I (heart) Andy Rooney

I hate yelp.

I know I’m getting old when I start sentences with “I hate..”, especially if the object of contempt is something cool that other people like, such as yelp or facebook (both highly detestable things). These days I try my best not to be too much of a hater, since it’s no fun and requires a lot of energy. At my age, I really need to conserve as much energy as possible.

Yelp though, contributes to the over-popularity of an old, much-treasured sandwich haunt of mine. My aunt used to have a restaurant down the street, and I have fond memories from my elementary school days of walking up to the next block with my mom and grabbing a sandwich for under $2. Nostalgia IS tough on me.

Seeking to recapture those memories of perfectly seasoned pate, pickled daikon and carrot, and warm, crusty bread, I drive to Saigon Sandwich. It's one of the few places that also offers a childhood favorite- a soft, steamed meat and egg-filled bun called banh bao. I go here whenever I’m in the neighborhood, but as I don’t live nearby, I tend to think of the visit as a special occasion. Upon approaching the storefront though, I see a terrifically long line. I think to myself, “Why are there so many (goddamn) people here?”

This is where the scourge that is yelp comes in. Yelp spawned this line. To date, Saigon Sandwich has over 1300 reviews on yelp. They now serve TOFU sandwiches to appeal to the non-Vietnamese (hint: white) patrons that insist on a vegetarian option for a food that typically does not have a vegetarian option. (It would be like asking for vegetarian ramen. Ugh. Why even bother?) I would like to meet the first person to review my banh mi shop and ask them why they unleashed such a plague on us old-timers.

In truth, I’ve encountered an incident such as today’s before. Usually, I just wait patiently or I chatter to a friend that’s with me in line until it’s my turn to order. But today was particularly irritating. There are now hipsters that frequent the sandwich shop. They come predictably with fix-gear bike, beard, skinny jeans, and neon frame sunglasses. (Seriously?) One of them walked right into me on his way out while on his cell phone and did not utter even a non-committal “excuse me”. (Did I mention he ordered two TOFU sandwiches?)

If this is the kind of riff-raff that Banh Mi Saigon is going to attract, I should just stop going. I should also report that there was only ONE other Vietnamese customer in line. It used to be that non-Vietnamese folks didn’t even know what a Vietnamese sandwich was. Now, I have to suffer hairy hipsters and their fanny packs re-adjusted to be “shoulder packs” shoving their way through cramped, literal-hole-in-the-wall sandwich counters in the TL.

But times they are a-changin’. Sandwich lines grow. Vegetarians get their way. I suppose that yelp has helped keep this well-loved, tiny sandwich shop in business and I no longer have to explain to people that indeed, Vietnamese people make sandwiches. Colonialism left a delicious mark on the local cuisine.

Until yelp stops enabling ruthless promotion of all my favorite places, I at least have an excuse to rant like my beloved Andy Rooney.

Hallelujah.

It is Thunderstorming in San Francisco

Yes, thunderstorming. Now, there are things you should do and things you shouldn't do when it is thunderstorming.

One thing you should not do is ride the bus when you're nauseous to the point of being violently ill. This will inevitably cause you to vomit in the stairwell of the bus, all of the other passengers will be horrified, promptly exit, and the bus will have to be taken out of service. Everyone (including that decently nice Vietnamese girl just trying to get to work) will be mad at you.

Something that is great to do when it's thunderstorming, however, is sit inside at Stella Pastry in North Beach and enjoy dessert and an espresso. Please allow me to set the scene:

It is dark outside. You've just made it indoors after skipping through the starting rain and it seems you've just barely escaped what is coming. Suddenly, the sky opens up and torrents- no sheets- of rain begin falling from the night sky. You are so thankful to be inside amidst the warm glow of the numerous display cases filled with pastry.

You will try one of their Italian specialties and soon thereafter, determine their cannoli is almost perfection with its dense creamy filling and hard crumbly shell. You will lick your fingers as you sip your meaty espresso out of one of those comically tiny cups that always make you chuckle a little. (You are a giant.)

Outside, the raindrops continue to come crashing down onto the pavement as you sit behind the large cafe window, and people headed down the street rush past you looking wet-- and miserable. But you have found sanctuary. And although it is not the enduringly graceful Saint Patrick's church at Jessie Square where you very briefly considered converting to Catholicism so as to one day be married there, Stella is an institution and it protects you with its sweet, old-world goodness. Just think of a young (strapping) Marlon Brando yelling at the bottom of a staircase, "Stella!"

The photo is from Stella's website, and yes, they do look that good.

Tacos and Martial Arts or How to Freeze Your Butt Off in the Quest for Chinese-ish Tacos

In the mood for tacos? Absolutely! And I have been since the other Tuesday night at the Dengue Fever show, except on Tuesday I was craving the standard favorite- a juicy carnitas taco (or maybe a fish taco). It is now Friday afternoon. My proclivity has veered somewhat toward a slightly different direction. I'm looking for something sweeter perhaps, something with a tang? I almost went to John's again for a kimchee taco, but I opted instead to check out a new offering.

