As the husband and I drove home from Buddha Ruksa last night, he wondered whether their fried chicken was blog-worthy. I said sure, why not? He countered with, well then what about General Tso's chicken, would you blog about that? I said that I guess it would depend on how good it was. I'm probably not going to write about the General Tso's chicken from the Safeway, but possibly will write about the orange chicken from Panda Express. Clearly these are not purveyors of down home southern fried chicken, but the chicken is definitely fried, so what the hell....
The husband has been talking up the crispy garlic chicken at Buddha Ruksa for years, and he got on such a tear about it at one point last year during my post-baby confinement that he got take out. Honestly, I can't remember what it was like then, since I was probably rapidly shoving it in my face over the sink so that I could get back to the screaming milk-crazed infant. Now that the milk-crazed infant has turned into a respectable and generally well-behaved toddler, we often take him out to eat with us, that is when we decide that we don't need to buy gas that week. So, at four in the afternoon last Sunday when the husband and I were so starved we couldn't stand it anymore, we headed over to West Seattle to once again try the crispy garlic chicken.
Here's the good stuff I have to say about Buddha Ruksa: The decor is nice, and the gold carvings on the walls held my son's interest for several minutes. The wait staff is great--attentive and adoring of my kid (what parent doesn't want the waitresses to coo over their baby?). The appetizers were tasty. We got the crispy calamari and the crab wonton (aka crab rangoon, which if on a menu, the husband will certainly order). The husband said that the calamari was some of the best he's ever had. Even the kid liked it, and he's kinda picky.
Now the bad: We ordered the wonton phad thai, and the fact that I didn't like it was purely a result of my inability to fully read descriptions of menu items. I saw the words phad thai in the title, then read the part about "fried stuffed wonton" then promptly stopped reading. Had I continued, I may have realized that this dish has no noodles--the wonton are the replacement. So, it came out looking like regular phad thai until I noticed that what looked like noodles were in fact bean sprouts. Have I mentioned before how much I hate bean sprouts and how when I order phad thai I often ask for it without bean sprouts or at the very least remove the bean sprouts from the plate before I begin eating? No? Well, let's just say I don't really care for them. They're crispy and bitter and weird. So, I was not a big fan of the wonton phad thai (although the wonton part was good).
And the controversial: I know everyone LOVES the crispy garlic chicken and swears by it and wants to have its baby, but I don't really get it. It was so sweet, almost cloying, that I felt like I had to brush my teeth immediately afterward...like I'd eaten too many Hershey bars. The meat itself was a little dry too and not spicy enough. Sorry, world, but I will not be having the crispy garlic chicken's baby.
Finally, while the fortune cookies were predictably yummy, my fortune was,"You will read some information that will help you." I honestly can't think of a lamer fortune. Maybe, "You will drive home without incident," or "Your mother will call you this weekend." Whoever wrote that fortune should be fired.
8/4/08
7/16/08
Paleta mania
For the two people who read this blog, so sorry for the lack of fried chicken posts. Turns out, there's just not enough time in the week for finding new and exciting fried chicken while simultaneously working full-time, raising a toddler, and trying to make sure everyone has clean underwear. There's a lot of places I've had good and bad chicken in the last couple of years but didn't write about them immediately and now can't remember enough details. Here's a brief rundown of places about which I'll hopefully write: Thompson's Point of View (so-so fried wings, but AMAZING spicy bbq wings), the Wellington (ungodly salty), and of course the Kingfish Cafe (so delicious, and I just noticed that they have chicken and waffles on the brunch menu--can't think of a better reason to go).
Now the real reason for this post...a new ice-cream place in White Center called Full Tilt. So many people have already discussed the opening of this new joint (for example here and here and even here) that I won't go into detail about the new owners (whom I haven't officially met anyway, though they seem like nice people) or the pinball (which I suck at, so it definitely takes a backseat to the ice cream). Instead, I'd like to take you on a trip to a little town called Nuevo Casas Grandes, in the wild state of Chihuahua, Mexico. As I've previously mentioned, while in graduate school, I spent many summers in Mexico "doing research" (which actually amounted to a lot of hard work on other people's projects, very little research of my own, and very much drinking of cheap Mexican beer). For the most part, I stayed in very small towns with very few amenities, requiring a trip to the big city on the weekends to do laundry, buy groceries, and ogle the menacing Mennonnites. One of the highlights of these trips was a visit to one of the many paleterias scattered throughout the town. All of them were called "La Michoacana," making meet ups difficult:
Person 1: Let's meet at La Michoacana at 3.
