Linni Eats Cape Town: The Old Biscuit Mill Neighborgoods Market Samples: 10.05.2008

Quiche, 3 ways: Trout and cream cheese*
Mushroom and gruyere
Salami and olive
Portugese dark, light, and medium-bodied beers
Shiraz from Stellenbosch
Smoked olive tapenade
Roasted kalamatas
Green olives in lemongrass oil
Gorgonzola
Smoked tuna
Orange and ginger Turkish delights
Porcini butter*
Shitake bread*
Mushroom pate
White chocolate espresso beans*
Wasabi peanuts
Pecan pie tartlet
Cinnamon vanilla mixed nuts
Butterscotch brittle
Mushroom brie
Citrus stingers with sea salt
Plums poached in red wine
Brie in Moroccan dukkah
Hazelnut honey
Eucalyptus honey
Cape malay dukkah
Pineapple relish
Goji berries
Raw granola
Raw cacao bean
Ethiopian beberie*
Moroccan harissa and chermoula
Aubergine olive pesto
Rocket walnut pesto
Pancake truffle
Various onion marmalades
Spicy chili jam*
Olive marmalade
Figs
Blue cheese fig and walnut samosa*
Butternut feta spinach samosa
Cardamom clove mulled white wine
Chocolate flavors: White: egoli flake, saffron cardamom, lemon verbena
Milk: cape malay spice, orange, lavender
Dark: lime, pink peppercorn

[this is spread out over a long time period that would include breakfast and lunch]
[and the portions are all teeny]
[and we walk more than two miles each way to get there]
[shut up, it’s not called the FAT pack for nothing]

*things I am OBSESSED with

Linni Eats Stellenbosch: Sosati

“Where can a girl get some ostrich around here?”

Could I be any more of a tourist? The hostel owner indulged in a quick laugh before maintaining his hospitality and pulling out a menu. Apparently a restaurant called Sosati’s down the road would be a good bet, but I perused the document to find not a single trace of ostrich. Bummer.

I wandered the streets, wondering if I’d ever get to try that bizarre South African animal, and decided to hit up Sosati anyways. The hostel gave us coupons for free wine there and here in Stellenbosch, the Napa of South Africa, that’s a guaranteed glass of delicious.


A Michael Clarke Duncan-esque waiter ushered us warmly into the exotic open space, sporting a bright orange dashiki that reeked of Oxy pride. The lighting fixtures were made of ostrich eggs and wildebeest antlers and cast a glow that I couldn’t help but relate to those cliché African sunsets you see in The Lion King. We were seated at a corner table, between a mini stage scattered with African instruments and a wall covered in one big zebra hide. It may sound like they were overdoing it, but it felt perfect.

I should begin by telling you that sosatie is a South African word used to refer to kebabs. We started our meal by avenging Steve Irwin’s death—that’s right, crocodile sosatie. This tasted like sweet and sour pork, and I’m not sure if that was the sauce or the typical taste of crocodile. There was a lot of fat on the wooden stick, but the parts with meat were pretty tasty.


Now, brace yourself for the next course: wildebeest, springbok and kudu sosaties. In case you’re like me and don’t know what a springbok or kudu is, there are ample photos online. They both appear to be members of the antelope family, but judging by taste all of these meats could be members of the cattle family. I don’t know what I was expecting, but they were just like steak.

At first bite, the three were indistinguishable. Slowly I began to notice subtle differences, though. Wildebeest was chewier and bloodier; kudu was lighter in tint and more pork-like; springbok was the most well-rounded in texture and taste, and my favorite of the bunch. This veritable feast of wild animal came with a side of mealie pap, another South African treat I’d been hearing about. This was a disappointingly bland white lump of starch, similar to polenta in texture but lacking in any flavor whatsoever. Our banana salad made up for it, though—sliced banana, papaya and pineapple were mixed in a creamy sweet mustard sauce and tossed with pumpkin seeds. This essentially served as dessert—our stomachs were too full to even consider dessert. This was unfortunate, considering the koeksisters being brought to tables all around us. These are fried shiny pastry braids similar to donuts, but drenched in syrup and surrounded by ice cream. As if that wasn’t amazing enough, their name is always good for a chuckle.

I could go on, but any writing talents of mine are rendered somewhat pointless here. Eating four different kinds of animal I’ve never tried before, many of which don’t even exist in the States, kind of speaks for itself. As the different waiters took turns banging on the drums and talking to us about Barack Obama and Michael Jordan, I had no choice but to lean back in my chair, fully content with my African experience. Because even though I haven’t seen many safari animals yet, at least I can now say I’ve eaten them.

Linni Eats Cape Town: Ocean Basket

I’m a big fan of puns, so when I read that the slogan for the Ocean Basket seafood joint was “Your Sole Provider,” you could say I was hooked.

At Cape Town’s Victoria and Alfred Waterfront, it’s hard to tell where your best meal is hiding. Herds of tourists disembark from short boat cruises to Robben Island while others stampede through the mall on a hunt for “authentic” wooden salad spoons and carved ostrich eggs. Everyone’s hungry for seafood and it’s nearly impossible to tell the fried fish chains from the real thing. The Ocean Basket may not have been the most glamorous of the area’s offerings, but it certainly wasn’t the seediest either.

I should mention that we had my roommate and his friend in tow, both from Namibia, both sushi virgins and possibly even seafood virgins. Certainly chopstick virgins. That part was fun.

Our table of four decided to share a California roll, a salmon roll, and the Princess Platter. The table’s sushi veterans were unimpressed with the Ocean Basket’s take on those standard rolls that had too much rice and hardly tasted like fish, but we were too busy educating the Namibians to care. It was good that we saved room, however, because the main course was enormous.

The Princess Platter comes with 18 prawns, grilled sole, French fries, fried haloumi cheese, and grilled calamari steaks, all on a bed of spanich rice. The prawns, eyes and claws still intact, felt and tasted like buttery delicious lobster and were just as fun and messy to eat. I’m not usually a fan of calamari, but the little orbs they served were seasoned perfectly and gave me new appreciation for what goes into the glorified fried version you see on so many appetizer menus. The sole was also seasoned and grilled to perfection, and had a texture that reminded me of the ocean’s presence just outside the balcony.

The rice, bright yellow and infused with diced vegetables here and there, had sat patiently on the bottom of the fish, soaking up all the juices and waiting for us to discover it’s presence. The wait was worth it because I have never had rice that moist or flavorful, at least not outside of a risotto. And possibly my favorite part, though it would be impossible to choose, was the haloumi cheese. I think pan-fried cheese should just become a part of every region’s cuisine; those crazy Grecians yelling “Opa!” have the right idea.

Our waiter Wellington kindly wrapped up the massive leftovers we had while we paid the bill—less than ten dollars a person. Once the shock and awe wore off, me and my food baby collapsed on the bus and slipped into a rice-induced coma the whole way home.

Linni Eats Cape Town: Fat Cactus

Call me ignorant, but when departing for my great South African adventure, I actually contemplated whether or not cows existed over here. I didn’t know what to expect in the way of milk or steak, and I was prepping myself for five desperate months without a taco. The thought gave me nightmares at first, but I was learning to cope.

