Prince Gastronome

Vancouver

In July, my life will take a severe shift.  I’ll be moving, recuperating from surgery, and saving up for my return to higher education after a nearly twenty year gap.  Before that, I’ll be needed in Vancouver for five days.  It was originally intended to ink some business connections but these have since fizzled despite the hotel still being paid for.  At least I still have the Prometheus premiere to look forward to along with friends I hadn’t seen in years.  Considering the increasing popularity of this blog and my new fans (Bob), I’ve decided to blitz Vancouver’s gastronomic bulkheads and conquer its greatest strongholds.  I may only have four nights, but I want each of those to be occupied by another premiere example of Vancouver’s culinary supremacy.  Obviously, a good lunch would be welcome as well, but those may be problematic amongst my shopping and movie watching.  So I open the floor to ANY suggestions people may have of where I should go and when (lunch or dinner).  And don’t say Olive Garden; in fact don’t mention any chains unless it’s a family of bistros seasoned throughout greater Vancouver.

So far the short list includes the following culinary legends

Vij’s http://www.vijsrestaurant.ca/index_in.htm

Chamber http://www.chambar.com/

But I need more suggestions, hopefully between New Westminster and downtown Vancouver and if anyone can recommend a kick ass place to eat lunch around Metrotown, that would also be good.  Beyond that, I would like a good sushi place and Chinese dim sum.  Those could also be for lunch. 

Thanks all.

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PHASE 2

Even though I’ve decided to allow chain restaurants like Moxis and Earls in my blog, they are disqualified from competing in my coming awards ceremony, which mostly entails me typing a blog in my underwear with a cup of tea on my left and a bowl of dry roasted peanuts on my right.  Having declared this initial phase complete, the time has come to list the restaurants which have earned a place on my supper itinerary.  Here are the finalists:

 

Cimos Mediterranean Grill

Dana Mandi

Hummus Brothers

Indian Lion

Nancy O’s

North 54

Shogun

Sliders

Thanh Vu

Twisted Cork

U&Me

White Goose Bistro

Winstons

 

You’ll notice Shogun and Winstons having been elevated without a lunch entry.  This is because they don’t offer one.  I have also decided to give Hummus Brothers another opportunity to win me over.  You’ll also notice a complete lack of Chinese cuisine.

 

The ratings will also be different.  I’ll be using a base 10 system to rate these, separated by a DECOR, PLATING, SERVICE, FOOD, VALUE, and OVERALL.  The scale can be understood with the following table.

 

1 > McDonalds.  Child-proof and stain-proof furnishings, no service, and grade Q food. 

2 > 

3 >

4 >

5 >  Boston Pizza.  A safe settlement when no one else can agree.  Decent food and decent pricing.  No one gets upset eating at Boston Pizza.

6 >

7 >

8 >

9 >

10 > Gordon Ramsey’s Savoy Grill.  Attentive and charitable staff, professional atmosphere, fantastic food.  You leave utterly satisfied regardless of the money spent.

 

I don’t expect ANY place in Prince George to rate a 10.  If so, then there would be media attention on it—where people would gather across the world to try it—the kind celebrities talk about when interviewed on Jay Leno.  However, I DO expect these places to all rate above a 5.  If not, than they truly disappointed.  And because eating dinner by myself is more depressing than eating lunch by myself, I am looking for company.  Any friends that wish to accompany me, please message or call to organize an assignation.  Please note that at the time of this writing, both Cimos and North 54 have already been completed.  Everything else is up for grabs.

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BEST ANECDOTES FROM MY BLOG SO FAR (Part 5)

(Last one, promise)

VEGGIE Q CAFE

“Comparing the Veggie Q to the African Café is like comparing an AMC Pacer to a Honda Civic.  One boasts quality workmanship, reliability, and pleasant looks, and the other boasts to have more glass than the Skydome.”

 

MR. JAKE’S STEAKHOUSE

“I mean anyone looking for a pretentious restaurant to conform to their ostentatious demands would be best to avoid Jake’s.  People who know Jake’s love Jake’s, and people who don’t know or don’t care might be turned off by its borderline schizophrenic nature.  Doing so would be denying some of the best fried and broiled meat in town.  This is a vegetarian’s nightmare, mocked across the order board.  But anyone renouncing meat is flicking a bull’s scrotum by walking into a place called a steakhouse.  It would be like a chocking victim walking into Christian Scientist convention.  I can imagine the entire restaurant falling into an ominous hush like that moment in Vanilla Sky when Tom Cruise bolts from the coffee shop at the mere mention of vegetarian dishes.” 

 

CHINA TASTE

“I think I just have a problem with places that assume you’ll be eating from the buffet, a trough for bipeds.  Initially, I was expecting China Taste to be another checklist of Asian cuisine mediocrity.  It’s not off a highway or near a major urban area.  No one has mentioned it, let alone offer it praise.  And given the last year of reviews, I compare reviewing Chinese restaurants to getting stitches removed.  However, after entering, I suddenly got a rush of something.  I didn’t recall feeling this before.  Hope?  No.  Optimism?  No…maybe just less despair.” 

 

GOLDEN PLACE

“As for service, I hadn’t felt this unwelcome since staying at my ex-girlfriend’s house in China and being told to leave by her mother on account that I was white and couldn’t speak her language.  It was that exact look.  In defense, every other person in that country was considerate and loved the fact that I was white…and had money…more the latter.”

 

CRAVE

“Having been worried that these last few entries would be sullied by a flood of Chinese buffets, family restaurants, and glorified hotel cafeterias—where the high point would be complimentary butter tarts or homemade jam over bulk-bought bagels—I’m happy to say that surprises can still occur.”

