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10.26.2009

strong to the finish.

Rarely will you read anything positive about any big franchise or fast food outlet on these digital pages. I mean, I love In-N-Out Burger. But I think we can all agree that place is an oddity. If there's a silver lining in the mass production of food, it could only be consistency.

But consistency is key in certain dishes. Take for example, fried chicken. It's simple, yet complex. Easy to get, hard to make ... well, hard to make perfectly. We've all had some wonderful fried chicken at soul food joints, diners and small town family restaurants, crunchy on the outside and juicy, tender goodness inside. I have, too, and then forked open the second piece on the same plate to find a greasy, soggy, frighteningly under cooked mess. There's a science to fried chicken, a formula that must be executed to absolute precision every time. The Colonel has a formula, but ... come on, it tastes bad.

Which brings us to Popeye's. This is the best fried chicken I've had in Las Vegas. Yes, it is a massive chain, growing even larger with about 10 restaurants scattered about the area. But it's perfect every time. That skin is crispy, crunchy, unhealthy greatness. To see what it is that sets Popeye's apart, you must order it spicy, full of peppery heat embedded in those crunchy outer bits. A mouthful of tender meat with a crust of this stuff is the best bite of bird. Complement it by cramming buttery biscuits into your face, and finish it off with the most anti-fast food side dish available at any fast food joint in the history of fast food: thick, spicy, stomach-expanding red beans and rice.

This is the real. This is why KFC is called KFC instead of its original, politically-incorrect moniker, and this is why the Colonel is trying to sell you grilled chicken now. Not Popeye's. They are emphasizing Louisiana roots, hyping recipes passed down through generations, and proudly cholesterizing me whenever they want. Fried chicken. This is it.

10.22.2009

pizzathon.

Note: An edited version of this post appears in Las Vegas Weekly.

DAY ONE: IT BEGINS

We can do this. It’ll be a breeze. Technically, we’ve done it before. I worked at a Godfather’s in Reno during the college days. For an entire summer, I made the wrong pizza just before my kitchen shift was over. Oops, guess I have to take that one home. And Maria’s father is crazy. He once put the entire family on an all-pizza diet and used it as an excuse to perfect his homemade recipes. After two months of pizza she was relieved to eat other things, but her dad still craved it as much on day 60 as he did on day one. Suffice to say, we love pizza, at least as much if not more than the general population. The fact that we refuse to eat Pizza Hut, Domino's, etc., is reason enough for me to believe we love it more than the average American. So here we are, enjoying some great pizza at Streets of New York in northwest Vegas, deciding this is the beginning of a week-long pizzathon. For seven days our only meals will be pizza, and we will enjoy every melty, spicy bite. This is a good place to start, because not only is the crust crispy and delicious and the tomato sauce slightly sweet, but we’re washing these two pizzas down with huge, frosty Shock Top Belgian White brews. Draft beer with pizza is an important factor. I'd say you can't have a proper pizza parlor without it, and you need to be able to order it by the pitcher. It may be a chain operation, but Streets of New York obviously respects the beer and an old fashioned experience. Plus, it's located in the Village of Centennial Springs, a near-empty retail walk built to look like Main Street USA, so the nostalgia cometh.

But the pizza is the important thing and this place does it right. There are some weird toppings to choose from, and plenty of other goodies on the menu like sandwiches, salads and calzone. If you're looking for a classic pizza experience in Vegas, I'd say there's good old Metro Pizza and then there are these guys ... flat-out good food.

DAY TWO: TACO PIZZA?
This Sunday morning finds me working in my brother’s backyard, shoveling rocks to augment his landscaping. It sucks, but luckily there’s fuel: leftover pizza in his fridge. I inhale a couple pieces, still cold. The cheese and sauce has congealed into spongy mush. It's gone before I think to ask where he got it from: Rosati's.

