I Ate This: Memo's on the Ave.

Where: Memo’s, the U-District
When: April 25, 12:34 a.m.
Price: $4.35
Would I eat it again? I’d say there’s a better than average chance. But it’d have to be late night. And I’d have to be craving Mexican food. And I’d have to be drunk.

Memo’s opened in February and definitely picked the right location. Just north of 45th Street on the Ave, it should soon turn into a U-District staple. It looks like they’re planning for it. The place feels enormous with the monochromatic wood floor and seating. But tonight, it’s empty — a couple of frat kids packing it on, nothing else. It is, however, only 12:30 in the madrugada (early early morning): too late for normal food, but not yet time for sloppy drunken chowing.

This is definitely a late-night destination. The food is pretty decent although the lettuce tasted like it’d been in the refrigerator for a while. However, if you’re looking for close to authentic Mexican food — or, what the Mexicans call, “food”� — it’s a pretty solid destination. I had a chicken torta and it would have been good had I stumbled in from Earl’s down the street. But I didn’t. And sobriety, heavy food and midnight just don’t go together all that well. That being said, some guy ordered the Washington Burrito, a tortilla stuffed with steak, cheese, potatoes and salsa. It looked like the gut bomb from heaven.

Memo’s 24 Hour Mexican Food
4743 University Way NE
(206) 729-5071

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I Ate This: Frito Pie, or, Back from Vacation

Origin myths under debate:

1. Was the universe created in one Big Bang or seven days?
2. Did Marco Polo really bring pasta to Italy from China?
3. Was the Frito pie invented in Texas or New Mexico?

Re the latter: Here's a recent Dallas newspaper article that reviews Frito pies in Santa Fe, New Mexico, yet argues the dish must have been invented in Texas. (Though the author can't back up her assertion with any facts. Hunh. Texans.)

Before I drove around New Mexico last week, I asked fellow bacon addict and former Santa Fe Reporter restaurant critic Gwyneth Doland for advice on where to get the best Frito pie when I stopped in Santa Fe. She, as well as onetime New Mexico resident Laura Onstot, both said that the best place to get Frito pie is at high school basketball games. Basketball season being over for the year, Gwyneth said I should visit the Cowgirl.

Holy shit, was it good: Served in a bowl (well, it did cost $7), with just enough of the bag appearing to make it "authentic," the Cowgirl's Frito pie was one big mess of chips slathered in spoon-tender beef stewed in red chile sauce, which I spruced up with onions, cheddar cheese, jalapenos, and sour cream. I felt a little guilty for eating the Frito pie with metal silverware, but after the second bite I stopped caring. The next day, when I was describing the dish on the phone to my mom, who has never been to either New Mexico or Texas, she requested that I recreate it for her when she comes to Seattle for Mother's Day. So I have to do a little reverse engineering, using red chiles I bought in Chimayo, and will hope that it's not too spicy for a Hoosier palate.

Another high point of the New Mexico trip, as you might imagine:

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I Ate This: Messy Veggie at Bella Cosa

Where: Bella Cosa Foods, WALLINGFORD
When: April 4th, 12:47pm
How much: $6.95
Would you eat it again: I will, and I have

Bella Cosa is a deli and cafe right on 45th in the heart of Wallingford. With a small but stellar gourmet cheese and meat selection, and a well-chosen gaggle of olives, tapanades, sauces, cookies, and other sundries to go along with every selection.

If you ever find yourself in Wallingford at lunchtime, stop in to Bella Cosa for their veggie sandwich with mozzarella and don't skip on the dressing. Veggie sandwiches rarely deliver the carnal pleasure of a meaty hoagie, but this one is a knock out. Roasted tomatoes, zucchini, peppers, eggplant & mushrooms (!!) fresh mozzarella on Macrina Ciabatta, finished on the panini grill. Oooeeee!