So you guys back in California can understand how I felt upon hearing about a Mexican restaurant just a three-minute walk from Liesbeek Gardens, the res hall I call temporary home. And you can further feel my excitement upon hearing that this place has a happy hour from noon to 6, every day.

Six hour happy hour? Does it even matter if the food is good?

To me, yes. To a Mexican-obsessed, carnivorous, can’t-go-a-week-without-asada girl like me, a thousand times yes. So it was off to the Fat Cactus to test their tortilla-wielding skills, with a slightly diminished set of expectations than the ones I bring to California’s burrito joints.

Seated in our booth at this overwhelmingly decorated space, I could have convinced myself this was the States, easily. There was so much spurious Tex-Mex paraphernalia lining the walls that I half expected our waiter to come out and say “Welcome to Chili’s!” I appreciated the effort, but seriously—how the heck is the food?

The menu was definitely not limited to Mexican, that’s for sure—burgers and rib-eye steaks were easy to avoid, though, since they cost a lot more than the Mexican fare. I should mention that this section of the menu was called “South of the Border.” Funny, I’ve always wondered what type of food they eat in Antarctica.

Anyways, we started off with sweet potato puffers, which were basically sweet potato chips served with salsa, guacamole, and bean dip. The chips were baked so I felt better about gorging on them, but there was no excuse when the chips ran out and I went at the bean dip with my spoon.

Their quesadillas are named after musicians, and while the Elvis was tempting with its bacon and banana blend, I went for the Zappa—steak, jack cheese, and avocado. The steak was straight out of a taco truck, cooked in chunks and marinated in a fashion I thought only immigrants and Rick Bayless had mastered. They stayed true to their Chili’s roots by topping it with endless amounts of guacamole and sour cream, but it was easy to push to the side.

The feta and mushroom Clapton quesadilla was also satisfying, though not necessarily what you’d call traditional Mexican. Their nacho platters were big enough to be whole meals, and served that purpose for many at my table. The enchiladas were served deep-dish style in a mini casserole dish and I didn’t get to try them, but they looked appropriately melty and indulgent.

All in all, this meal was pretty pricey by Cape Town standards. Even happy hour marg pitchers set you back at least four dollars. It isn’t the cheap and greasy joint I’d hoped for with dollar tacos, but I can’t complain. At least I know now that there are some cows nearby to satiate those asada urges.

Linni Eats Cape Town: Nyoni's Kraal

I’ve spent the better part of my young adult years wondering where the hell my last name came from. German, Irish, Swiss, French, Welsh—none of my heritage seems to suggest the bizarre word that is “Kral.” I’ve always felt a little alienated by its lack of meaning.

Slowly, though, the name has come up in bizarre places. In Amsterdam, I came across a Kral Photography, and my guidebook to South Africa mentioned that those colorful huts on the beaches are referred to as “kraals.” These Dutch hints finally lead me to Nyoni’s Kraal, a traditional South African restaurant on Long Street in the Cape Town city bowl.

Though the word itself is Dutch, the restaurant’s décor is very…safari. Elegant safari. The kind where you’d sport matching scarves, earrings, and pumps with your khaki fatigues. The staff is laidback and offered to put the African Cup of Nations game on for us, though it seemed very anti-whatever vibe this place was going for. The wealthy Afrikaner diners may have been put off, but we certainly pleased the kitchen crew, who peeked out to check the score every five minutes.

They brought out some steam bread for us with an assortment of garlic, chili, and herb butters. I should mention that steam bread may just be the perfect way to start a meal—the lightest, most airy slices I’ve seen, subtly sweet, encased in a thin crispy crust that is somehow as light as the rest of the loaf while still being crunchy. The menu was divided into many categories, including braai, South African, and Cape Townian. The Kraal purse was a starter of striped crunchy filo surrounding the spinach and feta mix that everyone in this city seems to go crazy for.

The local lasagna was a heavy endeavor, comprised of cream sauce-soaked vegetables in a bowl beneath a flat pasta sheet coated in melted cheese. (Other restaurants in the area have proven that that is how they do lasagna in Cape Town.) I tried a classic South African dish, the breyani, a hump of minced beef and rice with sweet Indian spices, topped with diced tomatoes and a cucumber-yogurt sauce and flanked by little fried bread balls that were hush-puppy-esque, though a little tougher and therefore not as good.

The meal was topped off with the epitomous Cape Town dessert item, malva pudding. This liquor-drenched spongecake was like gingerbread doused in brandy, served with vanilla cream sauce and ice cream. I’d been warned about this staple, as if it would be scary or difficult to sample, but it was definitely an enjoyable experience.

I was sad to see the safari come to an end, but delighted to know that if all else fails, I can identify with Dutch South African colonizers! They may have a history of oppression, but they sure know how to cook.

Linni Eats Cape Town: Cocoa Wah-Wah

Cocoa Wah-Wah. I don’t even know where to begin. If ever heaven existed on earth, it may very well be in this South African paradise of refreshing drinks, Michael Jackson-obsessed waiters, and free wireless internet. But I’m getting ahead of myself here.

This Eden hides on the main strip near the University of Cape Town. If it has any signage, it’s obscured by large trees—I thought it was a dentist’s office for my first few days here. But the whispers of free internet circulated and soon throngs of wireless-starved and Facebook-obsessed Americans made plans to visit the café.

The interior smacks of sunshine, with white, yellow, and orange everywhere. One side features a wall covered in alphabet magnets, which the waiters have arranged to say “Obama=Bliss.” There’s a basket with blankets and games like Monopoly and Jenga and a table stacked with magazines of every genre. Pastries adorn the countertop and bottles of hard liquor are propped upside down behind it, at-the-ready for shots when the slow wireless has got you cranky. The mirror in the bathroom says “You are beautiful,” but the African waiters will tell you the same in between their renditions of “Thriller” and old Craig David songs. And I haven’t even gotten to the food.

My first time around was a bowl of Bulgarian yogurt with meusli, papaya, pineapple, apple, and dried banana. In a place that seems casual, I was surprised to find they’d artfully drizzled a honey swirl across the bowl’s rim and dashed some cinnamon on there, too. Their drink specialty is the Crush, and the Mango Mint Crush gave me brainfreeze after blissful brainfreeze. The Chai Chiller aint half bad, either.

Moving on to sandwiches. While my dining companion wasn’t wowed by the sloppy mess of a cheeseburger, Cocoa specializes more in healthy fare. She sampled the Sun-dried Tomato and Feta Tramezzini during another visit and while the bread was a little too much for the minimal amount of ingredients, the taste was on par with other Cocoa fare. Their chicken and avocado wrap features orange-tinted chicken that tasted like tarragon, and all these sandwiches come served with a side of roasted veggies and the best fried potato wedges I have ever tasted—no joke, they actually look like potatoes and go perfectly with the South African ketchup that actually tastes like tomatoes!

Other winners on the menu include the Pesto Almond Pasta, grilled cheese and tomato, and grilled mozzarella, olive, and tomato sandwich. These pressed flat “toasters” are served on dark sandwich bread and are kind of a steal if you’re coming here broke. Another money-saver is the Breakfast Expresso, a standard breakfast of bacon, eggs, and toast with tomato slices and jam.

