rather more diverse than Ginza's), it came time for lunch, and here's where I realized that I'd completely fallen down and didn't have a restaurant scouted in the immediate vicinity. The closest spot on my hit list was a mile away, and we didn't want to lose too much time. Then, in serendipitous fashion, I realized that we were standing directly across the street from one of my target ramen chains that I hadn't even realized was there.

The Booth	Dominic Armato

Ichiran is one of the ramen stalwarts that has name recognition in the States. Part of this is, no doubt, due to the running gag that has become the New York outpost, on the verge of opening for more than four years. But while Ichiran's soup is widely praised, what seems to generate ink is the way it embodies cultural quirks, and leads people to smile, shake their heads and think "Only in Japan." The experience starts out front, where a coin and bill op vending machine pictures the menu in full color buttons. You select what you'd like, insert some coins or bills, and receive a small paper ticket. You then proceed inside, where a diagram of the restaurant lit with color-coded light bulbs indicates which seats are taken, which are vacant, and which are in the process of being cleaned. The reason for this is that every seat at Ichiran is a private booth of sorts, separated from its neighbors by wooden partitions, and hidden from the kitchen by a small curtain, save for a few inches at the bottom where food can be passed through. When you sit down, waiting for you is a plastic cup and personal water dispenser, chopsticks, some assorted Ichiran literature, and most importantly a ballot whereon you can customize your bowl -- firmer or softer noodles, richer or lighter broth, heavier or lighter garlic -- before pushing the red button that will summon an attendant to take your ballot and ticket. Of course, you never see more than this attendant's hands and hear his disembodied voice. Other accounts I'd read led me to believe that Ichiran was silent as a tomb, save for the slurping of others in the room. But a synthesized shamisen plinking out Top 40 tunes makes for an even more surreal atmosphere, and the attendants, though never fully seen, are quite vocal and not shy about their volume. A few minutes later, two disembodied hands set your bowl in front of you, the voice says something very earnest and gracious, the attendant slides down a shutter, and it's just you and your ramen.

	Ramen	Dominic Armato

And I've got to say, this is some damn fine ramen. The experience may be one of the reasons Americans love to write about the place, but what's inside the bowl is the reason there are 31 locations and legions of devoted fans. The broth is an unusually clean and sweet tonkotsu, made by boiling pork bones for an extended period of time (perhaps a day or two), but relatively free of some of the impurities and funkier characteristics that often result. In its non-customized state, it's plenty rich for my tastes, and though the garlic is present I'm barely getting any seafood if it's there... this is all about the pork. The noodles are a very thin Hakata-style, approaching a vermicelli thickness, and though they possess an impressive bite for so thin a noodle, I find myself pining for the aggressive chew of Gogyo's, two days prior. Of course, a little customization might fix that, I don't know. The lone toppings are a couple slices of pork, a smattering of sliced scallions, and a dollop of house chili sauce in the center of the bowl. The chili sauce, though wet, has a very pronounced dry chili flavor, and as it mixes into the soup it brings a nice warm burn to the back of the throat. The first couple of spoonfuls strike me as very good, but it's one of those soups where the deeper you get into the bowl, the more the flavor builds. By the end, I'm loving it, and though extra noodles are readily available by marking your chopstick sleeve and pressing the red button again, I'm as into the soup as I am the starch. I finish it off sated and happy. It's not a religious experience. But for somebody who's had precious little ramen in Tokyo, it's one of the best bowls I've tasted. Something I'd kill for back home.

The Map	Dominic Armato

By the time dinner rolled around, I'd decided it was time to embark on a quest. My friend Josh, of Posh Restaurant, worked for a few years in Japan. So before my departure, over whiskey one evening, he grabbed a table check, flipped it over and began to map out the location of his favorite sushi bar in Tokyo while excitedly describing the directions.

"When you're in Meguro station, you can exit on two sides. On one side, there's a busy street with a canyon of huge buildings. It looks like Inception. Don't go that way. On the other side, there's a circular taxi drive, and a huge pachinko parlor..." In the end, he captured it remarkably well, and a good thing too, because Hanami Sushi completely eluded my Google-fu, and as we arrived at Meguro Station I didn't even know if it was still in existence.

