Editor’s note: The Acadiana region of  Louisiana is made up of 22 parishes, mostly in the southern part of the state. At the heart of Cajun Country is Lafayette, where we set up “camp” to explore the surrounding towns in search of boudin. Here’s our report.

Mr. Wally Johnson doesn’t know why he spelled “TO-DAY” with a dash, but he did and it stuck.

The iconic red and white sign sways in the breeze, but it wasn’t the first sign Mr. Johnson painted. The first one wore out and he couldn’t bear to toss it, so it hangs above the pot that holds the Cajun specialty inside Johnson’s Boucaniere in Lafayette, Louisiana.

Boudin (pronounced boo-DAN) is a big deal in Cajun Country and in other rural parts of Southern Louisiana. Calvin Trillin and others have written about it. Websites are dedicated to it, including the Southern Boudin Trail, a documentary project from the Southern Foodways Alliance, and Boudin Link, a letter-grade ratings guide to dozens of boudin outlets.

A riff on the rural French sausages boudin noir (with pig’s blood) and boudin blanc (without), Cajun boudin is even more countrified.

To stretch the precious pork further, Acadians add rice to their boudin, making it even whiter than boudin blanc. It makes total sense. The swampy wetlands of Southern Louisiana are rife with rice fields.

Boudin recipes are a point of pride and closely guarded secrets. They vary from gas stations to meat markets (where most boudin is sold) to restaurants. Ask any local and they’ll tell you where to get the best boudin — and it’s unlikely you’ll get the same answer twice.

Most recipes are some variation of pork (usually braised shoulder meat), most times enriched with pork liver, but not always, rice, onions (generally yellow onions and sometimes scallions), red and black pepper, sometimes garlic powder, and sometimes parsley.

The soft, squishy sausage is sold by the link, but priced by the pound. Generally a link is between $1.50 and $2.00.

It’s wrapped in paper and usually eaten as a to-go breakfast or snack somewhere between the counter and the parking lot. Boudin is an original slow, fast food.

Poche’s Meat Market sits along a stretch of highway north of I-10 and the town of Breaux Bridge, about 15 minutes east of Lafayette.

Poche’s boudin simmers on low in big aluminum stockpots. It’s rice and spice heavy with plenty of moisture.

The recipe for Wally Johnson’s boudin has been in his family long before 1937, the year Johnson’s Grocery opened in Eunice, about 40 miles northwest of Lafayette.

The grocery closed in 2005, but three years later the family opened a smokehouse restaurant in Lafayette that continues to serve the family boudin, as well as other Cajun and BBQ specialties.

After 75 years of practice, the Johnson family has perfected the porky link. Balanced between pork, rice, and spice, it’s neither too wet, nor too dry — a fine specimen.

Back in Breaux Bridge, Charlie-T Specialty Meats steams boudin in a rice cooker on the counter behind the cash register.

The natural casing has plenty of snap, and the flavor is heavy on onion and light on pepper. Ask at the Breaux Bridge Visitor’s Center where to get house made boudin, and Charlie-T is on the short list.

Once upon a time, every gas station made their own, but nowadays, most gas stations buy their boudin from meat markets like Poche’s and others.

Rental cabins on the edge of Breaux Bridge may seem like an odd place to find great homemade boudin. Bayou Boudin & Cracklin, the little store in front of Bayou Cabins used to be a cafe.

No longer a full service restaurant, Bayou Boudin & Cracklin still serves up a mess of Cajun specialties, including boudin.

Cut into pieces and flavored with a good dose of liver and pepper, this boudin is thick and rich, best washed down with a glug of homemade root beer.

Don’s Specialty Meats opened in Carencro in 1993, just a few minutes north of Lafayette, and opened a second location in 2005 in Scott, on the northwestern edge of Lafayette. Don’s boudin, a favorite of the Buchanan Lofts innkeeper in downtown Lafayette, sports more meat than rice, with a subtle but building pepper kick.

 You can throw a rock in any direction in Cajun Country and likely hit a link of boudin. Most of them will be good.

These five — Johnson’s, Poche’s, Charlie-T, Bayou Boudin & Cracklin, and Don’s — are some of the best.

Is it crazy to build a trip around a boudin hunt? We don’t think so. In fact, we ran into a couple from Houston on the same mission. But if it is, call us nuts. And happily stuffed.

Details:

Where to stay:

Buchanan Lofts
403 South Buchanan Street, Lafayette, LA
337-534-4922

Where to eat boudin:

Johnson’s Boucaniere
1111 Saint John Street, Lafayette, LA
337-269-8878

Poche’s Meat Market
3015 Main Highway A, Breaux Bridge, LA
337-332-2108

Charlie-T Specialty Meat
530 Berard Street, Breaux Bridge, LA
337-332-2426

Bayou Boudin & Cracklin’
100 W. Mills Avenue, Breaux Bridge, LA
337- 332-6158

Don’s Specialty Meats
730 I 10 S Frontage Rd  Scott, LA
(337) 234-2528

Resources:

Southern Boudin Trail

Boudin Link

Tags: boudin, Boudin Link, Breaux Bridge dining, cajun country, Lafayette dining, Southern Boudin Trail
Posted in Travel Eats | 4 Comments »

“I don’t get it,” my reluctant dining companion said. “It’s just a sandwich.”