The veggies are cooked enough to not slide around and slip out of the bread, but not so cooked that the smoosh into some amorphous veggie goo. The mozzarella is choice and generously provided, and the dressing makes it all a delicious mess. This is the kind of sandwich you hunch over, the kind that laughs at you for the futile use of your napkin in between bites. Bonus: Bella Cosa not only sells wine, but offers a red and white by the glass everyday; they've got a small seating area in the back. SO maybe don't be in such a hurry....

Bella Cosa Foods
1711 N. 45th Street
www.bellacosafoods.com
Tue-Fri 11am-7pm, Sat 11am-6pm, Sun 12:30-5pm

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I Ate This: Theo's Take-and-Bake Pain au Chocolat

What: Take-and-bake Pain au Chocolat, from Theo Chocolate, 3400 Phinney Ave. N, 632-5100, FREMONT.
Where: In my own kitchen
Cost: $4.99
Would I eat it again? Sure. But only if someone else is buying.

Official Tasting Notes:
There are few things more delightfully childish than an old-fashioned pain au chocolat. It’s just a chocolate sandwich, a few slabs melted onto a fresh baguette. They do it perfectly at Café Presse and as well, I hear, at Ocho. (What's with the run on bread with chocolate?)

Eating one in public sometimes gets a little embarrassing, though, what with the squeals of delight and the way the chocolate dribbles out the sandwich, down the back of my hand, and underneath my watch. When I found out Theo is selling a take-and-bake version on the weekends, to be melted and spread across one's face in the comfort of one’s own home, I jumped. What could be better?

A couple things, actually. First, the chocolate itself: I revere Theo as my chocolate goddess, but here, she’s a stingy mother. Made on a (fresh!) Tall Grass baguette, the pocket-size pains are just about 4 inches long, barely dusted inside with something that they might have found on the factory floor. No, I’m not accusing Theo of actually using leftovers, but I do wish there had been more of the main ingredient. The chocolate was intense, and looked abundant enough when I cut my treat into pieces, but in the mouth there was no oozing, no magnificent burst of liquid gold in the mouth, no . . .fun. And if I’m going to eat a chocolate sandwich, dammit, I want it to be fun. If you’re a chocolate prude, this is the sandwich for you.

The cost, also: Next time, if I’m thinking about my wallet, I’ll hit the grocery store, where I can feed the same thing to a crowd for just a buck or two more, or Café Presse, where a $4 pain au chocolat a l’ancienne twice the size of Theo’s (and much more chocolaty) costs $4. Or I’ll venture out to try Ocho’s pan con chocolate, which is only $3.

Insider tip: The cooking instructions on the placard at Theo are different than the instructions that come on the packaging. To get the chocolate to melt all the way, I found my baguette took longer in the oven than the instructions on the package suggested.

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Slim's Last Chance

What: Cheeseburger, brisket and bean chili, classic meat chili, and smoked jalapeno mac 'n cheese (yes, I had help).
Where: Slim's Last Chance Chili Shack & Watering Hole, 5606 1st Ave S, Georgetown 762-7900.
Cost: $41.73 (with fries and 2 Diet Cokes)

Official Tasting Notes:

Last Chance co-owner Michael Lucas is the thinking carnivore's hero. While some burger purveyors are content to brag about the fact that their meat has never been frozen, Lucas cuts straight to the matter of what really makes the difference: freshly ground meat. Freshly ground means gently hand-formed patties that are butter-tender on the inside, but with a perfectly seared crust on the outside, and a loose construction that results in both seasonings and smoke permeating the meat beautifully. Such gorgeous architecture is not to be fucked with, and accordingly, cheese is thoroughly melted, shredded iceberg lettuce is uniformly crisp, the bun is toasted just ever-so-slightly, and the rich, signature smokey sauce miraculously doesn't conflict with the star ingredient. I'm a complete burger snob, and this blew me away.