Sahimi	Dominic Armato

But there it was, precisely as described, a small, modern sushi bar that put out some very refined fish while still maintaining a neighborhood vibe. Hanami doesn't seat much more than a dozen people at a time, and on this night the crowd had a decidedly executive vibe, relaxing and having some sake and good food after work. The room's overseen by Mogi-san, an itamae with a warm disposition, permanent smile and talented hands. Through his staff, we managed to communicate that Chef Joshua had sent us, showing an iPhone photograph to jog his memory (it had been a number of years since Josh left), and a lengthy round of awkward but enthusiastic bowing and handshaking ensued. Sadly, the bar was full. But we parked at one of the tables, and put ourselves in Mogi-san's hands.

	Sushi	Dominic Armato

What followed was fish, of fabulous quality, skillfully prepared and impeccably presented. I did an extremely poor job of taking notes, and I'm left more with impressions than specifics, but I can state that yes, it tasted as wonderful as it looks. I do recall some deep and complex mackerel, fabulously light and sweet shrimp, and chutoro with a flavor far more robust than it looked like it should have had. This was followed by a round of sushi of similar excellence, including more dynamite mackerel, sweet magurozuke, and rich toro. A small roll made an appearance -- negi hamachi, I believe? -- sharp scallions accenting smooth yellowtail. And a man after my own heart, Mogi-san included both uni and hotate, both so fresh that they sang with natural sweetness. The two plates constituted a stunning array of raw fish, and all the more impressive was that it was coming from what could have been just another neighborhood joint. Either Josh found himself a gem, or this is just how it is in Japan.

Shirako Chawanmushi	Dominic Armato

When our server came over to ask if we'd like some chawanmushi, my heart leapt. I love chawanmushi, and was excited to see what it could be in such capable hands. Chawanmushi is a steamed egg custard, usually seasoned with dashi and perhaps soy and mirin, and it exceptionally delicate in both flavor and texture when done well. This was more than done well, bordering on ethereal, a perfect texture and subtle dashi flavor yielding a special surprise below. Our morning's discussion proved to be serendipitous, as this was shirako chawanmushi. I'd get my first taste of cod sperm. Had I known I'd be tasting it later in the evening, I would have gotten a good photo of the raw ingredient in the morning, but there's a good image here (even though I hate to indirectly endorse the "Oooooooo, these foods are bizarre!" approach). While I realize it's a shudder-inducing thought to many (hey, the older generation of Japanese feel the same way about us eating cheese), it's rather innocuous on the other side of the mental leap. Delicate is the operative word, with an ever so slightly briny flavor and soft texture that couldn't be more perfectly suited to chawanmushi. I really, really enjoyed this.

	Beech Mushroom Miso Soup	Dominic Armato

We closed with a dish I usually think of as an opener, but particularly in the wintertime, a hot cup of miso soup is a delightful finish and I wonder why we don't see it on the tail end more often. This cup was enhanced by some wonderfully delicate beech mushrooms, their soft, spongy texture absorbing the soup and adding a delightful little squish -- can one say that in a positive context? -- to a comforting finish. I was really impressed by Hanami, mostly by Mogi-san's sensitivity in dealing with delicate ingredients. So much of this meal dealt with subtleties that would have been completely lost in the shuffle when handled by most chefs. But these preparations were just restrained enough to let the more delicate ingredients take center stage, and that's something that takes a lot of culinary wisdom and an experienced hand. We expressed our gratitude to Mogi-san, who expressed his gratitude to us for coming. Business cards were traded. Promises to say hello to old friends were extended. And we left to make our way back to the hotel. It had been one heck of a day for sushi and sashimi, though I feel compelled to note that it also drove home just how exceptional a restaurant ShinBay is, and how lucky we are to have it in Phoenix.

But there was no way I was going to let the day go at that. With roughly twelve hours until we'd be leaving for the airport, I wasn't going to let a minute go to waste. I'd been enjoying the ramen so much, I resolved to squeeze in two more bowls... one for the next morning, and one for a nightcap. I was craving miso ramen, of the non-burnt variety, and I'd read of a particularly intense bowl in Shinjuku. Though it was a weeknight, Shinjuku seemed like an area that might also yield some good street eats, so I committed to the cab fare home and hopped on the Metro just as it was getting ready to shut down for the evening.