Person 2: La Michoacana on the plaza?
Person 1: No the one on the way out of town.
Person 2: The one on the left or the right?
Person 1: On the left just before the turnoff for the prison.
Person2: MMMM, prison paletas.
Like probably every one else in North America, I grew up on the popsicles from the grocery store that come with two sticks that you break in half and share with your brother, or in my case, taunt your brother with and then eat both yourself. Paletas are definitely not your brother's popsicles. They are made with chunks of real fresh fruit and either agua or leche. My favorites were pineapple, melon, and watermelon, which usually had seeds--just so you know you're getting real watermelon. The cream ones are good too (I loved Pistachio), but after a long hot day, the paletas de agua were so much more refreshing.
I had my first Full Tilt paleta at the first annual South Park Crank it Up Festival where they were selling popsicles out of coolers. I had exactly two dollars in my pocket and saw several people walking around with delicious-looking popsicles, which when I found them, were two dollars. Kismet. I can't remember what other flavors they had there, but I got a blackberry cinnamon cream flavor. It was very reminiscent of its Mexican counterparts. There were big chunks of blackberry and seeds that were caught in my teeth for the rest of the day, but in a delicious way.
I was so impressed that the next day I took the very willing husband and son to the store in White Center. In addition to a small menu of paletas, they have ice cream flavors both bizarre (mango chili) and mundane (vanilla). They encourage tasting the flavors, which I greatly appreciate, and although I was very full from lunch, I managed to squeeze into my belly a spoonful of perhaps the weirdest ice cream I've ever had. Based on Elvis Presley's favorite sandwich, it's called Memphis King and contains banana, peanut butter, and chocolate covered bacon bits. Individually, each one of those ingredients is delicious. And perhaps in sandwich form when the bacon is warm and the peanut butter melty, the combination of ingredients would be tasty. In ice cream form, it was just odd. The banana flavor overwhelmed everything else until the ice cream melted, leaving only the chocolate covered bacon to finish the bite. The bacon was a little too chewy and didn't taste that great with the chocolate. Overall, a very strange flavor. The Mexican Chocolate that we brought home was delightful, though. My one gripe is that the plastic container it was in shattered from the cold. Maybe use cardboard from now on...Mother Earth would appreciate it.
Now the real reason for this post...a new ice-cream place in White Center called Full Tilt. So many people have already discussed the opening of this new joint (for example here and here and even here) that I won't go into detail about the new owners (whom I haven't officially met anyway, though they seem like nice people) or the pinball (which I suck at, so it definitely takes a backseat to the ice cream). Instead, I'd like to take you on a trip to a little town called Nuevo Casas Grandes, in the wild state of Chihuahua, Mexico. As I've previously mentioned, while in graduate school, I spent many summers in Mexico "doing research" (which actually amounted to a lot of hard work on other people's projects, very little research of my own, and very much drinking of cheap Mexican beer). For the most part, I stayed in very small towns with very few amenities, requiring a trip to the big city on the weekends to do laundry, buy groceries, and ogle the menacing Mennonnites. One of the highlights of these trips was a visit to one of the many paleterias scattered throughout the town. All of them were called "La Michoacana," making meet ups difficult:
Person 1: Let's meet at La Michoacana at 3.
Person 2: La Michoacana on the plaza?
Person 1: No the one on the way out of town.
Person 2: The one on the left or the right?
Person 1: On the left just before the turnoff for the prison.
Person2: MMMM, prison paletas.
Like probably every one else in North America, I grew up on the popsicles from the grocery store that come with two sticks that you break in half and share with your brother, or in my case, taunt your brother with and then eat both yourself. Paletas are definitely not your brother's popsicles. They are made with chunks of real fresh fruit and either agua or leche. My favorites were pineapple, melon, and watermelon, which usually had seeds--just so you know you're getting real watermelon. The cream ones are good too (I loved Pistachio), but after a long hot day, the paletas de agua were so much more refreshing.
I had my first Full Tilt paleta at the first annual South Park Crank it Up Festival where they were selling popsicles out of coolers. I had exactly two dollars in my pocket and saw several people walking around with delicious-looking popsicles, which when I found them, were two dollars. Kismet. I can't remember what other flavors they had there, but I got a blackberry cinnamon cream flavor. It was very reminiscent of its Mexican counterparts. There were big chunks of blackberry and seeds that were caught in my teeth for the rest of the day, but in a delicious way.
