Bacan

The bread basket at Bacan.

From the street Bacan Restaurante is simply gorgeous looking. Ana pointed out to me the other night as we drove by on the way to my favorite B&B. At the corner of Mexicali and Avenida Oaxaca, the place is stunning with it's garden water fountain, Parisian bistro chairs, Euro gas heaters and sharply dressed waiters. It's impressive.

Ana and her mom had been wanting to go and what better time than now?

Printed on the inside of the menu is the definition of Bacan. Dicho de una persona: refinada, de trato amistoso y agradable, muy atractivo y popular, elegante, afecto al lujo y al buen vivir.

And for those of us who are Spanish-challenged, it means a person who is refined, friendly and pleasant treatment, very attractive and popular, stylish, fond of luxury and good living.

In other words: this is place to see and be seen.

And it certainly lives up to its desire. It's obvious that someone spent a lot of money on the buildout because it's gorgeous and everything is well-appointed. This results in a decidedly beautiful crown of Chilangos in nice clothing, driving nice cars and looking like the social elite.

The only problem is that this place is a restaurant and restaurants this nice looking should deliver cuisine that's its equal.

But before I go further, I do have one gripe to grind. This restaurant opened in October of 2011. This is the age of the mobile device. Who the hell thinks its still okay in 2011 to develop a Flash page making it impossible for an entire population of diners to visit your website.

Please take your web designer out to the country and shoot him.

I want to note that the service was really great. The hostess and servers were all very nice, attentive and responded to our needs. The setting is fantastic, the service is good, now what about the food?

Utilizing our scoring standard for barista competitions where a six is extraordinary, I give Bacan a 3.5 - good plus. Described as contemporary fusion, the menu offers an interesting mix of items that sound promising but are produced by a kitchen that doesn't seem up to the challenge. The technique is there, it's just missing that extra detail to make it shine.


Tacos de Pato, Argentinean Empanada and Tuna Ceviche.

Take for example the Tacos de Pato (duck tacos). The meat is lovely. Perfectly cooked and shredded, the texture is also perfect, just where is the flavor of the meat? Strong notes of orange and sweetness dominate over the perfunctory tortilla. The rolled tacos (think: unfried flauta) are laid on top of sweet caramelized (without the caramel color) onions and fried chopped cebollita stems. Sadly, the sweetness comes through and the rest is just flat.

What really makes this dish a shame is that we're in Mexico City - Ground Zero for amazing Mexican cuisine and an ambitious restaurant such as this produces such a taco? For ten percent of the price of this duck taco, I can get an amazing taco at 101 different places. I mean really, a taco here should be stunning.

Then there was the Tuna Ceviche served with avocado on top of a tostada, a nice idea for fusion appetizer. Here the quality of the tuna was just lovely but it was marred by the liberal use of diced tomato (which made it seem like the kitchen is trying to stretch the quantity of tuna used in the dish) and the lack of acidity that is the hallmark of a ceviche. Here the problem of the duck taco returns with a candy like sweetness dominating everything else - even the creaminess of the avocado.

To add insult to injury, the tostadas weren't even executed well. Uneven and bland, some were thick, one was thin. One was soggy. I must note that the one tostada that was thin and crispy made for an excellent texture juxtaposition with the ceviche, it's just a shame the quality control in the kitchen isn't more stringent to maintain tostada consistency.

Senora Garcia's salad of lettuce, goat cheese, apple slices and walnuts was perfunctory but decent while Ana's Penne Con Chistorra was actually nice tasting with a sparse amount of tasty chistorro sausage slices. This dish too was marred by the slightly overcooked pasta which lacked that toothy resistance one expects from a pricey pasta dish at a fine dining restaurant.


Estofado of Ox Tail in red wine sauce.

When choosing between the oven roasted chicken in white sauce or the oxtail stew, our server noted that the stew was the right choice, I went with that recommendation. The braised oxtails were cooked perfectly and dressed with a lovely stew sauce, paired with a buttery smashed potatoes that gave off notes reminiscent of buttered cauliflower, but here too the kitchen fell short with a perfectly textured meat that lacked the oomph to send it over the top.