Diversification is going to keep this thing rolling. It can’t be all pepperoni. Enter the taco pizza, one of Maria’s favorites. She’s a longtime fan of this oddball delight, thanks to her Midwestern roots and a place called Happy Joe’s. This place actually serves a variety of Mexican pizzas, but the Taco Joe has a sauce of marinara mixed with refried beans, taco seasoned beef, sausage and white and yellow cheese, and then after the oven, shredded lettuce, tomato and crumbled tortilla chips. Our Vegas version is from Red Rock Pizza, which also boasts a variety of specialty pies. Its Taco Nacho pizza has seasoned ground beef, jalapenos, tomatoes, crunchy corn chips and two cheeses, so Maria says it’s close to home. “Interestingly, the tomatoes and lettuce are cooked on the pizza, under the cheese. I imagined this would be a huge mistake, but somehow it’s not,” she says. It’s seriously heavy, too, leaving plenty of leftovers for dinner. “It re-warms magnificently,” she says, and I agree. “After a few minutes in the oven it was fully restored to its tasty glory.”

DAY THREE: DOWNTOWN, THEN DEEP DISH
I work downtown. I have a few minutes for lunch and a five-dollar bill. That’s the exact cost of two slices of cheese and a can of Coke at Uncle Joe’s on Fremont Street. The paper plate isn’t big enough to accommodate these thin, greasy-in-a-good-way, New York-style beauties. A dash of crushed red pepper and they’ve disappeared.

Later, an impromptu celebration with friends is the perfect excuse to order way too much pizza. Rosati’s takes a while but eventually delivers a Chicago-style veggie and two thin-crust pies cut into square pieces (one pepperoni, green pepper and black olive, one Bianco with olive oil, tomato, garlic and spinach). The deep-dish is a beast and draws comparisons to lasagna from the uninitiated. The thick crust is filled with mushrooms, onions, green peppers and tomatoes, then covered in mozzarella and topped with pomodoro tomatoes. It’s got to weigh at least five pounds and I can barely take down a whole slice. I don't know how I feel about this Chicago business ... Maria loves it but I have a hard time comparing it to New York-style or Neapolitan-style pizza. It really is a different breed, one that hurts for a few days.

DAY FOUR: LEFTOVERS
Pizza is the best kind of leftovers. I know this for a few reasons, including: It’s great cold and it’s great reheated. (But only in the oven. The microwave is powerless here.) More importantly, it’s the only leftover Maria willingly consumes. This is ridiculous. Even if I bring home half a $50 steak, I have to cook it into something new to trick her into eating. But not pizza. Straight out of the fridge is just fine. So today is spent picking and munching at various pieces from the previous night’s feast. The deep dish holds up better the next day. “I’ll tell you why,” she says. “Because the little pizzas have to go in the oven to make them crispy and good again, but the big pizza is delicious even from the microwave.” Blasphemous.

But when dinnertime rolls around, I’m craving something fresh, so I stop at a tiny takeout joint on the way home and order the first thing that catches my eye. It’s got plenty of mozzarella and cheddar cheese, pepperoni and sausage, but it’s too ordinary and the white garlic sauce is … off. “It tastes tangy and weird,” Maria says. Still, I ate the whole thing. Maybe this is my second wind.

DAY FIVE: FROZEN IN TIME
We still have enough leftovers for breakfast and lunch, but by the afternoon we’re in need of something new. An attempt at frugality leads to the frozen section at Whole Foods. We leave with two Frontera brand pizzas, one roasted vegetable, Monterey jack cheese and poblano, the other a four cheese blend with tomato and cilantro. They crisp up nicely, but there’s no trace of poblano, cilantro or anything that tastes remotely fresh or Mexican. It’s still frozen pizza. We’re not sure if we should be mad at super chef Rick Bayless or not for these bland creations.

DAY SIX: LOST
I think I’m hitting the pizza wall. Everything is starting to blur together. Another couple of cold slices for breakfast, another couple of greasy, cheesy slices at noon. Maria switches it up with a pizza Hot Pocket for lunch. “The little cardboard thing didn’t really crunch it up, but I was really hungry,” she says. I stop at Albertson’s on the way home from work and the supermarket has never been more confusing. In the frozen aisle, some weirdo talks to me: “Wow, Freschetta for $4.99, that’s off the chain, huh?” I want to punch him. I end up at home baking a California Pizza Kitchen “Sicilian” thing and piling some microwaved barbecue brisket on top. This is going bad, real fast.