Have I still not convinced you to buy that one-way ticket to Cape Town? They offer a make-your-own-muffin service, where you drop by anytime before 11p.m., when they close for the evening, and put in an order for a muffin that you can then pick up the next morning. You can choose from a cocoa or pumpkin base and add things like espresso and white chocolate. Muffins that come standard daily include the spinach and feta, carrot cake, and banana meusli. And the star of their bakery case comes in the form of a chocolate-chocolate cookie with a fudge center that they insist on heating up for you before you eat it. It’s the size of a discus and weighs about the same.

Now that I’ve typed the longest internet café review in the world, I’m going to leave you on this note—all the things I’ve mentioned cost around 50 rand or less, which means you can walk away from Cocoa no more than six American bucks lighter than when you came in. Enjoy your flight.

Welcome to Cape Town!

Whoever told me that South Africans eat nothing but meat and starch (cough, LonelyPlanet, cough) must have never visited the country. I’ve eaten a lot in just a few weeks, and while meat and starch play important and delicious roles, they’re far from the only thing offered.

That said, all bread I’ve tried is extremely hearty. Even the bread offered as a precursor to dinner at restaurants is brown and full of seeds. The one exception is steam bread, a traditional recipe with some beautiful name that I’ve forgotten, though I’m pretty sure it has clicks in it. The slices are very light, the interior moist and airy, while the thin crust provides a quite satisfying crunch. And to top it all off, there’s this fruity sweetness to it that I can’t place, but it’s unlike any bread I’ve ever tasted before.

We’ve had multiple braais, which is what the South Africans call their barbecues. They’re eerily reminiscent of American barbecues, serving meat with Italian salad, beer, and perhaps even beans. One afternoon, we got roasted lamb that fell apart after hours on the grill, all stacked in the corner of the braai, ready for scooping. I had way too much of this, and thanked the man behind the grill a zillion times. They’re very proud and competitive about their braais, so I figured it was the least I could do to show my appreciation.

Another braai served boerewors, a spicy sausage that was red inside, for some reason unknown to me (but I try not to question when things taste good.) The campus food is also stellar—we found a tiny Indian stand made of brightly painted wood, sort of giving off a circus vibe. The tiny woman behind it served up apple cinnamon, butternut squash, and spinach & feta samosas. Did I mention they were 60 cents each and the size of my fist? Did I also mention this stand is in the philosophy and politics building where all my classes are? Yeah.

They like to call their paninis “tramezzinis” here, tahini is referred to as sesame pulp, and sunflower seed oil is just sunflower fat. It’s very difficult to find skim milk or yogurt, I’ve only seen one McDonalds, and there are KFC’s everywhere.

Drinkwise, I’ve sampled the local Castle and Black Label beers (Black Label is the way to go, as if you can’t tell by the name). Amarula is their cream liquor from an African plant, but it’s pretty indistinguishable from Baileys. Instead of Smirnoff Ice with a variety of flavors, here they just offer Smirnoff Twist, a lemony bottle of 5.5% alcohol that could pass for Sprite if it really wanted to. I tried the locally-brewed sorghum beer, made from sorghum and served in a huge wooden bowl. To be quite honest, it tasted like beer-flavored yogurt that had been left out on the counter for a few days. But the experience of drinking it and passing the huge bowl around was a fun one.

And finally, I ordered my first frilly mixed drink in a restaurant my second night here—it had a fancy name that other Americans at my table knew, but I can’t recall. The umbrella spear sported some pineapple and lime slices and sat atop a mix of ginger beer, dark rum, and lime juice. At the risk of pulling a she-who-must-not-be-named, yummo.

I should also mention that, at a bar called Rafiki that played Sublime and the Beatles, I asked for a lime to accompany my tequila shot and was given another shot of lime flavored liquor. Noted.

GLOSSARY:
Boerewors—spicy sausage
Breyani—mix of rice and minced meat, sweetly spiced with yogurt sauce
Malva pudding—brandy-soaked sponge cake topped with vanilla cream
Geelrys—rice with raisins and spices
Blatjang—spicy fruit chutney
Smoorsnoek—flaked snoek with potato slices and tomato
Witblitz—strong spirit distilled from peaches
Sosaties—kebabs of meet, onion, and dried fruit basted in a curry sauce and grilled
Bobotie—minced beef baked with egg custard topping
Melktert—milk tart with cinnamon topping
Mealie papp—porridge/grits
Bunny chow—portable loaf of bread filled with curry, made during apartheid when blacks weren’t allowed in restaurants


STILL TO TRY:
mealie papp, bunny chow, ostrich, cape malay cooking, bobotie, melktert, sosaties

Linni Eats L.A.: El Huarache Azteca #1

This world has myriad lessons to offer me. I’ve picked up quite a few gems of knowledge in school, in topics ranging from the mass media’s meddling in politics to oppressive post-colonial relationships. Outside of the Oxy bubble, however, I recently had a profoundly eye-opening experience just a half-mile east on York Blvd.

It is here, beyond Marty’s and The York, buried deep in a Spanish-speaking territory with a tendency to intimidate that you’ll find El Huarache Azteca #1. From the street, it looks just like any other Mexican hole-in-the-wall. They’re all over L.A., boasting carne asada tacos, burritos and whatever other doughy concoctions can be dreamed up to hold meat. They all look the same—dirty, nondescript and not worth the time or effort. Why take a chance on a seemingly broke-down storefront whose signs you can’t read and who barely has the wherewithal to name their restaurant? I’ll just stick to Leo’s for my taco fix, thank you.


At least this used to be my outlook, before I took said chance on huaraches. The word means sandal in Spanish, and I had to know what they were serving that not only warrants that name, but deserves to be the shop’s namesake. As it turns out, a huarache isn’t far from a sope—the thick, fried masa dough is shaped into an oval vaguely reminiscent of an Old Navy flip-flop and topped with the meat of your choosing, sprinkled with cotija cheese and cilantro and drizzled with milky crema. But here’s the kicker [pun intended]—the “shoe” is filled with a thin layer of refried beans. I made the mistake of gobbling this up too fast the first time, but that’s another lesson learned—take it slow. You have to appreciate the simple greatness of this dish, let it consume you, become one with the huarache.


El Huarache Azteca #1 holds a special place in my heart, not simply because it freed me from the false stereotype of dingy Mexican joints. I will always remember this place as the first time I tried lengua and huitlacoche as taco fillings—tongue and corn fungus, respectively. This restaurant offers you just about anything you want in any form you want it, from brain on a quesadilla to tripe in a burrito; you can even get their famed barbacoa on Saturdays and Sundays piled onto a sope or torta. The tongue was pink and softer than any meat I’ve ever tasted, while the huitlacoche had an almost bitter taste like the juice in a jar of kalamata olives.