I’ll admit the po’boy is technically a sandwich, but — and this is a BIG but — it is not  just a sandwich. Po’boys are as iconic as gumbo or étouffée in New Orleans, where they originated, and even throughout southern Louisiana.

The story goes that during a streetcar strike in 1929, the owners of the Martin Brothers Coffee Stand and Restaurant, both of whom had worked as streetcar operators, fed striking workers free sandwiches, calling out “here comes another poor boy” as hungry strikers walked through the door. The strikers lost, but the “poor boy” name stuck.

Who knows if the story is true, or what the original po’boy was comprised of, although these days anything goes, including fried shrimp, oysters, catfish, ham, all manner of sausages, roast beef, and yes, even French fries.

Somewhere along the way, “poor boy” was shortened to “po’boy,” although New Orleans Magazine is making a gallant — if futile – attempt to reinstate the original “poor boy” moniker. Good luck with that.

On a recent trip to New Orleans and Cajun Country, I wasn’t on a mission to eat as many po’boys as I could, but once you taste one, you’re bound to crave another.

We began at Domilise’s in New Orleans, based on a tip from Phoenix food blogger Dominic Armato of Skillet Doux. It’s a 15-20 minute cab ride from the French Quarter, west of the Garden district and two blocks north of the Mississippi River in a modest neighborhood on Annunciation Street.

I didn’t know it at the time, but these po’boys would be the best of the trip. Maybe it’s because of the bread, with a particular crust — crisp but not flaky — and a tender crumb. The bread, from Leidenheimer Baking Company, is delivered twice daily in tall, brown paper sacks holding bundles of nearly 3-feet long baguettes.

Maybe it’s the old charm of Domilise’s itself, with octogenarian Dot Domilise still standing at the counter assembling sandwiches, that makes these po’boys stand out.

They are everything a po’boy should be: simple, hot and delicious.

Order it “dressed” and you get sliced tomatoes, shredded iceberg lettuce, and a thick slather of mayo. Depending on the po’boy, other “dressings” are added — hot sauce on the shrimp po’boy and “chili ketchup” and creole mustard on the pork sausage. Roast beef gets “debris” — aka, gravy.

Our next stop was Lafayette, anointed the best small town for food by Rand McNally in 2011 and recently christened “Tastiest Town in the South” by Southern Living magazine.

Ask around, and locals will tell you the best po’boy is at Olde Tyme Grocery, near the University of Louisiana Lafayette.

For comparison, I ordered the shrimp po’boy. Inside this half market – half restaurant is a confusing scene, but you order at one counter, and then cool your heels until it’s ready at a separate counter where you pay.

The bread is crustier than Domilise’s, and the shrimp are slightly larger and have more cornmeal and spices in the breading. It’s a close second.

A short 15-minute car ride east from Lafayette to Breaux Bridge, we learn that Le Café is the place for po’boys.

They apparently make a mean hamburger, too, but if you’re hankering for a po’boy, Le Café is the place.

Le Cafe’s version is different from the previous two, but the shrimp is plump and sweet. The batter is thick, flour only (no cornmeal) with mild seasonings. The bread is different, too, softer and less bread-y in the center.

I liked it — alot — but there was something more appealing about the first two po’boys that put this one a notch below. If I was in Breaux Bridge again, would I stop at Le Café for another one? You betcha. The shrimp was cooked perfectly and the batter was over-the-top crunchy.

Our next stop was Baton Rouge, and this time I called on chef/blogger/radio host Jay Ducote of Bite and Booze for some expert guidance. He gave us several options, and we settled on two — one dive and one upscale bistro.

George’s, the dive, has three locations in Baton Rouge. We chose the original one, located next to an overpass. Order at the counter and pay when they call your name and hand over the food.

There is a lot to crow about George’s shrimp po’boy, from the crackly crust to the highly seasoned flour breading to the plump, juicy shrimp, to the minimal amount of “dressing,” ensuring the shrimp is the star.

I’d put George’s shrimp po’boy just behind Domilise’s and the Old Tyme Grocery.

The next stop, Beausoleil, is the kind of bistro any neighborhood would be lucky to have. Topnotch service, a chalkboard listing local purveyors, and a menu full of gussied-up regional specialties made me wish we were staying in Baton Rouge longer than a quick pit stop.

I desperately wanted to try the fried chicken special, or the fried catfish with tomato courtboullion and dirty rice, but I’d come for the shrimp po’boy.

I have mixed feelings about this one. Oh, I ate every bite and enjoyed it, but I couldn’t help think that this could be even better on different bread.

The shrimp were fat and lightly breaded, so sweet and succulent, and the spicy aioli was terrific. The tomato was ripe and juicy, and the upgraded butter lettuce was a nice touch, too. I just didn’t like the soft-crusted, thin bread as much as others that came before.

