I won’t lie, I feel like a jumpy, excited little schoolboy waiting for this chrome-plated beauty to arrive on my doorstep.

If you haven’t had the opportunity to try fresh pasta before…well, my heart goes out to you. Haha. I can guarantee that once you’ve tried it fresh, you won’t go back to the dried stuff. Unless of course, we’re talking about sheer effort/time consumption, but, like I always say, good food takes time.

Anyway, I’ll (hopefully) follow up with an entry once she arrives…first on my list? Gonna try my hand at some short rib agnolotti.

]]> http://www.theragingspork.com/blog/2009/10/22/i-love-new-toys/feed/ 1 http://www.theragingspork.com/blog/2009/07/30/phils-fish-market-moss-landing-ca/ http://www.theragingspork.com/blog/2009/07/30/phils-fish-market-moss-landing-ca/#comments Thu, 30 Jul 2009 10:36:37 +0000 Nate http://www.theragingspork.com/blog/?p=184

It always feels like I’m apologizing for our lack of updates…well at least I have a legitimate excuse this time. I am now (for better or worse) no longer unemployed. What does this mean? Less time for updates…but on the flip side…more money to go out to eat! So if my lazy ass doesn’t get in my way, we can hope for some more updates. Now without further delay…

I’ve never been much of a Bobby Flay fan. Not since this whole debacle. (Namely, 3:30) Apparently he excels equally at both Southwestern cuisine and general douchebaggery. Sure sure, it was years ago and he may very well be a different man now. But I mean, seeing that, do we really still need to wonder why the rest of the world thinks of Americans as the rude, brash, annoying, uncouth nouveau riche? This is a grim picture of America’s cultural ambassadorship.

Well, if he’s good for one thing, it’s for leading me into this entry. See, as any of you Food TV’ers out there know, Bobby’s now doing a show called Throwdown, where he goes throughout the country, challenging people to various dish specific cook-offs.  As it turns out, Phil’s Fish Market, near Monterey, CA, is the site of Bobby’s cioppino battle, going toe-to-toe against owner Phil DiGirolamo himself. (Incidentally, I caught an episode where Bobby battles previously reviewed Mama Testa’s owner Cesar Gonzalez. Cesar wins.) I don’t actually remember who wins the challenge, but this was all the context I had while visiting Phil’s Fish Market myself a few weeks ago. 

Well one thing’s certain. Phil’s got a good PR/marketing guy. They’ve made no small deal of Bobby’s visit to Phil’s. Mounted TVs spool through slideshows of that day’s events, and ordering out catalogs (yeah, catalogs)  are tacked on along with the menus…faithfully adorned with the Food Network logo. And who can blame the guy? This publicity has drawn huge crowds…I mean, this place was packed.

As far as ambiance goes, Phil’s reminds me of a busy Chinese restaurant. Busy, boisterous, and crowded, minus the dank bathrooms. It’s brightly lit and warm inside, like a family restaurant…but somehow Phil’s still seems to retain it’s warehouse/fish market feel. Maybe it’s the actual fish market at the other end, which still stocks fresh lobsters, crabs, and some really beautiful looking seafood…including some gorgeous tuna filets that I just wanted to take home and rub all over my body eat raw. And of course, Phil’s famous cioppino can be purchased in gallon tubs for easy-take-home convenience. Also impressive was the oyster bar, stocking both fresh-shucked oysters and booze.

So, in reality, before you even order at the counter, your eyes have already been feasting on the cornucopia of fresh seafood all about. Then you get to the hanging menu , which, in being so extensive…is actually a little intimidating.

Maine Lobster, Steamed Mussels, Fried catfish, Littleneck clams,

Grilled calamari steak, Oysters on the half-shell, Salmon marsala,

Blackened sea scallops, Fried clam strips, soft-shell crab sandwiches,

and of course, cioppino.

Apparently, if it walks, climbs, crawls, or swims…it’s on the menu. Maybe this place is more like a Cantonese restaurant than I initially thought. That said, having such a plethora of delectable sounding choices makes ordering both a exciting joy and a painstaking dilemma. I probably spent a good 10 minutes just blankly staring while annoyed customers cut ahead of me in line. Paradise is having four stomachs and a bottomless wallet.