I was so impressed that the next day I took the very willing husband and son to the store in White Center. In addition to a small menu of paletas, they have ice cream flavors both bizarre (mango chili) and mundane (vanilla). They encourage tasting the flavors, which I greatly appreciate, and although I was very full from lunch, I managed to squeeze into my belly a spoonful of perhaps the weirdest ice cream I've ever had. Based on Elvis Presley's favorite sandwich, it's called Memphis King and contains banana, peanut butter, and chocolate covered bacon bits. Individually, each one of those ingredients is delicious. And perhaps in sandwich form when the bacon is warm and the peanut butter melty, the combination of ingredients would be tasty. In ice cream form, it was just odd. The banana flavor overwhelmed everything else until the ice cream melted, leaving only the chocolate covered bacon to finish the bite. The bacon was a little too chewy and didn't taste that great with the chocolate. Overall, a very strange flavor. The Mexican Chocolate that we brought home was delightful, though. My one gripe is that the plastic container it was in shattered from the cold. Maybe use cardboard from now on...Mother Earth would appreciate it.
7/8/08
Not at all about Fried Chicken
My two BFFs and I have a tradition wherein we go out for a fancy meal in January instead of buying each other Christmas gifts. Generally, I have plenty of funds in January for such a splurge, but this Christmas knocked me on my ass financially (because of non-fun purchases like tires for my car, a roof for the house and, the most non-fun purchase of my entire life, having my poor sweet old dog put to sleep) so we decided to dine in early February before my paycheck was otherwise allocated (sorry, Verizon, maybe next month).
The dinner is always Hallie, Robin and myself, but sometimes if the fancy strikes us, we invite others as well. This year, we invited Tammi, who loves television so much that she has two DVRs with which to record her stories. This makes me enjoy her company, well, this and her unapologetic use of the word cunnilingus in regular conversation. Hallie and I also love television, and the three of us can talk for hours about what we've seen. The conversation that night went a little like this:
Me: Hey Tammi, do you watch Project Runway?
Tammi (looking at me as though I'm totally retarded): Of course I watch Project Runway.
Me: How much do you love/hate Christian?
Tammi: He's fierce.
Hallie: Totally.
Robin (who does not watch television): Blink...Blink, Blink.
We were eating at place in Wallingford called Tilth which is one of those places that changes the menu regularly based on what's in season. Honestly, since we ate way back in the dark dreary winter, and now the sun is shining, I can't remember much about the meal. Except that there was pork belly. And lamb. But the lamb had too much other stuff on it so it wasn't lamby enough for me. Then there were some veggies too. They were probably good.
The best part of the evening (other than Tammi talking about how awesome cunnilingus is) was at the end when a very very drunk guy with Morrissey hair started yelling at one of the servers about being disrespected. Because nothing is more respectable than a drunk 80s-looking hipster. He was kicked out while his girlfriend stayed behind to try to soothe some feathers. Feathers which were promptly ruffled again when the guy smashed a couple of terracotta flower pots on the porch. Sweet.
I suppose it's right and proper that the most memorable parts of the evening involved oral sex and violence to flower pots. But it seems like if the food had been better, I would have remembered it more. Maybe I'll try again one day with a less interesting group of people on a more sedate evening. But what fun would that be?
The dinner is always Hallie, Robin and myself, but sometimes if the fancy strikes us, we invite others as well. This year, we invited Tammi, who loves television so much that she has two DVRs with which to record her stories. This makes me enjoy her company, well, this and her unapologetic use of the word cunnilingus in regular conversation. Hallie and I also love television, and the three of us can talk for hours about what we've seen. The conversation that night went a little like this:
Me: Hey Tammi, do you watch Project Runway?
Tammi (looking at me as though I'm totally retarded): Of course I watch Project Runway.
Me: How much do you love/hate Christian?
Tammi: He's fierce.
Hallie: Totally.
Robin (who does not watch television): Blink...Blink, Blink.
We were eating at place in Wallingford called Tilth which is one of those places that changes the menu regularly based on what's in season. Honestly, since we ate way back in the dark dreary winter, and now the sun is shining, I can't remember much about the meal. Except that there was pork belly. And lamb. But the lamb had too much other stuff on it so it wasn't lamby enough for me. Then there were some veggies too. They were probably good.
The best part of the evening (other than Tammi talking about how awesome cunnilingus is) was at the end when a very very drunk guy with Morrissey hair started yelling at one of the servers about being disrespected. Because nothing is more respectable than a drunk 80s-looking hipster. He was kicked out while his girlfriend stayed behind to try to soothe some feathers. Feathers which were promptly ruffled again when the guy smashed a couple of terracotta flower pots on the porch. Sweet.
