Skillet Doux

Soi 4

Som Tam	Dominic Armato

Thai in Phoenix is something I've almost intentionally avoided writing about over the past couple of years. When we first arrived, I hit a few of the city's more notable establishments in rapid-fire fashion, became quickly frustrated and put the search on the back burner for a while. It's not that they were bad (well, some of them were), but it was mostly that they simply weren't what I was craving. Though traditional Chinese cuisine has become common enough in the States that most can recognize Americanized Chinese as such, the same isn't really true of Thai. In the same way you can rest assured that any Americanized Chinese delivery place will offer Sweet & Sour Pork, Mongolian Beef and egg rolls thick as cucumbers, so too has a certain kind of standardized menu evolved for Americanized Thai places. And there's nothing wrong with that. I have a special place in my heart for them the same as I do for a well-prepared crisp, spicy and sickly sweet General Tso's chicken every now and again, even if the good general might not recognize it as food, much less Chinese food. But unlike traditional Chinese, which has gotten at least some kind of a foothold in just about every large city, Thai that doesn't conform to that Americanized roadmap is a lot harder to find outside of a few pockets in select cities. I'd started to fear that I just wouldn't find it here, which is why the raves in the wake of Soi 4's opening piqued my curiosity.

	Miang Kum	Dominic Armato

The fact that Soi 4 is a California import played no small part in my interest. The original location is in Oakland, and while the Bay Area doesn't boast the kind of Thai community that L.A. does, both burgs are among the better places to find the good stuff. Of course, this is Scottsdale, so when we import Thai, we bring it to a sleek, modern cavern of a space with wide swaths of lounge seating and a lengthy cocktail bar bathed in Tang orange light. But while the decor may be familiar to anybody who does their dining around the 8525X, a quick glance at the menu confirms that it's definitely not culled from the same playbook as most of the other joints around town. Out are mix and match sauces and meats, in are cuts like pork shoulder and belly, the dishes actually feature Thai names, and from top to bottom, the menu is filled with pairings you're unlikely to see elsewhere in Phoenix. This would prove to be both exciting and frustrating.

Kao Pode Tod	Dominic Armato

I dropped by on multiple occasions over a month, and my feelings ran the gamut from thrilled to disappointed, but we'll get to that. Starters were generally strong, led by the excellent Miang Kum, which has gotten quite a bit of love around the intertubes, and with good reason. A mix of shrimp, peanuts, pomelo, toasted coconut, herbs and a sweet sauce made with palm sugar are served atop a trimmed mustard leaf, and the bright, explosive mix of flavors is why it's such a popular street food in Thailand. With the exception of the mustard leaf (Miang Kum is typically served atop a leaf called bai cha plu, a little tricky to come by around these parts), it's a straight-up traditional favorite. I'll let the fact that one of the restaurant's most traditional dishes is also one of its most lauded speak for itself.

	Keow Wan Roti	Dominic Armato

Other starters I tried were quite tasty, though not as outstanding as the Miang Kum. Kao Pode Tod, fried corn cakes, could have had a little more zip and been paired with a more interesting cucumber salad, but they arrived hot and fresh and were certainly enjoyable. Keow Wan Roti, a thick green curry with slices of grilled skirt steak and hot roti, was both tasty and puzzling. I'm not versed enough in the ways of roti to pass judgment other than to say that I found it warm, light and delicious. The curry was pushing into Americanized territory with its thickness and sweetness, and it didn't quite have the lovely fresh, herbal balance of the better green curries I've sampled, but it's still quite tasty and head and shoulders above anything else I've tried in town. What I find puzzling here is the decision to serve naked strips of beef alongside the curry and the roti. Dipping roti into a green beef curry is entirely Thai, but separating the beef from the curry robs each of the opportunity to contribute to the other. The Western analogue would be like making Beef Bourguignon by dipping roasted chunks of beef in a wine reduction rather than braising them together. What's the point other than to make a hands-on presentation? And is that more important than the sacrifice in flavor?

Yum Makuer Yao	Dominic Armato

Salads were generally quite good, though the iconic Som Tum was my least favorite. I can't say it isn't good so much as it isn't soulful, so clean that it's bordering on clinical. There's no fire or funk, and I found my thoughts drifting back to the versions pounded with pickled crab, lending those bright flavors a briny counterpoint, unfair as it may be to simply wish the dish was something it isn't. The Yum Makuer Yao, on the other hand, was delightful, ground chicken and prawns tossed with a beautifully balanced lime and coconut dressing, heady with spice and fresh herbs, and set against a gentle, supple, almost sweet whole grilled eggplant. The salad on top was well-executed and would have been a winner on its own, but the two together made for a bright and full flavor that was really exceptional.

	Yum Pladook	Dominic Armato

Also delightful was the Yum Pladook, though it featured yet another departure from tradition that made it less, not more. It's a salad that combines hot, crisp fried catfish with a cool salad of green mango on top. The salad was wonderful, slivers of green papaya lending a fruity character both sweet and sour, combined with shallots, herbs and a light, well-balanced dressing, and finished with cashews. Beneath, the catfish was piping hot, beautifully fried, tender and sweet. But it wasn't Yum Pladook. Normally, the fish is first par-cooked and then lightly shredded before being fried, giving it a crisp lattice-like texture that's not only pleasing on its own, but also grabs the dressing of the salad above. Were they afraid that people would demand a whole, large piece of fish to feel they were getting value for their dollar? Did they decide that was too much effort? I can't say. But I know it wasn't a better dish for the alteration, and it was so frustrating because it was quite delicious, just not what it could have -- and should have -- been.

Pla Sahm Rot	Dominic Armato

Unfortunately, the front half of the menu seems to be the stronger half, at least based on what I tried. Pla Sahm Rot, a whole fried fish in Thai "three flavor sauce" got half the equation wonderfully right, and half the equation terribly wrong. The fish was fabulous, fried whole to crisp/chewy texture around the edges, but maintaining soft, perfectly cooked flesh within. But the sauce tasted of one flavor, and that flavor was sugar. This is a dish that's normally sweet, but Thai food is all about balance. Hot, sour, salty, sweet. All need to be present, and all need to work with one another. But this was just painfully cloying, and while elements like tamarind, chiles and ginger were present, they were obliterated by a sticky sauce that lingered, and not in a good way.

	Goong Makham	Dominic Armato

The Goong Makham was similarly challenged, and featured a really puzzling twist. The stir-fried prawns were just fine, and a tangle of fried shallots on top was a tasty textural element. But the sauce was, much like the fish above, a cloying mess of sugar. Yes, this dish is usually sweet. But while its English billing is usually that of "Tamarind Shrimp," and though the Soi 4 menu describes it as a tamarind sauce, it was remarkable how little tamarind flavor was in the dish. It was crying out for some sour tamarind balance, but it simply tasted of sugar. Even stranger -- and here I tread lightly because I'm a long way from being an authority on Thai and, you know, there are always variants on these dishes -- the sauce was studded with chunks of onion and bell pepper. Onion, sure, but bell pepper? I've never seen that in this dish before, and it's almost as though they were intentionally referencing the stereotypical Americanized sweet sour pork... a reference that was only reinforced by the overpowering sweetness. Unless you're a hummingbird, this is not a good dish.

Kang Bpet	Kang Kua Mu	Dominic Armato

The curries looked so great on paper that the reality was a terrible letdown, especially considering that the green curry starter was quite good. The Kang Bpet, pan-seared duck with a pineapple red curry, took the now familiar tack of cooking the meat apart from the curry only to later combine them, and the result was tough, overcooked duck in a curry with little fire and less balance. I was even more excited to try the Kang Kua Mu, another red curry variant with pork shoulder and kabocha squash. Again, the balance was way off. Rather than accentuating each other, the flavors became muddy. And the squash, a nice pair with the curry, was just too much of the dish. If it were an accent, smaller pieces, or somehow worked into the curry, I think it could have been fabulous. But it was simply too much. The curries weren't a total loss. The Kua Kling Mu, slivered pork shoulder stir-fried with asparagus and a dry, oily red curry was delicious. It had heat, it had funk, it had balance... and surprise, it had a very simple, traditional feel and flavor.

