Huynh, 912 St. Emanuel St., Houston, TX

Close to the top of any "best of" list I could ever imagine for Houston, food-related or otherwise, Huynh (pronounced "win" or "hwin") is one of the best places to enjoy Vietnamese food in Houston, a city which is itself possibly the best place in America to sample this amazing, deeply underrated cuisine. I hadn't really eaten much Vietnamese (well, much that was truly worthy of the name) before I moved to Houston, and I've been desperately craving it since I've left. Luckily, just across the river in Pennsylvania (but wait, that's another story)…

If you happen to be in Houston, there are plenty of decent-to-great Vietnamese spots in Midtown and in the Bellaire area. And even the so-so, pricey spots outside these two key zones (I'm thinking places like Miss Saigon in the Village and Mo Mong in the Montrose here) will at least serve you something solid, even while they pry a few-too-many bills out of your wallet. You can even get a respectable (and, occasionally, great) meal out of a dive like Hollywood Vietnamese on Montrose Ave. But if you want something extraordinary, I strongly recommend crossing 59 and bringing a date to Huynh.

And, yes, this is definitely a meal worth dining in for. The take-out is fast and first-rate, but Huynh has great atmosphere, think main category Asia Modern, sub-category Slightly Harried. At night the lighting is beyond dim (hence the quality of these photos), but romantic enough if your partner enjoys poking around with chopsticks at pork bits of uncertain provenance while bathed in the glare of wall sconces. If they don't, well, that's your loss and theirs.





There are some things one nearly always need check out when finding a choice new Vietnamese spot, and I'm pleased to report that Huynh doesn't drop the ball on any of the classics. Both Cha Gio and Goi Cuon are excellent here, in particular the crispy Cha Gio, which have an-almost delicate crispness and avoid the greasiness of some of their lunch counter competition. The herbs and lettuces here are always nicely fresh as well, a truly essential part of a superior Vietnamese meal. There's nothing worse than withered romaine leaves and limp cilantro laying sadly near your Pho to remind one of how important the crisp greenery is to this cuisine, so rooted in contrasts.

Other familiar favorites like the rice vermicelli Bun noodle bowls and of course, Pho, are well-executed, sticking close to the classic model. Nice touches are the addition of a char-grilled shrimp noodle bowl, not often seen, and a substantial set of Pho options, including the ever-present squiggly meatball as well as flank, brisket, tendon, and tripe. But if you're craving a noodle soup as heartening as Pho, I encourage you to try Bun Bo Hue, a specialty of the owners' home region, Hue.



Thick with fat noodles and various uncertain bits of pork and beef, colored and umami-fied with pig's blood, this is not, as they say, for the faint of heart. But those familiar with the squeakier types of Pho, as well as all indiscriminate lovers of pork product should find much to delight here. The flavor of the broth is deeper and subtler than Pho, less heavily spiced and more warming. Pho is traditionally a breakfast food, eaten on the street while in transit to work. This is more of a chilly night, after dark kind of soup, with thick rice noodles reminiscent of Udon. The raw accompaniments are more wintry, too, crunchy shredded cabbage and carrot and bean sprout. Even stranger for western palates but also excellent is Bun Ming Vit, a similar combination, but with duck on the bone and large pieces of bamboo shoot.



Good to the last drop.



Worth investigating at Huynh is nearly anything off the grill. There is no place where Western and Vietnamese tastes combine so effortlessly (barring possibly Banh Mi) as in the rice-based comfort dishes, Com Dia. Anything accompanied by a "Huynh favorite" smiley on the menu is strongly recommended, but the Phoenix chicken, short ribs, and anything based on grilled pork are all extra-strongly recommended. The short ribs strike an excellent balance of charred and tender, and come with a perfect fried egg nestled on top. "Phoenix chicken" is in fact Cornish hen with fried egg, a nicely spiced bird I can only describe as extra-succulent and juicy within a thoroughly crispy layer of skin.



Very few places can entrance me to stuff myself to the point of pain and then even consider, let alone actually order, dessert. But our waitress was extremely persuasive. Thus, we ended up with a mango smoothie (frapped and not-too-sweet) and Che 3 (or Ba) Mau, "three colors of beans," which is somewhere between a parfait, rice pudding and a more standard Asian red bean dessert. Highly recommended.

If you're in the Houston downtown area, it's well worth your while to swing down St. Emanuel and check out Huynh, within spitting distance of the George R. Brown Convention Center and Discovery Green. And unlike many great Viet spots in Houston, they actually have a website, with full lunch and dinner menus.

