Today I think I did a decent job pretending I give a hoot about football in favor of pimping our city out on oh-so-exotic Californian network TV. Thanks to Good Day Sacramento for caring and to Peyton Manning, whoever that is.
Sunday, February 2, 2014
Thursday, January 30, 2014
Chinatown
3720 Leavenworth Street
402-342-3068
Open Mon – Thurs 10:30am – 10pm, Fri & Sat 10:30am – 11pm, Sun 11:30am – 10pm
Delivery with $10 minimum
chinatownomaha.com
I used to pass this place on Leavenworth without looking up. I hadn't given it more than one or two subconscious, dismissive thoughts that didn't even come close to making it to the forefront of my mind. I fully assumed, based on location, signage, and the fact that no one I know ever mentions it, that it was simply not for me. The sauces would be syrupy and sugary, nearly undigestible. The meats would have a freezer-burned aftertaste. The vegetables, questionable, and the rice, dry. It might as well have had bullet proof glass dividing the kitchen from the outside world. (I'm not claiming to be some tough bitch or anything, but there are a number of take-out joints in Philly like that.)
Point is, there are a lot of bad Chinese places in town, kids. Watch yourselves.
It's true that the first time I ate food from here I woke up twice during the night, too thirsty to even consider a glass, going straight for the faucet while cupping my hands. That's likely more due to the fact that I not only "tried," but pretty much finished two whole entrees. A double dose of sodium will do that.
Let me walk you through that evening.
First, when I ran into an acquaintance on the street, I felt compelled to say I was simply going for a walk, instead of "going to gorge myself at that guaranteed disgusting Chinese place directly behind us." With that major bullet dodged, I entered, placed my order for two at the counter, Facebooked in the corner of the dingy, gray dining room, and quietly collected my brown paper bag after a short eight minutes.
The Kung Pao chicken seemed, as a whole, undercooked, with veggies still too snappy and peanuts somewhat slimy and raw. The lo mein had a sorry vegetable variety, limited to poorly cut carrots, broccoli, and cabbage. I piled it all on one plate and couldn't quite discern the differences in flavor of the two. The egg roll, with tiny bits of minced pork inside, was insanely greasy. I thought about a future devoted to improving temperature control of commercial deep fryers as I ate it, slowly, intense and immediate guilt forming with every bite.
I vowed to never go back, knowing full well I would because it's convenient, and probably soon.
The second visit, which happened to be on Christmas, provided a feast fit for a holiday absent of city bus service: General Tso's chicken swimming in a luridly sweet, addictive sauce, served with another egg roll I swore I'd throw away and instead munched on once it had chilled off a few hours later. A small order of broccoli in spicy garlic sauce (because it's important to get your veggies) actually had some spice.
These days, instead of dismissing this restaurant whenever I pass, it conjures thoughts of semi-enjoyment, of retiring early for the evening surrounded by an assortment of little white boxes. In this, my fat person fantasy, I never forget to ask for chopsticks.
Chinatown is not good food by any conventional measurements, but if you order carefully, you might just come away satisfied. Suggested strictly for delivery on a crappy weather day, I say get your usual Chinese dish and see how it stacks up against the likes of nearby Rice Bowl and Three's Happiness, two also not very good restaurants. Who knows — you might be pleasantly surprised.
402-342-3068
Open Mon – Thurs 10:30am – 10pm, Fri & Sat 10:30am – 11pm, Sun 11:30am – 10pm
Delivery with $10 minimum
chinatownomaha.com
 |
| Signage that suggests they've been around since at least 2001, plus the Marylebone in the background and Mother India in the distance, making up the culinary corridor of Leavenworth Street. |
I used to pass this place on Leavenworth without looking up. I hadn't given it more than one or two subconscious, dismissive thoughts that didn't even come close to making it to the forefront of my mind. I fully assumed, based on location, signage, and the fact that no one I know ever mentions it, that it was simply not for me. The sauces would be syrupy and sugary, nearly undigestible. The meats would have a freezer-burned aftertaste. The vegetables, questionable, and the rice, dry. It might as well have had bullet proof glass dividing the kitchen from the outside world. (I'm not claiming to be some tough bitch or anything, but there are a number of take-out joints in Philly like that.)
