Father’s Office (Santa Monica)

Father's knows best?

Welcome to the land of ketchup exile. Chef Sang Yoon enforced a strict code of, “You’ll eat it and like it.” As in do not touch, sully, or sabotage. Yoon fitted Father’s burger to his exact specifications and that meant no ketchup on the premises. Inserting that type of personal perspective was akin to adding a blob of paint to a Degas or editing a piece by Vonnegut. It just wasn’t done.

Actually, it was almost as if Father’s Office was daring you to give him lip about the way he ran things – starting out with getting physically barred at the door by a bouncer’s stiff arm until your ID was checked (21 and up, even during the daytime) or ordering food through the bartenders, who were already busy slinging beers, so you’d have to wait until they got to you.

If you didn’t like it, then leave. They dared ya.

But it was obvious there was heart beneath the tough bravado and a homespun intimacy to the place - bare bones with a handful of wooden tables and chairs; a raw plank designated as the bar. I think the idea was that if you were willing to stick around through a little abuse and minimal fanfare, then Father’s would agree to feed you. We came for the much talked about burger, but I was already coveting other items like the lamb skewers with Japanese eggplant, goat cheese gratin, and spicy, oatmeal stout ribs with orange blossom honey glaze.

Burger (and frites served with garlic, parsley aioli): Caramelized onion, applewood bacon, Gruyere, Maytag blue cheese, arugula

I ordered my burger medium rare, but would probably go for medium next time – a little bloody for my liking, but the quality of beef was so extraordinary that I didn’t mind. A thin patty of caramelized onions seated itself atop the meat like a sweet and savory settee, making it clear why the synthetic sugars of ketchup weren't necessary. Peppery sprigs of arugula blossomed between sticks of bacon and pungent blooms of blue cheese for a bouquet of bold flavors, thoughtfully arranged with all the spontaneity of an English garden.

My only complaint was the choice of bun - some type of French roll that dissolved into a soggy wet-nap due to the burger's juicy center. Besides that, I had to admit it was one damn, good burger. The best burger? I wasn’t sure whether I was ready to call Father’s daddy just yet.

Dede’s Teajuice City (San Diego)

Getting Schooled on Szechuan

I had to admit, I got a little nervous when I heard we were having cold, pigs' ears. All I could picture was gnawing on a chewy piece of cartilage and looking for the closest napkin to discreetly spit it out in. But to my surprise, when the ear appeared in a pickled pile of mismatched meats and greens, it ended up becoming my favorite plate of the night.

My culinary guides knew exactly what to order at Dede's, including this concoction from "the cold box", a refrigerated display case, flaunting its wares and offering an assortment of paper thin slices of pigs’ ears, tripe, spiced brisket, and housemade pickles, along with some sort of chopped greens that were snappish, stemmed and leafy (but not bok choy). It was all tossed together in a meaty salad of vinegar and greens, a Szechuan specialty that immediately became my favorite.

This life-changing appetizer was followed with a hot pot of seasoned beef, scallion pancakes, leek dumplings, and dan dan noodles (squat noodles covered in a thick, fiery paste with a texture similar to peanut butter). Every selection was a success, and somewhat unexpected coming out of this nondescript kitchen planted in a square plot of strip mall; its dining room wallpapered in plastic menus and outfitted with uncomfortable, metal-framed chairs.

Our meal ended with a complimentary plate of melon and it was a gesture that matched the mood of the meal - a refreshing surprise. Especially when it came to that cold, meat plate. I never imagined that pigs’ ears and pickles could have such a symbiotic relationship (now I knew why pickled pigs' feet were so popular!). 

Besides performing phenomenal food feats, the tangible enthusiasm of the staff transmitted like radio waves through the kitchen to its dining room, and Dede's taught me two very important lessons:

1) Pigs' ears were perfection at any temperature.
2) Never judge a Szechuan by its strip mall.

STK: Meat Market (Midtown, NYC)

This love child of the classic steakhouse and swanky nightclub was hip, but definitely not hipster. In fact, STK seemed to represent the "anti-hipster" with its gleaming fields of clean-shaven faces and tucked shirts; professionals arriving fresh from work, dressed up to get down.