DAY SEVEN: FINISHING STRONG
I’m having problems, but Maria seems relatively unfazed. I’m hungry, but I can only eat pizza. No matter how creative we get, it’s still pizza. And I’ve learned that great pizza can be as satisfying as any gourmet meal, while bad pizza is truly terrible. So to wrap it up, we’re going to a sure-fire winner, Grimaldi’s in Henderson. I keep it simple with extra mozzarella and meatball, and like she always does, Maria out-orders me with pesto, tomato and roasted red pepper perfection (pictured). The sweet peppers with Grimaldi’s signature homemade mozzarella are pure bliss. I've written it before but it rings true every time I'm out in Henderson ... this is the pizza capital of the valley. Grimaldi's may not do true Italian the way Settebello does, and the crust may not be perfect every time, but it's so close. And the cheese is so unique and fresh, it almost makes a Summerlin dweller wanna move across town.

Thanks to reliably great pizza, we are rejuvenated. We could keep this marathon going if we wanted to, just as long as we stick to certain spots ... and stay out of the frozen food section.

10.20.2009

locals don't go to the strip.

This is flank steak, fried eggs and oyster mushrooms on a roll from 'Wichcraft in MGM Grand. It's pretty awesome. This is the same luscious beef they're dishing up at Craftsteak just a few steps away, and it's not even the best sandwich at 'Wichcraft. But it is further proof that the best friendly little neighborhood gourmet sandwich shop in town just happens to be on the Strip.

Let's extrapolate that last sentence.

I'm asked often, by those new to Las Vegas, just visiting or contemplating the city from afar, how much time I spend on the Strip. The answer is: not as much as I'd like. Living in Vegas and keeping to the suburban cityscape is an interesting concept to outsiders, especially when they learn how common it is. You can have a perfectly normal life here. I don't have to go to the Strip if I don't want to. Locals say things like this all the time, with an odd amount of pride. Not me.

Don't misunderstand. There are great benefits here that have nothing to do with tourism and the wondrous amenities the industry provides, with convenience at or near the top of the list. But if you take the Strip out of Vegas, where does that leave us? Phoenix? That glimmering four miles on Las Vegas Boulevard contains some of the best hotels, entertainment, food and shopping in the world. Why wouldn't you go there as much as you can?

For my part, I can't get enough of the Strip and its insane restaurant offerings. It's more difficult to find great food sprinkled around the Vegas Valley because everything is so spread out, and rarely do you find a true jewel in the neighborhood. The impossibly dense concentration of fantastic dining on the Strip can't be replicated anywhere else in the world, and even the majority of older or lesser known restaurants are above average at worst. Any local who doesn't take advantage of these offerings is simply missing the point. Come on ... it's not that far. It's not cheap but there's something for every wallet, and these days there is tremendous value to be found. Just walk through one of the big casinos and marvel at all the affordable, limited-time prix fixe menus. If it all feels too fancy for you, hit a mid-level joint like TI or New York-New York; the food and fun is still better than the Chili's around the corner from your house. Get in your car, valet it, and act like someone who's in Vegas, for fuck's sake.

I've lived here for years, but I still understand that for those of you who don't, Vegas is a dream. For most of the people who call this place home, it's unrealistic, overwhelming or just too strange to attempt to live in that dream. But for others, it's too powerful to ignore. What a waste, to have total access to an experience so many others clamor for, travel for, save their shrinking paychecks for, an experience you can customize to your own personal perfection, but you just let that experience pass you by on a daily basis. Why fight gravity?

I'd like to point out that this blog entry was once about a sandwich.

10.19.2009

parma pastavino and deli.

I know it's hard to believe, but I fucked up.

In June I wrote a review for Las Vegas Weekly on Mezzo Bistro in northwest Vegas. I've had dinner at this fine Italian restaurant several times since it opened in the spring of 2008, and I have known chef Marc Sgrizzi for years. That's the problem; familiarity can lead to laziness. This review goes into great detail about the chef and his daily specials, and by the time it was published, the chef was gone. He apparently sold the restaurant and was no longer involved with it for at least a month before I visited. Since the food and service at Mezzo remained of high quality and I was happy to write it that way, my mistake was more of a disservice to the former chef. When I discovered Sgrizzi had moved on quite quickly to open another Italian bistro and deli, I felt it necessary to give Parma a shot. Besides, this guy's food is good, so there's really no reason not to try it.