It was cold today, or rather it still is cold today and I am dressed for yesterday. I stood in line for approximately 15 minutes, ordered, and waited another 15 minutes. All the while the wind whooshed through the alleyways between the high-rises in the Financial District seemingly aimed right at me and my mostly spandex tights. Ah well, nothing ventured nothing gained. Often with pleasure comes sacrifice, or something like that.

So Kung Fu Tacos, the taco truck I trekked to for lunch today, makes cute little tacos with a Chinese/general Asian twist. The crowd in line was young and were mostly hipsterish-professional types. I am really going to just advocate having Kung Fu tacos for lunch for the overall experience and not so much for the actual food. But the tacos are good. I had the Asian Asada and the Roasted Duck. The asada comes with what they're calling an Asian relish, onions, a little bit of hoisin sauce and decent-quality chunks of beef. It is a taco of well-balanced flavors. The roasted duck is appropriately sweet, comes with mango and cilantro. The duck is succulent, lovingly greasy. You get darling little wedges of lime for your tacos on the side. Come to think of it, everything about this experience was kind of "darling": the tacos, the people in their bright plaids, limited-edition sneakers and little knit hats, the fat alley cats (yes, alley cats in the alley) roaming around hunting for dropped morsels, the small truck tucked away at the end of the lane set against a backdrop of red brick. Just adorable.

And the portions. The portions were adorable. By adorable, I mean small. I was hungry and I ordered two tacos. There are no pictures of the tacos because: 1) I was too hungry to take pictures and gobbled them up very quickly and 2) I kinda forgot my camera. ;) In retrospect, I should've ordered three tacos, but there's really no point in regret, is there?

They also serve a dessert banana caramel empanada made by El Porteno for $2.00 which is a great and delicious deal. And because I have a sweet tooth (oh, so sweet), of course, I ordered one, which was well worth it since my appetite had not quite been sated. I would go back to Kung Fu Tacos if the truck is close by and I want a pre-lunch appetizer. I would not however, hike up a hill to them and arrive hungry/slightly out of breath.

Take a leisurely walk right before noon around the Financial District. Bring your coat with you. Pass by Saint Mary's square, which is a lovely little square (another adorable thing for the day) and find yourself at the Kung Fu Taco truck in the parking lot or at the end of an alley. Stand for a while. Order multiple tacos. Enjoy.

http://kungfutacos.com

This blog should be renamed "How to Make Me Fat" or "One Half of Ex Asian Couple Monthly" Haha...

Ah, LA, how at times I miss thee. Your ability to satisfy my ever insatiable stomach/hunger (emotional void perhaps?) has so far been unmatched, even though I grew up in San Francisco, one of a few acclaimed eating cities in the country. Perhaps it is the sheer volume of offerings available in the greater Los Angeles area; I mean, consider all the versions-in-mini of locations in the world that exist in LA and Orange County: Little Tokyo, Koreatown, Little Armenia, Little Ethiopia, Thai Town, Little Saigon, etc., etc. And then of course, there are all the offerings available very late at night and at some places, all night. What does San Francisco have on that?

So far? Not much. At least as far as I can tell at the moment. But I am remaining open, ready and willing to be introduced to the myriad of delicious surprises that San Francisco undoubtedly harbors. There have been many stops so far on the "Places-to-Eat-Discovery-Train" since April 2009, but it's been a while since I've felt compelled to talk about them and a lot has happened since then... Now that I'm back in the city (by the bay) however, a renewed sense of curiosity/discovery/enthusiasm or whatever has taken over me, and all of these interest-piquing places of fulfillment are receiving visits from me (or in some cases, re-visits).

John's Snack and Deli is for instance, one delightful surprise all wrapped up in unassuming, small packaging. Lots of folks know about John's. Lots of folks have known about John's for years. Lots of folks who work in the Financial District have known about John's. I have actually worked in the Financial District for some years now.

But I only recently went to John's. If it is of any consequence, I have walked by it probably at least a hundred times. John's is basically a convenience store (Surprise!!!), and so it is easy to overlook, but it has been serving Korean food out of the storefront for a while. They are best known for their made-fresh-to-order kimbap, (Korean maki rolls) and their kimchee tacos (an idea appropriated a la Kogi Taco truck from LA). I know the Korean food is better in LA, I know there is a seemingly limitless array of Korean-food choices in LA, and I know that a great portion of these places are open til 3:00am. But damnit, this is not LA. John's kimchee tacos are good, however unoriginal, and I can get them for lunch for less than $3.00 a piece at a location only a few blocks away. It's a small, family-run business that, in its character and lack of pretention, is very of the city. Sometimes I just have to be thankful for what I have. And I like eating lunch out of a convenience store.

http://www.snackanddeli.com

They also have a great web name.