Kua Kling Mu	Dominic Armato

I know I've used the word traditional an awful lot here. I'm not in the camp that believes traditional is automatically better. Traditional dishes have survived the crucible longer (that's why they're traditional), which means they usually have something going for them. But new is great too! There's nothing like a creative, effective spin on an old dish. Based on my meals here, however, it seems as though the kitchen at Soi 4 gets itself into trouble when it steps off the path. Though it bills itself and is being lauded as such, this is by no means a traditional Thai restaurant. Recognizing that "traditional" is not a digital state, it's certainly more towards the traditional end of the spectrum than anything else I've yet had in town, but really, it's more Cal-Thai. Or at the very least, it's... creative. But it says something, I think, that the more traditional dishes are the stronger ones, and the non-traditional choices are the ones mucking things up. And it's maddening because when these dishes hit, they're on. Some of them are great, and at their best they're operating on a different plane than most of the other Thai restaurants in town. But even when the food is good (and often it's not), they're not serving Thai. What they're serving is Scottsdale Thai by way of Oakland. And that's not without merit, and if the menu were more consistently great, I wouldn't have a bad thing to say about the place. But there's a reason I'm still desperately pining for the real thing.

Soi 4 Bangkok Eatery
www.soifour.com
8787 N. Scottsdale Road
Scottsdale, AZ 85253
480-778-1999
Mon - Thu	11:30 AM - 2:30 PM	5 PM - 9:30 PM
Fri	11:30 AM - 2:30 PM	5 PM - 10 PM
Sat		5 PM - 10 PM
Sun		5 PM - 9:30 PM

Next - Childhood

Peering over the table...	Dominic Armato

NOTE : A great deal of Childhood's appeal lies in surprise. If you expect to attend, I would recommend not reading about it until afterwards. That is, unless you're the "read the last page of the book first" type.

When you're a chef who's known for revolutionary culinary technique, why not take a revolutionary approach outside the kitchen as well?

In actuality, "revolutionary" is probably too strong a word (and, to be fair, not one that I believe they've used themselves), but even if Grant Achatz and Nick Kokonas' follow-up to Alinea weren't already a shoo-in for a media free-for-all, they took it a notch further by taking a very unconventional approach to fine dining with Next. For those who don't typically follow restaurant news (or food nerds who are just waking up from long-term comas), Next takes the "dinner as theater" metaphor and extends it beyond the dinner itself. Achatz and Chef de Cuisine Dave Beran design a themed menu, and rather than taking reservations, the restaurant sells tickets in three month stretches. As the three month run comes to a close, a completely new menu with a new concept is designed, the restaurant switches over to a new production, and tickets once again go on sale (disappearing, incidentally, within minutes). Next opened with "Paris 1906," featuring French haute cuisine dutifully recreated with historical precision in the style of Escoffier. This was followed by "Thailand," a creative exploration of Thai cuisine that confused some by failing to stay inside the chrono cuisine box drawn by the teaser trailer released before the restaurant's opening. And so, for their third production, the team wanted to do something to put to bed the notion that they were going to let themselves be bound by expectations. Enter "Childhood."

	Left out last night...	Dominic Armato

Arriving at 5:30 for a chef's table reservation, it seemed for a split second that our evening had started with a shocking service gaffe. The table was cluttered with what appeared to be used glasses, a half-smoked cigar lie in an ashtray, and the New York Times crossword puzzle sat completed under somebody's pair of glasses. But it took just a moment to realize that dinner had already begun. We'd been cast in the role of kids peering over the table, which was littered with detritus from the grown-ups' shindig the night before and the signs of their recovery the morning after. Even if we weren't already in a playful mood (though our crowd back in Chicago is a wonderfully playful lot), sneaking the last sip from the martinis, Manhattans and Bloody Marys left behind made us a little giddy and perfectly primed for the meal to follow.

PB&J	Dominic Armato

So much of childhood is discovery, and rarely is the discovery process more exciting than when eagerly tearing the paper off a present. So they gave us one -- an edible one, in a small box carefully wrapped -- and warned us that even if it's sometimes the best way to figure out what's inside, shaking it wasn't recommended. The gift inside was a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, reimagined in Achatz' modernist style. Spherical, slightly smaller than a golf ball (or, perhaps more appropriately, slightly larger than a shooter marble), it was a crisp tempura shell that, when eaten in one bite, gave way to a gush of liquefied roasted peanuts and pomegranate jelly, evoking the childhood classic but spinning it for older taste buds. It was packaged with a handful of crushed, salty roasted peanuts mixed with bits of a denser form of the jelly, and for lack of utensils, the only reasonable way to eat it was to pick up the box and throw it back as one might to capture the last bits in the bottom of a bag of potato chips. Or, as one of my dining companions discovered, dumping it out onto the wrapping paper and rolling it into a makeshift funnel was simple and effective, the beauty, of course, being that they'd already put us in a frame of mind where this seemed a perfectly acceptable thing to do in an upscale restaurant. I've no doubt this was precisely their aim.

	Chicken Noodle Soup (sans soup)	Dominic Armato

An enormous bowl was next to hit the table, in the center of which was positioned a small and artful tangle of carrots, shallots, celery leaves, herbs and noodles. Though not pictured, a dark, rich chicken soup joined the bowl shortly thereafter, making for a noodleless chicken noodle soup, wherein the "noodles" were also made from chicken. Though I've enjoyed noodles composed of proteins done less scientifically (and, frankly, with more flavor) elsewhere, it was still a delightful and delicious bowl of soup, elevated by means of technique and wit. I particularly loved the choice to use a rather large spoon and a bowl the size of a dartboard, thereby gently reinforcing the illusion that we were kids sitting at the dinner table, leaning over a massive, steaming bowl of soup that seemed too big to finish, even if we'd somehow find a way.

Art Class with Chef Beran	Dominic Armato

Childhood's Fish and Chips has gotten quite a bit of play online for its playful presentation, but dining at the chef's table brought a little something extra to the experience. First to be set down was a glass filled with paint brushes, followed by a large, square plate covered with small bowls bearing dish components and Elmer's glue bottles repurposed for use with sauces. Though it seemed clear this course would be a hands-on experience, we wondered precisely what was in store when one of the restaurant's minions tacked up a large sheet of paper on the far side of the glass separating our table from the kitchen. We quickly discovered the answer, however, as a gentleman in a chef's coat came strolling in armed with a set of dry erase markers. Art Class with Chef Beran was in session.

Fish & Chips Before...	...and After	Dominic Armato

In the style of Bob Ross, he walked us through the process of creating our edible masterpieces, laying out pickled cucumber waves and malt vinegar sea foam, covering our tartar sauce shore with tempura crumb soil and planting it with little herb sprigs, and painting in a Meyer lemon coulis sun and balsamic reduction fisherman, who hauled in the final component -- brought in fresh and hot -- a tender piece of walleye (a childhood fish of the chefs) caught in a fried potato net. This was the only dish of the evening where I felt the food suffered a bit at the hands of the presentation. The balance and freshness of the ingredients would have been better realized with a more traditional plating, delivered straight from the kitchen. But it was still a delicious dish, and so much fun that I didn't mind the minor tradeoff for a moment.

	Mac & Cheese	Dominic Armato

The tour of iconic childhood dishes (iconic to an American Midwesterner growing up in the '80s, at least) continued with Mac and Cheese, brought to the table in a glass cylindrical mold and released to ooze into an army of miniscule accoutrements. The mac itself was another mature take on a kid favorite, with a thick, rich cheese sauce -- cheddar and manchego, perhaps? -- that was unusually intense and a great deal sharper than most. The accompaniments were a mixed bag, but all fun. The fried noodle and cheese crisp both made for lovely textural contrasts. The prosciutto and arugula roll was a good pair, as was the tomato pulp, even if the latter was so small as to be all but undetectable unless mixed with half a noodle. Less conventional was the "hot dog rock," produced by somehow transmogrifying the fat rendered from hot dogs. It's been much maligned in some quarters, and I confess, is a little jarring in an otherwise fairly refined dish, and I certainly wouldn't want to eat a plateful of it, but for a single taste I found it enjoyable.