I thought I’d had my fill of shrimp po’boys, but that wasn’t the case. At the New Orleans airport, waiting for a flight back to Phoenix, I caught the unmistakeable whiff of fried shrimp.

Following my nose, I marched past the lengthy line at Subway to The Praline Connection, with no line, and ordered my last shrimp po’boy.

All I can say is why were those people standing in line at Subway, when a few feet away was another tasty po’boy?

A bucketful of small, cornmeal crusted shrimp on a toasted French loaf, this po’boy was very good. Certainly better than anything at Subway.

Oh, and my reluctant dining partner who thought a po’boy was just a sandwich? Let’s just say I left him here, somewhere in the Atchafalaya Basin, to kindly explain that faux pas to the alligators. I wonder how that worked out?

Details:

Domilise’s
5240 Annunciation Street, New Orleans, LA
504-899-9126

Old Tyme Grocery
218 West St. Mary Blvd., Lafayette, lA
337-235-8165

Le Café
123 Rees Street, Breaux Bridge, LA
337-332-2500

George’s
2943 Perkins Road, Baton Rouge, LA
225-343-2363

Beausoleil
7731 Jefferson Highway, Baton Rouge, LA
225-926-1172

The Praline Connection at Louis Armstrong International Airport
900 Airline Drive, Kenner, LA
504-465-8447

Tags: Beausoleil Baton Rouge, Domilise's, George's Baton Rouge, Le Cafe Breaux Bridge, Leidenheimer Baking Company, New Orleans po'boy, Old Tyme Grocery Lafayette, po' boys, poor boys, shrimp po'boy
Posted in Travel Eats | 5 Comments »

Sitting at Cafe du Monde (a must on any trip to New Orleans), my phone buzzes.

I wipe beignet grease and powdered sugar from my hands and check the message. It’s from a Twitter chef buddy, asking if I’ve had the fried chicken at Coop’s Place.

“No,” I say, “I haven’t even heard of Coop’s Place.” Frankly, fried chicken wasn’t on my agenda. I only had eyes for crawfish, boudin, étouffée and shrimp po’boys (or poor boys — more on that in another post).

“Well,” my chef friend writes, “You have to go.” So I did.

Coop’s Place has been around since 1983. It isn’t so much off the beaten path — it’s on Decatur Street east of the French Market — but only locals and food-centric tourists who don’t mind a little seedy bar venture that far east. Make no mistake, Coop’s Place is a bar first, a restaurant second.

The interior is dimly lit and Cajun music blares. The only open tables are for large parties, so a bartender waves me to the bar, half full with locals sucking down Bloody Mary’s at the crack of noon.

I pick a barstool near a back corner of the “A” shaped bar, next to an old barfly sporting a USS Brooklyn ball cap.

He’s reading the paper and his tall cocktail glass is tucked in a coozie, so I can’t see what he’s drinking. He’s friendly enough, and he moves his paper over to make room.

He tells me his name is Brooklyn Joe, and he’s a regular, been coming to Coop’s Place for eight years, ever since he moved to New Orleans from New York. His thin, wiry hair sticks out willy nilly, but his arms seem thinner still. He says he gave himself a nickname because there were several Joes who work at Coop’s, plus a couple other regular Joe customers.

I take a look around, and stare for a moment at a pretty but sad-looking woman wearing a pinafore in the picture over the fireplace.

“That’s Aunt Ella,” Joe says, “Or that’s the name we gave her. We make up stories about who she was. Maybe she was a nurse, or maybe she ran a boarding house. She’s wearing some kind of uniform.”

I turn back around and notice my forearms stick to the wooden bar, thick with a couple of decades of spilled booze filling every nook and cranny of the worn wood. Fluorescent bulbs cast a yellow glow over everything and everyone, and fans spin at a snail’s pace, moseying the humid air along. The place has character, and Brooklyn Joe is very much a part of the vernacular.

The mission at hand is Cajun fried chicken, although the house specialties portion of the menu insists on seafood gumbo, and rabbit and sausage jambalaya. Fortunately, the fried chicken comes with a side of “famous” jambalaya.

By the time the plate arrives, I’ve made fast friends with Brooklyn Joe. He’s fussing about the Republican primary taking place the next day, snickering about how the candidates were all-of-a-sudden lifelong crawfish and oyster lovers.

Joe looks like he has missed a few meals, so when my plate of chicken arrives, I ask if he wants to split it with me.

His eyes widen, and his face lights up. “Why, yes!” he says, “But only if you have enough.”

He didn’t know that I’d already had a plate of Cafe du Monde beignets, and before the end of the day, I would sample four more New Orleans specialties. To me, there is nothing as delicious as sharing food with someone, especially someone who isn’t as lucky as I am.

We got another plate, and I placed a piece of the most fragrant, dark crusted chicken I’ve seen in a long time on his plate. I gave him half of the thick jambalaya and half of the creamy coleslaw.