Point is, there are a lot of bad Chinese places in town, kids. Watch yourselves.
 |
| Little did I know, the grease pool forming while taking this photo nearly cost me my zebra print tablecloth. |
It's true that the first time I ate food from here I woke up twice during the night, too thirsty to even consider a glass, going straight for the faucet while cupping my hands. That's likely more due to the fact that I not only "tried," but pretty much finished two whole entrees. A double dose of sodium will do that.
Let me walk you through that evening.
 |
| #C15, Kung Pao Chicken Combo Platter |
The Kung Pao chicken seemed, as a whole, undercooked, with veggies still too snappy and peanuts somewhat slimy and raw. The lo mein had a sorry vegetable variety, limited to poorly cut carrots, broccoli, and cabbage. I piled it all on one plate and couldn't quite discern the differences in flavor of the two. The egg roll, with tiny bits of minced pork inside, was insanely greasy. I thought about a future devoted to improving temperature control of commercial deep fryers as I ate it, slowly, intense and immediate guilt forming with every bite.
 |
| #39, Vegetable Lo Mein |
I vowed to never go back, knowing full well I would because it's convenient, and probably soon.
The second visit, which happened to be on Christmas, provided a feast fit for a holiday absent of city bus service: General Tso's chicken swimming in a luridly sweet, addictive sauce, served with another egg roll I swore I'd throw away and instead munched on once it had chilled off a few hours later. A small order of broccoli in spicy garlic sauce (because it's important to get your veggies) actually had some spice.
These days, instead of dismissing this restaurant whenever I pass, it conjures thoughts of semi-enjoyment, of retiring early for the evening surrounded by an assortment of little white boxes. In this, my fat person fantasy, I never forget to ask for chopsticks.
Chinatown is not good food by any conventional measurements, but if you order carefully, you might just come away satisfied. Suggested strictly for delivery on a crappy weather day, I say get your usual Chinese dish and see how it stacks up against the likes of nearby Rice Bowl and Three's Happiness, two also not very good restaurants. Who knows — you might be pleasantly surprised.
Saturday, January 4, 2014
Frank's Pizzeria (and other thoughts)
711 North 132nd Street
402-493-0404
Open Mon-Thurs 11am-9pm, Fri & Sat 11am-10pm, Sun 3pm-9pm
franksnewyorkpizza.com
As I sat today compulsively wringing the excess cream cheese from my jalapeño popper before submerging it in a ranch bath, anticipating another just sorta decent pie at Frank's, I thought I'd weigh in. The Omaha World Herald recently named Frank's one of the three best pizzas in Omaha, specifically dominating the "less fancy" category. I found that interesting because I've eaten at Frank's four times in the last two months, but not necessarily because I love it. A more accurate description of why I make the trip Out West would be that I don't regret it. It's not bad by any means. It's just not that great.
The cheese, sometimes with a grainy quality, often comes not melted enough -- it's definitely not the bubbling, browned appearance desired of New York-style pizza. In fact, both the sausage and onion on today's pie were curiously undercooked. The crust, however oven charred on the bottom it may be, somehow manages to reduce to a soggy state within minutes. A "best pizza" title holder might want to address this major structural flaw. It flops under the weight almost immediately.
Still, for the most part, Frank knows what he's doing. Overall, the assemblage of dough, cheese, and sauce tastes good enough to come back to, though I can't quite explain why.
If you're looking for another New York-style option, try Brick Oven. Concealed in the shadows of Nebraska Furniture Mart, this pie -- available by the slice -- has a much sturdier and more flavorful crust. I can't vouch at all for consistency (one time I had to leave behind a mangled pile of stringy cheese and chewy sausage on the plate) but on a good day, it might just be better than Frank's. Plus, the place reminds me exactly of the mom-and-pop pizza joints I grew up eating at, save for the zealous owner/operator behind the counter who might be overbearing or just extremely passionate about his brand.
I'm partial to New York-style because I grew up with it. But I like Neapolitan. I like Sicilian. I'll own up to my vices and admit I even have a soft spot for total junk food Godfather's garbage when the time is right. Mostly, though, I'm a sucker for a timeworn recipe, or at least a healthy fervor for the craft of pizza making that doesn't wane after a few years. I think that's what makes a good pie, no matter what your style preference may be.