A Walk In The Forest	Dominic Armato

If dinner up until this point could be described as delicious and diverting, with this dish it took a turn, if only briefly, into stunning. Autumn -- or A Walk in The Forest, as the chefs have come to refer to it -- was a test of our servers' forearm strength, as it arrived in half of a hollowed-out log covered with a glass plate. Beneath, rustic aromatics like hay, apple and pumpkin lay over searing hot rocks, creating a smoky scent (not to mention actual smoke -- the dish was technically on fire). Above sat a chaotic and yet artful jumble of ingredients that I couldn't possibly catalogue in their entirety without a scorecard, but which included things like fried leeks, maitake mushrooms, polenta, broccoli and other vegetables and berries all manipulated for maximal textural impact. Because I'm not even certain of everything that was contained within (if I hadn't been so lost in it I might've thought to ask), the best I can do is to say that it made me feel like a deer that had found a really fabulous bush to munch on. It was as though on this walk in the woods, I'd scooped up a handful of the forest floor -- leaves and berries and twigs and soil and mushrooms -- and popped it in my mouth, only to discover with delight that it was intensely pleasurable. The textures, aromas and flavors somehow managed to capture the forest, or at least how I imagine it, but in a way that was palatable to humans rather than wildlife, making it possible to experience the woods through the one sensory path that's not usually an option. Though it's been a polarizing dish on the intertubes, for me it was without question the most impressive one of the night.

	Hamburger	Dominic Armato

You never know when a kitchen accident is going to turn out to be serendipitous. Achatz tells the story of one time back at Alinea, when Curtis Duffy took a piece of sous vide short rib and seared it off on the flattop only to discover that it tasted like hamburger. That wouldn't work for Alinea, but years later it turned out to be the perfect treatment of beef for a deconstructed modernist hamburger, complete with cornichon chips, gelled mayonnaise, an odd sort of sesame bun paste that was splayed over most of the plate, and assorted other manipulated accoutrements. Outside of this context, it's no substitute for a hamburger, to be sure. But it was a delight to eat, quite delicious, and though eerily reminiscent of a Big Mac (the sesame seeds, perhaps?), the flavors managed to simultaneously be nostalgic and refined.

Brussels Sprouts	Dominic Armato

The side dish for our hamburger didn't come with an admonishment to eat our vegetables, but the message was clear. Tender Brussels sprout cups were arranged artfully and (mostly) filled with decidedly adult fillings. The Brussels sprout slaw was creamy and amped up the sprout flavor. The bacon jam and hollandaise were both rich and delicious, one smoky and sweet, the other lightly tart and refined. Chestnut puree was the least conventional of the five, though appreciated, and the title of most decadent went to a dark truffle mousse, earthy and pungent. My sole criticism would be that the sprouts themselves had a good deal of the flavor cooked out of them, pushing them out of the spotlight. I suppose it could be argued that this is the ideal strategy to get the little ones to eat their greens. But I'm not little, and for me, I wish their natural flavor had come through a little more.

	Jello Mold	Dominic Armato

Let me assure you that this photo doesn't convey the enormity of the Jello mold. It was easily ten or twelve inches in diameter, which would be entirely appropriate for a table of six if it were, say, cherry or lime. But no, this mold was aspic flavored with game stock, decorated with an inlaid cream flower, and studded with chunks of foie gras and poached pheasant. It came with slices of toast and a small plate of accompaniments -- salty walnuts, endive, microgreens and shallot jam -- but to share this between six people was to eat an enormous helping of aspic. Or in my case, three of them. I couldn't bear to let so much of it go back to the kitchen. None of which is to throw my companions under the bus. They did yeoman's work. But this mold, delicious as it was, could have easily served a dozen. Still, with a dark game flavor, sweet creamy foie and cool, juicy pieces of pheasant, I find it hard to rail against its formidable size.

ST:TNG... booya.	He started it!	Dominic Armato

The lunchboxes have gotten a good deal of press, and I daresay the luck of the draw netted me an excellent one. I learned after the fact that Flash Gordon was also in the house, complete with Sam J. Jones' visage, and it's probably just as well that I didn't get that one. My heart might've exploded with pure glee. But in any case, the lunchbox contained an assortment of goodies, none of which were especially photogenic, but all of which were tasty to varying degrees. The apple fruit roll-up was a little surprising in its conventionality, and the funyun was a less artificial-tasting version of the popular snack. The beef jerky was enjoyable, with a soy-based flavor, and we received a chocolate and hazelnut (I believe?) snack pak, which was simple and delicious, though I wish we'd gotten the parsnip version that was axed after the first week and a half. In truth, while an awful lot of fun, the lunchbox was more an exercise in whimsy than refinement. Or it would have been if not for the truffled oreo, which was shocking both in the intensity of the truffle flavor, and also in just how delicious it was. I would have swapped my thermos full of alcoholic berry drink for another in a heartbeat. Incidentally, while I don't imagine it would have been very practical, part of me wishes we'd all received different treats, to encourage trading.

Pixy Stix and Bubblegum Float	Dominic Armato

With the lunchbox acting as a sort of transitional course, we then moved straight into dessert, starting with pixy stix and a bubblegum float. The pixy stix came in three flavors -- pomegranate, strawberry and one I don't recall -- and they weren't quite as sweet as commercial pixy stix, more powdery than granulated. This kept the overpowering sweetness of their inspiration in check, but it also made it a little more difficult to get them out of the tube. No matter. The real star of this course was the float. Made with an exceptionally sweet but wonderfully flavored bubblegum soda and a gorgeous ice cream made with crème fraîche. I'm neither a fan of overly sweet soda nor of bubblegum, but the float was fabulous and I found myself wishing it were twice its size.

	Foiesting and Donuts	Dominic Armato

There's a little bit of genius in using electric beaters as a utensil for a childhood menu, and I can't think of a more apt juxtaposition of childhood and adult experience. The apple cider donut holes were excellent, fried hot and dusted with sugar and cinnamon. But there can be no mistaking the star of this plate. Dripping from the beater in the background is Next's "foiesting," a sweet, thick and creamy foie gras puree. Foie in a dessert context is nothing new, but there's something beautifully minimal and decadent about this, licking sweet, rich foie from the beater, getting it on your nose and cheeks, and generally making a sticky mess of yourself with a precious and expensive ingredient.

Campfire	Sweet Potato Pie	Dominic Armato

When the lights are dimmed that usually means fire, and Chef Beran brought in a small campfire set on slate and set it alight. The logs were sweet potato wedges, made dark by poaching them with blue corn, and fueled by white clumps of powdered alcohol. And as the fire burned, the table grew quiet. I'm not sure whether the occasional crackle and pop were made by the fire or my imagination, but somehow it felt like a summer campfire just for a moment. Once the lights came up, back on our plates were chunks of crumbled, candied dough acting as a stand-in for pie crust, a fabulous bourbon ice cream, light vanilla marshmallows, and some manner of light fruit puree. We added the logs, scooped on some charred powdered alcohol (which bore a remarkable resemblance to toasted marshmallows in flavor), and topped it all with a drizzle of warm butterscotch meant to resemble Werther's candies. It would have been a wonderful dessert even if served in a conventional manner, but the presentation really was an awful lot of fun.

Hot Cocoa	Dominic Armato

To round out the meal, we received a simple cup of hot cocoa. Not drinking chocolate, not spiced Mexican dark chocolate, not chile spiked Venezuelan chocolate, but smooth, creamy and sweet hot cocoa. As we filtered out of the restaurant, I noted with shock that our meal had set a new record for me, clocking in at six hours and fifteen minutes. And yet, I've had two hour meals that felt much, much longer. I attribute this partly to the company, and partly to the fact that the meal was such an unconventional delight. I've heard it said that the food, when taken in a vacuum, leaves a little to be desired. It certainly isn't at the level of Alinea (nor, to be fair, is it intended to be). And though some dishes were stellar, some were less so, and I'm not sure I can argue with that conclusion. But this meal didn't take place in a vacuum. It was a complete piece -- a fully conceived entertainment -- and while my usual MO is to consider the food apart from its environs, this is one instance where I just can't. Or more accurately, I really don't care to.

