'Cue Queue

You'd never know it from the weather we've been having, but the word on the street is that summer is headed our way soon. And in my neighborhood, that means barbecue season will soon be upon us.

Before getting the grill ready (and trying out some of the newer offerings around town), I thought I might look for some inspiration from the source: in this case, Lexington, North Carolina. Who knows, I might even claim this blog as a business, get lucky with the I.R.S., and write off my trip there as a tax deduction.

I've been thinking about Lexington barbecue since last summer, when a brief trip to Charlotte (and the amazing Bill Spoon's Barbecue there) left me wishing I had the time to explore further: namely, the North Carolina Barbecue Society's Historic Barbecue Trail. For those of you unfamiliar with this particular slice of pork pit pleasure, North Carolina barbecue consists almost entirely of the shoulder, although you can get different parts of the shoulder depending on the joint (no pun intended), and your tastes.

This year, I went to Greensboro and managed to check out four of the Trail's 25 spots (pictures here).

First on the list was Little Richard’s Bar-B-Que, in Winston. As it seems to be the case with a lot of other prominent 'cue joints in the area, Little Richard's shares its name with several other restaurants, none of which have anything to do with each other. It's probably a bit like the whole Patsy's pizza thing in New York, except that the Little Richard in question here apparently has an unfortunate tendency to fall asleep at the switch and burn his joint down every so often.

That's not quite what happened on my trip, but the heat could have probably used a little taming nonetheless. We ordered our 'cue chopped coarse, which I hoped would lead to a moister meat. Unfortunately, no such luck; the bland dip (a more watery, slightly vinegary take on barbecue sauce) was no help, but the cole slaw (vinegar-based in these parts of the country) was truly extraordinary. Crisp, sharp, tangy, and slightly herb-y, it might just make me reconsider mayo-based cole slaw for my next picnic. They also had some delightful onion rings, even if they were sliced a bit thick.

Next on the list was Speedy Lohr's, in Arcadia. Though apparently only staffed by 15-year-olds and 65-year-olds, this was definitely the friendliest of the lot (although being friendly in a barbecue joint apparently consists of stopping by every three minutes and asking if you need anything), and offered the best dip: a little molass-y, and a little vinegary. The meat was a little on the non-memorable side, but they did do a nice job of not over-frying the hush puppies. Once other nice touch: the smoking section is at least twice as large as the non-smoking.

We were running a little low on time, so we took out order from The Barbecue Center to go, but not before I snapped a shot of the requisite cannibalistic animal logo. The Center had the moistest meat of the bunch, so I was sorry I didn't stick around. But I had the Lexington Barbecue on my mind, and they didn't disappoint. My two friends who were with me disagreed, but I found the meat here to be the most satisfying, thanks to a strong smokiness that clung to the pork's generous fat. The sauce tasted a bit like it might have been made by the same folks who make that awful Gravy Master stuff, but I found myself somehow liking it anyway, as it added a salty punch (and a modest heat) to all that smoke.

And the best part? The platter, which includes the meat, the slaw, and the side, never cost more than $7,

Little Richard’s Bar-B-Que, Winston-Salem
4885 Country Club Rd.
Winston-Salem, NC 27104
(336) 760-3457

Speedy Lohr’s BBQ of Arcadia
8000 N. Hwy 150 – Enterprise Rd.
Lexington, NC 27295
(336) 764-5509

The Barbecue Center, Inc., Lexington
900 N. Main Street
Lexington, NC 27292
(336) 248-4633

Lexington Barbecue, Lexington
10 Hwy 29-70 South
Lexington, NC 27295
(336) 249-9814

Grand Delusion

Although it's not something that I do all the time, I have an occasional hankering to embark on a truly sadistic food mission. Some of you might recall how this led to my consumption of lamb testicles. Others might have heard my swagger about, at some point, eating balut. But those who know me the best know that my preferred method of joyful self punishment is spicy, spicy food.

Some spicy food, I'll admit, is just a gimmick -- so-called "suicidal" buffalo wings, for instance. Others, like a Thai jungle curry or a vindaloo, really suffer without the heat. And still others seem like a sick joke, but end up becoming a perennial favorite. I put Sichuan hot pot and that last category.