 

CONNAUGHT RESTAURANT

“Beyond D’Lanos, U&Me is two blocks down, and up the road is Cimos.  However, if none of those interest you, I would vote for Connaught over D-Lanos, Tokyo Sushi, or China Cup, but it’s like picking your preference between the endings of Mass Effect 3 (still bitter).  D’Lanos practically pre-chews your food, Tokyo Sushi treats you like the white boyfriend presented to a Chinese family, and China Cup is wrapped in an oversized medical alert bracelet.” 

 

CAMELOT COURT

“I made a comment in a previous post where I felt I should review Chinese restaurants separately from the rest, rating them on the time after I finish the meal I’m urged to have a bowel movement.  If I were to make such a comparison, I’d have to do the same with family restaurants.  Only with them, I would rate them on how more desirable their food would be over a bowl of mayonnaise and a brick of cheddar cheese.”

CHINA TASTE

“With deep colors and steam rising from my plate, I began to think this place could break the mold of Chinese buffets.  It didn’t, and every bite was followed by a mouthful of anguish.  Gloom quenched my thirst, badly needed from chewing salty and dried hopelessness.  The pork felt like boiled leather.  The chicken was dry enough to be considered fossilized.  The obviously store-bought spring rolls tasted a week past expiration.  And the sushi rolls—those sorry excuses I’ve wanted to take photos of in other restaurants—had just been removed from their fridge.  Have you ever tried chewing on cold white rice?  It’s like eating something extruded from a Play-Doh Fun Factory.  The wasabi had no kick and even the ginger tasted lip-puckeringly sour.” 

 

GRAMAS KITCHEN

“Walking to Grama’s Kitchen, I passed a guy in a Honda civic ferociously shoveling fries from a paper cup like they were barbiturates.  This created a very uncomfortable situation as I strode by the crawling vehicles to enter a hotel restaurant, like I’m too good for Wendy’s.  Am I judging the queue due to their incapacity to distinguish between fresh and reheated frozen food shipped from Guangzhou?  Is it the fact that I have thirty minutes to spare for a meal made-to-order while a progression of Orwellian philistines trudge along, waiting to ingest a layers of corn meal, beef sinew, and connective tissue that must be blasted with ammonia and citric acid to render it even edible by the masses, less they contract the latest strain of liver-liquefying enterobacteriaceae?”

GOLDEN PLACE

“It was cheap, but if I wanted to eat out at a soup-kitchen, I’d go poor.  At least at McDonalds, you know what to expect for $5.99.  They have biochemical engineers gene splicing flavoured fat and creating food designed from the molecule up to maximize our pleasure response.  Golden Place was just painful.” 

 

PAN AM

“The sizzling hot pot is a heap a baby corn, carrots, onions and more chicken than the Royal Tyrrell Museum in Drumheller (…think about it).”  

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BEST ANECDOTES FROM MY BLOG SO FAR (Part 4)

SAVALAS

“I know I was approaching Quesnel, not by the limit sign, but by the advertisement praising the small town’s strengths.  “Retire in Quesnel” it says.  So, they basically gave up trying to get people to start a life here.  Come to Quesnel…A good place to die.”

 

MAGUHAY

“The amazing waitress with a bright attitude and talkative disposition points out the similarities between Filipino and Chinese food.  The dishes have new names I have to look up, like Adobo and Puchero and Menudo…Wait…MENUDO?  It’s been twenty years since last I heard that name.  Pork stew with vegetable Medley…oddly enough, that describes the dish and the boy band from the 80s.” 

AMIGOS   

“Compared to fast food varieties, Amigo’s feels and tastes like it was made, not manufactured.  Given current events with larger chains, I’m confident the beef in Amigo’s is real and not comprised of inedible appendages, good intentions, and salt.” 

TOKYO SUSHI

“For the second day in a row, I spend a protracted amount of time trying to scrub the smell of garlic off my hands.  Thanks to a recommendation, I peeled and crushed about twenty garlic bulbs and pressed them into ice cube trays for freezing.  I like keeping garlic handy without having to muck about the task of peeling and crushing it each time.  The unfortunate consequence is two days of scrubbing my hands like Macbeth’s wife with a concoction of Zest and petroleum solvent to remove a lingering odor that appears to be sweating out of me.”

MAI THAI

“I’m instructed that the first sign of a good Thai restaurant is the prevalence of Thai royalty, often seen in massive gilded frames about kingdom.  I’m warned that unless I find a gaudy gold-bordered painting presenting stately Asians with the emotional range of a runway model, I should turn and walk out.  The second sign of a good Thai restaurant is its high quotient of elephants.  Upon walking into Mai Thai, I’m greeted by two small gold statues and a giant elephant head behind the desk.  No, it wasn’t taking orders…although in retrospect that would have been a brilliant idea.”

    

VEGGIE Q CAFE

“At the beginning of PG’s blog, I reviewed an…”unconventional” little coffee shop called The African Café.  The food was bland, obviously reheated, and served with as much panache as a brutalist architect.  The only moment of the experience worth recollecting was noticing the vestigial third thumb my waiter had poking out of his hand.  Yes, I know there was a “my clumsy waiter was all thumbs” joke in there I could have taken…wait, I just did.” 

NEW ASIA

“The spring roll is hotter than Portman in Swan, only surpassed later with the sizzling plate of ginger beef.  The roll was exceptionally greasy.  Ginger beef should be spicy, but this lacks any punch and is as limp as Heffner sans blue pill.  If it had some kick or if the beef had some flavour, I’d recommend it.  As it stands, they get credit for offering a substantial portion of it; there’s got to be at least ten cows worth of lips here.” 