He takes a few bites of the jambalaya first, and says, “I might have to take my hat off.”

Why? I ask.

“This is ha-ha-ha-hot!!!” he cries.

After eight years in the Quarter, Brooklyn Joe still hasn’t developed a taste for spice.

But he ate every bite.

And so did I.

Coop’s Place

1109 Decatur Street

New Orleans

(504) 525-9053

http://www.coopsplace.net

Tags: Brooklyn Joe, Cajun fried Chicken, Coop's Place, French Quarter, fried chicken, New Orleans, sharing food
Posted in Travel Eats | 3 Comments »

I always listen carefully when someone gives me a tip about good grub — especially when that someone is Dan Maldonado (half of the dynamic duo behind Tacos Atoyac, an outstanding Oxacan street food restaurant). He recently told me to get to a new Puerto Rican spot, so of course, I obliged.

El New Yorican, opened since last July, is run by a happy, smooth-talking guy named Alberto Rivera, a bona fide New Yorican (meaning a New Yorker of Puerto Rican descent). Later I learn that Rivera sold discounted brand name goods at a flea market, where he met his chef, Haydee Sanchez, who operated the booth next to his. He longed for Puerto Rican food; she said she could cook it, and bam! They opened a restaurant.

It isn’t easy to spot whizzing down the busy West Thomas Road just west of I-17. I call for directions and Rivera tells me “we’re next to the pawn shop, across the street from the QT.” I ask if he’s on the north side of Thomas and he yells to his sister, “hey, are we on the north side?” And then he laughs, apologizing for his befuddled sense of direction. No matter, it was worth the hunt.

I’m more familiar with Cuban than Puerto Rican food, even though the two share some similarities. For some assistance, I grab a girlfriend, an ex-New Yorker familiar with New York Puerto Rican food and we head west. We order as much as we can without keeling over, starting with tostones al mojo ($2). These twice-fried, smashed green plantains are starchy and greasy and good. The two dipping sauces are heavy on the garlic (hence the al mojo), a foreshadowing of what’s to follow.

To wash down the starch, we order an understated coconut-flavored soda called CoCo Rico ($2.50) and our server (Rivera’s sister) suggests we try the Malta India ($2.50). It’s slightly fizzy, dark brown and tastes of molasses. The strong flavor comes in handy, somewhat mitigating the garlicky fare.

Whereas the tostones are a starch delivery mechanism, the pastelilio ($2) is a glorious fat delivery vehicle. A fried, flaky pie crust encapsulates simmered ground beef, onions and peppers. This little meat pie left us giddy with fat-drenched lips. We could have eaten another — or three. A vinegary, garlicky, spicy dipping sauce adds an appropriate punch.

Pernil ($9.99) is a national Puerto Rican dish, often served at Christmastime. Pork shoulder marinated in white vinegar, lots of garlic, black pepper and oregano (the basis of the seasoning mix called adobo), it’s slow-roasted for hours. Textural differences of tender meat and crisp bark play off meaty, porky flavor. Other than the garlic, it’s subtly spiced. We chose yellow rice (although it seemed more orange, perhaps colored with annatto) dotted with pigeon peas over the plain white rice option.

Mofongo (fried, mashed plantains liberally seasoned with garlic) is another Puerto Rican specialty. El New Yorican presents mofongo chicharrones de pollo ($9.99) — fried chicken with mashed plantains — in an interesting way. You can see below that the starch dominates the plate, surrounded by chunks of fried chicken. There is no batter on the chicken, but it, too, is marinated in vinegar and subtle spices. And it is finger-licking good — big seal of approval from my pal, a fried chicken aficionado.

At this point, Rivera returns to our table from the kitchen and says his sister got carried away with the size of the mofongo mound. You don’t say?

After a serious attempt to knock it down, we decided the prudent thing to do was to ask for a to-go box so that we could still pretend to have room from the house-made flan. There was something about that flan — thick as thieves and totally delicious. There wasn’t a speck of it left, save the pool of unnecessary whipped cream we scraped off to the side.

Fortunately for Phoenicians needing a Puerto Rican food fix, there are options. Besides this West side gem, the East Valley boasts a Puerto Rican mainstay, the homey Millie’s Cafe. I’ve found that Millie’s cooking and plating is more home-style. It’s also slightly less expensive. Millie’s pernil is $6.50, and it comes in a styrofoam container with plastic ware — but it is equally delicious.

Millie's Cafe - Pernil

Details:
El New Yorican
2714 West Thomas Road, Phoenix
602-314-4330
Open Tuesday through Sunday, 11 a.m. to 8 p.m.

Millie’s Cafe
1616 East Main Street, Mesa
480-223-8217
Open Thursday through Sunday, 11 a.m to 8 p.m.

Tags: El New Yorican, flan, Millie's Cafe, mofongo, pernil, Phoenix dining, Puerto Rican cuisine
Posted in Travel Eats | 7 Comments »

Some cities outright own a particular dish.

