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11.30.2009

when life gives you leftovers.

We don't like Thanksgiving dinner as much as we pretend. If dry turkey, weird stuffing, lumpy mashed potatoes and canned cranberry is so good, why do we only eat it once a year? Why aren't there crowded, expensive restaurants that specialize in turkey dinners? Because it's not that good. Because it's tradition to eat this stuff, but no one really enjoys it that much. Your own personal experiences with the holiday, with your family and this food will determine how true this harsh statement is. But you have to admit it's a valid point, which is why the friend who offered this enlightenment days before the big weekend roasted a prime rib for his family this year. I hope it turned out tasty.

In my world, Thanksgiving is an odd occasion. Yes, there is food, too much of it, some delicious. Turkey is quite dry and bland by nature, which is why I prefer the moist, fatty dark meat of the bird. Never been a fan of stuffing/dressing, which presented an interesting challenge when I was assigned to make it for this year's rather large family gathering. It was okay; I found a pretty standard recipe and twisted it to include garlic-rosemary bread, slab bacon and apples. The texture was very un-stuffing like, light and approachable instead of the congealed slop people inexplicably rave about. And it tasted like bacon. So it deserved to be universally loved. Also never enjoyed the strange green bean casserole that involves crispy onions and cream of mushroom soup, yet there it was, on the table again, once per year. Mom says she has to make it, people want it, but I'm not convinced. So there is good and bad. Thanksgiving also is the gateway to the wildly emotional, unnecessarily stressful holiday season, and peering into a long December with a tryptophan hangover is not the most pleasant thing.

Perhaps that's why, in my family, we have another Thanksgiving tradition, and it's called turkitos. Years ago, my father decided the best thing to do with the leftover bird is to tear it apart, roll it up in corn tortillas and deep fry to your heart's content, serving up refried beans, grated cheese, fresh salsa and guacamole alongside. It's simple. Anyone can do it. I can't think of anything that provides a more satisfying bite after minimal effort than a fried tortilla. In my world, Turkito Day has replaced Thanksgiving in the pantheon of food holidays. (I have more: The New Year's Meatdown, Borracho Day, the annual Fall-B-Que, etc. Trademarks are pending so think up your own stupid names, please.) This year's event was long in crunchy goodness but short in attendance. Final output: approximately 75 turkey taquitos on Friday, none left standing by Monday. The backyard barbecue was transformed into a factory. You've got your shredded meat station, your cast iron skillet warming tortillas, your rolling station, your deep-fry station of vegetable and canola oil bubbling away on the grill's sideburner, and finally the paper towel-covered paydirt, the last stop for turkitos before munchdown. Freshly mixed guacamole with a jalapeno influence was waiting. A huge block of colby jack was shredded and resting in an orange bowl. We bought the good, drizzly Mexican sour cream. Several salsas, refrieds spiced with habanero hot sauce, and a head of shredded iceberg upon which to rest your bounty. I raced the clock of booze, speeding to roll and fry the last one before many early cocktails would have made me unfit to handle hot oil. I made it. All was good.

A successful Turkito Day, less than 24 hours after one of the better tasting Thanksgiving meals I can remember, will stand out in a long weekend of good eating. (Saturday, there was pizza, and Sunday, a visit to a solid Vegas steakhouse, Envy.) Definitely got the food part down. Then there's the family. These are the two splitting branches of the holiday stress tree. Both can be great fun, both can make you insane. One of them, you can always order takeout. Me, I spent an hour tearing apart turkey meat in my kitchen Friday morning, hand shredding it piece by piece, my dog begging uncontrollably just inches away. Grab a drumstick, rip it up, good meat in the bowl, bones and yuck in the garbage. Hands shiny with fat, tiny bits of bird clinging to fingers, just like I watched my dad do years back. I remember trips home from college for Thanksgiving, waking up on the couch, seeing him sitting at the dining room table doing this. Getting ready for the fry. This is our collective holiday experience, traditions we carry out whether we love them or not because they are laced with memories. We take the bitter for the sweet.

11.24.2009

pho little saigon.

Is all pho the same? Restaurants that specialize in the traditional beef broth noodle soup are most common when it comes to Vietnamese cuisine in Las Vegas. There's even a pho joint on the Strip, in the Treasure Island hotel casino, and that's not a bad thing.

The dish may be similar from one restaurant to the next, but there are many differences, big and small, that set each eatery apart. Pho Little Saigon, for example, is a relatively large, family-friendly spot on the corner of Spring Mountain Road and Valley View Boulevard. Long, numbered tables line the dining room, lending an authentic feel. This is not unusual decor for a pho spot, but the size of the place and speedy service offer a little more comfort than many of the smaller mom-and-pops that serve similar cuisine.

The satisfying soup itself is just fine, the broth soothing with a clean taste if not overwhelmingly rich or salty. There are plenty of extra ingredients to choose from to customize your pho, chili sauce or fresh basil, bean sprouts or sriracha, along with your choice of meats. The beef served at Pho Little Saigon appears to be of a higher quality than we've experienced elsewhere, but overall, the pho is not as flavorful as it could be. That's just fine, because there are plenty of other tasty items on the menu. Sure, they'll serve up fresh rice-paper wrapped spring rolls, but the crispy Cha Gio, densely packed ground pork with shrimp and carrot, are even better. Unfortunately the kitchen was out of the Vietnamese pancake Banh Xeo on our recent visit. Pho is far from the only soup option available; you can sample porridge of beef, shrimp, fish, chicken, pork blood or pork innards. Rice plates and noodle bowls round out the menu, and some of the specialty dishes strike some Chinese notes. There's marinated beef with lemon grass grilled tableside, fried rice noodles with meat, seafood or vegetables, and finally, the titanic Seven Courses of Beef. At $24.99, it's hard to avoid. You'll get Goi Bo, or beef salad, beef in sour sauce, beef wrapped in Hawaiian lot leaf, grilled beef sausage, that grilled lemon grass stuff (Bo Nuong Xa), steamed beef and beef porridge. That's a lot of cow.