Everything you’ve ever wanted

Gaja is a remote outpost. A mile or two beyond the docks, it sits in a featureless non-space. Just north of the refinery-stripclub-truckstop district and just east of the Redondo piers, with its slatted, pastel houses, home to middle-managers and antique collectors, the city of Lomita itself is a thoroughfare, a means of getting up the coast line, going where you want to go, to the beaches, the sun, the water. Gaja is sequestered away in this gray, odd, land-locked bedroom community in an unremembered corner of LA county. Which is why this spot is so remarkable; somewhere in this stretch of liquor stores, car dealerships and disreputable sandwich counters is this welcome surprise: the only make-your-own okonomiyaki in town.

Okonomiyaki translates literally into “what you want” (okonomi) “grilled” (yaki). Sometimes, okonomiyaki is described on English menus as a Japanese “pancake", but there is really no Western analog. What goes in a proper okonomiyaki? It depends. The variations on the basic setup are as numerous as the number of grains of sand in a good sized sandbox. There is the original Osaka-style okonomiyaki (kansai), which has a basic batter comprised of rice flour, mountain yam, water, egg, and shredded cabbage. On top of that goes any combination of pork, bacon, mochi, cheese, seafood, vegetables. Hiroshima style okonomiyaki is layered, piled high and pushed flat, with extra cabbage and a handful of soba noodles thrown on top. Tokyo-style okonomiyaki (also known as manjayaki) is a runny, viscous and slightly unappetizing regional variant that is worthwhile only because you eat it with a tiny spatula the size of a coffee spoon, scrapping bits of burned rice-flour batter off the teppan like a jolly giant taking paint off the side of a barn. The first time this asian couple visited Gaja solo, we ordered the modan mix you see below:

That’s pork, squid, octopus, scallop on top. Flip this thing over twice and top it off with okonomiyaki sauce, benito flakes, Japanese mayonnaise and pulverized nori or do whatever the fuck you want with it, that’s the point. Ultimately, this is what I like about Gaja. Okonomiyaki itself is a simple affair, a peasant dish made with whatever leftovers can be scrounged up around a Japanese kitchen; it is a dense, substantial all-in-one meal. What I like about Gaja, what I think sets this place apart from any other kind of restaurant you care to think of, is that it never serves the same meal twice. Each okonomiyaki is as special and individual as a melting snowflake. Sure, we all have our own way of handling a hot bowl of pho; and we’ve all experienced the uniquely delicious anxiety of checking a piece of ribeye at the Korean BBQ, but Gaja’s infinitely tweakable offerings is the king of DIY asian foods. Their menu, at somewhere around 100 pages, would make an excellent doorstop. In addition to three regional variants of okonomiyaki, Gaja also offers Japanese soup style spaghettis, risottos, teppanyaki, and intricately layered skyscraper parfaits (another post all to itself). 

2383 Lomita St, Suite 102                                 Lomita, CA 90717

The Piece de Resistance

Santouka Ramen

665 Paularino Ave.

Costa Mesa, CA 92626

The time has finally come to fully explore what it means to be covetous. I mean, what could possibly make a person wish they were me or wish they were with me in Southern California eating $6.00 bowls of noodle soup amidst a bustling and crowded Japanese style food court?

In short, two words: Santouka Ramen.

In the inhospitable landscape of So Cal tract housing, strip malls and crowded, poorly-designed freeways, there exists a small and unassuming refuge by the name of Mitsuwa Mall. Here, you can find Japanese food and products of all kinds. The Mitsuwa Market is a supermarket that offers everything from produce and meat to Japanese snacks and beverages including Dakara, a more tasty version of his favorite beverage, Pocari Sweat, which can also be found here. (It kind of tastes like sweat. I kid you not.)

Nestled in the bustling central food court of Mitsuwa is Santouka Ramen, indisputably the best Ramen place this Asian couple has found yet. We have so far been to two Santoukas- both of course inside of Mitsuwa malls. The first is in Costa Mesa and the second is in Torrance. Both serve up hot, steaming, salty, porky bowls of deliciously fulfilling ramen. Both offer atmosphere- bamboo furniture, Japanese business men in fine tailored suits, a mini pavilion in which to eat tatami-style. (The pavilion exists in only the Torrance location.) And both are no frills, cheap thrill type establishments.

Only have a credit card? Too bad, you can't eat here. Want to take your bowl to-go? Too bad, you can't do that here. Want extra soup or noodles? You're in the wrong place, idiot. Don't you get it?