The best part about taking risks here is that you won’t break the bank if you realize you don’t like to eat stomach lining after already paying for it. Three tacos and a pop cost $2.99, as does the huarachito (smaller huarache) served with rice, beans and a drink. In addition to the usual sodas and Jarritos, they have five large containers lining their countertop, filled with agues frescas made daily in a variety of flavors. Horchata will always be my favorite, but the pina is great for those who like something sweet and fruity, and the tamarindo offers a less-sugary, brown-hued substitute for you Coke-lovers out there. They’re so fresh, I didn’t even mind squeezing the chunks of pineapple through my straw.

The daily specials are also not to be missed—from the spicy albondigas on Mondays to Wednesdays’ mole verde and caldo de pollo, the soup-slingers and masa masters behind the counter here sure know what they’re doing.

So don’t be fooled by the plastic silverware and Styrofoam plates. Don’t let Highland Park’s dingy dollar stores and nameless storefronts keep you away from a culinary experience that blows corporate “clean” Mexican places out of the water. I’ve learned my lesson, and it’s time you learned yours—if a Mexican place doesn’t seem dirty and seedy, it probably isn’t good.

El Huarache Azteca #1
5225 York Blvd.

Linni Eats L.A.: Chungkiwa

Surprisingly close to Oxy, past the chaotic strip of Alvarado known as Filipinotown and through a dizzying maze of strip malls, there is a magical place called Koreatown, home to the dining craze, Korean barbecue.

To describe my first BBQ experience in K-Town as overwhelming would be like describing Lindsay Lohan as an occasional drug user. Respectively, I have never been so confused and Lindsay has never had more reason to be in rehab. Upon entering Chungkiwa, I was too befuddled to even speak to the hostess about my dinner reservations. I instead stared at the enormous tables, set ablaze by tiny Korean women, empowered by their fire-starting ability and shared knowledge that they could serve unsuspecting white folks cow tongue without them knowing.

I was seated near a table of Korean business men and my party was late, so I had the opportunity to observe the process prior to placing my own order. I watched, simultaneously intrigued by the giant pit in the center of my table and the giant plates of raw meat being brought to the men beside me. Studying the menu proved fruitless, as most of it was in Korean, and I saw no buffet to uncomplicated the procedure—I was in pretty dire straits.

Mustering what courage I could in this culinary equivalent of a wild-life safari, I peeped at the waitress and pleaded for guidance. In what little English she had in her, she got the point across that we should order five plates of meat for our party of seven. We’d be needing two plates of the kalbi, their specialty beef short ribs, some chicken and pork for the less adventurous and a plate of kalbi with mushrooms. I have been having a love affair with mushrooms this summer and always make a point to order them, no matter the format in which they are being served.


I sensed we were being duped into spending too much, but figured that was almost unavoidable in a situation like this. Our waitress made a production of the routine fire-starting I’m sure she does hundreds of times in a day. In a flash of lighter fluid and matches, the pit in the middle of the table was set ablaze and soon enough slabs that closely resembled extremely thick-cut bacon were being tossed on, grilled and diced up with industrial-strength scissors.

I should mention that prior to the meat, our table was blanketed with countless mis-en-place dishes filled with various unidentifiable appetizers and accompaniments for our meal. The star of these snacks, known as panchan, was the sweet black beans—shiny and jet black, the sugary things appeared far healthier than they tasted. Winner of the most intriguing award definitely went to the bluish white sponge that tasted like nothing and turned out to be egg. What kind of egg and cooked in what way, I have no idea, but the waitress didn’t understand when I posed these inquiries. Oh, and did I mention all of these dishes are refillable?


Soon enough, the kalbi was roasting and filling our tiny back room with an aroma so intoxicating that I thought I’d accidentally downed one of the 40 oz. Korean beers available to those old enough to buy one—I, unfortunately, am not. Chungkiwa prides itself on serving all USDA-certified Angus beef from extremely juicy, lean and flavorful cows, and it shows—or should I say it tastes? Either way, we had no trouble finishing what I had originally considered an exorbitant amount of food. The steak is coaxed by the burners into wilting capitulation, melting in your mouth between the rice noodle sheets, given to wrap around the beef in a distant approximation of a sandwich. Fresh, thin daikon slices are also offered for this purpose.

The mushrooms were, of course, too delicious for their own good once steeped in the smokey aroma of Angus beef. Large silver pots of cold barley tea were constantly being refilled as we washed down swallow after swallow of the spicy kimchee and kalbi. Rather than having food leftover, my table was left picking at the scraps in the burner bowl as our waitress tried to carry it away.

My advice to those considering this adventure is to bring a Korean if you can find one—a wise Oxy student offered me this counsel and I ignored it. It isn’t that you can’t survive without knowing the language, because I’d like to think I did quite well for a first-timer with just a few years of high school French under my belt. However, it would have been nice to know what exactly I was dipping my fork into in those mysterious white dishes, how to ask about dessert or how to inquire about prices. At about twenty bucks for a plate of meat with all the accoutrements, the bill could be kept under control if you exercise caution, but I’ve heard that other K-Town offerings have all-you-can eat buffets for as little as $14.99. Chungkiwa’s Angus beef was undoubtedly spectacular, but you might want to try something like Tahoe Galbi if you’re pinching pennies. And, let’s face it, aren’t we all? Chungkiwa is located at 3545 W. Olympic Boulevard; Tahoe Galbi can be found at 3986 Wilshire Boulevard.

Linni Eats Chicago: Johnnie's Beef

Well, it's summer and I have officially returned to the gusty winds and moody weather of Chicago. What better way to celebrate my arrival than a trip to the legendary Johnnie's Italian Beef in Elmwood Park? On the long stretch of North Avenue leading to the airport, Johnnie's tempts me to stay each time I depart for Los Angeles and I have daydreams of the juiciness as I suffer through southern California's dry heat.

Daydreams no more, my month-long cravings were satisfied on a recent trip to the miniscule store front that hides massive flavor. One step in the door and the smell alone reminded me of what I had been missing. No dreams of Johnnie's beef could do it justice, not even aromatic memories. The usual line extended out the door, but was actually pretty small for this time of year. Throngs will soon come from all corners of Chicago to wrap around the building like a necklace of summer salivations, frought with the anticipation of such a primal satisfaction.


You can spot the folks who have been here before by the way they order. "I'll take one beef, almost dry," requests one plump man, whose well-fed belly stretches out the front of his White Sox World Series Champs t-shirt. Another customer steps up behind him, this time a younger boy--"Two spicy beefs, two fries." This kid knows his stuff so well, he doesn't bother with any extraneous words. Others follow, hopefully knowing what they are doing or with someone who does. An aged woman, clearly a seasoned Johnnie's veteran, orders an extra-juicy beef and I look down at the tiny counter where my sandwich is propped, wishing I had ordered it a little more sauced. The no-nonsense workers behind the counter seem like the intimidating type, but they will actually accomodate just about any requests regarding juice and spice.

If you're feeling especially carnivorous (as I so often am) order a combo--this has an Italian sausage embedded in the beef sandwich, soaking up whatever amount of juice you've stipulated, providing a spicy kick to the surrounding meat and appropriately soaked bun. Their menu also offers tamales and hot dogs, but those in the know come here for one reason and one reason only--to get a taste of the best Italian beef in Chicago, the Midwest, and possibly even the United States.

Congratulations, Jonathan Gold!