Though a wild success, Next isn't lacking for critics. The ticket/production structure has caused the more cynical to cluck that Kokonas and Achatz have cleverly devised a way to sell out every seat, obtain all of their fees up to three months in advance (soon to be a year when they start selling four dinner "subscriptions"), and assure that they get a fresh look from the press four times per year. And all of this is true. It is kind of sly. But as far as I'm concerned, a dinner like this completely justifies the existence of the restaurant. Where else could something like this be done? You couldn't maintain these menus for any length of time. It's a wonderful experience, but I certainly don't feel compelled to have this same meal again. And I don't see how a pop-up could be executed with this level of refinement and precision. But a dinner like this deserves to be done, and if not at Next or a restaurant like it, then where? It was ten or fifteen minutes after we sat down, just barely into the meal, when my friends started sharing childhood stories. And as the meal progressed, every little discovery evoked a laugh, a smile, a memory and another story. This continued through the night as we giggled, chatted, played with our food and generally acted in an even more juvenile fashion than usual. If having that experience means that a couple of the dishes weren't quite all that they could be in a stuffier context, then this is one of the very, very rare occasions where I really don't mind.

Next
www.nextrestaurant.com
935 W. Fulton Market
Chicago, IL 60607
312-226-0858
Wed - Sun	5:30 PM - 11:30 PM

Big & Little's

Easier to miss than you might think...	Dominic Armato

Nothing like getting in right under the wire.

This being a relative term, of course. Big & Little's has been serving up generous sandwiches and tacos, mostly of the seafood variety, for a couple of years now, and they'd piqued my interest as one to keep on the back burner for a quick downtown lunch one day. But a move down the block combined with Monday's appearance on Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives meant that the window between temporary closure and total insanity was only a few days wide. Which isn't to say that it isn’t already pretty insane over there. Big & Little’s is a popular joint where everything's done to order, so a lengthy line is commonplace. We arrived, day one in the new digs -- a small space, half kitchen half dining area with three long picnic tables and (good) reggae blaring – and though I assume they weren’t yet operating at peak efficiency, they managed to plow through the line at a reasonable clip.

	Fried Shrimp Po' Boy	Dominic Armato

Sadly, I failed to do my research and was cash-challenged in a place that accepts nothing but. And naturally, the in-house ATM was out of service, so we had to economize. No foie gras fries today. A hot dog for the little ones. And a fried shrimp po' boy in lieu of fried oysters. As consolation prizes go, however, this is a doozy. Apparently, Tony D'Alessandro (the "little" half of the equation) first made his mark when kicked off Hell's Kitchen for botching the fish station. It's hard to believe, given how well this seafood is treated. The batter is huge, and while usually a negative, I mean that in a good way here. Though voluminous, it's light and puffy, fried to a deep golden brown and bordering on downright crunchy. The shrimp within were delectably sweet, the accompanying mayo spread had some zip, and a slightly chewy, grilled roll (Gonnella?) made for another nice local twist. If I'd managed to get the little lady calm long enough to seek out a bottle of Louisiana hot sauce on another table, I'm not sure I could have found room for improvement.

Fried Pork Belly Po' Boy	Dominic Armato

The menu isn't exclusively comprised of ocean dwellers. A fried egg burger seems to be a popular choice, and while that one wasn't in the cards, we also opted for something meaty, the crispy pork belly po' boy. Well... fatty, maybe. This sandwich is impressive. That's a massive mound of fried pork belly chunks you see, ranging from crisp to crunchy and oozing pork fat when you bite. Abundantly sweet is a common (and devastatingly effective) treatment for pork belly, but B&L took another tack here, drizzling it with just the faintest hint of a thin and lightly sweet glaze that I couldn't put my finger on, which was actually a great approach. It lent that sweetness, but kept the sandwich centered squarely on crispy pork fat. Hard to go wrong, there. It was a really fabulous lunch, and I'm a little frustrated that it wasn't even better. I wish I'd had the foresight to check my wallet before driving over. I wish the little lady (with apologies to anybody lunching there last Wednesday) hadn't been so uncharacteristically uncooperative. But even based on a rushed lunch their first day in a new space, it's clear this is a killer spot, completely deserving of the mob that I'm sure will arrive in Triple D's wake.

Big & Little's
www.bigandlittleschicago.com
860 N. Orleans Street
Chicago, IL 60610
312-943-0000
Mon - Fri	11 AM - 9 PM
Sat	12 PM - 9 PM

Wisconsin Trek

Cheese Curds	Dominic Armato

"I'm a little embarrassed to admit this, but it's possible I've never had a really good, fresh, squeaky cheese curd. Which is your favorite?"

Judging from her reaction, you'd think the two-year-old riding on my shoulders had just broken out into a flawless rendition of Get On The Good Foot. The other woman working the counter, crouched over a table ten yards away, bolted upright and came rushing over to rescue the first, who seemed unable to speak.

"W-w-w-well, right over there," she stammered. "Those are the ones that were made fresh this morning!"

Yeah, it's true. At least I think it is. I mean, I've had cheese curds before. Heck, I practically ate my weight in poutine during that bachelor weekend in Montreal (for better or worse, the only vice in which I overindulged). But I don't think I'd ever had cheese curds like these cheese curds, which put me in the unusual position of using "rubbery" in a complimentary fashion. What's to say? They're salty and they squeak and beyond the textural novelty, I think they're better suited to frying. But we'll get to that.

	Corned Beef Sandwich	Dominic Armato

It was over four years ago that my sister-in-law and her husband left Chicago for Wausau, Wisconsin, meaning that a jaunt north of the border was long overdue, and a three week trip home provided the perfect opportunity. So last weekend we made the trek, and I crammed in as many road eats as seemed practical, which basically meant stopping in Milwaukee in both directions. Tacking an extra three hours onto a five hour drive, crisscrossing the state in search of something else meaty and cheesy, while a beautiful dream to me, is a dubious mission with kids in the back seat. But going fifteen minutes out of your way to hit McBob's Pub & Grill is not only reasonable but downright practical, especially given the great eats to be found there. Jake's is the big name in Milwaukee corned beef, but McBob's -- just a couple of miles down North Avenue -- has a devoted following. I opted for the underdog. The fact that it was a Friday and I could also nab a little fish fry, killing two birds with one stone, might also have had something to do with it.

Fish Fry with Potato Pancakes	Dominic Armato

McBob's is an Irish pub, though the little ones were welcome at lunch, and a sizable menu ensures that it's as much an eating as a drinking establishment. The carving station is right up front as you walk in the door, where large chunks of tender, steamy, rough-hewn corned beef are sandwiched between bread that, let's be honest, barely qualifies as rye. When my ladylove, who vigorously decries "bad seeds" has no issues with your rye, your rye has issues. But this shortcoming aside, there's so much to like here that I'm not going to let a little misguided house variation get in the way of recognizing one hell of a sandwich. Mine arrived still steaming and incredibly fragrant. The beef stops just shy of too salty, is warm and meltingly tender, and would have been a little lean for my tastes if not for the fact that it also included a few thin slices of a darker, fattier cut working in concert with the rest. A thin slick of tart and lightly sweet horseradish mustard and some potato chips on the side and this is a fabulous plate.

The fish fry evoked some childhood memories of my father bringing home a pile of lake perch, dusting them with flour and slapping them in a cast iron pan with butter and Crisco. Lake perch are more than a little difficult to come by these days, and though it's been a long time I doubt these were the perch of my childhood, but McBob's fish fry is awfully tasty nonetheless. Deep fried, in a thin, crisp and heavily seasoned coat, the fish is flaky and moist and -- when you get the super combo that includes perch, walleye and grouper -- a great object lesson for a four year old ("White fish doesn't always taste the same!"). Fries would be the safe choice, but potato pancakes seemed a whole lot more interesting, and they were... thick with an almost creamy texture, and if I weren't assured by the fellow helping us that there was no cheese involved, I would have thought they'd slipped some in there. I'd ordinarily consider a non-crisp potato pancake a mortal sin, but against the crisply fried fish it actually kind of worked. Two for two at McBob's.

Kopp's Interior or Coen Dream Sequence?	Dominic Armato

Vague childhood memories seems to be the theme here, and the theme continued through our visit to Kopp's, if only for the custard. The decor, an odd modern industrial motif with a courtyard that looks like a Battlestar Galactica location shoot and an interior that looks like a Coen Brothers' dream sequence, may appeal to my pop culture sensibilities, but doesn't exactly awaken warm fuzzy feelings of decades past.