Boston? Clam Chowder. Austin? BBQ — beef brisket to be specific. Atlanta? Fried chicken. Santa Fe? Green chile stew.

In Charleston, it’s shrimp & grits.

You can order shrimp & grits in any city these days — Southern food is a hot trend — but in Charleston, it’s not a trend. It is breakfast, lunch and dinner, and it is woven into the very fabric of this historical city. There is hoity-toity shrimp & grits, down-home shrimp & grits, and everything in between.

Here is a look at six Charleston restaurants and their version of the dish that defines this gracious Southern city.

1. Husk: Bon Appetit magazine’s Best New Restaurant, Husk, serves their seasonal shrimp & grits (above) in a bowl with a roasted tomato broth ladled over Anson Mills grits, with artisan sausage, lardons, and plump, jumbo shrimp. (here is the recipe in NYT.)

2. Jestine’s Kitchen: Rachael Ray, Anthony Bourdain and Roadfood’s Jane & Michael Stern all had a hand in putting Jestine’s Kitchen on the national radar for home-cooking Southern grub like meatloaf, fried chicken and of course, shrimp & grits (above). Jestine’s version features soupy grits with a meaty tasting brown gravy, onions and roasted red peppers. Very basic and delicious, although the shrimp were a tad overcooked.

3. Southend Brewery’s shrimp and grits (above) is more akin to cheese soup with tomatoes, Tasso ham and oh yes, shrimp and grits. The tomato wedges didn’t add much — it would have been better had they been diced, but the shrimp was perfectly cooked. Pair it with the hoppy Castle Pinckney Pale Ale.

4. Marina Variety Store: (left) There is always a line at this kitschy, seafaring restaurant overlooking the marina, but it moves quickly. Ask to sit in the front room for the marina view. MVS serves up a whopping plate of plain white grits topped with a modest amount of sauteed shrimp, cooked just right.

The fried green tomatoes pictured on the plate are optional. Adding a dash of hot sauce is not.

5. Poogan’s Porch: (right) uses yellow, coarse ground grits, thick and sturdy, along with a generous helping of onions, scallions, ham, sausage and tail-on shrimp, sauced in a blue crab gravy. I loved the rough and firm texture of the grits. I did not love having to take the tails off the shrimp.

6. Hominy Grill: I saved the best for last (below). Nothing fancy about this shrimp and grits plate. But everything in this dish has a purpose. The grits were firm but creamy. The shrimp were spiced and perfectly cooked. Bits of salty, smoky bacon and meaty mushrooms provide the supporting cast. Green scallions and a spritz of lemon, and this dish is everything I could ask from this humble, Lowcountry dish. If you love this dish as much as I did, pick up a copy of the recipe booklet. It includes the recipe.

Details:
All six restaurants are located in the historic district of Charleston.
Husk
76 Queen Street
843-577-2500

Jestine’s Kitchen
251 Meeting Street
843-722-7224

Southend Brewery
161 East Bay Street
843-853-4677

Marina Variety Store
17 Lockwood Drive
843-723-6325

Poogan’s Porch (next door to Husk)
72 Queen Street
843-577-2337

Hominy Grill
207 Rutledge Avenue
843-937-0930

Tags: Charleston dining, grits, Hominy Grill, Husk, Jestine's, Marina Variety Store, Poogan's Porch, recipe, shrimp, shrimp and grits, shrimp and grits in Charleston, Southend Brewery
Posted in Travel Eats | 4 Comments »

It was the best restaurant, it was the worst restaurant. This is a tale of two restaurants. It is, in fact, the same restaurant. On one occasion, I was an anonymous diner, a regular Jane Doe. On another, I was part of a group of professional food journalists. Here is what happened …

Bon Appetit magazine named Husk in Charleston, South Carolina, the Best New Restaurant in America in 2011. Them’s big shoes to fill for sure, because any restaurant lover within spittin’ distance or not, will swarm to the historic port town to see exactly what the fuss is all about. I mean really, a Southern restaurant is the No. 1 restaurant in all the land? Mercy.

Well before Husk was crowned the belle of the ball, I had a trip to Charleston on the books to attend the annual conference of the Association of Food Journalists. A lunch at Husk was on the conference agenda, but it was on my personal agenda, too, which is how I ended up at the restaurant the evening before the conference began, just an average customer eager to experience the new mecca of foodiedom.

Jane Doe Diner vs. The Restaurant Critic

It turns out that my first visit as a Jane Doe didn’t go as well as when I was a member of the posse of journalists. Surprising? No, but it does illustrate a point about why professional restaurant critics go to great lengths to dine anonymously when reviewing restaurants.

It’s tough to get a handle on a restaurant with only one visit and I know lots of diners only get one shot. Some diners form their opinion from one visit and then write up the experience on Yelp, or wherever, and call it a “review.” Folks, that is not a review. That is a snapshot of one meal, one experience. There’s nothing wrong with that. It is what it is. But what it isn’t is a review.