 

GREAT WALL

“Everything from the sweat and sour—I-I mean sweet and sour pork, chicken balls, and fried rice is lukewarm and borderline flavourless.  Even the wonton soup can be summarized as a noodle wrapped unseasoned ball of grade F beef left simmering in un-refreshed water (thank my colon I’m only forty minutes into lunch service).  Half the buffet is split between the Asian stalwarts and generic bowls of American porridge—potato salad, macaroni salad, bean salad, and other salads with no lettuce.” 

 

MAI THAI

“The menu lists a variety of salads, though only two have the name “salad” in them.  The others are listed with a variety of titles, all seemingly derived from the same six single-syllable words, kaow, pak, nam, pick, pow, and tom.  One has as many as four of these.” 

 

BON VOYAGE RESTAURANT

“Have you ever gotten the impression some things in life are constructed like license plates?  A huge sheet of plain steel rolls out, a large blade slices off a square, and a massive press stamps a random indicator of distinction.  I think of the Hyundai Accent of being built like that—as if walking into a dealer and asking, “I’ll have fifteen feet of car please.  They roll out the sheet and slap the cutter down; here’s your car:  you now have that length of vehicle.  Mobile homes are like that to, and I believe some people wander through life having emerged from an assembly line of mediocrity.  Apparently certain restaurants are like this as well, dropped from a conveyer belt called “Family Restaurant”.  The chairs are that single-metal-curved-pipe, rounded-top variety.  The menu must separate sandwiches from burgers with another complete page dedicated just to steak.  It will offer a scattershot of regional dishes with Italian, Greek, and Chinese cuisine sharing the same page.  The restaurant opens at 6:00 am and offers two stacks of menus, breakfast and lunch/dinner—because nothing says lunch like a 10 oz steak.  I don’t look forward to these locations when I decide to visit them.  Sometimes they’re so depressing, they’d have broken the spirit of a dung beetle.  And other times, I have to admire their capacity to offer 4 lbs. of food for $8.95.”  

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BEST ANECDOTES FROM MY BLOG SO FAR (Part 3)

CAFÉ VOLTAIRE

“You have to expect that, but comparing it to Golden Place next door, Voltaire becomes as sacrosanct as the Ark of the Covenant.  It’s like rating the sexual charisma of best-selling novelists.  Neil Gaiman is not that attractive of a man, but comparing him to the likes of Stephan King, Clive Barker, or Harlan Ellison, and Gaiman becomes Clooney.  Next to Gaiman, other authors are the nerdy outcasts of a PAX convention. “

 

COFFEE GARDEN

“I can’t say much about the decor.  It’s every shade of brown, whether it’s beige, umber, taupe, mahogany—basically every color on a L’eggs carouse.”

JUST GOODE FOOD

“That’s the impression I got after sitting down at Just Goode Food.  And yes, I felt out of place, and not just because I wasn’t wearing coveralls swathed in a quart of primer.  My presence, with black woollen Bellissimo jacket and matching polyester pants, was made even more jarring with such amenities as a digital watch and trimmed fingernails.  I know I’m coming off like complete elitist asshole; let me try for specifics.  Just Goode Food looks like the cafeteria in a retirement home, offering a buffet-like experience save for that pesky feature of allowing you to fashion your own meal.  You ask for something and they spoon it onto a plate, because apparently you can’t be allowed a second serving of dried teriyaki chicken.”

CHINA CUP BUFFET

“With a solid brick wall separating the buffet from the tables, they must be prepared for when an 800 lb. fat guy stumbles after having a heart attack from his sixth serving of brown-flavored meatballs.  I wonder what it says about me, at least from the perspective of waiters and other customers.  Don’t I have better places to be than clatter at my keyboard alone in a massive Chinese restaurant?  I actually felt pity for the lone gentlemen across the way that enjoyed…no….consumed his meal quietly and answered the waiter’s query with “wonderful”.” 

MARGO’S CAFÉ

“I asked for a recommendation and was offered the open-face chicken sandwich.  What arrived was a gravy-drenched plate consisting of a baseball of mashed potatoes, a ladle of unseasoned steamed vegetables, and the aforementioned sandwich.  The chicken was a landmark of lethargic mediocrity, with gravy lathered chicken trimmings sitting atop of untoasted Wonder Bread.  For those spared this unfortunate example of bachelor-evening-desperation, when untoasted sliced white bread is covered in any liquid, be it gravy, butter, or mayonnaise, what results is close to pudding.” 

CARMEL RESTAURANT

“As I cut off another piece of ground chuck, I find a wedge of melon.  This is like a culinary Mandelbrot set; the more you zoom in, the more food you find.”

ATLANTIS

“It’s located north, off the highway past the last set of lights before, I don’t know, Alaska.  I’ve mentioned the name and let me analyze it for a moment.  Prince George is a nine-hour drive to the Pacific according to the same Google Maps that recommends taking a kayak to Hawaii.  Atlantis was a speculated land to exist in the middle of the opposite ocean, still quite the distance from Greece.  Its connection with the Mediterranean country derives mostly from the inventive ramblings of Plato.  What I’m saying is that the name, though fitting to the laymen, is utterly ridiculous.” 

BARB’S PLACE

“I believe that a restaurant should not give the impression that it’s cutting corners, even if portions appear small.  This burger feels like that.  How much money could they save by removing one bacon strip and slicing smaller cheese?  If this place were any cheaper, the desert special would be a Snickers bar and fork.”