Yesterday, April 16, Jonathan Gold became the first food writer to win the Pulitzer Prize for Criticism. He has written for Gourmet magazine and is currently the food critic at the LA Weekly.

Big congrats to Jonathan, for bringing this incomparable level of respect to the world of food writing!

Linni Eats L.A.: Mi Piace

Los Angeles has the most competitive restaurant scene I've ever witnessed. There are perfectly good restaurants that I wouldn't go back to eagerly, simply because there are so many new places to try. Why waste time eating somewhere you have already tried when you could test out that hot new Thai Latin fusion everyone's been talking about? Or that classic Italian trattoria that you can't believe you haven't tried yet? For me, wanting to visit a restaurant twice is an enormous compliment--you have got to have one hell of a menu for me to think there is something worth coming back for. This is not food elitism--it is the simple reality of living in this melting pot of people, cultures, and kitchens.


That said, I have found a restaurant I will willingly take guests to, will happily open the doors of time and time again, and that place is Mi Piace, an Italian showcase of glamour and glitz on the Colorado strip. Outdoor seating stretches the distance of three store-fronts and couples with dogs casually co-exist with elegant groups and hostesses who are too pretty for their own good. Your typical L.A. woman can be found in front of the dessert case, picking at her salad and trying not to glance up at the shining glass box of pastries that are actually prettier than the hostesses.

Seating varies from large wooden tables to low-riding white leather booths that require some mild gymnastics to get comfortable in. Once that is settled, a lively waiter will likely grace you with his presence, dripping with the charisma of an aspiring actor. He will bring you their trademark herb bread, delicious alone but out of this world with their vinegar-olive oil plate, poured simultaneously at the table to create a beautiful split.

The Fiammiferi di Zucchini, or crispy zucchini sticks, arrived next with a spicy roasted sweet bell pepper sauce. These were only ok, but no one noticed because our other appetizer was the Calamari Fritti, which came with a housemade lime, cilantro, and jalapeno dipping sauce that knocked us back in our loungey leather seats. These threatened to fill us up, as did the next course, salads. Insalata di Spinaci was a baby spinach dish tossed with dried Michigan cherries, sliced strawberries, caramalized pecans, California goat cheese, and a star anise apple cider balsamic dressing. The description alone is a mouthful, and the taste was equally overwhelming in the best possible way.

The absolute star of the meal arrived for me next--Ravioli Al Burro E Salvia, ricotta and pumpkin ravioli in brown butter and creamy pesto sauce. The creaminess of this dish forced me to close my eyes momentarily, and the lids continued to flutter as I detected strong hints of sage from the leaves perched atop the fresh pasta. The ravioli, made entirely from scratch, was featherlight and thin, just strong enough to hold it's heavenly sweet pumpkin interior, which tasted exactly like Thanksgiving.


One of the day's specials, the Osso Bucco di Vitello, featured a slow-braised veal shank with port wine, julienne of carrots, onions, celery, tomatoes, and fresh thyme, all atop a mushroom risotto. This came close to the angelic status of my previous dish, and next in line was the Petti di Pollo, a roasted free-range chicken breast stuffed with mozzarella, pesto, and basil and served with a couscous-fresh vegetable medley in a creamy roasted garlic sauce. Their side pasta dishes all shine the brightest--it is clear that the couscous and risotto were made from nothing but flour, eggs, and dedication to good food.

I really enjoyed the feeling that Mi Piace knew me, understood how I operated and could push just far enough without filling me up. Your typical Italian joint loads you up with enough pasta to feed a family of marathon runners, and many would argue that is tradition and that is how it should be. Mi Piace, however, also prides themselves on their bakery--all bread and desserts are made by their own Pasadena Baking Company. Luckily, the portion sizes were perfect to leave us ready and willing to tackle that dessert case in front. Throwing caution to the wind, we ordered a dreamy mango mousse, the New York style cheesecake, the mysterious banana pyramid, and a miniature apple pie. Some of these may sound basic, but believe me, they were not.


The apple pie held a secret savory dash of rosemary, which elevated the American flavor to gourmet status. The cheesecake came in a neat circular unit, seated atop a brownie crust, rolled in chocolate sprinkles, and capped by decadent chocolate frosting and caramelized pecans. The mango dish was more like a petit four, with an airy cake surrounded by a thick mango sauce. The mystery of the banana pyramid was solved, much to my delight, when we discovered a banana cream filling on a thick chocolate crust, rolled in almond chips. This was all presented so beautiful, we almost didn't want to eat them.


On top of all the spectacular things we did try, there were at least five other menu items I need to come back for. To give you an idea of how extensive the menu is, let me just tell you that half of our party was stuck in traffic for 30 minutes and we still hadn't decided by the time they arrived. As if that weren't enough, Mi Piace's kitchen dishes us breakfast as well. The Waffles Bambinos are four baby waffles with sauteed bananas, walnuts, and brown sugar. They also offer savory breakfast items like the Smoked Salmon Fritatta and Spinach and Mushroom Croissant. As swanky as the space can be at night, it would be just as good for people-watching on a Sunday morning by yourself or with the whole family. There is really no group you can't take here, it has something to satisfy every taste. I can't recommend it enough and I am waiting with bated breath to see what my next visit will bring.

Mi Piace
25 E. Colorado Blvd.
Pasadena, CA
(626) 795-3131

Linni Eats L.A.: The Counter

When it comes to making your dining experience one of a kind, the folks at the Counter get right to the point by handing a clipboard to anyone who enters the crisp, modern Santa Monica space. Chic silver chairs and cool blue walls give a clean background for the eclectic art and wine collection adorning the walls. The diversity of design carries over into the patrons who stockpile at tables and of course, the Counter. Sit here to avoid the waiting list for a table and gain the added bonus of a menu tour guide—the staff behind the bar will answer any questions you have about the menu, as well as offer suggestions about their favorite combinations.

Each clipboard comes standard with a menu printed at the bottom, including regular specials like the 50/50 fries, where your table gets to choose two fried items from the list of sweet potato fries, fried onions, and regular old French fries. They also serve uncommon fare along the lines of cranberry-topped turkey chili and hobo packets, a childhood camping favorite of mine that involves taking whatever veggies you’ve got, wrapping them in foil and tossing it in the fire. The result is delicious and I’ve never before seen a restaurant try it.

Above this menu, you’ll find a tear-off checklist of burger accessories, organized into neat sections to simplify the near-impossible task of designing your sandwich. First, choose your meat—their beef is freshly-ground 100% natural Angus from corn-fed cattle raised on an all-vegetarian diet, but if you’re not feeling that, go for the turkey or veggie burger, or even grilled chicken. Next up, decide how hungry you are—burgers come in 1/3, 2/3 and 1lb. sizes. I chose the 1/3 lb and it was definitely enough, but there’s no shame in going big! Cheese comes next, and I chose the Danish Blue Cheese from an agonizing list of ten amazing choices. To complement that, I chose dried cranberries, grilled pineapple, mixed baby greens and avocado from the list of toppings and with the help of a friendly staffer, chose the apricot sauce to dip it all in. The fifth and final step is choosing your bread—hamburger buns, honey wheat buns and English muffins are all available, as well as the option to have your burger in a bowl on a bed of lettuce.