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I Ate This: Foon, Fried Rice and Tofu Pudding

What: Shrimp Foon, Fried Rice, Tofu Pudding and Green Onion Pancakes

Where:Northwest Tofu, 1913 S Jackson St

Cost:$17.35

Official Tasting Notes: Though there's just one little convenience store separating the often touted Moonlight (thanks in large part to it's vegan friendly "meat" lumps that permeate the menu), Northwest Tofu seems to get overlooked, at least within the ID dabbling hipster contingent. Though it seems their primary biz is making tofu and selling to local groceries and the like, they've also got a sit-down restaurant with an extensive (tofu heavy, natch) menu.

Be warned- they're cash only, so we traipsed over to the convenience store and purchased a bag of Cracklins, spicy pork skins (delicious) in order to get cash back before placing our to-go order of:
Mushroom Foon: As ID dabbling "hipsters", we were unenlightened as to what this "foon" might be, and ended up getting not mushroom, but shrimp in the end, which was a-ok with me. When opened, the medium sized styro container held an ample portion of gigantic, wide and wavery rice noodl-y strands, with little salty shrimps nestled between their folds. The noodles were chewy and delicious, with the shrimp providing just enough flavor to make it interesting.

Fried Rice: This was the largest and by far heaviest container- and held within it the best fried rice I have ever eaten, rife with vegetables (shredded carrots, generous slices of shitake mushrooms, tofu chunks, soy beans), the small grain rice, sticking together in delectable clumps of just salty enough flavor.

Tofu Pudding: A gigantic tub of the sweet tofu pudding (they also have a salty variety) set us back just $2, and was quite wobbly and definitely tasted like gelatinous sweetened tofu. Not too sweet, and definitely innoffensive, but a few bites was enough.

Green Onion Pancakes: These crisply fried delights were cut into triangles, and provided the perfect vehicle for delivering the rice and foon to mouth- with all their savory, greasy goodness.

All in all, the under appreciated place is well-worth giving some love, so the next time Moonlight calls your name, give it's nearest neighbor a shot- but if you're vegan or veg, just make sure to clearly enunciate when ordering.

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I Ate This: Mystery dishes at Yea's Wok

What: Something off the Chinese menu

Where: Yea's Wok, 6969 Coal Creek Pkwy SE, Newcastle, 425-644-5546.

How much? Somewhere in between $10 and $14 (couldn't read the receipt)

Would I order it again? Oh, yes.

Official tasting notes: For two years now I've been hearing about the Taiwanese food at Yea's Wok, a strip-mall restaurant close to Factoria. When I drove up, though, the sign said it served Szechuan, Hunan, and Mandarin (read: Chinese-American) cuisines. I took a buzzer from the host — apparently, the waits can be long — and picked up the English menu. Barely any Taiwanese dishes, but lots of the beef with broccoli/Hunan chicken kind. I asked the host whether the Chinese menu was different. "Oh, yes," she replied. Was there a translation? "No. But maybe you can get the waiter to help you with it."

Luckily, our waiter did help us out, selling us on the classic three-cup chicken (cooked in soy, rice wine, and sesame oil, with ginger and basil), which was great, and this dish above, tofu strips tossed with mustard greens, fresh soybeans, and mushrooms. I didn't realize until it arrived that I had eaten the dish a number of times before in the Bay Area, and Yea's version had the best balance of pungent greens, silky tofu, and meaty mushrooms of any I've tried.

Our server also sold us on one dish that you can find on the English menu: clams in black bean sauce, pictured above. (Well, the waiter first brought us clams in basil, which we sent back, and then they reappeared 60 seconds later with most of the basil leaves picked out and some fermented black beans tossed in — they were still so tasty, though, I had no right to complain.)

All in all, a good meal, but I'm baffled: After being in business for more than a decade, Yea's Wok's bilingual staff can't write up one page translating its Taiwanese specialties into English? It's not just for white people. I've gone out to dinner with a number of second-generation Americans who, even if they understand Mandarin or Cantonese, can't read Chinese characters that well.

Grumble, grumble. If you know of any other top-secret dishes I should be ordering when I go back to Yea's Wok, clue me in.