If I’d based my impression of Husk from that late Monday evening visit, I’d wonder how in the heck anyone, much less a revered national magazine, thought that Husk was THE best restaurant in the land, let alone in Charleston, a town bulging with great restaurants.

Jane Doe

As Jane and John Doe, we arrive without a reservation at 8 p.m. on a Monday night. The hostess was sweet as sugar and said it would be about an hour wait, but we could pass the time in the bar next door. We did, and the bar was vibrant, bustling, enchanting. In fact, on a later visit, we chose the bar over the restaurant because of the ambiance — and the great craft beers and cocktail prowess of the bearded bartender.

An hour and a half later, thinking they’d forgotten about us, we moseyed back over to the restaurant. We were half right. The hostess said she’d mistakenly “just given away our table to someone else,” oops, but it should only be a few more minutes. It was only 15 minutes more.

Once seated on the second floor balcony (relegated for walk-ins and friends with benefits), I was sure things would go smoother. It was a gorgeous evening and the charming balcony was still full of other diners. But things didn’t go so well. Service was excruciatingly slow. The staff had a few friends dining that night and they couldn’t break away from their tables to attend to ours. There was no explanation of the menu or the restaurant. Service was detached.

It wasn’t just the serving staff that had issues that evening. The kitchen was wallowing in some troubles, too. A server dropped a dish off, with a “here you go” quip before spinning on his heels and walking a few tables over to chat with friends. The dish, fried green tomatoes with a dollop of dry pimento cheese and country ham, was 1) cold; 2) soaked in grease; and 3) rather skimpy, with three, silver dollar size tomato slices. Not impressive.

The Restaurant Critic

Three days later at the journalists’ luncheon, rustic serving pieces bearing hot, palm-size slabs of fried green tomatoes, with no apparent puddles of grease, were placed on the table with much fanfare. The pimento cheese was fresh, not dry, and the ham was obviously sliced with care. It was miles superior to the dish I had three days earlier.

Jane Doe

On Monday night, Jane Doe ordered the cornmeal dusted catfish with corn, cabbage and peas. The catfish, a generous portion, was more airbrushed than dusted with cornmeal. If it hit the pan for more than 30 seconds, I’d be surprised. It was pallid. The kitchen must have put away the salt and spices because this dish was a tasteless mix of lukewarm catfish and corn mush.

The Restaurant Critic

The journalists got the catfish dish that I had hoped for when I ordered it Monday night, but accompanied by BBQ pit bean succotash and pickled sweet peppers. To be honest, the luncheon catfish version, with a golden brown, seared crust and propped up by a pond of smoky beans and fresh corn, still wasn’t seasoned enough to make a lasting impression.

Best in the Land

One thing that was constant between my anonymous dining experience and the polished show for the food journalists was Husk’s cornbread.

Seriously, the cornbread might be the reason for the best restaurant award. I’ve never seen a more award-worthy skillet of crisp-crust, tender-crumb cornbread in my life. The gratuitous sprinkling of sea salt surely sealed the deal. That cornbread will forever be the standard against which I will measure all others.

The Case for Anonymity

On my first visit to Husk, they didn’t know me from the next tourist, and unfortunately, I caught both the kitchen and the front of the house on a bad evening. It happens.

Getting fussed over at the AFJ luncheon was fun … really, how could it not be? My job as a restaurant critic is to report what an average diner might experience. That means I go anonymously. That means I go more than once, on different days of the week and at different times.

Am I picking on Husk because they were named best new restaurant by a food magazine? Not intentionally, but it gives me the opportunity to point out why professional critics visit restaurants anonymously … and more than once.

My opening of the “best and the worst restaurant” was dramatic. In truth, Husk could never be a “worst” restaurant, but being an average one when you only have one shot is just as unfortunate.

Details:
Husk
76 Queen Street, Charleston SC
843-577-2500

Tags: AFJ, anonymous restaurant criticism, Association of Food Journalists, Best New Restaurant, bon appetit, Husk, restaurant reviews
Posted in Travel Eats | 4 Comments »

Boulder, Colorado topped a recent poll as “Happiest Place To Live.” Pollsters surmised fitness and healthy eating factored into why Boulder residents are ecstatic.

Perhaps, but I think it might have more to do with the breakfast fare at Lucile’s and Foolish Craig’s.

Sure, you can get a healthy bowl of granola at both places, but with miles of hiking surrounding Boulder, you might need a few more calories before hitting the trails.

Here are some picks for building up sustenance before lacing up your hiking boots.

Lucile’s

Porch seating for the cheery Victorian house one block north of downtown is at a premium on cool summer mornings, and by 8 o’clock on a Saturday, Lucile’s tiny patio is packed.

Inside, several dining rooms add charm to the Creole flavored dishes like pain perdu (below, left), a French baguette sliced at an angle, dipped in egg and seared on a griddle.

Lucile’s is just as famous for mile-high buttermilk biscuits (above, right), baked in a large sheet pan and cut into squares, served with foil-wrapped butter pats and homemade strawberry jam.