Consider the gallery below for a few other good ones in town:
402-493-0404
Open Mon-Thurs 11am-9pm, Fri & Sat 11am-10pm, Sun 3pm-9pm
franksnewyorkpizza.com
 |
| One time we ordered a bunch of Frank's at work. It lasted five minutes. |
As I sat today compulsively wringing the excess cream cheese from my jalapeño popper before submerging it in a ranch bath, anticipating another just sorta decent pie at Frank's, I thought I'd weigh in. The Omaha World Herald recently named Frank's one of the three best pizzas in Omaha, specifically dominating the "less fancy" category. I found that interesting because I've eaten at Frank's four times in the last two months, but not necessarily because I love it. A more accurate description of why I make the trip Out West would be that I don't regret it. It's not bad by any means. It's just not that great.
 |
| Frank's is decent, but this pile of raw onions and floppy sausage, combined with the wonky pizza cutter work, sort of beg the question, "What the heck is going on here?" |
Still, for the most part, Frank knows what he's doing. Overall, the assemblage of dough, cheese, and sauce tastes good enough to come back to, though I can't quite explain why.
 |
| Brick Oven likes to serve slices with an unusual 90° angle. |
If you're looking for another New York-style option, try Brick Oven. Concealed in the shadows of Nebraska Furniture Mart, this pie -- available by the slice -- has a much sturdier and more flavorful crust. I can't vouch at all for consistency (one time I had to leave behind a mangled pile of stringy cheese and chewy sausage on the plate) but on a good day, it might just be better than Frank's. Plus, the place reminds me exactly of the mom-and-pop pizza joints I grew up eating at, save for the zealous owner/operator behind the counter who might be overbearing or just extremely passionate about his brand.
I'm partial to New York-style because I grew up with it. But I like Neapolitan. I like Sicilian. I'll own up to my vices and admit I even have a soft spot for total junk food Godfather's garbage when the time is right. Mostly, though, I'm a sucker for a timeworn recipe, or at least a healthy fervor for the craft of pizza making that doesn't wane after a few years. I think that's what makes a good pie, no matter what your style preference may be.
Consider the gallery below for a few other good ones in town:
 |
| A recent gut busting cheesy favorite, albeit with an unimpressive crust considering the owner's penchant for baking, is the meatball pizza at Nicola's in the Old Market. (UPDATE: A more recent visit revealed an herby, buttery, flavorful crust. I stand corrected.) |
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| Tasty Pastry serves personal sized pizzas on the cheap. Here, atop an absolutely delectable, chewy crust, are Brussels sprouts, pecorino, brie, bacon, and onions. |
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| This is what Baxter's in Benson looked like when it first opened: I'll trade you a sloppy pile of haute toppings artfully made from local ingredients for a crust that's not corrugated cardboard. |
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| This tasty jalapeño bacon slice illustrates the progression of working out the recipe kinks at Baxter's. Cheers. |
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| Denying yourself a Dante pie because you're repelled by its unfortunate location would be a shame. The "Amore di carni" is a love worth dying for, even if that's just a cheesy claim meant to convey that this Neapolitan-style pizza is really effing good. |
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| More Frank's |
Sunday, December 15, 2013
Fat in Philly: Syrenka Luncheonette
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| A proper golumpki. We called 'em holubky, the Slovak name, growing up. |
This is without a doubt the worst time of the year. With the days still getting shorter, and a 30-degree forecast looking balmy, the light at the end of the tunnel is far too faint. If you're anything like me and loathe winter and all the restrictions it brings, you, too, will benefit from the comfort of minced meat wrapped in cabbage leaves covered in tomato sauce, potato-and-dough dumplings sauteed in butter and slathered with sour cream, and cakes of shredded potato, fried to crispy-edged perfection.
Should you be the brave one to enter the kitchen with the expectation of delivering some sort of joyous meal for your family members this holiday season, I'd recommend taking a cue from everyone's favorite up-and-coming Europeans, the Poles. It's a story told here through the eyes of the busty and beautiful mermaid Syrenka, who swam from Warsaw to Northeast Philadelphia with a desire to serve cafeteria-style, satisfying meals to working class East Coast a-holes some time ago.