HUMMUS BROTHERS

“I am going to begin this review and this soon to be venerated blog entry with a masturbation metaphor.  Brace yourself.  That last part isn’t the analogy I was referencing when I teased a masturbation metaphor.  When someone is really good at something they do on their own, something they know implicitly, it’s hard for an outsider to compete.  If you like it a certain way—a specific technique you’ve mastered through years of trial and error—it’s hard for anyone to show you an alternative.  Additionally, you might find it frustrating if someone offers to do it for you.  In fact, the act itself could just be an exercise in restraint as you tolerate something you know you can do better.”

WHITE GOOSE

“At 198 francs ($40), you can get an 8 oz ostrich steak with a risotto cake accompaniment.  At 40$, I hope the bird is brought out, named, baptized, and then killed on the spot for my amusement—it’s teeny beaked head staring at me during my meal.  Just saying, 40$ can be a lot for a piece of a big chicken.”  

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BEST ANECDOTES FROM MY BLOG SO FAR (Part 2)

ESTHER’S INN

“Esther’s Inn, like the Connaught, predates my life in this city, though like many other hotels, its ownership has changed more hands than a circle jerk.  Although close to the highway, Esther’s view is marred predominantly by a Burger King and an impressively-sized tire retailer.  Thankfully, they still have their tall and gaudy billboard marked with a palm tree in silhouette, unchanged since 1970 when it still looked like shit.  Seriously, this sign wouldn’t be more outdated if it was a neon tree with broken tubes for leaves, leaving only a colossal phallus greeting potential customers.  Even the hotel is conveniently shielded with regionally appropriate pines to screen people from the fact the exterior hasn’t been updated since patriation (Google it).”

GRAMA’S KITCHEN

“Even now, though I remember parking and seeing that guy jackhammer fries into his mouth like a pneumatic press pounding a telephone pole into the ground, I can’t remember much of Grama’s Kitchen at all.” 

COFFEE GARDEN

“I felt like a pariah not ordering coffee.  I read of Pisa, Napoli, and Montecantini Torrefazionne Italia coffee.  With as many syllables as that, you know it has to be good.  Beyond this, the menu didn’t scream anything particularly unique, though the prices did smack me like an angry wookie.  A $15 burger should come with a complimentary reach-around.”

CARMEL RESTAURANT

“For you illiterate hungry-men out there, Salisbury steak is not a burger without a bun.  Though you may expect the “Salisbury” to be the namesake of a British monarch like sandwich or a German city like hamburger, Salisbury gets its name from a doctor who is often considered the predecessor of Atkins.  You know Atkins, the guy that thought gout was the price to pay for weight loss.  Salisbury wanted to encourage a high protein, low carb diet, and his solution was a mince meat patty awash in gravy.  That being said, Carmel offers the dish with a full side of French fries and garlic bread.  Irony.”

HART WHEEL

“I stand out among the other patrons, most of who appear amazed at this tiny computer sitting on my table.  They probably still point at passing airplanes and act flabbergasted by the invention of the 8-track.” 

BARB’S PLACE

“Like every other dining establishment, I did a quick internet search and got my hopes up.  It claimed Barb’s Place was a reputable and well regarded eatery with nearly 30 years of history.  Unfortunately, this was an oceanside seafood restaurant in Vancouver.  When I searched for the correct Barb’s Place, I found one review claiming it had inferior food to Lunchables.  Looking forward to this one.”

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BEST ANECDOTES FROM MY BLOG SO FAR (Part 1)

CONNAUGHT RESTAURANT

“And there was a rather disconcerting brown stain running down the middle of the ceiling, like someone either managed to projectile vomit with such velocity as to achieve escape velocity or someone lost their bowels during a brief case of reverse gravity.”

 

CIMOS

“When I hear arguments about the fastidious and ignorant nature of Canadian countrymen in a city steeped in a legacy of lumber pulp, and the need of restaurants to compromise their originality in favor of dishes that can be replicated in a Swanson “Hungry-Man” dinner, I will respond by trumpeting the accomplishments of Cimo, White Goose, and North 54.  Prime examples that quality fine dining is not limited to larger cities.  Also, the head chef of Cimos is named Wayne Kitchen.  I shit you not.”

 

D’LANOS

“This was the kind of place that served coleslaw in a tiny cream cup and gravy in a soup bowl.  Thirty minutes after sitting down and I was finished.  The coffee jawa came around repeatedly verifying my desire to not be topped up.”

 

HART WHEEL RESTAURANT

“After snaking my way through the demilitarized zone that is Prince George construction, I finally arrive.  Initial speculation would have the Hart Wheel as a local diner, half expecting world class apple pie and damn fine cups of coffee.  Each table is decorated by mugs, silo-sized sugar decanters and those classic napkin dispensers that always seem tear the paper when I try to remove one.” 

 

CAMELOT COURT

“That was always the disappointment, where you would see the photos of meals at Denny’s or McDonalds and realize what you got was that plate after it had gone through six years of the Russian Gulag, like a before and after photo with Hurricane Katrina in between.”

 

DADDY O’S

“Let me get this out of the way, I hate wings.  Specifically, I’ve an aversion to eating meat off bones.  I don’t like the feel of it on my hands.  I don’t like getting grease on my fingers—I admit it, accuse me of being an elitist.  When I was in China, my companion ripped out a vacuum-sealed chicken wing and began to ingest it on the train.  I couldn’t even look at her; I almost gagged.  I also don’t like licking my fingers.  I know where they’ve been.  I don’t order any food which is delivered with either a water bath or a bib.  What am I, four?”

