Goodies First

APB On a Missing Table Skirt

I am old. It's official. I just wrote (ok, emailed--I'm not 80) a letter to the editor of The Gresham Outlook, my hometown paper. And it's not as if I don't have a million genuinely pressing things that actually need to get done.

But I had to ask why they don't publish their police blotter online. Their sister papers like the lovely Lake Oswego Review and The Oregon City News do, and I became infuriated yesterday morning that I couldn't be soothed by crime, East County-style. You don't understand that extremely petty crimes committed in towns that I know are one of the few things that can make me laugh out loud.

I haven't attempted to check out their police log in years (it used to be online) and it really upset me that I had to settle for other Portland suburbs' misdeeds. This is some serious stuff. Here is a sampling. I apologize for only being able to narrow down to 15 because each time I found a doozy, a better one appeared.

• 6/23/08 10:46 a.m. A strange odor was reportedly coming from a Port-a-Potty on Sixth Street.
• 6/23/08 10:49 a.m. Some sort of animal was living in a woodpile on Kokanee Court.
• 6/24/08 5:59 p.m. A creekside-walking couple were hollering at each other on Middlecrest Road.
• 6/25/08 2:55 a.m. An apparent domestic squabble inside a car on Highway 217 turned out to be two men and a woman having a tickle fight. Police located the trio in a hot tub of a hotel.
• 6/25/08 5:00 a.m. A table skirt was found in the road on Kruse Way.
• 6/25/08 9:21 p.m. Teens suspected of breaking windows behind the Speedy Linguine were really just smashing a television set.
• 6/27/08 2:36 a.m. An intruder in a house on El Greco turned out to be a very drunken man who had gone into the wrong home. (this is how my mom met her husband, and I am dead serious)
• 6/29/08 4:17 p.m. A woman driving a black Toyota was reported going door-to-door trying to sell strawberry jam.
• 7/2/08 9:46 a.m. Public defecation was reported outside of a trailer located near a motel. An investigation found that the defacator was apparently a dog. Extra patrols were requested.
• 7/3/08 1:54 p.m. A catheter bag was found in the road on Kerr Parkway.
• 7/3/08 10:29 p.m. A suspicious- looking youngster was seated near a bank of mailboxes on Carman Drive, working on a laptop. As it turned out, he lived in the area and was playing some kind of computer game.
• 7/4/08 11:57 p.m. Teens at Oak Creek Elementary school, including one crying one, were not having a medical problem, as reported. Instead they were gathered around upset because one of them was going out of the country.
• 7/5/08 2:31 p.m. A 9-1-1 call from a pay phone on A Avenue turned out to be from a person who took the wrong bus, got lost and had no money. Police gave the caller a ride home.
• 7/5/08 10:42 p.m. A possible domestic disturbance on Meridian Court turned out to be a boy playing guitar.
• 7/6/08 10:28 a.m. An overly aggressive cat was accused of injuring its feline neighbor and then attempting assault on its owner.

Oh, this was my response, "We don't usually put police logs online yet. We're trying to get some software to make putting things online easier. As it is, we put what we can online." Doesn't sound like they're trying hard enough to me.

Henninger's Tavern

1/2 I wanted to eat one “nice” meal in Baltimore. But defining nice isn’t easy. To me, nice is…well, if I had to use adjectives: upscale, modern and I guess intimate, though that sounds gross. Baltimore doesn’t have an Allen & Delancey or a Momofuku Ko (I’d have taken Ssam). And I guess this is why NYC is more unique than I give it credit for. It’s hard to complain about our dining options.

It appears that in Baltimore the more expensive restaurants are either a stodgy place you’d take a parent or have a business lunch or flashy and clubby likely serving mediocre tapas or pan-Asian food.

Woodberry Kitchen had potential but felt a bit precious and too locavore for my tastes. In my own version of eating local, I decided it would be best to choose a restaurant that could only be in Baltimore with an atmosphere unique to the city.