This place does not need you, nor does it need me, for that matter. Santouka Ramen is an institution and it covets no one. It serves Ramen Perfection- tender pork, perfectly made noodles shipped from Japan, and hearty, hot, unfiltered broth. (Rameniac explains the history and particularities of Santouka's regional ramen style thoroughly well.) What do I mean by unfiltered? Well, their broth has substance. Small bits of pork fat float in it. You cannot see through it. Sipping a spoonful feels like swallowing a subtropical developing nation. It is hot in there and people of all ages are busy working 12 hours in a factory with no air conditioning. The air is thick with humidity and the day is overcast. Wood fires are burning. God, do you sweat.

But this is as it should be.

With a small bowl of ramen you get 1 large piece of fall-to-pieces-in-your-mouth pork; a larger bowl offers at least 2 slices. You have the choice of ordering the shoyu, miso or shio broth, although I recommend the always reliable shoyu. Santouka also offers meal sets- a bowl of ramen with ikura over rice and a hard boiled egg, for instance- to accomodate the extra famished. Get in line, fight for a table in the court, wait for your number to be called, and then go get your blue bowl of This is What Dreams are Made of Ramen. After you finish, you will be thinking about it for days.

Just look at it. What's not to covet?

Having Santouka is better than having a new i-phone or having that new Philip Lim dress at the Co-op or having a boyfriend that other girls may want. Santouka gives me reliable satisfaction,(yes, that kind of satisfaction).

So there, covetous bitches.

Ham. Ji. Motherfucking. Park.

 Speaking of jealousy…

The beginning.

Add bacon.

Panchan.

More panchan.

Add pork ribs.

Pork neck stew.

Do I have to tell you that this is better than the teriyaki chicken bowl you had for dinner last night?

Eat your fat-congealed hearts out.

A-not-so-Asian-reflection #1

For the number of places this Asian Couple has been to eat, not many of them have been blogged about. This in part is due to what I have been calling "A Mediocre Writer's Block". And I've been suffering.

This is not to say that there isn't a lot to write about Asian Coupling and the Asian Couple's encounters with food. This Asian Couple does plenty of things, particularly dining out and spending more money than we ought to (which, upon reflection, is a very non-Asian couple-y thing to do. We need to save, god damnit!).

Part of the problem I think, is a lack of motivation and plain old fatigue. After leaving school and moving to Southern California, I've gotten used to writing only corporate memos and passive (aggressively) threatening emails. And at the end of the day, who has the energy to think about this?

We have been talking about this recently and have determined that there are mainly 2 ways that others go about writing about the next great (or not-so-great) dining experience. The first is to embrace and understand the food, the preparation of the food, the history behind the food, and all the various parts that form the food. In short, go the technical route.

The second way is to convey the visceral experience of eating: food as feeling, food as compared to, say, modern art or literature. The idea is to juxtapose something provocative (steamy noodle soup) next to something else that's provocative (Kline, although he'd prefer Pollock) and to conjure an altogether different, more complex sensation of eating for the reader. It's easy enough to say something is tasty. But why should someone, upon reading about it, want to eat it? This method might be called, um, the "creative" route, for lack of a better term.

Famous critic Gael Greene opts for this second route, although after almost 40 years of reviewing for New York Magazine, she knows the technical stuff, too. Most writers seem to have a "thing" and her thing is to basically eat like she's fucking. Here's the formula:

Provocative thing 1: sex + Provocative thing 2: food = I want to eat that.

Her writing is extremely tactile. She says things like, "I want a proud, compelling burger - caramelized, rare and juicy..." This has been extremely effective for her.

The ideal lay food blogger would incorporate both methods and complement that with their unique signature. Since I have no intention of delving into the technical side of food, I am more likely to lean towards endeavoring to describe why the food I eat is indeed provocative and sensational, which of course, does not make me any sort of "ideal food blogger". But now the intention is clear: to evoke jealousy.

That being said, the next post is the latest installment to the NSP- a review of the Ramen Piece de Resistance, Santouka Ramen. I will try not to write the entire thing in French, which I am tempted to do.

To observe great food writing for yourself, please see Gael Greene's blog http://www.insatiable-critic.com/. Eating really is as good as sex and it doesn't require any talking.

P.S. She also wears big hats!

NSP: The Perfect Bowl

Gardena Ramen

1840 W 182nd St

Torrance, CA 90504

Ramen is the noodle soup that above all others deserves its own blog.  This is perhaps because ramen has been subject to over 400 years of uptight, obsessive Japanese tweaking. The rules are simple -- a pork-based soup broth flavored with soy, miso or plain salt; add noodle, pork chashu, assorted add-ons and bits (canned bamboo, shoyu egg, butter). But the simplicity of the dish is what lends itself to the characteristic Japanese rage for both perfectionism and localism. Ramen is to the Japanese as the kennel club is to the British bourgeoisie -- a chance to cultivate regional differences while simultaneously pushing the boundaries of a single perfected form.