	Vanilla Frozen Custard	Dominic Armato

The custard is another matter, though. It's been eons since I had real frozen custard, and my memory is of my seven-year-old mind being blown by chocolate more intense than I thought possible in a frozen confection. Though Kopp's offers two daily specials and chocolate, I went with a classic vanilla, wanting to get at the unadorned heart of the matter. And it turns out the heart of the matter inspires visions of jolly, rotund, 8000 pound cows waddling their way around a grassy field, occasionally stopping by the barn to relieve themselves of a few buckets of pure butterfat. Let's just say this stuff is rich. I've heard complaints that Kopp's vanilla is possessed of a certain artificial character, and while I agree that it doesn't taste like a bushel of fresh vanilla beans were dumped into the hopper, it has a kind of classic vanilla extract flavor that's both retro and delectable. My ladylove's chocolate also had a throwback vibe, not especially dark or complex, but rather evoking a cup of hot cocoa, except in cold form. The true winner, however, was the little fella, who surprised us all by picking pomegranate. That little bit of tartness kept the custard from being a total butterfat bomb, and I would've swapped with him in a heartbeat. Good call, buddy.

Fried Cheese Curds	Dominic Armato

Our time in Wausau was mostly spent nesting, cooking and eating at home and caring for the family's newest addition, possessed of big cheeks and little desire to sleep. But one outing took us to the thematically abundant Wausau Mine Co., where I'm not sure I can say much for the menu on the whole, except for the fact that they provided an opportunity to get my hands on some fried cheese curds. Really, what's not to like here? It's cheese, lightly dusted in a very fine breading and fried until it's toasty and sandy on the outside and... well, not exactly melting, but kind of non-Newtonian on the inside. In contrast, take the mozzarella stick. The breading is crisp, the middle goes gooey. Not so with cheese curds, apparently, whose unusual physical properties grant them an almost spongy texture when fried. It's like they squish and then rebound a bit, before finally relenting when pressed. Setting aside that they seem to defy the laws of physics, they make for a remarkably satisfying subgenre of fried cheese.

The Counter at Solly's	Dominic Armato

A few days later, on the way home, I decided that we obviously hadn't consumed enough cholesterol for the trip, so we stopped again in Milwaukee, this time at Solly's for butter burgers. There's nothing about Solly's that looks like a restaurant from the outside, but tucked into the ground floor of a building that kind of vaguely resembles Norman Bates' house (but only because it was Halloween weekend) is a small short order diner that serves breakfast and burgers.

	Chili	Dominic Armato

Solly's is a charming little place featuring two yellow, melamine, horseshoe-shaped counters seating a dozen each, behind which stands the kitchen and a small crew of ladies who are friendly and laid back and in absolutely no rush whatsoever, which for a place like this suits me just fine. It being the lunching hour, I zipped right past the breakfast offerings and, sadly, missed the rosti which I would have liked to have sampled. So instead I got a cup of chili, some fries and rings for the family to share, and butter burgers straight across the board... the standard variety, though the menu is stuffed with quite a few variations. The chili (avert your eyes, anti-bean folk!) was a house concoction, a touch watery -- more like thick soup with lots of ground meat and beans -- but lightly sweet and nicely seasoned with a great mix of spices. Fries were prefab and I'm pretty sure the rings were too, but they were fried up hot and crispy and did the trick, which is to say they provided an occasional respite in our attack on the butter burgers. Yes, to eat some fries and onion rings was to temporarily take the fat level down a notch.

Butter Burger	Dominic Armato

Upon first tasting this remarkable sandwich -- the first butter burger for us all -- my ladylove leaned over and said, "I'm kind of shocked that this is a food." Which isn't to say that she disapproved. Or at least if she did, it was the doctor and not the diner talking. Rather, she loved it, as did I. But in this day and age, it's a little shocking to get this much butter on anything, much less something that's already pretty well set in the lipids department. The bun was warm and soft and otherwise nondescript, and the thin patty was, sadly, cooked to within an inch of its life (not that the menu didn't give us fair warning), but the heart and soul of this delicious beast was the gooey mass in the middle, comprised of onions, American cheese, and lots and lots of butter. The onions weren't griddled, but rather chopped and "stewed," which meant that when combined with a high-moisture cheese and what must've been a quarter cup of butter, they made a kind of squishy, gooey, sweet and salty mass that oozed into every pore of both bun and beef. I found that just a tiny squirt of brown mustard, in classic yellow squeeze bottles on the counter, provided a touch of balance, though the burger was entirely capable of standing on its own. My ladylove took another bite, savored it, turned to me and said, "Don't you dare try making these at home." She's right, of course. They're far too dangerous.

McBob's Pub & Grill www.mcbobs.net 4919 W. North Avenue Milwaukee, WI 53208 414-871-5050 Mon - Sat 8 AM - 12 AM Sun 8 AM - 10 PM

Kopp's Frozen Custard www.kopps.com 7631 W. Layton Avenue Greenfield, WI 53220 414-282-4312 Mon - Sun 10:30 AM - 11 PM

Wausau Mine Co. www.wausaumine.com 3904 W. Stewart Avenue Wausau, WI 54401 715-845-7304 Mon - Sun 11 AM - ???

Solly's Grille 4629 N. Port Washington Road Milwaukee, WI 53212 414-332-8808 Mon 8 AM - 8 PM Tue - Sat 6:30 AM - 8 PM Sun 8 AM - 4 PM

Lao Hunan

Dry Chile String Beans	Dominic Armato

Back when Lao Sze Chuan was a food nerd darling, before it caught on as one of the city's most beloved Chinese restaurants, when it was still commonplace to hear people exclaim, "Oh, I don't eat in Chinatown... it's so dirty," (*sigh*), and before he had five restaurants in Chicago, one in the suburbs and one in Connecticut, I recall reading an article wherein owner Tony Hu shared his rather grandiose plan to become the nation's leading Chinese restaurateur. While I adored his food (and his moxie), it struck me as an exceptional amount of bravado for a fellow who was running a largely unknown Sichuan joint out of a corner of the Chinatown mall. All I can say is thank god I underestimated the guy, because while his record isn't flawless, he's brought an awful lot of fabulous Chinese food to Chicago and beyond, and his latest project, Lao Hunan, is no exception.

	Famous People from Hunan	Dominic Armato

Thing is, this death star isn't even fully operational. In what's become something of a modus operandi for Hu, he's taken over Taste of Asia, renamed it and redone the interior, brought in a new chef, and is temporarily serving the old menu alongside an abbreviated Hunanese menu while developing the full catalog of dishes that the restaurant will serve when it officially launches in a few weeks. And yet, fabulous dishes still abound and some folks who are more in tune with Chinatown's current offerings than I am are already declaring it one of the city's best. As far as I can tell, the only knock on the place so far is that its Mao-inspired decor and uniform clad waitstaff are odd and/or offensive, depending on how comfortable you are with dictator chic. I have a hard time arguing with that conclusion, even if I've been desensitized by eating at more than a few similarly-themed establishments back in the mother country over the years. On an old blog, I once chronicled a visit to "First Work Team," a theme restaurant intended to inspire nostalgia for the days when famine was killing off tens of millions of Chinese by serving unseasoned mashed tubers to diners sitting on bare concrete floors. No joke. (And I really wish I could find that post.) So in an odd fashion, it all somehow seems perfectly normal to me, and the only thing I disliked about my visit is that it wasn't after the grand opening and with a larger group for more ordering power.

Chairman Mao's Favorite Pork Belly	Dominic Armato

Hunanese is not a branch of Chinese cuisine about which I'm comfortable speaking with any level of authority, though much of it is familiar to me from visits to Hunanese restaurants while visiting Southern China over the years. Its reputation as a fiery cousin to neighboring Sichuan is well-deserved, but it has always seemed to me to be far less focused on chile oil, vinegar, sugar and Sichuan pepper, and rather a little rounder in character, employing more fresh ingredients, more shallots and garlic, and more smoke. And my impressions were largely borne out, starting with Chairman Mao's Favorite Pork Belly, not without heat but more spiced than spicy, silky pork fat laced with star anise and cinnamon, sweetened with sugar and scallions and fragranced with garlic and ginger. Recent years have created an explosion of pork belly fanatics, and it warms my heart to think that a dish like this will probably now have a mainstream audience, because it's really fabulous and I'd hate for it to sit in obscurity.