EMPRESS TEA HOUSE

“I won’t criticize Empress on the quality of its borsch.  I had no idea what borsch was until now.  If you assumed that the name borsch didn’t sound particularly appetizing, you’d best avoid it because your impressions were correct.  Borsch is for people looking to reduce their chances of cardiovascular disease by pumping themselves with beetroot, apparently the only ingredient.”   

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Foodey Prince George Restaurants Review

PANEER KORMA

This is what happens when I have loads of ingredients and no recipes. 

Before I can tackle another Ramsday, I needed to clean out a lot of my leftover ingredients.  So I took a lead from Ramsay’s Great Escape and modified one to suit what I uncovered from my refrigerator.  I tossed out a bag of wilted coriander and a bunch of white fuzzy oranges.  I’d considered making a korma with a pound of ground beef from my freezer until I discovered two bags of paneer on the cusp of freezer burn.  The result was something I’m not even sure exists, paneer korma.  Substitutions weren’t just limited to lamb with paneer.  I also replaced cashews with pine nuts and chili peppers with jalapeño peppers.  Beyond that, nearly everything was the same. 

 

What did I do with it?  The first thing was mating it with your standard naan bread.  The second day it was rice.  On the third, I got hit with a severe case of inspiration.  I diced up lemon-marinaded chicken and mixed it with the paneer and shoehorned the whole mix into some pita envelopes.  Did it work?  Hell yeah!

 

 

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SLIDERS

Damn it!  I thought I was done! 

 

Even though I’d recently considered expanding my blog to include chains like Moxis and Earls, I was still placated by the fact that the primary phase of my blog had been completed.  I have my first dinner reserved this week with another to follow the week after.  So why did no one tell me about Sliders?  And no, not the pedestrian sci-fi bowel movement from the 1990’s, I’m referring to the restaurant shoehorned into the old Tastebuds cafe at Parkwood.  In defense, I can hardly be blamed; I rarely go to our theater (on the account of it being crap).  I discovered Sliders during my errant wandering while awaiting The Avengers.  I had only patronized Tastebuds once before and found it as original and as satisfying as a Michael Bay movie (sour topic).        

Sliders gratefully dumped the coffee crutch for one apparently inspired by the many video rental stores which have closed down in the past five years, a sound financial investment to me.  This was against my previous assumption implied by the name that Sliders was perhaps a sports bar.  If it doesn’t reference baseball, then perhaps it took its name from the famous White Castle miniature hamburgers average people buy to make themselves look huge when eating them.  I suppose it could also allude to the viscous nature of your feces as it’s ejected from your body with the speed and shape of ferret on a path paved with saturated fat after enjoying a meal there. 

Thankfully, I didn’t get that impression upon walking in.  Sliders looks pleasant and unintimidating.  In fact, it does that so well, I was certain Sliders was part of a chain.  It looks so much like one, I had to ask the waitress that attended me.  She affirmed it was locally owned.  Like Daddy’Os, Sliders is a restaurant which appears part of a franchise despite not being one, and like the aforementioned pizza and rib joint, Sliders also takes a few cues from Boston Pizza.  However, Sliders only borrows broad concepts and doesn’t photocopy the decor.    

 

On the initial pass, Sliders looked like a movie memorabilia store had its shelves removed and replaced with tables, though the end-product is one of the best looking restaurants in town.  I’m biased; it’s probably because I’m such a movie aficionado.  From my twenty years working around movies, I can spout considerable amounts of trivia on virtually any genre.   I can kick anyone’s ass in Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon (the trick is knowing the ensemble films he’s done, like JFK or Apollo 13).  So I felt right at home in Sliders.  Burgundy paneling is met half way up the walls by a rim of DVD movie covers framed in a plastic faux filmstrip.  I could tell how old Sliders was not by checking its business license but by the movies advertised on the wall.  Barney’s Version puts it no older than seven months, unless they rotate these (if so, kudos). 

 

This small bistro only has eighteen tables, a lot for a place this cozy, and yet it also sports five large flat panel televisions and a fully stocked bar.  Movie memorabilia sit on shelves out of reach, including a Dark Knight Joker bust and a matching credit poster.  This level of workmanship in a locally own restaurant is extremely rare, and I do mean extremely rare.  It actually beats out most chains I’ve found, without offering the impression that it’s trying to be one of them.  Of course, if we had a Planet Hollywood, I may make such an accusation, but since no one is likely to ever eat there, seeing something even one degree off is a shocking surprise.  Of course, unlike that famous franchise, you won’t find any rare artifacts of the movie industry—withered credit posters and DVD cases are the best we can hope for. 

 

Sliders stands out, and not because it looks a thousand times better than most of the places I’d been to.  This deserves to be down the hall from the Colossus in Vancouver, not down the sidewalk from one of the most depressing multiplexes in the province, though I will admit this may force me down the line of discourse ranting about my displeasure with our local theater. 

 

I really shouldn’t—okay, twist my arm, to put it simply, it blows.  The staff doesn’t walk the aisles, allowing clods, hooligans, and rednecks to continually disrupt showings.  They had a real problem with broken speakers for a while.  Their seats are uncomfortable.  The entire theater was designed without adopting the modern stadium-style popular everywhere else.  And don’t get me started on the annoying habit of their ticket machines to not work.  Going to our local theater feels like a chore…and it shouldn’t be.  The death of the theater in our modern global interconnected world starts right here, with theaters that believe they’re entitled to your business.  Welcome to the 21^st century, Famous Players; we no longer need you.  Now you have to work for our business like everyone else.