In the end, I went with the cioppino. I mean, how could I not? Time to see what all the hub-bub is about.

Bold, messy, and beautiful. Spilling over the sides of the bowl, and mounded high with seafood, this cioppino knows what it’s about and makes no excuses. My fears of not having enough food were allayed the moment the server laid this mamba-jamba before me. Allright, so portioning is not a problem here…but what about the taste? In reality, all I had in ways of comparison was the one I had over at, well, Cioppino’s in SF. Quite frankly, this cioppino blew that one out of the water. The flavor was nice and balanced…tasting of seafood and the ocean, without being overly fishy. The crab was cooked to perfection, as were the clams, mussels, and shrimp, their chewiness providing the right textural contrast to the supple, well-cooked fish filets. And, as every good (and safe) seafood dish should be, everything was fresh. 

Despite hopping on Food TV’s marketing gravy train, Phil’s still maintains what its about. And it shows, in both environment and its food. Simple, local (I think) and fresh, the menu doesn’t have much air of pretension about it, even with all the hype. It is what it is…fresh seafood that is allowed to be exactly that on the plate…fresh seafood…no miso beurre blancs or uni foam here. And while things have been spruced up and things look much more polished for the sake of family dining, Phil’s still stays true to what was, and hopefully, still is, a vibrant, thriving, smelly, local fish market. Somehow, surrounded by the warehouse walls and concrete flooring, the bustling of crowds, next to the fresh fish on ice, and being able to eat right next to the ocean and feeling the ocean breeze…that raw-ness, that immersion of “local, and right from the ocean,” it all just made some sort of primordial sense. Kudos, Phil, I am now a fan.

Phil’s Fish Market
7600 Sandholtd Road
Moss Landing, CA 95039
www.philsfishmarket.com
Someone go and tell me how the other stuff on the menu is…I’m curious to see if this place is a one-trick pony.

Top Chef Masters

I’ll be honest, I was pretty shocked when I first saw the commercial. So I went looking through Bravotv.com to figure out what this business is about. They’ve got some pretty big names in the culinary realm jumping into this thing. Names like Hubert Keller (Fleur de Lys, SF), John Besh, Rick Bayless, and Wylie Dufrense. (WD-50, NY) I mean, these guys are established chefs, with established and acclaimed restaurants. Needless to say, I’m surprised. 

So I guess I’m unofficially plugging for Top Chef Masters…I’m curious to see what’s going to happen.

Ever notice how once life gets in a rhythm..time just seems to fly by? It seemed but only a few days ago that I first donned my PCI whites and strode, a fresh-faced greenhorn, into my first day of stocks and sauces. But after six months of  burns, cuts, cussing, pounding red bulls and messing up a hell of a lot…well…I’m still green. But I had the privelage to learn (and struggle) under some amazing instructors, and I can say I understand food a lot better than before. And from that knowledge comes greater admiration and respect for the craft.

But really, to write up my cumulative thoughts on my time in school would require more than a paltry paragraph. (Perhaps another entry.) Heh, but obviously it’s been awhile since we’ve written, so we’ll start out easy just to get the juices flowing. I guess we’ll begin with the end…my final menu.

So the premise of the final was pretty simple: prepare a three course tasting to be served to the judges, consisting of an appetizer, an entree, and a dessert. Utilize only the specific ingredients named on a list, and nothing more. Three plates of each must be made, totaling nine dishes. The three courses must exhibit a unifying theme, and judging will be based on workflow, efficiency, timing, taste, appearence, creativity, technique and execution. You have three hours. You can almost see it in your head:

…the chairman takes a step back, eyes intent on the camera…a moment of silent tension…and then he flings his hand towards the heavens and screams:

Allez cuisine!

Star-Anise Poached Lobster, Avocado Puree, Citrus Supremes

Something about shelling out 25 bucks for little more than a pound of meat makes you a lot more cautious when cooking it. But for all its hype, taking a lobster from thrashing-on-the-board live to buttery goodness on a plate isn’t as intimidating as one would think. It all lies in the timing. Well…having no qualms about driving a knife through a live creature’s head helps too.