SANGRIA 7.22.11

We're enduring a rough heatwave in the Northeast at the moment. Which reminds us of Houston. Which reminds us of… Sangria! Our perennial favorite for a day when everyone's off and it's just too damn hot to go outside. For more than blueberries. And, so :

Sangria 7.22.11

Gather :

1 cup lightly crushed blueberries & 2 sliced yellow peaches, macerated briefly with a little bit of sugar (a couple tablespoons will do)

Add :

1 bottle dry but not-too-dry Spanish red wine (we used Altos del Cuco, see below)
1/2 cup brandy (of mediocre quality or slightly better, it's not yet time to whip out the Henny)
1 sliced orange (we used valencias)
juice of 1 orange (ditto valencia)
1 sliced lemon (sliced real thin to avoid the odd over-tart glass)
1/2 cup sugar (or more, to taste)

Chill in the fridge for a few hours, then scoop a bit of fruit and pour a bit of sangria into stemmed red-wine glasses, or goblets, or whatever works best. Then add ice & club soda to taste.

On the Selection of Fruit :

We picked some blueberries from the bushes at our house and used some nicely room-ripened Jersey peaches but we would like to note that this DOES NOT MAKE US BETTER THAN ANYONE ELSE. They were merely at hand. Whatever should do nicely. If you have a plethora of gooseberries, too, or whatever, this will likely work. I think the peaches are the key element - soft enough that you have to slice them slowly and evenly for fear of mashing them.

The oranges should be plump but not too juice heavy. Of moderate ripeness.

On the Selection of Wine :

In The Foods and Wines of Spain, one of the classic English-language Spanish cookbooks, Penelope Casas recommends when making a red sangria to use "a dry, full-bodied red wine, preferably of Spanish import from Valencia or Valdepeñas," and I see no reason to contradict this. I would add only that a wine following that description from southern Italy or South America or Australia would work almost as well (if not as authentically), and that the key phrase here is "dry," not "full-bodied." The latter is mainly a reminder that you don't want some acid-heavy, puckeringly dry big red for your sangria. What you should avoid, though (and I've been as guilty of this as anyone), is picking a sweet red for your sangria. This seems to be the pattern most often repeated by home sangria-makers here and it's a key one to avoid. After all, you're adding nothing that isn't sweet (fruit, sugar, eau de vie, brandy) to the wine to make it sangria. Why choose a sweet wine? It'll only make the whole experience a cloying one.

At any rate, we picked Altos Del Cuco, a monastrell/syrah/tempranillo mix that drifts towards the dry side of what is usually a more even-tempered combo. At around $10 and under a bottle, it's about the perfect price point for a batch of sangria. If you spend $15 US or more on a bottle for sangria (outside of extremely bourgie districts), you're spending to much. Altos Del Cuco is a clean, dry (but not acerbically so) red with enough notes of fruit to make for an excellent batch. There's a fairly decent review here.

garden schematics, may 2011

grilled & green june salad

grilled red onion
grilled mango
grilled asparagus
romaine
red leaf lettuce
mesclun leaf
broccoli rabe shoots
fresh tarragon
fresh chervil
olive oil
splash of good balsamic vinegar
salt & freshly ground black pepper

done.

Any slightly bitter cabbagey green can be substituted for the mesclun we snipped for this, and you only need a touch of true bitter greens for the rabe shoots, which obviously not too many people have just lying around. The chervil and tarragon are pretty essential, though, to give an anise undertone.

I can only imagine that some shaved parmigiano would put this over the top, but it was damn fine as-is.

Pizzarium, 43 Via della Meloria, Rome

Ah, Pizzarium. With all the outstanding places to eat we uncovered on our last trip to Rome, it is this tiny, crappily-named, ornery, expensive, literal hole-in-the-wall squeezed between the walls of Vatican City and the Trionfale neighborhood that we think of almost daily.

A casual glance at its' location might lead one to think that it is close to tourist ground central. It is decidedly not–in fact the only things Pizzarium is conveniently located to are the Cipro-Musei Vaticani metro stop and two other food destinations– La Tradizione, one of the best shops for cured meat and cheese in the city, and La Bonta' del Pane, a fine bakery with some of the best Roman butter cookies. So, actually, not so bad! Just bear in mind that if you're coming from the area of St. Peter's Square, you'll have to put up with not only the steady march of people towards the Vatican Museum entrance itself, but also their attendant annoying tour guide pitchpersons, who will repeatedly bother you if you don't look every inch the pissed-off local. Pizzarium is inbetween the Via Cipro and a flower stand along the Via Angelo Emo, just south of the Metro station. It's open during the siesta, as well, so if you happen to be roving the Metro line during off-hours, consider a trip up to Cipro.