 

Okay, I feel better.

 

Sliders looks good, wait I said that.  Well, it was worth mentioning twice.  This I won’t repeat, even though it deserves to be, the service was well above average, if not downright praiseworthy.   I opened with the special, a coconut curry soup, delivered at warp speed.  Although just a few degrees above tepid, the flavour was well above the Campbell’s soup gravity dumps I’ve been ordering lately.  This was followed a few minutes later by the Philly cheese steak, fringed with a side of Punjabi pakoras.  Yes, that was an actual side option I jumped at the chance to order.  I’ve never seen a restaurant where you can swap out fries with pakoras.  What a magnificent clash of cuisines, to have Indian food flanking an American cheese steak.  The pakoras were fried to order and served with mango chutney, though a tad salty and overbrowned; I would still order them over French fries any day.

 

With both the starter and meal, adding up under $20, this was one of the first times I seriously thought I wouldn’t be able to clean my plate.  As I paced myself, I glanced to the TV above the bar to watch a program about other restaurants, kind of odd.  What was even more bizarre was the restaurant being discussed—an eccentric Japanese novelty which resembled a colossal bathroom.  Everyone sat on toilets surrounded by shower stalls.  The hot pots were served in custom-made miniature toilets.  Even the dessert, a chocolate mousse I’m hopefully assuming, resembled a long snaking cable of continuous poop…

 

…The steak sandwich was really good.

 

It takes a lot more than that to ruin my appetite.  I was also hungry given the blood tests inflicted on me the hour previous, where a Mr. Magoo simulacrum decided to go for the “shotgun” approach in finding a decent vein.  I could have eaten the crumbs off a hobo’s summer jacket.  It was amazing fortune that I found Sliders and not another Chinese buffet.  I approve of the decor and the selection was impressive and unique.  Simply put, Sliders is one of the best restaurants I’ve discovered in this tiny city.  Though not elevated to the posh bistros of White Goose, North 54, or Cimos, and not offering the ethnic bliss of the many Vietnamese or Indian places in town, which are all great, Sliders does take the trophy as the best of the rest.  When comparing it to all the Denny’s, Boston Pizza, and Moxi wannabes, Sliders passes the finish line, having already lapped the competition. 

 

Food:  4/5

Service:  4/5

Presentation:  5/5

Value:  4/5

Recommendation:  4.5/5

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Ramsday 30: Chicken Badami

I needed something quick between all my other projects.  I picked a recipe almost at random, one with the fewest surprises.  This one demanded ingredients I had in plenty save one, almonds.  I’d used almonds in Indian recipes before, though not to this extent.  Unlike the lamb korma and butter chicken, this one requires little prep and can be considered a quick alternative.  Except for the ginger and garlic marinade, the rest of the procedure is relatively easy.  You don’t fart around with complicated instructions.  Its chicken, spices, yogurt, and simmer, which may be where the problem lies, it’s very simple.  Outside of the powders—turmeric, cumin, and coriander—the recipe also asked for cloves, cardamom pods, and cinnamon.  But you’ll notice a significant lack of heat.  I found this disappointing and immediately to my chili powder, dashing in a teaspoon at the end.  I also found the final mixture really loose.  The recipe called for 50g of ground almonds, I added in close to a 100 g.  Gordon recommends serving it with naan, though rice would be fine.  Don’t use Quinoa.  I had some left over and they didn’t mix very well.

I’ll conclude with my opinion on brown meat.  The recipe called for chicken breasts or boneless thighs.  I broke from the standard and got the latter.  Should have stuck with the breasts.  What can I say; I know what I like.

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Ramsday 29: Mayonnaise

Yup, that’s it.  You’re probably thinking I’m phoning this one in, but mayonnaise made at home trumps anything you could possible buy off a shelf.  I know this because I’ve been making my own for decades. 

And why do people find that disgusting?

For reasons no one has ever explained to me, the statement “I’m making mayonnaise” is considered repulsive.  Does it imply some sexual fetish, a double entendre perhaps?  I’ve got no idea, but try it, just say that to a few friends and gauge their reaction.  How many turn up their nose? 

I know, bizarre, isn’t it? 

I’ve no issue with this, and haven’t purchased shelf-sold mayonnaise so far this millennium.  It’s not like making it is hard.  I began in my teens with a hand blender, an egg, yellow mustard, salt, white vinegar and a container of corn oil.  Now I muck about with different variations and employ more traditional ingredients.  Knowing that, entering mayonnaise as a blog entry may seem disingenuous as I’ve plenty of experience with it.  Across these Ramsay books I own, he listed at least three different variations, all employing English mustard.  Traditionally, I’ve used mustard powder, but couldn’t give you a legitimate reason why.  I guess it would involve the quality of mustard used.  On the subject of quality, don’t skimp with bargain bin vinegar; use white wine vinegar and avoid the darker tones (like balsamic) as it’ll add an unpleasant tint to the final product.

Where Gordon really breaks from expectation are on the use of eggs.  I had always been taught to use one whole egg, and for larger quantities one whole with one egg yolk.  All the Ramsay recipes ask for only yolks, and in the case of the recipe I ended up trying, four.  It also asked for water to loosen up the mixture.  It still came out thick and the emulsion set like jello.  So let me recommend compromising down to two or three.  Four is a bit much. 

Although Gordon doesn’t recommend any further additions beyond salt and pepper, I must at this point interject.  Thyme, oregano, and basil are all worthy additions.  Having made the Ramsay variation, I think I’ll keep to my own, though I’ll probably employ an extra egg.

