As noted previously, Thai food has a fairly small basic ingredient set. Perhaps the most important of these is basil.
The basic stir fry with basil, peppers, onion and meat is called a kra pao, or on English-speaker-friendly menus, ‘Thai basil.’ I always order it because it's my favorite, but because it's a good dish with which to gauge the quality of a Thai restaurant. It allows me to focus on how well it is prepared, rather than wondering what's in it.
Really, I'm doing them a favor. Thai basil should be foolproof.
Thai Herbs (Downtown), a hole in the wall catering to the office worker demographic, manages to get it wrong. On a recent visit I ordered the beef version of Thai basil. What the cook came up with was acceptable lunch fare, but should more properly be labeled 'beef stir fry.'
It contained only 3 or 4 tiny slivers of basil. I've had more basil in dishes that weren't supposed to have basil in them.
A cheap cut of beef is fine, but it has to be sliced thin -- otherwise it takes too long to cook, and comes out tough.
The vegetables were cooked perfectly, sauteed onion and bell pepper, and green beans still crisp. But because they were not overcooked, it doesn't explain the origin of the extra water in the too-thin sauce. I suspect sauce prepared in advance, instead of created in the wok with the rest of the dish.
There are plenty of Thai restaurants in Seattle charging what Thai Herbs charges, yet they deliver a far superior product.
Monday, July 28, 2008
Monday, July 14, 2008
A funny thing happened on the way to the fake cocktail
An odd thing just happened on my way home.
I stopped at the grocery store to pick up lunch fixin's for the rest of the workweek, and on my way to the checkstand I passed the Adult Beverages aisle. I spied with my little eye a single bottle of Mike's Hard Cranberry Lemonade sitting forlornly by itself, next to all the full sixpacks.
Normally I wouldn't touch these faux malt beverage-based cocktails with a ten meter cattleprod, but it was hot (still is as I write this), and I was thirsty (ibid.). So I slipped it into my sustainable canvas shopping bag.
When the clerk rang up the Mike's, the register started bleeping at her. "Uh oh," she said. "The Rules don't let us sell just one of these. I have to put this back," she explained.
Great, a rule to discourage drinking and prevent impulse-boozing. A bureaucratic end to a long day. Another example of Washington's out of control, irrelevant, Temperance-inspired liquor laws.
The situation lets us expose absurdities of these rules:
1) The rules allow the sale of 5/6 of a sixpack;
2) The rules force the clerk to put back a single so that she then can't sell it to someone else;
3) The rules assume that buying 5/6 of a sixpack is not an impulse-buy and doesn't encourage drinking.
Someone please explain.
Maybe I'm just sensitive, as I was in California over the weekend, where they sell liquor in grocery stores and civilization has not collapsed, the election of Arnold Schwarzenegger notwithstanding.
Next time I'll try buying two bottles, as an experiment. Maybe the State doesn't want the bottles to get lonely.
I stopped at the grocery store to pick up lunch fixin's for the rest of the workweek, and on my way to the checkstand I passed the Adult Beverages aisle. I spied with my little eye a single bottle of Mike's Hard Cranberry Lemonade sitting forlornly by itself, next to all the full sixpacks.
Normally I wouldn't touch these faux malt beverage-based cocktails with a ten meter cattleprod, but it was hot (still is as I write this), and I was thirsty (ibid.). So I slipped it into my sustainable canvas shopping bag.
When the clerk rang up the Mike's, the register started bleeping at her. "Uh oh," she said. "The Rules don't let us sell just one of these. I have to put this back," she explained.
Great, a rule to discourage drinking and prevent impulse-boozing. A bureaucratic end to a long day. Another example of Washington's out of control, irrelevant, Temperance-inspired liquor laws.
The situation lets us expose absurdities of these rules:
1) The rules allow the sale of 5/6 of a sixpack;
2) The rules force the clerk to put back a single so that she then can't sell it to someone else;
3) The rules assume that buying 5/6 of a sixpack is not an impulse-buy and doesn't encourage drinking.
Someone please explain.
Maybe I'm just sensitive, as I was in California over the weekend, where they sell liquor in grocery stores and civilization has not collapsed, the election of Arnold Schwarzenegger notwithstanding.