I suppose it's right and proper that the most memorable parts of the evening involved oral sex and violence to flower pots. But it seems like if the food had been better, I would have remembered it more. Maybe I'll try again one day with a less interesting group of people on a more sedate evening. But what fun would that be?
1/23/08
Derailed II
Andy's Diner, which I wrote about here and the husband wrote about here, has finally closed. Check out the Stranger blog wherein old-timey folk lament the passing of this dive, despite its abominably crappy food. Sure, railcar diners are neato, but ultimately, people go to restaurants for the food and the atmosphere, neither of which were pleasant at Andy's.
1/4/08
An almost perfect 20 minutes
Consists of: (1) an agreeable baby who sits quietly in his high chair and chews on a toy while mama reads (2) a copy of an embarrassingly trashy magazine like US Weekly, preferably including an interview with Lauren or Heidi from The Hills (does Lauren continue dating himbo Brody Jenner? Do Heidi and Spencer get back together? Is Whitney really off the show?) and eats (3) some non-terrible fried chicken from the grocery store deli.
The chicken in question on this occasion came from the local Safeway, and despite all appearances, was surprisingly edible. After having spent the day under the heat lamps with the sad joe joes and other fried deli items, the chicken meat was predictably dry, but the skin was crispy, salty, and spicier than I would have anticipated. I wouldn't imagine a breast piece would be very good, given it's lack of delicious juicy fat to begin with, but I would definitely get the dark meat pieces again.
Now for what's really important...Heidi and Spencer did get back together, despite the fact that Spencer is clearly the biggest tool ever. And, did you see Heidi's boobs? She looks like a cartoon! Lauren and Brody don't continue dating, but she meets a special Frenchman in Paris. And, Whitney's still on, but they're adding a new Teen Vogue intern to spice things up. Oh, and yes, I am far too old to care about such things.
The chicken in question on this occasion came from the local Safeway, and despite all appearances, was surprisingly edible. After having spent the day under the heat lamps with the sad joe joes and other fried deli items, the chicken meat was predictably dry, but the skin was crispy, salty, and spicier than I would have anticipated. I wouldn't imagine a breast piece would be very good, given it's lack of delicious juicy fat to begin with, but I would definitely get the dark meat pieces again.
Now for what's really important...Heidi and Spencer did get back together, despite the fact that Spencer is clearly the biggest tool ever. And, did you see Heidi's boobs? She looks like a cartoon! Lauren and Brody don't continue dating, but she meets a special Frenchman in Paris. And, Whitney's still on, but they're adding a new Teen Vogue intern to spice things up. Oh, and yes, I am far too old to care about such things.
12/4/07
Little Chicken McNugget, Why are You so Delicious?
I remember when McDonald's introduced the Chicken McNugget. I was about 10 years old, and it opened up a whole new realm of fast food for my family. Since I was so ridiculously picky and wouldn't eat hamburgers (I was also dumb), we could only go to Roy Rogers, home of perfectly seasoned, crispy and greasy fried chicken. For my parents, the introduction of the McNugget meant that the family could eat someplace else. No longer tethered to the Double R Bar Burger, my dad could finally get a Big Mac. For me, it meant that I had another fried vehicle with which to scoop up chocolate shake.
Then McDonald's had to go and screw it all up. A few years ago, they changed the recipe to "all white meat" in an effort to make the tasty chicken tidbits more healthy. This is absurd for a number of reasons. One: dark meat tastes better. Period. Two: these are breaded and deep fried pieces of reconstituted chicken. Please don't tell me that the marginally lower amount of fat resulting from eliminating dark meat from the McNugget somehow makes up for the enormous vat of oil that bathes them in a golden fried glow. Three: see reason one.
Nevertheless, I find myself drawn to the drive through to get those not-as-delicious-as-they-used-to-be McNuggets, partly because there's a McDonald's about 2 minutes from my house, and partly because the French fries are and always will be the best. Now, before you get all up on your high horse and tell me that, in fact, there are better fries out there and that I need to go to thus n such French bistro to get REAL frites, I say just simmer down there. Although I'm from Virginia, I'm no yokel, and I have had real French French fries. And yes, in an absolute sense, they are better than McDonald's. However, until Le Pichet offers fried chicken and opens a drive through window so that I can get tasty fried morsels while maintaining sanity as my 6 month old sleeps in the backseat, Mickey D's wins, hands down.