As I ate the meat, I wondered just what was missing and added a little salt. That was the ticket - the kitchen lacked the ability to season properly. And for a dish that is two hundred and twenty pesos (a little bit more than the average daily wage in Mexico) you expect something stellar.

And that is the problem with Bacan. The food lacks that final detail that make it soar. You want it to be amazing. You hope that it will be amazing, but the food falls short. And that's a shame.

I mean Bacan has all the things you want in a go-to restaurant. Beautiful setting, a place to be seen and great service. It just lacks that one key: stellar cuisine. And that's the reason that stops you from rushing back to eat there again.


Bacan Restaurante Condesa
Mexicali 4 a esquina Nuevo Leon
Hipodromo Condesa DF 06100
5211-9236
bacan.com.mx

Herr Swengler's Kraut

Aventius Doppelbock, Binkert's Bavarian Bratwurst and Herr Swengler's Kraut.

One thing I know for sure after a week touring across Germany is that I don't know anything at all about German food. Sure, the sausage are ubiquitous and the Nurnberger sausage is the precursor to the American breakfast sausage link, but other than SigSauer and sauerkraut, I know nothing except that I enjoyed the food of Germany.

Knowing this, Dai San brought me back some of Herr Swengler's (his dad) homemade sauerkraut to try. This was the real deal. The homemade stuff and none of that nonsense you find in canned jars at the grocery store. Fermented and salty, he said. Beware.


Simmering in the mix.

The directions were simple enough: simmer bratwurst (though I could use kielbasa), sauerkraut and dark beer in a pot until the sausage is cooked through then eat over steamed rice (Dai San is half-Japanese and half-German - or Whole Axis), this of course, appeals to my Filipino side - and I was going to add rice anyway...

While I do have some lovely Ostrowski's Polish Kielbasa at home, a proper German sauerkraut needs a proper German sausage, causing me to trek out to Binkert's German Sausage where I think they only begrudgingly speak English, are unabashed about their meats and they don't accept credit cards - NEIN DU DUMMKOPF!!! Or something to that effect.

A stop off to see Austin at the wine shop and a bottle of Aventius Doppelbock and we're off to the races. A little browning of the sausage to begin with (though you don't have to), several ounces of doppelbock for the pot (and more for myself), Herr Swengler's sauerkraut and just let it simmer.


A simple meal for a cold evening.

One blog post and thirty minutes later, the mix is ready to eat. With rice. Of course.

Pulling a sample from the pot and the sauerkraut is a beast. The texture is firm and slightly crunchy (unlike other krauts I've tried) with a mellow flavor, slight sourness and in your face saltiness. Like I said, it's a Beast. This is sauerkraut, you know it and it's unrelenting.

The white rice helps tone down the salt and the Diet Coke's acid cuts it like a knife. Large spoonfuls of sauerkraut are rewarded with a lovely flavor, just before a mouth-smashing punch of salt. Add a slice of the sausage into the mix and you're rewarded with strong notes of garlic, black pepper and pork to balance out the kraut saltiness on the neutral rice canvas.

Not a bad way to stay in on a cold Saturday night.

Turkey On The Far Side Of The World

A little late to the party.

I've spent a number of holidays away from home but none of them has revealed itself as poignant as Thanksgiving. In America, Thanksgiving is ubiquitous. In many respects, it's the most important holiday of the year as families make great effort to spend that day together. This is the second time I've been away from family and friends for Thanksgiving.

It wasn't until this year that I started to feel just how important Thanksgiving is to Americans. Forget the whole thing about how it's a celebration of the white man raping, pillaging, stealing and plundering what rightfully belonged to the Native Americans. Like Native Hawaiians, the government may have offered an apology and given them crappy land to call their own, but they're still screwed.

But Thanksgiving isn't important because of those pilgrims, today it's important because it's the time of gathering of family and friends and I find myself feeling the lack of family and friends. Even my girlfriend is nine time zones away, meaning I haven't had the chance to talk to her in nearly a week - all of which tends to be quite a bit isolating.