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Grama’s Kitchen

I was contemplating, given this was my last lunch for this blog (prepping for phase 2), that eating at Grama’s Kitchen would be the biggest anticlimax since Skyline (the movie, not the car).  I’d driven by Grama’s Kitchen on more than one occasion, dismissing it as a glorified lunch counter, an afterthought given nearby competition.  It’s located twenty feet from a Wendy’s, a hundred feet from a Burger King, and would have been a stone’s throw from a Boston Pizza if that hadn’t burned down recently.  With more restaurants across the street, eating at Grama’s Kitchen must only fall to those drifting by the check-out counter desperately in need to ingest breakfast before rushing to a business meeting.  

 

After entering the parking lot, I was followed by a half-dozen others, mostly trucks and minivans, all of which broke away to divert into the morbid human centipede that was Wendy’s drive-thru.  Walking to Grama’s Kitchen, I passed a guy in a Honda civic ferociously shoveling fries from a paper cup like they were barbiturates.  This created a very uncomfortable situation as I strode by the crawling vehicles to enter a hotel restaurant, like I’m too good for Wendy’s.  Am I judging the queue due to their incapacity to distinguish between fresh and reheated frozen food shipped from Guangzhou?  Is it the fact that I have thirty minutes to spare for a meal made-to-order while a progression of Orwellian philistines trudge along, waiting to ingest a layers of corn meal, beef sinew, and connective tissue that must be blasted with ammonia and citric acid to render it even edible by the masses, less they contract the latest strain of liver-liquefying enterobacteriaceae?

 

Yes. 

 

What an example self-depraved narcissism, deciding between the deluxe baconator and the ¾ pound triple-layered burger homunculi.  No, you have a point; the cheddar, guacamole, and tortilla-topped Baja salad is a totally healthy alternative.  Where was I going with this?  Right, at some point, I have to admit walking into Grama’s Kitchen and discovering their lunch special wasn’t pasta or a casserole but a bacon cheeseburger.  Suddenly, I felt overdressed.  Grama’s Kitchen’s patties had better not be square. 

 

Discussing the interior, Grama’s Kitchen didn’t feel like the “+1” at an awards dinner.  There were no folding tables or classroom chairs.  The seats showed their age, but in a nostalgic comfortable way.  They’re wood, not pressed pulp with painted veneer but real wood, like those chairs we used to all sit on in the 80’s before apparently the entire continent got struck with sciatica.  They were cushioned with the fake leather pulled tight and bolted in place with oversized tarnished rivets.  I admit that offers the impression that Grama’s Kitchen was plucked from the 1970s, but that melancholic handmade black-and-white wool sweater 1970’s, not the regrettable disco leisure suit 1970s. 

 

The tables were covered with fruit-patterned plastic tablecloths and large enough to fit coffee condiments with enough spare for plates.  Country music bled from the overhead.  I started with the chicken soup, flanked by the requisite vacuum-sealed saltines.  Still on the fence if it was dropped from a can, which means that making it fresh would have been waste of time.  If I can’t tell the difference then you’ve done something wrong.  The beeping from the kitchen did inform me it was being nuked. 

 

This was followed by the aforementioned bacon cheeseburger, one of the few options on the laminated single page menu.  Thankfully, the burger was made to order; immediately rendering it superior to those next door.  The fries were passable, not flimsy, but obviously pre-cut and dropped from a bag.  It would be quite the discovery to find a place that cuts its own fries.  Just Goode Food should take a cue from Grama’s Kitchen on the subtleties of simple décor.  However, Grama’s Kitchen’s could use a lesson on service.  My waiter was more concerned with talking with another customer than apparently serving me with a smile…or words.  He filled my water only once.  Thirty minutes later, and I was somewhat satisfied.  I was full, so that counted for something.  The burger didn’t float me to the ionosphere like a weather balloon, but few burgers ever do.  It didn’t reach the level of A&A, a block further down the highway.  At least with Boston Pizza out of the way, there isn’t much for upscale alternatives.  There are two sushi restaurants and two fast food joints.  At a shave over $13 including soup, it was a tad cheaper than Esther’s Inn, but obviously pricier than next door. 

 

By the end, Grama’s Kitchen fell into that void of forgettable experience.  Even now, though I remember parking and seeing that guy jackhammer fries into his mouth like a pneumatic press pounding a telephone pole into the ground, I can’t remember much of Grama’s Kitchen at all.  I couldn’t tell you what the other menu selections were or what that burger tasted like.  Even as I type this, my brain is crumpling those memories and tossing them aside to make room for more big words.  I forgot about Grama’s Kitchen but now can use “idiosyncratic” and “magnanimous” in a sentence.  Fair trade.

 

Food:  3/5

Service:  1.5/5

Presentation:  3/5

Value:  3.5/5

Recommendation:  3/5

 

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Papaya Grove Restaurant

I have admitted to occasionally assessing a restaurant moments after entering.  I’m still open for correction if the food or service sends me to the stars like David Bowie’s Major Tom, though most of the time, I’m sent crashing back through the atmosphere like Peter Schilling’s Major Tom. 

 

Wow…even I thought that was obscure.  