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| Potato pierogis, a thing of beauty and butter. |
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| Oh, when chilled applesauce meets the steaming hot, chewy center of a potato pancake. |
Monday, November 11, 2013
Omelet & Viet Cuisine
16808 Audrey Street (168th and Harrison)
(402) 657-3269
Open 8am to 7:30pm daily, Sundays 'til 5:30pm, I'd call to confirm before driving way the hell out there
http://vietcuisine.webr.ly
-OR-
All right, I've had it. This is me, throwing my hands up in exasperation, because this is not effing fair. Listen, I'm not a West Omaha hater. I have never once uttered that line about not wanting to go west of 72nd Street. Westies are people, too; who are we to judge? They eat, work, and live just like the rest of us, except their existence takes place inside the hastily planned celebration of sameness we know as the McMansion. Regardless of what your stance is, I think we can all admit it's a great place to raise (sheltered) children.
Clearly, I have a beef with the concept of urban sprawl, and would implore those in "power" to focus on strengthening our core neighborhoods, preferably in such a way that doesn't reflect wildly misplaced sub-suburban sensibilities (I'm looking at you, Midtown Crossing).
The result is a slightly strange and yet delicious new addition to our small collection of go-to places for Vietnamese. Though admittedly I am not a diehard expert on the topic, the pho broth certainly seemed more flavorful and somewhat thicker than most. We didn't leave until every drop had been drank, every noodle slurped. One bite into the banh mi, when the slightly sweet earthiness of the pate -- which had nearly melted into each crevice of the toasted, crusty baguette -- hit my taste buds, I attained a sense of well-being only akin to the serotonin boost of a thousand psychedelics. Wild spurts of A Very Jazzy Christmas from the stereo only heightened the mood.
I'll continue to lament the half-hour travel time and gallons of precious gasoline involved in experiencing such quality in comfort food. I believe this type of place belongs just a stroll down the block from people who are willing to stand in a line that circles that block just to get it. In my dreams I'll frequent this clumsily named ethnic food gem, but in reality I will only get to go twice a year or so. I can only hope Chalco Hillsians know how good they've got it. I think they do.
Open 8am to 7:30pm daily, Sundays 'til 5:30pm, I'd call to confirm before driving way the hell out there
http://vietcuisine.webr.ly
-OR- |
| Just look at that cute logo, woudja? |
All right, I've had it. This is me, throwing my hands up in exasperation, because this is not effing fair. Listen, I'm not a West Omaha hater. I have never once uttered that line about not wanting to go west of 72nd Street. Westies are people, too; who are we to judge? They eat, work, and live just like the rest of us, except their existence takes place inside the hastily planned celebration of sameness we know as the McMansion. Regardless of what your stance is, I think we can all admit it's a great place to raise (sheltered) children.
Clearly, I have a beef with the concept of urban sprawl, and would implore those in "power" to focus on strengthening our core neighborhoods, preferably in such a way that doesn't reflect wildly misplaced sub-suburban sensibilities (I'm looking at you, Midtown Crossing).
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| Egg rolls |
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| When Vietnamese and breakfast collide: Sausage fried rice, complete with large bits of fried egg, charred corn, and forgettable specs of peas and green beans, provide a cheery dish to grease you up any time of day. |
The point I'm bemoaning is that some of the absolute best, most adventurous, and most reasonably priced food in Omaha can be found only in the far corners of our city limits, suffocating in an unbecoming strip mall, while meanwhile, famished urban dwellers get to rely on the likes of Jimmy John's when jonesing for something quick, cheap, and fast.
What I wouldn't give to have Omelet & Viet Cuisine in my backyard.
Sharing a parking lot with a gas station in the bustling neighborhood of Chalco HIlls, this restaurant used to be called The Omelet Factory, a mostly takeout breakfast place that, up until it changed hands three months ago, garnered some flagrantly mediocre reviews. Do not be confused. While the new guys have mostly preserved the standard egg-centric menu for now -- with routine items like French toast and even a meat lovers omelet dominating its pages -- they've also made a major move in the direction of Vietnamese cuisine.