Piss Alley	Dominic Armato

My target was a ramen shop called Kotatsu, and since they were open until 5:00 AM, I decided to leave them for last and see if I could grab some street eats on the way. I couldn't even remember the last time I'd had good yakitori, and Shinjuku station is directly adjacent to one of the most famous yakitori stops in the world. The colorfully nicknamed Piss Alley is tucked away against the tracks on the northern end of the station, a narrow stretch of pavement a couple hundred yards long, lined with late night yakitori eateries and drinking establishments. I had visions of another Ebisu Yokocho, but focused solely on chicken parts, though if I'd known what I was in for I probably would have just gone back to Ebisu instead. I was disappointed to discover that even shortly after midnight -- what I'd hardly consider a late hour for a part of town known for its nightlife -- Piss Alley was mostly shuttered. I counted five joints open, and a couple of them weren't even yakitori joints. Of the yakitori stands, one was giving me a bad vibe. The second was open to the street, but all of the streets were taken and it looked like they were shutting down. But one joint on the far south end seemed to be going strong, and a crowd of six or seven businessmen were loudly carousing within. This seemed like a good bet.

Yakitori	Dominic Armato

It was tiny and dark, and though I suppose some might call it dingy, it struck me more as full of character, like a good dive bar. Translated menus are always helpful, but some let off an especially touristy vibe, and this was one of them. I started to get a little worried, but foraged ahead anyway, ordering their basic yakitori assortment. It was only after 5-10 minutes of waiting that I noticed the tableful of businessmen -- still loudly laughing and joking -- wasn't actually eating any food. This was about the time I started to think I'd made a mistake. And when the food finally arrived, half an hour after I ordered, that notion was confirmed. Oh, it looks nice enough in the photo... skewers of chicken thigh, tsukune, liver, gizzard and more. But what it lacked was flavor, texture and sizzle. The meats were dull, underseasoned, and lent the impression that they'd been slowly warmed over the end of the evening's dying embers rather than a hot, smoky fire. Oh, there was some char. I don't think they were re-warmed or anything like that. But this was lackluster at best. Strike one for late night dining.

Completely bummed, I revised my plan. The area seemed a whole lot deader than I expected, and fearing a bust of an evening, I decided to head straight to Kotatsu to make sure I had a good stop under my belt. Apparently, being a single male tourist walking through this part of Shinjuku late at night makes you a target for the night club point men, who will do everything short of tossing a sack over your head and dragging you back with them to get you in the door. They're persistent. And annoying. And I can't believe they're successful enough to merit their continued operation. But after fending off no fewer than a dozen, I arrived at... where Kotatsu was supposed to be. One of the fellows who'd been following me for a block and a half thought he saw an opening.

"What are you looking for, man?"
"A restaurant."
"Maybe you're looking for mine!
"I doubt it."
"Well, what's it called, maybe I can help you."
"Kotatsu."
"Ah, sorry, man, Kotatsu closed in December."

I wouldn't have taken his word for it. I've no doubt he would have flat-out lied to get me into his bar/club/restaurant/whatever. But there was no denying that I was standing right in front of where Kotatsu was supposed to be, and there was no Kotatsu. Not only was this strike two, but the yakitori place had taken so long that I'd never make it to my backup ramen shop before closing.

	Okonomiyaki	Dominic Armato

Frustrated by a string of bad luck that was rapidly turning my last late night in Tokyo into a total bust, I realized I was just a couple of blocks away from Golden Gai, a section of Shinjuku known for its quirky vibe and late night sensibilities. I resolved to give it one last shot before throwing in the towel. Golden Gai is quirky, all right, a patch of land about the size of a football field packed with tiny, ramshackle two-story buildings and narrow alleys. Music clubs and dive bars were abundant, some shuttered for the evening, others filled with late night patrons having a beer and listening to music, both recorded and live. I weaved my way through the deserted aisles, peeking into a club or two, not seeing anything in the way of eats. And when I was nearing the point of surrender, I caught a whiff of something and my head whipped around. When in doubt, follow your nose. And my nose led me to a tiny, tiny little eatery, eight or ten feet square on the ground floor of what amounted to little more than a hovel. But the fellow manning the open kitchen moved with economy and purpose, an obviously seasoned hand, and the smells coming from his griddle were intoxicating. A tiny counter seated five, and on the corner was one open seat. Clearly, it was waiting for me.

