Burger on the Brain

There are few things as rapturous as opening up wide and taking that first big bite of a juicy burger; it’s an explosion of sensations you can barely contain in between your lips. The soft bun is familiar and comforting in the way that only bread can be; the thick beef patty is redolent in all its meaty glory; and the melted cheese oozes gooeyness that bines the flavors and textures together for the perfect mouthful.

I like burgers, obviously; and lately, I’ve been on a burger binge. I seem order one every other time I eat out.

Let us begin with Grace—LA restaurant Grace, that is, and the burger they put on the menu Sunday nights. What I enjoyed about this burger was everything that was on the plate with it. It wasn’t just about the burger, which was wonderful; the sides and condiments also rose to meet its quality. The fries were tender and well seasoned; they were good enough to eat plain, if the ketchup and mayonnaise aioli weren’t so good to pass up.

The ketchup has a unique sweetness to it that to me was reminiscent of ketchup from the Philippines that is made from bananas, a.k.a. Filipino ketchup or Banana ketchup if you want to look for it in stores. The aioli was rich and creamy and seasoned ‘til it had an almost briny quality to it. Two pickle wedges finished the plate. And while I’m not a big fan of vinegar pickles—probably ‘cause I’ve had many badly cured ones in my past—these were good. The pickles still had their bite and they weren’t so soaked in vinegar that they became astringent. Finally to fuss over the burger, the bun perfectly soft and spongy—I’m a firm believer in soft bread for a burger—and in the right portion to the patty.

But what took my meal over the top was the chocolate ginger shake I had to wash it all down; it was probably the thickest, creamiest shake I’ve ever had. It was like drinking velvet, ultra-smooth, super rich, and divinely chocolate.



Just up the coast, the burger from the Tupelo Junction Café ruled a daytrip to Santa Barbara with a patty covered in melted cheese studded with bits of caramelized onions. It was an excellent lunch to fuel my afternoon of walking and shopping up and down State St. with out-of-town friends. The Tupelo Junction Café also serves its burger with fried sweet pickles, as well as French fries; a Southern thing that I wish would get more play in other parts of the country.

From one beachside city to another, my most recent burger was a “gourmet burger” made of ground Rib eye, New York steak, and Filet Mignon at the Library Alehouse in Santa Monica. I’ve been curious about the Library Alehouse for sometime and finally made a point to have dinner there last week. I think the server ran the burger to me the second it came off the grill, because the lovely juices that rolled in my mouth when I took the first bite were hot, not warm, and if there wasn’t all-the-fixing with it, it probably would have burned.



A good burger is satisfying—no bones about it—and I’ve had three this summer.


Grace Restaurant
7360 Beverly Blvd.
Los Angeles, CA 90036
Phone: (323) 934-4400
www.gracerestaurant.com

Tupelo Junction Cafe
1218 State St.
Santa Barbara, CA 93101
Phone: (805) 899-3100
www.tupelojunction.com

Library Alehouse
2911 Main St
Santa Monica, CA 90405-5315
Phone: (310) 314-4855
www.libraryalehouse.com

A Full Evening at Ford's Filling Station

I've always thought of myself as a one glass of wine, one bottle of beer, or one cocktail with my meal kind of gal. As a result, I'm shy about suggesting ordering a bottle of wine when dining out with friends, preferring to play it safe with something by the glass. But I had dinner with E. a couple nights ago who feels differently on the subject. She thinks wine by the glass is a complete rip-off and restaurants make away like bandits on suckers (my word, not hers) like me who go in for it; moreover, the amount in a bottle is made for two to share, she stressed. Persuaded by her argument, I decided to do a bottle with her.

After some thought and consideration of a Vouvray or Sancerre, I choose the Sancerre ‘thought pricier of the two and more of a spurge. (E. let me pick the wine.) It was a light 'n lively fruity wine that was very drinkable. E. and I finished it nicely during our 3-hour leisurely dinner, proving E.'s bottle and 2-people theory and leaving me surprisingly proud our accomplishment—I'm not as much of a lightweight as I thought.