If Gardena Ramen's ramen were a pedigreed breed, it would be a blonde labrador, the ideal everyman's dog: loyal, noble, unaffected. Walk into Gardena Ramen and you are greeted by an elderly Japanese lady and the wonderful scent of long stewing pork bones. The menu is posted on the wall and there are only three items -- Ramen in two flavors -- miso or shoyu -- and a side order of gyoza. A simple affair. Five minutes after being seated, this is what arrives at your table.

The soup is light and almost clear. The noodles are straight, striking a nice balance between softness and chewiness. All of which amounts to a straightforward, unadulterated bowl of ramen which carries its flavors from bowl to mouth with admirable clarity and precision. Everything is there. No special ingredients, no gimmicks, no imported noodles, no conspicuous symbols of rustic Japanese life. Just an excellent bowl of noodles served hot and quick, by an adorable and doting Japanese grandmother. What more could the asian couple ask for?

Asa Ramen

18202 S Western

Gardena, CA 90248

The problem with this feel-good story of an asian couple and their golden lab is that right across the street from Gardena is Asa, this beast of a ramen house. After much deliberation, we both agree that while Gardena is a perfectly respectable lab with all its papers in order, Asa is a Rhodesian ridgeback. Fearless, bold, unmistakable, powerful, and salty. 

Asa Ramen is an unassuming spot in the unassuming strip mall that includes other establishments like Salty Sports and Golf and a tempura and udon house. The only clue for the non-Japanese that one has arrived at the right ramen place is a welcoming whiteboard sitting outside the frontdoor proclaiming it 'Asa.' Open 6pm to 2am. 

Inside, Asa is tiny. Three or four tables and a truncated bar. The decor is, in contrast to Gardena's anti-design minimalism, a designed minimalism. The menu is divided down the middle, with Japanese on the left, English on the right. Compared to Gardena, Asa presents you with a vertiginous array of choices. Regular and large size bowls. 'Rich' and 'light' shoyu (no miso). And six types of takoyaki (more on that below). After a pretty tense wait, this is what comes out of the kitchen: 

That is what the surface of Jupiter would look like if Jupiter was a bowl of ramen. Marbled chashu that tastes like it has been salted and preserved. A perfect soft-boiled shoyu egg (metaphors fail me here, this egg is just really good and again, soft-boiled perfection), and gorgeous silken ramen noodle that holds up against the searing heat of the soup. And the soup: a cascade of sensation, a wall of sound (er, taste). There is a deep savoriness that works in exact counterpoint to the sharp and insistent saltiness. A layer of floating pork oil covers the whole thing, sealing the entire bowl and keeping its hellish convections currents rolling until your spoon breaks through. 

And so we are torn. While we admire Asa Ramen for its virtuosity, its complexity, its integrity, its serious and uncompromised deliciousness, we are nevertheless delighted by Gardena Ramen, by its naked simplicity, its lack of pretense and ambition, which somehow only amplifies its demure charms. Luckily for us, these two deserving ramen spots occupy different noodle soup niches -- Gardena being the perfect lunch spot for the sober light of day; Asa being the first place to pop into mind at around 1:00 am, when all you need is a strong bowl of ramen to regain equilibrium and get the world back on your side. It's good to have choices.

Nem Nuong Khanh Hoa

Nem Nuong Khanh Hoa

9738 Westminster Ave.

Westminster, CA 92684

By no means has the NSP come to an end, but we at ACM feel that it is time to expand our evaluations of Things Delicious to other types of Asian (and come to think of it, also other types of non-Asian) fare.

He, in particular, is forcing the issue, insisting that we have discovered his new "favorite" Vietnamese place  in the OC.  I, on the other hand, while with great appreciation for the new place, am still quite hesitant to let go of the old place (Luc Dinh Ky, reviewed previously).  

Nem Nuong Khanh Hoa specializes in nem nuong, a fresh roll originating from Central Vietnam similar in its construction to the Southern goi cuon, but nem nuong contains grilled pork cake rather than fresh shrimp and includes a crunchy fried rice paper in the middle.  Khanh Hoa also serves a shrimp paste-grilled-on-sugarcane version, cha tom nuong.  Both rolls are quite good and are offered in two ways: the "Made For You" form and the "Do It Yourself" form.  Depending on how you're feeling that day, you can satisfactorily have it however you'd like.  (T.I. would like them, perhaps.)  Khanh Hoa provides an ample and wide variety of greens to incorporate into your roll and all of the ingredients they provide are fresh.  

I am usually feeling lazy, and so I order them pre-made, although I'd probably be more likely to order them deconstructed if he were to roll all of mine for me, as he has impressive rolling skills and makes interesting, exceptional rolls.

Anyway, back to the rolls themselves:

- The ingredients are fresh.  I can't emphasize this enough.

- The proteins are well-made and well-seasoned.  They are flavorful enough to be described as "porky" or "shrimpy" but they're not overly meaty or dry and they remain crisp on the outside and tender on the inside even if you've left them to sit for a half hour while you eat other things.