There's a feeling captured so well by the film Lost In Translation, of being dazed, out of time, surrounded by people yet completely disconnected from them on every level, and that's the feeling I had while sipping a beer and fighting fatigue in this dive of an okonomiyaki joint. On my right, a couple that had obviously been carousing all night were getting progressively drunker and drunker and closer and closer. On my left, two tiny young women in formal kimonos(!), hair artfully sculptured and faces carefully painted, were putting away enough food to feed four teenage football players and energetically chatting about something that was obviously very, very exciting. It was a surreal scene, but a surreal scene with okonomiyaki, which thankfully didn't require a whole lot of cultural knowledge to order. I love okonomiyaki, and there's no better time for it than 2:30 in the morning. An egg and batter pancake, in this case packed with vegetables and a shocking amount of bacon, griddled up hot, served alongside a golf ball-sized dollop of Kewpie mayonnaise and topped with sweet okonomiyaki sauce and a pile of bonito flakes dancing and waving in the rising heat. This is booze food, late night fare, big and greasy and sweet and salty and so completely fabulous. I've had better, but this was pretty darn good, and if I had even the slightest idea of the name of the place, I'd note it here for posterity. But it will forever remain a mystery, a place out of time, and I've no doubt that when I return I'll walk the alleys of Golden Gai saying to myself, "Man, I could have sworn it was rigt here." Though disappointing, the evening wasn't a total loss after all. As I stumbled out, I could barely stand and I figured I was unlikely to find a better nightcap than that. I wanted to get a little bit of sleep, anyway. Just one morning left.

Tokyo - Day I   |   Tokyo - Day II   |   Tokyo - Day IIS   |   Tokyo - Day III   |   Tokyo - Day IV

Ichiran www.ichiran.co.jp Tokyo-to, Shinjuku-ku Shinjuku 3-34-11 3225-5528 Mon - Sun 9:30 AM - 6:00 AM

Hanami Sushi hanamisushi.web.fc2.com Tokyo-to, Shinagawa-ku Kamiosaki 2-16-2 3442-8730 Mon - Sat 12 PM - 1:30 PM 5 PM - 12 AM

Tokyo - Day IIS

Who Doesn't?	Dominic Armato

*beepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeep*

Crap. Ohhhhhhhh, crap. Crapcrapcrapcrapcrap. Okay. Hoo, boy. Okay. Does it really make a difference if I get there at 4:40 instead of 4:50? Ten more minutes. Yes. Ten more minutes.

...

*beepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeep*

Ahhhhhh, crap. Already? Okay. Sushi. Kick ass sushi. Get up. You can sleep in a couple of days. Get up. Get up. Okay. Getting up. Here we go. Getting up. Crap. Okay. UP!

And thus started day two and a half.

Even if I'd been in the mood to drop $400 on one of Tokyo's legendary sushi bars, this particular trip came together rather quickly and getting into, say, Jiro on short notice wasn't happening. Plus, y'know... $400. But legendary doesn't always carry so hefty a price tag, and as much as I usually try to make a habit of avoiding places that have been overhyped to the point that getting in means fighting a huge crowd (except Hot Doug's... the lines came after I started going, damnit), Sushi Dai sounded about right. Plus, it's not like I have any real sleep patterns to speak of even when I'm home, much less on the other side of the planet. Why not drag myself out of bed at four in the morning after having crashed just two hours earlier? Plus, I figured I'd have a leg up on the competition. We stayed a ten minute walk from Tsukiji and the metro doesn't start rolling until about 5:00 AM, which is when the doors at Sushi Dai open, so how many people could possibly be in line if I got there are quarter 'til?

	Cheery Fellas	Dominic Armato

Twenty-one is the answer, at least on this particular dark, frigid morning in the world's largest fish market. And with only twelve seats crammed into a restaurant the size of an Escalade, that means I'll have to wait until the second turn. Bummer. Still, there are worse places to stand around killing time. Tsukiji's just hitting its stride at this hour, and even the outskirts of the market are bustling. Shopkeepers set up for the day across the narrow aisle, grizzled truckers grab some breakfast. a cup of coffee and a smoke at the shop next door while their rigs are being loaded, carts of fish come rolling through as wholesalers take their purchases back to small processing houses to prep them for sale. One of the proprietors of Sushi Dai comes walking through, checking to see whether we'll be selecting the smaller set menu or larger omakase, while handing out scalding hot cups of green tea to the shivering folks standing in line. I can't possibly agree more with the cup's sentiment, nor with its contents. Though I'm the only foreigner in line (now pushing 40 deep), it seems that there's some kind of student group in front of me. Domestic tourists from another city, perhaps? I understand Sushi Dai attracts quite a bit of them. Mercifully, Sushi Dai is a no-frills establishment that does little more than feed you, and half an hour after the doors open, folks from the first seating start filtering out. It can't have been more than an hour when I'm finally beckoned inside.