Located on Buffalo Drive just off Summerlin Parkway, this neighborhood cafe turned out to be the perfect neighborhood spot for a quiet dinner or a casual group meal. Small tables round the perimeter of the restaurant while a wine-and-snack-friendly lounge is the centerpiece. Display cases housing beautiful homemade desserts and imported meats and cheeses available by the pound rest in front of the active kitchen, where the chef and his crew are making their own pasta every day. Sgrizzi has retained his signature dishes, like the amazingly crispy, non-breaded eggplant parmesan and spinach lasagna in a tasty pink basil sauce. The carbonara is a faithful rendition of the classic dish, and like I raved about in my misguided Mezzo review, the specials here also change often and focus on fresh seafood or steak. The prices are just right, including a range of affordable wines.

This is the third Vegas restaurant for Sgrizzi and I have followed him to each one because his food is reliably good. Parma feels like the chef is in his zone, moreso than the other venues, and that's nice to see.


10.05.2009

killin' some korean barbecue at tofu hut.


Tofu Hut probably is named so because the house specialty is a soft bean curd soup. The restaurant also touts its traditional bosam, boiled pork and duck eaten with steamed cabbage, onions and pickled beets. But we hit the hut for lunch with a certain something else in mind: Korean barbecue.

One of my partners in Chinatown exploration, Chi, recommended Tofu Hut and was happy to lead me through the all-you-can-eat, grill-at-your-table barbecue menu. He also proved particularly adept at relieving our busy (and kinda slow) server at moving the meats around the hot grill in the middle of our modest table, using tongs ninja style and shears to clip our food into smaller bite-sized pieces before tossing them onto our tiny plates. Chi had first experienced Tofu Hut on a visit to a different, nearby Korean barbecue joint that was closing and couldn't accommodate his crew's late-night urge. A Korean friend suggested Tofu Hut instead, especially since the all-you-can-eat prices are more affordable here (It's about 18 bucks during the day and 15 after hours).

We attacked, ordering everything that looked interesting: the marinated sirloin known as bulgogi, thinly sliced beef tongue and beef brisket, pork belly marinated in chili paste, sugar, garlic, soy and sesame, and some squid to top it off. Everything cooked up quickly. The squid and brisket needed some additional seasoning and the salt-and-pepper sesame dressing served on the side worked well. The bulgogi was so flavorful and tender that we ordered a second plate, and the tongue was almost as delicious. But as always, it's hard to top pork belly, especially crispy-grilled, spicy pork belly.

All this meat was accompanied by small dishes of kimchi and seaweed, cold noodle salads, peppery potato-veggie pancakes, sweet fish cakes, and a salad of greens with a light peanut and sesame oil dressing. All these side dishes are all-you-can-eat as well, and the salad was particularly fresh and tasty and a perfect complement to all the grilled protein. Planted in a small group of auto repair shops on Spring Mountain Road near Valley View Boulevard (on the other side of the street from Chinatown Plaza), Tofu Hut doesn't look like much from the outside. The dining room is pretty humble, too. But the barbecue was delicious and there was plenty of it. Like so many mid-day meals of the past, this feast made me wonder why anyone would go anywhere other than Chinatown for lunch.

10.02.2009

benedictactular.

If you're thinking about where your weekend breakfast out should be, take a look at these bad boys. The one on top is the "standard" eggs benedict at Hash House A Go Go, with bacon, spinach, tomato and red pepper cream, piled on top of fresh, homemade biscuits instead of that weak-ass English muffin. And that one underneath is even more serious: It's a bennie, too, only the eggs are scrambled, mounted on a pounded-flat, crispy-fried half pound of pork loin, which is on top of those biscuits, tomato and spinach. It's all covered with a super-rich, slightly sweet cream sauce that'll make you forget you ever had hollandaise. The benedict options are the best thing on the Hash House menu, in my opinion, and one of the only occasions when taste makes up for ridiculously huge portions. What I'm saying is, that sauce is so good, I ate that entire plate-sized pork loin. It took me all day, but I ate it.