Shelling a lobster is something of an art…it takes a certain amount of finesse to get nice presentable pieces of meat. Generally, cooking it properly ensures that the meat pulls away from the shell. If not, it sticks to the shell, and you end up with lobster confetti. Anyway, we make a quick beurre monte (an emulsified butter sauce) and flavor it with whole star anise. The shelled lobster goes in the star anise beurre monte and infuses/cooks until service. A quick avocado puree made with olive oil, champagne vinegar and lemon juice, and then we supreme some beautiful orange/blood orange segments. Toss in some dressed frisee and that’s about it.

Lobster poached in butter? It’s hard to go wrong…but the star anise adds a little twist to the flavor. And while you’re soaking in the richness, the sweet and tangy citrus comes in and cuts it a bit. The fat in the avocado puree helps the flavors to meld together, while still remaining bright from the vinegar and lemon juice. A little dressed frisee for texture, and bam, there’s your app.

Sichuan Style Smoked Duck Breast, Duck Confit Soup Dumplings , Celeriac Puree, Baby Spring Vegetables, Ginger-Citrus Sauce

If the app was relatively simple…then this, in contrast, was probably most damned complicated dish I’ve ever made…but as I’m steadily coming to learn, complexity isn’t always a good thing.

First we take a whole duck (no, not live) and butcher it up. The legs and breasts get cured overnight in a mix of star anise, 5-spice and other assorted goodies. Once out of the cure, the breasts are cold smoked with a mix of black tea leaves. After the breast picks up the scent of tea leaves, it gets scored and thrown into a pan. Low heat for 15 minutes or so, and the fat should have rendered out, leaving that crispy duck skin everybody loves. Meanwhile the duck legs are used to make duck confit. This is a pretty traditional French preparation, intended to preserve meat for long periods of time. In order to get super-rich, fall-off-the-bone tender meat, the legs are submerged in duck fat, then cooked on super low heat overnight. 30 minute meals, this is not.

Convenient segway: this, to me, has definitely been something I’ve picked up in my time at school: Good things take time. I love slow food. For me, sometimes what distincts a good dish from a “I can die happy” dish is a matter of time. I mean, look at it…pork shoulder, lamb leg, short ribs, pork belly, these used to be considered “undesirable” cuts of meat. But mesquite smoke that pork shoulder for 14 hours, or red wine braise those short ribs for 4 hours, and what was once an unwanted cut of meat becomes the most delectable dish you’ve had this week. And that’s the beauty of cooking, taking something normal and mundane, and making it into something transcendental. I’ll take that braised pork belly over the filet mignon any day. (Maybe it’s Chinese in me.)

Anyway, back to the entree…

For the dumplings, I essentially tried to make xiao long bao. If you aren’t in the know, Xiao long bao are known as a Shanghai specialty, and are prized not only for their flavor, but for the unique quality of containing a bit of hot soup inside. The result is a sumptuous bite of…well…heaven. (And scalded taste buds if you aren’t careful.) Haha, yeah, I know what you’re thinking, “That pretentious little bastard!” People spend their entire lives trying to master this technique and here I am trying to put it on my final. Obviously mine fell quite a bit short…if we can even call them xiao long bao. Anyway, instead of the traditional pork filling, I filled the dumplings with shredded duck confit along with a cube of gelatinized duck stock, which would melt upon steaming, thus mimicking the prized soup quality of xiao long bao.

A quick celery root puree, blanched sauteed spring vegetables, and a ginger-soy-citrus sauce later and we’re there.

Right, so, before you cry foul and scream “hypocrite!” I’ll beat you to the punch and admit that these aren’t really traditional Chinese dishes. Consider them my “take,” utilizing French technique, while still maintaining a distinctively Chinese flavor profile.

Dessert Trio

Longan Mousse with Sesame-Honey Tuile

Compressed Kaffir-Lime Mango with Blood Orange Syrup and Candied Kumquats

Macha Ice Cream

Ehhh…this isn’t really the best picture out there of the dessert course, but it’ll have to do.