DJ STK

A Kendrick Lamar number was playing…kind of. His remixes were getting remixed with a remix, so there was no steady song. Old classics were spun with disarming, jarring techno beats (I think Otis Redding might have opted for jumping off the dock if he heard this rendition) and our twenty-something waiter perfected his role of the annoyed and aloof server, probably because he knew we were nobodies. 

Dinner

Bread: Popover with blue cheese and side of chive oil

Whether it was bread, or chips and salsa, or a saltine for God’s sakes, I was always happy to see some type of complimentary nosh arrive to tide me over before the actual meal. But when it appeared in the form of a savory muffin-cake puffed out with hunks of blue cheese melting down the side, there was another level of excitement all together! Popovers ‘bout to pop off, son!

Chive oil glistened as a liquid emerald of minced herbs and oil, which was a welcome addition since the the bread was somewhat dry, but that didn't mean I hadn't been impressed and pleased by the overall presentation. 

Entree: 10 oz. Filet mignon with bernaise sauce and side of Yukon mashed potatoes

Simple dimple - meat and potatoes. This was perfectly cooked and plated nicely, but nothing to jump up and shout about. Tasty, but not memorable, which was fine. We knew what we were getting into. We weren't there for the steak or the scene.

We were drawn in by STK's gigantic, outdoor plaza on this rare City night, 75 degrees with no humidity, and we were determined to take full advantage of it...even if that meant swatting away techno beats like mosquitoes throughout our meal - it was worth it.

Snacks and the City: Pig’s Head, Crack Pie, and Cantaloupe Juice (NYC)

Greeley Street Park

First order of business: Greeley Street Park. We’d discovered this path of gourmet food stalls too late the previous summer, when we were already on our way back to the train station after a day of gorging. It had been absolute torture to discover this culinary Xanadu with full bellies, like Hansel and Gretel stumbling on the witch’s candy compound and not being able to take a bite. But today, we came prepared…to eat freely at Greeley!

Cannibal: Pig's Head Cuban (pig's head, Vermont ham, pickles, gruyere)

Got head? Definitely a greasy handful, but the layers of toasty bread, ham, head, and melted cheese sealed it all together in one drippy, fatty, indulgent experience.

Red Hook Lobster Company: “The Connecticut” Lobster Roll (butter, scallion, lemon)

I considered “The Tuscan” (lobster/ basil vinaigrette), but couldn’t have been happier with “The Connecticut” - a quarter pound of lobster doused in citrus-soaked butter. Served in the traditional, hot dog-esque bun, its usual white bread ways instantly dissolved beneath the weighted luxury of lobster and melted butter, but that was ok, Red Hook's Maine focus was the lobster, and they succeeded in getting the point across. Claw meat for one and all! Let the good times (lobster) roll!

Momofuko Milk Bar: Crack Pie

I ripped into the miniature, cardboard package I’d purchased for $5.50 and wished they included a magnifying glass so I could find my piece of pie. I was a little disappointed about the size until I chomped a bite and all the air went out of the room as my mouth filled with a balloon of butter and sugar. It coated the entire surface area of my palate like a thick Vaseline of baked euphoria sealing in a million motes of decadence. I tried to identify the flavor, mumbling to myself, “It tastes like, like…” 

“Pecan pie without the pecans!”, my mom blurted out. She was right. Though, the filling was more solid than wiggly. There was a buttery chew beneath its thin coat of caramelized armor that gave way to a rich, rounded denseness that tasted somewhat molasses-y. Its deceiving simplicity had so many layers that I kept searching for answers as I devoured it…just one more bite.

I had to admit that my itsy-bitsy portion was enough, but I was considering going back for a second slice to take home. Because really, when would I be able to get another? And it only made sense to buy two since they were so small…

And that was how they got you hooked.  Crack pie, indeed.

Streets of SoHo

Jack’s wife Freda: Cantaloupe juice

A wise man named Pee Wee Herman once said, “If you love it so much, then why don’t you marry it.”