Henninger’s Tavern fit the profile perfectly. You enter through the bar; the narrow train car-esque dining room is off to the left. The walls are crammed with ephemera, pink elephant mobiles hang from the ceiling. If the word wasn’t so overused, I’d almost say it felt like a speakeasy, though one that organically evolved rather than born of strategic design. Not some Taavo Somer production but a gussied up chophouse with a sense of humor. The only place I can compare it to in NYC might be the rebounding Marion’s.

 

The food is a little fancy, not wildly creative, but solid. Still kind of full of pit beef from a late lunch, I probably didn’t need an appetizer at all. I still split an order of fried oysters just because I wanted them. And the breaded orbs sauced with a pernod-spiked cream dotted with fennel seeds certainly weren’t light.

Fisherman’s stew was similar to a Portuguese caldeirada de peixe, except that there wasn’t any fish in it. There was a mound of shrimp, clams, mussels and octopus atop a substantial fried crouton that absorbed the sauce and turned into a soft edible bread sponge.

We finished with a slice of peanut butter pie because I like my desserts sweet, fatty and American. It was 4th of July weekend. 

I wasn’t exaggerating when I said that they drink more in Baltimore than in NYC. To be more accurate, I was compelled to drink more in Baltimore than in NYC. In both bars and restaurants, servers are quick to bring drinks and eager to bring you more, there’s a palpable sense of disappointment when you say that you’re good. The atmosphere lends itself to drunkenness, kind of like Portland. I still can’t determine if my current wholly reasonable level of alcohol intake is because I’m no longer in my 20s or because I’m no longer in Portland.

After a pre-dinner whiskey sour at Henninger’s and two glasses of pinot noir with my meal, we moved onto the bar at the top of the Belvedere Hotel, which apparently has a salsa night on Saturdays. Strange because Baltimore didn’t strike me as a Latino hotbed (though we did drive through a strip of tacquerias and Mexican bodegas). A good portion of the crowd was made up of youngish white urban professionals but there were also middle aged Puerto Rican couples so what do I know. A margarita and gin and tonic were consumed there.

Then it was onto the Mount Royal Tavern, near the art school, which probably explains the bad art displayed on the walls. I went to art school so I know what I speak of, though I can say that I never made pencil sketches of Bob Marley in the privacy of my home let alone showed them in public. I had a pint of Magic Hat and a can of Natty Boh.

Following James’s trail of bars that he frequented 15 years ago we headed to Club Charles where we were half-heartedly carded and drank a gin and tonic. I was most taken with a girl who had ’50 cotton candy textured bleached white hair. There is most definitely a John Waters-influenced contingent thriving in Baltimore. I also observed that Goths are still alive and well but hang out a few buildings up the block.

That should’ve been it and 2am was rapidly approaching anyway. But James wanted to see the new and not necessarily improved Rendezvous Lounge, which apparently had moved kitty corner from its old location at some point in time, for all I know a decade ago. Supposedly in the early ’90s, the bar was of its era, filled with kitsch and playing the likes of Patsy Cline and Johnny Cash. I know the type of place.

Well, now it looks like a boarded up condemned house with only the faintest hint of signage, the letters long gone. I will grant that my perception was way off at this point, and perhaps it was actually a lovely, warm inviting space and not the barebones counter with shelves of liquor for sale (you can see in this photo—ignore the text which bizarrely uses the adjective “stylish”).

There was only one other female patron, and minus her presence we were the only other white customers. I’m overly sensitive to feeling out of place, though, with all social strata and ethnicities. I don't think I have an element. It’s not that I have a problem with anyone (except bar-goers with strollers) I just fear that others will have a problem with me.

Never mind drunk driving, drunk shopping is more dangerous. We ended up at a large 24-hour supermarket buying Saga blue cheese, Little Debbie Zebra cakes, pizza-flavored Combos, a giant potato rosemary focaccia and a plastic bag of creamed chipped beef. It was only then that I could call it a night.

Henninger’s Tavern * 1812 Bank St., Baltimore, MD

Scoot Over

If two’s a trend, then scooting dogs with anal gland issues are all the rage.