Dessert. The dreaded downfall of many a cook. (Just ask the guys on Top Chef.) The less said about this course the better. There’s a reason there are pastry chefs and there are savory chefs…but more on that another time. Given the debacle that was my baking and pastry final, I steered clear of cakes…and tried to keep the individual components as simple as possible, while still maintaining some uniqueness.

The trio starts with a longan (dragon’s eye) mousse that is most delicate flavor-wise. If you’ve ever had lychee, the flavor is somewhat similar. The mousse has a bit of richness from the cream, but still maintains a light and fluffy texture and the whisper of longan flavor.

Next comes the compressed kaffir-lime mango. Ever see vacuum-packed meat with all the air removed from the bag? Yeah it’s like that. The mango takes on a deeper, darker hue, almost having a jewel-like quality from both the infusion of the syrup and the compression. So what you get is a deep, sweet mango flavor that ends with a hint of the kaffir lime to pick things up.

Lastly, the macha ice cream ends the trio as the richest of the three components. The sweetness of vanilla and sugar is tempered by the slight bitterness of the macha powder, while the sesame-honey tuile lends some nice, nutty crunch.

And that all points back to one of the key tenets of fine cooking…do the simple stuff, perfectly. All the truffle stuffed foie gras in the world won’t matter if you can’t cook a pork loin perfectly.  Or put another way, a perfectly cooked, tender chicken breast speaks volumes more about a cook’s ability than some fanciful-looking lobster dish.

So at the risk (or the assurance) of sounding cheesy…what has school taught me? That I still have much to learn. (In a good way.) That I’m still an infant cook, but all that I picked up in school has set me up to continue learning, relishing, and celebrating cuisine as long as I decide to walk this road.

…yeah that was pretty cheesy.

(By the way, I’ve a bunch of photos I’d like to eventually put on the blog…but for some reason they keep on de-saturating when viewed with Firefox vs. Safari. Anyone have any experience with this?)

I’ll spare you guys the speech, but one book (of many) that you may consider reading on the topic is The Fortune Cookie Chronicles by Jennifer 8. Lee. Incidentally,  there’s a video of one of Ms. Lee’s presentations floating on YouTube. Check it out, and by all means, share your thoughts.

I’ve a confession to make…the whole Christmas ham thing?

Not a fan.

Christmas dinner always seems to play second fiddle to Thanksgiving. No one’s finished recovering from planning (or eating) that feast, so it seems like Christmas dinner becomes a matter of, “What the heck can I make that won’t require me to prep the whole day before?”

In our house, this has usually meant…the ubiquitous hot pot. Hearty, humid, communal sustenance for the cold winter months. And nothing constitutes family bonding quite like clacking chopsticks, sweaty faces, and fighting your cousin for that last piece of crab.

So the question I pose to you, dear reader, what’s the traditional Christmas dinner in your house? Cause…no one I know really does the whole Christmas ham business anyway…

Hope everyone’s Christmas was pleasant, restful, and fulfilling…and from us here at the Spork, we wish you a happy, safe New Year!

Keep eating folks.

Around the Belmont-San Mateo border, El Camino Real is an interesting mix of mattress vendors, timeworn motels, mom-and-pop stores, and used car dealerships. Not exactly an area where you would stumble upon hamburgers with Meyer Ranch ground beef and shakes with Clover organic milk. Lo and behold, newly opened Jack’s Prime serves up all that sustainable and humanely raised goodies that Bay Area denizens have come to demand and expect.

Jack’s Prime just opened at the beginning of October and seems to be garnering a good amount of attention already. Mmmm, cold beer. Have to hand it to Jack’s and their attention to the small things that make a huge difference. Frozen pitchers?! Great idea, folks. We kicked off the meal with some ice cold Boont. Jack’s even has wine available for those weirdos who would rather enjoy a Zinfandel over a cold one.

The interior features a very modern industrial minimalism with its strong emphasis on gray and metal. Thankfully, it didn’t feel like I was going in for a prostate exam or anything. Unfortunately for the wait staff, we snuck in 15 minutes before closing, but our waitress was fantastic and pretty understanding (and it was her first day!).