Being in Kampala, there's very little talk of American Thanksgiving. If anything, I've been hearing more about these mysterious Scottish Dances where Scots (or those who fancy themselves as Scots) come together to eat, drink and dance in skirts. I'm tempted to go but it's 75,000 Shillings and I'm just too darn tired to leave the hotel.


Not the typical Thanksgiving plate.

Instead I resign myself to another quiet Thanksgiving alone in some glorious hotel in Eastern Africa. After the gym, I stroll through The Lakes Restaurant to see just what they have on the buffet. I'm thinking of taking my dinner in the room but spy what was once a rather large turkey on the carving table. Seems that the kitchen here at the Serena are exploiting a little bit of America on its greatest holiday.

So, my Thanksgiving dinner consisted of turkey, turkey and cheese sausage, chicken tikka masala, vegetable curry, rice and a little Baked Alaska.

Not too bad for a guy in the middle of Eastern Africa.

Roxy Mas!

Coconut, tutti frutti, tutti frutti and the mystery orange flavor.

Carnitas Alfonso

Assorted pork goodies in the window at Carnitas Alfonso.

One of the nicest things about Mexico is that Mexicans are not afraid of pork.

Seemingly everywhere you turn, it's pork this and pork that. Pork, pork, pork. God love this place.

Of course, if you're Jewish or Muslim, you're kinda in trouble. Then again, I don't recall seeing a lot of pork places in Polanco where many of the Jewish community lives.

Meanwhile, on the outskirts of Mexico City in Naucalpan stands Carnitas Alfonso. Adriana and Hector have been raving about this place and on a recent Sunday afternoon, instead of being good Catholics and going to mass, we decided to worship at the altar of pork while watching futbol on the television.


Salsas y Limon.

Honestly, I can't imagine what it must be like to come to Mexico and be someone who doesn't eat pork. Like watching porn, you're missing out on half the fun.

And when you arrive at Carnitas Alfonso, you're greeted by windows of sheer and utter pork goodness. Not just the ribs or the belly or the shoulder, but by mounds of intestines, jowls and amazingly large sheets of chicharron. I mean sheets as big as your torso. Fantastic.


Pickled peppers and red onions.

If you so choose, you can eat outside while picking and choosing from the selections in the window. Or you can head inside, sit at a table and enjoy flowing plates of endless pork.

Our server brings us a large menu listing hundreds of items. He wants to know what we would like. Really, I want to tell him to simply bring me the tastiest pork stuff they make, prepared in a manner that I can readily and easily put it in my mouth to eat. Good thing Hector knows what to order.


Gorditas.

In just a little while, a parade of plates starts making their way to our table. It's a blizzard of antojitos and I recall splashes of ground masa with cheese and pork, along with salsas and limes and tall, super cold glasses of freshly made horchata.

Gracias Hey-seuss (Jesus).


Quesadillas.

As they bring out the pile of carnitas by the kilo, I'm starting to realize that maybe I'm feeling a little on the full side. But the steaming pile of pork is too good to resist. Add the stack of hot tortillas and how is one supposed to resist? It can't be.

Oh but it's so delicious. Delicate, tender meat. Technically speaking, our meat isn't really "carnitas" but actually the rib meat - meaning it's got more fat and more flavor.


Carnitas por kilo.

In the end, the plates are empty and we realize that we should spend some time simply walking around to alleviate the pressure. It was a good meal. A tasty meal. A meal worth repeating.

And next time, we're going to explore the other bits.


Oh, chicharron!



Carnitas Alfonso
Blvd. Manuel Avila Camacho 865
Echegaray, Estado de Mexico
Tel: 5363 3229

Not (Quite) Bolognese

The sort of bolognese simmers on the stove.

I'm hungry. But I don't quite have fresh ingredients on hand.

Instead, the freezer is full of foodstuffs I've laid up for a rainy day, and since today was a bit rainy, it's time to put them to good use - and I've had sugo de bolognese on the mind.

