Don't nix this tamal

Every third week or so, the food section of the New York Times feels embarrassed about phoning it in and cribs a lead from Chowhound or Serious Eats.

Feeling locked up from all this rain, I decided to follow in their footsteps and pay a visit to Corona's Nixtamal, which has been grinding up some buzz by virtue of its being one of the few joints in the City to offer up fare made with fresh masa.

Put (overly) simply, masa is the dough that you get after you take ground corn soaked in a slaked lime bath to remove the husks (the concoction is called nixtamal). You'll find the dried stuff all over town, but I was surprised to learn that you couldn't just go out and buy the fresh stuff. Fans of Mexican food swear by the difference between the two, so I had to give it a try.

We tried three tamales (verde, chipotle, and mole; $2.50 each), an order of fish tacos ($6 for three), and the chips and guacamole ($6). I thought about trying the pozole as well ($5), but figured that I wouldn't be able to tell the difference so much when the masa was thrown into a stew. Besides, I had to leave something for the next trip.

To be honest, I couldn't tell if the masa in the tamales were any better. The corn filling in tamales always had the texture of congealed grits to me, and I can't say that this felt any different. That being said, the spicy pork filling in the verde was painful bliss, and the pork-chicken mix in the chipotle filling felt like some of the better pulled barbecue I've had. The mole was so-so, no doubt because I never really saw the point of white meat chicken.

The tacos, on the other hand, were flawless all around. The tortilla was soft, springy, and moist--without a doubt the most intensely rewarding I've had in the City. The roasted skate was moist and firm, and well balanced with just the right amount of herbs. Delicate, subtle, and understated, these were the best fish tacos I could recall having. Do yourself a favor and make the trip out there (at the very least, it's a short walk to what I will still refer to as Shea Stadium).

Sadly, although the guacamole was heads and shoulders above the made-at-your-table malarkey they serve at the fancier places, the tortillas were too thick for optimal frying and were too hard to enjoy. It was such a shame, too, since the homemade chips looked so invitingly greasy. I'll probably have to try these again, too.

Tortilleria Nixtamal
104-05 47th Ave. (map), Queens
(718) 699-2434

Lucky Seven

Since I left my beloved Harlem, I've come to learn that the M&G Diner has closed, that Will Oldham played at the Apollo Theatre, and that now-middled-aged Sonic Youth came to Washington Heights. It seems inevitable that a beer garden will open up on 122nd Street and sell growlers to skinny kids in $200 jeans.

It's a relief, then, to see Mitchell's Fish & Chips still going strong in now-tony Prospect Heights. But don't let the name fool you: You want the fried chicken. A quarter bird, with two sides, is a whopping seven bucks if you opt for the dark meat. I found the meat to be crisp and very lightly floured (but well-seasoned), and the meat to be moist and tender. I wouldn't put it up to the level as a piping-hot bird straight from the cast-iron pan at Charles' Southern Kitchen, but it's a much better value if you don't require more than 900 calories in your meal; if you're a fan of Ruthie's, you'll probably find Mitchell's in a similar league.

Like the two soul-food stalwarts, you'll find your share of well-made sides here. I thought the collard greens could be a little smokier, but they had that rare quality of not being unpleasantly mushy. The yams were impeccable, and the okra was perfectly stewed (or so said my dinner companion, who I trust on account of her being a Louisiana native). Their unassuming cornbread isn't sexy, but it's still some of the best I've had in the City.

Mitchell's Fish & Chips (map)
617A Vanderbilt Ave.
(718) 789-3212

Note: The minimalist decor (it looks like a Chinese take-out joint) and slight bleachy smell might not be ideal for some, but Prospect Park is but a half-mile away. Mitchell's is closed on Mondays and Tuesdays.

The cigarette test

As I set foot into Oriental Express, I had a feeling I was about to make either a grave mistake, or a sweet discovery. Luckily, it turned out to be the latter.