To be honest, I'm inclined to agree with the notion that you can't get a proper Sichuan dish in Manhattan. Once you've had the blissful tongue-numbing chicken salad at Flushing's Spicy and Tasty, for instance, the stuff around Canal Street starts to look a little pale. But there are moments when you don't have it in you to make the two-hour round-trip to the end of the 7 line, and Grand Sichuan (the one in Chinatown, at least) turns out to be a distant but acceptable runner-up.

The main dishes there tend to run about $9, including the twice-cooked pork that our waitress recommended. It was essentially pork belly, scallions, and green bell peppers cooked in chili oil. Although it's certainly hard to mess up pork belly, I was sorry that the dish did not have the distinctive tingle you get from proper Sichuan peppercorns.

The hot pot, on the other hand, did not disappoint.

For those of you who haven't had a Chinese hot pot experience, here is how it basically works. You start with a large pot of broth that remains boiling over a gas burner. Then you put various meats and vegetables in it, let it cook in the broth, and eat the cooked goodies and broth together.

At Grand Sichuan, they give you the option of picking a mild chicken-based broth, or a spicy pepper-based broth. You can even get the two side-by-side. We opted for just the pepper-based broth, to the surprise (and amusement, perhaps) of our waitress, the other waitresses, the other customers, and (most likely) the kitchen staff. We figured that if we were going to go down, we would go down swinging.

What we ended up with was about 2 quarts of bubbling soup spiked with about 50 chili peppers. It looked like someone had just melted a ball of red wax. It looked like stomach cancer in a bowl. It looked like the devil's soul. As soon as I had my first sip of the broth, I knew that I would be facing a serious case of hot hole tomorrow.

But it was worth it. By the time you're half way through the hot pot (they charge you by the topping, by the way -- veggies tend to be under $5, while meet tends to be about $7 -- and two toppings per person is more than enough, even if you're hungry), you start to feel a little high. As we made our way through to dish, we realized that a lot of the pain was not from the spiciness itself, but because the high temperature of the hot pot intensified the spice so that it felt much worse (or much better). I'm pretty sure that, by the end, my body was pumping more endorphins through me than blood.

Grand Sichuan
125 Canal St. @ Bowery just north of the Manhattan Bridge (map)
(212) 625-9212

Zhou 'nuff, Part II: Still keepin' it real

Our quest for authentic Fuzhou fare continued at A San Fuzhou Restaurant, and I can sum up its credentials in three lines:

1. Not a word of English is seen nor spoken there;
2. Someone was smoking inside, and no one seemed to care;
3. Even the vegetarian dish had meat in it.

But, oh, what a delicious "vegetarian" dish it was. I'm afraid I can't transliterate the name of this $8 stir-fried tofu revelation (I did, however, save the check so I could order it again on my next visit), and I'm pretty sure I can't do very much justice to its glory, either. Not only did the tofu have a firm but spongy texture (which is a good thing, despite the way it might sound), it had a surprising smokiness that somehow made me wish it came with a side of collard greens (now that's some Asian fusion I wouldn't mind seeing).

Our fish ($17) was also a hit, stuffed with garlic and essentially deep-fried to 11. While I certainly liked the way it turned out, I'm not so sure it's too different from the Mazola-blasted specimens I've seen in countless other Chinese restaurants. An order of ribs ($8) didn't seem too different from the lychee rou we tried over at Best Fuzhou, except that it included potatoes.

Oh, and you can't argue with the price on those beers.

A San Fuzhou Restaurant
7 Eldridge St. b/n Division and Canal (map)

Reykjavik Edition: Twenty bucks a course

Even with the Icelandic krona trading for about 10% less against the dollar than it did a month ago, Reykjavik has to be the most expensive city I've ever visited. Think about how much more expensive things in Hawaii are compared to California. Now think of Iceland as the Hawaii of Scandinavia. The prices would make even a Tokyo native blush.

As a rule of thumb, food in Reykjavik cost about twice what it would cost in Manhattan--Midtown Manhattan, that is. But even in Reykjavik, where a half-hour cab ride to the airport costs about $140, I managed to find a few standout courses that, if not entirely affordable, at least kept me from having to go to the local (surprisingly popular) Subway branch.