Nate and I both ordered the Maytag Blue Ribbon burger, complete with Maytag blue, caramelized onions, and beefsteak tomatoes. Pretty freaking good. Juicy and messy, just the way I like it. The bun was perfectly toasted and the spread tied the whole creation together. However, when we first received it, there was one glaring omission. No blue cheese. Nate and I were a bit perplexed, but the waitress quickly took care of it. Being the first week of operation, a few snafus were totally excusable, but it’s hard to call a burger Maytag blue if you forget to place the namesake between the buns. Also, in writing this, I just realized that there were sauteed mushrooms, which was not a part of the menu description. Sweet, free shrooms.

We ordered a pair of fries: the Mushroom Swiss and Breakfast. The Breakfast fries was topped with a fried egg and served with a side of Tabasco mayo. The fries were quite tasty, but we were definitely disappointed by the fried egg. Some of the ooey-gooey yolk running all over the fries would have been nice. Hopefully they’ll address this for all you future patrons.

Had to try the handmade shakes. I had the mint chocolate and Nate went with the black and white. Mmmm, pretty good. The shakes could easily be slurped up a straw (unlike those pesky In ‘n’ Out suckas) and were almost smoothie like, but they held very well. The mint chocolate had a delicious treasure trove of chocolate chips at the bottom. Great way to end the meal.

Based on the past reviews, it seems like we’ve been eating at a lot of burger and sandwich joints recently, but what can I say… I love sinking my teeth into a juicy patty sandwiched between two crunchy and soft buns. Does Jack’s deliver on flavor? Yes, very much so. Should you go? Yes, check them out and support a Peninsula restaurateur who is committed to serving good ingredients. Would I go back? Not for a while. I don’t mean to be a jerk, but I was a bit disappointed by some of the mistakes. We didn’t even get a dish comped. I understand the first week slip-ups, so I’ll wait a bit and let Jack’s iron out some of the wrinkles before I make a return visit.

Jack’s Prime
3723 South El Camino Real
San Mateo, CA 94403
650-638-1479
www.jacksprime.com
Support our local businesses!

Ever since I started realizing my preoccupation with cooking, I had always toyed with the idea of going to culinary school. Anyone who knew me in college (and now) would tell you, I spent probably too much time stressing, bemoaning, and being a general complaining sad sack (sorry all) over the whole thing. Anyway, after no small amount of deliberation, I am now part of the Fall 08′ class at the Professional Culinary Institute.

What does that mean for the blog? Well, for those of you that are interested, I’ll be updating periodically on the various trials, funny episodes, and striking new revelations that today’s culinary student faces, in what is becoming a increasingly burgeoning business. Don’t worry, I’ll try to stay away from the whole “Today, I did this…and then that…it was soooooo coool,” business.

So that’s it for now. As always, keep eating folks.

So it’s been a good two months since I’ve gotten back and I’ve had some time to mull over my experiences. And while I’d like to spill them all into writing…I realize (as usual) that it would be just incoherent babble without at least some measured thought. Point is, this is (hopefully) the first of a series of entries I’ll be writing about my experiences in China, and more broadly, about Chinese food in general. In reality, there are few other things that I actually feel strongly about, so I want to mark my words and arguments with at least some degree of articulation. But for the sake of keeping things simple, I’ve decided to tackle a considerably simpler issue for the first entry.

With four months worth of amazing food, it’s really quite hard for me to say which was the best meal. But of them, this particular meal is the most clearly etched into my memory…if only for the experience. So I guess the more appropriate title would be. “The Most Memorable Meal I Ever Had.” …but that would be an alliteration…and an ugly-sounding one at that.

Sadly, I have no actual photos from that meal…so the following photos are from various meals I had while in China.

The best meal I had in China was on a frigid winter night in Shenzhen.