When this masterpiece arrived, I didn’t even want to disrupt the beautiful display with my silly mouth. I couldn’t bite into this any more than I could bite into a Monet painting! But of course, the hunger that developed in traffic en route to Santa Monica overcame me. The leaning tower of beef was toppled, the heavens opened up, naked chubby babies with harps sang to me…ok, not quite. But this was one of the best burgers I have ever tasted. Call me crazy, but for a moment I wished the toppings weren’t in the way so I could just taste the pure, unadultered cow.

Mine was cooked medium-well, but the menu suggests getting it done medium and after sampling my friend’s medium patty, my lesson was definitely learned. This didn’t stop it from being appropriately crumbly, juicy and moist, the perfect base for the salad of toppings I had selected. The waitress said I could try another sauce if I thought the apricot was too sweet, but it was just right for this fruity sandwich. The English muffin I ordered wasn’t dry or rigid like I feared. It absorbed the mixture of blue cheese morsels and sauce and hugged the interior like a crunchy blanket. I also got to try a medley of lettuce, avocado, american cheese, and dill pickles with honey mustard and the melted cheese took the burger to a whole new gooey dimension, wholly distinct from the blue cheese experience.


If you’re feeling overwhelmed by the 27 toppings listed, they do have a few tried-and-true recipes on the menu, as well as a burger of the month. They featured a halibut burger with jicama slaw while I was there, and I can’t wait to go back and try their namesake Counter Burger, served with sharp provolone, lettuce, tomato, fried onion strings, sautéed mushrooms and sun-dried tomato vinaigrette. There’s also the herb goat cheese spread and gruyere left to sample, the caramelized onion marmalade and roasted garlic aioli have yet to tantalize my taste buds, and I won’t even get into the laundry list of toppings I have yet to explore—lets just say there are sun-dried tomatoes and honey-cured bacon strips in my future.

Believe it or not, this whole sandwich was under ten bucks, and the entire bill was less than 15 when you add my apple pie milkshake, with actual pieces of crust and apple blended in. They also whip up banana, peanut butter, and coffee flavored shakes and malts. The only downside to the Counter is its location, easily a half hour drive from Oxy, but if you get some friends together for a beach trip and make a day of it, I promise you they won’t let you down. For a full menu and locations, visit www.thecounterburger.com.

Linni Eats Chicago: Hot Doug's

When I emailed Hot Doug to inquire about the day's specials, he replied pleasantly, signing the message "Sausagely, Doug." This is just a preface to the wonderful things he will continue to do throughout the story of my first experience at Hot Doug's Sausage Superstore and Encased Meat Emporium. I can only hope this will be the first of many entries to come, as he rotates his specials on a daily basis.


We arrived at 3:45 on a Saturday, one of the only days out of each week that Doug dishes up his Duck Fat French Fries(the other day is Friday). The store closes at 4pm and a line of at least 20 people wrapped its way outside and down the block. I parked right out front and could smell the goods before even opening the car door. After a chilly 20 minutes outside, debating whether or not we would make it inside, the warmth finally blanketed us, as did all of the Elvis memoribilia and pictures of people with sausages. This all rested on a pervasive paintjob of primary colors with a giant quote in glittery writing across the wall: "There are no two finer words in the English language than 'encased meats,' my friend."

The specials menu captivated me with tales of Ale & Chipotle Buffalo sausage with Hard Cider mustard and Monterey-Jack cheese and Mediterranean Lamb Sausage with Red-Curry Garlic sauce and Feta cheese. A man on his way out cheerily shouted "Try the rabbit," but unfortunately the White Wine and Dijon Rabbit sausage with Truffle sauce Moutarde and Port Salut cheese that he was referring to was finished for the day. We made our final choices only to be struck by a small cash-only sign. I experienced waves of disappointment to think I couldn't afford the duck fat fries and a special sausage. Apparently, I conveyed these emotions well because next thing I knew, Doug was writing down duck fat fries on our order sheet, saying he couldn't have anyone looking that sad in his store. He cheerily took what money we could give him and told us to get some drinks and find a seat, never once expressing irritation with us.


The order was out in a few short minutes, and the waittress was happy to dump an obscenely large order of the fries on our table. They didn't look like anything impressive but as soon as I popped one of the skinny delights, totally condiment-free, I was overcome by a flavor never this apparent in regular fries. They weren't the super-crispy texture I usually look for, but it didn't matter. They were dashed with grains of sea salt visible to the naked eye, a perfect complement to the smokey, natural flavor.

It was tough to halt my frenzied shoveling action with the fries, but my Apple and Cherry Pork sausage awaited, with Sweet Dijon mustard and Blue cheese, all drizzled with honey and topped with Griottes (tiny canned sour cherries). I ate in brief silence for a minute and closed my eyes to shut out the madness of the restaurant's interior. It was kind of mind-blowing.

Unfortunately, it probably has the potential to blow arteries as well as minds. I opened my eyes to observe the range of healthy-looking customers as well as the more full-bodied ones, and I could tell they were all dedicated Doug-followers, for better or worse. With delirious smiles plastered on everyones' faces, who can even bother to think about the nutritional value of the various encased products? My stomach can't wait to try them all, no matter how my heart feels.


Check www.HotDougs.com to see the day's specials before you go.
Open Monday-Saturday, 10:30-4:00
[If you're outside in the line by 4pm, he will serve you]
3324 N. California
Chicago, IL

Linni Eats L.A.: Señor Fish

When I say that I have found the cheapest and best seafood in all of Los Angeles, I doubt a small Mexican restaurant in Eagle Rock comes to mind. Believe it or not, this is the case at Senor Fish, where rainbow Christmas lights hang year-round on the wooden porch out front. Massive tree trunks poke up through the floor-boards and one might find themselves leaning their back against one while sitting at one of the lower picnic tables or bar stools that complete the eclectic atmosphere.


A dry-erase board inside lists the day's fresh fish specials. There are usually about eight, but they get erased as the kitchen runs out, a sign of their interest in freshness and quality. Sea bass, salmon, and swordfish tempt you away from the carnitas and asada usually ordered in a taco joint, and listings of fresh tuna and trout distract from your average pastor. Arguably the most popular dish is the Callo de Hacha, an enormous and well-constructed scallop burrito filled with spanish rice, beans, and surprisingly high-quality fish for only 6.50. Not only is this the only place I've ever seen a scallop burrito, it's also probably the only place serving multiple scallops for under seven dollars.


These flakey morsels also work their magic in the soft-shell scallop tacos, amazingly 2.75 each, topped with cilantro and cheese and served with pinto beans and rice. Despite their emphasis on fish, the asada taco was just as good, and I'm willing to bet they don't slack off on the pork or chicken dishes, either. They offer to grill any fish for you, if you prefer that texture, and any of the day's specialty seafood can be ordered in taco, burrito, tostada, torta, enchilada, and quesadilla form. The scallops in the burrito were soft and juicy, while those in the tacos were grilled to achieve an irresistible crunchy exterior.