My favorite spot was Sægreifinn, a shanty on the water in the city center. Here, you'll find three long tables arranged cafeteria-style, with a counter where you can order lobster soup (about $10), or kebabs made with scallops (about $20), whale ($14), or potato ($2--whew!). The minke whale, cooked medium rare, had the taste and texture of about two parts steak and one part liver (unlike the puffin I had the night before, which was more like half steak, half liver); the scallops were freakishly large, and not worth it when considering the fact that you could get an equal portion of lobster for the same price. The lobster, mind you, was some of the best I've ever had. It was nicely grilled, with plenty of garlic sprinkled for good measure, but pleasantly rare in the center--making it just sweet and melty, like the flavor of a good raw shrimp or squid. But the lobster soup is what stole the show. Creamy, salty, and fishy at the same time, the whole thing reminded me of a lighter version of bisque, but with plenty of nice lobster chunks inside. It's easy to imagine a grizzled Icelandic sailor stepping in from the bitter cold for a hot bowl of this soup.

Lobster soup and minke whale at Sægreifinn

Later at night, I hit up Nonnabiti for a Lambabátur (lamb sandwich, about $15) that was nearly magical. Served with a creamy "special sauce" (who knows?), lettuce, dried onions (maybe) and pickles, the lamb is sliced paper-thin, and cooked to crisp up around its edges. The crisping is critical, as it gives the lamb meat a bacon-y texture that ... well, is bacon-y. And who can argue with that?

Apparently, there is a Nonnabiti vs. Hlölla-Bátar rivalry in Reykjavik that is not unlike the Pat's vs. Geno's controversy in Philadelphia. I'm sorry to say that I can't report on the difference, as the choice was made easy for me: you have to order your Hlölla-Bátar sandwiches outdoors. At least that gives me an excuse to return to Reykjavik in the summer.

Sægreifinn
Geirsgata 8, 101 Reykjavík
Tel. +354 553 1500

Nonnabiti
Hafnarstræti 11, 101 Reykjavík
Tel. +354 551 2312

Zhou 'nuff

Every time I get back to New York on the Chinatown bus, I can't help but wonder what goes on behind so many of those storefronts east of Chrystie Street. A part of me that reasons that they're so dingy, uninviting, and completely oblivious to non-Chinese speakers, that there has to be something incredibly authentic about the restaurants there. The most I know about the majority of these joints is that they're likely to be Fu Zhou; and that's not exactly an area of food that I've spent a lot of time exploring.

Luckily, a good friend of mine who speaks some pretty decent Mandarin works at a courthouse nearby, and was enthusiastic about taking me to an out-of-the-way spot that served up the full East Chinatown experience.

It began even before we walked into Best Fuzhou Restaurant. What I thought was the restaurant turned out to be a makeshift hardware store; next door was our intended destination -- so out-of-the-way that I initially missed it even with the street address in my hand. When we did walk in, we were hit with a smell that was neither good nor bad, but was unequivocably, ineffably China.

Neither the waitstaff nor the kitchen staff spoke any amount of English that would be helpful to a novice; even the menu was entirely in Chinese. With my fearless interpreter to guide me, however, we were able to order up some lychee rou ($7, number 122 on the menu) and some yu ren ($3, number 2 on the menu), as well as a non-Fu Zhou pork dish ($8) that was off the menu, but apparently something of a national favorite.

The lychee rou is a bit like sweet and sour pork with potatoes, green peppers, and carrots, although the sweetness is definitely dialed down, as is the sour; it's more of a savory and tangy, and certainly a step up from the old Chinese-American staple (though I will happily admit that I'm very much a sucker for a good sweet and sour pork). There is also no lychee in it -- it's just that the port has a vaguely testicle-y shape that also resembles lychee. I guess the folks who first came up with it decided that lychee was a better marketing angle than testicle. Fans of Cheburechnaya, however, might beg to differ.