 

Walking into the Papaya Grove was like listening to a whoopee cushion deflate quietly.  To understand that requires me to step back a few minutes and describe the hotel the restaurant is located in.  Esther’s Inn, like the Connaught, predates my life in this city, though like many other hotels, its ownership has changed more hands than a circle jerk.  Although close to the highway, Esther’s view is marred predominantly by a Burger King and an impressively-sized tire retailer.  Thankfully, they still have their tall and gaudy billboard marked with a palm tree in silhouette, unchanged since 1970, when it still looked like shit.  Seriously, this sign wouldn’t be more outdated if it was a neon tree with broken tubes for leaves, leaving only a colossal phallus greeting potential customers.  Even the hotel is conveniently shielded with regionally appropriate pines to screen people from the fact the exterior hasn’t been updated since patriation (Google it).  The one copper lining is that Esther’s is one of the few hotels in town that doesn’t look like a roadside motor lodge.  You drive up a hill to a covered entrance where your luggage is unloaded (by you or someone you pay) into carts and wheeled into a modest and pleasant lobby.  You’re then promptly broadsided by that unmistakable mix of chlorine and humidity making you swear you just walked into a waterpark.  Still, it’s cheaper than most of its nearby competitors and does feature an impressive, though slightly tacky, garden of fountains, bridges, tikis and ferns.  Most places wouldn’t even bother with a fake bonsai, and if forced to chose, like if Mr. Blonde was dangling a straight razor over my ear, I’d go with Esther’s over than the overly priced Treasure Cove Hotel.   

 

Walking past the lobby, you notice the scenic garden before the Papaya Grove, so you can’t help but feel disappointed when forced to turn your head.  You assume the possibility of dining amongst the ferns and fountains, which although loony, would be a welcome departure…that is until you realize every odious dining habit you try to keep hidden would be in full view of dozens of patrons peering down from the second storey.  Still, it was discouraging to find the Papaya Grove a shielded and effortless spread of old tables in dire need of repainting.  At least they had free internet.  I was told they offered an impressive buffet, though not today given the barren table, forcing us to scan the positively spartan menu, more like borderline barren.  There were more options at the end of Mass Effect 3 (still bitter).  You think I’m nitpicking; the lunch menu offered four burgers and four pizzas.  The dinner menu’s pasta was limited to three.  I wondered why the lunch menu and the dinner menu offered a completely different selection of burgers. 

 

My friend started with the house soup, while I opted for the French onion.  Our main meal were both sandwiches, his a shrimp croissant, mine a Cajun chicken wrap, which tasted more like a Caesar wrap, but I like those equally.  The French onion was—what’s a good metaphor—shit.  The top layer wasn’t cheese but oil, glistening the surface like a vinaigrette.  Instead of a proper single piece crouton underneath, I’m treated a scattering of dried salad toppings which come close to cracking a molar on more than one occasion.  The fact that the wrap went down well was a trivial consolidation.  A good wrap is like a good Kia. 

 

Like the hotel, Papaya Grove isn’t terribly expensive, but it’s not terribly exciting either.  I would have liked to have seen stuff on fire, like an open grill with whole pigs pirouetting on a spit in view of all the tables.  Get me a chafing dish and flambé some bananas.  The front page of the website shows a blue sky blending to a matching ocean, with the menu flanked by palm trees.  Throwing pineapples on a burger does not make you fucking Hawaiian. 

 

…And there went my fork, right off the edge and down into a fern.  That’s never being found.  If someone from Esther’s reads this.  It’s located by the table right next to your empty buffet.

 

Food:  2.5/5

Service:  3/5

Presentation:  3.5/5

Value:  4/5

Recommendation:  3.25/5

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Ramsday 28: Pineapple-fried rice with chicken and cashews

I don’t think I even need to type anymore. 

I’ll just repeat the title… Pineapple-fried rice with chicken and cashews. 

I generally don’t care for pineapple, especially when associated with dinner.  I’m fine for dessert, but I despise seeing it on my pizza.  A shockingly fast preparation, probably due to the application of severe heat.  The recipe, again from Southeast Asia’s Great Escape, called for a small pineapple which you probably won’t find, so just buy a regular pineapple.  Peel, core, dice, and store half when you make this again…which you will and I did, in two days.  The recipe also called for curry powder; replace that with a teaspoon of cumin, fenugreek, coriander, and a half-teaspoon of red chili powder.  And again, I’m asked to add a tablespoon fish sauce…so that leaves about liter left.  Pinch me. 

But what a great dish.  The only issue is with the acquisition of red chilies, which I can’t find anywhere in town.  If anyone has a suggestion, let me know.  If you have to employ a red pepper like I did in substitution, then definitely add that half-teaspoon chili powder.  And for the love of Vishnu, DON’T buy canned pineapple.  There are plenty of YouTube videos teaching how properly peel and core a pineapple.  They’re worth checking.

 

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Ramsday 27: Roasted Coconut Cashews

This was a simple procedure meant as a precursor to something I’m making for Sunday.  I had intended to only use some of the cashews purchased, but this ended up so successful, I used them all, forcing me to purchase another bag.  Here’s a snippet of brainless trivia:  Roasted cashews are cheaper than roasted salted cashews, and those are cheaper than raw cashews.  I know, this makes no sense.  Why would raw be more expensive than prepared?  If using roasted cashews, I do advise still roasting them until hot and colored, and if using salted cashews, be gentle with adding more salt, like the recipe asks.

This is a snack, not a meal, and requires only cashews, coconuts, chili flakes and butter.  The end result is eaten better with a spoon rather than with fingers.  The coconut doesn’t stick to the nuts (not supposed to) so will settle if jostled too much.  Beyond a snack, this is a great topping for stir-fry, rice, or chicken.  I normally don’t care for cashews, but this made me believer. 

If curious, this came from Southeast Asia Great Escapes.  

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