	Dry Chili Fish Fillet	Dominic Armato

I'm almost angry with Lao Hunan for forcing me to roll back a previous commitment to eschew tilapia, a fish that I generally consider to be a scourge upon the culinary scene. But a hand that can turn those usually tasteless mudbugs into the Dry Chili Fish Fillets has my rapt attention. This was a stunning dish, encasing moist and delicious fish inside a hot and crisp coating with a potent chili and garlic zing that was so good I'm still nursing burns on the inside of my mouth a week later because I couldn't wait just a couple of minutes to let the damn things cool off. While I don't advise approaching them in such a reckless fashion as I did, I nonetheless recommend eating them quickly. After ten minutes they're lovely, but a shadow of what they were when they hit the table. Am I really going to have to list tilapia among my favorite dishes of 2011? Gads, I might.

Home Fed Chicken Xiangxi Style	Dominic Armato

The Home Fed Chicken Xiangxi Style is one of those dishes that's simultaneously familiar and frustrating... familiar because I know I've had its ilk on many occasions, frustrating because it was always encountered in a business context when I couldn't learn a thing about it. Buried amongst large pieces of stir-fried peppers, shallots, onions and a brown sauce, the chicken is dark and complex without much in the way of sweetness, dense in texture and -- as one of my dining compatriots put it -- possessed of an almost cheesy quality, like dense blocks of lightly fermented dairy or tofu. I just don't have the literary framework to describe the unusual character of this dish, and though it was probably my least favorite of the evening, I still found it compelling both as an educational exhibit and a tasty plate of food. I wish I knew more about its provenance.

	Famous Hunan Chile in Black Bean Sauce	Dominic Armato

We also managed to sneak in a couple of vegetables, the more approachable of which was the Dry Chile String Beans, similar to the familiar Sichuan preparation with wrinkled, fried long beans spiked with chiles, garlic and the salty funk of preserved black beans. More notable for a myriad of reasons, however, was the Famous Hunan Chile in Black Bean Sauce, a dish solidly in contention for the hottest I've consumed in quite some time. Whole green chiles, seeds and ribbing and all, are bathed in a lightly sweet black bean sauce with thick planks of sliced garlic. It's a minimal and clarifying showcase for fresh green chile flavor, and while it didn't stray into inedible territory for me (though it was even hotter coming out of the fridge the next morning), it definitely slowed me down. I abhor dishes that sacrifice flavor for abusive heat. This one brings both.

These days, Lao Hunan is the kind of place that I find almost more frustrating than anything to visit. The execution is crisp and the flavors are vibrant, yes, but beyond that there's an education to be had in this menu, to say nothing of what it will be like when its size triples. I want to come back, I want to take some time, I want to develop a better understanding of what Hunanese cuisine brings to the table, and I was rocked deeply enough by a few of these dishes that I'm confident the kitchen at Lao Hunan will be an excellent guide. Problem is I have a plane to catch.

Lao Hunan
www.tonygourmetgroup.com
2230 S. Wentworth Avenue
Chicago, IL 60616
312-842-7888
Mon - Sun	10:30 AM - 11 PM

Papa's Cache Sabroso

Jibarito de Bistec	Dominic Armato

This trip to Chicago has become the "correcting great shames" tour, and my visit to Papa's Cache Sabroso was no exception, on two fronts. The first and most obvious is that this little Puerto Rican joint is beloved of both the LTH crowd in general and, more specifically, an old favorite of some of my dear food friends, and yet I'd never set foot inside before last week. And what a shame that is, because to step in off the street, particularly on a grey and dreary late October afternoon, is to be transported... by the change in light, the change in warmth, the change in volume, the change in energy, and above all the change in scent, which is absolutely devastating. Warm, cozy and bustling, Papa's possesses an almost goofy yet somehow charming island vibe, adorned with brightly colored murals of sandy Puerto Rican beaches and a thatched awning over the counter. My compatriots and I took a seat, and a few minutes later, Coco Loco in hand, I ordered the Jibarito de Bistec. Which leads me to my second great shame.

	Jibarito de Bistec	Dominic Armato

When one considers specific dishes that Chicago has contributed to the culinary scene, a number of entries stand out. There's the famously greasy triumvirate of Chicago style hot dogs, deep dish pizza, and my beloved Italian Beef sandwich. Less well known are ethnic offshoots like flaming saganaki, Shrimp de Jonghe and Chicken Vesuvio (though I've seen intelligent, if not entirely convincing to me, arguments against the Chicago-ness of the last). And yet one of Chicago's most unique creations is of a decidedly different breed, a recent invention first cooked up barely fifteen years ago by Juan Figueroa in the Puerto Rican kitchen of Borinquen Restaurant. The Jibarito, a sandwich whose spirit rests in Puerto Rico even if its origins are in Chicago, combines a meat filling -- originally seasoned, grilled steak -- with cool tomato and shredded lettuce, melted cheese and garlicky mayonnaise and layers them between two crisply fried planks of green plantain in lieu of bread. It's an ingenious combination, and tempting as it was to have my first in the restaurant that introduced it to the world, consensus among aficionados of the genre seemed to be that Papa's version was both better and more consistent. So it was here that I and my compatriots (we all ordered the same) tucked into our first Jibaritos.

The result was unanimous delight. With beautifully seasoned, smoky, tender beef, melty cheese, crisp vegetables and the creamy tang of mayonnaise, the fillings would be a winner on any old bread. But combining them with the crisp, nutty crunch of plantains fried in garlic oil takes the sandwich in a completely different direction, both in terms of texture and flavor, and it's easy to see why the Jibarito's popularity has exploded across Chicago, and is starting to pop up in other cities. It's a beautiful thing, crisp, fresh and gooey all at the same time, with vibrant flavors, its decadence mitigated by its modest size (made necessary, perhaps, by the size of the plantains?), and if I hadn't ordered something else for us to try, I might've had two.

Pollo Chon	Dominic Armato

Thankfully, the whole chickens slowly rotating behind the counter were too much to resist, else I might have missed another of the restaurant's gems. I added a few pieces of pollo chon to the mix, and this was succulent stuff, not dripping with juice like some varieties of rotisserie chicken, but striking a balance of moist and toothsome that made possible the delectable skin. Basted in a lightly sweet and garlickly concoction, the skin wasn't exactly crispy, but rather deeply caramelized and sticky, like savory chicken candy on an allium bender. It's a coating that can also defy one's grip, as I discovered when a half-eaten piece slipped from my fingers and landed on the floor, but not before basting my leg on the way down. As the corners of my mouth drooped in sad, cartoonish fashion, my ladylove asked if I'd made a mess of my pants. "Yes..." I replied, "...but that's not why I'm sad."

Papa's Cache Sabroso
www.papascachesabroso.com
2715 W. Division Street
Chicago, IL 60622
773-862-8313
Mon - Thu	11 AM - 10 PM
Fri - Sat	11 AM - 11:30 PM

Top Chef Power Rankings - On The Move!

So when I woke up this morning, I had a bit of an epiphany. It was meaningful to me. Perhaps not so much to you. So let's just say that I've decided -- for my own sanity -- that it's time to give the Top Chef Power Rankings their own home. Skillet Doux's been feeling kind of bipolar, and it's been driving me crazy, and it occurred to me that there really wasn't any reason why I couldn't just split the TCPR stuff into its own blog and happily continue maintaining both of them. Aside from the inevitable Reed Hastings jokes, I mean. But nonetheless, as already mentioned, this move has nothing to do with maximizing shareholder value and everything to do with keeping me sane. But I've written more over at the new blog, which you can access by clicking on the convenient banner above!

Top Chef Fans: See you in the spiffy(ish) new digs!

Skillet Doux Fans: Business as usual. Without monster reality show posts getting in the way!

Self: There, doesn't that feel better?