Problem is: I don't have all the proper ingredients for a traditional bolognese. Digging into the freezer, I find a pound of ground beef, a pound of homemade chorizo (I think) sausage, some blanched and frozen haricort verts, homemade demiglace and tomato water. In the fridge, I find some carrots, onions, bell peppers and garlic. No celery, no bacon (Good God!) and no cream. Not to mention the most pedestrian bottle of red wine that I have on hand is a 2009 Madrigal Zinfandel.

What does all this mean? It's going to be a bit of a freestyle fest. Luckily, I have plenty of butter.

The veggies go into the food processor while the olive oil and butter heats in my new orange (or as they say: "valencia") Le Creuset 7.25qt big honking pot.

Sizzle the essentially pureed veggies in the pot until they start to turn color then add the ground meats, cooking them until they start to brown. Then add some red wine and burn it off.

While all of this is happening, I've been reducing the tomato water into a nice, thick sludge for maximum concentrated flavor. Once the wine is burned off, in goes the tomato liquid and maybe a bit too much demiglace. Boil it off for a minute or two and then reduce to low flame. Now, I'm gonna let this sucker simmer for a couple of hours.

I'm supposed to add sage. I'm supposed to add salt and pepper, but the chorizo style ground sausage is pretty jacked on seasonings that I decide to wait and see. About 30 minutes into the simmer, I give it a taste. Not surprisingly, there's a strong sense of chorizo but it's pretty good. In a little while, I'll add some milk to smoothen it out and then see how it does on pasta.

And maybe as a taco...

Neveria Roxy

Tutti Frutti, Coconut and Strawberry ice creams.

What's missing in Baltimore is an old school soda fountain kind of joint. Not so in Mexico City where Neveria Roxy still maintains the flavors of the past. Inside you'll find a nice selection of ice creams and sorbets, along with milkshakes, malts, sodas and more. All of this in the kind of retro-1950s soda fountain looking place.

The thing is, it's doesn't seem like it was made to look 1950s. It looks like it was actually built in the 1950s.


Ana Claudia sells mas agua.



A Roxy Favorite: Coca-Cola with a scoop of lime sorbet.



A bit more refreshing than a root beer float.

Daddy's Mistake

Uh oh, Danger...

As I was perusing the aisles of a local Asian market, I spotted something familiar, yet strange.

SPAM Singles.

Truth be told, I didn't grow up with a silver spoon in my mouth. My parents immigrated here and we lived rather plainly throughout my youth. None of this farm-to-table nonsense. Cheap cuts of meat, lots of canned corned beef, canned vegetables and whatever else twenty bucks could by at the grocery store - and according to Mom, twenty bucks in the early 1970s could buy you a weeks worth of groceries.

As such, we ate a lot of SPAM in my house. Not as much as people in Hawaii, but quite a darn bit of it. So much so that opening a can of SPAM with that old twist tab wasn't odd, it was fun and we argued over who got to open the can. From there, it was salty, hammy goodness mixed with rice. Until...

One day my Dad did something wrong, creating the dish that would be memorialized in our house as "Daddy's Mistake."


Now that's weird - even for SPAM.

I don't quite know how it really happened (I'll have to ask Dad one day), but it was SPAM served with hot, steamed white rice, fried egg and ketchup. Mash the eggs and rice together and season to taste with the ketchup, serve with fried SPAM and you're in business!

I know some of my gentle readers are recoiling in horror as they read this, but rest assured, it's not as bad as you think.

Now that I'm older, the problem with SPAM (besides the obvious industrial aspects) is that the cans are quite large. For SPAM Musubi, I can make eight musubi from one can. That's simply too much SPAM for one person. God knows I'm not going to eat it more than once, what would I do with the rest of the can? Julienne it and make it into Island Style Noodles???

Okay, I like SPAM, but not THAT much! The ubiquitous use of SPAM in Hawaii freaked even me out.


Three thin slices.

Personally speaking, I'm a contrasting texture freak. Meaning with all these soft ingredients, like the rice and eggs, I want a textural contrast. I want some crunch. This translates into a desire to fry SPAM thin and crispy (or as crispy as the industrial nature of SPAM will allow).