Otoro	Dominic Armato

Suddenly, everything is bright, warm and above all, cozy. I've been in elevators that could accommodate a dozen people more comfortably, but it's a good kind of crowded, a bit of a jovial buzz amongst those seated at the counter, shoulder to shoulder, overlapping elbows, tended to by three incredibly cheery itamae, slicing and chatting, both amongst themselves and with the patrons. I survey the case in front of me and am immediately confronted with some shocking otoro, ribbons of fat passing through the flesh in thick, pale pink layers. Now the wait gets torturous. Green tea makes a reappearance, as does miso soup, served here with miniscule button-sized clams lurking in the bottom of the bowl. It's an appropriately briny variation that helps everyone to shake off the cold. Just a few minutes after being seated, the first piece appears, a long, thick slab of otoro that's meltingly rich and tender, served atop rice with just a hint of sour and sweet, still warm from the itamae's hands. It's an unimpeachable piece of fish, and it's almost surprising to see them unload the big guns right out of the gate. It's a confident move. "What, you think it can only go downhill from here? Think again." And after I've savored this piece as much as I can, lingering over it and extracting every last mote of flavor, it's off to the races.

Wow			Dominic Armato

There's a thin slice of tai, red snapper, that manages to be both far more tender and far more flavorful than what I've come to expect. There's a slab of delicate and sweet kinmedai, a bit of its skin left behind, like an iridescent racing stripe. I adore uni, but there's uni and there's uni, and this is the latter. Next is sawara, a luscious sort of Spanish mackerel, with a hint of fishy character that stops short of plunging into funk. Before the hokkigai hits the counter, the itamae winds up and applies a sharp *SMACK* to its surface, which causes its feathered edges to undulate like a little wave, its freshness duly demonstrated. Aji, horse mackerel, is usually enough to put one off mackerel for life back home, but here that fishy funk is, instead, a complex depth, its deep flavor set off by the sharp sting of shredded scallion. At the opposite end of the spectrum is tamago, a block of dense, sweet omelet, warm and almost creamy. Looking almost comically like a small brain, an entire school of tiny shiro ebi, white shrimp, are packed together, riding the rice, and they go down sweet and sticky. Magurozuke dodges lean tuna's plainness by taking a bath in a soy-based marinade, adding sweetness, depth and interest to what is usually an unremarkable piece of fish. Growing up, anago was the chewy eel choice, but here it's creamy bordering on milky, a level of freshness that I've not previously encountered. Though it could be considered pedestrian next to the rest, there's something comforting about a small roll, nori on the outside, tuna and cool, crisp cucumber within. When it comes time to select my bonus piece, I don't care that hotate is one of the cheapest on the menu. I can't get enough of raw scallop, and if it were all this good, I'd be that much more insatiable.

At this point, I resist the urge to keep adding more, and weeks later, I'm regretting it. There are no surprises, but it's like the ultimate benchmark experience, providing the tastes against which everything else you taste for years to come will be (unfairly) judged. I'm not a breakfast guy, but if I had regular access to breakfast like this, I'd do it far more often, even if it meant hauling myself out of bed at four in the morning (heck, half the time I'm still up at that hour). Sushi Dai is completely no-frills, as classic as they come, and a spectacularly good value for the quality, the omakase coming in at about $50-$60 depending on where the exchange rate sits at the moment. By the time I pay that relatively modest tab and step back out into the cold, morning is breaking and the line is now around the corner. Apparently getting up in the middle of the night was the right call. But so long as I'm up and out, I see no sense in heading back already. So I go back to hit a favorite shop from previous trips.

	Amaebi	Dominic Armato

Sushizanmai is Sushi Dai's opposite, a local chain in the shopping area just outside the market proper, where all manner of foodstuffs that might conceivably be paired with fish are sold. It's a large restaurant, kind of flashy, with a hawker out front pulling people in off the street (something that probably would have kept me away on previous visits). There's a large bar, but the rest of the room looks like it could seat close to a hundred, mostly empty at this early hour. In contrast to the boisterous late night crowd I remember from visits past, at this hour the counter seats a few grizzled workmen, tended to by a small cadre of equally grizzled itamae, most of whom look like they've been doing this four decades or more. I'm not looking for much, but there are a couple of choice pieces I need to have before calling the morning done.