See? Everybody wins!

Gene & Jude's

Midnight Hot Dog Run	Dominic Armato

From the outset, my first visit to Gene & Jude's may have aroused more suspicion in this Chicago Catholic family than if I'd said I was going to go hang out at the local Krishna temple. I come from a long line of Superdawg devotees, dating back to that fine establishment's inception, and while other dogs may occasionally be introduced to the collective family gullet -- most notably at ballgames -- it's always with an implicit, "Hey, it's no Superdawg, but it'll do." Staying with family while visiting home, getting ready to head out the door, two independent conversations with my folks went like this:

	Yeah, That's It	Dominic Armato

Me: "I'm going out for a hot dog."
Mom: "Superdawg?"
Me: "Nah, I'm going to go check out Gene & Jude's."
Mom: "Oh, Cousin Sammy took me there. He said it was the best hot dog in the city."
Me: "What'd you think?"
Mom: "I hated it."

Huh.

Dad: "Where are you headed?"
Me: "Hot dog."
Dad: "Superdawg?"
Me: "Gene & Jude's actually. You been?"
Dad: "I hated it."

Well, at least we have consensus. This is a Superdawg family. I brought my sister for backup anyway, and explained to her that we'd be checking out a different breed of Chicago Style Hot Dog... a minimal version of the one to which she was accustomed.

Minimalism is a funny thing. I like to think that in the food world, there are few things nobler than something simple done well. But this is very much a situational feeling, by no means universally held among those who cherish good grub, and everybody has their limits. For every piece of produce that an Alice Waters serves unadorned, there's a snappy retort from a David Chang. Sometimes, simple cult foodstuffs are as likely to inspire indifferent shrugs as they are rapturous enthusiasm. Is the place that's been slinging the same hash since the '40s serving minimal perfection or figs on a plate? And how, exactly, do the uninitiated wade into the middle of that debate?

Cutting Potatoes	Dominic Armato

The minimalism at Gene & Jude's goes beyond the dog itself. Part of what's so refreshing about the place is that it doesn't have loftier aspirations. It's content to serve hot dogs, fries, and the occasional Supreme Tamale. Don't ask for ketchup. Not even for the fries. Doing so will get you laughed at and sent to the McDonald's across the street. But this is a perfect example of do less, do it better. Even at midnight, a small army of teenagers stands at the ready, and though this is a brigade that would make Escoffier wince, what the fellas may lack in economy they make up for in energy, bounding around and spitting out dogs at the pace necessary to keep up with the often formidable line, a dozen deep even at this late hour. A narrow counter for eating lines one wall and most of the front windows, though back at the car seems to be an equally popular spot to park and tuck in. We placed our order. We got our drinks. The same kid who took our order handed me an already greasy paper bag. We took it to the counter, got everything unwrapped, and had ourselves a pretty outstanding meal.

Gene & Jude's is a throwback to a bygone era of Chicago hotdoggery that existed for decades before Vienna Beef decided that to qualify as a Chicago Style Hot Dog, your sausage has to be dragged through the garden. Every time I hear somebody complain that a dog isn't authentic because it left off the tomato or pickle spear, I have to resist the urge to get rhetorically medieval on them. Don't get me wrong, I both adore and fully recognize the legitimacy of the contemporary edition (more a function of Vienna Beef marketing than the reality on the ground), but when most Chicago hot dog stands that have been in operation since the '50s or earlier eschew the more elaborate toppings, you ever stop to think that maybe that celery salt is more new-fangled than you'd like to admit? This isn't a dog with a nine item checklist. It's a depression dog, a natural casing Vienna Beef frank -- skinny one -- on a plain bun with nothing more than mustard, onion, relish, and sport peppers. That and a mountain of fries that are practically stuffed into the dog before it's wrapped in paper.

The Dog	Dominic Armato

I grew up in Chicago, which means I grew up with hot dogs, and after nearly 35 years, I still don't fully understand the alchemy at work in a good one. Gene & Jude's is a great one. It's a sausage and a bun along with three jarred condiments, all of which are produced somewhere else. The only thing prepared on the premises other than the fries is the chopped onion, and it hardly seems possible that that's the basis for the reputation. How does one place distinguish itself from the next? And yet, for those who have eaten scads of these things, there's no denying that some places get it right and some don't. When it's right, it's like some kind of mystical sweat lodge in that steam table, where the dog goes in only to discover its true nature and emerge a more spiritually complete version of itself. Gene & Jude's nails that mix of beefy, steamy, tangy, sweet and spicy that defines the genre, but it's somehow more harmonious than almost anyplace else you've had it. The bun squishes, the skin on the dog snaps, and all of those toppings gently support the sausage rather than burying it. And bonus, the fries are fantastic, cut minutes before you consume them, fried to order, lightly crisped on the edges and tender in the middle, bursting with fresh potato flavor and a hint of beef tallow. If you order them well done, they might even stay crispy long enough for you to unwrap them. This is a Chicago Style Hot Dog -- old school edition -- in its purest form. And despite my devotion to the big fella with the pure beef heart (a devotion that I will defend with my dying breath), there's no denying that Gene & Jude's dog is a beautiful thing to behold.

Even my sister was on board. Apparently laser-focused hot dog preference skips a generation. So after dropping her off and returning to my folks' place, I found my father still sitting at his computer, working. "What'd you think?" he asked. "I thought it was great. I don't see what's not to like." "Eh... to each his own," he responded, though I'm sure it was a struggle to phrase it so diplomatically. This is the sometimes cruel reality of food and family, when a change of pace jaunt to a different hot dog stand flies in the face of generations worth of tradition.

I'm still going back, though.

Gene & Jude's
2720 River Road
River Grove, IL 60171
708-452-7634
Sun - Thu	10:30 AM - 1 AM
Fri - Sat	10:30 AM - 2 AM

Santouka Ramen

Miso Ramen	Dominic Armato

I've often stated that the ability to go back and relive my food memories is one of the main reasons I write this blog. Sometimes that's a good thing. Sometimes it's kind of embarrassing. About five years ago, I visited Santouka Ramen during a trip to check out Mitsuwa Marketplace outside of Chicago, and while I really enjoyed it at the time, I'm somewhat flabbergasted to read back and discover that my appreciation wasn't deeper. I said at the time that I was no ramen expert. I'm still not. The breadth of my ramen experience isn't yet a fraction of what I wish it were. And in the intervening years, almost every time I've had a bowl of ramen, I've thought of this one and was annoyed that it wasn't the one I was eating. Yes, Santouka is a chain. So's Din Tai Fung. Doesn't change the fact that consensus among the hardcore ramen nerds seems to be that it's one of the best bowls you can obtain in the States, and I don't have a hard time believing it.

	Shio Ramen	Dominic Armato

Santouka dishes up Asahikawa-style tonkotsu, meaning that it's the rich, milky concoction extracted from pork bones that defines tonkotsu, but with hints of seafood local to Asahikawa (located in northern Hokkaido) that provide a gentle, briny undercurrent. This broth comes with four tare options: shoyu, miso, spicy miso, and the signature shio. On this last pass, I destroyed a bowl of the shio before working through as much of the miso as I could, and though every type I've had there has been exceptional, I'm coming to understand why the shio is the one that's most highly regarded. It plays as the simplest and perhaps noblest of the quartet. All come adorned with chopped scallion, pickled bamboo, woodear mushrooms, a fish cake and optional pork, though the shio is the only one that wears the signature pickled plum, with tart and salty flavor, crisp texture and bright red color. Though all styles are available with pork, the real treasure here is the toroniku, succulent and moist slices of pork cheek that are too precious to be served in the soup. When you order the toroniku, it arrives carefully fanned on a separate plate along with the regular accompaniments, leaving a minimal bowl of broth and noodles as a palette on which to arrange them.