The brilliance of SPAM Singles is that I can eat it and not waste any. It's enough. Actually, it might be more than enough, but we're going for it anyway. After slicing the one into three thin sheets, into the frying pan they went - probably at too hight a temp. Perhaps the best way is to start with them in a warm pan and heat it up gradually until it crisps (more testing to come).




Once done, add some butter to the pan, crack a couple of eggs and go to town. Layer the eggs over the rice, break the yolks and mix until the rice is evenly coated in yolk then add ketchup to taste. Eat with SPAM.

The memories are almost as vivid as Adobo Sandwiches on Road Trips To Florida.

But those are stories for another day.

Lobstah Roll

The small lobster roll at Lobster Express.

A certain sign that you're in New England is not just the lobster house but the vast selection of lobsters available at the lobster house. At home in Baltimore, there's simply a tank and a price - say $10/lb for whatever lobsters they have in stock. Head out west to Portland and lobsters are pushing $50 each.

Here lobsters start at $5.99/lb for the soft shell lobsters and move upward. Interestingly enough, the larger the lobster, the lower the per pound price. Though you'd think that buying a 6 plus pound lobster that's thirty years old would mean higher prices.


A selection of lobsters for your choosing.

Today it's a lobster roll, some clam chowder and a couple of lobsters (1.5lb) for dinner. Will report back later. Maybe...

Call Of The Siren Song

Grande Mocha Frappuccino.

It's another weekend in Pawtucket, Rhode Island for the annual Mid-Atlantic NorthEast Coffee Conference (aka MANE) where we've talked coffee, discussed coffee, argued about coffee, theorized about coffee and even drank some coffee. So much going on but the essence is that the MANE is simply the best barista coffee event in the United States today.

Where other events are surrounded by the politics and dogma of the coffee industry, MANE is solidly independent and free-thinking. It's a place for open exchange of ideas and the closes thing that the barista craft has to a chefs congress and it's only going to get better in the future.


At some point in time, everyone goes to Starbucks.

But all that's over for this year and after two solid days of non-stop barista craft, we headed out for a Sunday brunch, a walk around Providence and some refreshments at that one coffee place we all know: Starbucks. While everyone enjoyed a tea lemonade drink, I couldn't but help myself to that granddaddy of Starbucks creations: The Mocha Frappuccino.

Nothing like hanging with the world's top barista, machine tech and green importers at the place that started it all.

Adobo The World

General ingredients for Sunday Meal.

Yes, I can cook.

It's times like these when I get myself into trouble.

Perhaps it's time that I start to think like a normal guy: I don't know how to cook. I just want to sit on the couch watching The Game and talk player stats while guzzling six-packs of beer.

Instead, I find myself on a Sunday late morning at the local supermarket looking for ingredients to make "something Filipino."


Making "medium grain" rice with a 50/50 mixture of long grain and short grain rices. It worked!

Earlier this year, I had the notion of going out to eat Filipino food in Mexico City. A google search for "Filipino restaurants Mexico City" returned nothing, so I contacted the Philippine Embassy in Mexico City, asking them for guidance on where to eat traditional Filipino food in the city.

Surely, in a city of 20 million people, some Filipinos would have found their way to these shores (consider the old Manila-Mexico-Spain trade route) and opened up a carinderia.

A couple of days later, a reply from the Consul General was telling: no Filipino restaurants in Mexico City. No Filipino restaurants in all of Mexico, for that matter. Huh???



Pork Adobo Battle Ingredients: pork ribs, butter, white onion, garlic, soy sauce, vinegar, red wine & jalapeno.

I couldn't believe it. There's Filipinos and their restaurants everywhere. Wherever there's work and the chance to send remittances back home, Filipinos have landed. How is it this mighty city has none. Am I the only Filipino in the city (along with the embassy staff)?

No Filipino restaurants. No Filipino food. If I move here, I could be in trouble. That's right when the girls had the idea that I should cook Sunday meal. But not just any meal. They wanted to try real Filipino food. Whatever that was.