Of course, we were stuffed after the delicious Cha Gio and about a third of a huge bowl of pho. You have to be serious to try that magnificent seven.

11.23.2009

saturdazed at spago.

You don't need a seat out on the "patio" to enoy the parade at Spago. The Forum Shops at Caesars Palace is one of the best people-watching spots in Vegas, which is evident when you pass by Spago. The people munching California-style pizzas and Thai chicken salads are looking right back at you, and maybe even bothering you. We saw a drunken hipster, proud of his perch, getting playful with female passersby on our way out of the mall on Saturday, after we had consumed a quick lunch in Spago's main dining room not far from a booth occupied by Robin Leach.

The Spago experience lived up to the hype, but the food ... not so much. It was solid if unspectacular grub, and we should know better than to be surprised by an $80 check for one drink, two salads and two lunch entrees. But Leach and other fine dining pundits maintain the cuisine at this iconic Wolfgang Puck outpost is still worthy of the attention it receives. It is, after all, a cornerstone of Las Vegas dining, the first celebrity chef restaurant to come to the desert. So it was time to return to Spago, once a blend of tourist trap and power lunch destination, to see how things are holding up. The service was very good. So were the salads, one of butter lettuce and the other a bright, fresh take on the chopped salad. It was full of sweet corn, fresh peas and snappy green beans. The Greek pizza was forgettable and the meatloaf (pictured), decorated with a bit of pancetta and a semi-rich mushroom glaze, was ... just meatloaf.

Spago has been sitting here since 1992, and it seems like you're still getting what you expect when you come here to eat. But eating isn't really why you come here, is it?

11.10.2009

getting heavy at hedary's.

The closing of an unsung local Lebanese restaurant by the name of Byblos Cafe created something unacceptable to me: a kibbi void.

A mixture of ground beef and lamb, spices, bulgar wheat and pine nuts, then rolled into spheres and baked like meatloaf or deep fried, kibbi is one of my favorite family dishes and one of the best meat preparations in the world of Mediterranean cuisine. When Byblos died, we lost our favorite kibbi joint. In search of satisfaction, we recently made our first and second visits to Hedary's, a longtime local favorite operated by the same family behind the similar Khoury's restaurant. Here at Hedary's, the kibbi balls are massive, moist inside and well spiced, with a little more kick than we're used to. But we welcome the change. Piled on top of tender rice with yogurt sauce, this is a truly filling meal, but not as filling as the Meat Combination. This monster includes one kibbi ball along with Lebanese pork and beef sausages, a grilled beef shish kabob and a dense log of kafta, ground sirloin with spices and onions. This plate could feed a family.

Although the meat dishes center the menu, there is lighter fare at Hedary's, including decent hummus and babaganoosh, lentil soup, brick oven pizza and large salads chock full of fresh veggies, ripe tomatoes and cucumbers and herb/oil dressings. Hedary's version of falafil is one of the more delicate tastes on a generally overpowering menu, moist and flavorful and appropriate inside the chewy, fluffy pita bread that's made fresh every day. The odd flaming cheese appetizer, halloume, was like a Mediterranean version of fried mozzarella sticks, matching up nicely with a cold Almaza beer.

Affordable, friendly, and serving generous proportions, Hedary's isn't the most refined restaurant in its genre. But the family is sticking to its recipes and that's a move that has paid off. Until something better comes along, this is my new Vegas kibbi.

11.09.2009

frank & fina's cocina.

My pick for best Mexican restaurant off the Strip goes to Frank & Fina's Cocina, a charming neighborhood joint unfortunately located way, way out west, beyond the 215 Beltway off Flamingo Road. Okay, perhaps the location isn't that bad. It's planted in one of the largest retail centers I've ever seen (even if there are plenty of open spots these days), near a Chuck E. Cheese and a Fuddrucker's. But F&F is a family-owned restaurant with about 15 years of history; until a few years ago it was located on Charleston Boulevard, much closer to the city's center. It's thriving out in the 'burbs, having taken over the space next door and expanded into a very comfortable, full-on restaurant with a menu long on tasty, light cuisine and decent drinks.

The standards are available, but F&F excels at crafting delicious vegetarian dishes with perfect spice (try the crispy, addictive veggie taquitos or perhaps some sweet potato enchiladas) and home-style, slow cooked favorites like chile verde, ropa vieja, mole, carnitas and more. On our most recent visit, we were served by Frank himself, who quickly ran down the many specials of the night and made some recommendations. Grilled tilapia tacos were tough to pass on, but I decided to try the simple grilled chicken meal, two juicy pieces with rice and beans. It could have been a little spicier but the loving preparation would shame El Pollo Loco. We also sampled panuchos (pictured), a Yucatan hybrid of tacos and tostadas. Lightly cooked corn tortillas are covered in black beans, tender chicken, smooth avocado, pickled red onion and salty Cotija cheese. The texture of the tortilla is both crispy and chewy, paving the way for each fresh flavor to shine. This simple, bright dish is the perfect example of F&F food, which always seem to rest lighter than the goods at your average Mexican kitchen. I'm not sure how they do it, but I'm grateful.