I was first mesmerized a few months ago by peculiar Stanley Steemer ad where a mom gets so wound up over a dog’s butt-dragging that you’d think her son was being slashed in front of her eyes. I didn’t even know Stanley Steemer was still in business, so I suppose in one way it succeed in raising brand awareness. Toby!

And now AT&T is running that ad which is meant to depict a horrible Parisian vacation rental. Not only is it dingy, there’s a goddamn scooting dog that comes with the room. Sign me up.

Dogs don’t get to have all the fun as you can see in the above cat scooting birthday cake a friend made for a friend a few years ago.

Olympic Flavor

While the Chinese government is busy combating menu Engrish, McDonald’s, the world over, is promoting Olympic-inspired edibles. Chop suey burgers in Latin America? Ok, I guess they’re going to be called Beijing Burgers according to the Wall Street Journal.

The only McDonald’s country sites where I could find photographic evidence of this hamburguesa de Beijing were Argentina and Colombia, and it’s even better than expected. The China Menu includes said burger with a ginger sauce, black and white sesame seeds on the bun and yes, chop suey. There are also fried rice sticks and a banana caramel sundae.

Though not on the website, I was able to glean a few details about Australia and their "Flavor of the Games" promotion. McDonald’s down under will be serving burgers called The American, The Euro, The African, The Asian and The Australian.

I know Aussies put peculiarities like beets, pineapple and fried egg on their burgers. The Asian will probably involve wasabi, sweet and sour or soy sauce. What I’m dying to know is what’s on an African burger—that’s way open to interpretation (let’s hope it’s not raw fermented sour dough).

Burzako

There’s nothing I hate more than a straggler, so my final brief missive from last month’s Argentina vacation must be posted now or it never will see the light of day. And I know everyone’s dying to hear about Basque food in South America.

Despite speaking Español (or Castellano, as they say, you know, just to be different) Spanish food is scarcer than you might think in Buenos Aires. Italian culture is definitely more pervasive.

Burzako is near the San Telmo market, a big Sunday afternoon draw. I’ll admit that I only gave it a quick stroll through because I’m not wild about outdoor markets (I went to Brooklyn Flea for the first time Sunday and was kind of eh about the whole thing, though I enjoyed my slightly pricey Jamaica-flavored shaved ice sweetened with agave syrup from Chida).

I was expecting a more rustic restaurant, but the room was more elegant with white tablecloths and floral arrangements. Being lunch, we only ordered tapas, which I wouldn’t say were particularly Basque. The entrees leaned that way, though.

It’s hard to resist a croquette/croqueta/kroketa (American-approved French, Spanish or Basque, whichever you prefer). These non-oily fritters were filled with a gooey langoustine mixture and topped with an aioli type sauce.

I couldn’t tell you everything on this cheese plate, but I’m fairly certain the blue was Roquefort as that was by far the blue cheese of choice in Buenos Aires.

I have no idea why the octopus was so expensive. At around $18 if I’m remembering correctly (there’s no Menupages to refresh my memory) the plate of pulpo a la gallega was pricey. I felt compelled to try it, though. It was definitely tender and I like anything spiked with pimenton.

I ate a lot of jamon crudo on vacation. I also drank quite a bit of tinto, and was always surprised at how high they filled wine glasses when ordering by the glass. I’m more value-minded than concerned with my wine being able to breathe so this was a fortunate quirk to me.

Burzako * Mexico 345, Buenos Aires, Argentina

Blue's Clues

Maybe I’ve been watching too much too much HGTV because this weekend I decided to get into the open house game. Just what sort of stuff is selling in my neighborhood, anyway?

Apparently, scary stuff. I now know that $1.6 mil will get you a stuccoed townhouse with security cameras, next to a junk yard on a dead end warehouse-centric street that dead-ends at the Gowanus canal. There might also be a scary pit bull in the paved-over backyard, a one-armed realtor, carpeted floor-to-ceiling columns, Jacuzzi tub, metallic flower vase sculpted to look like two guns and lots of vitamins and protein powder on the counters of the most overwhelmingly glossy blue kitchen you could ever imagine.