I climb the last few stairs, the sights and sounds of Shennan Lu assaulting my senses as I exit the subway station. “Damn, it’s cold,” I think, zipping up my jacket. The sidewalk is a flurry of people, taxis, loud honking, and food stalls, and I struggle to keep sight of my co-workers among the masses. “Let’s go out tonight, we’ll take you for some good food,” they had said. I was excited by the premise, but the chilly winter air currently has me yearning for the comforter back at the apartment. We wind away from the sprawling main streets and bright lights, into a convoluted mess of alleyways and backstreets. Suddenly, the streets become narrower and dustier. Light becomes dimmer, and people swarm on all sides. A cacophony of boisterous Cantonese and shrill Mandarin permeates the air, while the walls seem to loom higher, enclosing us. Like walking into the heart of darkness. “Watch your wallet,” my co-worker whispers to me, “this is where all the pickpockets and shit people hang out.” Indeed, this is not the polished, pristine city of skyscrapers and lights that the authorities and businessmen would have you believe.

 The best meal I had in China was eaten in some dingy backwater alleyway.

After several turns through the maze-like alleys, we sit down in a nondescript, tarp covered stall, the shoddy plastic stools threatening to collapse under our weight. The food stand next door is hawking goose tongue, and cages full of live animals are being wheeled through the narrow alleyway. A single lightbulb hangs from the top of the tent stall, casting an unnerving, unnatural white light against the blue tarp walls. At one table, some middle-aged businessmen argue, still clad in their weathered suits. While at another table, an older couple enjoys the meal in silence. Little children skitter in and out of the tent, kicking up dust while chasing each other and laughing. The fold-out table is simple enough, if not for the indiscreet 12-inch hole carved out of the middle of it. I peer inside and see what looks like a jet-burner attached to a propane tank, the metal grate still smoldering from the last table.  “I like where this is going,” I think.

 The best meal I had in China was probably alive only 30 minutes ago.

Flimsy plastic cups are passed around and the Tsingtao starts to flow. “Gan bei!” we shout,  toasting each other and to a hard day’s work. It’s then that the food starts coming. Little red and blue baskets of fresh, leafy green vegetables. Plates of uncooked, unidentifiable meats and organs. Some I recognize, others are completely new to me. Steadily and seemingly unceasingly, they keep on coming, the prelude to the main theme. Pretty soon there’s little room left on the table. Then the cook, clad in white undershirt and soiled apron, brings a bubbling, brimming earthenware pot to our table and sets it on the burner. It’s the aroma that hits me first. The unmistakable smell of chicken broth. With no small amount of anticipation, I look inside to see a golden-colored opaque broth bubbling away, spiked with herbs and cilantro. The aroma is wholesome, evocative of every chicken soup I’ve had before. I drink in the smell deeply, and suddenly the cold doesn’t seem to matter that much anymore. “But where’s the main meat?” I wonder.

We begin loading in vegetables and meats when I hear an awkward sounding “Gawwwwk!” behind me. I look over to the “kitchen,” which is really just a small cart in the street, equipped with a single wok and a cutting board. The cook is already furiously working the wok. He dumps the contents onto the board and begins chopping away. 5 minutes later, a beautifully golden-skinned, neatly cut, whole chicken is brought to our table. I get a few brief seconds to admire the bird, the quick-frying has given the skin a beautiful light amber color, and the skin scintillates with still hot oil. With the pieces assembled to resemble the bird’s original form, the skin on each piece slips back a bit, giving an almost teasing look at the glistening, moist white meat underneath. Meanwhile, the aroma of rendered chicken fat hits my nostrils, and I struggle to hold my chopsticks still. I have a moment to think,  “It’s beautiful…” right before the bird is unceremoniously shoveled, head-and-all, into the earthenware pot. My eyes open wide as I think to myself, “Holy crap. I am freaking hungry.”

The best meal I had in China was a simple, unassuming hot pot.

Minutes later, we’re busy fishing delectable bits from the boiling cauldron while we complain about co-workers and talk about our lives. I plunge my chopsticks into the opaque broth, feeling for pieces of meat. Sometimes a chicken claw breaks the surface, a leg another time, even the head…all of which go into my bowl, and eventually my mouth. The chicken is simple and unassuming in flavor. No fanciful purees, no truffled sauces. The meat is delectably tender, almost criminally succulent, and the taste is of natural, fresh chicken. A light smattering of Chinese herbs fills out the flavor, while the molten broth warms to the core. Time slows and I lean back, a little tipsy,  and look at the smiling faces of my friends, thinking…”this is it, this is what I live for.” We eat, drink, trade jokes and laugh, spitting chicken bones straight onto the table and downing several rounds of Tsingtao. Sporadic “Gawwks!” spring up behind us from time to time, while we tenderly sip and savor the delicious broth, breathing hot steam from our mouths that dissipates in the chilly night air. And outside in the streets, on a bone-chilling winter night…it’s all perfect.