-  The crisp rice paper inside gives the roll a dynamic texture: soft-crunch-soft-pork.  It's neither oily nor too thick and therefore doesn't distract from the roll's central focus, the meat.

- There's no hint of laziness in the preparation of these rolls.  If you get them pre-made, you'll see the nem nuong is tightly rolled.  There's neither too little nor too much of any ingredient, and the proteins are still hot inside of their soft white rice paper when the plate reaches your table.  

How lovely.

And then there's the sauce that comes with nem nuong.  It is not nuoc mam (fish sauce) or a spiced and altered hoisin sauce.  I am not entirely sure what's in it, except that I know it contains fish sauce.  Next time you see her, ask my Mom.  

We ate other things at Khanh Hoa too, actually.  Here's the run down in the order of which dishes I liked most:

1. Banh beo chen: This dish is mostly steamed rice flour with dried shrimp, dried garlic, and green onion on top served with nuoc mam.  It's been one of my favorite things since I was like, 2.  Khanh Hoa serves them steamed into individual small dishes.  I like to add nuoc mam directly into the dish and then scoop with a spoon or slurp the banh beo directly into my mouth.  They've mastered the texture issues that other places tend to have, and again the ingredients are Fresh.  Words to describe good banh beo: Salty, light, onion-y, and squishy with an occasional slight crisp from the dried shrimp.  

2. Bun tom thit nuong: This dish, grilled shrimp and pork over cold rice noodles, is served in many Vietnamese restaurants.  They make it particularly well here, as their grilled pork is nicely seasoned, their vegetables are fresh (that word again), and their noodles are slippery, but not hard.  The portions are adequate with the exception of the shrimp, in that I only had 3 in my bowl.  

3. Ap chao thap cam don: He was thoroughly impressed with this one.  It consists of a combination of seafood, other meats, and vegetables served over deep fried noodles (in this case, wide rice noodles) and smothered in a smooth gravy.  Texturally (close your eyes), it's like biting into the unknown.  Will this bite be crunchy with a piece of chewy calamari or will this bite be soft with a gravy covered tender piece of beef?  Who knows?!  Who cares?!

 

4. And lastly, there's the banh khot.  Banh khot at Khanh Hoa is very similar to their banh beo except deep fried.  Khanh Hoa's banh khot can be skipped.  It tastes like their banh beo without any other appealing qualities.  The banh is too thick and exceptionally greasy.  There is little incentive for me to order their banh khot when I have the option of ordering the banh beo.  I've had banh khot at other restaurants, and it was made with a slightly different "dough" which was lighter, still crispy but not tough, and it contained just a simple whole shrimp.  Try your first banh khot elsewhere if you've never had it. Try Khanh Hoa's if you've already had many.  

Overall, Nem Nuong Khanh Hoa is a great place.  They have excellent hot tea, the service  is always friendly, and the coffee is strong.  Oh yeah, if you're interested, they also serve noodle soup.   

Duke of Mountain Deer

Luc Dinh Ky

9812 Bolsa Avenue, Suite 100 

Westminster, CA 92683

Editor's Warning: The following review contains such words as "pastiche" and "bricoleur".  Who ever says "pastiche" in conversation?  What a jerk.

It's 1:30 in the morning and the party has degenerated in the worst possible way. Looking around you realize that when the police come around again to break this thing up, you won't want to be at the after party with any of these people. Someone has put on that Queen song for the second time and the white people are on the dance floor, elbows flying, knees bending in an uneasy syncopation. It's time to make your early exit. Grab your jacket and pretend like you're headed out front to answer a phone call or maybe smoke a cigarette. Once you're at the car, there is only one place to go -- up the 405 to Luc Dinh Ky, where every one knows your name, or at least knows what you want: Luc Dinh Ky house special rice noodle, size large, soup on the side. 

This is a proprietary noodle soup, found, as far as I can tell, nowhere else in the Bolsa-Brookhurst food supercomplex known as Little Saigon. Come to Luc Din Ky on any night from 12 to 3 am and it's packed with grandparents, nuclear families, club kids and employees from other Vietnamese restaurants. For the great majority, they are here for one thing: the house special noodle soup. The soup itself is pork based, a clear, porky concoction that is simple and rather indistinct. This is because the soup serves to merely moisten the noodles, served separately in its own bowl. The noodles are flat rice noodles sitting in a delicious sauce, a kind of sweet-savory brown gravy. Buried in this mixture of soup and sauce is a pastiche of good old noodle soup standards -- thin slices of BBQ pork, one or two steamed shrimp, fish cake, steamed chicken thigh, a hardboiled egg, fish ball, fresh, crisp choy, green onions, fried garlic -- all things to all people! 