With issues of drink discussed and out of the way, E. and I moved to address the food situation. We quickly decided that none of the entrées were that compelling, so we'd share assorted appetizers instead.



The first of our three rounds of food was a plate of cured meats and flatbread with shrimp and white bean purée. Now maybe my palate has been compromised by spicy salumi and hot pastrami sandwiches when it comes to cured meats, and it can't appreciate the subtle tastes that lomo and bresaola have to offer, but I found our meat plate to be lacking in a little something. I would have liked it dressed with more than olives, possibly some olive oil and cracker pepper to encourage these lean cuts of meat to release more flavors.

The flatbread with shrimp remains one of my favorites at Ford's; the second time around for me was as good as my first time last year. And as I said before, it’s the thin slices of fresh lemons that make this dish; they are the perfect grace note to the other mellow flavors on the bread, brightening the creamy beans and delicate shrimp with a touch of citrus.

The second round continued the parade from the sea with Kusshi oysters on the half-shell with a tomato jam mignonette and fried clams. What can be said about the divine pleasure that is eating—or slurping—a raw oyster that hasn't been said already; words often fail in the experience, which for some are profound the first time—including me. Full of contradictions, oysters are beautiful things to eat: simultaneous sweet and briny, and possessing a mouth-feel that’s cool and refreshing, yet rich and luxuriant.

But enough about oysters in general, and more about these Kusshi; they were plumb little things, more sweet and lighter on the brine. The tomato mignonette didn't do much for me and actually washed away some of the flavor of the oyster, so in the end I preferred to go without the condiment. The fried clams were just fun to eat—popcorn of the sea. I'd had them before and their quality remained consistent. They were fried well; crisp cornmeal batter sealed the juicy sweetness of the clams, which were tender and nicely done, chewy without being rubbery.



I started seeing red when our final around of food was brought to our table, meaning it was time to dig into the steak tartare and roasted beets with burrata. While I'm comfortable eating dried meat that I know is in essence still raw, this was my first time with fresh, raw meat. I don’t know what I was expecting, but this steak tartare wasn't it. And it wasn't because I didn’t like it, but what threw me was that the raw meat was so altered in appearance that I couldn't recognize it. I was expecting ground beef and marbled texture, but these red bits were lean and looked diced into mini cubes.

‘Though my perceptions of beef were being challenged, I can honestly say I liked the steak tartare. While being strange and new, there was something oddly familiar about it, too; and after repeated puzzling mouthfuls, I finally put my finger on it—it tasted like an altered version of corned beef and hash. Now bear with me, this wasn't the wine talking, doing a number on my cognitive functions and taste buds 'cause we'd finished the bottle by now. There was seasoned beef, topped with a fried egg and served with potato chips. Think about it—see the connection. I announced this to E. and she saw were I saw coming from although she's didn't taste it that way herself.

The roasted beets seemed pedestrian when next to the steak tartare cum radical corned beef, but they were pleasantly so. I'm very fond of beets and cook them at home, so I've found another simple preparation for them. I also like the delicate touch of creaminess that the burrata brought; it was a richness that didn't overpower the mild beets.





Six plates later, E. and I had eaten a lot of food, obviously, but I was still determined to have desert. One needs to have something sweet to cap off a meal like this; it's only proper. And when a girl wants satisfaction in food, what does she do—she heads straight for the chocolate. So it was with me in the form of a chocolate malted créme brûlée with fudge bottom.

I had saved room for this and wouldn't be denied the gratification. I crack the burnt sugar, plunge my spoon through the chocolate cream, and scrap up through the fudge-y bottom. First anticipation, then taste, and finally the reward of pure pleasure; each bite was a chocolate rush that made me giddy, layers of chocolate, cream and fudge, melting in waves across my tongue.

So, happiness came, one bottle of wine, six small plates, one desert, and two cups of coffee later—and it was worth the wait, and the bill.

I left Ford’s Filling Station full—and bursting.