Nearly unmarked, and sporting a dingy basement entrance and an outdated moniker, Oriental Express has all the trappings of a secret waiting to be discovered. It also bears all the trappings of an illicit massage parlor or underground gambling hall. Which is why I was relieved to find, even at 3 p.m., a steady flow of hungry customers--from Financial District not-quite-so-fat-anymore cats to immigrant laborers--enjoying their choosings from $5.50 steam table (although you're better off ordering from the counter--the self-serve option didn't look very appetizing). And while it didn't have my favorite hallmark of an authentic Chinese joint--the patron smoking casually in the corner--it came pretty close in the way of the owner chatting up a regular about buying tax-free cigarettes from Georgia.

In a nutshell, that's what this place is: almost as good as the real thing. Couple that with the hole-in-the-wall practice of giving you twice as much food as any God-fearing meal should contain, and you've got my favorite kind of bailout. Mind you, it wouldn't fool anyone for a trip to some place a mile north, but in the Financial District, it's my new go-to place.

Incidentally, I opted for the Singapore curry noodles ($1 surcharge) and grilled chicken. The former did the job just fine. The latter was pure genius--before it was grilled, the chicken was fried. Fried and grilled, together at last? That's even better than "tastes great" and "less filling."

Oriental Express (lunch only) (map)
32 Cedar Street
(212) 797-9477

Home cooking, Dakar-style

Having recently moved out of Harlem, I found that I've been missing all sorts of things I didn't expect to miss, from the creepy old guy outside the retirement home that always says "Hey, baby" to every single girl who walks by (and, once, in what must have been an incredibly surreal moment, even for him, to me at 5 in the morning on a 25-degree day while I was in a suit and dragging a carry-on bag) to the rickety laundromat where, being Korean, I was routinely mistaken for the owner.

I did, however, know that I would miss some of my favorite Senegalese bites. Luckily, I found Joloff in nearby Clinton Hill, a comfortable little joint that bills itself as Senegalese home-cooked goodness. We tried the thiebou jeun ($10) and the thiou tofu ($9), both of which were instant hits.

The thiebou jeun (you might have seen variations in the spelling) is a bluefish/tomato/vegetable stew, served over something they call "Joloff rice," which, I'm convinced, is actually couscous. The fish was a little drier than I had hoped it to be, but the stew was rich with a little tang, and the cabbages in the dish were sweet and flavorful. I don't think I've ever been so excited about cabbage that wasn't pickled or fermented. It's pretty fishy, which is a good thing for me, but don't say I didn't warn you.

I suspect the thiou tofu isn't quite traditional, but you wouldn't have known it. We had the same tomato-based stew, albeit a little sweeter (and, alas, no cabbage), with a soft tofu that was firm on the outside and creamy on the inside. I'm not a big fan of tofu being used as a meat substitute, but it really felt like the dish was built around the tofu here, and not the other way around. Who knew that Senegalese-Asian fusion could be such a hit? That sounds like some pretty good home cooking to me.

Joloff
930 Fulton Street (map)
718-636-4011

Maharaja Gatsby

On our way back from the nerdiest trip, ever, we hopped off the Long Island Rail Road station at Woodside and made our way towards Jackson Heights, where I wanted to return after an anticlimactic outing the night before to a run-of-the-mill buffet at Indian Taj (not necessarily bad, but not a place I would make a one-hour train ride for).

On the other had, I've never been disappointed with the fare at Maharaja Quality Sweets and Snacks, a little vegetarian chat shop just off the bustle of 74th Street. On my past trips there, I've been especially partial to the samosa chat ($5), a nice combination of crunch samosa skin, tangy yogurt, soothing mint, and wicked hot pepper. This time around, we opted for the malai kofta ($8.50), which was richly nutty, and the navrattan korma ($8.50), which came in a cream sauce that was a little thinner than I had hoped for. The poori ($1.50 each), a very thin, two-layered wheat dough that is fried so that it puffs up, was a great surprise, coming out hot, savory, and delicate yet springy. The two of us had plenty left over for lunch.

I will say one thing about Indian Taj, though. While we were there, I saw a 150-pound woman eat a plate of food about the size of a basketball without so much as coming up for air. Dinner *and* a show--now that might actually be worth a trip.

Maharaja Quality Sweets and Snacks
73-10 37th Ave. (map)
Jackson Heights
(718) 505-2680

'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