Seared, stewed and ready to serve.

As to be expected, when it comes to fresh Mexican ingredients, Mexico is all aces. When it comes to assembling the ingredients needed to make authentic, traditional Filipino (or general Asian) food, that's where Mexico starts to stumble.

Of course, it could be just that I don't know the lay of the land. Maybe there's some secret mercado filled with Asian foodstuffs longing for my discovery - like that little Chinese market on Puente Alvarado in Tabacalera.

At one point, I thought seriously about making Kare Kare but a quick search at the supermarket left some key ingredients out. Ixnay the Kare Kare. Enter Pork Adobo.


Monday morning breakfast: pan fried pork adobo, Sinaag fried rice and some eggs.

In the world of Filipino cookery, Adobo is the ubiquitous traditional dish. Everyone knows it. Everyone can make it. Sorta. Everyone has their own twist. Take a drive across just Luzon and you'll find thousands of different variations of Adobo. Talk to your friends and each of them has their own preferred way. Some like it dry. Others fried. Some like it with sabaw (or sauce). Others hate it that way.

Then the ingredients can get kinda crazy and esoteric - some of which fly completely in the face of what you know as "adobo". Like that dude who talked about putting coconut milk in his adobo: Heretic. Or peppers. Or fish. Strange and odd stuff, but all under that known as adobo.

And it's completely different than Mexican Adobo. Actually, I don't even know what Mexican Adobo is, but to this Filipino boy: it ain't Adobo to me.

For Sunday Meal, I just took the simple route, with a little twist. Pork ribs with some butter, onion and red wine to add to the traditional ingredients of garlic, black pepper, bay leaves, soy sauce and vinegar. After some careful searing and some long stewing, it was ready to eat and enjoyed by all.

Like many dishes around the world, Adobo enjoys a little age. So, the next day, all by myself, I indulged myself in a little treat. Pan fried pork adobo with some eggs and garlic fried rice.

Not a bad way to remember the flavors of home while off in a distant land.

The Little Pambazos of Ben Franklin

Everybody's working at Los Pambacitos.

Right before we went to Hamburguesas Montaner, Ana asked me if I had tried pambazos. Of course, I've tried pambazos - that ubiquitous Mexico City bolillo sandwich that's sauteed in salsa rojo. Actually, I've never had it here, only at the fabled Fiesta Mexicana in Baltimore, but it's pretty authentic.

But, as she noted, I hadn't had these pambazos.

We were in the neighborhood to try the bandillos and I was a bit weary of having a big pambazo after eating at Hamburguesas Montaner, thinking that we were going to try a different twist on the typical pambazo. Maybe we can get one to go and that we can share.

Ana knew better.


The mother and her son.

Los Pambacitos de Ben Franklin is on a quiet residential street in Colonia Escandon. At night, it's like an oasis on the quiet and dark Calle Progreso. Why it's called Benjamin Franklin I have no idea. At first, I thought it might be on Calle Benjamin Franklin, but no so I have no idea why, but then again, it really doesn't matter.

Forget what you know about pambazos, this place is something different. Instead of the traditional bolillo, they have racks behind the counter of flattened out dough ovals that are dropped into a fryer once you place your order. Suddenly, you realize that this really is going to be different.


Frijoles and Carne Deshabrada Pambacitos.

The dough comes out light and fluffy on the inside and slightly crispy on the outside. It's like fried dough heaven and you have arrived. And it's fried by the matronly mother (or maybe grandmother) who carefully fries the dough, slices it open and fills it with your choice of filling. She's deliberate and methodical in her work and you quickly realize (so long as you're paying attention) that she's a master of her craft and you're about to experience it first-hand.

For ten pesos, you can have a pambacito with your choice of filling: carne deshebrada, salpicon, papa con chorizo, frijoles, chicharron, chile cuaresmeno, jamon and mole. Combinations can be made for a peso more. And they have pozole and atole available as well. I would have liked to induge but that would have been lunacy.