But you can’t elope with a cantaloupe…

Let me start from the beginning. Summer in the City = back of my neck feeling dirty and gritty. We were parched and sweaty, so this open-faced eatery shone like a beacon. I loved Jack’s Wife Freda immediately, not only for her welcoming, intimate interior which felt like a classy, charming, and modern European aunt who openly swaddled you against her breast in a gigantic hug of tastefully upholstered booths and tiny tables, but for the few seats outside that made for excellent people-watching while dining al fresco.

After coming straight from Greeley Street, we were only interested in drinks, but they welcomed us anyway. We glugged down water by the glassful like thirsty horses at a trough, as the poor waiter repeatedly returned with his pitcher to try and keep up with our emphatic gulping. Also, when we asked if it was ok to only order “drinks”, they probably thought we meant cocktails, but our scorched, sandpaper tongues sought out the unique offering of cantaloupe juice.

And well, I don’t want to over exaggerate here, but it might have been the best decision of my life!

I couldn’t believe how cantaloupe-y it was! I mean, I’ve bought cantaloupes before and they were always hit or miss – some with barely any flavor at all. But this juice, this nectar of the gods, this beautiful miracle fruit, multiplied cantaloupe’s usual silky sweet nature by a gigafruit (yes, gigifruit) as if they discovered some ultra-concentrated formula in a lab. But the way it slipped softly over the tongue, I couldn’t imagine that they added anything artifical. It was just cantaloupe, on a pedestal, naturally. Its velvety afterglow washed over the tongue in a cleansing wave. This was 16, portable ounces of magnificence.

I was in love.

But you can't elope with a cantaloupe...
So I'd have to settle for our summer in Soho.

Children of the Corn (New Jersey)

I spent a good amount of my summer childhood in Jersey shucking corn. All year long we waited for our famous, “Jersey sweet corn” to arrive, so almost every night, my mom would hand me a paper bag to take outside and shuck however many ears we needed.

The problem was, in the Jersey humidity, that corn silk would stick to every inch of you. It was like being covered in a head of fine hair that would inevitably get in the mouth, all over the legs, and usually a good amount would still be on the corn.

But I just recently found out the most amazing trick EVER!!!

1) Take the corn, still in its husk, and put it in the microwave - four minutes an ear.

2) Remove from the microwave and cut about an inch off the fat end with a sharp knife.

3) Squeeze from the skinny end and the ear shoots out without any hair on it!!

The heat must bring the fibers together, creating some type of slippery, silky net that allows the corn to slide out completely bald! I can’t imagine how many hours this could have saved me as a kid.

But then again…

There was something about having to help out with the meal and work a little for your food that was character building. Those times where I sat covered in corn weave were also peaceful, thoughtful moments; calming and methodical; comforting in the sounds that went along with the job - the freeing pop when pulling the husk away from the cob, the white noise of traffic; the blinking, neon flashes of the evening's first lightening bugs. I wouldn’t take that away from them….every kid should give a shuck.

But as for us adults – use the microwave! It’s a lifesaver.

Tostadas: Fresh Fruit & Seafood Bar (San Diego)

Sibling Rivalry: City Tacos’ Little Sister 

City Tacos has a sister!!

The proud papa and owner, Gerry Torres, was present as usual, cleaning and working as hard as everyone else, in his (and chef/ partner Eduardo Baeza's) newly opened ceviche bar, Tostadas.

Walking inside felt like crossing the threshold into vacation and evoked the sense of a savory, ice cream parlor - gleaming white with swirls of green and pink; the signature, seahorse symbol scattered here and there. Sunlight streamed from floor to ceiling windows, bouncing up to the rafter’s exposed, raw beams before drawing the eye to succulents sprouting from wooden pallets hanging as living art just a few inches below.  A communal table's log-like structure was planted in the center of the dining room and a few four-tops were scattered along the side (also some sidewalk seating).

Shelves of produce were set up behind the counter like a miniature market, reminding me of grade school where you could make believe you were visiting the post office or grocery store while still in the classroom.  Not only was it playful and clever, but fresh and functional in the best possible way.