Next time I'll try buying two bottles, as an experiment. Maybe the State doesn't want the bottles to get lonely.
Friday, July 11, 2008
"Show us your Tat's"
That's what it says on the official t-shirts at Tat's Deli (Pioneer Square), direct all complaints to them.
Since the cheesesteak place in Pike Place closed I've been looking for another joint serving good Philly-style cheesesteaks. Yes, I've tried Philadelphia Fevre (East Madison). But those are not cheesesteaks so much as chipped dried beef-like food product, dipped briefly in warm broth. Sorry, but that's how I feel.
I think I've finally found cheesesteak heaven, and I've seen it's Tat's.
I always get the 8-inch with provolone and hot peppers ($7; you can also get a 12-incher, as well as a t-shirt that announces that preference to the world; again, don't send your complaints to me). It comes on a split french roll, filled with a generous portion of moist, perfectly seasoned beef and peppers mixed in.
The first time I was there, the counter guy tried to talk me into ordering my cheesesteak with ketchup. "It's real goooood," he promised. Don't fall for it! I've been to South Philly, I've had a real South Philly steak sandwich, and you sir are no -- that is, no one ever offered me ketchup. If you want tangy, that's what the peppers are for.
Upgrade to an order of fries and a can of pop for just $2.
Warning: the lunch line is often out the door between 11:30 and 12:30.
Update: Tat's has moved to the Interurban Building on Yesler, across from the Sinking Ship garage.
Since the cheesesteak place in Pike Place closed I've been looking for another joint serving good Philly-style cheesesteaks. Yes, I've tried Philadelphia Fevre (East Madison). But those are not cheesesteaks so much as chipped dried beef-like food product, dipped briefly in warm broth. Sorry, but that's how I feel.
I think I've finally found cheesesteak heaven, and I've seen it's Tat's.
I always get the 8-inch with provolone and hot peppers ($7; you can also get a 12-incher, as well as a t-shirt that announces that preference to the world; again, don't send your complaints to me). It comes on a split french roll, filled with a generous portion of moist, perfectly seasoned beef and peppers mixed in.
The first time I was there, the counter guy tried to talk me into ordering my cheesesteak with ketchup. "It's real goooood," he promised. Don't fall for it! I've been to South Philly, I've had a real South Philly steak sandwich, and you sir are no -- that is, no one ever offered me ketchup. If you want tangy, that's what the peppers are for.
Upgrade to an order of fries and a can of pop for just $2.
Warning: the lunch line is often out the door between 11:30 and 12:30.
Update: Tat's has moved to the Interurban Building on Yesler, across from the Sinking Ship garage.
Thursday, July 3, 2008
Friday, June 27, 2008
Seattle Chinese Community Girls Drill Team
Sometimes you're in the mood for a very specific meal, but nothing you can find on a restaurant menu comes close to matching what you want. So it is at the moment with me and Chinese food.
What I want is an authentic, South Seattle-style home-cooked dinner, like I used to get on Monday nights when I was growing up. I've never really found anything quite like it in a restaurant.
You have to make it yourself. My favorite reference for this is "Flavors Of China" by the Chinese Parents Service Organization, which contains favorite recipes from a large number of local families. Proceeds benefit the Seattle Chinese Community Girls Drill Team.
Here are my quickie versions of three excellent examples of the book's comfort food:
These are just three examples from this thick volume! I'm not sure if the book is still being produced; I got mine at a garage sale. It has an orange cover with a plastic comb binding.
What I want is an authentic, South Seattle-style home-cooked dinner, like I used to get on Monday nights when I was growing up. I've never really found anything quite like it in a restaurant.
You have to make it yourself. My favorite reference for this is "Flavors Of China" by the Chinese Parents Service Organization, which contains favorite recipes from a large number of local families. Proceeds benefit the Seattle Chinese Community Girls Drill Team.