I had the simple carne deshebrada or shredded beef. Ana had the frijoles. Both were just perfect. Little bites of meat (or beans) properly seasoned with the alternating crispy and soft texture of the bread. Fantastic.

But while it was a good experience, I have to recommend that one goes there on an empty stomach and prepares oneself for the complete tour. A menu such as this, with small pambazos, deserves further and deeper exploration. One of each should suffice, along with a bowl of pozole and a side of the delicious-looking strawberry atole (though I suspect the flavor of atole changes regularly).

I will return.


Los Pambacitos de Benjamin Franklin
Calle Progreso
Near the corner of Calle Francisco Murgia
Colonia Escandon
Mexico DF

Hamburguesas Montaner

Bienvenidos a Hamburguesas Montaner.

"Have you ever tried bandillos?", asked Ana.

Bandillos. Something that only proper bandits ate? Sounded interesting. But she wanted a definitive answer but I had no idea what bandillos were and she had taken me to try so many different things that maybe I had already tried them and didn't realize it. Afterall, I could be a proper Bandito...

In Colonia Escandon, at the southeast corner of Jose Marti and Patriotismo, is a small cluster of food stands. There you will find Hamburguesas Montaner and the famous bandillo.


Cheese and sausage bandillos.

I had been in the city for a couple of days and was starting to feel a certain withdrawal from french fries. As much as I may love tacos, tacos al pastor and the assortment of wonderful Mexican fare, I can't help but to think how much powerful that pastor experience would be with a side of salted papas fritas.

Knowing me all too well, she asked me if I wanted to have some fries and then we were off to Montaner.


Getting inside the sausage.

Most of the food stalls in Mexico City are small, mom and pop affairs. There's pop grilling the burgers, mom frying everything else and maybe their son taking money. And it all happens in what must be an eight foot long by four foot deep metal stand.

The best thing about Mexico City is that it's populated by places like Montaner, selling just about everything Mexican you could ever dream of eating. And they're everywhere, which means that there are plenty of places that are just so-so and some that are stellar. They key is driving around a seeing which stands have the longest lines.


Papas Fritas piled high with cheese, mayo, ketchup and Valentina. Darn good.

As received our order of fries and bandillos, I realized that I had never had these before in Mexico City and what was once unknown and mysterious, was suddenly familiar and comforting. Think "corn dogs" and you've pretty much got what a bandillo is all about. However, in this case, the batter isn't thick, it's thin and light, and makes for a nice treat when slathered with mayo, ketchup, mustard and a side of pureed jalapeno peppers.

Ana's favorite is the cheese version and I have to agree that I think it's better. Better mouthfeel and a nice chewiness that goes well with the batter.


Montaner's Hawaiian Hamburger.

But since this is "Hamburguesas Montaner", I had to try a sample of their hamburger. Ana ordered the Hawaiian which is their burger with a slice ring of pineapple, lightly griddled. I'm guessing it's canned pineapple since most people don't cut rings that perfect by hand!

The burger was pretty decent. Simple, basic fare. Piled high with toppings and condiments, it's a messy burger but quite satisfying.


Hamburguesas Montaner
Patriotismo 85
Colonia Escandon
Mexico DF

Roasting Illustrated

French Heirloom Chicken ready to go.

Perusing the latest issue of Cook's Illustrated, I came across their quick roast technique for roasted chicken and decided to give it a try. The key is to heat a skillet first, placing the chicken on the skillet and the dark meat to cook with conduction while the rest of the bird is heated with convection.

Cook's Illustrated gives a different preparation of the meat for those trying to jam a roasted chicken in after work and in time for dinner, but I wanted to go with a more traditional method of seasoning. A little softened butter, rosemary, lemon, sweet onion, salt and pepper. And since I'm not really in a rush, a pop in the refrigerator to dry out the skin a little.


Into the skillet.

After a very successful test a couple of weeks ago at Vanessa's, I grabbed another French heirloom chicken from KCC Natural Farms in Forest Hill, Maryland. I had come across KCC at the Towson Farmer's Market and the thought of a French heritage bird intrigued me. The flavor was so good that I grabbed a couple more.