Eggs Pontchatrain, named after the lake that borders New Orleans, is two poached eggs with Béarnaise sauce served over spiced, pan-fried trout with thin grits. I love the old-school garnish of a sprig of parsley.

Foolish Craig’s Cafe

Artsy, funky Foolish Craig’s is all about crepes, and although crepes aren’t the only things on the breakfast menu, they caught the attention of the Diners, Drive-ins & Dives crew, who featured the Pearl Street icon last March.

The namesake crepe is stuffed with bacon (of course), sauteed mushrooms, potatoes, roasted red peppers, and topped with eggs your way (scrambled anyone?) and chunky salsa.

The green chile burrito may not get as much love as the crepes, but it’s respectable, if not nearly spicy enough.

Scrambled eggs, black beans and roasted potatoes fill the flour tortilla and a mild green chile pork stew is ladled on top of cheddar cheese.

The side of creamy grits is better than respectable, and in fact, Craig needs to teach Lucile the proper way to whip up a batch of grits.

Now, you tell me, what would make you a happy camper: one of these hearty breakfast plates or a bowl of granola?

Details:

Lucile’s
2124 14th Street, Boulder, CO
luciles.com

Foolish Craig’s Cafe
1611 Pearl Street, Boulder, CO
foolishcraigs.com

Tags: Boulder dining, breakfast, breakfast in Boulder, Foolish Craig's, Lucile's
Posted in Travel Eats | 5 Comments »

He had me at the name: Barley SWINE … Beer & pork.

Lots of beer — both draft (8) and bottled (24) craft beers — and not as much pig, surprisingly, given the name, but I’m not complaining.

He is Bryce Gilmore, the chef/owner and one of Food & Wine’s Ten Best New Chefs for 2011.

Gilmore first gathered Austin fame with his farm-to-food trailer The Odd Duck, only a short 10-minute walk up the street from his locavore-themed, brick and mortar Barley SWINE.

On the evening we visited the tiny, 34-seat restaurant on South Lamar, Gilmore didn’t appear until we were digging into dessert.

Barley SWINE opens at 6 p.m. The no-reservations policy means you best get there early, or you’ll be facing an hour-plus wait for a seat.

[Side note: I wonder how well waiting outside in the sweltering Austin summer is going over, but in early June, it didn't seem to phase anyone.]

It turns out we didn’t miss Gilmore’s presence one bit. The kitchen was left in the capable hands of sous chef Sam Hellman-Mass (above). We took the last two seats at the counter overlooking the modern galley kitchen.

I asked if I could take pictures during our meal. For a second, I wondered if Hellman-Mass was going to douse me with the pancetta vinaigrette he was spooning over olive oil-poached halibut, but instead he stopped, looked me in the eye and grinned.

“Thank you,” he said. “Thank you for asking. So many people just rudely snap away, so I really appreciate you asking, and yes, you can take pictures.”

The menu changes frequently and Barley SWINE walks the talk of farm-to-table, and as cliche as that term may be, this is the real deal. The chefs are on speed-dial with Austin and surrounding Hill Country farmers and producers.

Gilmore’s reliance on local farmers and producers to stock The Odd Duck is well documented and Barley SWINE is no different.

The staff embraces the local food movement, too. Our server is a gardener, and she helped grow some of the produce on the menu through her work with Urban Roots, a youth farm project based in Austin.

If you’ve seen one marinated olive, you’ve seen them all, except in Barley SWINE’S case, the olives ($4) are infused with smoke from the wood fire that flame-licks many of the dozen or so small plates.

Even the carrots get a turn on the wood grill in this carrot salad with local goat ricotta, almond brown butter and carrot puree ($7).

The portions are small and the staff recommends ordering three dishes per person. Some are rich, such as the crab and soft scrambled egg stuffed pancake (crepe, actually), served with a rich butter sauce, local squash and hen of the woods mushrooms ($13).

Other dishes are clean and light, such as the grilled scallop (one – cut in half), flanking a blistered shishito pepper, with peeled, poached cucumber and herb pesto ($9).

Regarding the swine: there was one pork option; a grilled pork belly with refried beans and octopus salad.

I’m not going to lie; it didn’t appeal to me, although I love refried beans, I like octopus well enough and pork belly rules.

To be fair, my crisp sweetbreads (some of the best I’ve tasted) were garnished with braised bacon, and the halibut dish was dressed in a pancetta (uncured bacon) vinaigrette.

We were full by this time anyway, yet somehow managed to squeeze in an earthy, ash rind local goat cheese with pickled beets, pecans and fennel frond ($5).

And of course, I always make room for dessert: barley-steeped panna cotta with Texas berries and sweetened barley crumbles ($7), a dish that pretty much sums up my thoughts about this Austin newcomer:

Barley SWINE smartly showcases the rich, fertile bounty of the Texas Hill Country with approachable flair.

Details:
Barley SWINE
2024 South Lamar Boulevard
Austin, Texas
512-394-8150
BarleySWINE.com

Tags: Austin dining, Barley Swine, Bryce Gilmore, Food and Wine Top 10 Chef 2011, Sam Hellman-Mass, small plates
Posted in Travel Eats | 2 Comments »

This post started out as a celebration of a rocking taco joint near downtown Austin, Texas.