Toroniku	Dominic Armato

The toppings are fresh and precise, the pork is very good to stunning depending on whether you get the chashu or the toroniku, the noodles are on the thinner end of the spectrum, slightly kinky with a great bite, but it's all about the soup, and this stuff is powerfully intoxicating. Who cares if it's served in a spartan food court? It's rich and deep, a lush and wonderfully fatty broth with those faint hints of the ocean, provided by who knows what manner of Asahikawa seafood they've slipped in. I'm particularly impressed by how mellow it is, the flavors striking a balancing act so subtle that it initially plays as less complex than it is, only to slowly reveal itself as you get deeper into the bowl. The problem being, of course, that the bottom arrives too quickly, not because the bowls are too small (though Japanese-sized, they're dense and filling), but because you just don't want it to end. Sometimes experience causes us to gain an even deeper appreciation for something we've already known. For me, such is the case with Santouka, and I wish I had access to this on a regular basis.

Santouka Ramen
www.santouka.co.jp/en/
Mitsuwa Marketplace
100 E. Algonquin Road
Arlington Heights, IL 60051
847-357-0286
Mon - Sun	11 AM - 7:30 PM

The Quarterly Report - Q3 2011

Tuna Melt @ Perk Eatery	Dominic Armato

Precious little food writing going on here these days. What can I say? A busy month. But between the quarterly report and the forthcoming (very soon!) first installment in the McDowell Project, we'll see if we can't fire off a dozen or so in rapid fashion. For reasons I can't explain, this summer was filled with burgers, pizza, cheesesteaks, corned beef sandwiches and all sorts of things that are about as squarely in the mainstream as you can get. Something about the heat, I guess. But whatever the reason, without further ado, in order determined by random.org as always, here are some places I've eaten over the past few months that didn't quite inspire a full post:

	Pancakes with Fresh Berries	Dominic Armato

Perk Eatery
6501 E. Greenway Parkway, Scottsdale AZ 85254
Now here's a swell little place that rightfully seems to have captured the love of the food nerds. Perk Eatery is a casual little corner joint that serves no-frills breakfast and lunch and does a really nice job of it. Omelets, pancakes, burgers and sandwiches are all simple and straightforward, but made with great ingredients and an awful lot of care. Pancakes are thick, satisfying and served with actual maple syrup (alas, more noteworthy than it should be), and the pumpkin spice special I sampled last week was fabulous. Eggs come with classic sides, and always arrive exactly as ordered. When it comes to lunch, burgers are big, juicy and cooked to temperature. The "Best Ever Tuna Melt" may not quite meet its lofty aspirations, but isn't too far off that impossible standard with fresh salad, two melty cheeses and beautifully griddled bread. And the patty melt, dripping with juice, cheese and sweet griddled onions is absolutely dynamite. The food's great, the folks are friendly, the prices are inexpensive... there's nothing not to like, and despite my compulsion to keep trying new places, somehow the family keeps ending up back here. Nothing about Perk Eatery is fancy. It's just really good.

Cheesesteak	Dominic Armato

Corleone's
1640 E. Camelback Road, Phoenix AZ 85016
I was tempted to simply write "No." and leave it at that. But I... can't. Given that the restaurant's featured item is Philadelphia's most recognized food, I'm going to momentarily set aside the fact that they've named the place after a fictional New York crime family and built a website that prominently features Al Capone. I can look past that. Then there's the wall labeled "You know you're from Philly when..." that's stuffed with every cringeworthy cliche in the book. I'm not from Philly, so I can look past that too. But a sandwich that bad is unforgiveable under any circumstances. Roll? Stale. Whiz? I've made my peace with it, and I never thought I'd hear myself saying this, but it needed way more whiz. It was almost undetectable. Worst, however, was the beef, a tasteless shredded hash that I never would have believed had ever touched a griddle if I didn't see it myself. My best guess is that it was frozen, and upon hitting the griddle ended up steaming rather than searing. But whatever the process, it was an epic disaster of taste and texture. Best part? Written on the wall of the embarrassingly commercialized joint with a godawful cheesesteak: "Only tourists go to Pat's." Are you taking notes, Alanis?

	Thin Crust Pizza	Dominic Armato

Oregano's
7215 E. Shea Boulevard, Scottsdale AZ 85258
I had hitherto known Oregano's only as the punchline to 12% of the food nerd jokes out there. "Where's a good place for sushi?" "Have you tried Oregano's?" (Though perception has oustripped reality, the place seems... a touch overrepresented in various reader polls.) I guess the joke's on me, though, because the thin crust is pretty decent. Though I can't speak for their stuffed or pan pizza, I understand why the thin is lambasted by foodnerdia. This isn't Bianco, and it isn't 'Pomo, or any of the other beautifully crafted pizzas that are one of Phoenix' culinary strengths. "Elegant" isn't a word that springs to mind here. But if you're looking for a recreation of a Chicago tavern-style thin crust, that's this pizza all over. Dense cracker crust that's really only crisp around the edge, slightly sweet sauce with dried herbs, way too much cheese, cut into squares... this is the kind of stuff I grew up on. And it certainly isn't best of breed. But whether or not it's your thing, I can vouch for it as an accurate and fairly well-executed version of one of Chicago's signature styles of pizza. For what it is, that's worthy of praise.

New Yorker Sandwich	Dominic Armato

New York Bagels 'N Bialys
10320 N. Scottsdale Road, Scottsdale AZ 85253
I keep trying delis, and trying delis, and trying delis, and depending on the day of the week, I vacillate violently between wanting to focus on the positives and openly declaring that their bubbies would all be ashamed. Part of the problem is that so many aren't terrible, they're just weak, and NYB&B falls into that category. The bagels are the best part. They aren't anything that'll cure a New Yorker of his homesickness, but they're dense with a nice skin and chew. Chicken soup, on the other hand, is kind of overdrawn and muddy, latkes are doughy, deep-fried pucks, and I suspect the tuna salad in the tuna melt had taken up residence in the fridge for a while. After getting ice cold pastrami on one visit, I asked if the corned beef was also served cold, or if it was steamed. I was told it was steamed. Next visit, a straight up corned beef on rye was, indeed, warm... but my money's on a microwave rather than a steam box. The unfortunate truth is that this is one of the better delis I've visited in Phoenix. Maybe it's just time to drastically adjust expectations.

	Texas Burger	Dominic Armato

David's Hamburgers & Mexican Food
7212 E. Main Street, Scottsdale AZ 85251
Gads, is David's a funny little joint. The first bit of oddness is the incongruity of burgers, breakfast, and Mexican. The breakfast, I didn't try. The Mexican, I'm not sure I care to try again unless it's 2:00 AM and I'm hammered (the fact that it's open uncharacteristically late is one of David's best features). But the burgers, fries and malts are great. They're just... familiar. Hand-formed patties griddled to a nice crisp on the edges, crispy bacon, thick slices of cheese, warm bun wrapped in paper, and a variety of toppings and sauces that almost perfectly mirror a certain popular '50s style burger chain. Even the chili tastes like a clone. But while the chain they mimic is one for which I have an occasional weakness, I can say without hesitation that the last burger I had there wasn't nearly as good as David's. The components were the same, but where one was slapped together, the other was carefully prepared, and that makes David's a worthy, if puzzling, stop in my book.

Egg Croissant Sandwich	Dominic Armato

Carmel's Coffee
4233 E. Camelback Road, Phoenix AZ 85018
Carmel's arrival on the scene followed a bit of a strange trajectory, replacing the widely-respected Chestnut Lane and making a splash with a killer breakfast croissant sandwich before going through a chef change not one month after opening. But they're finally getting settled over there, and it's a cute place and a great stop for coffee, even if I'm having a hard time getting excited about the food. Scones are solid, if sweet for my tastes, but the croissants aren't at all what they were before the change, still chock full of butter but now limp and spongy rather than layered and flaky. Sadly, this also means the "signature egg croissant sandwich" is no longer the one that everybody loved when they first opened, though it's still tasty. The tuna sandwich was a total dud, crisp and fresh and totally tasteless. Water-packed albacore has less flavor than a boneless skinless chicken breast, and it needs more than a token amount of diced onion and celery and a squeeze of lemon juice to keep it from coming across as nondescript, dry protein. Great tuna can fly solo, but this isn't it. On the other hand, the citrus salad was nice, butter lettuce, sliced apples, toasted almonds and bits of goat cheese with a sweet vinaigrette alongside orange slices. But it only makes me miss the creative, crisply executed salads of Chestnut Lane. In their defense, that was a tough act to follow. But I'm sure I'm not the only one drawing the comparison.