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Quinn's Wild Boar Sloppy Joes

Dear Wild Boar: Thank-you for existing.
Dear Quinn's: Thank-you for doing such wonderful things with said boar.

I've always been a big fan of the wild boar ragu at Volterra, and the best meal I've had in my life involved wild boar and bottomless glasses of Valpolicella in Siena, Italy. Though the term "gastropub" sort of sets off my bullshit-o-meter, when I heard about wild boar sloppy joes at Quinn's on Capitol Hill, I was damn curious.

Unexpectedly, I had the chance to finally try one last night at Showbox SODO, where the Sound Bite exhibition was taking place. Put together by Cafe Vita and other members of the Seattle Restaurant association, the event was a smart mix of live music and exceptional food, brought together as a benefit for the Vera Project and ProStart. Only bands whose members work in restaurants were allowed to submit demos for consideration, and blessedly, the musicians selected happen to work at places like the Palace Kitchen, Tavolta, El Gaucho, and Via Tribunali.

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I Ate This: Tokara

What: A box of wagashi (Japanese confections)
Where: Tokara, 6208 Phinney Ave. N., 784-0226
When: Yesterday, during Tokara's monthly touryanse (open house, held the 10th of each month)
How much: $10
Would I eat there again? Yes

Official Tasting Notes:
Tokara's "open house" isn't quite that. The door is unlocked, sure, but Tokara is primarily a wholesale operation (selling to places like Floating Leaves, Fresh Flours, Panama Tea House, and Neptune Coffee), so there's no real retail area, and there are no kitchen tours. Still, when I met owner Chika Togashi in the modest, tatami-lined living room of her little real estate office-turned-confectionery on Phinney Ridge, I couldn't have felt more at home. Or more like I'd traveled to Japan. The kitchen behind her was stacked with bamboo steamers and sieves, papers and powders, an entirely different artillery than what I've seen in most patisserie or candy-making kitchens. I looked outside to make sure I hadn't fallen down a rabbit hole: just three Japanese women, drinking sencha on a red blanket in the middle of a Zen garden.

I'd called ahead to arrange the purchase of three small wagashi, the Kyoto-style sweets that gain momentum in Japan this time of year, when the cherry trees blossom. When I padded in (my shoes sort of jumped off at the door), she handed me a box carefully packed with what I'd ordered, but I was surprised not to see sakura mochi, the sticky, bean-filled rice flour treats imbued with the flavor of the cherry leaves that surround them. When I asked, she brought out a tin packed with them, and offered me one with a cup of sencha, on the house.

What I like most about Japanese sweets is that I never have any idea what the hell is going on inside. Biting into one is like playing ingredient roulette. In this case, there was less variation - three of the four I tried were filled with azuki bean paste of varying textures.

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Pork Roast Perfected

Always more flavorful the day after.

If you do not own a crock pot, you're either working too hard or paying too much, too often for mouth-watering comfort food. They're cheap, efficient, and bomb/dummy-proof. (One of mine has a big dent on the side after I backed the driver seat into it.) This recipe's not as mind-numbing as my uncle Ben's old-school pot roast, but NOBODY CAN SCREW IT UP.

— A few stocks of chopped cellery
— 1 bag of mini carrots
— 2 handfuls of chopped mushrooms
— 1 large yellow onion, chopped
— 1 packet of dried French onion soup mix
— 1 pork shoulder (or "butt") roast, about 4 pounds (though, you can use any size)
— 1 tall bottle of Newcastle

Set the pork in your slow-cooker/crock pot with the fat side up, and mix the veggies in around the roast, adding any extra to the top. Sprinkle the soup mix on top before adding about three-quarters of the bottle of Newastle. Drink the remainder of the bottle at your leisure. Set to low and leave it alone for nine hours. Move to high for one hour (that's ten total hours in the crock pot). Remove roast, and place on platter for breaking apart. Dinner (and tomorrow's lunch) is served.

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