Here are my quickie versions of three excellent examples of the book's comfort food:
Chinese "Meatloaf"
1 pound fresh ground pork
1-2 Chinese sausages
4-5 canned water chestnuts
1 egg
soy sauce (optional)
Slice sausage lengthwise into 3-4 strips, then dice; the sausage is important, it has to be the dark red, 50% fat kind, or the dish doesn't work. Finely chop water chestnuts. Mix all ingredients together -- the only good way to do this is to squeeze it all together with your hands! Form into a cake in a shallow, oven-safe dish. Bake at 400 degrees for 30-40 minutes or until juices runs clear (you can also steam it on the stovetop for 40 min.). Serve over rice (spoon the juice onto the rice).
Steamed Eggs
5 eggs
Sliced beef (optional)
Soy sauce (optional)
Beat eggs well. Then slowly mix in 1 to 1-1/2 cups of water. Pour into shallow oven safe-dish. Add sliced beef if desired. Steam on a rack in a covered skillet of boiling water for 40-45 minutes; watch water to make sure it doesn't boil off. Serve over rice. Note: My grandfather got the eggs to come out of the oven glassy-smooth on top; I am unable to replicate this feat, as you will be too.
Barbecued Pork
Boneless pork ribs (should have some fat; 'Boston' style works best)
Hoisin sauce
1 tbsp sugar
1 tbsp soy sauce
garlic, finely chopped, to taste
hot mustard and sesame seeds (optional)
This is ridiculously easy, and they charge you a million bucks for it when ordering take out.
Do this the night before. Lay out a rib left to right. Hold a chef's knife in your right hand, pointed to 10 o'clock, and make diagonal cuts about a 1/2 inch deep into the rib every 1-1/2 to 2 inches. Flip the rib over horizontally and repeat the slicing. Each rib should have the cuts angled in opposite directions on opposite sides.
In a big bowl, mix sugar, soy sauce and garlic with enough hoisin to make a marinade for the ribs. Place ribs in marinade and cover with plastic. Leave overnight so it can work its magic.
The next day. Put an inch of water in a large baking pan and put a rack over it. Remove ribs from marinade, shake off excess sauce and place on rack, twisting each rib enough to open the cuts a little (this also creates little points that get crispy in the oven).
Bake at 400 degrees; as the ribs roast, the juices will drip into the water instead of burning and filling your kitchen with smoke. Turn, and brush on more hoisin every 15-20 minutes. Cooking time varies according to how thick the ribs are -- but you'll know when they're done. Keep an eye on it, and do your best to resist breaking off the crispy bits to 'test it.' Slice and serve with the mustard and sesame seeds.
These are just three examples from this thick volume! I'm not sure if the book is still being produced; I got mine at a garage sale. It has an orange cover with a plastic comb binding.
Friday, June 20, 2008
Thai Civil War
The reality of many restaurants with ethnic menus is that a lot of the dishes are variations on a core of basic ingredients. The exceptional restaurant knows how to take those basics and vary them in interesting ways. The standard restaurant fails to innovate and just exists in time and space.
A prime example of this contrast is currently on display in a little Thai civil war going on near Pioneer Square. In one corner: upstart Thai 65 (93 Marion, $7.50-$9.50). In the other corner, your returning champion, cube worker fave Mae Phim (94 Columbia, everything $5.99).
These establishments are on opposite sides of the venerable Colman Building (which also houses the two Irish pubs Fadó and Owl & Thistle -- Fadó on First Avenue, Owl on the Post Alley side).
The basic ingredient set for Thai food is rice noodles, the sweet sauce, chilis, a vegetable assortment, meat or tofu, coconut milk (when called for), and BASIL.
Yet in terms of the final product Thai 65 and Mae Phim are light years apart.
Mae Phim (foam takeouts)
I've had a few dishes from Mae Phim (but not the soup), and what stands out is that nothing stands out. It all tastes the same -- and not in a good way. The way it's supposed to taste is stir-fried, but the way Mae Phim does it, it comes out tasting braised.
That is: simmered. As a result the flavor lacks the desired taste accompaniment to the sizzle you hear when Thai food is cooked right.
Other quibbles: too much coconut milk transforms braised into bland; small portions on top of a big pile of rice fools you into thinking you're getting more.
And perhaps the biggest sin -- not spicy enough. On the familiar 1-to-5 stars of Thai hotness, 3 is usually on the fence between medium-hot and almost-too-much. Mae Phim's 3 stars is a 1 everywhere else.