If you're used to grocery store, commercial chickens, these will look positively anemic. Afterall, they're only about three pounds. Those grocery store Purdue suckers are upwards of five pounds with massive breast meat that comes from a short life sitting in your own feces.


Fresh from the oven.

With the bird in hand and a solid helping of minced rosemary in butter, separate the skin from the meat with your hand, starting by the tail bone. Rub the butter into the space between the skin and the meat and be very liberal with your butter.

From there, it's a simple squeeze of lemon over the skin then a stuffing of the remaining lemon half and half an onion in the body cavity before trussing legs and wings. You want to truss the legs together and the wings to the body to prevent scorching (with the wing tips) and even cooking. Good results can also be had by leaving the legs dangling but it doesn't make for a nice presentation.


A little bit closer.

After a brief spell in the refrigerator to dry out the skin a little, select a skillet that is just wide enough to hold the bird and high-walled enough to contain the juices that will emanate from the meat. Place the skillet on the center rack of the oven then preheat the oven to 450F.

Once at temperature, remove skillet and place bird in center. It should sizzle nicely. Place the bird in skillet back into oven and roast for 25-30 minutes (the bigger the bird, the longer the time). Once the time has been reached, DO NOT OPEN THE DOOR and shut the heat off, allowing the residual heat contained in the oven to continue cooking the bird. Do not open the door at all.


Eat with a pan sauce.

After another 30 minutes in the oven, remove bird from skillet and allow to rest for 20 minutes. During this time, you can make a pan sauce by deglazing the pan of fond with some onions, white wine and whatever else you feel like putting into your sauce then mounting it with a little butter.

Finally, it's time to carve and eat. I recommend the use of hands.

Sunday BBQ

The Secret Weapon: Velveeta.

At my core, I'm a very simple creature. I grew up in 70s and 80s America. An immigrant family, we ate cheaply and I grew up with very simple fare: Lipton iced tea, cheap cuts of meat and Kraft macaroni and cheese. For many years, I didn't know one could have a mac-n-cheese that wasn't orange.

So, when I finally got around to learning about food and cuisine, I found the upscale mac-n-cheeses, with their fancy cheeses, to be interesting and good but not as soul satisfying as that commercial orange mac-n-cheese. Yes, one could make a deliciously tasty mac-n-cheese with a bechamel base, four cheeses, lardons and penne pasta, and I can whip that up without a second thought, but it's the orange mac that's eluded me.


A smoker full of barbecue.

Eluded in the fact that the world now revolves around easy to make macs, like Easy Mac or instant mac-n-cheese. And while those can be decent enough, nothing is quite like the days of boiling the noodles, adding butter and milk and that orange cheese powder. Now, that's Classic Americana!

I've always fantasized about making the true down home, could be nasty and definitely bad for you, mac-n-cheese but never had the opportunity, until now. With a group of our friends guaranteed to eat it, we set out to making this Ultimate Mac-N-Cheese: One large block of Velveeta, 3 liters of macaroni, half a stick of butter and 1/2 cup whole milk. Stir it all together and eat with a spoon!


Smoked skirt steak.

From there, it's barbecue and more barbecue. With the smoker running at full blast, it doesn't make sense to cook anything any other way. Some kind of protein? Into the smoker! Old shoe? Into the smoker too!

On order for the evening is a taste of the old school Ono Grill. Some baby back ribs, a little brisket, a sirloin and a skirt steak and it's nearly non-stop meat. Want some veg? Does Velveeta Mac-N-Cheese count? As it goes, it's a couple of slices of this, a scoop of mac and a drink. A little while later, it's a scoop of rice and a couple of ribs and some sauce. Want dessert? There's more Mac-N-Cheese, and I think there's some cold, sliced watermelon somewhere nearby.


Making the Mac-N-Cheese.




Skirt Steak: All Sliced Up!




Gerry's fancy broiled breaded mac-n-cheese.




The girls watch Yo Gabba Gabba!




Smoked sirloin, beef brisket and racks of short ribs.