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Nearly unmarked, and sporting a dingy basement entrance and an outdated moniker, Oriental Express has all the trappings of a secret waiting to be discovered.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

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