Then McDonald's had to go and screw it all up. A few years ago, they changed the recipe to "all white meat" in an effort to make the tasty chicken tidbits more healthy. This is absurd for a number of reasons. One: dark meat tastes better. Period. Two: these are breaded and deep fried pieces of reconstituted chicken. Please don't tell me that the marginally lower amount of fat resulting from eliminating dark meat from the McNugget somehow makes up for the enormous vat of oil that bathes them in a golden fried glow. Three: see reason one.
Nevertheless, I find myself drawn to the drive through to get those not-as-delicious-as-they-used-to-be McNuggets, partly because there's a McDonald's about 2 minutes from my house, and partly because the French fries are and always will be the best. Now, before you get all up on your high horse and tell me that, in fact, there are better fries out there and that I need to go to thus n such French bistro to get REAL frites, I say just simmer down there. Although I'm from Virginia, I'm no yokel, and I have had real French French fries. And yes, in an absolute sense, they are better than McDonald's. However, until Le Pichet offers fried chicken and opens a drive through window so that I can get tasty fried morsels while maintaining sanity as my 6 month old sleeps in the backseat, Mickey D's wins, hands down.
7/5/07
Thwarted!
After having a baby mid-May, and being cooped up in our small house for several weeks, in late June, the Husband and I finally felt equipped enough to take the little tyke with us to a local restaurant. We live in a funny little neighborhood called South Park (yes, really), which is hard to describe succinctly. Low housing prices have made it a haven for artist and drug dealer alike, and prostitutes and gang bangers prowl the main drag. I've never felt particularly unsafe in my own house, but I definitely wouldn't walk the streets alone after dark.
When it comes to food, the choices in South Park are limited. There are several quite tasty Mexican restaurants including a delicious taco truck parked at the gas station down the hill from our house. There's a pizza place and a teriyaki place, neither of which I've tried. And then there's the County Line tavern. I first ventured into the County Line for a monthly neighborhood karaoke-fest before I was pregnant and sampled some of the fried bar fare along with many beers. The County Line is a dive in the truest sense of the word. Strong drinks and pull tabs are standard fare for regulars that look like they're from a David Lynch movie. You'll most assuredly catch some kind of disease if you linger too long in the bathroom.
Nevertheless, the Husband and I really needed some food that didn't come from our freezer. It didn't matter that it came from someone else's. I figured they would have fried chicken and that it would be the orange kind. I was expecting nothing fancy. The waitress took our order, then went back to cook the food herself (it was a slow day at the County Line). Just after the food arrived, as if on queue, wee baby Cooper started fussing. The Husband has created a rule that mama gets to eat first, which of course makes me very happy, but means that he often has to eat cold food. So, when the babe started crying, the husband took him for a little walk outside until he fell asleep. Meanwhile, I attacked my chicken, starting, of course, with the delicious skin off the breast---everything ok there. Then the thigh...I took one bite and, you're never going to believe this...it was STILL FROZEN!!!!!! At least this time it was fully cooked inside, not some salmonella-pink monstrosity like at Andy's Diner, but still.
The husband eventually came back in and could hardly believe this was happening again. To avoid a second leather chicken experience, I did not tell this waitress and instead had a meal of french fries and frozen corn. I think there was a roll too.
Come on, people, can I get a piece of cooked fried chicken, please?
Nevertheless, the Husband and I really needed some food that didn't come from our freezer. It didn't matter that it came from someone else's. I figured they would have fried chicken and that it would be the orange kind. I was expecting nothing fancy. The waitress took our order, then went back to cook the food herself (it was a slow day at the County Line). Just after the food arrived, as if on queue, wee baby Cooper started fussing. The Husband has created a rule that mama gets to eat first, which of course makes me very happy, but means that he often has to eat cold food. So, when the babe started crying, the husband took him for a little walk outside until he fell asleep. Meanwhile, I attacked my chicken, starting, of course, with the delicious skin off the breast---everything ok there. Then the thigh...I took one bite and, you're never going to believe this...it was STILL FROZEN!!!!!! At least this time it was fully cooked inside, not some salmonella-pink monstrosity like at Andy's Diner, but still.
The husband eventually came back in and could hardly believe this was happening again. To avoid a second leather chicken experience, I did not tell this waitress and instead had a meal of french fries and frozen corn. I think there was a roll too.
Come on, people, can I get a piece of cooked fried chicken, please?
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