Just don't go with any expectations–Pizzarium has been called the "best pizza al taglio in Rome," but you won't find the usual set of barely-reheated favorites familiar from other purveyors of rectangular Roman-style pizze. No no no. Instead, Pizzarium serves up... well... whatever it is they serve up. There's no set list of bonafide classics and no dead certs. One of the bakers stopped to take a picture of a pie before sliding it into the display case. Not because it looked so damn good (which it did), but because in all probability that pizza would not get made again.

So what makes Pizzarium special? First off it's the dough, which rises overnight. It's crusty, soft, pliable–somewhere between pizza crust and focaccia, but not that horrid chewy nonsense served up in supermarkets and at most restaurants. It has a significant crumb to it, but it's very easy to chew and to digest. There is no hard work involved in a bit of Pizzarium's crust, but you may feel the pleasures normally associated with the kind of artisan craft whatever breads that usually do require tooth work. Needless to say, it's absolutely nothing like the (fault-free) normal Roman pie, whether from a pizzaria or an al taglio joint. The second thing that makes this pizza otherworldly is the level of quality and care with regards to the toppings. To better illustrate this, I will mention the slices that we ate while standing outside this ridiculous place (the rest we took with us and ate at various points in the evening). Dough, fresh end-of-winter artichokes and olive oil. That's it. There are no pictures. We ate the slices too fast. Three ingredients and easily one of the best slices of pizza I have ever eaten. Well, engulfed, really.



On par with the artichoke slices were the beauties pictured above. Well-cooked beef lingua (tongue), green tomatoes, parsley and a hint of pecorino buried 'neath the tongue. Though it was obviously the same crust, there was far less olive oil on these slices, which made them seem crispier - entirely appropriate, given the toppings. The combination was nothing short of spectacular, with the tender, braised tongue a rich contrast to the citric tartness of the unripe tomatoes. The notes of sheep's cheese and fresh parsley were perfect, subtle additions. This was one of those combinations that might seem a little puzzling on paper, but really worked on dough.



Our final slices were the only offering that was less than mind-blowing. They were great nonetheless, featuring braised treviso radicchio and mushrooms absolutely smothered in melted provolone. Between the oil (no tomato sauce on any of these) and the abundant cheese, these were perhaps a little too greasy for our tastes. Although it must be said that these were eaten hours after they were cooked, and no doubt would have been a little less heavy when first served.



Finally, a word about arancine. These Sicilian rice-based croquettes have been an obsession of mine since I first ate them in Siracusa. No matter how they are made or what they are called (in Rome, they usually have sauce and cheese and are called suppli), I love these things. Pizzarium dished out one of the best I've ever had, and without a trace of meat or cheese. Rice, sauce, and artichokes. Perfect.

Fiaschetteria Marini, 7/11 Via Raffaele Cadorna

One of the finest and certainly the cheapest meals we enjoyed in Rome was at the Fiaschetteria Marini, located on the terse Via R. Cadorna, which emanates from the very pretty Piazza Sallustio in the Sallustiano neighborhood, north of Piazza della Repubblica & Termini station. Besides its proximity to these, it is only a ten-to-fifteen minute walk from the Galleria Borghese, which is truly one of the finest museums in Rome. And unlike the walk from Piazza Barberini, which it is also near, the walk to Marini from the Museo is downhill. In other words, it makes a perfect repast after feasting on sumptuous Bernini masterpieces at the Galleria, so please avoid the dull coffee and limp tramezzeni at the caffe and stretch your muscles with an appetite-building stroll through this typical, busy neighborhood of the upper Quirinale.