I’ve lamented for years about the lack of color in American kitchens (and the abuse of travertine and granite). Even though you wouldn’t know if from my current mishmash apartment décor, I’m obsessed with everything green (despite having little interest in the Upper East Side or Italian food, I’m smitten with the color scheme at new restaurant, Alloro, and might have to pay a visit just to see the unbelievable greenness in person) and fantasize about the day I can apply the emerald hue in a serious way.

So, I have to admire the homeowners’ dedication to a single color (and I know the brand must’ve cost a pretty penny) but this abomination makes me question my own taste a bit. However, this blue kitchen renews my faith some.

And the pseudo-serious house hunt continues.

Resto

I’ve found a new contender for the most awesomely un-salady salad. Sripraphai’s crispy watercress salad is still tops but Resto’s crispy pig’s ear salad is a close second. Clearly, the secret to a good salad is the use of crispy ingredients.

I’m still not sure how something so suspect can taste so good. The sizable curls of fried ear almost outweigh the chicory leaves. The meat has much more chew than chicharrones, the closest thing I can compare the cut to, but still retains lots of crackle. White tarbeis beans are also distributed through the dish and everything is laced with a mustard-based dressing most likely herbed with chervil (the little fronds looks like parsley yet taste a little licoricey). The crowning glory is a soft-cooed egg.

I’m so sick of mix and match Financial District lunch salads I could cry. Even the cheapskate in me would order this $12 (oh, it’s $10 at lunch) number on a regular basis if it were available in the neighborhood.

After my new favorite ear mélange and a bottle of Kasteel Donker, curry mussels were superfluous. I was just going for something relatively light and non-meaty. Never mind the French fries and mayonnaise. Those fries were very tasty, but abnormally heavy.

James and I were going to share appetizers, but he was more into the tete de veau sandwich spiced with sriracha and I was obviously smitten with my salad. He actually preferred the head cheese on toast to the much lauded gruyere burger, his entree. I forgot to taste the burger so I’m not sure what to think.

Dessert was a chocolate tasting, from left to right: cinnamon milk chocolate, Sichuan peppercorn dark chocolate and orange dark chocolate. Not purists, we chose all flavored bars, besides they were out of the hardcore 88% cacao anyway. I love Sichuan savory food but I’m not sure how I feel about the use of these crunchy pods in sweets. The metallic tingly effect is kind of overpowering, like licking aluminum foil. I could still feel it while waiting for the 6 train 20 minutes later.

I know that if you were reading a cooking blog and they were whipping up pig’s ears they would be sourced from a quaint farm where the animals are blissful or special ordered by their local butcher they’ve forged a trusting relationship with. And those ears, lovely as they might be, would set you back say, $30. And maybe that’s a small price to pay for quality ears. I don’t know.

But I’m a grocery store girl so Saturday while at Western Beef, my favorite all-purpose supermarket, I browsed the walk-in meat cooler for ears. And of course I found them all frozen and scary looking, yet for a mere $2.39 a pound. I needed no convincing to put them in my cart.

It’s just cartilage, skin and fat. Do you think there is genuinely a marked difference between odd bits from a grocery store and a butcher? That would be one taste test that would be hard to recruit for. Well, I’m only out $3.87  if my pig’s ear cooking experiment goes south. I’ll crack open my copies of Nose to Tail Eating and The River Cottage Meat Book tonight

Resto * 111 E. 29th St., New York, NY

Duda's Tavern

Our attempt at post-dinner harbor-side firework watching was thwarted when a rainstorm kicked in and we were umbrella-less. I can take or leave fireworks so I wasn’t heartbroken that we missed most of the display while trying to find parking in Fell’s Point (it was still nothing compared to NYC scrambling for spots).

James wanted to pop into the Wharf Rat, a place he’d been a million years ago. I would’ve gone anywhere because I didn’t know enough about the city to be discriminating. Fell’s Point Unfortunately, it was temporarily closed with a handwritten sign that the staff had left to watch the fireworks. I got the impression that Thames Street is Baltimore’s Bourbon/Beale/South Street, the bar-lined meat-heady strip that all cities seem to have.