The miracle of Luc Dinh Ky's noodle soup lies in the unexpected juxtaposition of disparate and seemingly arbitrary components. This is, for lack of a better term, a poststructuralist noodle soup. The soup is over there, the noodles are here. From spoon to mouth, we, the bricoleur, are confronted with any number of tasty permutations -- noodle, soup, fish ball, green onion; noodle, no soup, shrimp, choy; no noodle, soup, fish ball, fish cake, garlic, etc. etc. To heave everything towards the realm of the absurd, we can observe that there is no single soup here, nor is there a single soup-maker; but only the unfolding drama between hunger and freedom, between the soup-eater and the materials at hand. Each trip to Luc Dinh Ky becomes an engagement with the idea of sustenance on two levels -- the material (the question of what kind of soup you will have) and the existential (the question of what kind of soup-eater you want to be). 

In brief: Luc Dinh Ky is the only place where this guy goes for soup.

Update: Luc Dinh Ky, as excellent as it is, is no longer my favorite spot in Fountain Valley. The new spot coming soon!

Udon, anyone?

It is always hard to write about something you neither loathe nor love.  Kotohira Noodles is like that.  Their specialty is udon, and their noodles are homemade.  But what can I say about them?  Are they delicious?  Sure.  Very delicious?  Sorry, but no.  

The homemade udon noodles are indeed very good.  They are thick, firm and just a bit chewy.  I had their kake udon combination, which included a side plate of tempura.

Dinner was visually pleasing.  And if the noodles were lovely both in texture and flavor (an appropriate just-enough-wheatiness), then why the tepid review?  Well, in short, it was the broth.  A clear udon broth should be relatively light in flavor, but never bland, and this was a darnright bland broth.  It was uninteresting and did not offer any unexpected goodies from its brothy layers.  Really, the problem may have been that the broth didn't actually contain any notable layers, at least none that were discernable to the tastes of the modern Asian Couple.

The tempura though, was enjoyable and the restaurant's atmosphere was pleasant.  The service was excellent, but of course my primary concern is the delectable-ness of the nooodle soup.  And even though Kotohira is one of those awesome places where you can label your own sake bottle with a picture of your face, I can't say I'd be excited to go back.

Sapp Coffee Shop

Sapp Coffee Shop
5183 Hollywood Blvd.
Los Angeles, CA 90027
(323) 665-1035

For the Asian Couple, any visit to Los Angeles is ultimately an excuse to visit Thai Town. Such a visit poses a classic noodly dilemma: Sapp's or Ord? Separated by three blocks, these two nondescript spots are competing monuments to noodle perfection in my mental geography. They are the Temple Mount and the Dome of the Rock, the Empire State and the Chrysler Building, the Eiffel Tower and the Champ Elysees, T-Pain and The Dream. Whlie Ord excels at a wide variety of noodle soups, always teasing us with something new, torturing us with the unbearable anxiety of choice, Sapp is the undisputed thai boat noodle soup champ:

I've recently learned that the broth is a mixture of beef broth, pork blood, herbs and spices. Floating in that are bits of beef, fried pork rind, tendon, liver, chili, and one of my favorites, beef ball. The magic of the boat noodle bowl lies in the density of the thing. Taste the broth. We're talking sweet, salty, hot and sour, all balanced precariously against each other. The flavors are all there, but they take their time revealing themselves, letting one flavor take the spotlight, then the next. Then you get into the soup itself and its an index of texture: soft noodle, chewy tendon, rubbery beef ball, crunchy rind. Sapp's thai boat noodle is a catalogue of sensation, a census of noodle soup possibilities. If this noodle soup were an abstract expressionist,  it would be Jackson Pollock: messy, rural, startingly original, cerebral yet accessible, a paradoxical artist of brute means but refined effects. 

The second noodle at Sapp that is worthy of our accclaimation is the Jade Noodle, which is a refined, but contested entry into the NSP simply because it is served in two modes: dry and soupy. I got it dry:

This of course raises several issues. Chief among them the question of this thing's status as a noodle soup. However, since the jade noodles are completely delicious AND available as a noodle soup, I think it deserves to be here. What's in jade noodles? I confess I'm not entirely sure. I am almost certain that there were duck bits, crab bits and roast pork bits, along with cilantro and a green noodle that, upon further inspection, reveals itself to be leprauchan hair, which is delicious. The noodles arrive at the table dry and slightly warm, hiding underneath it a tasty sauce, crushed peanuts and green onions. The jade noodles, to my knowledge, are only to be found at Sapp's. It is a thing of restrained beauty -- elegant, deceptively simple, offering an unexpected combination of elements. It is Brice Marden to the boat noodle-as-Jackson-Pollock.

Ord of the Noodles

First stop on the delicious train?  

Ord Noodles

5401 Hollywood Blvd

Los Angeles, CA 90027

Ord is a small, no-frills Thai restaurant/noodle house in Hollywood.  Yes, it's worth the drive.  Yes, it's worth the risk of illegally parking in the adjacent strip mall/Ralph's/Shoe Pavilion parking lot.  And yes, you will only spend an average of $6.00 on an adequately sized bowl of noodles.