One might think that it is easy to get away with using mediocre seafood if it is just going to be mashed up in a burrito, but I tested this theory and was shot down. The baby green salad gave the orange roughy room to shine, and shine it did. On a bed of mixed greens, avocado, and mandarin oranges and topped with cotija cheese, this fish was better in quality than a lot of what I've been served in upscale seafood restaurants. And this cost less than ten dollars.

I recommend starting with chips and guacamole, just like any other Mexican joint. Their chips are fried to the point of amazing and there is a full bar of salsa options, of which we tried at least 5. And if you think the dinner prices are cheap, head back for the lunch special, which includes a drink, rice and beans, and two tacos of your choosing for 6.50, 7.50 if you choose shrimp or scallops. And as if they hadn't spoiled us enough, they also offer a weekend breakfast menu. Next time you're craving incredibly good seafood, don't get bogged down by visions of high-class snobs rude waiters, and depleting bank accounts. Senor Fish is making incredibly good seafood at all hours of the day, and you won't have to break the bank for any of it.

Linni Eats Newport Beach: Haute Cakes

When you spot the long line lingering outside of Newport Beach's Haute Cakes Caffe, don't be dismayed--you will need that time to decide from the delicious menu. The restaurant's owner will serve you fresh strawberries with greek yogurt as you contemplate your options, and will even field questions about their breakfast offerings and that day's specials. If nothing on the menu tickles your fancy, the line also offers a great view of the prepared pastry case, practically overflowing with red velvet cupcakes, quiche slices, and myriad other morning pastries.

When it's finally your turn, be sure to get some of their fresh-squeezed orange juice, and try to fit pancakes into your order somewhere--it is their namesake, after all. Their specialty blueberry cornmeal variety is a classic, safe bet, but the orange ricotta is also worth a shot. If you're watching your figure and these carbs sound terrifying, fret not. Mona's Breakfast offers egg whites cooked with spinach and salsa and is served with a bowl of haute oats, berries, and non-fat milk. This healthy choice is just as good as the carbo-loads and disappears from the plate just as fast.

The Mexican Scramble is another one that doesn't stick around for too long--despite ample portion sizes, it is just hard to put the fork down at this place! Chorizo, tomatoes, onions, potatoes, and queso fresco are served with guacamole and sour cream and one can't help but savor those flavors, silently gobbling up all the eggs in sight. They offered a special scramble that day with sausage, onion, and apple and the owner was kind enough to make a half size for me. The Haute Scramble was also served in half size and featured tomato, basil and spinach.

Another special, and arguably the best, was the hot cereal. It sounds a bit boring, but there is nothing plain about the warmth of five grains served with sunflower and pumpkin seeds, almonds, dried cherries, and fresh bananas topped with a dollop of cool, refreshing greek yogurt and drizzles of honey. Why this isn't a regular menu item, I do not know, but I would pay good money to have this appear on a more regular basis.

The restaurant is tucked away off of the street and offers outdoor seating in a relaxed setting, where you may find yourself surrounded by beautiful, well-behaved dogs and babies of all shapes and sizes. Wealthy Newpsies in their velour track suits make for some interesting people-watching, and the owner makes frequent trips around the patio to socialize. Sunday mornings can be rough, but this is a place worth waking up for. If you can't get yourself out of bed before noon, they also have a lunch menu, featuring more classy fare like the brie sandwich served with oven roasted tomatoes, basil and balsamic all on a toasted baguette.

Linni Eats L.A.: Souplantation

It was always my goal to keep chain restaurants out of this column, but I have recently experienced a delight in Pasadena that everyone should know about. This temple of good health and choices is called Souplantation, and it is chain-dining at its finest.

The buffet begins with 55 feet of salad bar stretching down the neck of the restaurant. On a Saturday night at dinner-time, a line weaves down both sides and out the door of the Lake Street location. There are mixed salads available at the start of the line as a foundation for less creative folk—cranberry chipotle spinach salad with walnuts was one such mix. A plethora of dressings are set out with calorie-counting labels and tiny sample cups. The creamy cucumber was refreshingly light and I opted to get some on the side to dip veggies into.


After paying the absurdly reasonable price of $8.99 for all-you-can-eat, we moved on to the soups. Here, sampling is also a possibility—pour yourself some soup and if it’s not what you want, just get something else! The Spanish Albondigas meatball soup with cilantro sounded tasty, but it turned out I was more in the mood for chili. I bypassed the pasta options, though it was tough to not swoon over the warm glow of the mac ‘n’ cheese. A fruit salad bar and a bakery corner battled for my attention until the baby apple bran muffins finally swayed me with their oatmeal topping. These sat nestled between baskets of baked potatoes wrapped in foil and other muffins, rolls and brownies. A giant pan of apple crisp beckoned to me, but manners told me to wait for dessert.

A multitude of juice options jumped out in bright colors from clear plastic containers and the vivid pineapple slices and strawberries sat dangerously close to the frozen yogurt machine. My tray was full. It was time to sit down.

After promising not to go back up, I began round two by snagging six muffins to wrap up and put in my purse. My dining companion and I felt like old ladies, and I joked about stealing some sugar packets as well. After our brief period of kleptomania subsided, it was really time for dessert. The frozen yogurt machine was accompanied by all the sundae accoutrements you could think of, including granola and Oreo crumbles. A delightful Souplantation employee was very excited about refilling the Oreo container for us and insisted we fill our bowls to the brim—this idea was met with no resistance on our parts. The frozen yogurt also paired well with the apple crisp, though it was divine on its own as I kept going up for seconds…and thirds…and fourths.

Quite the opposite of food coma, we left the restaurant in a hyperactive food high, snagging cornbread on the way out and trying to conceal our purses full of rolls. The cornbread was the best we’d ever tasted, with bits of corn baked right in and it went especially well with the honey-whipped light butter they offer. The line had shrunken since we arrived, so if you are headed here on a weekend, it might be best to go later. You could also wait until Sunday morning, when they have a breakfast buffet. I can’t wait to see what I can steal from that! So despite it’s West coast infamy as a run-of-the-mill chain buffet, I insist you go see for yourself before writing it off. They certainly have more salad bar options than a school cafeteria.

Linni Eats L.A.: Malagueta

Colorado Blvd. zips through Old Town Pasadena in a flourish of magicians and overpriced boutiques, of diagonal crosswalks and captivating cafes. There are restaurants on top of restaurants, literally in the case of J.J.’s Steakhouse, which sits atop Melting Pot, which sits atop Kabuki. Amid all of this bustle, it’s hard to find a truly stellar, mind-blowing dining experience every time. This is where Malagueta steps in.

In the grand tradition of Pasadena cuisine, it combines exotic cooking styles for a Brazilian-meets-Mediterranean festival of delicious. There is prime people-watching to be had, so sit outside if you can. Inside, the restaurant’s wood-burning oven casts a glow on the happy diners. The pile of logs next to it provides a cozy juxtaposition with the contemporary bar’s vividly illuminated bottles.