Ford's Filling Station
9531 Culver Blvd.
Los Angeles, CA 90232
Ph: 310-202-1470
www.fordsfillingstation.net

T.G.I.F. at Sofi Greek Restaurant

There are times when one just doesn't feel like cooking and I had one of those times a few Fridays ago. But thankfully for me, I didn't have to worry about firing up the stove and feeding myself that night, because I was meeting my cousin, C.P., for dinner at Sofi Greek Restaurant on 3rd St..

Sofi is a cozy place two doors down from A.O.C. You walk down a short alley and are greeted with an open patio area that is the outdoor part of the restaurant. Their indoor seating is to the right and is the dining room you see from the street.

The evening C.P. and I were there the patio was reserved for a private party, which also cause us some confusion when trying to get a table because the waiter thought we didn't want to sit unless we were seated outside. That wasn't the case for us, but we were having issues with communication, obviously. After a second attempt at talking with the waiter, we finally expressed ourselves in a manner that got us into the empty, and waiting, dining room, which was more than fine with me 'cause by that time all I wanted was to sit somewhere, anywhere, and eat something, anything. But throughout the night, it did seem the patio was the place of choice and much more popular with patrons. We had the quiet dining room all to ourselves virtually the whole evening while outside was buzzing.

C.P. being the nice, sweet girl she is let me takeover with ordering what we would eat, so that insured we would be dining on dips all night. While I like all the kinds of things Greek cuisine has to offer, what I really love the most are their dips. Give me every dip on the menu, an endless basket of warm pita bread, and a bottle of light and fruity Greek wine, and I'm a happy camper eating Greek any day 'n all day. But I wasn't going to scare C.P. with my extreme food ways this being only the second time I've hung out with her since she's been in LA, so I settled on two dips and a glass of wine for myself—C.P. wasn't drinking that night and I didn't want to seem a lush.

The dip that I order at every Greek restaurant, if I have my way, is Taramosalata, which is made with salt cured fish roe. Although some maybe put off by its slight fishiness, it's my favorite of the dips usually seen on a traditional menu. Sofi's was particularly buttery soft and silky smooth, and wonderfully rich with the warm pita. By the end of dinner, C.P. and I had pretty much clean the plate. Equally creamy was the Tsatziki, or yogurt with cucumber, the other dip of the night. While we ate some of it with pita, most of it was use to compliment the lamb dish that came later. And finally, there was Ochtapodi or broiled octopus marinated in olive oil, lemons, and herbs, which was surprisingly tender and had a texture I didn't expect—soft and almost milky.




We were still working on our appetizers when our entrées arrived to crowd our table even more. For me, the lamb or Arni Bouti was the winner of the night in the main dish category. The meat was sliced from a whole leg and served with a fluffy rice pilaf and soft green beans. I'm not a big fan of mushy veggies unless they are doused in cream, i.e. creamed spinach, creamed peas, creamed corn, so I ate my green beans, but I didn't necessarily like them. The rice, however, was really pleasing and well cooked. I'm often unhappy with rice in non-Asian restaurant, but this wasn't one of those times. The other big plate I ordered was Pastisio, or pasta layered with ground beef and tomatoes—the Greek take on lasagna. But Sofi's Pastisio came out layered with potatoes, so it was more of an au gratin. While still very tasty and a soft, comforting texture, I was disappointed that it was sans pasta.

Eating slowly and lingering over the food, C.P. and I managed to finish a lot of what I ordered, although it did leave us no room for desert; but Sofi did nothing to rush us out the door and we sat until well after 9:00 PM. So all in all, after a rough start of getting a table, we were able to sit at that table all we wanted and ultimately asked them for the check when we wanted to leave.


Sofi Greek Restaurant
8030 3/4 West 3rd Street
Los Angeles, CA 90048
tel: 323-651-0346
fax: 323-651-0347
www.sofigreekrestaurant.com

Working Pho

I don't hide my love of noddle soups, but my heart is divided between what kind of noddle soup I adore most. I have great fondness for wonton noddle soup and will go to any lengths to eat a really good bowl. And the truly good bowls are burned into my memory, where and when I had them are mentally filed away, but easily recalled at the moments notice—2 food stalls in 2 different towns in Malaysia; Full Kee, Wheaton, Md.; Good Tastes, Portland, Ore., etc....