Thai 65 (paper takeouts)
On the other hand, Thai 65 is everything Mae Phim is not (and never was). Take a bite of cashew chicken or kra pao and and there it is -- the stir-fry zip and noticeable differentiation of flavors, even though you know both contain many of those same basic ingredients. The flavors are wok-fresh, whereas Mae Phim smacks of pre-cooking.
Especially good is the orange chicken -- not just sliced chicken in syrup, but breaded white meat, delicately soft on the outside, not hard and crusty. The orange sauce does not overpower.
Finally, a tip: Thai 65's hotness scale has a 1 handicap; a 3 is what every other Thai place calls a 4. So be warned.
Mae Phim est mort. Vive le Thai 65.
A prime example of this contrast is currently on display in a little Thai civil war going on near Pioneer Square. In one corner: upstart Thai 65 (93 Marion, $7.50-$9.50). In the other corner, your returning champion, cube worker fave Mae Phim (94 Columbia, everything $5.99).
These establishments are on opposite sides of the venerable Colman Building (which also houses the two Irish pubs Fadó and Owl & Thistle -- Fadó on First Avenue, Owl on the Post Alley side).
The basic ingredient set for Thai food is rice noodles, the sweet sauce, chilis, a vegetable assortment, meat or tofu, coconut milk (when called for), and BASIL.
Yet in terms of the final product Thai 65 and Mae Phim are light years apart.
Mae Phim (foam takeouts)
I've had a few dishes from Mae Phim (but not the soup), and what stands out is that nothing stands out. It all tastes the same -- and not in a good way. The way it's supposed to taste is stir-fried, but the way Mae Phim does it, it comes out tasting braised.
That is: simmered. As a result the flavor lacks the desired taste accompaniment to the sizzle you hear when Thai food is cooked right.
Other quibbles: too much coconut milk transforms braised into bland; small portions on top of a big pile of rice fools you into thinking you're getting more.
And perhaps the biggest sin -- not spicy enough. On the familiar 1-to-5 stars of Thai hotness, 3 is usually on the fence between medium-hot and almost-too-much. Mae Phim's 3 stars is a 1 everywhere else.
Thai 65 (paper takeouts)
On the other hand, Thai 65 is everything Mae Phim is not (and never was). Take a bite of cashew chicken or kra pao and and there it is -- the stir-fry zip and noticeable differentiation of flavors, even though you know both contain many of those same basic ingredients. The flavors are wok-fresh, whereas Mae Phim smacks of pre-cooking.
Especially good is the orange chicken -- not just sliced chicken in syrup, but breaded white meat, delicately soft on the outside, not hard and crusty. The orange sauce does not overpower.
Finally, a tip: Thai 65's hotness scale has a 1 handicap; a 3 is what every other Thai place calls a 4. So be warned.
Mae Phim est mort. Vive le Thai 65.
Friday, June 13, 2008
"We don't have those"...
...the waiter at Olive You (Greenwood) said to me, at 11am on a Saturday morning, in response to my request, Hi, I just wanted to stop in for an omelet.
It's on the menu posted out front, I replied to his reply.
"Oh, we stopped doing that a while ago," he said, lackadaisically.
No omelets? This is a Greek restaurant?
"Yes."
That’s open for brunch?
"That’s right."
Then it’s the strangest Greek restaurant I’ll never eat in.*
* I don't count the time we went in to Olive You for take out. It was during their first month in existence. We chatted with the owner, and before you could say avgolemono he had talked us into homemade dolmathes, marinated peppers, calimari and olives for a cool $45. Apparently the only thing we didn't get was the undercoating.
It's on the menu posted out front, I replied to his reply.
"Oh, we stopped doing that a while ago," he said, lackadaisically.
No omelets? This is a Greek restaurant?
"Yes."
That’s open for brunch?
"That’s right."
Then it’s the strangest Greek restaurant I’ll never eat in.*
* I don't count the time we went in to Olive You for take out. It was during their first month in existence. We chatted with the owner, and before you could say avgolemono he had talked us into homemade dolmathes, marinated peppers, calimari and olives for a cool $45. Apparently the only thing we didn't get was the undercoating.
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