Aburi Toro	Dominic Armato

I'm a sucker for amaebi, sweet shrimp, and it's so dependent on freshness (as if the rest isn't) that I want to have a couple of pieces before heading back. That raw spot prawn flavor, sweet and... almost starchy tasting?... it's difficult to describe. But it satisfies. What I'm really after, however, is the aburi toro, a piece of fish that I've been anticipating for a long, long time. The concept is simple enough. A slice of fatty tuna is set atop the rice, dusted with salt and then torched before, in this case, being topped with fresh chives and a spot of ginger. But this belies its genius when it's on, the fat from the toro quickly melting and sizzling, creating a kind of salty slick glaze that coats the fish as well as your tongue when you bite. I think I ate twenty pieces of this stuff across three visits on my last trip, it made my Deliciousness of 2006 and has haunted me for every year since. To say that I'm vibrating with anticipation would be a gross understatement. And yet when it's set in front of me and I finally get the taste I'd been craving for years, I'm... extremely disappointed. I'm not sure why. The richness isn't there. The sizzle isn't there. The salt isn't there. I mean, all of those components are present, but the magic is gone, perhaps illustrating how a subtle touch can make such an enormous difference in a dish that seems dead simple. Though it's been a long time, I'm certain it isn't me. It's the fish. Deflated, I pay the tab and head back out to the market.

Bonito	Dominic Armato

On previous visits, I've always spent my time in the market proper, wandering the narrow aisles, gawking in total amazement at what seems like an infinite variety of seafood, both fresh and live, that goes on for miles. But there's a surrounding neighborhood packed with vendors that sell all sorts of other foodstuffs, and on my last visit, I resolved that when I returned, I'd spend my time in the outer market for once. So that's what I do. I encounter vendors selling thirty different varieties of beans. Others have giant vats of miso, from which they'll unceremoniously scoop some into a plastic bag for you to take home. Produce vendors have stunning greens, perfect mushrooms and piles of fresh wasabi root that make me wish I were bold enough to challenge customs on the way back. One of the stands ends up being highly educational, displaying grades of shaved bonito lined up in order of quality. On one end, it's haphazardly shredded and dull grey in color. On the other, huge, light flakes are a vibrant, bright pink and let off an intense, lightly smoky fragrance. Every time the vendor shuffles some of his product around, the air becomes momentarily laden with the scent of fresh bonito flakes, and I end up lingering long enough to earn me some looks. So I move on, stopping at a produce vendor to buy a whole yuzu and tearing it open to slurp out a bit of the tart flesh. I hate that a week ago, I could barely remember what fresh yuzu tastes like, and I want to hold onto it for a moment, trying to sear the flavor into my brain for what will probably be a long drought ahead.

	Seafood Pancake	Dominic Armato

I resolve to nab a little street food before returning to the hotel. Giant blocks of tamago filled with all manner of ingredients seem to be popular, but I'm not quite feeling that. Another stand sells two dozen varieties of onigiri, the fillings within the triangular packages of rice identified by colorful stickers on the plastic wrap encasing them. Another one of the recs from my enormously helpful reader is a tempura place just a couple of blocks away. I don't have high hopes at this early hour, but so many businesses in the area cater to people whose workday is just ending that I decide to check it out anyway. Sadly, it's closed. But across the way there's another street food vendor selling some manner of seafood pancake. I've seen this before, but I don't know what it's named, and I figure it's time to try one. It's a mix of seafood, primarily shrimp, blended into a thick paste, mixed with sliced scallions and some other seasonings, and fried into a dense, chewy, kind of oily puck, the crudeness of which belies its deliciousness. After a morning packed with delicate, raw seafood, it seems kind of brutish to end my visit to Tsukiji with this. But I don't care, because it's completely fabulous. I munch contentedly while walking back to the hotel. Streets that were completely deserted a few hours ago are now packed with people heading to work. The city's waking up. But I'm going to go grab a couple hours of sleep.

Tokyo - Day I   |   Tokyo - Day II   |   Tokyo - Day IIS   |   Tokyo - Day III   |   Tokyo - Day IV

Sushi Dai Tokyo-to, Chuo-ku Tsukiji 5-2-1 3541-3738

Sushizanmai www.kiyomura.co.jp Tokyo-to, Chuo-ku Tsukiji 11-9-4 3541-1117