I wasn’t extremely hungry because I’d just eaten half a dozen crabs (well, five out of 12) but I did want to try a crab cake while in Baltimore and I knew nearby Duda’s was rumored to serve an exemplary specimen.

This turned out to be true, and in no time we were presented with a loose baseball-sized mass of lump crab meat minus a lot of nonsense holding it together. Listed as market price, I was wondering what the damage would be. $13.99, as it worked out; a good deal considering crab cakes here tend to be flat, pancakey, 50% filler and cost at least as much.

Two packets of saltine crackers, potato chips, tartar sauce and a choice of coleslaw or potato salad come on the side.

I intended to eat another crab cake the following day at Faidleys but I ended up getting distracted by pit beef instead. Now I’ll never know how Duda’s version stacks up against the local competition.

Duda’s Tavern * 1600 Thames St., Baltimore, MD

Rainbow Coalition

As much as I’m biased against the unshakable ‘80s fetishization in fashion and music, I am excited to see ‘80s make up colors being produced by drugstore brands. I loved rainbow-hued makeup in middle school and I still do. Earlier this year I went crazy for Max Factor’s Vivid Impact mascara and I just noticed Cover Girl’s Blast Eye Enhancers.

(One of my favorite childhood misunderstandings: In third grade, my neighbor Sherri Patterson who had a mild lisp [she had to go to speech therapy. The school wanted me to go too because I did, and still do, talk too fast, but there was no way I was going to some trashy remedial class] ran up to me after recess and exasperatedly started complaining about a new girl in her class, a cover girl. I didn’t really know what she was getting at and all I could think was that maybe this new girl was a model so I way naively asked, “Is she pretty?” “No,” she sassed back, “she’s a colored girl.” Uh, even in 1980 that wasn’t common parlance in the Northwest. And for the record, the new girl was Filipino.)

I know they say that if you wore it the first time around, you’re not allowed to when it comes back into style. But no one’s going to keep me from pink mascara and yellow eye shadow, 36th birthday in 12 days or not.

Chaps Pit Beef

To be honest, I was kind of disinterested in pit beef. I knew that it was a regional form of barbecue but I’m not one who goes gaga over piles of smoked (which this isn’t, technically it’s grilled) meat. But as I’ve often found with vacation food, you never know what will be a hit. We ended up at Chaps two days in a row, despite a big poster of Guy Fieri near the order window. That’s saying something.

You generally eat pit beef, cooked rare and sliced thin, as a sandwich on a kaiser roll. It’s nothing like Arby’s, though on the surface that’s how the sandwiches appear. But they do have a horsey sauce kept on ice in one of a handful of squeeze bottles provided for doctoring. Plain thick horseradish is the traditional condiment. I added the chilled spicy white sauce, Tabasco sauce and a few pickles. Perfection.

With a side of fries and an indoor picnic table (I’m very pro-air conditioning) you have a fine meal. It’s not as if the outdoor view is particularly noteworthy anyway. Chaps is next door to a gentleman’s club and this strip of the Pulaski Highway is lined with liquor stores, adult book stores, convenience stores and little else.

Of interest to me because I’m a reuben fan despite rarely eating them, was their special board advertising its sister sandwich, the rachel. I’ve heard of this treat that swaps corned beef and sauerkraut for turkey and coleslaw but I’ve never seen one first hand. I still haven’t seen one up close. A guy in line behind us ordered one but I didn’t want to stare.

We got sandwiches and ribs to go on the way out of town and I’m glad we did because there’s nothing grosser than a New Jersey turnpike rest stop Sunday night at the tail end of a holiday weekend. I did have to wait in a 40+ deep line to use the bathroom at one point but I wasn’t about to queue for heat lamp Roy Rogers fare when we had the real deal in the car. We did grab some paper bags and napkins from the chain to use as barriers on the storm-soaked picnic tables beyond the parking lot, though.

We ate the ribs for dinner when we got home around 9pm rather than the anticipated late afternoon. I don’t think we will be driving anywhere July 4, 2009.

Chaps Pit Beef * 5801 Pulaski Highway, Baltimore, MD