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| Beef pho and its typical vegetable accompaniments |
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| BBQ Pork Banh Mi: If you look closely, you can spot a crumb of pate resting atop the elongated cucumber slice, and a chunk of crispy pork in the foreground, elegantly reposed amongst the julienned carrots. |
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| The three entrees, appetizer, and three soft drinks came to about $26 pre-tip, a value that may offset travel costs for many of us. |
Saturday, November 9, 2013
The Diner
409 South 12th Street
402.341.9870
Open daily 6:30am to 2:30pm, Sundays at 7:30am
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| Inspired to point out the duct tape that is apparently holding the clock together at the corners. That is all. |
Some of you may already know I came of age in the deep, sticky comfort of a diner booth back East. Old enough to pretend to like chain smoking but too young to know people to buy us beer, we toiled our late nights away over plates full of bacon and scrambled eggs, all while expertly keeping the proper milk and sugar ratio between refills poured warily by a uniformed waitress too tired to care she wasn't going to get a great tip from us young idiots.
I don't know why it took me so long to dine at the silver-paneled New Jersey knockoff with the shockingly creative name in the Old Market, but after hearing stories of its state while under former management, I'm glad I waited. The Diner changed hands about a year ago, and it seems what we have now is a perfectly respectable place to eat a boastfully unhealthy meal any day of the week.
The arrival of the food took what seemed like an eternity in my shaky, morning-after mind, but it gave me a chance to chug two cups of decent black coffee with at least half the fervor I'd have if it were Hopluia. At least, it wasn't strikingly bland, weak, or overly acidic, like the brew served in similar establishments.
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| Chicken Fried Steak, complete with traditional deep fryer basket indentations in the breading, and a peppery, delightfully fatty gravy. |
My dining buddy donated a quarter of his chicken fried steak, and I'm glad, because the evident saltiness of the breading paired with the goopiest of white gravies turned out to be my favorite item on the table. In fact, it may be the most suitable breakfast in the area for those of you who opted for a liquid-only dinner the night before. The hashbrowns were served impressively, well, browned, a feat any short-order cook can tell you is tricky to do quickly, though often requested. I was also a fan of the hands-off yet effective service: servers came by unobtrusively to refill coffee and clear plates without interrupting our nonsensical conversations.
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| "Heartland" Omelette: Chopped bacon, onions, green peppers, and tomatoes barely sauteed and wrapped into a thin layer of cooked egg. While the flavor was proper, the execution was bothersome, and demanded we devote the next ten minutes of conversation to an impromptu session on the finer points of omelette making. |
So the eggs came over easy when they should have been over medium. So they took that dreaded shortcut with the omelette and stuffed a pile of limp veggies into a thin layer of cooked egg before wrapping it up like some sort of strange burrito-like thing, instead of just cooking the fillings right into the egg. So my stomach is still churning from this meal eaten a distressing ten hours ago. It's much more likely that has to do with last night's escapades than this morning's grease content. Like I always say, don't expect too much and you won't be disappointed -- words to live by.
Wednesday, June 19, 2013
Recently Drank That Wasn't Beer
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| Dill Collins, The Berry & Rye Notice the ice cubes that are actually "cubes," and not "weird hollow ice cylinders from an industrial machine" or "ice chips." |
...
House Margarita, The Trap Room
In this very recently opened and seemingly CWS-proof safe haven, you can gulp on Margaritas from a large tumbler glass, served from the tap. Rumor has it they use rul good ingredients in the mix (fresh lime juice), evidenced by the lip-pursing tartness and need for nothing more than a sliver of a fruit garnish. I can only imagine the baseball fans are perplexed by this highly stylized interior -- no, I didn't just imply sports fans are simple... did I? -- which is why this might be the only place in a mile radius of the stadium not six bodies deep right now. The vibe evokes Stephen Starr, which makes me all like, want to champion it and stuff. Check it out.
...
Lily's Dinner Party, The Berry & Rye
Read about it here, sucka.
...
Irish Coffee, O'leaver's Pub
Coming soon: Recently Eaten That Wasn't Fast Food
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