Then there's laksa, a sentimental favorite, which in someways is also my birthright, or at least I've eaten it almost since birth—as early as a child can handle hot, spicy adult food. It is one of the noddle soup I prefer to eat at home, because members of my family make it well. Although I will eat laska at the drop of hat in Malaysia.

Ramen is a noodle that has a hold on me both in its lowest and highest form. I won't deny eating cases of instant ramen in college, while now I have the pick of many wonderful ramen shops across LA. I crave cold soba in the summer and like hot udon when I don't want ramen, but still want something Japanese.

Finally, I find myself with Pho. I will confess there are times I forget about Pho, distracted by other noodle soup vying for my tummy time. But invariable I will return to it; and when I do, I remember why I like it so much—soft rice noodles, fresh basil and bean sprout, a beefy broth with the touch of lime you control.

Such was the case when I needed to have a working dinner a couple weeks ago. Hungry after work, but not done with work, E and I needed a good meal to sustain us for a couple hours of overtime. It was Pho that galilantly saved the day, or should I say evening—a good bowl to make the job bearable.

While I can't say Pho 99 is my number one Pho, my feelings run deep enough to stand up for it and say it's about as good as one gets on the Westside.




Pho 99
11819 Wilshire Blvd. (at Granville)
Los Angeles, CA 90025
(310) 312-7881

Persian State of Mind

I've been thinking about Persian food ever since a post about Azerbaian Pilaf with Pomegranate Meatballs on the food blog, "Toast". Lucky for me, I live in LA where there are Persian restaurants a plenty. So one evening, my friend S and her husband D helped me get my Persian fix at Javan in West Los Angeles.

Our meal began with lots and lots of lavosh eated with slices of raw onions, butter, and sumac. That was only the beginning of the feast of plenty that characterized the evening. Food round one was 2 appetizers: eggplant topped with yogurt and mint or Kashk O'Bademjan and yogurt with cucumber and herbs or Must O'Kheyar. Although I generally dislike most "fruit-on-the-bottom" yogurt, I'm a fan of plain yogurt, especially in Greek, Middle Eastern, and Indian cusines—I like yogurt, but I don't like it sweet. In this case, the yogurt was thick and creamy, a nice dip for the bread.

The sheer amount of food they serve at Javan is thrilling—big dishes, piled high and spilling over with rice and meat. When our entrées came out, we were shuffling and shifting plates to fit everything on the table. I had a combination of 2 kinds of lamb stews cooked in a tomato sauce, Gheymahont and Badenjanont (below, top right). The lamb fell off the shank, fork tender and moist; and the tangy sauce helped to balance the meat's richness. S ordered chicken with sautéed walnuts in a pomegrante sauce, Fesenjannt (below, bottom right)—a luxurious dish. The pomegrante sauce was concentrated and complex. It had a deep, mellow spiciness that reminded me of certain Malaysian curries that are slow simmered until the flavors meld and deepened. D got the Zereshk Polo (below, bottom left), a baked chicken dish served with sour currant and saffron rice. The chicken was the well-prepared, but the real delight was the rice. The currants sparkled in the rice like red jewels and added a taste that was equally lively on the palate as they were bright to the eyes.




We didn't finish our dinners, but that didn't stop us from getting desert—Baghlava and Persian ice cream. Both sweets were flavored with rose, but the baghlava was the more satisfying of the two deserts. It was sweet without being cloy and the pastry was tender and flakey. Unfortunately, the ice cream tasted like it had been in the freezer too long. It came frozen hard on a plate and when it did thaw a bit, it softed to a gummy, gluey texture—not ideal for ice cream.



Overall, the food was good and the large servings made it a good value. I need to remember to eat Persian food more often.


Javan Restaurant
11500 Santa Monica Blvd.
Los Angeles, CA 90025
(310) 207 - 5555
www.javanrestaurant.com