Your wallet and your stomach will both love you for it. At about €15 per person for a more-than-ample meal with primi, secondi & contorni, this was by far the least expensive sit-down meal we've eaten in Rome. And though "fiaschetteria" technically means wineshop, we did not have any wine with our lunch, instead plowing through a couple of bottles of water, which seemed in keeping with what everyone else was doing. A simple, bottle-lined dining space with ancient but not uncomfortable wooden chairs, Marini has the turnover of a midtown Manhattan diner during lunch rush, feeding local office workers on break (though it must be said, this is a Roman lunch break, so it lasts quite a bit longer than one of ours). The food came to us Tex-Mex quick, with friendly but unadorned service. Not, perhaps, the place to take a date. Unless, of course, you already know for sure your date is totally awesome and his/her idea of a killer time is chowing on cucina tipica in humble, hand-cobbled surroundings, sucking up veal marrow and shoveling down bitter greens while ensconced in the chaos of a bustling, workaday Roman lunch, rattling along to the noise of a hundred or so hungry locals laughing, chatting and shuffling copies of Il Messagero while happily tucking in.

But on to this amazing lunch! I mean, I really wish we'd stopped and taken pictures, but we were honestly too busy driving it in to even think of it. Don't let the emphasis on cheapness and typical fare and what-have-you have you believing for one second this was anything less than outstanding food, perfectly cooked. We came to Marini on a Thursday, the day set aside in the informal Roman weekly schedule for gnocchi al sugo, potato gnocchi in a tomato sauce served with grated pecorino, so we were sure to order a couple servings. The gnocchi were perfectly chewy, the sauce simple yet elegant. The other primi were equally good, including a baked timballo di penne, crusty on top and dotted with tender veggies and a heartening bowl of local brown lentils cooked with tubetti pasta, the dish which above all else seemed to banish the cold and dampness that seemed to haunt us this trip.

Most guidebooks will be eager to tell you that the secondi, what we would call mains, are the least stimulating portion of the local cuisine, with the exception perhaps of seasonal suckling lamb or a really good saltimbocca alla Romana. Well, most guidebook writers really ought to head out to Fiaschetteria Marini, because these secondi were nothing less than ass-kicking. We arrived a bit before 13:00, but the ravioli primi, Puglia-style zucchini and salsicce arrosto con patate al forno (my mouth waters just typing those words, I can only dream of what it would have actually tasted like) were already sold out. We managed to score the last order of bollito, a solid cut of steak boiled until tender but not flavorless, served with yellow potatoes sprinkled with parsley and an excellent salsa verde, the typical northern & central Italian sauce of green herbs macerated with capers, onion and lemon. This was an honest but refined take on a dish that belied most descriptions I've read, in which it materializes as the ex-pat's worst nightmare of boiled, funky mystery meat served cold and topped with a watery, indistinct parsley sauce. Like I said, we got the last bit. A pork braciola was expertly grilled, seasoned with green pepper and served with the most delicious side of broccoli rabe I've ever eaten, perfectly sweet with the end of winter's frost. Ossobuco con piselli, an ample portion of veal shank smothered in early peas, was nothing less than sublime, especially when chased with the buttery, chocolaty marrow spread across a wedge of Marini's crusty bread. Nom.

Contorni often get short shrift in Roman trats, but not so with Marini. These veggies were offered up in more than adequate portions, each carciofo alla Romana a full-sized, sexy-ass artichoke cooked with lemon and the local, savory mentucchia mint in the traditional manner. Misticanza, the ancient, almost mystical blend of local bitter greens, lettuces, herbs and young onions, was here sauteed, in padella, and served as an excellent foil for the succulent secondi. The desserts? Well, they looked great.

Oh, and did I mention the prices? Just in case you don't believe me, I managed to secure a copy of the menu, which is of course hand-written and changes daily. Bear in mind that portions are comparable to large portions elsewhere in the city, and unlike many fine establishments, the mains are served with hefty vegetable sides. Highly, highly recommended.

Rome 2011, A Brief Introduction

Rome is a city I've visited more often than any other outside of the U.S.– more often, in fact, than many cities in the U.S. In that time I feel I've come to understand the complexities of Rome fairly well, from the strata of historical layers that make up her facade to her uneasy position as capital of the Italian political state. I've seen the things you're supposed to see, the things you really ought to see and a few other, stranger things besides. And in all that time I've eaten... well. But rarely have I eaten excellently. This, I am certain, has only been my own fault.

In March of 2011 we traveled to Rome again and this time we made it our especial goal to eat bloody well. We succeeded. Despite the absolute worst weather I've ever encountered there, the usual logistics of group navigation and our less-than-adequate Italian, we managed to eat fantastically well, with an emphasis on cheapness and the focus on traditional, local Roman fare. Over the next few days we'll be sharing some of those meals, and recommending both general rules of thumb and specific places in which to get some outstanding, belly-lining, wallet-friendly grub in the Italian capital.