Absolutely perfect.

I later find out what we had eaten was called ji bao, which roughly translates to “chicken bag” or “chicken purse.” My friends insist that this isn’t even the best ji bao in town. But to me, this food, and this night…it’s all I need. I’ve never had anything remotely like it in the States. This is Chinese food for Chinese people. And in a way, it saddens me to think that with every amazing new thing I eat in China, I know I’ll never find it at home. But yes, I think to myself, this one dinner will be the one I’ll remember with greatest affection. Eating simple, great food at an unassuming, humble little stall, trading jokes and sharing lives with friends and colleagues, smoking cigs, toasting, and drinking until the cold night air takes on a welcoming, enveloping warmth. These will be the memories I will carry with me, and the moments I will live for.

(Thanks to Dan for playing editor.)

Ahh, pastrami. I don’t really consider myself much of a sandwich guy, but when I do spring for one, nothing does it like hot pastrami on rye. (Or a monte cristo, but that’s another entry.) Yes, it is one of my most favored of sandwich meats, yet also one of my least understood. Embarrassingly, I didn’t figure out pastrami was actually cured beef until just a few years ago. Anyway, during my time in college, I had always heard stories of this place. This oddly named joint with unrivaled, perhaps even, legendary pastrami sandwiches. I mean, their sandwich is listed under the Wikipedia entry for pastrami, and we all know Wikipedia is pretty much law…so they’ve gotta be somewhat legit right? As fate would have it, I had the opportunity to swing by and see if the product matched the hype.

Somehow I had always imagined that the best pastrami could only be found at some old ma n’ pa  Jewish deli in New York. Well, The Hat has been around for about 55 years, and while it’s no small deli, it does a lot to try to retain a old, weathered motif. Lacquered wood and antique photos help retain the classic feel. They’ve got an open kitchen, which is always nice, complete with what seems to be way too many workers. The menu is straight, unpretentious Americana: hot dogs, cheeseburgers, chili cheese fries, ham and swiss…you get the idea. But honestly…you’re here for the pastrami anyway.

 It may look like dog food, but I promise it tastes better. A heaping pile of fries topped with chili and melting cheese, and finished with a generous helping of pastrami. A definitive tribute to the American ideal of excessive over-abundance. The fries themselves were the thicker type, which I appreciate…but they were lacking the crispiness necessary to make them great. Either the fryer wasn’t hot enough, or they had been sitting out for awhile. The chili itself, I have to say, was pretty mediocre. No real flavor, no definitive punch. The pastrami’s saltiness did a lot to make up for the overall lack of character otherwise. All in all a mediocre dish. While good in concept, I feel like each of the individual components was lacking…dumbing it all down in the end.

 On to the famed pastrami dip…a modest 8-inch french roll chock full of warm pastrami, complemented only by mustard and pickles. Solid pastrami, with good texture…but the sandwich, like the fries, lacked an overall punch. The bread was flat, adding no real flavor nor texture. I found the sandwich relying a little too heavily on the condiments for any real flavor, or perhaps they were too strong. Like a mustard and pickle hoagie. In either case, the pastrami  was overshadowed. A solid sandwich, but lacking any real punch.

 The Hat was a classic example of over-hype, under-delivery for me. I went in expecting phenomenal pastrami, and while it was solid..too many of the other components were lacking to make anything stand out. That’s not to say their pastrami dip is bad, but nothing really sang. So as of now, I guess my hunt for the perfect pastrami is yet unabated. Well, it was all pretty filling…which counts for something.

 The Hat
1210 E. Imperial Hwy.
Brea, CA 92821
www.thehat.com