The menu of Homer-esque proportions has small pictures in the back to serve as a guide to the laundry list of foreign dishes. Take a risk and share the Brazilian or Mediterranean Sampler, both of which feature a large selection of traditional finger foods with names you might not recognize. We ordered the Brazilian variety, which included Bossa Nova bread that resembled cheese puffs, plantains, hearts of palm, calabresa sausage and fried yucca with their signature salsa that is more like a choppy chutney. Yucca is a root not unlike a potatoe and at Malagueta, they slice it thinly and serve it like French fries;. Calabresa is a Brazilian take on pepperoni that is sliced smoothly and has an addictively sweet taste. The plantains, a fruit similar to the banana, are grilled with an aptness that leaves them neither greasy nor mushy.

Our pleasant waiter was attentive despite the fact that we were his only outdoor table, and brought water refills and drinks, like the Guarana soda, promptly. Half the meal may be spent deciding on an entrée from the extensive, multi-page and multi-meat list. They offer the Brazilian Barbecue craze, Churrasco, as well as pizzas from the wood-burning oven. Pizzas can be topped with virtually anything, from banana to smoked gouda and from shrimp to calabresa sausage.


The Northern Brazilian specialty Moqueca de Camaro involved ample chunks of silky shrimp sautéed in cilantro, onions, tomatoes, pepper, dende oil and coconut milk. It was served with more of the plantains, as was the Bife Acebolado. This abundant serving of skirt steak was also topped with onions, garlic and parsley and was accompanied by black beans and rice, which all blended together in a jumble of juices and spices that I could not stop eating, long after I was full. If you’re feeling really hungry, the Gaucho ribs offer a thicker cut of beef and additional yucca French fries with the entrée.


The menu also has pastas, salads and more Mediterranean fare, including the Mediterranean Sampler, which features falafel, grape leaves, hummus, yogurt and cucumber dip, taboule and pita bread. They do offer some simple desserts such as flan and chocolate cake, as well as myriad inventive cocktails if you’re of age. The proximity to 21 Choices ultimately kept me from tasting any of these treats, however, and I went on to stuff myself full of fro yo. There is always next time—I will definitely be returning to Malagueta, which is a huge compliment to any eatery on the dizzying Colorado strip.

Linni Eats L.A.: Cafe Cordiale

We can all appreciate the age-old pastime of going out to dinner with friends, but occasionally an evening needs more substance than the simple pleasures of a good meal. Look no further than Café Cordiale, a charming late-night spot in Sherman Oaks that is also open for lunch during the week and brunch on the weekends.


Café Cordiale features aspiring musicians that perform while you dine every Thursday-Saturday night. The acts stand in front of a red velvet curtain, separating them from the bustling kitchen. The restaurant is divided into two rooms by sliding glass doors that are pulled open to include all diners in the private concert. The candlelit tables and exposed brick walls are charmed by the assortment of wooden chairs and upholstered benches.

Waiters in formal wear brought out the first course, which consisted of Salmon and Lobster cakes and Appetizer Pizza. The cakes were served with deliciously fresh mixed greens and a light mustard sauce and offered an interesting new take on your average crab cake. The pizza, which had a flashy menu description, arrived on a boring circular plate looking like it came from Domino’s. The breadbasket was equally uninspired, making it evident that they must not have a baker on staff.


I waited patiently for my cup of the daily soup special, Carrot Ginger, and had forgotten about it by the time our entrees arrived. The Butter Lettuce Salad featured asparagus, avocado, bleu cheese, tomatoes and pine nuts and the chef was kind enough to add a salmon filet for me. This all went together beautifully, and the salmon was equally outstanding when served alone with a delicate dill and shallot cream sauce. The Grilled Orange Roughy made me do a double-take, cooked to some sweet perfection I had never before experienced in a white fish. The daily special Filet Mignon, as well as all other meat and seafood entrees, were served with a refreshing combination of squash, zucchini and broccoli, cooked without the excess butter that often weighs veggies down.

Our waitress must have gone on break when I remembered my absent soup. By the time she resurfaced, I was full and the first musician of the night had begun to perform in the tri-weekly Acoustic Cordiale act. The volume was just loud enough to demand your attention, while still allowing for some side conversation about what desserts to order.


We settled on the Black & White Chocolate Mousse cake and Crème Brulee, sadly saving the Bread Pudding with dried apricots and French Apple Tarte Tatin for next time. The mousse resembled cheesecake with its double-decker white-and-dark chocolate creams stacked atop an Oreo cookie crust. The chef had achieved the perfect texture for the crème brulee crust, which had no burnt spots and was joined by a generous piling of strawberries.


It was probably the slowest I have ever eaten a crème brulee, but it is worth post-poning the meal as long as you can to hear the music, even on amateur acoustic night. The café usually features R&B/Jazz groups on Thursdays and Saturdays, R&B on Fridays, and Rock or Acoustic on Wednesdays. Their schedule is available online at http://www.cafecordiale.com. The menu can be a bit of a gamble, but the stirring atmosphere and quality of certain dishes makes it worth the drive.

Linni Eats L.A.: Gingergrass

The Los Angeles area is saturated with Vietnamese restaurants, and it seems like stumbling into any of them could satisfy a quick pho fix. Gingergrass, however, shines brighter than the rest on its quiet corner in Silver Lake. The modern American interior and matching clientele could have indicated low food quality, but I decided to give it a shot.

The inter-workings of the kitchen are on full display behind a casual take-out counter. This is an interesting juxtaposition next to the swanky dining room, warmly lit by giant canvas orbs that hang from the ceiling’s wooden rafters. The day’s specials are displayed on a fuss-free chalkboard, bragging of dishes from clay-pot vegetables to whole crab. My table decided to start with the appetizer special, Shrimp Yam Fritters, which came out deeply orange, fried and delicious at the ridiculously affordable price of 4.95. We munched on irresistible, light shrimp chips while waiting for this and the next course.


One of the restaurant’s most popular dishes, the Banana Leaf Fish, featured a tilapia filet steamed to flakey, fork-tender perfection in banana leaves with lemongrass and ginger and topped with a tomato whose zing complemented the other flavors well. Strips of flank steak had also been cooked in the eatery’s namesake combination of ginger and lemongrass, and served cold atop cabbage, red peppers and jicama in the Mako salad. The beef was a little tough and chilled for my taste, but made a palate-pleasing turn when it showed up in the beef noodle bowl. This dish was accidentally sent to the wrong table, but showed up under 10 minutes later and was free due to the error.


Our waiter joined in our dessert vacillations, agreeing to surprise one of my companions with his favorite dish and talking up another about a shared obsession with the TV show Lost. The desserts came to our table in a flourish of balanced, artful plates. Taro flavored ice cream arrived in a small bowl garnished with mint leaves, while fried Banana Spring Rolls descended on a plate criss-crossed with chocolate sauce. The Coconut Lime Bars consisted of four squares, all refreshingly cool and silky. Horchata ice cream was also quite pleasurable, though heavy on cinnamon and too light on that ricey sweetness characteristic of the Mexican drink.

It is evident from the variation in their ice cream flavors that Gingergrass is attempting to marry two L.A. standards. They toss in local flavors while remaining true to the authentic Asian cuisine so many people look for in southern California, while pulling off a high-class interior that is also laidback. Dark wood tables and beige runners are surrounded by Vietnamese families and local students alike at this appeasing, affordable Silver Lake secret.