I fell for the buttercup-cute bungalow house with creaky wooden floors, and after chowing down on a couple of above-average breakfast tacos, I made a mental note to return for the “drowning” flautas — corn tortillas stuffed with meat, rolled tight and deep-fried, and then smothered in chile broth.

As far as I can tell, flautas are the same thing as taquitos, dorados (see Austin’s El Naranjo dorados mentioned here) and also referred to as “El Paso-style” tacos. I’ve also seen them called “rolled tacos” in Phoenix.

But between writing words and posting pictures, I saw a tweet from Kay Marley-Dilworth (@ATXFoodnews on Twitter). She said The Screaming Goat and another independent Austin eatery, Lift Cafe, had closed.

So now this post is a eulogy.

I don’t know why The Goat closed but it wasn’t busy when we visited. I chalked it up to timing — a mid-week, mid-morning breakfast taco run.

Crazy, really, because the breakfast tacos were just as munch-worthy as those from other Austin bellwether establishments like Torchy’s Tacos and Taco Deli. The salsas were even better.

Two layers of moist corn tortillas, generously piled with a choice of two fillings (eggs, potatoes, cheese, beans, bacon or spicy chorizo) for only a buck seventy?

Hard to beat — or so I thought.

So what happened?

Was it the location? Was the food inconsistent? Later I saw comments on Twitter and Facebook that said “Austin is a tough restaurant town.”

Isn’t every town?

It reminded me of a cool little Mexican spot near downtown Phoenix I reviewed for PHOENIX Magazine called Verde.

Verde seemed to have lots going for it. Two talented, dedicated owners, some tasty Mexican food, and a urban-esque hip setting.

Like The Screaming Goat, the only thing that seemed to be missing was a steady stream of customers.

Tags: Austin dining, PHOENIX Magazine, restaurant closure, Screaming Goat, tacos, Verde
Posted in Travel Eats | 4 Comments »

When I head to Austin, I have two foodstuffs on my brain: Barbecue and tacos. The town is a mecca for smoky ‘cue and tortilla-wrapped eats.

So when our friends suggested we try Justine’s Brasserie, a French place located in an industrial part of town, I wasn’t convinced it was where we should spend one of our precious few dining opportunities.

Boy, was I wrong. Justine’s is utterly charming, and the food is quintessentially French comfort. I can’t imagine it being more lovely if it was tucked away on a side street in Paris.

Inside is dark and cozy — and very loud when it’s crowded. Even more captivating is dining al fresco on the expansive lawn.

By “lawn” I mean the gravel yard dotted with wrought-iron tables, lacy and painted white, and wobbly French garden wooden chairs.

The gravel is perfect for a game of pétanque alongside the house, metal balls waiting patiently for old men in berets to pick them up.

A long wooden bench sits near the front of the property, covered by a black and white striped canopy with matching curtains.

It was occupied by a group of artists, musicians and actors the evening of our visit, friends of the owner Pierre Pelegrin and his artist wife Justine.

They could have easily been a band of circus performers from another time, their clothes vintage and eclectic. I found myself glancing at them as the sun fell from the sky, casting a surreal glow over their smiling faces as they clinked glasses, laughed and shared bites of the charcuterie board passed around the table.

I wanted to join this merry troupe, maybe even run away with them.

But what was happening at my own table was theater, too.

What’s a country French meal without a French rosé? Justine’s offers two, by the glass or bottle, including a crisp, dry Le Poussin.

A crock of bubbling French onion soup took my breath away: Gruyère perfectly blistered, melded into a crouton of once-crusty French bread, harboring a thyme-scented beef broth rich with caramelized onions. Mon Dieu!

Chive-flecked quenelles of poached cod sat high on a silky blanket of tomato and leek sauce. Humble crawfish crowned the top, posing as if they were lobster. A casual dish that put on regal airs — and pulled it off.

It was the evening’s special, and indeed lived up to its name.

The Gruyère smothered Royale burger was juicy, meaty and proud of it’s toasted brioche bun. The crisp exterior of the herb and sea salt dusted fries gave way to a soft, fluffy interior. I wanted to eat a bucket of them.

Long after we left Justine’s, I kept playing the scene over in my head, thinking about the simple flavors that still lingered on my tongue.

I thought about the guillotine that sits stoically on the edge of the lawn, illuminated by the last golden rays of the day’s sun.

Was it a reminder that French food need not be fussy or aristocratic to be thrilling?

Justine’s Brasserie

4710 E. Fifth

Austin, TX

512-385-2900

Side note: Justine’s website is mesmerizing …. flickering images of not G-rated cinema. It’s hard to navigate, but hover your mouse over the name in the upper left corner and a drop down menu appears.

Tags: Austin dining, French Bistro, French Brasserie Austin, Justine's, Justine's Brasserie
Posted in Travel Eats | No Comments »

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