The yu ren is an order of 10 fish balls in a light, tangy broth. The fish balls are roughly the size of golf balls, and function as a dumpling stuffed with a small amount of pork (as you can see, there was a common theme to or order). This was definitely one of my favorite food finds in the last few months, as the richness of the pork was a good balance to the brininess of the fish. I was also very happy at how light the broth was, and what a good finish it had. This could easily be big enough for a moderate meal, and has to be one of the best food values in the city.

Unfortunately, I'm afraid I can't offer much insight into the last pork dish. However, I certainly plan on going back to Best Fuzhou, so I imagine there will be more pork offerings in the future. Incidentally, although Fu Zhou food often involves seafood, the fish tanks at the restaurant didn't inspire the most amount of confidence; that being said, I've never been a fan of fish tanks in the first place, and I'm reasonably confident that whatever they have in the kitchen came from a fairly reliable source.

Best Fuzhou Restaurant
68 Forsyth St. at Hester (map)
(212) 219-9933

Note: Menu says they are open until 2 a.m.

Nothing to pooh-pooh

The first time I went to San Francisco (the first time I wasn't a toddler, at least), I passed by a Thai restaurant named Phuket, and had no idea how to properly pronounce its name. So when my curiosity got the better of me, I asked a waitress inside for some help.

"It's poo-ket," she said. "Like 'We need to poo.'"
"What?"
"We need to poo?"

And then I realized: she meant "Winnie the Pooh."

So my digression was pretty pointless, except that it's tangentially related to the fact that I'm happy to report that, since then, I've been able to experience a lot more Thai foods, including the food of Thailand's northeastern Isaan region.

Isaan food, on a very general level, is a bit more intense than its central counterpart, with more heat and sourness. If you're a fan of larb, you owe it to yourself to try a place that specializes in Isaan fare. Zabb, in the Woodside/Jackson Heights border, is a pretty good bet, and has a near-legendary catfish salad that's easily worth the hype. Relative newcomer Poodam's, on the eastern half of Astoria, makes a seafood papaya salad ($13) that, though simple, should be proud to compete against the likes of Zabb or even the venerated Sripraphai's best dishes. Crisp and well balanced, it features a generous portion of assorted crustaceans and cephalopods that are almost miraculously tender. Of course, they didn't go easy on the sourness or the spice, but the heat balanced the sourness just enough to bring out the dish's sweet undertone; definitely an example of the whole being greater than the sum of its parts.

Not as thrilling was the basil duck ($13), which was so overcooked that it was almost dry (which is a hard thing to do with duck). The pla som (preserved fish, $9), though good and salty, wasn't as pungent as I had hoped it would be. Still, my companion and I both got the sense that the Isaan side of Poodam's menu was definitely the better bet; it certainly had the more intriguing options. I think that, next time, I might go for the fried morning glory.

Poodam's Thai (website)
44-19 Broadway, Queens (map)
(718) 278-3010

Textbook pasta for a college neighborhood

For nearly a year, I've avoided writing about Pisticci because I liked not having to wait more than five minutes for a table at this cozy, no-frills neighborhood Italian joint near the northern tip of Morningside Heights. But the secret seems to already be out as of late, so there's no reason to deny you my favorite pasta in Manhattan.

I know I'm not immune from a little bit of neighborhood chauvinism, but that's not to say that Piscticci doesn't make a classic, toothy pasta sauced with a simple, light touch. I'm not so thrilled about their main courses, or their desserts, but their spaghetti pomodoro ($8) is exactly what spaghetti should be (don't spring for the meatballs, either). Sure, the tomatoes probably came out of a can, but you'd be hard-pressed to find anything better at this price, and certainly at this time of year. The same goes for the penne Pisticci ($11), which includes marble-sized chunks of fresh mozzarella, and the somewhat meatier (in feel, if not in actual meatiness) fettuccine with wild mushrooms ($12). You can get truffle oil added for an extra $2.50--I'm into it, but it is a little pricey. Not quite the highway robbery that is the $4 basil at Patsy's, but a bit ridiculous nonetheless. I suppose it depends on how you feel about truffles--my old roommate said it tasted like a mushroom farted in the woods.

Pisticci (map)
125 La Salle Street (Between Broadway & Claremont)
1/9 to 125th Street