Eats

Auqachile: large Mexican shrimp, lemon juice, red onion, chile serrano, cilantro, cucumber, garlic ($6)

The tostada’s shell strained like a professional weightlifter under the massive shrimp that lay on top in abundance.  So much shrimp! The nearly raw, butterflied shellfish was woven between noodles of cucumber, the subtle heat of chile serrano, and chopped leaves of cilantro. This summed up summer in one, crisp bite – so fresh and so clean.

La de Pato: duck meat, red onions, carrots, pear, green olives, habanero chile strawberry sauce ($5)

"La de Pato" pictured without the strawberry/habanero sauce

I was a little worried when ordering the duck in a fish place, but I couldn’t resist the combination of flavors! And it didn’t disappoint. First of all, there were about six slices of perfectly cooked duck breast on my crispy, corn wheel (aka, the wheel of fortune). Pear punched crunchy and sweet, as did the carrot, so I was a little worried that the strawberry sauce would be too much, but the berry was balanced so well with the spice of habanero, in what looked like a vinaigrette, that I ended up asking for extra. They originally forgot to add the sauce and I realized later that they forgot the olives too, but I didn’t mind. I knew they were still working out a few kinks and I would order this again in a heartbeat.

Caramon: shrimp, olive oil, sesame seeds, red onion, parsley, tomato, clam, orange and lemon juices, cilantro mayo ($6)

This would be skipped on my next visit. Besides seeming somewhat run of the mill with its pico de gallo-like flare, it had a strong bitterness that lingered. I’m not sure if it was the sesame and orange combo, but either way it wasn’t my favorite. 

"To Do" Tostadas

Plus, I’d spotted two other tostadas I was dying to try -

1) Sandia: ahi tuna, watermelon, red onion, jimaca, apples, cucumber, mango, peanuts, soy, lemon juice, orange chipotle mayonnaise ($6) 

2) Snapper: Red snapper fish, cucumber, tomato, red onion, parsley, serrano chile & clamato ($3.50)

The best part was that you could pick a few items to sample and it still only cost around $20. 

Tugos (16 oz) $3.95

Tugos were fresh fruit and veggie smoothies made to order. We went for Tropical Rainbow (pineapple, papaya, peaches, strawberry, raspberry, mango, yogurt, and honey) and the Clockwork Orange (pineapple and papaya). They were still frothy from the juicer; velvety, pink and orange waves of euphoria. I couldn’t think of a better pairing for summer, seafood, or the ninety degree heat.

Just the Tip of the Tostada

They were working on getting an alcohol permit, as well as planning a fresh fish/ceviche market for to-go items. Tostadas more than measured up to its sibling, City Tacos, in every way – quality, price, cleanliness and creativity. The real triumph of both restaurants was the number of ingredients on each dish - usually around eight to ten components.

The plethora of toppings almost seemed nonsensical at first, like some wild crap shoot, as if the chef was some twisted, ingredient hoarder and the kitchen sink was about to be thrown in next, but then you took a bite and it all made sense. Everything was there for a reason; a well thought out plan of genius amongst the chaos.

The Flying None (Coast to Coast)

Snacks on a Plane

It’s kind of like the Magnificent Seven or the Fantastic Four, but not really. I’m the Flying None. Namely, because I give zero fucks and take no shit when it comes to transporting my favorite East Coast snacks across the country. 

What I mean is, I’m often stopped at airport security for the five pound log of pork roll in my purse. Or for my coat containing eight, back to back slices of Vic’s pizza, triple-wrapped in plastic - its neon, orange, grease often thought to be some type of radioactive liquid. My bags are scoured by security guards who look up with questioning stares when unearthing tubes of Hartmann’s liverwurst or getting caught in a poppy seed rainstorm after upending a satchel of hard rolls.  Homemade lamb barley soup balks in frozen form, and will be called a casserole if anyone asks – “no liquids”, no problem.

And it goes both ways. I humped a backpack of homemade tamales from Cali to Jersey last Christmas. I’ve smuggled salamis, stowed sandwiches, hidden hummus…there’s no boundaries when it comes to having a piece of home in your pocket (or in the overhead compartment, which doubles as an amazing mini-frig for the six hour flight!). It’s all about commitment to the cause.

Take the pork roll. Stuff your pockets with pizza. Leave your pride at home. You have none.

You are, The Flying None.