On our latest visit, I had their Yen Ta Fo.  Fish cake, fried tofu, various vegtables, and other tasty morsels swim in a bowl of arromatic bright pink broth.  The soup itself is sweet, salty and sour and arrives piping hot.  Ask for your dish "medium spicy" and it will come out "spicy".  Ask for your dish "spicy" and it will come out "Thai spicy", meaning that it will burn your mouth and ultimately, make you cry.  This place would rather not compromise it's integrity in order to appeal to the broader crowd of sensitive and squeamish eaters.   At least, that's the impression I get.  

Their noodles are never too soft or sticky and never too hard or crunchy.  I had the Yen Ta Fo with rice stick noodles.  Throughout the course of my meal, the white rice noodles would progressively soak up more and more of the incredibly savory bright pink broth.  This noodle soup is like many in its composition: multi-layered in its numerous ingredients, whimsical in the ways it chooses to reveal its many flavors and flavor combinations to you.  

The Yen Ta Fo at Ord is so far the best I've had.  It is never bland.  And it never overpowers the eater with only one flavor.  It makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside.  And if I get it really spicy, it also makes my head buzz a little.  

Also try the Pad Kee Mao.  Fresh ingredients, solid flavors, also a nice tasting experience, and better made than most Thai "fast noodle" joints.  

Editorial Addendum:

Ord is indeed amazing. I had Thai Sukiyaki, which had superior brothiness and a great array of consistently surprising tasty bits (squid legs! a mussel-in-hiding!). The soups at Ord also tend to come with a crunchy-chewy mystery bit. I think it's a kind of wood-fungus. Initially, she thought it was a sea dweller. Whatever it is, it serves to soak up broth, and offer a nice contrast to its other soupy denizens. 

I mean just look at this thing:

The Noodle Soup Project

In the following weeks and months (years?) we will be bringing you reports from the field on the best in Noodle Soups, an ongoing project here at Asian Couple Monthly titled simply, The Noodle Soup Project (NSP).  

The Basics  

Why Noodle Soups? 

First, because they are delicious. 

Second, because if there is any one thing that unites the many and diverse Asian peoples (and couples) it is our universal appreciation for different kinds of noodle soups. There is no better gauge of the size, diversity and vitality of an Asian neighborhood than the quality of the noodle soups found there. 

Third, because noodle soups are widely misunderstood by non-Asians as "just soup," and therefore at best, an auxillary dish to a proper meal, when in fact they are compact, satisfying and endlessly delicious meals in and of themselves. Noodle soups are a noble dish, and like tacos, curries, hoagies and empanadas, they are beloved by peasants and kings alike.  

Editor: And fourth, comfort. Hot steaming noodle soup (to an Asian couple, especially) = pure, uncomplicated comfort. What's better than sticking your face above a hot bowl of noodle soup and letting the steam waft up into your nostrils and fog up your eyeglasses? Next stop after satiating oneself on noodle soup?  

Bed.

What is a Noodle Soup?

Ramen. Pho. Boat noodles. Egg noodles. Spicy beef noodle. Duck noodles. Noodle soups are, at their most basic, comprised of noodle, broth and tasty bits. The noodle can be made of rice, egg, wheat, etc. They can be thin, wide, flat, tubular. Broth, on the other hand, is a little bit more complicated. It can be based on chicken, beef, pork or various seafoods. Tasty bits vary too. My favorite tasty bits are: fish balls, tendon, duck, shrimps, and cha-shu.

Editor: My favorites are: any type of seafood (imitation and otherwise), dried garlic, and of course, the noodles. Always the noodles. What's really imortant to understand about noodle soup is the Layers. Noodle soups are intricately and elegantly layered by their creators, much to the fortune (and appreciation) of our tastebuds.

The Layers, as my comrade has mentioned, are made of various tasty bits saturated in sometimes simple, but most usually complex broths which themselves are layered in constitution. These layers reveal themselves slowly and in stages to the eye, the nose, and the tongue. They are to be meticulously explored and leisurely savored.

Where Noodle Soups?

ACM is based in the larger LA metropolitan area and with some noted exceptions, will focus our reporting around the noodle soup establishments in that area.

How Noodle Soup?

Who can say for sure? A great noodle soup is magic. Like a great novel, or painting, an incredible noodle soup is a strange and inexplicable brew of tasty ingredients, authenticity, savory depth, grandmotherly knowhow, and chewy, toothsome noodle. It seems to, like the best of Russian literature, pull all of life, all sensations, all flavors into its delicious essence. It is an entire culture inside a spoon, a history lesson inside a single slurp.

Editor: I agree with the "magic" part above. Russian literature? Not so much. I would like to think that there exists a much better, more cheerful metaphor for the complexity and loveliness of noodle soups. Mmmm..let's say, bubble baths.